The Rocks Of Oregon

A few weeks back I returned from visiting my eldest son and his family in Oregon. It was a trip I had longed for, for a good many years, but all within my ABBA’s timing, it was a perfected visit. It brought me to the Rocks of Oregon and the land of the Redwoods of California; and there in the brisk, Fall air and under a trio of orderly, setting suns, against purplish-red skies, and playfully, in the lull of waves, and enveloped in a canopy of time, I was able to bond with my grandchildren, a most precious prayer answered, indeed.

Stunning Photography by My Daughter-In-Law, Jess

From the the stirring of horses at the stables, to the ocean’s front and welcoming shore, and in the swirl of all the old familiar smells, it was my thought to impart stories of my childhood to my son and my daughter-in-law, the blending of my experiences with their own, the beauty and the joys and all that has been overcome . . . it’s all beauty to me, the joys and the sorrows, for it has brought me to where I am. But sometimes, conversations can seem more like interrogations, and negatives, presented to show miraculous outcomes, can overshadow the true glory of a story, to where nothing else is even heard. Perceptions. I don’t always make it easy for others to concur.

Of course, I laugh in the face of pain and cry whole-heartedly (happy tears) in times of joy, and sometimes I do both in the same instant. I’ve even been purported (jokingly by my kids) to have that laughing/crying disorder—PBA—Hahaha/Sniff-sniff. Enough said. I take it all with a grain of salt, for salt (and water) heals wounds. And we are to be the salt of the earth, are we not?

I gaze upon the photos my daughter-in-law took (breathless) and wonder how long it took the churning waters to smooth away those once rugged stones, as I pray to the Most High to smooth away the rough parts of my heart. There is always a work for Him to do inside of me. And this is a good thing.

Will There Always Be Tomorrow?

I love who I am and tomorrow there will be a budding of something new; lessons learned from a day lived through, and a renewing of my mind, each and every day. If you have read the Dance of the Merrymakers post, you will know I am not the best communicator—terribly, horribly so. My thoughts are a run-in from one to another, pushing to get to the most important part, while interrupting myself in the interim. Sometimes I wonder why I even try to talk at all?

After such a glorious time with family, the exhilaration of it all lives on in my heart, most humbly and happily. Thank you to all of the family in Oregon. I will forever be overjoyed with the memory of such. I loved every moment, sharing in the lives of you all. (Ol’ Belial is always trying to zap away the beauty. Not then, not here, and never in my now will he gain hold.) Much love to you all from the depths of my heart.

Lessons Of The Redwoods

In the heart of the Redwoods, in the sacred footsteps of the ancients, I walked and talked with the trees. (Those who know me know I speak to the living and the inanimate creations that be, in quiet and supernaturally.) Being in their midst, the branching and the intertwining of “grandmothers”, their awe-inspiring strength, and all the great spirits unseen, I strolled and lingered in their songs of silence and whisperings . . .

  • Be patient with yourself. Be patient with the little ones.
  • Embrace silence. We listen. Then we speak.
  • Never forget where you are. Never forget who you are. Never forget why you are to be.
  • Support one another. Live in harmony. Celebrate your lineage.
  • Break through. Keep growing. Until you reach your highest peak.
If A Tree Falls In A Forest And No One Is There To Hear It, Does It Make A Noise?

RUNNING WITH THE WOLVES

Today, I am sitting a world away from Oregon and the California Redwoods, in my own little corner, in my writing chair. I thought I would return from my visit and start building content on the new category I had created just before I left (Of Mothers & Daughters), but the Most High has other plans. After all, He chided, is not this a site that serves the wise of the sisterhood already? (My, He has the most wondrous sense of humor!) Done before it began, behold, the scroll unrolls, bit by bit, and introduces itself. Always a work before me to do.

Photo by Ben Mack

With my Spirit Dog by my side . . . and wind in my hair . . . I’m running towards it with open arms . . .

Selah

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