tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2058996921950705992024-02-06T23:15:41.263-05:00Pat's PorchCome on in ... relax ... and turn a few pages.Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-56093057165257006392013-05-24T19:35:00.000-04:002013-05-25T17:39:23.937-04:00Mother. Daughter. Promise.<br>
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She waited until they dimmed the lights for those who
wanted to sleep. She checked to see who might be still roaming around from room
to room. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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That was all they could do anyway. Roam, pace, worry, pray
-- stifle tears, but she didn't want to be noticed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She turned the handle of the door as quietly as she could
knowing there might be Police working his or her shift on the street. They
seemed to think a woman might be best to help them handle their situation --
but no, nothing helped. She peered into the darkness through the sliver of an
opening and saw no one. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just as she closed the door and turned to walk down the
street, there he was, walking toward her. Police. She could tell he wasn't
pleased -- his over-sized flashlight pointed toward her. <o:p></o:p></div>
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"Mam, you must go back inside. It's not safe and there
is nothing to do for now but try and get some sleep. Whether you feel like it
or not, sleep is the best thing you can do to help." His voice was kind,
but it lacked the experience of excruciating fear. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sarah took a few steps toward him into the spacious beam
and stood there not saying a word. She just looked into his face. That was all.
She didn't need to say anything, and she wasn't going to, she was going to
walk. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And she did. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sarah didn't have any trouble finding her destination. The
whole town was out of power but the flashing red and blue lights guided her
way. They had cleared this street immediately and brought in huge machines of
generated light. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The night air was cold, heavy and smelled of freshly dug
earth. It sickened her. She must hurry. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She got as close to the school as possible hoping she
wouldn't be noticed. Even with so many people working to rescue their children
it was still so quiet. She looked through the dim shadows of light and found a
car that had been battered and sandblasted by debris during the tornado. A door
had been ripped off. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She eased into the back seat. She started to shiver, but
she didn't care, she was there -- that was all that mattered. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But someone <i><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPS-ItalicMT, serif;">had</span></i> noticed.
Someone knew where she was, and
he quietly left his place, tenderly stepping around what had been walls of an
elementary school. Sarah could see clouds of labored breath in the misty light
as he walked toward her. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She watched him closely and heard the crunch of his steps, but didn't move. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He tried to sound kind, "Mam . . ."<o:p></o:p></div>
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She stared past him to the mangled beams and rubble of the school, "My
daughter has a long braid in her hair with a pink ribbon. I tried to talk her
into a pink flower clip but she wanted the ribbon . . . with tiny white stars .
. . <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>yes . . . stars.
Rebekah. She's never been away from home before, or from me this long." <o:p></o:p></div>
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The young man stood silent. He didn't do anything for a
couple of moments except look away and adjust his yellow hardhat. Then he took off his
yellow rescue-coat and walked up to her and placed it on her lap. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She put it on as he walked away. The warmth and weight of
hard work to rescue the children helped stopped the chattering of her teeth but
not the shivering of fear. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She leaned into the back of the seat and kept her eyes and
heart fixed on the place where they were working. She wondered what she looked
like with no makeup to cover the rawness of the hours she had cried. She didn't
care, but she wondered what they saw that made them silent. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The night sky had become clear, and quiet; the moon bright, almost a full
round ball. Soon, she and her daughter would have their "full moon
picnic" and then a "full moon dance," twirling and swirling and
laughing in the soft, soothing light. It was magical and so beautiful. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The rhythm of flashing lights brought her back from those
sweet moments -- the coat finally easing the chill . . . there was no more
backyard. She closed her eyes during a desperate plea to her Heavenly Father.
The same plea she had been praying over and over and over . . . <o:p></o:p></div>
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The crunch of heavy boots on scattered pieces of people's
houses and treasures woke her to a dawn beginning to rise. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The same young man who gave her the coat was walking toward
her, one hand adjusting his hardhat, one hand closed into a fist. A slip of
pink had fallen through his fingers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Fear blinded her for a second then it swallowed her whole,
tears stung sharp as needles, a knife cut deep, deep through her heart. The
hard thump in her chest hurt. She reached out. She began to tremble. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He knelt down and took her hand in both of his and placed
the ribbon in her palm. Unscathed and perfect. He tried to say something as it
unraveled. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sarah gathered the pink ribbon in her hands, then hugged
the silk to her cheek as she began to rock her little girl. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She struggled to breathe as she rocked and rocked,
"Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Hold her close. Please. Help me. Now. Jesus. Please.
Hold her close<span style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI', serif;">"</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The young man took off his hat and tried to hide his tears as Jesus embraced both mother and daughter; as Sarah wept in the darkness of loss while her little Bekah beamed
in the Light of Promise. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Pat Guy<o:p></o:p></div>
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5/22/13<o:p></o:p></div>
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*Photo courtesy of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://dreamstime.com/" target="_blank">dreamstime.com</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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*Written in the shadow of the tragedy that swept through the town of Moore, Oklahoma on May 20th 2013 when 10 children were held close, in the arms of their Heavenly Father, and got to time-travel into Heaven. </div><div style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And for the Moms and Dads, and Grandmothers who wanted to stay, no matter what. </div>
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<br>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-27252025501138253602013-04-30T17:48:00.001-04:002013-04-30T17:48:16.967-04:00A Treasure of Red. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0a8QB8pDpxVTZGKB_dD2opVk3T5fz9MpIGdnA9YcQM8AVIzC9CHVkVasTdGSFxtvot7PKg6PURzShoG3nvnz8wX9B68fbIet51pyi1JpgfONkdigL3yW4Es4vqtMyA9jQts8uhtASQ36I/s1600/Disney%252C+birthday+and+emilee+021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0a8QB8pDpxVTZGKB_dD2opVk3T5fz9MpIGdnA9YcQM8AVIzC9CHVkVasTdGSFxtvot7PKg6PURzShoG3nvnz8wX9B68fbIet51pyi1JpgfONkdigL3yW4Es4vqtMyA9jQts8uhtASQ36I/s200/Disney%252C+birthday+and+emilee+021.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A treasure found, a treasure loved -- my momma's Bougies from her Angel Garden. </div>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-28080986459302376852013-01-30T23:36:00.003-05:002013-10-21T10:02:28.038-04:00Fragile Innocence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Fragile Innocence</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She was hungry, she was weak, she was tired, and she knew
when she saw light on the floor that food would be coming soon.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in -9pt 0.0001pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She scooted off the mat into what warmth the early sun
provided through the blinds; her scamper creating a swirl of fine dust. She
watched the free form of their movements—a glint here and there, always enchanted,
splaying her fingers through their untouchable beauty.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But she feared the window.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She had tried to stretch her arm through the bars as far as
it would go hoping someone on the street would notice and come help her. Someone
did come, but not to help take her back home.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her legs felt shaky, her bottom hurt, and her tummy grumbled
so she hugged her knees real close. She closed her eyes and lifted her face into
the light that was becoming a little brighter, and a little warmer. It made the
inside of her lids a pretty color. She believed if she breathed in real deep,
the light would fill her with its warm power and protect her somehow.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a tiny bit of comfort to a tiny bit of a heart.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">They called her, Girl.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She never knew how long she would have to wait but it was
the only constant in her life that didn’t include a man. She was to call them
Uncles.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Food, tea, a thorough scrub, and a studied inspection of her
whole body came once a day from women—Aunties, to her. They paid special
attention to the places where the Uncles played their games; they sponged water
everywhere so not to waste it.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If she cried, the Aunties would grab her hair and yank her
up on her toes and shake her head. She should appreciate the food, the mat, the
tea. Uncles liked to play special games and a little girl was a part of those
games. Uncles wanted pretty little faces and little bodies smooth and tender. Water
was not easy to get, and she had tea, and a bath. The Uncles worked hard to pay
for it all, just for her. How lucky she was!</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her heart started to beat fast. It hurt.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She heard soft steps coming up the stairs. Sometimes they
were loud steps. She never saw the faces of those who brought her food but she
recognized their feet, for she must always keep her eyes lowered in their
presence. No one ever spoke.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She moaned quietly to her feet to greet the bearer of such
luxuries as tea. Head bowed, hands folded, legs wobbly.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The knob rattled, the door swung easily on crooked hinges. Girl’s
heart beat faster. Her crumpled undergarment hung loose on a thin frame concealing
its fragile innocence in the quiet light of hope.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A tray clanked on the floor and soft steps came within
sight. She didn’t recognize this Auntie’s feet. A hand moved, Girl tensed . . .
