Help! I Need Somebody!

I remember driving into the mountains when my youngest daughter was three years old. Even with what she could see from her car seat, she was enthralled.

“Wow,” she piped up in her wee voice, “those are big! We shouldn’t climb up there. We might fall down and get hurt!”

At the time, I’d only enjoyed the mountains from the bottom and I understood her exclamation, as I’d always thought them imposing and viewed them with a healthy fear.

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Mountain Abstract by Denise Plett

When I was a child and my parents took us to the mountains and there were heights involved, I quaked inside watching my mother march up to the edge and lean over to get a better view. I was glued to the middle, the “safe zone”. The edge, for me, was a scary proposition where the pull of gravity might suck a chubby blondie over the side, if one ventured too close. I had visions of a sad cartoon version of me, eyes sprung out of their sockets, hair splayed out, face frozen forever in horror, limbs askew, flattened on the cracked earth. I’ve always had a vivid imagination.

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Pic by Keith Traber https://www.instagram.com/trabs_theworldaccordingto/

Little did I know that some 14 years later, I would be climbing up where my daughter in her childlike wisdom said one should never go. A couple of years ago, I was trying to grow my account on Instagram and I came across a Christian man in my province whose posts consisted mainly of his mountain climbing adventures. I was intrigued and followed him and, that same summer, my son and I went on our first hike with him, his sister, and a few friends and this was the beginning of my passion for mountain climbing.

I have another friend locally that I hike with whose approach is more relaxed than my hard-core friends from Calgary. This past Monday, she and I were on the trail up to Sofa Mountain in Waterton Lakes National Park, an hour and a half from where I live. The trail seemed straight forward enough at the beginning, but it was soon unclear as to the img_1274best way to ascend. I trusted my partner’s GPS route and began to trudge up the scree. Now, for those of you who’ve never climbed a mountain before scree is “a mass of small loose stones that form or cover a slope on a mountain.” (Oxford Dictionaries) I imagine there will be scree in hell, so tedious and, often, precarious it is. You do a lot of sliding away from your desired destination, much to your consternation. Soon enough, I was on my own with my partner bowing out to sit quietly creek-side and watch the herd of mountain sheep grazing at the base of the mountain. I was determined to go up, though, and she was gracious enough to let me go.

As I was going up, I realized something. Even though I’m an introvert and a fiercely independent person, at that moment, slogging up the scree, I wanted people around me. I missed looking up ahead to see my fellow climbers suffering the same frustration, but still making headway, a great motivating factor when you feel like sitting down in a hot huff on your tuchus or turning around altogether. When I got to the last part of the img_1269scramble, where I would have to climb hands and feet and pop up over the top, that desire for people became an all-out need. My friend from Calgary tells me I’m at an intermediate level, climbing-wise, and I think he’s being generous, but I felt the dearth of my inexperience weighing on me. If I fell, there would be no one to help me, except that my girl friend would be left waiting down below wondering what had happened to me and my limp, broken body would be overrun by the hideous, chunky, black spiders I saw scurry under rocks at my approach, which, for me, is almost a fate worse than death. I would cease to be Polly and become that tragic, “shake your head” news story, the lady who went up the mountain alone and fell and died alone.

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Taken from my perch after deciding to abort!

I turned around. I took pictures from the height I had achieved and started the arduous journey back down. I congratulated myself for making it as far as I did, rather than viewing my attempt as a failure. I re-joined my friend and felt good about a day of hard work and good judgement in the sunshine, fresh air, and shadow of the mountains.

Fast forward to Saturday. My friends from Calgary were itching to go out, but rain and thunderstorms were looming in their mountain playground. Did I have the hike for img_1454them! I took my position, the klutzy straggler, at the back of the pack and we began our tramp through the forest and then our ascent. The entire way, from top to bottom, better climbers than I came along side me, giving me helpful tips, telling me where to put my hands and feet or where not to, leading me onward. The confidence and security I felt being a part of this group of experienced mountain people gave me just what I needed to accomplish my goal of reaching the summit safely and returning home to hike another day.

