He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. ~ Psalm 147:3

Archive for February, 2015

It’s a Dog’s Life

I’ve designed more stuff to post on my blog, “My Favorite Things,” and got behind in this one. I’m old and don’t move as fast as I used to. That’s the best excuse I have for now. So I dug into my files and decided to do a post on dogs.It's a Dog's LifeI’m not madly in love with dogs, but do I like them. And growing up, we always had one. Like Pat, the beautiful Irish Setter that someone decided to steel from us one night, leaving their tracks in the snow. Weeks later Daddy found him tied to a tree in the woods.This little guy reminds me of the pooch that followed my youngest brother home one day. At least that was his story.  Something or someone was always following him home. But we kept the dog and named him poochy. One day my mother was checking his ears and pulled off a big tick . . . she thought. To everyone’s horror it was a big wart instead! We thought he’d need a blood transfusion before she got the bleeding stopped. Bloodhounds always look so sad, like they’re crying or, gonna cry any minute. I like them. They’re cute. But I don’t want one. Two crybabies under one roof would be the un-doings of my husband. Cats are fun too. But my husband doesn’t want one. I’d like to have one, though. But there’s the climbing and clawing and stinky cat litter. I just changed my mind. And finally, here’s Rascal. The puppy who wriggled his way first into our hearts then into our home. He was one of a littler of pups dropped off in the neighborhood. The little girl next door rescued him and took him home. But Rascal had other plans. I can still see him sitting in their driveway, his white chest glistening, his big brown eyes following our every move.

It’s usually the other way around, but Rascal picked us to be his owners. And the neighbors made it real easy for him because they were way too busy to care for a cute little puppy that needed lots of love and attention. So without hesitation they gave him to us.

He’s a joy, like having another kid in the house. When we let him in after letting him out for the last time at night, we accuse him of getting into catnip. Like a locomotive he runs around, growling and taunting us to chase him through the house. It’s like watching a three-ring circus as he maneuvers around the furniture, sliding on the carpet and digging in for more traction. It’s the highlight of our otherwise humdrum, lazy day.

Well, that’s all for now. Thanks for dropping by. Next time I’ll bake a cake!

Let’s Have Church

Where is the house of the Lord? All my life I thought it was the church; a building where people hear about God, learn to love and respect one another, listen to and pray for one another, encourage and uplift one another.

I might have it all wrong, but to me the house of the Lord is my heart. Going to church doesn’t make my heart right, especially when people gossip, form their own little cliques, hide behind their holier-than-thou masks, and judge, condemn, and convict people before they even hear their cases.

So, I’ve built a sanctuary in my heart. It’s not perfect. I goof up . . . a lot. Some days I can’t stand being in my own skin. But I don’t have to dress up all fancy, paste a smile on my face, and be around people I don’t like.

Maybe I’m just cynical. Maybe I’m too intolerant. Maybe I’m too set in my ways. Or maybe I’m just tired of the games church-people play. Tired of dishonesty and greed. Tired of not knowing who to trust. And tired of trying to keep my eyes open during preaching.

So, I’ve made a decision. My church-going days are over. I no longer wear it as a shrine around my neck. I no longer see it as the only place I can worship God. Maybe I should feel guilty. Maybe I should hang my head in shame. But, for a thousand and one reasons and a million hurts and disappointments, I feel free. And for the first time in a long, long time, I’m having church.

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South Texas Watercolor Artist

Corpus Christi, Texas

THE POETIC SAGE

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Straight from the Heart

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. ~ Psalm 147:3

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