Reunited

Hi.

Hope you are well.

Heard that an old friend lost her parents -- both of them -- within two weeks.

Made me think of how kind her parents were.
And how made-for-each-other they were.

**

Been 35 yrs since I last saw them.
Decent parting.
Sort of.

**

I met "Alpha" in a pizza parlor when I was in Alaska.  She had a boyfriend and I had a girlfriend.  We laughed and hit it off.

Had no plans that included one another.
I think that happens a lot.


Alpha and her boyfriend split up.
Wasn't ever gonna work out anyway.

My girlfriend and I broke up.
Wasn't ever gonna work out anyway.

Alpha began spending more time at my place.
Not as nice as the cozy nine-room home I have now.

Zero furniture.
Zero appliances.
Tin stove under a tree.
And "The Office," our two-seater latrine.

But it rocked.

Everyone who visited had his/her own seat: the end of a log cut to his/her own desired height.

Had a campfire every night.  Not just because it could get chilly, but the smoke kept many of the mosquitoes at a distance.  Lurking, really.  Waiting to nail you, kinda like The Wicked Witch's flying monkeys.

It was no small feat to woo a woman in the woods.

I shared a tent with Peter. 
He and I were there to build him a log house.
Dandy idea.
Hard work.

Alpha loved the camp.
Odd, because she grew up in New York City.
Manhattan.

Her dad ran the galaxy's coolest folk-rock club for a while.  If you've ever read about Dylan's rise -- or anybody else's there in the 60s -- you've read about it.

Not that I knew her or her family then.
But the obits in The New York Times tell the tales.

**

Alpha's old bf didn't like me much.
Didn't like her too much either.

I had carried a pistol most of the time.

Not unusual in Alaska, where to call the police you must tie a note to a moose, twirl him/her around several times, and let it go -- hoping someone would shoot/hit the moose, retrieve the note and tie it to another moose ... until the authorities were finally notified.

In other words, you're on your own.

That Last Frontier thing was more than a slogan in 1975, a mere 25 years after the last stagecoach stopped running in the Yukon.

**

No, I don't know what all the asterisks mean either.
I just use them.
Deal with it.

**

Alpha heard from her old bf.
Wanted to see her again.
She went.  Reluctantly.

He beat her up.
Steel-toed boots, the whole deal.

Had brothers.
Planned to do me too.

Slept with a loaded rifle in my sleeping bag. 
Firing it would'a caused a bit of a burn by my foot, but it was better than being unarmed, no matter how close my pistol was.

Nights dipped down below freezing.  In August.
House had a long way to go.

Peter's parents were less than thrilled by how much money (thousands) we had spent thus far.  There didn't appear to be enough money for Peter to fly me "anywhere I wanted to go" once the house was built, per our agreement for my company/labor/mischief.


**

Alpha called her dad in NYC.
Let's call him "Gamma."
Gamma was an actor.  No, not some fancy person you know well.
Gamma was a singer.  Yes, he was in old folk groups that people who follow old folks groups would know well.

Gamma was married to "Mu," a delightful woman.
WAY smarter than Gamma, but the gracious kind of woman who hid it well.
Not that she played dumb.  Not at all.
She merely played her part as a sort of "supporting role."
Perfectly.

Gamma and Mu had three other kids, "Tau," "Delta," and "Gabrielle." 
(Sorry, but Gamma was taken.)

**

So, Gamma told Alpha to get her butt back to N'Yark.
She didn't want to leave.
Had to.
I wanted to leave.
Had to.

She flew home.
With me in tow.

This worked out pretty well for Peter too.
Nobody bothered him after I left.
And his parents sent him truckloads of money to button up the log house before winter

**

I hadn't seen a stoplight all summer.
Lived in the woods.
Loved the woods.
Learned to bathe in a panful of water.
Learned to build a fire in the rain.
Learned to tickle the big mosquitoes, the only defense when they carried you away.  (OK.  That's a lie.)

Wore a leather hat I made for myself, using a kit.
Most everything I owned fit into a backpack.

