Monday, March 20, 2017

SERIOUSLY SERIOUS


 

If you wonder why I write a blog, it is for several reasons:

  1. I love to write.
  2. It is my hope that even though I love to write that what I put out there has some meaning to someone besides myself.
  3. Someone said recently to me that “those who can’t …  blog,” a catch-all phrase used for many other endeavors as well. Most times my blog gets behind because I’m writing something else, yet I feel a purpose in blogging to help in some small way to further unite the blind and sighted communities.
  4. I do enjoy reading comments from other people, although most of what I write is merely my own experiences and most of my opinions play out in my life’s circumstances.

 

Now, the only reason I put all that up there is to preface my blog this week and to ask that well-meaning people and/or pastors refrain from sending me theological comradery or correction, although prayers are certainly always welcome and appreciated.

 

Now, here we go.

 

It was a few years ago when my friend, Winnie, was with me at the mall and we got off the elevator. Two young men walked up to us and asked ME if they could please pray for me. I said: “Sure.”  I was a little bit uneasy about how Winnie might feel, but went ahead with the plan. I was sweetly blessed by someone caring enough to want to do something. It blessed me even more when Winnie said: “That was really special.” I can’t say this has happened to me an extreme number of times, unless you think that at least fifty is extreme … people in malls, while walking my dog, in churches and meetings,in homes, and once on a bus. The most recent time was Saturday at the Cracker Barrel in Mebane, NC. My friend, Dorsey, and I had been to visit Mom and had just finished our meal when a child walked up to me with someone I presumed to be her dad. I did not know if it was a boy or girl, black or white, or how many people there were. The child first asked me if I knew Jesus, and we got into a very sweet Christian conversation, occasionally with her theme being prompted by the male, perhaps a pastor; I don’t know. One thing the man said was “I told her she could do it this time,” letting me know that the child was a little girl, I’m thinking maybe eight years old. She asked if I believed Jesus could heal my eyes and after I said “yes,” she proceeded to ask if she could pray for me. All I know is the little child’s sweet and innocent hands were laid on top of my head as she prayed from her heart and I forgot I was sitting at a table in public. All I know is that when her prayer was done and I blinked my eyes, still not able to see her, it made me very sad. For a long time I worried about her faith. Now, I already know mine sometimes isn’t even as big as that mustard seed Jesus talks about, but it bothered me for quite a while about hers being shaken because a dramatic healing didn’t take place right then and there at the Cracker Barrel. It almost made me very sad, as we started back toward Raleigh, but then a hail storm surrounded our car and other cars on the highway and seemed to follow us all the way to Raleigh, so I forgot all about the incident for a while.

 

 This week I have found myself thinking of those sweet little hands and that precious child’s believing heart. It’s so important  what we say to other people, especially children,  and all I can do is believe God had his own purpose in that meeting. For a hundred times I have thought:  “I should have said,” knowing that if I should have said anything God would have put the words in my head then, not several days later.

 

As a teenager and young wife when people asked if they could pray for me I usually answered:  “No, I’m fine.” Eventually I added a “thank you” to my response. I could see much better then, not perfect but certainly better. It’s interesting to me how through the years of life my heart has grown into a place of more tolerance of those kinds of events and my “thank you” has become more genuine. Who knows, one of these days I might even open my eyes and see that even a messy house is beautiful. My daddy’s mom who I called Mammaw had cataract surgery in her old age. It was funny when she began telling all of us how fat we were.

 

To me the most important thing is that I am content in my circumstance and if it should cause anyone to suddenly be thankful they can see maybe that’s someone I should be praying for. In the meantime, today is the first day of spring and it’s beauty is surely as real inside my heart as it is everywhere. Let’s all enjoy it together wherever we are and whatever the circumstance or task at hand might be around us. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

TBT DREAMING BACKWARD


TBT   dreaming Backward

 

Once you are past your twenties, or sixties, can you ever recapture some of that feeling you had as a teen … on a really good day? One of the easiest ways I know to do it is through music.

 


I was twenty-two when the Beach Boys sang “When I Grow up to be a Man.” Some of the girls at the Y.W.C.A. and I laid on the roof in the summer sun, lathered with baby oil and Coppertone. I have since paid for all that fun in the sun with several basal cell cancers, but that day with the radio blasting and the DJ reminding us constantly “to turn so you won’t burn,” truly growing up was the last thing on our minds. We all had dates and we all enjoyed that feeling of looking in the mirror feeling like beauty queens, knowing our clothes fit well, our smiles were golden and we were flying in our heads to Cinderella’s ball. As I showered, singing “When I Grow UP to be a Man,” to the top of my lungs, it never occurred to me that four of my friends were listening until I reached to grab my towel and cold water balloons flew at me as though they had minds of their own. 

 

“We don’t think so, Myra,” they sang to me while they squealed and ran, probably wondering what crazy stunt I might think of to get back at them.

 

But I had no time for pranks just then because I was going to live out a dream. A special friend had asked me if I were able to see perfectly, what would be the first thing I wanted to do. Silly 22-year-old said: “I’d find a light blue Thunderbird convertible and drive it so fast the wind couldn’t even catch me.” Often I dreamed this dream, driving with the top down and feeling my hair fly toward the sky and me seeing the whole world at one time.

 

I will never know where he found a light blue Thunderbird, and I will never forget the gesture he made toward trying to make my dream happen, even though he refused to let me drive it totally by myself.  

 

And the Beach Boys still sing into that memory, this time “Fun, Fun, Fun.”

 

So people move away and lives change, and it’s all a little crazy now, yet I smile into those songs and watch the flowers go by, and take a little time to pick just one to put in the bouquet of the dreams of my memory.