The Joy of The Morning Beach

Very early this morning, hoping to erase the memories of my soul mate; the one person who truly appreciated and enjoyed the beach as much as I do, I walked to the beach.  What I found was a cherished moment to help me forget, as the beach inspired  my soul and lifted my spirits.  When you truly believe that weeping through the night will be followed by joy in the morning, walk the beach early enough to see the glory that I saw this morning.

The sun! Oh my, what a sun! It was as if God woke the sun earlier than usual today, and then taking his hand, he gently and slowly slid the clouds aside so that the sun could throw a splatter of light over the ocean water along the beach.  My breath slowed and then stopped, as I waited for the light to find its way to the pulverized rocks lining the edge of the water.  All of the shades found in the colored rock and shells making up the soft sand, were highlighted with extreme detail.  Dancing light was skipping along the sand finding ways to bring out sparkles, as though they were hidden, precious jewels.

Suddenly realizing that I wanted to be a part of the moment, I could no longer sit and watch this magnificent light show.  My feet hurried to the wet sand, so that my toes could dig deep into the mush.  I began walking slowly, and as I walked the clouds thinned, and the bright sun drenched sky opened the beach for business.  The day had begun.  I knew that it was time for me to go, but I promised myself that I would return soon to see another glorious morning, as I hoped that my weeping would dissipate each time I remembered the joy of that morning on the beach.

FAITH II

FAITH II

Climb the highest mountain you can find, and there is probably snow on the top.  Ease your way down and stop to look at the melted snow that has become a beautiful waterfall.  Follow the water down the mountain and you will come upon the pool at the bottom of the waterfall.  The pool can either be shallow or deep.  Continuing downward you will see a rush of water falling over jagged rocks and dumping into a wide river.  The river continues downward yet it doesn’t seem to be going down until you reach a meadow and the river is narrow and moving very slowly.  The water doesn’t stop here because there are creeks and ditches to fill before you arrive at a large lake. This is where the water finds a place to reside.

This is how faith can work and the journey will seem endless yet you know that you know that you cannot stop trusting God.  May I share a story of faith in my life?

My Mother was involved in an automobile accident and her back was injured.  It seemed like forever but the physician finally performed surgery to correct the problem. One afternoon my brother and I were with her in her hospital room.  After surgery her back was not healing and we were anxious to see the surgeon and understand why.  To our surprise the physician who visited was not the back surgeon but a specialist who was searching for answers to the failure of the internal incisions to heal.  He explained that she was in later stages of Hep C and this news crushed our hearts. The Oncologists searched every available avenue to understand.  Mother had contracted hepatitis when she was a younger woman supposedly through blood transfusions.  There would be no recourse or healing and she was not a candidate for a liver transplant.  

Our faith in God was our recourse.  We prayed, and we struggled with understanding why God was not healing her.  Her health deteriated to the point that her Primary physician decided to move her to a swing bed unit across from the hospital, and after the move the years crept along.

One afternoon at my home in Kentucky I stood looking out the back door while tears coursed down my face and I verbalized my agonizing prayer to God.

“God why, “ I cried, “why can’t you just take her home.  She is tired and the family is tired and God, hasn’t she suffered enough?”

His voice to my heart was kind, yet strong, as he told me, “That is not your decision.”

Several days later as I dressed to attend a prayer conference being held at the Catholic sister’s retirement village, I sat down on the side of my bed and I whined to God.

“God I cannot go to this today.  I think my faith is worn out so I cannot do this.”

I closed my eyes and wept.  The room became soundless and still and God showed me in my mind a picture of my Mother in a field of wild flowers.  She was wearing a big hat and she was dancing among those flowers.  Oh, she was so happy.

With a peaceful heart I stood, wiped my face and went to the prayer conference to have my faith stretched a little more.  I walked the beautiful grounds of the village and thanked God for his wisdom.

Mother did go home and the day she left us I was holding her when the nurse came into the room and gave her an injection.  A very young nurse placed her arm around my waist as I stood and I looked at her and said, “Her spirit has left us.”  She replied with a smile, “Yes it has.”  I went to my brother’s house and almost as soon as I lay down on the bed my sister called to tell us that Mother’s heart had ceased.  I smiled because I knew that God was in charge of all of it.

We cannot ever give up on our faith and we can never stop trusting God.  He knows when, where, how and why.  Just as the snow from the mountain top, melts, finds a way down the mountain through many different avenues, so does our faith find a way to completion.  Be still and know that He is God and He has given us enough faith to complete the journey.  I praise only you, God.

