Theodore Roosevelt National Park. The beauty is more in the ruggedness of gouged out badlands, with juniper trees softening the sharpness of the deep valleys. At the end of the road on the North Unit of the park, we walked the path to the edge and gazed at the deep ravine, studded with rocks, and scrubby trees. Our voices seemed muted by the largeness.
There’s never a place where God is not and I’m so glad. He is there. For me. For you.
I thought about that. A “bit” of God? Why not take the whole—He is there. Up. Down. All around. Without it, I would falter with so many things that happen in life.
I wanted to pinch myself as I sat in the front row of this music room, where I could have touched the musicians as they focused on their music. All of them have traveled throughout the world with their musical gift. Several were concertmasters in major symphony orchestras. All possessed degrees of the high credentials. Such sound!
This late afternoon we were notified they found our luggage! Yeah! We could retrieve needed medication, and clothing we needed--or thought we did.
Jim and I talk about our "final quarter" of life--and that we need to make the most of it. We're newlyweds and enjoy being married so much, we celebrate weeks and months, not years.
Originally published August 15, 2015 Yesterday, Jim and I read from the prophet Ezekiel. I loved the promise of showers of blessing. I will make them and the places all around My hill a blessing; and I will cause showers to come down in their there shall be showers of blessing. Ezekiel 34:26 Wow! Do [...]
So, instead of bemoaning the fact that I’m another year older, I’ll enjoy it that I still produce fruit and enjoy the gray hair of experience--the splendor of the old. What else can I do? The alternative is to not grow older, and I’m not ready for that. So, I’ll enjoy tomorrow. Open presents, cards, and share a special meal with family.
I discovered the terrible loss of a lifetime mate who was the father of my children, was far more difficult than any mountain we’d ever climbed. I remembered those words on the wall by the door in my childhood door: Blessed are you who run to Him. I remembered, and believed. I worked through those lonely harsh days of loss—because grief is work—and began to breathe freely again, just like after a mountain climb and you get to the top.
Our group stood quietly in the gloomy lower place. No one spoke, except our tour guide who gave brief explanations of where we were.
