tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68870100265061901412024-03-13T05:43:06.396-07:00The Finch's Nest: Inspirational Stories Hello, I'm Karen Malena. Let me introduce you to true, heartfelt stories and little pockets of inspiration. If you've been blessed by any of these blogs, I'd love to hear from you at scoutfinch15003@yahoo.com
Also, if you'd like to read a little more, my books are available on Amazon.
Here is the link to my free works: https://www.booksie.com/users/karen-l-malena-247009
Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.comBlogger226125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-42171008117079399872024-02-02T02:32:00.000-08:002024-02-02T02:32:28.251-08:00Just Ask<p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioKI6KDIi7Q93X9uAG7lLbw9W_8DFUN-TyHBfr7TKO7vVlUwy1NrR2XiZZnUQQWrhTjVBxhILOuzfpndYiGOtiK4VyvPGs47UjZK3JmrSrozEL--WGSAnAhgoB5H1xq2RqTMRBT7YKhZmEFs7zb_1Sr8N-7kkve4ciqWTVyxiElnVRlh-ChLFtP1yQgqc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioKI6KDIi7Q93X9uAG7lLbw9W_8DFUN-TyHBfr7TKO7vVlUwy1NrR2XiZZnUQQWrhTjVBxhILOuzfpndYiGOtiK4VyvPGs47UjZK3JmrSrozEL--WGSAnAhgoB5H1xq2RqTMRBT7YKhZmEFs7zb_1Sr8N-7kkve4ciqWTVyxiElnVRlh-ChLFtP1yQgqc" width="133" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">One day I was missing my parents so much. I talked to God and asked if someday He might share a small sign that they were near with me. I have never asked this. As I folded clothes later that evening in my room, I felt as if someone stood next to me. I looked to my side and said, "Hi Mom and Dad," and went right on with the clothes. I didn't see anyone.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Later that night as I turned in for the evening, I said "goodnight" to a picture of my parents that is laying on top of <span style="font-family: inherit;"><a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" tabindex="-1"></a></span>my nightstand. It isn't framed, only a regular photograph.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">The next morning when I awoke, (I'd like to say I hopped out of bed with a spring in my step, but, well....arthritis and all...), but when I got out of bed, I looked over and the picture of my parents wasn't on the stand. I looked and it was laying on the floor on the side of the nightstand, face up with their beautiful smiling faces looking at me.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">I placed the photo back on the nightstand. I tried creating a breeze with my arms, with my bed blankets, with the closet door, etc. Nothing stirred that picture at all. I tried to replicate laying there and hitting it with my arms, but it was too far away from me, and I usually cocoon myself like a burrito when sleeping, so flailing arms aren't usually my thing anyway.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">"Well, Lord," I thought, "I did ask. The Bible says you have not because you ask not." Perhaps God's gentle breath blew through my side of the room that night. He stirred the picture of my parents to show me a sweet little sign. They're okay, Karen. They are here with me. They still love you, but they've changed, and they don't have the worries and concerns they once did. Be happy for them.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">When I look at the photograph now, a huge smile breaks out onto my face. For in this picture, they are young, healthy, happy, and so in love. And I believe they are like that right now.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">What signs and wonders have you seen perhaps in nature, or in your own home that reminds you of God's existence and love?</div></div>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-49581979727298234532023-10-21T03:30:00.001-07:002023-10-21T03:34:26.520-07:00A Big Decision<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTE-emWRj_Jp86Ae5gfAFTfG-wtVcDg_dR1ziHeohRSTIZWqJVOeqDXpl2lkIw4ub-W1sytrdNYvetjXHosjbj6Sp4J5wnKyk1OTXT0detnipyMlwmyao5gnfM4g040G1R5SMtZv2CDvaPJQP-sdh8GeA8zAT3wE2yeiJ5zCNyYnbdaiMcMAqq3ICBqXY/s1080/white%20wicker%20swing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTE-emWRj_Jp86Ae5gfAFTfG-wtVcDg_dR1ziHeohRSTIZWqJVOeqDXpl2lkIw4ub-W1sytrdNYvetjXHosjbj6Sp4J5wnKyk1OTXT0detnipyMlwmyao5gnfM4g040G1R5SMtZv2CDvaPJQP-sdh8GeA8zAT3wE2yeiJ5zCNyYnbdaiMcMAqq3ICBqXY/s320/white%20wicker%20swing.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> Two years ago our small dental office moved to a larger location. Along with the move, we also acquired a whole new patient load and several new staff members. The move itself was stressful and the labor needed to get us to the new facility was intense. I can't say I was thrilled at the time, but the new office was bigger, brighter, and modern. I would certainly give it my best.</p><p>Flash forward to the present. Work was becoming almost unbearable. Staff changes, new associates, dental insurance nightmares, difficult patients. Sometimes lack of communication lead to unbelievable stressors. Would we ever find the fun, simplicity, and camaraderie that we once shared?</p><p>Some of the ladies in my practice have become good friends. We've shared laughter, tears, life stories. And for their own reasons, they decided they needed to leave. Though my heart broke, I knew that I cared for them enough that their happiness was most important. Though my own work load would triple, and I truly wanted to walk out that door with them, I decided to pray about it. "Lord, you know I can't take the stress. This has become too much for me at my age. I need peace desperately. I need your guidance."</p><p>No lightning bolt crackled nearby. Only one word came to me in that still, small way: WAIT. I pondered its meaning, I questioned God daily about it. I sought other employment but felt no joy. Then I said, "Lord, if you want me to stay, I will do it. But I need you."</p><p>Several weeks ago I had a small breakdown of sorts. Though I'd never done this before, I called off the following day from my job and left them completely unattended at the front desk. I could not think one more thought, could not step into that building without crying or feeling my chest tightening.</p><p>My employer spoke kindly to me one evening. It was after I told him I needed to resign. He looked at me and said, "I can't do this without you. You are the heart and soul of this place. Give me a chance. I want to make this work for you."</p><p>Again, no bolt of lightning nor crack of thunder. No Charlton Heston voice out of the blue giving me cosmic advice. Just that small voice: wait.</p><p>I made the decision right then that I would wait it out. I would give the place that had been home to me for seventeen years another chance. I adored many of the patients especially the elderly ones who have come to know me so well. The ones who specifically ask for me and trust me with their concerns. I would give my employer what he needed. He'd become more like family over the years, another brother to me, even. But also, I could not abandon them. I would not be the reason that our practice could potentially fail. My mother raised a girl who had a conscience.</p><p>Has it been easy waiting for new staff, working alone, working extra hours, taking on even more responsibilities? Not at all. But God. That's right. When I feel anger, anxiety, or a pit in my stomach, I say quietly in my spirit: "Jesus, I need you right now." That is what had been lacking up until then. The simple childlike faith that had gotten me through other trials in my life. A simple sentence, and sometimes only His name whispered: Jesus. </p><p>Though I don't know what the near future holds, I will do my very best. I will not complain to friends and family when the day doesn't go as planned. I will go to the throne... not the phone. For it says in the Bible: <span style="background-color: white; color: #001320; font-family: Roboto, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most. Hebrews 4:16</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #001320; font-family: Roboto, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">But the promise I made to my son, husband, and brother, still stands. If I can't take another second, if stress piles and situations don't change, I will have to do what's best. I would have to make the decision to leave. Right now, I don't see that. Right now, I am living one day, one hour at a time. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #001320; font-family: Roboto, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">Oh, did I get some concessions out of this? You bet I did. I am nobody's doormat, nobody's fool. Just a kind girl who believes in being a help to others. </span></p><span class="p" style="background-color: white; color: #001320; font-family: Roboto, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-75960287894863318382023-09-02T05:35:00.000-07:002023-09-02T05:35:02.205-07:00Savor<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJbG-VEoSoe7qp5PbaP7azeLc6lYLsYHxX5t7xFQ_LsiA0gi2Kap9ifQ0xeaoElzyijE3VVLr5C46WAO3RHgnodUxK57kQ9u5-7u3MsLo_vybRyHdzwpUcEpy97hymJLUunpXNGlF8uKLhVFF-y-agnV3tUwy2YOysylIwufmSKPxHlFiUcuzM0_kZ8U/s4128/Samsung%20photos%202020%20036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="3096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJbG-VEoSoe7qp5PbaP7azeLc6lYLsYHxX5t7xFQ_LsiA0gi2Kap9ifQ0xeaoElzyijE3VVLr5C46WAO3RHgnodUxK57kQ9u5-7u3MsLo_vybRyHdzwpUcEpy97hymJLUunpXNGlF8uKLhVFF-y-agnV3tUwy2YOysylIwufmSKPxHlFiUcuzM0_kZ8U/s320/Samsung%20photos%202020%20036.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>It's almost been a year since I blogged. I could say that too much "busyness" has kept me away. That's a good excuse. But then something really important happened. Something I need to speak about. </p><p>A month or so ago, I had my routine mammogram. I looked forward to the letter that would arrive stating the "all clear" diagnosis. This time, I received a phone call. A sonogram was ordered to investigate a little further. Stomach clenched, heart raced, fear arrived. "This has happened before," I told myself. "Stop working yourself up."</p><p>The day of the sonogram arrived. With faith in my heart and prayer as my shield, I chatted with the technician and hoped for the best. She left the room to give the results to the on-call doctor. Those fifteen minutes or so felt like eternity. </p><p>When the two of them walked through the door, my heart sank. I figured if it was good news, the technician could have given it to me. But the doctor... this meant business.</p><p>"You have a very small spot, only 3 millimeters. But it's best to do a biopsy to determine further results."</p><p>Biopsy. A word that conjures up all sorts of horrors that I won't get into right now. Stomach churned, heart palpitated, fear made its way into me. And there it stayed for the next several weeks. </p><p>I had amazing prayer warriors. I had a husband who believed for the best outcome. My own faith didn't waver, but I said to God, "No matter what. My story for Your glory." I wanted good news of course, but I was ready to face anything.</p><p>As terrified as I was for the biopsy, it was incredibly painless and easy. All of the healthcare workers were wonderful. Okay, I admit, I did take a Xanax, but that was just a little... help of sorts. I lay there and kept the Bible verses close to me that were the best encouragement: "Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified. For the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." And, "Do not fear for I am with you, do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."</p><p>The results would come in three to five business days. Even with faith as my shield, uncertainty loomed before me. If it was this... then I'd have to go through that... Could I dare hope for a benign result?</p><p>My prayer partners and praying husband reassured when darkness threatened. I kept busy with my job and daily routines until I saw an email from the health portal that said: New test results available.</p><p>Nope, not gonna look at that. I don't understand health lingo. I knew the office would call very soon at that point. While at work, my cell phone rang. I jumped from my desk and took the call outdoors of my office. The nurse was pleasant and kind as she gave me the news: Benign. The best word a woman could hear. I laughed and cried with her and then laughed and cried with everyone I called right afterward.</p><p>Today, a few days later, I am better for having gone through this. My story for His glory. God was with me even in the darkest night terrors. He stood near and held me when I thought I'd faint from fear and worry. I looked to Him with hope that no matter the outcome, He would be with me. I remembered a few other times in my life when I'd needed him most: the loss of my parents, another health scare many years ago; a time I had to be strong for my child. He had never failed me or left me alone. His love is real. No Matter What.</p><p>This morning I chose the word savor. I like the sound of it and all it implies. It means slowing down, enjoying, really enjoying every little moment of every single day. Taking time with my prayer life and reading encouragement. Basking in a long, hot shower. Typing these words. Playing like a little kid with my husband or son. Crocheting with beautiful yarn as it slides through my fingers. Swinging in the sunshine on my porch swing and not caring that I don't have important tasks at hand every second. It's okay to even be a little bored. It means there's life in my body, breath in my lungs, health and light.</p><p>The internet had this to say: <i>Savor: <span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">to enjoy food or an experience slowly, in order to enjoy it as much as possible: It was the first chocolate he'd tasted for over a year, so he savored every mouthful. Love the fact that you are alive and savor everything that life has to offer.</span></i></p><div id="6SjzZKLuJ_Kq5NoPm4ia6AE__24" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><div class="g" style="clear: both; line-height: 1.58; margin-bottom: 4px; margin-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; width: 600px;"><div data-hveid="CBkQAA" data-ved="2ahUKEwjihp2Y9YuBAxVyFVkFHRuEBh0QFSgAegQIGRAA"><div class="tF2Cxc" style="position: relative;"><div class="yuRUbf" style="font-size: small; line-height: 1.58;"></div></div></div></div></div><p>Are you fearful today? What's pressing upon your heart? Is it time for healing in your soul? Ask. Talk to that wonderful Father. Then ask Him to help you to savor every single blessed moment of every day. </p>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-40436648668805012632022-12-29T15:18:00.000-08:002022-12-29T15:18:12.793-08:00Merry, Exhausted, and Content<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjH-GQnIZihQKQsVjlKkR_LoOJ8TOxkhDo-FKy2XInknE5gk7iRR5EJ3zE08FoFC-JniTwafNoi3xudGZRrtelLoKEMrBlPe0SgoP7ekBSdQHNltMhKRi5QmWhHzYnwRXxhZt47SngB37NC4kruMRy6mxra45N3psRSfndn65BjeagPv_bwmcYD5LtO" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1153" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjH-GQnIZihQKQsVjlKkR_LoOJ8TOxkhDo-FKy2XInknE5gk7iRR5EJ3zE08FoFC-JniTwafNoi3xudGZRrtelLoKEMrBlPe0SgoP7ekBSdQHNltMhKRi5QmWhHzYnwRXxhZt47SngB37NC4kruMRy6mxra45N3psRSfndn65BjeagPv_bwmcYD5LtO" width="135" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>It's nice viewing everyone's Facebook posts about the recent holiday season. Though I didn't share much about my own time, I feel it is important to talk about it now.