tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77858561898763277142024-03-05T12:54:58.657-08:00Patti J's UniverseFeaturing: Commentary on Life Issues, Faith, Family and Ramblings of a Sleep-Deprived Author!
Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.comBlogger182125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-84570514216089165512023-06-08T10:10:00.002-07:002023-06-08T10:10:42.676-07:00THE DEVASTATION OF DEMENTIA ... <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImM72dWuml0kK70_zpE9exHtY82IhHSxrhfyxPwRhpunQxfr4T_6E9-DcLLMQd3l8pb-BvO26TDecanjt6o-6SOtoUaS-eu23T2WeqoSJznKxo1aVFASyDL8T86apke2YHXEpjBTCi1aOrz750SBpOv5_cPm8aJTwzv255ThDGZ-Flea34fJEazxTCw/s600/block-problem.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImM72dWuml0kK70_zpE9exHtY82IhHSxrhfyxPwRhpunQxfr4T_6E9-DcLLMQd3l8pb-BvO26TDecanjt6o-6SOtoUaS-eu23T2WeqoSJznKxo1aVFASyDL8T86apke2YHXEpjBTCi1aOrz750SBpOv5_cPm8aJTwzv255ThDGZ-Flea34fJEazxTCw/w164-h164/block-problem.png" width="164" /></a></div> <br />I've been missing my mom more than usual this week and reflecting on what my dad and I experienced as she declined. Not only did she have cancer, but she also had dementia. While the cancer was eating away at her body, the dementia was doing the same to her mind. Seeing that beautiful, vibrant woman waste away physically was devastating, but the added emotional turmoil of dementia made it practically unbearable.<p></p><p> As both diseases progressed, I retired to help my dad with her care. We knew what to expect with the cancer; however, the dementia was not as predictable. There was joy, laughter, and lots of love -- switching to anger, paranoia, and extreme confusion. Her mental state would fluctuate from one day to the next and, sometimes, one minute to the next.</p><p>We were in constant contact with her doctor and hospice, and although they offered good advice, they kept repeating one statement: "Do not take what she says or does personally." Well, that sounds easy enough, but it's hard not to when your loved one uncharacteristically lashes out, physically and/or verbally, or worse, runs away. During those episodes, we found ourselves in a chaotic mass of bewilderment, despair, hurt, anger, resentment … You name it, we felt it. Although we mentally realized this wasn't Mom but dementia … convincing our hearts was a different story. She didn't remember the outbursts ... one ray of light in those dark times; otherwise, she would have been mortified and inconsolable.</p><p>Dementia is unrelenting and cruel and can take an emotional and physical toll on everyone involved. Without the resources available to us, the love and support of family and friends, and most importantly, our faith in God, we would still be picking up the pieces.</p><p>I don't know why I was compelled to write this, maybe someone out in the blogosphere needs to see they are not alone, or perhaps I'm reaching a new stage in the grief process. What I do know is that even though dementia made some days more difficult than others, they were all days spent with an incredible and beautiful woman I loved so very much, and for me, that's all that matters.</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpLtJwJ3LKdDobHkeC5E11c5fo4-trtAoy4nItIrC2ZtgEktmvLGr0W55MUOQa2poo0X3mhwoVmTVMNkuD7sBplzvkLd5pNTBpgzEqYMto_g8eN2KUSbO79fmmqHzCskSd_jzT4CaYMBp-e424r_giTO5lVD3AtZ2i5BaQxKCiOeSmUKUwwPMdeBGOQ/s534/download%20(1).png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="493" data-original-width="534" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpLtJwJ3LKdDobHkeC5E11c5fo4-trtAoy4nItIrC2ZtgEktmvLGr0W55MUOQa2poo0X3mhwoVmTVMNkuD7sBplzvkLd5pNTBpgzEqYMto_g8eN2KUSbO79fmmqHzCskSd_jzT4CaYMBp-e424r_giTO5lVD3AtZ2i5BaQxKCiOeSmUKUwwPMdeBGOQ/w257-h237/download%20(1).png" width="257" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> HAVE A BLESSED DAY!</p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-22660581040946113182023-06-02T04:08:00.004-07:002023-06-02T04:08:57.036-07:00An Adoption Story<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>A drug-addicted woman left a seven-year-old boy and a four-year-old girl in a dilapidated motel room to bail her boyfriend out of jail. She never returned. It took three days to discover those two frightened children, and during that time, they survived on food the little boy found in dumpsters. The abandonment was reprehensible but paled compared to the abuse and neglect they endured since birth. To make a long story short, they were both placed in foster care and eventually released for adoption. </b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwuH6dL-8SJDJ7EcqpLRnnT8e6RVyH045sDpNqvFGQcT7WU4u8-C-Rb-veN2w4H6bBDonhZcPufyG-Bty22xJqho5eFb28gdK2wbtu9NzpWGRBYPITvQZVjOIMkeD2H4NZIzwxBBNhvLi9VHoi8LmG6h2_Mi3hcVI1gZm2IuZ3PQfXAC5Ah0EL0tAYoQ/s320/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwuH6dL-8SJDJ7EcqpLRnnT8e6RVyH045sDpNqvFGQcT7WU4u8-C-Rb-veN2w4H6bBDonhZcPufyG-Bty22xJqho5eFb28gdK2wbtu9NzpWGRBYPITvQZVjOIMkeD2H4NZIzwxBBNhvLi9VHoi8LmG6h2_Mi3hcVI1gZm2IuZ3PQfXAC5Ah0EL0tAYoQ/w190-h253/Picture1.jpg" width="190" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><ul><li style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;">That little boy is my son, Bobby, placed with Don (my
late ex-husband) and me. Due to various circumstances, his
sister was placed with another family based on the recommendations of
therapists. Through a coordinated effort with his sister's new parents in
Connecticut, we ensured they maintained contact through phone calls, letters,
and summer visits.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;">When Bobby first moved in, there were trust issues. He
considered our home temporary like all the others and resisted getting
attached. We were prepared for that but not the fear. He hid food
under his bed fearing he might not have any the next day. Whenever we
brought him new clothes or shoes, he slept with them under his pillow for the
same reason. Due to prior severe punishments, he was also terrified
of dirtying or damaging his clothes. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;">Considerable time passed before the fear subsided and only
when the judge signed the adoption papers did he finally accept he was wanted
and a forever member of our family. That happened thirty years ago today.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;">I'm not saying it was an easy road. Memories of abuse
haunted him, which evoked angry outbursts and self-destructive behavior as
expected with post-traumatic stress. He thrived with love, prayer,
patience, and therapy but most importantly due to <b><u>his</u></b> strong
determination to heal.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;">Words cannot adequately describe my love for that precious eleven-year-old
boy and the love and pride I have for the man, father and grandfather he
became.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></li></ul></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> </span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4gF0OfWekSJrL_CuntPd5p9orjYygGyaozskEcInDJmZsMP0JZ2_vCKPkwF7Tttmw7gUPXfvwFZz0fpyqKFre6HdAZYa8ff_3Isun4m_J22qEJxMRopCo2uC5GSydaXZ7DaxkomVphtkaxQcXnPFnakJn8BnKeQbCOXxt6IUZnMjSY8g2WZ_XZ84iA/s521/Picture2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="521" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4gF0OfWekSJrL_CuntPd5p9orjYygGyaozskEcInDJmZsMP0JZ2_vCKPkwF7Tttmw7gUPXfvwFZz0fpyqKFre6HdAZYa8ff_3Isun4m_J22qEJxMRopCo2uC5GSydaXZ7DaxkomVphtkaxQcXnPFnakJn8BnKeQbCOXxt6IUZnMjSY8g2WZ_XZ84iA/w410-h305/Picture2.jpg" width="410" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p>
<b style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Bobby wrote the following for his school's anthology when
he was in sixth grade, the story of his life up to that point:</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">THE LONG
ROAD HOME</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">(A True Story)</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Bobby – Grade 6</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span></span></span></b></p><a name='more'></a><p></p></div><span style="font-size: large;">Up until I was 7 years old I remember that I lived in a truck, under a roller coaster and in motel rooms. When I was 7 my Mom left my sister Bonnie and I in a motel room to go bail her boyfriend out of jail. She never came back. The principal of my school found out that we were left alone and called the police. We were taken to a shelter home. We lived there for about a year. Then we went to a foster home with Debi as a foster mom. We stayed there for a year, then Debi and my sister moved to Connecticut. I was taken to a group home. I was there for about a year till Debi moved back and I went to live with her and my sister again. When I moved back in we both went to a new school. It was a small school. My teacher was really great. In the middle of the year the secretary started taking me to her house on weekends. I also spent Spring Break with her and Don. It was a "test-drive" to see if I would like living in Aguanga, California with them, but I didn't know it.<br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;">One day, Debi took Bonnie and me out for ice cream. She wanted to tell us that there were people who wanted to adopt us. Bonnie's teacher in Connecticut wanted her and I guessed many names until Debi said Patti and Don wanted to adopt me. I was really happy about that!<br /><br />We had to go to court and the judge said that Bonnie could move to Connecticut and I could move in with Patti and Don. I lived them about a year and we went to court again. The judge said the adoption was final and I was Patti and Don's son forever. After court that day, my "Mom and Dad" had a surprise adoption party for me at Stadium Pizza. All the people from my school were there and so were my grandparents and my social worker. I was really surprised! I got really nice gifts and had a fun time.<br /><br />I talk to my sister on the phone almost every week and we see each other in the summers. We share stories of our new families. I am now in the sixth grade and still go to the same school. My new teacher is great!</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p></div><b style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-61984010861237216682023-06-02T01:29:00.000-07:002023-06-02T01:29:20.806-07:00THE CALL THAT WILL NEVER COME<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS3tlPWe_28eQbdMvXA0ji5LGU_l11o898d6fuHCuT6XOhlSaB5bhx2BLTumpKsJFQnUXgo_ANsm6V2bfqdZgJFf3QXRPc5D8s4bmuuJoauj6gm74elGU56x15-LZp0nQvG0d-VTFmDr9ceqpmE-FlQQjmShXOR6yKENqEaL8uznXcZDCNA5EiEBBIGA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="270" data-original-width="500" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS3tlPWe_28eQbdMvXA0ji5LGU_l11o898d6fuHCuT6XOhlSaB5bhx2BLTumpKsJFQnUXgo_ANsm6V2bfqdZgJFf3QXRPc5D8s4bmuuJoauj6gm74elGU56x15-LZp0nQvG0d-VTFmDr9ceqpmE-FlQQjmShXOR6yKENqEaL8uznXcZDCNA5EiEBBIGA=w320-h173" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;">Mother’s Day is in the rearview mirror. As with every Mother’s Day, I found myself on an emotional roller-coaster. I look forward to hearing from my son, who lives in Michigan, and getting updates on his life and the lives of my precious grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Sadly, after we hang up, I’ll stare at the phone, knowing there should have been two more calls.
