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To Inspire

Annabeth the Preacher’s Daughter

Defining moments in our lives are carved in the air to stand as tall as statues.  They are the pillars in our gardens.  They remind us of who we became because of them.  They call to us in spirit when we have nowhere else to go, and their friendship never ends.  Each conversation is a beginning.  Each farewell reassures a reunion.  It is an ever flowing stream.

Friends have a voice that when heard it’s a song.  We can dance to its beat because we know it.  We are at ease.  Annabeth Miguel Sayles sat at the school’s office on the first day of her new job, answering the phone, looking through papers, and wearing a smile with an uncertain confidence.  She was the lone warrior at Horizon’s Academy in Haiku, and many were glad she could muster what it took to do the job so sorely needed to be fulfilled.  She looked like a Precious Moments Angel figurine.

She took to the helm ever so grateful to make do as a widow, a Mom of two adult children, and a grandma of three.  As I recall, there had been a shift in administration.  She amazingly orchestrated all that was needed even in delivering successful fundraisers held on a golf course on the West Maui Mountains in a building designed by Frank Lloyd Wright for Marilyn Monroe.  Getting along with everybody that came along required composure, tenacity, and a sense of humor.  Parents, teachers, administrators, aids, and students all passed by her and needed her for this or that, and she answered and took care to see that all was done and completed.  She stayed long hours.  Her elegance was prime.

In the midst of school functions, we discovered in conversation a mutual torch: being preachers’ daughters.  I think we both said simultaneously now that is funny !  Something about her natural beauty, her stately humility, her steadfast faith, her sincere devotion to family, her admirable strength of spirit, her common sense, and her discreet attention to the needs of others, set her apart. Her character qualities are imprinted on a solid marble like presence in attendance in my life.  The details of cruelties she endured are locked in a room of confessions in the heart of hearts.  We got it from our fathers who prayed to Our Father.  We were cemented. Keep Reading

TRUST HONEY

I trust bees to be as sweet as honey…  I still stroll the garden among them  to hear the hum of secrets Sue Monk Kidd must have heard.  By the time I finished reading her novel, The Secret Life of Bees, there was no doubt in my mind, we stand on the ground we are supposed to be unfolding.  The wisdom in that novel pours like liquid gold.  I respect the work of bees and suspect kissing flowers makes the honey sweet.  The tone we hear in life is a given to receive and vice versa; forget the video games, get to know the labor productive love of bees.

The blessing of the ultimate flavor imbued with the scent anew in a mug of tea, is the free elixir in life to cover and uncover every insidious hurt.  It is a secret nevermore.  The choice is in picking the right hand waving and asking to be heard.  The soul of the worker bee is pure.  Her delicacy never spoils.  It is an eternal nourishment to behold like a candle flaming its tender brush heaven ward.

Fennel grew wild on the hillside and after the dew whisked the sparkling blooms by noon time, the invitation opened its door.  Pockets filled with thoughts spread like the wings of eagles here, and that is how anyone comes into the knowing.  The bees no more wished to harm anyone than it would sting a breeze; the wind need not our arms and hands to fling about to create unseen waves and disturb the air that be.  Bees must be respected that way.  I think anyone needing to know a thing or two about these matters would do well to trust, as I did, and get the lessons.  Respect is a willful act of patience to fully encompass the vista. Keep Reading

FAITH, HOPE, and LOVE

Isn’t it funny how we meet people seemingly accidentally and then discover life would never have been the same without them ?  Jeannette sat alone in church, and one Sunday, I made it a point to join her.  We sang out of tune at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Keokea on Maui.  We chatted and I invited her for tea and lunch to be company for my Mom.  The two cocooned on the couch and spoke one or the other always smiling and nodding.  I wasn’t quite sure they understood any words as Jeannette tried to remember the French and my Mom would slide into Romanian yet they still cordially carried on like two birds in flight from tree to shrub and twig to fence.  The household seemed livelier as Jeannette came along in rides to the stores, and stayed to help me in the kitchen.  She insisted on holding my cutting board as I chopped peppers, onions, and carrots galore.  We meshed in stirring, mashing, and pouring while doting on my Mom with a little of this and that.  We found laughter in the fridge, on the stove, and over the table.  Little by little we said it all and she was there to dry my tears and understood what I could not.  She was the HOPE I wished in life for a friend.  She said I was the FAITH she needed to hear from a friend.  Her story carved a statue in marble.  Her strength dissolved iron.  Her gentleness feathered a breeze.

