Some Time ... Sometime

One step at a time.  Moment by precious moment.

They say, 'time flies.' 

Understatement!

Not only does time fly, but it often leaves without warning, and without advising of it's future whereabouts.

I've never been a fan of uncertainty.  For that reason (among others) I resist rendering flight to my personal time.

They also say, 'time is precious.' 

Indeed!

Recognizing time's precious nature, it's worthy of being cherished, respected and cared for accordingly.

How much time do we have?  Not a clue!

Time can be spent, wasted, and even killed.

Sometimes time is on our side.  Sometimes it's not. 

Sometimes time is our friend.  Sometimes it's our enemy.

Time changes things.

It's been said it can heal wounds, too.

Sometimes we have all the time in the world.  Other times, we have no time at all.

Lost time never returns.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

To everything there is a season.  A time to every purpose under Heaven.

A time to be born.  And a time to die.

A time to plant.  And a time to pluck what is planted.

A time to kill.  And a time to heal.

A time to break down.  And a time to build up.

A time to weep.  And a time to laugh.

A time to mourn.  And a time to dance.

A time to cast away stones.  And a time to gather stones.

A time to embrace.  And a time to refrain from embracing.

A time to gain.  And a time to lose.

A time to keep.  And a time to throw away.

A time to tear.  And a time to sew.

A time to keep silence.  And a time to speak.

A time to love.  And a time to hate.

A time of war.  And a time of peace.

• Bad news:  Time flies.
• Good news:  You're the pilot. 

Dreaming

'Be strong and do not give up,
for your work will be rewarded.'
2nd Chronicles 15:7

I love this time of year.  When the hustle and bustle of the holidays are simply sweet memories.  When the quiet darkness of the evening falls early.  And, when new hopes and expectations for the future are dreamed.

With all my heart, I enjoy setting new goals and expecting great things.

Though I'm 54 years old (and unashamed to announce it), I still have what it takes to jump for joy when my goals are reached and my expectations realized.  And pretty high, I might add.

With sweet anticipation, I long for my dreams to come true. 

Some dreams are small, some a bit larger, and even others seem out of reach.  Way out!

Its those out-of-reach dreams though, that drive me to hang tough, hold fast, and leave no stone unturned until the light at the end of my dream-tunnel shines with brilliant intensity.

In my lifetime, I pray that my all-time-favorite dream comes true ... if it takes my entire lifetime.

It's my perpetual dream.  The dream in which the lives of all unborn children are cherished, respected, and valued by all of mankind - you know, the 'born-kind.'  The kind whose mothers were intent on finishing what they started ...

Life.

Psalm 139:13
'For you (God) formed my inward parts;
You (God) covered me in my Mother's womb.
I will praise you (God),
for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well.
My frame was not hidden from You (God),
When I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the Earth.
Your (God's) eyes saw my subsance, being yet unformed.
And in your book they all were written,
The days fashioned for me,
When as yet there were not of them.'


You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.


Madhouse Mall Maniacs

Okay.  After all that hullibaloo about Black Friday being my all-time-favorite shopping day of the year ...

Black Friday more than wore me out.  Too tired to get frazzled.  Shopped from 11:40 p.m. until nearly 9:00 a.m. 

The top-of-our-list department store we plotted to attack had advertised it's doors would open at 3:00 a.m., a.k.a. 'wee-hour.'  Accordingly, we snatched our place in line, very near the store's entrance, at precisely 2:30 a.m.  Hardly the first customers, but we were close.

3:00 a.m. came and went, while the store's doors remained closed.  I have a hunch it was a conspiracy.

3:05 a.m.:  No change.  Except that now we were nose-to-nose with store employees - or, make that nose to pane of glass - the only thing separating us (the ready-to-rumblers) from them (the we'll-let-you-in-when-we-feel-like-its).  No words.  Just stares.  No!  Make that glares.  No words necessary.  Each 'side' knew what the other 'side' was thinking.

3:10 a.m.:  Still no change.  The 'rumblers' were still ready, but the 'when-we-feel-like-its' weren't budging.

3:20 a.m.:  At long last, open doors. 

Like cattle being called, every shop-'til-you-dropper stampeded directly to the boot department. 

That's our take on it, anyway.

