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Mrs. Q. and the green ink

4 Apr

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Author, Poet and ArtistI suppose someone provided me with a first pair of jeans when I started riding a Shetland pony at eight years old. Anyhow I grew up wearing 3jeans whenever I could get away with it. When we moved from Colorado to Los Alamos, we wore jeans to school on Fridays. No one missed that opportunity. When I moved to Florida as a married woman with children, I gave jeans up and went for knit pants. Eventually someone came along who loved clothes and loved to shop and she straightened me out. Jeans wanted me.

After a while I hit another snag for which I needed the help of friends. Apparently my jeans bagged now that I had lost weight. My friends tactfully explained about Mrs. Q. and her skills as a tailor and sent me to see her.

I had a number of clothes that needed to be fitted, so I took them all. When you enter Mrs. Q’s small shop it’s as if you’ve come home. Her finished work hangs on a rack along the south wall with Mrs. Q’s counter in front. At the back of the room you see three large sewing machines with a small man sitting at one. Mr. and Mrs. Q. are from Vietnam. Both of their fathers tailored clothes for a living, and now they are carrying on the tradition. They are good at what they do. Mrs. Q. and I talk over every aspect of an alteration. Mr. Q. never opens his mouth. I’ll bet he gets an earful, with all the girl-talk that goes on.

Last August, I bought a pair of white jeans with diamonds on the back pockets. I knew the jewels would never be seen because I always wear my tee-shirts on the outside. I had these jeans for several months before I took them to Mrs. Q. to shorten. When I laid them on the counter we both saw that the security tag, still attached. Mrs. Q. tugged on it and then shook her head saying, “Better take them back to the store and let them take it off.”   2

 

When I got home, I thought I’d force the tag off, but it wouldn’t budge. The next time I went out I visited the two stores where I thought I might have purchased the jeans.

“No, our store doesn’t carry this brand, but don’t try to force it because it has ink in it and it will stain the jeans,” store 1 associate.

At the next store the only associate in sight tried to help even though she knew right away that the jeans hadn’t come from their store, either. Apparently every brand of store has a magnetic key to open their own tags. She couldn’t budge it. “Be sure not to force it open, I had an accident with one and it stained my purse and my hands with bright green ink,” store 2 associate.

While she fiddled with the problem, though, I realized the tag hung from the belt loop, so I decided to cut off the loop and throw it and the tag away.

I took the jeans back to Mrs. Q. and told her about my fix. She shook her head with a worried frown until I persuaded her no one but us would ever see the loopless spot.

As I got ready to leave, I remembered to warn Mrs. Q. about the trap. “Oh, yes, I know. Ink. Green. That’s the reason I told you to take it back to the store.”

I’m sure I’m not the only person in the world who didn’t know about security tags and ink. But instead of feeling ignorant I thanked the Lord for sending helpers my way. We all need help with one thing or another. It feels good to be kind and it feels good to receive kindness.

Bill and I met our computer-programmer grandson in one of the prettiest and ritziest downtowns I’ve seen. I wore my well-fitting jeans and felt like I fit in. For one of our conversation topics, he helped with a computer problem we’d had. I believe the world has more good people in it than bad ones, but maybe that’s because I rarely meet anyone bad, as far as I know.

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. 1 John 4: 7.

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Bag Lady

28 Mar

My Take

DiVoran Lites

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Six regulars minus the pastor’s wife are waiting for Sunday School to start. The phone in the kitchen rings. We ignore it because we know the pastor hears it in his office. In a minute our door opens and the pastor’s wife sticks her head in. “There’s a lady on State Road 405 heading for church in her wheelchair and she says the chair won’t go anymore, so now she can’t get here. The Sunday school teacher and his nephew leave and the co-teacher takes over.

Apparently Mission was accomplished. Toward the end of class, the teacher comes back and asks if one of us ladies can help the woman who is now in the bathroom. I get the distinct impression this is not my bag. For one thing I don’t know how big she is or how much help she’ll need. For another, I haven’t been doing any resistance training lately, (or ever). Ruth gets up and goes, she’s the minister of music and takes care of handicapped seniors during the week. She’ll know just what to do.

