Moving Mountains & Loving Children

The discussion had started when my granddaughter decided bed wasn’t in her vocabulary for the night. She wanted to watch Mickey Mouse Club House instead. I calmly talked her toward bedtime. She screamed her demands. Life got precarious for a few moments, wills clashed and the rules went out the window as I attempted to maintain a calm I didn’t feel.

I wanted to cry too.

As a Grandma, my job is to love, not discipline. Or is it?

As a Mother, I have to teach love, discipline and maintain the composure of a loving Mother at all times. Even when I’m too tired to love or care, that’s my job.

In the early days, I learned that I can’t love too much. Sometimes, I learned that I can’t love enough… and then there were days when loving meant having a sharp hand and a strong sense of direction, as not all loving means a gentle voice.

When young parents watch my actions, they learn what is appropriate and what is acceptable when leading children. They begin to understand that punishment isn’t always the best way to discipline, and punishment never comes from anger. Young parents need guidance and love, discipline and  understanding in order to lead their own children.

Where can that come from, if not grandparents who lovingly guide them?

In the act of moving a mountain, you don’t start with the whole mountain, you simply move one rock at a time, until the entire mountain has been moved.

When loving children, or training up a child, you begin with one small step at a time. Just simply loving the child, maintaining your own level of calm reassurance will bring positive results to the child. Spanking is never the first option and rarely the solution.

A calm voice, a loving tone, and tender, gentle hands will bring obedience faster.

Political Wrap Up – Muslim v. Islam

For a while now, I’ve been bartering with the frustration of understanding the political action of a people hell bent on taking over the planet and the destruction they seem hell bent on delivering to anyone who stands in their way.  I know the story of Abraham, Ishmael and Jacob, and I’ve been studying political behaviors long enough to know the entanglement of Islamic Political Purpose and Biblical History. No secrets there, Jacob was God’s chosen and Ishmael wants the blessing. The nations of Islam are many.

The struggle has little to do with politics and nothing whatsoever to do with the United States, other than we just happen to be in the way of Islam becoming the biggest power in the world. Um… Overtaken from within? Because the Muslim Immigrants to the USA have more children, increase in numbers faster, and are taking over faster than the Christian base of this nation?

Reality is, if you’re a White, Christian American, you probably stopped having children at 2, 3, or 4 kids. Non-White, Non-Christian Americans or Immigrants typically do not stop at 2, 3, or 4 children, and their children continue populating the earth at rates we can’t match. There’s an understanding among White, Christian Americans that there’s NO free lunch. We have to support those we bring into existence.  And, let’s face it, we’ve come to enjoy the “good life” and we like it. So, we’re responsible about bringing children into the world.

So where’s the logic in supporting the massive influx of immigrants who continue to increase in number, expecting support, medical care, and provisions from the middle class American worker?

This article about the Terrorism at Fort Hood sums up the “logic” better than anything I could say. So, why is our government calling this a “horrific act of violence” instead of an ACT OF TERRORISM? This was NOT a peaceful mongering of a religious act, it was TERRORISM, flat out, planned and plotted with political motive. The man didn’t flip his psychotic lid, he acted out terrorism on a United States Military Base, within the borders of the United States. His service to the US Military became non-existent when he acted on his loyalty to Islam and began to disregard his oath of service to the United States Military.

A man in the United States Service, listed as an Adviser on the Homeland Security Adviser Team, who has known contact with Al Quaida is NOT serving the United States in ANY form. He should have been removed from active duty, stripped of his honors and position and put into custody as a political prisoner LONG before he flipped his lid and went off on a shooting spree, killing 13 AMERICAN Soldiers. So, why wasn’t he?

Pulling Eye Teeth, Killing Doubt and Burning Bridges

Usually, in or about the middle of November, the urge to see a blanket of white outside my window becomes primary in my thought pattern. If I could change the weather, I would be driven to do so. Accomplishing a simple goal to SEE SNOW is just outside my ability and I’m fully aware that I can do nothing to achieve that goal, short of travel. So, the reckoning is that I can’t achieve the goal unless the weather co-operates.

So, how does it truly matter if you set the goal, write it down, and pray for it to happen, if the goal is unattainable (by you)? If nothing you do will change the fates of time and create the one thing you desire, why would you make it a goal?

