hopeless?

As my mind cast about in thought and considered horrible world situations, the great wrongs in our country and even some things in my personal life, a raspy, coarse whisper came to my mind - "It's hopeless, things will never change and you can't do anything about them".

But just as the cold clammy hand of despair was reaching for my very soul, I recognized the source of this voice of gloom. In my mind's eye I could almost see a leathery skinned, toad-like presence with maleficent, gleaming yellow eyes desperately trying to disguise it's voice so as not to be recognized.

Then I realized that I had listened -- however briefly -- to an evil henchman of satan - and as my mind, heart and voice reached upward in praise to my loving Heavenly Father, the evil presence immediately abandoned whatever scheme it was trying to cook up and fled to hide in a dark place - far away from the presence of the Holy Spirit.

At that point the strong, clear message came to me - "I'm still in control of the world, of your country and in your life as you allow Me to be – live in hope and let your concern be about your relationship with Me".

Afterward I wondered, are we allowed to feel these edges of despair as a lesson or because we've gotten too close to the edges - or both? In any case the answer is always the same, draw close to God and He will draw close to you. We must personally choose to quiet the noises in our life and listen - on purpose - to God's comforting and instructing voice. mreddie

streams

On another day, in another place and during another season, it was a beautiful clear morning with the sky showing only an occasional small fluffy cloud shading the sun. From the balcony of a fourth floor condo in Gatlinburg Tennessee you can see the forest on the edge of Smoky Mountains National Park.

Our room is situated directly above the point at which two streams join together to become a small river. The smaller one comes from the general direction of the winter ski resort of Ober Gatlinburg and the larger source of water seems to come straight out of the national park.

One would tend to wonder, since these streams flow year round (I think), exactly where all the water comes from. Rain and snow melting would be understandable but could there also be a spring, high up, feeding these creeks? Or could it be just a very fast person with lots of buckets working hard on top of the mountain?

Since the bottom level of this condo is a parking area, we are actually five floors up, right at the top of many trees in the area. The singing of birds, the swaying of limbs, dancing leaves and the sound of rushing waters below seem to sweep away any problematic thoughts and emotions, leaving a tranquility that only being in the presence of God's creations can give.

Looking down at the streams one can see butterflies dancing in the sunlight and smaller insects floating on the breeze - possibly living out their whole life cycle in one day. If they had a bad day, it would last their whole life!

I think I've decided not to have any more bad days, only good, with just a few that are not quite as good as the others. mreddie

uncared for

On another day, in another place and during another season, the large decaying tree trunk stood some thirty feet in the air, totally enshrouded by wisteria vines all the way up, with honeysuckle joining the entwinement for about half the height. Wisteria is beautiful when blooming, but is a killer of trees, completely wrapping a tree to the top, slowly squeezing and shading the life out of its support host.

Next to this was a sweet gum tree about sixty feet tall with evidence of wisteria to the top and starting to come out it's limbs. If trees could talk it would have been saying "Somebody get this thang off me"!

Along a dirt road was an abandoned house with a pecan orchard underlined by wild flowers with a small purple bloom sharply contrasting with it's bright green stalk. Along the edge of the other side of the unpaved passageway was a bunch of small, wild, pink roses with occasion interspersions of yellow honeysuckle. The last 150 feet of this side was almost solid with the pink roses, uncared for except by the wind, rain and sunshine.

In another place I was dazzled by more roses along the edge of a parking area of an abandoned business. They were a beautiful pink-red and also uncared for. My amazement continues at the beauty God has made. mreddie

the tiller

The year was 2000, spring came and went and for the first time in twenty-nine years, I did not plant a vegetable garden. Several reasons were factors in that decision, it was a busy season at work, I was busy with the family and maybe I was just a little tired – or lazy.

Since all of these things had been present before and I still planted a garden, I gave thought to exactly what was the main reason the garden was a non-happener. The thing that pushed veggies out of the picture was the ordeal of "the cranking of the tiller". Of course the tiller was an ancient one (circa 1971), but it was yearly torture before the old soil turner finally fired off.

