Ignorance is bliss

Have you ever heard the expression, “Ignorance is bliss” ?  Well I guess it may be true if you are the one in blissful ignorance, but for the rest of us, it is just plain annoying.   Let me explain, a while back I had the pleasure of buying tires for the front end of my car.  It seemed like a good idea at the time,  especially since I would soon be driving to Florida and back and the cute little wires were protruding near the inner rim.  So the tires were one stop I could hardly avoid.

Not that I have some strange aversion to the tire store, in all actuality the tire store is a nice place to visit.  A nice air conditioned waiting area complete with old magazines and a television set that seems to always be stuck on one soap opera or another.  No my complaint isn’t with the tire store.  It was a particular customer that irritated me.

She was sitting in the waiting area when we walked in.  I noticed her as one of two other people who were sitting there waiting to reclaim their cars with their shinny new wheels.  I noticed the disgusted look as we entered into the room to sit on the ugly old couch, but I really didn’t think anything of it.  I figured she was tired and cranky and just wanting to get out of there.  I did take note of her leaving the area but assumed her car was done or she needed to stretch.

We finished our lunch and took a walk outside for the customary after meal smoke and I noticed the lady again.  Sitting there looking disgusted on the only bench available.  She was so obvious it was almost funny.  With one disgusted look  up she jumped and away she went.  In our defense, we didn’t stink, we weren’t dressed inappropriately, nor did we talk loudly or be obnoxious in any way.  I guess she took offense when I didn’t think and called Dot “Honey”.  Maybe she didn’t like the gay thing, ya think?

Actually she was very obvious and there was little question about it, but I did get some amusement from her obvious ignorance.  But that got me to thinking.  I want to be blissfully ignorant too.  I want to blindly hate someone for something that is just a part of who they are.  Hmmm let me think, I could hate all people with freckles….. nope that won’t work, my son has cute freckles and I love him very much, I can’t hate him.  I could hate all blonds…..oops I can’t say that, my wonderful wife is a blond and so is one of my sisters.  Maybe I could hate all short people, dang that won’t work, I am short and I don’t want to hate myself.  This is a lot harder than I thought.  Why am I having such a hard time finding a group of people to hate?

Maybe it is because I know and love people who fit into those groups.  I no longer have the option to blindly hate anyone.  Because I was blessed to have had the opportunity to meet “those people” as people first.  And that is the funny thing.  Any group of people is made up of…yes people!  I wish that lady could have looked past the “gay” thing and seen us as people.  Neither one of us are axe murderers, we don’t torment little children or abuse the elderly, and we rarely growl or bite.  We are fairly normal people.  I would have to say that we are good people.  Of course I am biased on that little fact, but it is true none the less.

Wow I just had a great idea!  What if it was a requirement that in order to blindly hate any group of people, we have to meet a few individuals first.  We have to spend 2 days meeting and getting to know the individuals that make up that group.  Maybe then ignorance would go the way of the dinosaur.  Maybe ignorance wouldn’t be bliss, but become something to be avoided at all cost!  My prayer for the future.

Night musing

3:54 A.M. and the world is asleep. Well at least most of it is. The house is quiet, the boys are at their dad’s, the cats are finally done rumbling through the house playing tag, and Sydney, my dog, is out for the night. And except for the deep contented sighs from my Sydney and ice falling into the ice maker on the fridge, silence greets my straining ears.

Well at least I think it is silence. Have you ever noticed that if you listen hard enough there is always a sound of some sort? Ah there goes the ice maker refilling the trays so more ice can tumble down in due time. I hear the copper tubing bounce with the pressure of the water starting to flow and stopping, just in time to keep from overflowing and making a mess in the freezer. More of what I would call silence but then again, what is that small tiny whish whish sound I am hearing? Could it be the blood rushing through my ears as they work and strain to find a connection in these dark wee hours of dawn?

