4 Jun
After spending a few days decompressing between the US and a small village in central Scotland, I finally got dressed and went for a little walk – wanted to buy some biscuits (without chocolate–poor me) and stretch my legs. I walked up to the main street and turned right. After a couple of blocks I saw a sign which read “Kirk Wood”. In Scotland, Kirks are churches, of course, and do have yards; I didn’t know they also had woods.Walking down the lane, a man walking a liver-and-white Springer and an older woman walking a Westie, approached. As is my habit, I spoke. That’s all they needed to break into conversation. He introduced himself as John; she is Missrez Mack-knot-ton(her pronunciation.) Oddly, they also introduced their dogs. Mrs. MacNaughton offered to show me the Kirk Woods, so we were off, to our left, down recently hacked and bulldozed 12-foot wide road through the woods. They explained that someone was going to build four houses in here, near the highway.
Mr. & Mrs. MacNaughton live in a cottage behind the Manse; some newcomers bought the Manse and are thinking of turning the barn and a new barn to be built into holiday rooms. They—the newcomers—were off at work today, and she was walking the dog.
Looking back on that bit of a day, I wonder again how a freckled-faced Midwestern girl could just walk down a lane into something out of “Miss Marple.”
I never thought it would be me.
25 May
I grew up in my Grandfather’s house, for the most part, with short periods of living with Mom and her husbands du jour. My Grandma died within three years of her beloved Walter. I was in my twenties, had a husband and children of my own. We lived in another State, had no money, and I missed her last years as well as her funeral.
My children are older now and I actually have time for hobbies; the newest is Genealogy. While putting together Grandma’s branches of our tree, I came upon things I had not even known as they happened. The death of her youngest brother, whom she adored, moved me to tears.
I earn my living now as a writer and teach writing to college students. I decided tears were not enough and sat down and wrote a proper letter of condolence to my Grandma, Zoe.
If there is someone or something you would like to get off your heart or your shoulders, wherever you carry your burdens, trust me: it is never too late.
16 May
There was a time, not in my extreme youth–although I’m sure I was a “know it all” as an old teenager. But I came to faith in God later than that–having rejected my local Holy-Roller Church’s frequent efforts to save my soul in my youth, while being dangled over Hell like a Weenie.I was never an Athiest, mind you. Not that I feared God, either, therefore was hanging on for fire insurance. I just didn’t think much about it. Too much wrong in the world that I knew for there to be a Supreme Being who “…so loved the world…”Then one day, God–who didn’t give His or Her name–walked into my life. Within a couple of years, I knew all about God. Had it down. Pat. Ask me anything.
Time–and a number of years recuperation from power-crazed professional Christians, as well as a prescription for Wellbutrin with no expiration date–has tempered my viewpoint. I am not so certain. Oh, yes, to be sure there is a God. However, I no longer know precisely who is going to Hell and who isn’t (Eph. 2:4 “Us four, and no more.”) I no longer know whom God hates and whom He loves, nor believe it my duty to point out that sad fact to anyone.
If you’re looking for pat answers, keep moving. Most of the near lethal wounds inflicted on me were delivered by Good Ole Boys and their Missuses, doin’ the Will of the Lord. If, however, you’re in search of a sincere believer who has few answers, sit yourself down right here.