The tilling and planting took the most of a whole day – sometimes broken into several afternoons, but a half and sometimes a whole day was required to get the machinery running. Since it was then 2001 and starting a new century, it only stood to reason it should be started with a new garden tiller.

Several considerations were pondered in this purchase - not the least of which was the cost - but the product was finally procured. Back home, it was de-boxed, put together, oil and gas added and the moment of truth had come.

It was a breath holding, heart pounding time - would the new be as crank-less as the old - and before the tension built too much, I pulled the starting rope - and it cranked - ON THE FIRST PULL! ! ! The thought of a swift kick bestowed upon the old tiller entered my mind, but I didn't have the time and would probably have hurt myself in the effort, so I fought off the urge and with great joy commenced to break up the fallow garden soil. mreddie

birds

It was on another day, in another place and during another season and the birds had known for some time now that spring had really sprung and they reacted accordingly, filling the air with many different songs. The variations of their notes seem almost endless, allowing each species to identify their own.

There are even some copycat birds that imitate the calls of others, namely the mockingbird, some time ago I heard one of these try to sound like a hawk and it sounded like a fair representation of that call, but I don't think it struck any fear into any little fowl hearts.

Each melodious language helps them mark their territory, win a mate and keep in contact with them for the whole season. At times they sing for extended periods simply for the joy of being able to do it and praising their Creator in so doing.

I've read about and observed many of the mating rituals and dances of these feathered aviators and have been amazed and amused by them. One of these sightings was just outside a local Huddle House, near the base of a newspaper vending machine.

The two participants were tiny sparrows, the female was a drab brownish color, as were they both, but one had additional dark markings on wings and head that identified it as the male. They seemed oblivious to anything else around them, and though it only took a few seconds, the male's bobbing dance with flared wings seemed to be a fairly good effort. The female was totally unimpressed and promptly flew away, seemingly unaware of all the energy and style shown by her small suitor.

But the now solo male appeared to be less effected by the rejection than I was and flew away to dance again at another time and in another place. mreddie

the van

The date was March of 2001 and for the first time in sixteen years there was not a van parked in the turn around part of my drive way. It was a high top conversion type and wouldn't fit in the garage. We bought it new in 1985 when the girls were still in school and took many fun trips therein.

Memories rush back of trips to Florida, Myrtle Brach, Mississippi and the mountains - and it was one of these mountain trips that I seem to remember best. The occasion was our 25th wedding anniversary trip - a week in a condo in Maggie Valley, without children for possibly the first time since they were born.

With plans and reservations made we were on our way. Our trip and vehicle were going great until reaching the top of a long hill on I-40 just after crossing into N. C. and suddenly I heard a thump-bump bump-thump coming from the engine compartment. The dashboard warning lights came on like a large Christmas decoration and I knew pretty much what had happened before I pulled over and got out.

We were blessed that God had provided a very wide shoulder to pull off on and a quick look under the hood confirmed all my suspicions - one of the engine belts had broken, flipped under the other ones and pulled them off as well. So instead of four belts I had exactly zero – except for the piece of one that was wrapped around everything – and I was parked on the side of the interstate 8 or 10 miles from the nearest exit.

It was starting to look like an un-fun trip - but then some of God's provision started taking place. This took the form of a N. C. state trooper that stopped by about 5 minutes after I pulled over. He took me to a service station (just before they closed) where I purchased the belts and then he brought me back to the van.

I had the necessary tools to replace the belts and in an hour or so we were on our way again, leaving me with a feeling of accomplishment for having done the repairs and a large sense of amazement and gratitude at the way God provided.

What happened to the van? We donated it to the Salvation Army. ec

in the middle

One bad thing about being a middle of the road type person is that it's easy to get run over out there. I've seen some middle of the road type animals, namely the possum, and then usually just the squashed corpse thereof.

This makes me wonder (see how one thing leads to another) what percentage of possums that start across the road actually makes it to the other side. I don't think the kill rate is 100% because I have missed a few of them myself, unless they went back across in front of another car.