**

Left my friend, the camp and my firearms, and flew away.
Little plane to Anchorage.
Big plane to Seattle.  Big plane to Chicago. Big plane to N'Yark.

Talk
about
culture
shock.

sheesh

**

Hated Manhattan.

The airport, the ride into town, a zillion cabs and a bazillion stoplights were a trip.  The people were SO rude.  Acted like they had never seen a man in a leather hat, work boots and a backpack in their LIVES. 

Alpha was zipping through the crowds like a cigarette boat charging through the waves off Miami Beach.  The people didn't part to let her through, she just kinda surfed over and around them.

I didn't.

After having the 100th cab challenge me to a duel of death
I stopped at an intersection where Alpha had paused.

I shouted (something like)

"I HATE IT HERE! 
WHAT ARE WE DOING? 
WHERE ARE WE GOING?"

She gave me the most queer look and said,
"Robert, I'd like you to meet my parents."

Honest.

What are there?  Eight million people in N'Yark?  Nine?
I freaked out in front of the only two people I wanted to like me.

Seriously.

**

Gamma was great.
Shook my hand. 
Told me he appreciated all I'd done for his daughter.
(Well, all he knew I'd done, anyway.)


Mu scanned me.  I could feel it.
Afterward I was sure she knew more about me than I knew about myself.
That's what she was like.  Wise and kind.  Smart and gracious.

Mu was the kind of woman a man wants to marry, I think.
A fabulous partner and helper.


Gamma offered to take me to lunch.
Had a nice time.
If I remember correctly.

Went back to their place on Houston Street.
I think it was a fifth-floor walkup.  Maybe 20th.
All I know was it'd been a long time since I'd seen stairs and theirs seemed to go on forever.

Met Delta, Alpha's brother, and Gabrielle. 
Don't remember if Tau was there then or not.

Tell you one thing I remember:
when Gamma thanked me and said "Goodbye!"

And I said ...
"I'm with her."

**

Gamma was a devout Catholic.  Very principled man.  A good man.
Like any loving father, he wasn't wild about Alpha dragging a man like me into his home.

He was kind.  Thought it was OK that I'd been in radio (three stations by then) and done some community theatre.
I admired him.

Mu was wonderful.  That's what I remember.
Reminiscent of the wife in Swiss Family Robinson.


****


When my beloved son-in-law asked for my blessing to marry my daughter, Epsilon, I mean "Esther" -- with three day's notice -- I said no.

Told him I didn't know him.  He didn't know her. 
I didn't know him.  She didn't know him. 
And I didn't know him.

They had a great wedding, a great reception and now they have 1.8 great kids.

I am glad God brought him into her life.
It happens.


****

Gamma graciously allowed me to stay overnight.
Maybe a couple of nights, it's a blur.

The family -- all show biz, to one degree or another -- had a gig lined up.

The Show was being produced on Broadway. 
(What that means is they rented space to rehearse there.)
The Show had dates scheduled at DC's Kennedy Center.
With hopes of being filmed for PBS TV, followed by traveling forever from town to town, pausing only long enough to deposit lots of money in banks along the way.

Gamma got me in on the gig.
Props, backstage.  Loved it.

**

Gamma and Alpha used to play recorder duets on street corners for tips.
I'd listen, pop a few bucks in their guitar case,
walk around the block, pop in a few bucks, etc.

They were musicians.  I was their shill.
Symbiosis.

**

Came the time Alpha and I wanted to ... well, you understand.
Gamma was not in favor.  At all.
Mu was perfectly wise about it.  Although her input is a blur.

Gamma was a good father.  Way nicer than me.


As part of the family, we all headed together to DC in a rented car.
The Show would go on.

Had a *great* time.
Quite the adventure.
Most of it will never be told.
After all.  It's taken me 36 years to divulge this much.

Seriously.

**

What do I remember?  Loving The Show.
The Fiddler who ... oh, never mind.  You wouldn't understand.

Just think musicians, dancers, performers, singers, dancers, actors and dancers.
You couldn't swing a cat without whacking a gorgeous dancer.
THAT much I recall.

I remember going next door after rehearsals to sit on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial to relax, one of my favorite places anywhere.

