The youth center is pretty full tonight with teens who are in the middle of their favorite prayer, a tradition started by a member who is now in college called A Rose and a Thorn. They thank God for a blessing in their lives, "a rose," and a present a concern, "a thorn." Tonight the roses are plentiful, and the thorns are dull, and that's a good thing, in a way. "Um, My rose is being here, and my thorn is... that I have school tomorrow," says a girl in a lacrosse sweatshirt.
Then we are suddenly interrupted by a thorn. A disheveled man stumbles into the room. How he got in the building is unclear, but here he is, a living lesson of the true meaning of Christmas: "Love one another."
"Excuse me, I am looking for a certain street, I have no place to sleep and I am very cold."
He is shivering, and he reeks like pot, so I take him into the hallway and sketch out a map that will lead him to that certain block where there is a shelter. All I have to offer him is a box of crackers. He asks for a Bible. I ask his name.
"Dave."He says. "Thank you for asking." His eyes are glassy and I feel bad that he has absolutely no one in this world who cares for him. High or not, a person is a person. It's warm inside and he says he just wants to sit for a while in the hall, but I say no. I have to think of the safety of the teens in the next room, so I send him on his way. As I open the door the frigid air blasts in, and he blesses me leaving with a Bible and a box of Saltines tucked in his coat, but no gloves. I lock the door behind him and think of the stray cat I stumbled upon last week, dead and frozen solid in the bushes beside this entrance.
I watch Dave walk towards the road, knowing he'll haunt me indefinitely. I come back into the youth center visibly disturbed.
"Aw! Do you need a hug?" asks a thoughtful youth.
"No, Dave needs gloves, and I couldn't really help him." I respond, and they all stare at me for a moment, understanding. No living being should be cold, hungry and alone.
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Monday, December 08, 2008
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Loren Practices the Art of "Shut Up and Listen"
I'm fascinated by people who practice meditation. The idea of clearing one's mind is hard for my current mommy brain to comprehend. Even when I get a quiet moment, the voices in my head, (you know readers, the normal ones) are so loud and distracting. Some people say meditation gives one an opportunity to "hear" God speaking. Interesting. So I try it a few times... Nothing. I continue to go about the business of my small life, but the difference is now I'm trying to listen.... Still nothing.
I went away for a weekend with a group of my girlfriends because I needed a break. We did all the things little girls do except we're not little. We played ridiculous board games, ate chocolate fondue, went out to a karaoke bar, (okay, little girls don't do that), and spent one day at a spa.
At the spa I had an opportunity to get a massage, something I had never done before. There were two masseuses. One was a grinning old man with twisty fingers. The other was a female college student; it was her first day on the job. Readers, I think you know me well enough to guess who I went with. That's right. No thanks, old man.
In a soothing, quiet room I'm making small talk with my masseuse. She asks me what I do for a living. I tell her I work part-time as a youth director. She's intrigued. "What's that like?" I tell her that it can be really fun, but since teens deal with a lot of serious issues, it is also tricky sometimes. The conversation meanders along. The next thing I know, we're talking about suicide. I'm rambling on. "I've known kids who contemplated it, and it's scary, because you know they look up to you. What you do, or don't do, can make a difference in their lives." I stop there. She is suddenly quiet. On one hand, I think I should change the subject, but I have this other thought that I should continue. "The one thing you have understand is that suicide is a decision a person makes under a lot of stress. Ultimately, the decision is made alone, and it is never the fault of others." The masseuse asks, "What do you think happens to people who kill themselves?" I pause. I feel like I'm at work, and should be careful wording my response. "You want to know what my personal opinion is about it?" She nods. "Well, I think God's capacity to forgive is beyond human understanding. I think those who choose suicide want the people they love to know they are okay."
I sit up, my massage is over. Wow, that was uplifting! My masseuse has glassy eyes; she's fighting back tears. I feel dumb, and upset that she is crying. "Are you okay?" I ask, awkwardly. All choked up, she says, "You look exactly like this girl I know. She's my best friend. I got mad at her and we stopped speaking. Last week she committed suicide."
