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Afternoon Drives

2/7/2019

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One Sunday afternoon in my childhood, I experienced one of the worst April Fools’ jokes I can remember.  My Dad kept talking about loading up the car and going for a drive.  I’m in!  No, really, I was in the car waiting.  Soon my anticipation of a country ride turned to aggravation as I sat in the car waiting.  It was taking my Dad and family forever to get to the car.  Not being a person with a lot of patience, I soon headed back inside to see what the hold up was.  It was then my Dad dropped the bomb…  “April Fools,” he said as he sat in his recliner reading the newspaper.  I was devastated.

As far back as I can remember, I always enjoyed riding in the car.  My family frequently enjoyed scenic afternoon drives through the small towns and country surrounding our home.  In my teen years, I enjoyed putting countless miles on the family car going nowhere, usually with a friend. We would drive from our end of town to the other, a loop through the parking lot of the where-to-go-to-be-seen ​
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convenience stop, followed by another pass through our end of town.  Once assured we weren’t missing out on any action, and there was no one of interest in town, we would make a couple of loops through the country.  Sometimes a couple of short loops, other times we would take the long route.  Not in search of anything in particular, except for any cute guy that might cross our path, we were just out to enjoy the drive.  It was all about the friendship, conversation, good music and a few laughs. 

When I drove off to college, I continued the tradition.  Not long after unloading my car and stocking my “shoe box” pantry and small dorm fridge, I pulled out all the information I had on my new home.  Found it!  The campus map.  I studied it to find points of interest like the cafeteria and buildings where I would be spending most of my time for the next several years.  To really nail down my bearings and learn the lay of the land, I pulled out a small map of the town so I could learn the main roads around campus and through town.  With my roommate not arriving for a couple of days, I headed out the door for a short walk around campus, maps in hand.  From a previous visit, and giving my family a tour, I was quickly learning my way around campus.  The plan was to locate the buildings where I would be registering for classes in the morning in hopes of getting their easily and early to avoid the long line for registration.  (This was before the internet.) Feeling prepared for the walk out of my comfort zone in the morning, I headed to my car for an early evening cruse around campus and down the main roads through town. 
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Turning the handles, I rolled down both windows of my “HO DA” (The ‘N’ was missing.) to engage the 2/60 air conditioner.  Two windows down, going sixty miles per hour, was my only car a/c.  A little nervous, and a lot excited about the new adventure unfolding, I put the stick-shift in gear and exited the parking lot.  This was my first solo drive through a town I would come to love.  I drove by churches I would visit, though neither of these would become my church home.  Cruised by apartments I would move to in a couple of years, the mall where I would work as a college student, and a children’s home that would later become a big part of my life.  Unknown to me at the time, I would later discover this home to be under the leadership of family friends from my days as a toddler.  The staff and residents of the home attended weekly services at the church I would later find and call my church home.  In fact, after a short bout of working in the corporate world, and discovering it was not for me, I would join the staff at the children’s home as their full-charge accountant.  The pastor colleagues of my Dad from long ago would become my professional colleagues as well.  Gods calling for me to begin a journey in the nonprofit world would begin right there at that small dot on the map.
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Love Those Weeds

4/12/2018

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As I sat on the church lawn digging up dandelions to transplant in my garden, my thoughts went back to the day I first met Raya here at the church.  Stella and I were chatting during the social break between services when Raya entered the room. 
 
Stella had rolled her eyes while saying, “Here she comes again, self-promoting her own agenda.”
 
“What do you mean?”, I asked.
 
“Raya is always doing some wild project, demanding an unfair share of resources and church members’ time to promote her own agenda.  It’s usually for things most of us aren’t interested in anyway.  She just doesn’t fit in with who we are and what we are all about.  She’s not like us.”
 
I turned to observe for myself.  Stella bid her farewell as she turned to head out in a different direction.  “Don’t waste your time getting entangled in her escapades.”, she warned.
 