It was all fantastic.
Love.  Friends.
The adventure of a lifetime.
A future?  A career?

**

The Show was filmed.  Broadcast.
We all signed contracts and we were all paid for our work and for the broadcast rights to our labor.

The Show went on.
The Show sucked.
The Show was rewritten just about every night.

The only thing they didn't do was have me do an onstage strip-tease.
Everything was tried ... and everything failed.

The Show closed.

And I remember President Ford being shot around that time.
And I remember Alpha and I hitchhiking back to Rochester, where my mother threw us out when Alpha and I slept together.

Stayed with friends.
Hitchhiked back to NYC.

(It was a different era.)  We stuck to the NY Thruway, mostly.
I did yo-yo tricks (poorly) to get the attention of drivers so that Alpha could wiggle our day-glow-paper signs detailing our next destination.

Still amazed we weren't slaughtered by any of the various wackos who picked us up.

**

Got back into NYC late one Saturday night.

I vividly remember being let off at [insert name of bridge here] and walking through what MUST have been Spanish Harlem.

Hot night. 
September?  October?  I dunno.
Alpha was fearless.

The denizens thought aliens had landed.  Me, specifically.  In my leather hat, rainbow suspenders (back when rainbows were only associated with rainbows), and my backpack.

Alpha kept telling me not to look afraid.
Like THAT was gonna happen.
We walked down the middle of the street.  People sitting on the stairs in front of their apartment houses -- as if it were a scene in a movie set in NYC.

She's mouthing off to them.
They're yelling at me.
I'm ... danged if I know.
Might have been the first episode of true prayer in my life.

**

You do know I'm telling the truth, right?
As much of it as I can remember.
As much of it as I'm going to tell you.

**

Made it back to her house.  Climbed the stairs.
Sirens sirening.  Buses.  Cars. 
The din of perpetual car horns, car alarms and ... New York.

**

I didn't belong.

**

Gamma and Mu were great.
Never heard a harsh word spoken between them.
They were born to be together.

Never had a moment's doubt that their marriage would survive.
They were *naturals.*

They belonged together.
They were one.

I actually met two people who did marriage right.
And had fun doing it.
In a walk-up apartment that probably rents today for a fortune.

Their kids loved them.

I lived with them.
Suddenly.

Spent time with them.
Traveled with them.
Worked with them.
Lived with their daughter.
Traveled with their daughter.

And they were always gracious and kind.
As compared to always thrilled with me.
Y'know?

**

The Show I starred in with Alpha closed.
I went to the Port Authority Building one night.
Begged for money for a bus ticket to my mom's.
(Therein lies a tale.)

Made it home.
Mom took me in.

Didn't hear much from Alpha afterward.
Directly, anyway.


**

Tau, her brother, became big-time famous.
Read in the news tonight that his parents
Gamma and Mu
died.

Gamma went first.
Twelve days later, Mu joined him in death.

Not a bit surprised, personally.
They SO belonged together.

Their marriage lasted 59 years. 
Still had plenty of life left, it seems.


Now they're back together, where they belong.
Just a blessed reunion, I'll bet.

Mu loving Gamma.
Gamma glowing in her love.  Thankful for it.

**

Death's always hardest on those left behind.

[Presuming those who pass have asked for forgiveness of their sins,
if not ... the worst isn't over.  Sorry.]

Say a prayer for Delta, Tau, Alpha and Gabrielle, please.

They had two of the last examples of a loving husband and wife
and a loving father and mother.


No statuette.  No glory.  No contract. 
No name over the title.  No fortune or fame
will ever compare to ... or substitute for ... what they've lost.

But the good news is they had one another for many years.

And the Good News is Christians will be reunited
with their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.


Hope Gamma and Mu put in a good word for their kids and me before we see them in heaven.


Will you be there?
Maybe I'll get a chance to introduce you.

Joy

Hi.

Hope you are well.

 *

Those who suffer from bi-polar disorder know joy.  Elation, really.  Or, as Alan Greenspan said, “Irrational exuberance.”  They also know that joy precedes the momentary cycle of normalcy, quickly followed by inconsolable desperation.

