There are those times when I experience what I call, "surges of love"...emotional times when I realize how much I do love....how much love there is within me. It’s then my heart fills and tears overflow because I can’t hold it all. I must share it.
I know from experience (and I’ve been told) that some others don’t know how to respond to my sharing of this love. They have difficulty in accepting it and put up barriers. I may perceive that difficulty as rejection and in that rejection know the hurtful side of love.
I am coming to grow in knowledge and understanding of this love. It is both human and Divine but its source is God. So I experience this love, which is all-inclusive and all-powerful. At these times, love is such an overwhelming force within me, I must surrender my self to it. It’s then the Divine and the human become one and I’m given a tiny understanding of the immensity of God’s love..
As St. Paul says in his letter to the Corinthians (I Cor. 13-14) when speaking of the gifts of the Holy Spirit, These three remain: faith, hope and love; and the greatest of these is love. (I Cor. 13:13)
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Free to be Me
I’ve been wanting to write about freedom and got a little side tracked with my last blog. Oh,, I know it’s about freedom and I guess I had to say what I did. I was a little caught up in it. Those freedoms have been fought for and won....freedoms every human being deserves to have. Uh-oh...with that last statement I can feel myself wanting to go in another direction. Not this time, my friends! This time I’m sticking to the subject.
My turning seventy turned out to be a new, almost magical, beginning. I dreaded it beforehand. There’s something about those decade numbers that kind of throw us a curve. I think we’re more apt to think of it as the end of something rather than a beginning. But it’s both. There can be no beginning without an ending and there’s no end without a beginning. So here I was, experiencing both. To be honest with you though, I didn’t really start to see the beginning until the day after. Hummmm....I wonder which we celebrate on our birthdays...the beginning or the end? Whoa! Starting to wander off again.
I couldn’t tell you exactly when it happened.....whether it was on my birthday or the day after. Whichever it was doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I experienced a great sense of freedom...the freedom to be me. In case you don’t realize the impact of that, let me tell you, it is a great big WOW! You know the kind of ‘wow’ I mean. The comics always picture it as a brightly lit lightbulb. It’s the ‘wow moment’ when we suddenly see and understand something that’s eluded us. But this, my friends, this is more than that. This is HUGE!
It’s huge because I’d spent the majority of my life trying to become.... become an adult (not such a great goal)....become educated/knowledgeable....become successful.....become not only what others expected, but what I came to expect of myself. I was always trying to become. All of a sudden I realized that if I hadn’t become yet, I may as well stop trying.
When I stopped trying, the most wonderful thing happened! It set me free! I don’t know how others see me but in my mind I’m a small child laughing, jumping and skipping along while holding onto God’s hand.
I am free to be that child of God...not only of God, but with God. I know, without a doubt, I am God’s child and as His/Her child, I am loved, protected, loved, guided and loved ('loved' deserves to be repeated). I know I am free to be the child because God is holding my hand and will never let go. The real freedom is in following God’s lead. In trusting Him/Her completely, I am free to be the me God means me to be.
My turning seventy turned out to be a new, almost magical, beginning. I dreaded it beforehand. There’s something about those decade numbers that kind of throw us a curve. I think we’re more apt to think of it as the end of something rather than a beginning. But it’s both. There can be no beginning without an ending and there’s no end without a beginning. So here I was, experiencing both. To be honest with you though, I didn’t really start to see the beginning until the day after. Hummmm....I wonder which we celebrate on our birthdays...the beginning or the end? Whoa! Starting to wander off again.
I couldn’t tell you exactly when it happened.....whether it was on my birthday or the day after. Whichever it was doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I experienced a great sense of freedom...the freedom to be me. In case you don’t realize the impact of that, let me tell you, it is a great big WOW! You know the kind of ‘wow’ I mean. The comics always picture it as a brightly lit lightbulb. It’s the ‘wow moment’ when we suddenly see and understand something that’s eluded us. But this, my friends, this is more than that. This is HUGE!
It’s huge because I’d spent the majority of my life trying to become.... become an adult (not such a great goal)....become educated/knowledgeable....become successful.....become not only what others expected, but what I came to expect of myself. I was always trying to become. All of a sudden I realized that if I hadn’t become yet, I may as well stop trying.
When I stopped trying, the most wonderful thing happened! It set me free! I don’t know how others see me but in my mind I’m a small child laughing, jumping and skipping along while holding onto God’s hand.
