The Daddy Bear Hug

Written three years ago, but it seems like yesterday...

 I sit on the bench, a lot, and I have a bird's eye view of people.  They don't know that I'm observing them, and sometimes I'm not even aware of it myself.  But, this particular instance gripped my heart and still pulls on my heart strings, and I feel compelled to share it with you.

Saturday morning's dress rehearsal called in the entire cast:  orchestra, choir, drama team, media team, and even the children's choir.  We all felt the excitement of the next day's performances.  Christmas music filled the sanctuary as it flowed through our fingers, through our voices, and from our hearts, and I felt extremely good about the music because this year I was prepared.  Or, so I thought.

Rehearsed and ready to go, I listened as our director called for the opening orchestral prelude.  Oh, my gosh... I had forgotten all about that one!!!  I had all the choir's music on my agenda, but had totally forgotten about anything and everything else, including the prelude.  When I looked at the score, I knew I was in big trouble, and that this was not a piece I could jump in and successfully sight read.  Even with a week's rehearsal, my fingers still might not be able to move as quickly as the tempo required, so I swallowed hard and tried not to panic or fall off the bench as the director began the downbeat.

It's a sinking feeling when you realize you are about to be exposed... when your mistakes are made public, and all those around you see your inadequacies and your faults.  No one likes to stumble-fumble, especially in front of an audience, and it surely hurts our pride when we do.  But, that's what happened to me.


The orchestra played through it once, then our director gave the call to play it again.  So, I fell flat on my face twice. I was so embarrassed, and extremely mad at myself for my blunder, and I couldn't blame anyone else for this mistake, ah, these mistakes.  This was my fault.  It was one of those moments where you feel like a little kid again, a kid at school who hasn't done her homework.  You know that feeling of when your head droops, and your shoulders drag the ground, and you wish you could crawl under the bed with a bag of cookies.  I felt terribly low and needed a hug or a good cry!  But, instead, I promised my "patient" musical director that I would know it by "tomorrow", and he smiled.  Thank heavens he's a trusting soul!

Things improved from then on, I'm so glad to say, and there were no outstanding glitches in the music.  My feelings of "rattledness" and low self-esteem began to fade away as the music flowed and lifted us all to a "higher" place.  The choir in the loft sang boldly and beautifully, and the celebration of our Lord's birth was proclaimed through the many talents present in the room.  All was well, once again.  

When it was time for the children to come onstage, they enthusiastically jumped up and scrambled up the stairs to their proper places.  One of our pretty girls tripped on the last two steps and did sort of a butterfly flittering with her arms & legs:  quite graceful, actually, for a stumble.  It wasn't that noticeable until she began her giggling and landed with a sort of unexpected "thud".  She handled it very well.  She landed upright, and nothing was injured, thank goodness.  Everything was intact; nothing hurt, except her pride.

Ah, I knew that feeling all too well for I, also, had landed upright, but with wounded pride.  She and I were now kindred spirits, and my heart ached for her.  I knew exactly how she felt, and I wanted to tell her "there, there now... it's okay", but I didn't need to because someone else thought of it before I did; someone even more appropriate than I.  Her daddy was in the orchestra, and he saw it all unfold.  That man didn't miss a beat!  As her giggling continued, he jumped up from his chair and hurried  over to her and gave her one huge bear hug!  He patted her lovingly on the shoulders and whispered something secretly in her ear. Then her daddy walked back to his assigned place in the orchestra and resumed his playing, while she joined in with her choir as if nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened.  Something magical had just occurred, and I witnessed it firsthand.  Her smile told more than she realized, and I breathed a sigh of relief for her. With that one unselfish act of kindness, love had filled the room, and there was so much of it that even I, way over on the piano bench, felt loved.   Wow... it was a powerful experience!  It was precious to watch, and it was a perfect picture of why we were there and of what we were all celebrating.

It's all about a father's love:  the Christmas season.  Isn't it?  We all need it so desperately, and God our Father gives it abundantly to all who receive Him.  We all stumble in our own ways... our pretty young lady, me, you, all of us... and there's nothing sweeter than love picking us back up and wrapping its arms around us and hearing it lovingly say, "there, there now... I love you, baby.  It's okay, and everything's gonna be alright".
 
