black friday

I can tell the Christmas season is here. It started pre Halloween and hit its first zenith the day after Thanksgiving. I say first zenith because that’s the day known as Black Friday. The day sales are suppose to soar and help merchants get rid of their over priced goods at cost and below. The day people take off from work and productivity to go to the malls for all the bargains. Or better yet, the day everyone slips out of their sleeping bags in the parking lots to be among the earliest in the stores at their ludicrous four a.m openings! I can’t get my daughter to come see me after work, or for lunch, but she was probably at Wal-Mart’s at four a.m. Well to be fair, she works there, but that’s beside the point.

Yes, Black Friday, the day everyone feels the love of Jesus as they hunt for gifts for friends and family, at sub reasonable prices. Sure, they love the recipients of their purchases, but not enough to pay full price for anything, or, my gosh, to wait till the crowds go home. They don’t want to be the ones saying they missed out on a bargain. Black Friday is the day consumers get all stressed out battling the crowds, worn out from wrestling things from strangers grasps, no matter the age or health status, from two year olds, to centurions with supplemental oxygen and walkers.

It’s also the day humanity’s true nature emerges. In New York the an eager mob pushed its way into Wal Marts and trampled a temporary employee to death. To death. Did they care? Oh, yes. They were outraged that such a thing could have happened. Why? Because it caused the store to close for several hours. What a rip off. Surely things could have been handled while everyone browsed at a hundred miles per hour. No remorse was felt for the victim. No one stepped forward and assumed responsibility. We have to rely on video cameras to pick out the guilty. How would that be possible? It was a pack of animals that entered the store to hunt prey. The victim was under their feet. How can police identify which feet trampled the poor guy. Shoe DNA? Even if they could get good videoed face pictures I’m sure all expressions were distorted with the glow of shopping for Jesus’ birthday to be recognizable.

 An eight month pregnant woman was also injured. She shouldn’t have been allowed out on Black Friday! As an employee or shopper. There should be laws. No one with a fetus or embryo can leave the house on Black Friday due to extreme dangers posed by Christmas shoppers. Where are those friends you can count on for unsolicited but badly needed advice?


Lets take a trip upstairs, to Heaven,(Don’t worry, you’ll be back before you’re missed). What do you think the opinion is up there about Black Friday? Do you suppose those that get good deals or die trying get sainthood by dying on an appointed day of human sacrifice? Do you recall reading in the good book about Black Friday being one of the seven festivals or holy days? Right now I can see God frowning. This wasn’t in his plans…though I’m sure he saw it coming. This wasn’t how he had wanted his son remembered. As a reason to shop till you drop... drop dead! As a reason to one up aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers and friends, on the most lavish gift bought at seventy five percent off. To look like big spenders on minimum wage budgets. Yep. I’m sure God knew that we would miss the point. After all, he has many friends surrounding him who are with him because of man’s inability to bear the truth. Isaiah, Jeremiah, Daniel, Elisha, Elijah, Micah, Nehemiah, and numerous other prophets and missionaries that were killed or nearly killed trying to get mankind to see the truth, pre and post Christ’s birth. The truth of Jesus and his sacrifice. That Christmas is a day to honor him and him only. Not to shop. Not to receive earthly gifts. Not to buy earthly gifts. To share Jesus’ entry into the world. To share God’s entry into the world. It’s amazing how many different ways man can corrupt the good news.

I’m pretty sure, not one hundred percent sure, but pretty sure, that on that first Christmas morning God hadn’t gotten up at four a.m. and run down to the nearest pre dawn sale for a seventy five percent discounted son, wrapped him in swaddling clothes, dumped him in a manger and said, “Here you go. This is the best I could do at the last minute”. My take on it is that he prepared for four thousand years to send the most precious gift he had, himself, wrapped in flesh, God in person. No discount, but one hundred percent God. One hundred percent man. One hundred percent free to us. To those that can’t add that’s two hundred percent beyond our expectations. There was no mob that morning trying to get their hands on this gift, trying to get there first, just three shepherds who arrived in awe, who were extremely thankful. There was no Christmas tree surrounded by multi colored packages with gifts for kids that they would grow tired of by lunch time. There was just one gift, to be shared by all. A gift that didn’t need batteries would never wear out and wouldn’t go out of season. There was God.