</span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;">My mind will fill with the same unanswered
questions that have no answers. What would Sarah and Matthew have shared
with me on their calls? How many more grandchildren would I have had
to love, spoil and brag about? </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;">My joy will forever be tarnished on Mother’s Day
because I decided to abort two precious angels over forty years
ago. My son and grandchildren warm my heart; however, a dull ache of
sadness and regret remains for the two voids within it. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Mentally, I know God and my children have
forgiven me; however, that knowledge has not reached my heart … the emptiness
is always there. The only saving grace is that God gave me the
courage to share my pain publicly. I pray my words will prevent others from
experiencing the sorrow of a Mother’s Day call that will never
come. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSR04EK8_dCTnlcbDioQ1E2jxHkIPs6ivgyhP0XTlrSILNIysbVsO52GRddhYVg-wIzJ83Kf6ibJiPZmnryO7fSoqJ9hin0pRD-HNSCY2eSemT4L2h-GujXtWDv4b3fkzUXmdpiTFhxOT670FW2acJgDi5eIWOiVhD4UUzcUxHxynJU0eOnhYNawCJhA" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="975" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSR04EK8_dCTnlcbDioQ1E2jxHkIPs6ivgyhP0XTlrSILNIysbVsO52GRddhYVg-wIzJ83Kf6ibJiPZmnryO7fSoqJ9hin0pRD-HNSCY2eSemT4L2h-GujXtWDv4b3fkzUXmdpiTFhxOT670FW2acJgDi5eIWOiVhD4UUzcUxHxynJU0eOnhYNawCJhA=w532-h334" width="532" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"> </span></o:p></span></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-78790228942180063952023-02-17T00:35:00.001-08:002023-02-17T00:35:30.183-08:00ACCEPTING GRACE<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCMZR5LTyrSTNXCQ-1O4C8e7jdJqVNBrDL1e730aOAXkr9cgHUTbBW7VY-vTd9mKUIN3X1L-raEI3hUXkupWaOrcTLrYG_3nS0Tf6FCQ0zu5ILRL0iVXj7pr3ZnpHABUs-w0URw9HMtaK9uMjL2B_sq9nxbI2K-LQwePzAI-TsPNTsqItv1PYUDiVHg/s273/GRACE%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="185" data-original-width="273" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCMZR5LTyrSTNXCQ-1O4C8e7jdJqVNBrDL1e730aOAXkr9cgHUTbBW7VY-vTd9mKUIN3X1L-raEI3hUXkupWaOrcTLrYG_3nS0Tf6FCQ0zu5ILRL0iVXj7pr3ZnpHABUs-w0URw9HMtaK9uMjL2B_sq9nxbI2K-LQwePzAI-TsPNTsqItv1PYUDiVHg/s1600/GRACE%20(1).jpg" width="273" /></a></div><br /><em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><b>I am a big fan of Max Lucado's writing, and this one is thought-provoking and a favorite of mine:</b></span></em><p></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">It happened too fast. One minute Barabbas was in his cell on death row playing tic-tac-toe on the dirt walls, and the next, he was outside squinting his eyes at the bright sun. "You're free to go." Barabbas scratches his beard. "What?" "You're free. They took the Nazarene instead of you."</span></strong></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></strong></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Barabbas has often been compared to humanity, and rightly so. In many ways, he stands for us: a prisoner who was freed because someone he had never seen took his place. As far as we know, he took his sudden freedom for what it was, an undeserved gift. Someone tossed him a life preserver, and he grabbed it, no questions asked. You couldn't imagine him pulling some of our stunts.</span></strong></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">We take our free gift and try to earn it, diagnose it, or pay for it instead of simply saying "thank you" and accepting it. Why do we do that? The only reason I can figure is pride. To accept grace means to accept its necessity, and most folks don't like to do that. Accepting grace also means that one realizes his despair, and most people aren't too keen on doing that either.</span></strong></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></strong></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Barabbas, though, knew better. Maybe he didn't understand mercy, and surely he didn't deserve it, but he wasn't about to refuse it. We might do well to realize that our plight isn't too different than that of Barabbas. We, too, are prisoners with no chance for appeal. </span></strong><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>But why some prefer to stay in prison while the cell door has been unlocked is a mystery worth pondering.</i></span></strong></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-3250727039969843472023-01-01T13:55:00.002-08:002023-01-01T13:55:58.023-08:00SPEAKING OUT FOR LIFE<p> </p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">January
is Respect Life Month.</span><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span><span style="color: #0e101a;">It was in January
1973 that Roe v Wade passed and legalized abortion. We saw Roe v Wade
overturned this past year, but the fight is not over. The legality of abortion
is now up to each state. Until abortion is unthinkable and no longer legal, our
voices will continue to be strong. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">To put abortion into
perspective:</span></b></span></em><span style="color: #0e101a;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></b></span></em></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3OfDXDlUoXTGbTfOWsv9EV6We-iHj1EvrfmNDZvJmRe5muJCkpWwqPKX4CKTBLrtRtHDotqhOSaMA9TZTyC_OPLkf9GDFcR3A8HDYKOyVibacZe0FNjHK-wRHw7VOsdIV4b-ZM-wY-x6oEo_IhcIO75RbKFwzsow0dwYKXRu8c3J5Ky6XbiC-qwvYQ/s160/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="153" data-original-width="160" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3OfDXDlUoXTGbTfOWsv9EV6We-iHj1EvrfmNDZvJmRe5muJCkpWwqPKX4CKTBLrtRtHDotqhOSaMA9TZTyC_OPLkf9GDFcR3A8HDYKOyVibacZe0FNjHK-wRHw7VOsdIV4b-ZM-wY-x6oEo_IhcIO75RbKFwzsow0dwYKXRu8c3J5Ky6XbiC-qwvYQ/s1600/Picture1.jpg" width="160" /></a></span></b></em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">If you were silent one minute for each child killed by abortion, you would be silent for at least 114 years.</span></span></b></em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I
usually attend and share my testimony at the March for Life in Washington D.C., the Walk for Life in San Francisco and smaller local events. I have
conflicts this year, and it breaks my heart that I won't be able to participate. I love
seeing and spending time with my Silent No More brothers and sisters and friends/mentors Father Frank Pavone, National Director of Priests for Life, Georgette
Forney, President of Anglicans for Life, and Janet Morana, Executive Director of
Priests for Life both co-founders of the Silent No More Awareness Campaign.</span></span><span style="color: #0e101a; text-align: left;"> </span></span></div><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">As
I reflect on the many marches and walks, my mind always wanders back to what
happened while at West Coast Walk for Life a few years ago. After giving our
testimonies at the pre-walk rally, my friend Leslie and I were asked if we
would be willing to join in a panel discussion on Immaculate Heart Radio and
talk about life before, but most importantly, after, our abortions. </span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLr_JjDAGOmyEni9zke18XXrOCSZ1s09szZlYPG4VoBEHJdXgfdTqst6BzFLEgEcuV2tRPgf1WjXRUTyzRUg3q-nAHj7VZP_X8hyJNvy909rgCC2z3_1XJGXBqPa558YQU4YK0Po6q1IWXIpIP18pgxSMylFc8tV-ZsRmGwtjqtyOILX0mbCxzK5-0A/s709/10489957_1632941596930944_4395093647997824432_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="709" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLr_JjDAGOmyEni9zke18XXrOCSZ1s09szZlYPG4VoBEHJdXgfdTqst6BzFLEgEcuV2tRPgf1WjXRUTyzRUg3q-nAHj7VZP_X8hyJNvy909rgCC2z3_1XJGXBqPa558YQU4YK0Po6q1IWXIpIP18pgxSMylFc8tV-ZsRmGwtjqtyOILX0mbCxzK5-0A/s320/10489957_1632941596930944_4395093647997824432_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></div><p></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">After the
segment finished, a priest on the panel thanked us for having the courage to
tell our stories in front of so many people, let alone to a national radio
audience. Others have made similar comments, and some have even asked me if I
get embarrassed because so many ugly excesses consume my past. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I
hate to burst anyone's bubble; I'm not courageous by any means. Through time I have grown accustomed to speaking in front of large audiences; however, for the first few years, I
was a nervous wreck to the point of almost backing out. God, however, is quite
persuasive. He has called me to share my story because, unfortunately, many women are
like me. It's an opportunity to reach out to them and comfort them, knowing
they are not alone and no matter how bad they think they are ... </span><strong><span data-preserver-spaces="true">nothing is unforgivable in God's eyes</span></strong><span data-preserver-spaces="true">. As far as being ashamed or embarrassed … Yes, I
was - but I found the more I exposed my past, it became a blessing. As a
caterpillar morphs into a beautiful butterfly, evil miraculously emerges as
good. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">God uses my Silent No More sisters and brothers </span></span></span><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: georgia;">and me</span><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: georgia;">to share our experiences, speak out for life and be
beacons of hope for those who have had or encouraged abortions - guiding them
toward healing.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVpnVNY0ZhBjTirrgweSsooHGvD3HnSu2IX0pTEi77BjOS784pHcZOeUBO9lD_Sm00-8M9fjLnYN2su-WNn86jIBi9jLh0Xu-5aTmCuHBQGgTEA_8tgRlol8jSq_E3HlHj_34HXvofHwP8Eq5iuNfR7Q9TWrZ1op9IHZ7gprn8-aSTcBkpEmEuHgH9yg/s960/10486524_1632941240264313_1219985085782343209_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVpnVNY0ZhBjTirrgweSsooHGvD3HnSu2IX0pTEi77BjOS784pHcZOeUBO9lD_Sm00-8M9fjLnYN2su-WNn86jIBi9jLh0Xu-5aTmCuHBQGgTEA_8tgRlol8jSq_E3HlHj_34HXvofHwP8Eq5iuNfR7Q9TWrZ1op9IHZ7gprn8-aSTcBkpEmEuHgH9yg/s320/10486524_1632941240264313_1219985085782343209_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"> </span><p></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7785856189876327714/2930505763384480212" target="_blank"><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a; text-decoration-line: none;">"So do not be ashamed of your
testimony to our Lord,</span></span></em></a><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"> nor
of me, a prisoner for his sake; but bear your share of hardship for the gospel
with the strength that comes from God."</span></em><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;">2 Timothy 1:8</span></span></em><span style="color: #0e101a;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p>
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-69559034808395815152022-12-26T15:16:00.000-08:002022-12-26T15:16:52.038-08:00Leaving a Legacy<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOG_FWPbJEqrB01wFnZn58iuhdp1gvzfB9YxaHFwn0PdavXNBnELRDx99EMpGqrRF9TTBKwxEPeww6WOyHLzW9B-izZS743phgrDs4c510E_UWHoVHD_KXYvy-_V2m15WubSz443k1OSaMrseb4yJM6NSDkN7Ai1MIA3_kSn_gFYVZe2NKnkBpsyOGdA/s460/dadddd.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="356" data-original-width="460" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOG_FWPbJEqrB01wFnZn58iuhdp1gvzfB9YxaHFwn0PdavXNBnELRDx99EMpGqrRF9TTBKwxEPeww6WOyHLzW9B-izZS743phgrDs4c510E_UWHoVHD_KXYvy-_V2m15WubSz443k1OSaMrseb4yJM6NSDkN7Ai1MIA3_kSn_gFYVZe2NKnkBpsyOGdA/w207-h160/dadddd.png" width="207" /></a><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The pain from losses in our lives magnifies during the holiday season. Through my training in grief and trauma response, I learned not to stuff the feelings or hold back the tears, call a friend or family member to share special memories, or, my favorite… write about it…not on a laptop but longhand. These actions won't erase the grief, but they will help navigate through that moment of sadness. (I call it a grief ambush). </span></p><p></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">During one
of my grief ambushes, I was missing my dad horribly. I wrote about something special that happened
after his death. That memory not only brought a smile but provided a life
lesson: </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><i><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: times; font-size: large;">After a
loved one passes, one of the most difficult things to do is to take care of
their financial affairs. My father was meticulous in record-keeping and
planning, which alleviated some of the stress – all files were clearly marked
along with contacts in the event of his death. Although grateful for his
organization, going through each file felt like an invasion of privacy. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><i><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: times; font-size: large;">All but one
account was handled by telephone, which helped keep my emotions in check … then
I walked into his bank. I sat down with one of the account representatives, and
when I handed him my father's death certificate, he sighed heavily and said,
"Harold was one of our favorite customers." He left his desk to
retrieve some paperwork, and the manager walked in with a coin and mismarked
dollar bill. "Your father gave me this a few months ago, and I have it
displayed on my desk. He was always bringing in tokens of appreciation,
including boxes of Aplets and Cotlets. He made our day every time he came in;