I go out on the porch to look for the moon and realized that the night outside is never totally quiet. I can hear the wind rushing through the weeds in the woods and I can hear the barren trees crack and sway in the dark. From far away I hear a dog bark, what wonderful night creature has gained his attention? Maybe a raccoon or even a skunk, proof of that should be swelling in the breeze any second. The distant hint of a scent proves to me that I am not alone in this night. I catch a quick smile dart across my face, thankful it isn’t my dog learning that valuable lesson concerning skunks and giving them wide berth.

I finally find the moon, or at least the half of it that showed up for work tonight. Even the moon is feeling the draw of sleep as it lays quietly on its back, slowing sinking to the horizon. Soon I know the sun will be fighting its way up into the dark sky, but for now, it is just me and the night. A comfortable silence follows as I watch and wait to see what new connection I find next.

I guess one could say quite truthfully that I am alone because of the lack of another human awake and watching my small part of the world. But in no way am I lonely. I find I have many thoughts to keep my company this night. Or is it day? It is still dark but I know the farmers and shift workers are waking up from a night’s sleep and getting ready to face another day. There is something to be said for watching this time of day from the night before and not having to face it after too short a night’s sleep. Watching the night end and day begin gives one pleasant thoughts, not grumbles and groans, but the realization that a new day is dawning.

A new day to dream and plan and visit with loved ones. A day full of promise and excitement. A new gift from God to be thoroughly enjoyed and savored. Maybe later when my wonder wears off, I’ll be tired and cranky. But for now, I am truly blessed. Blessed with the thoughts and prayers that cross my mind. And blessed to have been a quiet but thoughtful witness to the night and to the silence of my world well in order and peace. Ah, that is it. Peace.

Magazines in the mail

I have a dirty little secret that I feel compelled to share.  I know, I know, I should resist, but every year at this time I start feeling drawn to the mail box in anticipation of those  wonderful magazines that come each year at this time.  Oh and I like them all.  Each and everyone of them.  But I do have to admit that I have a favorite, my heart beats faster and my palms get sweaty every year when it finally arrives, it is …. The Burpee’s plant and seed catalog.

What?  What were you thinking?  Well I can’t be held responsible for the direction your thoughts took, I was only talking about the Spring seed catalogs that grace my mailbox every late Winter.  And oh, how I do look forward to them every time.

Oh the joy that comes from looking at page after page of seeds and plants all ready to be ordered, paid for,  and shipped.  Oh the dreams that slowly form and take shape in my mind.  Yes this will be the year that I grow a garden again and yes I want that neat  tomato guaranteed to grow as big as my hand, and yes I want the hill cucumbers and the beans that don’t need to be staked.  Oh and look, I can grow my own Kiwi and where could I put those strawberries that look so divine?

And as much as I hate it,  I do have to admit that the last few years dreaming was all I did.  When I lived on the farm the calves would always get out of their nice little fences and jump into my garden and wipe it out in a single afternoon.   And last year, I was new to living here and didn’t know where the phone lines were buried or even where the electric wires were, so I was reluctant to start digging around too much.

Ahh, but this year?  This year I am going to cash in some of those dreams.  I am going to start a small garden and grow just a few things.  I really do miss the Spring time ritual of digging up a patch of ground and tilling the soil and planting the tiny little seeds that seem to take forever to sprout and grow.

I miss the long quiet times of kneeling pulling out the weeds.  I miss the warm sunshine on my back, but most of all, I miss the satisfaction of watching the tiny seedlings pick and fight their way into the bright new world.   And I miss the harvest, the fresh salad at dinner that was growing just 20 minutes ago.  I miss the beans canned and the peas frozen and the watermelon on a hot summer night.  But of all the things I miss, the one thing I miss the most is that connection with God and his wonderful planet.

There is a part of God that can only be truly understood when in communion with his Earth.  It is the stopping of the fast paced, run everywhere, forget to see what is around you.  It is a soft whisper to my heart calling me to stop, to listen, to see every blade of grass, every new sprouting seed, to really connect and quiet my mind.  It is a promise to me, yes a promise from God to me, every time I plant a seed.