It’s time for praise team practice. Ruth pushes the wheelchair lady into the church and we go to meet her. I’ll call her Queenie.

While we’re on the podium singing, Queenie takes food from one of several bags hanging from the handles of her chair and eats breakfast. When she finishes she takes out two small tablecloths and covers herself for warmth against the air conditioner.

I am fascinated by this person who would set out for church in her motorized wheel chair even though the church was ten miles from where she met the man who invited her and where she usually hangs out. Later, Ruth tells me Queenie can walk, but the wheelchair is her only means of transportation. I want to study this person, but that would require staring, so I just dart glances hoping she won’t catch me. She has a loud booming voice and I hear her tell her new retinue that she wants to sit in a chair. Four or five people help her get settled. The next thing I know she’s broadcasting over our singing into her cell phone.

We have a short break between Praise-team practice and church when I teach the children. I walk around a bit and then go into the Sunday School room to see if everything is ready. There’s Queenie snoozing on the floor with her wheelchair nearby. It’s a very small room and I’m eagerly expecting ten lively, curious beautiful children in a few seconds. I tell her I’m sorry, but we need the room. She somehow manages to leave.

Queenie must have gone back into the church because after Sunday School I pass the minister’s office and hear voices. Queenie is getting help and counseling and I’m glad. I like to see people loved and cared for and I do a fair share of it myself, but this time I minded my own business and I don’t regret it. There were plenty of people to help and my focus was to be on the praise team and the children.

That’s the sort of thing that happens when we’re really listening for God’s voice. He does say, “This is the way, walk ye in it,” (Isiah 30:21) but I don’t believe he meant for us to automatically jump into what we’ve been taught before we ask God what He thinks and what He wants us to think. The old way is to study the rules and follow them. The new way is to nurture the Spirit of God which lives in us and follow his leading all the time, in everything. (Hebrews 8:13).

Around the time when the, “What would Jesus do?” phase swept over our land I read, “Very truly I tell you, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does.” (John 5:19) You know who said that, don’t you? You don’t have to figure out what you should do, you just have to ask the Father what He wants you to think and do. Number 1. Ask. Number 2. Think Number 3. Do or don’t do.

It may sound difficult, but it doesn’t take much time, and you can get into a habit with it. I’m just starting, but already I can see how much better it is to walk in that kind of contact with my Father in Heaven who loves me. You can live a well-ordered life if you learn to know and trust the One who gives the orders.

If you’d like to know more about this concept, study your Bible and also try Dr. Caroline Leaf online. She’s a cognitive (thinking) neuroscientist (brain and mind specialist) who is showing how science is finally catching up with the Bible.

 

 

 

 

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Perfect Love Casts Out Fear~Part 2

21 Mar

Beach

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Author, Poet and Artist

 

You unlocked the park’s bathroom door and stepped out into a cloudy day. You heard sea gull’s caa-caaing and the shushing of the surf. You climbed the stairs of the boardwalk. You then removed your sandals and rolled up your pants legs. When you started walking and felt the roughness of the old boards, you recalled the time when you ran a hand over a shuffleboard table and got attacked by a splinter. Now you watched where you walked because you didn’t want any more wood injuries.

It is hard for you to write these things because you’re afraid people will judge you for your fears. In my reality, though, rear is common to almost all men and women. Does not my word contain at least 365 references to that state of being?

When you stepped off the boardwalk and onto the cool sand, you saw large and small footprints. You saw ruts where folks’ toes dug in as they ran. Because the fisher- folk were to the right, you decided to walk in that direction. If it seemed appropriate you could ask the folks who had their poles stuck in the sand: “What’s biting, and what are they biting on?” All eyes, however, stared at the shivering lines as if mesmerized. All along you thought fishing was a serious enterprise and now you knew it truly was.

You continued toward the old launch pad, which had once held a giant gantry atop a multi-story, tracked, crawler- transporter that which had carried the 363 foot tall Apollo/Saturn V launch vehicle to launches. You recalled the time when Bill got you a pass to go all the way out to the space center with three other worker’s wives to watch a launch. You’ll never forget the giant countdown clock in front of the visitor’s gallery close to Vertical Assembly Building (VAB).