The joy I’m feeling isn’t like any of that.  It kinda snuck up on me … after creeping toward me for months, I think.

My struggles with depression are not impossible to conquer.  Often an attitude of gratitude is all that’s required.  Not always, however.

The joy I’m feeling isn’t like I’ve defeated depression on an emotional battleground.

**

Changed jobs recently, within the same company.  The pressure now is minuscule compared to what it was.  My pay decreased by 18%, which worried me.  Committed that to God, knowing there was no way He could do anything about it.

Ha!

In what I know was an epiphany and what others will be sure was merely a stroke of cognizance, I realized my tax withholding could be changed so that I could claim myself on my taxes, thereby increasing my pay by?  Right. 

God is so cool.

My new, less taxing, job has contributed to my well-being, but it’s not why I have joy.

***

My car is running great.  Donna the Honda is about to hit 325,000 miles.  I love it.  Sunroof, comfy seats.  Air-conditioning.  Decent trunk.  Good stereo (not that I use it very often).  Good tires, brakes, steering, etc.  Gets 24 mpg.  Not much money in the bank to replace it, but that’s OK.  In spite of faded paint and an interior blessed with “art” created by The Princess and I when we melted goop onto the passenger seat, it’s a great car.  Given to me – for free – by my old boss in a time of need. 

A guy told me yesterday, while standing next to his gargantuan truck – how he’d love to have a car like mine.  Seriously.  Said he pays $20 for “an eighth of a tank” of gas every day.  Wanted to know how much I paid for it.

Told him the story of how God provided it for me through the loving hands of a friend … for free.  If I had time, I would have told him about how Waldo the Volvo came to me in a similar way at an even more critical time in life.

Truth is ... neither my car nor your car can drive us to joy.

**

I love my house. 

The carpets are skronked.  My vacuum cleaner died several months ago.  Replacing it isn’t high on my priority list.  The kitchen floor “got all tore up” the day I/we moved in almost 11 years ago.  They haven’t improved with age.

My yard tells passersby that the house is ladyless, but cared for nevertheless (I hope).

My deck overlooking The Dancing Deer Forest is heavenly.

My many rooms – each with its own personality – provide many forms of comfort and utility.  It’s a great house.

I have struggled to pay for it each month.  In the long run, it will be a wise decision, if I can survive the foolishness of paying for it in the interim.  We’ll see.

My house is a very, very fine house, but it is not the source of my joy. 

**

I have my share of toys.  Couple of computers.  Couple of TVs.  The Bike.  Nothing to brag about, but more than billions of others on earth would ever hope to enjoy, let alone own.  I have plenty of books of crossword puzzles, a zillion dusty Bibles and shelves filled with forsaken board games.

My toys help me pass the time, but they don’t bring me joy.

**

Have a When Harry Met Sally platonic friend, (although she’s WAY less fun in restaurants).  Doubt we’ll ever cuddle or kiss.  But we talk.  And we enjoy one another.  She won’t ride The Bike.  She goes to bed at dusk.  She’s always working.  She thinks she’s too young for me (although I’ve never kissed a woman as old as her).  We have about a 1% compatibility rating, but I enjoy calling her and she enjoys it when I call.

She knows I have no one to spoil and she is kind enough to allow me to express simple kindnesses to her.  She is also kind to me.  That’s enough for both of us.

Someday she’ll get a boyfriend and I’ll get a girlfriend, but I hope we’ll remain friends.

She makes me realize I do not have a girlfriend.

And she makes me realize that I am content – joyful, really – as I am.

**

Got some extra money recently.  A bonus at work.  A tax refund.  Three paychecks in a month.  Took myself out for lunch a couple of times.  Repaired The Bike.  Popped the girls a couple of bucks.

It was nice to worry less about money, but that doesn’t bring true joy.

I remember a friend told me – with excelling vehemence – that she’d be happy if she had $15,000 in the bank.  At the time, I probably had three times that much.  Maybe more.  Money cannot induce joy.

