tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41814606302594425702024-03-20T19:31:21.433-07:00inTouchSheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-68498458275496716942012-06-01T16:26:00.003-07:002012-06-01T16:26:39.357-07:00Blessed RainI love the rain. As I write this, it’s raining outside. It’s God pouring down his blessings on our thirsty north Texas pasture land. We’ll have at least one cutting of hay, maybe two, before the summer drought with its weeks of 100 degree plus temperatures begins. When I lived and worked in the Los Angeles area, I didn’t think much about rain. Not much rain to think about. And, most of the time rain or not, sure, it affected me, but not that I could personally see. Living in the country surrounded by horse and cattle ranches, rain or the lack of it is an important subject of local conversation. One year it was so desperately dry that some 30 or 40 of us gathered around the courthouse to pray for rain.
In this area sometimes with the longed-for rains come tornado winds, floods and golf-ball-size hail. That’s not welcome. I’m reminded that although Christ has redeemed this earth, we’re in the in between times. As Paul wrote, “We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time” (Romans 8:22). And, it’s still groaning!
The earth is redeemed. I am redeemed. You are redeemed, but we’re still awaiting his triumphant return. Someone once asked me why I still confess my sins when I’m already forgiven. It’s because I still sin! I confess them, not to be forgiven, but in acknowledgement of the momentous sacrifice made to free me from the bondage of sin and guilt. Thank you, Lord, for the rain, and most of all, for your overwhelming sacrificial love for me and for all your creation. And, please Lord, come soon!Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-25203625456446615852012-03-31T16:02:00.002-07:002012-03-31T16:02:42.068-07:00Weekend CrisisFour-year-old Leyden had already gotten a ride on King’s back, but he wanted to see the big chestnut quarter horse again. Hand in hand, we walked through the pasture. That’s when I saw two horses and a foal standing at the back fence. “Look, Leyden, the neighbor’s horses have come over to visit with King. Let’s go look at that new baby.” As we got closer, I saw the mare wasn’t just visiting; she was caught in the barbed-wire fence, half of her body on one side and the other half in our pasture. Her back leg was bleeding above the hoof. Her foal was trying to nurse through the fence.<br />
I called Ed, telling him to bring wire clippers and a halter. He and Jeremiah, a grandson and Leyden’s dad, came quickly. They put the halter on the mare and began cutting strand after strand of barbed wire to free her. She didn’t struggle. She may have been too tired to fight anymore and possibly dehydrated. <br />
By this time, our two donkeys, Missy and Sugar, decided to see what was going on. They don’t like intruders in their territory and will chase whatever dares to come around. But I didn’t have to worry. King immediately charged after them, running them away from the mare and foal. He had to do this twice while Ed and Jeremiah freed the mare, led her back into her pasture and rewired the fence. <br />
I’m not one to imagine animals have human emotions or characteristics, but that big gelding sensed something was wrong, and the donkeys shouldn’t interfere. The donkey girls weren’t completed thwarted that day, however. Before it was over they got to chase the neighbor’s dog out of their pasture.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-69790010580434409072012-02-23T14:39:00.000-08:002012-02-23T14:39:57.143-08:00The World Went to ChurchThe world went to church this last weekend, a black Baptist church with a huge choir all dressed in white. I stayed in nursing a cold, so did a lot of reading and also watched Whitney Houston’s funeral on CNN. Four hours of memories of the lovely singer with the extraordinary voice. Lively gospel music was interspersed with performances by such notables as Stevie Wonder and Alicia Keys. Dionne Warrick, Whitney’s cousin, introduced the various speakers and performers. Heartfelt eulogies by family and coworkers focused on the positive aspects of her life. Her struggle with alcohol and substance abuse was already well known. <br />
It was a celebration of her life and a tribute to her talent, but deeply sad as well. Her death was so unnecessary. She was young, beautiful, talented, with a promising comeback performance in a soon-to-be released movie, Sparkle. She had a teenage daughter who needed her and many caring friends and family members. Another amazing talent, streaking across our sky like a meteor, flashing brightly, then burning out as quickly as she came.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-9742743594255496632012-02-03T10:57:00.000-08:002012-02-03T10:57:38.310-08:00Where's Winter?Some up north are ready for winter to be over all ready, but here in north Texas, we wonder when winter will begin. Not that we aren’t enjoying our Southern California 70-degree weather, but it is February now. Where’s our winter?<br />
