Brrr...it was cold feeding the Feral Fam and it is still cold going out to the garage to get another can of beef broth for the roast out of the storage container. This house has no storage, or at least very limited.
I am part of two groups on FB associated with my birthplace. While we left when I was really young, for those of you new to Monablog, I spent almost every summer there when I was in elementary school. While not being familiar with all the places talked about and remembered fondly, those that are familiar really bring back some good memories. A member of the group posted a memory of being the age between mom and pop stores in neighborhoods and the beginning of larger chain grocery stores. So many have posted about the stores they visited after school for candy and such. One post in particular was about the small store located across from Riverside Elementary School which was located on my grandparents street. I responded and added, my grandmother just called it the junk store because we went there and got junk...candy and such. The author of the post and I got into a conversation and he knew my grandfather and my cousin from church. Ah, yes, Riverside Baptist Church. Funny, there wasn't a river in close proximity to all these places named riverside. I had just been thinking about my grandparent's church earlier in the week. Memorable, the sound our patent leather mary janes made on the sound of the linoleum steps as we clattered down to the basement for Sunday School and many years, VBS. It was a hollow sound that seemed to fill the stairwell, basement and beyond. One of the other sounds of the neighborhood was the Standard Gas Station on the corner of two main streets in the area. The ding ding sound of cars rolling over the rubber hose bell was a constant in the evenings. You could only hear it from the back upstairs bedroom. A familiar sound greeting my falling asleep. The icing on the cake from replying to the post, someone knew the name of the junk store, Pat's Little Market. That is so nice to know.
Just got word there is no Sunday School in the morning because of the roads and the chance of black ice. I am going to teach this week's lesson next week. I really enjoyed the study of Daniel 3 and this will give me time to do more studying and reading.
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We woke up to 10 degree temperature and a Life Lock alert. Nothing like waking up quickly. It was an alert on some things we had changed so all in all, it is good knowing Life Lock is working. No Sunday School like I had previously written but I had decided to wear a cable knit sweater to class. I hardly ever wear sweaters because even here, they get too hot. I was also thinking of wearing my very warm coat, but now they are just thoughts. Wow, what a morning to be teaching on the fiery furnace. I did get out to the Feral Fam and got them fed. It is chilly in the garage and some have taken the opportunity to use the back corner for warmth. Roy doesn't call them the Feral Fam, he calls them the Poot Butts. No explanation is needed.
The afternoon held a little bit of time to read, continuing with the Anderson Cooper book on the Vanderbilts. He said his mom, Gloria of jean fame, kept everything and as he went through boxes he read journals and notes, newspaper articles and pictures. Over the years, I have read a lot of books both nonfiction and fictionalized versions of their story. It was a difficult read to get through on the Commodore. The only thing he really cared about is money and how he treated his family was based on their worth to money. It felt a little too close to home cause it doesn't matter if you are the richest person in the world or just an average Joe who hoarded money and was miserly in any administration of it be it charity or people. The Commodore at the end of his life was trying to "buy" so to speak his way into heaven. The book is riveting but I may need to start a different book to counterbalance the sadness of the story.
The remaining bit of snow will melt today, at least in the front of the house but this morning the snow is reflecting like diamonds. The pasture across the way as well. Our busy road is not busy right now. At both ends of this connecting road is a lot of shade so for sure there is black ice hanging around till it at least melts.
Margaret Feinberg wrote a week a so ago about feeling foggy, maybe even thinking that she was experiencing a brain tumor. Long story short, pandemic side effect. I was happy to read this because last summer into early fall I was doubting my mental abilities. Please no sarcastic comments. Ha! Partly age but deep in the recesses of the brain is the fact my mother had Alzheimer's. My brother and I have talked about that deep receded fear and his Dr has assured him that anything he has experienced is not Alzheimer's. Last summer, as I have written about before, really felt like a time of loss and that sense of loss really messed with me. Having regular conversations now that Roy is here and spirited discussions both agreeing and disagreeing on how to solve the world's problems has been immensely helpful. I'm including part of the email that Margaret Feinberg sent out in case you have been feeling this too.
Truth be told—everything
feels a little foggy. I catch myself saying, “Last August or was it February or
was it the year before.”
I simply can't recall.
It's so blurry.
I visited a doctor who
assured me I didn't have a brain tumor, and says she's seeing this grey
forgetfulness among many of her patients.
One of my friends jokes…
“We're living in coronatime.”
But it's not all silliness. One of the big
factors that helps us distinguish time and create markers of memory is big
events.
The huge holiday
celebrations. The breathtaking Fourth of July fireworks. The birthday party
surrounded by everyone you love and everyone who loves you.
For me, many of those
memory markers have disappeared or been muted over the last two years.
Snowstorms and cancelled flights and postponed events. Friends unable to attend
gatherings from hesitance or sickness or sudden life change. Big trips and
little getaways cancelled… parties made smaller… people missed… and the
shuffling of friends along the way.
The breakneck speed of
life before the pandemic has been replaced with a bit-by-bit blurring with
spikes of stress, social isolation, and disruption that take up a lot of our
cognitive space and sometimes leave us with a hollow void. And I can't remember
when that happened. :)
So if you're experiencing this, too, rest assured… you're normal.
In this flatter toned world, I believe it's all the more important to ask Holy Spirit to make us hyper-attentive to the Presence. Because God has not lost one iota of his wonder and magnificence.
Revelation 4 describes God on the throne surrounded by splashes of color, crashes of sound, and bizarre shapes and creatures that even on our best earthly days we'll never fully comprehend.
God still shines and shimmers, glitzes and glimmers, beams and blazes. Nope! God has not lost his flare.
So listen and look close, my friend, to be wonderstruck by God. You might find it when you least expect.
On Sunday, the church service felt muted. The response to worship passive. The attendance sparse.
But when we lit candles at the altar in prayer, I stood next to an elderly man. Like me, he's a kid in a candy store during this bright, flickery prayer time. While most people light a candle, we light rows and rows of them. A touch of whimsy tucked in, the flames represent hushed heartcries for ourselves and those we love.
That's when I heard it.
This shush-shush-shushing sound.
I noticed the man's hands shaking, his whole body rocking with tremors. I can't identify the medical malady, but there we stood, side by side, crying out to God for healing for ourselves and those we love. In that moment, I sensed the power that can only be found in the community of believers who pray.
Nope. God has not lost his flare.
My hope and prayer for you this week is that you'll know you're not the only one who is feeling a little foggy. Though life sometimes feels repetitive or muted or not like it used to be, God still rises above this mess in glory and wonder inviting us to look up and look all around his presence.
So go ahead, light a candle or two of prayer, and remember God has not lost his flare.
With all my love,
Margaret
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