You see I was once like that hard dried out seed.   I was hardened by life and there were little signs that I could ever be brought back.  I felt brittle and dead inside.   I was thrown into a deep dark place that held no light.  I felt like God and everyone abandoned me.  It was a cold, lonely time fill with questions and fear.

But ever so slowly, I felt myself growing and one beautiful day I burst forth into the light.  The light of knowing God and knowing myself.  Oh it wasn’t easy, there were a lot of weeds that threatened to choke me out and threathened to steal away my light, but I did survive and continued to grow.

I was that small, hardened, brittle seed.  But now I too am growing and coming closer to my harvest.  So maybe that is why those Spring catalogs always excite me.  Maybe I understand the pain of new growth but also the bounty.  Maybe those catalogs represent the dreams I have and the tools to make them a reality.  Or maybe I just like playing in the dirt.  But the what and why doesn’t matter.  What matters is that it draws me closer and closer to God.  Thank God for Spring and those neat little catalogs.

What to write?

What to write about? What to write about? Help! I made myself a promise that I would get back into the habit of blogging at least a few times a week and I am sitting here looking at this screen quietly mocking me at every turn. I can hear it’s snide little comments about all the words that should be written, and how big and blank that screen looks right now. I can ever hear maniacal laughter in the background. And all I can think is……”I hate this blank screen.”

Okay, I need to confess, I’m not really hearing voices or laughter but it is frustrating that I am having so much trouble getting my thoughts out of my brain and onto this page. It isn’t that my brain is empty, although I have been accused of that from time to time, but is what I am thinking about worthy or safe enough to write about? No there are no deep dark secrets I am hiding, no big skeletons hiding in my closet (my closet is pretty empty now that I left it), and there is no intrigue or secrets of national security. It is just a lot of what has been going on is not mine to write about.

There has been health issues surrounding the people I love and I can’t really touch on those because although I decided to blog and let the world see my thoughts, they didn’t agree to be part of it. So all I can say that there is some worry there and that has taken up a lot of my brain space. The winter has set in and part of my brain is busy crying out for more light and warmth. And part of my brain is busy trying to figure out the future that is mine and what to do now to get to where I want to go. So this tiny little part of my brain that isn’t already occupied is trying to think of something to say.

And it seems to be failing badly. So I guess that tonight all I am going to say is, sorry this isn’t much of a post. It will get better…I hope.

Getting older?

First an apology, my thoughts are scrambled and I will go off on tangents.  If you can keep up with me, I will  see you at the end.

February 10, 1972…. The day the world became a better place.  The skies opened up and the birds sang….

Well okay, that never really happened, but it was the day I was born.  Actually it was cold and wintry day, but I like to pretend otherwise.

Well as you can see, I haven’t been writing much lately.  I could lie and say that I have been extremely busy, or say that since I am so much older now I can’t physically do it, but it is all a lie.  The truth is, I have just been lazy.

I could blame it on my blood pressure being up and then adjusting to the new meds., and that would be truth in part, but really I just have been having trouble finding the words.

My mom is having fun at my expense since I am now on “Old People’s Medicines” and I am younger than she was when she had to go on them.  Oh well I guess everyone has to get old sometime.

Not that I think I am old now, it is just funny to realize that I am now my mother’s age when I thought she was old.  And now I realize that my mom isn’t old at all.  When did that happen?  When did mid thirties cease to be old?  And when did 60 turn into being young?

Not that I am complaining.  I rather enjoy looking at my life like it is just begining.  It just strikes me as funny to see it that way now.  You know I remeber thinking of certain people  as old when I was a kid and now they don’t seem all that old.  How did they stay the same age while I grew up?  Who is in charge of this conspiracy?  How can I be getting older but no one else is?

