A PRELUDE TO A SLEEP, by (Kacie) Kathy Cooper

My emotions exceed my power to contain them
And so I sleep...
Should I raise my voice and complain then?
T'would only make me weak

For who would hear my deepest sighs?
A trailing of the wind
And who-so-ever would recognize
The sadness I hide within

Only He who towers high on high
Beyond the marvels of existence
No time or space can ere deny
His beauty, his consistence

Be with me then, inside my darkness
Erase my "worldly" view
Tighten up my sense of sharpness
And let me see, see only You

Brother Bill’s Conversation with Toby, by Charlotte Boquist

(As told to Mary Jane and Charlotte March 3, 2011)

            Toby, son of a Baptist lay teacher, is married to Bill’s granddaughter, Carolee.  These two men had a special relationship; they were buddies and shared much through the years.  They had, on several occasions discussed Heaven and Hell at length, while sitting out on Bill’s patio.

            Visiting him in the hospital, Bill not being able to call out indicated that he wanted to speak with Toby, so Carolee traded places with her husband who was minding the children outside the room. 

            Toby leaned down close to the bed since Bill was so weak that he was only able to whisper, the first thing that Bill said was, “Don’t think this is from the drugs or that I’m hallucinating.”  Then he told of seeing friends that some had been dead for twenty-five years, walking around, waving to him on the other side of something that was hazy, like looking through a glad bag”.  Bill was reaching out and grasping at something in the air.  Toby asked what he was doing.  Bill said that he was trying to get though the veil.  He wanted to be there, “But” he said, “Don’t tell Grandma because she will fight to keep me here.”

Toby asked if his friends talked to him.  Bill replied no, just the lady spoke to him.  The lady was dressed in white, all fluffy like lace or ruffles.  She was first up in the corner, then in his face, and then over there.  She was flitting about the room.  Bill asked her who she was and she replied that she was “The Greeter”.

            Toby asked if he saw anyone else.  Bill replied that there were lots of people walking around and that he wanted to get over there, and he kept picking at the veil.   (Toby told us that Bill would reach up with his hands and pick at the air).  Toby asked him if they said anything, Bill said he couldn’t hear them.  He couldn’t see his Mom and Dad, but he knew they were there.

            Later Bill told Shirley (his wife) and Debbie (his daughter) that he just wanted to go home.  They, of course, thought he meant back to Basin, but he meant “over there”.

"Love is not just a spoken word" by Noemi S Rabina

This was submitted as a Valentine's story -- I have been negligent in waiting so long to publish it. But, when you think about it, any day is a good day to be thinking about love. ~ Bonnie

Coming from a meeting one beautiful Thursday morning, as I drove along Downey ave. I was annalyzing the message that I heard from the speaker about love. She based her message on I Corinthians 13. What struck me most were the passages that says, "(V4) Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. (V5) It is not rude, it is not self seeking. It is not easily provoked, it keeps no record of wrong doings. (6) Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. (7) It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

God's love is always directed toward others, not towards ourselves. It is possible to practice this kind of love, giving love to others and expecting nothing in return. We can give without loving, but we can not love without giving.

I thought of my sister living not too far from me. We have not talked nor have seen each other for a long time. Both of us were busy doing our own activities. While I was on the road, I saw the newly built bakery shop on Downey Ave. I stopped to get some pastries for my sister to surprise her with a love gift since Valentine’s Day was around the corner. I called her up and said that I will just pass by on the way to my Memoir Writing Class. She invited me in but I just stood by the door for they have a big watch dog inside. The dog loves me so much that it will leap on me and sit on my lap. Not this time when I have to go to my class.

Since then, my sister and I have talked more often, putting aside small petty disagreements. Another sister of mine lives across the ocean and I also love her. I always remember her with gifts from the heart. God made us sisters and all that God has created are good. It is better to build bridges than putting a fence between friends, relatives, and especially, sisters.

MY ONE-ARMED FAIRY by Peggy Knorr

I had purchased a little fairy figurine just a few days before Joe, my husband, became ill. I had bought her even though one of her arms was broken off because she was so especially beautiful, and I had planned to place her on a shelf in a way so the missing arm would not be noticed. As the time went by during my tending to Joe, I began to realize how she was symbolic of that which he and I were going through at that time.

Poised in dance-like abandon on my dining room table, she was my comfort and guiding light when I would sit down for a needed break, while Joe, lying in the hospital bed in the living room, was slowly and gradually slipping away each day.

My fairy would give me of her delicate strength that assured me that this situation was in divine order, totally in God's control and playing out in the way it was supposed to be doing. This little soul had suffered the loss of her arm and yet was intrepidly giving forth of her beautiful spirit in ecstasy and rapture. Her severed limb spoke of the coming loss which I was about to go through, the separation of a vital part of me, my right arm, that which Joe was to me, even during the time his torn mind had hidden itself into obscurity. But my fairy reminded me that at his death I could continue in elegance and faith, still looking upwards to my highest good, soaring with Joe's spirit into acceptance of what was yet to come.

