Oh my. The book of essays, Thoughts of Home, is one of my top-five favorite books of all time. I told you about it here.
I bring this treasure with me when we go yard sale-ing so that, should I tire of looking at tables full of books and well, junk, I can sit inside the car, instead, and read while Tom --who never, ever tires of yard sales--can browse in peace.
Below, is a paragraph I read today, one which still haunts me, for the world tells us that selfish ambition is the way to go. That if we do huge, impressive things, we'll be important and remembered by people upon this Earth. But I prefer this:
"I will tell you what I remember most about my grandmother, though. I know she loved us. I know because one year she had deteriorated badly over the winter I was too young to understand how sick she was. When two days passed after our arrival and she had not performed her usual ceremony, I tiptoed into her darkened room to ask, 'Ganny, when are you going to open the toy closet?' I know she loved us because she slid out of bed and onto the floor, then hand over hand and baluster after baluster she began to haul herself up the stairs to the third story. I know because when my own distressed mother came running upstairs to stop her, my grandmother said, 'I don't know how much longer I am going to be around. I want my grandchildren to remember that I loved them.' And I do, Ganny. Forty years later, I still do."
By Spencer Harris Morfit
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I stepped out the door this morning to get the newspaper and all the raindrops on the iris' made me gasp. (Click to enlarge, it's kinda cool.)
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"... But the greatest of these is love." ... from 1 Corinthians 13
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All these months, a Stop Ahead sign has stood in front of our house, about dead center, on the other side of our street.
Probably has stood there eight-thousand years (well...). Often I've sat upon our front porch thinking, "That sign is like a blight upon our view of the large evergreens and maples across the street, what with its garish yellow color. If only it wasn't there!"
Guess what? They moved the sign! Yes, moved it.
It now stands farther up the street where we can't see its yellowness at all. It's at the outside edge of our neighbors' driveway, yet doesn't block their view of anything except, perhaps, our house, but hey. They don't need to be looking over here anyway. ツ
I didn't even pray that the sign would be moved. I don't--or didn't--have that much faith. (But I do now!)
No, I just wished it wasn't there, but alas, not being a big proponent of wishing, I now wish I would have prayed about it. heh. Then I could call this an answer to prayer.
But that's why, I guess, I'm naming it a miracle, one stemming from the goodness of God's heart. Face it--traffic signs don't get moved every day. Part of me says only God can move a sign like that, especially in New York state.
So thank-you God, so very much, for doing such a sweet favor for me.
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In other news, my friend Donna and I are traveling to Hurd's Orchards today, one of my favorite, most inspirational country places on Earth. You can visit there, too--just go here. (Be sure to click on the link which takes you to the second page.)
Donna's photo of my garden last October, after the tomatoes were nipped by frost.
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"And Jesus said unto them.....If you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you." Matthew 17:19-21
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