Ties that bind..

 I had a beautiful day yesterday.  I spent it with people that I barely know and people I have known for years.  We are a group of people with varied interests, talents, theologies, and economic statuses.  We have a tie that binds us.  That tie is our struggle to serve God the best way we can.  We help each other in that struggle.


There is a man in this group who has a servant's heart of gold.  Ed serves his church, his family, his friends, and rarely indicates that his own needs are of much concern.  He is always looking for someone to help.  His wife, who was not with us, is the same way.  They are a family of loving, caring, serving people.  I have known them for years, and I love them dearly, and admire them greatly.  There is a tie that binds us.


There was a blind woman with us.  She lives in government housing.  I do not think she is well educated.   Society would say she hasn't much to offer.   Society would be wrong.  Darlene has the most joyful spirit.  She never complains.  She is friendly, and speaks to everyone.  She rarely forgets a voice.  It is a pleasure to know her.  There is a tie that binds us.


And, then there is the precious one, who as we toured Oaklands Mansion, described each little detail to Darlene so she did not feel apart.  I haven't known Chris for long, but she has the unique gift of being able to relate to young marrieds, elderly widowed, and everyone in between.  She is not afraid to work.  In the short time I have known her, I have grown to love her.  There is a tie that binds us.


The two Phillips were there.  They live in the same high rise as Darlene.  They both use walkers.  They are new, or newly returned, to their faith.  They have grateful joyful hearts.  "God bless you," comes quickly to their lips.  Their countenances glow with love.  We are family.  There is a tie that binds us. 

My mom was there, but I'm saving a blog just for her in a couple of weeks.  Her birthday is coming up.  What a blessed day it was for me when Carol and Dennis came to Otter Creek.  Talk about someone who is willing to work, and she does it with a big smile on her face ~ every time.  We love to antique.  We love to have lunch together.  I love times I get to spend with her.  There is a tie that binds us.

As I told her yesterday, Betty is not a ray of sunshine, she is a bolt of sunlight.  She just spreads joy and humor everywhere she goes.  She is eager to participate and help.  She adores her children and grandchildren.  I suspect she is the kind of grandmother every child would love to have.  Whenever I mention to her daughter how much I enjoy Betty, Elisabeth always replies, "I know.  She's great.  I am blessed to have her."  We are all blessed.  There is a tie that binds us.

How can one person be your mentor and your peer?  That is what Gail is to me.  She has advised (only when asked) and helped me through the years.  She probably is not really even aware of her value to me.  She was the one who helped me see the humor when my son, God love his sweet soul, decided that his elementary school librarian needed to become aware of his displeasure with her.  Gail was the principal at the school.  He decided, quite cleverly according to her, to stealthily rearrange the books in the library.  I might not have appreciated his creativity had she not opened my eyes.  Gail is the one who most makes me feel that parenting decisions (or non-decisions) we have made might be somewhat admirable.  We have a tie that binds us.

Fletcher.  How can I describe Fletcher?  I know so many funny stories about him.  He seems to never get riled about anything.  I have never witnessed him angry or upset.  He gets Mr. Lincoln's sense of humor.  Not everyone does.   Years ago, some friends had an adult scavenger hunt.  I cannot even describe the work and brilliance that went into that party.  It could never be reproduced.  One item to be gotten was a sucker from a Shoney's restaurant.   The song at A-8 (whatever) on the jukebox at Boardwalk Cafe across the street was another item needed.  Fletcher's car dropped him off at Shoney's while they drove across the street to the Boardwalk.  The story goes, that Fletcher, hair standing on end, ran out of Shoney's brandishing his suckers, jumped in a car, yelled, "I got them, I got them," only to notice that he recognized no one in that car.  We have a tie that binds us.

Ah, and then there is Miz Bernie.  I love her.  I loved her husband, Buddy.  When our son was nearly inconsolable over the death of his dog, Mr. Buddy talked with him.  Buddy had just sadly had a dog put down, and so this lovely man, commiserated with our 8 year old son.  On our son's level. Talk about ties that bind.  Our son, when selling Boy Scout candy bars, went to Miz Bernie's house.  When she invited him in, he looked all around and in awe inquired, "is your house always this clean."  Yes, that is a testimony to my housekeeping skills.   We never missed stopping at their house at Halloween.  They decorated so lavishly.  We have a tie that binds us.

