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

Posts tagged ‘Humor’

Six Reasons Why I Shave My Head

I felt really stressed this morning, so I shaved my head. I feel so much better now . . .

Okay. There’s a method to my madness. It may not work for you, but it works for me.

1. I don’t like long hair on me. As a kid, I pestered my mother to death to cut off my long, red hair. Kids made fun of me in school and yanked on my ponytail or pigtails till my head hurt.

2. Growing up I lived under the dictatorship of lofty rules and regulations; enslaved to the convictions of others and was rarely allowed to think and choose for myself. Unable to tame my wild, independent spirit, they tried breaking it with the hammer of guilt and shame.    

3. I was a slave to curling, teasing, perming, and burning my scalp with a curling iron. I’d spend hours fixing my hair only to brush it all out and do it again. And again.

4. After years of trying and failing to fit in, I became a hoarder of guilt and anger and rage and stuffed those feelings deep inside so no one would know my dirty little secrets. Then one day something happened; the straw that broke the camel’s back and I snapped and there was no place for all that garbage to go but out. Thankfully, Jesus was there with a big box of bandaids before I bled to death!

5. Like a snake shedding its skin, shaving my head is my proclamation of freedom and growth. I’ve outgrown my old skin of doing it someone else’s way, now I’m doing it my way regardless of what anyone thinks. I’m shedding my old skin and growing a new one just for me. I don’t care if I raise a few eyebrows when I enter a room or walk through the mall. I don’t care that people walk up to me and blatantly ask me if I’m sick. I just don’t care!

6. And last but not least, I can ride in the car with the windows down. I can look in the mirror and every little hair is right where it’s supposed to be. It doesn’t frizz, it doesn’t fall flat, it doesn’t move! Best of all, it’s my choice to shave my head. I’ve allowed too many people to bend and twist and pull me out of shape and it’s been a long, painful struggle to straighten it all back out. I’ve earned the right to live in peace in my own skin whether anyone likes it or not.

Conclusion:
A shaved head is not for everyone and I would never recommend doing it unless you really want to. It will grow back, but not as quickly as you shaved it off! 

2 Corinthians 4:16
Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day.

 

 

Keep Going! If You Stop, You’ll Never Get There!

Nearly two years ago, my husband, Buck, and I decided to renovate our house. We’re finally in the last room. YAY!

Because we have furniture in the room, we have to do sections at a time. Meaning, we cut and pulled up the carpet and padding, then, I pulled up the staples and carpet strips and scraped and swept the floor. As you can see from the photo, Buck has to fix the subfloor where it got wet from the leak we had a while back. I was really hoping to get this much of the floor done, but our strength gave out and we had to call it a day.

This morning, I felt like someone beat me up in my sleep. Ever since my bout with a ruptured disc a few years ago, my back ain’t what it used to be when I jogged 20 miles a week. In plain English, it hurts like hell! And this floor thing is not at all what the doctor ordered. Plus, I have an anxiety disorder. And it’s not just my body falling apart. Oh, no. Buck’s knee swells and hurts him all the time. And he’s diabetic and has PTSD.

So, we’re either the dumbest two people on the planet or we’re a couple of masochists. Take your pick and we’d have to agree with either one.

In all fairness, though, we decided to renovate our house ourselves because it needed to be done and we don’t have the luxury (money) of having someone else do it for us. Plus, we were 71 when we started. Most people are either dead or in nursing homes by then, not on their hands and knees and climbing ladders renovating their homes.

During this anything-but-fun-process, I’ve sometimes treated God as my Fairy Godmother. Of course, I know better than to think He’s going to snap His fingers and poof! the carpets are up, the floor is down and all my furniture is back in its rightful place. But there were moments when my brain shut down and my heart screamed, Do it, Lord! Wave your magic wand and make all this madness disappear!

When I prayed for God’s help, He didn’t rip up one piece of carpet, pull up one single staple, or lay down one vinyl plank. He didn’t paint the walls or help me organize the mess we created. Nope! None of that. He could have. He’s God, after all. Heck, He created me from dust. Nothing is too much for Him.

But, He did help me. He gave me strength when I didn’t think I could move another inch. He dried my tears of anger and frustration. He sent me a family of Wrens on the back porch to help take my mind off the chaos and remind me that He is still near. Throughout this madness, He has been there cheering me on, telling me when I need to stop, and helping me to stay focused when the process gets distorted and my attitude gets twisted out of shape.