Even now that she departed, I wish to be nearer—she was a lady of poise galore.  Sometimes, I stop and sense her presence, perhaps it’s just the memory.  Ours was a friendship born in prayer.  I HOPE as she hoped.

Alike I had become friends with Cindy whom I visited at Upcountry Legends, her store.  She called my little guys “the group” and somehow from the start we cinched a friendship in conversation about God.  Yeah, the island attracts all kinds of people.  We met to talk about everything God related.  She gave me  a book that sits on my shelf A PARENTHESIS IN ETERNITY, by JOEL S. GOLDSTEIN.  Of its entire content which I love, her note on the cover is best and filled with her LOVE …and that is Cindy’s story.  Petit and smart even as a child, she still walks on clouds as her mother appropriately reminded the family.  She was born and raised in New York City, and used her daughter’s name for the shoe store: Taryn.  I honestly don’t know how she sold anything as she mostly spoke to everyone of God.  We cannot exhaust the topic and this is where Jeannette joined the party.  We three nested our lives in resolving the craters of sadness by refusing to stay stuck in the “mucks.”  We mastered the art of finding the best in the moment.  Our dearest Cindy was the one among us who as a child prayed to God for wisdom.  I was stumped and ashamed as I prayed for pretty knees.   Keep Reading

OUR WORDS

Our Words…

They are indeed good

For they feed us

Mentally…

Emotionally… Spiritually…

They make all the difference…

In how we perceive…

How we relate…

They express us…

I can’t get enough of the words that

Heal… Inspire… Engage…

Inspire…

Engage…Heal…

I recognize the difference they make.

I search for words that cleanse

My mind, my heart, my soul, and yours…

Words attract or dispel.

They connect and disconnect…us…

Hurtful phrases flung leave a mark.

Loving ones do too.

I know the marks.

I wish to give you only

The ones that spark a joy

In you, and yours…

Words bear their ware.

We freely gather, compare, and share.

We are the carriers of the serving trays…

The celebrants arrive to a feast that beckons response.

Will you respond ?  I too must choose the ones

with you in mind,from my heart,

in God’s Holy Spirit, always first, and

name them our words.

 

(The photographed labyrinth was constructed by a father and son just passed Lahaina on Maui…

It is designed to be walked on serenely as an exercise of becoming centered in prayer.)

Sometimes poems …emerge…  Have you written poems ?  Please let me read your comment…Thank you…

PLENTEOUSNESS

In the final analysis, the indisputable truth about our birth begins at the conception of an egg being fertilized by a sperm.  A Rabbi Borg I believe his name to be, wrote a series of books and in one he suggests that the energy of the parents’ souls in that intimate instant is a conduit like the magnet for the soul that chooses to be incarnated through them.  I know, I know this will ruffle feathers.  I thought it so interesting that the hearts and minds come together in a sense connecting souls.  A photographed soul departing the body does appear to be a form of energy.  I saw one such photograph…I think the lightness of the soul lightens the weight of the body as well until it leaves.

The design of our appearance to the formidable workings of the circulatory system pumped by the heart is extraordinary.  The study of muscular components of the body holding the skeletal body is amazing.  The ear, the nose, the eyes have unique functions and they are brilliantly formed by the potter of metaphors.  We have senses that help navigate through this existence.

And the superfluous adjectives I used above, can be labeled unscientific, but the mere suggestion that these building blocks of nature have no meaning beyond functionality, is to deny the importance of us needing one another to survive.  How?  We are physically and emotionally held by the presence of spirit within each human being.  It sounds like kindness.