a flash of fear rushed through her chest. Auntie touched her exposed shoulder, “Little
one?” Girl tried to breathe quietly and
not flinch.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Auntie bent down and looked up into Girl’s eyes and
smiled, "Soon, little one." she whispered, “Soon.” then got up and hurried
to the door. Girl dared to peek from under curious lashes. Auntie caught her
glance and gestured not to speak—sad eyes meeting another. The crooked door slammed
shut.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Girl wondered if it was another game.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She lifted her face and took in another deep breath of
light.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her throat ached.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She had learned to cry with no tears.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pat Guy </span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Author's footnote: Contrary to what we would like to happen,
it takes time to coordinate a rescue from sex slavery, and it takes funds for each step. Please feel
free to repost as you wish.</span></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thank you,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in -9pt 0.0001pt 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pat Guy</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Want to help and make the most impact in situations like this? What if one
hundred percent (100%) of your donation went directly to those in need? <a href="http://www.wellspringinternational.org/" target="_blank" title="Wellspring
International">Wellspring International</a> is an arm of <a href="http://www.rzim.org/" target="_blank" title="RZIM.org">Ravi Zacharais International
Ministries</a>. Ravi is a well known International speaker and defender
of the Christian Faith. Administered by Ravi’s daughter <a href="http://www.wellspringinternational.org/" target="_blank" title="Wellspring International">Naomi
Zacharais</a>, Wellspring covers their own expenses, investigates all
requests for funds thoroughly, often going to the location. They do the
research so you can be confident that your money goes where you want it to. One
Hundred Percent (100%) of your money goes to help women and children in crisis!</span></div>
Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-70882815403023133932012-06-08T12:48:00.000-04:002012-06-08T13:22:08.938-04:00Then just . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkR3wfRelD9vGam3Ms-zI2ftz79hJzEAXzY2nSiMfGoR9RBVlX3jK6XgX3TdUCGmjJPUjSQY8eU5nSAsQbS0pBp0XiPRg9DV-9ysHVzD1vRWpBHmez60ma_b8YNDeS0VyTql3yhAXY5hHS/s1600/iphone+19+gracie+scary+swing+853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkR3wfRelD9vGam3Ms-zI2ftz79hJzEAXzY2nSiMfGoR9RBVlX3jK6XgX3TdUCGmjJPUjSQY8eU5nSAsQbS0pBp0XiPRg9DV-9ysHVzD1vRWpBHmez60ma_b8YNDeS0VyTql3yhAXY5hHS/s400/iphone+19+gracie+scary+swing+853.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b> <span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>"If you can't feed a hundred
people, then just feed one."</b> -- Mother Teresa</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It will be a special moment in Eternity when I get to meet, and speak with
Mother Teresa. More than likely she'll reach out to give me a hug first. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And maybe this quote of hers summed up her heart in everything she did, and
for each person she touched; but its message created another image in my heart—like
one of those visions that flash like a ticker-tape before your eyes. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>The New York Times Best Sellers List.</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Whether for notoriety, or for reaching 'the masses,' the image of a
writer's name on that list is a dream buried in each word written. Even if it
seems impossible, one can but hope and dream and always, always strive!</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">But, but.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Another version of that quote flipped <b>The New York Times Best Sellers
List</b> all around, another ticker-tape vision of her quote . . .</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">"If you don't get to write for a million people, a thousand people, or
even a hundred people . . . then just write for one."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Because, </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">One, is as important as ninety-nine. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jesus said so. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And God made sure that point was included in His Word. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And maybe it's a point to be applied—in many ways each day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And maybe, there is someone, who needs your words, my words, our words that
would feed their soul, their heart, their mind and their spirit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But, and you <i>know</i> . . . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There <i>is</i> someone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Because, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jesus said so. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Whether you are a writer . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">or not. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">May God bless your socks off today! (and your toesies run free) </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Hugs to you, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Pat</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">*The story about that 'one' being as important as ninety-nine is found in Luke 15:3-7. </span></div>
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<br />Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-80387511568639067462012-03-22T16:17:00.000-04:002012-03-22T16:21:29.615-04:00Take a Right Turn<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I decide to walk a different perspective this evening and
. . . </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">silhouettes <b>bloom</b> with tiny buds of new life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Translucent beams </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">pierce through young branches, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>warm</b> patches, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">on front lawns, asphalt and neighbor people passing by. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Dogs forget they’ve seen me a thousand times. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The small one cannot bark: <i>its silence is sad, </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">even after a thousand times. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Orange blossoms scent <b>warm</b> air.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Fig leaves, like fans, sway and release their aromatic <i>therapy</i>,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">soothing with Bourbon Roses and <span class="st">Alyssum.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Key-limes swell with <i>luscious</i> juice destined for pies,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">or maybe </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">over crushed ice swirling with sugar. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Pinks, reds, white and purple,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">accent green, green and <b>more</b> green.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Unhappy squirrel chatters, twitching tail, a Dove-coo is
too close.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Palms tall, spread against <i>deep, deep</i> blue. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Early sunset of gold linings,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">cloud shinings,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">illuminate my back of sky-blue t-shirt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Greeting neighbor people</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">a second time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Breeze cooling, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">lifting,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>soft.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I decided to walk a different perspective this evening
and . . . </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">looked <b>up.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>A rainbow.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Pat Guy</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">©2012</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Taking a different path can be a very good thing . . . most <i>always. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Hugs to you,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Pat </span></div>
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<br /></div>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-60970078407446951882012-02-08T14:15:00.001-05:002012-03-07T13:09:33.837-05:00Glance Connected<br />
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A late Christmas story but one I like. Another of Jan's 100 Word Challenges but since it's my blog I could add as many words as I wanted -- so I did! But I did stay true to the two prompts. </div>
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This is another journey of the 'White Envelopes.' </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zlTWIXloG651F18OgltgXfODEPOZ99OF2mM3rF2cnjMxGyoSz3RRN3X_pcj9QpzRo3qA15OHtao2RRyw8IeL2IEAL3_kZIdZAN_ItLSiHNruKwAo4Gdv-kyE4DHN6Mj_kQyAQI0VsxRd/s1600/angel+ornament01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zlTWIXloG651F18OgltgXfODEPOZ99OF2mM3rF2cnjMxGyoSz3RRN3X_pcj9QpzRo3qA15OHtao2RRyw8IeL2IEAL3_kZIdZAN_ItLSiHNruKwAo4Gdv-kyE4DHN6Mj_kQyAQI0VsxRd/s1600/angel+ornament01.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b>Glance Connected</b></div>
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There was a tap on my shoulder. </div>
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I turned away from the “Small”
funky-cool jacket knowing it wouldn’t fit, even at 50% off, and faced a woman
who stared with troubled eyes that brimmed with incredulous wonder as she
clutched an envelope to her heart. Two words, “. . . from God.” crinkled in
black ink were almost lost in the folds of the white paper that shook in her
hands.