That’s life, isn’t it? We need each other. We were made for community. This bizarre time of global flu, racial unrest, and economic downturn has opened our eyes to just how dependent we are on each other, to just how necessary each one of us is to keeping our societies strong, healthy, and humming. It’s truly amazing what we’re capable of when

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Pic by George Mach https://www.instagram.com/2litresofsoysauce/

we cooperate and this time of crisis has only magnified this truth. If we had failed to come together, to offer what we have to the collective for the sake of the common good, we would have been headed for a serious tumble, but people are doing their parts, even sacrificially, with courage and determination, from the thousands sheltering in place, to the tireless work of those deemed essential, to the neighbors buying groceries and picking up prescriptions, to the many drive-by celebrations and gestures of gratitude. In spite of the all the chaos, uncertainty, death, grief, and anger there’s still hope, light, love, and joy in the world.

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As someone who has struggled with mental illness in the past, it’s my family and friends who are keeping me from disappearing into a fog of depression right now. I was trying to curtail my use of social media before the pandemic arrived, but quickly reconsidered, feeling like the need for connection, any connection, was better than the loneliness I was experiencing. It’s not just people’s help that we need, but their personality and presence.img_5358 We need people who inspire, lead, and teach us, people who’ll challenge us to move from comfort to courage and cheer us on to personal growth, people who’ll warn us when we’re being self-destructive, people who’ll protect us and put us back together when we’re hurting, and people who get our particular brand of silliness. Friends are God-ordained. Though, some people joke about preferring their dog to humans, God, after having Adam name the animals, demonstrated that an animal could never meet the deep soul need we have for each other by creating Eve.

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In response to the pandemic, our church has developed a program called Bridge Builders to make sure people don’t become too isolated and that their needs are met. Congregants volunteered to call others on a regular basis to check in. As I said before, I’m an introvert, not one who enjoys or ever pursues small talk, much less chatting on the phone.  I’m grateful for those people who took this on, this ministry of coming along side others, even those they don’t know well, in this strange time of physical distancing and staying home. I pray that God will bless their obedience and kindness with joy and new friendships.

The writer of Ecclesiastes expresses the benefits of togetherness simply and perfectly. “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has

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Pic by George Mach

no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12) On that day, when I was alone atop the hard rockface of the mountain, I needed the warmth and support of a companion more than I needed to reach the summit. I hope this memory will remind me to reach out to friends, not just because I need them, but because they need me, too. I’m afraid I’m not very good at friendship, probably less so now when there’s some fear involved in meeting others, but I’ve been working on it over the last couple of years, making and keeping friends (you can read about that here). I encourage you to seek out the company of friends and, of course, loved ones, as soon as possible, and regularly. Look in each other’s eyes. Give each other the gift of your full attention. Share feelings. Express concern. Smile and laugh. Journey up that proverbial mountain together, as you were meant to, and be comforted, strengthened, and blessed!

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War Wounds by Denise Plett

Feature Pic by George Mach http://2litresofsoysaucecom.blogspot.com/2020/06/. All other pics mine except where noted.

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What the Weed Knows

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What must it be likeimg_0815

To live in a world

Where the very sight of you

Makes some people cringe

and want to poison you

Or tear you up by the roots

And burn you into cinders

Or leave you for dead

On the rubbish heap

Sadly

Not just the weed knows this

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I’m disturbed and saddened at the recent turn of events in the United States. #stopthehate #blacklivesmatter #prayingfortheUS #peoplearepeople

Impervious: Pondering the Pandemic

Let fear dictate your path and there won’t be a path to dictate.