For some reason, my previously published "Ties that bind" left a whole paragraph out.  It left out Mr. Jim and Jayne.  It left out Kay and Mike.  Both these couples have lost 2 sons, and, yet, they continue on in faith and grace and dignity.  Whenever I ask Mr. Jim how he's doing, he always replies, "there's been no change."  He loves courting that curmudgeon demeanor, but he doesn't have me fooled.  He is just a big ol' sweetheart.  Celia.  Celia with the beautiful eyes and beatific smile.  She is always so complimentary and encouraging of others' accomplishments.  Ralph and Kay.  Again, I haven't known them long, but I love them.  They have great children.  Their children have great parents.  Martha and John and Fletcher's sister, Gail, I barely know.  I look forward to more opportunities to spend time with them.

So for today, I wish you ties that bind you to our Lord, our Father, and to those who struggle alongside you to serve well, and I wish you

blessings

Musings from a steroid-crazed mind

I cannot sleep.  The reason I cannot sleep is the steroids I am taking for the sinus that is impacted with infection.  They make me sweat.  They make me itch.  They make my face red.  I am quite alluring, and yet, Mr. Lincoln is still able to restrain himself.  He is a model of self-control.

Last night, as I lay not sleeping, my thoughts were bouncing around my perfect brain (I took a test...it is perfect...the doctor said so...so there, all you skeptics) like the ball in a pinball machine.  Many of those bings hit on memories of my father's family.  Perhaps, they were precipitated by the intention of blogging about my Aunt Frank at some point. When I wrote about my cousin, "Bennie," I was reminded by my friend, Nancy, that he was the self-proclaimed King of the Tookie People.  As I was not invited to his coronation, I had forgotten that fact about him.  I do not know where the Tookie People live, but I can only assume that several years ago they moved to Dover to be with their monarch. 

That memory led me to thoughts of "Bennie's" mother's funeral.  It was a graveside service at the National Cemetery in Madison.  There were only about 10 people there including the priest who was conducting the service.  My sister, with whom I should never attend somber occasions, and I were standing behind my cousin, Bennie, and Aunt Frank who were seated.  Aunt Frank took great pride in her appearance, and was in sensed when her hair began to turn white.  Her younger sister has beautiful white hair.  Aunt Frank often said that her sister should color her hair like she did.  Her hair was an interesting shade of mauve.   At the funeral as we stood behind her and Bennie my sister pointed out that they had identical bald spots on the backs of their heads.  We pondered if Bennie was a love-child of Aunt Frank's that we did not know about.  That started our giggling, and it continued as the priest called the deceased by her proper name, which my sister and I were fairly certain we had never known.  A breeze kicked up and blew the pall off the casket.  Giggles continued.  Seriously, we do not have even a modicum of decorum when it comes to solemn occasions.  As the service ended, a panel van drove up to the podium where the service was held.  We thought that odd.  It became more odd (and funnier) as men left the van, picked up the casket, threw it into the back with 1/3 of the casket hanging out, and then drove off.  I have heard of grave robbers, but this was ridiculous.  We learned the van belonged to the cemetery and they use that instead of a hearse to transport the body to the burial spot.  Hmmmmmm, interesting.

Aunt Frank always had her nails done.  Bright red was her favorite color.  When it was time for a manicure, she would let me peel the polish off her nails.  Thus was born the joy of covering my palms with Elmer's glue, letting it dry, and then peeling it off.  I always think of her when I do that.  Yes, I still do that from time to time.  It is very calming. 

She always had Chiclets in her purse and was very kind to share.  She always drove big cars.  When she was younger, she had a lead foot.  It runs in the family.  When she got older, she was sloooooooow moving.  As she aged, getting out of her car became more difficult.  When she went to the drugstore, which was on a very busy street, she would pull up onto the sidewalk at the front and sit on her horn until someone came out to help her.  She parked in her front yard about 6 inches from her front steps.  If she could have driven up on the porch, I am sure she would have.  Once my sister had a friend over who was sitting and looking out the picture window.  My sister was in the back of the house when her friend began to shriek that someone was about to hit the house with her car.  It was just Aunt Frank.

Aunt Frank married for the first time when she was 52 years old.  He did not survive long.  She loved a good funeral.  We used to say if she knew someone named Jones, and there was an obituary for someone named Jones, she would be at the funeral.  She never really had a job as far as I know, but she would have made an awesome professional mourner.  When she died, my sister and I went together to the visitation.  Aunt Frank's younger sister was standing by the open casket as we walked in.  We hugged her and told her how sorry we were.  This was her 7th sibling to bury.  She graciously accepted our sympathies and then said, "I think she looks lovely, don't you.  Frank would have loved brighter lipstick, but I thought this was more appropriate for the occasion."  Irreverence runs rampant in this family.