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“Thank you for being a Christian.” she whispered. </div>
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Tears and murmurs of “God is so good.” emphasized each warm
and loving hug from the waitress who served us breakfast that frosty December morning.
No one seemed to notice among the mingling of Christmas shoppers satisfied after a good breakfast. </div>
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Except one, the cashier . . . one glance connected. </div>
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A newly purchased Angel ornament was tenderly wrapped and
placed in a special bag. </div>
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The cashier smiled, knowing. A waitress was soon to be blessed .
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I smiled back . . . knowing, connected. </div>
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Spirit to Spirit. </div>
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Christmas. </div>
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Hugs and Blessings,</div>
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Pat </div>
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Eph. 3:19 " . . . and to know this love that surpasses knowledge -- that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God." </div>
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</div>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-21363125421485636732012-01-21T14:27:00.001-05:002012-01-21T14:28:58.897-05:00Lukie<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNC4J6yPAJWKsqbbqml3icvk9R0ygWzuetvcSxX_cWL-AU-Bm6d7_L5RAcMthrkgMaBG9Y5Y8qcU04O-aO09Sl6-J3LWN2d3u8sURzbex5fhudhXUhcIf7b7RS2YzW335JD6vOOFfHdll/s1600/french-toast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNC4J6yPAJWKsqbbqml3icvk9R0ygWzuetvcSxX_cWL-AU-Bm6d7_L5RAcMthrkgMaBG9Y5Y8qcU04O-aO09Sl6-J3LWN2d3u8sURzbex5fhudhXUhcIf7b7RS2YzW335JD6vOOFfHdll/s200/french-toast.jpg" width="200" /></a>He didn’t know he was being watched.
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Of course he didn’t. He was too busy helping people open the
door. </div>
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The bounce in his sneakers and the smile on his face, lit up
the doorway each time a person walked out—his mother busy with her own task
behind another door while he waited.
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Everyone needed both hands, and arms, as they left the
building, and nine year old Lukie was ready to offer his help. </div>
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He was being watched, admired . . . </div>
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Lukie bounced here-and-there as he and his mom aimed for the
car. His eyes stayed fixed on the contents of their own box as they placed it
in the trunk. </div>
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No one noticed the lady until she spoke to his mom and
smiled at him, “You have a very kind and loving son. He’s helped a lot of
people today. This is for you.” Her smile at Lukie made him feel like smiling back. He
wondered what was in the envelope. But he dutifully hopped into the back seat
and waited.
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His stomach grumbled. There had been no breakfast but . . . mmmm!
. . . the long loaf of crusty French bread smelled so good when his mom got into
the car. It was gone in minutes. </div>
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He was being watched, admired, enjoyed . . . </div>
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Later that day Lukie came across the torn envelop his mother
had tossed on the table. Tilting his head he squinted and read slowly, “A Gift from
God Just for You.” He folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. That
explained the angel ornament mom put in his room—it said “Love” on it in gold
glitter. It was pretty. </div>
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A few mornings passed with milk and cereal for breakfast—a
true treat. Milk was not something they always had in the refrigerator. </div>
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But one morning, mom had French toast, maple syrup and a wrapped
present waiting for him in the kitchen. His favorite breakfast of all times! But, Legos too? It must
be Christmas day!
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He was being watched over, admired over, enjoyed delightfully
. . . and Loved.</div>
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And now prayed for everyday. </div>
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But of course . . . he didn’t know. </div>
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Lukie.</div>
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Pat Guy</div>
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©2011</div>
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<br /></div>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-75605818147341146052011-10-19T14:13:00.000-04:002012-03-07T16:07:58.268-05:00Pink Button Freedom*Jan (a friend of mine) had a challenge for her "One Hundred Word" blog to take one of
her stories and expand it, or created a story using the characters and
its theme. I chose to continue and expand. Here is her link to a series of unique
and poignant stories--all in "One Hundred Words!" <a href="http://networkedblogs.com/oDaiz">http://networkedblogs.com/oDaiz</a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIaKgY3Rm0Tn0iN9lDx7PS5LUh2dmGrlQAxNILxNg6fj680NfDGDDd63RdyqTLbYXHokOjeOPNvUAqUNJzRb7i9_u7xHmDX7LzXydJcB7sWuZw8XRJlkJ4jdRky1HMtHvV-iDAA1SZQ7B/s1600/pink+button.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIaKgY3Rm0Tn0iN9lDx7PS5LUh2dmGrlQAxNILxNg6fj680NfDGDDd63RdyqTLbYXHokOjeOPNvUAqUNJzRb7i9_u7xHmDX7LzXydJcB7sWuZw8XRJlkJ4jdRky1HMtHvV-iDAA1SZQ7B/s200/pink+button.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>Pink Button Freedom</b><br />
<br />
Macy
had been trying for half her life to escape her parents’ totalitarian
rule. She’d tried to leave, more times than she could count, but every
attempt was thwarted. <i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>Your place is with us, Macy. Don’t even think about it, Macy. </i><br />
<br />
And so she stayed, feeling increasingly stifled by their unreasonable rules and restrictions.<br />
<br />
But
now, Macy sensed an opportunity. Determined to find her own way, she’d
been working on assertiveness and self-confidence; this outing with her
parents seemed an ideal place to try them out.<br />
<br />
“<i>Down, </i>mama,” she said, and she squirmed out of her mother’s arms and ran.<br />
<br />
Macy’s first stop was at the steps of the big slide-down-thing.<br />
<br />
<i>Always.</i><br />
<br />
She
looked up and saw white clouds and endless blue at the very top. So
longing was the need to climb she could feel a groan in her chest. She
reached out to touch the cool solid bar that could take her up and up
and up; grains of sand, left by those free to chose their fate, clung to
slender little finger-tips.<br />
<br />
She hesitated, looked over her shoulder, and gave in to the stern look and vigorous shake of her Mama’s, “No!”<br />
<br />
Macy
sighed. She dropped her hand and moved out of the way of kids running
towards her. Excitement had a fragrance and freedom had a sound. It was
always the same.<br />
<br />
<i>Always.</i><br />
<br />
She took
off and weaved in and out of other enticements of play aiming for her
own play-place, to the miniature version of the big slide-down-thing.<br />
<br />
Macy didn’t even hesitate…one step, two steps, three steps.<br />
<br />
She
stopped. She leaned her pink buttons into the last step, opened her
arms wide and looked up at the white clouds and endless blue. The breeze
was cool and made her hair fly, she took a deep breath and closed her
eyes.<br />
<br />
She was free.<br />
<br />
<i>Almost.</i><br />
<br />
Pat GuyPat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-34024904964513879252011-10-03T16:12:00.000-04:002011-10-05T13:13:12.607-04:00Subtle Hope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzR6rRCWRFpOvhKCB04a7NahU0IOIEoTHJ7RkPqXTA3xScgNaZ2BFveADmNaEjlrrNopDMnWZcqnt_29YOMenlH_thGhjZUNJakuS5Qm5uq7o6GbPKemREabJlz4qzsOicF7QcuWhtbCCd/s1600/iphone+10+122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzR6rRCWRFpOvhKCB04a7NahU0IOIEoTHJ7RkPqXTA3xScgNaZ2BFveADmNaEjlrrNopDMnWZcqnt_29YOMenlH_thGhjZUNJakuS5Qm5uq7o6GbPKemREabJlz4qzsOicF7QcuWhtbCCd/s320/iphone+10+122.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
