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Five Minute Friday: A Special Moment

Another 5 Minute Friday, with another lovely word: "Remembering"

My memories are not like other people's. I do not remember "when I was little" in chronological order. The people I saw every day, the things I did each week - they are simply not there. My memories are more like a scrapbook. Snap-shot moments placed at random. Some of them I know were special moments, others I am clueless as to their significance in my mind. Sometimes, I cannot even remember events I know now were milestone events. Who knows why this is?

 

I do know, however, that I treasure those moments I have. They are all special to me, now.

 

Like the time I was in my room, at night, and daddy brought little Ben in and put him in the crib at the foot of my bed. I still don't know why he was in there - ours was the girls room - but he was. For a moment after daddy left, Ben stood at the end of the crib closest to the door, and mournfully marked daddy's departure. I squirmed out from the covers, crawled down to the foot of my bed, and leaned over the crib, stretching out both my arms.

 

"Ben, you wanna do this?" (apparently a code word, or tradition)

 

Ben turned and walking on tiptoe to my end of the crib, replied, "I do, I do, I do!"

 

We grabbed each other's hands and just stood there, perfectly content.

 

And that's the end of the memory.

(a memory I love)

 

Want.

To.

Edit.

 

Posting now, to avoid the temptation.

 

What are some of your treasured memories? Do you remember moments, or seasons of your life?

 

Blessings!

 



Sometimes I Wonder ~ Random Moments

Here's a random question for ya:
What is the "polite" way to eat fried chicken?

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Munching on a little lunch mama had brought home - the yummiest, most un-greasy, fried chicken I'd ever had - while teaching today {no lunch break on Thursdays} I was struck with a sudden terror: "Am I being rude, eating with my fingers? Is there a way I'm supposed to eat fried chicken?"

I remember my grandpa once telling us a story of going out to dinner with his dad for fried chicken at a "nice" restaurant. Being country boys, they were a little uncomfortable when they observed that all those around them were daintily {albeit rather unsuccessfully} slicing off bite-sized pieces of chicken using forks and knives. When my grandpas' plates were brought, it took all of 10 seconds for them to discard the "nonsense," abandon utensils, and turn fried chicken back into finger food! "All of a sudden," my grandpa said, laughing and chuckling away, "you could hear this collective sigh all throughout the restaurant, and we looked around and saw everyone else setting down their forks and knives and pickin' up that chicken!"

