Lately I've not written much, not because I don't have things to say. You who know me know I'm called the serious one, and recently I'd deserve that name. I try to place just when I started that. I don't recall childhood being that way, except for trying to survive. But that didn't seem so odd. Everyone I knew back then was serious minded, trying to get through a world war. Most of us did. Sometimes I even felt lighthearted, before adulthood threatened to wipe out being a kid. Yep that's right. For years I've tried to understand all that. Have not figured it out


I am more clear about the reason for this serious siege. Although it's a limp excuse, it is the weather's fault. Not long before I got here a huge snow storm struck. Snow that wouldn't leave for weeks was piled around. Only narrow walkways were shoveled out. A few days later another storm snowing sideways fell down. For weeks a Dr. Zhivago scene remained outside.

If I wanted a weather report, I looked out my window. A snow drift two feet deep or more kept me inside. I wouldn't call it paradise, but it was nice, looking at the snow, enjoying cocoa when I pleased. Spending all the time I cared to here at a computer that didn't fail, or losing myself in books.

I may be overly serious, but that's not the same as dumb. Do you have any idea how many icy windows I've scraped when my shift ended late in the night. Before going back to work, I planned taking time off. The second snow storm and others after it sealed the thought. I couldn't believe I gave myself such a gift! and it's still not
over.

I'm not looking for other planets. I'm on my own, searching for myself. Seriously,(there I go again), Not often have I taken time to think of future plans. (I got trained and went to work for more than twenty years) In a workaday world it's easy to not look ahead. You barely turn around, and a chunk of your life just passed.

Not being a big organizer, I don't waste time planning trips. I can pack luggage in fifteen minutes or less. This trip may require more than that. I've been working at making an empty apartment my home, and that's pretty well done. Last week I dragged everything out of my closet, and got rid of half of it.(Bev and Sarah would be proud!) A few trips to reputable thrift stores replaced much of it. You'd be surprized how many nice outfits I found, and matching purse and shoes.

I've been working on the inside of me too. Between reading my Bible, and Maxwell Maltz and "The Ten Commandments Of Self Esteem", with daily checks on how I'm doing, should just about fix my outlook and attitude, or psychological scrapes and dents life sometimes leaves.

It may take longer to improve my hair and nails. Although since I've not been working, they're beginning to grow.

The biggest gift I'm giving myself is to work in a different place. As usual, I gave it more than enough study. The paper work needed is all done. Next week I'll make sure my best outfit is fine. I've already got new shoes. Based on the doors I see Him opening, I should walk through one soon.

The CWO quote of the week by Nichole Nordeman is:

"If I'd Abandon all that seeks to make my faith informed and chic, could you, would you show Yourself to me?"

There's much to consider about this week's quote, so much that I hardly know where to start. But that tells me it needs to be done. So I'll take it apart and look at it closer.

But before that, I'd like sharing something I found in the Bible about someone needing God's presence. David. It's in Psalms chapter 18, verses 1 through 19. and begins:

"A Psalm of David the servant of the Lord, who spoke to the Lord the words of this song in the day that the Lord delivered him from the hand of all his enemies and from the hand of Saul.

Verses 1 and 2: David said "I love Thee, O Lord, my strength." "The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock in Whom I take refuge; my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold."

Verses 3 through 6 tells of David's need for God, and God's response. In verse 6 it says: "He heard my voice, out of His temple, and my cry for help before him came into His Ears".

Verses 7 through 9 show God's coming to rescue David. In Verse 10 it becomes a celestial outpouring of God's universal Power: AND HE RODE UPON A CHERUB AND FLEW; AND HE SPED UPON THE WINGS OF THE WIND."

Verses 11 through 14 shows God's power in sky and water storms.

At God's command,in verse 15: "Then the channels of water appeared, and the foundations of the world were laid bare at Thy rebuke, O Lord, at the blast of the breath of Thy Nostrils".

In verses 16 through 18 God completes saving David. Verse 19 ends it: "He brought me forth into a broad place; He rescued me because He delighted in me." God loved David, a man who had sinned greatly, but poured his heart out regretting what he had done. God still loved him! and He loves you! and he loves me!