Today, I am tired. My body hurts. Buck’s body hurts. I wish we were done. I wish someone would come and finish it for us. But we’re closer to our dream today than we were yesterday. And in spite of my suffering and tiredness, God will give me the strength and dogged determination to finish!

If you’re in a hard place right now and can’t find your way through, God is always there ready and completely able to help you. It may not be the help you want, but it will be exactly what you need to keep going.

What’s in Your Heart?

COVID-19 has done a number on hearts around the globe. It’s made them fearful and angry, frustrated and confused. They’re impatient. Restless. Bored and lonely and just want everything to get back to normal again. At least that’s what my heart has been feeling these days. So, to help keep my mind off the bad and the ugly I created some happy hearts that I hope will brighten your day.

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Click on any picture to enlarge or to begin slideshow

 

If You Believe Everything You Read on the Internet, Don’t!

This is an earwig. I was attacked (pinched) by one a few years ago. It was horrible. Like a zillion bee stings. The pain lasted all day.

I never knew such a bug existed so I didn’t know what it was until I looked it up.

It’s harmless, they said. It doesn’t even bite, they said. They pinch, that’s all.

The next day my arm was swollen but that’s a usual reaction for me after an insect bite, so I wasn’t concerned.

Day three my entire arm was red and swollen. And by day four, it was red hot with streaks running up and down and it looked more like a tree trunk than an arm. That’s when I realized the internet lied to me and went to the doctor.

He was quite alarmed when he saw it and thought I should go to the hospital. I had a bacterial infection. But, I had to go to work. So he prescribed a strong does of Amoxicillin and said if that didn’t work I’d have to go to the hospital. Thankfully, my arm got back to normal within a few days.

So, in spite of how harmless these guys are supposed to be, I murdered one on my back porch this morning. With the big rubber chainsaw blade my youngest grandson outgrew, I whacked and whacked the poor little guy till there was nothing left of him.

NOTHING!

I did feel guilty, though.

But, I got over it.

Real quick.

 

 

Say it with Pictures

My first grade teacher taught her pupils the alphabet using big flash cards with pictures. And for some odd reason, the letter S with a picture of a snake on it was my favorite one and the only one that still sticks out in my mind. So, in my case, a picture is truly worth a thousand words. If you like pictures more than words, then you will like my word art creations.

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Click on any picture to enlarge or begin slideshow

A Touch of Wimsey: Digital Art

Computers are fantastic. Till they’re not. Mine died and I had to buy a new one. Then, I had to re-install all my art programs only to discover that one of my favorite plugins, Eye Candy 4000, no longer worked. Finally, after figuring everything out, I’m up and running and will try my best to get caught up on reading everyone’s posts.

Before my computer crashed, I was working on this post. I finally finished it today. Enjoy!

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Click on any picture to enlarge or begin slideshow

 

Laughter is Good for What Ails You

There’s so much sadness these days that I thought I’d share a little humor. I got a chuckle and I hope you do, too. Happy Monday!

A Crab’s Life through a Child’s Eyes

Talon, my great-grandson is six going on twenty. He is smart and quirky and extremely perceptive for his age. When he looks at you it’s as if he can see into your soul. I love this little boy. He is truly a gift!

With my granddaughter’s permission, I’ve posted Talon’s written school assignment. It is just too darned cute not to share.

Talon’s perception of a crab’s life . . .

I’m Not Stubborn!

I’d rather have eaten a can of worms than have my hair washed. And my parents would have gladly fed them to me rather than wrestled with me to wash it.

We didn’t have modern conveniences like indoor plumbing, walk-in showers, and bathtubs. We had electricity, though, thanks to one of my dad’s many skills.

And speaking of daddy, he rarely ever raised his voice, never lost his cool and never liked whipping us kids. Mom did, though. She liked law and order and didn’t hesitate to exercise her militant authority when needed. You’d have thought she was the one that served in the army instead of my dad.

But to keep peace with mom, during Saturday’s hair-washing night, daddy reluctantly sat beside the galvanized tub with a long, skinny switch; the kind that wrapped around your legs several times like a leather strap. Mom picked it out.

