Zombie Chicken Award

What an honor! Thank You. I received the Zombie Chicken award from Rebecca Emrich at Living a Life of Writing. Rebecca always has interesting posts on many aspects of writing. I always leave her site with something new.

The Details:

"The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the Zombie Chicken – excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words."

Some of my favorite blogs are:

Victoria Gaines' -- Light for the Writer's Soul

Prill Boyle's -- Defying Gravity (a blog of and for Late Bloomers)

Ginia Oehlschlager's -- Home on the Farm (from Ginia's columns in our local newspaper)

Mark David Gerson's -- The Voice of Your Muse

Chris Guillebeau -- The Art of Non-Conformity

Each of these writers offer a unique perspective on living life to the fullest. Each is a joy and a delight to read.

Driving Time

Last Sunday night I met my son in Mansfield. I picked up my almost 14-year-old grand-daughter from her mother's and delivered her to her dad. No one asked me to do this; I offered.

I haven't spent as much time as I might have liked with my grand-daughters this summer. My part-time, work from home job is taking up W-a-a-ay too much of my play time. So, I took this beautiful summer evening to enjoy her company.

We drove about an hour and talked as she flipped through radio stations. As she listened about 3 seconds to each station, she filled me in on her summer. Or, she would exclaim, "That's my favorite song!" and turn the sound up as loud as I could stand. She sang along and chair danced, her face shining with smiles. I laughed with her and marveled at her happy abandonment.

After we talked with her dad, step-mom-to-be, and sister and I got hugs & kisses from everyone, I started back home. The radio still sang in my ears but stayed on one station and the speakers no longer rattled the windows. Even with the music, though, my truck seemed empty and lonesome. Soon enough, I won't need to drive for her.

Driving together means Family Time for us. The closeness of the car invites intimate conversations. We discuss anything and everything as we drive. Our family has always done this. It doesn't matter if it is a long drive or a shorter one, riding in the car is the time for discussion; the time for revealing secrets. We talk about why we are moving, what friends are doing, what homework needs to be done, the Bible lesson at church, hopes & dreams, goals & plans. It is the time for questions and answers.

These days, those conversations are few and far between. Both my sons are grown and have been driving themselves for a long time. Now they drive their own families and have their own conversations. This is as it should be. It makes the times we drive together all the sweeter and more precious to my heart.


I wonder: Will the conversation be as sweet when I am old and some one is driving me to where ever it is we are going?

Anniversary Thoughts

August 7, 2009 marked 38 years since I walked down the church aisle and joined my life to another. I gave myself to him; we two became one.


We argued (a lot!) in those first few years as we adjusted to each other and learned how to fit together. But, we also laughed (a lot more!). We spent as much time as possible with each other and simply enjoyed being together.


We had children. Those years brought a house full of children: our own, friends, family. A home full of noisy laughter. Our sons grew into men; sure evidence of time passing.


The house grew quiet again. We spent time together and enjoyed our empty nest.


Grandchildren arrived. No longer babies now, but young teens who delight us with all they do. They allow us to be an important part of their lives and give us the opportunity to share what wisdom and knowledge we have accumulated over the years. Grandchildren are a wonderful gift. They give much more to us as grandparents than seems possible.


I don't know why I am surprised each year that we have been married so long; we vowed to be together until death parted us. I guess I'm more surprised at how much time has actually passed. In many ways it doesn't feel like 38 years but I can barely recall life before marriage.


We've been married all my life. He is still my best friend. I trust him completely.


The years have brought many challenges: life style adjustments, children, extended family, jobs and more. Through it all, our faith in Christ has been the glue that bound us. I've matured as a woman, grown as a Christian, watched in wonder as God worked in and through my husband, saw my children and then my grandchildren give their hears to the Lord. Blessing upon blessing.



God has been with us every step of the way. Going before us to prepare the way. Holding our hands as we search to stay in the way.


I may wonder what life will bring in the coming years, but I know God will always be there.

Guest Blogger: Rebecca Anne Emrich from Living a Life of Writing

Today I have a guest: Rebecca Anne Emlich from Living a Life of Writing. Rebecca posts daily about various aspects of writing and publishing. She shares her insights through series of articles covering different subjects and always has some interesting thoughts. She is hosting me at her site today, so click here to check out her site.

Please welcome Rebecca.

Think Small, There's Always Someone Else who Can Help

I would like to thank Karen for allowing me to guest blog on her site. She is an inspirational writer who is always giving me a new perspective. This is something, though, I'd like to share with you.

As writers we need to think small. When we don't have time we can always come up with 15 minutes.Yes, 15 minutes. Of course you must be thinking, one: she's nuts, and two: I can't write each day!!

Okay, deep breath. God gave us all 365 days a year, 12 months, 52 weeks, and most importantly 24 hours. I could go on, but the vital thing here is everyone has this time. Writers, anyone.

So before you decide to comment how dumb it sounds to write for only 15 minutes a day, think of it this way, we all have to begin somewhere, right? I'm not Hemingway or Terry Brooks, so I can't write the way they did or do. I have other pieces to my life, my family and my church. Everyone one of us has commitments and time is at a premium. I can, however write about 400 words in 15 minutes. Of course if I didn't look to check on other things it would be more!

So, think small, 15 minutes a day where you just pick up the pen and write, or go to the computer and type. Don't worry about spelling or anything else. Just write. you can always do more, but by starting small you can create something amazing.