Mmmm... that's a mighty good feeling, and one I wish for all of us, whether we deserve it, or not. They say that love isn't love until we give it away.  So, since this is the Christmas Season, let's find someone who needs a good ol' bear hug, and let's go out there together and share the Good News. There is a world out there who is hungry for someone to love them, and there is a Someone who does.  His name is Jesus.

Christ is born, and He shall reign forever, and ever!
 
May God bless us, one and all today... and because we stumble, may we all keep a firm grip on our loving Father's hand.

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou

 ³⁰And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.
 ³¹And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS.
 ³²He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David:
 ³³And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.
                                    ----Luke 1:30-33  New International Version Bible

                                                

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

The Iddy, Biddy Diddy

Ever feel like you're trying "too hard"?  Is this truly a possibility or is it just a scam people use as a tactic to get you to stop doing what you're doing?

If someone tells me I'm trying too hard, then it has to be "the scam".  Yea, it's a scam, alright.  However, if I decide that I really am trying too hard, like if I'm black & blue from hitting my head against a wall, then maybe it is time to back off... unless, of course, it is for my family, or for my loved ones, or my friends, or my so-so friends, or my list of people that make me crazy, or my hobbies, or my job, or my latest project, or my next project, or my "I should do this" list, or my "I have to do this" list, or, and by all means... my beloved bucket list.

Hmmm... guess that just about covers it.

No sense in beating my head against the wall to get this point across.  After all, I have to save my energy for daunting projects.  So, let me close with this delightful little, iddy, biddy diddy...

Passionate souls are stubborn souls.
Stubborn souls are hard to sway.
So, if ye be a soul like me,
pray "stubborn" goes away.

Ah, I feel better now.  Let the day begin!

Just call me:  your friend, your want-to-be friend, your so-so friend, or...
"She makes a' me crazy" friend,

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou


p.s. #1  I'm practicing for the Mean Old Lady Olympics.

p.s. #2  I hear they have a competition called Quick Wit.

p.s. #3  I'm sharpening my skills... uh, tongue.

p.s. #4  There is a scripture in Proverbs or somewhere in the Bible about not being stubborn.  I should look it up.

p.s. #5  Can't... I'm too stubborn.

p.s. #6  Yikes!  Feeling convicted.

I Samuel 15:23, Holy Bible, King James Version
"For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry..."

p.s. #7  Uh, oh...  

I John 1:9, Holy Bible, King James Version
"If we CONFESS OUR SINS, he is faithful and just to FORGIVE OUR SINS, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." 

p.s. #8  Sweet... Thank you, Jesus!


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved

The Clothesline

I enjoy my living room with its gold, amber & crimson colors.  The visual warmth surrounds me and welcomes me onto its cushions and beckons me to stay awhile.  Except for this morning!

He told me that he had washed a load of laundry and spread it out for it to finish drying, and that it was in the living room on the love seat.  (That's our modern day clothesline around here, that, and the sofa.)   This is normal at my house because I have a husband who knows how to do laundry and doesn't seem to mind doing it.  Fortunate am I.  Entertained, also.  The laundry load was "whites":  his underwear & our socks.  I know you're already thinking that he mixed colors in with the whites, but that's not so.  He is very good at the job, and today's story takes a different direction, so just sit back and let me continue.

In my morning stupor, I rambled through the house waking up, and my mind drifted back to my real clothesline days in Duncan, Oklahoma.  My parents, brother and I lived on the northern edge of town on five acres with a big front yard.  Tall oak and blackjack trees dotted the fence line and a few peach trees stood between the oaks and the big, long clothesline. Even with the trees, the view of the clothesline was quite public and anything on display there was like a giant checkered flag waving at all passersby calling, "Look at me.  Look at me!"