In talking about whatever "seeks to make her faith informed and chic", the author didn't say If I quit, gave up, or stopped. She used a stronger word, much stronger: "If I'd abandon". That is powerful. It suggests she wants very much to get away from whatever is informed and chic. But in the same sentence she uses a weak word: "if". Because it's so indecisive it gets a lot of us in trouble.

Who it's about is also important. She may feel she doesn't deserve to be in God's presence. This is a good example of how off track we can get, if we don't strengthen our faith by knowing more about it. I believe that's where the "informed and chic" comes in again. I don't know why we sometimes make our Faith journey so complicated. A little prayer and some regular time in the Bible could make that journey such a better one. Instead, because we get sidetracked doing so many things, even in the name of religion, we don't keep precious time for simply being.

Those "things" come in many shapes and sizes, and seem so innocent. I am not against activities in the church. Certainly, some are needed, But today families are rushed, especially two income families. Between Work and home and church and school, and sports and music lessons, and other interests, most families seldom have unhurried meals together. Instead of connecting and strengthening family, They grab fast food on the way to things that keep them informed and chic, but don't allow important time together.

Other things keep this going. A year or so ago a book was written. It became a movie, "The Da Vinci Code". I'm not here to harp on the merits or demerits of it. What is deplorable is the time and money families spend on stuff like this, especially the time.

We need to look at things more carefully. How much time are adults and children in your family reading what books? Which movies or TV programs do they see? Are all the ways you spend your time really necessary?

We need to be concerned about things that would distance us from our Lord. He flew on the wind to be with David, and He's just as eager to be with you and with me.

Awards in the Hidden Treasure search are announced, and I'm here at the computer after 2 A.M, in the morning. Trying to find the right ideas to adequately thank Jules at Everyday Mommy for creating this. An opportunity for posts you might not happen to read. But I'm having a little difficulty with this, because I really don't know where to begin.

Do I start with mentioning daughter, Barb? She won the Homemaking category, for febrezing her dog. Of course she does more than make that poor little creature smell good after it's been outside. Homemaking is Barb's calling, her life reason. She resides at "A Chelsea Morning" where she's made it a home to love. Now that wasn't so hard to tell you, but there's more.

In a family the size of ours, there are many grand children, but one has had more than her share of challenges about motherhood, especially in the past year. Her name is Sarah, and her courage in all of this is so clear in day after day posts. One especially stands out: "My Tattooed Soul". For it she received the Motherhood award, and if you read it you'll know why. This Mom of three little children lives everything she writes, at "In The Midst Of It".

I'm so happy for Barb and Sarah, pretty happy I guess! I just realized I haven't introduced myself. My name is Judith, and you can find posts I've done at my blogging home, "Flight Song". Last September I did one about my son taking his own life, and someone nominated it for the Children And Families award. Being recognized for it means much, and like my grand daughter Sarah, I'm learning to live with whatever God allows, even the bittersweet. So I accept this award for my son. There will be other posts, but this one's for him. Thank you again Jules, from my heart.

This subject is somewhat sensitive. and I don't want to offend. On the other hand, it could help someone. So I'll just tell my story and you can decide what you think. I was an addict for 27 years.

Addicts remember the first time they tried what they got hooked on. I remember mine. A crisp raw September day, its edges sharp as the ends of my nerves. After 24 married years I was getting a divorce, and had a court hearing to go to.

I took a few hours off work and when I left the courthouse, felt I needed something to calm me, so I found a place and got it, a little green and white package of twenty rolled up hits of Menthol Kools.

A girl I worked with tried to talk me out of it. She would hide the cigarettes, but I'd find them,. After a while she stopped. I remember telling someone that day it was cigarettes or tranquilizers. A choice, a decision based on emotions, set me on a trail I followed 27 years.


Back then the public put up with smoke more willingly, so I could usually find places to light up, and soon was using a pack a day. When opposition to smoking increased, sometimes it was a little difficult to enjoy. In Atlanta's airport, the only place it was allowed was a smoke filled room, crammed with other smokers puffing away. I got a good idea of what it's like breathing second hand smoke. It was pretty bad. I put my smoke out, and hurried to my plane.