In fact, I believe animals too carry the light of God in them.

C. S. Lewis so aptly wrote, “In God there is no hunger that needs to be filled, only plenteousness that desires to give.”  That ever lasting love is every human being’s greatest longing.  It is the breadth of the soul, love is.  His plenteousness is everywhere in everyone.  How have you discovered it ?

Please write a comment.  Thank you and God bless you.

 

WELCOME to Be Star-Shine Daily

This blog as it is called for short articles addressing the writer’s points of interests, is much like an artist’s palette.  Initially I had hoped to have twelve categories to address specific topics readers could tap into and ask questions.  However, it has been designed with a name that does cover my heart’s intent.  I may be tweaking the four categories in time.  This is new to me, and I am literally like a kindergartner in a canvas playground with buckets of colorful paints ready to be used with just a few whispering brushes.

Since there are quotes that have transported me from heart beat to heart beat and from breadth to breadth, I can assure you I am grateful for their sustenance.  We are nurtured in different ways in life, and without brothers and sisters, books seemed to always be there to tell me something written by someone who cared enough to pour out nuggets.  Many of them have helped me keep my chin up and my back straight resolutely sure of how to perceive the mysteries of life.

” There is a pleasure, in the pathless woods.

There is rapture on the shore.

There is society where none intrudes

By the deep sea, and music in its roar.

I love not man less.

I love Nature more.”  Woodlands__Lord Byron

We live such fragile lives from the moment we are conceived, and the best in us is the love.  The star light from our soul eagerly shines from birth and somewhere along the way we are the stars that aim to fulfill our ultimate best.  I  thank God for sending us His Son, Jesus, and for my extraordinary good fortune in life to have honored  His wisdom.

I welcome your comments and questions and promise to answer, even if in a story.  God bless you and thank you for visiting my site.

DESTINY : TO LIVE, TO DIE DEPART, AND ARRIVE

 

 

Death is an anticipation, like birth…

And from our earthly life to the spirit world…

No despair is overlooked by any human,

and most of all, not by our God …

He is our Father, even to any who deny Him.

Like many, I wonder too…how a spirit aligns

To the family on earth…with a purpose…

And I wonder which comes first?

What is missing that brings us to observe the earth?

We learn, we teach, we grow, and we are free to choose our fate.

Still, not our destiny here.  We are allotted time to finish the rare course.

We are each uniquely rare even in our nuances of soul-full divine colors.

However meek our assignment, we are first to fulfill its needed love quest.

On earth, as it is in heaven, His will is for each of us to love fully, unconditionally.

Love is kindness to all. Love is pure in all. Love is not superior for just some.

Love beckons us to be a light for one and all. Keep Reading

A Pauline Valentine

A friend like Pauline appears in life rather unpretentiously though strikingly soft spoken, smart, and persistently kind.

Her poised demeanor lifts one’s heart like this flower she planted.  Oh, yes, friends move as she and I have from one place

to another, and to her that means from garden to garden.  From orchids in Hawaii to roses in Texas, and tulips in Massachusetts, Pauline touches the heart of the earth and I cannot name all the flowers she can sow and gather.

Have you a friend who comes to gift bulbs to bloom next year?  Pauline does these things and so many other unique things, I can smile from here to eternity.  There was the time she sliced Texas pears and placed them in jars; they looked like huge gold nuggets of honey but tasted like marshmallow butter.  The taste defies imagination.

An invitation to a meal, a tea, and conversation is to be in the presence of a casual regal center of angelic delight.  All is so properly placed and the flavors in the details awake a dash of lemon, a bit of sugar, a sprinkle of that and then the giggling laughter.  All of this and more, the  classical music settles the bones.  One can only melt into comfort.  I mostly say silent.

We have shared stories and have a thousand more to go because in the heart of my friend lives the Lord, His word, and a gingerly feast of discoveries.  From a family divinely named Webster, I keep the old dictionary even closer and smile.  She has been so blessed and is deserving.