he will be missed." I lost it. The tears flowed as I pictured him grinning
while handing out his treasures. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><i><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: times; font-size: large;">Many others
shared the same sentiments, from doctor's offices, the donut shop, his pedicure
place – even people in our neighborhood he met on his daily walks…people I had
never met came to our door offering condolences and said they enjoyed visiting
with him, hearing about his life adventures, and appreciating the candy he
always brought along to share. </span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Shannon
Alder once said, "Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is
etched into the minds of others and the stories they tell about you." What
a remarkable legacy my dad left…one of selflessness, kindness, and love. And a
memory that brings my smile back and has me imagining that when he entered
Heaven, God smiled and said, "Well done, good and faithful
servant." </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-30230394572004611422022-12-14T09:07:00.002-08:002022-12-14T09:18:50.101-08:00The Gift - A Memory from Christmas Past<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnw8umWsbmUTUvvNzyEgD6TZ7XtPvMQOchRTns-YdaehxYVLD_UklDbayWMNFgP1Jiq1IIEUjyuh1M-ptepdWVNNVlyUkWy13f--zFxkjUt_Cgq31bf0xlk0rfneqvPxhefSD5FBeJbZcL06W1untM8EoyJyFSVJVuxd8uh-Q5gfwNcR12yQmphaMg6g/s320/badly-wrapped-present.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="184" data-original-width="320" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnw8umWsbmUTUvvNzyEgD6TZ7XtPvMQOchRTns-YdaehxYVLD_UklDbayWMNFgP1Jiq1IIEUjyuh1M-ptepdWVNNVlyUkWy13f--zFxkjUt_Cgq31bf0xlk0rfneqvPxhefSD5FBeJbZcL06W1untM8EoyJyFSVJVuxd8uh-Q5gfwNcR12yQmphaMg6g/s1600/badly-wrapped-present.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: arial;">My writing time spans from
around midnight to five o'clock in the morning. Some nights, I don't have the
right words or the drive (shame on me), but I stay up anyway. Last night was like that. While reading and listening to the tv
(multitasking?), I started thinking of </span><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: arial;">a particular Christmas overseas. We were living in Casablanca,
Morocco, on an Air Force Base. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I was in the third grade and not old enough to
go Christmas shopping alone. Dad planned on taking my sister and me, but I was
impatient (a character flaw I still struggle with!). The route home from school
went through military housing. On the way home one afternoon, it was trash
collection day, and one of the cans along the way did not have a lid. I peeked
in and, lo and behold, discovered an ashtray. It was round with green paint and
gold specks. I looked around, making sure no one was watching, reached in,
grabbed it, and put it in my lunch box. </span><em><span data-preserver-spaces="true">Mom will love this,</span></em><span data-preserver-spaces="true"> I thought. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">When I arrived home, I hid it under
my mattress until I could sneak into the bathroom and make it look new. I
washed that darned ashtray about a gazillion times until the paint shined and
specks shimmered, all the while oblivious to the fact there was a crack on the
unpainted bottom. I excitedly told my dad I didn't need to shop for mom, that I
already had her gift, and told him what I had done. All he said was,
"That's a really nice gift."</span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Christmas
morning took forever to come. I sat, anxiously waiting for my mom to rip
through a mound of paper and tape that could have wrapped a battleship (I still
use too much.) She looked down at the ashtray, gently turned it over, then
turned it back. She rubbed her hand against the sparkly green surface and
smiled. She said it was beautiful and would cherish it forever, and she gave me
a great big hug. My heart jumped with joy, knowing I had made her happy. I was
confident she never suspected it was used or found in a trash can. That secret
was between dad and me.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">That
was one of my favorite Christmas memories, especially upon finding out she was
aware of the origin of the gift shortly after she opened it. She saw the crack
on the bottom and mentioned it to my dad when I was out of earshot, and he told
her what had transpired. It didn't matter to her ... she proudly displayed that
ashtray for years. She never said anything to me until I was an adult. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Thinking
about that Christmas brought me to tears, not just because this was one more
Christmas without her and my dad, but because they loved me so much. Not only
did they ignore the source of that green and gold ashtray, but they forgave the pain I caused them in later years when I took a detour to the
darker side of life. I was in a garbage can too, but God, in His mercy, pulled
me out - and He, along with mom and dad, helped me wash off and shine as if
brand new.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FHdLBd1gyCuBtyi9rdOBCcR290o8b4-kjIeD-__v_9Dwd9EUe4uiY01nDdunLbhLcxBgZ5APM3hzns73Vbs_qwEk4aMtZZYdaHdVA4UoWJB7CXQ45LmP1AQIM7RYVv-oBVd-Yfl3Xc3yaDwfdIZoNBk74t4DXfiAUeTuYTV4UgxzfrIw9VxFAv__bA/s601/download%20(5).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="513" data-original-width="601" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FHdLBd1gyCuBtyi9rdOBCcR290o8b4-kjIeD-__v_9Dwd9EUe4uiY01nDdunLbhLcxBgZ5APM3hzns73Vbs_qwEk4aMtZZYdaHdVA4UoWJB7CXQ45LmP1AQIM7RYVv-oBVd-Yfl3Xc3yaDwfdIZoNBk74t4DXfiAUeTuYTV4UgxzfrIw9VxFAv__bA/w379-h323/download%20(5).png" width="379" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span><p></p><br /><p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-40279233655118327112022-12-09T22:54:00.000-08:002022-12-09T22:54:11.486-08:00The End of the Light<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bLbc4yVsUiLBScKw0LRHFC3tJ9pkjWgww-th7-3YfBPc_wgsvrfDtYRPifCYjcjn-tsapH7bw0wH1ZV1MqsyH6M_v0tY5VBELKMaVYd2FScnztSkrFJBptubdpfh9lwXuNpMQbZsSJtp81yAjOItBA_z98edAatI-XD7w28bS_U22oed1LHv6Ohz_A/s218/lantern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="218" data-original-width="162" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bLbc4yVsUiLBScKw0LRHFC3tJ9pkjWgww-th7-3YfBPc_wgsvrfDtYRPifCYjcjn-tsapH7bw0wH1ZV1MqsyH6M_v0tY5VBELKMaVYd2FScnztSkrFJBptubdpfh9lwXuNpMQbZsSJtp81yAjOItBA_z98edAatI-XD7w28bS_U22oed1LHv6Ohz_A/w156-h210/lantern.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #606060; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="color: #606060; font-family: times; font-size: large;">The mortuary that took care of my mom held a memorial service right
before Christmas 2014 for those who lost someone during the year. Before we lit
candles in memory of our loved ones, one of the presiding ministers told a
story that touched my heart and instilled a sense of hope. </span><br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">One night a father asked his young son to retrieve
the well at the far end of their property. It was dark, and the
son was frightened. The father told the boy to hold the bucket in one
hand and a lantern in the other and continue walking until he reached the end
of the light. The son did as instructed, and before he knew it, he
reached the well safely because the light never ended. He filled the
bucket, turned around, and returned home, no longer afraid. </span></em><br />
<br /><span style="color: #606060; font-family: times; font-size: large;">
We are all faced with darkness in our lives, but as long as we hold on to God
through faith, we will never reach the end of His loving light ... a light that
shines over us with not only His love but of those we lost as well.</span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #606060; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #606060; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRue6_BMpO9WQmXn7TAF-LgmADnYvMmBdrDaFVkB8Ct5LF1-jzi3D6JLVJ7Z_iZRhMp94VPRvkQUyCO-UWn8Pm4Mu-W1o4CTo8Iojz96xYsa70f6kckaQ1YMQns1TdsfVDBxgSsyhr-DussXAxhGKE2G7wgLHAY1YxZWb8_mqvaiGVYKldi-SkKqb1A/s259/light%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRue6_BMpO9WQmXn7TAF-LgmADnYvMmBdrDaFVkB8Ct5LF1-jzi3D6JLVJ7Z_iZRhMp94VPRvkQUyCO-UWn8Pm4Mu-W1o4CTo8Iojz96xYsa70f6kckaQ1YMQns1TdsfVDBxgSsyhr-DussXAxhGKE2G7wgLHAY1YxZWb8_mqvaiGVYKldi-SkKqb1A/s1600/light%202.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div></span></div><p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-66342198752423281172022-12-05T20:05:00.003-08:002022-12-05T21:04:23.542-08:00By Mary Saying "Yes"<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpw2NHHHKmdobz_sqqVPegyw9DpCp0pG15fycziTPu7e_PUxA_DsTMRyCVVczsVFireSlv6ojx1nJ7X2memC80OKeLDYUPcNIbMB5j_XHe-shuz_fdAucVoidr4ZlNF7hNE6InniPqTpL1A-ssj0XL6EXFNLPGPMV1wXNn2-hWxA1x1gj7naljIP8jOg/s320/nativity-scene-mary-joseph-baby-jesus-1326846-gallery.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="320" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpw2NHHHKmdobz_sqqVPegyw9DpCp0pG15fycziTPu7e_PUxA_DsTMRyCVVczsVFireSlv6ojx1nJ7X2memC80OKeLDYUPcNIbMB5j_XHe-shuz_fdAucVoidr4ZlNF7hNE6InniPqTpL1A-ssj0XL6EXFNLPGPMV1wXNn2-hWxA1x1gj7naljIP8jOg/s1600/nativity-scene-mary-joseph-baby-jesus-1326846-gallery.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><span style="font-size: large;">Saint John Damascene tells us, “The day of the Nativity of the Mother of God is a day of universal joy because, through the Mother of God, the entire human race was renewed, and the sorrow of the first mother, Eve, was transformed into joy.” <br /><br /> As Christmas approaches, my heart overflows with gratitude towards the Blessed Mother because:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By Her saying, "Yes," we have a Savior ~</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By Her saying, "Yes," we have direction ~</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By Her saying, "Yes," we know how to live righteously ~</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By Her saying, "Yes," we have hope ~</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By Her saying, "Yes," we are loved unconditionally ~</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By Her saying, "Yes," we are never alone ~</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>By Her saying, "Yes," we can look forward to eternal life.</i></div><br />Sadly, many women and men find the Christmas season difficult because they said, "No" when faced with an unexpected pregnancy. I used to experience deep sadness at Christmastime because it was the most prominent reminder of how I failed God, my children, and myself. I thought of my babies every time I saw baby Jesus in the manger or in the Blessed Mother’s arms. The regret was paralyzing. <br /><br />If it hadn’t been for an after-abortion healing program, I would have continued to find myself saddened when viewing a nativity scene or images of the Blessed Mother with Baby Jesus and consider myself a failure in God's eyes. I now fully embrace Christmastime; I have a collection of nativity scenes and statues of the Holy Family and the Blessed Mother with Baby Jesus displayed throughout my home. <br /><br />Through healing, I understood that because of Mary’s “Yes,” redemption for what I considered an unforgivable act was there for the asking. And because of God's loving mercy and Mary’s inspiration of faith and courage, I can speak out to prevent others from saying “No.” <br /><br /><i> “…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, being justified as a gift by His grace through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus” … Romans 3:23-24 </i><br /><br /> If you are struggling with your decision to abort, please visit the <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7785856189876327714/4608738213574532786">Silent No More Awareness Campaign</a> for healing resources. <br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;"><b>You are not alone.</b></span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> <p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-50405282997394984692022-11-07T01:08:00.000-08:002022-11-07T01:08:58.274-08:00Twenty-Five Reasons I'm Grateful for Sobriety<p> </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Cukh4-VkLZfEIX-KmT_RE7sfkuQzy4ubFmtxgu7MMbk3B0-UzF42Bjf0ZGVXRnKkRe8vF3MiqI_lyVpLaWseTKyCqTeul2xL0_vvaP5x4vooCROYKJShE9SaxnyXI01169LpzpsbHHIyF-eeo5r0LuHzmD_SUulOynX628_NIcKOVZqGYoqAE6h70Q/s200/drunklady.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="118" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Cukh4-VkLZfEIX-KmT_RE7sfkuQzy4ubFmtxgu7MMbk3B0-UzF42Bjf0ZGVXRnKkRe8vF3MiqI_lyVpLaWseTKyCqTeul2xL0_vvaP5x4vooCROYKJShE9SaxnyXI01169LpzpsbHHIyF-eeo5r0LuHzmD_SUulOynX628_NIcKOVZqGYoqAE6h70Q/w172-h291/drunklady.jpg" width="172" /></a></div><br /><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: verdana;"><b>Twenty-five years ago today, I was institutionalized
for being suicidal. I had reached my limit…hit my bottom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The psychiatrist asked me why I wanted
to die, and I told him I was already dead inside; I just wanted to finish the
job. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first thing they did was take my shoelaces away. Not being trusted with
shoelaces made me realize how sick I really was. After being considered no longer a