Our walks in the evening are filled with brilliant color and easy southern breezes. I enjoy them. Even when the skies promise rain, beauty is everywhere and my heart is lifted.<br />
<br />
But they began a subtle change.<br />
<br />
Almost unnoticed at first for it was as natural as each step, each breath, each heartbeat. <br />
<br />
<br />
I heard a baby cry from a house as I turned the corner. <br />
<br />
<i>Lord, please help these parents know what to do for their precious baby. May they have patience. </i><br />
<br />
A neighbor down the street no longer relaxed outside for a quick visit about church. His wife now lives inside the house . . . alone. <br />
<br />
<i>Lord, please help this couple in trouble. Guide them together. </i><br />
<br />
A father lost his temper over his little boy and spoke accusations, throwing his keys in anger. <br />
<br />
<i>Lord, please deliver this boy from the pain we cannot see. Help him.</i><br />
<br />
A grandmother's voice through opened windows, frustrated and tired from raising small children when it should be her time to rest.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>Lord, please give this grandma the strength and stamina she needs. Bless her.</i><br />
<br />
The sound of children's laughter and the splash of pool-play no longer heard next door. One parent and child left of this blended family to live quietly; no longer available for short bursts of conversation.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>Lord, please, another family in need of Your help. Make a way for us to share once again. </i><br />
<br />
A neighbor of many years betrayed a friendship. Their door stays shut now. <br />
<br />
<i>Lord, please show me how to deal with this, and show me how I can learn to forgive. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
Every walk reveals a new need. A new plea. A new Hope.<br />
<br />
<br />
Brilliant sunsets and easy southern breezes still cover my neighborhood . . . <br />
<br />
So does One other . . .<br />
<br />
Along side each step, each breath and each heartbeat. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
May this day, this evening, this night, hold peace of heart, joy in spirit and all things possible abundantly above all you could ever ask or think. <br />
<br />
<br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png" /><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<br />Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-14703261341248401492011-09-25T17:25:00.000-04:002011-09-25T17:27:27.263-04:00There's Always a Squeegee When You Need It.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtubCKceh21Vpu0QoQxIAsvG-W5Kx-8gpOEDELS-62Uv0hez8JKWAaUt558ScFPQjR6D5JZ6C2-jY0R5NAcah7nYOU2uA4iTKmoAjwxoi1SGReq-ZW6_dzLfT_STnJZ-SKSIzTokC2fKe2/s1600/iphone+15+rainbow+212.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtubCKceh21Vpu0QoQxIAsvG-W5Kx-8gpOEDELS-62Uv0hez8JKWAaUt558ScFPQjR6D5JZ6C2-jY0R5NAcah7nYOU2uA4iTKmoAjwxoi1SGReq-ZW6_dzLfT_STnJZ-SKSIzTokC2fKe2/s320/iphone+15+rainbow+212.JPG" width="239" /></a>There is nothing more disgusting than a gi-normous splat on the windshield as you are driving down the road.<br />
<br />
A grossly messy one.<br />
<br />
Even the wipers with lots and lots of water-spray did little but to spread the grossness all the way over to my side window.<br />
<br />
Blech.<br />
<br />
I had to stop and get gas anyway and wondered if gas stations still had those squeegee-things-on-a-stick that men grab out of a bucket. <br />
<br />
I don't know the magic behind those squeegee-things-on-a-stick, but squeaky clean my windshield they made. Even at arms length.<br />
<br />
On with my day!<br />
<br />
A pretty ordinary one at that, other than a birthday lunch for my nephew. A milestone of 16 years--so precious.<br />
<br />
And Friday nights are not for cooking, so pizza was on my mental menu as my husband left to visit his mother at her place where she has made new friends ... and has finally remembered some of them.<br />
<br />
I watched the clock to time a perfectly warm pizza for when he came home.<br />
<br />
It was the second stop sign just a hop-and-a skip away from home when I noticed it. If I had looked up when I left the house I would have seen it then, but ... I had other things on my mind. <br />
<br />
Coming to that second stop, the most awesome rainbow literally made me gasp! I could even see a pink layer underneath the bright blues, greens, yellows and reds. I don't think I have ever seen that color of pink before in a rainbow.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to lose any seconds so I grabbed my phone, looked in the rear view mirror for other cars and snapped away. I just sat there in awe and absorbed all the beauty I could before I had to leave. I knew it would be gone when I got back.<br />
<br />
Got the pizza, walked out the door of the pizza joint ... and there it was still. Wow! I snapped away at the still brilliant rainbow. It followed me all the way home and I got to experience various views of it's beauty.<br />
<br />
I was hoping my husband would get to see it when he got home.<br />
<br />
And he did.<br />
<br />
But what I didn't realize until later was; the best picture of all the angles I took was the first one I took through my windshield. <br />
<br />
The windshield that was squeaky clean.<br />
<br />
There's a gentle and beautiful reminder here by One Who is loving, faithful and kind--Who is giving, caring and Who rises to show us Compassion. <br />
<br />
Who never leaves us, and provides squeegee-things-on-a-stick to help with unpleasantness in our lives because He has something awesome to reveal, a treasure for our heart--a good and perfect gift.<br />
<br />
<br />
I can hear Him say, "Rest in My promises dear one ... enjoy My gifts.<br />
<br />
I pray you do too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In His loving arms,<br />
<br />
Pat<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-83910614797186577452011-09-09T20:16:00.000-04:002012-03-03T22:04:09.491-05:00"Just because..."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GYq3Xw9KG5pC0lzg_V1wTDvfX7_qJm3AonsbNElFaWSawTm_75kh9hT2gELl2hf3me5-x8DuLlDWHR5AbCbNxPQ_Jngtp5nhE7F6oSb2ODN6yYImMv4OXGlgWUXGzst0aJ96BAqWTUJU/s1600/girl+in+rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GYq3Xw9KG5pC0lzg_V1wTDvfX7_qJm3AonsbNElFaWSawTm_75kh9hT2gELl2hf3me5-x8DuLlDWHR5AbCbNxPQ_Jngtp5nhE7F6oSb2ODN6yYImMv4OXGlgWUXGzst0aJ96BAqWTUJU/s320/girl+in+rain.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
I stay forever entranced by the silhouette of swaying branches against a fading sunset. Add the music of rain and a comfy rocker and I am rich beyond measure.<br />
<br />
So many blessings, so few words (if any) that fit the moment. <br />
<br />
Fading hibiscus line my window sill, the rain decides on a deep cleansing tonight. <br />
<br />
Sunset turns into a dusky gray creating even deeper silhouettes. <br />
<br />
The slow twirl of my ceiling fan reflects in the window illuminated by the soft light over my shoulder. <br />
<br />
No moral, no lessons, nothing to twinge at my heart.<br />
<br />
"Just because... " blessings from the One Who speaks to me from His heart of love.<br />
<br />
Pink begins to rise just a little in the horizon. Is it over?<br />
<br />
Ahhhh... thunder.<br />
<br />
The little girl in me closes her eyes and twirls in the rain. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png" /><br />
<br />Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-88927812660953108462011-08-18T19:31:00.009-04:002011-08-18T19:57:10.529-04:00Cover Love (for my sis')Sometimes, although love tries and tries, it just can't always get it right--but they keep on "working on it."
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgssOgdIFSi59hyMv2xNAD34RzdEzoXpYpmvczoLBhPUS800n2V_T586bvDQFv6bEKORkvK7WXk95ck9OyFZNyKPgFRr80Olx74NWdSAA71y8J3PC0GVd1I4VsM9A6EDHV8BrPPmkrH-2mP/s1600/iphone+old+pics+087.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgssOgdIFSi59hyMv2xNAD34RzdEzoXpYpmvczoLBhPUS800n2V_T586bvDQFv6bEKORkvK7WXk95ck9OyFZNyKPgFRr80Olx74NWdSAA71y8J3PC0GVd1I4VsM9A6EDHV8BrPPmkrH-2mP/s320/iphone+old+pics+087.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642343782659179474" /></a>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cover Love</span>
<br />
<br />
<br />For those who love deeply,
<br />
<br />things must be
<br />
<br />perfect,
<br />
<br />always just right,
<br />
<br />for those they love
<br />
<br />deeply.
