Today we step into December. Last night I had a vision that rocked me on the way home. One of those times that leaves you sitting on the side of the road, wanting to get it all down. Tears, laughter and thoughts of “what happened”.
I was driving through a community I had lived in. I was reminded of some of the cool things I had experienced there. Memories of goodness.My heart wanted to hear “change, restoration” and all I was able to muster was “it was good”. I looked at the old and empty buildings and I thought “what can these offer?” I just thought of the emptiness and the times past. Continue reading The 60’s Are Coming→
This morning I woke, coming out to the living room and sat here for a moment. A quick rehash of what might be accomplished today was on my radar screen. And then I looked at the floor. Four very empty children’s chairs. A part of me sees the prophetic in the picture. That if you “build” it they will come. The chairs had been moved from our destroyed home in Springfield. My wife and I had cleaned them up and put them on the floor. The first thing my grandchildren did upon arriving last night was go to sit in them excitedly.
There is something about the preparation for a child or children that excites me. These four empty chairs and a table suggested my love for them, hospitality towards them. I never look at those chairs or the pictures of my children without thinking of my love for them. Without uttering a prayer. (There is a large piece here for people. Do children feel welcome?)
Our babysitter, Mrs. H, was very nearsighted and very slow. She was also very excitable. One day I decided to “kill” my brother. We were supposed to be washing dishes. Larry and I came up with this elaborate plan for his “demise.” We took an old knife and broke off the blade. We taped it to his chest and had him lie in front of the cabinets. I poured watered down ketchup on his chest and on the floor. Then I yelled “Stop that or I will kill you!” Mrs. H. yelled to me to be quiet, but I kept screaming and then Larry did his death scream. At that, Mrs. H came in to the kitchen and saw my brother lying in a “puddle of blood.” Continue reading Mrs. H and The “Murder”→