tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53420139067897372782024-03-14T00:23:51.124-07:00Grams Ramblings Welcome to my blog. Grams is the name my first grandson gave me and it's stuck. My great loves: My husband, our nine children, twenty five grandchildren, four great grandchildren, my Faith, writing- prose and poetry - and travelling , especially in our camper. My posts are eclectic and I appreciate getting comments. So, please feel free to comment or offer advice on what you would like to to see more of. grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.comBlogger489125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-44256608407212673582024-01-31T09:35:00.000-08:002024-01-31T09:35:26.154-08:00St John Bosco<p> <span style="color: #101010; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: x-large;">We celebrate the Feast of John Bosco today. I've always had a great love for this Saint.</span></p><div class="post-outer" style="border: 0px; padding-bottom: 0.25em; position: relative;"><div class="post" style="margin-top: 0px;"><div class="post-body entry-content float-container" id="post-body-4077300322300047579" style="color: #101010; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 1.5em 0px 2em;"><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">With a particular concern and care for the young, first with evening classes where hundreds came to listen to his teachings about God and Heaven.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">he eventually set up a boarding house for apprentices and workshops for education and training, which is wonderful , thinking about them working and doing well and not just thinking about their spiritual lives. After all it's all one , our struggle with sanctity and our whole life is part of that. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgElscfZ80zitnDs44ZmbO9gC6DVuVtDybCw7Ml11GuEj-_fBO48GxAvahsfFJwrSqqvBpeWk4MDAEu7FXQro1Q7wQ4zY_0d4Z_ltHkpUJMQNWDyJJt-SHYB3v1ZKGXyBNEyzX-MW0k6mOuv1-3YpnJNEZnCgGZ_D-x6dVqLdLRy65CiX5rzrZKasmJMCo" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #2196f3; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img alt="" data-original-height="148" data-original-width="168" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgElscfZ80zitnDs44ZmbO9gC6DVuVtDybCw7Ml11GuEj-_fBO48GxAvahsfFJwrSqqvBpeWk4MDAEu7FXQro1Q7wQ4zY_0d4Z_ltHkpUJMQNWDyJJt-SHYB3v1ZKGXyBNEyzX-MW0k6mOuv1-3YpnJNEZnCgGZ_D-x6dVqLdLRy65CiX5rzrZKasmJMCo" style="border: 0px; height: inherit; max-width: 100%;" width="272" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Some of his sayings:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My children, jump, run, and play and make all the noise you want but avoid sin like the plague and you will surely gain Heaven"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">"learn to flee from bad companions and bad books"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Without confidence and love , there can be no true education. If you want to be loved ... you must love yourselves, and make your children feel that you love them."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Act today in such a way that you need not blush tomorrow"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Servite Domino in laetitia!" (serve the Lord joyfully)</span></p></div><div class="post-bottom" style="-webkit-box-align: center; align-items: center; display: flex; flex-wrap: wrap;"><div class="post-footer float-container" style="-webkit-box-flex: 1; -webkit-box-ordinal-group: 2; clear: left; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.54); flex-wrap: wrap; flex: 1 1 auto; margin: 0px; order: 1; width: inherit;"><div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1" style="-webkit-box-flex: 0; flex: 0 1 auto;"><span class="byline post-icons" style="display: inline-block; line-height: 24px; margin-right: 1em; margin-top: 8px; vertical-align: top;"><span class="item-action"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/email-post.g?blogID=7848199850119259567&postID=4077300322300047579" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #2196f3; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Email Post"><svg class="svg-icon-24 touch-icon sharing-icon"><use xlink:href="/responsive/sprite_v1_6.css.svg#ic_24_email_dark" xmlns:xlink="http://www.w3.org/1999/xlink"></use></svg></a></span></span></div><div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-2" style="-webkit-box-flex: 0; flex: 0 1 auto;"></div><div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3" style="-webkit-box-flex: 0; flex: 0 1 auto;"></div></div><div class="post-share-buttons post-share-buttons-bottom" style="float: right; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 16px; position: relative;"><div class="byline post-share-buttons goog-inline-block" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.54); display: inline-block; line-height: 24px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 24px;"><div aria-owns="sharing-popup-Blog1-byline-4077300322300047579" class="sharing" data-title="St John Bosco" style="float: right;"><button aria-controls="sharing-popup-Blog1-byline-4077300322300047579" aria-expanded="false" aria-haspopup="true" aria-label="Share" class="sharing-button touch-icon-button" fdprocessedid="ov6rs7" id="sharing-button-Blog1-byline-4077300322300047579" role="button" style="appearance: button; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: 0px 0px; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; cursor: pointer; font: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: visible; padding: 0px;"><div class="flat-icon-button ripple" style="background: 0px 0px; border-radius: 50%; border: 0px; box-sizing: content-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; line-height: 0; margin: -12px; outline: 0px; padding: 12px; position: relative;"><svg class="svg-icon-24"><use xlink:href="/responsive/sprite_v1_6.css.svg#ic_share_black_24dp" xmlns:xlink="http://www.w3.org/1999/xlink"></use></svg></div></button><div class="share-buttons-container"></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><section class="comments embed" data-num-comments="0" id="comments" style="border: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding: 0px 20px 20px;"><a name="comments" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #2196f3; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px;"></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #101010; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px;"></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></section>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-64153148547373175102023-10-24T10:46:00.081-07:002023-11-02T08:34:06.445-07:00All over the floor<p>2nd October 2023</p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">All Over the Floor</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">All over the floor,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From one side of the room </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">to the other, </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">strewn haphazardly,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">lay little mounds of clothes.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She sits in the midst,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">her hand reaches for </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a purple jumper,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a tear falls </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">and she breathes out </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">a slow sigh.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As she always did, </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">with black bags that </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">were left on her doorstep,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">she'd tipped them out </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">all over the floor.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was something she always </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">felt excited about.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What would she find</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">among the clothes, the brick o back, the books.?</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Always something she needed, </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">for the children or the house. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But always, too, an unexpected </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">treasure.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Like the time,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">it was near Christmas</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">when there was a pair of </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">burgandy coloured patent shoes,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the sort you'd go out dancing in, </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the sort she loved but </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">couldn't buy for herself,</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the sort she could now wear to the </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Christmas party with </span><span style="font-size: medium;">their friends.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-33300506101158891342023-05-19T10:10:00.154-07:002023-06-24T06:32:07.829-07:00Memoir<p> 17th May 2023</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>How's The Book Going ?</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">That's a question I'm often asked .</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">So:</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Let me tell you how things are going with the book. xxx</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">The short answer is , amazingly well, thank you. In fact way beyond my expectations!!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscoHq563jydyyhlYhI2VuVWRhHDb0H7F4coOidEnupZHt5-rLLraEF8Ysol6wooHYbw5L-BY1t7StImzRzoWCHy9Tf69OGj8DcqhiYwGAvMSFCuHGODOWunxUZqIKQvwM9gRgrwfm7WoFRD90CEkcgTOMnp2ysVqtbd-lqIG7GhwOMSBOAqDQ1YZgOQ/s750/mountain.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="562" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscoHq563jydyyhlYhI2VuVWRhHDb0H7F4coOidEnupZHt5-rLLraEF8Ysol6wooHYbw5L-BY1t7StImzRzoWCHy9Tf69OGj8DcqhiYwGAvMSFCuHGODOWunxUZqIKQvwM9gRgrwfm7WoFRD90CEkcgTOMnp2ysVqtbd-lqIG7GhwOMSBOAqDQ1YZgOQ/w354-h472/mountain.jpeg" width="354" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Without any real marketing or advertising, lots of orders are coming in for my memoir. This is both surprising and truly unexpected. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">However, as I find it virtually impossible to promote myself, it's also been helpful.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"> <i>My old friend, Imposter Syndrome, finds many reasons why people wouldn't be interested in my story. You know how it goes: "Who do you think you are, you're not a real writer." "You're a rubbish writer, so immature," he continues, "You've absolutely nothing interesting to say," and, "Who on earth would want to know about your life?" And so it goes on. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><i>Well, Mr Imposter Syndrome, judging by the feedback, apparently lots of people want to know about my life. And, what's more, My Imposter Syndrome , I actually went and did it. I did. I went and wrote the book! So there!!</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Anyway, I'm no longer friends with him. I'm letting him drift quietly, out of my life. Or, maybe he'll cause a scene. That doesn't matter. All I know is, he has to go. He's taken up far too much time and energy and is no real friend at all. If he comes knocking at my door I'm going to firmly tell him to get lost. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><span>So, dear friends, those who read my blog regularly and those who have stopped by on the off chance, let me share with you a sample of some of the beautiful comments I've received about my memoir, "</span><span><b>Nun to Nine". </b></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">The blurb on the back says:</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" class="bf iq ir c" height="979" loading="eager" role="presentation" src="https://miro.medium.com/max/700/1*jIkDlKSIbXwXHwGYJZWLPg.jpeg" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%; vertical-align: middle; width: 680px;" width="551" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">The title brings the question over and over, " Were you a nun , then?" , to which the answer is variations of , "Well now, you'd have to read the book to find that out, wouldn't you?" And this is encouragement enough for some.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Some comments from those who've read it:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"> "There is Plenty to recommend about this book.... It is deftly written, with an eventful and entertaining life story and has pace and vitality... I think Marian's storytelling is, by far, the strength of her writing. She writes effortlessly, with believable dialogue and with an eye for good storytelling. The reader is drawn into the story immediately with the account of the death of her parents... The story is both lively and interesting throughout, and maintains the readers interest from start to finish." ( C) (Part of a much longer piece!)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">"Finished! A really good read and I didn't want to put it down. I completely "got " the characters, you're so clever! You took such a risk, opening your heart as you did. Your courage has be in absolute awe. I hope you have already started the next book... Thank you for such a beautiful and heartfelt memoir. It will remain with me for a long, long time!" (M)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">A friend says:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">"It is very much your voice: direct, personal, honest. And the thread that runs throughout is your and Peter's love for each other. God knew that your vocation was to marriage - with all the sacrifices that entails - not to a nunnery. It wasn't blind chance that brought you together; it was the providence of God... " (F)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">"...what an opening chapter. Emotional and beautifully told 💓😭 in pieces." (K)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">"...the first chapter has me in floods of tears! Do I dare continue? 😟" (J) Rhetorical question, obviously.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">"Thoroughly enjoyed reading the fabulous Marian Green's recently published memoir. It was as though she was with me, on my train journey, telling me her story." (C) </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">"Had to contact you to say I started reading your book and love it." (M)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">"Dear Marian, just started reading your book last night and was in floods of tears at the picture you painted of your parents' deaths.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">You are very good at making the scenes come alive by describing the little details. For example, the purple blanket that you and Peter first bought in London which you couldn't bear to get rid of. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">You seemed such a warm and plucky person full of determination and full of fear simultaneously. I can relate to that!. The early times in Northampton when you felt the darkness inside you before you found Faith. And Peter's steadfast love for you even when you annoyed him!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">I am hooked by the story and find it very heartfelt ... I haven't finished the book yet as I want to savour it for a bit longer. " ( E)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span>"Finished reading your memoir. I didn't want it to end . I was hooked from the beginning and wanted more.. Marian that was a well written memoir ... (Name) keeps asking me about your book and if I've read it...I loved reading it and hope you write a further book ...</span></span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype"; font-size: large;">" (K)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;">"Hi, <span style="font-size: medium;">I just finished your book. Loved it...I thought it was a triumph. I found myself engrossed in the beauty of seemingly ordinary life. It's charming, conversational pattern warms the reader. What I loved most about it was, well, while it is of personal interest to me, its social commentary highlights the wider human experience. Its ontological truth it highlights on human nature is fascinating , like holding up a mirror to what intrinsically makes us human. PS. I might use it with my philosophy class next year..." (M)</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">" Wow, what a lovely memoir. I definitely wanted to know more about your life. So interesting." (F)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">"I so loved reading your memoir Marian. I took it on holiday and it was like having a friend with you telling all the stories of their life. x I can't wait for next one " (K) <br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="x1lliihq xjkvuk6 x1iorvi4" style="animation-name: none; background-color: #f0f2f5; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-top: 4px; transition-property: none;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" color="var(--primary-text)" dir="auto" lang="en" style="animation-name: none; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; word-break: break-word;"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "Palatino Linotype"; font-size: large;">And many people ( well, probably over ten ) have said they passed it on to others, (some two or three times) to a family member, or friend. </span></div></div></span></div><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Someone came up to me and said she'd been reading my memoir - her friend gave it to her and told her it was brilliant.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Another person told me , "your memoir is doing the rounds of all my friends. I'm sure they'll love it. " (W)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">And a friend caught me after church one morning and said, "Marian, I am loving your book. I've known you for how many years now, is it twenty something? Well now I know you better. You were very brave being so open. It's wonderful and I'm passing it on to ..." ( C) </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><b>And from Marnie Summerfield Smith , my mentor:</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">"This is an absolutely wonderful memoir. I am very proud to have assisted Marian, who came to one of my writing retreats and invited me to read and feedback on her work. A wonderful woman and a very insightful memoir, full of retrospection, thoughtful writing and emotion. Bravo, Marian!" ( www.yourmemoir.co.uk ) </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Well, thanks Marnie. </span></p><p><i style="color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: large;">I am absolutely blown away by such wonderful reactions.</span></i></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">So, if you're wondering how to get your own copy, email me at:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">marian-green@hotmail.com </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrKi45dSt1ndxWBqGB0_0teyGl0zmzbobKkn4ap5dzDd1esyKxlm2o86boYfX-VYJFOl-cjOCCOzdC4AMMnbJohapIuG12IvgPhDgdB9kS3iG9V0183acHagIenmLmRsFY5rhEu15ihXMQ2jwZ48BVys9GqQbwoh-B7hEkIIHg8L4RaPenCkIejNnLuw/s577/breakfast%20falmouth%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="577" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrKi45dSt1ndxWBqGB0_0teyGl0zmzbobKkn4ap5dzDd1esyKxlm2o86boYfX-VYJFOl-cjOCCOzdC4AMMnbJohapIuG12IvgPhDgdB9kS3iG9V0183acHagIenmLmRsFY5rhEu15ihXMQ2jwZ48BVys9GqQbwoh-B7hEkIIHg8L4RaPenCkIejNnLuw/w520-h390/breakfast%20falmouth%202.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><br /><p><br /><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"></span></p><p></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-4108393914546427842023-05-01T10:43:00.000-07:002023-05-01T10:43:31.774-07:00The Gate of the Sheepfold <p><b><i> <span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111;">Gospel : </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111;">John 10:1-10 </span></span></i></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Josefin Sans", Roboto, Verdana;"><b><i> </i></b> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i> 30th April 2023</i></span></span></p><div class="wpb_wrapper td_block_wrap vc_raw_html tdi_65" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; margin-bottom: 48px; position: relative;"><div class="td-fix-index" style="box-sizing: border-box; transform: translateZ(0px);"><h4 class="cg_heading" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: "Josefin Sans", Roboto, Verdana; line-height: 1.3; margin: 24px 0px 14px;"><i style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 15px; text-align: justify;">Jesus said:</i></h4><h4 class="cg_heading" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; line-height: 1.3; margin: 24px 0px 14px;"><i style="background-color: white; color: black; font-size: 15px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Roboto;">‘</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;">I tell you most solemnly, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold through the gate, but gets in some other way is a thief and a brigand. The one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the flock; the gatekeeper lets him in, the sheep hear his voice, one by one he calls his own sheep and leads them out. When he has brought out his flock, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow because they know his voice. They never follow a stranger but run away from him: they do not recognise the voice of strangers.’ </span></span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"><i style="background-color: white; color: black; font-size: 15px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 1em;">Jesus told them this parable but they failed to understand what he meant by telling it to them. </i><i style="background-color: white; color: black; font-size: 15px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 1em;"> So Jesus spoke to them again: </i></span></span></h4><h4 class="cg_heading" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; line-height: 1.3; margin: 24px 0px 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">‘I tell you most solemnly, </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">I am the gate of the sheepfold. </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">All others who have come </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">are thieves and brigands; </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">but the sheep took no notice of them. </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">I am the gate. </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">Anyone who enters through me will be safe: </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">he will go </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">freely in and out </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">and be sure of finding pasture. </span><span style="font-style: italic; text-indent: -3em;">The thief comes </span><span style="text-indent: -3em;"><i>only to steal and kill and destroy.</i> </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-size: 15px; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"><i style="font-weight: normal;">I have come </i><span style="text-indent: -3em;"><i style="font-weight: normal;">so that they may have life and have it to the full.