Thursday, January 12, 2017

This was sent to us without any source - otherwise, we'd give credit where it's due.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Gifts, equivocating and distractions.

Some of the places in this link are familiar and some are completely new wonders to me.

Pretend I didn't get it from freaking Guidepost magazine, please, because that's a dirty trick they played on me when I subscribed to - oh, God, the ignominy of it all - their, um, angels, newsletter. Yes, I regularly receive a candy ass newsletter about alleged angelic interactions among us and suffer through the seventh-grade writing level for those goosebumps moments where I'm reminded that what's real is a lot bigger than what meets the eye. Anyway, I clicked to see the sacred spaces and damned if I didn't find myself in Guideposts, the mother ship, whose writing is the equivalent to Thomas Kinkaid painter of light® art. (Maybe a step down: a jigsaw puzzle of his art. All big and shiny taking up the entire breakfast table.)

Hmm. Sounds like SOMEbody is raging against the dying of the light.

Anyway. Enjoy.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

The women with superhuman vision

An article about this business of having extra color perception... But if your kids do, maybe see if visual arts are in their wheelhouse. It's nice finding out these things. I think.



Thursday, November 24, 2016


Wherever you are and whoever you're with, Wesley and I want to wish you a happy Thanksgiving and say that we're grateful to you all for making this a fun place for us.

Come on. Group hug. All 20K+ of you. Squeeze in....


: )

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Love Without Boundaries

The book described in this post will be free on Kindle from Dec. 1-6. Amy Eldridge, who started Love Without Boundaries, is one of my heroes.

Her advocacy for orphans extends far beyond the adoption community, too. In China, Uganda and, more recently, in Cambodia, LWB has initiated programs to fund life saving surgeries for at-risk children whose parents cannot afford the cost of adequate medical care.

Thanks for reading this and to any of you who will share this link. Consider it an early Christmas for us all.

(Tiny Tim impression here)

It's All Done Without Mirrors

Belief and faith are strange companions. They can overlap, disappear and then reemerge fully developed and loaded for bear. Or illness or loss or anything in that array of scary life moments even the unbelievers pray not to have...

It's tricky territory, this land of belief. Of faith. Towards the end of the race, when the finish line is within sight, suddenly the only sucker's game is second guessing another man's vision board.

When children have imaginary friends, it is considered charming. But when we are grown, all bets are off...

Pursed lips of condescension meet big eyed claims that, "God is good." Yet, I've wondered where I fall on that faith chart. Cherry-picking is dangerous in the world of Higher Powers. I refuse to believe any Parent could torture a child, no matter how egregious the crime. That's not to say a price isn't paid. Like I said - tricky territory. (I have a technical explanation that makes perfect sense to me. But, in the end, it is just another one of seven billion opinions on earth.)

My introduction to my faith - via an actual meeting - happened when I was five, and the memories of that experience have lasted more than a half century. I can even recall my mother's expression when I told her of this supernatural conversation - one that happened while I was in day care. I saw her lean, inwardly but almost literally, to accommodate what her oldest child believed. I didn't say she went with me. But she definitely knew what transpired.

Now? All these years later? I still have perhaps an invisible Friend, but certainly not imaginary: If the measure of proof is found in comfort, then I am asking to be plied more of it, more of this thing called faith...

From hope, which can exist openly without danger of intellectual reprisal, to faith itself, is a quantum distance, though. Might as well be Icarus. Hecklers happen from hope to faith. Get earplugs for that jump. Your own heart pounding will be loud enough. You'll be called a wishful thinker at best, a fool at worst.

But when we are threatened with loss, big or little, it is easy to go wild with wanting.

Some things about which we are most certain are best kept to ourselves. Unless you are one of the people who actually pushed through that veil only to return, and even then, it is pure speculation. That's why it's called "near" death, not actual. Unless you've seen that Great Beyond - or up its skirt - you cannot know how sweet the promise.

The temporal lobe of the human brain can be stimulated to imply out of body existence.

It's all done with mirrors.

They'll say these things. And more.

That thing that tells me we don't die, but that we, instead, shift to a less dense plane feels good to know no matter how often or thoroughly I forget.

Because on that plane where time is static, if a factor at all, where the scramble to survive, to outlive, to achieve, attain and, even perchance, is where we finally escape the grief to which we are all heir.

We want a lot. And the hardest thing is to want what's here.

To those who fear, who ache, who mourn, time is the only messenger. To those who have figured out how to make it collapse into only this sacred moment? We pray that becomes contagious. Like the man said. "You got one foot in yesterday and one foot in tomorrow, you're just pissin' on today."

And yes, I'm writing about this in the face of something big.

And betting, despite the opaque nature of that reason, the people who understand read between the lines. Or at least look behind the mirror.

My thanks for doing just that.

Wondering Eyes

Someone sent me a quiz yesterday. Like many quizzes that seem easy at first, I took it expecting to "miss", but it wasn't that kind of quiz.

Turns out I'm tetrachromatic which was news, indeed. So is 25% of the population, according to the quizmasters, but the word itself was alien to me. But it ends up being a pretty cool thing - a rare addition to the hyphenated jumble of adjectives prefacing us humans - one not borne of preference. And one for which a support group isn't necessary. Imagine that.

Yet, unlike most of those adjectives - blonde, Democrat, alcoholic, etc - tetrachromancy isn't evident to anyone else. Heck, it may not even be evident to the one with the trick eyeballs.

It all makes perfect sense now...

No wonder the big box of crayons makes me so happy.

Comments about tetrachromancy will be left intact.

Merci. And here's looking at you, kids.

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