Author Archives: Patricia Ann

He Says – She Says

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When a friend confided in me that she was at the end of her rope with her husband’s negativity, it prompted me to write the following:

He could have enjoyed their journey.
It would have been easy.
But he had closed the door on his mind.
She tried to pry it open just a little, to get a positive thought into his negative world.

He believes in God but doesn’t know that God believes in him.
It’s such a good thing to know.

She loves to sing and implores him to join her in song.
He says, “I can’t sing.”

She loves to watch the setting sun.
He says it will ruin her eyes.

She loves to engage in lively or quiet conversation.
He says she talks too much.

She tries to get him to think happy thoughts.
“Just try it,” she says, “open your mind and let some sun thoughts in.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” he says.
But would he?

“Let’s go for a nice long walk,” she says.
“A short one will do,” he says.

Strolling down a tree-lined street she spots wispy, white clouds drifting across a deep blue sky.
He sees the trash cans a neighbour forgot to put away.

She hears birdsong coming from the treetops.
He hears the roar of a mower scalping another neighbor’s lawn.

She smells the fragrance of the fresh mown grass.
He holds his nose. “Damn fumes.”

She says, “Let’s go for ice cream cones.”
He says, “Let’s go home before it rains.”

Together they could have enjoyed life’s journey.
It would have been easy.
He chose to stay in his closed mind.
She chose to walk alone.

A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones. (Proverbs 22:17)

Junk Mail?

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A couple of years ago, I received a venomous letter in the mail.

It was from a person who had been bitter towards me for many, many years.  I hadn’t seen or heard from her for over three years, so I was really taken aback to read this disturbing letter.

She started out by saying, “After several years”, and then launched into her tirade.

The anger and resentment leapt off the pages and kicked me in the gut.

My first reaction was pity for her. I would not want to be living in her body with all that poison.

My second reaction was very un-Christian. I wanted to send her a “Get Well” card and tell her she had better find a good veterinarian because she was one sick puppy.

And then I prayed for her. And then I prayed for myself, that the poison in her soul wouldn’t touch my soul through her nasty thoughts and words.

And then as part of my devotions two days later, I read this in  “In Tune With the Infinite” by Ralph Waldo Trine….if hatred should come from another, without apparent cause on your part, then meet it from first to last with thoughts of love and good will…in this way you can so neutralize its effects that it cannot reach you or harm you.  And I said, Thank You God.

A few weeks earlier I had read  in Matthew 5:11, “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.”

And I thought, Lord, nobody has persecuted me because of you. Maybe I’m not doing a good enough job for you.

The letter, among other things, included this sentence, “You constantly preach the word of God but do not follow his words.”

Finally….I am being persecuted for His sake and I say, Amen to that.

Its’ a Cardinal Thing

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I have a thing about cardinals. Not the baseball Cardinals, or the religious Cardinals, but those beautiful, red-feathered birds.

They are my sign that all is well when that is sometimes not the case. Just to see or hear one of these cheerful creatures immediately uplifts me.

One beautiful summer morning, while meditating in the garden, there appeared to be more birds than usual fluttering around the feeder.

They seemed to be performing some kind of ritual.  A few of them pecked away at the seeds while others hovered nearby, waiting their turn.

Then, I noticed the birds on the ground feeding each other with the seeds spilling from the feeder.

I sat spellbound watching birds splashing in the bath, swooping and diving, twittering and chirping; ordinary backyard birds; sparrows,  starlings, robins, a finch or two and one female cardinal. Time seemed to stand still.

I was entranced as I watched. Three or four sparrows splashed around in the bath, drank, shook a rainbow of water from their wings, and flew away while others took their place.

The female cardinal took over, vigorously flapping her wings, and sending sprays in every direction.

I remember thinking this whole show was being performed just for me, and that the beautiful, bright red male cardinal, would appear on my clothesline as the grand finale.

As I sat waiting, secure in the knowledge that this would be the case, I suddenly realized that time was not standing still, and I had to leave for work.

Reluctantly leaving the sights and sounds, I went into the house to prepare for the long day ahead.

