Born-again Christian, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, I'm happily married and mother to 2 living children (one lost to suicide), 3 grandchildren, and 3 great-grandchildren keep my life interesting. I have learned to embrace life lessons that accompany age, welcoming graying hair and the resilience that comes with experience and faith. Three independently published novels give voice to the greatest love story of all, Christ's sacrifice on the cross for us. May you be blessed by what you find on this site!
Above you see evidence of a dream coming true–the “physical proof” of my first novel. It seems I’ve dreamed of being a writer all my life. As a matter of fact, I guess I have been a writer, but, perhaps now, I’m becoming an author.
The book is NOT the “great American novel” by any stretch of one’s imagination. It is simply an inspirational romance which celebrates life in small southern towns, where life is often centered around the church. It is a love story but very “pure” by today’s standards, reminiscent of Grace Livingston Hill and Emilie Loring novels that I read as a young girl. Those novels proved to me that love stories can be inspirational and pure, yet still entertaining. I hope and pray that there are some who will still find that style of writing enjoyable and uplifting.
But, most of all, as I have seen this project come to fruition, I have become more aware of the very good things that God has blessed me with in this life. A good education, the profession of nursing, loving and supportive family and friends. And, most of all, faith in my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. As I was kindly rejected by a literary agent, I remember telling him that God would do what He wanted with this story, for it was His. And, it is His. Seeing it come to life has inspired me to try harder, do better, be kinder, be more faithful.
And so, whether it is commercially successful or not, whether it receives positive or negative reviews, whether readers find the characters as charming as I do or not, it is a success. Because dreams come true for very few, and I am one of the lucky (blessed) ones. And this process has made me a better person.
Well, hello again, blog friends. You might say I’ve treated friends with little consideration to be so long absent from the blogosphere. I’ve thought of many excuses: a demanding fulltime job, the distraction and time demands of self-publishing a novel, trying to make some effort to be a good wife-mother-daughter-grandmother. All reasonable and true, but not really valid reasons to neglect this part of my writer life!
My contrition was stimulated in part by a devotional thought this July 1 from my trustworthy book pictured above. That day’s thoughts were all about perseverance. Remembering all the times I have prayed for the strength to persevere, my heart was convicted that blogging is a test of that ability. Oh, yes, there are other important areas in which it is important to persevere–one’s faith, family relationships (even when somewhat dysfunctional), the continuous learning required in one’s profession, cultivating friendships–to name a few. But the commitment to contribute to my little corner of the digital world should not be taken lightly. I began this adventure with selfish motives–to build a platform and get my book published. With the decision to self-publish (a process which is well underway and responsible for many of the afore-mentioned distractions and demands), platform slipped on the totem pole of priorities. The past few days I have been bothered by the nagging truth that blogging and the discipline necessary to this form of self-expression is an important measure of my ability to persevere.
“Because perseverance is so difficult, even when supported by the grace of God, from that is the value of new beginnings. For new beginnings are the life of perseverance.” Edward B. Pusey
Therefore, I am embarking on a NEW BEGINNING do not labor under the misapprehension that this will be my last new beginning, for I am sure that sooner or later I will lapse, as is the truth associated with all resolutions, New Year or otherwise. However, I pledge to do my best to do better. So, I was gratified to read a few lines later:
“Be patient with everyone, but above all with yourself. I mean, do not be disturbed because of your imperfections, and always rise up bravely from a fall. I am glad that you daily make a new beginning. There is no better means of progress in the spiritual life than to be continually beginning afresh, and never to think that we have done enough.”
Francis de Sales
I have indeed not done enough, but what an opportunity for improvement! I wonder how many of you might have experienced similar lapses. I hope you recognized and corrected yours more promptly than I have mine! I thank you for your understanding and forgiveness……………
Steven Spielberg created a sci-fi classic in 1977 with the release of Close Encounters of the Third Kind, the story of an ordinary, working-class guy whose life is changed by an encounter with a UFO. The phrase, “the third kind”, designates the inclusion of actual encounters with aliens in the story. The United States Library of Congress designated the film as “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant” in December of 2007, and it was selected for preservation in the National Film Registry.
Now, this post is really NOT about UFOs or aliens. It’s more about the phraseology, “close encounters of…..”. Yesterday I began thinking about what I have termed Close Encounters of the GOD Kind.