In your mind’s eye, as you walked, you envisioned a vehicle set to go. A column of smoke billowed from the flame-trench underneath. But the Saturn V did not move. Was something wrong? At T minus zero seconds, after full power on all five 1st stage rocket engines had been verified, the swing arms retracted and the vehicle began to rise. When the sound and vibration reached you it was like a continuous thunder clap echoing off the walls of the VAB. You felt the pulsations inside your body. You looked up and saw fire-tinted clouds boiling underneath the Saturn V as it began to leave the earth. It was such an awesome combination of sight and sound that you wanted to laugh, to shout, and to cry all at the same time.

Soon your mind-video ended and you were back on the quiet beach. Now you looked down at the foam scalloping the shore and lapping at your feet. The air felt humid, and the sand undulated like miniature hills. You leaned against a hearty wind and held on to your wide-brimmed hat as you continued down the beach.

After about fifteen minutes, you turned back toward the boardwalk. You asked yourself why you had come. The only reason thing you could think of was because you remembered being there with your children and grandchildren. All at once you remember being afraid for the children and the not wanting to take your eyes off them. The boardwalk was far away. You turned around and headed back. You climbed the stairs, put on your shoes, and rolled down your jeans.

 

My Beloved Child, hear me in this:

The world is afraid, it has always been afraid. The terrorists can’t take credit for it. You will see the phrase, terror of the night in my word along with a promise that you will not be overcome by it. You needed to come here today, so you could capture those fearful thoughts and memories and let me erase them for you, never to be remembered again. Fear, my dear, is the direct opposite of love. The world, the flesh, and the devil, are the unholy trinity, the enemy. You do not belong to these. You are mine I have called you by my name. You’re “designed for peak happiness, thinking, and health,” (Dr. Caroline Leaf.) I will never, never, ever leave you or forsake you, not for any reason. I have prepared a place for you and I’ll help you move into it now.

 

 Dr. Caroline Leaf 

 

 

 

 

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Perfect Love Casts Out Fear

14 Mar

Fear Thou Not

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Yesterday, you did something you haven’t done in a long time. You wanted to go to the beach, so at last, you went. As you drove the long road east to Playalinda, you felt stress building in your chest. You didn’t consciously ask me to help you, but I was there anyway. You are always in training, so I don’t expect you to get everything right immediately. You did well to take note of how you felt.

In younger days, you were at that beach up to your shoulders in water, and a surge caught you. Suddenly there was no bottom to stand on. You can swim, but you panicked. In your case a taller man was standing right there and put his hand out to you. He then walked you back to where you could stand on your own and left with your deep-felt thanks. On this day on the way to the beach you also had the memory of a recent accident in your extended family where a much beloved young man died after getting caught in a riptide in another state.

Now, as you drove, you were trying to listen to a book on cassette that you just bought at the library sale. The reader spoke with an edge of fear in his voice, and it made you even more nervous, so you pulled over to get your I Phone out of the trunk so you could listen to music. For an instant before you got out of the car you were afraid the gears would slip and the car would roll into the canal that ran next to the road. Isn’t it exciting to discover the deep fears that you carry around with you? That’s all right. As I have promised, when you resist the devil, he will flee from you. Now that you have asked for this healing I will heal you. Working with me is resisting the arch enemy.

The music was lovely, but the discomfort didn’t entirely go away. The cars that whizzed around you as you drove the speed limit generated more fear. You were afraid it made the other drivers mad that you were in their way. You hate to displease people, and that can be another pervasive fear.