I thought nothing of it until I became a "developing" young woman.  Now, I am certain that I didn't do my fair share of laundry or other household chores, but it when it came time to hang out the clothes, I just nearly died when I had to hang out my brother's & daddy's  underwear and mama's & my  panties and  bras.  I always saved them for the last, and I always did my best to hide them, pinning them on the middle of the three wire lines with the towels, sheets & such hanging on the outer lines.  I even tried double & triple layering items, but they took forever to dry.  When I was out there, I worked as fast as I could, hoping no one would see me or notice the "underwear" flapping in the breeze.

You need to understand that this was before we had a real clothes dryer, and we weren't the only family who used nature to dry our clothes.  But, it seems to me that we had the longest clothesline in town, and this girl wanted to be like my uptown girlfriends who finished their laundry inside.  I remember when the city changed our street name from North 10th to Country Club Road, how excited I was about now being a "city girl".  But when I had to hang out clothes, my embarrassment quadrupled!  How could we be so "country" when we lived on a city street called "Country Club Road"???  "Why couldn't we get a dryer like normal people???"  "Why? Why? Why?"  Mama & Daddy paid no attention to my whining.  They just smiled when they handed me a laundry basket of wet, clean clothes and pushed me out the door.

Just so you'll know I'm not completely dumb, I finally did realize that I could hang the lady garments inside over the bathtub.  That was a small victory for pride, and such an easy solution.  It just took me several years to figure it out, though... some of us folks are just kind of slow at progress, and I guess I'm one of them. 

Golly, that was about forty years ago.  And, now, I'm back to the present time.  I thought what a neat story I could write about my husband's string of white undies spread all over the living room love seat.  But, when I walked in with my camera to capture the vision, he had already removed half of the proof.  When he realized what I was doing, he blocked my camera shot, and then he shamed me for making fun of his efforts to help with the laundry.  We laughed, and I teased him about putting it all back so I could show you how funny it all looked, but he didn't seem to think it was too funny.  Now, that's funny! 

So here I sit, telling it all, and this may be the last time he washes my socks.  It may take me a few years to figure out why, since some of us folks are just kind of  slow at progress, and I guess I'm one of them... but, oh... what fun!

Since I have no picture to show you, just use your imagination.  Stark white men's underwear (drawers, as we used to say) and white socks of all shapes & sizes strewn across the Mediterranean love seat.  A vision of oxymorons, or let me say... oxipowders!

Pardon me while I continue...
You may pick one of the following as my closing line:

Cheers to the clotheslines of now & then!
Hip-hip hoorays to those who get my Dreft!

May the Tide of change be easy for All!

Blessed are those who are Downy and hung out to dry.

Wisking you easy stain removal as you Shout your colors loud & strong.

May Gain restrain your Arm & Hammer.

Resolve to Bounce back to days of Ivory Snow.

May clean laundry be yours as you Spray & Wash, Purex & Clorox.

and my favorite...

Snuggles  to you!

Laughing and looking feverishly for my clean, white socks...

Cindy Lou



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

My Flag

Triumphant it stood.
Boldly it waved.
Courage and strength it told.
I watched it furl in jet streamed sky
and wondered how am I
so fortunate to sit beneath this flag,
on freedom's common ground.

What price was paid I cannot grasp,
can't fathom freedom's cost,
but as I view Old Glory's flight
I pray we shall:
not faint,
give hope to night,
turn wrong to right,
and be worthy of the name...
America...
America...
America.

                  --Cindy Lou Hodges


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

Fire, Fire... Hair on Fire!

It was the month of December in a quiet neighborhood in central Texas.  It was your typical Sunday morning worship service in this Southern Baptist Church.  Traditional Christmas carols and festive decorations filled the room, but there was nothing typical about things when her hair caught on fire!  I guess you could say, "That's when all hell broke loose!"

I was the pianist, and she, Miss M, was the keyboardist.  We were just about four feet apart from each other.  What separated us was a short banister wall, about "hip high", and of course, the votive candles were lit for the morning's service.  All was well, and the congregation seemed to be singing better than usual.  They actually were in tune with our choir, and our minister of music was giving it his all as he lead the joyful sounds of praise and worship.  Our pastor was deep in thought, or prayer, or something, but by the look on his face one could tell that he, too, was enjoying the service.  It was a packed house and joy filled the sanctuary.  Everyone was in their proper place, and as they say, there was peace in the valley.