</p><p><br /></p><p>My heart has never been fuller. From the special gift buying this year- I took my time early and carefully to find truly special items for my loved ones- to my true exhaustion this evening, I have never been happier.</p><p><br /></p><p>The Christmas week began with a visit to my brother's home which is our parent's old home. There they were, special ornaments tucked here and there, little memories of times past, warming my heart and giving me the kind of glow that only family can give. We spent time watching the new "Ralphie" movie which in itself was extremely nostalgic. Mom and Dad adored the original and watched it over and over annoying us to no end sometimes. But at the center of that movie is a message: family is everything, even dysfunctional and imperfect. Christmas is special, and "The Old Man" was truly the spirit of Christmas when he knew the exact gift Ralphie really wanted.</p><p><br /></p><p>When the movie was over, tears coursed their way down my cheeks as I remember my own "Old Man" and how he made Christmas so very special for us all. My brother and I took time looking at old Christmas albums together, scratched and worn, a bit broken even, but every little nuance of our parents was indelibly marked upon them.</p><p><br /></p><p>Christmas day itself was spent with dear ones. My brother and family met us at Matt's house to have a little food and the usual several hour opening of the gifts. Even my nieces were in on it now. There was a warmth, a respect, and a lot of love around that living room. I know in my heart that my son adores having company, and even that in itself gave me such joy.</p><p><br /></p><p>We visited with my step-daughter and family the week before, making a mess of a gingerbread house but laughing through it all. Today we watched our Florida grandchildren, little girls we hardly get to see but were able to spend the whole day with. I've not had a moment's peace this year, but this whirlwind of visiting and people remind me of Ye Olde Times of my youth. When family meant everything, people were exhausted but grateful, and sitting back after a it all helps make some of the best memories ever.</p>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-67377347657852017092022-09-04T12:36:00.001-07:002022-09-04T12:36:24.948-07:00Farewell My Old Friend<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCVbWTJpTBOp2rsGQD49jK9Y4Qmj3lUFoCjAljHydQJ-TQB20ZwSw3962MUVFgbsaFTzfcUmx7x48O475r6y3CyJUz_pwUogDbZvRiYJHgeoWwXIiRrv0sEBEAhuj9BcExwoqjN3w1OuxRW_m7kVQfOnMPJMCehWvZ4VPE5EoHdrtnikLuztj2CFw/s4128/Samsung%20photos%202020%20020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="3096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCVbWTJpTBOp2rsGQD49jK9Y4Qmj3lUFoCjAljHydQJ-TQB20ZwSw3962MUVFgbsaFTzfcUmx7x48O475r6y3CyJUz_pwUogDbZvRiYJHgeoWwXIiRrv0sEBEAhuj9BcExwoqjN3w1OuxRW_m7kVQfOnMPJMCehWvZ4VPE5EoHdrtnikLuztj2CFw/s320/Samsung%20photos%202020%20020.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfd0s-djiR5NymvjIppTDSdI187TtGNh6n2353YAG3J9ByhJ8tm7a_yc9xuh2BPtXqeSPyHMBWvBHCetOgTaDCcl9LHORK96nMGWTo6_fPyK_gnHIrBQCzLgPqcrnghodky9XsOnOMa8XH9wPHz_AdBAqTa4ncKkoEkPl0gmnNvi7rUAHu_SCa60HC/s4608/20150609_100042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2592" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfd0s-djiR5NymvjIppTDSdI187TtGNh6n2353YAG3J9ByhJ8tm7a_yc9xuh2BPtXqeSPyHMBWvBHCetOgTaDCcl9LHORK96nMGWTo6_fPyK_gnHIrBQCzLgPqcrnghodky9XsOnOMa8XH9wPHz_AdBAqTa4ncKkoEkPl0gmnNvi7rUAHu_SCa60HC/s320/20150609_100042.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLZX9p3mTRAYyaMvednD1VbEOGxIJ2IiZ7zxmumvVbot-bVQ8QHTXmX-JDEk5QzAt7bIjNZW0PFrXtl7-XbE6SzMCahSvFgM7jrXpH-FDgn-nX4ij1qhu3ZwFZgz56iJwLJOr9EqOYbtPhd-I9-HlwMmQttt39SMhQWV-xxk4kY5kPn0eoZggs27E/s4608/20150609_101843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2592" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLZX9p3mTRAYyaMvednD1VbEOGxIJ2IiZ7zxmumvVbot-bVQ8QHTXmX-JDEk5QzAt7bIjNZW0PFrXtl7-XbE6SzMCahSvFgM7jrXpH-FDgn-nX4ij1qhu3ZwFZgz56iJwLJOr9EqOYbtPhd-I9-HlwMmQttt39SMhQWV-xxk4kY5kPn0eoZggs27E/s320/20150609_101843.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Did you ever feel that a place you visited was more like an old friend than a destination? That is what Conneaut Lake Park had been in my lifetime. From when I was a little girl up until only about three years ago, this wonderfully nostalgic park held a special place in my heart.</p><p><br /></p><p>As a small child, we didn't take elaborate vacations. When Dad said, let's pack up the car and go, I knew that it meant the simple one-and-a-half hour trip to Conneaut Lake Park. There, we would find a cheap, small motel or even a cottage. Musty, even with a smattering of mildew, these places were wonderful to me. For two nights and three days, we bonded closely as a family enjoying midway games such as Fascination, balloon darts (which Mom was super good at), and the ever-popular fish pond.</p><p><br /></p><p>I'd ride ponies in Kiddie Land, drive metal cars around a track and boats with a bell to ring around a type of pool, sit upon elaborate, decorated horses in the carousel, laugh until we almost peed on The Turtle, and especially awaited the trip in a ride-through haunted house.</p><p><br /></p><p>When my brother came along, we began bringing him to our family fun destination. I know he loved it as much as I did. So many happy days and nights! So many memories made.</p><p><br /></p><p>My own children enjoyed Conneaut Park in their time too. They spent hours in an old-fashioned arcade playing video games, ski ball, and mostly claw machines. We'd eat corn dogs, pizza, and French fries. We'd enjoy an ice cream cone afterward. </p><p><br /></p><p>For all of our generations, The Devils Den, the "haunted ride" was a favorite. There was the familiar smell of grease and metal as you waited on the platform. There were sounds of the clack, clack, clack, as the carts rode along the track. There was anticipation of thrills, squeals, and maybe even a shriek as ghosts, witches and other spooktacular goblins lit up in the darkened hallways as we approached.</p><p><br /></p><p>One of the more recent and special visits for me was time spent with my son on a Mother's Day just a few years ago. We ate a lovely meal at the Hotel Conneaut, and walked through the quiet park as it awaited a new season. Yes, it was getting a bit old. It was showing signs of neglect. But there had been people who seemed to care as much as we did. They tried renovating, repairing, and adding a little extra zip and newness to the atmosphere of antiquity.</p><p><br /></p><p>My son adored the extremely frightening, yet very popular Blue Streak rollercoaster. When we first heard it was being torn down last year, our hearts sank. Then, little by little, other bits and pieces of the park were hauled away.</p><p><br /></p><p>I told myself I didn't want to see it in that condition. I never wanted to be privy to behind-the-scenes of its demolition. Yet this past weekend, I did just that. My heart sank as the sight of weeds and tall grasses growing in every direction. The pit in my stomach widened seeing gaping holes in the landscape of an area which held colorful, fun rides. A wasteland. A waste to me. I wish someone would have been able to make it a historic landmark. I wish it could have been there for future generations and that my own grandchildren would laugh, squeal, play, and know what a simple, but unique vacation spot this park was meant to be.</p><p><br /></p><p>I am going to mourn a little today. I will tell myself it will be okay. It had to be this way. After all, this is progress, time marching on, money to be made by property that will probably sport condos and such. Future generation won't know what I knew. And you know what? That makes me feel a little special.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxvvTb12yBtEAqxJR2WUb3ifjiV6M5_UMpCzMbZuSqHR94odPwcgYgrmwqqUdcPyTnb3ynIiC6zGzUhbR1IhbPeS0XV6fjnanOu29hj525YMtkms5A2h4XDzt15oMi5Arr0vFV1mFkGK6ai8kw20sjJHy-aIsTdSn2hfigMopOiejmaTuKe_KcOBD0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3612" data-original-width="2704" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxvvTb12yBtEAqxJR2WUb3ifjiV6M5_UMpCzMbZuSqHR94odPwcgYgrmwqqUdcPyTnb3ynIiC6zGzUhbR1IhbPeS0XV6fjnanOu29hj525YMtkms5A2h4XDzt15oMi5Arr0vFV1mFkGK6ai8kw20sjJHy-aIsTdSn2hfigMopOiejmaTuKe_KcOBD0" width="180" /></a></div><br />Death of a family destination.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBZDlr7PIy3TngU6ZcVyXoGZ7VeCTGucif8MtsmIStIxuemyqdRunMIc830s7nIN2AQs0z5Fo4EmoaYA6DPJI5_GzeFaEI8gdLsvY_TDkzy0ZCJU6D9aNyhgmvVsyd-UteRphM5A3VOHOpN7m6f73xC9etMp40fe4hWphzQ2LntkSFErPRtEBeQNMh" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3612" data-original-width="2704" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBZDlr7PIy3TngU6ZcVyXoGZ7VeCTGucif8MtsmIStIxuemyqdRunMIc830s7nIN2AQs0z5Fo4EmoaYA6DPJI5_GzeFaEI8gdLsvY_TDkzy0ZCJU6D9aNyhgmvVsyd-UteRphM5A3VOHOpN7m6f73xC9etMp40fe4hWphzQ2LntkSFErPRtEBeQNMh" width="180" /></a></div>Almost impossible to tell what was there.<br /><br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSMWy0zh0lgrxd6Dm7mRz5HcX-Yvih3bytgb-RpjjVibHXOLBtfPuHRdxVNICCWm3Hr2I4P8-3wiFBGFzAYrHQwLmDo8Mj1vaoDW0qzOZcdxW-AXIbjeMKzzPFd71oqph8Yd1orV49epcSh9TiqaO-K0H5FUi5WxYfsSWHU317yCXYInGzXWazS0-T" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3612" data-original-width="2704" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSMWy0zh0lgrxd6Dm7mRz5HcX-Yvih3bytgb-RpjjVibHXOLBtfPuHRdxVNICCWm3Hr2I4P8-3wiFBGFzAYrHQwLmDo8Mj1vaoDW0qzOZcdxW-AXIbjeMKzzPFd71oqph8Yd1orV49epcSh9TiqaO-K0H5FUi5WxYfsSWHU317yCXYInGzXWazS0-T" width="180" /></a></div>Sad-looking Devil's Den during demolition.<br /><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQ5d3_52c5dnto8vq3ANFjDKm2eiUHa2nJbXZoAc6TlLtQGBql_eryDIU7LaYBWOhw1wPuj-iLwx8oOM05bvc2a2GvuR09cgmHoq_Xu6ncxdiSi9fVoWrpeUE_o--XbG0aN_uoShdl7g8001gtSvaobIaOeSFDKc3vx4ru1FGhrCLE20Q1Uxnz_df/s4608/20150609_101022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2592" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQ5d3_52c5dnto8vq3ANFjDKm2eiUHa2nJbXZoAc6TlLtQGBql_eryDIU7LaYBWOhw1wPuj-iLwx8oOM05bvc2a2GvuR09cgmHoq_Xu6ncxdiSi9fVoWrpeUE_o--XbG0aN_uoShdl7g8001gtSvaobIaOeSFDKc3vx4ru1FGhrCLE20Q1Uxnz_df/s320/20150609_101022.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Devil's Den in better days</div><br />Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-74066267387459132372022-05-27T02:49:00.002-07:002022-09-19T03:47:39.879-07:00The World of a Child<p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><a class="oajrlxb2 gs1a9yip g5ia77u1 mtkw9kbi tlpljxtp qensuy8j ppp5ayq2 goun2846 ccm00jje s44p3ltw mk2mc5f4 rt8b4zig n8ej3o3l agehan2d sk4xxmp2 rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 mg4g778l pfnyh3mw p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x tgvbjcpo hpfvmrgz jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso l9j0dhe7 i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of du4w35lb n00je7tq arfg74bv qs9ysxi8 k77z8yql btwxx1t3 abiwlrkh p8dawk7l lzcic4wl a8c37x1j tm8avpzi" href="https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=4594387767257606&set=a.101020676594360&__cft__[0]=AZXqZ2yN1NKARbcWeBaGe061_NMQ0vseKUQB0uy9WMxAua1lHSFwQdy9owEP62eUDlmcxiyqz3ulahXZGNbKbGUU7gcfuuvmb_AIIzOrM-_PFEQ8WhBs2pHbEt9CsUIqjntXu9jNQQ4eQ4JtkBadC-wTGrnj-zc2GuVkX3K445gtog&__tn__=EH-R" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; align-items: stretch; border-bottom-color: var(--always-dark-overlay); border-left-color: var(--always-dark-overlay); border-radius: inherit; border-right-color: var(--always-dark-overlay); border-style: solid; border-top-color: var(--always-dark-overlay); border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #385898; cursor: pointer; display: block; flex-basis: auto; flex-direction: row; flex-shrink: 0; font-family: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; min-height: 0px; min-width: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; position: relative; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation; user-select: none; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"></a></p><div class="bp9cbjyn cwj9ozl2 j83agx80 cbu4d94t ni8dbmo4 stjgntxs l9j0dhe7 k4urcfbm" style="align-items: center; background-color: #13110b; display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; overflow: hidden; position: relative; width: 500px;"><div style="font-family: inherit; max-width: 100%; min-width: 500px; width: calc((100vh + -325px) * 0.666667);"><div class="do00u71z ni8dbmo4 stjgntxs l9j0dhe7" style="font-family: inherit; height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding-top: 750px; position: relative;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRkQuUB9nZn8KqI6gQNTqeKFU-EyJDIS72gX6dRLFX7EoRkWvbrjeMQ3ZB8rHNRGhLSWMkr19ikDNahN5Io9fgUUpKSc78tweD5TmzoFJJDjv95zkwz18mXvPaTPCqh6jPCyH3QO5cVQA5awuhZ0mCRoANqR9hALw9A6km1yNo1uBuanrrQ8gtf-PW/s2048/Photos%20from%20Samsung%20phone%20187.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRkQuUB9nZn8KqI6gQNTqeKFU-EyJDIS72gX6dRLFX7EoRkWvbrjeMQ3ZB8rHNRGhLSWMkr19ikDNahN5Io9fgUUpKSc78tweD5TmzoFJJDjv95zkwz18mXvPaTPCqh6jPCyH3QO5cVQA5awuhZ0mCRoANqR9hALw9A6km1yNo1uBuanrrQ8gtf-PW/s320/Photos%20from%20Samsung%20phone%20187.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="pmk7jnqg kr520xx4" style="font-family: inherit; height: 889.083px; position: absolute; top: 0px; width: 500px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpFE7bTAZeq2i4ilm6mO2M8g1_pgncS9CK5YUfWjQnr095b61IHZYuw0cDDvD3LupE8ZDnxd_Tyj5izbiU943ghKq7L24i4MYqyerbnHYw6yhrur-GmqtLs4fkVEC9LCXZyF3ZJxnwqg5lnQ-3rcfh5KrXyaMxxrZijeV1Qqd5zYLahCaNd83nAlY2" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="140" data-original-width="78" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpFE7bTAZeq2i4ilm6mO2M8g1_pgncS9CK5YUfWjQnr095b61IHZYuw0cDDvD3LupE8ZDnxd_Tyj5izbiU943ghKq7L24i4MYqyerbnHYw6yhrur-GmqtLs4fkVEC9LCXZyF3ZJxnwqg5lnQ-3rcfh5KrXyaMxxrZijeV1Qqd5zYLahCaNd83nAlY2" width="134" /></a></div><br /></div></div></div></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <span color="var(--primary-text)" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.875rem; white-space: pre-wrap;">Have you spent an afternoon lately with small children, perhaps your grandkids or nieces and nephews? Don't you come away from that time exhausted, yet feeling younger and remembering what it was like to pretend, to wish, to dream, to believe in the unbelievable?