Spiritual Sunday

here

At Last it is mid afternoon and I have come here to be with you.

Each season of new beginnings offer us a chance to come away
to begin anew.

This afternoon everything is new here on my machine.
With all the efforts of my Wonderful Talented Man still it is "new".

Each day is new.

At first all this newness was just better than nothing...
Then it all became a bit of an annoyance...
Settling into a grateful...be patient...
let it takes it's time...chomping at the bit...
sorta wait and see what all is in store.

At the loss of the old
will be found a flurry of emote.

It was in that flurry of emote...five minutes before we were out the door (to the funeral) that I kicked a drawer closed only to slip off the wood and have my big toe say
"hello, boy howdy"!
to the razor sharp edge of the glide under the drawer.
As the saying goes "like a stuck pig!"

Calling for Steve to come help I did my best to get across the bedroom carpet
before turning the rose colored carpet a very living blood red!...

This fine Saturday found me not only without my computer,
but at a funeral without the presence of a family patriarch.
One who lived just long enough that it was known by him to be HIS time to move on.
However even when change comes in OUR time
it will often have an effect on "times"
of those who step around us.
They must walk it on their own.

Such the case at the of memorial service.

Hobbled I across the desert cobbled with stone to find me a seat.

The service was in the low desert.
Where the path our Uncle was trod many a day
with many a soul and several a child,
son/daughter both his own and those who were in/law.
He traveled those washes with many
...even Grandchildren I think I heard.
Those who were friend to his own children learned the camp fire
and the hunt
some remembering him to even never of pulled the trigger of his gun
only to set at the fire
the silent sage of an open accepting ear.

He was an American Hero of the WWII era, 82 at his end.
A silent man who spoke volumes to me as over the years I kept eye on him across the crowd at family function.
His Eldest son spoke his story.
He expressed with pride the struggle of Dear Old Uncle Clyde.
One made of shame of his Comanche heritage.
He was born and raised a native Arizonan.
Then even with a stronger sound voiced of smashing shame
the man said..."and of some negro blood in their history as well".
This was shadowed...a family that must have found great rejection from others.
How awful to love and long to be loved only to know that the color of ones heritage colored the views of others... peppering the beauty of that love due.
It is often in our trial that our strength is gained.
He was proud of his pa.
His Pa had a way of making a man proud through his unconditional love.
This a legacy spoken over and over.
For after the eldest son spoke others told of what was on their hearts.

His wife asked of me please,
to tell of what I had said to her of his silent wisdom.


Of how much I had gained.
So it was I who broke that awkward silence.
When asked of the assembly if any had something of heart to speak.
Funny thing for her to ask of me
please to speak.

I wore my feathers in honor of Clyde for I always felt I could be at ease to be me around him.

For I think I might have been silent in the mass
For I am from a bit of a distanced family corner.

Although we had set arrangements ahead of time for a mom and her child to come over,
we were compelled to attend the assembly of family at Clyde's welcoming home.
He was the heart of a farmer.
Story told of chicken laid egg in his lap.
Funny it is that I too had this with my own hen and understand that safe place we provide.
Now Clyde was a man who I suspect was judged also of his faith by others.
Seeing though the love hearing the testimony of his son I know otherwise.
Clyde lived his faith in the love showed to those who might otherwise be excused as perhaps...unlovely.
Over and over testimony of those who said so...
Many so softly as if to give voice to it was painful ...
Uncle Clyde loved.

At the service spoken out was the relief of a distanced broken Christian.
Of how he felt so much better to have come to have known at Clyde's Death that he believed in Jesus as Lord.
How it hurt to hear such devastatingly hurtful explanatory divisive word exposed..
From the heart the mouth speaks.

Yet be it so many a man responds absent to another out of presuppositions.
Divided by dogma and judgments.
Death come too late for it to be known that error of holiness false.
Boundary by need of character or behaviors is one thing...
That ploy of the darkness that can work its way into our midst and remove love of a sister or a brother and replace it with tolerance and defamation.
Letting that stop our fellowship among the land of the living.
Not that I have been immune but have been made more aware.

The plans of our day were fluid.

After the desert time many came to be at the widows home to repose,

comfort one an other and continue to live.
He who passed was yet apparent in the atmosphere that circled that welcoming table.
My little family the only show from Widows side stood were there for her.
It was a pronounced absence for all around us were those who knew each other well.
Though some were silently distanced...
perhaps in their wound,
yet they were there.
This impressed me as Clyde lived on here in this home.
In that circle that went on four generations around us.