That was probably the creepiest moment of my life, not counting the time a "psychic" neighbor put items that would "cleanse my house of spirits" on my doorstep. I was at a loss for words, but I felt really moved. Later, the more I thought about the conversation, the more I recognized it as God at work in my life. I listened to the urge to keep talking about an uncomfortable subject, and unknowingly brought some peace to a complete stranger.
What I learned from that chance meeting was that God is speaking to me all the time, actually. The thoughts that I choose to follow determine if I will answer the calls. It's really a fascinating subject. I've discovered that sometimes the thoughts that seem to come from the gut, are from God. The questions is: Will I shut up and listen?
I have a really great friend whom I love a lot. She and I bonded when we had our first born children. She is a very private person, and also, as close to a real-life super heroine as one can get. My husband loves the television show "Heroes," because ordinary people have extraordinary powers. That's my friend. I didn't know she had a super power until I watched her face a great test.
When I was pregnant with my third child, (baby Bigfoot), she was expecting twins. We were due one month apart. One night I was sitting on the floor playing with the princess, when I suddenly felt damp. I looked down and saw a puddle of blood. In shock,(because I was 13 weeks pregnant), I wiped up the mess with my sweatshirt and locked myself in the closet with my cell phone. I was so afraid that I was miscarrying that I started shaking. I had to go to the doctor right away, so I was trying to change my clothes while still bleeding, heavily. I felt real panic, and sadness. I got all tangled up in my stretchy pants. Then I had this thought; it came out of nowhere. It was, "Knock it off; he's okay! Put your pants on." So I did. Then I wondered, am I having a boy? I decided that if I were, then that thought was not my own. I didn't find out for a few weeks that baby Bigfoot was a boy.
That night I called my friend to tell her what happened, and she was worried about me. The doctors weren't sure why I bled, but the baby was still there. I was so afraid of losing him.
The next week my friend suddenly lost one of the twins, and the other was in great danger. Doctors determined that the living baby would not survive after birth, and pressured her to terminate the pregnancy.
I will never really understand her pain through this experience, but I can tell you how I felt. It was like she and I were in a combat situation, and the bullet that grazed me hit her, right in the heart. I felt guilt, horror, and devastation. I woke up in the middle of the night crying about it.
That's when I saw her super power: a mixture of courage and faith. She struggled with the pregnancy, trying to save it despite the odds, the advice of doctors, her own fears and physical discomfort. I kept my mouth shut, because the last thing someone facing such a trial needs to hear is a pro-life lecture. How could I? I told her I loved her and respected her no matter what, and that is the truth. She endured the pregnancy, and I can't imagine how agonizing it was, to know your child in the womb as only a mother does, and know that child will not live. She listened to her heart and followed it through.
During that time, we went to a baby shower for another mutual friend. Women there were asking my friend the usual questions: due date, any names, etc. She handled their questions with great poise and grace. She never let on that she had complications. That was the day I proclaimed her my new hero.
One night her husband called. They had a baby girl, Molly. She lived an hour, but was born perfectly beautiful. I got my big belly into the car and drove directly to the hospital, teary-eyed. I sat in the lobby and called his cell. He came down in the elevator and sat next to me. I thought I was going to burst into tears. He talked about how strong my friend was through the birth, and how beautiful the baby was. I sat and listened. Then we hugged, and I left. There was not much to say, but nothing had to be said.
A month later baby Bigfoot was born. The next morning my friend came up to visit me. It was the first time she had been back to that hospital since the birth of her little girl in heaven, (and Molly's twin). I was so moved to see her. It was such a beautiful gift of love that she faced that pain to see me. I'll never forget that she did that.
I don't know why that precious baby girl only lived an hour. I guess she wanted to see if there were any real angels on Earth. That's what her parents are: selfless, wonderful human beings. My friend's super power is the Grace of God, and I hope someday, I can be half the person she is. (S & M, I love you!)