Then, it happened.  We were in the middle of one of our favorite Christmas carols:  congregation singing, piano playing, keyboard roaring.  And then, she leaned forward with her head tilted down somewhat... ka-whooooosh!  The top of her hair caught on fire! 

Out of my peripheral vision I saw this instant flash of bright, white light.  There seemed to be some very pale yellow, kind of lemon yellow, and a very delicate shade of lavender mixed with some blue in it, too.  I thought it was very pretty, until I realized what it really was!  "Oh, my gosh... it's a fire!  Dear, God... her hair's on fire!!!" 

Now, you have to understand, that at this exact time in space, everything was in slow motion:  very, very slow motion... even though we're talking about just a matter of seconds.  As my fingers kept playing the Christmas call to worship, my eyes saw three or four deacons rushing towards the piano and keyboard.  They looked like linebackers from a football team, but they had this horrid look of fear on their faces.  They seemed to do some sort of shuffle run, then they would halfway halt, then start moving forward again.  It was a strange sight, I tell you.  Frightening, too, because they were running straight towards us...  Miss M and me. 

I don't know what finally clicked in my mind, but thank goodness it did.  I jumped up and started hitting Miss M on the head, patting out the fire.  Wisps of singed hair floated all around us, kind of like tiny dark feathers sifting through the air.  It was as if we were on film, and that the film's shutter speed was slowly clicking from frame to frame.., or in this case, from "flame to flame".  The very distinguishable odor of singed hair overpowered everything:  the scented cinnamon spice candles, the holiday fragrance of the evergreens, and even my gently applied Channel #5.

It all happened unbelievably fast, and then, in a flash, it was over.  Done.  Gone.  Fire out.  Oh, the candles kept burning, and the congregation kept singing. Well, mostly.  The singing did sort of die down, but I'm not sure the folks on the back rows ever knew why or that a ruckus had occurred right there on Sunday morning, in their peaceful little church. 

Our minister of music recounts that everything in that service was going great until he looked over and saw his pianist beating the keyboardist on the head.  Guess he missed the vision of the flames, but he sure as heck saw his two musicians decking it out with each other, and that's what he remembers to this day!

As for the deacons, the men that rushed to the front, they weren't needed after all.  My speed and position allowed me to take care of the "situation", and so, they fumbled back to their pews, shaking their heads wondering what on earth had happened. 

Musically, the song survived.  Only a few measures were without accompaniment, and once the flames were smothered, I went back to the piano bench and started playing again.  Miraculously my hands were not burned.  Miraculously, Miss M was not injured.  Her pride was somewhat assaulted, and her hair needed a few weeks to recover, but she had no burns whatsoever, and what could have been a catastrophe became a miracle and a marvelous, unforgettable memory.

I have to tell you, that this was a highlight of my career.  I have played for church services off and on for decades now, and many stories can be told.  But, this one is tops.  Whoever said being a church pianist is boring, has never sat where I sit, and they have never seen things from my perspective.  I love what I do, and it is never, ever boring... at least not for this gal, and certainly not here in Texas!  I truly consider it a privilege, and I count it all joy to be a "bench warmer".  And just for the record, the Christmas season is definitely my favorite time of the year!

So, here I sit.  I'm watching and waiting for more miracles...  pardon the pun, but they do warm the heart!

Joyfully serving... and, joyfully playing,
this church pianist,

Cindy Lou


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

The Daydream

I was so involved with my daydream that I missed my mouth with my coffee cup.  Surprising?  Not at all.

The imagery was spectacular, and the band was in the grove, uh groove.  There I stood with the microphone, not one ounce of fear piercing through my body.  All eyes were glued to this magical moment:  all ears tuned to the soft nuances that would soon flow from my soul.  No one knew this was the moment I had longed for.  No one knew the expense of this adventure.  No one knew.  No one cared.  No one, but I.

Spotlight intact.  Curtain up.  Applause filled the air with the echo of triumph.  Taking in one last breath, I opened my mouth to sing, and right there, in the middle of my daydream... was the sound of fire alarms and clanging bells!  Uh... no:  it was the telephone.  The audacious, stupid phone was screeching right in the middle of my once in a lifetime "moment".