</span></p><div class="du4w35lb k4urcfbm l9j0dhe7 sjgh65i0" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 16px; position: relative; width: 500px; z-index: 0;"><div class="du4w35lb l9j0dhe7" style="font-family: inherit; position: relative; z-index: 0;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div aria-describedby="jsc_c_19t jsc_c_19u jsc_c_19v jsc_c_19x jsc_c_19w" aria-labelledby="jsc_c_19s" aria-posinset="3" class="lzcic4wl" role="article" style="font-family: inherit; outline: none;"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit;"><div class="rq0escxv l9j0dhe7 du4w35lb" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; position: relative; z-index: 0;"><div class="j83agx80 l9j0dhe7 k4urcfbm" style="display: flex; font-family: inherit; position: relative; width: 500px;"><div class="rq0escxv l9j0dhe7 du4w35lb hybvsw6c io0zqebd m5lcvass fbipl8qg nwvqtn77 k4urcfbm ni8dbmo4 stjgntxs sbcfpzgs" style="--t68779821: 0 1px 2px var(--shadow-2); border-radius: max(0px, min(8px, ((100vw - 4px) - 100%) * 9999)) / 8px; box-shadow: 0 1px 2px var(--shadow-2); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; overflow: hidden; position: relative; width: 500px; z-index: 0;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc ihqw7lf3 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_19u" style="font-family: inherit; padding: 4px 16px 16px;"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql lr9zc1uh a8c37x1j fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em iv3no6db gfeo3gy3 a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" color="var(--primary-text)" dir="auto" style="display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.875rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">One day, when she was younger, my niece Elena wanted an inexpensive pair of fairy wings in a dollar store. On the ride back home she said, "Auntie Kar, there's a little glitter on your seat." When we got out, not only did she have glitter on her face and hair, but the back seat of my car sparkled and glittered as well. And my heart sparkled too.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">I, too, remember what it was like when I was young being a glitter princess; loving all things sparkly and pretty. For I was a girly girl type; a child who loved make believe, pretend, and lands faraway. My mom used to call me a pack rat stating that she always found glittery items in my drawers and in my room. I hoarded these pieces as if they were magical. And they were.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Our beautiful, innocent children hold the key to simplicity and joy. After a few hours playing "school" with my other niece, Elizabeth, I felt smarter and ready for a college degree. It didn't matter that it had been years since I'd been to school. Elizabeth was a tough teacher and she didn't tolerate any misbehavior in her "class." So I sat as a model student and learned all that I could from her. What she didn't realize is that I was learning. The lesson was one of sweetness, simplicity, and patience. The lesson wasn't something I could glean from a book, and I could only get from truly being in the moment with her.</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Our world is full of cynicism, intolerance, and anger. News media and social media blast so much anti-everything campaigns that I want to run away for a while. Isn't it refreshing that once a week or so, to run away with two little girls who hold my heart with their simple innocence? I can come away from that time a much "better me."</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><div class="l9j0dhe7" id="jsc_c_19v" style="font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><div class="l9j0dhe7" style="font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div><div class="stjgntxs ni8dbmo4" style="font-family: inherit; overflow: hidden;"></div></div></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="stjgntxs ni8dbmo4 p13mx040 l82x9zwi uo3d90p7 h905i5nu monazrh9" style="border-radius: 0px 0px 8px 8px; font-family: inherit; min-height: 12px; overflow: hidden;"><div class="l9j0dhe7" style="font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><div class="bp9cbjyn m9osqain j83agx80 jq4qci2q bkfpd7mw a3bd9o3v kvgmc6g5 wkznzc2l oygrvhab dhix69tm jktsbyx5 rz4wbd8a osnr6wyh a8nywdso s1tcr66n" style="align-items: center; border-bottom: 1px solid var(--divider); color: var(--secondary-text); display: flex; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; justify-content: flex-end; line-height: 1.3333; margin: 0px 16px; padding: 10px 0px;"><div class="bp9cbjyn j83agx80 buofh1pr ni8dbmo4 stjgntxs" style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-grow: 1; font-family: inherit; overflow: hidden;"><span aria-label="See who reacted to this" class="du4w35lb" role="toolbar" style="font-family: inherit; z-index: 0;"><span class="bp9cbjyn j83agx80 b3onmgus" id="jsc_c_19x" style="align-items: center; display: flex; font-family: inherit; padding-left: 4px;"><span class="np69z8it et4y5ytx j7g94pet b74d5cxt qw6c0r16 kb8x4rkr ed597pkb omcyoz59 goun2846 ccm00jje s44p3ltw mk2mc5f4 qxh1up0x qtyiw8t4 tpcyxxvw k0bpgpbk hm271qws rl04r1d5 l9j0dhe7 ov9facns kavbgo14" style="border-bottom-color: var(--card-background); border-left-color: var(--card-background); border-radius: 11px; border-right-color: var(--card-background); border-style: solid; border-top-color: var(--card-background); border-width: 2px; font-family: inherit; height: 18px; margin-left: -4px; position: relative; width: 18px; z-index: 2;"><span class="t0qjyqq4 jos75b7i j6sty90h kv0toi1t q9uorilb hm271qws ov9facns" style="border-radius: 9px; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; height: 18px; width: 18px;"><span class="tojvnm2t a6sixzi8 abs2jz4q a8s20v7p t1p8iaqh k5wvi7nf q3lfd5jv pk4s997a bipmatt0 cebpdrjk qowsmv63 owwhemhu dp1hu0rb dhp61c6y iyyx5f41" style="align-items: inherit; align-self: inherit; display: inherit; flex-direction: inherit; flex: inherit; font-family: inherit; height: inherit; max-height: inherit; max-width: inherit; min-height: inherit; min-width: inherit; place-content: inherit; width: inherit;"><div aria-label="Love: 22 people" class="oajrlxb2 gs1a9yip g5ia77u1 mtkw9kbi tlpljxtp qensuy8j ppp5ayq2 goun2846 ccm00jje s44p3ltw mk2mc5f4 rt8b4zig n8ej3o3l agehan2d sk4xxmp2 rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 mg4g778l pfnyh3mw p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x tgvbjcpo hpfvmrgz jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso l9j0dhe7 i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of du4w35lb n00je7tq arfg74bv qs9ysxi8 k77z8yql pq6dq46d btwxx1t3 abiwlrkh p8dawk7l lzcic4wl" role="button" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; align-items: stretch; border-bottom-color: var(--always-dark-overlay); border-left-color: var(--always-dark-overlay); border-radius: inherit; border-right-color: var(--always-dark-overlay); border-style: solid; border-top-color: var(--always-dark-overlay); border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline-flex; flex-basis: auto; flex-direction: row; flex-shrink: 0; font-family: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; min-height: 0px; min-width: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; position: relative; text-align: inherit; touch-action: manipulation; user-select: none; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><br /></div></span></span></span></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="du4w35lb k4urcfbm l9j0dhe7 sjgh65i0" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 16px; position: relative; width: 500px; z-index: 0;"><div class="du4w35lb l9j0dhe7" style="font-family: inherit; position: relative; z-index: 0;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div aria-describedby="jsc_c_1a6 jsc_c_1a7 jsc_c_1a8 jsc_c_1aa jsc_c_1a9" aria-labelledby="jsc_c_1a5" aria-posinset="4" class="lzcic4wl" role="article" style="font-family: inherit; outline: none;"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit;"><div class="rq0escxv l9j0dhe7 du4w35lb" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; position: relative; z-index: 0;"><div class="j83agx80 l9j0dhe7 k4urcfbm" style="display: flex; font-family: inherit; position: relative; width: 500px;"><div class="rq0escxv l9j0dhe7 du4w35lb hybvsw6c io0zqebd m5lcvass fbipl8qg nwvqtn77 k4urcfbm ni8dbmo4 stjgntxs sbcfpzgs" style="--t68779821: 0 1px 2px var(--shadow-2); border-radius: max(0px, min(8px, ((100vw - 4px) - 100%) * 9999)) / 8px; box-shadow: 0 1px 2px var(--shadow-2); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; overflow: hidden; position: relative; width: 500px; z-index: 0;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><div class="lt9micmv ofv0k9yr gl4o1x5y aodizinl eip75gnj" style="border-bottom: solid 1px var(--divider); font-family: inherit; padding: 20px;"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t mysgfdmx hddg9phg" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: -6px; margin-top: -6px;"><div class="w0hvl6rk qjjbsfad" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;"></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-14129127958268869712022-03-26T12:31:00.002-07:002022-03-26T12:31:56.921-07:00A Reunion of Love<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54uXWyq01C__uksdzA8o5StsupufHrfOM49QOsAMbHAqt0YgctgjOSZAV9A39MamfLEpFXeXz93WAbV2Vf9_H_6vzkTrxufaaFU35GshzRK28Lo1rvl_0v9tvPwRBuumLnFd0jmGn5bRSk_Lt-Bxb_LRRBtAh5EvWEAloS5KDqzAOt2xI3Rb53t84/s1369/Bebby%20blanket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1369" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54uXWyq01C__uksdzA8o5StsupufHrfOM49QOsAMbHAqt0YgctgjOSZAV9A39MamfLEpFXeXz93WAbV2Vf9_H_6vzkTrxufaaFU35GshzRK28Lo1rvl_0v9tvPwRBuumLnFd0jmGn5bRSk_Lt-Bxb_LRRBtAh5EvWEAloS5KDqzAOt2xI3Rb53t84/s320/Bebby%20blanket.jpg" width="187" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Bebby on Mom's favorite outdoor blanket</i></p><p>Walrus cat is what Dad called you. With whiskers so long; no cat had them like you. Mom called you Baby but pronounced it Bebby. You were that and more to her. Like a little child, but also companion, friend, confidante in the middle of the night. But you were mischievous and a bit sneaky too.</p><p>Remember how you worried Mom who tried to keep you as an indoor cat? But you wanted to be free outside in the air to hunt and play. Sometimes you wouldn't return for the longest time. I can picture you lying under a nearby bush having your kitty laugh as she called and called for you. Then she came in and told us, "Baby's gone this time. I know it." But you were never gone... that is, until today.</p><p>A promise to Dad as he passed to take care of Mom. And in our hearts, a promise to Mom as she passed that we would take care of you. Oh, you knew, yes you knew when Mom left us and you laid on her blankets where her scent must have been. You looked into our faces with kitty cat questions of "why" and "where" but we had no way to explain to you that Mom had gone home... that is, until today.</p><p>Today you met her again. She and Dad and Mya, Buffy, Fluffy, Lady, and those who had been loved, oh so loved as you were. She saw you and you ran; no longer old and tired, but frisky cat body lean and healthy; long legs running as you did as a young kitty. You jumped into her arms and covered her face with kitty kisses and walrus whisker rubs as she called you "My Baby."</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrkFd2CfeXfjpFtcbOnn839YV0pK6XuUiNCJHMMan7va0DxZxqVEYXTgJOpLRSUpHtQjvb_6akBMrMCiSC2F7UTLXBhEmY5e5Ju_J26coIcrybJvg-SpTsr9xHz5PwNWevK3r-EuXai8MA2aQf5oSTggnHbs71P_cNDzBSuQL8_GL8dNAmiTo26iz/s4128/Samsung%20photos%202020%20230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="3096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrkFd2CfeXfjpFtcbOnn839YV0pK6XuUiNCJHMMan7va0DxZxqVEYXTgJOpLRSUpHtQjvb_6akBMrMCiSC2F7UTLXBhEmY5e5Ju_J26coIcrybJvg-SpTsr9xHz5PwNWevK3r-EuXai8MA2aQf5oSTggnHbs71P_cNDzBSuQL8_GL8dNAmiTo26iz/s320/Samsung%20photos%202020%20230.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Bebby the "Walrus cat"</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vLr4eNzWcobPfy7dtOBnO_L9U3sSfoQHokAzUNEs2wwHu7POEWwIiGMvwNI_PCGc7y7QJc9qsvIDAn_SL6gI67bhN2seu6t1A4Z8QHECRf9SNqNg2VGhwKzTTQUCVxmLq034nwKrufDdqPCHha9PpJIXXXbljHruyIjh6890dRm7HMf6ZP8W9PUc/s1880/Bebby%20on%20chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="1880" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vLr4eNzWcobPfy7dtOBnO_L9U3sSfoQHokAzUNEs2wwHu7POEWwIiGMvwNI_PCGc7y7QJc9qsvIDAn_SL6gI67bhN2seu6t1A4Z8QHECRf9SNqNg2VGhwKzTTQUCVxmLq034nwKrufDdqPCHha9PpJIXXXbljHruyIjh6890dRm7HMf6ZP8W9PUc/s320/Bebby%20on%20chair.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><i>King of the house</i><p></p>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-4796683578564977002021-06-14T15:31:00.003-07:002021-06-14T15:31:59.029-07:00A Promise to my Father<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KJPiwxXNWxY/YMfYqc-ViPI/AAAAAAAACFY/LWJMUhHEH6oX1gbfIlEs4xFe6zxY7AL3wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Dad%2Balone.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1362" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KJPiwxXNWxY/YMfYqc-ViPI/AAAAAAAACFY/LWJMUhHEH6oX1gbfIlEs4xFe6zxY7AL3wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Dad%2Balone.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qCV1uavzJeo/YMelEUr_ECI/AAAAAAAACFA/ZgCsH_a-nh8_EbwXTozRwM4UnHJAhJXoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210612_162953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qCV1uavzJeo/YMelEUr_ECI/AAAAAAAACFA/ZgCsH_a-nh8_EbwXTozRwM4UnHJAhJXoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210612_162953.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>(Photograph: Uncle Peppy, my father's brother.)</p><p>As Dad's life began winding down, it was more important to me than ever to find out all I could about him. Though there had been countless stories told, perhaps I'd missed something. One thing I wondered about for years was the relationship he and his brother, Joe, (Uncle Peppy), had and why we didn't see his family. There had been speculation that an old rift had torn the family apart. Though I saw my uncle several times, and always enjoyed his visits, his children were always strangely absent. Why?</p><p>One of Dad's favorite stories was that his brother bought him a Lone Ranger watch when he was a little kid. Uncle Peppy (Joe) was considerably older and not around while my father was a youngster. But somehow he knew that his little brother loved that radio show, and the greatest gift Dad ever received was that watch. Then through the years when I was a child, Uncle Peppy would stop by and my father just beamed when he was around. They resembled one another and talked non-stop.</p><p>The only time I saw my father cry was the day he found out that his brother Joe passed away in early 2000. I didn't know how to console him, so I gave him space and let him grieve in his way. Though our family was never affectionate, we all knew how much we loved one another. Sometimes even in silence.</p><p> I began to think about my uncle's family. Why hadn't we been close with them? Uncle Peppy's visits were always fun and pleasant. But my cousins, well, that was a different story. Why didn't they come on these trips with him. And more importantly, where were they now? Would I be able to find them? Would they even want contact with my family?