Well okay, I get it.  You are only as old as you feel right?  So why do I feel 3 some days and 103 other days?  Maybe the creaks in the morning and the getting up at night are just a part of older and wiser, maybe it is just a sign of the changing times.  But whatever it is, I refuse to grow up.  I will get older because it beats the alternative….but I will not grow up.  Grown ups are boring and I have to much living to do!

P.S.  Jones I got your point and this one is for you.  

Mix together and chill

Things have been a bit up in the air around here lately. Two people that I care deeply about are facing some serious health issues and my head and heart are in a constant battle. My head tells me that they will be fine but my heart is reserving its right to worry till it knows for sure. So some moments I am very optimistic and other moments I am chewing my nails down to nubbins. I get frustrated when life doesn’t follow my plans in the timely manner that I want. But I learned a great lesson while cooking with my son the other day.

I was mixing and measuring and he was reading the recipe to me as we went along. He got to the end and said, “Mix together and relax.” Well since I have never run across that particular instruction while cooking before, I looked over his shoulder and read, “Mix together and chill.” Of course I had a good laugh at that. But he got me thinking. Life is like a recipe in some ways. We have directions given to us by our Heavenly father and our earthly parents. We get instructions from school, work, and even when we play. We decide where we want to go in life and follow the directions to get there.

And life is full of ingredients. My family, my friends, my worries, my fears, my faith, my sisterfriends who are my prayer warriors, my God, my Love, and heck, even my enemies. But as much as it irritates me at times…I am not the chef. Yes, my life is full of ingredients but that does not make me the chef, because I am an ingredient in other lives too. I could never make so many sweet dishes without messing it up and thank God I don’t have. God is the great chef, he weaves all of the ingredients together and in the process makes a beautiful banquet for all of his children. I just have to remind myself that it is God who is doing the mixing together. All I need to do is chill.

A winter weekend

A snowy weekend with no where to go and no one to see.  One would think it would be a quiet and restful day.  Yes, one would think.  Actually, my house is a bit of a zoo today.  My oldest had a friend stay over last night and my niece and nephew are here playing, so my house is full with five kids.  People have said that kids today can’t entertain themselves anymore, but let me tell you the scene I saw when I walked out of my bedroom.

My youngest had the beagle pup and miss jade, the cat, together in the pup’s kennel.  They get along great so it wasn’t a problem, but it was a strange sight to behold.  At this point I hear the giggles from the other four kids coming from the bathroom.  Needless to say, but the bathroom isn’t usually the social point of the house so I thought I had better go investigate.  I walked in the door and saw two kids in my dog’s kennel, two kids tying it shut with leashes, and my dog looking at the group with a confused look on her face.

Everyone was laughing and having a good time, so I just turned and walked out the door.  My only rules were that if someone wanted out of the kennel the other kids had to let them out and no one cut the leashes.  I walked out into the kitchen and laughed.  Nope, kids today can’t entertain themselves anymore.  I don’t know who they are talking about, because my kids had fun for over an hour with dog kennels.  My only concern about this weekend is the kids going back to school.

My oldest son has an old song by Tom T Hall on his mp3 and he is now going around singing, “I like beer.  It makes me a jolly good fellow.”  Add that to the tales told of being tied in dog kennels, and I wonder what the teachers may think.  Honest everyone…..it is just a song and it was THEIR idea to get in the kennels.

But I admire their sense of imagination.  I have watched as empty pop containers have been magically transformed into rockets and cars.  I have seen hours spent playing in an old box.   My table is covered with delightful water color renderings of animals and people (and a few things I’m not sure what they are).  My oldest is starting to learn wood burning and my youngest is helping me cook and plan menus.  Yes we have the proverbial PS2 and all the games, but the time they spend in creative play far outranks the time spent glued to the tube.  They entertain themselves with what ever is on hand.