I went away for a weekend with a group of my girlfriends because I needed a break. We did all the things little girls do except we're not little. We played ridiculous board games, ate chocolate fondue, went out to a karaoke bar, (okay, little girls don't do that), and spent one day at a spa.
At the spa I had an opportunity to get a massage, something I had never done before. There were two masseuses. One was a grinning old man with twisty fingers. The other was a female college student; it was her first day on the job. Readers, I think you know me well enough to guess who I went with. That's right. No thanks, old man.
In a soothing, quiet room I'm making small talk with my masseuse. She asks me what I do for a living. I tell her I work part-time as a youth director. She's intrigued. "What's that like?" I tell her that it can be really fun, but since teens deal with a lot of serious issues, it is also tricky sometimes. The conversation meanders along. The next thing I know, we're talking about suicide. I'm rambling on. "I've known kids who contemplated it, and it's scary, because you know they look up to you. What you do, or don't do, can make a difference in their lives." I stop there. She is suddenly quiet. On one hand, I think I should change the subject, but I have this other thought that I should continue. "The one thing you have understand is that suicide is a decision a person makes under a lot of stress. Ultimately, the decision is made alone, and it is never the fault of others." The masseuse asks, "What do you think happens to people who kill themselves?" I pause. I feel like I'm at work, and should be careful wording my response. "You want to know what my personal opinion is about it?" She nods. "Well, I think God's capacity to forgive is beyond human understanding. I think those who choose suicide want the people they love to know they are okay."
I sit up, my massage is over. Wow, that was uplifting! My masseuse has glassy eyes; she's fighting back tears. I feel dumb, and upset that she is crying. "Are you okay?" I ask, awkwardly. All choked up, she says, "You look exactly like this girl I know. She's my best friend. I got mad at her and we stopped speaking. Last week she committed suicide."
That was probably the creepiest moment of my life, not counting the time a "psychic" neighbor put items that would "cleanse my house of spirits" on my doorstep. I was at a loss for words, but I felt really moved. Later, the more I thought about the conversation, the more I recognized it as God at work in my life. I listened to the urge to keep talking about an uncomfortable subject, and unknowingly brought some peace to a complete stranger.
What I learned from that chance meeting was that God is speaking to me all the time, actually. The thoughts that I choose to follow determine if I will answer the calls. It's really a fascinating subject. I've discovered that sometimes the thoughts that seem to come from the gut, are from God. The questions is: Will I shut up and listen?
I have a really great friend whom I love a lot. She and I bonded when we had our first born children. She is a very private person, and also, as close to a real-life super heroine as one can get. My husband loves the television show "Heroes," because ordinary people have extraordinary powers. That's my friend. I didn't know she had a super power until I watched her face a great test.
When I was pregnant with my third child, (baby Bigfoot), she was expecting twins. We were due one month apart. One night I was sitting on the floor playing with the princess, when I suddenly felt damp. I looked down and saw a puddle of blood. In shock,(because I was 13 weeks pregnant), I wiped up the mess with my sweatshirt and locked myself in the closet with my cell phone. I was so afraid that I was miscarrying that I started shaking. I had to go to the doctor right away, so I was trying to change my clothes while still bleeding, heavily. I felt real panic, and sadness. I got all tangled up in my stretchy pants. Then I had this thought; it came out of nowhere. It was, "Knock it off; he's okay! Put your pants on." So I did. Then I wondered, am I having a boy? I decided that if I were, then that thought was not my own. I didn't find out for a few weeks that baby Bigfoot was a boy.
That night I called my friend to tell her what happened, and she was worried about me. The doctors weren't sure why I bled, but the baby was still there. I was so afraid of losing him.
The next week my friend suddenly lost one of the twins, and the other was in great danger. Doctors determined that the living baby would not survive after birth, and pressured her to terminate the pregnancy.
I will never really understand her pain through this experience, but I can tell you how I felt. It was like she and I were in a combat situation, and the bullet that grazed me hit her, right in the heart. I felt guilt, horror, and devastation. I woke up in the middle of the night crying about it.
