Writing – Page 2 – Straight From the Heart

Oh, No! Not Again!

It’s been a long, hot, stressful summer of extreme heat, rain, tears, and frustration. Working in the yard was and still is like digging a bottomless pit in the desert. There’s no end to the misery, as if I’m being smothered to death by a vicious monster of chaos.

But yesterday was my day to get back on track. I am going to finish one natural area before the sun goes down if it kills me. And if it kills me, I won’t have to worry with it anymore.

When we first moved here, thirty-plus years ago, I had a brainy idea to make a natural area down our long driveway and border it with rocks. And that’s what we did. The rocks were free, thanks to a nearby farmer, allowing us to dig up as many rocks as we wanted. And seven truckloads later, we had enough rocks piled in the yard to build a house!

This summer, I got another brainy idea. Let’s undo it all. I can’t keep up with it anymore. It’s too hard, and I’m too old and stressed out to mess with it. It was good in its day, but I can’t do it anymore. It’s got to go. Low maintenance is my motto these days. Besides, it won’t take that long, a few weeks, tops.

HA! Five months later, my low-maintenance landscaping dream became a Freddy Krueger nightmare of rocks piled sky-high in the backyard, scattered in the front yard, the side yard, and even in the neighbor’s yard, who got several trailer loads for his natural area.

I never do anything halfway. It’s either all or nothing, so I created other natural areas in the front and backyard and embellished them with rocks, creating little landscape monsters to grow up and devour me when I get old and haggard with only one brain cell left.

So, back to the beginning. The sun was going down, I was hot, tired, and hungry, but feeling relieved that I was almost done. I couldn’t wait to get cleaned up and maybe celebrate what’s left of my birthday.

My husband pulled up on the lawnmower, and as we chatted, I noticed tiny mosquitoes swarming around the hole in the ground where I was sitting. Then I noticed something else. Something mean and sinister, like devils from the pit of hell. Suddenly, like a turtle in slow motion, I scrambled to my feet and yelled, “Yellow jackets!”

I can’t believe this! How stupid can I be? I thought he killed them all the last time. Same place, same stupid rock, same idiot repeating the same episode that happened a few short months ago.

Yellow Jackets! Singing, “Happy Birthday to you” while setting my arms and legs on fire. Visions of my last encounter shot me into panic mode as I hobbled into the house, moaning and kicking myself in the butt. Splashing cold water on my arms and legs, my husband yelled, “Where’s the Benadryl? Where’s the Peroxide? Where’s the alcohol? And I just wanted him to shut up, get the gun, and shoot me!

My husband called 911, and I promised myself I wouldn’t spend ten days in hell before finally marching my butt to Urgent Care. And since it was already closed, I climbed into the ambulance and went straight to the ER.

Three agonizing hours later, my name was finally called, and relief was on the way. I’d already received a shot of Benadryl in the ambulance with no side effects. Then came the IV and three vials of medication. Still no side effects. But when the nurse added a more potent dose of Benadryl into the concoction, I knew this was the day I was gonna die! My number’s up! Saint Peter’s waiting, arms open wide at the pearly gates, singing, “Happy birthday to you!”

Well, I didn’t die, I just had a frightening reaction to the medication, which caused a full-blown panic attack and visions of the Grim Reaper pounding at my door.

I guess you can’t live for seventy-nine years without a little danger and excitement. That would be boring. Besides, grandkids and great-grandkids don’t want to hear about Cinderella and Tinker Bell these days. They want to hear about Grandma getting run over by a reindeer, and how much blood poured out, and how many stitches she got, and if it hurt! Real grandma stories with bloody meat on their bones!

Rocks and bushes are gone. All we need now is grass.

Humpty Dumpty Had a Great Fall

And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.

Why was Humpty Dumpty on the wall? How did he get up there? What made him fall? Was he drunk? Was he old and disoriented? Or was he just plain stupid?

I don’t really care; it’s just a silly riddle. But I know people who are like Humpty Dumpty. They risk everything to climb the wall to success, working day and night by the sweat of their brow, making a fortune, and hoarding it all for themselves. Like a lover, they squeeze it to their breast, smother their minds with it, and would rather die than live without it. They are so consumed by greed that they don’t even realize they have fallen off the wall.