</i>’</span></span></span></h4><h4 class="cg_heading" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; line-height: 1.3; margin: 24px 0px 14px;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2pU06f45HlHYCkS8R4N2t_6_O9HVPalRrUffGhtrwrKRbjWn1fpDL_5wA5rOF1a0Zyn3i8sNGjzF1_xZ7CCgR6umOOOfq_d5imy-azbftuYvnOcyUBY9fsSE_vpgryk1V3kbA_u1gG7neg7VMEbuvV22FN1-tDVdOCSHIwo7OMdTfOARrd21_BQyfJA" style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 15px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: -3em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="569" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2pU06f45HlHYCkS8R4N2t_6_O9HVPalRrUffGhtrwrKRbjWn1fpDL_5wA5rOF1a0Zyn3i8sNGjzF1_xZ7CCgR6umOOOfq_d5imy-azbftuYvnOcyUBY9fsSE_vpgryk1V3kbA_u1gG7neg7VMEbuvV22FN1-tDVdOCSHIwo7OMdTfOARrd21_BQyfJA=w292-h217" width="292" /></a></h4><h4 class="cg_heading" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; line-height: 1.3; margin: 24px 0px 14px;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"> Jesus you tell us You are The Gate to the sheepfold and we must enter through You. But You also say, the one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the flock. Could it be that Jesus, You are both the gate and the shepherd? And Jesus, could it also be that the Holy Father and the Bishops with him are the shepherds who lead the sheep, the flock, us, through the gate . Again, Jesus, could it also be that You call us to, not only go through Jesus ( the gate) , but also be shepherds ourselves, to the many sheep who wander the world not knowing in where to find the Truth, where to find Eternal Life, where to find Salvation. </span></span></h4><h4 class="cg_heading" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; line-height: 1.3; margin: 24px 0px 14px;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"> Jesus, You say You have come "that they may have life and have it to the full", that we may have life and have it to the full, finding green pasture and bringing, hopefully, many with us. </span></span></h4><h4 class="cg_heading" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; line-height: 1.3; margin: 24px 0px 14px;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;">Help us be mindful, Jesus, on this Good Shepherd Sunday, that we have to follow You closely, to get to know You well, to listen attentively to You, knowing that You will lead us through the narrow gate, to be with You and be safe. </span></span></h4><h4 class="cg_heading" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; line-height: 1.3; margin: 24px 0px 14px;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"> And to do that we have to be very close to Him, to know Him well, to be intimate with Him. </span></span></h4></div></div><div class="wpb_wrapper wpb_text_column td_block_wrap td_block_wrap vc_column_text tdi_66 tagdiv-type td-pb-border-top td_block_template_2" data-td-block-uid="tdi_66" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; color: #222222; line-height: 1.74; margin-bottom: 48px; position: relative;"><div class="td-fix-index" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; transform: translateZ(0px);"><div class="Bible Bible-12" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 30px auto; min-width: 260px; text-align: center;"><ins class="adsbygoogle" data-ad-client="ca-pub-2944844911296209" data-ad-format="fluid" data-ad-layout="in-article" data-ad-slot="1867895805" data-ad-status="filled" data-adsbygoogle-status="done" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; height: 200px; text-decoration-line: none;"><div class="cg_content" id="Universalis_Mass_G.text" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black; font-size: 14px; margin: 8px 0px; padding: 2px; text-align: justify;"><div style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.7; margin-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;"><br /></div></div></ins></div></div></div>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-89349360567210593402023-05-01T10:42:00.002-07:002023-05-01T10:42:26.181-07:00The Feast of St Joseph The Worker <p> 1st May 2023</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><u><b>St Joseph the Worker.</b></u></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">For a long time now this Feastday has been one of my favourites.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The Gospel for today gives that that wonderful description, meant to be derogatory but, when we think about it , so meaningful, of Jesus after the people heard Him teaching in the Synagogue in Nazareth: "<i>Where did the man get this wisdom and these miraculous powers? This is the carpenter's son, surely? Is not His mother the woman called Mary,....</i>"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhH_6tw-oQl6W7_halfS1rd0qky5SvV5xpG7NrwgBWBAgAA4yuPU_Q-K77HOTmeZT4t8oWfbiDcH1JLOfEDYjvU6mk6TD3GtTB9AEL_3fYXTJIFkMnuvjUn-C2Y_jO9NkXpknhMyzjURQzOxdH0JopvGKowPxra67s9t-qGFD4kWtd37GaYAaioVf8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="152" data-original-width="98" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhH_6tw-oQl6W7_halfS1rd0qky5SvV5xpG7NrwgBWBAgAA4yuPU_Q-K77HOTmeZT4t8oWfbiDcH1JLOfEDYjvU6mk6TD3GtTB9AEL_3fYXTJIFkMnuvjUn-C2Y_jO9NkXpknhMyzjURQzOxdH0JopvGKowPxra67s9t-qGFD4kWtd37GaYAaioVf8=w248-h336" width="248" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Jesus - Son of the carpenter, a worker. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The worker:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Haven't we, like Joseph, from the very beginning been created to work?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Gen 2.15 "<i>The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it.</i>"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">From this verse, we can conclude, can we not, that man's God given purpose, is to work? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The purpose of creation is to give Glory to God and the way we humans do that is by our work. To do our work well, whatever it is, is an opportunity for us to give Glory to God and be part of His creative process. What is the best work we can do for God then, what will please Him more? The doctor saving peoples lives? The farmer growing crops so that we might live? The teacher imparting knowledge to our children?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I'd say the one who does their work with more love of God.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">And that could be the simple road sweeper, or any other worker, who works well and does it with great love of God.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">All work, any work, is an opportunity to love God more.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">And as that's what we are made for, we can do it all of our life.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Of course, after the fall work became difficult, but that does not negate the beauty of it. Work is not a punishment that was inflicted on humanity because of our pride and disobedience. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Gen 3:17</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>"Then to Adam He said, Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten the tree about which I commanded you, saying, "You shall not eat from it"; cursed is the ground because of you: With hard labour you shall eat from it all the days of your life."</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">So, Adam's curse is one of hardship in doing the necessary work of life, work that would otherwise have brought joy and meaning to his existence. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">"Get rid of the idea that work is a punishment. Work is our way to give Glory to God. Rather than being a punishment it is how God intended for men and women to mature , growing into His image and likeness" (</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d4d4d; font-family: "Droid Serif", Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px;">Bishop Echevarria)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><p style="background-color: white; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; font-family: verdana;">It was after my third daughter was born, that I understood for this for the first time. To realise that my "work" in the home, as a wife and mother was my way to sanctity, changed my life forever. </span></span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #4d4d4d; font-family: verdana;">Changing the babies nappy, washing the kitchen floor, doing the dishes, everything was now working for God. </span></span></span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"" style="background-color: white; color: #7a7a7b; font-size: 16px;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">May is the Month of Mary and thinking about the Holy Family today is a good start to the the month. </span></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-68161044885013443412023-04-29T02:21:00.000-07:002023-04-29T02:21:14.426-07:00Thankfuls<p> 29th April 2023</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Hello, friends, although this post is for the Ten Things of Thankful blog hop, I first, to get it off my chest, want to mention a little "sorrow" that I'm feeling. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">April is National Poetry Month. It's the same every year and in the past I've enjoyed taking part in it. The idea is to post a poem a day throughout the month of April. I love challenging myself with this brain aching activity. I am so sad that, this year, I missed it. Yesterday, I saw a post about it and was gutted that it was too late to get involved. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">However, it did make me think that maybe I need to be more involved with a community of writers through my blog. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">So, folks, the first thing I'm grateful for today is that I was prompted to search out the TTOF bloghop. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnW5xmE4sSj6_wHgmwTnXX4nIcPUOso7ZfZ25uvetVvEL4QQdGpZi6DEfrpXzAqL1jqgTEdcLjFLcfc-q8je956QlyywaaMQUae_TTkYJ_CbRDni1nf3jNiw5-ZDdZyCPCjauhRFtZcBVib67cqYW3NNAe5X2-s0RvIdo35sHn11B_9vP_mz3USK6Jjg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnW5xmE4sSj6_wHgmwTnXX4nIcPUOso7ZfZ25uvetVvEL4QQdGpZi6DEfrpXzAqL1jqgTEdcLjFLcfc-q8je956QlyywaaMQUae_TTkYJ_CbRDni1nf3jNiw5-ZDdZyCPCjauhRFtZcBVib67cqYW3NNAe5X2-s0RvIdo35sHn11B_9vP_mz3USK6Jjg" width="240" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">When we came to buy our house, it was a main concern of mine to have a south or south west facing garden, so that while sitting out in the afternoons and evenings we'd get beautiful views of the gorgeous sunsets across the bay. And our garden is definitely a very pleasant place to be throughout, not just the summer, but spring and autumn too. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">The plants - a rhododendron, four rose bushes, two climbing clematis, and lavender plants are just a few - give me so much joy and a feeling of calm. The only problem? Yes, you got there. There's just never enough time to spend in the garden.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">That's the back garden, as I said, facing south west, which was a priority. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">However, it didn't occur to me to think about the front of the house and the fact that it faced East. I never gave it a thought, never imagined it might make an impact on our life. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Well, I'm here to tell you that it does. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">You see, our bedroom faces East, which means we get the early morning sun streaming in as soon as it makes an appearance. And, at this time of year, when there's still a little bit of a chill in the air and we have a window open for ventilation and to keep the mould at bay, it's such a blessing to have the warmth of the early morning sun drench us as it casts itself in rectangular strips across our bed. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">We listen to a meditation, with the birdsong interjecting and drink our first cup of tea. It's a treasure I didn't expect. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">With my heart full to overflowing, I think that's enough for ten thankfuls for today. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Until next time then... </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-42024864562165530252023-04-17T06:04:00.005-07:002023-04-17T06:06:45.550-07:00Spring Cleaning<p> <span style="font-size: x-small;">17/04/23</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Spring Cleaning</b></u></span></p><p style="text-align: left;">Forty days of lent, that long, penitential, pilgrimage, </p><p style="text-align: left;"> brings us to Holy Week.