That's when I saw her super power: a mixture of courage and faith. She struggled with the pregnancy, trying to save it despite the odds, the advice of doctors, her own fears and physical discomfort. I kept my mouth shut, because the last thing someone facing such a trial needs to hear is a pro-life lecture. How could I? I told her I loved her and respected her no matter what, and that is the truth. She endured the pregnancy, and I can't imagine how agonizing it was, to know your child in the womb as only a mother does, and know that child will not live. She listened to her heart and followed it through.
During that time, we went to a baby shower for another mutual friend. Women there were asking my friend the usual questions: due date, any names, etc. She handled their questions with great poise and grace. She never let on that she had complications. That was the day I proclaimed her my new hero.
One night her husband called. They had a baby girl, Molly. She lived an hour, but was born perfectly beautiful. I got my big belly into the car and drove directly to the hospital, teary-eyed. I sat in the lobby and called his cell. He came down in the elevator and sat next to me. I thought I was going to burst into tears. He talked about how strong my friend was through the birth, and how beautiful the baby was. I sat and listened. Then we hugged, and I left. There was not much to say, but nothing had to be said.
A month later baby Bigfoot was born. The next morning my friend came up to visit me. It was the first time she had been back to that hospital since the birth of her little girl in heaven, (and Molly's twin). I was so moved to see her. It was such a beautiful gift of love that she faced that pain to see me. I'll never forget that she did that.
I don't know why that precious baby girl only lived an hour. I guess she wanted to see if there were any real angels on Earth. That's what her parents are: selfless, wonderful human beings. My friend's super power is the Grace of God, and I hope someday, I can be half the person she is. (S & M, I love you!)
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Will You Pick UP! It's God.
One of my blogger friends, Elizabeth, is exploring the topic of major and minor life callings. This is a fascinating idea, and I am intrigued. Some people think that life is random, but I'm not part of that group. I think that there is something to be learned from every event, encounter, relationship, and I've been working on adopting an attitude of gratitude. When I was in high school there was a poster that displayed this saying, and I stared at it blankly every day of my life for a whole year. I didn't get it. After about 17 years, I guess the light bulb finally flicked on. One can consider this a little miracle without offending me, because I agree.
Have I felt called in small and larger ways? Definitely. My first calling was to motherhood. Ask my mom. I had all my baby dolls lined up in my room. I fed my stuffed animals real oatmeal. I was a very nurturing little girl. From as far back as I can remember, I have wanted to be a mother.
When I was in fifth grade I scored the highest in my grade on a creative writing test. My teacher took me outside in the hall. I thought I was in trouble, because he was all red in the face. Actually, he was beaming. "Why didn't you tell me that you could write like that?" He asked. I just shrugged. That was the day I learned I had a talent. From that point on English was my favorite subject.
I always knew I wanted to pursue marriage as a vocation, but I was actually very selective, (don't laugh, Milk Man). I had really high standards, because when I finally did marry, I wanted it to be a relationship that could grow and last. What is "love at first sight?" I don't know exactly, but I do believe in extreme like at first sight. I believe in I-want-to-be-with-this-person-all-the-time at first sight, and wow, this-person-actually-challenges-my-intellect at first sight. That's what I had with Milk Man, (brownie points). One can experience all that several times, but how do you discern that you are called to marry a specific person? I wasn't sure, so I secretly prayed about it..., a lot. Then God hit me over the head with a brick.
I was at Happy Hour with Milk Man at this dockside restaurant called Captain Bill's eating my favorite appetizer, steamed mussels, when I looked up. Outside the window was this party boat called "The Lauren Kristy." Because I had been praying about Milk Man, that was solid confirmation for me.
Since then I've recognized other ways that I feel I'm being called in one direction or another. It has been through opportunities to be present in times of need for friends, family members, or even random strangers. I 've found that when I am able to take these opportunities, I feel a sense that God is at work in my life.