With winter seeming like spring, Ed is getting gardening fever. He’s had kale, spinach and several other greens growing, and yesterday he asked me to help him plant a couple of rows of green onions. So, there we were, down on our knees digging little holes, planting sprouts of onions and covering them up. He had already prepared the ground by digging a couple of trenches for us to plant the onions in. <br />
Now, it has been a while since I got down digging in the dirt with my bare hands. My gardening is usually limited to using a hoe in my flower beds, and I wear gloves so I don’t dirty my hands. Actually, this was a good experience. Ed and I talked about the blessing of being able to grow our own food, right there in our backyard. We were in wonderment again over how, with a little water and sunshine, those tiny, dried-up sprouts would become fresh, crunchy green onions. It was also a reminder of where food actually comes from—the good earth. Thank you, Lord, for your magnificent creation! Help us to remember to take care of this marvelous gift.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-92042176581747579912011-09-02T10:08:00.000-07:002011-09-02T10:08:07.638-07:00At a LossI saw him almost every weekend. The young man usually sat a row or two behind Ed and me at church. He took up offerings almost every week and he took care of the offering envelopes. Sometimes he would read the Scripture reading before the sermon, if it was a short one. When our pastor had to be out of town, and I spoke at church a few weeks ago, he read the Scripture reading. He was single and he was painfully shy and socially awkward. When we talked to him, he would duck his head, briefly maintain eye contact and haltingly answer whatever question we asked. He did not initiate the conversation. Some time ago, he gave me and other members at church notes he had written. I could tell they were supposed to be encouraging, but they didn't make sense. There were words all right, but they weren't poetry or prose. They just didn't make sense. It made me wonder if my friend suffered from some form of autism. Then a couple of weeks ago, he wasn't at church. I didn't notice. Then the next week he wasn't at church, and then I did notice. It wasn't like him to miss church, certainly not two weeks in a row. I asked about him, but no one seemed to know why he wasn't there. Maybe he was visiting his family, but why didn't he let someone know, we questioned. Now we know why. He took his own life. I'm at a loss. Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-19274501402562043582011-09-02T09:49:00.000-07:002011-09-02T09:49:29.430-07:00Cowboy StoriesOur farrier Kirk is a big guy, always smiling and always has a story to tell, or two or three. Ed had already gotten the animals up when I got out to the barn. Kirk had one of my quarter horse gelding’s back legs between his knees, clipping away on King’s hoof. I whistled and called out so he would know I was around, and so would King. I didn’t want to startle either. The temperature was in the high 90s. Kirk’s grey shirt with his company name on it was already soaked and sweat was running down his face. He put King’s leg down and after slapping at a couple of horseflies making bloody spots on the horse, continued working on another hoof. “Damn flies,” he said. I’m sure he would have said worse if I hadn’t been there. Kirk has a portable stand that’s magnetic to hold his farrier tools. He wears a well-worn, divided leather apron that covers the lower half of his torso and his legs. When he finished with King, he grabbed Sugar’s lead rope and tied the donkey up to the corral post. <br />
It had been a while since I’d seen Kirk so I asked how he’d been. Been on any trail rides, I asked? Kirk hires out to accompany trail riders to take care of any problems with their horses. That was all Kirk needed. He leaned on the corral gate, and told me he had just returned from a trail ride in Idaho. On the way up, he had a flat on his horse trailer but found a place where they lent him a heavy jack and aired up his spare. “That spare’s still aired up,” he said.<br />
On these trips, at night he stops at rodeo grounds along the way and unloads his appaloosa gelding into one of the pens. After supper, he spreads out his cowboy tarp, sleeping bag inside, near his horse and spends the night. In the morning he finds a café and has his breakfast. “I just love sleepin’ out, looking up at the stars, and then getting up in the morning and having breakfast at some little café. I just love it!” he said again, with a big smile. “Kirk, you’re a cowboy, all right,” I said. Even up in the mountains when the dew is a little icy in the mornings, he said he sleeps “warm as toast” in his bed roll. “That cowboy tarp--best money I ever spent,” he said. <br />
