Should Have Been in Murphy’s Law

I have recently discovered some laws that Murphy should have included in his famous list. For example, you pull into a nearly empty parking lot—and knowing you will return to your car with a wide parcel—you park in the middle of the empty spaces. You return to your car to discover that all the empty spaces are still empty—except the one next to your car where the driver has parked so close to you that you can’t open the door without hitting their car.

It is cold, windy, and wet. You put your dog in the car and drive her to an empty field away from houses to let her out to take care of necessities. Since the weather is so foul and there is no one and nothing in sight, you take off the leash to let her do what she needs to do. She goes poo in tall grass along a fence where: no one ever walks; no one will ever see, and the poo is destined to disintegrate into soil and feed nutrients to wildflowers. Then out of nowhere comes a man walking a dog. Not just any kind of dog—a hound dog with a strong nose. The hound dog is on a leash and leads his master straight over to the poo you decided not to pick up. So you spend the rest of the day wondering who the man is; is he really just someone out walking his dog—or is he the doggie poo police? Will you be receiving a bill or a fine in the mail? Or does he just think you are a thoughtless jerk?

These should have been included in Murphy’s Law.

The Bible says, “Be sure your sins will find you out.” But, then again, It might just be Murphy working on the second edition of his laws.

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The Fragile Tracery of Trees

I hate winter. I hate cold.

Two things I enjoy about winter; the dance and swirl of falling leaves as they get one more chance at life before they descend into a forever rest, and the fragile tracery of trees—made visible by vanishing leaves.

I gaze in wonder at the twisted limbs—different shapes, different breadths—each one unique, having been given the individual attention that the Creator of the universe bestows on all His creations. The fragile tracery of trees tell a story. They remind me of people.

Some have faced such buffeting from the wind and over-burdening from rain and snow that they have been severely thrust down—but instead of accepting defeat or dropping off the tree—they have slowly twisted and turned and reached for the sky again. Some have been shouldered aside by stronger, faster growing trees in their path—so they have turned away and established their own path to the sun.

Some have lost pieces. Yet they still grow.

Sometimes as I gaze in wonder at the fragile tracery of trees, I match them to folks I know—or have known. I especially think of those who are battling severe storms in their lives and continuing to grow…and I pray for them. Sometimes as I gaze in wonder at the fragile tracery of trees, I match them to things I’ve faced in my life—and I thank Jesus for bringing me out on the other side…with my face to the sun.

Life on this earth is as fleeting as the autumn dance of leaves. Therefore, the Bible says in 2 Timothy 2:3, we must endure hardship as good solders of Jesus Christ and turn our faces to the sun. We have an example: the fragile tracery of trees.

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Seriously?

Just happened across a headline bemoaning the fact that “trolls” were criticizing a tampon designed for transgender men. Seriously?

I’m from Texas. I know that you can put a saddle and bridle on a longhorn steer and ride it in a parade. We do that in my home town. But if we put a saddle and a bridle on a longhorn and hang a sign around its neck and on both horns proclaiming, “I am a horse,” and ride it in a parade no one will take it seriously—except for the humor element. You can put a sign on a longhorn to label it as a horse—but that doesn’t make it a horse.

I’m tired of all the folks who are offended by everything they disagree with. I’m offended by them. God created women with a body opening that is designed—among other things—to release blood during menstruation. God created men with an appendage that among other things—fits into a woman’s body opening and completes her nicely. One bane that women endure that men don’t is dealing with monthly cycles. For me, anyway, it was a relief to get to the time of my life when I’m past the fuss and mess of the monthly need for tampons. And transgender men want to take that on—seriously?

How sad. My heart hurts for a world that has moved so far away from God and His creation that men want to encumber themselves with tampons. My head aches from the idea of those poor misguided fools who have moved so far away from God that they would waste time “inventing” a tampon for men. No wonder the Bible says in Psalm 14:1, “The fool has said in his heart, there is no God.”

All to keep from offending the easily offended.

I’m offended. I’m offended that those who have not earned the right to share my experience as a woman are attempting to steal it.

“In the beginning God created…So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.” Genesis 1:27.

No matter how many people are offended, one cannot hang a sign on the horns of a longhorn and create a horse.

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A Good Attitude Equals Altitude

We choose our altitude daily by choosing our attitude. Today was a good example for me.

A man stood beside his car which was parked along the curb in the traffic lane. His door was partially open. He was on the phone. Because of oncoming traffic, I was forced to stop behind his car and wait before I could go around him and continue. Minor irritation.

