The Day Time Stopped (My Story)

Time stopped for me on January 30th, 2015.

Source: The Day Time Stopped (My Story)

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I Wonder . . .

I wonder . . .

I wonder

I wonder if others feel the same way I do

Ask the same questions I ask

Say the same things I say

Act the same way I act

Hide the things I hide

I wonder . . .

Does grief ever go away?

Will I ever want it to?

If others experience anxiety

Like I do as the day you died

Falls further into the past?

I wonder . . .

Do you think about us

Now that you’re in heaven?

Or are the scenes too great

And Christ’s presence too magnanimous

To think of anything but Him?

I wonder . . .

I don’t even know what I wonder

Sometimes

I don’t know what I think

How to act

or feel

I wonder . . . .

Does anyone see I am different

Since you’ve been gone?

Do they see who I am on the inside

And know my outside is a façade

Engineered for survival’s sake?

I wonder . . .

Too much I wonder

Yet I don’t know what I wonder

And I can’t express it

Or explain it

I just wonder . . .

Did you know about ALL these Menopausal Symptoms?

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      We are all familiar with the typical menopause symptoms: hot flashes, moodiness and irritability, and fatigue. These are bad enough, but I recently discovered a myriad of symptoms I never associated with menopause before. In hindsight, it all makes sense.

       Do you feel like you are always sick or that there is always something wrong with you? Are you frustrated with missing out on life because you are too miserable to enjoy it?  There is a good reason for it.

       Here is a list of symptoms that may suddenly occur or intensify at the onset of menopause. I bet you will be as surprised as I was.

      Cheer up! At least you have a valid excuse for your misery. I know it is no consolation now, but this too truly will pass. I made it to the other side of this rocky path called menopause without tearing my hair out (or anybody else’s), killing anyone, or going certifiably insane. You can too.

    Remember, Lamentations 3:23 says, God’s mercies “are new every morning: great is His faithfulness.” He will give you the grace to fight this battle of out-of-control hormones one day at a time. And when you fail (we all do), God’s mercy will renew and refresh. After all, tomorrow is another day.

    If you would like to learn more about these symptoms, go to http://www.kuhlcare.com/menopause-symptoms/qw9qw78.

 You can also click on any symptom to learn more about it.  

Did you like this article? Please leave a comment, and don’t forget to follow me before you leave. God Bless

 

           

  

 

 

It’s Me Again, God #1

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It’s Me Again, God #1

Here I am, seeking refuge from my own humiliating self once again, God. You could have stopped it. After all, You are the almighty God of the Universe. You did’t have to let me walk down the hospital corridor, head held high, with “What a beautiful day,” careening from my mouth. I’d managed to go to the cafeteria and order a bowl of soup. Chicken noodle soup to be exact. This was a great feat for me; I hate eating alone. I have this fear of doing something stupid. I don’t know what gave me that idea. When I finished my soup, I headed back to the hospital room where my husband’s grandmother lay on her deathbed. I was proud of myself, all smiles and full of confidence. I greeted everyone who crossed my path.

When I entered the room, I went into the bathroom to wash my hands. As I was scrubbing I took a peek into the mirror to make sure everthing was in place. My mouth dropped open! Posed, proud as a peacock, on the end of my nose, sat a noodle. A chicken noodle! I wanted to die! How could I face the world again? My heart grimmaced with agony as I realized with much shame that my cheery disposition wasn’t the only thing greeting people that day. I withered at the recollection of the amused look on their faces. I assumed they were enjoying the day, as it was. In reality, they were enjoying the spectacle before them, the jiggling noodle waving hello with every exhuberant bounce.

“God! How could you do this to me? I am so embarrassed.”  I wanted to run home and hide under the covers. That old tune, “Make the World Go Away,” rang through my mind.

I gathered my wits, cleaned off the unwelcome protrusion and plopped myself in the chair by the bed. Grandmother was unconcious. At least she didn’t see my humiliation. Suddenly, her eyes opened, she looked at me, smiled, and then she was gone. All thought of the noodle disappeared.

In the ten minutes I spent fretting over the dangling noodle, she had been clinging to life. God, how could I be so vain? My little non-earthshaking humiliations are nothing in the greater scheme of things. Yes, you could have stopped me from walking down that corridor with a dangling noodle on my nose, but then I may never have learned some valuable lessons. I remembered the title of a popular book, “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff,” by Richard Carlson. The noodle definitely was “small stuff.”

As I sit complaining over eggs cooked too long, millions are dying from starvation. As I complain of the constant flow of people in my home, millions more would give anything to have one person walk through their doors; loneliness their constant companion. When my children frustrate me, I am reminded of the childless couples who would give anything to be in my shoes. Disgruntled over a messy house, I remember millions that are homeless. Maybe a dangling chicken noodle isn’t such a big deal after all!

 

What’s Your Story?

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What’s Your Story?

I watched for her today.

The hunchbacked lady

In her soiled garb;

Scars of the yesteryears

In her face and arms;

Past agonies veiled

Behind lackluster eyes.

*

What’s your story old lady?

Who are you?

Where do you come from?

Where do you reside?

In a house?

Outside a dumpster?

In a cardboard box?

*

What’s your story old lady?

Does anyone love you?

Does anyone care?

If today you disappeared,

Would anyone search for you?

Would anyone notice

If you suddenly weren’t there?

*

What’s your story old lady?

Did your papa beat you?

Your Uncle molest you?

Your mama run off and leave you?

Were you trapped

In a world full of people,

Yet all alone?

*

What’s your story old lady?

Did your child die in a great fire?

Your one true love in Vietnam?

Was everything you loved

Snatched from your embrace?

Was your heart torn asunder,

Damaged beyond repair?

*

What’s your story old lady?

Why do you look like that?

Smell like that?

What drove you to eat from garbage cans?

Shut out the world?

I am obsessed with who you are,

With a need to know.

*

What’s my story?

Why do I persist?

Am I like the rest?

Look but do not see?

Pity, but keep my distance?

Wrinkle my nose in disgust,

Devoid of sympathy?

*

What’s your story old lady?

I must know.

Fear overtakes me;

Sweat pierces my brow.

You could be my mother, my grandmother,

If life had been different.

You could be me.

*

Do I hold the fate of my story

In the palm of my hands?

Who would I be

After a lifetime of grief?

A lifetime of sorrow?

Would I find myself alone?

Would your story become mine?

*

She stops;

Scavenges in the garbage can;

Searching for five-centers,

A morsel of food,

A discarded treasure.

She looks at me.

Can she sense my curiosity?

*

With a swish of her hand

She wipes the drip from her nose.

One more spot on her

Grotesquely soiled sleeves.

There she goes;

The old hunchback lady

With the story nobody knows.