photo by Michael Nagle/Getty images via The Gaurdian

swimming lessons

I love my pool. It can’t be put up soon enough or left up long enough for me. Granted when it first goes up in the spring the weather isn’t adequately warm to heat the water but I climb down the latter ignoring the icy sensations crawling up my spine. This isn’t hard for me as I’m always ignoring things, like stop lights and yield signs. The minute my feet touch bottom I start running in place and swinging my water barbells. Water splashes on my back and upper arms causing me to question my intelligence, (okay, those of you that know me can keep your thoughts to yourselves, please!) After a few moments I spread my legs lowering my upper body deeper into the liquid, still swinging my barbells, heating up my blood, merging with the H2O, becoming adapted to the nippiness. Or maybe I’m actually heating the pool, being the hot dynamo that I am! (Bear in mind I said keep your thoughts to yourself!)

Before long I don’t remember the frostiness of the water and I’m fully submerged up to my neck, working out and expending calories. I feel myself getting into shape, building muscles as I work against the resistance of the water.

Then the weather evolves into summer with triple digit numbers (if you are still using the Fahrenheit scale). The water becomes refreshing from the get go. I run laps around the perimeter in one direction then the other after I generate a miniature whirl pool creating resistance to build up cardiovascular health. Then I switch to leg kicks, paddling, stationary swimming (I’ll let you figure out how I do that but as a hint it requires a rope tied to the pool’s side and my waist). I sit on my noodles (long foam thing-a-ma- gadgets, not my brains) and do stationary bicycling. I mean I really use the pool for a good healthy work out.

Then comes fall with lower evening temperatures that can’t sustain the pool’s summer warmth. I enter the pool with the same trepidation I had in the spring. After a brief workout of jogging and arm swinging I’m ready to dunk myself and start stretching out the old muscles, (it’s funny how my muscles have aged quicker that the rest of me, I wonder if there was a muscle recall by the manufacturer that I missed! ) Once again, before long I’m so accustomed to the pool’s temperature I don’t want to get out. I eventually climb onto my float and just bob about on the waves I spawn by kicking my feet, getting so relaxed I have to coax myself out to get other unimportant things done, like the laundry, dinner, cleaning, ect, ect. I’m sure by October my neighbors are all wondering if it’s time to call for the men with the butterfly nets; the human size butter fly nets. Really, if I ever see men walking up the streets with a net big enough to catch people I’m locking myself inside with a weapon that trumps their net!

Now, where am I going with this story? I’m sure you’re not interested in thinking of me in a bathing suit splashing around in my back yard pool. Unless of course you’re a pervert interested in middle aged woman that look really fine! My point is, are you ready because this will really catch you off guard? My point is that swimming cycles remind me of bible studies. Wait! Don’t call for the men with the nets; remember I’m armed and dangerous.



Sometimes when I start reading the bible it’s cold and uninteresting, but when I start splashing around in the word it gets more heated up, I start swinging my arms and legs and fighting to get more of the word. Then comes summer where I’m really excited about getting into the word because I’ve built up my enthusiasm. The word has gotten hot and steaming and is ready to be served up. Then comes the fall, where I fall down on my studies and have to get re interested. Studying the word needs to be a disciplined practice with no room for excuses, sometimes it doesn’t come easy because of various seasonal distractions like football, baseball, ice hockey, parties, holidays, the opening season’s episodes of your favorite series, etc. But once I force myself to get my feet wet, then my torso, then get the word to circulate into my limbs, muscles, bone and blood I find it’s hard to put the bible down, it’s like glued to my hands, (maybe I shouldn’t eat gummy bears when reading the bible!)

So I challenge you to try getting wet this week and see how long it takes you to want to stay submerged in the word of God, floating around on his pool of love and wisdom. (That sounded to buttery even for me!)