The good thing about teaching a children’s Bible class in Sunday School is having to read the Bible as part of class preparation. This week the young ladies’ (5th and 6th grade) class that I teach studied Esther. Esther was a young, beautiful Jewish girl who became the queen of Persia at a time when Jewish captives in that country came under persecution and threatened annihilation. She became a reluctant but effective champion for her people. At one point, in an effort to encourage her to act heroically, her adoptive parent advised her: “…And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14b, NIV)
Esther’s story reminded me of another. Genesis recounts the beginnings of the Jewish nation. One of Jacob’s twelve sons was Joseph. The recipient of his father’s obvious favoritism, Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers. While in Egypt, with divine help, Joseph became powerful, enabling him to save his entire family from famine. His brothers feared retribution for their evil deed when they approached Joseph to request aid. However, Joseph offered a different perspective: “And now, do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you.” (Genesis 45:5, NIV)
Do you ever consider the “close encounters of the God kind that occur in our lives? Because I do believe that they are real. It may be the head-on collision that almost happened, but didn’t. Or the phone call or note originating with you that arrived at a pivotal time in the recipient’s life and made a real difference in the order of things. Maybe you were the recipient of that call or note. Perhaps you’ve always longed to teach or sing or play an instrument or write! That longing may be God’s hand prodding you to branch out in your life experience. Maybe you have been at just the right place at just the right time with just the right words or skills to change the direction a life is taking (or to save a life). Maybe your life work (teaching, building, nursing, healing) is not just a job or profession but a true calling–aren’t you blessed? Do you acknowledge the reality of a divine being who is planning and directing our life course? How often do we write events off to luck or coincidence when divine intervention is the real explanation?
For much of my life, a small plaque has been in my bedroom, as it is even now in my adult years. I have no idea whose work it is. In my childhood, the version pictured below was sold door to door. The imagery is a beloved interpretation of God’s watch care over His children, hazardous though our walks may be. And, hazardous they would truly be, without His loving care. I invite you to join me this and every day in being thankful and joyful and full of praise to the Lord for all of our “CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE GOD KIND!
I remember my days as a young nurse, days all in white, head to toe, with white dress and stockings and freshly polished white shoes. There were bandage scissors in my pocket, and a watch with a second hand on my wrist. I was an oddity in the small community hospital–an RN with a four year college degree in nursing, stethoscope hung round my neck, daring to listen to heart and lung and bowel sounds as I made rounds to assess the thirty patients on the medical ward where I was charge nurse. The LPN, displaced from the charge nurse position by my arrival on the scene, was somewhat dubious of this upstart young nurse who thought nurses’ notes ought to say more than “a good day” or “slept well” or “up in chair” and “ate well”.
I remember the excitement I felt the first time I recognized the signs of congestive heart failure in the patient before the doctor had diagnosed it. And the satisfaction of receiving a call from the OR with the surgeon’s message, “Tell Ms. Parish the appendix was hot.” It was oh, so satisfying, since I had called so many times to convey my concern for the patient that she was finally taken to the OR. The memories that fill my mind, the stories I could tell, the love that I have had for this profession sometimes overwhelm me. Often I have said, “I came up in the glory days of nursing.” No IV pumps–we counted drops to control the flow of IV fluid. I can shake down a mercury thermometer and take temperatures without the aid of a machine. I can use manometer and stethoscope to check a blood pressure–no Datascope needed here. I wrote legible, meaningful notes and enjoyed the confidence placed in me by both my coworkers and the physicians with whom I worked.
It’s all changing now, you know. Some things are so much better. It is nice to have an IV pump to control the flow of intravenous fluids and blood and medications. And it’s nice to have patients on continuous cardiac monitors that detect changes real time. Temporal scan thermometers are cool. Heart attacks can be stopped by a trip to the cardiac catheterization lab and an angiogram and balloon angioplasty with stent. Slow heart rates can be corrected with pacemakers. Sudden death can be aborted by implantable defibrillators. There are now a multitude of medications to treat hypertension and diabetes and high cholesterol that were not on the market when I started.
Some changes, though, leave me with a sense of sadness. The paper chart that used to be the story of the patient’s hospitalization, to be safeguarded and reviewed and valued as a communication tool is becoming obsolete. Electronic medical records are the future, and the future is now. Please understand that I’m not bemoaning the advent of electronic records in their totality. They’ve made my life easier in so many ways. And, to the extent that they contribute to a seamless delivery of care to the patient in a high quality manner, they are a gift to both patient and practitioner. But, in some of their incarnations they serve only to tie nurses to computers and turn physicians into clerical workers, and those iterations bother me. Are we losing some of the humanity of healthcare? Is the relationship of caregiver to patient being disrupted by the presence of mere machines?