I am free to be that child of God...not only of God, but with God. I know, without a doubt, I am God’s child and as His/Her child, I am loved, protected, loved, guided and loved ('loved' deserves to be repeated). I know I am free to be the child because God is holding my hand and will never let go. The real freedom is in following God’s lead. In trusting Him/Her completely, I am free to be the me God means me to be.
Monday, April 20, 2015
What's Happening to Freedom?
It’s hard to talk about freedoms when there are so many in the world who don’t have them. It’s hard, too, when there are people in our own country who want to take away some of the freedoms we do have. Well, maybe not so much take them away. It’s more that they want to decide and dictate exactly what our "freedom" should be.....or simply sit back and do nothing to defend our right to personal freedom.
This isn’t the direction I meant to go in this blog but things I recently read on facebook and heard in the news have pointed me down this road.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt proposed the Four Freedoms in his State of the Union address on January 6, 1941.... 11 months before the United States declared war on Japan. These four freedoms, necessary to all of mankind, were illustrated by Norman Rockwell on the covers of the Saturday Evening Post in 1943, during the height of World War II.
Our goal as American citizens in a democratic society is to work at ensuring all people come to realize these freedoms.
I wonder why we’re so afraid of offending someone else when they seem to have no qualms about their doing the offending? Why, I wonder, do some atheists work so hard at removing God from everything when they don’t believe in Him in the first place? Why are some so against others worshiping and praying when they’re free to make their own choices? Why are there those who feel they have to force their beliefs onto others?
Our country was founded by those seeking religious freedom...freedom to worship as they chose without fear of persecution. We are a melting pot of many nationalities, many cultures and many religions and though there have always been differences, there was once respect.
I wonder what happened to respect? Maybe it died along with common sense? Why do we need laws to tell us how we should relate to one another? What happened to "love your neighbor" and "do unto others as you would have them do unto you"? What happened to people standing up for what they believe and trusting those we elect as leaders to have courage enough to do the right thing?
This morning I found myself wondering.....if I were still teaching school, I wonder what would happen if I had my class salute the flag? What would happen if I set aside a few minutes each day for quiet meditation? What would happen if I said the word, "God"? I wonder if I’d lose my job...or end up in jail...for "offending" someone? I wonder who and how many would support my actions....and how many wouldn’t?
We need to stand up and make ourselves heard so the deaths of the Holocaust and the Christians murdered by ISIS will not have been in vain.
This isn’t the direction I meant to go in this blog but things I recently read on facebook and heard in the news have pointed me down this road.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt proposed the Four Freedoms in his State of the Union address on January 6, 1941.... 11 months before the United States declared war on Japan. These four freedoms, necessary to all of mankind, were illustrated by Norman Rockwell on the covers of the Saturday Evening Post in 1943, during the height of World War II.
 |
| Freedom of Worship |
 |
| Freedom of Speech |
 |
| Freedom from Want |
 |
| Freedom from Fear |
Our goal as American citizens in a democratic society is to work at ensuring all people come to realize these freedoms.
I wonder why we’re so afraid of offending someone else when they seem to have no qualms about their doing the offending? Why, I wonder, do some atheists work so hard at removing God from everything when they don’t believe in Him in the first place? Why are some so against others worshiping and praying when they’re free to make their own choices? Why are there those who feel they have to force their beliefs onto others?
Our country was founded by those seeking religious freedom...freedom to worship as they chose without fear of persecution. We are a melting pot of many nationalities, many cultures and many religions and though there have always been differences, there was once respect.
I wonder what happened to respect? Maybe it died along with common sense? Why do we need laws to tell us how we should relate to one another? What happened to "love your neighbor" and "do unto others as you would have them do unto you"? What happened to people standing up for what they believe and trusting those we elect as leaders to have courage enough to do the right thing?
This morning I found myself wondering.....if I were still teaching school, I wonder what would happen if I had my class salute the flag? What would happen if I set aside a few minutes each day for quiet meditation? What would happen if I said the word, "God"? I wonder if I’d lose my job...or end up in jail...for "offending" someone? I wonder who and how many would support my actions....and how many wouldn’t?
We need to stand up and make ourselves heard so the deaths of the Holocaust and the Christians murdered by ISIS will not have been in vain.
Friday, April 3, 2015
A Reflection
The mountain
and the valley
loom
before me...
the mountain,
bathed in light,
the valley
covered
in darkness.