As you arrived at the Canaveral National Seashore you needed to use the convenience. The small cement block building had scraps of toilet paper on the floor and smelled dirty. The flush mechanism didn’t work. You understood that park maintenance was most-likely short-staffed. As you snapped the deadbolt another fear sprung up. You wondered if you’d be able to get out. Your mind flashed back to the time when you were a child and ended up locked inside a service-station-bathroom. Your parents’ restaurant next to the garage didn’t have one, so everyone had to use the filling station for an emptying station. While you were locked in the bathroom, the only person within the sound of your voice was “Old Arnold” whom your mother had warned you not to speak to or take candy from. You didn’t want to disturb him to let you out so you looked around and saw the window that opened into the station’s garage. You were small enough to fit through it, so you got up on the back of the toilet, climbed out and hopped onto the hood of a car. Back in the restaurant you told your dad that you had left the door locked. He knew just what to do. He took you back to the garage and gave you a boost onto the car and into the window saying, “Now push against the door with your shoulder and slide the bolt open.” Of course it worked. Dad knew how to fix things. You slid out and exited by the back door. Old Arnold didn’t notice because he was snoozing in the gas- station chair.

Dear one, hearken to me now. Do you recall when you were afraid to let go of fear because you were afraid that if you didn’t have it to protect you something would go wrong and you wouldn’t be ready for it. You developed a habit of trying to predict bad things that might happen. It’s all right to think and plan, but you overreacted. Other things then happened, not the events you had predicted. A lot of people live like that. It doesn’t work, because it’s not my way.

I want you unafraid. Much of the time you are content and satisfied. You have peace and joy. You, however, have, at times, gone from anxiety to fear to terror and needed prayer from the family of God and strong intervention from me. You don’t want to live like that anymore. We are now ready to retrain your mind and replace your toxic thinking with the mind of Christ.

“He was there all the Time”

Switch on Your Brain, by Dr. Caroline Leaf

 

 

 

 

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Spring Cleaning Fling~Part 2

7 Mar

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Author, Poet and Artist

 

 

House with Flag

 

Spring Emails from Onisha and Patricia Franklin

Onisha
I’m kind of glad you felt the same way about the classes as I did. It makes me feel better about myself. My mother wasn’t in to the cleaning thing. Whenever we would be cleaning the house when company was expected she would get side tracked and begin building something, a new closet, or shelves, whatever. I ended up doing the cleaning. I often wonder if there are cleaning tips that mothers passed down to daughters. My brother in law’s wife was a professional cleaner for many years and I often wanted to ask her about tips but didn’t want to appear dumb. I did get her potato salad recipe though. The secret to it was the number of eggs used plus some sour cream. I had to iron for free at home as well as basically run the household during my teen years. Fortunately by then, permanent press had been discovered.  For that, I got lunch money for schook, fifty cents per day plus $2.50 for a total of five dollars per week. I saved that up plus some babysitting money to buy my first prom dress.  I also ironed for some of mom’s friends. One lady had a lot of baby clothes, 5 cents a piece is what I think I received.

Patricia

Monday seems like a good day to put in a “cleaning” blog.😉  I can’t recall doing much cleaning as a child.  In fact, I had one dresser drawer with all my stuff in it.  We did not have much “stuff.”  As far as housecleaning, I think my Mom did most of it.  I spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s house.  In fact, I do remember “penny dusting” at her house.  She would go around and put a penny on each item that needed dusting and I would make a little spending money that way.  It wasn’t much, but seemed like a lot in those days.  We usually spent it on penny candy. You could get a lot of candy for a penny from my aunt’s Biggest Little Store in the World or from Mrs. Motts store on Main Street.

I did help her more with the yard work later on, raking, pulling weeds and even mowing.

We now have a lot of stuff to go through, including a closet full of pictures.  Husband and I are both collectors, so we have a hard time getting rid of things.  He is better than I am about it, but I know my kids will not have any use for it so I ought to just pitch everything. It seems like I can’t find time enough to do anything extra, except my usual everyday things.  Hopefully we will be able to get at it soon.  It drives me crazy thinking about it.

 

Fly Lady http://www.flylady.net/

“Build My Mansion Next Door to Jesus,” written and sung by Dottie Rambo

 

 

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Spring Clean Fling~Part 1

29 Feb

My Take

 DiVoran Lites

Old House

Author, Poet and ArtistAt one time I had a woman come in and clean every other week. I had to get two more cleaners one at a time before I went back to not cleaning myself. One woman got a different job, one moved away, and the last one wanted more money than I thought I should pay. It was, after all, an indulgence. I was then on my own as I had pretty much always been.