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Holy Week , when, hopefully we've been trying to be more</p><p style="text-align: left;"> closely united to Our Lord, </p><p style="text-align: left;">concludes with the three days of the Easter Triduum, </p><p style="text-align: left;">where we try to put even more effort in to accompanying </p><p style="text-align: left;">Jesus and His Blessed Mother, our Mother, on His journey to the cross. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Finally, after all the beautiful liturgies, that are completely draining,</p><p style="text-align: left;"> both spiritually and emotionally we reach the climax, </p><p style="text-align: left;">the Easter Vigil and Wow,</p><p style="text-align: left;"> now the Joyous season of Easter begins. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia </span></b></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLsmN5-WLp51w3b7B5QnxQtAKNs_h0pB3Myh_Nwqtjhx3JI5eKuTPJ6xKuAr-IjFy98z1tsuFZeAaii0e4KBRmAOhjQSgo0dedusddKSYHWIK2PlLgHybxFyyxHo1A71IWgcx0dfmUGj-erwSBs1_A6GozpnTPB_R4eCXQa_CI2HAKMiwasNBlIwDqxA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="546" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLsmN5-WLp51w3b7B5QnxQtAKNs_h0pB3Myh_Nwqtjhx3JI5eKuTPJ6xKuAr-IjFy98z1tsuFZeAaii0e4KBRmAOhjQSgo0dedusddKSYHWIK2PlLgHybxFyyxHo1A71IWgcx0dfmUGj-erwSBs1_A6GozpnTPB_R4eCXQa_CI2HAKMiwasNBlIwDqxA=w449-h230" width="449" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">This joy, this hopeful tone,</p><p style="text-align: left;"> this feeling of a new beginning, </p><p style="text-align: left;">spills over into other areas of my life. </p><p style="text-align: left;"> For instance, there's something, isn't there, </p><p style="text-align: left;"> about the warm spring air </p><p style="text-align: left;">that makes us ( it can't be only me !)</p><p style="text-align: left;"> want to clean, to clear out, </p><p style="text-align: left;">to declutter and to reorganise. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The new light shows up the dust,</p><p style="text-align: left;">the grime, the messy corners. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Under the bed, those cobwebs, </p><p style="text-align: left;">where did they come from? </p><p style="text-align: left;">Out you go.</p><p style="text-align: left;">That pile of books, can it be</p><p style="text-align: left;">culled?</p><p style="text-align: left;">OK! </p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm not going that far</p><p style="text-align: left;">How long have those sticky</p><p style="text-align: left;"> fingers prints been on the glass doors?</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm coming for you.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-66095527956797114582023-03-15T02:06:00.010-07:002023-03-15T02:07:06.460-07:00No Bucket<p> 15th March 2023</p><p><span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: large;">"You have no bucket, sir, and the well is deep: how could you get this living water?"</span></p><div><br /></div>Today, in the liturgy, there is the choice to have again the beautiful, gloriously rich story of the Samaritan Woman.<div><br /><div>I was struck for the first time - and I've listened to and read the story many , many times over my nearly 70 years - by the simple, everyday way in which the woman talks to Jesus - "You have no bucket..."</div><div><br /></div><div>It made me think how easy it is not to trust that God is God and that he needs no bucket. </div><div>How often do we think, that's impossibly ?</div><div><br /></div><div>How often do we lack Faith in Jesus to give us what we need.</div><div><br /></div><div>How often does our action say,</div><div> "You have no bucket..." </div><div> "How are you going to do that?" </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiksBBAXYCYFhDiYoJM2bjJN06yDaRfUDSdxyTasiA8hSzkD7CsDDqEqHQ7H3IflNWztipvqBYQ9sHUxN8xnUhNqBdFYeOz4UAZXW2q05ekcfwA8FeTlGKzpi_nlSSqUWJm_V2PD7V1qjTgt1qT8XzXolFCsypJjOQ8F3_RJjFDDzDzQNfG0dpQmXMg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="576" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiksBBAXYCYFhDiYoJM2bjJN06yDaRfUDSdxyTasiA8hSzkD7CsDDqEqHQ7H3IflNWztipvqBYQ9sHUxN8xnUhNqBdFYeOz4UAZXW2q05ekcfwA8FeTlGKzpi_nlSSqUWJm_V2PD7V1qjTgt1qT8XzXolFCsypJjOQ8F3_RJjFDDzDzQNfG0dpQmXMg" width="226" /></a></div></div>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-75194069203338609892023-02-22T00:55:00.003-08:002023-02-22T00:55:48.288-08:00Ash Wednesday<p> 22nd Feb 2023</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnYoVWumLxJlSacgwNK2tZrlZk1gi1fv9PTthGxQWE-ga9okgz9b0w2bLC9WRtPBVVm19O7smEqy-E7dO8boy9PbMrj1mts4abF0HUOgFcYyD2ZEaO0gJ8qNK-wU_Lgt1zAqh2YjoNaY3KK7uP9ktAs_F53KBqYd97DaT3GfOLZRZZ5qp7pLY3Pxmm" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #2196f3; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img alt="" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="542" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnYoVWumLxJlSacgwNK2tZrlZk1gi1fv9PTthGxQWE-ga9okgz9b0w2bLC9WRtPBVVm19O7smEqy-E7dO8boy9PbMrj1mts4abF0HUOgFcYyD2ZEaO0gJ8qNK-wU_Lgt1zAqh2YjoNaY3KK7uP9ktAs_F53KBqYd97DaT3GfOLZRZZ5qp7pLY3Pxmm=w297-h335" style="border: 0px; height: inherit; max-width: 100%;" width="297" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Ash Wednesday always comes as a bit of a surprise to me. And here we are again. </p><p>Yesterday, I found a Christmas bauble from the tree, under the units in the hallway. A remnant of the celebrations and the beautiful season that seem to be only just finished. Is it my age? </p><p>Now, today we start the journey of lent . I'll go to Holy Mass as I do most days. But there will be some differences. All the statues will be draped in purple and the priests will be dressed in the same colour. There will be no Alleluia and we'll ask the Lord, "A pure heart create for me O God..." Yes, we'll be reminded that we are sinners. </p><p>Of course, we'll also get the ashes:</p><p>"Remember man that thou are dust , </p><p>and unto dust thou shalt return."</p><p>Later, hubby and I will decided together how to approach the fasting and abstaining that's required of us. And boy, will that be difficult with visitors coming, who we'll try and host without them knowing what we are doing. Obviously if it comes up we'll tell them , but we won't make things difficult for them.</p><p>I'm still wondering what I will do for lent. </p><p>Give something up?</p><p>Have a plan to put charity into practice?</p><p>Do something spiritual, like meditating with scripture?</p><p>Or all three?</p><p>Anyway, this time is given to us to prepare for the wonderful, most important celebration of Our Lord's resurrection at Easter. So , in some way, I'll concentrate on that.</p><p>Tell me, how do you approach Lent?</p><p><br style="background-color: white; color: #101010; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px;" /></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-78822685103353832262023-01-21T11:15:00.002-08:002023-01-21T11:33:58.214-08:00Wild Writing<p> <br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Wild Writing </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">21st January 2023</span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh04WFaqdU6ul07189zDto2YUxWZ7ZjOJqepW5N8E11A4ims2ztaD5p73oiZglLgbZr8adESeHFTAqBwsmqZAIlyAxCqx8BLfF2HxbOg8-CMMHKMSb3yYVxfUPXaPdhaQplMGJsWS72e5g-4JTtGp8FqDkMCiKOfP2DBwGYqbuV1mfaJ-a4WSiaOuxWJQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="960" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh04WFaqdU6ul07189zDto2YUxWZ7ZjOJqepW5N8E11A4ims2ztaD5p73oiZglLgbZr8adESeHFTAqBwsmqZAIlyAxCqx8BLfF2HxbOg8-CMMHKMSb3yYVxfUPXaPdhaQplMGJsWS72e5g-4JTtGp8FqDkMCiKOfP2DBwGYqbuV1mfaJ-a4WSiaOuxWJQ=w640-h168" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span> </span>It was because I had a few hours to myself this morning that I found I was able to get to sit down and think, "What do I want to do?" Don't misunderstand me, as I looked around the house there was plenty of "jobs" that called to me and which I could have happily occupied myself with. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But today I wanted to spend some time playing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wanted to spend some time playing with words.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Interestingly, last week I randomly found a free five day "Wild Writing Course", which I thought I'd like to do. Just as quickly as I had that thought I put it out of my mind, because, you know, how would I fit in these zoom sessions. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span> </span>Although I didn't consciously think about it over the next few days, it was obviously fluttering about somewhere inside me and, with time to spare this morning I now went looking for it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Luckily for me, not only did I find the course, but there were recordings of the sessions, which meant that I could partake of them at my leisure.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, for an hour, not totally uninterrupted, I worked through the first recording. I am so thankful for this time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span> </span>Listening to the two poems, that were used as prompts, inspired and encouraged me to be brave with my own "Wild Writing". </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span> </span>For instance, the poem "Every Grace" by Stella Nesanovich, helped me to appreciate how simple, ordinary, moments can be Holy. I am thankful that, there on the page, I recorded, those shards of time when I made happy connections with some of the people I love.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcXg7Fx_oMblyfcGNkwfZsrB4_gjSYR_JK2cwHgacR-2plUEk76Z_3ELbor8s_rdljIl7vzmjg9WrcHzSCbnDHTdP8gzEF4DJhAgQKtQyD_6y8IlDGsdMC2C5vYmbYjF7W613Vnb3_A1SvqcwsA0ToIRHdByK417cwiLquMnBERUkqjRIwshI1bR7yZg/s275/baking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcXg7Fx_oMblyfcGNkwfZsrB4_gjSYR_JK2cwHgacR-2plUEk76Z_3ELbor8s_rdljIl7vzmjg9WrcHzSCbnDHTdP8gzEF4DJhAgQKtQyD_6y8IlDGsdMC2C5vYmbYjF7W613Vnb3_A1SvqcwsA0ToIRHdByK417cwiLquMnBERUkqjRIwshI1bR7yZg/s1600/baking.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo Credit - Argos</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span> </span>One of those times was baking with two of my gorgeous grandaughters. Oh the joy, the laughter, the chatting as our lives were softly bound together just like the ingredients in our cake were mixed and beaten together - every egg, every spoon of sugar and flour, every ounce of butter - until the texture was just right. Finally, when baked it became, like we had, a new creation. The process of baking - weighing ingredients, combining them the right way, etc etc..- was less important than sharing those precious , ordinary, Holy moments. The smiles, the stories, the questions. Precious indeed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb14F7h1Q7XbCLSHP5mryLn5h1xVsenxyD-qQZffEGNuLrRLUS1EEpaTzzabqv-Ha5e4BIiUh7ecJBONoC8PpMn9jEHj8uti9oqbkDm34whvB9oOY5Wum1lQvRMDMB8_hZ2X6vVWHmoY013rqldPmkw578eAneGOw-C-W_sDWuYO4E_HpZULntk7hJgg/s612/seagulls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="612" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb14F7h1Q7XbCLSHP5mryLn5h1xVsenxyD-qQZffEGNuLrRLUS1EEpaTzzabqv-Ha5e4BIiUh7ecJBONoC8PpMn9jEHj8uti9oqbkDm34whvB9oOY5Wum1lQvRMDMB8_hZ2X6vVWHmoY013rqldPmkw578eAneGOw-C-W_sDWuYO4E_HpZULntk7hJgg/s320/seagulls.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo Credit - Getty Images</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span> </span>Walking with a friend along the coastal path was another cause for me giving thanks this week. Again, I thought of it because of the poem. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Going at quite a pace we breathed the briny air deep into our lungs, while seagulls squawked in the blue sky above us and winter waves crashed against the barriers. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We walked into the strong wind, all the while chatting and laughing about all sorts of unimportant, yet vital, trivia, both of us wallowing, one in the comfortable company of the other, sharing everything and nothing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At the end of our walk, we hugged, we said goodbye, but we both felt much lighter for our time together.