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Keeping my seat, I watched Raya as she “worked” the crowd.  True, there was an awkwardness and unrefinement about her.  One could pick up on the private agenda she was working.  She needed help working with the young kids on a garden project she was trying to incorporate into the children’s program.  She flitted around the room darting quickly in and out of conversations, flowing through the room like a fish swimming upstream.  I had to chuckle a little inside as I watched.    
 
Then I noticed something peculiar.  True, she was on a mission, but I saw there was more to her than meeting a so-called ‘greedy little agenda’.  Between short chats to handle business, she made it a point to walk across the room when she noticed someone who was alone.  Sometimes she knew them, other times not.  Either way, each person was approached with the same loving smile and greeted with some short phrase. Just a little something letting them know someone in the room did notice and was glad to see them. 
 
Still sitting alone after Stella’s departure, Raya approached me with a friendly handshake followed by, “How are you today?  I just love the blue colors on your shirt!”
 
After thanking her for the complement, I asked if she had found anyone to help with the kids.  I told her I would love to help if she was still looking. 
 
“Why not?”, I thought to myself.  After all, I do enjoy gardening.  However, it was more than gardening.  After my covert observations, I wanted to know more about Raya.
 
In the weeks that followed, I could be found every Wednesday at the church helping Raya corral the little ones as they worked in the worm bin and planted seeds and young plants in the small garden of containers she had created out back.  I looked forward each week to working with the kids and talking to Raya.  She had an overflowing passion and dedication to teaching others about nutrition and simple ways to grow food in hopes of teaching others how to reduce any food insecurities in their home, or that of a friend.  The kids tried, and liked, the vegetables they grew.  The extra produce was donated to the church food pantry.
 
I began to think about our church programs and mission.  Our church is known in the community for our food pantry and all the people it serves.  When I looked around at those who attend our midweek children’s program, I noticed most of those attending were not from our congregation.  In fact, many were known to be from low income households.  Homes where food insecurities might be a real issue.
 
Stella was wrong.  Her agenda was not greedy in nature.  Raya knew she was loved by the Lord and was obeying His call to love others, even those we may see as unlovable.  Sometimes we quickly judge people as weeds that don’t fit in.  With closer observations, or a little nurturing and pruning, those weeds are recognized as a life of beauty and faith before God.
 
Thanks to Raya, I now know the nutritional and health benefits in the beautiful dandelion weeds.  In fact, many plants we judge as weeds are nutrient-packed foods given to us by God.  They grow during the season when we need the nutrients they offer the most.   So before pulling up and tossing out a weed as worthless, take a moment to understand its beauty and discover its value.  For that “weed” was created by God for a purpose.
[Realistic Fiction]
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Dessert First

2/16/2018

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It was a sunny afternoon as I walked through a small-town festival taking in the sights and sounds.  After strolling through art exhibits and vendor booths, I decided it was time for dinner.  I walked down food truck row checking out the corn dogs, Texas BBQ, street tacos, turkey legs, homemade tamales and fried corn-on-the-cob.  Being a lover of food, the choice was a difficult one.  I wanted it all! 
 
I spotted a small push-cart off to the side as I approached the end.  This cart displayed the most beautiful candy apples I had ever seen.  The dark, ruby-red shells of the apples glistened in the sunlight.  I looked up.  It was obvious the kind-looking man standing at the cart had noticed the sparkle in my eyes. 
 
“Sweetest apples in the county, right here,” he said.  He stretched out his arm holding one just for me.  The look on his gentle old face was not that of a hard sale.  It was more of a warm, no-pressure invitation.  One I couldn’t resist.
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Taking a few bills out of my pocket, I pay the kind man, motioning for him to keep the change.  Holding the cash in one hand, he smiled and bid me farewell with the other, saying, “Thanks!  Have a blessed day.”
 
There was a quiet place around the corner where I could sit and enjoy my purchase.  It had been years since I had eaten a candy apple.  I tried to take my first bite.  My teeth just slid across the candy surface without breaking through the ruby-red.  It was time to hold firm, the stick with one hand and the bottom of the apple with the other, and just go for it!  Taking a firm bite out of the center, the candy shell broke and delicious apple juice ran down both sides of my mouth.  Aah, the sweetness of the crisp apple mixed with the crunchy cinnamon candy was to die for!  I took another bite. 
 