He went on describing the trail ride, and how his old truck probably wouldn’t make another trip like that pulling a load. “I’ve got more than 200,000 miles on it, but I won’t quit driving it. I’ll get me another used truck, but I’ll keep driving this one too.” Finally, after several more stories, I looked at Sugar, who was patiently waiting, and decided I’d better leave or that donkey’s patience might run out. And Kirk still had her sister Missy’s hooves to do. So, soon as I got an opening, we figured out the next appointment, I wished Kirk the best and retreated to my truck, still enjoying, vicariously, Kirk’s cowboy experiences. I love living in Texas!<br />
Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-34462900057243510012011-07-13T14:35:00.000-07:002011-07-13T14:35:02.175-07:00Some Still CareMy daughter needed clear plastic legal-size envelopes to organize family documents, but she couldn't find the legal size locally. So she decided to check at the Container Store in the Dallas area. If you haven't been to the Container Store, it's an amazing ecperience. I hadn't been so I went with her. Of course that meant I found several items I needed too. It's hard not to in that store. The store is huge and it has more than containers. It has all types of items to organize your home and your life. We checked with a clerk who directed us toward office supplies. But no legal-size plastic envelopes. We went on through the aisles, just looking around when a clerk asked us if we had found what we were looking for. My daughter said no and told her what she wanted. The woman led us to another section of the store and, sure enough, the legal-size envelopes were there. Now, my daughter never meets a stranger so she set about getting acquainted with the helpful clerk. The woman began telling us how wonderful it was to work at the store. She praised the owners and described how good they were to their employees. She said we receive wonderful gifts on all the holidays, including Valentine's Day. The women were surprised by orchids on Mother's Day. She was a part-time employee, but she said she got company benefits as well. I don't know about you, but it's rare, if almost never, that I hear praise from an employee for their employers. This woman said the owner's wife would drop in at the store on occasion and visit with them. She was impressed by their concern for their employees. By this time, wo were we. If you're ever in the Dallas area, you might want to check out the Container Store or maybe there's one near you. I'm ready to support an organization that has a heart and cares about its people.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-33897638647883460892011-06-30T15:27:00.000-07:002011-06-30T15:34:24.439-07:00"You Think It's Hot Here!"I'm always straining my neck to read church signs as we drive around the country. Some are funny. You know, like, "Don't wait for the hearse to take you to church." Or, "You think it's hot here, the weather in hell never changes." Yes, I laughed too, but cringed as well. Not likely to draw nonbelievers to Christ.<br />
But one I saw lately read: "Seven days without prayer makes one weak." A play on words. I like those. Anyway, it led me here and there and around again with my thoughts. Is it prayer that actually makes you strong? No, I thought, it's Christ's strength. We're always weak, no matter how much we pray. Prayer can go no higher than the ceiling. But he's never weak. He's the source of strength.<br />
Prayer is necessary, however. You remember in the Gospel of Mark when the disciples couldn't cast out the demon from the boy (Mark 9)? Jesus had given them authority over the demons, but this time they failed. When they asked him why, Jesus told them lack of prayer. They must have begun taking this power for granted, thinking they had this power within themselves. After all, they had been exorcising demons. What happened? They hadn't been prayerfully looking to God. That was a big mistake. Jesus is the source of our strength. When we try to go it on our own, we're in trouble. As someone said, "When you try to do it by your natural abilities alone, it's exhausting!" And, sometimes, it's impossible.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-59140197599120030762011-04-04T14:44:00.000-07:002011-04-04T14:44:48.509-07:00Not Just Another DogSome would say she's just another dog, but they would be wrong. Of all the dogs I've known, she's the best. When the doorbell rings, the hair rises on her neck and she has a ferocious bark, but she's a pacifist at heart. She's all love, not war. <br />
She's not my dog. She belongs to my son-in-law and daughter. She's a golden Labrador named Lady. After first making her acquaintance I made the mistake of giving her a good all over scratch. That was it for her. I became the person who gives great back scratches. Whenever I come over, she heads for me with that pleading look in her big brown eyes we both know the meaning of. They don't like for her to beg at the table, but once in a while when she's not put outside soon enough, I feel a warm head on my knee under the table and looking up are those same eyes with another look we both know the meaning of.<br />