<br />
<br />But Life's clear
<br />
<br />perspective,
<br />
<br />exposes the truth
<br />
<br />and guilt sinks the heart
<br />
<br />of those who love
<br />
<br />deeply.
<br />
<br />Searching 'just right'
<br />
<br />never reaching the gift,
<br />
<br />to present whom they love
<br />
<br />a life that shines
<br />
<br />perfect...
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />God's love covers,
<br />
<br /> what love can not do...
<br />
<br /> for those who love deeply.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />1 Peter 4:8 Above all, love each other deeply, for love covers over a multitude of...times of 'working on it' over and over again.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Love,
<br />PattyPat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-51382534907602747802011-06-29T21:32:00.006-04:002011-09-18T11:35:04.076-04:00Hibiscus Wisdom (Jan's 100 word challenge)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9l4NkU_uhTdreM11f7G6Wh5befdanhtlLHDUkMQLsJh-cDpom-qRYccrCOzEPEf2SitJ1S6B0xYPswLmQcLzn2Cavi_TuJtEbuJIMBuTMbOtFXtBnze7RxK2hWG6-4md-7m3-hU9VpQic/s1600/iphone+10+177.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623822340937890418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9l4NkU_uhTdreM11f7G6Wh5befdanhtlLHDUkMQLsJh-cDpom-qRYccrCOzEPEf2SitJ1S6B0xYPswLmQcLzn2Cavi_TuJtEbuJIMBuTMbOtFXtBnze7RxK2hWG6-4md-7m3-hU9VpQic/s320/iphone+10+177.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 239px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
Red-fire,<br />
petal soft, <br />
brushed against her cheek, her lips, her lashes. <br />
Eyes closed…<br />
quiet in beauty;<br />
sensation of <br />
lovely<br />
understood,<br />
experienced with each stroke..<br />
<br />
Knowing it would last but one day.<br />
<br />
No sadness though,<br />
for she enjoyed the flutter of each petal against her skin<br />
accepting the inevitable timing <br />
of closure.<br />
As natural as the sun rising and<br />
leaving at the end of the day,<br />
another beauty would be exposed in seasoned time. <br />
A gentler more muted beauty, <br />
unlike full bloom.<br />
<br />
An intricate design of ardent hope<br />
one can not see…<br />
until life folds and makes way for another. <br />
<br />
Pat Guy<br />
©2011Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-6357173106025660842011-06-17T18:24:00.006-04:002011-06-18T14:13:47.380-04:00Storm Chasers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8_um8BCDzPu4BlFSwbS7TkZIvaIQgTfjKmlgVZSH3N9n2tzM3UQ_uGwq8aP2S0wdLmjauU0y_sgGot_9sx4qARDYcJBFospAVUsoxuTJmaWrCc_ogVBlwHrSZ_OStJffoguLLFOyZ7C5/s1600/girl+looking+up+during+trials.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8_um8BCDzPu4BlFSwbS7TkZIvaIQgTfjKmlgVZSH3N9n2tzM3UQ_uGwq8aP2S0wdLmjauU0y_sgGot_9sx4qARDYcJBFospAVUsoxuTJmaWrCc_ogVBlwHrSZ_OStJffoguLLFOyZ7C5/s320/girl+looking+up+during+trials.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619351619321983154" /></a> Last evening a storm was brewing. I could hear the rumblings and smell the rain in the air as I began my walk around the neighborhood. Walking in the evenings has become a beautiful necessity for me--sitting does tend to weaken the ole Bod. <br /><br />But last night I wasn't sure I was going to make it home before the storm broke so my focus was on the long string of black clouds hovering in the distance.<br /><br />Yep. we were in for a good one. <br /><br />I set my eyes on that storm. <br /><br />But a surprising thing happened so fleetingly I almost missed it. Well, I did miss most of it and that was a shame.<br /><br />A sunset! <br /><br />As I was focused on the storm, a warm glow was focused on me! And I didn't even notice until I looked away from the dark clouds looming my way, catching just a glimpse of the bright spectrum of light fanning out from the golden orb hanging in a patch of deep blue sky. <br /><br />Light, warmth and beauty were there to enjoy the whole time of my journey! <br /><br />But God was gracious, as He always is, and whipped up a delight as I turned the corner of the street. He knew it was a favorite of mine--wind, wind and more wind. Wind that flowed and swirled and lifted your face for more ... that swooshed stress away. <br /><br />Then a little later, as night fell and in the shelter of my home, beautiful bolts of lightning lingered outside my window displaying the Power of the One who created all things, the One who could consume if He so chose, the One who has placed the Power of His strength, courage and victory within us. <br /><br />I tell ya, if the glow of God's love doesn't catch your eye, then the Holy Spirit will lift your chin to witness the Power of all things possible abundantly above all we could ever ask or think.<br /><br />Kinda renews the 'oomph' of this ole Bod to walk tonight with a little spring in the ole step! Maybe two laps? <br /><br />Can I get a witness? <br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/"; target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png"; style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Eph.3:20Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-69466130382518714112011-05-24T15:01:00.003-04:002011-05-24T15:24:52.272-04:00Twinkling Promises<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlozfYO1TSK0AIaf8zhd0vEndAudW7ol368BtQS_x2LmOx5tlfhvt4uekrCsiknJFLgu2oSviylln-OqxTO6hx6pytIudocI_AwLw3rEYIdpw7dY8qrKawxyGbkKLd1tMgRHY03hJp-XD/s1600/lightning-pa%253Bmtrees.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlozfYO1TSK0AIaf8zhd0vEndAudW7ol368BtQS_x2LmOx5tlfhvt4uekrCsiknJFLgu2oSviylln-OqxTO6hx6pytIudocI_AwLw3rEYIdpw7dY8qrKawxyGbkKLd1tMgRHY03hJp-XD/s320/lightning-pa%253Bmtrees.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610364833376021970" /></a> A sound … a warning, she knew it was coming. She wasn’t sure if she should go outside, but she heard the shift of wind through the branches of Sycamores brushing against her house. She loved the wind on her face, and through her hair—on her skin. She looked out the window and confirmed what she knew—an ominous storm was on its way.<br /><br />She opened the glass doors onto the porch. <br /><br />The white rocker was inviting her with its old familiar rhythm—paint chipped, armrests worn where she gripped them for support as she prayed and pondered, or watched her children play down through those many long years. <br /><br />But now, there were new little ones who came and went after playing where their mother and father used to play, and oh, how she loved those times! <br /><br />The sun should be lifting itself high about this time of day; normally too bright and glowing for the eyes.<br /><br />Dark gray clouds followed a quick path and blocked the sun’s warmth as winds began their first dance. Her hair swirled off her shoulders and she lifted her face into the sudden coolness. She relaxed at its soft touch and took her first breath of new rain swooping in from the horizon. <br /><br />The rocker wooed her to sit and wait in the fresh scent of what was to come. <br /><br />Rumblings. Distant. A huge blanket of night seemed to be looming forward, pushing day out of the way. Jagged streaks of brilliance cracked the whip of power ready to strike within the ominous deep darkness. <br /><br />They were in for a doozy today. She should go inside. The porch offered limited protection and was not the best place to be during a lightning storm, but the sweeping breeze kept her rocking, relaxed, as she closed her eyes, listening to the birds delight at the first drops of rain.<br /><br />It began with a heavy plunk, plunk on the aluminum roof. Slow at first.<br /><br />Then pelting rain increased to a deafening crescendo testing the solid foundation of the porch. <br /><br />Mist covered her arms, her clothes, her face—and frizzed her hair. A small price to pay for the insights speaking to her heart …<br /><br />The gift of rain—cleansing, growth.<br /><br />The touch of wind—fresh, anointing.