Good morning friends and family.  There have been questions rolling around concerning “Faith”.  We all have faith in something or someone.  If your existence is depending on another person then your faith is in that person.  If your existence is depending on a religion then your faith is in that religion.  If your existence is depending on a church then your faith is in that church.  If your existence is depending on yourself then you only have faith in yourself.  May I share a story, a true story, of excerpts of one person’s journey of faith?

I was in about 3^rd or 4^th grade at Terry Consolidated School.  My father was a sharecropper and my Mother had recently begun working in a pants factory or shirt factory (I cannot remember which) in Crystal Springs.  The winters were cold and icy, snow, and wind.  Ugggh!  I remember well being so cold.  I slept with siblings in a big bed in front of the main fireplace and Mother warmed bricks and Daddy placed them at the foot of that bed to keep us warm.  We could not move because the quilts were piled high and they were heavy.  Mother and Daddy slept in the room next to us.  There was not heat in that room and I vividly remember Mother’s flannel gown and Daddy sleeping in his long johns. At night he would kneel beside that old bed and pray aloud.  I heard him ask God to prosper us and meet specific needs that we had and as a child this was a really big deal for me.  I watched as God answered those prayers.  There was no internet and no way of spreading that need in a large prayer circle.  It was just a sharecropper in the middle of winter with seven children to feed and rent to pay.  God answered those prayers over and over and over again.

Advance forward to an older woman who had the rug I stood on literally jerked out from under me without any warning. The depth of heart pain and hurt that followed that is impossible for me to describe.  I was homeless and during the course of being rescued, loved, and once again housed I hit a major low point.  My faith was totally dependent on God or I would have just ended my miserable life.  Only satan can bring a person to that low depth and only Faith In God, our creator and our Savior, and our ever present help in times of need, can sustain a person in that low depth.

I have no idea what you need to sustain the life style that God placed you in, nor do you know what I need.  God does and He, and He alone, will find the way or ways of providing these needs when my faith is in Him alone.  Faith?????

During these days of pain and despair God brought a group of strong, faith in God prayer warriors into my life.  He is bringing my family back to him one person at a time at this point.  How absolutely amazing is that kind of FAITH!!!!!!!!!

Now. With all of this said, I praise Him and Him alone and sometimes I will tell you another one or two faith stories.  My life has been amazing and if I tried to understand it I would be forever baffled.  God knows and my faith is in Him.

It is not about me and it is not about you.  It is about having faith that God will redeem people from sin and provide all of the prosperity they need to spread his love and care.

I can still see in my minds camera, my Mother standing in the kitchen with a paring knife in one hand and a potato in the other and looking me in the eye as she says, “Young lady, if you keep your own doorstep swept clean, you will not have time to worry about your neighbor’s doorstep.”

Regardless of your situation, ALWAYS KEEP YOUR FAITH IN OUR FATHER GOD, for He never sleeps and He always listens for as long as you want to talk to Him.

ANSWERED

“The child has not shed a tear!”

“I realize that Sis, but he is probably cried out from years of pain.”

“So you think he helped her die?”

“Okay Sister, let’s go outside and have a glass of Vino.”

Peggy followed her brother, Phil, down the porch steps and across the back yard to the gazebo.  She balanced a pair of wine glasses, cutting board, cheese and bread in her hands while Phil carefully carried a bottle of Merlot under his left arm with a knife in his left hand and a corkscrew between his right thumb and ring finger.  He shifted the corkscrew to his left hand and using his pocket handkerchief dusted the pollen from the table and two chairs. Peggy placed the light fare on the marble table top and soon they were seated with filled glasses.

“My dear, sister, Peggy how can you believe a grieving twelve-year old child would assist his Mother’s death?”

“I don’t know really, but Phil, he doesn’t seem to be grieving.  He isn’t even unhappy.”

“Remembering his life I think he isn’t sure if he was a science experiment from a test tube or an accident of human lust.”

“Phil that is ridiculous!  They came from a Christian family even though they did not seem to be Christian!”

“Look Sis, I coached his soccer team and he bragged that they did not attend any church, nor did his Mother believe in God.  He and I talked about this many times.  That still doesn’t mean he assisted his Mother’s death.  Perhaps he is relieved that it’s over.  She has been ill for several years.”

“If they did not believe in God that could mean life was not valuable to them. Think about that Phil.”