So, there went the coffee all down my shirt.  There went the daydream:  there went the diva.  I felt like Ralphie, the little kid in the movie, The Christmas Story.  Spectacular were his daydreams that spinned with unbridled enthusiasm!  They out shined the grandest of schemes, and in this world of doubt, they kept his fragile, creative spirit alive.  No one knew about his secret scenarios.  No one knew about them at all, and no one cared.  Or, so he thought.

I guess, inside all of us dwells either a diva or a Ralphie, and somewhere along the way we picked up the notion that the child in us should grow up and throw aside our childish ways replacing them with grown-up thoughts and grown-up behavior.   (Oh, that's in the Bible.  Isn't it?  It's in I Corinthians 13:11.)  That's what is required of us as responsible adults, but I can see a meltdown coming if the child within is forgotten and never released to play, to create, or to daydream.

I don't know about you, but I am planning on longevity here in my life.  My long awaited first grandchild will soon be born, and I want to be around to see her coo & giggle, to see her take her first tiny steps, and to see her twist and turn as she masters her first pair of high heel shoes.  I would love to be around for her wedding day as she lovingly takes those solemn steps of marriage.  And when I arrive at those later stages of my life, I don't want to be a dried-up, old prude who doesn't know how to laugh, or sing, play, or daydream.  I want to be young at heart, and laugh at the days ahead... the days present. 

That sounds like quite a challenge, because aging can be terribly cruel.  Injuries and insults assault us, and time marches on without our permission.   As my Aunt Polly used to say, and now my mother says, "Aging ain't for sissies!"  Yes, I have to agree, it isn't.  Neither is daydreaming.  It takes a lot of courage for grown-ups to dream like a child, and even more courage, I think, to admit that we do.

They say that confession is good for the soul, so here you have it:  I confess.   I daydreamed, and it didn't cost me anything other than the time to wash my coffee-stained blouse.  That was just a few, well spent minutes, and I think that little snippet of time added new wonderment to my child-like faith.

What about you?  Have you daydreamed lately?  It isn't painful, and the child in you just might thank you for the freedom.  Dance, sing, build bridges, climb mountain cliffs, paint like Rembrandt, design fashions, write a best-seller novel, discover a cure for cancer, find a forgotten city, go to the zoo, go watch a baseball game, or imagine your flower beds a botanical wonder.  Be creative... there are no limitations when we daydream, and without our permission, no one can take our dreams away from us.

Because they are precious, we must protect our dreams, and we are instructed to guard them continually.  They can be a gift or a burden, so we are to use them wisely.  We should even pray about them, asking God what they should be and asking God to direct our thoughts and take them where He wants us to be.   Can't say that I remembered to do that before my "diva dream", but I should have.  For I have found that heavenly daydreams are the sweetest of all and the longest lasting.

Take heart, my friends.  There is hope for all of us!  With my grown up knowledge and my child-like faith, I face the future; and you can face it with me.  We may be fortunate enough to daydream a brighter future, and we may even be fortunate enough to find ourselves basking in the spotlight as we stand in front of cheering crowds.  Or, we may find ourselves flat on our backs facing the frightening sounds of emergency sirens.  No one can accurately predict what awaits us, but I do know that we don't have to face those times alone.  There is Someone who cares.... Someone who knows.  And, I would like to know Him better.

Think I'll grab my Bible, turn off the telephone, and ask God to fill me with His love and even more child-like faith.  It can happen, you know... and that doesn't have to be a daydream!

Blessings to you as you rediscover the child within you.  Guard it.  Protect it.  Nurture it.  And, then, give it a friend by the name of Jesus.

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou



"For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he..."
--Proverbs 23:7  King James Version, Holy Bible

"I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."
--Luke 18:17, New International Version, Holy Bible

"...there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."
--Proverbs 18:24, New International Version, Holy Bible



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved

Scrambled Eggs

Which shall it be?

"Life is too short for fussing and fighting, my friends."
OR...
"Never go to bed mad.  Stay up and fight!"