I want to climb
the mountain,
but cannot scale
its sheer
rock cliffs.
I turn my eyes
to the valley below.
I shudder.
"Go to the valley,"
I hear God say
"Carry
My light."
and so,
In faith,
and trepidation,
I go.
When I am spent
and they see
His light,
I raise my eyes
to the mountain top,
knowing God,
through His grace,
will lift me up.
....Connie 04/03/15
God, in His great mercy and grace, will always lift us up.
and the valley
loom
before me...
the mountain,
bathed in light,
the valley
covered
in darkness.
I want to climb
the mountain,
but cannot scale
its sheer
rock cliffs.
I turn my eyes
to the valley below.
I shudder.
"Go to the valley,"
I hear God say
"Carry
My light."
and so,
In faith,
and trepidation,
I go.
When I am spent
and they see
His light,
I raise my eyes
to the mountain top,
knowing God,
through His grace,
will lift me up.
....Connie 04/03/15
God, in His great mercy and grace, will always lift us up.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Happy Easter
My Cross
This cross of mine
was given me
on my day of birth
for me to carry
through the days
I live upon this earth
As I have grown
through the years,
as I have gotten older,
I’ve come to love
this cross which rests
upon my shoulders.
Some days it seems
its weight
I cannot bear.
But, then the times
it lifts me up
I’m so glad it’s there.
This cross of mine
does lift me
ever higher,
closer to my God
where I can hear
the angels singing
in His heavenly choir.
I love my cross.
I’ll not let go
for I know
When I’m too old
and feeble;
too weak
to lift its weight
Tis then my cross
will carry me
to the One I seek.
This poem is an original and I wanted to share it with you. There would be no Easter without the cross. May you have a blessed and glorious Easter. God bless you!!
Love, Connie
Sunday, March 1, 2015
A Painting Story
When I posted this painting on Facebook, some asked me about the story behind it...knowing that every painting has a story. It may sound strange, but I painted this one mainly because every day I didn’t have something planned, Mom asked me if I was going to paint. Last Sunday when she asked, my answer was, "It doesn’t look like it, Mom. I think I’ll be writing,"... and write I did.
I started at least three blogs which didn’t go anywhere. I would write up to a point only to reach a dead end. My thoughts were wrapped in confusion...too many in different directions all at once. I felt overwhelmed with things I felt I had to let out but stymied as to how. The words just wouldn’t come together the way I wanted them to. So I figured... if I’m not to write a blog, maybe I should paint. I put a blank canvas on my easel, sat down and waited for the needed inspiration. Nothing came.
Eventually I got tired of banging my head against the wall and took my frustrations to prayer. It was then I realized I was trying too hard on my own and conjuring up my own confusion. So I neither wrote nor painted but did spend some much needed time with God.
Today when Mom asked me if I was going to paint, I still had no idea what, but responded with a "yes". I’ve learned that when Mom suggests...repeatedly and strongly...that I paint, I’d better paint. I figured I’d start by putting some color on the canvas and see where it took me. Which is exactly what I did. I love it when I don’t have a pre-conceived idea and a painting simply develops. It’s then the painting becomes part of my prayer and God has a hand in it. I was totally engrossed in the colors and shapes of the sky and water when He came up with the idea of a boat.
Though I had to do the research and sketching until it was right, the rest, I believe, is His.
I started at least three blogs which didn’t go anywhere. I would write up to a point only to reach a dead end. My thoughts were wrapped in confusion...too many in different directions all at once. I felt overwhelmed with things I felt I had to let out but stymied as to how. The words just wouldn’t come together the way I wanted them to. So I figured... if I’m not to write a blog, maybe I should paint. I put a blank canvas on my easel, sat down and waited for the needed inspiration. Nothing came.
Eventually I got tired of banging my head against the wall and took my frustrations to prayer. It was then I realized I was trying too hard on my own and conjuring up my own confusion. So I neither wrote nor painted but did spend some much needed time with God.
Today when Mom asked me if I was going to paint, I still had no idea what, but responded with a "yes". I’ve learned that when Mom suggests...repeatedly and strongly...that I paint, I’d better paint. I figured I’d start by putting some color on the canvas and see where it took me. Which is exactly what I did. I love it when I don’t have a pre-conceived idea and a painting simply develops. It’s then the painting becomes part of my prayer and God has a hand in it. I was totally engrossed in the colors and shapes of the sky and water when He came up with the idea of a boat.