When I was still working after my first child was born, I felt called to leave my job to be home with him. I wasn't sure it would be possible, financially. Plus, I still wanted to help teens in some way. This feeling led me into the field of Youth Ministry, where I currently work. I truly believe that God helped me through that decision to give up my profession for a while. In subtle ways, my children reaffirm this decision for me almost daily.
Sometimes, when God calls, I don't feel like picking up the phone. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to do or say things that don't make sense at the moment, and I might never find out if the action was worthwhile. I think that is God calling me again.
Once, when I was working as a teacher I had a conflict with a senior in one of my classes. She was researching the topic of abortion, and wanted to include some really gory pictures in her class presentation. I told her no, and she did it anyway. I gave her a poor grade. Although the research was good, she did not respect my wishes. She complained to the principal that I let my own opinion about the topic cloud my judgement on her grade. She was angry at me and lashing out for some reason. I really just didn't want her to show the pictures to the class because parents would complain. It was not necessary.
As one can imagine, I was angry at this student for attacking my livelihood. I thought she was being spiteful over a grade. I stuck to my guns. One of her friends approached me in private and told me that this particular student had had an abortion, and was angry at me because she knew I was pro life. "She looks up to you. So when she asked your personal opinion on the topic, she took your honest response as an attack on what she had done." The friend explained. Oh. Well, of course I realized she was hurt and confused by her loss, but I was still mad as heck at how she had lied to my boss about me. I decided that night that I would never make eye contact with this student again. In fact, that was the last thought I had before I fell asleep.
That night I dreamt about a man I had observed on a retreat I chaperoned once. He was a potter. He made an analogy between clay and your life. "You can rebuild yourself at any time." I remember being very moved, but woke up that morning not knowing why I had dreamt about someone I had met briefly several years earlier.
I taught in the same classroom most of the day, and I can tell you with certainty that there was no clay on the floor until the class before I had to encounter this student. The period before I had to leave that room, when the desks were moved into a circle, there it was. A fresh ball of grey clay was suddenly in the center of the classroom floor. The kids must have thought I was crazier than usual that day, because I was shocked to see it there. No one knew about my dream except me and God. I knew I was supposed to pick it up and put it in my pocket, so I did.
Walking down the hall to the computer lab to meet the next class, I must have looked nuts. I know I was talking to myself, in an actual argument with God. "I can't believe you want me to talk to this girl. I don't want to talk to this girl!" I complained.
When I arrived I called her outside. She came out all cocky, ready to take me on. I took the clay out of my pocket and thought, "Alright, if I have to speak to her, YOU give me some words." I was thinking AT God. The girl was staring, assuming I was going to get angry at her.
"I bet when your boyfriend dumped you last year you felt like this," I took the clay and smashed it against the locker. As we stared for a moment at each other, her eyes got glassy. Then something changed. She started to laugh, and cry. I even got choked up. We hugged. "Your friend told me. I know you're in a lot of pain. You can start over again. You can be anything you want. It's still all good. " I gave her the clay.
It was an amazing moment. After that I had a connection with that student. Other than the event of the birth of my own children, I have never felt God's presence so keenly than at that moment. I felt sure that being pro-life was a good thing, and I wasn't afraid to take a stand for it. I saw the pain and agony that abortion inflicts on women. Also, I felt an urge again to reach out to teens in some other way. So, that was another brick. I'm glad I picked up the phone that time.
True, it's only because of the perspective I choose to take that I view these events as callings. It's a hopeful perspective that makes for a richer life. I constantly feel confirmed in ways that are difficult to put into words. Readers, tell me about your callings...comment.
Have I felt called in small and larger ways? Definitely. My first calling was to motherhood. Ask my mom. I had all my baby dolls lined up in my room. I fed my stuffed animals real oatmeal. I was a very nurturing little girl. From as far back as I can remember, I have wanted to be a mother.