In 2019, we visited our neighboring province at the end of October. “Why on earth would you do that?” some may ask, as Saskatchewan is not known for being a vacation destination due to its austere scenery. We happened to be on our way back from Manitoba, where we attended a seminar for my husband’s work as a pastor. We decided to take a day and explore Regina. Even though it wasn’t very wintery where I live in Alberta, I decided to throw in my winter wear as a precaution. Canadians know that winter often shows up unannounced, without regard for your preparedness, especially when you’re still sporting shorts and flip flops. On that note, last winter I did something I haven’t done in 20 years. I bought a new winter coat and not just any winter coat, but the mother of all winter coats. It’s a burgundy puffer jacket with a faux-fur trimmed hood that effectively turns me into the lion king. My daughter has informed me that it makes my head look like a shriveled pea, not a very attractive thought, but, let me tell you, I put that baby on and go outside and, despite the cold, I still feel nearly, and delightfully, feverish.snowfall-201496__340

We drove into Regina in a blizzard with a wind-chill of -19° Celsius. The next morning, we spent the day wandering around a boring, but toasty, shopping mall. No, we didn’t! We’re Canadians. I put on my Super Coat, my fuzzy scarf that’s as big as a towel, my felt hat with the flower, a pair of heavy-duty mittens, and boots with such thick treads they make me look like a jacked-up truck and we trudged around in the snow. I told my husband later, after we’d put on what I’m sure was 20,000 steps that this coat was probably one of the best purchases I’ve ever made. It makes me feel impervious. At least to the cold, anyway, and this is a desirable thing in the throes of a Canadian winter.

According to Miriam Webster, one of the definitions of impervious is “not capable of being affected or disturbed.” Unfortunately, what works for the cold, doesn’t transfer to other areas of life. Who knew that a couple of months later, I’d be feeling as fragile as a china doll? Most of you who’re reading this are aware that my dad passed away at the end of December. You may read about my experience here. The grief coupled with the stress of preparing and attending the memorial service was enough to fray my nerves, but the drive home through mountain passes was almost more than I could bear. The roads were covered in sheets of glazed ice and snow. Our family was split between two vehicles. Travel was slow and I was okay as long as I could see my husband, but, unfortunately, we werehighway-2951144__340 separated. I ended up making a wrong turn, driving an hour out of my way, and having to back-track. My mistake would mean that we, my son, daughter and I, would have to drive into Creston, BC in the dark. Creston is located in a valley between two mountain ranges. There’s no stopping or turning around. It was the longest, most harrowing, downhill crawl in a vehicle I’ve ever had to make. I had a line of cars behind me. My young people were arguing about what cheerful song to play to ease the tension. I was trying to keep the fear from coming up out of my mouth. It’s possible that I was visibly shaking. Death was a looming possibility and the precious lives of my children were at stake. How did I get through it? My eldest daughter did kindly take over when we finally arrived in Creston, but the whole way, I prayed without ceasing. I called out to God in my mind for hours. I cheered and praised Him when we entered Alberta and the roads started to flatten out. I prayed through, drove through, lived through the fear and came out the other side victorious by the grace of God.

Some fear is good. It makes us cautious. It’s meant to keep us from harm, but some fear is irrational and not just annoying, but paralyzing. My drive through the mountains was daunting, but doable with ample doses of determination and patience. If we allowed our sky-diving-2508907_960_720lives to be ruled by fear, we’d never leave our homes. We’d never ride a skateboard, pedal a bicycle, drive a motorcycle or car, travel on an airplane, play sports, hike up a mountain, ski down a hill, swim in an ocean, go white water rafting, skydiving, hang gliding, or parasailing or do anything that might endanger ourselves. We’d also never give a presentation, a speech, or a sermon, sing a solo, act in a play, or do anything that has the potential to challenge or embarrass us. We certainly wouldn’t speak out against oppression, push someone out of the way of a moving vehicle, dive in to rescue the drowning, care for the infectious, run towards a burning building looking for survivors, or go to war. Yet, many of us do these things. It’s in facing our fears, great and small, that we grow.