Though I had to do the research and sketching until it was right, the rest, I believe, is His.
Coming Home
18x24 acrylic
Sunday, February 22, 2015
What Color the Thunder?
"What color the thunder?" is the question that came to mind one night last week just as I was dropping off to sleep. Thinking it might turn out to be important, I quickly jotted it down on the pad I keep next to my bed so I wouldn’t forget it. Forget it? How could I forget it? Those words have been bugging me ever since as I continue trying to apply some kind of reason to them.
It couldn’t be a painting, I reasoned. Thunder has no color. It’s a sound.... often a sound heard far off in the distance announcing a coming storm to a sunny blue sky with fluffy white clouds. No, I can’t paint the thunder until it brings the storm. Even then I’d only be able to paint the storm, not the thunder.
If not a painting, I wondered if perhaps it was meant to become a poem. I then tried, valiantly, to put all that simple phrase conjured up in my mind into poetic form....and failed.
Sharing my frustration with a friend, I asked for her insight. "Why," I entreated, "does this stay in my mind and what am I supposed to do with it?"
"Don’t worry," she assured me, "It will bubble up from inside you one way or another. Be patient."
And while it’s "bubbling up", as she says, I find myself watching fluffy white clouds move across an ultramarine sky while listening to the distant thunder. While I watch and listen, I ask others the question, "What color the thunder?" I get a color response...usually gray (payne’s gray from the artists), black or purple... but no one has yet asked me, "What thunder?"
The thunder I hear is not only one sound, but many which come together to make it seem as one. Like musical instruments joining together one at a time until, together, they build to a single, loud, crashing crescendo.
The sounds I hear in the thunder are the cries of the persecuted. I can see the crimson red of martyrs’ blood. I can hear the wailing of the children as they watch their parents being slain...and of the parents as they see their children beheaded. What color are screams of anguish? I hear the sounds of hatred, envy and judgment. I hear the sounds of verbal and physical cruelty...of complete disregard for others. I hear evil in the form of negativity trying to creep unnoticed into our lives, affecting our love and acceptance of one another. What colors would these sounds be?
Maybe the thunder isn’t so distant as we’d like to think. Maybe the thunder just isn’t as loud as we think it should be....yet. Maybe we can shut it out and pretend it isn’t there. Maybe.
Every day I face the choice of succumbing to the storms...giving in to "popular opinion".... or standing firm in my faith, relying solely on my God and His promises while seeing the colors of thunder.
It couldn’t be a painting, I reasoned. Thunder has no color. It’s a sound.... often a sound heard far off in the distance announcing a coming storm to a sunny blue sky with fluffy white clouds. No, I can’t paint the thunder until it brings the storm. Even then I’d only be able to paint the storm, not the thunder.
If not a painting, I wondered if perhaps it was meant to become a poem. I then tried, valiantly, to put all that simple phrase conjured up in my mind into poetic form....and failed.
Sharing my frustration with a friend, I asked for her insight. "Why," I entreated, "does this stay in my mind and what am I supposed to do with it?"
"Don’t worry," she assured me, "It will bubble up from inside you one way or another. Be patient."
And while it’s "bubbling up", as she says, I find myself watching fluffy white clouds move across an ultramarine sky while listening to the distant thunder. While I watch and listen, I ask others the question, "What color the thunder?" I get a color response...usually gray (payne’s gray from the artists), black or purple... but no one has yet asked me, "What thunder?"
The thunder I hear is not only one sound, but many which come together to make it seem as one. Like musical instruments joining together one at a time until, together, they build to a single, loud, crashing crescendo.
The sounds I hear in the thunder are the cries of the persecuted. I can see the crimson red of martyrs’ blood. I can hear the wailing of the children as they watch their parents being slain...and of the parents as they see their children beheaded. What color are screams of anguish? I hear the sounds of hatred, envy and judgment. I hear the sounds of verbal and physical cruelty...of complete disregard for others. I hear evil in the form of negativity trying to creep unnoticed into our lives, affecting our love and acceptance of one another. What colors would these sounds be?
Maybe the thunder isn’t so distant as we’d like to think. Maybe the thunder just isn’t as loud as we think it should be....yet. Maybe we can shut it out and pretend it isn’t there. Maybe.
Every day I face the choice of succumbing to the storms...giving in to "popular opinion".... or standing firm in my faith, relying solely on my God and His promises while seeing the colors of thunder.
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