danger to myself and adequately detoxed, I was sent to the alcohol rehab unit,
where I began recovery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Praise God, I
have been sober since then….and if I feel the need to drink, all I have to do
is look down at my shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t ever
want to lose those laces again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span><i><o:p></o:p></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><i>I have learned many things since that day,
including not taking myself so seriously. With that in mind, here are 25
reasons I’m grateful for 25 years of sobriety. (All True)</i></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span><span>1. I no longer call people at 3 a.m.,
pontificating about the world’s affairs.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2. I can stand upright without leaning
against a wall or another person.</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3. I bowl better.</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4. With coffee, I am now wide awake and
functional instead of wide awake and drunk.</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5. My language doesn’t emulate a drunken
sailor (most times).</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">6. I don’t have to worry about who I
might have offended the night before. </span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">7. I wake up in the morning without
feeling like my mouth is stuffed with cotton.</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">8. I use vanilla for baking, not a substitute for bourbon. (Yep, I was a sicko)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">9. I no longer think I'm a dancing queen. (I’m surprised my dancing wasn't mistaken for seizures.)</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">10. I don’t go to work and spend most of the day
in a bathroom stall, dozing. </span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">11. My glasses actually help me see.</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">12. After a night out, I come home with
everything on (coat, shoes, jewelry, etc.).</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">13. I no longer talk as if my ears were plugged.</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">14. I no longer get reminded of what I had for
dinner when it "comes up."</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">15. I can shoot a game of pool without hitting
someone with the cue stick.</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">16. People now let me play darts.</span><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">17. I no longer need to sleep on the bathroom
floor “just in case.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">18. I no longer mistake
Bengay for Colgate (that was painful)!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">19. I don’t have to wake up wondering how I got
home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">20. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I can lay on my bed at night and not feel like I'm in a spin cycle.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">21.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> My hands no longer shake, making putting on eyeliner a breeze ... plus my eyebrows are even.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">22. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I no
longer faint when I open my American Express bill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I had the habit of buying rounds).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">23.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span>My perfume actually works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I no longer smell like Eau d’bourbon.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">24. Nyquil is no longer my go-to after-dinner drink when the liquor cabinet is empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(It did have a shot glass on the top.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: verdana;">25.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With all my drunken antics, I am most grateful Facebook wasn't around yet!</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwtDcZ1uraNjccQHvR2HvU5pMC5UQES_qWcPzOpWjhcuCgLuoxth9h5PMXyGwY3rN9tf_CrpcV9ip54tnv5Zpp5X-Y3IPA-S0QKKhIrF3PeV-zFcvIWLt1cIIAZN9xexyv5RORhHeyomjqrkBESpCQtuvDnhBXNc5i9uZtnhHy-rp-NuaKnTKzVe3sQ/s218/lol.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="152" data-original-width="218" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwtDcZ1uraNjccQHvR2HvU5pMC5UQES_qWcPzOpWjhcuCgLuoxth9h5PMXyGwY3rN9tf_CrpcV9ip54tnv5Zpp5X-Y3IPA-S0QKKhIrF3PeV-zFcvIWLt1cIIAZN9xexyv5RORhHeyomjqrkBESpCQtuvDnhBXNc5i9uZtnhHy-rp-NuaKnTKzVe3sQ/w153-h107/lol.jpg" width="153" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p><br /><p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-64475593862284906292022-10-25T10:20:00.001-07:002022-10-25T10:23:22.243-07:00THAT IS WHAT LOVE FEELS LIKE<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZecZlKjNjU7NUFk04y71w7SmHemWOmReXO7mzn8O4-N6D9OJx1_j2mnCMnLP3afQcNpMqSxVB4-7FUYVl3-otj3OUqG2e0wLZLftB9eCzgQZGYL2gEC2UTtygoOFTJVfF-tRCae7hsXpoksJ0AeNO3kan8sPkQvOq4GMVRuDjlrgOjHU7HqQdFT2SZQ/s640/billy-ray-harris-homeless-man-hugs-sarah-darling-whose-wedding-ring-he-found.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZecZlKjNjU7NUFk04y71w7SmHemWOmReXO7mzn8O4-N6D9OJx1_j2mnCMnLP3afQcNpMqSxVB4-7FUYVl3-otj3OUqG2e0wLZLftB9eCzgQZGYL2gEC2UTtygoOFTJVfF-tRCae7hsXpoksJ0AeNO3kan8sPkQvOq4GMVRuDjlrgOjHU7HqQdFT2SZQ/w203-h153/billy-ray-harris-homeless-man-hugs-sarah-darling-whose-wedding-ring-he-found.jpg" width="203" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">In 2014, my dad and I had the difficult task of going through my mother's things, the hardest being her clothes and purses. Certain outfits brought back beautiful memories; however, taking them out of the closet brought back the stark realization that she was gone. On the lighter side, we had to check each item painstakingly. Later stages of dementia resulted in her hiding jewelry and money in pockets, hems, etc...and the Kleenex! She always feared having a runny nose with no tissue available, so her purses and jacket pockets were stockpiled. If we had unfurled and stacked each tissue (I'm not kidding), I think we would have refilled three boxes.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Anyway, we accomplished our mission. The closet was empty, boxes filled, her blouses, slacks, and jackets hanging on the clothes rod and a portable clothes rack. After loading the van, we headed to a local homeless shelter that housed both men and women, as some of her jackets and sweatshirts could be used by either gender. I located a volunteer, and before he followed me to the van, he unlocked the closet where they stored clothing donations. I looked in and chuckled. I told him the closet wasn't big enough. You see, my mom never discarded anything (she also had 700 beanie babies!), and close to the end, she would order something that she never had a chance to use. The volunteer must have thought I was exaggerating until I opened the van doors. He returned to the shelter, calling for some residents to help unload.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Several men jumped at the opportunity. A man approached me as I began unloading some of the smaller boxes. He was unkempt and toothless. At first, I hate to admit, I felt the urge to turn around and run. He took the box I was holding and put it on one of the food carts they were using for transport. I thanked him and, with an embarrassed look on his face, said, "I wasn't always like this." While both of us continued to unload boxes, he told me of his many attempts to get clean and sober, each relapse causing him to lose more until nothing was left. Proudly he exclaimed that his most recent period of sobriety was the longest yet, and he truly felt the Holy Spirit. I congratulated him and said I would pray for his continued success. I told him I struggled with addiction and shared a little of my story. As I was sharing, I realized how blessed I was. Although we shared the same affliction, the consequences he suffered were much more severe. All I could think of was, "There but for the Grace of God go I."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The van was empty; the job was done. The shelter volunteer and residents offered thanks and wheeled the carts to the storage area. I started towards the driver's side of the van. The man I was chatting with came back out of the storage area and asked if he could hug me. It wasn't a little one ... it was an extended, long bear hug. He backed up and, with a toothless smile, said, "and THAT is what love feels like," and walked away. As I started the drive home, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw nothing but a few stray hangers hanging from clothes rods where my mother's clothes hung. Instead of feeling empty, I was enveloped in peace and fulfillment. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Yes, my friend, that's what love feels like.</span></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-23691961298656901362022-08-03T12:26:00.004-07:002022-08-03T12:28:26.820-07:00LET IT GO<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJ308C4i-EynFfGbbNvsOzuVAdCfGKt_Kgx89tdjjzVsZdNTbKsc9vbRGmMaQ1Eu3Bs6lxTsqsTtEl6AvTBg6EQlBkb_WLijR3DX8k_Fs9ZSzOIyuTyV_FTv4lrEVUFoui-Aob30pkM0k4gJRN3HqDPelHWEl_eRpBaiKAeaNAXEoN-t4LY42cK6LoQ/s269/letting%20go.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="240" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJ308C4i-EynFfGbbNvsOzuVAdCfGKt_Kgx89tdjjzVsZdNTbKsc9vbRGmMaQ1Eu3Bs6lxTsqsTtEl6AvTBg6EQlBkb_WLijR3DX8k_Fs9ZSzOIyuTyV_FTv4lrEVUFoui-Aob30pkM0k4gJRN3HqDPelHWEl_eRpBaiKAeaNAXEoN-t4LY42cK6LoQ/s1600/letting%20go.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>We have all inadvertently hurt a family member or friend. We are human. After offering a sincere apology and receiving forgiveness, how many of you have that family member or friend continuously bring up the transgression they claimed to have forgiven? It is frustrating and painful. </span></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">These people have always been
important in our lives; we love them, but enough is enough. They have become
toxic and threaten our peace of mind. We should not have to apologize for the
same transgression repeatedly and if their apology was sincere, we wouldn't be expected to. </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It might not be easy, but
it is time to let go. We need not do so with malice but with love and a
prayer that God will bless them with all that is good and that
someday they will be able to open their eyes and heart. </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Dr. Steve Mariboli said, <i>"We
would do ourselves a tremendous favor by letting go of the people who poison
our spirit."</i> I wholeheartedly agree. Do
not let anyone define you by your past, regardless of how much you
love them. I can say with certainty and thanksgiving that we are not defined
by our mistakes but by the love and mercy of God.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: purple;">"For
we ourselves were once foolish, disobedient, deluded, slaves to various desires
and pleasures, living in malice and envy, hateful ourselves and hating one
another. But when the kindness and generous love of God our savior
appeared, not because of any righteous deeds we had done, but because of his
mercy, he saved us through the bath of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit,
whom he richly poured out on us through Jesus Christ, our savior, so that we
might be justified by his grace and become heirs in hope of eternal
life. This saying is trustworthy."</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Titus
3:5-8</span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-66587132257737605552022-07-24T11:09:00.000-07:002022-07-24T11:09:16.883-07:00It's Not Hypocrisy, It's Love<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIbrYMAZ9V7I3AJ30J8piyqwS4Hyj9ZSdx22Khz6ysdLxYAGDZ7v1M8BzIeXYYi1K541misE5zNWvJeYlJf8CPCblPVQOGZ3D8o0ofhXrQ8DeDeAzn_cC0B_WrC6BfGg0icsjAEpytm_FFoZJxfGycd3AhRmpu8WJ8n8TTXhRFn047S6-shxmhEOVFXQ/s274/88214fda1776597d4dd7bec0f2e6c147%20(1).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="274" data-original-width="268" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIbrYMAZ9V7I3AJ30J8piyqwS4Hyj9ZSdx22Khz6ysdLxYAGDZ7v1M8BzIeXYYi1K541misE5zNWvJeYlJf8CPCblPVQOGZ3D8o0ofhXrQ8DeDeAzn_cC0B_WrC6BfGg0icsjAEpytm_FFoZJxfGycd3AhRmpu8WJ8n8TTXhRFn047S6-shxmhEOVFXQ/s1600/88214fda1776597d4dd7bec0f2e6c147%20(1).jpg" width="268" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b><span style="color: red;">"Shame on
you. How can you, after having an abortion yourself, participate in
any efforts to stop others from doing the same?"</span></b> </i></span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">That was a question posed
to me in the growing flurry of social media debates surrounding the
overturning of Roe v Wade.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My pro-life posts invariably evoke
rambling expletives and name-calling. Comments now are even more brutal following the overturning of Roe v Wade. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Un</span><span style="font-family: arial;">fortunately, even some friends who had always supported my efforts hopped on the abortion bandwagon - calling me a hypocrite and condemning my