Money can buy fun, toys and lots of other stuff.  It can make you forget – postpone, actually – the realization that you do not have joy.  Joy is not earned, nor is a soul rewarded by wealth.  No profit accrues to your psyche from money.  In my very limited experience, wealth increases the fear that you will lose it, or it will be stolen, or you’ll make a bad investment or you’ll [insert paranoia here].

The joy I feel is both in spite of not being wealthy and due to the knowledge that, from a global perspective, I live like a king.

**

Part of what’s happening is that some things I have dreaded in life are mine in abundance, and it’s not as bad as I feared.

When I left New York for California, I left a girlfriend and I left a playmate.

When I got to California, I had girlfriends and playmates.

When I went to Alaska, I met a girl who became a playmate.

When I left Alaska, I left with a playmate who became a girlfriend.

When I returned to New York, I met a woman in a bar.  Moved in with her before our first date.  She became my first two wives.

At times, I have gone weeks between girlfriends.  Months.  Never years.  Never ever years and years.  Thought it would be hell.

Solitude has brought me joy.

Who knew?

**

All my years have left me, until recently, bereft of the ken, wisdom, aptitude, knowledge, comprehension, wit, understanding, skill or ability to discern ...

*
Hmmm.  I need to avoid the words [you-know-what] and [you-know-whatters].
The question is how???
Wait!!  Where's my thesaurus? 
OK.
Ready?
*

"the absence of veracity" spoken by "those who are loquacious -- even garrulous -- yet intentionally and substantially dilute and distort the facts."

[How'd I do?]

Might be because I had such a small group of people in my life before.  I honestly believed that people almost always told the truth and that only crazoids told big lies.  Maybe that’s true.  But I no longer believe it.

My recent years as a salesman have brought me into contact with zillions of people.  God forgive me, but I think I can (almost, kinda, sorta) tell when someone isn’t telling me the truth.  I think I can tell when someone is telling me what I want to hear.  I think I can tell when people know what to say to make me curtail my sales pitch.  I think I can tell when people say what they don’t mean … maybe even because they don’t want to hurt my feelings.  And I can tell when people say things they don’t mean when their goal is to hurt my feelings.

There’s joy in knowing I’m not the sucker I used to be, even if the lessons have been painful.

**

I hate to say this, but my relationships with my kids have been ugly more often than I want to tell you.

I am currently on speaking terms with one, and the other told me a month ago that I’d never see her or her kids ever again.  (Think: The Princess.)

Sad, but each time that wound is opened it hurts less.  Sad, but knowing that my kids have what it takes to cut me out of their lives forever is something I face.

And the repulsive truth is I can live without them.  And have joy, despite having a life with broken relationships.

*

I grew up without my dad, who left when I was five.

My mom was ill for most of my life.  There were months I lived with relatives/friends of the family while Mom was in a hospital. 

My brother went to live with our grandmother when I was 12 or 13; maybe 14, I dunno.  Got along fine without him.  Still do.

If I know you personally, I don’t know when I saw you last or when I’ll see you again.  But we’re both alive and well.

My life requires so much less than I ever believed it would take to actually have contentment and joy.  I’m not talking about acquiescence to misery and accepting hopelessness.  Far from it.

My point, I think, is that you and I can have joy with or without the wish lists of our lives being fulfilled.

**

I thank God for my health. 

I thank God for my family. 

I thank God for my job. 

I thank God for my life.

In spite of its imperfections, disappointments or whatever.

**

If you’ve ever read any of my writing, you’ll know what’s next.  Not that I follow a constant pattern, at least intentionally.

It’s just that God is my source of joy.

*

When my job was more than I could stand, He provided relief.

When I needed transportation, He provided it.

When I need company, He meets the need.

I am well.

*

God has blessed me by providing for me.

God has blessed me in spite of unmet needs.

God has blessed me because of unmet needs.

*

My joy is rooted in the truth that God will take care of me.

I can have peace in every situation.

At the very least, God will work it out for good.

*

Do I want to be hired by the company where I’m trying to get a job as a freelance writer?  Sure.

Would I love to have someone to share a ride on The Bike with on a perfect day like today?  Sure.

Would I love to have healthier relationships with my kids?  Sure.