Possums fall into the category of animals that are omnivorous to even the eating of animal parts that have long ago reached ambient temperature. My eating habits tend to be somewhat in the direction of omnivorous-ness, but I do draw the line at road kill, at least if I'm aware that it is.

I do have some food allergies though, and if I eat too much of certain foods, I will break out – in fat! The word fat reminds me of pigs and thus the question comes to mind – is hogwash and sheep dip the same thing?

Here's a word for you - inextinguishable - I would use it to describe the joy that comes from God. Even satan can't dampen this joy; much less put it out - unless we allow him to do so. Usually he tries fool us into believing that we are in such dire circumstances that we then loosen our grip on the very joy of the Lord that is our strength. God made joy available to us, but it is our choice as to whether or not we make - and keep - it a part of our lives. mreddie

baloney

No matter how it's spelled on the package, there has never been a "g" in all the baloney sandwiches I have eaten over the years. It almost puts me off my feed (nearly kills my appetite - if that's possible) to think that the very company that makes the stuff has spelled it wrong all this time.

Maybe they eat bologna up north somewhere, and possibly that word is a foreign word that means ground up and jelled miscellaneous meat and animal parts. If that is the case, I certainly wouldn't want to offend any foriegn language group by making disparaging remarks about the name of their product.

But could it just be government regulation that defines this bologna meat product as being made only from certain parts of an animal - like from the horns to the tip of the nose and everything in between. Then if another part of the animal was used, they would have to use another foreign name to describe that.

It just seems to me that since we have consumed such a tonnage of the stuff over the years in this part of the country, that they could at least be allowed to print it's real name on the package.

This reminds me of an old saying, qualified as such by the facts - 1 - it was said (a blog is a statement) and - 2 - said by an old person (me). The statement: If you can't dazzle them with brilliance then baffle them with baloney sandwiches. mreddie

listening

It was on another day, in another place and during another season and I listened. This was a wonderful day of false spring with the temperature going up into the 70's - very odd for Feb. My work area was populated almost totally by trees and was situated between two housing settlements. The air seemed to be nearly filled with the sounds of wild birds that were very encouraged by the warm weather.

My ears could detect the sound of at least four or five different species. They ranged from the tiniest of peeps to the song of larger birds and even the raucous, far off caw of a crow. About a block away the crowing of a two-rooster competition could be heard, each loudly proclaiming that they were the head fowl.

Down in the valley the somewhat forlorn and lonely sound of a train whistle was cast onto the airwaves. The growl of a distant chainsaw presented itself along with the sharp whir of a brush grinder.

The barking of a dog, challenging any that would care to listen, spoke that this was his yard and any trespasser would have to answer to him.

A woodpecker was sound-marking his territory by making a loud rat-a-tat on what seemed to be a sheet of tin.
Then I listened more intently. A still small voice spoke to my spirit and witnessed to me that all these sounds were made for my enjoyment and told me that I was much loved by my heavenly Father. I'm resolved to quiet the noise in my life enough that I can better hear Him and thereby follow more closely. mreddie

ski trip 4

It was a dark and stormy night - actually not so stormy, but it was dark, as most nights are. We were into the second night in our place of resting on the ski trip. I was awakened in the pre-dawn blackness by the faintest of movements of the doorknob.

As I came to full awareness, the movement and accompanying slight noise continued. It was like someone trying to sneak in after being out too late but couldn't find the right key. Since everyone that belonged in our room was already contained therein, I had to assume it was someone that shouldn't be in our room, or even outside our door, unless they were knocking for permission to enter, which they were not.

The exterior door had a small square window at eye level covered with a thick slightly larger cloth. It was cold and my bed was warm, but curiosity finally pulled me from under the covers, across the cold floor to lift the square of cloth to peer out.

What should cast itself into my field of vision but five of my younger brothers in Christ, from my very own church, nearing the completion of a stealthy prank. A nearby security light illuminated the whole scene. The movement of the cloth was spotted almost immediately and three of them fled to my left and the other two melted away to the right.