Jesus told a parable in Luke 12:16 about a rich man who had such an abundant harvest that he tore down his small barns and built larger ones. And there he hoarded his goods and said to himself, “I have plenty for years to come. I will sit back, eat, drink, and be merry.”

In today’s language, he propped up his feet, turned on YouTube, and said to himself, “I am filthy rich! And I ain’t sharing with nobody, nowhere, no time. It’s mine. All mine! And don’t even think of stealing it. I will hunt you down. I will find you. And I will kill you!

And Jesus said, “You fool! This very night, your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?

Although the times have changed, people’s attitudes are no different today than they were two thousand years ago. We all have selfishness and greed running through our veins, some more than others. Not just with our money, but with ourselves, our time, and our priorities. We are so consumed with ourselves that we fail to see or even care about the needs of others.

There are many Humpty Dumpties in the world, sitting on the wall of superiority, thinking they’re living the good life with all their riches and fame. That, like the rich man in the parable, they believe they are invincible to tragedy and loss, as if their riches can buy eternal bliss. But when they fall off the wall and are broken beyond repair, there is a King who can put them together again. His name is Jesus, the Great Physician. The Almighty King of Kings.

But what if they want nothing to do with Jesus? What if they think they’re smart enough to fix themselves? What if they don’t even know they’ve fallen off the wall and keep hobbling along as if nothing is wrong? What if they’re just too blind and stubborn to ask for his help? What if they don’t even believe in Jesus and his healing, saving grace?

Then, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can’t put them together again. They will never be happy, never be satisfied, never experience an abundant, fulfilling life. Like Humpty Dumpty, they will be nothing more than a riddle of their own folly, forever lost in their own pride and foolishness.

Life is But a Dream

What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes (James 4:14).

I always feel a twinge of sadness after spending a wonderful day with my family. Like the child of long ago, lying in bed, frightened and alone in the dark, I feel a sense of grief, as if a piece of me has died. The only things that exist are the ghostly shadows floating around in the chambers of my mind. And my heart mourns the death of another, fulfilling day, never to be lived again.

I try to remind myself how short life is and to live each day as if it were my last, but I’m not very good at it. I take each day for granted, as if there’s a million more to live, to wipe the slate clean and start over again. Then one day, I stand in front of the mirror, hopelessly searching for my younger self trapped in another time zone.

Each day is like manna from heaven. We can’t store it, borrow from it, or save it for a rainy day. We have twenty-four hours to live it, and then it’s gone. What we do with those twenty-four hours is up to us.

In the short time Jesus walked this earth, he taught his listeners how to live each day, but they didn’t get it either. Help the poor, he said. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Trust me. Love your enemies and do good to those who hurt you. Follow me, I am the only way, the truth, and the life. I will lead you safely home. I will give you peace and rest for your weary souls.

I’ve been blessed with many years, some I wasted, which I regret. But I can’t go back in time and change a thing, and if I could, I’d probably make it worse. All I have is today. Maybe it’s a sunny day, maybe it’s a stormy day, but it’s the only day God has promised me. How I live it is up to me. And I can’t do that very well without God’s help because some days are just too hard, and I’m too tired and frustrated to deal with it.

Life on Earth will end one day, and that is frightening. But eternal life will begin either in Heaven or in Hell. Today is the only day you have to choose which one it will be. And salvation is simple: For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life John 3:16).

Thunder in Paradise

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper (1 Kings 19: 11, 12).

We were doing great. I threw in the bloody towel and hung up my tattered boxing gloves. My fighting days are over. God touched and healed my heart. I’ve been reformed. I am no longer the same.

Then one daunting day, the earth rumbled and shook, like a violent earthquake. The birds stopped singing. The sun stopped shining. And the rain burst through the heavens like a gushing river.

Words, as hot as fire, spewed from our mouths like molten lava, destroying a lifetime of hopes and dreams we had built together. Now our mangled hearts lie dead in the smoldering ashes of doom.

We messed up. We broke our promises. We held each other’s hearts in our hands and crushed them like broken glass. Now they are slowly bleeding to death. Our love for each other suddenly turned to hate, anger, and frustration. And like a roaring lion trapped in a foreboding cage, I broke loose and fled out the door.