Sitting in my little happy place, I had to chuckle.  Once again, I found myself eating dessert before the main meal.  Friends and family are always razzing me about this peculiar habit.  I always jest back with the old saying about life being uncertain and one must eat dessert first.  My chuckle turned to a smile as I took another bite with eyes closed so I could totally enjoy the moment. 
 
The words, “Taste and see that the Lord is good…”, filled my thoughts.  “…blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.”  These seventeen words from Psalm 34:8 have always been one of my favorite verses.  Rightly so, as food is one of my favorite things. 
 
My thoughts drifted to times in my life when I had experienced another type hunger.  There would be a strong internal longing or desire for something more.  Sometimes the desire was known, other times not.  My desire was for the peace and love that only comes from the God.  Looking through the pages of my Bible, I would search for His truths just like I walked through the fair searching for something desirable to eat.  Flipping through pages, there it would be in an unexpected passage.  Words that filled me with joy.  The more I tasted His Word, the more I learned of His satisfying truths.  Feeding my intimate relationship with God through reading and prayer fills my heart with the hope and joy that only He can give.
 
So just go for it, eat your dessert first.  Taste and see that the Lord is good.  Let those delicious juices of His love run down your cheeks.  After dessert, you can go for the meat! 
[Realistic Fiction]
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The Missing Peace

1/24/2018

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The shapes of puzzle pieces have always intrigued me.  Especially the ones that look like people.  An image, difficult to be unseen, once noticed.  As an artist, I wanted to capture this figure in a painting.  Sounds simple enough.  At least the shape is simple.  Being the over-thinker I am, choosing the perfect colors and design to put on that missing acrylic puzzle piece proved difficult. 
 
Taking a journey to the back of my daughter’s closet, I pull off a box from the top of a dark shelf and return to my table of art.  Here I begin removing all the pieces resembling a person.  Studying the colors and design of each, I sketch out some ideas.  None of which spark a creative flame.  I leave the bleach white shape on the canvas for another day.
 
Then it happened!  I had one of those beautiful moments I love so much.  You know the ones.  When your heart, and entire body down to the tip of your toe, burns with an overwhelming joy.  Joy that can warm the coldest spirit, like a grilled cheese partnered with tomato soup on a cold blustery day.  That all-consuming joy, showing up out of nowhere, on a day when there is really no reason to be joyful.  It’s like bottled-up sunshine wanting to spew out in every direction, capable of warming the coldest feet and lifting one’s spirit out of the darkest winter storm.

This, this is what I want to capture in the sterile white piece missing from the painting.  The piece waiting to be filled with paint!  A depiction of burning passion running from the soul, to the heart and all the way to the toe.  Blood red must be the color!  Passionate blood shed by Jesus for our sins.  Red flames of peace and joy that can only come from the Holy Spirit himself. 
 
I love the assurance Jesus gave when he told the disciples in John 14:24-26 that they, as well as ourselves, would not be left alone after He leaves.  Jesus said He would ask the Father to send a Counselor to be with them forever while He’s gone.  Jesus said this Advocate, the Holy Spirit, would teach us everything and would remind us of all the things He has taught us.  Yes, red is the perfect color for the passion that fills our soul in those unexpected moments.
 
Blue should surround the passion running through the puzzle piece, representing the blue moods brought about by the battles we are all fighting.  Battles with loneliness, fear, sorrow or rejection.  There is no fathomable reason why we should be filled with such joy at a time when gale winds are holding us down as we defend ourselves from the sharpness of a cold pounding that could destroy us in seconds if our tenderness was exposed.  But not on this day.  Blue Mood will be chased away by the blueness of contentment and peace as passion and joy are emanating from the vein running through.  For today we are filled with a glee.  We realize we are in the presence of God!  Earthly problems become small when compared to the love He has for us.  All is well with our soul.    
 