It is pretty much a miracle that I have any self-esteem at all being raised with the extended family that I have.  My uncle Doug, Daddy's older brother, had a daughter my age named Gail. She is the one who had the Christmas chicken named Shicky Shick.  He and his wife doted on her.  That's okay.  My dad doted on me too.  Once at another cousin's wedding, Gail came up to her mother (in front of me) and asked if I was a "chosen child."  She was adopted.  My Aunt Ruth replied, "no, Aunt Mary and Uncle Hot (my dad) just had to take what they got."  Wow! 

They used to always invite me to Gail's birthday parties.  They lived across town.  I usually got carsick riding there.  It just wasn't my favorite thing to do.  But, one year, I had the perfect gift, and so I was pretty pumped about going to the party.  It was a pirate ship that actually floated.  It had movable pirates and everything.  I wanted one so badly.  So, picture this...lots of little girls, none of whom I know besides my cousin, gathered around as Gail unwraps her present.  I have that little pitter patter as I wait enthusiastically for her to open this most wonderful gift.  She opens it, flings it across the room and yells, "give it to a boy."  That did not work out quite as I had hoped.  The next year, I took a dainty little bracelet. I vomited three times on the way there.  I assume it was part carsickness and part nerves.  After the gift opening, then everyone began to show off their gymnastic skills.  I had none.  It was great fun.  The next year, and every one after that I just happened to be otherwise engaged when that birthday rolled around. 

Another one of Dad's brothers had an accident sawing a limb off a tree.  He was in Vanderbilt Emergency.  Daddy called and asked if I could meet him there, as he had bummed a ride from a co-worker to get to the hospital.  It was pouring rain as I drove to meet him.  When I arrived, Gail's father was appalled that I had driven there in such weather.  In one sentence he was able to malign my dad's parenting, let me know that Gail was the pretty, smart one, but that I must be the sensible one to be able to successfully drive there.  Yep, every 16 year old girl wants to be the sensible one.  It must have been so, because earlier that year when my mother gave birth to my little sister, my dad and I were leaving church.  One of the Christian sisters standing in the parking lot asked my dad if the new baby was a girl or a boy.  He told her a girl.  She replied, "Oh, that's a pity.  You have such beautiful boys."  Hello, Sister, you may think I'm as ugly as a fence post, but I am not deaf.  It's a miracle I ever let my raggedy old sensible self be seen in public.

So, for today, I wish you a good night's rest, a disabled pinball machine, survivable walks down Memory Lane, and

blessings

The Diagnosis is in

Well, they did find a brain in my cranium during the tests I had run last week.  There have been occasions in the past few days when I wondered if it was so.  Mr. Lincoln has questioned it as well.  ("He who wishes" has just been renamed Mr. Lincoln.  You have to be a FB friend to understand why, so just trust me, it's very appropriate.  It also makes him laugh.  I love when he laughs!!) 

My doctor called this morning.  "Is this a bad time," he asks.  Certainly, it was not.  The next words out of his mouth were, "I have very good news for you."  I liked hearing that.  Turns out, in his words, I have a perfect brain.  Those who know me well can just stop laughing right now.  That is NOT nice.  "Well, except for one thing," he says.  He continues to tell me that I have an impacted mastoid sinusitis.  Okay, not so bad.  What do I do?  Take an antibiotic for 21 days and a steroid pack.  Yes!! I can do that.  I must admit that I was relieved.

I have a flair for internal drama.  I try to rarely, if ever, let it be seen, but the theatrics going on in my head are Oscar worthy.  Just Sunday, Mr. Lincoln pointed out someone to me who was with someone else who is having some serious personal issues.  He, unfortunately, used the word "too," and before we got 100 yards, I had the second person in more serious personal angst than the first.  Mr. Lincoln was bumfuzzled.  "Where did that come from," he asked.  I explained that he used the word "too" which indicated that fellow number 2 was having the same problem as fellow number 1.  As in, too, also, as well as, likewise, in addition to etc....  He still didn't get my explanation.

So, while I did not fret awaiting my test results, I did ponder various scenarios where I starred as the tragic figure who died too young.   It was several years ago that I said something to my friend, Betsy, about dying young and she replied, "it's too late for that!"  I ask, "was that nice?" 