When I was in fifth grade I scored the highest in my grade on a creative writing test. My teacher took me outside in the hall. I thought I was in trouble, because he was all red in the face. Actually, he was beaming. "Why didn't you tell me that you could write like that?" He asked. I just shrugged. That was the day I learned I had a talent. From that point on English was my favorite subject.
I always knew I wanted to pursue marriage as a vocation, but I was actually very selective, (don't laugh, Milk Man). I had really high standards, because when I finally did marry, I wanted it to be a relationship that could grow and last. What is "love at first sight?" I don't know exactly, but I do believe in extreme like at first sight. I believe in I-want-to-be-with-this-person-all-the-time at first sight, and wow, this-person-actually-challenges-my-intellect at first sight. That's what I had with Milk Man, (brownie points). One can experience all that several times, but how do you discern that you are called to marry a specific person? I wasn't sure, so I secretly prayed about it..., a lot. Then God hit me over the head with a brick.
I was at Happy Hour with Milk Man at this dockside restaurant called Captain Bill's eating my favorite appetizer, steamed mussels, when I looked up. Outside the window was this party boat called "The Lauren Kristy." Because I had been praying about Milk Man, that was solid confirmation for me.
Since then I've recognized other ways that I feel I'm being called in one direction or another. It has been through opportunities to be present in times of need for friends, family members, or even random strangers. I 've found that when I am able to take these opportunities, I feel a sense that God is at work in my life.
When I was still working after my first child was born, I felt called to leave my job to be home with him. I wasn't sure it would be possible, financially. Plus, I still wanted to help teens in some way. This feeling led me into the field of Youth Ministry, where I currently work. I truly believe that God helped me through that decision to give up my profession for a while. In subtle ways, my children reaffirm this decision for me almost daily.
Sometimes, when God calls, I don't feel like picking up the phone. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to do or say things that don't make sense at the moment, and I might never find out if the action was worthwhile. I think that is God calling me again.
Once, when I was working as a teacher I had a conflict with a senior in one of my classes. She was researching the topic of abortion, and wanted to include some really gory pictures in her class presentation. I told her no, and she did it anyway. I gave her a poor grade. Although the research was good, she did not respect my wishes. She complained to the principal that I let my own opinion about the topic cloud my judgement on her grade. She was angry at me and lashing out for some reason. I really just didn't want her to show the pictures to the class because parents would complain. It was not necessary.
As one can imagine, I was angry at this student for attacking my livelihood. I thought she was being spiteful over a grade. I stuck to my guns. One of her friends approached me in private and told me that this particular student had had an abortion, and was angry at me because she knew I was pro life. "She looks up to you. So when she asked your personal opinion on the topic, she took your honest response as an attack on what she had done." The friend explained. Oh. Well, of course I realized she was hurt and confused by her loss, but I was still mad as heck at how she had lied to my boss about me. I decided that night that I would never make eye contact with this student again. In fact, that was the last thought I had before I fell asleep.
That night I dreamt about a man I had observed on a retreat I chaperoned once. He was a potter. He made an analogy between clay and your life. "You can rebuild yourself at any time." I remember being very moved, but woke up that morning not knowing why I had dreamt about someone I had met briefly several years earlier.
I taught in the same classroom most of the day, and I can tell you with certainty that there was no clay on the floor until the class before I had to encounter this student. The period before I had to leave that room, when the desks were moved into a circle, there it was. A fresh ball of grey clay was suddenly in the center of the classroom floor. The kids must have thought I was crazier than usual that day, because I was shocked to see it there. No one knew about my dream except me and God. I knew I was supposed to pick it up and put it in my pocket, so I did.
Walking down the hall to the computer lab to meet the next class, I must have looked nuts. I know I was talking to myself, in an actual argument with God. "I can't believe you want me to talk to this girl. I don't want to talk to this girl!" I complained.
When I arrived I called her outside. She came out all cocky, ready to take me on. I took the clay out of my pocket and thought, "Alright, if I have to speak to her, YOU give me some words." I was thinking AT God. The girl was staring, assuming I was going to get angry at her.