<br /><br />The display of power—within the storm. <br /><br />The Light of strength—in the midst of darkness. <br /><br />Soothing shades of Creation glistened, twinkling sparks of light shimmered everywhere as the sun shined once again proclaiming …<br /><br />I will never leave you, or forsake you. I will give you strength and sustain you as I hold your hand. <br /><br />My Peace I give you so do not be troubled or afraid. <br /><br />Your joy will come … <br /><br />I promise.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Hebrews 13:5, Isaiah 41:10,13, John 14:27, Psalms 30:5 <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Pat Guy<br />©2011Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-5716020710275585632011-04-18T11:21:00.004-04:002011-04-18T11:39:45.073-04:00Heartbeat of Holies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ageAOqax11-38CB-wZbLLa0W_d3JcWQrKinSid1ZOTj3leOKUCoqEsjFvEssnTBayrF1iLINTx0L5wOQYOdVsMVHNLURT9jaH1ORY0haKjpvDypZXVN9iWf3IAvmIk5_OYp63PIWdEKy/s1600/maryandjesus.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 258px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ageAOqax11-38CB-wZbLLa0W_d3JcWQrKinSid1ZOTj3leOKUCoqEsjFvEssnTBayrF1iLINTx0L5wOQYOdVsMVHNLURT9jaH1ORY0haKjpvDypZXVN9iWf3IAvmIk5_OYp63PIWdEKy/s320/maryandjesus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596945759702691346" /></a><br /><br /><br />Cold, dark … alone, the heart of God beats<br />coursing life’s blood to tiny hands and feet.<br />Smaller than the nails one day they will bear<br />innocent and pure as His mother’s tears.<br /><br /><br />The Angels joined the chorus as the heavens rolled away,<br />announcing His arrival, a promise kept that day.<br /><br /><br />Seasons, months ... years, until the time had come<br />when blossoms bud anew to praise Creation’s Son.<br />The Earth’s anticipation bursts forth with new breath<br />of color, fruit and fragrance, new life to welcome death.<br /><br />Scourged, pierced… alone, the heart of God ceased<br />coursing life’s blood to precious hands and feet.<br />The pounding of the nails for ages to hear<br />innocent and pure as His Father’s tears.<br /><br /><br />The Angels joined the chorus as the stone rolled away,<br />revealing He had risen, a promise kept that day.<br /><br /><br />Received, redeemed … Holy, the heart of God beats<br />coursing Atonement to heal with cleansing Peace.<br />Rebirth of a soul bursts forth with new breath<br />of Father, Son and Spirit . . .<br />new Life conquers death.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Pat Guy<br />©2005<br /><br /><br /><br />May this day be filled with the gift of laughter, and smiles to your heart ... <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-55928005576181070602011-04-17T10:30:00.003-04:002011-04-17T14:08:36.530-04:00Lemon Balm Redemption<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiYqbBh1_ZudYVGZecpTTcLA70xzJHkKx91LG5IZV97YH5Ee0dA_sOhNuMFqrGTZY-gYbkyoTMvOj3QydC2LFZ9e-ugPiWRyy3a2yVzOY5Q3UKgtQzn4qAhk5DbwMvvThPJX043FKmCGg/s1600-h/herbs_pestle_and_mortar.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiYqbBh1_ZudYVGZecpTTcLA70xzJHkKx91LG5IZV97YH5Ee0dA_sOhNuMFqrGTZY-gYbkyoTMvOj3QydC2LFZ9e-ugPiWRyy3a2yVzOY5Q3UKgtQzn4qAhk5DbwMvvThPJX043FKmCGg/s320/herbs_pestle_and_mortar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433810219783216034" /></a>Lemon Balm tea sounded good so I got my porcelain mortar and pestle ready and went outside to my herb garden to pick some leaves. <br /><br />I use my mortar and pestle quite often -- especially for herbs, so I began to do what I always do ... rinse the leaves and began pounding them with the pestle. Bruising and crushing deepens the flavor and aroma. It brings out the best in herbs and spices. <br /><br />I didn't like where my thoughts were leading as I grounded the leaves around the smooth bowl. I wanted to escape the vision of 'bruising and crushing' in our lives and how it fit into our growth and maturity as Christians so I shoved the thoughts aside and focused on that pleasing cup of tea. <br /><br />Fragrance of Lemon Balm filled my small space and I took a deep breath. I stopped and let its pleasing scent relax my mind and ease its thoughts. <br /><br />But it couldn't be helped, it couldn't happen any other way. <br /><br />The bruising and crushing.<br /><br />Of a Son.<br /><br />The cup.<br /><br />The Sweet Aroma.<br /><br />Pleasing to His Father.<br /><br />Atonement.<br /><br /><br /><br />Eternity is not enough time to understand.<br /><br />Eternity is not enough time to be thankful.<br /><br />But Eternity, will be enough time to Love. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Isaiah 53:5 "But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities, the punishment that brought us Peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed." <br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you Father God ... thank You.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-8156884223802967042011-04-15T19:48:00.009-04:002011-04-15T20:22:46.021-04:00Friday Fiction? In Light of Sunflowers and Roses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBEx2a1wqf3H0m9M_f7j7PLGuJZqkM9-TGjN0li5zlHf-He31yN0RvpkcAX_Ayuh5nbDWa1fJg5qyHzNR_PlYUfS2xtGuv4gku3dkm5O3E73GqKlEobINSBAmW_Vyki6l6lywCKk962Kf/s1600/hands-old-couple.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBEx2a1wqf3H0m9M_f7j7PLGuJZqkM9-TGjN0li5zlHf-He31yN0RvpkcAX_Ayuh5nbDWa1fJg5qyHzNR_PlYUfS2xtGuv4gku3dkm5O3E73GqKlEobINSBAmW_Vyki6l6lywCKk962Kf/s320/hands-old-couple.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595966214139903650" /></a> She looked up. He took her hand and lifted her to her feet. She slipped into his embrace so familiar with the scent of his closeness. They stood still, their breath almost in sync after so many years of love. His cheek rested against her temple and she melded into his warmth, closing her eyes to enjoy the moment. <br /><br />The music began – their song – their memories – their life. <br /><br />A sigh brushed her lips as he bent in close and she flowed into his movements as he began the dance. <br /><br />A celebration of sorts really; a beautiful ending to one of the most difficult days of their lives together. This evening meant so much to both of them. <br /><br />They had no worries of bumping into the couch, recliners or hutch. Their movements were oblivious to time and to their surroundings. <br /><br />They rested in the melody of love, lived each memory – adding one more. <br /><br />A tear fell as she closed her eyes thinking of the task before her. She loved being in his arms this way and they were free to flow with each note as long as they wished. <br /><br />But once it was over … <br /><br />Light filled the room. How like him to know she loved light – lots and lots of light! <br /><br />Sunflowers and Roses seemed an unusual bouquet but he knew she wasn’t one for convention so they were placed everywhere in the house. They had fun going all around town, leaving each store with armfuls of flowers. Essence swirled with their movements and she caught a glimpse of his back in the mirror, her arms resting on his shoulders. She filed the memory in her special place just for him. <br /><br />And then she stopped. <br /><br />She looked up, placed her hands on his chest – and walked away. <br /><br />The music played on.<br /><br />She went to their room, turned on the light and sat down at her desk. Paper and pen had been laid out beforehand; special stationary chosen to reflect color and life. <br /><br />She knew how she was going to begin, she just didn’t know how she was going to end the letter. <br /><br />A deep sigh escaped her heart. It hurt. <br /><br />“Dear Kids, I got the results we’ve all been waiting for today and I need to ask a special favor. Please forgive me, for I love you all with all my heart. There will be no treatments and no surgery …" <br /><br />She felt him at the door. Soft steps came and stood behind her. <br /><br />She looked up. He took her hand and lifted her to her feet. She slipped into his embrace so familiar with the scent of his closeness. They stood still, their breath almost in sync after so many years of love. His cheek rested against her temple and she melded into his warmth, closing her eyes to enjoy the moment. <br /><br />A sigh brushed her lips as he bent in close and she flowed into his movements as he began the dance. <br /><br />They were free to dance as long as they wished.