I wondered if Mr. Lincoln would soon receive his "dating money."  This past summer, we began to discuss our life insurance.  He has the same amount on me that I have on him.  I consider that a seriously flawed plan.  I called him and asked why in the world he had so much life insurance on me.  I explained that I am just not that financially valuable to him.  He replied that if I died, he would need some dating money.  Well, that certainly made me feel better.

I contemplated video taping myself talking to my unborn grandchild who I will call Mamie Bob until he or she arrives.  I wanted Mamie Bob to know how much I would have loved him or her, and all the fun things we were going to do together.  I'm telling you, people, it is melodrama all the way in my head.

So, it seems that I will not expire from blocked arteries or a brain tumor...at least not this week.  I doubt a sinus infection will do me in either.  I will admit that I am pleased to know that it is not a case of hypochondria.  I was beginning to wonder.  I might get hit by a bus or a meteorite, or choke on a malted milk ball, or some other bizarre happenstance, but for right now, my mind is relieved.  I will take my medicines as prescribed.  I will thank God for good test results.  I will ponder how grateful I am for my health.  I will give more thought to those whose health is fragile.  I will not take one day or one moment for granted...until I forget the mind-drama of this week, and then once again take my many blessings for granted.  Oh, why do I do that? 

So, for today, I wish you good health, a grateful heart, and

blessings   

Blessed

There is a song we used to sing in girl scouts..."make new friends, but keep the old...one is silver and the other gold."

I have had a golden afternoon.  And, it was, of all places, at a baby shower.  Now, I'm not a lover of showers of any kind.  Well, that's not true.  I love a good rain shower.  I love a good hot shower. I don't particularly love Sunday afternoon gift-giving showers.  But, every now and then, along comes a shower that I would not miss.  One came along today.

So many special friends were there.  Those old, golden ones that cannot be replaced.  The shower was for the daughter of a friend.  I have known this expectant mom most of her life.  I have watched her grow into a creative, beautiful, funny, brilliant, generous, kind, gracious, and loving daughter, wife, sister, aunt, and friend.   I feel certain she will display those same traits to her baby boy when he arrives.  He is one lucky little guy to be blessed by this family.

There were others there.  Two of the hostesses are my peers whose daughters also hosted.  I realize, I consider those younger girls my friends too.  No, not just my friends, but my sisters.  It is fun to see characteristics of their mothers in them.  It is like turning back time.

This shower was a true Southern ladies' delight.  Not a piece of plastic in sight.  China dishes, linen napkins, silver and fresh flowers all present because the hostesses were pleased and honored to provide for their guests.  The home is lovely; a new home that looks old.  Much of it had been built with salvaged materials from other homes. Every detail was displayed with great care. It was warm and welcoming, just like the lovely woman who lives there.

The food...oh, the food.  I ate too much, but who can pass up homemade pound cake with a perfect crunchy top, and mushroom tarts, and lemon squares and fruit and brie and delicious tiny crackers?  Not me.  The punch was even delicious. I felt loved just by being there.  I know the other guests did as well.

Oh, those other guests.  I love those women.  My walking buddies who I do not see nearly enough when summer has passed.  Young mothers who brought their little girls to the ladies' party.  Those precious little ones in their Sunday dresses will be grown before we turn around.  I admire the grandmother-to-be more than I can say.  She has a heart of tenderness and compassion.  Those are hallmarks of the entire family.

I rode home with another friend who, in a former life, I talked to almost every day.  We do not spend time together as we once did, but those spaces drop away when we do get the opportunity to visit.  Sadly, in that short drive we learned that we have a doctor in common.  When did life change from obstetricians to cardiologists?  I do not know.  But, it is fine because we all have each other.  We have history together.   We are walking through our "what now" years together.

I have had a golden afternoon of blessing.  I love my new friends.  They are like precious silver.  But, those old friendships gleam like burnished gold.

So, for today, I wish you shiny new friendships and old friendship that have beautifully aged patinas and I wish you

blessings

Hypochondria is hard work...

Today was a trying day.  I have been having these near-fainting spells for a couple months.  For a while I thought it was the heat.  Then I thought my blood pressure was dropping rapidly.  It's awkward when one is having a conversation and starts to grey out.  So, I went to the doctor.  Took some meds.  Thought I was better.  Started near-fainting again.  Went back to the doctor.  He sent me to a cardiologist.  He also scheduled an MRI on my head and an MRA on my carotid arteries. 

