Listen - Five Minute Friday

I need to listen. I am a good listener, to those around me. I'm not so good at listening to me, though. I forget even to have a me sometimes. If I listen, though, I'm there.

Too often I think I'm listening to me when what I'm really doing is talking to me. Instead of paying attention to what I think or feel, I'm telling myself what I ought to think or feel. It's a delicate balance; sometimes I need someone to tell me how to behave, because I am selfish and arrogant and mean, but I'm not always those things, and they don't define all of me. Sometimes I listen to myself talking in the voice that tells me how to behave and it squashes my spirit and keeps me from celebrating the joy and beauty and peace that also reside in me. Talk less, listen more. I need to do that.

More important is that when I listen honestly, God is there. I hear what other people say about God. I read the Bible to hear about God. When I get still and listen, though, I hear God. I hear what He says about Himself and what He says about me.

I have to be very, very quiet to listen in that way. I have to be so still that I hear my own breath before I can hear the inspired God-breathed words. It only takes a moment, though. I don't have to go far away. I don't even have to be alone.

All I need to do is listen.

Fall - Five Minute Friday

The password is “fall.”

Remember when Password was a game, not a fixture of life? It fell by the wayside about the same time as Richard Nixon. Almost that long ago, well, only a few years later, I received a microwave oven as a birthday gift from my soon-to-be-ex-fiancé. He fell away shortly thereafter, before my marrying him would have made the mistake permanent, but that microwave has been a fixture in my life ever since.

I learned to cook with that microwave, pleased with myself for saving time, conserving energy, reducing dishwashing and cutting fat. It wasn’t all sales hype; the microwave really did change the way I ran my kitchen.

It’s a huge thing, as big as some dorm refrigerators, but it’s been a faithful servant and a fixture in my kitchen for nearly thirty years. I’m glad we didn’t pay the extra $150 for the one-year extended warranty. It’s never needed service. It’s one of the things that I don’t even realize I assume to be permanent. Like honeybees on clover or trees on the hillside, it just is. It’s been here so long that I’ve never even thought about its not being. Of course, the honeybee population fell off years ago, despite my letting clover take over my yard to feed the few survivors; and the trees on too many hillsides are felled at an alarming rate these days.

My second son, as a toddler running in the house, got a warning from my father: “You better slow down. You’ll fall and break something.”

The little bounder shot back, “You can’t break me. I’m a people thing!” Sure enough, he didn’t fall that day, and the falls on subsequent days have never broken him, either.

I guess I thought the microwave was like that. We can’t break it. It’s a microwave thing.

We wore it out, though. I mean, I guess we did. It wouldn’t thaw cheesecake last night and it won’t cook oatmeal this morning. I’m pretty sure a service call is not in order for a 1984 microwave. It’s just that – I don’t know how to – think about – my day – without a microwave, that particular microwave, with the burned place from a foil-wrapped burger that my little sister put in when the oven was new; with a missing temperature probe that fell down behind the refrigerator two houses ago and wasn’t worth retrieving; with a stand just for it because it takes up too much counter space in our little kitchen and it’s too big to fit under the cabinets anyway. I don’t get attached to things, usually, but I feel as if a piece of my universe just disappeared and left a big-old-microwave-sized hole right there in the kitchen part of space-time. My microwave fell out of existence.

I guess I’ll have to be careful not to fall in, too.

Remembering PERSON, NOT A

DAVIS
MICHAEL W
### ## ####
A POS
PROTESTANT

This is not a person.

We wore dog tags
and POW bracelets to remember men we would never know.
They were athletes
musicians
poets
preachers
artists
lovers
sons, brothers, husbands, fathers
friends.

NAGY
EDWARD J
### ## ####
O NEG
CATHOLIC

This is not a person.

Children unaware,
we only knew something bad was happening somewhere we couldn't go.
They laughed
cried
worried
blessed
helped
healed
smiled
suffered
sang
fought.

MILLARD
PHILIP M
### ## ####
B POS
JEWISH

This is not a person.

We hoped for change
though we did not know to what or from what,
and we did not know things never change.
They were brave
young
handsome
dashing
important
patriotic
good
lost.

But

RODRIGUEZ
RICARDO L
### ## ####
A NEG
PROTESTANT

was not a person
to us.