<br /><br />There will be more nights, more dance, more Sunflowers and Roses … more light. <br /><br />She looked forward to the Light she would dance in due time. An Eternity of Light! <br /><br />She smoothed away the tear on his cheek<br /><br />And the music played on. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Pat Guy<br />©2007Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-19832006230685791882011-04-13T08:00:00.004-04:002011-04-13T10:05:20.250-04:00Flight of Refuge<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nULnv83CfkT6k0neT6vJwf090mbzVt0UZZdyGybAX6vJj9ECSIQwuSVMQgZfReuUQENKdCd_A8Xqcvk24ClVhPF9NsNJ4MqHRqs3p0tmC8Yebgq-XtZIh638__dSZzU0YNAYKIwcuavE/s1600/angelwings.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nULnv83CfkT6k0neT6vJwf090mbzVt0UZZdyGybAX6vJj9ECSIQwuSVMQgZfReuUQENKdCd_A8Xqcvk24ClVhPF9NsNJ4MqHRqs3p0tmC8Yebgq-XtZIh638__dSZzU0YNAYKIwcuavE/s320/angelwings.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594866088866738578" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Spread Your wings of protection,<br /><br />Spread Your wings of Mercy and Grace,<br /><br />Cover ...<br /><br />Shelter ...<br /><br />Embrace ...<br /><br />Cradle our hearts, and our lives this day my Lord,<br /><br />my Savior, my God,<br /><br />my Father.<br /><br />Spread Your wings,<br /><br />Spread Your wings ...<br /><br />Oh! So we may soar! <br /><br /><br /><br />Psalms 91:4 "He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day." and "...you will soar on wings like eagles." (Isa. 41:31)<br /><br /><br /><br />Look for that blessing today!<br />It's always there,<br />somewhere,<br />somehow,<br />someway,<br />everyday. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-35340155901020116252011-04-03T18:10:00.003-04:002011-04-03T18:23:06.908-04:00The Measure by Roy Lessin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMMcZsNW7xvwFGOmHmqtswe-dtHWfcm1P6RrGtSzEBThCFZRAEP3ozyU54oB_j1W5wOjMNOWprFlgrPeeDPbdBQJoqGv2-ZuLqDMy59Y5EKMh1tgQ0rGQBwo7hkXmjVPptezdHL_22dwPB/s1600/meadow.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMMcZsNW7xvwFGOmHmqtswe-dtHWfcm1P6RrGtSzEBThCFZRAEP3ozyU54oB_j1W5wOjMNOWprFlgrPeeDPbdBQJoqGv2-ZuLqDMy59Y5EKMh1tgQ0rGQBwo7hkXmjVPptezdHL_22dwPB/s320/meadow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591486133338711746" /></a><br />This is sooooo worth the reprint! <br /><br /><br />The Measure<br /><br />Let the grace of the Lord be the measure of your sufficiency;<br />let the peace of the Lord be the measure of your quietness;<br />let the power of the Lord be the measure of your strength;<br />let the goodness of the Lord be the measure of your contentment;<br />let the love of the Lord be the measure of your service;<br />let the faithfulness of the Lord be the measure of your trust;<br />let the beauty of the Lord be the measure of your worship;<br />let the fullness of the Lord be the measure of your joy;<br />let the sovereignty of the Lord be the measure of your confidence;<br />let the promises of the Lord be the measure of your expectations;<br />let the coming of the Lord be the measure of hope.<br /><br />You are my portion, O Lord. Psalm 119:57 AMP<br /><br />Read more encouraging messages by Roy Lessin, DaySpring co-founder and writer, on Roy's blog "Meet Me in the Meadow."Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-19442721345797260552011-04-01T23:25:00.004-04:002011-04-02T08:35:31.537-04:00Angel Glow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY85nFjnaaY3nV37R_Dpm0aiS9yskByw3bukX0u-rD7gTiJu0b6EuotYuJfUuDm4uyZwppcUiqKTShDMvWJkYl545cMGo94FZCXve4LS1eC-6KdrWb1FqEjPG6FxUxI9SLOP-TVHC9U-EH/s1600/n1294744857_30279597_568.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY85nFjnaaY3nV37R_Dpm0aiS9yskByw3bukX0u-rD7gTiJu0b6EuotYuJfUuDm4uyZwppcUiqKTShDMvWJkYl545cMGo94FZCXve4LS1eC-6KdrWb1FqEjPG6FxUxI9SLOP-TVHC9U-EH/s320/n1294744857_30279597_568.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590828052490556258" /></a> If it were possible, they were almost out of rhythm; a slight flutter. But it never could happen you see, for the cadence of wings was always in unison praise to their Maker … and always in rhythm with the glorious chorus before Him. But there was a quiver of excitement and anticipation flowing through their majestic wings—especially for two of them. They had been chosen, just as the time and moment had been chosen. I AM had spoken, and they knew that twinkle in His eye for it shone upon their face when He called them to His side. <br /><br />New life was imminent. <br /><br />Its fragrance so weightless, so pure, filled their celestial being as they breathed deep its fresh softness. They lifted high the full radiance of their wings and spread forth their vast span of brilliance. <br /><br />Her time was near.<br /><br />They swirled and whirled to melodic adulation of “Holy … Holy … Holy.” Their luminous wake carried by the winds of worship. <br /><br />Yet their focus was on His every movement, their intent on every gesture. One look—one twinkle … one smile. <br /><br />Now!<br /><br />***<br /><br />They hover in awe. They stand guard in wonder. They hover in reverence. They stand guard in honor. <br /><br />She arrives. She cries. The flutter of their glow, the whisper of their melody is to no avail. She cries. The attempt to distract with their luminous whirls does not work … and she cries. <br /><br />Sweet fragrance of sweet life mingles with precious first moments. They swoop in close—so close. She opens her eyes. She stops her cries. Their faces reflect The Father’s delight and speak of His love; and they are overcome … they smile. Does she see Him? Yes. <br /><br />She is calm now—all is calm. She rests in the cradle of their wings and slumbers in their softened glow. <br /><br />She will lose sight of them as she becomes more focused on the world around her. She will no longer hear the melody of their wings as she becomes accustomed to this world and its offerings. <br /><br />A pity … for after all—Angel glow is so beautiful … and warm.<br /><br /><br />But oh, sweet one … you are so loved.<br /><br />You are so loved. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Pat Guy <br />©2011Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-55051367449843638242010-11-24T11:16:00.005-05:002010-11-24T11:45:53.328-05:00Prayer, Power, Peace.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOI6QOK9iK1F-Tt-mtS7GI2jsi9GZbZBFv6is8VPtIbrKUgK-Cm4v1ASSEFXPpFQ8Oiu_z6m3rD1EYJEHKvtkxOC1EmCDF0lLVaZ6rPFh3ADZdLWOA9FNBddfTxkVl1Xuay8gM004iY8L/s1600/mark4_39.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOI6QOK9iK1F-Tt-mtS7GI2jsi9GZbZBFv6is8VPtIbrKUgK-Cm4v1ASSEFXPpFQ8Oiu_z6m3rD1EYJEHKvtkxOC1EmCDF0lLVaZ6rPFh3ADZdLWOA9FNBddfTxkVl1Xuay8gM004iY8L/s320/mark4_39.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543157660758905170" /></a> To come to know the full reality, the full realization, as in ... for real, that the Power that created all we see and the Power demonstrated in the Resurrection lives within us ... well, it's beyond mind boggling, for then that truly means, "all things are possible" and "we can do all things" through and by this Power. <br /><br />We can even have Peace ... and be comfortable with it.<br /><br />Prayer, Power, Peace. <br /><br />Thank You God for such comforting Gifts.<br /><br /><br /><br />Look for that blessing today!<br />It's always there,<br />somewhere,<br />somehow,<br />someway,<br />everyday. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Phil. 4:13<br /><br />Matt. 19:26Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-29191547393703254482010-09-19T15:56:00.001-04:002010-09-19T19:49:07.085-04:00A MomentSome days are just worse than others. At least, sometimes, they start out that way ... and stay that way ... until, for some reason, the day ends up turning out pretty good. <br /><br />Unfortunately, during one of those days this week I got so wrapped up in 'handling' each challenge that I forgot to take a moment and ask for help. As in, from my Heavenly Father. <br /><br />But did that matter to Him? Did it stop Him from coming to my rescue with the strength, stamina and mental fortitude I needed to make it to the good part at the end of the day? <br /><br />No, it did not. <br /><br />Sometimes, as in 'all' the time ... He just loves us anyway. <br /><br />What would we do without Him?<br /><br />I don't even want to know ...<br /><br /><br />Special blessings, and all we need, are always there.<br /><br />Sometimes, as in most of the time ... we're too busy trying to cope to notice. (I'm soooo guilty!) <br /><br /><br />Take a moment -- relax, close your eyes and take a deep breath. <br /><br />You know He's waiting. <br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-62127839406395156332010-08-23T10:15:00.006-04:002010-08-23T11:28:30.516-04:00Asphalt Redemption*A story written around a grain of truth ... and a simple envelope can be a mighty weapon. <br /><br /><br />Asphalt Redemption<br /><br />The stench of her reflection made her shudder as she clutched the sides of a sink, filthy from neglect. Acid reflux burned in her throat. The sigh that filled the tiny room was heard only by ants crawling on a wall caked with dust – buried pain escaping the dark abyss of her past, her present and her future. <br /><br />She closed her eyes to erase the image standing before her – the image of hopelessness – the image of survival. The night enslaved her, the day put to death any of its light. The only living things in her life at that moment were roaches trying to escape the heavy scent of mothballs emanating from the toilet. She’d reek of it when she left. Preferable to the car she just … no … no … she shook her head to forget.<br /><br />The once grey t-shirt clung to her chest in patches of sweat. She snatched at a stack of paper towels and turned the crusted faucet. Wet towels felt cool on her face and neck – only seconds of allusive relief. Tinged lighting stripped bare a face burdened by forbidden acts against the innocence of the child she once was … and the pain inflicted to hide the shame. <br /><br />She lifted the top of a battered dispenser and pulled out a plastic bag containing sample toiletries she pocketed from time to time. The owners at the gas station didn’t care anymore. <br /><br />A quick routine and she tossed the dirty towels in the basket overflowing with debris when a corner of an envelope caught her eye. She had thrown it away a few days ago. Ignoring it, she started to leave, but words printed on the envelope kept her standing at the door. She turned and rummaged through the garbage to pull out the crumpled paper. <span style="font-style:italic;">That crazy lady, she thought. Who tosses 50 bucks out the window?</span><br /><br />The only place to sit in the 5x6 room was the toilet while light flickered on fading walls of filmy green. She smoothed out the envelope against her thigh and propped her arm on the side of the chipped sink. <br /><br />‘A gift from God just for you.’ <br /><br />Ashley clenched the envelope in her fist and threw it against the wall. <span style="font-style:italic;">Let it rot there for all I care. </span><br /><br />She stepped on it as she left the bathroom. <br /><br /><br /><br />The “crazy lady” had been wondering when God was going to work out another encounter. She was ready with her next envelope. But her feeble attempt at conversation while coasting alongside the girl was a disaster to say the least, limited by the girl’s constant reply of, “Nope, don’t want it.” <br /><br /><br />Promises of no religious material or invites to church made no difference. Next time, she was going to pull up a few feet ahead of the girl and just toss the envelope out the window. <br /><br />God be with the envelope, please. <br /><br /><br /><br />The quick respite did nothing to ease the heat for Ashley, but walk the road she must. Looking over her shoulder, looking across the road … watching … waiting … watching … waiting … as each car passed in any direction; she waited and walked. Asphalt breeze blew hot in her face. <br /><br />Ashley saw a car pull off the road ahead of her. <span style="font-style:italic;">Oh no, there’s that lady again.</span> But the car didn’t stop. Neither did Ashley. <span style="font-style:italic;">So what? Like I really care?</span> She saw the envelope flutter in the wake of the car as it pulled away. She walked on knowing exactly where it lay; and kept walking until the car disappeared. A few steps on her way back, and as she bent to pick up the envelope, a breeze kicked up from the direction of bushes she hadn’t noticed before. <span style="font-style:italic;">Perfume? Or … what was that?</span><br /><br />She followed the scent. <br /><br />Delicate flowers of white and amber bloomed profusely on their vine growing throughout shrubs of green. Ashley unconsciously filled her lungs with the sweet fragrance of Honeysuckle, filtering out all the asphalt and mothball stench of the day. <span style="font-style:italic;">I don’t remember the last time I … I don’t remember ever seeing these …</span><br /><br />Then she spotted, ‘A gift from God just for you.’ on the envelope in her hand.<br /><br />“That lady is crazy stupid.” muttered Ashley.<br /><br />She squatted under the shade of the Honeysuckle to see how much money there was this time – nothing about God just like the lady had said. <br /><br />Ashley squeezed the envelope in her fist intending to toss it on the road. The God-words getting smashed by passing tires gave her a measure of pleasure. <br /><br />But, she shrugged her shoulders and tossed it over where it landed among the fragrant flowers.<br /><br />Leaning against the shrubs infused with their perfume, she shook her head. <br /><br />“That crazy …”<br /><br /><br /><br />The sigh that filled the universe was heard only by ants crawling in the dust – buried pain escaping the dark abyss of her past, her present and her future. <br /><br />One Other was listening to her heart. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Pat Guy<br />©2010Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205899692195070599.post-53313194368164868062010-08-10T21:20:00.004-04:002010-08-10T22:22:42.141-04:00Peace in the Light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Z1UoJ6h3bCr15r6cJb1Y_693hAzR4MvwRB6JALmyzpHbRLRn8lwzzUGghFrat5md1J0tegIvvNjjmPIJ8vWVSe5r6m51Z5kZAzgR-nSt56t_tloH60_OPEEhBr6HJIEtQ1EVM7mgDIwn/s1600/Scripture001Q.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Z1UoJ6h3bCr15r6cJb1Y_693hAzR4MvwRB6JALmyzpHbRLRn8lwzzUGghFrat5md1J0tegIvvNjjmPIJ8vWVSe5r6m51Z5kZAzgR-nSt56t_tloH60_OPEEhBr6HJIEtQ1EVM7mgDIwn/s400/Scripture001Q.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503959395905475154" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">"The LORD bless you, and keep you; The LORD make His face shine on you, And be gracious to you; The LORD lift up His countenance on you, And give you peace." Numbers 24-26 </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Look for that blessing today!<br />It's always there,<br />somewhere,<br />somehow,<br />someway,<br />everyday. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/187/E1CFCD911FE2FB625E6FAB13D441E69E.png" style="border: 0pt none ! important; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" /></a>Pat Guyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600743373512237192noreply@blogger.com2