She has gifted precious books that sit on my shelf and here is a quote I must share as she knows the author quite well. Keep Reading

One’s Unique Star-Shine

 “The meaning of life is to find your gift.  The purpose of life is to give it away.”

__Joy J. Golliver

 

The first memory of viewing the moon in the sky surrounded by millions of stars appears on the stage of every starlit night.  The recognition wakes the familiar.  Similarly, to lie on a trampoline wrapped in a blanket staring up at night calls for a whisper. I remember such a night with my dear friend Rae Whitney, a writer of hymns.  We watched for falling stars…  They were meteorites…  No words can capture the whole of the Nebraska midnight blue.  The embrace felt in grace led me to thank God again, and again, and again.
Years earlier, on a starless night alone at my desk with the intention of writing the graduation speech I was asked to give for the Senior Class of Maplewood High School in Guys Mills, Pennsylvania, I turned to God to ask for help.  With pen in hand, I wrote : “The sky can never have too many stars; there is room for everyone to shine, including you.”  
No one could have known the enthusiasm these words stirred in me.  Was it a coincidence?  What do I mean?
 The irony is few would have known how the phrase that came through me for others, in turn would help me.  I asked God on their behalf for inspiration, and the answer came as in a love letter for everyone to own.  No one’s light is diminished by the light of another.  With humility or with pride or with simple certainty, the beam of each soul shines.  I pray we can be encouragers as opposed to discouragers for others to trust in their abilities, their skills, their visions, and their talents…  I ended the speech by spilling the quirkiest line… “Shine each moment to a shine, you can do it Class of 1979!”
 One of the greatest honors in my life was to be a High School English teacher.  The classroom electrified me as I thoroughly enjoyed teaching the students to love learning the material covered.  To this day I think about Munchkins who read, discussed, wrote, memorized, gave speeches, and participated in all the lessons presented.  Nothing was perfect yet I respected their presence to listen and learn.  I hope to have been the encourager they may have needed at some point in their lives.  Even after numerous moves, I keep a decoupaged plaque with a poem written to me by Michael Woods, a student.  It’s entitled “The Happy Maker”.
 My parents were the models of my prayer life. They sought answers through prayers and I attended churches and synagogues where others did the same, so I naturally engaged in conversations of pleas with God the Father.  My Dad was an Orthodox priest and he told me Jesus was the greatest Jew that ever lived.  I was terrified by the stories of the Holocaust survivors.  I cannot understand the madness of 9/11 because I know God and His Son Jesus Christ could not have willed the tragic, untimely loss of lives.  If anyone lacks faith despite all they have seen, they must not understand Ralph Waldo Emerson’s quote:  “All that I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen.”  Heaven will welcome those who seek the light of the Lord.  I say we can seek to merge with His light.  It is not easy being human; we are imperfect.  We all fall short of the grace of God.  Yet, we are blessed to “arrive” at the moment when we “will” to live by God’s Ten Commandments.

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Heartfelt Words

Heartfelt Words

Words in every language are interconnected with spirit.  They are after all the means of communication.  Like a parcel mailed to be delivered, they must be willingly accepted and open for recognition.  Understanding is desired.  The connection is to embrace the message and be delightfully moved, deeply comforted, and/or informed.  I take them to heart.

In the midst of one of life’s painful nightmares as a parent, I was en route back home from seeing one of my four sons staying at a rehab, and the wait at the airport was prolonged by numerous problematic glitches beyond my control.  The irony pulled me and pushed me and I suddenly gave in.  I wept.  I pulled myself together as the announcement was made to be boarded. I remember the weight of each step in the isle and wished to be seated fast to look out the window.  However, soon I was nudged to see a tall, slender, young black man holding a small pizza box.  Yes, he sat in the middle seat holding the treasured pepperoni pie drenched in sauce and mozzarella.  If it hadn’t been my favorite, the story would not have unfolded.

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