I love that story. It makes me grin every time I think of it. Yet, it doesn't seem to answer my question. Who was right? The prim-and-proper, unsuccessful, "polite" people? Or my pragmatic, down-to-earth grandpa and great-grandpa {who were promptly copied by everyone else}? What defines the line between manners and a lack thereof? What defines finger food? If you know, please, help me out of my Manners Predicament!!

~~~~~~~

Speaking of wondering, if you're wondering who the giveaway winners are, let my put your minds at ease...kind of. Monday. 10am. There will be an official announcement. Now you know. :)

Thanks muchly to all of you who came to my party ~ I had an amazing time, reading the insights of all my visitors, and I hope you did, too!

Empyrean Bestowal, Part II: Hope Revealed

A Visit from Red
To read Part I, click here!

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Within six feet, my foot slipped, and I hit the pebbly ground, slicing my hands, face, arms, and legs. I closed my eyes as I began to feel the familiar pain of sliding down a rocky slope. But wait, I wasn't sliding. I jerked my head up to see the Stranger holding on to one of my bloody, numbed hands. He pulled me up; I don't know how He did it. Somehow, He did not fall. Sooner than I expected, I stood before Him, though it was I who was panting, and not He.

 

He put His hand on my shoulder, and explained. "You can't do it yourself. Let Me lead, and you follow."

 

The road...it did not become easy of a sudden. The first ditches we mounted were ones I thought I knew to be insurmountable. He went before me, and somehow always gained the upper edge of the trench. Then, He would reach down for me. He'd pull me out the hole, and I know not how He managed to always do so, for the ditches were great.

I recognized many of these pitfalls. Most of them, on my downward, backsliding way, I had willingly slid into, thankful for a brief respite. Some, I know, were caused by my sliding. But one and all, both the ditches I had made and those I had fallen into, He pulled me out of. After every ditch and bramble, I found it easier to trust Him, grasping His hand with mine as He lifted me out from the depths. At first, I tried to hurry the process of getting up. Running, climbing or scurrying, up the ditches' side, I would inevitably fail. It was only when He was there to help me, and I let Him work with me, that I was able to mount those looming barriers. 

 

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At last, we reached a part in the road that slowly leveled out. Looking ahead, I saw before me a city of wondrous size resting upon the summit. Even from the distance yet before us, it shone like a lamp on a stand. As we journeyed nearer, time seemed to slow, so anxious was I to reach the Shining End. However, this last leg did not take long; although time seemed to last forever, only moments had passed before we stood beneath the jasper wall, in front of a gate fashioned of pearls. (There were three like it, and we entered by the middle). I was brought through it to the Palace of the King, along streets of gold. It is indescribable - the awesomeness of the city and the Palace within. But all grew dim - the gold, the sapphires, the emeralds, the countless other jewels and gems, the multitude of palace servants honoring the King - when I saw Him - the King of kings, the Lord of Lords, the Alpha and Omega - and the Lamb, seated at the right hand of God, Who left His throne above and gave His all for me.

 

I fell to my knees. What a Blessing I had received, without it belonging to me at all: that the King of the universe, the Creator of all, God Himself, came to me, that I might live with Him. He sent His Son down the path of life, to save me from my own destructive ways. "...Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost." (I Timothy 1:15b). May I never forget this ultimate blessing, the Greatest of Ethereal Treasures!

Empyrean Bestowal, Part I: The Final Hope of Mundi Cursum

A Visit from Red

Ahhh, friends, what can I say to you about Josh, or "Red" as he is called in the blogging world? He's my friend and partner in crime adventure. He has impeccable taste in books and amazing potential with the violin. He's learning the bagpipes. He's attentive and generous. He's the guy who seats me at dinner each night, who will be in stitches with me over something nobody else in the room finds funny (their loss), who's game for just about anything, but who maintains a balance of common sense that some of us...require. What better way to wrap up this party than with a fabulous allegory he wrote? Be patient...Part II will appear on Monday. :)

Allow me the pleasure of introducing my 15-year-old brother, Red.

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I was on Mundi Cursum, travelling like the rest. The downward slope was not too great, but at times I would find myself losing my foot hold. At other times, I would collapse into one of the deep ditches, scattered on the road at frequent intervals. This was not as bad as it may seem at first; for, while the ditch's top would be parallel to the road, the road's great slant allowed a certain ease in exiting these ditches. Naturally, one climbed out on the side that led to the down-going road, for it was impossible to climb up the slope. I had seen some try, and even tried myself; but climbing only threw the person further down the path, with a cascade of dirt and rocks following him. All who tried never, ever succeeded...at least, any of the individuals I'd seen.

 

There were many beliefs about where the road led. Some asserted that it led to a luscious plain, just beyond the thick fog (the fog - such a strange aroma it held...). Others thought that at the bottom of this hill was another hill, and another, and another, until one could find a way to extricate himself from this endless journey. Still others believed that we would die on the trail, and that would be it. These - mostly hopeless - beliefs drove many to attempt the climb upward, but after the inevitable failure, the upward trek seemed evermore unfeasible.

 

We could not exit the path off to the side, for a wide, deep ditch filled with bramble as long as a man flanked the path. More than likely, some had ventured to cross the ditch, but I did not know any who were so foolish. Death certainly met those who tried. The situation was fatally grim. Some, in desperation, threw themselves forward, hoping to reach the end before they died. Their cries were the last we heard of them. I just wanted to get somewhere, and in my youth firmly believed in a "better place;" but years of aimless, tiresome, and endless travelling changed that; I, too, no longer contested, but confirmed, the assertion that the path was meaningless.

 

That's when I met Him.

 

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He looked like the rest. Apparently, He wasn't an able climber...that's what I first thought. Cuts, bruises, and multiple wounds adorned Him. I had seen Him for some time, for instead of stumbling down the path with all, He was struggling upward. He paused at every person; His words were spoken earnestly, though gently, and never hurried. I saw those with whom He spoke look upward, back at Him, and then shake their heads, continuing their descent. Finally, I reached Him (or, He reached me...which is, I believe, the more proper verbiage).

 

"My son, do you care to travel upward?" He asked. I, like the others, turned my gaze to the path behind me.

 

"Why, Sir?"

 

His steadfast gaze held mine as He answered. "Because this road leads to death. Upward leads to life." Again, I glanced to the towering slope, which appeared to have a sharper incline, more pits, and greater brambles. Many of the ditches spanned the whole road. They would be impossible to climb out of, if one attempted the feat.

 

"Can You...how will You bring me up?" I had seen some try. All had failed. For an answer, His steady, kind eyes held mine. With that, I did not need any other answer: I knew that this Man had the ability to make it to the top. I, exhausted of this road, the falling, the cuts, summoned the resolve to grasp this final straw of hope. My head sank in acknowledgement, and I turned my back on the Cursum's plummet.