Guess it depends on the situation, but I see that most arguments revolve around proving who is right and who is wrong.  We all want to be right.  We want to be the smart one, the superior one, the winner;  but, most of the time, the winning comes at great expense.  Why can't we accept that there is more than one way to do a task, and more than one way to view the situation?  It's all a matter of perspective.

I speak from experience.   Being married to an engineer, and myself being an artist... I know for a fact there is more than one way to get the job done.  For instance:  breakfast eggs.  He likes his fried, squashed, squished and hard as a rock with crispy, crinkled, bacon greased brown edges.  I like mine scrambled with butter, ever so soft, light and fluffy.  It's just eggs, but two distinctly different ideas of how to cook them:  two different preferences, two different perspectives.

Two different people living together:  successfully!  Yes, in this household now, around the cook top, there is peace.  He has his bacon grease and spatula, and I have my butter with olive oil.  'Tis so amicable here.  'Tis so sweet.  And then, out of the blue, holding it high in the air, I hear myself say, "step aside, dear... I have the skillet, and I know how to use it!"

Hungry, grumpy,
and not feeling very patient this morning,

Cindy Lou

p.s.  Even the sweetest rose has its thorns!  (chuckle!)

Another Day

Another day, my soul awakes,
'Tis listening to the dawn.
What power, oh, ye morning has
to bid the evening gone.

Oh, daybreak, if you only knew
the might your light does cast.
It calls to me.  It beckons me,
for darkness now is past.

Rejoice my soul!  Awaken sleep!
The slumber now is done.
Glad tidings tell.  The light prevails.
The Son the vict'ry won!
                       --Cindy Lou Hodges

Sounds like an old hymn, doesn't it, with the "'tis's" and the "ye's"?  Guess so, and rightly so because today my body feels very, very old.  Actually, today this earthly body feels quite ancient, kind of like an old rusty farm tractor:  one which is missing a few cylinders, a lot of paint, and has been put out to pasture.  (I know of what I speak, because I learned to drive and operate a standard gear shift on one of those old, faded farm tractors.... about two hundred years ago!)

But, the good news is my soul is alive and feels young.  And that's a bea-u-ti-ful feeling:  one that can be shared and given away to everyone regardless of age, race, gender, or economic status!  So, join with me in this transformation as my soul encourages the body to rise & shine.  For indeed, there is a reason to do so... there is a Savior and He has conquered the night!  Arise!  Shine!  For the light has come!

As the little old farm tractor used to say...
"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...."

Sincerely clutching to the truth (pardon my pun),
Cindy Lou


"When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, 'I am the light of the world.  Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.'"  John 8:12, Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV)



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

Baby Girl Pink

"Yesterday I dug in the freezer. Today I think I'll dig in the dirt. Seems to me that planting spring bulbs would be a most fitting way to celebrate the new life that's coming to our family in December..."
                                    ---posted on Face Book, October 21, 2010


In my mind I envisioned pink!  Pure, pretty, "pop your eyes out" pink flowers strewn all across my back yard's flower bed.  I wasn't thinking a muddy pink, or a lavender pink, or a peachy pink.  I wanted "sweet baby girl pink", and I wanted lots & lots of them... a wheelbarrow full of blossoms.

The first garden center I visited had two displays of bulbs which included tulips, hyacinths, daffodils and the girliest, frilliest irises I've ever seen.  By golly, that was the flower I wanted, and there was no reason to drive elsewhere to shop;  except that, there was only one package.  And it contained only two bulbs:  so much for my idea of a wheelbarrow full.  I drove to the other garden store, hoping I could find other choices, but, that was a waste of time since they had no flower bulbs at all.  Theirs are shipped in the spring.

Not to be defeated about my idea of planting today, I drove back to that solitary package of two bulbs, and I purchased it.  Took a picture of the cover on the package, so I can remember what it's supposed to look like, then grabbed the garden spade and started digging.  In no time at all, those two scrawny iris bulbs were planted deeply in the warm earth, safe and secure in my back yard. 