The reality is, these kinds of goals don’t really qualify as goals.

A goal is simply an attainable event that comes directly as a result of action you can and do take. In most instances, the realization that you have an effect on the outcome is enough to spur forward the events necessary to not only initiate, but fulfill a goal. As a goal setting, achievement oriented individual, I often seek to set goals, even knowing that I can’t determine the outcome of those goals.

Waking up to a blanket of snow has been a long term goal in my life. I love the white fluff!

But, I know for an absolute fact that I’m  going to be pulling eye teeth, killing doubt and burning bridges to attain this particular goal. More a goal of absolute faith than action, I believe I do have an influence over the outcome of this goal, much more so than just my ability to achieve a goal. I believe I have the ability to claim my success. Not a member of the name it and claim it religious base, but I do believe that God answers prayer, and I’ve been praying for snow.

I can’t wait to get a whole new perspective on the community – a blanket of white is purifying.

Recovering Youth – The Exuberance of the Young

“Hello, my name is Jan Verhoeff and I’m recovering from youth.” My attendance at the Senior Center had been recognized and I was forced to join the twelve step program for the prevention of exuberance. No where in all my youth had I prepared for this experience. I had no clue from the many times I’d visited the Senior Center with my friends and family that there were so many rules about the Senior Center. Nor had I cared.

I mean… I read the signs that said no skateboarding. Those signs made sense and were understood. After all, someone might break a bone, but did you see the look on that lady’s face when I laughed at the knock knock jokes on the back of their daily program? Is humor not allowable in her either?

Later, I was caught playing with a toy on the counter and given a resounding slap to the fingers by a matronly woman of 55 as she walked past. I won’t forget her hand print in the near future. But the ultimate shame came when I was passing out the fliers for a speaking engagement I was supposed to do in the dining hall after lunch and an elderly woman gave me a “true looking over” when my fingers inadvertently touched her husband’s fingers. If I ever do that again, I’ll probably sprout horns and die the wretched death  of a frog on the highway. SPLAT!!

These  daring young adults dare to laugh and have a good time on a nearby lawn, enjoying the pleasant summer afternoon, long before the onset of winter, where snow days outnumber sunny afternoons and the grasses grow weathered and brown.

Dare we entertain exuberant youth in our communities, as the aging among us slip off toward the winters of life, when our youthful exuberance risks notification of a local senior authority? We must risk it all for the fun of a little good times in the sun, youth or the aging, take a risk. Have some fun!

The Writer in Me – A Journal of Survival

A few weeks ago I had a conversation with Oris George,  the back roads of yesterday guy who writes about mules and such stuff as comes about on those back roads where real folks rarely wonder. He mentioned something I’d written and said, “It’s really good. You ought to sell that.”

I went off half-cocked and wrote a query letter to a popular editor/publisher and ended up with a contract to… uh… sell that. What I’d actually written was little more than a title and a few paragraphs of plot, which could go many directions, but I chose to send it down the road of mystery/suspense where I rarely ever go. Not that there’s anything wrong with sitting on the edge of your chair turning pages one after another to get to the end of the book and find out if your hero survives, I just never wrote that stuff before.

So, sitting on my desk, in front of my face on any given morning is an acceptance of a story genre I’ve never written before. Thus far, I’ve gotten about 4500 words and it’s due in a few months, along with several other projects, jobs, and items of work type nature… In fact, the book is due on or about the same date as my third grandchild.

But that reference has nothing what-so-ever to do with the book, just a general concept of I’d better hurry, because I don’t want a looming deadline arriving with a baby due any minute. Babies don’t wait, and looming deadlines must be met.

And yet, here I sit stumbling over the words of the suspenseful novel, waiting inspiration beyond – it was a dark and gloomy night. It’s rather over used, droll, and… Sorry Ava, but… Rather Ava Betz-ish. It has been, often, one of her favorite comments when we start writing those suspenseful pieces in writer’s group, because she knows I’m going to dream up a thunderstorm. “The thunder rolls…” is one of my favorite starting lines for just about anything, because once I get the thunder rolling out of my way, I can get down to writing something of value.