The woods were peaceful and quiet. The stump on which I sat was damp and draped with moss. Beneath my feet lay a grungy blanket of withered leaves and broken twigs, and tree limbs. The earth smelled pungent, like a dank, musty cellar. But like a kindly, old grandfather, it comforted me. It held me safely in its strong, rugged arms, as it always has throughout my tumultuous life.

Beneath the canopy of trees, the sun filters through the rustling leaves, as if attempting to warm my shivering heart. Tiny bugs crawl up and down the brittle, peeling bark on the tree beside me, as birds flutter from limb to limb, singing happy songs. If only I could be as free as the trees. As free as the sky above and the gentle breeze caressing my tear-drenched face. If only I could sprout wings and fly a trillion miles away.

The few hours I spent crying and meditating in the shelter of the woods were not long enough. I wanted to pitch a tent and stay there forever. But, I whispered my goodbyes to the tranquil, captivating haven and, like a weary old pack mule, plodded back home, wishing I could wake up from this gut-wrenching nightmare.

The house was dark and quiet, like a morgue. Everything felt dead; I didn’t want to be here anymore. I wanted to turn back the clock to that Sunday a few weeks ago, when I was sitting in church, wiping tears of conviction from my eyes. I wanted to feel the joy and happiness, and to hear the music and message again. I wanted to feel God’s presence and the safety of his strong arms again.

Just when I thought the worst of the storm was over, it started back up again, and my husband packed his bags and stormed out the door. Just like that, our fifty-three-year marriage was stuffed in a suitcase and thrown in the car like a piece of worthless trash.

Betrayal! Abandonment! Devastation! Two hearts once joined together by love and faithfulness are now shattered to smithereens by hatred and rage, never to be the same again. They are crushed and broken beyond repair.

What happened? Where did these two monsters come from? Who let them in our house to rape, plunder, and destroy our hearts, minds, and souls? Who gave them permission to rip apart our happy home?

I should have seen it coming, or at least been on guard. Satan is always ready and eager to mess things up. But I thought I had it together now. My husband and I were back in church. God was restoring my rebellious heart. I could feel his healing touch rippling through my wounded soul like a soothing balm.

For days and weeks, my heart and mind were finally at peace with each other. No more depression. No more monsters kicking and screaming inside me. No more anger. No more rage. I’m all better now. I’ve surrendered my life to God; he has everything under control. Then suddenly, the current changed, and once again, I was drenched by the flood of failure, shame, and remorse.

A sobbing, pleading hour later, my husband came back home. I put on a pot of coffee, and we sat and talked things out. Our marriage is solid, like a tree planted by the water. It’s battled the storms of sickness, pain, and grief, arguments and disagreements, and will continue doing so till death do us part. But the chaotic events of that dreadful day nearly destroyed us both.

Spiritually and emotionally, I am still sorting through the aftermath of disbelief and confusion. Where is God? Is he so disgusted with me that he abandoned me? Have I let him down one too many times? Is my faith too watered down with doubt and grief? Has my love and trust in him drowned in my tears of anger and frustration? Will we ever be on speaking terms again?

Sitting here writing the ending of my story, tears roll down my face as his love washes over me. Tenderly, he opens my eyes, and I see that I am the one to blame. I am the one who ran away, too ashamed and broken to face him. Too afraid to trust him again. I am the one hiding and shivering in a cold, dark cave of hopelessness and despair. I am the one who left him; he never left me for a second.

He stands there, whispering my name and telling me to get out of the cave. To stop running from him. To stop trying to fix myself. In his hands, he formed my soul, and in his hands, he restores it again and again. In his hands, I am safe. If only I could learn to stop jumping out, to get it through my fearful, rebellious heart that running from the shelter of his love and protection always leads me to the depths of despair.

Conclusion:
I spent weeks writing this article and agonized over whether to publish it. I came close to deleting it, because it’s too personal to share. But I kept coming back to it, rewriting it as the fog began to lift, lending a better perspective and understanding. And yes, it is personal, but it’s real. Life is real. Suffering is real. Failure is real. We can all relate to the harsh reality of living in a world consumed by evil forces. We can deny it, but we can’t hide from it. And when we take a stand against evil, we can expect the devil to slither through the smallest cracks of our relationship with God and everyone around us. If you get anything at all from this article, I hope you can identify with the emotional and spiritual struggle between good and evil, and know that no matter where you are at this moment, there is hope in God. There is deliverance. There is salvation. There is peace and joy. Life on Earth will never be perfect. But just as God molded and breathed life into a clump of clay, he can also fix it when it breaks. There is nothing God can’t do for us when we invite him into our hearts. Life is tough. Don’t live another minute without God leading you through it.