One day Lady quit playing with her toys. I'm not sure when it was, but one day she didn't run up with a toy for me to try to grab away from her. After that, it seemed all of a sudden she walked slower and needed help getting into the golf cart for a ride. Was Lady getting old so soon? Then she started showing signs of a stroke. She began walking in circles and she forgot how to back up, so she would get stuck in a corner and have to be rescued several times a day. She began to lose weight and her hair started coming out. Last night, I noticed she was dragging a back leg when she got up to be let outside. Today my daughter called to let me know Lady was making her last trip to the vet today.<br />
As much as Lady forgot, one thing she never forgot. Last night before she had to be helped outside and then helped back onto her ottoman, she walked slowly over to me for the last back scratch from her long time designated back scratcher.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-61149907613749569622011-03-03T05:40:00.000-08:002011-03-03T05:40:49.619-08:00NCIS AddictI’m an NCIS fan. I love Tony and Ziva and McGee and Abby and Ducky and Palmer, and, yes, even Gibbs. I wouldn’t want to work for Gibbs because I’ve had a boss like him and he made my life miserable, interesting, but miserable. But like these agents, I learned a lot from this boss, and that’s one of the reasons I hung in there. I’m just happy he didn’t see NCIS or we may have been slapped in the back of our heads a few times. The guys for sure.<br />
I’ve tried to analyze why this series is so popular. It has fans from across the generations. I do think it helps the generations to understand each other’s peculiarities better. And maybe appreciate them more as well. Gibbs is the father figure. Tony is big brother and McGee is little brother. Gibbs obviously likes the girls better, treating them like daughters. Of course, there’s the usual fare of sex and violence expected of today’s cop shows, but this one is different. They’re family, and maybe that’s what people desire to see. We look in every week to share in the NCIS family life. <br />
I’m a fan on Facebook as well, so I get previews of coming attractions. That’s how I knew Abby would be a presenter on the Grammys. She looked so cute, and she didn’t have all those tattoos she has on the show. My only concern is that something will happen to one of my favorite characters. It seems the women agents and directors are particularly vulnerable. <br />
Oh, got to watch the clock, today is NCIS marathon day and another episode’s coming on in five minutes.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-63007340656366684402011-03-03T05:20:00.000-08:002011-03-03T05:20:29.519-08:00Typing BlindI’ve had some minor surgery on my eyes, if anything related to surgery and eyes can be termed minor. This is the third day, and I’m ready for the healing to begin. Enough of ice packs and sleeping in Ed’s recliner at night. There’s no pain, but the gel in my eyes causes them to be blurry, so I can’t read, check my email, watch TV, drive. It’s frustrating. Today my eyes have begun to itch, and I can’t scratch either. My daughters have been hovering over me, concerned that all goes well. It’s not life threatening or sight threatening, but I appreciate their concern anyway. <br />
You may wonder how I’m writing this blog. As long as I have my fingers on the right keys, I can type away without seeing what I’m doing. I have Tina check on me occasionally to see if I’m typing gibberish. I’m sure lessons can be learned from this experience, besides patience, that is, but I don’t know what they are yet. Maybe if I type long enough something will come to me.<br />
There is one thing I need to confess. I’ve had plenty of time to think in the last few days, and I need to get this off my chest. Last year, I fof I dhsry kru,brtomh orkflsddrromy/ orkflsddrromy/myhjomhm, fkfo/ I feel better now.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-3994542211023783472011-02-15T07:14:00.000-08:002011-02-15T07:14:32.833-08:00A Family MomentIt was Valentine's Day weekend and a daughter and her husband and Ed and I were driving to meet another daughter at Sweetie Pie's rib eye steakhouse in Decatur, Texas. My daughter, nameless at her request, said to her husband: "You mentioned to Mamma (her grandmother) to notice Tina's new haircut. I wonder if she remembered to notice."<br />
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"No, I didn't say that," he answered, "you said it."<br />
<br />
"No, I didn't say it. You said it."<br />
<br />
"No, I didn't say it.<br />
<br />
"Well, someone said it," my daughter said.<br />
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My husband then said, "I said it."<br />
<br />
"You said it?" She queried.<br />
<br />
By this time, I was laughing because it was turning into a "Who's on first" moment.<br />