It’s my white page, black-out. You know, those words that settle onto the page first, to remove the fear of white page addiction, which has been known to cause writer’s block in the fairest of writers. Once we’re addicted to the white page, we lack the sensibility to add words and get beyond our addiction. It’s a disease that has stumped many writer’s next books and prevented many Wurlitzer Prize winners from accomplishing their goals.

The psychosis of writing is much the same as the psychotic mania that spurs my hero into action in the thriller I’m currently writing. The desire to accomplish that which is irregular or unusual, while making a statement for humanity drives a strong pulse to continue. Where does the need to stop insanity come from in a sane world? Isn’t it normal to have moments of ridiculous tumultuous experience and a sense of crisis in each day of living?

So, what is so different from putting those thoughts and feelings into a book and calling it suspense and mystery? The doom and gloom of daily living is surely enough suspense to carry us through a thriller crime story filled to the brim with mayhem and chaos, right?

And yet… In a very literary sense, the book must go on.

After an intense conversation with my daughter (who has an incredible sense of knowledge about profiling) I found my weakness in writing to be at least half as great as the profile required to create a psychotic killer in my book. With that knowledge and at least five Sydney Sheldon’s sitting on the shelf, I’ve determined that I can do this. I will write this book, fulfill this contract and beat down the demons that keep saying that I can’t write this book. I can, I will and they can’t stop me!

The Branding Iron

As winter comes on, I’m reminded of the years I spent branding cattle. There weren’t many, but there were a few and those years stand out in my mind as treasures where we gathered to brand, cut cattle, and have a celebration of the end of winter. I loved the gathering and the identification of time, people, and purpose.

Today, the branding iron has a different meaning, but still just as fulfilling and driven by purpose. Article Marketing is not my life, but it fulfills my livelihood and my directives. It gives me resources and drives my business while allowing me to move my own values forward. Often, article marketing gives me an ability to reinforce the message I believe should be presented.

Your Brand identifies you like a branding iron. Using article marketing to make your brand popular often means you can make your brand identifiable and still promote information other than the primary topic of your site.

Collision Course with Futility

Looking back, I know there could have been a different outcome, but finality comes with the shadow of death. There’s no turning back, only looking back, and trying from this point forward to hear the sound of grace as human kindness take hold and bring about the changes of progress for the future. I’m sorry, probably doesn’t cut it, when the right thing can’t be done because it’s too late.

But, the wrong thing… nobody knew.

We can’t see the future. If we could, there would be many actions taken that would make a difference. That difference would sing, raising choruses to heaven, but we’re not designed for forward vision. We can only see what is now, and what is past.

Today’s lesson in living is to take that chance, on the outside opportunity that the relationship you may save will be your own, and tell the other side (that person who has appeared to be in conflict with you) that you’d like to know them better. The worst that can happen, if you reach out and make the attempt, is that you’ll get burned a bit by the temper of a person who isn’t willing to let you get to know them better. But, alternatively, the best that can happen is that you make a new friend.

Without intending to do so… I judged someone unfairly. I accepted a version of the truth and without intending to make judgment, allowed it to happen, accepting ‘defeat’ before I made the effort to make a friend. The cost is greater than any cost I’ve known before in my life, and  yet, I understand that God allows these lessons in life for a reason. I know the best of God’s love is yet to come, and I understand that He gives more knowledge to those He believes are ready.

Wisdom often comes from bad choices.

I pray I’m worthy of the wisdom I’ve received today…

I just thank God for bringing me a new friend and a different perspective. Life isn’t always the way we see it, sometimes there’s a different view. I must remember that and speak out when I question a seeming reality.

Each time I learn a lesson I realize I’ve been on a collision course with futility. The reality of God’s love is a tender wisdom that comes from the lessons we learn, a knowing that brings understanding to the hills we die upon. If we’d never known a failure, or lost a battle, we’d never know the value of success, the power to win, or the consequences of not listening to the still small voice of God. The perspective we view often gives us a vision that is less than perfect, only through listening to God’s still small voice can we hear the sound of grace or know the life of loving that brings with it the grateful glory of a God who sees all things and is all knowing.