Phil picked up his cell phone and then laid it back on the table.  “He will be here soon.”

They ceased conversation and sat quietly waiting for Claude Goodal to join them.

“Hey Coach,” the youngster said as he closed the gate behind him. He walked to the porch and dropped a ragged duffle bag on the porch.

“Hey Claude, how’re you holding up?”

Peggy stood and hugged the young boy, picked up her glass, looked at Phil until their eyes locked, then she dropped her gaze, turned and returned to the house.

Claude sat down and accepted the cheese on a slice of bread but before he could lift it to his lips, they trembled, and his quivering lips, with flowing tears spoke the truth Phil had prayed for daily.

They stood, walked to the back porch where Phil had soccer balls stored.  They each chose a ball and Peggy stood watching from the dining room window as they dribbled the soccer balls up the street toward the park.

It was Tuesday afternoon and dusk began to settle around them as they took turns shooting goals at the old, worn goal and just as worn, sagging net.

“It will be dark soon and no lights,” Coach remarked.

They each tucked a soccer ball under an arm and turned to walk back to Coach Phil’s house.

“Coach I know you believe in God and heaven so do you think my Mom is in heaven,” Claude asked?

Coach Phil placed his empty arm around Claude’s shoulder and led him to the stone bench at the edge of the park.  After sitting Coach searched Claude’s eyes and felt an indescribable heartache.

“God,” Coach began. “Is always with us and he is always using ways to show his love to us.  It is his desire that we all should be saved and when our body dies, our spiritual-self returns to him.  Because he doesn’t always show his ways to others when he is wooing us, unless we tell them they cannot know, since they did not see our salvation during that moment we gave our life to him.  If we are very ill we may not talk of it.   You and I have talked about the three facts of life.  Do you remember Claude?”

Claude shook his head up and down and stared at his shoes, while gripping the soccer ball so tightly his knuckles were white.

“First we are asked by God to believe that God created us and he gives us a measure of faith to help us believe.  Secondly we are asked to believe that we are his children and he is our father and the measure of faith stretches to believe this.  Thirdly, we are asked to believe that our body will die at the appointed time God chooses and that measure of faith stretches yet again. Claude he further explained and showed us how much he loves us by sending his one and only begotten son to earth in an earthly body with all of the pain, joy and judgements that we humans experience.  This same son became our sacrifice for sin when he died a natural, human death on the cross.  The great joy is that he arose as a spiritual man showing us God’s power to resurrect the spirit after the body dies.  We are three persons really, all in one package because he also gave us a mind of our own decision making.  This is our promise from God.  We are so loved by him that we are allowed the choice of believing which is a true gift since his love asked only that we believe that he is God. 

God shared time with your Mom before her body died of an earthly disease, cancer.  Claude I believe that your Mom understood because her Mom and your grandfather taught her about God before the other people told her that God was not real.  See, he promised that our children would believe and know this truth even when they were older.  So, you see Claude, she was given a long enough time for God to commune, or talk to her spirit.  Yes I believe she is in Heaven.”

“Thanks Coach.  Can we go to my house now?  I just need to go to my house.”

“Of course we can.”

“Coach thanks for coming to my house this morning.”

“You are very welcome Claude.  Do you need your duffle bag from the porch?”

“Yes sir.” 

The Wednesday morning was clear and cool as a spring morning usually is.  Peggy parked in the front of the funeral home and got out of the car.  Claude got out and walked around to meet her, and then he looked at her and asked, “May I go in by myself?”

 Peggy nodded yes and smiled since she knew Coach Phil was already there.

The funeral director, James Snowden, shook the hand of the lone survivor of Miss Jane Goodal, a twelve-year-old, sandy-colored hair, boy, lovingly named Claude after his grandfather. He had his grandfather’s ruddy complexion and build of body, standing 5’6” even at this early age.  His mother, Miss Goodal had succumbed to colon cancer and her thin, lifeless body was delivered to the funeral home by ambulance on Tuesday morning after seven.

Mr. Snowden first learned of the death Tuesday morning at approximately eight.  He sighed, said a prayer for her son and called Coach Phil on his cell phone.  There was not an answer so he left a message.  Coach Phil was already at the Goodal house.

Coach Phil arrived earlier this Wednesday morning to finalize the funeral and financial arrangements. He had visited with the Director of the Department of Child Services earlier and signed all necessary paperwork to serve as a foster parent to Claude Goodal.

Mr. Snowden placed a hand on Coach Phil’s shoulder.  “He is in parlor B Coach.”