</p><p>I remembered the married last name of Uncle Peppy's daughter and I found her oldest daughter on Facebook. She would not know me, but I carefully reached out, conveying how important it was for me to contact this side of the family. We wrote emails back and forth for a while. I told my father about hearing from her and he was absolutely thrilled that I'd found someone from their family.</p><p>Unfortunately Dad became very sick about that time and passed away shortly after. I'd promised him that I would continue reaching out to find if any of the others might be interested in hearing from a cousin they had probably not seen since the 1960's. </p><p>To my surprise, the oldest son, Ron, wrote back to me. I couldn't have been happier to hear from this cousin I barely remembered. But would he be as happy as I was? Or would old family differences get in the way? I soon found out. Our emails were engaging and when we spoke by phone we had a lot to chat about. We shared photographs back and forth. I met some of his children through Facebook as well.</p><p>This past Saturday, something wonderful happened. I met my cousin Ron! He came for a visit to my home. He was an amazing, intelligent, warm man. I couldn't stop staring at him because he reminded me so much of our grandfather. His voice was similar to his dad's, and I could see "Mattia," our last name, written all over him. We enjoyed several hours of great conversation. We learned things about our families and past that helped put some of the puzzle pieces back together. Oh how I wished I could call my father and tell him all of this...</p><p>When you've lost someone you adored, as much as I did with my dad, you look for anyone and anything that reminds you of them. When you find it, you embrace it or them, with everything inside you. Not alone any longer, there is family and though you never knew them, you do now and you forgive any past hurt or divisions that kept you apart. You go forward with the knowledge that there are more of you... pieces of your past that connect you to those you loved and you go on so much better than before.</p><p>Here's to our visit, cousin Ron! I will never forget it, and I truly look forward to reconnecting many more times!</p><p>All my love,</p><p>Karen</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cMfbGVxdJiQ/YMemA-k8F3I/AAAAAAAACFI/bg7AD5wtMEce6i5vlmIel5hZ-oXcHzYHgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210612_191158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cMfbGVxdJiQ/YMemA-k8F3I/AAAAAAAACFI/bg7AD5wtMEce6i5vlmIel5hZ-oXcHzYHgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210612_191158.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>Me and cousin Ron!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dk6tN2xhhh0/YMemKllK_QI/AAAAAAAACFM/SvBXO6bC170YDguaty4STJhhH8WA2HakwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210612_194411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dk6tN2xhhh0/YMemKllK_QI/AAAAAAAACFM/SvBXO6bC170YDguaty4STJhhH8WA2HakwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20210612_194411.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>My brother Rick got to meet our cousin too!</p><p><br /></p>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-38609428079726911102021-04-25T15:17:00.001-07:002021-07-02T07:55:18.649-07:00Visit to My First Home<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iKSvry01Vdo/YIXprcCx2aI/AAAAAAAACEY/DHpmHqgG7fkiIsGdW2LdfyGjYlSZh0SogCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B147.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="227" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iKSvry01Vdo/YIXprcCx2aI/AAAAAAAACEY/DHpmHqgG7fkiIsGdW2LdfyGjYlSZh0SogCLcBGAsYHQ/w159-h227/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B147.jpg" width="159" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Heart pounding, palms sweating. Anxiety I wear you
well.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Steps on the sidewalk of my youth; where chalk
drawings are now faded, hopscotch blurred in chalky memory, but uneven pavement
still tries to trip me. Yet I do not falter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Closer now, I feel so big—so tall. I wasn’t this
size before. Eleven is little, small, tiny, not this giant I have become.
Everything is dwarfed because I am older. Yes, there was a patch of dirt where
two girls made a mud pie. The countless journeys on bicycles, as if they were
cars; stop on red, go on green. My house now is before me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Dad had it built for my mother. This is where hopes
and dreams were going to come true. Right next door to his mama and papa, the
properties touched and merged almost magically. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The hedges are gone. They used to catch my clothing,
and the rose bushes with their thorns reaching out their slender tendrils—the
scent intoxicating from every color imaginable. Gone now too. Four O’Clocks,
pinchy bush Dad called a Fitzer. But there is the huge picture window and the
porch, yes. One, two, three steps. I am standing where I haven’t stood since
1972. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Tears flow freely. I knew they would. Oh mom and
dad, I feel you here but you are not. I loved you here and that lives on. She
welcomes me; the lady whose home it has been for many years, a smile on her
face as tears make hot trails down my cheeks. And then I enter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Our front room—living room. Lots of living went on
here. Dad sat by the window in a recliner, and Mom preferred the couch across
the room. I liked the floor, sitting cross-legged watching Gilligan’s Island,
Mannix, The Carol Burnett Show, and more. They talked, laughed, sang, and
taught me about life in this room of living.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Our stone fireplace is still there with small cracks
and crevices—the place where heaping wrapping paper was placed after a big
Christmas morning. Stuffed, waiting for my father to light it later that night
while I watched for sparks to spit from between the screen. I touch it, the
cool feel of the grey stone and my Dad is there too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">We walk into the old kitchen, now the new one, so
updated and lovely. She decorates beautifully; we lived a little plainer, but I
see the back door that led down, down, down steps to play with my cousins
between the two houses. The walkway made of bricks out there and the coolness
of the old grape arbor, now only a single- stemmed vine. And my grandparents
are there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I turn back into the kitchen and see where Mom stood
many hours cooking, baking, making magic. Her appliances are in the same spots
and though the cupboards are changed, I see them turn to light wood once again.
And my mother is there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The basement is next and it is here that I see the
most changes. Once only a cellar made of cement floor and cement block walls
painted light green, there is paneling and flooring and different rooms—no
longer the wide open basement to roller skate around and around. Yet one thing
remains untouched. Dad’s little work shop, spare room, he called it. His
shoemaker supplies were in there, and I can smell the old leather and polish.
In there the old cement blocks are untouched and yet I touch and feel the
coolness under my hand and it warms me. The floor is where my dad stood, and I
take his hand in my heart and he squeezes back so gently.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">When we take the stairs to the second floor, they
creak in all the right spots. I can’t imagine the sounds that were such a big
part of life now bringing me to life again and sharing their secrets with me.
Little girl, they whisper, you’ve come home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">To the top of the stairs I see my old playroom. It
is a craft room now, lovely and perfect but it was perfect in my time too with
dolls, games, child’s vanity set, record player, view master, colorforms,
Barbie, and Beautiful Crissy. And then there is my bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The sliding closet doors with the wood grain are
still there and they used to look like scary faces to me as a child, but now
they look happy and they approve of my arrival. I make peace with them and give
away all the scary thoughts I held so close—I give away a portion of myself—the
sad little girl, and a new butterfly emerges from her cocoon and she flies
free.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The bathroom is fairly unchanged, and yes, it is our
old tub but it looks amazing. And it’s the one place I feel a chill run through
me as I picture the day Mom fell there and had the cardiac arrest; but I also
feel a good chill as the thoughts bring me to her Near Death Experience and
amazing good life. No, your life didn’t end here, Mom. In many ways, it began.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">We are in my parent’s bedroom next and there is a
huge butterfly on the wall—a decoration which practically bowls me over with
its meaning. Mom, you loved butterflies. They were special to you. I stand
where I used to watch my mom and dad sleeping; making sure they were there,
making sure they were breathing. It’s a good room, filled with sensory
memories—a jewelry box of my mother’s that I loved looking through and her
Evening in Paris perfume; Dad’s little cedar chest of army medals, Lemon
Pledge. Mom sang Bushel and a Peck to me in this room, and Little Lamb. She
called me her shining star.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Down the steps, my hand lightly grazes the wrought
iron railing; I used to play with the bottom part that moved and now I reach
out and slide it up and back and I am eleven all over again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">My visit is almost at an end as I wander through the
back yard. It looks so small to me, and the big tree is gone, and nothing is
the same. But my eyes wander to the flower bed where beloved pets are laid to
rest. My heart cracks as I honor them with a prayer of thanksgiving for the comfort they brought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I say goodbye and whisper I love you to my house
that is no longer my house. But I will always love you and treasure our time
there, good and bad. I say goodbye to Mom as she disappears into the wind and
the swaying flowers; and then Dad, as he follows her where I cannot go. My
grandparents blow a gentle kiss and they, too are gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">My peace is made, and it’s taken fifty years. Fifty
years in the blink of an eye. But I am changed, I am better. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-87582206301258209102021-04-15T16:01:00.010-07:002021-04-17T03:37:34.389-07:00How a Childhood Obsession Encourages Others<p> </p><p><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zPvjuf6ZCSA/YHjD9pyuowI/AAAAAAAACDs/7rCI4uTK70k90ITyYDQ0KlNlVsjgYOuqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B284.jpg" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zPvjuf6ZCSA/YHjD9pyuowI/AAAAAAAACDs/7rCI4uTK70k90ITyYDQ0KlNlVsjgYOuqQCLcBGAsYHQ/w240-h320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B284.jpg" width="240" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> None of us ever dreamed that an obsession from my
thirty-two-year-old son’s youth would end up saving lives. He’s not a
firefighter or policeman. He’s not a surgeon or EMT. What is it about his
passion for playing claw machines that led to helping others? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Ever since he was about four, my shy son Matt fell
in love with being filmed by a video camera. His dad would record fun moments
spent with he and his brother, and little Matt could watch himself on the
television screen for hours. When they began spending time in arcades, their
father taught them how to play a crane game also known as claw machines. Matt
couldn’t believe that you won an actual prize—usually some sort of stuffed
animal—if you played well enough. With their wins recorded for posterity, the
boys and their dad bonded over watching their moments of victory captured on
film. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> To my dismay, however, as he got older, Matt started
getting really good at these games. We had boxes and bags filled to the brim
with stuffed animals and small prizes spilling out of them that we packed in
our attic and all available spaces. To Matt, they were like trophies of his
special wins. It became difficult for him to part with them. To a mom, they
were unnecessary clutter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched
Matt become a little more shy and withdrawn as he headed into his early teen
years. He didn’t make friends easily, and one day he came home from school and
told me that he felt invisible. None of the kids seemed to pay any attention to
him. He felt like he was always in the background. My heart broke when he
added, “Mom, what am I good at?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I panicked at that moment. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God, please help me give him the right answer</i>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What is he good at?</i> He didn’t care for sports or music. All he
really loved was arcades and playing those goofy claw machines. “You’ll find
out when you are a little older, honey,” I said, hoping this would be
sufficient.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> At seventeen, Matt got his first job and began
saving up for a dream of his—to own an actual claw machine! The day it was
delivered, my son began quickly learning the ins and outs of the workings and
mechanisms. He found ways to program it and decided to film himself talking
about his journey to the claw machine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> A few years later, Matt decided to put the videos he
made onto YouTube. It might be fun to see if anyone actually watched his series
which he called—of course—“Journey to the Claw Machine.” To his surprise, he
began to receive comments and likes from people everywhere. It seemed that his
new “fans” were just like him—all ages with a passion for winning prizes from
an arcade game!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> As time passed, Matt grew to over a million
followers on his YouTube account. He became partnered with them, and decided to
do this for a living. He added in other arcade games and even miniature golf
with friends and the videos quickly took off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> In about 2013, a young girl reached out to Matt in a
personal letter. She told him how much she loved his silly style of arcade adventures.