P.S In the winter I go to the pool at the gym, even I have my limits, I may swim bare sometimes, but I’m not a polar bare, har, har.

hurricane Ike

We’ve been hearing about Ike for months now. No, weeks. No, maybe a week and a half. Oh, whatever, it seems like forever. We’ve been informed, warned and traumatized. News coverage keeps us abreast of it’s present location, future location, damage potential, size, and wind speed. Deep in the heart of Texas we watch the broadcasts daily. We have no choice, except maybe to turn off the television but then it’s front page coverage at newsstands. Stand at the checkout of the grocery store and magazines announce Ike’s arrival. Turn on the internet and somewhere it’ll pop up. Yep. We all know about Ike.

Warnings have been issued for evacuation of areas close to the coast. Areas on the coast. Areas off the coast. Citizens have been warned that to remain in the safety of their homes is certain death. Did that make sense? A wall of water, called a storm surge, of twenty feet or more will wash over their houses and drown them. People are moving inland at rapid rates, by bus, by plane, by car, by ambulance. In a day or two they’ll be able to sail to Fort Worth that is if they survive the storm surge. They are carting up their most precious possessions, their bodies and loved ones, boarding up their windows, tucking their tail between their legs and running. The smart ones that have followed Ike’s path and listened to the advice of the weather forecasters. The ones that believed the reports that people actually died where Ike has already been.

Some people have chosen to remain at home, in Ike’s target, with a big bull’s eye on their foreheads, despite the warnings. They’re closing their eyes to reality; that nature is stronger and more unpredictable than they realize. They have nothing to fear, they’re immortal. They aren’t going to be bullied by nature. They have stored up emergency rations, put blankets under the doors to keep the water out, bought plenty of batteries for their portable TV’s and lamps and stocked up on reading materials and family games. They are going to sit it out patiently. When confronted with the reality they made a humongous mistake they will rely on compassionate people to rescue them when they find themselves trapped. They are going to let their next of kin identify them at the makeshift morgues that will be set up in a week or two at schools and gyms. When the waters recede; if they get found; if their next of kin isn’t lying beside them in another body bag.

It’s evident that not everyone responds to warnings in the same rational way. Take for example those that refuse to see the warnings of the signs of the time. We’ve been warned for centuries by God and his prophets, the biblical forecasters, that the end is coming. By men in sackcloth with picket signs announcing the end of the world, walking up and down fifth avenue. (Bad example; they may be crazy, but they’re still right). Yet we are immortal. Until we die. Then we discover the truth, that we’ve been mortally wrong.

The Bible has notified us there will be an end to what we know now. Not just a coastal calamity but a global calamity. A global cleansing. A new beginning. We’ve been warned repeatedly through pint-sized (yes, I said pint-sized) demonstrations of God’s power and wrath and given simple directions for preservation. Our only evacuation route is Jesus. Where he’s gone we can go. Some have heeded the warning and packed their belongings up and sent them a head. Their good deeds, their prayers, their faith and trust in God. Others have disregarded the warnings by closing their eyes and ears to the flashing lights predicting destruction. They say this world has been around for a long time, it will continue to be around for a long time. Well they are right, but they won’t be here, they’ll be in the lake of fire they’ve been tipped off about. There won’t be any escape routes, no rescue teams, and no emergency equipment capable of extricating them from the heat. This time there will be no one to salvage them and they will have to be accountable for their own misjudgments. Unless they heed the blinking lights, stop to read the bible, listen to the warnings and respond to the two by four that’s been thumping their heads. Thump. Thump.

Repent. Be baptized. Praise the Lord the end is just the beginning. I think I’ll paint that on a sign and parade up and down Main Street in a flour sack. That may sound like I’m crazy, but I know I’m right.

Math 16:3
Math 24:32-35
2 Peter 3:10-13

too much rest?

Too much rest?