I had my day nicely planned.  Echo cardiogram at 8:00, MRI and MRA at 9:30.  Lunch with a friend at 11:30 or so. Best laid plans and all that stuff.  The orders had not been given to the echo imaging center.  I waited an hour with no test because I had to leave in order not to be late for my 9:30 test, which, as would happen, did not get started until around 10:30.  They did give me a $5 BP gas card for my trouble.  The 30 minute MRI lasted approximately an hour.  My head was in a cage, my arms pinned down, and my head wedged between two boards.  They were soft boards, but boards nonetheless.  You can't really sleep during an MRI because they are so loud.  I prayed...a lot.  I thanked God for all my blessings, prayed for my children, prayed for my friends, prayed for "he who wishes," prayed for my church, prayed for my mother, prayed for the grass and the trees and anything else I could think of.  I was like the 4 year old who prays for his great grandmother or his dog who has been dead for 4 years.  Anything to keep my mind off that cage over my face, my arms pinned down, and those blasted boards.  Whew I made it through. 

I met a woman in the waiting room who had on Family Guy flannel pajama bottoms.  She has 3 children ages 17, 20 and 23.  She is a single mom, and lost her waitress job 6 weeks ago.  She has gained 4 pounds since then.  She takes medicine for high blood pressure (her cholesterol is fine), a diuretic (she hasn't been taking it correctly), pain meds for her back and carpal tunnel, a muscle relaxer, and psychiatric meds.  She liked to talk.  I learned a lot about her.  She kept me entertained while I waited.  She helped me realize how thankful I should be for my health.  She was 18 years younger than I, and her health was so very fragile.  I also met a gentleman in the first waiting room who is a huge Republican, blames Obama (tongue in cheek, I think) for his quadruple bypass, and who still works as an accountant at a construction company.  He liked to talk. I learned a lot about him.  They learned nothing about me.  That's okay.  It would not have changed their lives it they had.

I had lunch by myself at Picnic.  I had to cancel lunch with my good buddy, Marilyn a.k.a. Tom, which had been planned for several weeks.  This was the second time I had to cancel.  I don't like doing that.  I really don't like eating in a restaurant by myself either.  Lunch was not the stimulating, laughter-filled occasion I was expecting when I got up this morning.

At 1:30, I am back at the echo imaging center.  No one else is in the waiting room.  I sit quietly until they call me back.  A lovely nurse does the echo and then informs me that the cardiologist wishes to see me when it is over.  She walks me to his office where I wait for an hour and 15 minutes to see him.  I am in an examining room with one Martha Stewart magazine which I read about 3 times.  I got a couple good ideas for birthday cards to send to sweet Jenny in Minnesota, but I was growing very weary of waiting.  Finally, he comes in and tells me I have the heart of a 20 year old.  Great news!!  Then he says I better hope they don't find anything in the MRI or MRA because they are looking for really bad stuff in those tests.  Great! 

So, as I go to bed tonight, I pray that they did find some brain matter in my cranium, but nothing that does not belong there.  I also pray that I have carotid arteries like a 20 year old.  I call today "therapeutic testing."  Unless I think I am dying in the next hour or so, I am going to avoid the doctor.  So, for today, I wish you a heart of a 20 year old, and

blessings

Really? I Mean, Really?

This week, I have been witness to a series of FB posts.  If they had not been so pitiful, they would have been quite funny. 

Here's the background.  A gentleman posted on a neighborhood FB page that he was looking for memorabilia from the neighborhood as well as from the high school in the area.  He was willing to pay for it.  A woman, a graduate of the school, posted that she had gotten some trophies, about 20 years ago, from the school before it was torn down, and the gentleman was welcome to them.  It was unclear as to whether she was selling them or giving them to him. 

Even though the school has been torn down, the gym is still standing, and is being beautifully renovated. There are those who feel that the trophies would be more appropriately placed in the gym when the renovations are completed, rather than in the gentleman's private collection. 

And, the firestorm began.  Accusations began to fly.  The woman was accused of stealing the trophies.  Never mind, that when she went back for a sentimental walk through her Alma mater before it was torn down, the POLICE said she could have the trophies.  It seems that she saved them from being left behind in the rubble.  That explanation was insufficient for some.  The question came up as to whether anyone had considered pressing charges against the woman for theft and the gentleman for being an accessory after the fact.  Really?    I mean something should be done about this threat to society. They have developed a conspiracy that rivals "who shot JFK."