Disappointed that I would miss the cardinal’s appearance, I was ready to leave when I heard his distinct whistle, “cheer, cheer, cheer”. I knew that when I looked out he would be there—and he was.

“Thank you!” I breathed to God and the red-feathered bird sitting on my clothesline.

It was going to be a great day.

 

A Touch of Fiction

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I’m still waiting for my book, “My Precious Life” to hit the stores, and have been blogging bits and pieces of my life that didn’t make it into the book. This post is a work of fiction, which I normally don’t write. Feedback would be good.

 

THE ELEVATOR

Running for the elevator, Elsie quickly glanced at her watch.

Damn, late again, she muttered to herself as she flew through the door just as it was closing.

“Where to, young lady?” the voice was phlegm-filled.

“Fourteen,” she panted, “And make it quick!”

As the last few inches of space closed behind her, the ancient elevator lurched into its ascent.

“You think I control the speed?” The sarcastic reply was accompanied by a racking cough.

Elsie eyed the only other person on board.

He was wearing faded Levis with a blue plaid flannel shirt half tucked in, and black sneakers that looked like they had seen a marathon or two.

His pudgy face, under a balding head, was as gray as her kid-leather briefcase, and showed beads of perspiration which he mopped with an even grayer handkerchief. His full-lipped mouth was missing a couple of teeth.

“I was kidding,” she retorted, unconsciously pressing herself against the wall. “I’m late for an appointment. Of course I know you don’t control the speed!”

But I wish I could, she thought, noticing an unpleasant odor coming from the old guy’s direction.

Come on, come on, she eyed the slow moving indicator above the elevator door. Four, five, six.

Why is it so slow, she wondered, and when is he going to get off?

Suddenly, there was another lurch and then–no movement.

“Push fourteen again, please,” Elsie was agitated.

But his arthritic fingers were already pushing the buttons–nothing.

“What’s going on?” She was beginning to panic.

“Don’t know, young lady, but looks like we’re stuck between floors,” the old man wheezed, and then broke into another coughing fit.

Oh, no, Elsie moaned to herself, this can’t be happening.

“Well, push the emergency button!” she almost yelled at him.

“You think I don’t know what to do?” He glared at her and mopped his face again. “This here’s an old elevator. I’ve been stuck in it before. Last time it took ‘em an hour to get it goin’ again.” His gravelly voice rasped on the young woman’s fraying nerves.

The odor was getting stronger and Elsie didn’t know how she was going to cope.

“What do you mean, an hour! That’s preposterous!” she exclaimed, “I must get to my appointment!”

The old man started to speak, but instead, a rattling cough shook his body.

Elsie watched in horror as he doubled over, coughing uncontrollably.

Next thing she knew he was on the floor gasping for air. Her two-piece, light linen suit suddenly felt like a fur coat.

Her feet swelled in the high-heel shoes she had chosen so carefully for their comfort.

Her own body became sticky with perspiration.

The leather briefcase seemed to be filled with bricks rather than the manuscript she had been studying so hard for the past few weeks.

But now she was hopelessly late. Her dream of becoming a star was dying on this stifling elevator.

Elsie looked down at the ashen face and wondered how often he had these attacks, or if this was a first. She felt totally helpless and frustrated.

As she watched the old man struggling for breath, she suddenly realized how self-centered she was.

Instead of trying to help this poor soul, she was only concerned with her own discomfort, and the fact that she was missing the audition of a lifetime.

She had found him so repugnant it didn’t occur to her that he might be suffering. Elsie knelt down and loosened his collar.

As her hand made contact with the clammy skin of his throat he stirred and muttered something unintelligible.

She remembered a bottle of water tucked into a loop in her case.

She tilted his head, put the water to his lips, and he slowly opened his puffy eyes. “Thank ye kindly, young lady,” he croaked, and tried to sit up.

“It’s okay.” Elsie forced a smile. “Will it really take an hour for somebody to get us going again?” Her tone was now conciliatory.

“Nah,” he said, “any minute now.”

With that, the elevator started to move, and suddenly the air didn’t smell so bad after all.