But, there’s no going back. So the white cap is on a closet shelf, and I wear scrubs instead of white. And I struggle to adapt to the changes while still cultivating the patient and family relationships that make this profession so rewarding. I remind myself that life itself is a series of changes, as is the profession I have chosen and enjoyed for so many years, and I try to develop a sense of anticipation that better things will come from this struggle.
For the past ten days, I have been gifted with time–time to catch up on neglected tasks, time to bring order to my surroundings, time to enjoy my family, time to think and be and do–without the pressures of schedules or work or exhaustion. It has been a blessed time. And, a bonus is the sense of hope and peace and calm that it has brought to my life. Tomorrow the respite ends, but I pray that I will be able to hold onto that serene spirit as I reenter the work world. Above you see evidence of one of the pleasant days that I shared with my family–specifically, one morning at a local garden center with my mother.
You see, Mom is a gardener. If we had been more affluent as I was growing up, I am sure that she would have been a member of the garden club and, most likely, a Master Gardener. (Instead of waiting tables at a local diner and then working at a hospital, starting in housekeeping and retiring from work in the central sterilizing department of surgery.) She has the gift of making things grow, and she has a heart for the beauty of God’s flowering plants. Her 88th birthday is approaching, and family, friends, and acquaintances often comment how young she seems. Just this week it dawned upon me that gardening (and a big, fat, tiger-striped cat) are two of the ingredients contributing to her youthful spirit.
She comes by the love of growing things honestly. She was a devoted daughter, and we made weekly trips to my grandparents’ place when I was growing up. A part of each visit was always a walk around the yard to ooh and ah over the latest bloom on the rose or cactus, iris or daylily, or, perhaps, a tomato or cucumber plant. As a child, I was less than impressed with the two adult women as they carefully observed each plant and commented on how nicely it was doing or discussed possible cures for an ailing bush. My grandmother, of course, has been gone for many years, and now I frequently hear my mother say, “You have to stop by now and see the blooms on my gardenia” or “My azaleas are so pretty this year–be sure and look at them when you pass”. “The Easter flowers (daffodils) are so pretty this year and I have so many kinds,” she would say as she delivered an arrangement of the same to grace the dining table at our home. And, on my daily stops I ooh and ah over each new bloom, just as I heard her doing so many years ago.
And, surprise of all surprises, there was I yesterday morning, picking out lantanas and some climbing miniature sunflower-like thing and an asparagus fern, and enjoying every minute of it. Perhaps some genetic plant-loving predisposition has lain dormant in me until I became appropriately mature and appreciative of the botanical world. And, appropriately mature and appreciative of my mother. Or perhaps I am, as I am told all daughters do, becoming my mother.
It would be one of the best things that ever happened to me, for a more loving, beloved, and godly woman would be hard to find. I often hear it said that she has the sweetest and most loving and kind spirit. So, in honor of Mother’s Day, here’s to you Mom, a cutting of Aunt Georgia’s rubber plant repotted by your daughter, to grow in memory of your departed sister. Now, if it will only grow for me like it would for you! Nonetheless, I love you, more than you know.
I came across this poem, which is attributed to Pythagoras. (And I just thought he was the mathematical genius who contrived the Pythagorean Theorem!) Here is the version I found:
What have I learnt where’ere I’ve been,
From all I’ve heard, from all I’ve seen?
What know I more that’s worth the knowing?
What have I done that’s worth the doing?
What have I sought that I should shun?
What duties have I left undone?
The little verse struck me as being worth both pondering and applying as sort of a self-assessment. We Americans are all about evaluation and continuous improvement, right? Just consider that we get links to complete satisfaction surveys at the bottom of all fast food receipts, as well as department and discount store receipts. The Chevy place that sold us our cars sends e-mail surveys after every service encounter. (And, when I don’t complete them, they call on the phone!) Hospitals devote money and manpower to tracking and trying to improve patient and family satisfaction.
So, I am setting out to evaluate myself according to Pythagoras’ model.