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then there was the phone call with one of my daughters who I don't get to see as often as I'd like , yet, even though many miles separate us we are deeply connected and our friendship grows with the passing of the years as we build each other up and understand each other better and love each other more. That's just one phone call from one daughter. I am truly blessed that I have a good , loving, relationship ( but different, obviously) with each of my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's like this, and I've said it before and I repeated it again to my son's partner when they visited me unexpectedly this morning. A distraction, I have to say, I was more than happy with. It's like this: I ask the question, if I were to die today what regrets would I have or what would I be sorry I didn't do or didn't see?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's a question I've asked myself often and this morning I answered in response to this lovely thirty something girl feeling stuck and fed up and that life is passing her by and there's so much that she hasn't done and still wishes to do but is too scared to take a risk. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If I had little time left on earth, it wouldn't be the places I haven't visited, like Venice or America, that I would be sorry about, it would be not loving enough the family and friends I've been so fortunate to have in my life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And really, that's it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-52168674099526547712022-12-28T05:54:00.000-08:002022-12-28T05:54:36.212-08:00Structure<p> 19th Oct 2022</p><p>The prompt for the six sentence story this week is structure.</p><p>Let's go.</p><p><br /></p><p>The more I ponder the world around me the greater my loves grows</p><p> for the wonderful order of it all,</p><p> from mountains and rivers, to the seas and the life within them, </p><p>to trees and animals, to planets and stars and</p><p> the beautiful variety of the human population.</p><p> Everything has its own unique pattern, its own reality, its own being.</p><p>The mountain maintains its place, standing majestically, as it should,</p><p>like all the rest,</p><p>doing as they are meant to do. </p><p>And you and I, we also have our place to be, our way to live,</p><p> our part in this story.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-36823586668351082102022-12-28T05:53:00.003-08:002022-12-28T05:53:50.432-08:00Happy Christmas<p> 28th Dec</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><b><span style="color: #0c343d;">A Very Happy Christmas to You</span></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><b><span style="color: #0c343d;"></span></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #0c343d;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSV71mfXElfZNMFqnz3RnGElnxXD7z7i9VulgS3clv7GbOyLnhHPlDHzqDlmyCfFgPlGipkEkuV6f6oxQyHGnNWJSFpvdwCZCgC3M72BhzMiHGCYa2j042A0TCk_Eevh1MvJYe4bnOjLFZZhN2mc2LO6TqReFU-Ov1g-9PXFQGdoRH9ObyUx55y7Kt/s612/nat%2023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="612" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSV71mfXElfZNMFqnz3RnGElnxXD7z7i9VulgS3clv7GbOyLnhHPlDHzqDlmyCfFgPlGipkEkuV6f6oxQyHGnNWJSFpvdwCZCgC3M72BhzMiHGCYa2j042A0TCk_Eevh1MvJYe4bnOjLFZZhN2mc2LO6TqReFU-Ov1g-9PXFQGdoRH9ObyUx55y7Kt/s320/nat%2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></span></b><span style="font-family: times;"> In our family we continue to celebrate Christmas, so I wish you the </span><span style="color: #800180; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Peace, Joy and Love </span><span style="font-family: times;">of the Christ Child this 4th day of Christmas.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"> We have a Christmas party tomorrow with families from our ParisIh and the next day my daughter will host another family Christmas Day. There will be others, but more impropmtu, like a meet up for the Ist Jan, when we remember Mary as the Mother of God, before we finish with a party for the Feast of the Kings on the 6th Jan. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"> I will continue to wish people Happy Christmas, even though they might think I'm mad and shout back at me, "You mean Happy New Year , Love!" No I don't , I try and explain, but they've usually moved off by then. Even in the Church people look at me askance, as if to say, "hey, Christmas is over, thank goodness." What a shame. I also still have some Christmas Cards that I intend to give out at the party tomorrow. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">What do you do during the Twelve Days of Christmas. I hope you're having a wondrous time. </span></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-39852337801873164342022-10-11T04:10:00.101-07:002022-11-22T03:20:01.994-08:00Christmas Cards<p>22nd Nov</p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Christmas Cards</span></p><p>It's less than five weeks till Christmas!!!</p><p>I don't know about you but for me, it comes around all too quickly. I can't believe we're nearly there. A sign of my age perhaps.</p><p>Do you send Christmas Cards? Some people don't do they? It's definitely the time to think of at least buying some. </p><p>I like to send them and over the years have come to realise what an important part of the Christmas story they can be.</p><p>Many years ago I used to buy a big box of cards from Woolworths - yes, I know, definitely showing my age now!!</p><p>Anyhow, in this box of, I think 50 cards, there might be one or two that would be considered "Holy". What do I mean by that? Well, I'm thinking of those ones that actually showed the Holy Family, Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus. Those few cards would be selected, by me, to go to people who I thought would appreciate them, those ones who, I knew believed. I certainly wouldn't have popped one in to my neighbour who'd expressed agnostic views or to a family member who had fallen away from the Faith. Wouldn't want to upset them, now, would I?</p><p>These days I no longer buy assorted boxes. In fact I go out of my way to purchase ( from local shops if at all possible), only ones with the real message of Christmas on. I only send religious cards. For some people it might mean my card is the only one on their shelf showing what Christmas is about. And to think they'll have a nativity scene in their home makes me very happy. In this small way maybe I am bringing Christ to others. And with a warm message inside, who knows the good it might do.</p><p>Are you particular about your Christmas Cards? Will you strive to pass on the Christmas message in this very easy way. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9eOILy8Dg31YyU4q_x0-LRIuBohmO7whWDxgFzNmDCufjSeZRwOzL20FLSg7hGbNjY8UkZSBxJS66P8ma9tJvv3Rw2V7FPVqMlapBijZwFY4JLxak756-TxaTDkMQE3HZcrgNDxTf9UJfhrWZvLScHVjTaizDXnZFvOWNNBuH9KlRxQgceWXjctdYzA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="612" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9eOILy8Dg31YyU4q_x0-LRIuBohmO7whWDxgFzNmDCufjSeZRwOzL20FLSg7hGbNjY8UkZSBxJS66P8ma9tJvv3Rw2V7FPVqMlapBijZwFY4JLxak756-TxaTDkMQE3HZcrgNDxTf9UJfhrWZvLScHVjTaizDXnZFvOWNNBuH9KlRxQgceWXjctdYzA" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-69207870301490823392022-10-05T05:51:00.011-07:002022-10-05T15:11:15.184-07:00Club<p> 5th Oct 2022</p><p>This week's six sentence challenge bloghop can be found here, </p><p> https://girlieontheedge1.wordpress.com/ </p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #333a42; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Rules of the hop:<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" /></span>Write 6 Sentences. No more. No less.<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Use the current week’s prompt word.<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Link up at Wednesday’s post. Link goes live at 6:00 pm through Saturday late…<br style="box-sizing: inherit;" />Spread the word and put in a good one to your fellow writers <img alt="😀" class="emoji" draggable="false" role="img" src="https://s0.wp.com/wp-content/mu-plugins/wpcom-smileys/twemoji/2/svg/1f600.svg" style="background: none; border: none; box-shadow: none; box-sizing: inherit; display: inline; height: 1em; margin: 0px 0.07em; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px; vertical-align: -0.1em; width: 1em;" /></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #333a42; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">PROMPT WORD</em>: <span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: green; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">CLUB</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: green; font-size: 15px; font-weight: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhreQ68tqzEkhL27_z7-ZufFoslD9RbFh5QCThaDlus_wX49aWndc1o3i0Pl_IWVS_9sXBwSAPzQSVnmmNTIsH0HJis5shRZ5pD-F-4RVVzXNIwK90MP5diL2E6WB4U_G_nS7nPByvNp_t1yfHcjPVVv5oaxdsCkbcjRzyb0hvpF7-lkmjtjGWUt5u0Yw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="142" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhreQ68tqzEkhL27_z7-ZufFoslD9RbFh5QCThaDlus_wX49aWndc1o3i0Pl_IWVS_9sXBwSAPzQSVnmmNTIsH0HJis5shRZ5pD-F-4RVVzXNIwK90MP5diL2E6WB4U_G_nS7nPByvNp_t1yfHcjPVVv5oaxdsCkbcjRzyb0hvpF7-lkmjtjGWUt5u0Yw" width="170" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: green; font-size: 15px; font-weight: inherit; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: green; font-size: 15px; font-weight: inherit; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Dancing With Dad</b></span></span></span></p><span style="color: green; font-size: 15px; font-weight: inherit;">"</span><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Come on then, you're turn now," my father put out his hand to me and smiled, having first made sure Mum was comfortable sitting with my Aunt and my sisters, "let's see what you remember from last week." </span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">As my handsome dad, with his jet black hair swirled me round the dancefloor in an attempt to teach me the waltz, homework, friendship concerns, and all the survival stuff of school, melted away and, having looked forward eagerly to these precious moments, I now concentrated only on the steps, while dad whispered , "one, two, three," over and over in my ear. </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every Sunday evening we joined other Parishioners, mostly Irish, like one big family, at the Hay Lane Catholic Club, which was packed to the rafters and where, I'm convinced more Guinness was drunk here than in Dublin itself. Proud to be dancing with my dad, and striving as I was to be as brilliant with him as mum was, the two of us meanwhile laughed together and enjoyed ourselves so much that the good feeling of everything being right with the world seemed to seep into my bones. </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit;"> Dad died six years ago, and it was many years before that I'd last danced with him, but these memories, rather than fading, seem to be as clear to me now as back then - when I trod on his toes, when he patiently and kindly waited for me to learn, when he let me have some of his Guinness, when we'd finally danced the whole song without me making any mistakes and he lifted me up and kissed my forehead, and if I close my eyes and breathe deeply I can smell the beer, the smoke, the sweat of that lost time. </span></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Though things didn't stay that good between us, much as I wished they would, and though I'm sad that I didn't make more of an effort to be closer to him, I am , nevertheless, so grateful and thank God for these fond memories of a happier time. </p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: "Noto Serif", Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px 0px 1.8em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-11006857044811444452022-10-01T09:04:00.006-07:002022-10-01T09:15:42.289-07:00Spark<p> 1st Oct 2022</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkW_c59cWSPsAITYSHDX7FJH1h6fYszox1J2fZRQfhV5kUudBoe4uhBHWR7Gaitw3WPz1w1r1n8C3xQGThv9JoGMiGcf92VEUGYVNAPwK8dhP6gsH3UXgFhgVRz-ZyzJG-e0uDfVjTcA9PNhREfK0XQsnMIy1EVk-qjCz8ncyiRsRoqfDaS8QV4494Kw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="142" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkW_c59cWSPsAITYSHDX7FJH1h6fYszox1J2fZRQfhV5kUudBoe4uhBHWR7Gaitw3WPz1w1r1n8C3xQGThv9JoGMiGcf92VEUGYVNAPwK8dhP6gsH3UXgFhgVRz-ZyzJG-e0uDfVjTcA9PNhREfK0XQsnMIy1EVk-qjCz8ncyiRsRoqfDaS8QV4494Kw=w142-h200" width="142" /></a></td></tr><tr></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Following on from last weeks story, I stay with Marie in the garden.