I went back to bed but had trouble going back to sleep for at least three reasons - first was my profound amazement at the exuberance of youth, next was the fact that my room mate in the other bunk never stirred during the whole experience, and thirdly because my bunk was shaking from laughing so hard. mreddie

ski trip 4

It was a dark and stormy night - actually not so stormy, but it was dark, as most nights are. We were into the second night in our place of resting on the ski trip. I was awakened in the pre-dawn blackness by the faintest of movements of the doorknob.

As I came to full awareness, the movement and accompanying slight noise continued. It was like someone trying to sneak in after being out too late but couldn't find the right key. Since everyone that belonged in our room was already contained therein, I had to assume it was someone that shouldn't be in our room, or even outside our door, unless they were knocking for permission to enter, which they were not.

The exterior door had a small square window at eye level covered with a thick slightly larger cloth. It was cold and my bed was warm, but curiosity finally pulled me from under the covers, across the cold floor to lift the square of cloth to peer out.

What should cast itself into my field of vision but five of my younger brothers in Christ, from my very own church, nearing the completion of a stealthy prank. A nearby security light illuminated the whole scene. The movement of the cloth was spotted almost immediately and three of them fled to my left and the other two melted away to the right.

I went back to bed but had trouble going back to sleep for at least three reasons - first was my profound amazement at the exuberance of youth, next was the fact that my room mate in the other bunk never stirred during the whole experience, and thirdly because my bunk was shaking from laughing so hard. mreddie

ski trip 3

The place we stayed at night on the ski trip was a dormitory type affair and had only a small amount of snow around the edges. The enthusiasm of the group was at such a high level that some of them tried (or said they did) to make asphalt angels and with the failing of that they tried the same procedure on the grass with much the same results.

Next morning I was one of the few that went for breakfast, even though its price was included in the lodging - their futile angel making efforts evidently exhausted the others. It was a good meal and they even had my favorite morning beverage, hot tea.

After dining, four of us hardy early risers and breakers of the fast ventured down to the gym to inspect the facilities. We played a short game of two on two in basketball and my side was thoroughly trounced, even though the final winning score was only four. Of all the skill games that I don't play very will, basketball is probably the worst of the worst.

My coordination demands that I keep one eye on the ball in order to dribble, that leaves only one eye to watch where I'm going and none left with which to shoot, which accounts for my making exactly zero goals. The game does serve to keep me humble - as if I needed any help for that - but leaves out the possibility of the chewing of gum while playing, because then my coordination circuits would probably blow out and I might break or hurt some part of myself much more important than my pride. mreddie

ski trip 2

Continuing from another day, place and season. Even though crows are not a very beautiful bird, they have a freedom we do not have - the freedom of flight. Soaring on the winds and currents of air in a seemingly effortless passage from one place to another. I somewhat envy them in their journeys through air, but do they look down on us with envy and wish they could participate in our many adventures?

Do the crows wish that they could drive vehicles or ski the slopes to their little heart's content? Or maybe to snow board (or crow board) - one can almost see them now, zipping down the trails cawing with delight - or - coyly calling out in their delirious dark feathered enthrallment.

Being the wildlife and animal watcher and appreciator that I am, I was particularly interested in trying to catch a glimpse of a form of wildlife that I had heard and read about just a little and that inhabited ski slopes. This animal was the ski bunny and although I walked around to view several slopes and observed quite a bit of the activity on said slopes, I have yet to catch sight of this elusive creature.

Other wildlife and their antics throughout the area were quite entertaining - these were the human animals that so crowded that domain. I suppose all the human activity frightened the ski bunnies away. ec

ski trip 1

On another day, in another place and during another season, I was with the singles on a ski trip to NC - I'm neither single nor do I ski, but went as a driver/chaperone. I was having some quiet time in the van after dropping off the participants of that cold sport at the snow-covered slopes. It was a great time of reflection as well as soaking up the awesome scenery of the surrounding mountains.

In visual evidence at the edges of the parking lot was a flock of crows that seemed to be surviving on tidbits of food that were dropped or thrown down by careless humans. They walked around in the parking lot’s patches of dirty snow in constant hopes of discovering another scrap of discarded sustenance.

