Old Fashioned Thunderstorms

Lord, thank you for all the watering you've been doing in my newly planted flower bed. Whenever you're ready to let us see the sun again, I will be ever so thankful too. Insert vision of me holding my hands in prayer here. Amen.

When I was a little girl and still to this very day, I have had a fear of thunderstorms. Sure, I play it cool for the kids. I have to look like the strong one, right? But when they aren't looking I pace around my home and look out the windows and call my dad who is such a weatherman. He always has been. He is more accurate then any ol stinkin person on the Weather Channel.

So when I was a child and those dark rumbling clouds would creep in like monsters in the sky I would tell my mom I was scared. Her response? "Oh, it's just a good old-fashioned thunderstorm." Now that I am older I have to question that description. What in heaven is an old-fashioned thunderstorm? Hmmmm. So I ask her today. Her response? , "Well, rather than lie to you I made it sound less threatening by adding old-fashioned to it. Ok mom. Like one of my dear friends says, "If you can't convince them, confuse them."

Since I've been spending more time inside (due to the beautiful spring storms and never-ending rain) I've been going through some old papers. Mainly old writings and poems.

I ran across this one and I thought it would be fitting for today. I wrote it many years ago.

Family Photographs

Grandma in her wedding gown

Daddy in his sailor's suit

I often gaze at the photos of my Great Grandma

whom I never knew

I know Great Grandpas face by heart

but also never met

He looks so proud holding my Mother

When she was just an infant

My Mother's Great-Grandfather looks

so small in his school picture I cherish

and my beautiful great grandma three times over

in her lace Victorian dress

How much I treasure Grandpa's baby picture

It always makes me sigh

Even though the picture is black and white

you can see the sparkle in his eyes

How I would have loved to know them

and hear their laughs

But instead I will cherish my rainy day reunions

with my family photographs.

As I finish typing this I hear a rumble in the distance. It must be a good old-fashioned thunderstorm. Off to enjoy my photo albums...

Soft place to land...

Do you have a soft place to land? When all is hectic and overwhelming, where do you go, what do you do, what is your soft place to land?



For alot of people it's their faith. They can take whatever issues they have and just hand them to the Lord. For some folks it's their home. The minute they walk in the door after a crazy day it's a big sigh for them to just enter in to their own zone, and everything is Ok again. A ha-yuge deep inhale and long exhale as they cross the threshold into their own territory. There are bookworms that can enter a whole new world as they open up a book. For some it's negative things . Some smoke to relieve stress. Then there are food addictions, drug and alcohol addictions. Hurting themselves or the people they love. Anything to cope with two major things. The here and now.


When life gets so hard, where is your soft place? Is it in the arms of the one you love? Or is it as simple as a long hot bath? My son plays his guitar. If he's angry he releases it through his songs. I'm so glad he has that outlet. He goes into his own little zone. His eyes kind of get glazed over and it's just him and his guitar. All is right with the world when he is holding his precious guitar.


When I was a little girl and family very close to me died, it was hard. As a kid I didn't know how to cope. I developed insomnia, I couldn't sleep because my confused head and hurt heart didn't shut off when the sun went down, in fact my thoughts raced and I couldn't relax enough to fall into a restful slumber. I would bring in the sunrise, eyes still wide open and so many thoughts that had multiplied from the dark and lonely void called night.



Until one night. I remember it distinctly. My mom walks in to my room and turns on my light next to my bed. She said, "Here is a notepad and pen. Whenever your thoughts keep you from sleeping, write your them down, no matter how big or small, and you'll be able to sleep. Just use your pen to write down your thoughts and feelings." That night was a changing point for me. As I lay there, with my blank notepad and pen next to my bed, I felt my heart was in a vice. Felt like I couldn't breathe. I realized as my heart was racing as fast as my mind that maybe I should try what she suggested. I turned my bedside light back on and sat up in bed. I sat and held the pen and nothing happened. Then before I knew it my pen was working hard to keep up with my mind. I wrote a poem. My first real poem. That night, I discovered my love of writing and how it makes me feel. Over the years I have written stories and many poems. Some have been read at funerals, given at weddings, some have been framed and given as gifts. Some have been cried over and laughed about. But all have come from my heart. I've always done it for me and how it makes me feel. It's a release, a soft place to land. The following is the first poem I every wrote:

My Rainbow

These colors I have seen

Red, orange, yellow green

These colors are in the sky,

floating slowly, swiftly by

I love this ranbow, you see-

This rainbow is imaginary inside of me.

It is happy and bright,

Shining in the light,

But this rainbow is not always here-

There is a black cloud standing near

But when this black cloud comes, it will rain

and the rainbow will float away in pain

But it will come back after the rain goes away;

and I will say, "Oh, I missed you rainbow" and I will give it a hug

And it will say, "I missed you too"

Then I will be very warm and snug.