My youngest daughter, Shelby (a Senior in college), decided she'd lead the pack of boot-hungry madhouse mall maniacs by incorporating her cross-country running skills to get a step or two ahead of everybody else.

Indeed, she met with success until ...

She made an all-out attempt at a sharp turn right, dropping her cell phone on the freshly waxed floor, causing it to gain tremendous speed on its journey from one end of the store to the other, in two different directions, no less. 

Her phone had split upon impact.

Now, what?  Recover the phone, or beat the crowd?

Shelby's a quick-decision-maker.  Her phone was recovered first.  The crowd-beating followed immediately thereafter, without missing a beat.

Mad-dashing took on an entirely new meaning.

I haven't quite pin-pointed exactly what it is that draws so much of humankind to the boot department at the local shopping mall, especially at this time of year, but they were drawn there alright - by the gazillions - and, we were amongst them.

What were we thinking?

Boot box tops flinging in frisbee-like fashion, while those of the male persuasion were merely passers-by with their deer-in-headlights stares.  Shelby routinely reminded us during our long-awaited shopping extravaganza, 'They should've stayed home.  They're just taking up space.'

After all, is it not a known fact that women (not men) are shoppers-extraordinaire?

As far as savings go, we did in fact save a bundle (or two).  For the most part, we simply purchased items on our lists, successfully avoiding other never-before-offered temptations.

We had a plan.  We were focused.  We didn't waver.  Well ... most of us didn't.  There's one in every crowd, right?

It was worth every bit of the exhaustion my feet (and every other body part) endured.

Loss of sleep?  Eh, what's one night's sleep loss, when compared with making great memories?

I'll never forget the night, and I'll always cherish the fun and non-stop laughter that was shared between myself, my two sweet daughters - Shannon & Shelby - and our good friend, Emily.

Great company.  Great laughs.  Great memories.  Great 'gift' for me.

But, next year I think ...

I'll probably do it all over again.

'Every good and perfect gift is from above,

And comes down from the Father of lights,

With whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.'

James 1:17 (The Bible - New King James version)

Black Fridays

Traditions!  Love 'em.

Traditionally-speaking, the six-hour-long shopping extravaganza, beginning precisely at one minute after midnight, the day after Thanksgiving, is my all time favorite shop-'til-I-drop event of the year.

Funny thing is ... Traditionally, I don't like shopping.  Not in the least.

Loss of sleep?  Eh, I can always catch some zzz's later on in the day.

Just how many bangs for my bucks can I get this year?  Go ahead.  Ask me.  Quite a few, actually.  I've already scoured the websties.

They call it 'Black Friday.'

Good news!  There's more than one Black Friday per year.  There's a grand total of fifty-two every year. These Fridays belong to the Pro-Lifers. 

Yes.  Even Pro-Lifers have their own Black Friday mission:  Abortion Blackout.

Abortion Blackout occurs every Friday of the year.  On Fridays, many Pro-Lifers wear black clothing to mourn the precious lives lost to abortion.

Scour the Abortion Blackout website:  www.abortionblackout.com

Abortion Blackout is a simple way to show others what you believe.

That's it!  I'm a Black Friday Missionary.

Wanna Know A Secret?

I'm a pretty good secret-keeper.

Share a secret with me, and it stays with me.  Only me.

Well, at least most of the time.  I'll admit I have my occasional slip-ups.

But, I've got a friend who never slips.  Never reveals a secret.  At least not until the time is right.  Perfect, actually.

Until then, His lips are sealed.

If He chose to slip up at least once in a while, I believe I'd be okay with that.

Maybe!

Indeed, He reveals what He determines I need to know. 

When He determines I need to know it is another story entirely.

On the one hand, His secret-keeping determination can potentially drive me bananas.  So much so, that I've found myself dropping to my knees, praying - begging, even - 'Dear Jesus', for Heaven's sake, please share the secret.'  And, 'Why must I wait for an answer?'

On the other hand, perhaps that's His 'divine plan.'  His 'angle.'  The 'big picture.'

He wants me on my knees.  He wants me in sweet communion with Him.  And, He wants me to recognize that He's my Heavenly Father who is there for me all the time, anytime, and every time.

I'm certain He won't keep me in the dark forever.

His will is perfect.  His plan is perfect.  And, His timing is perfect.

I trust Him.

In His time.

In His time.