Now, here we are, people all over the world collectively facing a crippling fear of tiny bits of genetic material that aren’t even considered to be living things. These “things” and their ability to hijack our bodies have the power to decimate the human herd, weeding out the weak among us and it seems our salvation or doom will come at our own hands, literally. We are a handsy group, human beings. Never before has keeping our hands to covid-4948866__340ourselves been as crucial, as the virus is spread through touch. No more swiping the sleep from the corner of our eyes, or picking that booger when we think no one’s looking, or licking that chocolate from our fingers, unless we’ve lathered and thoroughly scrubbed our digits. Even if we keep our hands clean, we’re at the mercy of other people’s hygiene or lack thereof. What we used to touch without concern, like door handles, grocery carts, and credit card terminals, we now touch with trepidation or we try to avoid using our hands altogether. I now turn lights on and off with my elbow, I’ve been flushing the toilet with my foot, and I’ve a new appreciation for automatic doors.

Worse than any new gymnastics we’ve been forced to adopt in public, we’ve been told to stay home and play keep away. We, who as infants fail to thrive without sufficient kisses and cuddles, are being told to stiff arm each other in the name of health. No more friendly handshakes, fist bumps, high fives, pats on the back, hugs, contact sports, or social-distancing-4992164__340sweaty dance parties. Sure, families who are sticking together and are symptom free can still enjoy closeness, but as a healthcare worker who has a spouse with an underlying condition, I don’t feel comfortable taking that risk. I’m feeling sorely deprived. I know I’m not alone in this. If we’re heeding our government’s orders there are also no more visits to the library, drinks at the pub, dinners with a big, extended family, gatherings to celebrate birthdays, concerts, graduations, weddings, or funerals, the events that make our lives fun and meaningful. We’re visiting our elderly through windows. We hug through plastic. We connect via the glare of a screen. For some of us, we’re even forced to say our final goodbyes over the phone.

It turns out, in the face of this pandemic, my coat is a worthless rag. I’m affected and disturbed, nay, afraid and I’m going to name my fear here, because I read a book recently that said writing about traumatic experiences is a healing thing. Here we go:

  • I’m afraid of contracting the virus. I don’t like being uncomfortable. I don’t like pain. I really, really like breathing deeply and freely. Death by suffocation resulting in organ failure, I’m not into it. I would prefer to keep living. Most people get sick and recover, but it seems there’s no knowing going into it who of us will come out with coronavirus-4952102__340a big thumbs up or a big toe tag. Part of the stress involved is the uncertainty. Of course, life is always uncertain, but we try to control things as best we can and the fact that this impish adversary is invisible doesn’t help the situation. We’re doing what we can to avoid it, but no one’s perfect and people are contracting the disease despite their best efforts. The waiting is agonizing. Will I get it? Will my loved ones get it? Will we struggle through it or succumb to it? Sure, we can push these kind of thoughts down with one more cinnamon bun or another inane movie, but they’ll come up again, like nasty acid reflux. I’d rather deal than stuff!
  • I’m afraid my casual approach to cleanliness will result in someone’s suffering and death. My hands are prematurely aging from all the washing, but what if it’s not wash-hands-4966334__340enough? What if a few of those insidious germs sneak by, I touch my face, and I infect myself and others? Those of you who know me know that I’ll never be described as a clean freak. Of course, at the hospital, I do what’s required of me, but at home, I’m not wiping things down, nor am I disinfecting my groceries. We as a family have stopped meeting friends and limit our visits to the store. So far, we’re healthy. If someone I cared for at work died of Covid-19 or one of my family members passed from it, would I go to my grave blaming myself for not being fastidious?
  • I’m concerned:
    • for seniors experiencing the ache of loneliness.
    • for those dying without their families around them.
    • for those who don’t have a home to hide in.
    • for those who’re desperate for childcare or struggling to homeschool their children for the first time.
    • for those having to work from home and grapple with the constraints of technology, even as I continue to go to work.
    • for those who have lost their livelihoods, who’re going bankrupt, falling into despair, and considering suicide.
    • for the violence, vandalism, and looting that could happen when people are stretched beyond what they can bear.
    • for our psyches. Will mental illness explode along with the contagion? What will be left of us after this scourge has finished its deadly work?girl-4967210__340
  • I fear the length of my imprisonment. This isn’t going to be over in a couple of months. There’s no flu shot that’ll protect us from this teensy terrorist who we now know can work quietly within us before showing itself, while we unknowingly share it. Scientists don’t believe the warm weather will curb the spread and a vaccine is a year to 18 months away. The government is strategizing as to how they’ll loosen the restrictions, because the strain on our economy must be mitigated, but as a health care worker who takes care of the elderly and has a vulnerable spouse, I won’t, in good conscience, be able to hang in a restaurant or browse through a store for long while. Others will be free before I will and I hope I won’t be given over to envy, negativity, and complaining. Please pray that God will help me to endure my captivity with patience in peace.