Would I love to have more money?  Sure.

Would I love a brand-new car?  Sure.

Would I love LOTS of stuff?  Sure.

But life is good … just as it is.

That, my friend, is joy.

**

Here’s what I am not saying:

I’m not saying you’re not close to God if you’re having a tough time in life.

I’m not saying you should walk away from people who hurt you.

I’m not saying that my hard days are over.

What I’m saying is … I have joy these days.

And I am not afraid of losing it.

You can have joy too.  Maybe even more than me.

Because God will never leave us or forsake us.  That truth is the source of temporal and eternal joy.

*

Blessings and joy to you.
Now and forever.

Robt

Mottos and Music

Hi.

Hope you’re well.

Been a while.  But that’s OK.  Better to bother you too little than too much.  Guess there are a couple of reasons why I haven’t blogged all that much recently. 

Discovered the wit of a master twitterer whose tweets are sweet, Badbanana.  My guess is you and I could not buy a better team of writers to come up with the stuff he commonly posts.

I was also – how shall I put this? – reminded by a non-friend at work to be cautious of what I post on this blog, Facebook and Twitter.  Perhaps my facial expression told him/her to go to hell, even if the words went unsaid.

Maybe it’s because I’m getting old [currently listening to Pandora’s “Robin Bullock” channel: Crossing The Causeway / Icehouse by Wagtail], but I am less inclined to whine about the vicious vicissitudes of my various kith and kin.

Although I hate to admit it, there’s really nothing much to write about.  Call it humility, I dunno.  Just that I don’t perceive pondering my life is of any more value than pondering your own.  Y’know?

However, not being one who opts for quietness when there’s a chance to open my mouth … I’ll take a crack at another blog forthwith.

[Travis by Myer/Fleck/Marshall]

Words to Live By

OK.  So something interesting did happen.  I won’t guess when because I’m always wrong, but it was within the past couple of weeks.

(stumped as to how to tell you this, sorry)

Had a spat with a family member.  (Imagine THAT?)  Had a few words.  In spite of how well “things” had been previously, this particular person said I’d never see her or her family again.  Again.

Felt bad that it didn’t hurt me as much as all the other times the same sentence was pronounced.  Any number of reasons why.  You get hardened or you die is one.  Not crazy enough to believe it’s all my fault is another.  A biggie is at my age it’s better not to beg people to stay in your life if that’s not what they want.  We’re all going to let go of everybody else sooner or later, no need to drag people along if they’d prefer to be elsewhere.

(No, I do not mean you should walk out on the creep/creepette you think you married.  Vows mean something.  Or they should.)

Thought about taking steps to cut a few of the ties/courtesies that I had extended; short- and long-term.  God told me not to return evil for evil or insult for insult – not that I am innocent of perpetrating my share of evil and/or insults, mind you.

But fights must/should stop somewhere.

**

I’m 61.  I write.  I think.  I ponder. 

God is a large part of my life, especially in trials.

While struggling with how to respond, even indirectly, I knew I would do no evil. 

God also made it clear that I should not return any perceived evil – to anyone, ever.

Then it all came together.  My motto.  My personal creed.  A combination of God’s Word and the ancient (?) motto of my family’s clan.

“Do no evil.  Return no evil.  Fear no evil.” 

Can’t tell you how much those simple words mean to me.  So many bumps in life can be smoothed by adhering to them.

Have you words that you choose/attempt to live by? 

If not, I’ll share mine with you.

***

Latest Badbanana tweet: “Stop judging. We’re all just sixty million dollars, thirty porn stars, and one ton of crack away from being Charlie Sheen.”

Latest news headline: “Diaper absorbent used to try to plug nuke leak.”

NOW do you see why I don’t believe my stuff can capture your eyes and heart as well as stuff from other writers?

[Bagmati Flood Medley by Tara Linhardt]

[Between Earth and Sky by Robin Bullock]

***

[Police Dog Blues by Etta James]

Did I tell you I killed my TV?  Fabulous decision.

