Tag Archives: Praise

An Ordinary Drive

Image by RitaE from Pixabay.

My husband and I often drive to Ohio to care for his elderly father.

Not like traveling along California’s coastline, with its infinite, sparkling waves. Not like coaxing our car up Appalachian heights, where scary curves rival breathless beauty.

A between-snows drive on Midwestern highways doesn’t raise pulse rates — unless a semi crosses the line.

Or if we focus on a sunrise. Pastel hues stripe the gray horizon, then amid sherbet-colored clouds, the butter-cake sun shines on dark chocolate fields —

Image by Pexels from Pixabay.

Sorry. I’m driving under the influence of a post-Christmas diet. But the delicious scene raises my pulse rate. Maybe a bakery lurks nearby?

Hubby points. “The sun’s position has changed considerably since the fall equinox.” As he continues enthusiastic commentary on light angles, his pulse rate probably rises to new heights.

Mine doesn’t. Until he mentions ancient tribes who built mounds in the Anderson, Indiana, area. They marked seasons by studying scenes like this.

That’s how those Native Americans survived without phones?

My fascination with human behavior — Hubby calls it nosiness — quickly spreads to houses we pass.

I indicate a typical Indiana farmhouse. “Do they like strawberry or grape PBJ? Whatever, I’ll bet it’s homemade.”

Image by Stephen Marc from Pixabay.

Hubby’s look silences my mouth, but not my mind.

Yards that sport tired-looking Santas warm my heart. Someone’s farther behind than I. Others boast shining windows and perfectly sculpted bushes. Even their snowdrifts appear symmetrical. How do people live that way?

Pristine Amish homes grab me, though, with their simplicity and clotheslines full of black shirts and dresses dancing wildly in winter wind.

Slowing for buggies lets us enjoy trotting horses and large families snuggled like birds in a nest. However, rumspringa Amish teens skating down the middle of the highway don’t generate warm fuzzies.

Later, after a day of hugs, time with Dad and conversations with health care workers, we say bittersweet goodbyes. Hubby and I could drive the route home in our sleep, but watch each other closely so we don’t.

Against the sunset’s fiery rose, orange and purples, steeples along the way reach for Heaven. My thoughts do too.

Glory to God in the highest.

One more extraordinary ordinary drive.

Image by adonisbluemusic from Pixabay.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Describe your latest amazing, everyday drive.

OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Yaayyy, Orange!

Jesus, I love the sparkly red and green that help celebrate Your birth. Frankly, though, just as those colors clash with orange, Christmas promotions gobble up Thanksgiving. No time for honoring You, the Giver of all good things. So, OMG, at our house, orange will linger longer!

Such a rebel. …

OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: True Flower Power

O Lord, nothing looked deader than the brown, shriveled seeds I planted last spring. But You breathed Your life into them, and now, a hundred colorful reminders of Your Resurrection dance for joy in the west wind. OMG, to think that You can do the same for us, if we let You. Alleluia!

OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Saying Thank you Is Hard!

O Lord, when I was a kid, gratitude didn’t come easy. Mom would prompt, “What do you say?” and I’d mutter the “Thank you” that got grown-ups off my back. In 2020, it doesn’t come easy, either. Still, OMG, thank You. Thank You. Thank You!  

Blame It All

Hubby says, “Would you like to go out to eat?”

Do I like to breathe?

He complains the car is cold. However, I’m chilly, too — which never happens.

Hubby spots the problem: “Who flipped on air conditioning?”

Who can I blame? Where’s a grandchild when you need one?

Rats. They went home yesterday.

As a child, I never lacked blamees. While I longed to beam little brothers to the planet Gorlojxx, they served as excellent reasons for everything wrong with my life. I couldn’t complete kitchen assignments because they never stopped eating. I couldn’t finish piano practice because they shot me with dart guns. Later, I blamed them for my nonexistent dating life. What guy would brave those little commandos, armed with Crazy Foam™, cherry bombs and Peeping Tom mirrors?

I didn’t blame them for everything, though.

I blamed our parents, too. They should have stopped with me.

My left-handedness also came in handy. I first discovered this instant alibi while learning to tie shoes. No wonder, while doing The Hokey Pokey, I knocked down classmates like dominoes. No wonder I blew story problems, my socks slid down, and skirt zippers always wandered to the front. I was left-handed!

Later, I discovered right-handed people invented algebra. They also designed SAT tests and college applications.

The bank did not buy it, though, when I wrote my first overdrawn check.

And I thought story problems were a problem.

My generation and I blamed the Establishment, then eventually graduated to blaming the government: Democrats for deficits and potholes; Republicans for job losses and crabgrass.

McDonald’s, because they make us spill hot coffee.

If all else fails, we can blame the stars. Perhaps left-handed, too, heavenly bodies stumble in a cosmic Hokey Pokey that affects paychecks, love lives and bowling scores.

Some take the blame straight to God’s Complaint Department. “My life’s a mess. Your fault!”

He eyes the patched-up, parts-missing, jumble of perpetual motion. “Did you read the Directions?”

Um.

Funny. We rarely blame Him or other people for good things. Just sayin’.

  • Instead of pronouncing traffic “god-awful,” we could describe sunsets, babies and cardinals as “God-beautiful.”
  • We might compliment a busy McDonald’s employee for hot coffee.
  • Or even praise a hardworking public servant.
  • We could thank parents who let us live. Ditto for teachers.
  • I might learn to appreciate my brothers, even if they didn’t move to Gorlojxx.

Thankfully, Hubby has not moved, either, despite living with Quirkzilla for 44 years.

Approaching the restaurant, I admit, “I forgot to turn off the air conditioning. Seriously, that hot flash would have melted Alaska.”

He grins.

“Thanks for dinner out,” I add. “If I’m spoiled, I blame you.”

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Whom can you blame for something good?