1. What have I learned? I have learned that God is good, all the time, and He has gifted us with a beautiful world to enjoy. I have learned to look for the best in people. I have learned to pursue my dreams. I have learned to take heed and act when some small voice nudges my heart to write a note or make a call or invite someone’s participation in a project. I have learned that being faithful as a Christian requires perseverance and deliberate effort, and that, even with my best efforts, I will slip and fall and have to climb back onto the pathway that is the Christian walk. I have learned that a loving husband can make this life unbelievably joyful. And, I have learned so much more. Trying to wrap my head around all the possible answers to this question overwhelms me. What would be your answer(s)?
2. What do I know that’s worth the knowing? Knowing Jesus in a saving relationship is valuable beyond measure. Knowing how to manage money, keep a neat and clean living space, be dependable at work, do my job to the best of my ability (that includes my nursing skill, I think)–these are critical to just surviving, right? Knowing how to get along with people–that’s a big one–and work in a group to accomplish goals. Knowing just how much I DON’T know–there’s the heart of knowledge and wisdom, I think. Your answer?
3. What have I done that’s worth the doing? Giving my heart and life to my Lord, Jesus Christ. Completing my education as a nurse. Teaching a Sunday School class. Raising a family. Marrying the love of my life. Loving and watching after my parents. Meeting my brother Robby after a lifetime apart and becoming the best of friends (there’s quite a story there) and the blessing of having his family as my family now in his absence. Being a superior chooser of children’s books and gifting them to friends and family (she said rather sheepishly!) I’m sure you all have many worthwhile accomplishments. Pat yourselves on the back. Now!
In case you haven’t noticed by now, this self-examination thing can be difficult (when it comes to actually acknowledging the good) and painful (regarding the next two questions, which I face with trepidation).
4. What have I sought that I should have shunned? The fast and easy road to anything that is good. And other things that I’m certainly not confessing to strangers! I am, however, acknowledging certain ugly attitudes and critical thoughts and negative motives that have sometimes characterized my words and actions. I will not press you to answer this one. It hurts.
5. What duties have I left undone? This is a good one, because, although I feel guilty about my times of procrastination or laziness or neglect of the “next best thing” upon which to focus my attention, this one can, in some regard, be rectified. Again, I won’t bore you with the details of my omissions–just be aware that I recognize them. Maybe we can all resolve to do better in this regard!
Life after all is about learning, wherever we go, whatever we hear and see. Life choices and experiences all impact the worth of what we know and the value of deeds done. Human nature drives us to seek what we should shun and leads us to omit duties that should be done. Thank you for bearing with me in my time of self-assessment. May you be blessed by your consideration of this glimpse into Pythagorean philosophy. It spoke to me.
This well-worn paperback was gifted to me in December of 2001, and I began reading it in January of 2002. I have read portions of it every year since. Its cover has been reinforced with tape. Many pages are highlighted and underlined. My copy bears a copyright of 1997.
Just think, it has been my constant companion for over twelve years. I’m not sure what keeps me drawn to it. Its title speaks volumes. It seems I am always in need of reinforced strength, for the daily needs are always there, although they wax and wane in intensity. The book is a compilation of Bible verses (pure King James Version), poetry, and quotations from (I presume) spiritual leaders. Some of the language is rather archaic, and I have seen modernized versions, and have bought a few of the updated volumes as gifts for family and friends, but I tend to prefer the original verbiage.
Yesterday’s selection included this paragraph:
“It is possible–when the future is dim, when our depressed faculties can form no bright ideas of the perfection and happiness of a better world–it is possible still to cling to the conviction of God’s merciful purpose toward His creatures, of His parental goodness even in suffering. We can still feel that the path of duty, though trodden with a heavy heart, leads to peace. We can still be true to conscience. We can still do our work, resist temptation, be useful, though with diminished energy, and give up our wills, even when we cannot rejoice under God’s mysterious providence. In this patient, though uncheered, obedience, we become prepared for light. The soul gathers force.”
William Ellery Channing (emphasis mine)
It’s not a very cheerful passage, is it? But, more than once over the past 12 years, it has impressed me. Life is not always easy or enjoyable. A friend of mine says that feeling stress gives us reassurance that we are still alive. And now, as I struggle with this transition into truly becoming an accomplished writer (translated PUBLISHED!), which does not at the moment seem to be going my way, Mr. Channing’s admonition was just what I needed. It was the necessary reminder that there is still work to be done. That this is no time to quit. That God does have a plan. And my soul gathers force to persevere.