Yes I do get the proverbial, “Mom I’m bored.” but rarely do I ever have to find them something to do.  They have discovered that what I find for them is never as fun as what they find themselves.  I’m not sure why, but cleaning their room or doing the dishes is never as much fun as finding two boxes and gluing them together to make a train.  Being surrounded by all this creativity has got my own going again.  I got a little burned out by the bears so now I think I shall go out and find something to work on.  Maybe another wood burning project, or maybe I’ll cook up the deer jerky that has been marinating in my fridge overnight.  So see you all later and go be creative.  It is good for the soul.

The Gift

I have lived a blessed life.  I know it and I am grateful.  That is not to say that my life has been easy, but whenever the hard times hit, I am surrounded by wonderful people and God.  And what has continued to amaze me time and time again, is that the things I think are curses, actually end up being my greatest blessings.

I was sexually abused from 7 years old.  I am the first to admit that that part of my past has left me with some scars…..but it has also left me with some blessings.  From my experience, I was able to understand and connect with other people who faced and dealt with or were trying to deal with the same issue.  I volunteered at a local assault hot line and I found that in my being able to say, “Yes, I was once where you are at and I not only survived but thrived,” gave hope to the people I was talking to.  My experience gave me empathy and caring, it made me more aware of those around me who may be suffering.  Maybe not from the same exact life experiences, but suffering all the same.  I learned compassion for those who act out because just maybe they were hurting like I was.  I would never wish that particular experience on anyone and I am not jumping up and down with glee that I experienced it, but I am grateful for what I learned from it.  I will never be able to say that I am glad it happened, but I am thankful for what I learned from it.

I was the odd man out in school, especially high school.  I was different from the “norm” and I paid for it.  I had girls threatening to beat me up and making fun of me.  I hated it at the time, but from it I learned that people are not always what they appear on the outside.  That punk looking girl sneaking smokes in the restroom between classes was actually a lot more like me than I wanted to admit.  That boy who smoked pot every morning was hurting just the same as I was.  It just came out in different ways.  But through those experiences, I learned that I had absolutely no right to judge how someone else lived their life.  I had no right to make judgments on someone without living their life.

As hard as High School was for me, I also learned how to love.  No I never told her I was in love with her, and to this day she doesn’t know, but I learned the bitter sweet feelings of love.  No I am not talking about lust.  I was so far in the closet at that time that I couldn’t even begin to imagine being gay, no I am talking about loving someone.  Loving her for who she was and knowing she had my back.  We could talk on the phone for hours and not run out of things to say.  I could and did tell her everything.  The pain from that first heartbreak was horrid, but the lesson learned was how to love.  A wonderful lesson to learn.

That gets me to thinking about being gay.  For most of my life I hated it, denied it, ran from it, and pleaded to be made straight.  I wanted to die, planned how to die, and was rather distraught at the whole idea of being gay.  And even today, I still have times where I question my beliefs and my place in this world.  But even in the dark times, I can’t help but believe that my being gay is a gift from God.

How many people have you met that believe exactly what they were told to believe?  How many people have you met that rely on a book and not God for their understanding?  How many people hate people they have never met because they happened to fall in love with someone of the same gender?

In writing this blog and through other avenues, I have been blasted many times just for the fact that I am gay.  I have heard horrendous things said in the name of God that I know he would frown upon.  Even if God really does hate fags like the signs carried say, he would not want that hate to be spewed out upon his children.  I actually have been told that I am not blessed, but that I am cursed.  Cursed to live a life of celibacy or rot in hell.  Now my intention is not to get into a biblical argument, yes I know Leviticus and Romans et all,  my goal is to try to explain why I think being gay is a gift and not a curse.

1.  I never had the comfort of just buying into everything I was told about God and Church.  I had to, yes I was forced, to go to God on a personal level.  I had to ask what he thought about me.  Not what I was taught from childhood on, but what he wanted for me in my life.  If I hadn’t been gay, then I would never have been forced to find my own belief system.  I could have swallowed and regurgitated everything that I was told.  I never would have had to dig deep.  And I mean deep into my own self and my beliefs and my relationship with God.  I never would have stood before God and begged him to take my life before I disgraced him.  I never would have heard God say, very loudly and clearly I might add, that I had no right to hate what he lovingly created.  If I were born straight, then I would never have had the turmoil that I faced, but then again, I wouldn’t have had this personal one on one relationship with my creator.  I never would have had to move beyond the expected to the unexpected.