Have to say that I feel good about the day.  I got my mission accomplished.  Got lots of mosquito bites, too, but it's all worth the effort because I believe those puny, palm-size bulbs will produce exactly what the picture claims.  When they do and the pink frilly blossoms are a'bloom, my grand baby will be three or four months old.  I will lovingly carry her out to the back flower bed and show her what her Grammy planted in honor of her arrival.  I believe that year after year, these irises will continue to grow in numbers and beauty and continue the cycle of life.  As my grand daughter grows, I shall remind her how much she is loved and how much she was wanted, even before she was born.  Then as she matures, and becomes a young flower herself,  I can use the story of the iris to teach her about love, and the sanctity of marriage, and how with every cycle of life there is a rhyme and a reason for its time and its season.

That's a lot to expect from my plantings today:  those two pitiful looking bulbs.  But, when one has faith, nothing is impossible.... not even a wheelbarrow full of pretty, frilly, "pop your eyes out" pink blossoms!

Here's hoping.  Here's believing.  And here's thanks to all the women who have walked before me... bouquets to you, my lovelies!  And for those of you who are still walking, we might as well walk together, joined arm in arm... in faith.  It's more fun that way, and besides, I'd love some company!

Sincerely looking forward to the future,
Cindy Lou

p.s.  I'm thinking pink!

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.  And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.  Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another... and all the more as you see the Day approaching."
          --Hebrews 10:23-25 Holy Bible, New International Version



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

The Sugar Attack

"Oh, please, something be in the pantry."  Slam went the door.  "Oh, please... maybe in this cupboard?"  Slam-bang went that door.  "Gosh, there better be something in here...  Somethinggg!"  Groceries toppled off the shelves as I ransacked the freezer.  Frozen layers of forgotten possibilities tumbled to my feet, but even amidst all that jumble of food, there was nothing sweet to eat!

No cookies.  No cake.  No ice cream.  No pie.
Nothin' that's sweet.  Oh, no.  Oh, my!
Off to the bakery.  Off to the store.
Off to the drive-through.  Off through the door.

Out in a flurry, a scurry to find
the thrill for these taste buds, the gooey kind.
My gut is a cravin' something that's sweet.
Can't stop til I find it, can't stop til I eat...

Cookies or cake, ice cream or pie.
Out of my way.  I have pop tarts to buy!
Sugar Pops, donuts, things on a stick,
lemon drops, fudge plops.  Show me them, quick!

Attack, I tell ya... Call the armed guards.
I'm being attacked by my own petard.
T'was just a simple d'sire for dessert,
but that one little desire drove me berserk!

Now, my kitchen's a wreck.  The doors are askew.
The floor is piled high with frozen miscue's
And still there are...
No cookies.  No cake.  No ice cream.  No pie.
And nothin' that's sweet.  Oh, no.  Oh, my!
               --- Cindy Lou Hodges, Copyright 2010

And that's the truth!  Well, sort of...
At the end of my plundering, I did find something nice in my pantry:  a can of cream cheese flavored cake frosting.  Oh, yeh... it was a delicious experience!



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved

Sand, Stone

"Write your sorrows in sand...
Write your blessings in stone."

The above message hangs on the store's wall, and I saw it just this morning.  It's a small plaque that isn't for sale.  It's there for decoration and inspiration to the clients that pass through.  The more I thought about it the more profound it became to me, and I knew I should share it with you.

If I were to actually do this, I would need a world of stone and just a tiny, tiny seashore.  For one of the many results of prayer to God Almighty, is that He eases our sorrows.  Just like messages written in the sand, as we pray our sorrows become less visible, and our blessings become more apparent.    While we lose sight of one, we gain sight of the other.  One is softened:  eventually erased... the other revealed.

Looking at my blessings right now, I'd say they are like grains of sand on the seashore.  There are too many to number, and it would take more than a lifetime to do so.  But, I shall say the very first entry on my "blessings" list, because it is the most amazing blessing of all, is the fact that I am loved.  I may not carve it in stone, and I may never again make it to the seashore, but I am here right now, and I shall take this opportunity to write it and to tell you.... I am loved, and so are you!

Counting my blessings,
Cindy Lou



"But God demonstrates His own love for us in this:  While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."  --Romans 5:8, Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV)

"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."  John 15:13, Holy Bible, NIV

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.