My mother in law is-was- a great supporter of rest. Whenever I informed her I was on my way to the gym she would sigh and tell me to relax. I do too much. I need to take it easy. Oh, she was so persuasive. I could feel the comfy couch under my back with my legs propped up on pillows, a soft throw over my lower half. I could picture myself reading… for three minutes before the book toppled to the floor as my lids closed. (Three minutes is actually stretching the
possibilities.) Yea. It was enticing but…I do love a good workout. The exercise bike. The weights and time in the pool. The adrenalin rush. That was relaxing for me. It was time away from duties. From doing for people. From answering the phone or driving someone around. No. The gym was where I really got my breathing space.

My mother in law did however follow her own advice. Approaching 75 she was well rested. Real well rested. My husband would hand carry her dinner to her during our Sunday dinners so she wouldn’t have to get up when we visited. He was being considerate of her age. He was respecting her hospitality, repaying her for fixing our repast. She was so rested that getting up out of her chair was a work out. Huffing and puffing, she would wobble for a few steps till she got her equilibrium and continue to whatever activity that called her to her feet.

Then she started falling whenever she got up from her chair. We began intensive interrogations when we spotted bruises on her. We worried about her. We got her to commit to going to the doctor. I felt it was her knees, arthritis, bursitis or some other “itis” caused by the phenomena known as aging. Or maybe a reaction to her blood pressure meds or seizure meds. Or maybe she had started drinking while she was chilling out.

My sister in law received the honor of escorting mom to the doctor’s office. What she learned was more devastating to us than something that could be corrected with simply altering meds or sending her to alcoholics anonymous. Her diagnosis was…. Are you ready? She was pronounced….get set….well rested. She had rested herself into muscle shrinkage. She had been losing weight over the past couple of months (Yep, that really surprised me since her only exercise was getting out of her chair to go to bed) but the weight loss was mostly muscle mass. Let me explain this simple thing. No muscle mass, no strength. No strength, no balance. No balance no fall prevention. No fall prevention yields broken hips, legs, femurs, arms, faces or wrists. Broken bones in the elderly can heal but they may spend time in a nursing home for rehabilitation, (the person, not just the bones) that is providing they are discovered within a reasonable time frame or they don’t get a fat embolus and….. Well just imagine the worst. The most common reason that nursing homes are filling up with those approaching the later stages of life is due to falls, mostly falls at home.

The doctor predicted at her rate of “resting”, she’d be bed bound in five years. Well, my sister in law responded quickly to this crisis by not taking mom straight home to her easy chair. She took her to the local Senior Citizen’s Center and signed her up. What good does that do? Well, a properly run center has activities galore that keep the participants. She walked. She exercised. She talked. She ate. She socialized. She was even the secretary for a period of time. She redeveloped her muscles and with civilized respect for the miracle of healing, threw her cane in the air. Unfortunately when it landed it knocked her out and we had to take her to the emergency room for a head injury….just kidding!

The point of this long emotionally boring story? “If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it” means something. That goes for many things, like…. using our spiritual muscles. If we don’t keep them fed and exercised we’ll become weak floppy Christians. Our spirits will atrophy. We won’t know how to keep our balance when we get up and we’ll fall. And when a Christian falls, well once again, just imagine the worst. We may not lose eternity, but we may fail to bring someone else along with us to eternity; someone like a child, father, mother, friend, or even a stranger. We can’t afford to rest in our easy chairs while we are still here on terra firma. We need to attend the Christian Citizen’s Center if not five days a week at least once, maybe twice. And in this country there is no law that we can’t flex our muscles at home. Daily devotionals and prayer groups at work are all still permissible, (provided you do it in a dark closet at the back of the hall!) Along with meeting around the school’s flag pole; something school kids do in Fort Worth at the start of the year to seek God’s blessings, and I hope we’re not an isolated patch of religious fanatics.

So stop resting you lazy slugs and get out your bibles, it’s time for a work out. You don’t even have to check with your doctor on this one, even if you are over forty. There are no contraindications due to pre existing health conditions; as a matter of fact it’s the perfect cure for heart disease and mental illness. However there are side effects, like long life and peace of mind. Okay, let’s get started: One, two, three. One, two, three.

