Memories of Treasures Long Ago

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J. G. Gilbert & Robin Gilbert Luftig at Lake Lavine, MI, Summer 1958

Even though my family of origin was pretty dysfunctional, one of my favorite pastimes, when I’m feeling a bit low, is to remember stories about my dad and how he honored my feelings and held them close to his heart.

I always jumped at the chance to be with Dad in his room—the Gun Room. It was a treat to steal away with him when he went upstairs to his room. He kept guns, cameras, family photos and film equipment, and special sentimental pieces from his childhood there. I am certain he kept us out for our own protection when it came to the guns. We were all told the only time we were allowed to go in there by ourselves was if the house was on fire and we could safely get the family’s 8mm films out and save them from being destroyed. Other than that, the Gun Room was strictly off limits. Whenever I saw him in there, I would beg to join him. And he always obliged. While he worked away on whatever project he was concentrating on, I looked around his private sanctuary with marvel. I would fold my arms behind my back holding tightly on to my wrists, just to make sure I did not touch anything. I did not want to run the risk of inadvertently grabbing for something and causing harm.

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Where does the time go? A day flies by after brain injury – #jumbledbrain

You know how you meet someone through Social Media and you are immediately drawn to them by the power of their words? Michelle Munt is like that for me. 

Check out her description of time after her brain injury. Each time I read her work I find myself saying, “Yes, that’s what happened to me, too!”

I would say I’m busy most days and yet I don’t get much done. Since my brain injury time just flies past me. Or am I just really slow?

Source: Where does the time go? A day flies by after brain injury – #jumbledbrain

Asking to See

Have you had to walk away when all you wanted was to curl up and cry? Or maybe you didn’t know what you wanted. Watch transparency in action. Can you relate?

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I don’t know how it got to be today.

How, after being home here for five months after my mother’s stroke, that I am packing up my things to return to NYC.

I’m going to be honest, I haven’t even made it through the socks and underwear yet, and I’ve already cried twice.

I was not expecting this. Returning to New York is supposed to be joyous. Full of celebratory anticipation. And yet, why do I feel my heart is shattering?

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I was driving home from getting groceries today when an Audrey Assad song came on: Lead, Kindly Light. And one of the lyrics really stopped me in my tracks:

Here in the dark, I do not ask to see.”

I rolled that over and over in my mind. And I realized, that’s just what I’ve been doing during my time here at home. Things were dark – I was…

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Surviving Mother’s Day Sorrows

Mother’s Day is not always filled with cards and sunshine. Sometimes it’s accompanied with a heavy heart. Guest blogger Tammy Treat-Boyne knows all too well of the pain that accompanies celebration.

As Mother’s Day approaches I am brought back to my memories of a missing puzzle piece of my heart. I have buried a child. No parent should go through this. Friends tried to placate me with the 23rd Psalm and words of “she is not in pain anymore”. That did not help this grieving mother.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil” Psalm 23:4a (NKJV)

I was there all right. In the valley and I was angry, sad and disappointed.

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Challenged to Do What’s Right on Mother’s Day

Picking the perfect Mother’s Day card has always been a challenge for me.  I can spend hours at the card shop reading sentiments like You’ve been the best influence ever or You’re my best friend.  These thoughts are beautiful and touch my heart, but don’t come close to the relationship I have with my mother.

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The Waiter from Hell?

Forgiveness is a powerful thing. Consider what could happen if we practice it more.

Mitch Teemley

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All I wanted from our server was for him to tell us what the specials were, to make a few recommendations, and then bring us our food, quickly and hotly (is that a word?). Instead, he seemed offended at everything, recommended nothing—except that we go somewhere else—and then brought us the wrong food, slowly and coldly. When I complained, he said he’d had it with my attitude. Ahem, my attitude?

A few months later, I told our new roommate my “waiter from hell” story, thinking it might serve as an icebreaker. It didn’t. Dave paid his rent on time, did his dishes, and respected the house rules. In return, all he asked was to not be probed with churlish personal questions like, “Hello.”

When someone is moody I have to know why. It’s probably equal parts snoopiness and compassion, but whatever it is I keep at it. So I kept at Dave…

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What Will (or Did) You Ponder?

Looking through my blog I was interested to see what my very first post was. I had made a website and had wisdom to share with the world! While it may be a bit sophomoric, I’m happy to see some things don’t change. Continue reading