Prayer For My Child

How hard it is to say goodnight, and wonder if you'll sleep too tight, for if you didn't wake tomorrow, it would be my greatest sorrow. I've loved you deeply right from the start, and if there were a window to my heart, you'd find all the love you've given me, your life it means so much to me. So we'll take each day as it comes, and say our prayers, when the day is done, whatever life brings we'll see it through, as often wishes do come true. A gift you are from the one above, you've given my life meaning, and filled it with love, So precious God above who sent you to me, might I ask that you set her free, for one more day.

The Whisper Of God

I sense a need to travel to Loggerhead and sit alone with only my book to read of post civil war-time folktales. I sit here on a bench, a donation of two strangers, their names engraved on it. I watch what seems to be an angry ocean with a strong wind, forcing the waves to crash the shoreline. I find it strange at noon the beach so desolate except for a few sandpipers running about on what is left of the sand. I see the beach being washed away, with every wave the shoreline eroding but even in its midst, pelicans fly by me, never alone a group of five, then two. The sight leaves me in awe A flock of pigeons, ten in all land in unison, in V formation. Passersby greet me, and I them. They all come in single file. The last one came on a three wheel bike with his cane in tow and a camera. We talk and he tells me of his sorrows and how an accident left him many years ago unable to walk as he wished he could a brain injury, no fault of his own, and how the days are long except for the taking of pictures of birds sometimes from the pier. I hear in his voice helplessness, like the beach might feel at the loss of its sand. I listen and offer a word of hope. It is at this moment I hear the whisper of God, and a mourning dove comes to rest on a vine nearby. A Bible verse comes to mind of a healing at a pool. I share of God's love for all, and in this moment all nature is silent, the waves have now hushed. The young man gathers himself up to leave, but this time he smiles as he struggles to reach his bike. I see the waves crash the shoreline and the birds begin to fly, but mostly a sense of calm, not there before. I bow my head to pray my soul is at peace once again.

911 Story

On September 11th my day began as usual, up around 6:15 am to see my daughter off to school and then to sit down with my Bible and a cup of coffee. As I lingered over my reading in Psalms I couldn’t seem to shake a “profound sense of sadness” and began to weep. I decided to pause and call a friend in Maine, we help each other, both divorced single moms with one daughter. I placed a call at 655 am to her work place and we chatted. I then decided to go for my morning jog. As I went outside to my patio I noticed two Chicago peace roses were perfect to be cut, they weren’t ready the day before. This bush was put in the ground many years ago, so it’s a rare sight to get beautiful roses still and they were side-by-side and identical. I walked outside to start my jog and looked up and saw a beautiful rainbow. I remember thinking to myself by not coming out when I did I might have missed this! As I was jogging I ran by my neighbor who also grows roses and I told him about my two that were beautiful. Upon returning home, as I was walking up my sidewalk I almost couldn’t believe it; in my butterfly garden I saw three unique species of butterflies, a rare sight. Once in awhile I might see one but this is what I’d hoped for someday. They were so pretty and I watched them for a few moments thinking, my patience had paid off, they’d found my garden! As I went inside the patio I decided to cut the roses before they opened anymore and then I noticed my very first flower on my bleeding heart vine. I was once again amazed at all the blessings of they day! A bleeding heart flower is white and has two red flowers in the center of the white. So I thought I would let my friend know with a quick call back that I was feeling better now. That call was placed at 8:33 am. It was through a phone call I learned of the tragic events of the day and had to turn on the television to see what I, like many others couldn’t believe. It wasn’t until days later I learned that my parents always flew Flight #11 American Airlines from Boston to Los Angeles every September to see his sister who lives in Palm Springs. He had said it was too expensive to go this year. Also, in 1982 I had dined in the World Trade Center at “Windows of the World.” Before the attack I had told my minister I was sad with the way the world was going. I’m happy that we’ve drawn together. To me the good far outweighs the bad, not to minimize everyone’s losses. My sister’s death in 1983 affected me in a profound way and I truly believe I became a better person because of it. I’d like to close in saying this, in a symbolic way as when they rolled the stone and Jesus was not there, I’d like to think in the same way that the people that haven’t been found in the World Trade Center have risen and become angels. It’s a nice thought, isn’t it? If anything I’ve said can help someone in their grief, I’d be honored by that, but more importantly give God the glory. God bless you. Note: my rose bush died after the last two rose bloomed

The Magnolia Flower

Once upon a time there was a magnolia tree, and it grew the most beautiful flowers of its time. There was one flower in particular who not only had the most beautiful fragrance; it carried within it, the seed of love. It worked very hard at being the prettiest flower on the tree, in hopes that someone would come and pick it for their very own. The flower could not speak what its heart held dear, but only wish for it. Every year, it would take in just the right amount of living water, and sunshine from the magnolia tree, seeing to it that its fragrance would be the best of all the flowers. And oh how that flower longed to be chosen. Year after year, the flower waited, until one day, it could not take it any longer, and so it wilted, and the seeds fell out of the flower like tears, and it died, because no one came to pick it.