pro-life stance and my faith. The overturning of Roe v Wade was the
catalyst that revealed their true colors. How sad that had they been
honest from the start, my trust and respect towards them would still be
intact.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It may appear
hypocritical to speak out against abortion after having two of them, but it's
not. Those of us who share honestly about our abortion experience do so out of love. After our abortions, we employed a variety of self-destructive behaviors to suppress our guilt and shame. Those behaviors sometimes lasted for decades and affected all aspects of our lives. Sharing our pain is a means to </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">prevent others from making the same devastating mistake.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>Ezekiel 18:10-13</i> speaks of a man who defiles himself in
sin, thus deserving death. It is followed by <i>Ezekiel
18:14,17: </i> "If, however, he begets a son who sees all
the sins which his father has done, and considers but does not do likewise…he
shall surely live." <br />
<br /><b><i>
In other words ... If those considering or encouraging abortion yield to the words of those who have experienced it, </i></b><b><i>they will avoid the spiritual and emotional death borne from shame and regret
… and, most importantly, save their precious child.</i></b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If you have had an abortion and are suffering in silence, you can find peace and forgiveness through </span><span style="font-family: arial;">after-abortion healin</span><span style="font-family: arial;">g. Visit <span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b><a href="http://www.silentnomore.com">www.silentnomore.com</a>.</b></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"> </span></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-44167634154845753822022-07-09T04:37:00.001-07:002022-07-09T04:41:48.750-07:00A Lesson in Worth<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpCNhjfrVF3tBZLadNorfd7sJufBJs97N_Ae13mwbNShGPI7PEvJkvRid2Q0--7e7UKnywop4S9BPrjHDc5hATiogBBFp_K4oUXh87e__08AHxVVCMRtUebAO_ntT71NmQGiB8M2e87UpjOkB4MsrqR7uUvHzJpp9CGpQEFN9iGahL_EegiG3airxgQ/s320/pearls.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="213" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpCNhjfrVF3tBZLadNorfd7sJufBJs97N_Ae13mwbNShGPI7PEvJkvRid2Q0--7e7UKnywop4S9BPrjHDc5hATiogBBFp_K4oUXh87e__08AHxVVCMRtUebAO_ntT71NmQGiB8M2e87UpjOkB4MsrqR7uUvHzJpp9CGpQEFN9iGahL_EegiG3airxgQ/w186-h279/pearls.jpg" width="186" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: x-large;">Some stories have such a special message they should be shared more than once.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: x-large;">This is one of them ...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>The Pearl Necklace</i></b></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Author Unknown</i></b></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">A cheerful girl with bouncy golden curls was
almost five. Waiting with her mother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a
circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box. "Oh please, Mommy.
Can I have them? Please, Mommy, please!"</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Quickly the mother checked the back of the
little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little
girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost two dollars. If
you really want them, I'll think of some extra chores for you, and in no time,
you can save enough money to buy them for yourself. Your birthday's
only a week away, and you might get another crisp dollar bill from
grandma."</span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her
piggy bank and counted out seventeen pennies. After dinner, she did more
than her share of chores, and she went to the neighbor and asked if she could
pick dandelions for ten cents. On her birthday, Grandma did give her another
new dollar bill, and at last, she had enough money to buy the necklace.</span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel
dressed up and grown-up. She wore them everywhere--Sunday school, kindergarten,
even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had
a bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green.</span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Jenny had a very loving daddy, and every night
when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come
upstairs to read her a story. One night when he finished the story, he asked
Jenny, "Do you love me?" </span></b><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love
you." </span></b><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"Then give me your pearls." </span></b><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> "Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you
can have Princess-- the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink
tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite." </span></b><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you.
Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.</span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;">About </span></b><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">a week later, after story time, Jenny's
daddy asked again, "Do you love me?" </span></b><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"Daddy, you know I love you." </span></b><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"Then give me your pearls." </span></b><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can
have my baby doll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful,
and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper." </span></b><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you,
little one. Daddy loves you." And, as always, he brushed her cheek with a
gentle kiss.</span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A few nights later, when her daddy came in,
Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came
close, he noticed her chin was trembling, and one silent tear rolled down her
cheek. "What is it, Jenny? What's the matter? Jenny didn't say anything
but lifted her little hand to her daddy. And, when she opened it, there was her
little pearl necklace. With a little quiver, she finally said, "Here,
Daddy. It's for you."</span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #c55a11; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">With tears in his eyes, Jenny's kind daddy
reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace. With the other hand,
he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of
beautiful genuine pearls. He had had them all the time. He was just waiting for
her to give up the dime-store pearls.</span></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="color: magenta; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: x-large;">We all hold on to <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">dime-store pearl necklaces...</div></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: x-large;">feeling unworthy of anything better.</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: x-large;">Our Father's hand is reaching out for </span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: x-large;">those cheap pearls to replace them with</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: x-large;">His greatest gift ...</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courgette; font-size: x-large;">Seeing our worth through His eyes.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p></div>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-68153788626195315042022-07-04T09:45:00.000-07:002022-07-04T09:45:15.706-07:00A Spiritual Declaration of Independence<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ASA0Lhaie912KNrGTfN3WCjH_OIO17wOaEn6Ndb8PrfeSaOmMtj6CEbcOBBxXUqi6NqVuhbw8fGkv_KWXQ3Fd8PUeaf-9xTSHh-pJ09mdJvWsxrA7fMTg4gsWsNXLOovdkG1yJxHnFiqbqVUuopEkLfMt6_RtTZUoqjaSQJk6qbp8mwcRhGAdal3lw/s612/R.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="612" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ASA0Lhaie912KNrGTfN3WCjH_OIO17wOaEn6Ndb8PrfeSaOmMtj6CEbcOBBxXUqi6NqVuhbw8fGkv_KWXQ3Fd8PUeaf-9xTSHh-pJ09mdJvWsxrA7fMTg4gsWsNXLOovdkG1yJxHnFiqbqVUuopEkLfMt6_RtTZUoqjaSQJk6qbp8mwcRhGAdal3lw/w193-h181/R.jpg" width="193" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">My mind wanders from time to time (?) and today is one of those days. While we celebrate the adoption of the Declaration of Independence today, we can celebrate a spiritual declaration of independence every
day!</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Galatians 5:1</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;">“It is for freedom that
Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened
again by a yoke of slavery.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><b style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Here are a few examples:</span></i></b></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">PAST SINS</span></u></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">II Chronicles 7:14</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> “If My people, who are called by My name, will humble
themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then will
I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Romans 6:11</span></i><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> “</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Consequently, you too must think of yourselves
as (being) dead to sin and living for God in Christ Jesus..”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">GUILT</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Psalms 32: 1,2,5,6</span></i><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Blessed is he whose
sins are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed are those whose
sins the LORD does not count against them, and in whose spirit is no deceit…You
forgave the guilt of my sin.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Isaiah 43:25</span></i><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“I, even I, am He Who
blots out your sins, for My own sake and remember your sins no
more”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">LONELINESS</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Hebrews 13:5</span></i><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"I will never
forsake you or abandon you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Isaiah 54:10</span></i><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“For the mountains
may depart, and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love
shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,”
says the Lord, who has compassion on you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">ANGUISH</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Matthew 11:28-29</span></i><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Come to me, all you who
labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you
and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest
for yourselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Psalms 107:19-21</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> “Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he saved
them from their distress. He sent forth his word and healed them; he rescued them
from the grave. Let them give thanks to the LORD for his unfailing love and his
wonderful deeds for men.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">FEAR</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Deuteronomy 31:6</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified
because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you
nor forsake you."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span>Psalms
27:1</span></i><span> “The LORD is my light and my
salvation-- whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life-- of whom
shall I be afraid?"</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">HAVE A
BLESSED INDEPENDENCE DAY!</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-58702964713593003132022-06-16T12:23:00.000-07:002022-06-16T12:23:00.754-07:00Remembering Dad<p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">My dad passed away on 2/24/16 and my heart
still hurts. To say I was blessed with a wonderful dad would be
an understatement, and it would take at least a year of blog posts to convey my
love for him adequately. With that in mind, I'll share a mere two or
three precious and memorable moments:</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> ~ </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Some family friends had a go-cart, and we all went
to a large, empty parking lot one day. Dad was quite worried when I got behind
the wheel because I was only nine or ten. He made the unfortunate
decision of monitoring my motoring skills by walking in front of me. Lowering
my helmeted head and envisioning a bulls-eye, I floored it...chasing him all
over the parking lot. (Evil child, evil child). I'm sure a YouTube video
of that event would have accumulated a gazillion hits!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">~ </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I
was involved in a freak accident at a baseball game when I was twenty-three.