One of his son who at service silenced his voice when over spoken...
returned to the home sometime later.
His heart hurt that his word was left unsaid.
This man at that instant was imprinted upon me for I saw the hurt occur.
It hit him HARD!
Came I up to him placed my hand on his heart and said I
"I saw it, hurt you"...
Said he "you saw?" ...
"yes" said I.
With great swell of throat choked he...
"thank you for seeing me"

Telling him he mattered...
he assured me he would say his words.
He promised not to let silent the soul.
For he must be heard that bitterness the loss of opportunity would haunt him.
Telling him I know of this torment, wished it not for him to have the rest of his days.
He promised to speak it to the widow his mother before the days end.
He embraced me and thanked me softened by kindness.
He then was across the room with darkened sunglasses on
anger gone from his countenance was replaced with appropriate sorrow.


Now it was that I found embraced by Clydes eldest son told
"Donetta, you belong...you will always belong here with our family"
Oh my how deeply was I touched...
Our Dear Widowed Aunt did say of fondness to me...she reads my blog.
She told me that from time of her girlhood she has read as a voracious reader
that I am a good writer.
To write said she.

I told many of how it has been made known to me through so so many a death I have known...
"Those who go on before us, stand at the right hand of God ever interceding for us both day and night"

This has been of great comfort to me.
It is always of my hope it might comfort another.


Each season of new beginnings offer us a chance to come away
to begin anew.




A child began a new this morning here in our home.

With the mutual support.
The respect, trust in me... a mother gave chance for a child to overcome.
A sweet little girl who so longed to be free.
The torment she suffered as PTSD stopped her in her tracks.
Understanding how it is to live breath with stifled breadth I had wisdom to offer.
This little one was empowered last night to speak her voice to ask for met need to overcome.
I gave her my late night offering up a chance for her to be successful.
She had known abuse fear from those who had once kept her.
She told of how her fear rooted by a voice in a hall demanding
"GO TO SLEEP!"
When once of necessity sh was away from her mothers care.
We used care to give her an ice block to keep her present and in control of her senses.
We used nature sounds and lights.
While watching my show I left sound up a bit.

She awoke this fine morn to Dash
"Wake up! You did it! you did it!"
A little child with a new name.
Dove was so happy for her friend to be made free of the fear that tied her up into literal tummy knots.
A child now who knows that she will... and is being made able.
She stood with our hands holding her up.
She now sees herself more for who she really is.
Not the fear of what she thought she had become...unable.

It is in life's new beginnings that LOVE is made power and the power of Love is made able to transform.

In the garden

The three children joined me in the garden.
We worked a team for a while.
They chopped the dirt clods for me.
They then were set to task of finding little insects in the straw pile.
They were then set to give them to the hens, they then understood another beginning.
Seasons, for every living thing.
The hens lay egg more after the good protein of the rolly pollies.
At first a tad bit gross but then they understood.
It gave then tenderness toward the birds that it filled their belly their need.
The insects caught laid down the life to the bird , the bird then made way gave laying it's own life down to egg for us to eat.

Later in the morning another new beginning

All the while the efforts to restore this Machine
(I pour myself into)
were painstakingly made by my dear husband.

Dash came home to me with a phone number last week.
His heart was to offer friendship to a pal in his class.
As is my custom his lovely Mother came to visit the morn as the boys played.
It is so good to know the Mother of a child.
If a child is in my care I want to understand the parent of said child.
Caring for someone else s child to me is a great responsibility not taken lightly.

A wonderful woman came and we really hit it off.
She was adopted, so many of my found new friendships often have this common ground.
We all had meal together and this sweet busy single mom got to rocking the rocking chair while lunch was made and she left a bit more rested then when she came.

I took the Mother to the gardens and showed her the efforts being made.
Told her of the insects gathered and the hens.
Had her gather with her hand the egg that we had gift of from the hen.
Her hand tender and a bit fearful of holding the egg...so I left that egg in her hand as we were speaking of decor and walking and talking together. Then it relaxed as I told her that the egg was hers. That it was for her to eat the egg she had taken from the hutch. I saw then in a moment a kindred spirit in her soft eye. She touched a bit excited at the chance. She then was told only to her did it belong for her meal.
To enjoy.

New beginnings often take reaching out...
Getting out of the comforts of pulling away or within ones self...
We extend then receive often much more than we even give.
Each season of new beginnings offer us a chance to come away
to begin anew.