She was his biggest fan, she said, and wanted to meet him one day. She told him
that she had been a “cutter” and also had thought on several occasions of
taking her life. Finding Matt was as if someone threw a life preserver to her
to hang onto and find positivity. After she met him at a fan meet and greet,
she made her own video: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I was on the
brink of suicide. Whenever I was down, his videos gave me a sense of comfort.
Just knowing he was out there. Not only is he talented, but he has a huge heart.
He reminds me there is more to life than what stresses me out. And whatever I’m
going through, it gets better.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Matt knew something about depression. There were
relatives in our family who were clinically depressed. There seemed to be no
escaping the blues. He’d had his own times of overwhelming sadness, darkness,
and insecurity. He understood where this girl was coming from, and then others
began reaching out to him as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Matt,
you’re the reason I can handle another day . . . Matt, if it wasn’t for
watching your videos, I don’t know if I would still be here. You gave me a
reason to live . . . <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> During the pandemic year, Matt once again struggled
with his own issues. He recently wrote on his page: “It’s been a crazy year and
still continues to be kind of crazy. I just wanted to post this and say that if
you are feeling down, or not yourself, then you are not alone. It’s ok to feel
this way and take some time to care for your mental health. I’ve taken a little
time today myself to reflect and watch some older videos and I got emotional,
not gonna lie, because there’s been plenty of days in the recent months where I
haven’t felt like my true self, like I did years back in those videos. I always
try and put my heart, soul, and passion into every video I do for you guys and
I apologize if there’s times where I haven’t seemed like myself lately. I’m not
ashamed sharing this—we’re all human and we have struggles, even people that
don’t seem like they do. I always try to be real with everyone. More
importantly, if I can help people going through similar struggles to help them
realize they aren’t alone, then I feel like I’m doing something good for others
and using my platform for something positive. Thanks for understanding everyone.
Matt”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span face=""Arial","sans-serif"" style="background: rgb(241, 241, 241); color: #030303; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> One of the responses he received was this: “About
two years ago, I was in a very dark place. I was on the verge of taking my own
life. I hate to think about it. I hated myself. I hated what I did. I hated
everything. Nothing was fun. Everything was just meshed together in dark
disarray. Then I found you. Your videos. I saw this grown man just having the
time of his life. The way you carried yourself. How silly you could be and just
simply not care. Envious, is the best word I could describe, but you showed me
that I can truly be myself. I can have fun and enjoy myself. So I went to the
arcade. I felt awkward. Weird. But then I hit a jackpot and it was like all my
emotions just leaped out of me. I was going crazy and nobody seemed to even watch.
In that moment my life was saved. I’m not trying to sound philosophical or
anything. I’m just saying that you can truly find happiness in the little
things. Now I go to the arcade regularly with my little brother. I am I a good
place and you are a reason why, so thank you Matt.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> To answer your old question, son, I think we found
something you are really good at. You are certainly not “invisible” any longer.
You are seen by over a million viewers! What you have is a God-given gift. May
He continue to bless your journey as you encourage others. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">On a side note, the young girl from a few years ago
informed us that she recently became an EMT.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> Matt gives away a lot of his wins, or sometimes he specifically wins something for others. This makes my heart happy:</o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ix4mdXqv_BI&list=UUMe8Y3zO7_la3uHaWR3OVrg&index=5">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ix4mdXqv_BI&list=UUMe8Y3zO7_la3uHaWR3OVrg&index=5</a><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CCQ7hTx9Iys/YHjEjIBLNVI/AAAAAAAACD0/AMb7joc6Qg4J-bdqNeS6_OxwKyqBcYCeACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B171.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CCQ7hTx9Iys/YHjEjIBLNVI/AAAAAAAACD0/AMb7joc6Qg4J-bdqNeS6_OxwKyqBcYCeACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B171.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jgrNBCZVUvM/YHjE7FWM9DI/AAAAAAAACD8/AUb9gosKkaAnR_Lf4L8qS3WwHQORtLiWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B226.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jgrNBCZVUvM/YHjE7FWM9DI/AAAAAAAACD8/AUb9gosKkaAnR_Lf4L8qS3WwHQORtLiWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B226.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7d9XyJtMQ9c/YHjFFTNMDGI/AAAAAAAACEA/JrCm00FwXlwkZdBbd7CfaqKI7lc52X1nACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B343.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7d9XyJtMQ9c/YHjFFTNMDGI/AAAAAAAACEA/JrCm00FwXlwkZdBbd7CfaqKI7lc52X1nACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B343.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-43284652548706803382021-01-15T16:16:00.015-08:002021-01-22T13:20:33.257-08:00Bushel and a Peck: Hope, Healing, and Unconditional Love<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eIYBfreV82g/YAIvRGqgsDI/AAAAAAAACCI/1c5xdrovHA4VU6d2Xq-DAVrfX6XmrYisgCLcBGAsYHQ/s221/Bushel%2Band%2Ba%2BPeck%2Bcover%2Bfor%2Buse.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="221" data-original-width="159" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eIYBfreV82g/YAIvRGqgsDI/AAAAAAAACCI/1c5xdrovHA4VU6d2Xq-DAVrfX6XmrYisgCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/Bushel%2Band%2Ba%2BPeck%2Bcover%2Bfor%2Buse.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.1in; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.1in; text-indent: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My
mother told me that she’d had a secret name for me. She called me her ‘Shining
Star.’ Like a blazing trail of light, I was always the one thing Mom could come
back to. When she knew nothing else, she still knew me. She said I’d been like
a beacon of hope to guide her home. It was a title that rooted my love deeply
for my mom. I could see the patterns of her life now. It became clear that
she’d never been weak. My mother had only wanted to be loved . . .<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.1in; text-indent: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">Mom’s mental illness
stigma made my early life anything but ordinary. But my father’s quiet courage
helped to guide us through. Later, from strong businesswoman to Alzheimer’s, my
mother would leave a legacy of lasting love, and Dad, one of incredible
strength.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.1in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></p><p>It took me four years to write this novel, but a lifetime to live it. Though sometimes I look back now and feel there was never enough time with Mom and Dad, I know that my parent's lives and their love carry on in me, my brother, and son.</p><p>This memoir is deeply personal to share, and it isn't just another journey of Alzheimer's though there are many wonderful books on the subject from my fellow authors. This is a story of how one man loved one woman unconditionally enough to go through hell and back, and how a family's faith allowed them to glimpse times of miracles. It is my own story of insecurity, fear, anxiety, and tears. It is God's love poured into me so much that I pray it overflows into you as you read it.</p><p>Thank you for allowing me this little bit of self-promotion as I share my book with you. If you are blessed by it, I would truly love to hear from you. My email is scoutfinch15003@yahoo.com</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1944938303/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_taft_p1_i0?fbclid=IwAR15DEv2Q8CMk7unr3wIP-15wDQWzOTToO3liMybwgY08CN101-nv7CyhBo">https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1944938303/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_taft_p1_i0?fbclid=IwAR15DEv2Q8CMk7unr3wIP-15wDQWzOTToO3liMybwgY08CN101-nv7CyhBo</a><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bushel-Peck-Healing-Unconditional-Memoir-ebook/dp/B08T243T5M/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=karen%20malena&qid=1610752671&sr=8-2&fbclid=IwAR1TJleeABOW-qDgHEG7mix3ymsyjsuZqjGGZzevCgx8PfuX1z2UQyAsuZY">https://www.amazon.com/Bushel-Peck-Healing-Unconditional-Memoir-ebook/dp/B08T243T5M/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=karen%20malena&qid=1610752671&sr=8-2&fbclid=IwAR1TJleeABOW-qDgHEG7mix3ymsyjsuZqjGGZzevCgx8PfuX1z2UQyAsuZY</a></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3_Yhv1zBZ_Y/YAIvhusDEfI/AAAAAAAACCQ/l_IOKKb2izoDsLFgtjrq9uA1s6Bql3OWACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Mom%2Band%2BDad%2Bwedding.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1522" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3_Yhv1zBZ_Y/YAIvhusDEfI/AAAAAAAACCQ/l_IOKKb2izoDsLFgtjrq9uA1s6Bql3OWACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Mom%2Band%2BDad%2Bwedding.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yiu_GAbp2qc/YAIv1MeKxFI/AAAAAAAACCY/6uHd7uYRw0AixxxnNDPLEFhjteWM3w7TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/mom%2Band%2Bdad%2Banniversary.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yiu_GAbp2qc/YAIv1MeKxFI/AAAAAAAACCY/6uHd7uYRw0AixxxnNDPLEFhjteWM3w7TQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/mom%2Band%2Bdad%2Banniversary.jpg" /></a></div><br />Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-78465721865940432832021-01-09T03:14:00.003-08:002022-03-21T03:06:11.228-07:00Healing Hands<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wBLQneY0lFY/X_mPsztuxiI/AAAAAAAACB0/E041iiKcTFgak9SxvP3BGDJ-A4rnGqqqgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B491.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wBLQneY0lFY/X_mPsztuxiI/AAAAAAAACB0/E041iiKcTFgak9SxvP3BGDJ-A4rnGqqqgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B491.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The phone rang at the small dental office where I
worked. “We need you to come in for an x-ray. There appears to be a spot on
your lungs.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I clicked off the portable phone with shaking hands.
The dentist looked at me across the patient we’d been working on. As the only
employee- dental assistant and receptionist- my duties were numerous. I knew
that my boss didn’t like me to get personal calls. But I think he could tell by
the look on my face that it was something very serious.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Fear grabbed hold of me. I had no words. I had to
finish the patient’s procedure while my stomach clenched with terror. I tried
not to let my hands shake as we continued working.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I imagined the worst right away. I’d always been a
glass-half-empty sort-of person. News always meant something bad. But this—a
spot on my lung. It had to be cancer.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> So many thoughts rolled within me at once. I’m only
thirty-eight. My son is ten. I can’t leave him now. He needs me. What about my
parents? We were such a close family. What would this do to them?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> After we dismissed the patient, I told my boss about
the phone call. I excused myself from the office for the rest of the day. I had
to find answers.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I drove three blocks to my physician’s office. I
barely noticed the brilliant hues of the red and gold fall leaves on the trees
lining the streets. People walking along the sidewalks blurred as tears stung
my eyes. Though Thanksgiving would soon be approaching, I had nothing to be
thankful about.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I’d recently had minor outpatient surgery.
Everything had gone well and I’d been on my way to complete recovery. It seemed
odd that the doctor called me now after I’d had all the pre-testing and x-rays
done over a month before. Nobody had informed me of any issues and I’d been
cleared for the procedure.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> When I walked into the doctor’s office and informed
the receptionist I was there, she told me to wait a few minutes and they would
call me back shortly. I tried picking up a magazine to browse through or tried
smiling at the others seated nearby. Nothing worked. I could feel fear choking
me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> New x-rays were taken and I waited for the doctor in
an examination room. It didn’t take long for him to bring in the new films.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> “Here it is,” he pointed out. “A spot on your left
lung.” He compared it to the x-rays taken one month before.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> The words hung in the air until I had the courage to
ask, “What can it be, doctor?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> “Well,” he said, “it could be an old scar from
pneumonia you may have had at one time, or it could be cancer.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Cancer: a word that changes lives. It would
certainly change mine.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I left his office that afternoon completely baffled
and fearful. Further tests would have to be scheduled.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I called my mother that night. “First of all, I
refuse to believe this,” she said. “Also your doctor was too harsh. I want you
to have a second opinion, honey. I’d like you to see my doctor. She’s good and
also very compassionate.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Mom also told me about a pastor she had recently met
in the little antique shop she owned. “He was a good man,” my mother said. “We
got to talking about so many things the day he was in the store. He told me
incredible stories of healing. He said he had been given the gift of healing
hands. I’d like to call him for you if that’s okay.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Though I’d been a bit skeptical as I waited for
further tests, I knocked on the door of the pastor’s small home. He invited me
in, and we sat and chatted for a while. Pictures of Jesus hung on the
wood-paneled walls: Jesus comforting little children and the sick</span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">. Jesus, please comfort me</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">too, </i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I thought. Bibles and inspirational
reference books lined bookshelves. A sense of peace enveloped me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I wanted to
clear my conscience before he prayed. As I spoke, I felt cleansed and a sense
of great relief.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> He anointed my forehead with spice- scented oil that
reminded me of the incense our church used during special seasons. He placed
his hands on my head as he prayed. I could feel the depth and power of the
healing words as he spoke. There seemed to be a warm sensation going from his
hands right through me. When he was done, I thanked him. He asked me to stay in
touch.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> During the time I had to wait for the scheduled
tests, I kept busy with something I enjoyed: raking fall leaves into huge piles
on a crisp afternoon. My mind felt free in the fresh air. I’d been reading my
Bible daily like a warrior getting ready for battle. I prayed bolder prayers
and began to think a bit more positive. The fear that had engulfed me was
replaced by a sense of calmness. The touch of the pastor’s hands had given me
hope.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> My mother’s doctor met us at the local hospital the
day of my tests. She was a tiny lady with a big personality. “I’m going to be
around,” she said to me and Mom. “I want to see the results of the scan
immediately.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Afterward, when we sat in the waiting area, my
mother’s doctor came into the room with a perplexed, but cheerful expression.