That poem still amazes me. I guess because the rainbow in my 10 year old little head represents the outlet I had discovered. The colors each represented my emotions, feelings, good or bad. The storm signified hardships I was going through. I was getting them out and spreading them on paper, not holding them in letting them suffocate me. It was a huge release. That day changed me. I had a way to let it all go and free myself of all I was holding in. The rainbow signified the end of my storm.

That's why this blog is so important to me. I need to carve out more time for it, because it's not quite yet what I want. But I do it for me. I love all of you dear sweet souls that read my blog faithfully and still baffled that you take time out of your busy lives to read my humble little stories and find my mundane life interesting. I do so appreciate it more than you will ever know! You are the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow....

Small Victories

• Picture this: A runner. Running as fast as she can. Heart racing, crowd cheering. With every jerk of leg she gets a little closer to the much anticipated finish line. Just a little bit farther and she will receive the glory of a finished race, applause from an excited crowd and the pride of knowing she did it. With one last effort her feet cross the finish line. She looks up and who does she see? Her mom. Cheering and crying. Crying out of pride, that her daughter made it across another finish line.
  
  Now picture a little girl with down syndrome. She is the runner. She ran the race in the Victory Games which is very much like Special Olympics. She isn't the runner you pictured is she? She's much smaller. In speech and in stature. She isn't the athlete you imagine. But look closely- she's more. Her race, her struggle to reach her goals is not only in the Victory Games. It's in day to day life. Look closer and see her beaming smile. Not just because she finished the race, but she is happy and content in her own life. She doesn't expect perfection, as we "normal" (what the heck is normal?) people do. She is satisfied in her own life. She doesn't care what your outward appearance is. She cares about your heart.
• People with special needs are in the true sense of the word "special." They celebrate small victories. I sat in the crowd during opening ceremonies. The announcer stated as part of the days festivities there would be free cotton candy and nachos to be given out. Only at an event like this would the participants act as if each person had won the lottery. I looked around, chuckling to myself as I realized that something so simple as free cotton candy and nachos and there was cheering, jumping up and down, and a couple of atheletes were pretending to eat invisible treats and rubbing their already hungry tummies. That's what it's about...simple pleasures. Maybe THEY are the normal ones, and we all need to learn from them...
• 
  As I was watching my daughter today, a girl about 13 who happened to have special needs came up behind me with what I assumed to be her parents. They were telling her how proud they were of her. She said, "Today, I FEEL like a champion!" She talked about the medal she was going to receive as she smiled a beautiful grin while her mom snapped her picture. With tears in my eyes ,I looked at my little girl and thought to myself how I hope she feels like a champion every day. Every day is a struggle for her to keep up with her peers. But she does it with grace, pride and a smile.
• 
  
• If you know anyone with special needs, whether it be a child or adult, don't turn your eyes away and pretend they don't exist. Don't stare either. Don't act appalled and whisper. This is an everyday superhero. They didn't ask to be born this way. They may be slow to learn but they hold the keys to life that it takes us "normal people" a lifetime to learn. They were given the gift of life, they treasure every bit of it. I saw more smiles today then I have seen in a long time. Even though you might not see the superhero cape, it's there. It's on the person with cerebral palsy smiling in the waiting room at the Doctors office. It's on the child that is deaf playing on the playground. It's on the mentally challenged teenager walking across the stage to receive her high school diploma. Learn from them, they have so much to teach us.
• 
  
• My daughter has taught me to celebrate every baby inch forward. As long as we are moving forward we are counting our blessings. We don't need large, swift strides. We aren't running to finish first. We are running to achieve her goals. Slowly, steady and making time to stop and smell the cotton candy and nachos.

Happy Birthday to my son

Too old for bedtime stories, the tooth fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter bunny. Too old for hugs when you pick them up and they wrap their legs around you. Too old for belly zurberts and baby talk. Too old for answers with no explanation, as in, because I said so. Too old for holding hands with your mom in public. Too old for taking treats to school on his birthday. Too old for too much for me to bare.

Too young for driving. Too young for a real girlfriend. Too young for a job. Too young for R movies. Too young for Mature games. Too young for going far from home without an adult. Too young for too big of responsibilities. Too young to explain the pain a mother goes through as a child starts the transformation into an adult.

But just right for right now. I am so blessed. I tell him, how did I get so lucky-out of all the boys in the world how was I so special to get the very best one? Just right for beleiving that in his heart, I hope for a lifetime.

Happy Birthday, son . You fit just right in my heart. God must love me so much to have given me you.

They placed the cross upon his back

Yet no one seemed to care

The weight across his shoulders

Seemed more then he could bear.

The spikes were driven in his hands

And pounded through his feet

The ones who had convicted him

Were cheering in the street.

The crown of thorns placed on his head

Brought blood upon his brow

The day of prophecy had come

He had to face it now.

The sins of man were laid to rest

He bore a heavy loss

The agony he must have felt

As he hung there on the cross.

The innocent blood of Jesus Christ

Was shed for all to see

The Son of God was crucified

And died for you and me.

Marilyn Ferguson © 2001