<div><br /></div><div>The prompt word, <b>Spark.</b><div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b><div>Marie glanced through the grubby window of the greenhouse, saw his spade hanging in the place he had always left it, saw the neat pots stacked in ordered rows, saw the seed boxes all meticulously and lovingly made by Frank all those years ago, and wondered what had finally pushed her over the edge, what was the spark that set her off.</div><div><br /></div><div>When they first got married she enjoyed sharing his passion for all things horticultural, had followed him around at shows, had even done a course in flower arranging so she could make use of the many flowers that he grew, eventually becoming a teacher herself. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, as time went on and the children came along, it became clear to Marie that his plant obsession was the most important thing in the world to him and she would have to get on with things by herself, which , for the sake of the children and because she had loved him, she put up with.</div><div><br /></div><div>The fact that their father showed them so little affection, she found it difficult over the years to convince her daughter and two sons that their father did actually love them, speaking well of him at all times and doing her best to encourage him on the odd occasion, usually with flowers involved, to attend events that they might be involved in. </div><div><br /></div><div>But she had become tired of living a lie and on that last day, the day he'd trudged over her new carpet with his muddy boots without a care for her at all, she'd been slicing onions for their dinner and suddenly, though she has no recall of the incident itself, she found herself looking down at his body, blood dripping from the knife she held in her hand.</div><div><br /></div><div>"This is a good spot for you, right where you'd want to be," she said to her dead husband as she rolled him into the hole she'd dug outside his greenhouse, while she wondered how she would get his blood out of her new carpet. </div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-7916703551184579162022-09-25T23:39:00.002-07:002023-02-20T06:34:18.015-08:00Lazarus and the rich man<p> <b style="text-align: center;">Lazarus and the rich man</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><br /><br /></b></p><p> In the Gospel this Sunday Jesus, speaking to the Pharisees, gives us the story of Lazarus and the rich man. </p><p>What would these Pharisees think listening to this story? Would it be hard for them to stomach, especially since it dispels an idea prevalent at the time that material prosperity in this life was a reward for being morally upright and that adversity was a punishment.</p><p>It also makes it very clear that the soul survives after death and therefore there is retribution in the next life, that we have to answer to God for all our acts in this life.</p><p>The rich man had no intention of harming poor Lazarus. He had probably seen many like him, begging at his door. He was able to get on with his life happily and ignore the fate of this poor beggar. He managed not to "see" him, not to bring his problems into his own life. So, although he didn't do anything to cause him harm he sinned by omission. He could have helped him but chose not to. </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqnY7_GSHi7JDARjn2PQzPe3ue1absGa2O4J1AN9naE-icq7z5CkhUJqteWpr-B6k4GrOxLF-RiFZzNB3pLPLuvhSm4WcK4UBimvdhH6gH84jN71ytjF8s_Rt5kEUH6bcDV3vThQ_9MCUXyaYXr28JuTq9LVMgdFNqybs2PVH6ovCm1BotmFqFMcv7ww" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="339" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqnY7_GSHi7JDARjn2PQzPe3ue1absGa2O4J1AN9naE-icq7z5CkhUJqteWpr-B6k4GrOxLF-RiFZzNB3pLPLuvhSm4WcK4UBimvdhH6gH84jN71ytjF8s_Rt5kEUH6bcDV3vThQ_9MCUXyaYXr28JuTq9LVMgdFNqybs2PVH6ovCm1BotmFqFMcv7ww" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>What is Jesus telling us? </p><p>Do we need to ask ourselves some questions? </p><p>Am I ignoring those that are around me who are in need? Am I, in fact, guilty of committing sins of omission, by not helping where I can, by not considering the dignity of every person I meet?</p><p>Am I slow to help the poor, the sick the needy, close to home and in other parts of the world?</p><p>Am I willing to do more and, at least, raise awareness? </p><p>I will die. It might be soon. Then I will, hopefully, go to the Lord. I will take nothing with me except what I did here on earth, how I loved and how I treated others. </p><p>I should do the best I can while I still have time. </p><p><br style="background-color: white; color: #101010; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px;" /></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-20068457546070815412022-09-20T03:42:00.256-07:002022-10-01T09:04:46.272-07:00Tying the Knot<div>20th Sept 2022</div><div><br /></div><div>Six sentence story with :</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div> girlieontheedge <div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkW_c59cWSPsAITYSHDX7FJH1h6fYszox1J2fZRQfhV5kUudBoe4uhBHWR7Gaitw3WPz1w1r1n8C3xQGThv9JoGMiGcf92VEUGYVNAPwK8dhP6gsH3UXgFhgVRz-ZyzJG-e0uDfVjTcA9PNhREfK0XQsnMIy1EVk-qjCz8ncyiRsRoqfDaS8QV4494Kw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="142" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkW_c59cWSPsAITYSHDX7FJH1h6fYszox1J2fZRQfhV5kUudBoe4uhBHWR7Gaitw3WPz1w1r1n8C3xQGThv9JoGMiGcf92VEUGYVNAPwK8dhP6gsH3UXgFhgVRz-ZyzJG-e0uDfVjTcA9PNhREfK0XQsnMIy1EVk-qjCz8ncyiRsRoqfDaS8QV4494Kw=w142-h200" width="142" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCWBYHuzpEDORq6zjLjvyJCNIcF--uMmKQgFZbU880JiqHy7Mbh3OixEYQkEVnf9gEPliTvFOZ1YFieeynidSccWyEDNUHDPXeWAS-K9CkyTKApL4yuvGNcMC3pNTvamg_FBgHukL6FDNluOAa9gA8jEMQhgwldzC6HD_VDDpW0AGbMIfzPypM0b4fBA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="360" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCWBYHuzpEDORq6zjLjvyJCNIcF--uMmKQgFZbU880JiqHy7Mbh3OixEYQkEVnf9gEPliTvFOZ1YFieeynidSccWyEDNUHDPXeWAS-K9CkyTKApL4yuvGNcMC3pNTvamg_FBgHukL6FDNluOAa9gA8jEMQhgwldzC6HD_VDDpW0AGbMIfzPypM0b4fBA" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> I Can't Undo The Knot</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Part 1</div><div>Marie waters the rose bush, notices some old blossoms which have changed from beautiful, rich, deep orange to faded, dull pink and which she now dead heads, wondering why age is so ugly.</div><div><br /></div><div> "Rosa Independence", a bush she chose herself, has grown outside her husbands greenhouse for six years now and yet, regularly, Marie walks to the end of the garden to tend it and spend some time in quiet contemplation, though it never seems to settle her thoughts or bring her any comfort or consolation and whilst she abhors living in the rambling old house, with it's creaky stairs and large cold rooms, she knows that she can never leave. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Mum, this place is killing you, it's about time you got out, moved on, got a life for yourself" her daughter often pleads, "and mum, you know me and Chris will help, and come on, it's gone six years now since dad went, and, honestly, seeing you like this is heart-breaking."</div><div><br /></div><div>Her daughters words hurt more than she wanted to admit, but as she kneels down in the dirt, weeding under the bush, she remembers her last day with Frank, when he came home from the Mid Henton Holicultural show, with an award for "Most Improved Bloom", and walked through the hallway, her clean hallway, imprinting it with muddy footprints from his boots and grunting, "Where's me dinner then?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"I do miss you," she snifs, as her tears fall into the dirt, "but maybe we shouldn't have tied the knot so tightly all those years ago, because , no matter what I do, I can't undo it...I can't undo it, and although I'm not locked up, I'm not free, am I, and here we are, you and I, here we are" </div><div><br /></div><div>----</div><div><br /></div><div><u> </u></div><div>Marie glanced through the grubby window of the greenhouse, saw his spade hanging in the place he had always left it, saw the neat pots stacked in ordered rows, saw the seed boxes all meticulously and lovingly made by Frank all those years ago, and wondered what had finally pushed her over the edge, what was the spark that set her off.</div><div><br /></div><div>When they first got married she enjoyed sharing his passion for all things horticultural, had followed him around at shows, had even done a course in flower arranging so she could make use of the many flowers that he grew, eventually becoming a teacher herself. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, as time went on and the children came along, it became clear to Marie that his plant obsession was the most important thing in the world to him and she would have to get on with things by herself, which , for the sake of the children and because she had loved him, she put up with.</div><div><br /></div><div>The fact that their father showed them so little affection, she found it difficult over the years to convince her daughter and two sons that their father did actually love them, speaking well of him at all times and doing her best to encourage him on the odd occasion, usually with flowers involved, to attend events that they might be involved in. </div><div><br /></div><div>But she had become tired of living a lie and on that last day, the day he'd trudged over her new carpet with his muddy boots without a care for her at all, she'd been slicing onions for their dinner and suddenly, though she has no recall of the incident itself, she found herself looking down at his body, blood dripping from the knife she held in her hand.</div><div><br /></div><div>"This is a good spot for you, right where you'd want to be," she said to her dead husband as she rolled him into the hole she'd dug outside his greenhouse, while she wondered how she would get his blood out of her new carpet. </div><div><div><br /></div></div>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-13094301008418638552022-09-16T12:23:00.003-07:002022-09-16T12:23:30.958-07:00Angel<p> 16th September </p><p>Joining six sentence story bloghop.</p><p>Prompt word - <span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Guard</b></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Angel</b></span></p><p><br /></p><p>I ask for him to light the way, </p><p>to guard me every single day,</p><p>to rule me, to guide me</p><p>on my way.</p><p><br /></p><p>He's always there to help me out,</p><p>especially when I'm driving about.</p><p>He's great at finding parking spots</p><p>and when I ask, </p><p>He finds me lots.</p><p><br /></p><p>And lately, as my memory dims,</p><p>he aids me finding my lost things.</p><p>I can honestly say I rely so much </p><p>on his gentle guidance </p><p>and soft, warm touch.</p><p><br /></p><p>So thank you dear Angel for all you do,</p><p>for staying close and for being you.</p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-31624065180414760102022-09-15T08:16:00.012-07:002022-09-15T08:46:24.326-07:00Have you no Faith?<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihY0hYUkn7b7GGDoYgqtSAk_INh4DecEOwNgLhkzxOXwR6-tSYdAHQquQ641dr0T0imH9FzpItlTG6LU089weCuKuD4MO2DqTTAxDnoD42QY3JnMF2eSshPfNn2EmaNrTqxhfstBiguxDxrJU333wJyEfdHrgjfoUVHZ3ypvfCurM6VMzflbA9v4zshg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1265" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihY0hYUkn7b7GGDoYgqtSAk_INh4DecEOwNgLhkzxOXwR6-tSYdAHQquQ641dr0T0imH9FzpItlTG6LU089weCuKuD4MO2DqTTAxDnoD42QY3JnMF2eSshPfNn2EmaNrTqxhfstBiguxDxrJU333wJyEfdHrgjfoUVHZ3ypvfCurM6VMzflbA9v4zshg" width="190" /></a></div></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">We can be worried and afraid of all manner of things. </span></div><p>We might have a physical illness and get anxious that it will be terminal, or, at least stop us doing what we normally do.</p><p>We might have money issues and are concerned about how we'll pay our bills.</p><p>One of our children might be ill or in trouble and we don't know how we can help.