2.  I never had the pleasure of just being “normal”  I had to learn how to be myself and accept myself and in that process I have learned so much.  I am gifted by the fact that I had to look at every aspect of my life.  I got to know myself intimately and on a level I would have never reached if I weren’t gay.  Yes I know, straight people do the soul searching thing too, but I was forced to.  And what I learned is a blessing beyond belief.  I learned that I am who God created me to be, I learned that God doesn’t fit into a little box that humans continuously try to put him in, and I learned that God likes it when we question.  It opens up real dialogue.  Not memorized verses or chants, but honest conversation.

3.  In accepting who I am, I am much more open to accepting others as they are.  Take my two sons for example.  The oldest is very smart in common sense and fixing things.  He is great with his hands, but he has trouble with “book learning”  He is very smart but he will never be a straight A student.  He won’t.  But I celebrate his C’s as much as an A.  Because he works his tail off and he earns every grade he gets.  I never had to work in school.  I was in the gifted program and I never had trouble until I hit high school.  We are completely different.  But I can accept him for who he is.  He doesn’t have to be a carbon copy of me.  He is who he is and that is a wonderful person with a quick wit and more common sense than I have.

My youngest is so brilliant that he is social poor.  Do you know what I mean?  He sees the world in a completely different way.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he discovers great things one day because he is willing to look at things differently than anyone else.  He was born with a great sense of self.  He doesn’t care what people think.  In his mind, he is right with the world and if they don’t agree, then the heck with them.  But in seeing my boys and how very different they are, I have to accept them.  Because I have finally accepted myself, I am able to accept them.  They both know that I love them no matter what and I know I am more accepting because I accept myself.

4.  In admitting to being gay, I have met some wonderful people who challenge me on a daily basis.  They ask the questions and state their beliefs that force me to revisit my own.  I have met some wonderful people whom I may never meet face to face, but I know in 40 years we will be in different nursing homes emailing each other because we truly love one another.  I like all of my internet friends, but I do love some of them.  And it is a real love born out of the commonality we share but I also love my straight friends.  It isn’t about being gay or straight, it is about caring, and worrying, and loving friends.  In being gay and searching my soul, I learned about agape love.  I learned about the love of friends, and I learned about what true friendship is.  Today I spent hours with a very straight friend of mine.  We worked on putting up trim and such things but what we really worked on was supporting each other.  I know she has my back and I have her’s.  Do I love her?  Yes.  Very much but I love her as my friend, nothing more.  Yes gay women can be friends with other women.  J and I are a good example of that.

5.  I have been dropped into the fire and I came out whole.  I am who God created me to be.  He didn’t create me to burn in hell.  Can I still go there?  Sure but my chances are the same as my straight friends.  If I go to hell it will not be because I am gay.  It will be because I once turned away from a homeless person in need.  Or I failed to be there for a friend.  Or I acted in hate and not love.  My being gay?  It won’t get me to hell.  My being human might.

6.  One time when I was in grade school, a teacher of mine recognized that I was different and she took me under her wing.  I can remember the day she told me that if God wanted everyone  to be alike, then all flowers would be blue.  She told me that God loved me and she was and is so instrumental in my life.  She is about 70 ish??? Maybe closer to 80’s but we have remained good friends.  One night I felt the need to come out to her.  I don’t know why,  but I did.  And her reaction stunned me,  a member of her family had just came out and she didn’t know how to react.  In talking she came to an understanding and her family member was accepted for being who he is.  And that gives me hope.  Because if this grandmother of, I don’t know, at least 10 can come to terms and deal with a gay family member than so can the rest of the world.

