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.

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!

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

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.

Honor Bound, the Fury of Self Fulfilling Prophecy

Through the years, I’ve found there are few self fulfilling prophecies that don’t come true. It’s an honor thing, if you believe something your sub-conscious is bound to fulfill what you believe.

The definition of success is believing in what  you will become.

When my youngest daughter started thinking along the lines of running her own business a few years ago, she was talking about something simple and easy to DO from an action perspective. She didn’t want anything “mental” or driving, just a simple “job” kind of business that would fill up her days with joy and love. Of course, Tatia has always been a hands on kind of child. No surprises there.

A few weeks ago, Tatia and her husband Kevin started chattering about operating their own business and I listened to their business plan. Surprisingly enough for two “wet-behind-the-ears” teeny boppers, they had a good solid plan. Tatia would be using her skills, Kevin would be using his, and together, they’d be making enough profit to sustain them, grow a future, and plan for happy lives, all while still working at their current respective positions. With years of successful business strategizing and planning in my own history, it was fun watching them come up with details, and helping them to focus their interests on the aspect of their business that would bring them not only profits, but personal satisfaction.

What a wonderful young couple they’ve become! Not only do they work together to overcome family issues and face their future as a loving and capable team, but they’ve begun to understand the concept that not everyone who talks pretty words toward them is focused on their best interests. I have to smile, remembering the heights they’ve had to climb over the past year, since their marriage.

To the happy couple, who made it past the first year, triumphantly with jubilation, I just want to say, “Keep your eye on the goals before you and be sure you’re both working toward the same goal.”

Now that you believe you can – you will!

News Today – Life in an Uproar

I just opened my eyes. The dark and stormy night had me bewitched into thinking I was sleeping. I realized when I opened my eyes that I’d merely been working horizontal. My body feels like I was lumber-jacking. I may have sounded like it last night too. I don’t know where the truck is that hit me last night, but somebody ought to stop that guy from driving.

It isn’t that I had a bad night, it’s this head cold that showed up about the time I arrived home from the Constitution Meeting last night. Speaking of Constitution, I’m thrilled at the response to the Constitution Meetings that are rising up in our community. I was shocked that there are so few women involved in the meeting. Nita and I decided if they try to take away our right to vote, we’ll stop bringing cookies. That should solve the problem of women’s rights!

I’m listening to the radio this morning, Eric Stone chatters up the War in Iraq, while Ty Harmon chips in with comments on Afghanistan. And the talk turns to a plane crash in Amsterdam.

Foreclosures are down in Colorado, already this year. Glaciers in Antarctica are melting faster than previously thought… Could the Arkansas River rise?

The question of the day.

“Will Jaws be a few feet closer to shore?” Eric Stone is highly concerned about the effect of the rising ocean waters on Southeastern Colorado.

And the pillow won. I gave up my blanket and my nice cozy bed, and I’m in here working while the pillow sleeps to prepare for tonight’s wrestling match.

Obama has promised a land of milk and honey, I don’t think I’m following him through Egypt.

The poles are melting and they expect Denver to be beach front property within two years, perhaps I’ll keep that house instead of selling. It’ll be worth more in two years. The world is a snowball on a down hill run, we’re gathering flakes and speeding up.

Jan Verhoeff

(Currently reporting the news as it happened on “Anything Goes” in Lamar, Colorado.)

Pat Palmer invites all to the Pitstop for a Thursday Taco.

40 Something Single Mom

It’s a daring proposition, being a single mom pushing 50. You’d be surprised what a challenge it can be to raise children in these days, with balance, moral values and ethics.  I’ve found the most significant key to raising children is having a sense of humor.

The Coffee Clatter

Faith in God is probably the upper most thing I rely on, but God has a way of sending warnings in humorous forms. Like a few days ago when my son decided to let me know that he’d exchanged addresses with a kid from Korea who wants to be an exchange student. I’m not brave enough to take on another teenager while the boys are BOTH learning how to drive.  Besides, who knows if I’ll be in one town the whole year. I like freedom.

I was proud of my response, I asked how old the kid from Korea is, and where will he stay (we have a two bedroom home). The solution was baffling, “He’ll be staying in my room and I’ll be in Korea staying with his family.”

It took me twenty minutes to calm down his brother who isn’t interested in sharing his room with anyone who doesn’t speak the same language he does, really well. Life moved on after that decision was made.

Then there’s the moment when my son came home covered in smoke. I didn’t have to ask what happened. With his teeth shining from behind the black smoke coated face, he announced, “We set the hay field on fire.”

I listened as he told the tail of how he and his boss set a field on fire while burning a ditch and all the details of their putting it out with the fire department helping out. He wondered if the fire department always brings pop to the victims of a fire. I said, “You mean pop to the arsonists? I doubt it. They probably prefer they not call them in.”

Or more recently, when the boys spent days suffering with chicken pox and hours of their confinement connecting the dots with my highlighter marker. I nearly had a coronary when I saw what they were doing. “Stop, you might get an infection!”

“Mom, we already have one. We’re just having fun.”

Okay, so I’m probably over reacting (although I really did make them stop connecting the dots). Reality says, raising boys through the teen years should be done before you turn fifty. At least, it’s a good idea.

Jan Verhoeff - Daisy Marketing Concepts

But, seriously, being a single mom at 40 something isn’t so bad… I’d do it all again. The worst part is, as they move out… You miss ‘em!

Bad Hair Days – The Dire Necessity of Overcoming

It’s always the bad hair day that gets the blame, no matter what you accomplish in life, if you’ve had a mishap and failed at some stark necessity of living… You can blame it on a bad hair day.

Such was yesterday.

Dressed for success means fixing my hair – a bit more than just sweeping it off my face, behind my ear or into a ponytail (if it was long enough – which it isn’t right now). So, I showered and dried my hair in the usual way, upside down looking at my knee caps under the towel I wear wrapped and tucked for modesty in an empty bathroom. Okay, perhaps it’s because seeing myself in the miror might be shocking, but the mirror only comes to just below my shoulders, I think I’m safe. But, what if someone walks in?

It’s the weather. I’m certain of it, there must have been a storm coming in that cause my usually well behaved hair to go limp as a biscuit on Sunday afternoon. Seriously, who needs hair anyway? It’s just the covering for the top of your head and looks a bit disheveled unless you’re one of those fortunate few who have all the time perfectly behaving hair. Wait! I don’t know anyone like that.

So, the reality is… my hair misbehaves.

My son suggested I blame the wind. My mother, bless her heart, asked if I’d combed my hair - she’s one of those with perfectly behaving hair all the time women – sports a tube of VO5 and claims it works miracles. UGH! Greasy hair day — oh, definitely I’d rather have a bad hair day.

So, I ask myself, is having a bad hair day enough of an excuse to skip the day all together? Perhaps… I’m thinking I might. Then I realize… Life is going on without me. I can either stay home and bemoan a bad hair day, wishing I could be perfect like… ummm… someone else. Or, I can get out there and play the hand I’ve drawn, for better or worse and make the best of my day.

In the course of the bad hair day, I managed to attend a funeral and comfort friends, experienced the love of friends who said nothing at all about my hair, and inspired another friend with what may possibly be the funniest story he’s ever written. I can’t wait to see the publication.

And today, the wind has come up and is blowing off the shingles, so my hair won’t matter a bit.

Overcoming a bad hair day just simply means you got up and went at it again. Let me part my bangs so I can see where I’m headed today!