“Thanks James,” he muttered, “Just finished.”  He stood and went to parlor B to be with Claude.

The heavy curtain began to open and the two stood. Coach put his arm around Claude and led him to the casket to see his Mother’s last remains of her earthly body.  The boy leaned into his mentor, friend, and coach and cried very quietly.

At ten that morning people from school and community began to come into Parlor B to shake the hands of Claude and his friend, Coach Phil.  Claude remained somber, yet smiled each time someone approached him. The service was kind, generously encouraging and the graveside was a continuance of the same.  The last act of courage the young boy performed was when he placed a red rose together with a white rose on his Mom’s casket and whispered, “God take care of her please and tell her I will see her again one day.  I believe God.”

Coach Phil wept with Claude after everyone had left the cemetery except the workers, who respectfully waited at a distance.  He thanked God for teaching and showing Claude His Amazing Love.  He also thanked God for bringing him the son he could never father himself.

 

 

Virginia's Baby

Good morning to all.  for the one's who followed Virginia's Baby, thank you.  I have pulled it from this blog and I am rewriting much of this novel to incorporate the beginning, middle and the end in a fluid pattern for more enjoyable reading.  My apologies.  I wrote the ending and tried to sell this as a short story only to be told, in a kind constructive way, that I should write this as a novel.  That was several years ago and I know some of you are weary of waiting for me to do just that.  Writing a novel from the heart is not the easiest of tasks.  Writing any novel is not an easy task and I am not a cookie cutter writer.  I am a creative story writer.  I love stories.  Please be patient as I complete this beautiful story of five generations of women who lived, laughed, danced, played, and suffered through life.  The novel is forthcoming.  I appreciate all of you!

Good morning family and friends.

This morning is a typical hot, July morning in Florida, yet it is beautiful!  This is the day the Lord has made and I will rejoice and be glad in it.
Recently a childhood friend remarked to me that I was writing my novel out of my own pain.  Truth be told, she was not far from correct.  We all live our fears, failures, regrets, and generational curses in our minds until we take them to our Father God and allow Jesus Christ to heal our wounds and abolish our fears.
There are two signs hanging on my walls.  Both where I can read them daily.  One reads, "Thank you Jesus.  This is your project.  I am just your writer."  Ina
The other reads, "I only write when I am inspired.  Every day I make sure to inspire myself."
Writer's often drink, take drugs, or live their pain.  I choose to take mine to him and allow healing with fresh revelations of my fears on a daily basis.
Life is not a thing!  Life is a journey and what we accomplish is only measured by God in our accomplishments with people.
God's conviction is the strongest, when we are on the cusp of major life decisions.  Waiting for prayers to be answered is never about us but about all of the people involved in the prayer's answer.
I realize that some of this novel, "Virginia's Baby", is difficult reading for some Christians, however the truths of life are not all pretty and painless.
My journey is one of truth and acceptance of God, and the healing of Jesus Christ.  That may seem so easy and it can be if we are happy to sit in church and allow someone else to do our Bible reading and praying and suffering is always put behind us and on and on and on.  I desire and want to travel the road He has placed me on with all of the glory being his because that is where my joy is.  That is where I can touch and love and understand and care about others.  I am not the only person dealing with pain, fear, acceptance, or even generational curses.  I can understand and be there to help someone else since accomplishments are only those involving people.
Those who read this novel are in for a great blessing as the story continues to unfold!  God bless each of you today and every day of your journey.

Good morning.

Good post Easter celebration day.  God has once again, as he so faithfully does, reached down inside of me to stir my spirit.  He forgives me, encourages me and teaches me day by day.  If I wanted to find the church God has for me, personally, not just because my family is there, but for me, how would I reach out and do this.  Praying must have feet.  Finding comes from seeking.  Where next Lord?  If I had a friend that I knew and loved dearly who did not know the greatness of God’s salvation then what church would I trust to give this friend to?  Think about it.  A new Christian, like a new baby, should be loved, protected, and they should see the light.  When I have a plant that grows in a bent position how do I straighten the plant?  I turn the side with no growth to the sun.  Which church has the spirit to turn a new Christian to the Son?  Not religion, not rules, no “this is how we do things as Christians”, and definitely not judging or watching everything they do so they can be corrected, but which church will pray without ceasing, love without question, and live with the spirit of the Son so evident that people are drawn to them? Am I that kind of Christian?  That is the depth of God’s gift to me this Easter celebration.