Years passed, and I did nurses training. Even graphic film about what it does to your body, not just your lungs didn't convince me, for I wasn't listening. Once while observing a surgery, I noticed right away my own cigarette smell condensed in my mask bothered me, but not enough to quit.

I knew all the medical reasons why I should, but let me tell you, I had my own rights. Nobody was gonna tell me what to do. Like other addicts, my habit became more important than human courtesy.

I would not forget to bathe or use deodorant, or not brush my teeth before going out in public, and I wouldn't pass gas from either end of my body, and expect someone to have to smell or breathe it in just because doing it made me feel good. Tobacco kills. That's been proven. I am thankful laws are being passed to put a stop to it being in the air I breathe.

At work I had to change a patient's dressings (or bandages) Part of the side of his face and chin was eaten away, from cancer. He had smoked many years. The most heartbreaking ones were poor souls with emphysema. Each breath was hard for them to take. They couldn't get across a room without having to stop and rest, and try again to breathe. I saw all these things, but still I wouldn't quit.

Eventually I kind of tried to a few times, but told myself maybe it was allright to have just a few. But soon I was smoking a whole pack again, or more, year after year.

One day we got a new patient. I really liked the little man. He was such a character. But he just about drove me crazy, clicking his dentures to get our attention, so somebody would take him out for a smoke.

He got sick, very sick, with pneumonia. I had a few days off work coming up, and knew when I helped him to bed that night, he probably wouldn't be there when I got back, and he wasn't. I checked to see if he was, but only his empty bed stared back at me.

About that time I got sick with pneumonia , the worst case I've ever had. After ten days of heavy duty antibiotics I still felt limp as a rag. It was so hard to breathe that I didn't hardly smoke, and when I lit one, soon put it out.

When I went back to work, we had a new patient. He wasn't as old as the man who clicked his dentures., about only sixty. He knew he was going to die. One day he said "You know why I'm here, don't you". Not wanting to show bias, I just said "Yes". Then he added: "It's my own fault, I knew better. I smoked." Two weeks later he died.

These two patients are only two of many I saw killed by tobacco. I don't think that's what they planned while smoking their first cigarette. I know I didn't think that far ahead when I took my first draw. Spouting statistics about how many die from it probably won't cause anybody to quit either.

Smokers are in a state of denial about its effects, like thinking you'll never be in an accident, or a car wreck. There's much information before the public about it. You don't have to look any farther than the side of the cigarette pack. Warnings about what it can do to you are stated right there. I read them a few times myself, but chose to ignore the warning, and lit up my next cigarette.

The man's family was caring and loving. The wife and children and grandchildren were there a lot. Seeing them cry even before he died got me to thinking of something my daughter had said.

We were having a family visit, and were all in the same room. Cigarette smoke was so thick I turned on a fan. Her eyes were tearing up, and getting red. Later I tried to apologize about it, but she said: "It's alright Mom, but what bothers me is, it's the people I love most that smoke."

When I decided to quit I had to get support from somewhere, so at work I practically became obnoxious. Anybody who would listen, I told them I'd just quit, so if I lit up they'd know. Each day I was surprised I'd made it through another. I armed myself with greenish Candy Apple suckers. Kept some handy all the time. At night after work I'd chomp away on popcorn, however much it took to keep my mouth occupied.


I took my last pack of unopened cigs and wrote the date on them, front and back, and threw them in my nurse's bag. Had to know they were there, for a fix. Each day the goal was to not. I needed daily successes to help me believe I could do it. Do you know how good it felt to accomplish that! It will soon be nine years since my last cigarette.

I got a big jar I could see through, and every night put two one dollar bills in it. That's about what cigs cost back then. When the jar got pretty full it was a real fun hoot, taking it to the bank. Last week I priced my old brand. They're about five dollars now. That's for a pack, not a carton .

Over time I switched from Kools to Bensen Hedges. Cigarette makers started making them longer and slender, and in more appealing boxes. To sell more to females I guess.

Figuring out what to do with my hands was the biggest problem. After 27 years of lighting up, it was a part of me. Getting used to saying "non-smoking please" when I ate out was not. The first time I sat in a section not clouded with smoke, I realized "Hey, I'm a non smoker now". It was a little like getting a new identity.