I took some classes at church and I went online to learn from Fly Lady. Have you heard of that site? Our daughter introduced her aunt Judy and me to it several years ago. I didn’t think Judy needed it, though, because she has been a military wife all her grown-up years and has kept house beautifully. Eventually I stopped Fly Lady, but lately I went back to it. She knows all my dirty little secrets and helped me change my ways. The strange thing was, I enjoyed it.

Bill is decluttering too. He gives me gifts that he purchased a long time ago and put away for the right time. He also gives me books I’ve asked him to read. I wondered where those went. I like the craft scissors he gave me, and there was a letter from my mother who died some time ago.

When I clean now, I remember my grandmother teaching me to wash windows with cold water, vinegar, and newspaper. She had a great fix for dirty ovens, too. She laid a stack of newspapers on a rack, saturated it with household ammonia, and shut up in the oven overnight. In the morning all we had to do was wipe out the oven. I’m into green now, but the memories are good.

Mother liked a clean house too. She, however, spent so many hours on her feet at the restaurant we owned that she decided to pay me to clean once a week. I did a huge basket of ironing every week for a dollar, as well. I like to iron, but I got behind on Bill’s shirts this year, so I’ve recently concentrated on catching up. The best thing about ironing when the kids were young was watching the old black and white movies on T. V. while the kids played in the sandbox. Eventually I had to iron less and less because of the changes in fabrics, but Bill and I both still like his cotton Hawaiian shirts, and to us, they need to be ironed.
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Colorado Adventures

22 Feb

My Take

DiVoran Lites

and

Patricia Franklin 

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Patricia and I have been corresponding for years. We first met when she was in first grade, just before she was promoted to second and moved one aisle over to the second grade aisle where we five second graders sat. She got promoted because she was the only child in the first grade, and because she was smart. It was my first time in that school because my family had recently moved to town. This letter starts where my last blog, “Shelf Roads,” left off. I liked the extra details she shared so thought I would pass them on.

DiVoran

 The Altmans started coming to our school after the consolidation. (Before that they had gone to a small country school closer to their ranch. The consolidation was when all the students from valley schools were bussed to town.)

Marjorie and I were friends in high school, and we actually were roommates our first year in college in Gunnison.  They had a ranch at the foot of the range, near Alvarado, (a mountain meadow where the community had field days and picnics). We used to go horseback riding on the trails up there. That was so much fun.

One time we came upon this old cabin.  We looked inside a broken window and something white moved inside.  We screamed and ran, then went back to look again.  It was a white goat, and was inside standing in the middle of the bed. The cabin was old and still furnished.  The cupboards had been taken over by rats and any other creature that could get inside.  I guess it had been abandoned, as everything in it was a mess.  We never did find out who the owner was, or what happened after that.  Although, I remember my Dad had me write up an article for the Wet Mountain Tribune about the adventure, and it was on the front page of the paper.  We sure had some great, fun adventures in those times.

There is a shelf road between Canon City and Cripple Creek.  It is named the Shelf Road and is used a lot.  It has been closed various times, due to rock slides and erosion, but is still one of the main roads up there.  That and the Phantom Canyon Road are the two most used from Highway 50 to Cripple Creek I would say.  I have not been up those roads for a few years, but I love them.   After driving all over the “jeep roads” in the San Juan and Gunnison mountains, I do not mind them anymore.  We have been on some very narrow and scary roads, but I love it so much, I got over my worst fears.

I still do not like being on the edge and looking down though.  Once Frank and I had to pull way over to the side because some 4 wheelers were coming down and would not move over.  (As we were going up, we were supposed to have the right of way).  Our Jeep was so close to the edge, I could see the pebbles falling out from under the tires and rolling down the mountainside. And there was a pickup upside down about 1000 feet down.  Now, that was scary!!😕 One time we started up that road when it was raining. A lightning bolt hit a nearby mountain, and then some rocks started rolling down the side of the mountain above us.  Needless to say, we backed down and did not make the trip that day.