“You’d better have that cough checked out, Mister.” Elsie told the old man.

“Yep, an’ you better book another appointment, young lady.”

The elevator came to an abrupt stop at the fourteenth floor, and the old man waited until Elsie was off before he followed her.

They headed in the same direction and stopped at the same office.

Elsie smiled uncertainly as the old man held the door open and ushered her inside.

He motioned to a chair, and as she slowly sat down he removed the blue plaid shirt, revealing a stark white tee shirt with the logo – DUO.

“Now, young lady,” he said with a grin, pulling off the bald latex wig, and removing two black patches from his teeth, “you’re here to audition for the lead part in the Angel in Disguise production?”

He wiped the gray-toned makeup off his face and pulled puffy patches from beneath his eyes. He leaned across the desk and offered his hand. It was not arthritic, and he was not a bald old man with a hacking cough.

Elsie’s heart raced as she placed her hand in his.

“What’s this all about?” she asked.

“I’m Daniel Bayes, producer and director of the upcoming TV series, Do Unto Others.”

“I’ve played the elevator scene with every hopeful applicant so far and believe me, there were no angels among them.”

“But you, although you were repulsed and frightened, overcame your feelings and tried to make me comfortable. You showed concern for my well-being, and when we reached the fourteenth floor, didn’t rush away to make up for lost time.”

“I had my doubts in the beginning, but when the elevator began to move again I knew my search for the lead angel was over.”

“The part is yours, young lady, if you want it. Your audition was on that elevator.”

Elsie smiled at this pleasant man who was not much older than herself.

“Thanks, old man,” she joked, “I think I’ll take it.”

Ask For a Gift

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scan0003A few days ago when I wrote the blog, Ned is an Angel, a new blogging friend asked me how I know my angels are around me. That’s a very good  question, and I even asked it myself one day a few years ago. I was recovering from a difficult chemo day, and not too sure of any angels at that point.

A Hay House Radio program was playing on my computer, and I sat back to listen when I heard the word “angel”.

A caller asked, “How do I know my angels are around me?”

The response was, “Ask them for a gift.” That surprised me a little, but then I said to myself, why not?

Feeling a little ridiculous, I nevertheless had the nerve to ask, “Okay, Angels, may I please have a gift?”

I actually voiced it aloud!

I listened to the program for a while longer, but finally gave in to the feeling of fatigue that chemotherapy treatments are famous for, and fell asleep.

The telephone woke me up a few hours later. It was my friend, and former boss at the Canadian Bible Society Book Store, calling to see how I was doing. I had often talked to Betty about my dreams, and how I tried to interpret them.

Now, she told me of a new book that had just arrived at the store, which she was sure I would be interested in: “Dream Language…The prophetic power of dreams, revelations, and the spirit of wisdom” by James W. and Michal Ann Goll.

Of course I was interested! I asked Betty to hold me a copy and I’d come in and buy it on one of my better days.

Her next words blew me away — “I am holding it for you, and when you are ready, come in and pick up your gift.”

I hung up the phone, smiling, and said, “Thank you, Angels.”

It was a one-time occurrence; I never asked for a gift again.

So, Laurie, that’s how I know my angels are all around me.

The Child in Me

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GG Brooke & CoraWhen I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. (1 Corinthians 13:11)

But then I grew up and put all childish things behind me. Well, you know, I really didn’t. I have a collection of Cabbage Patch Kids which began back in 1980 when I was bugging my daughters to have babies so I could be a grandmother. To keep me quiet until they were ready to accommodate my wishes, they gave me a CPK for Christmas one year–and then another and another.

I’m happy I still have those Kids because my great-granddaughters love to play with them when they come to visit.

Last Saturday, I was at a church bazaar and what do you think I found? A Cabbage Patch Kid–a lovely little girl, a little the worse for wear, but the child in me had to have her. I walked around that bazarre cuddling my new cutie-pie, and couldn’t wait to get home to add her to my CPK family.

When I was a child, I loved to hug trees. I still do, much to the embarrassment of my family when we are out together in a public park and I stop to hug a tree. I taught my grandchildren and great-grands to hug trees too!