People give all kinds of reasons for not quitting. Companies and advertizing try to convince us we can't, and we cooperate by letting them think for us. I had to know if I could quit, and I did it! It was a personal thing, right up there with teaching myself to drive, and accomplishing natural childbirth.

I didn't use patches or any of those quit smoking things, but took B Complex vitamins almost religiously. I started to say I quit "cold turkey", and that is partly true, but it was those sixteen words my daughter said that did it. With them she helped me see my smoking was about much more than it, or me.

I almost forgot one detail of this story, what happened to that last unopened pack. I hadn't got rid of it, so while wrapping Christmas presents, as some silly humor I wrapped it too, and sent it to my daughter. For a long time she kept it in her prayer basket. I was not worried I'd start up again, but she was, and prayed about it, often.

Knowing she did that humbled me. She says the unopened cigarettes are the best present I ever gave her. Tonight while talking with her she told me she still has them, a relic for remembering a few carefully chosen words said at the right time and place can change a life.

This week's quote is by Richard Cecil:

"We are urgent about the body;
He is about the soul.
We call for present comforts;
He considers our everlasting rest.
and therefore when He sends
not the very things we ask,
He hears us by sending
greater than we can ask or think."


The first time I read this quote I thought, this one won't be easy. Then I read it again, and realized, that's it! We mortal human beings use this container housing our souls as if it would last forever, when we already know the mortality rate in our country is only about seventy some odd years.

God made us human. He undestands that's what we are, and from the first skectch on His drawing board, He took care of anything and everything we could need. We don't have to worry about a thing.

The Mind above all mind and intelligence through out the universe, took care of every detail. It's all mapped out in a book He left for us. But sometimes we pay less attention to it than the manual that comes with our car, and that is the difference. We depend on our wheels every day, and if itisn't working, we're in a hurry for it to be fixed. Oh that we kept our faith in such good repair.

This week's quote says we're urgent about our body. Someone coming to our planet would be mystified by our hurry up drive through fast food, and just about anything else, world.
We're urgent in other ways too. I feel a little sad when I see a newborn baby wearing jeans and other clothes older children wear. Grade School children learn peer pressure. Before they're old enough for middle school, a push is on for wearing makeup, and too short skirts. While growing up is sure to happen, what's the reason for the rush? I know, I know, "everybody does it".

One thing in our society seems to herald another. It's like not much can wait til its appointed time. I think there's a reason patience is called a virtue. Considering how little delayed gratification there is, one wonders what many have to look forward to.

Our Savior knows a lot about us, our cares, and conquests, or defeats. While we spend a big part of our lifetime taking care of wants and pleasures, and these, God's ultimate goal is to ensure the condition, and final destination of our soul. While we journey in that direction, taking care of the one bod we have, He understands when we're hungry or tired. He takes us in from the cold and the storm.

He doesn't expect us to walk on water as He did, but sometimes we need to get out of our little boats, and help someone who can't swim. As long as we're here in this world, we will war with ourselves about needs, but we need to remember who made us, and spend less time worrying.

It's not like we have to enter a monastery, and distance ourselves from the world. God made the world just right, a good place to be. But we've messed it up quite a bit. Living a Holy life requires development higher than Sigmund Freud's Id. Overly pleasing our whimsical wants doesn't do much for our souls.

Have you noticed how God answers prayer? Remember when your urgent plea (there's that word again) seemed to not be heard. If only He'd fix things like we hoped, I would sometimes think, until a better solution, by chance it seemed, made its way to me. But my God doesn't roll dice when planning my destiny. I am sure with the help of an angel or two, He's sent miracles to me.

Last September when I did a post about my son committing suicide, I did not expect to be sitting here tonight writing more about it. He died in April, when signs of life revisit us each year. I go to where he's buried then, and leave some flowers there. If you could see it, you'd know I leave more than that.

But this year will be easier I think, because someone read my post about his death, and knew it needed to be told. So thank you, thank you for nominating me for a Hidden Treasures award for it. It's like getting an unexpected bouquet.

Where have these last days gone. More than a question, it's a statement. So no question mark. But there is something that marks the passing of time. Decisions and crossing bridges. Since coming back here where I feel more at home, I've thought of where I might work. But something in me keeps me from getting even close to the work I used to do.