The Shelf Road from Canon City to Cripple Creek

 

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The Shelf Roads

15 Feb

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Author, Poet and Artist

My friend, Patricia has been commenting on the serial I’m running on Rebekah Lyn Book. It’s called Go West and I asked her particularly to comment because we have a shared childhood from 1945 to 1951. If anyone could keep me straight, or answer questions, it would be Patricia. Those were wonderful childhood years. She has done a bang-up job.

At that time of life most kids are interested in everything. Patricia and I were avid learners so we got a lot out of school. Patricia’s family had been in the valley from the time they first came to America. Her mother’s family was German and her dad came from Canada and was of French ancestry. She has some good tales to tell about them.

My parents moved to the small town right after dad came home from WWII. He bought the restaurant on the G. I. Bill. We lived in a railroad worker’s duplex, but before we moved away, Dad bought the old train depot and remodeled it into an apartment house. The railroad was defunct, but some of their buildings still stood.

Because I had the Go West characters in a shelf road situation for the last episode, Patricia remembered some shelf-road situations she’d been in herself. Here’s what she said:

The shelf road was very scary and reminded me of a couple of trails that I know!Remember the Dieckman girls?  Or did they just come to school during high school?  I’m not sure.  Anyway, I used to go horseback riding out on their ranch and along some of the mountain trails with them.  They kept wanting to ride up along Phantom Terrace, which we never did, although they had ridden it many times.  Just the name scared me. They said that horses are very surefooted and it would be perfectly safe.  I’m glad we never went, as I would probably have fallen off just looking over the cliff.

Shelf Roads OTRN

 

I wrote back and told her I did remember one of the Dieckman girls who came to our school after classes moved to the other small mining town a mile away. The school had about five rooms and you had to go through one to get to the other. It was unpainted wood. We had no bathrooms, only outhouses, but that was no problem, we’d had outhouses at the two room schoolhouse where we’d gone before.

It’s wonderful to have a friend from such a long time ago. Both sets of parents are gone. I still have one brother and she still has all five of hers. We’ve moved on to other locations, other lives, but it’s as comforting as can be to have someone to reminisce with and to still be able to remember the past even though we both think often of the hereafter. We think about Heaven and we think about going from one room to another and saying, what am I here after?

 

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The Bug Man

8 Feb

My Take

DiVoran Lites

 

 

Author, Poet and ArtistWe have a cat that is allergic to fleas, so we had to sign up for a pest control program. Our particular account majors in fleas. Bob, the technician is a nice man. He likes to chat when he goes about his work. Bill is usually here to talk to him, but today I was elected because Bill had another gig.

I watched Bob out the big front window mixing his potions from the back of his truck. He’s not a big man, nor particularly small, not heavy, not thin. He wears glasses and a blue ball-cap as he goes about his work. I’d say he’s in his early 50s. I wondered what he and Bill talked about, but didn’t try to start a conversation.

Our cats, Jasmine and Lily need to stay off the carpets until the insecticide dries, so we put them in their carriers and move them to Bill’s model airplane hangar. When we started the service I stayed with them, played music, worked on my laptop, or painted. They cried the whole time anyway, so I decided to go on my walk while the floors dried.

Today I was sitting at my computer waiting for Bob to finish the spraying. He asked me if I was the artist. Yes, I am, I have my paintings all over the house. That may seem immodest, but sorry, I like them and so does Bill. I think other people do too.

Bob liked a picture in the “studio” which used to be the garage. It’s a pastel of a painted bunting. He could hardly believe it when I said, “Let’s see if there’s one on the feeder now.” Unfortunately, none was, but as you can tell from the picture they are a beautiful bird. The male is multi-colored and the female is green, the only green bird in Florida. When I told him that he said,”We have green parrots beachside in Melbourne.” They have a distinctive squawk, but I like them okay.”