As futile as this may be in this moment of time, I look back and know — I’ve heard God’s voice, and often ignored it. I pray in earnest, Lord… Speak louder next time. Amen

Rain drops on roses…

These are a few of my favorite things…

Brown paper packages tied up with string – come to mind when I hear rain drops falling on the roof of my home. Nothing says autumn like the sweet aroma of autumn rain wafting through the windows as a cinnamon candle warms our morning. The maudlin combination of cloudy gray days, rain and baking aromas have long been standard in southeastern Colorado, since the days of pioneers gathering harvests. But with fewer and fewer of us taking time out to bake piles and stacks of yummy goodies in the face of high calorie counts and fat added to our backsides, the aroma of candles is a necessary evil.

I found one several years ago from Prairie Candles that smells just like Gramma’s apple pie baking in the oven. I’ve since added the sweet aroma of sugar cookies, pumpkin pie and any berry you may have found in the forest, my favorite being the mulberry. The point being more than decorator savvy or the gentle glow of candle light, I want the warmth of spicy goodness coming from my oven to encourage my senses. The aroma of spicy yummies was always enough to convince me to hurry through chores for dinner, now I know that delicate aroma isn’t dinner, but it reminds me of “getting things done” in time.

So, while you’re out dancing in the rain today, come up with a list of your favorite things to share over a piece of yummy apple pie aroma candle.

A Still Small Voice says “I love you, so much”

There’s the sweet aroma of apples and cinnamon in the air and we’re dancing around the opportunity to grow a family on the autumn memories that traditionally bring us all closer to the heart of home. As summer passes away and we begin to look at the future, there’s an option of saving grace on the crisp cool winds. Family…

When a still small voice whispers back, “I love you, so much.” Life becomes more worthy, your efforts more gratifying and the joy you feel suddenly takes on a new meaning. My granddaughter was two years old in June and her voice often peels out with laughter and the screams of joy only a two year old can express. But there’s more… When she drops her screams of joy to a whisper and says, “I want to go to Grandma’s house.” You know without a doubt that she’s content to just be a loving child, filled to the brim with the existence she’s living.

She understands the value of love.

No matter how many toys and gifts she receives, no matter how much she’s given, she’s got a firm grasp on the reality of love and she knows where to go when she needs to feel that love. Her Mommy’s arms are always open, ready and waiting. She understands that home means Mommy’s love. And she knows that Gramma’s house means Mommy (and her) feel safe.

As autumn threatens to overtake the greens of summer and life becomes peaceful and serene on the home fronts once again, the joy of family takes center screen. We know our loved ones need us every day, every hour, but in the winter when the cold winds blow, there’s a comforting source of existence that brings us more – the power to live each day in the comfort of loving arms, committed to making each day better than the day before, simply because we’re able to love more.

Lizzie, I love you so much! (Thanks for the reminder.)

That Moment of Sincere Pain

Everybody has one, a moment when the pain becomes too much. No, we’re not talking about physical pain, or life’s little aches and injuries, we’re talking about a different kind of pain. This is the kind that settles deep into your heart and holds you captive for the rest of your life.

Over the years, I’ve known of parents who shun their children. They boot them out and tell them they never want to see them again. I’m not that parent. I struggle when I don’t hear from my kids for a day or a week, even knowing they’re okay and nothing is really wrong in their lives.

When I watch my children grow up and know that one day they’ll move out, move on in life and eventually have children of their own, I know my job is finished – in the sense of parenting. I realize I’m not a necessary part of their lives and they can grow and live without me. I’ve done my job well. All those tomorrows come rushing back and yesterday fills the air, and I know that life will go on. Then I think of the times I promised to take a child to the park, or swimming, or to play ball, and I wonder how many of those times they’ll remember. Will they know that I missed that moment too.

The work comes and stays. Too much for too long, and I realize how often I put aside that which is important to get the work done. The work needed doing too. But my babies needed loving more.

One day leads to another and the babies grow up all too fast.

The work? It’s still there. It still needs doing, and although most got done on time, and more came in to be done. I still think that I should have done more with my babies, and left the work lay.

Time passes and I know the moment of sincere pain, doesn’t mean the job isn’t finished… It means another baby, took another step away, and Mom is feeling the tug of little apron strings soon to come untied. Just one more little tug and off they’ll fly, each one moving one step closer to goodbye.