When someone walked by they all flew to a nearby tree to await the all clear. They seemed to have some form of pecking order as to which of them got the highest limb as a vantage point and were not tolerant of one that might try to take their perch. A little like some folks in some churches when others sit where they normally do.

All this was going on within sight of millions of dollars worth of real estate and houses that dotted the sides of the steep slopes of the nearby range. With thousands being spent every day by those skiing and snow boarding, with all the apparatus and expenses contained therein, yet the crows only wanted the leftovers.

Kind of reminds me of Christians that say they want God's very best but settle for leftovers from around the edges. mreddie

first-last day

Besides today being the first day of the rest of my life, it’s also the first day of the rest of everybody’s life and somehow that doesn’t seem quite fair since everybody can’t be first. Some people are so competitive that if they realized that it was the first day of everybody’s life, then they would just get up earlier to see if they could be more first in their day than anyone else.

This brings up the point of when during the day does that first day of the rest of one’s life start – at what time of the day? Because if one goes to bed after midnight, this first day of the rest of their life might span the period of portions of two days. Then does this aforementioned day just coincide with daylight hours or is it a 24 hour period?

My thinking would lean toward the 24 hour period, otherwise many folks would try to abuse this and squeeze more time out of the day by setting up large lights to illumine the area and somewhat fool time a bit. The first day thing could even be considered waking and sleeping hours but some might even be tempted to actually put someone to sleep and take part of their waking hours for their own uses and these uses may not the ways that the sleeping one would have used them. Also would these stolen waking hours continue to age the one stolen from or the one stealing them?

The 24 hour periods would definitely be the only fair way to count the days of the rest of our lives. But I still don’t really know the time of day that day would start, and don’t even know a way to find out – that is unless you start with the hour your birth certificate says you were born. Then what if yesterday was the first day of the rest of my life and everybody else started today?

Of course it could be that today is the last day of many folks life and all this conjecture about the first day of everybody’s life is a somewhat moot point since it won’t matter to them anyway – at least not after today. That would be the only way to determine with accuracy the beginning hour of the days of our lives, count backward 24 hours from the time someone ceases to live – though by that time it’s not a lot of help.

Hopefully those among us that are going to have their last day today have thought to make things right by asking God for their wrongdoings to be forgiven, because today would be their last day of being able to choose their destination after life.

If they ended their last day of life on this earth in this forgiven condition, it would be the first moment of their life in eternity with God, days as we know them wouldn’t even be counted anymore – wow, what a concept! mreddie

cawful

On another day, in another place and during another season from the not too distant past, while preparing to return home from Tennessee after visiting Michele, Robbie and their crew, I heard a cacophony of sound produced by a large flock of crows nearby.

The noisy gang was in flight, circling and swooping toward what I finally perceived to be a rather large hawk. The hawk was soaring along with only an occasional slight altering of course as though he was paying little attention to the black-feathered racket.

The hawk landed in a tall tree and the crows left it for another clamoring endeavor out of sight behind another building roof. I walked to get another vantage point and into view came a situation much like the first - a very noisy treatment of another hawk, possibly the mate of the first one.

The first hawk then flew to join the second in it's flight and as they sailed out of sight, the crows continued their ear grating sounds - even though it was at a somewhat respectful distance. In reality, the crows - a very communal bird - had banded together to drive away the hawks or at the very least, to annoy them as much as possible.

But I couldn't help but think how much like satan's forces the black emissaries of cawdom were as they try to disturb or alter our flight with Christ. Like the crows feared the stronger bird, the demons are held in check by our all-powerful God - and I'm thankful. mreddie

The goats of Acryl

The label in the sweater said 100% Acrylic - Made in Hong Kong. Given the fact that wonderful sweaters are made from wool, cashmere, mohair and alpaca - and these come from animals - I couldn't help but wonder what kind of animal acrylic came from.

After much research (several minutes) throughout my animal library facilities, copious amounts of deductive reasoning and a few SWAGs, I have narrowed it down a bit, but as yet have not come up with a single mention of this animal anywhere. But the manufacturing location of the sweater leads me to believe that it is from somewhere in the Far East.

