Notes From A Broken Heart

I praise and thank You for today. I praise and thank You for yesterday, each of them. I praise and thank You for the day I thought things couldn't get any bleaker, but the next day it did.  Then, Your still small voice whispered, "I am with you. Hold on!"    I praise and thank You for my "Macbeth day," as in "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps on in this petty pace from day to day..." I thank You that tomorrow always mo on. I praise and thank You for my healing miracle s. I praise and thank You for the kind of clear blue Al Jurreau day snag about, "I can see clearly now, the rain has gone." I thank You for the day that, like clockwork, dawned after a hapless sleep the night before. "In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God concerning you" (1 Thessalonians 5:18). I praise and give thanks for Your reminder, Lord. I praise and thank You for the day You just wouldn't   let me throw up my hands in despair and sur

  DISCLAIMER: No names were used to protect everybody from everybody! Dear Whomever: I chose not to use a more identifiable term because sometimes, that's a dead giveaway.  If you do figure out it's me, you will have worked to get there.  I fervently wish you and my niece could engage in an occasional healthy conversation or over time, even boast a "healthy relationship." One less fraught with what appears to be downright antagonistic much of the time.  I have been privy to your disagreements, misunderstandings, and misstatements.  I've heard recounts of myriad declarations, including "I know  what you meant," "That's not what I said," and "No, I will not apologize, ever!" From both of you.  Just saying. What could be its genesis? Could it have begun when you'd make her (and her sister and brother)  eat breakfast oatmeal, long after it'd congealed and should've been tossed? Did your refusal to allow violin  and  modeli

It's facetious even to think about; still, I do.  It might mean that I occupy or allow myself to be preoccupied with frivolous thoughts.  But whenever I think of the advice nestled in the venerable hymn,  "Count your blessings, name them one by one; Count your blessings, see what God hath done...," it gives me pause.    Can blessings be defined , from earliest recollections to present giftings? Impossible? Daunting? Crazy as all get out? Hmm. First and foremost, how many definitions of the word exist among diverse peoples, countries, and cultures? Or in dictionaries or good thesauri? How many "vernacular" or "slang" expressions flourish in numerous places? A couple of hundred, and counting? More? How many more? I wouldn't hazard a guess! I'll just leave possibilities where my imagination found them.  If we categorize blessings, we could at least itemize them. Would run-of-the-mill blessings vie with extraordinary, unique ones.   Do basic blessi

Resentment, you've been evicted, kicked out, and left at the curb of my life with other, assorted, and discarded trash!  I've finally tossed you into the trash, to be picked up by the appropriate collectors.  I never invited you into my psyche's domain in the first place.   The portal through which you entered had never before been breached. Typically, I paid attention to obvious things, rarely to the small, inarticulated, stuff.  In fact, these behaviors"just grew," as Topsy explained.  Truthfully, until this morning I had carried resentment as lightly as a goosedown pillow on a just-bought mattress. Like so much of my life, discontent had secured a lease in empty space, or so I thought.  Evidently, anger, irritability, and self-righteousness leeched into resentment's foundation and penetrated the crevices of my heart.   I became aware, years later, that what I'd discounted as a simple "thing" had grown like a bed of mushrooms, wild and poisonou

The epiphany, "I take so much for granted," hit me like a sledgehammer, and landed with the unmistakable accuracy of an expert lumberjack.  Then, to mix a metaphor, the lightbulb stayed on after I'd smugly advised a friend to find her answer in the Book of Matthew 7:7-8. Poor thing, she only wondered why God hadn't answered her latest "humble cry."  Either her prayer carried no urgency or currency, she'd opined.  "Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.  For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened,"  (NRSV). Yet, I regretted the glibness of my response soon after I'd offered it, as a roster of requests and responses rolled out of my memory bank.  I couldn't remember whether their denouement happened immediately or whether a "wait time" had ensued.   Most significantly, had my friend and I used

The day had cooperated splendidly.  I'd made treks to the row of mailboxes to collect letters and circulars.  I deemed much of it "junk," to be trashed or shredded later. Then, I'd collected the cumbersome garbage can, faithfully placed at the curb each Tuesday afternoon before the next morning's pick-up.   I'd already washed and dried breakfast bowls and lunch plates and was feeling pretty good about myself and my accomplishments.   My tulips stood sentinel around the perimeter of the yard in an artistic array of pinks, yellows, and striated colors, which accounts for my spur-of-the-moment decision.   I'd cut a bouquet and arrange them in an old but beautiful, pitcher my Daddy had made when he worked at The Chicago Pottery.  I'd already put the garbage can back in its place, so I went inside for scissors, and then back into the yard. Why I reflexively closed and locked the patio door (without checking to make sure I had the key), I'll never, never