“I don’t know what the other doctor saw,” she said. “There is absolutely
nothing on your scans.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Relief flooded me. Mom and I thanked her for the
wonderful news as we hugged one another and cried happy tears.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Later that night as I was praying, I remembered
something that a friend had said to me a few months earlier. She’d called me
one day and said, “Karen, I don’t know why you are supposed to hear these
particular words, but God said everything is going to be okay.” </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">They had been cryptic, but comforting words at the
time, and as I thanked my heavenly father that evening, it came to me: I’d
already been healed from that moment.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> It was easier to think positively as time went on
because I’d become a more powerful prayer warrior. When others had issues in
their lives, I gave them Bible passages that had comforted me during my own
fearful time. I shared my story to bless others. Scriptures were no longer
words but living truth. No longer fearful and negative, my life was filled with
true thanksgiving. It was the best
Thanksgiving ever.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-90358083128055880742020-12-14T13:57:00.002-08:002020-12-14T13:57:45.081-08:00The Tree That Could<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_sWZhVq2ANg/X9fb6XHlV_I/AAAAAAAAB_s/T65vCz9Gim0a-JSGCUv7oEstjhtrTEiuwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_sWZhVq2ANg/X9fb6XHlV_I/AAAAAAAAB_s/T65vCz9Gim0a-JSGCUv7oEstjhtrTEiuwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B065.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e4VNjD-nm88/X9fdLHXXCnI/AAAAAAAACAM/DuHA9rl82bMLMvmoq-6HQXCr0zmA_gsGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20160722_200551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e4VNjD-nm88/X9fdLHXXCnI/AAAAAAAACAM/DuHA9rl82bMLMvmoq-6HQXCr0zmA_gsGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20160722_200551.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J7C-yM5bOz4/X9fdpoD4XXI/AAAAAAAACAU/7KXMDgaMO9QUPfjaXtyF9_qQAydxPPW5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J7C-yM5bOz4/X9fdpoD4XXI/AAAAAAAACAU/7KXMDgaMO9QUPfjaXtyF9_qQAydxPPW5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B588.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LDb1G06NkVs/X9fd247JW9I/AAAAAAAACAY/Fav7eDf9b6Eyjd17lAELm5YlbFzldeg2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1359/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1359" data-original-width="1020" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LDb1G06NkVs/X9fd247JW9I/AAAAAAAACAY/Fav7eDf9b6Eyjd17lAELm5YlbFzldeg2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B163.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P1oc1_M1-gQ/X9feeYr8BtI/AAAAAAAACAk/HsljLoyPPUssPabXuRmacFYSqKyd2NE2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P1oc1_M1-gQ/X9feeYr8BtI/AAAAAAAACAk/HsljLoyPPUssPabXuRmacFYSqKyd2NE2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B008.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pKDz19JOtD0/X9femdxN0eI/AAAAAAAACAo/3KPDdCshC3QpcP-lNFaw2g9hcbGSpQqCQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pKDz19JOtD0/X9femdxN0eI/AAAAAAAACAo/3KPDdCshC3QpcP-lNFaw2g9hcbGSpQqCQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B130.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K4_E2tRmXLE/X9fer7S7h2I/AAAAAAAACAs/ll1si1FkEkcriOnpC061czc4fjSoTjuEwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K4_E2tRmXLE/X9fer7S7h2I/AAAAAAAACAs/ll1si1FkEkcriOnpC061czc4fjSoTjuEwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B503.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0vBEF3yrx8A/X9fexCDB3AI/AAAAAAAACA0/7YS78LBeowM3sgcU6W_5NOSTDd2gjF93QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1811/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B562.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1811" data-original-width="1359" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0vBEF3yrx8A/X9fexCDB3AI/AAAAAAAACA0/7YS78LBeowM3sgcU6W_5NOSTDd2gjF93QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B562.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vttNy5laNUo/X9fe1VAddvI/AAAAAAAACA4/YXOOC3bFQKIYtwWscjrhCUPuB8w-n8s5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vttNy5laNUo/X9fe1VAddvI/AAAAAAAACA4/YXOOC3bFQKIYtwWscjrhCUPuB8w-n8s5QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B598.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JQ3ncJgdG3o/X9fe5JftdFI/AAAAAAAACBA/Uacwl7WQGnsuFFHx3RjWk85dM0_OGxmmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JQ3ncJgdG3o/X9fe5JftdFI/AAAAAAAACBA/Uacwl7WQGnsuFFHx3RjWk85dM0_OGxmmwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Samsung%2Bphotos%2B2020%2B599.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Old friend, you've been a wonderful companion. You've given so much more than you take. Is it any wonder my heart is broken that I may have to lose you?</p><p>Oh, I know what you're thinking: <i>It's just a tree</i> . . . But what a tree! When I first moved to the neighborhood fifteen years ago in the spring, glorious pink flowers cascaded throughout the slender branches. Bees buzzed in the floral extravaganza, birds perched nearby awaiting nest building times. Squirrels sat sentinel observing the lookouts where many nuts and goodies would soon be stored.</p><p>When the pastel blossoms fell as my friend made ready for leafy growth, they spread like a flowering snowfall along the driveway and porch. They paved a lovely path toward summer and all that grows. I made another friend, a male cardinal, who waited in the lower branches of the tree's embrace. When I called out that the seeds were ready, he would fly down and land upon the sundial I use as birdfeeder. He would chirp his thanks, and then the next morning, he would return singing a heavenly song that felt it was meant for only me.</p><p>Near the fall, the crisp, hard crab apples formed and then fell from you. Deer snacked through the night, awaiting the cover of darkness, their private time for family. Then the season of the snowfall and that precious tree never looked more robed in splendor. I stood in awe many many moments, my thoughts swirling with the snowflakes and listened to the silence.</p><p>Knotholes adorned your trunk; so many creatures took warmth in the shelter of your arms. Nests were built again, critters scampered and scurried as you loved them well.</p><p>Little by little, I am losing you. Large parts of who you once were came crashing down. Though you never would harm any of us, I knew it was time--time for the tree surgeon. But did he offer a ray of hope? Perhaps might I not have to lose you? You've been the tree that could. The miracle tree. You bloomed in winter once when my spirits needed to believe. You are my friend. And I will take care of you until you whisper your final farewell.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M-XEjhrgYG0/X9fcM7xS5UI/AAAAAAAAB_0/UvRsfOuSMkoVDWIAHAlkaoEqsLIrfXs_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M-XEjhrgYG0/X9fcM7xS5UI/AAAAAAAAB_0/UvRsfOuSMkoVDWIAHAlkaoEqsLIrfXs_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B230.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e91wPbETc4Q/X9fcgP-QSYI/AAAAAAAAB_8/xtdRVHcy8R8N1oFNrnpQWQaxMxt1nhBiQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e91wPbETc4Q/X9fcgP-QSYI/AAAAAAAAB_8/xtdRVHcy8R8N1oFNrnpQWQaxMxt1nhBiQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B350.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uIav4XOE26U/X9fc5-4vwSI/AAAAAAAACAE/C2UVxNGFnb4yirm2AuEl59dFO3nsFA2DgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20160418_090655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uIav4XOE26U/X9fc5-4vwSI/AAAAAAAACAE/C2UVxNGFnb4yirm2AuEl59dFO3nsFA2DgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20160418_090655.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-73318649121871099552020-11-02T13:31:00.006-08:002020-11-02T13:31:46.100-08:00Heart Choices (An election story)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YenvyO2P7g4/X6B6WuS3qlI/AAAAAAAAB_A/-dpq4kiPUcon9_0rkjMINv3MY-lfV_FKQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B070.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YenvyO2P7g4/X6B6WuS3qlI/AAAAAAAAB_A/-dpq4kiPUcon9_0rkjMINv3MY-lfV_FKQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B070.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I don't know your story and you don't really know mine. I don't know what's in the deepest recesses of your heart, nor do you know what is in mine. Yet I do know that we are children of the same Father God. We are His. We are blessed by Him, loved by Him, and cared for. We may know great sadness, even despair, but out of great pain, He can bring amazing joy.</p><p>What goes on behind closed doors we can only imagine in our neighborhoods and towns. We see with our eyes, but don't really open our hearts. We hear with our ears, but the truth is under the surface most of the time. I've judged others and so I have been judged. But it's time for a change of that hardened heart of mine. Is it time for yours too?</p><p>Not all of us will be voting for the same party at this election. Not all of us believe that Covid is as frightening as somebody else does. We make fun of what we don't understand and talk about what is different from us. I am as guilty as everyone else. I look, but I do not see sometimes. I do not see what is inside that person who is so very different from me; that person who makes different choices than I do, or holds different beliefs. </p><p>I want to set my heart right. I want my soul to shine when I speak and in my actions. I want to be quick to ask for forgiveness when I've done wrong, and quick to forgive even if it is something from many years ago. I want to leave a legacy for my children of a life well-lived, even a life that has changed for the better with each passing year.</p><p>I want to view the world through the eyes of a child but not to live childishly. For there is a difference you see. My heart must be simple, moldable, the clay through which the Father can work. No matter who wins this election, or who comes out on top, or if I believe what is said on every single political commercial, I want to live right. I want to trust that our United States will go on and thrive. I want to believe that in God we trust and that He is always in control no matter who sits on any political throne.</p><p>Let's be the change. Let's stop the hate and the bitterness; the indifference and the anger. Be the change that you want your children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews to see. Be the light and love. Do it with a simple heart of childlike wonder.</p><p><br /></p>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-24770726081233231982020-08-21T14:54:00.001-07:002020-08-21T14:54:40.604-07:00I Gained So Much More<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MS9BlcpHhqA/X0BB0i0t-PI/AAAAAAAAB9g/XB4dNxRlkmUASe-Ar6TxPgBWnlV09y3pgCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/Me%2Band%2BMrs.%2BP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MS9BlcpHhqA/X0BB0i0t-PI/AAAAAAAAB9g/XB4dNxRlkmUASe-Ar6TxPgBWnlV09y3pgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Me%2Band%2BMrs.%2BP.jpg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>In the early 1980's, I married very young. He was charming, handsome, and funny. Everything a girl could hope for. He loved my family, and they loved him right back. Some things began to happen three years into the marriage that began to concern me. The day he told me he was leaving me, I felt as if I ceased to live. I couldn't eat or sleep well, and my self-esteem plummeted. I knew there had to be something wrong with me. Maybe if I had been prettier, skinnier, more affluent. </p><p>My family was hurting right along with me. My little brother had adored him, and my parents couldn't get over the shock. Time passed, as it does, and I lost touch with his family.</p><p>Several years later, I found my ex in-laws once again. My father-in-law cried when we saw one another. We spoke for a while, and then I began to get together with them and my sister-in-law occasionally. It was as if time hadn't passed. These people were still family to me, and I found out that they felt the same way about me.</p><p>I was invited to dinners over their homes. I visited with my mother-in-law when she was in the hospital. When my father-in-law passed away, I grieved. I stayed with them through their sad time and if possible, grew even closer.</p><p>It's been several years now. My life has changed drastically from that twenty-one-year-old girl. I have a son, a new marriage and have lost my own parents more recently. But one thing that has remained is the lovely friendship I've retained with my dear first sister-in-law and mother-in-law. At 93, Mum is an amazing woman. Beautiful, soft-spoken, gracious, and generous. Any time spent with these two is precious to me and I come away from our visits, a better person.</p><p>I wouldn't have known them if I hadn't been married to the man who left me so long ago. Though I never see him, I don't miss what I never had. But what I did have was so much more. I was blessed with people who loved me unconditionally. People I was able to love in return and show my true self. I was blessed with relationships that I would never have had otherwise and kind words, prayers, meals, gifts, conversation and laughter.</p><p>God can turn any situation around. He can make a masterpiece from disaster. He can give love back to someone who felt as if they would never matter to anyone again. He showed me more beauty with these family members through my life, than I may have had if I'd never known them.</p><p>I gained the kindest friends from something that was meant for harm. I gained so much more from the callousness of another. Never think that God won't give you beauty for ashes. His trade off is so much better than the original pain that we feel. </p><p><br /></p>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-41162170917932418582020-06-01T11:57:00.000-07:002020-06-01T11:57:13.500-07:00Masterpiece from Messes<br />
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Sometimes that old devil tries to remind me that I'm not that good at anything. Cakes that I put effort into fall flat. Bread dough doesn't rise, and the new recipe I tried for dinner has hubby looking at me with less than joy on his face.<br />
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Same thing with craft projects. If I'm drawing, I erase enough times that a hole ends up in the paper. When gluing items together, I look at the finished product and then it tumbles like a house of cards. Crocheting is an area I'm especially sensitive. I've watched countless tutorials on how to get that perfect edge and still, I look back after a few rows and I've got a distorted rectangle. Is there nothing I'm one hundred percent perfect at?<br />
