Sounds of Hope

I have a lot of eggplants in the garden.   The heat seems to be slowing them down right now but for a while, they were coming fast and furious.   The eggplant has a pretty flower.   I’ve really enjoyed watching it grow from a seedling to a mature producing plant.   Of course, when you have bounty in the garden, you have to be creative in your cooking or storing of the produce. I am an excellent cook.   I don’t like to say I’m excellent at this or that because I was taught to not talk about myself.   As I’ve mentioned many times in this blog, I have a pretty low self-esteem in general.   Mentioning what I do with excellence may sound like I like to brag, if you think that, you don’t know me well.   I really do have a problem with seeing myself as doing anything really well.   However, recently, after therapy and prayer, I have realized that yes, I do some things very well.   Cooking is one of them. I’ve made grilled eggplant, eggplant p...

As I went to grab a paper towel I noticed that amidst the colorful butterflies, there were words of wisdom.  I smiled as I read: “A good laugh is sunshine in a home.”  I thought aww, that’s sweet.  And it’s true.  I thought of times when I laughed so seldom that when I heard myself laugh, it shocked me.  I remembered the release of laughter as God poured His blessings on me.  Yes, the paper towel sage spoke truth. I looked to see the next phrase.  “Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.”  Wow, that’s profound isn’t it?  I thought for a few minutes about hope.  I still need more hope in my life.  It seemed the wisdom of the paper towel was going to be nudging from God. As I pondered the paper towel wisdom, I started to church.  As I took the turn in Kingston Springs, I soon came to Craggie Hope.  Yes, Craggie Hope.  Like many places on the winding roads of Tennessee, it has a sign announcing your en...

It was a bit like looking in a time warp mirror.  There sat my daughter, my oldest daughter.  The one that has always been told she looks so much like me.  When she was about 8 my favorite Tante, my Tante Bitta saw her and started to laugh.  In Norwegian I could understand she said “she looks just like you did when you were that age.”  As an adult, we still look a lot alike.  Her youngest daughter looks just like her (and me).  It’s like the two of us all over again but with dark hair.  My daughter is beautiful.  The stress in her face often hides it.  I have often wondered how she could look like me and still be beautiful.  As I sat across a table from her at a local IHOP, I heard her lament.  Trouble, sorrow, and want never seem to be far from her.  This time her lament was deep.  Life is beating her up once again.  I have admitted long ago my inability to fix things.  Oh but I wish I could.  I alw...