If you like pray before, or listen to music and then, write. Think small. You'll get a novel out of you.

Thank you so much Karen to allowing me to share some of my thoughts about writing. This is such a wonderful blog. Karen is at my blog today, so please take a look at her wonderful post at living a writers life.

Thank you, for sharing your thoughts on the writing life with us today. I look forward to reading more of your work.

I'll be back next week to share what God is showing me through My View from My Window.

Clouds Across the Sky

Clouds light and wispy,
thick cotton balls;
stacked thunder heads with lightening flashing.

Clouds drifting, changing shapes,
floating in azure skies
carry dreams of another life.

Clouds rolling, dark and thick,
bring promised rain.
Bursting, they release fat drops on a scorched earth.

Clouds hiding the sun.
Shadows disappear
and a breeze brings cool relief.

Clouds painting the sky orange, pink and purple
at sunset. Playing peek-a-boo with moon and stars,
they stretch over the night.

Clouds roll back.
King Jesus and His army descend.
Battle rages. War is won by His Word.

My Lord, My God

How wonderful you are!

You are full of grace and mercy.

You see the depths of my soul and know my innermost thoughts.

You see how unworthy I am of your love, yet you love me.

I hide from the world, from myself, but from you I cannot hide.

You reach down and hold me, drawing me close to your heart.

You see beyond any mask I might wear; beyond the words that say, "I'm fine" or "All is well"; past the pasted on fake smile to the child hiding inside.

You love me.

You forgive me.

You heal me.

You set me free.

From before time began until after time is no more, you love me with a never ending love; you forgive with a never ending forgiveness.

When I am bogged down in this life, I come to you, Holy God, and you lift me up to stand before you.

You set my feet back on the path you have for me.

Then I breathe in your breath of grace and begin to praise and worship you.

You encourage me.

You fill me with your Spirit and wait for me to take the next step on the path with you.

I cry out, "I don't know which way to go!" and you remind me that I don't need to know because I follow you, the One who is the Way.

I bow before you.

I worship you.

I praise and adore you.

I honor you with my lips and with my life.

I serve you.

Enable me to hear you.

Empower me in your Spirit to do your will and show you to others.

Be my courage and my strength.

Lead me, as you always have, day by day and moment by moment on your path and in your way.

I thank you for your grace.

I thank you for your salvation.

I thank you for your unfailing love.

Amen

Remembering Brannan's Bluff

A Favorite Swimming Hole of My Youth

Before I could drive myself, Aunt Eva Lea would take us to the "big creek" at at Brannan's Bluff on Baron Fork Creek near Proctor, OK. After chores were done, my cousins (Glenda & Rhonda) and my sisters (Gail & Sandra) and I would jump into the back of Uncle Jewel's 1969 red Chevy pick-up truck. We'd climb up two or three rungs on the wooden stock rack and head to the water. The hot summer wind would rush through our hair as we sped down the road. We'd wave to all we met, happy to be on our way.

After we turned off the highway onto the dusty lane, we'd climb down and crowd around the narrow gate. Almost before the wheels stopped, we'd hop out and race bare-foot across the rocks to see who would be first in the water. We'd drop towels on the way and shout to those behind to hurry. Once in the water, we'd dive straight into the crystal clear cold water, swim across to the bluff and climb the gray flint wall to the natural cut ledges. The bluff had varying heights so you could choose where to stop depending on how brave you felt at the time. Sandra was too little and didn't swim well enough to make it to the bluff so she stayed close to shore with friends -- new or old -- that she found. Gail and Glenda would usually stop on the lower levels; sometimes still knee deep in the water, to practice diving. Rhonda and I were tomboys and would climb as high as we could to jump off.

I would stand on the narrow ledge and look down at the scene below. Groups of swimmers would laugh and splash each other. Some floated on inner tubes and rafts. On the gravel bar to one side, teenage girls would lie on towels talking and sun bathing. Rock and roll from transistor radios echoed off the rock wall. The smell of Coppertone drifted in the still air. Blue sky stretched above. Not a cloud in sight -- birds swooping and darting in joy. Dear Aunt Eva Lea would be in her folding lawn chair, a towel over her head to protect her from the sun, at the edge of the water in what little shade could be found. The water sparkled and reflected the sun except int he shadow of the bluff. There, where the water was deep, fish swam lazily or did under a ledge. A glorious place to be when you are a young teen: before worrying about looks, boys and popularity yet and after being an over protected kid. That just right age.

Rhonda would jump. Then I would. Or, we'd all four play follow the leader or other games we made up as we went along. We'd climb and jump and swim until breathless and shivering we'd find a sunny spot to rest and warm. Rhonda, shivering with blue tinged lips and fingers, would sit on the ledge just long enough to stop shaking. Denying she was cold, she'd jump in again and we'd all be off once more.

After about two hours, it would be time to go. We'd hear Aunt Eva Lea call us but would delay as long as possible. We'd swim to the shallow side and beg for just one more jump. She must have been about to melt from the heat but was kind and usually gave us a few more minutes. Eventually, we'd all come dragging out, wrap in our towels then climb in the back of the truck for the ride home. Often, since we thought we were starving, we would stop at the Proctor Store for an ice cold Coke and a candy bar.

As soon as we got home, we'd run down to our little creek to wash off the "big creek". We'd play until supper then fall into bed exhausted to sleep the dreamless sleep of the young.

Oh, those were wonderful days!