7.  I am going to stop at lucky 7, but I can think of a thousand reasons to be grateful that I am gay.  But #7  is I am grateful that I am gay.  It doesn’t matter if it is nature or nurture, hormones in the womb, a choice or destiny.  What matters is how I live my life.  I am very happy to be in a wonderful monogamous relationship with the woman whom I love more than life itself.  Yes we have issues, What couple doesn’t?  But she fills my days with laughter, my nights with passion, my soul with love.  I have learned to love without prejudice.  Without ulterior motives.  I have learned to love wholly and deeply.  I have learned how to live.

Being gay isn’t a curse or a punishment.  Being gay is a gift, just like being straight is a gift.  But it is a gift that we must accept to live fully and freely.

The New Year

What is black, blue, purple, and green? The answer? My eye. The left one to be precise. I wish I had some valiant tale of rescuing my darling JB from distress or even saving a kitten stuck in a tree, but alas, All I have is the truth. And the truth is….. I have no idea what I hit my face on.

I had the opportunity to surprise my JB on New Year’s Eve and I got to stay for 5 days. I had a wonderful visit except for one brief instant. That instant would be when I took off running in my sleep and tripped over a space heater, burning my leg, and coloring my eye. Now I haven’t slept walked since the embarrassing incident when I was 8 years old and “thought” I was in the restroom, but for some strange reason I spent two nights prowling their house.

The first night I ended up in her roommate’s room on the floor with the heater on my leg and a goose egg on my eyebrow. Fortunately she wasn’t home or I would have scared her to death. The second night I woke up in the kitchen sweeping the floor. Well if I am going to sleepwalk, at least I can get some chores done at the same time. But what really distresses me is the fact that if I am going to be working in my sleep, at least I could sweep my own floors. All this to say that in some ways my new year didn’t start off in the best way. But on the other hand, the visit was wonderful and just what I needed.

So here I am home again, feeling a little lonesome, and looking at the new year spreading out before me. I used to make resolutions every year and never followed through with them. Then the last few years, the only resolution I made was to NOT make resolutions and I kept that one fairly well. I used to think that resolutions were silly and unnecessary and setting myself up to fail, but now I am beginning to understand the place the yearly promises have.

The start of a new year is such a great time to reflect on the year past and plan for the new. Maybe it isn’t the perfect execution of the promises made, maybe it is the soul searching that is so very important. The time taken to stop and think about where we are in life and of ways to improve our lives. It is taking that time to look and see where we have fallen short and where we have gone above and beyond the call. It is a great time to say thank you for all your blessings and pray for all the hurts and pains. It is a time of renewal.

And what a wonderful time of the year for this starting over. Jan 1st is in the cold winter months, when the Earth lies dormant and all outward signs of life are carefully hidden. The chance to start again, even in the dark days of winter, especially in the dark days of winter, is a gift we give ourselves.

So I guess I like New Year Resolutions. I like the chance to start afresh. I like the introspection and the planning for the new year. So maybe I will make a resolution. I resolve to give myself permission to start over fresh, just like the New Year.

I believe in Angels

I do believe in Angels. I do, I do, I do, believe in Angels. Let me tell you a story. When I was 12 years old, my 7 year old nephew and I were hiking in a state park and like kids can do, we got off onto the wrong path. In our defense, the trail wasn’t marked well and we easily got diverted onto another trail. After walking for a while, the realization hit me that we were seeing new sights that we didn’t see on the way up.

That first feeling? Sheer panic would best describe it. We were lost and alone and I just knew we would be in trouble for not being were we were supposed to be. I can remember feeling like I was going to suffocate from the fear. There I was a 12 year old kid not only responsible for myself but also my 7 year old nephew. I remember feeling like my heart would explode and just as I was about to run off screaming in terror at the thought of spending the night out on the side of a mountain, I felt this calmness fill me.