Paints spread out, canvas before me, I pick up the brush and streak an acrylic line of bold red passion flowing from the head, to the heart, to the toes.  Mixed hues of blue and aqua cheerfully develop around the vein as joy warms the body and soothes our spirit.  Blues of inner peace and tranquility splash around inside as excitement fills our entire being.
 
Every day, even during the challenging times, we need to practice making the choice to be filled with joy.   We can ask the Holy Spirit to come into our heart and chase away the blue mood we are incapable of stamping out on our own.  This is possible in every storm, or season of life, when following God’s truths and trusting him with our future.  When we trust him, our worries go away.  Our face will radiate peace during our struggles.  An unmistakable peace, noticed by others, which will become our witness to God’s love and trustworthiness. 
 
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Over The Mountain

1/19/2018

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With the camper hitched tightly to our ’74 Chevy Suburban, we were cruising down the long interstates and over the mountains of our annual pilgrimage.  This was a simpler time when kids stretched out across the rear window and back seat for a nap.  I know, but we survived.  These summers, when we drove seven hundred and sixty-four-miles from the hills of Arkansas to the Smokey Mountains of North Carolina, were the best summers of my childhood!  The camper pulling privilege was later passed on to our ’76 Plymouth Valiant.  Oh, the stories these vehicles could tell.  I’m sure their mufflers wanted to muffle out the echoing of my sister and I singing many rounds of 99 Bottles of Beer On The Wall, as did our parents.

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When we tired of singing that anonymous folk song, we would push play on our battery operated portable-cassette-player.  Laid back in our seats, feet on the windows, we listened to Floyd Cramer’s fingers slide up and down the ebony and ivory keys playing “Last Date”, “San Antonio Rose”, and “Crazy”.  A definite precursor to my love of piano music. 
 
Between the songs, I Spy, and Slug Bug games came the shenanigans.  Our stir-crazy silliness usually led to fussing and arguments that were followed by phrases like, “Don’t make me pull this car over!”, or “It’s time to play the quiet game now.” from our parents. Sometimes we took the hint quickly and settled down, other times not so much.

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We made this trek so Daddy could attend a preacher’s conference.  But for me, it was camping, mountain climbing, rock hopping, crafts and scavenger hunts in nature.  

Last weekend I spotted a pop-up camper that brought back these road trip memories.  I gave my parents a call.  We talked about last weekend’s RV adventure and how the A/C was much appreciated on a hot Texas fall day.  I told Dad about the pop-up camper I saw while strolling through the RV sites, and how it brought back memories.  There was no response.  I asked if he remembered our camper.  Dad responded, and my mind immediately drifted back to those summer trips again...
 
At the conference center in the Smokies, our parents would be in workshops while we participated in group activities and outings.  When the day’s activities were over, my sister and I would hang at the playground next to the river, eating sweet tart lollipops purchased in the small bookstore of the conference center.  We enjoyed a treat, only found here, while Mom was in the laundromat. 
 
At the end of the day, we always returned home to camp for dinner.  Sometimes it was a foil pouch meal cooked in the fire pit, other times we, I mean Mom, cooked a full course meal.  Ah… the aroma of food cooking on the two-burner Coleman.
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Tummies full and energy renewed, we headed back to the conference center to join other attendees and their families for fellowship and worship.  I will never forget the surprise on my face, and the size of my eyes, when I had my first communion with real wine!  That was my first taste of alcohol.   After vespers, it was off to the rec center for laughs.  Here we learned card tricks and a little about polka and square dancing.  A card trick I still remember. Dance steps, not at all.  After all, how often does one have an opportunity to show off their latest polka moves?
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A part of my being and soul is still there.  Part of those beautiful Smokey Mountains reside on my kitchen window seal in the form of a mica rock I’ve had for over forty years now.  Through the years, Dad and I shared the secret desire to move there.  The though still crosses my mind from time to time.
 