After I turned into Dunoon and parked, a young mother came along the sidewalk with her child. A window cleaner had his ladder leaning against the building on the corner and was busy at work. The toddler clapped his hands in excitement and asked, “Is he cleaning the window? Is that his ladder?” The mother stooped down to the child’s level and said, “Yes, Cameron. Well done. The man is cleaning the window. That is his ladder. Is it safe for Cameron to climb his ladder?”

The young boy considered the height of the building and the top of the ladder and shook his head. “Cameron might fall.” The mother hugged him and agreed. “Yes. Well done. Cameron should never climb a ladder he sees leaning against a building because Cameron might fall.”

I laughed and complimented the mother for the good job she was doing teaching her son. It made her smile. Her smile made me smile. Making the mother smile brightened my day. An attitude with altitude.

It made me think; had I leaned out the window and yelled at the driver beside his car talking on the phone—it would not have brightened my day. I could have chosen to justify my action by rationalizing; “He is inconsiderate. He should have enough sense not to stand beside his car and talk on his phone when he is blocking traffic.”

Perhaps it was inconsiderate of the driver. But perhaps when his phone rang it was an emergency from home; important news from a doctor about his medical condition, or a call from the hospital where his wife was in critical condition. Not knowing the circumstances that caused him to answer the phone before he got into his car leaves me in no position to judge his actions. It does give me a choice—bad attitude and low altitude, or good attitude and soaring.

I chose an attitude with altitude. I chose joy.

“A person has joy by the answer of their mouth, and a word spoken in due season, how good it is!” Proverbs 15:23.

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Confused Blessings

Two weeks ago I had a cataract removed from my left eye. Wow! I can see the numbers on our car’s speedometer again.

I never realized how one little cataract—one little blind spot in my eye—was affecting my vision until it was removed. For the first time in about 29 years, I don’t need to wear glasses for reading and working on the computer. One little blind spot. All of us have blind spots in our minds and spirits that prevent us from seeing the truth even when the truth camps in front of us. But back to confused blessings.

While restored sight is a tremendous blessing—it also creates confusion. At least for me. I sit down at the computer and reach for my glasses. I can’t find them. I can’t find them because I removed them after realizing that every time I reached for them and put them on—I couldn’t see anything. So to remove wasted time and effort, I removed the glasses. Confused blessing.

Five years ago my husband Alan retired and we moved from the wild, lovely Black Isle in the Scottish Highlands to the seafront town of Dunoon. We didn’t want to move. We could walk from our house down to the point and take pictures of dolphins leaping out of the water. We could drive a short distance and walk through a truly enchanted forest. I’ve used it in several of my books. We had lovely friends and a marvelous Monday Night Bible study with praise and worship, prayer, inspirational testimonies, and enjoyable fellowship. We didn’t want to leave. However, my husband was the minister of three churches, which were in the process of combining, and an uproar that wasn’t his fault waved him right out the doors and sent us to Dunoon. It didn’t seem like a blessing at the time—but we realize more of what a blessing it is every day. We now have a lovely church family, I have written dozens of books, and the doctors here actually investigated my husband’s health and found the cancer in his kidney, and in his blood—cancer that was stealing his life. It had been overlooked in the Black Isle. Confused blessings.

Fourteen years ago, I left my Texas home in the unique Texas Hill Country with tears streaming down my face. I stood beside the open door of my loaded pickup truck praying and waiting for God to send a miracle so I could stay. But He didn’t. I didn’t want to leave. Oh, I so didn’t want to leave. But since my newspaper job had moved along without me, I was out of a job and I had been unable to find another one. It was the first time in my life that I had ever been jobless. However, leaving Bandera, relocating in Alabama, and eventually marrying Alan and moving to Scotland—all of these things hold their own blessings. I left Bandera with one book accepted by a publishing company, but not yet published. Now I have 42 books published. Confused blessings.

God’s word promises in Romans 8:28, “All things work together for good to those who love the Lord. It’s my favorite verse in the Bible, so I shouldn’t be surprised that confused blessings are often the sweetest.

We all have holes—if not in our physical eyes—in our minds and spirits.

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Happy Socks

Everyone needs a pair of happy socks. Mine are just ordinary, plain black socks—but they have brightly colored toes and tops, and they come in two different shades of yellow, turquoise, red, and green. What makes them happy socks is that I never match them. My house shoes are sandals and whenever I look at my feet—I see a yellow with green, a blue with red, etc. They are so bright and cheerful that they make me smile. Life’s simple pleasures are the best.