When I was a child, I learned to say my prayers–Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, etc–and taught that prayer to my children when they were small. Along with my everyday prayers, I throw that one in once in awhile just for the memories.

When I was a child, I was very serious. I know this because I was constantly being told, “Don’t be so serious!”

When My Precious Life, my memoir, finally arrives at the book stores, you will understand why I was so serious. Now, because I love to smile and make jokes I’m sometimes asked, “Are you ever serious?” Go figure!

When I was a child, my imagination ran wild. It still does.

As a child, I loved to daydream, and I still do. I love getting lost in reverie.

So you see, I am still a child at heart, and that’s okay because Proverbs 22:6 says Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.

And I say, “Amen to that!”

Life Interrupted

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On July 27, 2004 I watched the biography of Osama Bin Laden on television. One of the scenes showed the total carnage of the 2003 train bombings in Madrid, Spain. El Qaeda claimed responsibility. Osama Bin Laden was the leader of that terrorist organization.

The body of a woman was shown laying lifeless amid the rubble. She wore a dress in vibrant shades of red, orange and yellow. The stockings were sheer; the shoes high-heeled and red. My mind’s eye saw her getting dressed that fateful morning.

I watched her deftly applying her makeup; the lipstick bright red and glossy. She brushed her long black hair into a shining cascade before shrugging into her favorite dress. It was 100% cotton; cool and colorful. She gently drew the silk stockings over her slender legs, and was now stepping into three-inch, high-heeled shoes.

One last look in the mirror reflected a perfectly groomed young lady prepared for her day at the office. Gathering her handbag and keys, she closed the door behind her. The morning train was taking her to work,  but her destination was death.

Why would one human being do that to another?

The Wow! in Proverbs

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Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall. Proverbs 16:18

Children’s children are a crown to the aged…Proverbs 17:6

Wow! I must be headed for a mighty fall…mightier than Humpty Dumpty’s, because I am so proud today, and my head is so swelled that the crown of the aged will not fit it.

Six of my grown grandchildren are responsible for this beautiful, biblical dilemma and here’s the reason why.

My twenty-three-year-old grandson, Spencer, is graduating from the University of British Columbia with his BSc in Biology as I write.

His twenty-one year old brother, Oliver, is heading for Australia on the first of June to play field hockey for The Waverley Hockey Club in Melbourne, to gain valuable experience for the Canadian men’s senior team.

Another grandson, Jordan, who is twenty-six and a granddaughter, Rachel, twenty-seven, just completed shooting a commercial together yesterday for a great Canadian company. It was a first for Rachel and another step in Jordan’s budding career.

Neither of them knew the other had landed the same call until a few days prior, which stirred a huge amount of excitement in our family. This was quite the coincidence–or was it?

Another granddaughter, Laura, twenty-nine, is marrying her long-time sweetheart, Cam, this Saturday. I love love!

On a sadder note, but on just as grand a scale, my granddaughter, Amberley, twenty-five, has had to stand up to one of life’s hardest lessons; the death of one of her dearest friends, just a few days ago. I am extremely proud of the way she has faced the tragedy head-on, and made some difficult decisions at this time.

So, if pride goes before a fall, I’m ready and willing to take my thumps, and if that crown of the aged is making its way towards my head, I’ll see what I can do to make it fit; because today, I am one proud grandma!

A Letter of Love

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Thank you my child, for being the person you are.

To know you is to know a sensitive, caring, loving and loyal young being. When you entered this world you were born to be a blessing to all who would know you. You were born to love, to learn, to teach, to share, to be you in all the ways that being you is possible.

As life is lived there are lessons to learn. First you learn to walk and talk. It seems to take forever, and after stumbling and stammering countless times, you succeed. You are now free to pursue other areas of this wonderful journey of life. Soon you begin to discover yourself. After accomplishing walking and talking you find yourself being taught what is generally known as discipline. Some refer to it as being ‘picked on’. Discipline is a very important part of life’s lessons. Without it you wonder what is expected of you by your peers, yourself, figures of authority, and the world in general. Hopefully it is very early in life that most of us learn this most important lesson. You did and you accepted the responsibility that goes with it.