The only way to imperviousness is through trust in and subsequent rest in the all-sufficient God. In order to combat the fear that lurks at my fingertips and affirm my faith in the One who is Love and casts out fear, I’ll declare what I know to be true about Him:

  • God has a plan and His plan will prevail. God says to the Israelites in Isaiah 46:10, “I declare the end from the beginning, and ancient times from what is still to come. I say, ‘My purpose will stand, and all My good pleasure I will accomplish.” This pandemic, and every other catastrophe that’s roused humankind from the beginning of time, is playing out with our benevolent Father’s knowledge and allowance. Nothing happens that isn’t sifted through His will. God is mysterious. I can’t figure him out and that’s a good thing. There’s so much about Him, this life and this world that confounds me, but I’m His child and there are some things that aren’t for me to know. It’s my job to submit and trust Him. I cling to the truth of Romans 8:28 that His will benefits those who love him.earth-4300085_960_720
  • God is trustworthy! David extolls His goodness in Psalm 103:2-5 saying, “Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.” God is forgiving, loving, compassionate, and generous. It’s his desire that we be free, whole, and healthy, but we live in a fallen world and we groan as we wait for things to be set right. Suffering is as much a part of our human experience as breathing, but suffering is no match for our Savior. His suffering was redeemed at the cross and He means to redeem ours, too. He builds our character in the process, turning us into more gentle, compassionate individuals, as we humble ourselves, recognize our dependence on Him, and yield to his pruning.
  • God is our rock, our fortress, and our refuge. (Psalms 62:5-8 NIV) He’s stable and unshakeable, a firm foundation on which to confidently plant our weary feet. He is the one to run to, the almighty protector, who shields us from danger and shelters us in our distress. We are holed up in our homes, wrestling with uncertainty and fear, but I encourage each one of us to hole up in the one who is truly capable of holding us secure no matter what the future holds.
  • God leads us and journeys with us. The 23rd Psalm, probably the most popular psalm in the Bible, describes the Lord as a shepherd, a vocation David knew well. In biblical times, the shepherd hung with the sheep, leading them to water and the best pastureland, watching out for a number of things–changes in the weather, predators looking to pillage the flock, and poisonous plants. He knew their peculiarities and they knew his voice. He also knew when one of them was missing. Jesus called himself the good shepherd in John 10. He is with us in the green, goodly jesus-1335804__340times, where provision is abundant and refreshment is regular, but what about the dreaded “valley of the shadow of death”? Does he go there, too? I had a patient once, a middle-aged man who had a brain tumor. He was terminal and he seemed to be alone. I found out later that his wife had left him before he entered the hospital, filing for divorce. I don’t know what their marriage was like, but I couldn’t help feeling heartbroken for this man abandoned in what was probably the darkest, most frightening time of his life. Be assured. Jesus knows the way through death valley. He’s walked it and He journeys with those who look to Him. Believers with Covid-19 may have to enter the ICU without the comforting presence of their families, but the idea that they die alone without someone who knows them and loves them is false and need not be perpetuated. The Holy Spirit is present in the stark, ominous reality of that hospital room, consoling them and crying out to God when they can’t and He’s more than capable of sending them out in health or seeing them off to glory.
  • God wants our worries. We all know that too much worry is incapacitating. It also muddles our thinking and dampens our immune systems. We’re commanded not to do it. Philippians 4:4-7 exhorts us to “Rejoice in the Lord always.” Always is right now, tomorrow, next week, next year, and even forever. Always is not dependent on our circumstances, on whether we think we have cause to rejoice. God thinks we always have cause to rejoice in Him, pandemic or no, and the verses following give us the reason why. God is with us and God wants our pray-2558490__340worries. We’re to approach Him with our irritating, repetitive thoughts and our over-stimulated nervous systems, with that ugly scribble of anxiety hanging over our heads and 1 Peter 5:7 says we’re to “cast” it on Him, not an easy giving over, but a heaving motion. Maybe, we’re too much like Frodo and his ring from the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. Our worries become precious to us as we over-rehearse them. Unlike Frodo who couldn’t let go of the ring, we need to hurl those worries onto the one who can do something about them. We’re to do this in a spirit of gratitude and we’re to rest in Him, expecting His peace. Not just any peace, like that which accompanies favorable conditions, but a surprising peace able to settle on us in a storm, a gift we can only accept and marvel at as being from the very heart of God.
  • Lastly, God wants us to fix our minds on what’s good. Philippians 4:8-9 stands as a reproach to social media, the nightly news, and any other platform, group, or individual that would have us focusing on this pandemic. Though I believe it’s important to be educated, we must not allow this wee foe to take our minds and our emotional well-being the way it’s taken our freedom, our health, our jobs, and our way of life. There’s as much beauty and truth and light in this world as there ever was and we need to keep looking for it, pointing it out, and praising it. How we need to praise our Lord for He is worthy! Let’s worship Him continuously, unabashedly and see what happens, see how we’ll be freed and lifted up. Then, let’s put our minds to something creative and constructive, like giving our neighbors help and hope.