Math. 22:29
Luke 24:27
John 5:39
1 Peter 3:15
1 Peter 3:15

spring cleaning

My daughter in law, who along with my son of course, lives with my dad, finally took on the humongous task of spring cleaning. It has only taken thirteen Springs to motivate her, she’s a better woman than I am, I’m still waiting for the right Spring.

While going through a bottom kitchen drawer, you know, the drawer we all have that collects everything we’ve always wanted but never used, she came upon some old serving spoons and forks that she set aside for me.

“These probably belonged to your mother; I thought you or Bruce (my brother) would want them.” She explained when I dropped by for my nightly visit with dad.

I picked up the trophies she offered me. Black. Black as sin. Ugly. Ugly as sin. I thought she was nuts. Why would I want these crummy, filthy , black, ugly things. I don’t have much in the way of standards but I certainly don’t need more junk in my kitchen drawers either.

“I don’t think so, but thanks anyway,” I replied, none to sincerely. Then at the hurt look on her face I swiftly switched gears. “Do you have any toothpaste?” Now I was being looked at as though I was nuts. (An appropriate look on most occasions). It's a little known fact that toothpaste is a handy ingredient for removing tarnish.

Susan brought the toothpaste to me at the kitchen sink where I started smearing it on a serving spoon, encrusted with….gosh I don’t want to know what. As I rubbed, black stains traded sides from spoon to sponge. The sponge got blacker, the spoon got…prettier. Wow. This was real silver junk, not just aluminum junk. It wasn’t long before all the pieces were lying on the counter gleaming up at me. One spoon even had my dad’s name on the handle, having belonged to him as a child. It was impressive watching as each letter revealed itself. The eating tools even played videos of the times mom used these same pieces at holiday dinners. Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters. Thirty years of memories were unleashed from under all the black, ugly tarnish.

My mom had come home again. She had passed away twenty some years ago but thanks to spring cleaning and my daughter in law, here she was again; sitting on the kitchen counter. What an ironic twist of fate, she would never let me sit on the counter! I couldn’t wait to put these serving pieces into use again, until then they would be in my kitchen drawer; the top drawer that gets opened every day. I won’t wait for special occasions to use these newly discovered utensils. Every day will be a day of remembrance for mom, whenever I get the chance to serve dinner.

This reminded me of a day when God found me in the bottom of a drawer, (under a load of sin and despair). The day he took my black sins (the tarnish veneer over my life) and cleaned me with toothpaste (the blood of Jesus) and made be beautiful (there I go dreaming again) and put me back into service (in the kitchen?) I’m grateful that when he set eyes on me his first reaction wasn’t one of repulsion. He immediately saw my worth and smeared cleansing fluid over me, and placed me in the top drawer. The drawer where all the useful supplies are.

Isn’t it amazing how black tarnished silverware can speak for God! It tells me that buried underneath every tarnished, sin blackened life is a beautiful serving piece waiting to be cleaned and used. Every sin ladened person is a name on God’s heart. I never would have thought of my daughter in law as a prophet but she was definitely God’s messenger that day.

Isaiah 1:18
2 Tim. 2:20

God's kingdom, past present and future

Cars in front of me, cars behind me; all here to safely enjoy nature from the confines of our cars. An African wilderness experience in the heart of Texas, with I’m sure just the right humidity and baking temperature. We were advised by signs throughout the route to stay in our cars at all times, but those clever few who know how to break rules were standing up through their sun roofs or hanging out the windows of their trunks, they might as well have been out walking.

My car at first was surrounded by deer, elk, other horned mammals and ostriches, so many that we couldn’t move. But they had short attention spans and moved on to the next car in line if we didn’t produce any edibles on short notice. No need to wait for us to give a hand out, they were well aware of the purpose of any car here, it was to provide them with sustenance. One ostrich, (man they have humongous feet), actually pecked at my rear view mirror to voice his complaint that we weren’t honoring the “feed me” rule. Or since my car is red maybe he mistook my rear view mirror for a nice shiny Macintosh apple? This was going to be a three hour ride and we wanted to stretch the food to the end.