Like a stern-faced Sargeant, mom sat me down on the stool and leaned my head back, allowing my long red hair to cascade into the metal tub. Then the waterboarding began.

As if being electrocuted, I kicked and screamed and wriggled my slippery, half-naked body free from daddy’s firm grip and flew out the door, across the porch, down the steps, and down the dirt lane. If we had had any neighbors, they would have been standing on their porches with shotguns thinking a mass murderer was on the loose.

We lived in the heart of the woods where the only light we had was the moon and the stars. For a little six-year-old with a big imagination and afraid of the dark, that was just a tiny spark in a cave. Every tree was a leaping bear; every sound a prowling monster looking for children to eat.

Suddenly, I came to my senses and decided I’d rather be drowned than eaten alive and shot like a bullet back into the house.

And there they were, mom standing triumphantly with the pitcher of water in her hand and daddy sitting, seemingly amused, still holding the switch.

There were other Saturday night hair washings. But, remembering the monsters lurking outside in the pitch dark, I stayed glued to the stool. That doesn’t mean I didn’t cry and kick and scream and make it easy for my mother to torture me. Oh, no! She always had to pay for her evil crimes!

When Apologizing is like Eating Dirt

I’ll never forget that day. My brother, Kenny and I were left alone while mom and daddy went to the grocery store. Because my youngest brother, Leonard was too young to stay with us, he always got to go and Kenny and I always had to stay home.

Kenny is four-teen months younger than I and a hundred years wiser. Even as a kid he never sassed, never questioned, and never ran out the door kicking and screaming like a lunatic. He was made of moonbeams and stardust and placed delicately in my mother’s arms.

Me? I was made of cowhide and hurled like a football in her lap.

It was back in the day, long before video games and iPhones and five-hundred TV channels, so we actually had to sit and talk to each other or play pick-up-sticks or ball and jacks or tinker toys or build little log cabins out of Lincoln Logs.

Well, that day was one of those days we got bored with all that. We needed some adventure. The kind of adventure we had before moving into that stupid cramped apartment far away from the woods and trickling streams and giant bullfrogs. The bottom line was we didn’t like living there.

While pacing the living room floor, I glanced out the window and saw the landlord working in her flowerbed. For whatever reason, mom and daddy didn’t like the landlords so I didn’t like them either.

Suddenly, as if being poked with the devil’s pitchfork, I talked Kenny into doing something totally out of character for both of us. We raised the window, stuck out our pea-brain heads and yelled, “Hey old lady Brummel! Hey old lady Brummel!”

We lived quite a distance away, so I didn’t think she even heard us until she threw down her garden tools and stormed toward the apartment huffing and puffing and smoke pouring out of her ears.

Oh, no! She’s coming to rip off our arms and legs!

Like a cat with its tail on fire, Kenny ran downstairs and locked the door just in the nick of time before she started pounding on it and screaming like the big bad wolf, “Let me in! I’m telling your parents when they get home!”

True to her word and to my horror, as soon as the car pulled in the driveway, the phone started ringing.

My mother was the warden at our house. A strict, religious warden that didn’t put up with nonsense and expected her brood to follow the rules or else. And that day “or else” meant that we march our little impudent selves over to the landlord and apologize!

I’d rather have shoveled a pile of manure in the freezing cold stark naked.

Yes, she made me go, but I made her pay.

Like a bloody battle between the North and the South, I bawled and kicked and screamed as mom yanked and pulled and dragged me across the field. By the time we got to the landlord’s house, mom needed a long nap and I needed a straight jacket.

I thought that if I rebelled long and hard enough mom would give up and take me home. But, oh no! If it meant waiting for the rapture to take place, I was going to stand there and apologize before I could even think about going home.

Like swallowing a bag of feathers, I finally conjured up the words everyone was waiting to hear and never talked my brother into doing anything that stupid again. But, I just remembered that other time when . . .

I’ll save that story for later.

No Facilities

Random thoughts, life lessons, hopes and dreams

South Texas Watercolor Artist

Corpus Christi, Texas

THE POETIC SAGE

This site is dedicated to my amazing writing skills.

Digital Art Junky

Art is something that makes you breathe with a different kind of happiness

Art and Soul

Art is the only way to run away without leaving home ~ Twyla Tharp

Straight from the Heart

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

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A place of Love and Security

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