Now you can walk, talk, think, feel, learn, discern and enjoy being the wonderful person you were born to be.

Then it happens.Your world as you know it is suddenly distorted by the views and actions taken by the special people in your life. The people you have loved all your life.

Well, child, these people also learned how to walk, talk, think, feel, learn and discern, and now it appears to you that they seem to have forgotten the real meaning of all these lessons.

We learn to walk through life with those in our lives.

We learn to talk and communicate with those in our lives.

We learn to think about life and those in our lives.

We learn to know our feelings, and to think of the feelings of others.

We learn to tell the difference between living for ourselves and having consideration for others.

We continue to learn by keeping our minds open to all these things, allowing us to discern between what we expect our lives to be like and what our lives are really like.

Now we are faced with decisions our loved ones have made regarding their own lives. These are their decisions. We may not like or agree with them, and when the consequences affect our lives, we begin asking ourselves the question, why are we being confronted with this bizarre behavior? In our minds it is bizarre behavior. Having learned to respect ourselves and others we are suddenly dealing with whatever it is that has prompted these special people to act out this part of their life journey. Sadly, we find our respect for them diminishing.

The key words though, are, their life journey. We hurt. We cry. We find our loyalties being pulled in all directions. Our life is not the same. When will it all end? When will everything get back to normal? Why does it have to be this way? What can we do about it? How can we change it?

The answers are inside you. The answers are what you have been learning, thinking, feeling and doing since you were born. You have learned your lessons well and the time has come to apply them.

You allow your loved ones to walk their paths.

You tell them your feelings, but you let them walk their paths.

You think of them as their own persons, with their own thoughts and feelings, which are separate from yours.

You love them and know that although they are on a different path at this moment they still love you.

Just know that whatever decision has been made in their lives, though it affects yours, your only responsibility to them is to continue to love them. Their decisions can only harm you if you cease to be true to yourself. You have discipline. As you continue to love them unconditionally, not allowing their actions to influence your thinking or behavior in a negative way you will come to accept the path they have chosen. It may or may not be the right one for them, and in your mind it is certainly not the right one for you. For now it must be.

In closing, let me remind you to live your life free from the guilt others would impose upon you, free from the necessity to impose guilt upon others, and free to love and be loved unconditionally.

This is the way I love you. This is the way God loves you. This is the way love is.

(This letter was written many years ago to some very special people in my life).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr. Miracle

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Mr. Chips was my pet goldfish. At five years old, he was the survivor of a twosome that I had named Fish and Chips, but Fish died and I began calling this guy Mr. Chips.

One Easter Sunday morning I went to feed Mr. Chips before going to church, but he was not in his bowl. Now how could that be? My first thought was that my tiny pet had gone to goldfish heaven, and someone had removed him from his bowl before I could discover his floating body. But no one had even looked in on the little goldfish. It then dawned on me that perhaps he had jumped out of the bowl–some fish are known to do that.  I got down on my hands and knees and searched the floor under the desk. There he was lying in a dust ball on the carpet!  His little body was quite dry when I picked him up, but as he lay in the palm of my hand I thought I detected a slight movement…could it be? Yes!  His tiny gill actually moved!

I slipped him back into his bowl. He floated on top of the water and then suddenly flicked his tail and began to swim, leaving tiny trails of dust behind. I scooped out the bits of dust, gave Mr. Chips his much-deserved breakfast and went to Easter Sunday service.

I arrived home two hours later and promptly checked in on my pet. He wasn’t there!

“Did anyone see Mr. Chips?” I cried.

Again, no one had looked in on him. I got down on all fours once more, looking for my fish and there he was, for the second time, lying lifelessly under the desk. Just as the time before, I could see a tiny flicker of life, and gently slipped him back into his bowl. I watched hopefully as he again swam the dust off his little gold body.

As I observed Mr. Chips regain his life force for the second time that Easter morning, I knew I had to change his name to Mr. Miracle. That little guy lived another five years and never jumped out again.

That’s my fish story–what’s yours?

Even the Bible has a few great fish tales!