Of course, writing is not the only path that requires perseverance. The challenges of everyday life require a stubborn stick-to-itiveness. One must keep on keeping on when faced with family illness or estrangement. One must still do the work that needs to be done, whether going to the job and giving a fair day’s work for a day’s pay or cleaning house or cooking meals or balancing the budget. Perhaps the most immediate challenge is finding the will to get out of bed and face the day. One step, one task, one day at a time is what it takes.
So, here I am, sharing this moment, my thoughts with you. And I shall be bold and “publish”. And, just perhaps, it will speak to someone out there who also feels the stress and needs daily strength and hears this challenge to hang in there and keep the faith.
One of the things I quite love about our home is its location. Thirty acres of pasture and woodland and pond grants a world of opportunities to view the lives of both wildlife and domesticated animals. For instance, the above bovine family offers one a bit of a chance to contrast and compare families. In a word, our world is a microcosm of family life across species!
You’ll have to forgive me. I fear that my world view is being “Downton-ized”. My daughter and I are latecomers to the community of Downton Abbey watchers, and we have been playing catch-up with the aid of DVDs of each of the previous seasons. We are firmly established in Season III now, and I find myself constantly thinking about the people, the tragedies, the interplay of politics and religion and aristocracy and servanthood. And, one could never forget the family dynamic–sisters who are crushing each other’s dreams, the dowager duchess who is fearless in her criticisms but surprisingly wise and unerringly funny in her comments, the lessons of a marriage made for money yet resulting in love. There is so much to ponder!
And that introductory note brings me to the story of Daisy, Holly, and Lily, who are pictured above. A little family history must come first. Daisy is a lovely, longhorn mother who has born two beautiful daughters. She has quite striking brown spots. She was born on this land, and, as a young calf, would come to the fence to get me to feed her the tender grass from my side by hand. (You do recollect, don’t you, that the grass is always greener, sweeter, and more tender on the other side of the fence?) Although her horns look quite intimidating, as well they should, she has a very gentle nature and has been the epitome of a good mother to her daughters.
Holly, her firstborn, was conceived through the services of a huge black Brangas (Brahma and Angus) bull. Holly lost the horns, but retained the lovely spots. However, her sire’s contribution to the gene pool resulted in black spots. Holly has been a bit of a trial to us and her mother, as befitting the old term “black sheep” (or cow, as the case may be). I’ll explain shortly.
Then we come to sweet little Lily, named thus because at birth she appeared to be lily white with no spots. In the way of cattle, which is not monogamous by any stretch and operates by virtue of proximity and not loyalty, Lily was fathered by a lovely, creamy white, Charolais bull. As she has progressed into childhood and adolescence, she, too, has developed spots, which are creamy yellow, almost like a light caramel or butterscotch. Much to our surprise, she also has nubbins with the promise of developing horns like her mother.
I alluded to Holly’s miscreant activities. It began with Lily’s birth. Holly, great grown heifer that she was, long weaned from her mother’s milk, saw the young Lily partaking of maternal nourishment. It seems that the memory of the sweet warmth of Daisy’s milk was not long past in Holly’s memory, and, besides, who was this upstart drinking from the fountain of her mother’s udder? Holly quickly relapsed into infantile behavior, pushing Lily aside and draining Mama` quite empty. And so, Holly was banished to a pen by herself. Fortunately, she learned that lesson, and, when reunited with mother and sister, behaved herself, at least regarding nourishment. However, I presume that her teenage hormones and angst took control, and she recently created an opening in the fence on the backside of our pasture, exiting such and meeting up with a friendly bull there. You can guess the rest. She was duly returned home and, before her captors could get back to the other side of the fence, she again was out, dallying with her teenage crush. Once again, the prodigal was returned to her proper home, this time with imprisonment in the pen of her youth.
I say all that, to note this. Arising early one morning, I noted the three of them, lying together where they had rested through the night. And, each morning since then, I have found them thus. And, somehow, in my Downton-ized brain, that struck a chord. Yes, children sometimes disappoint. But, a mother’s love is unconditional and forgiving. And, families stick together. That’s why I love living here. There’s always a lesson in the wonder that surrounds. I hope you experience both the lesson and the wonder of your life today.
Psalm 46:1-3–“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.”