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When I write a blog, short story, or even get lost in putting a book together, I plunge forward, so happy that the words are flowing and everything I want to convey is smooth and mistake free. But let's face it: nothing is without flaws. That's where I got the inspiration for today's blog.<br />
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Can we possibly make a masterpiece of some of the messes we've made? Figuratively as well as literally? I've messed up in life enough times, fallen short as mother, daughter, sister, friend, and wife. Yet people seem to forgive me and still love me. I was short-tempered with my mom during her battle with dementia. I still remember times that my actions or words hurt a friend or my husband. I feel that my son had the worst parent in the world when I think of dumb things I did.<br />
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Can I take all that and offer it to the One who can make a better me? Sure I was short with Mom. It wasn't easy. I hurt so much inside missing the woman she once was. Yet there were other times that I forgave myself and found kindness and patience--more than I ever would have imagined. As a mother, I see the good young man my son has grown into, and despite any flaws in my parenting, he makes me proud and happy. Words that are said unkindly can't be taken back, but I have learned to be a person to ask for forgiveness quickly. Or to say I'm sorry; I want to do better. Then I work on those areas that are most difficult.<br />
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So, when a craft project, drawing, crocheting, or other creative things come out less than perfect, what if I step back and take a look at them? Can I see something else in the pattern perhaps? Something I hadn't even thought of? I turned a distorted lap blanket into a cozy pillow cover for my couch. I was ready to throw out a month's worth of work until I saw something different.<br />
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Satan, not today! Today I'll focus on what I've learned from my mistakes. I'll be a better woman, wife, mother, friend, sister, and worker. I'll crochet my little heart out and if something goes awry, it will become something even better! Just like me!<br />
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<br />Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-43241218237417542622020-04-29T04:55:00.001-07:002020-08-22T02:43:52.043-07:00The New Normal<br />
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Yesterday I did something I've probably never done. I've taken naps before; sometimes on days when exhaustion sets in from overworking, and these virus laden days certainly. But when our alarm went off at five a.m., and Jim left a little before six, I went back to bed for four hours! I couldn't believe I'd slept that long.<br />
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Unfortunately that wrought havoc on my nighttime schedule. I tossed and turned for the longest time at bedtime. I had aches and pains that kept me up, thoughts that decided to sneak into my mind, and songs that played on their endless soundtrack of craziness.<br />
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I'd like to tell you I'm used to our new normal but there's a part of me that wants to fight it with everything within. I want to whip the old face mask off, shake some hands, hug some folks, and gather with large masses of people. It's the nonconformist in me. However good girl wins for now, and I obey being diligent, washing hands, wearing my gear, and sanitizing everything in sight.<br />
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I've been writing more than usual, and that is a good thing. I never would have had this much time otherwise. The writer's block that closed the creative center of my brain for the last three years is finally gone and I'm back in the saddle so to speak.<br />
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What other things do I do? I've been cooking better meals and baking more. I watch movies I wouldn't have had time for. I exercise a little each day, or try to get outdoors in the fresh air as much as possible. I crochet, clean closets, look through memorabilia and otherwise think deep thoughts. Some of this hasn't been too bad I guess.<br />
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Bird songs are clearer, flowering trees are prettier, the air is cleaner; appreciation for nature is sacred right now.<br />
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I hope that you are getting used to your new normal, but let's not love it, let's just like it a little. Because time will pass, jobs will return, business as usual, and we may lose a bit of the newfound joy and passion we discovered on this journey.<br />
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I have to admit I had a little panic attack the other day when I heard we have to self-quarantine until April 30th now. <i>I can't do that</i>, I thought. <i>I won't do it. </i>But I will.<br />
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By no means am I taking this lightly. It is sad seeing the case numbers and the lives lost. It is equally sad seeing people being laid off or losing their jobs entirely. I am fortunate to be able to go into work one or two days a week (alone) at my dental office to call patients and open the mail, etc.<br />
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What's bothering me so much though is all the negativity. News, social media, friends, and armchair quarterbacks alike. I think we all need, more than ever, healthy does of what's good, positive, and uplifting.<br />
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Mr. Rogers had once said, "Look for the helpers, when things are scary." (Not in those exact words.) I find that if we do LOOK, they are all around. I see people stepping up for good in so many communities. Though they are practicing social distancing, they are thinking of creative ways to show how much they care, or offer hope, a daily scripture, or a smile. Isn't that the best way to get through a crisis?<br />
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At the time of my life that was the most difficult and saddest, my mother's dementia and subsequent loss of my father and then mother nine months later, I found a lot of good all around me. There were the helpers at that time: friends who brought food, stayed by my side, ran errands, wrote messages of cheer, or called to see what they could do.<br />
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There were moments of laughter between my brother and I. It became a time to remember some of the crazy antics our parents had done through the years. Mom always said to remember her and laugh. I never thought it could be possible, but it was.<br />
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When I was younger, I used to think that the death of my parents would push me over the brink of sanity. And though it was horrible to go through, there was peace that filled my heart. It filled it so much that it overflowed to others. I remember at the funeral home, as people approached me, I sensed a holy presence (the Spirit) all around me. I was able to talk with others and give them the comfort they sought so hard to give to me. I lived and breathed that peace.<br />
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Is it possible to keep peace around us like a shield when all of this is going on in the world? The answer is yes. Sure we can find pockets of peace in the day, when the sun is shining on our face, birds are singing sweetly, we are lost in a great book, or doing something we truly enjoy. But that real inner peace is something else entirely.<br />
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I remember where I was when complete brokenness enveloped me in its gloomy embrace. I sat in the window well of Heritage Valley Hospital. The doctors and nurses weren't holding out much hope any longer for Dad. My brother and I used to will him to live with everything inside us. I used to think if I could keep breathing for him, he will keep breathing for us. As I watched my father on life support, however, I realized those precious breaths were for naught this time.<br />
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In that window of the hospital, I broke and said, "God, your will be done." The words were said with meaning and the knowledge that I'd just let my father go. However I was letting him go completely into God's care and loving arms right then. With my heart breaking, I was able to find courage and peace to say goodbye to my father. It was that courage and peace that stayed with me through his death, funeral, caring for Mom, and her death. It may have wavered a bit, but never left my side.<br />
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May you find that true inner peace and the courageous warrior you can be as we go through this pandemic together. Ask for it. God will answer.<br />
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<br />Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-57750575449890350102020-03-20T11:15:00.002-07:002020-04-22T04:04:42.146-07:00Recurring Dream<div>
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I had the oddest take on an old recurring dream of mine last evening. I know they say that houses represent us in a dream, and I often dream of the first house I grew up in on Duss Avenue in my small hometown of Ambridge.</div>
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Occasionally I dream that my family and I are moving back to our old home. Or other times, I dream that I am taking a tour of my old home with the family that lives there now. More often than not, the house looks fairly similar with the exception of last night.</div>
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I dreamed that it was very late and very dark. I was walking with a group of girls that I knew. The street lights seemed to be out down the block, and we found it a little unnerving. The closer I got to my old house which was now where I was going to live, I saw that the lights were on and all seemed well. I brought the girls inside and noticed that everything was very very different.</div>
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In this dream, it was the first night I would be spending in my old/new house. The previous owners had left some of their things for us to go through, to toss or keep. There was a lot of reconstruction work done; extra staircases going into neat, different places as if the house had grown larger and could accommodate a huge family.</div>
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There was gorgeous new plush carpeting, and the staircases were covered with them and a beautiful polished wood. Though my friends were talking to me on the "first" floor of this home, I became curious to see what my old bedroom now looked like. </div>
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I crept up the stairs, turning lights on, and saw the familiar hallway that led to my room. The oddest thing however, the ceiling was lowered and I had to crawl through a small opening to enter the room. Though the room itself was spacious, yet still filled with debris, some old aquariums where possible turtles and fish once resided, I noticed another room added on that was festive and childish with bunk beds and another staircase going there. </div>
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I took the stairs to the new room and found it delightful and whimsical. I wondered if there was another way into the room, when I saw a door down below. Hmm, that's strange, I thought to myself. I realized that probably led to the old cellar.</div>
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For some reason in my dreams, I never am able to venture into the cellar. I know of no trauma that happened to me there in real life except for a dream I had once when I was little of seeing a devil face in an old mirror. But this time I boldly and bravely threw open the door. I gasped when I saw an ugly cellar, realizing that nobody had ever remodeled this place. There were cobwebs hanging and worst of all, a tunnel into complete darkness and fear off to the side. This is when I awoke and the dream has stayed with me all day.</div>
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In analyzing this dream, I feel that I have "remodeled" much about myself and my life. I think that staircases are just that: ways to connect other rooms and floors of our personality and innermost being. The rooms were very nice, though a little "junk" left over from the previous owners reminds me that I am still getting rid of unnecessary junk in my life from before. </div>
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The cellar bothers me the most, however. For there must be a part of myself that is fearful and dark. There are things hidden away that I still haven't remodeled or "fixed." And the scary parts that I don't want to see, must be the psyche, the part of self that we all fear whatever that may be.</div>
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All in all, I feel it was a very good dream. Anytime we learn from them, and feel we can translate them a bit, helps us to grow a little more.</div>
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Perhaps someday that scary old cellar will become radiant and bright. I'm hoping. </div>
Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-29872970483798494232020-03-08T13:07:00.003-07:002020-03-08T13:13:06.717-07:00The Pretending Game<br />
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An
old steel town has its stories. Has its characters and secrets too. . .</div>
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Growing up in a small town was magical at
times. When we children rode our bikes around the neighborhood, we
imagined all sorts of mysteries behind closed doors. There were neighbors
to fear, cranky old spinsters who knew everyone’s business; Moody
fathers of friends that you had to tiptoe around. There was the
special needs man who spoke of nothing but tragedies that we children would hide
from. There were also sweet people like my next door neighbors who had a creaky
porch swing that they would allow me to sit on and swing every so
often. And sometimes as the husband watered his flowers with a hose,
he would squirt us children as we walked past and look away, feigning
innocence as we giggled uncontrollably.</div>
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There were little outdoor parties that my friend Patty and I
would gather small feasts of junk food: mini donuts, crackers, cookies, and
cakes. Sometimes we would hang a huge blanket over the railing of her back
porch and eat in the cozy tent we’d created.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We pretended our bikes were cars as we rode along the sidewalks.