You’re Only Old Once, and Once is Enough!

There’s nothing funny about old age, yet my husband and I sit and laugh at each other like a pair of old circus clowns. He forgets people’s names, but remembers faces. I remember names, but wish I could forget a host of haunting faces.

Old age sneaks into your castle and steals your brain, your eyeballs, your arms and legs, and jumps up and down on your back like an elephant on a trampoline.

And that’s not all. Those four teeth you’ve been brushing ten times a day? Gone! Like the morning dew.

But old age leaves you with something, at least. Wrinkles. Thousands of them, carved deeply into your skin. And little dough boys and flabby skin hanging like moss from an old tree. How kind and considerate. Just what I always dreamed of having when I was twelve!

Old age is a sinister beast. It will never leave you. It will never forsake you. It will viciously suck you dry. It never sleeps. It never dies. Around the clock, it prowls, seeking whom it may devour.

Old age is neither a gentleman nor a lady. It’s rude. Insensitive. Brutal, a serial killer of the worst kind. But, have no fear! Death will set you free!

Yeah. Like I said. There is nothing funny about old age.

He Restores My Soul

He leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul (Psalm 23: 2,3).

Let’s pretend that your heart is a car. Okay, a truck, if you prefer. It’s traveled thousands of pothole-ridden roads, through thunderstorms and pouring rain. It gets stuck in the mud, and there is no one to get you out. You keep spinning your tires till, suddenly, you run out of gas and the nearest gas station is a hundred miles away. Your iPhone is dead, and Siri is as useful as a blind horse in a maze. What are you going to do?

Like a vehicle, our hearts travel thousands of miles, in and out of love and toxic relationships, getting banged up, stuck in the mud of lies and deceit; foolishly spinning our tires till our gas tank is empty. Now we’re stuck on life’s busy highway with no helping hand in sight. Our hearts are broken; our souls are parched and dying of thirst. What are we going to do?

We can hide our brokenness behind a pearly-toothed smile. We can crack a few jokes. We can win a stranger’s attention with our Ken and Barbie’s charming good looks. But sooner or later, the flimsy walls we built to fool the world will crumble and fall at our feet. What are we going to do?

Our pride screams, leave me alone! I can fix it myself. I’ll just drink a little more, take a few more happy pills, toughen up and keep plowing my way through. No one will see my tears. No one can bring me down. I can do this all by myself!

I tried it my way. It doesn’t work. Thankfully, God has a way of bringing me to my knees. He knows my heart. He knows my foolish pride. He knows the raging storms within, the rugged mountains I’ve climbed, the rivers I’ve crossed, the bridges I’ve burned; every dark and lonely night I spent drowning in my tears. And he knows just what I need.

But, I had to know that I could trust him, that I could give him my heart, without fear of him crushing it in his hands. I had to believe that he loves me just as I am, that he won’t turn his back on me if I mess up. I had to know that, unlike my earthly father, I could trust his love and protection.

The more I trust him, the less fearful I become. The closer I walk with him, the more I feel his love. The more I study his Word, the clearer I see his smiling face. The more I surrender my life to him, the more he restores my soul.

What about you? Does your heart need to be restored? Are you exhausted from trying to fix it yourself? Are you depressed? Discouraged? Frustrated? Have you tried everything under the sun to feel better, to be better, only to fail time and time again? Give it all to God. Trust him with your broken heart, and he will restore your soul.

Not Today, Squirrels!

Keeping squirrels off the birdfeeder is like keeping bees off honey. When you buy a so-called, squirrel-proof birdfeeder, be ready for a big let-down. YouTube is full of claims, and videos to prove them, but I have yet to buy a birdfeeder that is actually squirrel-proof.

Determined not to pay another cent for another birdfeeder, I ordered a 15.75″ birdfeeder baffle from Amazon. It was hilarious watching those silly squirrels twirling around like a top and tumbling to the ground. Ha, ha, squirrels. You guys finally got outwitted by two old dried up prunes!