<br />
"Well, if we can't decide who said it, I'll say I said it," I said.<br />
<br />
Somehow my daughter didn't see the humor, but later when she asked Tina if Mamma had noticed her new haircut, she could hardly tell the story for laughing. All three of us laughed until we cried. Our husbands question our sanity sometimes.<br />
<br />
Did Mamma notice? Yes, she did.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-63048436504834969492011-01-11T14:20:00.001-08:002011-01-11T14:20:50.603-08:00My Heart Hurts<span xmlns=''><p>She's beautiful and talented and articulate, a woman, a politician, a Jew, a Democrat. She was in the crosshairs, a target all right. She's barely alive; six people are dead. I'm angry and I'm disgusted and I'm also saddened and so disappointed with the radical politics in this country. You could see it coming. The hateful radio and TV talk shows, the black humor, the politicians spouting off outright lies to either obtain or maintain their offices. Of course, the political pundits are pointing fingers every way but their way. No, they're not to blame, they say.<br /></p><p>Some say this nation needs a soul-searching. Yes, on one hand we call ourselves a Christian nation and on the other, we sling around slanderous remarks about our fellow citizens and laugh about it. Six dead and 14 injured. Why does it take a horrific tragedy to make us think. My heart hurts.</p></span>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-9433917149576193272011-01-03T04:56:00.001-08:002011-01-03T04:56:19.239-08:00I'm Trying, Lord!<span xmlns=''><p>It's a new year. A time to think about what I want to accomplish this year. Surely I can come up with more than just changing the date of my last year's resolutions from 2010 to 2011. And, I have to ask myself several questions: Why are last year's goals still this year's goals? Did I have too many? Was I unrealistic? Am I setting myself up to fail again this year?<br /></p><p> I'm trying to come up with a workable schedule for my 2011 goals, but it seems impossible to fit everything in. I remember thinking longingly about all the extra time I would have to do all I wanted when I retired, but I seem busier than ever. Not to mention the time I need to rest. Can you believe it? Scheduling in time to rest? But that's reality for me now.<br /></p><p>First on my priorities, to be what some call "in the Word." Not sure exactly what that means, but I'm reading 1 Peter this morning: "Therefore prepare your minds for action; discipline yourselves; set all your hope on the grace that Jesus Christ will bring you when he is revealed." I'm trying, Lord. I'm trying. Thank the Lord for his grace!<br /></p></span>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-70764852651815754432010-12-29T16:16:00.001-08:002010-12-29T16:16:25.846-08:00Christmas 2010<span xmlns=''><p>It's the day after Christmas. ER is a place of strange scenes and sounds. As I sit with my dozing 92-year-old mother, a machine whirs and beeps out her vitals across its screen. A large lamp hangs over her head amid a tangle of wires and cords. Someone has ripped open the sleeve of her gown to reveal a bloody elbow. She's on oxygen. Nurses, aides, EMTS joke with each other at the desk across from her room. A grandmother weeps in the hall as a child screams in a couple of rooms down. It would be surreal if I hadn't already been here many times before.<br /></p><p>Mother has fallen again and been rushed by ambulance to hospital emergency . She believes she can get up by herself, but when she tries she falls. This time she has a nasty bruise with some swelling on the back of her head and a scraped elbow. Her head hurts and her temperature is up a few degrees. They finally tell me she will be admitted overnight for observation. Their patient rooms are full. She will be moved to a room when one is open. <br /></p><p>Though I'm sitting in a cold hospital emergency room away from visiting with my children and grandchildren on this holiday weekend, I'm not complaining. A friend of mine lost her mother, yesterday, on Christmas Day. As I watch my mother's dear face, I'm thankful. <br /></p><p>Wouldn't it be great if Christmas could be a time out from suffering, death and tears? How wonderful it would be if the peace, joy and hope Christmas pictures could be a reality around the world on Christmas Day every year. No, it's not going to happen, but Christmas reminds us that time is sure to come. <br /></p></span>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-55847712786465117182010-10-20T05:07:00.001-07:002010-10-20T05:07:24.004-07:00A Gift From God<span xmlns=''><p>Sometimes I decide to give a day to God. No, not always Sunday, it can be some other day--a day when I put aside my desires, concerns and personal pleasures and focus on God. I might not eat on that day. I might not watch television or play video games or check Facebook over and over to see what my friends are up to. I don't do laundry or clean house or cook. It's a day to worship, praise, meditate on him. This day is a gift to God.