Psalm 139:17-18

In Bible study last night we had to rewrite Psalm 139. Here is what I got for :17-18:


"You never forget me.
You dwell on me constantly.
I wish I could count the times You think of me.
I open my eyes and there You are - - - waiting for me to wake up and be with You."



Thanks James.

Estate Sale

When I was a child, there were objects in the house that brought certain memories to the fore instantly - the pink thing, the roast pan, the picture of those mountains . . .

There are objects in my house full of memories as well. What they will say about me one day?

The apple bowl - Will people remember I always made the ranch in that?

the green angled egg plate - Will people remember my eggs that I brought to all the potlucks?

"Two Cows Under Mesquite Lit by Moonlight and Fireflies" - Will people grin at my silly art?

The cast iron pan with the wooden handle - Will Rob and Jarred remember the fried chicken?


. . . or will they all end up in an estate sale, people haggling over 75 cents.

What will be the things that my sons, my daughters-in-law, my sisters, my friends will want to take with them to remind them of me when I'm gone?

Wow. Heavy thoughts for a Friday.

Denver Mornings

When I was in Denver, every morning I would sit in bed while it was still dark and thank God - for that weather, for the birds out the window, for the fact that I got to spend time with Jaci and Jarred and the kids and then, faintly, would come:


"Oo . .. Ooo . . Oomah? You wakin?"

Turning my head to the left, there would be James, careful in his excitement that I might get up any second. Typing this, I am smiling and my eyes are filling.

I miss that bud.

From Colorado to Texas

I sit here, waiting for the Ambien CR to kick in, listening to Robert "breathe heavy', and to the cold rain that falls outside. It's 46 degrees. Tomorrow I leave for home.

Why have I been here? What has been accomplished?

How in the world has been only 3 weeks here in Colorado? Time has flown. I have fallen even more in love with Jah, JooLee, and Jocey (a fact that I wouldn't have believed possible before now), solidified my love for Jarred, and was able to link up with Jaci like I never have before - she let me in for the smallest amount of time - I realized that I love her not just because she's the mother to my babies, but because she's Jaci, and I am getting to know her -the person. I love to be around these people. It physically hurts to think of not having them in the house.

. . . and then . . .

I am so nuts about Robert. I see how much Pleasanton, and all the humidity, grass burrs and needy animals mean to me. It has been aeon's since I went there. I realize the power of home so acutely. Those people . . those ties . . . It physically thrills me to think of opening the door to those dumb dogs, who will fight to own me again.

What has been accomplished?

Everything.

Sept 2

Time tumbles down a bottomless black hole.

And you can't climb back out.

A Walk With Jocey

Sometimes Jocelyn doesn't want me to hold her hand. She shoots ahead, practically pushing me aside. When she falls, she looks back to me, accepts my hand and ten minutes later, I am pushed aside again.

Sometimes I don't give her a choice. Crossing streets are dangerous - the hill is too steep. I tell her: "Baby, if you'd just let me carry you, it would be so much easier, so much safer." But mostly I let her push me away. She needs to learn. How will she ever run if I hold her all the time?

This is, of course a direct correlation back to me and God. A perfect analogy of how I treat my Father.

But now, thanks to grand kids, I see it from a whole new view. "Jackie, if you'd just let me carry you, it would be so much easier, so much safer."

And I push Him away.