The bat slipped out of the batter's hand and flew into the stands, landing on
my forehead. (I had a concussion, four skull fractures, and twenty-eight
stitches). Being the consummate comedian, he would tell me my black eyes
reminded him of the Tareyton cigarette commercial, "I'd rather fight than
switch." I did look like a boxer that had gone too many rounds!</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">This last
memory affects me to this day...</span></i></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;">~ </span></b><i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;">My dad loved Honky Tonk music; in fact, he passed while listening
to one of his favorite CDs. As a child, I remember him down in the
basement, blasting Big Tiny Little, Knuckles O'Toole, and Eddie Barns, to name
a few. On Saturday mornings that music was a "call for
duty." My sister and I knew the minute the music started that it was
time to "Police up the Area" (clean the house). A while back,
after my parents moved in with us, I came up with the bright idea to create a
CD with Dad's favorites since he didn't have a turntable anymore. (Not too
bright, Patti). He played those CDs all the time, which explained why my house
was always spotless. </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><i>To this day, if I need any encouragement to
clean the house, I put on his CD. Memories
come back, and I use my falling tears instead of Pledge to dust.</i> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Dad, you and I went through a lot in my
sixty+ years, but what warms my heart and humbles me the most was your
unconditional love. The period in my life when I fell as far as anyone
could, the days when I caused you unrelenting embarrassment and heartache, your
hand was always there to pick me up, and your arms were there to hug me.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">
<br /><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmkDPd0htyhB4nrQN-GuDR2Zjdu3A90aL0GntyeQ4u1LRq5wvRuC1p1cKqXeD_xaGUStDPih8aIz_Bt8OnL0zjBwISE8GqRnlG2UhZvJpd3R84rBwGXTgBeyMFuVuTMC014nYI5MkplypHP_gVOMKXI-ukhf37-oHCQbaryTSBbStdPNn2jtsHDvqag/s610/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="492" data-original-width="610" height="517" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmkDPd0htyhB4nrQN-GuDR2Zjdu3A90aL0GntyeQ4u1LRq5wvRuC1p1cKqXeD_xaGUStDPih8aIz_Bt8OnL0zjBwISE8GqRnlG2UhZvJpd3R84rBwGXTgBeyMFuVuTMC014nYI5MkplypHP_gVOMKXI-ukhf37-oHCQbaryTSBbStdPNn2jtsHDvqag/w640-h517/dad.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;">I Love and Miss You So
Very Much...</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-26737293482528376382022-06-07T12:21:00.003-07:002022-06-07T12:46:55.461-07:00Meditation on the Lord's Prayer<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypFvkyI4mnvFPa7vqP84_mM-hzvOqdKQ8KTWvDUerZ0mvgC55r_tGGaHuq-6HvMRBZq_S6oMlLut72RnsNfSTTKI0p47xKVENCLlRbNM3NfvkU0PrOP3Wv8L8gkUnIZ7OCHpqiVzm1PtjJDyaRYOa5CLNTaR4hQQGSXd71MUdDoVGL974gd2ZilBb1A/s200/hands.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="166" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypFvkyI4mnvFPa7vqP84_mM-hzvOqdKQ8KTWvDUerZ0mvgC55r_tGGaHuq-6HvMRBZq_S6oMlLut72RnsNfSTTKI0p47xKVENCLlRbNM3NfvkU0PrOP3Wv8L8gkUnIZ7OCHpqiVzm1PtjJDyaRYOa5CLNTaR4hQQGSXd71MUdDoVGL974gd2ZilBb1A/s1600/hands.jpg" width="166" /></a><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b style="text-align: center;"></b></span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My grandmother's worn
Bible is filled with underlines and sidenotes. Inside I found a neatly folded
paper typed with an old manual typewriter. At the bottom, my grandmother wrote:
From "Lift Up Your Hearts," by W. Russell Bowie. I did an internet
search, and that book was published in 1940. </span></b></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This me</span></b><b><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ditation is a
treasure; I'm sure Nannie is happy I'm sharing it. </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 24pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Our Father, who art in Heaven,</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> <i>Help me to
believe this day that there is a power to lift me up, which is stronger than
all things that hold me down.</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hallowed
be thy Name,</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> <i>Help me to be
sensitive to what is beautiful and responsive to what is good so that day by
day, I may grow more sure of the Holiness of life in which I want to trust.</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Thy kingdom come,</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> <i>Help me to be
quick to see and ready to encourage whatever brings the better meaning of God
into that which otherwise might be common ground of the uninspired day.</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Thy
will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven,</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> <i>Help me believe
that the ideals of the spirit are not a far-off dream but a power to command my
loyalty and direct my life here on our real earth.</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Give us this day our
daily bread,</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> <i>Open the way
for us to earn an honest living without anxiety, but let us never forget the
needs of others, and make us want only that benefit for ourselves which will
also be their gain.</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And forgive us our
trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> <i>Make us patient
and sympathetic with the shortcomings of others, especially of those
we love, and keep us sternly watchful only of our
own. Let us never grow hard with the unconscious cruelty of those
who measure themselves by mean standards and so think they have
excelled. Keep our eyes lifted to the highest; so that we may
be humbled, and seeing the failures of others, be forgiving because we
know how much there is of which we need to be forgiven.</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lead us not into
temptation, but deliver us from evil,</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> <i>Let me not go
carelessly this day within reach of any evil I cannot resist ... but
if, in the path of duty, I must go where temptation is, give me the
strength of spirit to meet it without fear.</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For thine is
the kingdom and the power, and the glory forever and
ever. Amen.</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> <i>And so in my
heart may I carry the knowledge that Thy greatness is above me and
around me and that Thy grace through Jesus Christ, my Master is
sufficient for all my needs.</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Amen</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></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/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mVGLxTQm6_et77Ac12GI3LYBdAd2IcedPV2Z8u4V2S6m_S_Tz8DJnsuvbn0BoTSlI0QW5EzC7W4xbkfRRlZOjR_iXoN_w9R9GfgVandS_6CXqAB0CH_8S9UfvsOB_Ztij7MtWwiyvHc44RjtVLITSlTAW1flacvDc7eCeJpunUgAF1FZt0VmXZcZ-Q/s458/nannie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="298" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mVGLxTQm6_et77Ac12GI3LYBdAd2IcedPV2Z8u4V2S6m_S_Tz8DJnsuvbn0BoTSlI0QW5EzC7W4xbkfRRlZOjR_iXoN_w9R9GfgVandS_6CXqAB0CH_8S9UfvsOB_Ztij7MtWwiyvHc44RjtVLITSlTAW1flacvDc7eCeJpunUgAF1FZt0VmXZcZ-Q/s320/nannie.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Beautiful Grandmother<br />"Nannie"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><div><b><br /></b></div><br /><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></b><p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-26491798167625879112022-05-23T00:31:00.002-07:002022-05-23T00:39:01.319-07:00In the Hills of Malibu<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/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9A8MQTtTAfcmAN7t_wucvZWQqlr7QNGcRU15IBbXI-m6DlfIoExydjs1CL2-KWU6bF7Z_yUh4g7nJNJafrK-9W_kqxwwMxx1M52bX-3bMLxqg2bhCbJH3wNJ_JqGNW__WrZ7c60109Be-a7GyXGLNgcQMopMI5EOylIonHQY4_s7l0CvmbiBC28gWQ/s218/lol.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="152" data-original-width="218" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9A8MQTtTAfcmAN7t_wucvZWQqlr7QNGcRU15IBbXI-m6DlfIoExydjs1CL2-KWU6bF7Z_yUh4g7nJNJafrK-9W_kqxwwMxx1M52bX-3bMLxqg2bhCbJH3wNJ_JqGNW__WrZ7c60109Be-a7GyXGLNgcQMopMI5EOylIonHQY4_s7l0CvmbiBC28gWQ/s1600/lol.jpg" width="218" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">A TRUE STORY</span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;">My son, bless his pea-pickin' heart, has a habit of
reminding me from time to time how I was before I got sober. Thankfully, most
of the stories he brings up are humorous.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;">His favorite is when my ex-husband convinced me of the
existence of "dry-land tuna,"... fish that lived in Malibu hills and
did not need water (I'm turning red already). My beer brain grabbed on to
that little piece of Animal Kingdom trivia, and my slurred motor
mouth shared it with family and friends. </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;">After I revealed my
gullibility to the masses, my ex told me the truth. He, my son, and my step-sons
laughed hysterically. I was mortified at first but very quickly
became infuriated and humiliated. Yes, I felt betrayed, which justified my
downing a beer .... or twelve ... and then lashing out in retribution.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;">I learned early on in rehab that one of my biggest problems was taking myself
too seriously. I wanted to be in control every minute, and
heaven helped those who stood in my way. In time, I was able to
give myself a break. I found that laughing at myself brought me a sense
of joy and peace. God wants me to be happy, and I know when I
laugh at myself, He's laughing right along with me.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;">By the way....did you know there's a man in Wyoming that sells jackalopes?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOiB6pLlSjeusumr7ZbZ80msd8X44OTckVgYPD-Hp6wXvtlouXA39oY-6rcFA-7SZKVOPvYj4vbPlp42H1TMEAenajOGWm8Q86chjEdiSn-6EvvVE1U8TpUaA4Xg1pxBjkC9fL6jailj95NmiuBzRtRnLebTTZWt37SSsmraQHSTnQ6-wWVyy7OhtdGA/s267/Picture3.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="189" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOiB6pLlSjeusumr7ZbZ80msd8X44OTckVgYPD-Hp6wXvtlouXA39oY-6rcFA-7SZKVOPvYj4vbPlp42H1TMEAenajOGWm8Q86chjEdiSn-6EvvVE1U8TpUaA4Xg1pxBjkC9fL6jailj95NmiuBzRtRnLebTTZWt37SSsmraQHSTnQ6-wWVyy7OhtdGA/s1600/Picture3.png" width="189" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-18142781271321819962022-05-02T00:15:00.002-07:002022-05-02T00:17:46.564-07:00A MOTHER'S DAY TRIBUTE<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmNAInRcJNs-Hz5AIGE6ilFKxT67ZoJ3ePJF652AxYtjiDVd6TfoTuq6XrSd25VUBlEIb1Zvcz4VZQ3JAM_TgjdQ3zaOvsR2fbfr9jvS5DmN7sErPoPZGwTYHzHeeHDK-YS6Rhrb_wuZQfvMv3a61TDyDQeieMEfpWe3yhXPiLeeJJMeEJbxm3QRhDg/s567/mom%20jpeg.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="567" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmNAInRcJNs-Hz5AIGE6ilFKxT67ZoJ3ePJF652AxYtjiDVd6TfoTuq6XrSd25VUBlEIb1Zvcz4VZQ3JAM_TgjdQ3zaOvsR2fbfr9jvS5DmN7sErPoPZGwTYHzHeeHDK-YS6Rhrb_wuZQfvMv3a61TDyDQeieMEfpWe3yhXPiLeeJJMeEJbxm3QRhDg/w188-h185/mom%20jpeg.jpg" width="188" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">It's 1:30 a.m., and the house is quiet except
for a loud cricket beneath the window. I've been staring at a blank laptop
screen, struggling to find the perfect words for a Mother's Day tribute.