Then it backfired. The laugh was on us. They figured out a way to hang on and wrap themselves around the birdfeeder like garland on a Christmas tree. I give up! You win! Have at it, you dirty, rotten scoundrels! Maybe we’ll just skin you alive and feed you to the vultures!

Seeing them planted day, after day like a chocking vine around the feeder, made me want to cut off their bushy tails and hang them on a tree. Better yet, maybe I’ll just wring their scrawny little necks and have them for supper!

Still refusing to be outwitted by a bunch of conniving critters, I got to thinking. Maybe we just need a bigger baffle and raise the feeder higher to keep them from jumping on it from the ground.

So, I ordered a 27″ baffle, which my husband exchanged for the smaller one, and raised the birdfeeder higher from the ground. There! That’ll fix ’em!

Oh, yeah? On what planet? Mars?

This is crazy! There’s got to be a way to keep those rascals off the bird feeder. One day, they tore it completely down and had a royal feast. Even the rabbits joined in. This ain’t right! Of all the geniuses in the world and not one of them can invent a genuine, smarter-than-a-squirrel, birdfeeder?

One day, while sitting on the back porch studying the baffle and why it wasn’t working, I suddenly got a brainy idea. What if we raise the feeder again and hang the smaller baffle above the larger baffle? That way, when the squirrels lower themselves onto the smaller baffle, the larger baffle will prevent them from hanging on and grabbing hold of the feeder at the same time.

So, that’s what we did. And surprise, surprise! My little brainstorm worked like a charm. The birds have their feeder back, and the squirrels gather beneath like a happy little family, eating the seeds that spill to the ground.

It’s been working going on two months, now, but I’m not naive enough to think that a bigger, smart-aleck one won’t come along and figure it out. But I’ve got a plan just in case. We’ll just add another baffle and see how he likes that! Maybe my great-grandkids can outsmart me, but never again will I be outsmarted by a crafty, thieving, bushy-tailed squirrel. At least, not today!

I Should Have Stayed in Bed!

Ever had one of those days when you just knew that it was out to get you? One of those days when all your energy got sucked up by a greedy monster before you even rolled out of bed?

We were trying to beat the heat to get caught up in our yard work. Funny how much easier it was before we got old. From sunup to sundown, I’d work like a madwoman till the job was done. One day, my neighbor made me stop long enough to eat lunch with her. That was annoying, but what could I say? She was a good, old southern cook.

But those days are far behind me now. Sometimes, I don’t realize how far behind me till I try to play catch-up with everything I should have gotten done already. Like I said. We were trying to beat the heat, like two old turtles trying to cross the road before they become roadkill.

My husband climbed on the mower, and I went to work rearranging the rocks bordering one of the flowerbeds. Nature has a way of moving things around when you’re not looking. The skies were overcast, and the humid breeze was pleasantly cool. Perfect day for working in the yard.

I was digging a stubborn rock out of the dirt when suddenly, my hands and arms were stinging and burning like fire. Stomping my feet, I ripped off my gloves, yelling and waving my arms like a scarecrow in a hurricane, “Yellow jackets!”

Jumping off the mower, my husband helped me to the house and called 911 as I stood at the sink, whimpering like a wounded puppy, splashing cold water all over my arms.

Oh, it hurts! Oh, it hurts! Suddenly, my heart started racing, and my arms and legs turned to spaghetti. I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die! Hubby helped me onto the bed, and by the time the EMTs arrived, everything had settled back down, except for the excruciating pain.

The good news is, I didn’t die. The bad news is, I continued getting worse until after ten, long, miserable days of intense itching, burning, and swelling, I finally broke down and went to Urgent Care. I wish I had gone sooner, but this wasn’t my first rodeo with yellow jackets. But it was my first for multiple stings, with one leg in the grave already! I will know better next time. Wait! Did I just say next time?

I’m fine, now. The yard is still screaming its head off, and it’s hotter than blazes outside. And since I’m not a glutton for punishment, I’m staying inside until it gets cooler, like around September. Or maybe October. Maybe I’ll just wait until Spring, before it gets hot, and I have to start this insanity all over again.