<br /></p><p>Now, I have to admit most of the time I have ulterior motives. I'm needing inspiration for an article or a presentation or I need a solution to one of those concerns I'm supposed to have put aside. I'm a natural born worrier.<br /></p><p>God is not fooled, of course. He knows my human nature, and, in spite of me, appreciates my attempts to give him a gift. Kind of like children when they bring a somewhat straggly, slightly wilted wild flower to you as a gift. You treat that flower like a treasure, put it in a vase and give your child a big hug. You might give your child a cookie too.<br /></p><p>I think that human love response to a child comes from God. Every time I try to give God a day, it turns out he gives me a day instead. On that day with God, my concerns are turned to joys and my stresses are relieved. I'm rested, calmed, and the worrier is now rejoicing because God lets her know she is not totally responsible for solving either her problems or the cares of the world. He reminds her that he knows what's going on and he is still in control. Thank you, Lord. </p></span>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-2723880663563954032010-10-19T06:09:00.001-07:002010-10-19T06:09:20.209-07:00No Ham, Please<span xmlns=''><p>Several years ago when I was volunteering on Monday mornings at the Home Hospice office, at lunch I would grab a sandwich at Subway. Subway has sandwich specials, and Monday is its turkey and ham day. I don't like ham, so every Monday I asked the young person working behind the see-through counter to give me the special but without the ham. They would not comply. In all that time, only once or maybe twice would they do as I asked. So, each time after I paid, on the way out I would unwrap the sandwich, remove the ham and toss it into their trash can.<br /></p><p>Last Monday, I happened to be in town so I stopped by Subway. Again, I asked the young man behind the counter if he could leave off the ham on my turkey sandwich. Cheese, yes, ham, no. He shook his head. "I can put it on the side," he said. "OK," I replied. He slipped the ham into one of their envelope-type sacks, wrapped my sandwich and put both in a plastic bag. I paid him and dropped the ham into the trash can on my way out the door.<br /></p><p>At Subway it seems rules are rules. When those kids behind the counter are told no alternatives, that's what administration means. When a customer wants something left off their specials, that's money in corporate pockets, I would think, but no. What a waste. I couldn't help thinking about how this affects their young employees. I hope they see through this type of illogic legalism. I hope it encourages them to think for themselves. I hope it's for the better.</p></span>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-64990992668429592892010-10-15T06:46:00.000-07:002010-10-15T06:46:08.800-07:00A Wanna-BeAre you a wanna-be? I am. I wanna be fluent in Spanish. I wanna be a good golfer. I wanna be 10 pounds lighter. I wanna memorize scripture. I wanna be a better artist. I remember telling a Jewish professor I would like to learn biblical Hebrew. She answered: "A lot of people want to know Hebrew." I got the message. <br />
Learning another language, losing weight, memorizing scripture, driving golf balls, painting in oils, all take time, discipline and hard work. The apostle Paul even described the Christian life as running a race, not just slowly jogging along but running to win. 1 Corinthians 9:24–10:1 (NIV). Salvation is a gift, but according to Paul, a Christian should live a disciplined life, led by the spirit, not the flesh. The Christian life is not a fearful life, but a life full of interesting challenges. <br />
My problem is prioritizing my challenges. I have too many wannas. Do you have this problem? The writing on my tombstone could read, "She ran out of time." Some years ago now I wrote down everything I considered important to me. Just took out a piece of paper and started writing. Then I prioritized what I had listed according to importance and figured out how much time I spent on the top ten. It's an eye-opening process. I think it's time to do it again.<br />
>bSheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-21473532285045101342010-09-27T18:52:00.001-07:002010-09-27T18:52:50.570-07:00It's Fall, Finally!<span xmlns=''><p><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>Softly falling raindrops outside. Cooler temperatures. Geese headed south. It's fall--finally! What a summer we've had, especially an August of no rain combined with weeks of 100 plus temperatures. But now a respite before winter sets in. Only subtle changes in the tree leaves but the grasses alongside the roads are seeded out and showing tinges of yellow.