We would stop at the red lights and go on green. We played countless
hide-and-seek games, board games, and swam in little inflatable pools in the
summer. We tried to make outdoor carnivals, and pretended to sail away in grape
crates to what my grandparents affectionately called The Old Country.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Nothing was more exciting than Nonna’s attic. Old houses
back in the day were famous for these extra rooms. There were cardboard boxes
stuffed with yellowing newspapers which held layers of voluminous bridesmaid
dresses and pretty clothes. There were steamer trunks with their slightly musty
scent piled with assorted goodies—doilies, sewing boxes, hand-crocheted items
and knick knacks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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An attic that was big enough to have two double beds and assorted
antique furniture was better than any clubhouse for me and my cousin. There was
a small, mysterious room in one corner that had a small fire once and it still
held the scent of old smoke. Yellowing, cracked linoleum lined the floor. Yet
to me, it was as beautiful as a mansion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Nonna had a tin button container that my cousin Anna and I
adored. There were lovely rhinestone buttons, plastic buttons that looked like
flowers, metal ones and opaque colored ones. It was a favorite playtime of
ours, to choose our favorites and pretend they were “people.” Nonna’s button
was always the biggest one with a large sparkling stone in the center. Our
mom’s buttons were more conservative—plain, white ones. Mine was light blue
with a floral print and a tiny stone in the center. Buttons were just small
enough to fit anywhere—to have incredible adventures, and always have a story
that ended happily ever after.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Many people at that time had
borders that stayed with them—people who paid a small amount of rent for a
room. Nonna had Phil. He worked in a local steel mill, and became like a member
of the family. He was a true gentleman, kind and very funny.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My
grandmother made regular Sunday dinners with homemade spaghetti, the softest,
tastiest meatballs, tender veal cutlets, Italian bread and salad. These dinners
were wonderful times and nothing could break the bond of the feeling of family
surrounding that table.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Phil would make me and my cousin giggle during dinner. He also
would get us to finish our whole plate of food by saying that whoever was the
last one eating, was the “monkey.” Nobody wanted this title, so I blame Phil for
my weight gain and love of food later in life. Then Anna and I would help Nonna
clear the table and squabble over who got to wash the dishes, and who had to
dry them. Anna was older than me by several months, so somehow she always
seemed to win the best of our fights.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sometimes Nonna and
Nono had friends over for card-playing nights. Wine flowed freely, and chatter
was mostly in Italian. I sometimes sat watching them play and they tried
teaching me the rules to a game of Scopa, an Italian card game. My eyes became
heavy as they played late into the night, and Nonna would walk me up to her
room and tuck me into her bed. She closed the door, and as I drifted to sleep,
I could still hear their hearty laughter and talk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<o:p></o:p>
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Childhood was my own Narnia world. Though there were realistically
bad events, nothing could steal my imagination. Pretending became balm to me;
an escapism that I sometimes wish I could still find. If I was really someone
else, nothing could harm me, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Is it any wonder that every so often, I visit the childhood of my
youth? Sometimes I drive along the streets where I used to play. And other
times I travel only in my memory. For there it is safe, there it is only a
shadow, one that I can embrace if I care to, or leave behind for a little
while. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Take a moment to remember your journey of pretending. Stay a
while, but not too long. It's a special place.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-89037234693963742532020-02-21T14:16:00.003-08:002020-08-22T02:38:38.417-07:00Prayer Partner<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_mGYOng6QEg/X0DnRK4XarI/AAAAAAAAB-A/jdPtDXnB8fYZYnQtrUhI10Xvvy0DoX4GACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_mGYOng6QEg/X0DnRK4XarI/AAAAAAAAB-A/jdPtDXnB8fYZYnQtrUhI10Xvvy0DoX4GACLcBGAsYHQ/w360-h640/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B113.jpg" width="360" /></a><br />
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Lately I've been beating myself up. It has been about three years since I've been able to sit and write a novel. I used to churn out one a year back in the day when I began fiction writing. But something has made me stop and wait. Call it writer's block, fear, laziness, or being tired, I have kept telling myself that I'm a failure for not plunging deeply into a memoir that I've been wanting to write.<br />
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One wonderful thing that has happened, however, is the ability to write short, true, heartfelt tales. It's been easy to think about Mom and Dad stories and share them with others. I've been fortunate to have a few of them chosen by Guidepost magazine for publication.<br />
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I joined a Facebook group called Guidepost Magazine Stories. There is a nice bunch of people that write daily inspirational blurbs or share inspiring messages of hope in that group. I am one of them. I enjoy posting lovely pictures and using what I feel are God-inspired words of encouragement.<br />
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Today I had the honor of hearing from one of the members. Oddly enough, she reached out to me to become a prayer partner, or prayer sister with her. I hesitated briefly because I wondered what that entailed. Would I have to talk with her daily and try to encourage her? Would I have to give up precious time to another human being?<br />
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Then it hit me. Karen, you pray daily for God to give you the words to bless others. You ask Him to show you people that need hope and help. To say the right words, write the best words or pray for others. I decided to accept the role of prayer partner for this lady. I could tell it meant the world to her. She had found me on the Guidepost page. There are no coincidences. God has me where He wants me. I just have to keep answering the call. If a memoir is in my near future, He will bless it to fruition. If the short writings are to continue to hold others in prayer and give them hope, then I step into that gladly as well.<br />
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Prayer partner. . . It has a lovely sound to it. Do you need one today? Are you one? Will you take the call, and lift others up even when you are tired or not in the mood? Let's do it together. No telling how much we can change a life one prayer at a time.<br />
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<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UOiplrPVTuw/X0DmYQW6JoI/AAAAAAAAB90/PxM0ODH-p0QwEvmfcgo3QI74bK3Yd8QCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UOiplrPVTuw/X0DmYQW6JoI/AAAAAAAAB90/PxM0ODH-p0QwEvmfcgo3QI74bK3Yd8QCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Photos%2Bfrom%2BSamsung%2Bphone%2B111.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-54246992451959313362020-01-13T13:41:00.001-08:002020-07-12T04:31:32.679-07:00Home <br />
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This photo evokes so many memories. I can picture Mom sitting on the couch, trying to hear the television while we all gabbed sitting around the old living room. I can picture Dad in his favorite chair telling a story about some infraction that happened on one of his bills, or a high-priced grocery item he found for less elsewhere. Many laughs were shared in this room, and a few tears were shed. Lessons were learned, and love surrounded those who entered.<br />
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This is the home of part of my youth where we moved when I was about twelve. We left old memories--ghosts if you will--and began a new life in the home on Highland.<br />
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Mom became well and strong in this place putting behind the sadness she had carried for so long. There were woods behind the house and all sorts of new creatures: raccoons, chipmunks, rabbits, squirrels and deer. For my mother, someone who adored animals, it was a Disney dream-come-true.<br />
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I can see countless beloved cats and dogs lined before my mother; each with adoration in their eyes vying for her attention. And I can see Mom stroking each one, talking to them in that special way she reserved for her dear animals as if they understood every word.<br />
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This home holds a place of peace and solitude in my heart. It carries memories of holidays, birthdays, and wonderful meals cooked. It welcomed friends and relatives old and new. It became a steadfast rock of Gibraltar to us all. It welcomed the birth of my dear brother.<br />
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In later years, my son would come to know and love this house. He would learn that his grandparent's stories were special and to be treasured. That their legacy was something to keep alive long after they were gone.<br />
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There's a golden glow to this photo, as if the Lord placed a blessing over this precious room, this house so dear to me. I would come to know God as true Love while living there. My parents had a simple faith, a quiet faith. But their lessons came from how they treated each other and everyone they knew. My mother said that everyone has a story and I learned that they did.<br />
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Home in a small town. A place where simplicity thrived. A time when goodness was in the very fiber of lives well-lived. Let me visit there for a moment, but let me not tarry too long. For sadness may begin to creep in as I walk the path of memory lane. And at least for today, I'd like the memories to be ones filled with nothing but happiness.<br />
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<br />Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-37522584133236881062019-10-25T13:14:00.001-07:002019-10-25T13:14:40.934-07:00Get Busy Living<br />
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The other night I watched Tyler Perry's "The Family That Preys Together." Kathy Bates was incredible in it, as she is in most everything she does. She was a middle-aged woman who was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's and decided to live life to the fullest by taking a trip across country with her best friend.<br />
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One night into the trip, she wakes up crying unable to be consoled. It is then she tells her friend about the diagnosis. That powerful scene hit me very hard, not only because of my mom and what we went through, but also because I am heading into higher birthday numbers.<br />
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I sat and cried after the movie ended. I began thinking about my life, what I may have accomplished, and what good I can do with the time I have left. I'd been journaling a lot and writing things I want our children to see when I'm gone. Writing, to me, is a powerful way to share what I can't say sometimes or what I want to impart upon people who I may not have reached in other ways.<br />
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I did get caught in a self-pity party though. My bones are aching, my hair is thinning, my body is spreading into a different version of itself. I see lines on my face that weren't there before, and I tire much more easily. Fear crept in and made me realize that I've lived most of my life already, and that the remaining years won't be as long as the former. Wow, talk about a downer!<br />
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I spoke to someone who helped me to look at life right now in the way it should be viewed. With eyes wide open, heart full of love, ready to embrace whatever the coming years offer. In the movie "The Shawshank Redemption," Morgan Freeman's famous line is "Get busy living, or get busy dying." Yes, that is a wonderful way to view the years. I can choose to ponder the aging process, worrying over every small change that is occurring, or I can beat it at its own game by a renewed sense of passion and purpose every single day.<br />
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My father got busy living no matter what curve ball was thrown his way. When he couldn't refinish large furniture projects any longer due to health issues, he began to make small crafts instead. He told me he didn't want to die in a rocking chair, doing nothing. And he didn't.<br />
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Age is just a number. And when that number gives you the willies, or makes you pause for a moment and say, "Wow, I can't believe I'm almost _________ years old," we can console ourselves by thinking about our blessings. We can give ourselves powerful self-love with positive self-talk. I still have hair, my body works great, I am able to walk and enjoy the outdoors, I get a great night's sleep and enjoy naps. I work with my hands, I can hear great music, read excellent books. I can talk with loved ones and good friends. Our lists can go on and on.<br />
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Today I'm choosing to stick out my tongue at a birthday number. Maybe even thumb my nose at it. After all, the most fun part of getting older is getting away with a few things we weren't able to do a few years ago. We are now the outspoken ones. So let's get busy living!!<br />
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<br />Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-88339226536694586802019-10-21T14:03:00.001-07:002019-10-21T14:03:35.747-07:00A Day With My Son<br />
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If there's one person I love spending time with, it's my son, Matt. He is the type of guy that has patience, understanding, a sweet disposition, and usually a lot of positivity. Yesterday we took a small trip to Living Treasures animal park, and then a state park in our area, Kooser.<br />
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Since we are both animal lovers, we took a lot of time at the animal park. We bought carrots and bagged, crunchy animal food. We had cameras ready and a beautiful day ahead of us. We stopped for lengthy visits with animals all over the park. And it was a good time of day because we were greeted by some very furry, very hungry creatures.<br />
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Our next stop at the state park was for picture-taking. It was then I noticed my son as if seeing him for the first time. How he lined up his camera shots perfectly. How he was never in a hurry to see the next thing, but was content to be in the moment, enjoying what visions awaited him through his camera lens.<br />
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In the hustle bustle of life, I am used to seeing people hurrying to the next thing and the next, eager to get their fix on the prize of the moment. Matt seems to want to live in the moment. I have seen his photographs in the past, some of which are almost prize-winning in my opinion. I'm grateful that he has an eye for beauty in nature. I'm thrilled that he has a heart for God's creatures.<br />
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Sometimes when we are together, we have long talks about this and that. And some days we are content to be quiet in the moment. Every mother has a sixth sense about their child though, and I realized something was bugging him after our day was over.<br />
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I wanted to fix everything he talked about. I wanted to say life is fair and everything turns out perfectly each day. But life isn't fair, and at times, it's less than perfect. But if there is one thing I can say to him, it would be: <i>Don't change who you are through the bad times.</i><br />
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It's easy to get caught in a web of anger when we are in a bad spot. It's easy to almost have a personality change and become something or someone we aren't usually. But if we continue to smile through the rough patches, believe in the best, don't compromise our beliefs in bad moments, and keep a positive outlook when times are less than perfect, I believe we can chase away the old devil.<br />
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He runs from the good and just dances with glee when we are morose and bitter. Let's show him who's boss and Who we believe in--God and the good in humanity. Let's, as parents, pray for our children, calling favor, faith, and blessing over their lives. Let's not give in to fear and doubt, but let the moments that define us be ones of light, life, and the knowledge that we are in the Best hands!<br />
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Awesome multi-colored peacock at the park!<br />
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My favorite animal yesterday. An albino wallaby! I wanted to take him home...<br />
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Great shot before a small bridge at Kooser.<br />
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I just love a babbling brook.<br />
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The eye of the photographer.<br />
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My son's family friendly YouTube channel:<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCMe8Y3zO7_la3uHaWR3OVrg">https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCMe8Y3zO7_la3uHaWR3OVrg</a><br />
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<br />Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6887010026506190141.post-22886139521573665642019-09-16T14:54:00.001-07:002019-09-17T15:31:12.604-07:00Pick Yourself Up<br />
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I remember thinking there were things I would never get over; things I would never forgive myself for doing--for the mistakes I made, for hurting another person. Times I may have passed up a golden opportunity, or not done the right thing in a given situation.<br />
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I used to get lost in this trap--the trap of "I'm the worst person there is." Or, "I will never get another chance or a good break, or be able to change, grow, or learn from my mistakes."<br />
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Let me tell you something: That is a lie! A total untruth! It is a trick from the enemy to keep us down, keep us riddled with anxiety and guilt. The real truth is there is not ONE of us who is perfect; not one of us who don't make daily mistakes whether on the job, perhaps in raising our kids, in something we said to another person during the day that just flew out of our mouth that we wish we could take back.<br />
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Perhaps we have made poor financial decisions. I think there are many of us who got ourselves into a pit of bad money mistakes. Is it the end? Doom and gloom? Nope, and I'm here to tell you. Many years ago, financial burden put me and some others into bankruptcy. I felt like an idiot, not worthy, very down on myself. But one day at a time, I worked my way out of it. I kept at a good job. I didn't spend anything unnecessarily for a very long time. Oh, I would treat myself to an occasional goodie, but there were things I had to miss for a few years knowing I wanted to be on the other side of this issue.<br />
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I began tithing. I read about giving ten percent of my wages to my church and I did this in earnest. Even at my lowest, things began to work out. When I tithed, God took care of ALL of my needs. Not just a few, but every one of them. Maybe I wasn't rich, but I was able to pay my bills, and have a little left over to enjoy some of the small things in life.<br />
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How much easier it is to say poor me. But you are not poor, you are rich in the love of God, rich in the blessings surrounding you. What do you have? Maybe you have your health which is truly everything. Perhaps you have children who adore you. Or you have friends that you can share a healthy laugh with every once in a while. You have a home, small luxuries that to others would make you seem wealthy. You have breath in your lungs, the ability to walk, work, and play.<br />
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Maybe you haven't met the love of your life yet. Or maybe you feel time has treated you unfairly and others get all the breaks. I learned a lesson with this as well. Instead of jealousy, I began to choose to be a person of compliments and encouragement. I knew that some of the very things I was envious of, could be mine too if I worked hard enough at it. Maybe with baby steps, or in very small ways, but as long as I was doing something toward my goals, perhaps writing, then I could reach small successes too.<br />
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If I wasn't willing to put out the work, how could I expect any glory? If I wanted what others had but wasn't willing to put the time into the very things I desired? I never knew what sacrifices those people might have had to overcome to be who they are.<br />
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Even if we make one small change when we wake up tomorrow. We decide this will be the day we ____________. This is the day we take a step toward a good goal and a new outcome. This is a day where anything, even a miracle however small or large is possible. Because it is. Believe in yourself, but believe in a God Who can direct you to the life you've always dreamed of.<br />
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<i>Heavenly Father, thank you for the person reading this. I'm hoping you direct them to the words they need to hear; Words that are not mine, but Yours. Give them courage to take a step in the direction they are meant to go. Give them Your favor, peace, unconditional love, and blessing. In Jesus name.</i><br />
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<br />Karen L. Malenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00790287767084552092noreply@blogger.com0