Not that I wanted to, really.  Just awoke to the realization my cable company wanted me to work several weeks a year just to pay them.  Seriously.  Do you pay them $100/month?  Figure out how much that is before taxes annually and divide your hourly wage into the amount.  Then, shoot your TV.

I listen to WAY more music than before.  (Hence the notations in this blog, for example.)  [Take These Hands by Paul Johnson]  If you enjoy acoustic guitar, be brave and listen to one or two online.

***

The Difference Between God and My Motorcycle Mechanic

The Bike is in the shop.  Gonna cost hundreds of dollars.  Life isn’t the same without it.  But I’ll survive, even if The Bike doesn’t.  [Lady’s Fantasy by Dan Crary]

Gonna take at least nine days for diagnosis, surgery and maintenance.

God created the universe in a week, including His day off.

There’s no other bike I’d rather have.  Not like I crave a Harley or a Goldwing or a sportbike, although I wouldn’t shrug off a Kawasaki Concours.

Thought about going up to the mountains in the car today to find a spot to write … somewhere amidst nature … away from incivility’s din … a secluded, protected place where I could be alone with you. 

Stayed home.  Writing on the deck.  Savoring the sounds of the birds and the breeze.  Watching two chameleons romp and frolic in a genetic dance stunningly similar to match-dot-comers on a first date.

***

That’s another change in my life.  Signed up for match.com.

Came up with a cute online name.

Wrote a clever bio.

Posted a couple of as-flattering-as-can-be pictures of myself.

Found out I had to *pay* to be on the site.

Never followed through.

What would I do with a woman?  Seriously.

I don’t have time to mow my lawn.

My work schedule changes weekly.  I don’t get home until 10 pm some nights.  I work weekends and holidays, and one weekend a month I care for my dad.

Not to mention that I am broke.

**

Oh.  Reminds me.

Took an 18% pay cut recently when I transferred to a position at work that is humanly possible to accomplish.  Needed to make the switch for multiple reasons – among them health, sanity, and my predilection to eating, wearing clothes and living indoors.

Told God, “OK.  My pay – less than half of what we made a few years ago and not enough to pay the bills – just went down by 18%.  Let’s see You get us out of *this* mess.”

God (who is kinder than you) pulled off one of His marvelously simple solutions.  After filing my taxes this year, I noticed that I wasn’t claiming any deductions on my W-4.  Changed the deduction from zero to one.  Yup.  That did it. 

You don’t think that was God, right?  If not, that’s the difference between my life/faith and yours.  God finds ways.  Even ones that would seem obvious to others.

*

Like the time I was in divorce court with one friend at my side for moral support.  My earthly adversary had a pride of benevolent lions at her side.  The proceedings only went that far because she would not recant her charge that I treated her cruelly.  I had accepted all other terms to the divorce, including returning the candles in our refrigerator that were on the list of items she wanted back.

Divorce me.  Reject me.  Hate me.  But if you lie about me, I will confront you.

So we’re in court. 

I was outgunned, outsmarted and out of hope.

I felt doomed.

Then the presiding judge said the judge who was scheduled to be the presiding judge couldn’t be there.  The replacement judge said there wasn’t enough time to fart around behind closed doors, so all the arguments would take place in open court – in front of everybody.  No hidden crap.  I’d have the opportunity to defend myself in public.

Wasn’t five minutes later I had a notarized statement that the charges were dropped.  (Yes, I can provide you with a copy.)

[Butterfly by Aureole Trio]

*

God doesn’t need to use identical weapons to win a fight.  Therefore, neither do Christians.  In my opinion, Christians don’t even have to have faith to believe it will be done, nor do they have to offer suggestions about how God should do this or that, aka "prayer."

All it requires is the willingness to ask God for deliverance and the patience to watch it happen – without screwing it all up by trying to fix it yourself.

Do no evil.  Return no evil.  Fear no evil.

***

The way to have hope for the future is to reflect on God’s kindness in the past.

***

Been giving some thought to writing about my earlier days.  Where I was.  How I got there.  Who I got there with.  Where I went next and who I met when I arrived.

Maybe next time, OK?

Blessings.

[Her Scattered Gold by Robin Williamson]

Robear