<br /></span></p><p><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>I love the changing seasons. Walking around town in my shirt sleeves in the dead of winter was nice when I lived in Southern California, but I missed the seasons. In one place we lived, our gas fireplace, though real, was designed not to give out much heat. It was there only for its esthetic value. Not so here in Texas. <br /></span></p><p><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>Life has its seasons as well. (I think there's a song about that.) If we gave each season 25 years, that would make spring ages 1 to 25 years, summer 25 to 50, fall 50 to 75 and winter 75 to 100. Like the annual seasons, there's a lot of variation in each of those seasons. For example, a 1-year-old's life is quite different from that of a 25-year-old, and so on. <br /></span></p><p><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>I'm not sure where I'm going with this except to say while the earth goes on year after year, season after season, our human life spans don't. If we're fortunate we have spring, summer, fall and winter. My dad didn't make it to fall and a son barely made it to summer. Yet my mother is in her winter years, blessed with a long and full life. My point--whatever season you're in, take time to stop and think about your life. Don't let life pass you by. Take time to enjoy and treasure each day God has blessed you with. <br /></span></p></span>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-18384364265042735122010-09-13T18:49:00.001-07:002010-09-13T18:49:56.251-07:00"He Only Visits Church"<span xmlns=''><p>I saw a sign in front of a country church: "Jesus lives in the community. He only visits church." I've been intrigued with that statement ever since. I think I agree. When I read about Jesus in Scripture, he was actively doing his Father's will everywhere he went. And, yes, he visited the synagogue and the temple, where he also did his Father's will. Maybe I'm over thinking the whole thing. Probably. <br /></p><p>But if Jesus is working everywhere and only visits church, why church? If I asked that question of churchgoers, I would no doubt get a variety of answers. Jesus visiting there is good enough for me, actually. But I'm meandering away from the writer's original statement, which is, Jesus lives in the community. He's not just around one day a week, conveniently going his way right before Sunday afternoon football comes on. <br /></p><p>At first I thought the writer was referring to the church as church services or church buildings, not the <em>ecclesia,</em> the body of Christ. The more I think about it, maybe not. "The body of Christ lives in the community. They only visit church." As followers of Jesus we are the body of Christ. We should visit church but more than that, we should be living in the community. That's where Jesus lives and works all week long. That's where we are the lights in the darkness and the salt of the earth.</p></span>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-65667435823006940922010-09-12T15:45:00.000-07:002010-09-12T15:45:19.082-07:00My Sister's BirthdayMy sister's birthday was today. Our birth dates were only 18 months apart, so I don't remember a time when she wasn't around. Some might call my sister a bit of a character, because she didn't pretend to be anything but who she was. She did what she pleased and said what she thought. As one friend said about her: "If you don't like the apples, don't shake the tree."<br />
My sister was smart, pretty, athletic and an artist. She was generous above her means. <br />
My sister was a fighter. When rhematoid arthritis struck her down, she didn't stay down. It was a battle she couldn't win, but that didn't keep her from trying.<br />
We had plans, my sister and me. We would grow old together. We would place our easels side by side and paint beautiful scenery. We would reminisce and tell stories on each other and laugh. I will always miss my sister.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-18245271168191327932010-09-11T14:05:00.000-07:002010-09-11T14:05:51.166-07:00Living in the CountryLiving in the country is great, especially near a small town. I even enjoy Wal-Mart. Now, you can say what you will about the super store, you'll see even the pickiest shoppers there eventually. But it's not those shoppers I enjoy so much. Maybe it's just in rural Texas, but in how many places do you have total strangers begin a conversation with you as if they've known you for years.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, an elderly couple approached a Wal-Mart employee working near me. The man had on a cowboy hat, red shirt and jeans held up by suspenders. He turned to me and explained that his wife had eaten something that had disagreed with her, he thought maybe chicken, and needed ... . About this time his white-haired wife began using hand signals to warn him to stop giving out so much information.<br />
<br />
