The whites of two eggs
Whipped into dry, stiff peaks
Are gently folded into the batter
Where their counterparts were
Beaten earlier with
Oil, milk, flour
A measure of leaven
Three fingers salt
When ironed and steamed
To a perfect temperature
Dotted with a pat of butter
Draped with pure maple syrup,
Presented to a hungry child
A smile is worth everything
Here we are, the last day of October, and I survived. Not I, but God survived me.
Every flaw, sarcasm, lament, and awkward move did not remove me from my position in Him. It may have removed a few people from me, but that is His business, not mine. He knows every word I never said.
By the way, never comment on a story, until you read the very last page, because a few of your words may change.
One million mistakes
Does not erase
God’s immutable mercy and grace
Innumerable lives
Will never deprive
God’s Holy right to judge and decide
Galatians 2:20
I bit into the crust of the pocket pouch I baked. As it took four bites to reach the center fruit filling, strawberry filled my taste buds, not fig, of which I hoped.
I decided whatever filling I got was good, as I made them, and my crust really doesn’t need anything; it can stand alone just fine. Maybe the next one, as I brought two. I will never stand alone.
As I coast into November
Meander slowly through final chapters
It is a gift to remember
Weak foundations reap disasters
When you know your maker
Don’t try to analyze your lot
God’s the maker and the baker
True grace and mercy is what you got
The only thing that separates
You and I in the rain
Is nothing
If we both are Born Again
John 3:7
As I deliberately counted the sunrise at 7:15, I didn’t actually see the sun but shades of purple stretched across the horizon.
My intention was to count the sunset, but darkness fell in my lap, so I counted it anyways.
In between I laughed which drowned out sounds of despair.
I hear the moon will be full tonight. I don’t need to see what never falls. Perhaps tomorrow I won’t count anything.
If you count my flaws, you’ll never stop
If I count yours, I won’t stop short
There’s Only One who never counts
Christ paid on the cross the greatest amount
Genesis 1:5, Psalm 130:3, 1 Corinthians 6:20
My grocery store now rounds up, says there is nothing they can do about it, because it is programmed into the computer, and thinks it is due to the penny crisis, which got me thinking.
Jesus said he would return in 2 days, so, if this is day 2, when was day 1? Are we living in the last days, or the final day? Is one day different than another, or are the days we live a compilation of 1 day?
Was before Jesus’ birth the first day, and after, the second day?
Oh, by the way, It is still a beautiful day, even when no one rounds down.
A six-sentence conundrum.
I can still count to 2….and 6.
My kind friend at the convenient store brewed me a fresh pot of Decaf, because I arrived later than usual. We shared a laugh or two.
Another kind friend there shared his week with me and told me the same three things he says every week; I’m right and the world is wrong, he and I will always be friends, and he prayed for me this week.
Autumn leaves are glorious, rich and abundant. Last year I hardly noticed until it was practically over.
What do you see? It’s worth the observations.
It’s a beautiful day to be
A beautiful day to do
Whatever you choose to see
Is sitting in front of you
God makes beautiful days
And only asks that we
Trust Him with our every way
And be all that He made us to be
It takes me a million days to finish a book, so, for the sake of my readers here, I will reveal, and offer a personal review, and for the sake of the ladies who assigned me an identity, I will soon finish, and respond separately.
The book (some may already guessed, or read, or perhaps never heard of) is called, “Theo of Golden”.
The first thing you must know is that it is fiction, and please, let that sink in, deeply; fiction, which means the author made it up, and if I could ever write fiction as this, and I can not, well, that would be more than something.
Am I the girl in the story they say I am? HA! I resemble her, yes, and not only her, but every person in the book. And I recognize some people I know in many of them.
All in all, the author weaves a skillful artist’s eye, with a man, Theo, who sees deeper within, and by his own desire (perhaps to find peace with his own story), and personal financial generosity, purchases and presents portraits hung in a small coffee shop, to their rightful owners.
What acts of kindness can do to unlock and set free wounds bathed in years of unforgiveness and blind ignorance!
I have much to say, but very briefly I will focus on a few points,
One, may we never look at another person, and think we know who they are, or look at ourselves, and think we know who we are. Only God knows anyone completely, and everything that makes a person.
It matters not your culture, heritage, ancestry, or color. God sees none and all of that. He sees you and He sees me!
Two, (I am not a book critic), the author, Allen Levi, is an attorney, judge, singer/songwriter. I wonder, and will probably never know, how much of him is in his story.
Always check out an author, the only one who truly knows what inspired the words.
I don’t know if I was lost more in the characters or melted in the richness and beauty of it’s language, as I love people deeply and also write with everything I have and do not have.
But, even while preparing this entry, and engaging two more sets of eyes (three if you take into consideration one wears glasses, as do I), I did not hear any of the character’s voices while I embraced their loss, grief, anger, rage, clumsiness, and candor. No, I did not hear a one.
Who I heard was the author’s voice who created in his mind, a cast of fictitious characters, which leads me to put to you two questions,
“Who is the author of your story?“Is it really your story?”
I highly recommend this book to all, but hold on if your heart easily breaks, and pray it will, if it does not.
Thank you for reading.
An attendant carried my bags into the airport, and once aboard the plane, I always sought out a kind person who help lift my heavy bags onto the baggage compartment above my seat. When I arrived, I always found someone who helped carry my bags to the waiting area. People who arrived to drive me home always helped carry my bags to the car.
No one was ever meant to carry baggage alone. What do we not comprehend, and why?
Perhaps we all carry too much baggage.
Galatians 6:2
Maybe a poem later. For now, a single sentence to ponder, penned by me.
“There is nothing weightier than a word suppressed or repressed, nor lighter than a word set free”
I honestly believed I had no more pieces to give, and that I also lost people. As I am wrong so often, so I was then, but pieces need order, structure, and of course, I lack those essentials.
So I tried to piece them all together, and while laying my grandson down for his morning nap, I spied upon a single knit owl that I handcrafted a string of about eight for my daughter some years ago, but in the chaos, the string was lost, found, and destroyed. Now a single owl, unharmed, draped over the lamp, and I knew, she only ever needed one.
Perhaps, one day, hopefully sooner than later, I will share more pieces.
When I finish reading the book
I may never read another
When I finish baking the pie
I may never bake another
When I finish working the puzzle
I may never work another
When I finish watching this mystery
I may never watch another
When I finish writing this poem
I may never write another
But should I finish all these things
And never do another
I know I only need One Savior
Above Him is no other
And nothing that is found and lost
Is ever lost at all
Because once one finds Jesus
He’ll always be there when you fall
Acts 4:12 and another, and another, and another…
The evening was weird, to say the figurative. It was miraculous, to admit the literal. What happens there, stays there, or should, but leaks happen. Well, a leak can be patched, but a burn?
More often than not, I begin words, then write, “finish this”. I’m not talking to myself, because more often than not, someone does.
Wise lips close when one wants to open it
And opens when one wishes to close it
Dyslexia often confuses the two
It takes nothing less than the power of the Holy Spirit
Later in quiet that one may be surprised to find
The spoken or hushed were true all the time
A worst case scenario hones an ear
A One and only Savior sharpens the mind
–Words are meant for whoever reads and hears them–
 | Frank Hubeny on Satisfied |
| Frank Hubeny on Holy Ghost! |
| Frank Hubeny on A Foundation’s Fill |
 | Mary (tqhousecat) on A Foundation’s Fill |
| Frank Hubeny on A Foundation’s Fill |