Am I feeling impervious these days? Sometimes and sometimes not. I imagine I’m like everybody else. I’ve had moments of joy and peace, especially during devotional times or times spent with family. I’ve also been scared, scattered, confused, disoriented, and weepy. I’m like Peter who got out of the boat and started walking on the lake to Jesus, but sank when he let his gaze rest on his whipped up surroundings rather than his Lord. A friend of mine recently challenged me to stop thinking, talking, and posting about the virus. I explained that I’d been working on this post since the stay-at-home ruling began and I was intent on finishing it. It’s been very hard to write. Some days, I was only able to squeak out a few sentences and, some days, I wrote nothing at all. I’m glad I pushed myself, though, because it caused me to step back from the cacophony of news surrounding the Coronavirus and look into the Word of God. I was reminded that God is big and powerful and there is no thing, anywhere, ever, that can best Him or frustrate his purposes. I was also reminded that my trust must be firmly anchored in Him, not in a coat or scrupulous hygiene or my ability to follow a government directive or even in a vaccine. I’ve accepted my friend’s challenge and I challenge you, as well. From now on, it’s my plan to pursue imperviousness as I practice trusting in my Lord and fixing my eyes on Him and there find rest.

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A Prayer for the World

Our Father

You who are light and love, purity and power

Creator and sustainer of this whirling ball of rock and soil, sloshing blue, and leafy green

Whimsical mastermind of all humankind and creatures wild and wonderful

I normally do come to you with petty problems, small concerns

I dare to pray this day for the whole world

There’s a microscopic killer on the loose

But you know this

A tiny terror that has us by the throat

To take our breath away

And we’re getting crazier than usual down here

We’re taking

When giving is what’s called for

We’re worried bout an ever-growing list

Our health

The health of family and friends

Our mortgages

Food on the table and bills stamped paid

Clean hands and butts

Yes, we’re a little nuts in this regard

It’s hard

To know what to believe

With all the cautionary and, at times, conflicting chatter we’re bombarded with

The only news in town for quite some time

And some of us do fear will lose our minds

Sequestered in our homes for endless days

Reluctantly withdrawing from the human touch we crave

To quell the spread of said uncaring, merciless bug

Oh, God, take out this miniscule thug!