 I expect to see her on America's Most Wanted.  What possible motivation could she have had twenty years ago when she, with permission, took the trophies and stored them in her home somewhere?  Of course, she must have anticipated there would be a big demand for them, and she would make a financial killing.  Maybe, they were her retirement plan!  Do you think?  Maybe, just maybe she did not want them to be destroyed. 

And the gentleman....what a duplicitous soul he is!  Everyone knows that FB is the best place to go to get "hot" trophies.  I can just picture some hidden room in his home where he stores his black market trophies, plays an LP of his high school band's half-time performance, rubs his greedy hands together as he diabolically laughs at all those suckers who missed out.  Could it be more absurd?  Okay, yeah, probably it could be.

As one would hope, the firestorm has died down.  None of the accusers have apologized, but they have admitted that the lady in question is lovely, and now that they know her maiden name, they remember her fondly from the old days.  The gentleman is going to restore the trophies at his own expense, place them in the gym in honor of his grandfather ~ wicked man ~ which seems satisfactory to his detractors.

The only concession that I saw on FB was someone saying that they were glad that he decided to do the "right thing."  Sheesh!!

Why did this become such a mess?  Why in the world did people draw such negative conclusions about these two  people and their motivation?  I have to admit, it makes me wonder about the character and ethics of the accusers.  If it had not been so pitiful, it might have been funny.

blessings

Selfless Faith

"I see a generation, rising up to take its place, with selfless faith."  I witnessed the words to this song, in the flesh, this past weekend.

It is a privilege to know a group of people who manage a charity that is about as near perfection as can be seen on this earth. They are a rising generation. The Living Water Project was begun eleven years ago by a young man who had to return to the United States from mission work in Germany to receive treatment for a rare form of cancer.   He would not be satisfied with focusing on his own health.  As the Samaritan, who could not deny the compulsion in his gut to tend to the man in the ditch, so Shanon could not deny the drive deep within him to help other people.  He had a gift for helping others catch this dream.  As happens with those who really make a difference in this world, the dream did not die when Shanon moved on, at the age of 27, to the next part of his journey through eternity.  It was a devastating loss to his parents, to his friends, to all who knew and loved him, but his death did not devastate his dream.  He left a legacy.

This rising generation picked up the torch.  They know that Jesus is the Living Water we all need.  They also know that words of this Jesus are simply meaningless platitudes if not accompanied with true life-giving service.  It is hard to see or love a Jesus if his followers only offer words.  When children are dying from cholera because of a lack of clean fresh water, and many followers of Jesus waste water to keep their grass from dying, He must seem a capricious god.  But, praise God, we have a rising generation of selfless faith.

This weekend, Living Water had its 11th annual yard sale.  It is brilliant.  People are able to clean out closets, and in turn, those who are less affluent find wonderful buys on items they need, all the while making it possible to build clean water wells for the even less affluent.  Enough money was raised this past weekend to build two wells in Haiti.   Every single penny raised goes to the building of wells.  This rising generation pays its own way to the mission fields to oversee the building of these wells.  They do not misuse the funds with which they have been trusted.

We talk about the trickle down effect of the economy.  Living Water has a trickle up effect.  When villages have clean water wells, women don't have to spend their days tending to dying children and walking miles and miles just to get a jug of fresh water.  They can go to school themselves.  They can work at jobs.  Their lives are changed.  Can you imagine how many lives have been changed for the better by the 39 wells built in 12 countries by Living Water?   

Not only those who end up with clean closets, or those who acquire gently used needed items, or those who receive life-giving water benefit from this charity.  Many members of this rising generation do not say, "look what YOU have done to cause harm, or look what YOU have not done to help someone," but rather they ask, "what can I do to bring about real change in this world."  It is selfless faith.  It is not about them.  They do not live in anger.  Oh, they have righteous indignation over the ills of this world, but instead of griping and complaining, they get to work.  They do something.  And, their lives are transformed.  I see a peace and joy in the part of this rising generation who embrace a life bigger than themselves that I do not see in those who don't.  Those who make themselves part of a community find true meaning.  For, as gifted and determined as Shanon was, Living Water would have died with him had he not lived in community. 

So, thank you, Jon, Linda, Jennifer, and all the rest of this rising generation.  Your selfless faith is an inspiration. 

For today, I wish you community with this rising generation, selfless faith, and

blessings