My thoughts returned to Dad’s answer to my question about remembering our pop-up.  “I don’t know,” he said.  In an attempt to coax his memory, I said, “You know, Dad, camping in North Carolina.”  He responded by saying, “Oh, yes.   I think I’ve been there once.” 
My heart sank.  Been there once?  More like three times.  Now, suddenly my memories have become bitter sweet.  I will not let them become bitter.  I will not let a horrible disease steel the joy of my most precious memories.  Instead, I will hold them closer as I begin the difficult climb over the mountain that is ahead.
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Dance of the Windstorm

1/15/2018

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With the canopy restrained, our efforts focused to salvaging what items we could from the spot where our booth once stood neat and orderly.  We could see honey, herbal oils and homemade soaps flung to the ground by the toppled display shelf.  The grass quickly lapping up the golden honey spilling out from broken jars.  Soap was slipping and squirting out of our hands at every attempt of being collected from the rubble.  Cards still stood where neatly placed on the table, soaking up rain water.  Business cards, signage, flyers, email leads and contacts that had been collected, now waterlogged. 

We were standing under the awning of the high school, seeking shelter from the windstorm blowing through.  Only minutes after reaching cover, my husband and I looked up to see our vendor booth canopy catapult over the stadium fence and engage in a full-out sprint across the football field.  It progressed down the field like a graceful gymnast tumbling full-speed ahead to the end zone.  Our eyes instantly met as our jaws dropped.  We
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simultaneously emptied our hands before bolting back out in the rain and sprinting across the field to tackle the wide-open tent headed for the goal line.  It managed a sixty-yard gain before being taken down.  If only I could be that light and agile on my feet!  And just like that…our fresh-out-of-the-box, premier canopy was a total loss after only an hour’s use.  Before the loss could totally sink in, my head turned to the booth, dry and protected only minutes ago, now standing exposed in the rain.

With the lightning storm still approaching we were forced to abandon our spot of destruction and take cover under the awning of the boys’ locker room door.   We stood there with other vendors until the rain stopped.  Our clothes were soaked and dripping puddles on the concrete where we stood.  What just happened?  
 
The dollar loss being tallied in my head wasn’t looking good.  Standing there in the rain, I had asked myself, “Is God trying to tell me this isn’t where He wants me?”  After all, I did pray asking Him to bless this adventure before leaving the house.  Okay, it was a hurried prayer, but I still asked for His blessings and for my works to glorify Him.  I would remain stunned and in disbelief for several hours as to all the wasted effort and materials put into this event. 
 
That evening, and the next morning, we sorted through the rain soaked mess.  Turns out we could salvage a lot more inventory than originally thought.  Neither the images or printed words of the cards were smeared.  When dried, they still looked good despite slight warps in the paper.  Salable?  No.  Good enough to be passed on to friends or as notes left in public places where their words could still be a blessing? Yes.  The drenched email addresses, containing notes from conversations with booth visitors, dried without smear or ink run.  Completely readable.  
 
Then there is the blessing I didn’t mentioned earlier.  As we stood at the locker room door during the storm surveying the booth damage, our circling eyes landed on the observation beehive we had sitting on a folding table once protected by the canopy.  It was still standing just as we had left it before evacuating.  Now a couple thousand angry bees flying around among the other destroyed vendor tents and attendees… that would have been a disaster!  What we experienced was only an expensive lesson in booth displays and tie-down strategies.
 
Many times, after a storm we discover the damage is not always as bad as we think.  Sure, it may take time for things to dry out.  Some will be lost forever, and with others we must use a gentle, careful touch to restore them as best we can.  But God is right there standing beside us as we go through the process.  Not only us, but others going through similar and even more devastating storms in life.  We are thrown many flea flickers going up and down the field between goals, dreams reached and those missed.  Some goals are easily reached after a small setback or two.  But others… you just have to punt and carry on.  When life doesn’t go as expected, and the path we are to follow goes directly through the storm without an alternate route around, rest assured God will be walking with you as you trudge through the muck and mud.  If you look for the blessings God will provide during your journey, you might even find yourself dancing as you exit the storm!
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    A Mattingly -
    Creating inspiration out of ordinary moments and Treasured Glances.

    Some people are beach or lake people.  I have always been a river and mountain person.  Wherever the place is that speaks to your soul, go there often!

    "May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, and leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds."
                     - Edward Abbey

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