You who’ve always been the champion of the vulnerable and weak

Come to our aid for some have no defense

You who healed the masses when you walked upon this earth

Do so again

Stretch out your hand and let your healing power flow

Allow the suffering among us to draw near and touch your cloak

You who give the breath of life

Exhale

We need a fresh infusion

Yes, and more

Our scientists and doctors need your wisdom to advance against this wily invasion

Our healthcare workers need your strength and shielding in the fray

We all need your assistance, your divine provision

For every day, businesses are shut and jobs are lost

Our costs are soaring

Our children need tending

Our nerves need calming

As chaos threatens to engulf us

Please give us the peace you promise

Renew our trust in you and your great love for us

And fill us with compassion for our neighbours

Help us do what must be done to see that all of us get by

In this most troubling time

In Jesus’ name I pray this,

Amen and amen

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Later, Dad! A Reflection on the Death of my Father

Note from the Author: I’ve received permission from my family to share the story of my father’s passing. Some of you may have read parts of this on Facebook. I believe it’s so important that we share our stories with each other to draw comfort, inspiration, and wisdom from them and to help us better navigate life.

 I always knew it was coming, I just didn’t know when. Death, that is. It’s rudely brushed past me before, but it’s easy to distance yourself when it’s someone else’s loved one. When it’s your lovedheart one, when someone from your inner circle exits, death is no longer a curiosity and an occasion to show empathy, but a piercing of the heart. I had no idea that I would be consumed by it, that my dad’s face would take up residence in my mind, and that his departure would so ravage my thinking that keeping track of anything would become a considerable challenge. Continue reading “Later, Dad! A Reflection on the Death of my Father”

Hark

For my Dad, Ron Mayforth, the one who led me to the light.

Every year for the last four years, our church has had the opportunity to share a Live Nativity Production with the people of our city at a local Christmas Craft fair. Along with a couple of goats, volunteers are gathered from every age group. We usually have a real baby Jesus, a gaggle of kids playing either scruffy shepherds or cherubic angels, young adults to flesh out the roles of Joseph and Mary, and seniors of both sexes to play the Wise Men. This year, as I participated, I was struck once again by the story that marks the coming of God to us. So often, the lowliness of his birth is emphasized, the fact that he came as a helpless baby to an unknown, unwed teenager and her tradesman fiancée from a little town of little regard. There were no premium cotton sheets waiting, not even a proper crib or, for that matter, a sanitary, comfortable place for Mary to give birth. She hunkered down and grunted in the hay, not unlike the farm animals surrounding her. Hardly the dignified procession with the requisite pomp and splendor befitting the King of kings, but, if we look elsewhere, his arrival wasn’t completely without fanfare. Continue reading “Hark”

Polly’s Picks for Pics

From Left to Right:

1)   Bring on the Bling

For many people, Christmas is represented strictly by red and green, but who can deny the power of bling to accent our holiday trimmings. This shot of shredded tape on a power pole, with a little help in processing, made me think of gold ribbon.

2)   Starry Night

There’s a hardware store down the street from where I live. It has a home décor section and, from time to time, I go in looking for photo opportunities. I’ve had this pic of this most unique light fixture for some time and never knew whether I would ever share it. It fits here as the star has always been a symbol of Christmas, playing a key role in the Christmas story and  adorning the tops of Christmas trees.

3)  Editorial Ice

Big icicles like this one are a treat to capture, but this looks nothing like the original shot. I like to play with my pictures.

4)  Blue Ribbon Special

A beauty of an old fence. Peeling paint and wood can be magical!

5)  The Heart of Christmas
This is glue, of all things. Some artistic soul swirled it on in a pattern on the loading dock at a grocery store and affixed something to it, never imagining that only the glue would remain and some weirdo would come along and take a picture of it. I can’t tell you why this reminds me of Christmas. It just does.

6)  Wood Angel

Being an alley girl, I’ve taken many pictures of old fences. I look at these knots and see the pastel wings of an angel. 

7)  Silver Bells

The silvery gleam and dainty blue berries ring true for the holidays.