</p><p>We might have a tough talk to give. And though it is for the Lord, we stay awake at night going over and over what we're going to say. </p><p>We will all have our own scenarios. </p><p>A lady wanted to run a prayer group to help ladies that she knew grow in their relationship with The Lord. Her spiritual director thought it was a great idea and so she prepared for it as best she could. Before the first meeting she got very anxious and her family life suffered. She lead the prayer group and all was well. At the second one, she changes somethings and tried to listen to the Holy Spirit, and although it went better ( in her judgement), it was far from what she'd hoped she could do. She prayed about it and consulted and discovered that she hadn't been trusting it to the Lord, not really. Even though she thought she had. </p><p>Then she found this quote which gave her a lot of peace. </p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Mk 4: 40 "He said to them, "<span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b>"Why are you afraid? Have you no Faith?"</b></span>"</span></p><p>She intends to prepare for the third meeting in a more relaxed way, with Jesus, relying on Him more, to trust Him more and leave the result up to Him. She is going to "get out of the way, so God can enter..."</p><p>Let us place our reliance on God and leave every outcome up to Him. </p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-46636615454701106342022-08-31T05:56:00.000-07:002022-08-31T05:56:04.521-07:00Changeling 2<p> 31st Aug 2022</p><p><br /></p><p>From a few years ago, with some changes</p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">2nd Oct 2019</span></p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Day 2 of octpowrimo.<br />Why don't you have a go. It would be lovely to see your words.<br /><br />Going for an acrostic as I found the prompt, Changeling, a bit hard. <div>I was thinking of my boy, who has ADHD and didn't "fit" societal expectations.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Changeling</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>You, dear child, you have,<div>extraordinary powers. <div>Not understood by those </div><div>who have </div><div>preconceived ideas</div><div> of a normal sort of life,</div><div> a life that fits their comfort,<br />A life that doesn't veer from the</div><div>well trodden, wide, path, </div><div>the road, everyone walks. </div><div>But not you. </div><div>No, they are blind to your magic, </div><div>your exuberant excitement, </div><div>along this <br />Great adventure of life,</div><div>where, for you,</div><div> anything is possible,</div><div> and no limits exist, </div><div>where, you explore, explode,</div><div>enthuse over everything,</div><div>over anything.</div><div>You, are larger than the life</div><div>you've been given. </div><div>You are the inventor most magnificent,</div><div> the Nobleman in your own country, </div><div>you encounter all with joy. </div><div>You speed through life, </div><div>lighting up our lives.<br /></div></div></div>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-61599078078525622632022-04-30T06:32:00.193-07:002023-02-09T14:30:09.830-08:00Full Term<p>30th April</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzJwkkC7VS9EGepYGM0f1HYHojwjZHC9tjI07JqSmSwbl9eEeU_jsBCD07J7O0ehXW7uWmuvj1gIxO3pg90qFi8fLDjkiUvs3cszRc3lVQp4mzCE374VpwBvsNZF3AH8HbSaDb4XyQEtmHzBWveHwbCjGUKzU5NDlqDtpEUNMFutDGO01iH0lacneL2Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="142" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzJwkkC7VS9EGepYGM0f1HYHojwjZHC9tjI07JqSmSwbl9eEeU_jsBCD07J7O0ehXW7uWmuvj1gIxO3pg90qFi8fLDjkiUvs3cszRc3lVQp4mzCE374VpwBvsNZF3AH8HbSaDb4XyQEtmHzBWveHwbCjGUKzU5NDlqDtpEUNMFutDGO01iH0lacneL2Q" width="170" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> The prompt for this six sentence story is "term"</p><p>Find info here: <span class="d-ib p-abs t-0 l-0 fz-14 lh-20 fc-obsidian wr-bw ls-n pb-4" face="Roboto, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; display: inline; font-size: 14px; left: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20px; max-width: calc(100% - 20px); outline: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 4px; position: absolute; text-decoration-line: none; text-overflow: ellipsis; top: 0px; vertical-align: bottom; white-space: nowrap;"><a class="d-ib ls-05 fz-20 lh-26 td-hu tc va-bot mxw-100p" data-284="626d485645196" data-matarget="algo" href="https://r.search.yahoo.com/_ylt=AwrINyZVSG1iw1kAdSYM34lQ;_ylu=Y29sbwNpcjIEcG9zAzEEdnRpZAMEc2VjA3Ny/RV=2/RE=1651357910/RO=10/RU=https%3a%2f%2fgirlieontheedge1.wordpress.com%2f2019%2f10%2f13%2fsundays-six-sentence-story-word-prompt-77%2f/RK=2/RS=1sOXphxTIgMP.E.97bHrWdBqbnc-" original_target="https://girlieontheedge1.wordpress.com/2019/10/13/sundays-six-sentence-story-word-prompt-77/" referrerpolicy="origin" style="background-color: white; color: #1a0dab; display: inline-block; font-family: Roboto, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: 0.5px; line-height: 26px; max-width: calc(100% - 20px); outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; text-decoration-line: none; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: bottom; white-space: nowrap;" target="_blank" waprocessedanchor="true" waprocessedid="9ibwog">girlieonthe</a></span></p><p><a class="d-ib ls-05 fz-20 lh-26 td-hu tc va-bot mxw-100p" data-284="626d485645196" data-matarget="algo" href="https://r.search.yahoo.com/_ylt=AwrINyZVSG1iw1kAdSYM34lQ;_ylu=Y29sbwNpcjIEcG9zAzEEdnRpZAMEc2VjA3Ny/RV=2/RE=1651357910/RO=10/RU=https%3a%2f%2fgirlieontheedge1.wordpress.com%2f2019%2f10%2f13%2fsundays-six-sentence-story-word-prompt-77%2f/RK=2/RS=1sOXphxTIgMP.E.97bHrWdBqbnc-" original_target="https://girlieontheedge1.wordpress.com/2019/10/13/sundays-six-sentence-story-word-prompt-77/" referrerpolicy="origin" style="background-color: white; color: #1a0dab; display: inline-block; font-family: Roboto, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: 0.5px; line-height: 26px; max-width: calc(100% - 20px); outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; text-decoration-line: none; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: bottom; white-space: nowrap;" target="_blank" waprocessedanchor="true" waprocessedid="9ibwog"><span class="d-ib p-abs t-0 l-0 fz-14 lh-20 fc-obsidian wr-bw ls-n pb-4" style="color: #202124; display: inline-block; font-size: 14px; left: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-bottom: 4px; position: absolute; top: 0px;">girlieontheed<span class="fc-pewter" style="color: #5f6368;"> ›</span></span></a></p><p><span class="d-ib p-abs t-0 l-0 fz-14 lh-20 fc-obsidian wr-bw ls-n pb-4" face="Roboto, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; display: inline-block; font-size: 14px; left: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20px; max-width: calc(100% - 20px); outline: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 4px; position: absolute; text-decoration-line: none; text-overflow: ellipsis; top: 0px; vertical-align: bottom; white-space: nowrap;">30th April 2022</span><span class="d-ib p-abs t-0 l-0 fz-14 lh-20 fc-obsidian wr-bw ls-n pb-4" face="Roboto, "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; display: inline-block; font-size: 14px; left: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20px; max-width: calc(100% - 20px); outline: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 4px; position: absolute; text-decoration-line: none; text-overflow: ellipsis; top: 0px; vertical-align: bottom; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span></p><p> GirlieOnTheEdgeBlog </p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: large;"><b>Full Term</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbIMGxRRz1UxW7-mtZ8yjLUeBuwIYsrhUYyg_an66EoHTiWCVzEJC39DAl6yNO6CLSi4_zuPa04pjCy-cpQRUwzhB3Neeyp9NO2PNwIOJ30M-Kb0PtJwNRdCaNRaib86kYZmEIafuwtBn_zyNFRCDZxzu0wzzIRohj7o0TR9xb_ESKBXsl2AVCVTjkEQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="612" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbIMGxRRz1UxW7-mtZ8yjLUeBuwIYsrhUYyg_an66EoHTiWCVzEJC39DAl6yNO6CLSi4_zuPa04pjCy-cpQRUwzhB3Neeyp9NO2PNwIOJ30M-Kb0PtJwNRdCaNRaib86kYZmEIafuwtBn_zyNFRCDZxzu0wzzIRohj7o0TR9xb_ESKBXsl2AVCVTjkEQ" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Sally walked through the tape, avoiding cracked steps, and stopping to slip plastic coverings over her shoes, before walking through the open front door of the Victorian terraced house. Her eyes smarted, and she coughed as the strong smell of bleach unexpectedly caught her throat. Covering her face with her hands, she made her way towards the kitchen, relieved to discover that the all the windows were open. </p><p>"All yours, Doctor," the policemen said, as he passed her in the corridor, "not a pretty site, I'm afraid." </p><p>How spotless everything looks, she thinks, glancing round the kitchen, someone cleaned up well. Only the body disrupted the scene, the body of a woman in her early thirties, Sally guessed, her clothes tattered, covered in blood, cuts to her face, arms and legs, and, shockingly, as far as she could tell, pregnant and full term, too.</p><p> As Sally fell to her knees beside the splayed limbs of the woman, gently feeling for any sign that baby might be alive, she thought of another time, not long ago when her own little Joe died before he could take a breath and realising that this little one was dead too, she could no longer hold back her tears, which now flowed softly down her cheeks . </p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-61178938277246991402022-04-29T10:06:00.001-07:002022-04-29T10:06:36.479-07:00Finding Ten <p> 29th April</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJ0jM15qaSJ_87et5hmAOm-gipiG-sf5Fg4lf_nT0oz3B-79z_Gqj_C3LzehtYQhrviVhJQ2Km_My8DfjrMHdhFjcW1l9B4pw5zKqsDU-US5qoZhFCeZK6OOI5YC4JBKyBKhhvNSNs3ScK9TNzEYJrFjy5zzF8njsKuNjKo1lvLyQQibB3N6dv0kDeuQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJ0jM15qaSJ_87et5hmAOm-gipiG-sf5Fg4lf_nT0oz3B-79z_Gqj_C3LzehtYQhrviVhJQ2Km_My8DfjrMHdhFjcW1l9B4pw5zKqsDU-US5qoZhFCeZK6OOI5YC4JBKyBKhhvNSNs3ScK9TNzEYJrFjy5zzF8njsKuNjKo1lvLyQQibB3N6dv0kDeuQ" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's a while since I posted anything on the ten things of thankful bloghop. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have no valid excuse.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's not that I haven't had cause to give thanks. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I just haven't felt like thinking about it, and actually being thankful.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I suppose my attitude hasn't been one of counting my blessings, but rather seeing only the obstacles. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And those obstacles, dear readers, are so minute in my life as to be totally embarrassing to talk about.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I won't.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I come here today and try to ponder on what I can be grateful for. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'll just look at the past week.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">1. On Wednesday we came back from Cornwall after spending twelve days at our daughter's, the first week dog sitting while they cruised the Norway Fjords, with the children, the second week a few days with all of them when they got back. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was a time to treasure, a time that's precious. We don't get to see them as often as we'd like as they live 6 hours away. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I know you guys in America don't think that's such a big deal, but for us English folk, on our small island, I can assure you it's a massive trek.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">2. I loved some of the coastal walks and breathed the sea air, the freedom of it, deep into my lungs. As I walked I thought again that I'd like to do the Camino de Santiago. I'd have to practice lots before though. I'm not fit enough for it yet. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">3. On one of the walks when the family came home I strolled along with my six year old grandaughter. What joy as we created poems together from all that we saw around us - caterpillars, yellow gorse bushes, trains, birds, the colours of the sea, the dunes, the sand, the sound of church bell, and much more. When she got home, she started a new journal which she called Seaside Poems. Amazing.