I applied at one place, but while filling out the papers already knew I did not want to work there. So what have I been doing? The answer is I'm not sure. I do a lot of introspection, and if I'm still feeling the way I do, after more than two months away from work stress and burnout, doesn't that tell me something. (There's another question that really is a statement) Nursing is needed and noble, But after twenty years of it, I want no more.

A few days ago I checked with an old employer. I've been gone from that work a long time. But the thought of it still lures. When I'm with someone who works in psychology, I still get a wistful wish to be back in it. So a few days ago I went looking for it again.

At the first office in the Mental Health Center I was discouraged when they told me they no longer hire LPN's. But I remembered that they use psych. clinicians so asked directions to the general personnel office.

As I left the nursing office,I almost brushed into other people while looking for the elevator. A big yellow arrow led me to where it was. Inside as I pushed a button, I tried ito ignore dsappointment and self doubt. The elevator seemed to take so long I closed my eyes, and said some prayers. "Lord, I don't know if I'm in the right place, but I can't keep doing what I'm doing. It is getting too hard".

The door opened but no one I could see got on, and I continued: " If this is where I 'm suppose to be, somehow make me know." I feel like I'm on a suspended bridge, not knowing which way to lean., or if I should get off. Lead me to the doors I need to walk through, and if I need someone along, won't you send them too."

She was sitting at her monitor working on something. A little row of fresh veggies lay on her desk, lined up neatlyand resting right beside a stack of papers. Baby carrots and grape tomatoes and some green things the only sign of neatness on that desk. "My kind of person", I thought, and relaxed a little.

She wasn't unfriendly, she was just seriously trying to get some of those veggies down, and waved me to a chair nearby,where I sat quietly so she could. When she stopped chewing I told her I'm a nurse, but have psychiatric experience and a degree in psych, and I mentioned I'd worked before there, but a long time ago.

She fed my social security number into her monitor, and right away it showed my history. I was surprised. and told her so. "Oh sure", she said, we keep records a long time and yours are still good". At that I let myself hope a little more.

Before we were done she had outlined how each thing to my credit worked for me now. But that wasn't the end of our encounter. "You would qualify for better positions,." "Look, this is the pay difference, if you had a Masters degree."Have you thought of that?"

In my brain I was back ten years ago, or more, to one of the few poems I'd tried writing then. "BEACH WALK". Reading it years later I could clearly see depression, and an almost giving up of dreams . Without commenting on her suggestion, insead I asked a question idling in me. "Is there an age restriction for working here?" "No", she said, "we don't discriminate., and added, "I saw you downstairs as you left the nursing department. I could tell you were disappointed".

Gathering several job descriptions and her card, she wote down notes about me, and my phone number, and gave me application forms. When I asked for extras she smiled, and gave me more.. I knew what she was thinking. Scattered desk people understand that trying to make one nice and neat, I might mess up a few.

I had taken enough of her time, and left. Already I was wondering where my psychology books were. Hadn't read or studied them in years, but wouldn't get rid of them. An old fire in my belly nourished long ago encircled me again, and and rose. The elevator ride back to the main floor ended quickly. No time for lengthy prayers . But when I got to my car I leaned my head on the steering wheel, unable to drive away until I talked to Him.

When I packed for the move back here I went through stuff several times, each time parting with a little more. But there was one psychology book, each time I'd pick it up, and start to put it in the discard stack, I could not throw it away, and kept it back. It is exactly what I need for brushing up, reviewing. That one will have its own place on my new shelves.

Driving home I'm thinking which college should I call first. Are there newer more innovative schools , and oh Lord, I wonder how much math's required. But not today. Today's the day to bask in it, to take it all in, crossing a bridge suspended from my past.

The Mental Health facility many years ago, was an army post. Its Southern influence remains,Stately, though old. What once was officers' quarters are still painted like back then. Red brick buildings with white trim silently speak of yesteryears. The parade grounds let ancient trees one might imagine saluting stay and grow. The buildings are old, but well kept. Many kinds of care and rehabilitation go on here. This kind of work doesn't appeal to many, but is so needed. I can't wait to get started again.

To blog with all you Christian women feels like long ago when I would get a brand new Big Chief tablet. Uniformed as soldiers, its rows and rows of lines waited for my thoughts.