8)  The Gift of Light

I took this picture after Christmas a couple of years ago. This gift bag was sitting on my daughter’s dresser and the way the light caught the ribbon was captivating. 

9)  Ornamental Fence

I love the iridescent glow of this fence and the jaunty stripes on this knot. This pic puts me in a festive mood!

Posts come out when I feel like it. 😀 Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Thank you for giving me some of your precious time!

Sayonara, Social Media

I’m giving up Social Media. After a good and maybe not so good 10 years or more of posting, scrolling, skimming, perusing, liking, and commenting on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, I’m done. I’ll leave my accounts up for the purpose of contacting people. Otherwise, I’m putting my phone down.img_9450

I’ve only had a cell phone for five years. I remember the days when I left the house and the now antiquated payphone was my only means of communication. I always liked being unreachable, which is why I resisted getting a cell phone. Every day, I free floated through a beautiful, bustling collage of sights, sounds, and smells with all my senses firing. It’s a rich world we live in. It’s too bad we’re so often tuned out. Continue reading “Sayonara, Social Media”

Polly’s Picks for Pics

From Left to Right:
1) Brickety brick brick, brick brick brick
Unusual brick peaks my interest. Anything out of the ordinary does. I like unusual people, too.
2) The Meaning of the Word Awesome
It was obviously the intention of the architect here to have people enter, look up, and be awestruck, a fitting tribute to the God who designed this wonderful world. Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica in Ottawa, Canada.
3) Polly Eloquent’s Dumpster Art
I started taking pictures three years ago in order to have something to post on Instagram. I was wandering through alleys, my eyes hungry for something, anything, to capture. A dumpster, a large metal waste receptacle found behind most businesses, seems an unlikely object to photograph, but because I don’t have the means to travel, I was forced to make do, to look closely at everyday objects. Now, whenever I’m at a store or business, I usually visit its garbage can, a practice that has gotten me more than my share of questions and weird looks, but that doesn’t take away from the pleasure I receive finding and revealing these unnoticed masterpieces.
4) I See You
I look for interesting ways to incorporate people into my photographs.
5) Softly Comes the Light
I crave light. I’m always opening the curtains. In the darkness, I feel tentative and sometimes afraid, like it might swallow me up. Light, especially the natural light of the sun, is warm and inviting, offering clarity. Still, photography has given me an appreciation of the fanciful play between light and shadow that I now see everywhere I go. I’m grateful for this revelation.
6) Perty Poser
My children laugh at how long it takes me to take a picture. I’m almost in slow mo when pressing the shutter release button. Maybe I’m trying to steady myself. Maybe it takes awhile for me to find the right composition. Maybe it’s because I’m never in very much of a hurry and don’t like to be rushed. Consequently, animals and insects are subjects I rarely capture. Yet, this beautiful creature sat resting, sunning itself with nary a flutter. Thank you, sweet thing.
7) Curl and Prickle
There’s a good and bad side to every quality. A pleasing curl and a biting prickle.
8) Wintery Wall
This image reminds me of blizzards I’ve driven through on my commute home from the small town where I work. The snow billows against the deep dark and I’m suddenly so small and untethered, a prisoner in a cosmic snow globe, hoping against hope that I won’t float up and away and be blurred out, erased in the whirling white.

Posts come out when I feel like it. 😀 Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Thanks for giving me some of your precious time. Be blessed!

Move it and Lose it: A Former Fatty on Going Lean

The word fat has been in my vocabulary since I was a child. I’m sure there was a time when I was small in size, but I don’t remember it. I was never a wisp of a girl, it’s not how I’m built. When I see pictures of myself in preadolescence, the first word that comes to mind is stocky. I’m reminded of an impish boy pointing at me on the playground, hismoveithotdog eyes flashing, as he sang, off key, the popular, Ball Park Frank’s jingle, “They plump when you cook ’em”. He wasn’t inaccurate. Plump. That’s me, for most of my life anyway. Continue reading “Move it and Lose it: A Former Fatty on Going Lean”