







Took our two grandsons to the river to break ice and throw it into the river… because… you know… we’re just boys. 🙂
What can I give Him, Poor as I am? — If I were a Shepherd I would bring a lamb; If I were a Wise Man I would do my part, — Yet what I can I give Him, — Give my heart. - Christina Georgina Rossetti To my WordPress family: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! May this season of light and joy be filled with peace for you and yours. May your new year be seasoned with adventure, love and contentment.
The current state of affairs in our wee little town. Happy Christmas everyone!
here’s to cloudy christmas days and windy songs weaving through the barren trees can’t sing along with the howling melodies i’d rather stay and be in this cloudy christmas day here’s to cloudy christmas days you see there’s loss and grief a friend in need the clouds are all around him now nothing makes much sense anyhow except this cloudy christmas day here’s to cloudy christmas days when the dark tree seems to be the proper choice i need to give voice to loss to mystery and the agony that stings a bit more you never know what’s in store on a cloudy christmas day so i’ll just feel this cloudy christmas day the tears say it’s ok i know Eternal Love has come and Peace and Light i am trusting through my tears in the Way the Truth the Life on this cloudy christmas day
what do i see when i see me let's see i suppose i see what i want to see and at times i see what i long to be at times i'm such a selfie self is proud and can be so loud i can push away by the words i say those i say i love why am i that way if my attitude or my words hurt you please forgive me i hope you can see a way to forgive me i suppose i need to see through eyes that are not mine but belong to the One who makes me whole and sees all that makes me me and when i'm known by the One who knows all that's inside i can decide that i won't hide anymore Lord help me see my wife and kids the family my friends my neighbor too and say no to self and live to serve Lord help me let go of me and be free to love to give to be alive to others and die to me and be free
dear Lord when i am restless let the tranquility of your Spirit the comfort of your word the light of your love be my peace and still my stirring
when i am anxious let the power of your grace the assurance of your sovereignty the goodness of your will warm the frozen fear i feel inside release the heart shackles and settle my thoughts in the river of your presence
when i am triggered angry let your mercy help me remember how much is broken in me let your justice be the end of my longing let my heart be open to you and this world send me as your loving healing presence as i receive your love and your healing
when i am lost bring me home when i am so sad that light seems a memory and hope a forgotten song reorient my mind reset my spirit
help me see that the suffering is but a moment that all i long for awaits in your house no more tears no need of light or sun no darkness
thank you my dear Lord thank you
The last time I was at this location was in 1965. I was 4 years old. The location is Flushing Meadows-Corona Park, which served as the site for the 1939-40 and 1964-65 New York World’s Fair. These images are the remains of the New York State Pavilion. The structures have been ignored and deteriorating for years, but recently the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation has embarked on a restoration project. The next summer memories post will be of another famous structure from the 1964-65 World’s Fair. Thanks for stopping by.
Fall is making it’s entrance here in the Midwest. Trees are beginning to show off, Costco has had Christmas trees on display for a few weeks now, and the end of the day knocks on our door a lot sooner than it did just a few weeks ago. It has been a busy time for me as well, so this is the first of a few posts from this past summer. We were in New York in August, so, first up, my favorite place: Jones Beach. Thanks for stopping by.
Scene 1 fades in from black: I’m standing in the doorway of what used to be the bedroom for my two daughters. Eleven months before I said, “Her mother and I do,” at my oldest daughter’s wedding, and like the refrain of a song, I just said the same words at my youngest daughter’s wedding! My oldest son is already married. Three down, one to go. I pull out my phone and capture… this… empty room. I guess I was hoping to capture the conversations, dance parties, tears, Christmas mornings, laughter, prayers… capture all that happened in that room. The phone displays an empty room. But I am filled with gratitude as I remember that grace brought me here and will continue to lead me…home. I am crossing the vast Canyon of Parenthood, which is followed by the great Canyon of Fatherhood and the Canyon of Where Did the Time Go… and I realize that I am at the beginning of that time in my life where I will be remembered a bit less, and less. And that is what will be. And it’s ok. Scene 1 fades to black.
Scene 2 fades in from black. I’m standing in the doorway of what used to be the bedroom for my youngest son. I pull out my phone… you know the rest. Now, the emptiness of the room is a bit more final in my heart. All four of our children (can I still call them children?) are gone. Now I watch our children and their families, and I see them and the 6 little ones that are the new generation in their “rooms” praying, crying, laughing, enjoying dance parties, creating moments to remember and one day say good-bye to… one day let go… one day to try and capture on a phone. And I know that the new generation will forget more than they remember of their papa and nana. And I know that is what must be. And it’s okay. Scene 2 fades to black. One more scene.
Scene 3 fades in from black. I am being held by my mom in an impossibly strong, firm embrace. Impossible because my mom’s 96 year old body appears to be so frail, brittle and fragile. I see her connecting to my dear wife in a hushed conversation filled with memories and love. She can’t really stand up straight anymore. It seems like she is always folding in on herself, like she is ever seeking the fetal position. I tell her, as often as I can, that I love her, and her frail, thin voice tells me the same. My mom is a stranger in this world. She has lived long enough to bury he mom and dad and all of her siblings. The neighborhood is filled with strangers, for all of her friends from the old days have passed as well. She is, in so many ways, alone. Few remember who she is. And as I have had the opportunity to watch her in these late years, I am grateful for all that she has taught me. She has embraced her reality, and it is okay. She has taught me to welcome your emotions and the reality that you are in, but to not let it steal the grace and love that you can, at any moment, give to someone. She is frustrated, but not angry. She is sorrowful, but not bitter. She feels forgotten, but is not resentful. I want so badly to take away all the pain, heartache and struggle that makes up her days and nights. But I can’t. It must be this way. And that is okay. If I could take it away, it would diminish her and also diminish me. It is okay. This scene will fade to black. I am not sure I will be able to navigate that blackness. But, it will be. And that’s okay.
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