This was absolutely amazing. All these wild animals just walked up to our car windows. We were instructed by other numerous signs along the way to not feed the zebras by hand because they tended to bite but we ignored that rule. (I guess I pointed some fingers back at me as a rule breaker! Hey at least I still had my fingers!) We didn’t get bit; otherwise we’d have been told we had been warned. One zebra with big sharp yellow teeth did pull a brochure off my dad’s lap however, but dad yanked it back! Good for him, we needed that brochure to describe the animals to us. Then dad placed a hand over the zebra’s snout…nose…whatever, and pushed his head back out of the window. He still didn’t get bit. The zebra didn’t need a brochure.

Then came the giraffes. Awesome. A car in front of us had a sun roof, or should I say an entrance for the giraffes. I got pictures of heads from above the car disappearing inside the car. The giraffes wanted food; lots of food. They also let us pet them, but again, at the price of food. They were magnificent. Such tall graceful creatures, putty in our hands for morsels of food.

My son loved the rams or mountain goats. He’s a Capricorn (not that we follow our “horror scopes”) and finally came face to face with his namesake. I have a picture of his stunned expression as an enormous head entered his window and gently retrieved some tidbits from his hand. We couldn’t move for some time as two rams decided the road would be theirs for the moment….moments. You just don’t take away a ram’s place on the road if he isn’t willing to give it up. Ever see a ram’s horns? If so, you’d appreciate our circumstances and the rule about staying in our cars at all times. Vehicles behind us didn’t understand why we stayed stationary, not being able to see around the bend where the two big horned, shaggy rams were doing what they do best; being stubborn. At last they got bored and shuffled off to buffalo.

Then, as we finally rounded the bend we discovered two of the cutest little deer off to the side. Just standing there with the sweetest big eyes, looking famished though I know they were well fed. I made the mistake of moving my arm and they mistook that for an invitation to eat. We were nearly depleted of the food that was allotted to us at the entrance, but how could we say no. Out the window went our hands with treats and two soft little lips took food from us, no fear of being placed over someone’s mantle or in someone’s freezer.

All these exotic animals (not counting the deer, there’s plenty of them here in Texas) that we’ve only seen on TV or caged in zoos just plodded up to us. Let us handle them, feed them, and take pictures of them.

Well, I should mention the cheetahs and wolves were reminders that wild animals still needed some reverence. They were in confined areas, tucked safely away so we couldn’t feed them, or rather, so we wouldn’t be their food. This is where my bubble burst. I was having a wonderful time imagining what Adam and Eve must have felt like before the fall. You know, that brief time when all nature was in harmony and it was Adam’s job to name all living creatures and be their keeper. That brief time when man and wild life were friends and both ate vegetation. That brief time when the earth was pristine and at peace with God.

How I wish things were like that again. What a legacy our first parents could have given us. The freedom to walk around naked, the freedom to call the whole earth home, to roll about with tigers, lions and bears, oh my! To walk with God in the garden at night fall, to eat anything we wanted except….Well that is the true part of our legacy, the fall; when our first parents broke the cardinal rule. When they ate what was forbidden them. When animals and man became enemies, when we had to be careful what we ate, where we walked and called home.

At least for a few hours I got a taste of what was and could have been. What a minute, I also got a taste of what is to come. When lion and lamb, wolf and calf, bear and child will all lie down together and call each other friend. When once again we’ll all be able to walk with God in the garden at nightfall.

A tribute to a friend

I knew her first as Mrs. Taylor, Lynnda, my best friend’s mother. Then over the years I got permission to call her Jimmy (it seems Mrs. Taylor was her mother-in law!). She was a wonderful lady, full of stories about her father and the Boy Scouts. She glamorized her father in my eyes. Man she built him up, but I thought it was just the ramblings of a proud daughter. Someone who really loved her dad, no problems with that.