Why do the men in the dark sedan give dog tags to mothers and wives?

This is not a person.

You take away a priceless human being
and return a piece of stamped metal?

You throw away a life,
a piece of combat equipment,
a fighting unit,
and bring her

SOMEONE
SON O
### ## ####
A POS
GONE

View - Five Minute Friday

 

So it’s Friday again, and this time I’m meeting the day as it begins, still up at 1:00 a.m. This week's Five Minute Friday prompt is “view.” I decided to take a look at that for a while before retiring.

Five minutes: Go.

View is larger than sight

because view sees beyond what is there

to what it means,

I think.

I have a long view

of life,

and it helps me see

what’s important,

what’s nonessential,

what’s enduring,

and what’s not.

When I say there’s a lovely view,

some people just look quickly and nod agreement,

but others know

that I mean the sight has meaning:

it is lovely because of something,

something other than its appearance.

I suppose in my world,

this one, I mean,

the one everyone can see,

appearances mean more than views.

The way I see it,

life is all about the view.

Smiling

I decided to smile on purpose, twelve & more years ago. I decided to help my face grow into a pleasant appearance, so that I wouldn't have frown lines and scowls engraved in the delicate muscles of my countenance. Once they're carved, that's what I have to work with. I know this. I study faces. I take notes. I know my heritage. I've watched in slow motion the women whose faces age into troubled and distant masks, tough coverings etched with disappointment and fear and suffering. I've seen other women whose faces have developed into radiant reflections of the joy they chose to live out.

I decided to make a stand against the frown lines, to be me, to let my face reflect the peace my faith provided. I'd fallen into a habit of scowling when I concentrated, and I realized that face, ostensibly at rest, gave testimony of much more suffering than had been my lot. It was an ungrateful face, a lying face that I was creating by not paying attention, by doing what came naturally instead of what could be done intentionally. I did not wish to bear false witness. Instead I chose to make my face show that I knew God was in charge, that I did not need to fear, that I was celebrating the freedom of trusting in Him. I wanted a face that would draw people to Him, and I set out to make my face be that.

Recent months have brought a number of challenges and I've fallen unconsciously into the old natural habits again. My face is reflecting my earthly situation and not my place in the kingdom of God. Yes, I've been weary, and tired people don't make good decisions. Exhaustion tends to make us fall into old patterns of behavior. So I can use that excuse if I want it, but I don't want it. The habits are making the lines whether I mean them to be made or not. So I'm remembering again today, remembering to look up, to smile, to say without words what my heart knows to be true.

I'm remembering - because God kept bringing it to mind all morning - that all things work together for the good of those who love The Lord. I certainly love Him, and I'm going to smile today and believe that even my crazy schedule and list of tasks is part of His plan for my good; that if I'm out of balance He'll show me; that going through trials will help polish me so that I can reflect Him better.

If you see me NOT smiling, will you remind me to remember?

A Thank-You Note

I am thankful today for sheets on the clothesline,
sunshine to dry them,
and indoor plumbing.

I like the fact that those things could have been on my grandmother's thank-you list, too.

I also like the fact that when I choose to be thankful it changes my world.

Woman Song

I wrote this a few days before the Five Minute Friday prompt was published for May 17. But it was a five-minute work, and it fits the theme, "Song." I hope it still fits the rules, because it's the only song I'm coming up with during my busy, wearying, joy-filled days. I'm going to say "it's a God thing" that it came to me early.

* * *

Maybe because of Mother's Day. Maybe just because. I thought of how music lifts spirits in trying times, and about how being a woman gives opportunity to experience a fair share of those. My friend Wil Maring once reminded me that even the sad songs make us feel happier. Anyhow, the musing turned into this:

Woman Song

Sing we now of things to be

of wars and dreams and worlds to see

of love and life and broken glass

of wishes that may come to pass

Sing we of the moments kissed

of pain and mercy, loved ones missed

of past and present, now and then

of memories that thrive again

Sing we of our limits found

of promises forever bound

of hope endured and peace restored

of losses we can ill afford

Sing we of the blessed child

of taming hearts forever wild

of growing up and growing old

of dancing warm and giggling cold

Sing we loud with silent voice

of tears that fall when we rejoice

of meaning hiding in plain view

of living lies and staying true

We sing.

Deborah L. W. Roszel

May 12, 2013