Bunting

Painted Bunting by DiVoran

Oh, yes, parrots. I’ve seen them here in Titusville, too. They lived in holes in palm-trees, but I don’t think they’re here anymore. They’re considered exotics. The painted buntings are migratory and are here for the winter with their little green wives. They vie for seeds with the bigger birds and the cardinals seem reluctant to take them on. We talked about the other exotics in Florida. We both shivered at the thought of the huge iguanas we’ve heard about down south that fell from the trees one year when the weather got too cold for them. I remembered, too, that down there they have boa constrictors whose parents escaped from zoos during hurricanes and bred more boa constrictors. The climate of south Florida suits them fine.

Fast Facts (from National Geographic site)

Type:

Reptile

Diet:

Carnivore

Average life span in the wild:

20 to 30 years

Size:

13 ft (4 m)

Weight:

60 lbs (27 kg)

Group name:

Bed or knot

Did you know?

Some South Americans keep boas in their houses to control rat infestations.

 

Bob got down to business when we moved to the kitchen. He said the flea repellents people get from their vets are almost eradicating fleas in homes and the younger techs don’t know how to spray for them. We moved here in 1965 and had nothing to combat them with so I fully appreciate that.

Bob says the nemesis is now sugar ants. Ooh, we’ve got some of those. Actually, I originally brought them in by letting the cat food sit on the porch and collect them. They are only about as big as a period. I opened the cupboard and showed Bob the diatomaceous-earth powder I’ve sprinkled on the shelves. He seemed truly interested. I asked what the pest control guys use inside the cupboards, and he said, “We don’t put anything inside the cupboard. We use non-repellant insecticide outside and the ants carry it into the nests and contaminate them. I’ve been doing that for you here.” He said. I thanked him.

I was flabbergasted. I wondered why we hadn’t had to move out of the house because of those scamps and all the time Bob had us covered. It kind of reminds you of God, doesn’t it?

 

 

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Peace Be Still

1 Feb

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Peace Be Still

Jesus always told stories when he spoke to his followers.

I’m into stories, have been since I was born. My mother told true stories and made up some. Grandmother told stories about her life, too. Before he went away to war and later when he grew old, Dad told stories about his. His stories stopped during my childhood because he suffered from what is now called PTSD.

I married a man who tells stories about his adventures every day, our grown children tell stories and so it goes. Stories and the need for them will never die. I thank God that I come from a story-telling family. I’m convinced there is no better way to learn the vital things of life.

It seems possible to imagine myself present as a child in a story about one of Jesus’ miracles. See if you can put yourself into it with me.

Father and Mother took me up on the mountain to listen to the master. He told us things about how to be happy. Wildflowers grew all over the mountain spreading their fragrance over the crowd like a blessing. I stood in the boat next to Jesus as he taught from there. I wanted to sing and dance with joy, but, alas, there was no room for that in the small boat.

When the teaching was over, the master asked the fishermen to take him across the lake. The sail filled with wind and we flew right along across the water next to a low-flying seagull. I looked around for the master and finally found him sleeping at the back of the boat. I was tired from all the excitement and the fresh air, so I lay down nearby. I thought about the wonderful day and looked at the white clouds in the blue sky. I too, fell asleep.

I awoke to rain in my face, black skies, and a bad feeling in my tummy. The fishermen were shouting and I saw that they were afraid. I’d never seen big rough men show fear before. Two wrestled to get the sail down while two others tried to bail out the water coming over the side in waves. One of the men came back and shook the master’s shoulder to wake him.

“Don’t you care that we’re all going to die!” he shouted.

By now I was hanging onto the anchor so I wouldn’t be washed out of the boat and into the sea.

The master rose and made his way to the bow. He held his hand up commanding, “Stop. Be quiet. Peace! Be still.” His voice carried through the storm. We all heard it. Suddenly the sea was calm. The sun came out. The bailers finished bailing. The sail went up again. Soon the work was done and we were on our way.

“Why were you so afraid? Don’t you have any faith?” said the master.

“Who is this man that wind and sea are at his command?” said one of the men.

I almost raised my hand to answer, but then thought the men might not like a child telling them something they didn’t already know. Someday, perhaps I will tell the story of this day so others may hear and know him too.

Mark 4

If you want to see the ancient fishing boats, Google Bible fishing boats. The pictures are beautiful.

 

 

You might enjoy this book: The Power of Personal Storytelling 

 

 

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