Love

People use the word love so loosely; with me it has a greater meaning. For me to love is to feel deeply for another. I don't take it lightly. When I open my heart and really love someone and show them with deep affection, I get hurt if I see it being treated casually. To me when two people really love each other it should be like taking care of a precious flower like a rose with just the right amount of nurturing and viewed in “awe” like it's really special, never taking it for granted. For when we take things for granted they wither and die just like a rose. It needs living water, light, nourishment and most especially treated with respect. A rose is a symbol of love. People place it in churches, in weddings, in hospitals, in funerals, on crosses; many times given to someone they love. If it's not treated with respect then it's just another flower among many others. So is the way of true love. It should stand out, be treated with respect. The way I feel is that I'd rather be alone as a rose than to be seen as just another flower. To me to love someone is to be in “awe” of them, with deep respect as one loves God. I believe in my heart that this kind of love does exist and it's the kind that I want before my life is over. I hope and pray that I will find it.

Love On Appleton Ridge

Fran and Richard Meservey were excellent role models for me. They prayed together and showed their love for each other in front of me, held each other in high esteem and most importantly loved God with all their hearts. They always called me dear and prayed fervently at each meal from their hearts. They lived across the street from my Uncle Vernon (my mom’s brother) and Aunt Norma’s in Appleton, Maine, a small farm town. From their house you could look over and see his entire property and pastureland from the second floor. I loved to go there and stay overnight, my sisters and I would take turns. I loved to ride the banister from the second floor, how fun! The family Lorna, Rick and Marcia and their parents Fran and Richard were deep believers. I kept my eyes wide open. I wanted what they had. I loved it when the rabbits got loose and we tried to catch them and put them back in the rabbit pen. Have you ever tried to catch a rabbit? The rabbit always wins. I loved to hold them they were so very soft and fluffy. Fran and Richard were related to me because my maternal Grandmother Nellie was Richard’s sister. Nellie was a loving mother of ten children, my mom was somewhere in the middle! Nellie suffered with cancer and on her deathbed called me over. I was to be nine years old the next day. She said “go over to my jewelry box and take something you’d like to have for your birthday.” Here she was dying but thought of me. I’ll never forget her. On Sunday we’d all go to Appleton Baptist Church, the only church in town! Everyone knew each other and praised God. I observed well the love of God here. Then we’d head back to Vernon’s for a big meal that Norma would prepare for all of us. My Uncle Vernon didn’t go to church; instead he stayed home and tended the animals and the farm chores. He’d been up since before the rooster! I didn’t love him any less. He showed me how to milk a cow and let me help him feed the pigs their “slop.” I dared to pet them, (this was done by carefully placing your hand on their head and not getting it anywhere near the mouth) and doing it while they were eating, as they were distracted! I remember once I almost got stepped on by a cow, ouch it was close! When it came time for a cow to go to the butcher Vernon would not do the job, he sent them out, for these animals had names and he loved them all. He was very affectionate; he always hugged and kissed Aunt Norma in front of me. He made me feel special. He taught us to ride a horse; he’d lead them until we were old enough to ride on our own. I couldn’t wait until I could gallop up the road with one of them. Vernon lived next to a river and we’d walk out the path across the pasture carefully crawling under electric fences to go for a dip. The river bottom was soft and gooey sand, I remember it feeling like your were sinking in it. From Vernon’s second floor we’d always look out early in the morning to see if there were deer in the pasture. Deer are very smart, they know if you’re looking! They figure if you have time enough to look they could be your next meal! All my relatives were deer hunters too. My mom grew up across the street with nine other children, five boys and five girls, two girls who eventually died young of a crippling disease. Eventually my Grandfather Alton died in 1972, I was fifteen. Then someone bought the farmhouse and as of today it stands there a few piles of wood, not well taken care of, so sad. I remember playing in the hay in Vernon’s barn, oh how fun that was. It was heaped to the top of the barn and you could fall quite a distance and not get hurt. We’d play hide and seek in it. The farm was 2 1/2 hours from Kittery, where I grew up. We went down mostly in deer season, my dad hunted until he lost one in the river and that was the end for him. I have fond memories of Appleton but mostly the love there. Today love continues as my Uncle Vernon has been taking care of my Aunt Norma who has complications due to mini strokes in her brain. True love exists on Appleton Ridge, love that has always inspired me. Note: This story was published in the Camden Herald on January 27, 2007. My dear Aunt Norma Pease passed away in May 2008. I dedicate this story in her memory.

Love Letter to Jesus

Lord, were you thinking of me
When you died on the tree?
I wonder what was your last thought before you said,
“It is finished?”
Was it about my sin?
Did I nail you to the tree?
Was it me?
Cause now I’m free.
But I still wonder if you know
I’m sorry.