He laughed and said, "She's had papers on me for 53 years and I still ain't broke." You have to understand this is horse country. By not being "broke," he was referring to taming horses, not to anything monetary. He went on to tell me he had lived on the Red River all his life. The Red River separates Oklahoma and Texas. He said she was a city girl and he was country, and after they got married they moved to the Red River and still lived there.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I can't tell you more. About this time his wife of 53 years walked off down the aisle--husband and shopping cart in tow.Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-42727424193837678712010-09-09T06:32:00.001-07:002010-09-09T06:32:54.622-07:00Rain, Beautiful Rain<span xmlns=''><p><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>Rain, beautiful rain. We're supposed to have rain for the rest of this week. After a long dry August, September rain is so welcome. The lakes and stock ponds are filling up and the pastures and gardens are being watered. Though we tend to take rain for granted, we shouldn't. Rain is a valuable commodity. Actually <em>valuable</em> is not adequate to describe this priceless blessing.<br /></span></p><p><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>Psalm 65:9–13 (NRSV) <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'><sup>9</sup> You visit the earth and water it, <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>you greatly enrich it; <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>the river of God is full of water; <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>you provide the people with grain, <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>for so you have prepared it. <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'><sup>10</sup> You water its furrows abundantly, <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>settling its ridges, <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>softening it with showers, <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>and blessing its growth. <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'><sup>11</sup> You crown the year with your bounty; <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>your wagon tracks overflow with richness. <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'><sup>12</sup> The pastures of the wilderness overflow, <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>the hills gird themselves with joy, <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'><sup>13</sup> the meadows clothe themselves with flocks, <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>the valleys deck themselves with grain, <br /></span></p><p style='margin-left: 36pt'><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>they shout and sing together for joy. <br /></span></p><p><br /> </p><p><br /> </p><p><span style='color:#0033cc; font-family:Arial'><br /> </span> </p></span>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-23622242415786495652010-09-07T07:58:00.000-07:002010-09-07T07:58:51.598-07:00<a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNj40WnKcXSBGZ3H20ftfQ6vXTH7LxgPTR94PfueBE0iGKGKxBCT4pfNTlvZMG_NR4ke7uXQp9eMNKxCUcaLwgw3Gtceo9Ryrk2CaP0tJcQ7TAkWJXhd8oVc_uoH_wx9SoEEElJ-STPdyK/s1600/008.JPG'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNj40WnKcXSBGZ3H20ftfQ6vXTH7LxgPTR94PfueBE0iGKGKxBCT4pfNTlvZMG_NR4ke7uXQp9eMNKxCUcaLwgw3Gtceo9Ryrk2CaP0tJcQ7TAkWJXhd8oVc_uoH_wx9SoEEElJ-STPdyK/s320/008.JPG' border='0' alt=''style='clear:both;float:left; margin:0px 10px 10px 0;' /></a> <div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4181460630259442570.post-53938863773717736322010-09-07T07:53:00.001-07:002010-09-07T07:53:34.711-07:00The Risk Taker<span xmlns=''><p><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>My husband is a risk taker. Do you have a husband like that? I try to keep him out of trees and off tall ladders, but my efforts are usually useless. Last Sunday, driving 70 miles an hour down the Interstate on our way to church, we heard a loud noise. A piece of our luggage rack came loose and went sailing off down the highway. Mbh pulled over, turned on the emergency flashers, and deaf to my suggestion that it might be dangerous to run out in the midst of traffic, he took off. <br /></span></p><p><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>I waited nervously, watching semis and cars whiz by as he estimated how much time he had to run across to rescue the piece of luggage rack. Then, seeing his chance, he dashed across, grabbed it and ran back across the Interstate. By this time, of course, the prize he had risked his life for had been run over at least once or twice, and was a piece of junk.<br /></span></p><p><span style='font-family:Times New Roman; font-size:12pt'>When I questioned his action, he said, no problem, he had been careful. "What if you had tripped?" I asked him. He was insulted. "I've played basketball for years. I'm not going to trip." Yes, he'd played for years, but how many years ago, I thought. I'm too old for this, and so is he. Pray for us!</span></p></span>Sheila Ghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11865187501364011160noreply@blogger.com0