I will continue to dance, despite my loss, like my inspired little fairy, a fractured but triumphant spirit, who was still poised and able to hold her head high in acceptance of God's wondrous ways. My companion and husband, my right arm.... gone.... torn asunder by the reality of the order of life; but because of the fortitude of this luminous little being my exultant spirit is joining with him in higher realms of faith and hope and courage.

photo by Mary Ramirez

Thoughts on healing and love, by Annette Skarin

How swiftly my life slips
through the hourglass allotted me
I try to make sense of the plots and characters
woven between each line

I reduce the monsters to peons
one-dimensional and harmless
I listen intently for my real name
which only my Creator knows.

My story flows from my pen
The ink dries with each healing word
leaving a permanent trail of discovery
My abusers become powerless
with each forgiving thought

Today a friend said
“I love you, Annette”
leaving me warm and full
Today my Father whispers to my heart
I love you my child – if I will be still and listen
The denouement of my story is His

http://carinskarin.blogspot.com/

LOVE REVISITED, by Gloria Hannigan

The mother who held me and dried my tears -
was the same mother who swatted my bottom when I dumped a bowl of oatmeal on the dog’s head.

The father who took away my roller skates for three whole days -
was the same father who always let me win at Candyland.

The brother who closed me in a room with burning sulpher from his chemistry set, to see if I would turn yellow -
was the same brother who put the worm on the my hook when we went fishing.

The sister who ignored me when she was with her friends -
was the same sister who brought me a piece of cake when I was being punished.

The best friend who sat faithfully by my side every day of summer vacation while my broken leg healed -
was the same best friend who blabbed to everyone that I loved Tony.

The boy who hit me in the back of the head with a slushy snowball -
was the same boy who looked to me for praise when he produced the loudest burp in second grade.

The dog who chewed the arm off my favorite doll -
was the same dog who always greeted me with tail wagging and lots of slobbery kisses.

I am a survivor of love.


For more by Gloria, please visit her blog: http://gloriahannigan.blogspot.com/

A Life Spared, by Charlene Farnsworth

In an instant I could have tragically lost my father. Through Dad’s calm response and our good fortune, his life was spared.

Dad had a very stressful job as Shop Superintendent for a sheet metal manufacturing company. He was responsible for efficient product manufacturing, effective time management, and managing employees with a variety of personalities and skills.

To temporarily escape from his stressful environs each day, Dad would drive a short distance to the Zody’s department store parking lot. His “oasis” was in a less populated area under the shade trees where he enjoyed the good lunch Mom packed nightly for him in his black metal lunch pail.

After lunch, Dad would read a few pages from the newspaper, Reader’s Digest, Golf Digest or Popular Mechanics. After his daily respite, he returned to work to fulfill his management responsibilities.

On June 30, 1980, Dad’s pleasant routine was interrupted by a life-threatening event. Dad always sat in the passenger seat while lunching in the Zody’s lot. Short bushes separated him from the sidewalk and the highway.

A nicely-dressed man walked towards Dad’s car and passed by the open window. He was carrying a brown paper bag and, after making an about face to return to Dad’s window, pulled a knife from the bag placing it at Dad’s neck. He commanded that Dad get out of the car; however, due to impaired hearing, Dad did not immediately comply.

Dad then experienced extremely good fortune in an extremely tense situation. This man did not misinterpret Dad as being non-cooperative and repeated his command. Dad then quickly stepped out of the car. In an instant, this terrible intruder took Dad’s wallet and keys, jumped into Dad’s car, and sped away through the bushes. My stunned Dad was left standing with his precious life intact!

Dad handled this situation with amazing calm. He called the police, his family and the insurance company. This was at a time when one’s car registration paperwork was mounted on the steering column. Thus, Dad wisely called our neighbors immediately to alert them to the possibility that this malevolent individual might also attempt to burglarize our home. I believe Dad walked back to work.

At home, Dad calmly narrated all the details surrounding this horrific event. It was a total switch in personalities. Typically, in our household, Mom and I approached life’s challenges less emotionally than Dad. However, this time Mom and I were quite disturbed while Dad’s thinking process and emotions were perfectly synchronized.

Dad’s car was eventually found at an intersection in Riverside. The police explained that often a criminal will take such extreme measures to simply have “wheels” to get to a particular destination. The car’s interior was burned, and the police further explained this is done to assure no fingerprinting is possible.

Although Dad’s car and a set of golf clubs were taken that fateful day, the life of a very principled, hard-working man was most thankfully spared.