Remember when you were little -- and maybe, if you’ve got the voices of little ones around you now, this will doubly resonate with you -- how the passage of time seemed to move so excruciatingly slowly?
“Then the lion said — but I don’t know if it spoke — You will have to let me undress you. I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.
“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was jut the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know — if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” said Edmund.
Some people hate funerals. I find them comforting. They hit the pause button on life and remind us that it has an end. Every eulogy reminds me to deepen my dash, that place on the tombstone between our birth and our death. ~ Regina Brett
The other day I was sitting in a hospital room with my best friend, who'd been in surgery the day before, and with her family, marking the slow passage of the hours of recovery, during which doctors and nurses cycled through and checked tubes and monitors.
It sounds a little morbid, but the conversation turned to funerals. We were talking about caring for others in their joys and sorrows and afflictions. I was reminded of this post from my previous blog, Why Me?, which providentially was written three years to the day prior to that discussion.
“Is he safe?”
This was the question King David asked the messengers. A league of rebels had mounted an insurrection against the throne, and during a sortie, the armies of the king encountered the rebel forces. David had been waiting for news about the fighting, and when he saw the fleet-footed courier appear on the horizon, he was anxious to hear the report he brought.
Most of the time, for me, the idea for a blog post comes from a conversation I have with myself that continues over a period of a few days. As soon as I realize the topic is developing into a potential post, I open a draft in Weebly and begin dumping into it all the thoughts, quotes, article links, etc., that have crossed my mind or my path that may contribute to a final post. Some do get to the final, and some don't. And some drafts make it to the blog. But these 16 haven't.
Photo credit: IStock
Beauty. In our culture, it's pursued. It's glorified. It's feted. We have contests, we are drawn to mid-level marketing ventures, and millions log on to online and media platforms that introduce new and rare treatments almost daily. The products and services that promise to enhance beauty make up a multi-billion dollar industry (over $55B in 2015 alone).
When birth takes place, there is a moment when, despite the beating of the heart, despite the functioning of the organs -- which all begin before delivery into this world -- life cannot be sustained without oxygen entering the lungs. Smack. Gasp. Wail. And here you go, Mom, here’s your baby, and who did he get that temper from? (Adam, I thought to myself -- because I too was gasping too much to form the words with my mouth, he got that from Adam our first parent.)
It's one of the great conflicts that Christian believers have that their lives are not at the mercy --- for one nanosecond --- of the events, the unforeseen events, and tragedies, and perplexities of this world, because our lives are hid with Christ in God, our times are in his hands, underneath us are the everlasting arms.
The March for Life 2017 is over. A new president is making decisions that propose to reduce the number of abortions, and we pro-lifers are enjoying a mountain-top experience right now. It’d be easy to gaze toward a future where our efforts won’t be needed -- or at least not with so much intensity -- and take it easy for a while.
Indy wiggles and squirms, her eyes locked on the treat dangling over her nose. Her legs jerk a little here and there, like she might jump up to grab it out of my hand. But there’s one thing she’s learned. If her bottom leaves the floor, she loses the treat. She has to show self-control. She knows it. She knows without the restraint on herself, she will lose the good thing coming to her.
Even my impetuous hound dog understands the virtue of self-control.
Her March Isn't Over
Across the River
When God Pries My Fingers Off My Children
Life's Defining Moments
To the Christian Wife Who Berated Her Husband in Front of My Daughter
Zeal and Grace in France
An Unconventional Love Story
Seeing What's in Front of Our Eyes
Remembering Why I Called You Hannah
Love Your Sister.
Because He Came Home
Go Valiantly! A Prayer for New Homeschooling Moms
© lauraenglandmiller, #thereyougothinkingagain, Laura E Miller
2015-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of written material and images without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to #thereyougothinkingagain, lauraenglandmiller, or Laura E Miller with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.