I confess I was stunned by the timeliness of the above-quoted verse as I came across it during an early morning time of meditation this week. Like so many of you, I had been horrified and saddened to hear of the tragedy in Washington state when a mudslide, suddenly and without warning, obliterated an entire neighborhood. What terrible loss, what unimaginable sadness for the survivors, I thought. And, what a terrifying death it must have been for those souls lost. My heart was heavy and my mind could hardly comprehend the magnitude of the disaster.
This morning’s paper enlightened me about a similar event occurring in the wake of Hurricane Camille when 150 people were killed in Virginia. The year was 1969. And where was I, I wondered?
Wrapped in my 19-year-old centricity? Suffering through the angst of almost adulthood? So wrapped in my own world that the event did not even register in my memory. Shame on me!
We humans are repeatedly shocked by the devastation of natural disasters. Snow storms and ice storms, blizzards and nor’easters–these the progeny of the polar vortex that now is such a familiar part of our weather vocabulary. Tornadoes and hurricanes, floods and droughts, earthquakes and tsunamis, volcanoes and sinkholes. The world is, indeed, the stage for all of Mother Nature’s acts, some quite terrible. And how does our abuse of this planet contribute to what seems to be an epidemic of disastrous events? I wondered.
So, how do we not fear (at least once in a while)? We humans generally inherently fear death in all its forms. Unless, that is, we have some firm belief in life after death. I comfort myself with the image of those victims of the mudslide, wrapped in God’s loving arms, accompanied by some comforting angel, crossing gently over. At least I pray that was so.
For, after all, we have the promise of a better life after this one, a promise pictured beautifully in the blossoming dogwood. Upon that truth we should depend. I do so hope you share that knowledge.
In honor of St Patrick’s Day, I thought I would share my rainbow story. As a child we all learn stories of leprechauns, four-leaf clovers, and the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I am not Irish, though I long to be, and deep down believe that there must be a dollop of Irish blood in my ancestry. Always fascinated by things Irish, I was keenly aware that the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow was a fairy tale.
Until I was driving home during one of those rain showers in Arkansas that is brightened by sunshine, that is. The weather was ripe for a rainbow, and I soon observed one, its rays of color particularly clear and distinct. There was almost the promise of another bow as faint fragments of color tried to come together just to the left of the first one. Following the rainbow’s colors with my eyes, I was surprised to see that the arc appeared to touch the ground on the roadside ahead, and, thereby, began to understand where the pot of gold legend originated. The sun and the rain had partnered together to create the illusion of a glowing golden something resting roadside. I caught my breath and quickly pulled onto the shoulder to preserve the moment with an I-phone image. I was in awe as I grasped the fact that others had surely viewed the same phenomenon in years long past and places far away and, thus, the legend of the pot of gold was born. Of course, sadly, as I pulled back into the traffic and approached rainbow’s end, both rainbow and optical illusion faded away.
But the episode inserted itself into my consciousness, and I found myself trying to find some meaning in it. My first thought was that the pot of gold, since I “found” it on my way home from work, represented the blessing of home. Then I pondered the emotion that the moment had inspired. Rainbows have always seemed a happy surprise in a rainy day to me, but how disappointing they must be for those who are defeated each time they try to lay hands on that proverbial pot of gold.
In the leprechaun’s tales, the pot of gold is just that, literally a pot (usually golden in color) filled with gold coins. But perhaps the pot of gold is something different for each of us. For me, that rainy day after a long day at work, home was my heart’s desire. There are days now when my pot of gold is a family member’s health or getting published or having some free time just for me. Another might long for the safe delivery of healthy infants after a complicated pregnancy. Still others might dream of finding that special someone that completes one in a happy marriage. One might long to win millions in the lottery, while another might long for just enough to put food on the table and pay the bills. Maybe it is being accepted to the right college or the best graduate program. Perhaps it is a husband finding the perfect job. Mothers and fathers long for health, happiness, faith, and success for children (and grandchildren). Siblings might pine for restoration of a relationship. I have come to believe that these longings of the heart are intrinsically more valuable that any literal pot of gold.
But, most valuable of all, is the realization that there is a God in heaven who knows those longings, a Heavenly Father who loves us beyond measure and provides just what we need at any time, whether a good time or a bad time. Because
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” Ecclesiastes 3:11 NIV
Rainbows are beautiful. But even more beautiful is knowing the Creator of rainbows and all things good. Have a blessed and happy St. Patrick’s Day!
parishkathy 