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">4. Sharing a book with my grandson before he went to bed. It makes me so happy that he loves books. This lively boy of three can sit for an hour or more listening to stories. I love that. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">5. Then, when the children were in bed, we spent some quality time with our daughter and her husband. A glass of wine and chatting together - just my cup of tea ( ah, no, it's wine xxx) To see the love they have for each other is quite humbling and brings a lump to my throat. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">6. When we got home and I looked out into the garden I was overjoyed to see the reds and blues and yellows of plants bursting into bloom. And my clematis coming back to life with it's beautiful purple flowers. What a lot had happened in the garden in that short twelve days. Of course, there is a lot of weeding to do too. But hey ...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">7. I heard on the family grapevine how one of the children was helping a sibling out with a problem. How proud I am of my children. It happens with the grandchildren too , and even between the generations. It's more than I thought possible, yet maybe only the tip of the iceberg, for all I know. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">8. Hubby and I went in some galleries when we were away. I was blown away by the exhibition in the Newlyn Gallery in Penzance, called Captured Beauty. Here's some blurb:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.blackvoicescornwall.org/" rel="noopener" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: black; font-family: ff-netto-web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px;" target="_blank">Black Voices Cornwall</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: ff-netto-web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px;"> is an organisation that exists to enable Cornwall to become an actively anti-racist county. The ambition for </span><em style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: ff-netto-web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px;">Captured Beauty</em><span style="background-color: white; font-family: ff-netto-web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px;"> is for ethnically diverse visitors to feel seen through the works in this exhibition. It is also an opportunity for the white community to have an insight to how it feels to be a person of colour in the 21st century, and to come away from the exhibition with a determination to finally end racism.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We were told that 98.2% of Cornwall is white and one of the artists said she can go for more than three weeks without seeing a person like herself. How isolating is that. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The exhibition was very humbling. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It made me think, as St Josemaria said many years ago, "there's only one race, the human race...". If only we could remember that.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">9. Another exhibition I enjoyed was called Simple Truths. Again, it made me think. Taking ordinary daily experiences and giving them a twist was clever. There was even some up to date pieces such as a shop assistant in a bakery carefully putting a loaf of bread in brown paper . She is wearing a mask. Only able to see her eyes, we're left with questions. Might she be smiling? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have to thank my lovely hubby for introducing me to the wonder of galleries. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">10. Finally, I'm thankful for this bloghop, which has encouraged me to find things to be thankful for and has got me writing. </span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><br /><p></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-11013568165145381702022-02-22T11:02:00.001-08:002022-02-22T11:02:10.753-08:00The Run<p> 22 02 2022</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Run<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Earnestly, he rubs the canvas<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With a damp cloth, <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">reveals the white of his <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">old trainers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Deliberately, one by one, unravels<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the blue laces,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">dreamily watches a fly<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>crawl among crumbs<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>on grey tiles,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>oh, little fly, <o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>you have no idea how lucky you are. <o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Out on the downs, on the coastal path,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">he runs, <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">he runs, … slowly, …at first,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">until, inside his head<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">an explosion, a war, of words<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">fly back and forth. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Keeping time he picks up pace<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quickening, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>louder they get, <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Faster, …Faster, …Faster, …<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">his breath, his breath,…gives out... <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He stops…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
falls…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He falls with …<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A thud<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Into the mud…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He curls…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Head down…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Face down…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Down in
the dirt…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He sobs…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He sobs…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Down in the dirt, he sobs…<o:p></o:p></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-83784669163087175142022-02-22T04:50:00.001-08:002022-02-22T04:50:13.022-08:00Renouncing self- Gospel reflection<p> 22 02 2022</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mark
9:34-9:1<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jesus called the people and his disciples to him and
said:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him
renounce himself and take up his cross and follow me. For anyone who wants to
save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake and the
sake of the gospel, will save it. What gain, then, is it for a man to win the
whole world and ruin his life? And indeed, what can a man offer in exchange for
his life? For if anyone in this adulterous and sinful generation is ashamed of
m end of my words, the Son of Man will also be ashamed of him when he comes in
the glory of his father with the holy angels” And he said to them, “I tell you
solemnly, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see
the kingdom of God come with power”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">What does it mean to renounce oneself? And take up
our cross? To save our life we must lose it. What’s all that about? How do we
do that?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Does it mean I need to be in a convent, away from
the bad world? Is that the way to save my life? Or join some catholic
association and work for them, losing my life in that work so I can save it? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">No, this message of Jesus is for everyone, not just
for a few who can be Holy. No, I’m called to be Holy, we all are. He wants us
not just to know about him, but to get close to him, intimately close - young
people through their <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>studies, single people
in their professional work, mothers and fathers in the family and in their
professional work, and yes, also priests and nuns and those who work for the
church. All of us offering Jesus our whole lives, through the little things of
everyday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So, in my life, whatever it looks like, Jesus asks
me to renounce self. He asks me to put Him first. I can do that, hundreds of
times in one day. And I can always ask him, Jesus, what do you want me to do
here, in this situation or that other one?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Lent starts on 2<sup>nd</sup> March. Let’s make this
lent a time to get close to Jesus to love Him more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each of us should prepare a plan. Not a huge
list of things but something we’ll keep to. Something simple. Maybe you
struggle getting up on time, then that’s a good place to start, as soon as the
alarm goes, immediately turning your heart to God, and up. Renouncing self. “Help
me live this day for you Lord”. Or it could be to do something small for
someone you live with to make their life better - listening to them, giving
them your time and attention. We’re so caught up in “self” sometimes, we don’t
think of the others, who are often going through difficult times. A cup of tea,
an offer of help. This, if done for Our Lord, is following Him, following Jesus.
Could you, this lent, make time for Jesus by spending 10 or 15 mins in prayer
with Him? Or read a passage of the Gospel every day? Maybe you already have these
habits. Then think, can you do them with more love? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask Jesus for light to see what He wants of
you this lent. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342013906789737278.post-41428011639515053752022-02-17T03:40:00.006-08:002022-08-31T03:53:37.432-07:00Shoulder My Yoke17th Feb 2022<br />
<p style="background-color: #f9f7f2; box-sizing: border-box; color: #353535; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.98rem; line-height: 23px; margin: 0px 0px 5px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 5px;"> </p><p style="background-color: #f9f7f2; box-sizing: border-box; color: #353535; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.98rem; line-height: 23px; margin: 0px 0px 5px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 5px;">Matthew 11: 28-30</p><p style="background-color: #f9f7f2; box-sizing: border-box; color: #353535; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.98rem; line-height: 23px; margin: 0px 0px 5px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 5px;">Jesus said, 'Come to me, all you who labour and are overburdened, and I will give you rest. Shoulder my yoke and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. Yes, my yoke is easy and my burden light.'</p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">"Shoulder my yoke</span>"<br />
<br />
What do you mean?<br />
You promise to give rest,<br />
then you ask us to<div> take up our yoke .<br />
How are these two</div><div> compatible?<br /><br /><div>
Overburdened with our</div><div> "selves" <br />weighed down, yet<br />
resting in you<br />
we find a light-heartedness,</div><div>a peace<br />for our souls.<br />
May time stand still<br />
in moments of joy</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvh_M6_kgMcbVPmqdDzOewyCS4cVPg_MbF6VXYH_XVIYzVsYDzZz3lCGaMUA6GaCxXCwwk_bYaMVHhx9hUX1GYnLv4JGe72wsQVSeK4pgKGoOxS7iPREwtcjKtkCDohfvzO4CqsSRyaIJ6LJoUJChPTlpB8Rsi-I8FJReBwgpyYR1u1xQAaiSefrZkMw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvh_M6_kgMcbVPmqdDzOewyCS4cVPg_MbF6VXYH_XVIYzVsYDzZz3lCGaMUA6GaCxXCwwk_bYaMVHhx9hUX1GYnLv4JGe72wsQVSeK4pgKGoOxS7iPREwtcjKtkCDohfvzO4CqsSRyaIJ6LJoUJChPTlpB8Rsi-I8FJReBwgpyYR1u1xQAaiSefrZkMw" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photo - Maria Lang</div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>grams ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15627561019772248870noreply@blogger.com2