Today was an altogether happy day. I hadn’t realized how bad the cataract in my left eye had become until it was removed on Thursday. Today, for the first time in a year—I could read my Bible again without wearing two pairs of glasses—one on top of the other. In fact, I could read it with my weak pair of glasses instead of the strongest pair. And in church, I could actually read the words of the praise music projected on the front wall. God’s gifts to us—like our sight—are the best.

There will be more hard days. There will be hard circumstances. Until I walk through that shadow of death into the glorious light of Jesus in heaven—there will be sorrow and disappointment. But with my sight restored and with my happy socks—I’m going to make it because—the joy of the Lord is my strength.

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Appreciating Everything – Even Cataracts

It would be an enormous challenge for any author to compete with the iconic Dr. Seuss. One of the first books of his that my mother read to me was, “And to Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street.” As young Marco is walking to school he sees a plain horse and wagon. In his imagination, it morphs into an elephant pulling a sleigh that races by—followed by an entire circus. So enamored was I with Dr. Seuss and that book that when I was old enough to start school and our class had “Show and Tell”—I told some whoppers! The camel I rode to school, the lion that chased me. Instead of admitting that I forgot to bring my sack lunch to school, I told the teacher that a lion chased me and I fed it my peanut butter sandwich to stick its teeth together so it couldn’t bite me.

I have cataract surgery scheduled for next week. I will miss that cataract. I’ve seen some amazing sights through my foggy lens. Sightings of large black panthers have been reported around the UK, mostly in England. I had my own sighting recently walking Savannah. Except mine turned out to be a large tree stump with new ear-shaped growth on both sides of it.

Tonight, I discovered a small new glass dish that I didn’t know we had. We don’t. When I attempted to pick it up…it turned into a reflection on the bottom of another bowl.

Fortunately, I don’t have a cell phone, and thus don’t carry one on my walks, because I saw a robber hiding behind a trailer waiting to break into a house on our street. Since I didn’t have a phone, I couldn’t hit the speed dial and connect to the police department, which was fortunate. It was actually a tall, thin black bin with rope tied around the overspill to keep the wind from scattering it.

Then there is the sign at the corner of an adjoining street that became a man in an overcoat walking toward me; the cute little hedgehog that transformed into a street sweeping brush turned upside down; the leftover fried chicken in the fridge that disappointingly turned into a dollop of leftover mashed potatoes topped with gravy.

And the crowning adventure: I took Savannah on a long walk a few nights ago and became lost. We’ve lived here for nearly five years. For one thing, after Guy Fawks Night last year on November 5, Savannah was so traumatized by fireworks that she quit going on walks at night. Eventually, the days grew lighter, and she resumed her evening walks. However, now the days are short again. After Savannah and I left—darkness fell. I hadn’t been out walking in our neighborhood at night for nearly a year. And my cataract shattered the light from the line of streetlights into hundreds of strange shapes that warped everything I saw. So…I was lost.

Fortunately, a teen with a skateboard rescued me. Says I, “Could you tell me where the school is?”

Says she with a stare that would wilt a newly picked cabbage, “You’re standing in front of it.” Then—probably fearing I was a potential kidnapper opening up an absurd line of conversation—she fled.

I turned around. I was standing in front of the street sign for our road.

Yes, indeed. I’m no Dr. Seuss—but I will miss my cataract. It’s been an adventure.

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Old? What is Old?

It rains so much in Dunoon, Scotland, that the shopping carts at the grocery store are rusty. Extremely rusty. All of them.

The shoes in my closet are walked down to the heel. Totally. Both of them.

My favorite clothes resemble rejects from homeless camps. No, actually, they look like the youth fashions sold in prestigious clothing stores—except they achieved that worn-torn look honestly.

Regardless of the fact that I hate cold weather, the trees are turning fall colors. I can’t stop them. Nor can I stop the cold that will follow.

We humans believe we can manage time wisely. Most folks work five days a week and have the weekend to rest and attend church. Most have events and occasions marked on calendars and maintain a schedule. We even believe we can manufacture more time by moving the clocks back in the fall and forward in the spring…and yet…it is merely the numbers on clock faces that change. Time never changes.

Time is an unbroken line stretching from eternity to eternity. Time is the equator—an imaginary line circling the earth from east to west and west to east endlessly.

But as for me, I trust You, O LORD, I say, “You are my God.” Psalm 31:14.

As a Christian, I am thankful to possess the wisdom that God, and God alone, holds the time of our lives. Ecclesiastes says that God has made everything beautiful in its time and put eternity into our hearts.

On this earth, we will age. We will grow older. Things will wear out. They will break. But none of that matters. With the power of Jesus in our lives, we are not contained within the confines of this world. We have eternity in our hearts.