I can almost remember the feel of a hand in mine, although that may be wishful thinking or a flight of fancy on my part. But just as soon as the calmness filled me, my nephew looked up at me and calmly said, “I know we are lost, but this trail leads somewhere.” So we set off to find out where we would end up. Needless to say, it all turned out right. We finally ended up on a lake about 3 or 4 miles from where we should have been. We got a ride across the lake with a nice fisherman (another Angel? He is in my mind), and called the sheriff who gave us a ride back to the car and safety. (Not to mention two extremely worried parents).

Some may argue that this experience doesn’t prove the existence of Angels, but that calm and peace I believe was a message from God that all would be well. Isn’t that what Angels are? Messengers from God? A friend of mine once told me the story of when her youngest son was very ill. It was a cold and snowy day in March and her husband was out at work with their only car. The roads were icy and the baby’s fever spiked at 104. She was alone and scared and worried about her son. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, she heard a voice say, “All will be well.” Within the hour, her sons fever went down to 102 and her husband made it home from work and they took him to the emergency room where he was treated for pneumonia.

As a child, I thought all Angels were winged creatures with halos that sat around all day talking to God. While I do not doubt their existence, I believe that definition is too limiting. Angels are everywhere around us and yes, sometimes they take the form of our fellow humans. An Angel may be the person who lends a hand to an elderly neighbor, the one who calls a friend who needs someone to talk to, or even the one who stops and lets another driver out in rush hour traffic. An Angel is the one who prays for you, even when they may not know you personally. All these actions show God’s love. All of these people are messengers from God saying that he is here and he loves us.

I have seen daily proof of the existence of Angels. Sometimes it is in the form of a friend calling to say that she felt the need to pray for me last night without knowing I was in a rough spot. Sometimes it is the prayers being said on my behalf by people I have never met. Sometimes they can be seen in the actions of others.

Yesterday while I was in town finishing up some last minute items, I noticed an elderly woman waiting to cross a busy intersection. As I sat in line at McDonald’s, I felt helpless to help her. Every time she started to cross the street, cars would be flying by. One man in a sports car even yelled some not so nice things at her. I watched as three young teenage boys approached her. They wore their pants down to their knees, were smoking cigarettes, and all in all looked like thugs. I was amazed to watch as they surrounded the woman and slowly walked across the street with her. Some rude people honked their horns but the kids paid them no mind. They slowed their steps to match the lady’s pace and got her safely delivered to the other side. I saw her reach into her purse as if to pay them for their kindness but I saw each one of those boys shake his heads no. She grabbed onto the closest boy and gave him a hug. Although he looked embarrassed at first, it warmed my heart to see him hug her back.

As I watched them swagger (you know the walk I mean) on down the sidewalk, I was filled with a mixture of shame and gratitude. I was ashamed because I was guilty of judging their character by their style, but I was filled with gratitude because I was blessed to witness that lovely exchange between God’s children. I can almost guarantee that lady thought of those boys as her Angels. And you know what? They were. They were fine examples of God’s message.

And that thought is exciting to me. We, each and everyone of us can be a messenger of God, or an Angels if you prefer. It doesn’t matter what we look like on the outside, or if people judge us by whom we love, or if we aren’t the smartest or the strongest. All that matters is if we can and will show others the love of God. It doesn’t matter if you are home bound, then pray. It doesn’t matter if you are busy, take a few seconds to let another driver ahead of you. It doesn’t matter if people question us because of our orientation, show love and mercy. The greatest gift we can give to each other is compassion. We don’t have to agree, but we are called to treat all of God’s children with common courtesy and respect.

To all of the Angels in my life, A big heart felt “Thank You!” Thank you for showing me God’s love and helping me to be an Angel to someone else. And to my special Angel friend, Thank you. You know who you are. And to all of my internet Angels; Anita, my buddy E, my little Steph, Eliz, Jo, Jones, bridgeout, Ceara, Lindsey, Lizzie,Jade, Meg, Bon, and all of the lovely ladies at sisterfriends, Thank you for being my Angels. And to all I wish a Blessed Christmas and a new year filled with love and laughter.