You might be thinking, "For crying out loud, Patti. You're a
writer … it should be easy." Well, I'll tell you a
secret: </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">There are times when words hide in the recesses of my
heart … preventing the raw emotions from surfacing and damming up a lake of
tears.</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> This is one of those times, but through prayer, some gentle prodding from the Holy Spirit and a box of Kleenex
nearby I am ready.</span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">I hate to burst anyone's bubble, but I was not
the perfect daughter. The word that comes to mind to describe my past
behavior is "reprehensible." During those "dark days," I
would lash out at my mother and </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">blame her for my actions</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">.
Why? Because in my booze-soaked, self-pitying, self-indulgent brain,
I was convinced she hated me and considered me a failure. She would
encourage me to strive for a better life, and all I heard was, "You
aren't good enough." She would invite me to come home to work
things out, and all I heard was, "You are not capable of being
on your own." She would suggest I go back to church, and all I
heard was, "You're going to hell." I twisted all of her words of love
and support into a declaration of my inadequacies. I would thank her by
spewing out a mouthful of vile and demeaning comments. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">Praise God those days
are long gone. I am so grateful to have had a few years of clarity before she passed away. God blessed me with the time to tell
her how sorry I was for all the pain I had given her and to say what an incredible mother she was. Blame turned into
gratitude. Gratitude for a life that overflows with
blessings beyond belief. A life that would have otherwise continued
down the path of self-destruction had it not been for her faith,
strength, and unconditional love.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18px;">T</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">hank you, mom, for never giving up on me.
Not a day goes by that I don't think of you, miss you, and thank God for being
your daughter. It's now 2:30 a.m. The
dam broke, and tears are flowing – but that's okay. Mom, you
are worth every one of them. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;">On the day my mom passed away I wrote this poem about her and my aborted babies.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwLesdRPpjM4wiFJqkPutTV7LkLrf-wiUis4-gqQYE_MvD5iAjrcerOeR1zW-WryZy85Swcp1SZNjSWxh9Zj5XqiyPulpqBDBwlzkbiq9gOzxP7Kz8RFcbDeoCHqUjoxHhO6tFbXJG03PLfyaSB6l8WVe8WiqVfXHdW2lWfsUbMh4Fbh09FdHI_oyjg/s736/997e934b36b0afd1b4d43858ec508e8c%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="736" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwLesdRPpjM4wiFJqkPutTV7LkLrf-wiUis4-gqQYE_MvD5iAjrcerOeR1zW-WryZy85Swcp1SZNjSWxh9Zj5XqiyPulpqBDBwlzkbiq9gOzxP7Kz8RFcbDeoCHqUjoxHhO6tFbXJG03PLfyaSB6l8WVe8WiqVfXHdW2lWfsUbMh4Fbh09FdHI_oyjg/w539-h422/997e934b36b0afd1b4d43858ec508e8c%20(2).jpg" width="539" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-75403959744094428722022-04-27T23:01:00.000-07:002022-04-27T23:01:04.772-07:00Another Casualty of Abortion<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5AjLeZPhAWjYBLErs0lLD3OtxCVQWnFRDkxKG7lV87BEd5DUJT9lTfJE5aH4VTtqHh-OibCxT_RIzRnBYFHkw-uOFtQh--fWksBo2a2MTpkuA3kX8sQfP10rZjpGAcuf6DzC8TIZ56hCoqiOTtAUeidT1wrOq91uylHGZL0nIdIWLYWmZ19r0beQBYQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="244" data-original-width="367" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5AjLeZPhAWjYBLErs0lLD3OtxCVQWnFRDkxKG7lV87BEd5DUJT9lTfJE5aH4VTtqHh-OibCxT_RIzRnBYFHkw-uOFtQh--fWksBo2a2MTpkuA3kX8sQfP10rZjpGAcuf6DzC8TIZ56hCoqiOTtAUeidT1wrOq91uylHGZL0nIdIWLYWmZ19r0beQBYQ" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Being active in the pro-life community
allows me to meet and work with many dynamic and inspirational people.
Such was the case a while back when I had dinner with Father Frank Pavone,
National Director of Priests for Life</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> and Georgette Forney, President of </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Anglicans for Life</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">/Co-Founder of the </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Silent No More Awareness Campaign</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnmE6BtRsuF7R6H60TqwBL7a3cZF_PhvckQ41ZIw2X2th7k88m26hRNI9_tKMMTYL7VRbdsXR2ommuI3JuB90Qkh_phuVgXT--1mjqEmPDpEbPRFla50G6bvPYfx4fO5ufp3UcqlaWseUGorHfu0hQ2sU4wgTo7vb9OplERe_joOx44nMmD5vgWnf9LQ/s320/frank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="241" data-original-width="320" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnmE6BtRsuF7R6H60TqwBL7a3cZF_PhvckQ41ZIw2X2th7k88m26hRNI9_tKMMTYL7VRbdsXR2ommuI3JuB90Qkh_phuVgXT--1mjqEmPDpEbPRFla50G6bvPYfx4fO5ufp3UcqlaWseUGorHfu0hQ2sU4wgTo7vb9OplERe_joOx44nMmD5vgWnf9LQ/w207-h156/frank.jpg" width="207" /></span></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 13.5pt;">While enjoying outdoor dining on the beautiful San Diego Harbor, our light banter eventually turned to the Planned Parenthood undercover videos and how they are exposing the truth about abortion. During that conversation, I shared a casualty of abortion I had recently realized after thirty-plus years. Georgette suggested I share it on my blog so here it is:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I had two abortions which resulted in abuse of alcohol and other self-destructive behaviors. I not only aborted two precious babies, I aborted my fertility by having a tubal ligation at the age of
thirty … a means to punish myself. I no longer deserved to be a mother. However, </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 13.5pt;">God disagreed and gave me another chance at motherhood. In 1991, a
precious ten-year-old foster child captured the hearts of my ex-husband and me and on 6/1/1992, became our forever son.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was when my first granddaughter was born that I realized the
other casualty of abortion. By punishing myself with sterilization, the
biological chain of life ended. I would never hear, “Your son has your eyes,” or
“Your granddaughter has your smile.”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">My son blessed us with a total of six grandchildren and a great-grandson. Sadly, none of them will carry the smile and laugh I inherited
from my mother or the ears and eyes from my father. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Still, they carry something <i>just as powerful</i>. Something that <i>transcends biology</i> ...<i> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 13.5pt;">they
carry my unconditional love. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYK5NYZN3VcNB66t_Vr_FUnU3_eZPFdqSEAW-1Vt3b_k0Duz6FI2itqed4BF92Wl3Ae3pMgy0MWxTpOYumEMFiuRD3aAdXjooisehUFa5tNupz0MB8cYwn_j396aVjf-VXOSUUQVWuzwIbl3BTZ-fy1ULB5NHmopdUDbRsC0dJfWa5-s7X9RyaTWH_Q/s617/collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="617" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYK5NYZN3VcNB66t_Vr_FUnU3_eZPFdqSEAW-1Vt3b_k0Duz6FI2itqed4BF92Wl3Ae3pMgy0MWxTpOYumEMFiuRD3aAdXjooisehUFa5tNupz0MB8cYwn_j396aVjf-VXOSUUQVWuzwIbl3BTZ-fy1ULB5NHmopdUDbRsC0dJfWa5-s7X9RyaTWH_Q/w492-h169/collage.jpg" width="492" /></a></div> <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span><p></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-68793039631931462602022-04-10T12:58:00.000-07:002022-04-10T12:58:32.729-07:00The Confession<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjac8SPahRsolbt8IEDqaFUiCrgwJLddzTN_h_vOhH7YRv3vbeOvFiITAHV2XhkeJeQR-_SuI2suDbFCt6qOyijqTZ744pB5zugX4j16e8f75riZjC42AN1CIO6i2RAZuiZ3ju20JZloWj-0q4BNhcdaRMcj0pWsxyqJl9nuGvQ4YMJs0Y_6gKrtl1Q/s400/holy-spirit-and-you-istock-petewill.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="400" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjac8SPahRsolbt8IEDqaFUiCrgwJLddzTN_h_vOhH7YRv3vbeOvFiITAHV2XhkeJeQR-_SuI2suDbFCt6qOyijqTZ744pB5zugX4j16e8f75riZjC42AN1CIO6i2RAZuiZ3ju20JZloWj-0q4BNhcdaRMcj0pWsxyqJl9nuGvQ4YMJs0Y_6gKrtl1Q/w396-h218/holy-spirit-and-you-istock-petewill.jpg" width="396" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">While entering Holy Week, my thoughts wander
back to my baptism on 4/15/2006. </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background: white;">Through RCIA I </span>was told
when an adult enters the water of baptism, past sins are washed away ... A
time of renewal and celebration. On that Easter Vigil, I stood at
the baptismal font in a brown gown and instead of joyful anticipation, I was
scared to death. Being fifty-three years old with a colorful past, I
envisioned the water boiling due to the amount of sin I carried. Of
course, the water remained cool. </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;">After the baptism, I went to
the ladies' room to remove the soggy brown gown (I had
been fully immersed) and don a white one before reentering the
church to receive confirmation. I was uncomfortable wearing white
... I didn’t feel cleansed. Days later, I shared those feelings with
my sponsor and she suggested I make an appointment with our priest to make
a general confession. Well, that was scarier yet! Once I was “found
out”, I would surely be the quickest ex-communicant in Catholic history. </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;"> I tried to delay the inevitable
by telling myself, “God knows what I did wrong, I already apologized to
Him and He knows I’m sorry.” Then a little voice in my head would say,
“Patti, if that were the case, why do you still feel unclean?”