The total lack of information tells me this animal is a closely guarded secret, but probably is a very hardy sheep or goat from a high mountain range. The name of the material tells me it must be a small country guarded by inaccessible, altitudinous terrain whose name almost has to be Acryl, because everything from there is Acrylic.

Evidently the acryl animal is a very prolific hair grower because this type material is seen throughout cloth-dom and more specifically, sweater-dom. The people of Acryl have to be a very caring, careful people, for if they sheared too much from the animal, it would freeze in the terrible temperature extremes that I assume their home country must have and the whole Acrylic economy would collapse.

The material has a feel of springy plasticity causing me to farther conclude that the Acryl animal must be a goat and omnivorous to the point of consuming not only grass and other plant material but also the plastic waste of this tiny country, showing us recycling's finest by-product.

The search for and the saga of this animal will continue until all the facts are out. If any of you know anything about this creature or it's country of origin, please let me know. mreddie

thinking

As I gaze out my window surveying my vast (?) estate (.98) acres, I contemplate the meaning of many things. Particularly what does the word contemplate really mean? The hidden meaning seems to be rather ambiguous and appears to mean: always being on time or to be late every time.

I arrived at this conclusion by dismantling the word to get at the real soul of it's meaning - con: meaning to be against - temp: of course this is short for temporary - and late is not being on time.

So if one is against temporary lateness, they would have to be in favor of either permanent punctuality or forever tardiness. But to follow this line of reasoning would leave the door open for being occasionally on time.

As you can see, this word contemplate is really something to think about. Here's another thought: Vernacular homicide is closely related to the vehicular kind except only words are killed.

Speaking of kangaroos - - The male is known as a boomer, the female is a flyer and the young as a Joey (probably short for Joseph). Then maybe my oration wasn't concerning Macropodidae at all, maybe just feeling a little jumpy.

Can anything be sophisticated and silly - or does either one of these exclude the other? mreddie

battle ax

The better part of the afternoon was spent with battle ax in hand(hand held mattock/tiller) and at total war against the grass/weeds that were proliferating around and about my outside AC condenser unit. They were trying their best to overrun the unit and I was determined that they were not.

These natural growths would not be offensive if they were out in the middle of the lawn, but they were trespassing in areas that they knew they shouldn't go. Weapon in hand, I hacked my way through these interlopers, ripping them from the soil. One could hear their little screams as their roots bit the air - of course some floks would have heard nothing, depending on the fertileness of their imaginations.

The condensation drains had to be redone since the pipe had broken, this pipe was replaced and another pipe was placed on both the drains to allow the moisture to flow away from the foundation of the house. I've noticed that the water around here almost always flows downhill.

During this operation, a toad got very irate and stomped (hopped) away from the action. But he kept sneaking back every time my back was turned. Finally he/she got the idea after I forced him/her to go under the shrubs. After the successful operation, I sheathed my trusty battle ax (put it in a bucket) and walked back inside the castle, tired but proud of the completed task. I would be vigilant, lest these sneaky growths invade again.

Later I walked down amonst the blueberries to check up close and personal as to their ripeness. I now stand corrected - even though I'm seated at the moment - some ripe berries were present among the many that were not. I then proceeded to attach a very expensive berry container (a plastic milk jug with part of the top cut off) to my belt loops and in an extremely labor intensive manner picked about a half gallon of these dark blue delights. mreddie

The patch

The berries are late! Usually by this time I have picked at least enough to munch on, fortunately I still have some in the freezer from last year or the big red panic button would have been pushed. Their excuse would be (if they could talk) that the weather has been weird and just not hot enough but despite their excuses, they are still late.

The blueberry patch is planted below my small garden and it has 20 resident plants. Then there is a row of 10 more berry bearers in a row down the driveway - fairly young ones but bearing none the less. Then over the winter I planted 15+ on the bedroom end of the house, using an indeterminate number because I have lost at least two of these.

The new plants come from shoots coming up from around my older plants, so all that is needed is the energy to dig them up and replant them in another location. I wonder at what point I would be considered as having a blueberry forest?

Other chores beckon me with their grimy fingers, so I must be out and about.

mreddie