Then one sad day this July first I got an email from Lynnda, she was on her way to Missouri where her mother had gone for a speaking engagement at a Boys Scout function, (what else? Scouting was her life) fallen, started bleeding into her brain, went comatose and was only given hours to live. (She actually held on to July 4th, being patriotic she waited till the last firecracker popped before expiring!) That started four days of phone calls back and forth between Lynnda and me. Lynnda even emailed me the newspaper articles about her mother. Apparently her mother was big news in Kansas City. The only daughter and child of H. Roe Bartle. I was impressed. Still, to me, she had always been a wonderful lady, my best friend’s mother. Someone whose table I’d eaten at, whose house I’d spent the night in, who I went to Branson with, who babysat my dogs for me when I went out of town. She was Jimmy. Not just only daughter and child of H. Roe Bartle.

I had to “Google” this guy. There were volumes of hits with his name. Wow. Jimmy’s dad was famous, at least in his part of the country. He was friends of presidents, the FBI, governors…Ect... Ect. He started a Boy Scout tribe in Kansas that is one of a kind, fashioned after our American Indian Heritage. It still bears his name, The H. Roe Bartle Scout Reservation and it hosts thousands of scouts yearly. This guy was like an Apostle Paul impersonator, going about doing good works, and making a difference. His grave can even be viewed on findagrave.com.

Then I got the brainstorm to “Google” Jimmy. My friend’s mother also had her name plastered over the internet. Friend of Scouts. Motivational speaker. Only daughter of H. Roe Bartle. I was learning more about Jimmy Bartle Taylor than I knew when she was alive. Well maybe I‘d heard her mention these things over forty years in small slices and forgotten most of it but now I really researched her family and the scouts. I couldn’t get enough; reading about her brought her back to live. It was a crash course in history. But it all followed on the heels of her death. Why did I have to wait till she died to rediscover and discover all these things? I wish she was here now so I could ask her questions about her dad and about the scouts. Now I have to learn everything myself by reading.

When Lynnda got back home I went to see her. Jimmy’s house was right next door (she had recently bought a double wide trailer and set it on Lynnda’s lot so they could be close to each other) and I asked to walk through it in hopes of feeling her spirit or at the least just walking where she had walked. It had become hallow ground that would never be touched by her feet again. It had become sort of a shrine in my mind; her importance magnified in my imagination. No, she was still Jimmy, my friend, and my friend’s mother. She was very important to me because of who she was. I took two things from her house, mementoes. A bear magnet (it symbolized her tribal name of “Lone Bear Princess,” and another magnet that had a small picture of her in a red hat. Not worth much to anyone, but priceless to me. I’ll place them on my refrigerator so I, won’t forget her, not that that’s possible. Then I sat in Lynnda’s living room and watched a DVD they played at Jimmy’s funeral. From birth to death, there was her life. Awesome. The life of a woman going through life’s developmental stages, rites of passage. Sitting on granny’s lap, going to high school , getting married, having kids, grand kids, great grandkids. A normal woman. My friend. Lynnda’s mother. I was promised a copy. Thank you, Lynnda.

Why is it we learn more about people after they die? At funerals I’ve always discovered things about the honoree that I never knew when they were alive. All this reminds me of a man that lived two thousand years ago. He was someone’s son and friend. He ate with people, traveled with people and slept over at their houses. (I don’t know about babysitting pets?) He was not very famous while he was alive but after he died volumes have been written about him. He can be “Googled” and researched, made larger than life. He spent thirty years as someone’s son, the only son and child of God, the firstborn actually. He was the first Boy Scout, on a mission to build his entourage of twelve. He spent three years going about doing good and making motivational speeches then he died. I bet very little was written about him while he breathed, except maybe on wanted posters. (He still is on wanted posters!) Volumes have been written since. I still research him daily, reading about him in the gospels and epistles. People travel to wear he lived, to walk the hallow grounds his feet had touched. We can’t find his grave on findagrave.com because it’s empty! Sometimes it takes death to get our energy directed on the correct path. If Jimmy hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have spent so much time reading about her, if Jesus hadn’t died (an don’t forget rose again) no one would be interested in reading about him. Do you think he’s worth investigating? Reading about him could bring him back to life, in your heart! Google him and find out what could be a new revelation for you.