Monday, April 20, 2020

Miracles ... Shelby, Cheryl, Tim ... A Quarantine Read

“A Miracle”
What exactly makes something a miracle or miraculous? I suppose that’s up to each one of us since one’s perception is one’s reality.
Does a miracle have a time limit? Can it be an occurrence that only lasts a second? A minute? An hour? A day/week/month/year? Or must it stick for eternity and always “be” in order to be declared “the big M word?”
What about when a miracle, or miracleS happen in the midst of tragedy? Does that make them MORE miraculous? Or does it diminish their “miracleness?”
Again, it’s your call to you, my call to me.

-By definition ( A miracle is an event so marvelous that it seems like it was sent from above.
Miracle, a noun meaning “amazing or wonderful occurrence,” comes from the Latin word miraculum, “object of wonder.” Dig way back and the word derives from smeiros, meaning “to smile,” which is exactly what you do when a miracle happens.-

I certainly smiled while writing this mini novel, but a tear or two was also shed. I saw (still see) and experienced many miracles which are documented below; however, none of them came with beams of light, trumpets sounding or glitter swirling. In fact, if one wasn’t paying attention, many of these miracles would have simply passed by, never receiving acknowledgement. And, well ... that simply cannot happen ...

Thursday, November 21, 2019

The Downside of Being an “Angel" on an Angel Tree

Welcome back Me! It's been almost THREE years since I've blogged!
And, hello Stranger, who I will likely never see, meet, or even know anything about you, as you read a tiny excerpt from approx 1 hour of my life, many moons ago.
Be blessed. You are seen. You are important. You are loved.
First, I/we have never ACTUALLY been on an Angel Tree, though there is no shame in that … and quite honestly, I feel certain we would have been accepted if applied. There are some of us who either were raised to not accept handouts or naturally have too much pride … which can be both a good and bad thing. I fit one or both of those descriptions. By default, I’m a natural born giver. Being on the receiving end is not in my comfort zone.

As far as "joining in the spirit of giving during this holiday season," here’s a different perspective/take and a bit of insight for others who are graciously giving to the “less fortunate.” Which I also have done, do, and will do when possible. It wasn’t until I was convinced against my will to “allow others to love on me and my girls,” that I saw a little glitch in this concept.
It was an “Adopt-a-single-mom-Christmas-dinner-night.”
We experienced being a charity case.

Saturday, February 18, 2017

Raising Adults

I don't claim to be the "perfect" parent, but I see a problem in raising children. Personally, I am trying to raise adults… Not lifelong children.

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Granny ... A mini-novel ...

        It is ironic that my last post was on October 21, 2015. It was about Granny, as is this one … and she left this earth on July 21, 2016, exactly 9 months to the day. I began writing a little bit that night, but took a break until now. (My oldest daughter has asked what I saw with numbers regarding Granny … because that’s just one of those weird things I do. My quick response was about the dates both being on the 21st, and that they were 9 months apart. I knew the number 9 represented finality/and ending, but looked it up again, finding this: The number 9 is mentioned in Scripture 49 times and 9 symbolizes divine completeness or conveys the meaning of finality. Reference:  

Wednesday, October 21, 2015


          GP/Granny Parker

I’ve never spent the night in a nursing home. Tonight will be a first. It is my understanding that this facility is called a “Rehabilitation Center,” but it has every characteristic of a nursing home.

Possibly, that’s just a new name given to take away the icky stigma attached to the title, “nursing home …”

          Considering the outside surroundings of this location, (barred doors and windows on the small, rundown houses; railroad tracks and no one of my same skin color driving in the passing cars,) the actual facility is surprisingly quite nice and impressive. It is very clean, well decorated and smells good; which is exceptional considering the amount of elderly people here. Not what I expected.

Sunday, July 12, 2015


Church. The face with many masks, at least in my lifetime.

It once represented a fun place to make arts and crafts, somehow creatively connected to scripture. Certificate awards that could be be framed or put in a scrapbook showing the success of learning the books of the Bible. Little snacks and Dixie cups with red Kool-Aid. It smelled like Play Doh, glue and paint and sounded like Jesus Loves Me This I Know. I loved having angel wings strapped on my tiny back, lined in sparkly tinsel, just like the wire halo on a stick hanging over my head. Older people stood in front of the church wearing matching robe-like gowns, holding hardback hymnal books and singing off key. My Nanny sang along loudly and I couldn’t tell if it sounded good or bad. The best part was when the preacher said for the kids to come forward. We sat criss-cross-applesauce on the carpet and listened to a Bible story he had tried to recreate in our novice language. Sometimes we even got a little prize, like a piece of candy.

Saturday, May 23, 2015

A Diamond Named Crystal Poem

 “I have breast cancer.” The words you said in a matter of fact way.

I tried to process the declaration, But no words could I say.

We kept a positive attitude, believing it would all be okay.

In spite of the threat that it could take your life one day.


You eventually told me, “They said I may have three years.”

You were the one comforting me, trying to calm all my fears.

That discussion was a phone conversation, but you still heard me cry.

I was asking what everyone else was, the unexplainable question, why?

Monday, May 18, 2015

A Diamond Named Crystal

          It was somewhere after 8pm and before 9pm on Thursday May 14, 2015 when time stood still. Whatever the clock said no longer mattered and had no meaning. I sat in a hospital room beside my lifelong friend who was laying in the bed, holding her hand as she was preparing to leave this earth. It would be my first time to be in the presence of someone leaving their physical body. I've never wanted so desperately to be somewhere and not be somewhere so badly.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

30 Things I Learned About Myself When Snowed/Iced In My House Alone For Days


1.     I like to be alone.

2.    My house in not very organized, and its big.

3.    Having gas heat does NOT mean it works when the electricity goes out. Gas fireplaces do ... but they are a little intimidating to people who are afraid of gas powered explosions.

4.    I miss my kids.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

A Single Mom's Christmas Poem

I wrote this poem years ago, but re-read it tonight. It still speaks to me. Blessings to all single Mommies! (and Daddies ... or caretakers :), whomever you may be!)

She prepared the surprises her girls would soon see.
The stockings were stuffed and gifts were under her tree.
She tried very hard to make the holiday bright,
Preparing memories to be made on this Christmas Eve night.

She decided to make a fun, new fresh memory for this holiday.
She always attempts to make things memorable in any small way.
The three of them got matching pajamas, just like an all girl team.
It gave them a girlish sense of fun, as small as it may seem.

They said their bedtime prayers and she kissed their sweet heads.
Then she smiled with joy as she tucked them in their beds.
Its time to do the final touches for the moment when they wake.
In just a few hours, she will watch the memories they will make.

She is thankful for her babies and that they will soon discover their gifts.
She hopes they will never long for what they all have missed.
She knows in many homes, the mom and dad are doing this together.
She thought when her family was starting that it would be forever.