"I bet when your boyfriend dumped you last year you felt like this," I took the clay and smashed it against the locker. As we stared for a moment at each other, her eyes got glassy. Then something changed. She started to laugh, and cry. I even got choked up. We hugged. "Your friend told me. I know you're in a lot of pain. You can start over again. You can be anything you want. It's still all good. " I gave her the clay.
It was an amazing moment. After that I had a connection with that student. Other than the event of the birth of my own children, I have never felt God's presence so keenly than at that moment. I felt sure that being pro-life was a good thing, and I wasn't afraid to take a stand for it. I saw the pain and agony that abortion inflicts on women. Also, I felt an urge again to reach out to teens in some other way. So, that was another brick. I'm glad I picked up the phone that time.
True, it's only because of the perspective I choose to take that I view these events as callings. It's a hopeful perspective that makes for a richer life. I constantly feel confirmed in ways that are difficult to put into words. Readers, tell me about your callings...comment.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
On a Serious Note
I strongly believe in the power of prayer and fasting, especially when people join together with a single intention. Until the Presidential Election, a group of my Catholic friends and I have decided to say the Divine Mercy Chaplet daily at 3 p.m. at home, or where ever we find ourselves. In addition, we are fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays, (two small meals, one regular meal, no snacks between meals). We're doing this to ask God's help in spreading an attitude change in regard to the sanctity of human life. Abortion is not just an ISSUE, it is a moral injustice that needs immediate attention.
Like many religions, the Catholic faith is rooted in sacrifice. Although the idea of sacrifice has a negative connotation in society, it is a necessary component for growth in life. Sacrifice is actually an act of love that yields grace. You can read more about our fast at Elizabeth Kathryn Gerold-Miller's blog. Readers of ALL faiths, I truly hope you decide to join us in any way you are able. Send me a comment if you can join our effort. Thanks! -Loren
Saturday, August 09, 2008
News FLASH! Animals Flock to Christie Yard Possibly Searching for an Ark
Did you really think I'd give up on bird watching that easily? After my little dinner joke, which prompts screams of horror from Big Brother, and the scolding: "Mommy, Don't be RI-DICK-OO-LUS!" from the princess, I decide not to teach Milk Man a lesson. I cook something other than birdseed for dinner, choosing a recipe from my treasured Campbell's Soup cookbook. Later that evening, I refill the feeders. 
(A FEW DAYS LATER...)
(A FEW DAYS LATER...)
Sometimes, in order to to feel more calm and centered, I sit at the kitchen table and say a Rosary. Today, the princess joins me. She has her own colorful wooden beads that were a gift from grandmama M. During the prayer I get up to pull baby brother out from a tangle of curtains. There in the window perched on one of my new feeders is a beautiful male finch. He's looking directly at me, chirping loudly. Meanwhile, I hear thunder, and strangely, the sun is shining.
I inch closer to the window and peer out. Down on the grass below the feeder is a big frog. I grab my camera and try to get a picture. Then I go outside to safely relocate the frog
before Hell Hound finds it. I hold him carefully and bring him to the back of the yard near the old cemetery. He jumps safely through the chain link fence. Walking back to the house, I spot a large Monarch butterfly. In the clouds ahead, I see breaks of sun light and lightening at the same time. Milk Man calls me from work with a weather report. "What's the weather like by you? It's raining buckets here. I bet you're going to get this storm soon."
before Hell Hound finds it. I hold him carefully and bring him to the back of the yard near the old cemetery. He jumps safely through the chain link fence. Walking back to the house, I spot a large Monarch butterfly. In the clouds ahead, I see breaks of sun light and lightening at the same time. Milk Man calls me from work with a weather report. "What's the weather like by you? It's raining buckets here. I bet you're going to get this storm soon."Now, if I see a swarm of locusts and possibly, a giraffe, then I'll know for sure that God is trying to tell me something.
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Be Our Guest!
Come tour the John Scudder Havens Historic Homestead at 15 Main Street, Center Moriches, NY. Click on the picture for more infomation.