It had taken several arguments with that little voice before I made
the appointment.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;">Walking into Father’s office, I shook nervously and even before I sat down, the
tears flew. He handed me a box of tissues and smiled kindly. I was
sure that kind look would disappear once I started talking. It
didn’t. He listened, patted my hand, and even smiled from time to time.
After a while, something miraculous happened. The shame slowly dissipated and I
stopped avoiding the “really bad stuff”. I closed my eyes as I continued
and truly felt the presence of Jesus. He, not Father Fernando, was holding my
hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: large;">By the time my confession was over, I was emotionally drained and exhausted but
felt energized within. The weight of shame and remorse was lifted, and
for the first time in decades, I was at peace and knew I was
finally worthy of receiving the Eucharist. Until I actually
verbalized my transgressions and asked for forgiveness, they darkened my
soul. They were a detour on a beautiful faith journey that
distanced me from God and experiencing His love and mercy.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;"><b>For your
listening pleasure, here is an Easter Vigil song by the choir I belonged to at
the Church of St. Timothy in Escondido, CA. </b></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/k2NZFAJNJpI" width="320" youtube-src-id="k2NZFAJNJpI"></iframe></span></div><span style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;"><br /><b><br /></b></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-71266596247952842672022-04-01T11:22:00.001-07:002022-04-01T11:22:25.545-07:00I AM FINE<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RK2vpu6IqaRjlW__VBn2N8dQAs7FkDnOU4U9CfzyIC2o953RJo6Cyifu1CS_CsA1-Zknjt17D1c46Nas4xrnKBXF9gmP-oCVe8QQ1nzlof1B8kUcAO63YDgEgSkYh4JsbqCcXKpc7tZzDJRjFjiaFZ7e1trCCIWynXv2NjrHr7_ZS8gYsOeZJdpmtw/s320/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RK2vpu6IqaRjlW__VBn2N8dQAs7FkDnOU4U9CfzyIC2o953RJo6Cyifu1CS_CsA1-Zknjt17D1c46Nas4xrnKBXF9gmP-oCVe8QQ1nzlof1B8kUcAO63YDgEgSkYh4JsbqCcXKpc7tZzDJRjFjiaFZ7e1trCCIWynXv2NjrHr7_ZS8gYsOeZJdpmtw/s1600/Picture1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">How often do you say "fine" when
someone asks how you are – even when struggling with something? Yep! Thought so. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm guilty of it, as with many others (misery
loves company). </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">For some reason, we are
afraid to voice our true feelings. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We
don't want to bother anyone with our fears or problems; we don't think
they'll understand or want to appear weak. Unless you have a
therapist attached at the hip, you need to talk to somebody. Suppose your
boss or an acquaintance walks up to you and asks that dreaded question.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In that case, they probably wouldn't be the
best people to get into a lengthy dialog about your troubles.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Social media wouldn't be a good idea
either.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm referring to our trusted
family members, friends, or clergy. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pretending everything is okay works for a while,
but eventually, whatever is causing anxiety will bubble, then boil over ...
making it worse. When the issue first surfaces, it will be resolved more
often if we reach out. If not, then at least they might have ideas on
where to turn. No one should struggle alone. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm a firm believer in the power of prayer and
try diligently to "turn it over." Still, I believe in the power of
family, friends, and clergy. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">God also speaks
through them.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just my thought for today. Oh, wait a
minute ... do you know what "FINE" stands for?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">F</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">rustrated</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;">
</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"><b>nsecure</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;">
</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> N</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"><b>eurotic</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;">
</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">E</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt;"><b>motional</b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-33915833791405664682022-03-26T09:11:00.007-07:002022-03-26T09:11:00.190-07:00A LESSON IN HUMILITY<p><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jfORmAU86BD0X0SQAYXo86WsIxd3lBr92em-s_4020ZOH3Qa16DHyfFeBzqiNyi6Mtru6BFWsnk48OIJ5aTHGvVBN7hGdndWGIfiXDy-S-dsesRIvFxMszBbYu5qKigmWTcfpqKebmr8v0-ZDls3dUJWssG6UDSlRXh80k1SlIU0m8qH4Gf75vdinQ/s211/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="136" data-original-width="211" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jfORmAU86BD0X0SQAYXo86WsIxd3lBr92em-s_4020ZOH3Qa16DHyfFeBzqiNyi6Mtru6BFWsnk48OIJ5aTHGvVBN7hGdndWGIfiXDy-S-dsesRIvFxMszBbYu5qKigmWTcfpqKebmr8v0-ZDls3dUJWssG6UDSlRXh80k1SlIU0m8qH4Gf75vdinQ/s1600/Picture1.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">To be successful in
life's endeavors, we need to have self-confidence; however, it's a slippery
slope. If not kept in check, that self-confidence can grow to
monstrous proportions resulting in feelings of superiority. Once we reach that
point, it's like a drug … we need more. We do all we can to maintain that "high," even
if it's at the expense of others...and our souls.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">
I've been there, and looking back brings a sick feeling in the pit of my
stomach. I was so full of myself I failed to acknowledge those who helped and
encouraged me ... but most importantly, I distanced myself from God. I may have
reached the top, but I was alone … absent friends and bereft of Spirit.<br />
<br />
It's an important lesson in humility and calls to mind something I saw long
ago:
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">E</span></b><span style="font-size: medium;">dging</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">G</span></b><span style="font-size: medium;">od</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span></b><span style="font-size: medium;">ut</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">So as we celebrate our accomplishments, let us always remember Philippians
2:1-10: </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
<b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i><span style="color: purple;">"So if there is any encouragement in
Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection
and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love,
being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but
in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look
not only to his own interests but also to the interests of
others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus."</span></i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-6059177736668091422022-03-22T00:09:00.000-07:002022-03-22T00:09:00.200-07:00THE SECRET<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0OLkPQYQVmuMXjPdT7GCpMTfOy-iGYLsaw-fAm-jgo9tUwksWdOhPYPv6mCjFHC5sYUQIXAM1KrLBQIhY3ZiOdWnYzJxcdn29fWFKY_th7CCH4CplRu1KslSW06uhkeSOU7lBuUFnZSuBy9bvHErTYK1yhTtJsHMkPLJDxOF0eIW-oDoQI1OtHWlzww=s386" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="154" data-original-width="386" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0OLkPQYQVmuMXjPdT7GCpMTfOy-iGYLsaw-fAm-jgo9tUwksWdOhPYPv6mCjFHC5sYUQIXAM1KrLBQIhY3ZiOdWnYzJxcdn29fWFKY_th7CCH4CplRu1KslSW06uhkeSOU7lBuUFnZSuBy9bvHErTYK1yhTtJsHMkPLJDxOF0eIW-oDoQI1OtHWlzww=w400-h160" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="font-size: large;">That verse reminded me of a term frequently used in Alcoholics Anonymous: "You are only as sick as your secrets."</span></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Merriweather;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Many women and men carry
their abortion experiences in the dark recesses of their souls. They
do everything in their power to shroud the secret from others and the
guilt, shame, and remorse associated with abortion from themselves. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Sadly, the means used to avoid detection are more disastrous than
exposure: self-destructive behavior such as substance abuse, eating
disorders, promiscuity, being in abusive relationships, gambling,
over-protectiveness of living children or the opposite, etc. </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="line-height: 107%;">I visualize the tools used to conceal the secret as volcanic magma. As
time passes, weaknesses in the earth’s crust can no longer hold back the magma, and a catastrophic eruption occurs. No matter what tool is used, its destructive nature will eventually emerge and usher in hopelessness, fear, and depression.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">The only way to stop the
debilitating aftermath of abortion is to summon the courage to reach out for
healing. Removing the shroud of secrecy will allow the light of love
and forgiveness from our merciful God and Savior, thus replacing the
guilt, shame, and remorse with peace and serenity. </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Take it from one who knows...</span></span></div>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7785856189876327714.post-15541053283370578082022-03-19T04:26:00.003-07:002022-03-19T04:58:55.453-07:00The Domino Effect of Grief<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vOZWwLAN33xo0Vq32Kajr9aEZEd8d_gzrH4jmCooUPth8GrjbxiQ8W3T31dhXsuyBGmYr-I9t518H7FN4lhR6fVcFhIP0XQXWX1oGTN4k3gBzHmkosYjpSbunp228ELtoW9qrFm9RAsii4EdvsYtlxM0SPiNDF_XpFNFu32xEjL3fvb_c_59MV4Odw/s184/Picture1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="122" data-original-width="184" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vOZWwLAN33xo0Vq32Kajr9aEZEd8d_gzrH4jmCooUPth8GrjbxiQ8W3T31dhXsuyBGmYr-I9t518H7FN4lhR6fVcFhIP0XQXWX1oGTN4k3gBzHmkosYjpSbunp228ELtoW9qrFm9RAsii4EdvsYtlxM0SPiNDF_XpFNFu32xEjL3fvb_c_59MV4Odw/w275-h181/Picture1.png" width="275" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div>We all experience loss and will face many throughout our lifetime. As we get older, the number of losses
increases, sometimes to unbearable proportions. One would think (or hope) that the
sting would somehow lessen after a certain amount of losses, and the tears
would no longer flow with abandon. Instead, they become a controlled trickle.</div></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;">In reality, we find that the sting is the same (and sometimes
worse). We might find ourselves muddling through our day with a deep
sense of sadness for weeks or months and wonder if we are going
crazy. In most cases, we are not. It's called the "domino
effect."</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">When we lose a family member, friend, or beloved pet, it triggers
the memories and emotions of past losses. This avalanche of feelings
can be a little overwhelming, frightening, and, most of all,
depressing. We find ourselves either an emotional bowl of Jello or
completely shutting down – isolating from everyone and everything. It's okay.
It's normal. Yes, it is uncomfortable and painful, but all part of
the grieving process. Trying to fight it is unhealthy. As
they say, "Go with the flow." </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Being in the business of grief, I thought understanding the
dynamics would inoculate me from feeling the pain and
anguish. Not true. My brain knows what is
happening, but it doesn't communicate that knowledge to my heart. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">We all need to remember that the losses we face and the subsequent
period of emotional upheaval are a testament to love. It reminds me
of a phrase in an old movie: "How lucky I am to have someone in my life
that makes saying goodbye so darned hard."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><i>In Memory of Michael Ray Campbell</i></span></p>Patti J. Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05040101316850256286noreply@blogger.com0