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Nighttime Dragons

I fight dragons everyday living here in Scotland, a land not the land of my birth. The climate is horrendous. “Summer” in our part of Scotland is more like winter in the Texas Hill Country—plus it rains nearly every day. Grey skies and no sun for days to weeks at a time. But weather woes are small dragons.

Last night brought out the big dragons. It’s not just the weather that is different. I’ve changed light bulbs all my life…up until now. These light bulbs don’t screw in; they have tabs that fit into slots in the light fixture—except you must push up and turn at the same time—no small feat on a short, shaky ladder with a light fixture that hangs down on a slender wire and wiggles. Plus the ratings for wattage strength is totally foreign and most of the light bulbs are weak, mostly useless “energy saving” ones. And if you need a prescription refill, you can’t just go to the drugstore, hand it in, and pick it up after a short wait. One must tic the boxes of needed medications on a printed form, drop it off at the doctor’s office, and wait 72 hours to get it. And thus…the big boys.

I’m scheduled for cataract surgery in a couple of weeks. The surgeon won’t do the surgery unless my blood pressure comes down enough. Therefore, when I went to take one of my blood pressure pills yesterday and found the box empty…it was a big deal. How could I expect my blood pressure to go down if I missed two or three days of the medication? Yet, in customary Scottish style, I would need to wait.

That dragon snapped at me incessantly after I woke up at 1 a.m. to help Alan use the bedside potty and get back in bed. I didn’t know it at the time, but more dragons were hiding under the covers. The ulcer on the back of Alan’s leg had become sore and infected. The pain kept him awake. One dragon whispered; “Take him to the emergency room at the hospital now.” Another dragon argued, “Not at 1 a.m.! Wait and start calling the doctor’s office tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. to get an emergency appointment.” The third dragon piped in, “Just call the district nurse to come out again. Don’t panic over the infection and pain. Let her come and slap a new dressing on the leg. He will be fine.” And yet another dragon… “Savannah has quit eating her food again. It’s been three days. What are you going to do about that? And didn’t you get a bill from the vet’s office? Have you paid it yet?”

As I thrashed around in bed fighting dragons, a new story idea dropped into my mind. So when I was still awake at 3 a.m., I slipped out of bed, turned on the computer, and wrote until 4 a.m. When Alan woke up and called me, I went back to bed—and asleep this time—for two hours. The dragons were finally tired. They slept.

Me? I woke up embarrassed. I write blogs about slaying dragons. I post Jesus’ words, “Be anxious for nothing.” I post reminders on social media that the Bible contains 365 “fear nots,” one for each day of the year. And, yet, last night the dragons nearly won.

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Denying Fear

My co-author gave me a book idea more than a year ago. Not just the idea. I wrote the entire first page…then quit. Fear whispered all the “can nots” to my mind—and my mind listened.

My protagonist, a female pastor of a church, confronted the pastor of another church—a church many feared was a cult. A missing teenage girl, a murdered teenage boy, attempts on her life, and the weekly conflicts common to all pastors and churches. Enough excitement to hook and keep readers…except…fear whispered. Except, my mind echoed. I was not a pastor. I have never been a pastor. How could I possibly use a female preacher as my heroine and make the story believable?

So for more than a year, I had the title, I had most of the characters—and I knew where the story was going…nowhere, unfortunately—because I continued listening to my fear. I finally wrote up to Page 53. Then I put it aside and wrote “Grey for Murder” instead. When Grey for Murder was published, I went back to “Grace for Murder.”

Some of my books have written themselves. No, actually, my co-author has written them and I have typed furiously to keep up. Not so with “Grace for Murder.” My mind stopped at the edge of fear. Even by the time I finally got up to the first 100 pages, fear rumbled: “how can you write about something you don’t know anything about?” “You’re not clever enough to do this. Give up.”

What nudged me to tromp over the edge of fear and keep going was the story of Moses in the Bible. When he turned aside in the desert to see why a bush was burning but not consumed by fire, the Lord spoke out of the fire and told Moses that He was sending him to tell the Egyptian king to release his Hebrew slaves and let them go. Moses argued. He told the Lord that he didn’t speak well; he stammered. God asked Moses, “Who has made man’s mouth? Have not I, the Lord? Therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall say.” Exodus 4:11.

Moses didn’t want to face Pharaoh. He was afraid. I didn’t want to finish “Grace for Murder.” I was afraid. But God kept His promise to Moses and I knew He would keep His promise to me. After all, He gave me the story. He’s my co-author.

“Grace for Murder” will be released within the next week or so.

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