Transposing them into this cyberspace equipment setting on my desk seems more difficult. I know it's gone forever, but you've no idea how much I long for simpler times. But because they're history, and I'm not ready for me to be the same, I must learn how cyber space writing's done. So here I am doing another practice run.

I Thought of several topics, but when I looked closer at them, they didn't fit, or seem right for this time. But when a writing itch attacks, I've learned to pay attention. Even if I have writer's block I can begin if nowhere else, at the beginning.

If someone needs something to write about, doesn't it make good sense to look for it in the best book ever printed, instead of the trash can secular garbage is in.

There's plenty of it available, It's all over. Not that TV's, computers, or magazines or movies are evil things, but some times they're used for less than decent intentions. Our job is to recognize when our standards are being compromised, and not allow it.

The title you see here was taken from Daniel, Chapter seven, verse number nine. There's much more to this story, but part of it is: "I kept looking until thrones were set up, and the Ancient of Days took His seat". Understand that Daniel was big on prophecy. My Bible, The International Inductive Study Bible, or TIISB, New American Standard Bible says: "All the other prophecies in the Old and New Testaments add flesh to Daniel's bones".

In a Sunday School lesson of long ago, Daniel's bones and skin seemed in much peril when he was thrown in with lions. The king mocked him like Satan tried to mock Jesus, in the CWO's quote last week. God intervened by sending angels who closed the lions' mouths, and the next day, when Daniel was released, "No injury was found in him."

The more I read about him the more fascinated I am. I don't pretend knowing all the details about this man, but I did notice that before it reached crisis stage, Daniel had already taken a stand for God by refusing the wine and food he was expected to eat. Not that some situations aren't sometimes difficult to deal with, but thank God there's still some Daniels standing up for what's honorable and right.

I don't recommend deliberately upsetting or irritating people, but there are times, like with Daniel and the wine and food, we need to know on which side of the chasm we stand. People sometimes try to put God and faith in neat little boxes. An hour or so each week, and we think that's enough practice. That might get us through a small skirmish, but what if a big challenge erupts?

Some think martyrdom ended when the apostles were killed, or maybe in the time of Joan of Arc. Not many years ago when a massacre was carried out in a Colorado high school, a young girl, known around the campus for loving Jesus, seconds before they killed her, had to say out loud whether she was a Christian. While her earthly death was so tragic, like they did with Daniel, and Jesus, I'm sure God's angels comforted her, and the family she had to leave.


With the emphasis today on young people being "in", and peer pressure pushing them to say everybody's doing whatever, parents may have something bigger than a battle, trying to create balance in their children's lives. Teaching them standards they'll need all their lives, but not discouraging them. Tread carefully. You never know when you may have a Daniel on your hands.

This is a test, it is only a test. In a real world I would have been told where to go and what to do. Since I wasn't, I called daughter, Barb at A Chelsea Morning because that invisible entity, Blogger, wouldn't let me sign on to do a post. At least that's what I understood.

Barb, and also daughter, Bev at Blessed beyond Measure recently switched over to "NEW" Blogger, and neither of them seemed worse off for doing it, so when Barb suggested we check it out for me, I thought, O.K., I'm not crazy about learning anything new right now. Learned enough new while on the other side of the mountain. But because that sounded a little like a cop out, instead of cooperating, I thought, alright, I'm the one who says I don't mind change. Sometimes even welcome it, and Barb was trying to help, so I gave it a go.

She was especially helpful. Added new meaning to the word patience, because an annoying interference on my phone line I thought was left behind, came back with me. It's radio station sounds, sometimes loud enough I can hear talk show people's comments. Other times can't hear it at all, but today it was loud. (I really must get that fixed) So poor Barb dealt with that, while leading me through computer steps I barely understood.

When she was done I had a few things to learn to do differently, but now have a daily Bible verse to think about each morning, and, I think it's called a link, instantly connects me with nine hundred or more Christian women, to share our faith, our past, our now, and whatever the future may be.

I so look forward to traveling it with two outstanding daughters, and grand daughters scattered from Texas to Pennsylvania and in between, and the nine hundred or more of you. Hello Christian Women Online.