He makes all things beautiful, in His time.

Lord, please show me everyday.

As you're teaching me your way.

That you do just what you say.

In your time.

* Credit:  Music & Lyrics by Diana Ball

• I am trusting that God will meet all my needs.  see Philippians 4:19
• I am trusting that God did not give me a fearful spirit.  see 2 Timothy 1:7
• I am trusting God with all my heart, and not leaning on my own understanding.  see Proverbs 3:5

Captain Donald L. Ghiata

I've known him for nearly fifty-four of his eighty-four years.

Born on March 1, 1927, he was the first of four sons born to Donald and Gunda Ghiata.

He's my Dad, and I am his 'little papoochnick.'

I never tire of hearing his 'growing-up-on-the-farm' stories.  Matter-of-fact, whenever we're together I encourage him to repeat those stories over and over again.

Ghiata Farm - Spruce, Michigan

The farm life, I'm told, was a hard life back then.  Nothing came easy, and everything came hard.  So different from my own growing-up memories.

He really did go to one of those one-room schoolhouses.  And apparently, he walked to and from school every day - miles upon miles - even on wintry, snowy days - in snowdrifts up to his hips - uphill - both ways.

I'm fairly certain his school teacher was more interested in making sure the students actually learned something, rather than stressing whether spirits might be crushed.

Whenever hyperactivity made an ugly appearance in the classroom ... they had a 'switch' for that.

No telephone, no automobile, no refrigerator, no air-conditioning, no central heating, and no television.

No problem. 

Simply say what needs to be said before departing.  Walk to your destination.  Keep a block of ice in the icebox.  Open the windows when its hot.  Fire up the wood stove when its cold.  And, build relationships with family and friends (even if there really is only a stick and a stone to play with).

Being lazy on the farm was never an option.  Not even a passing thought.  There was no time for that foolishness.

My dad worked hard, long hours.  Day after day.  Still does.

My Dad, Donald L. Ghiata - in uniform, on the farm in Spruce, Michigan
with his brothers ...
Norman, Philip, and Raymond

I'm so proud of him.  Though he quit school at 16 years of age, he never stopped learning.  He served in the armed forces, worked hard for a living, and got an education which eventually earned him the title of 'Captain' on the cement freighters which travel the Great Lakes.

Apparently, there's a lot of truth to the 'early to bed, early to rise ...' thing.

My Dad is also my 'Bible-Answer-Man' ... my 'go-to' guy whenever I have a Bible-related question.  Though he's taught me so much, I have so much more yet to learn.

He's always said, 'It takes a lifetime of living to learn how to live.'

Dad and Mom - Donald and Thais (Kamiske) Ghiata

I'm still learning.

A Bird's Eye View

'The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.'
Job 1:21

He was so tiny.

He came to live with us only a few days after his birth.

His mother either purposefully abandoned him, or something accidentally happened to her.

In like manner, she abandoned his two siblings - intentional or not.  Of the triplets, he was the sole survivor.

He missed his mom so much.  He seemed so frightened, sitting there all alone on our front porch, wondering what in the world was taking his mom so long to provide the next meal.

We knew.

We knew she wouldn't be back.  She'd been gone an awfully long time.

So, we gave him a place to stay for the next few weeks, fed him the meals he craved, made a comfortable bed for him, and even gave him a name.

'Shem.'  (Named in honor of our daughter, Shelby, and her friend, Emily, who lovingly took Shem under their wings.)

We even taught him to spread his wings and fly.

Shem was a bird.  A wren, we think.  Maybe a sparrow.  Not 100 % certain.  Didn't matter.  Whatever his 'breed', we grew to love him.  Pretty sure he loved us too.

Refusing to be one of 'those mothers' who neglects her children, Shem went to work with me every day, for more than a week.  I made him a 'nest' in my bottom desk drawer ... leaving it partially open, so he had enough air and light, but could also snuggle up for a snooze in a shaded area as desired.

He slept alot.  Just like a baby.

And in keeping with the baby-ness of it all, he demanded to be fed every two hours.

Following the advice of our neighborhood veterinarian, Shem's every-two-hour feedings consisted of soft puppy food on a rounded toothpick, followed by water droplets from a syringe.

Shem loved it.  He told me so.  If I didn't get the toothpick to his beak quick enough, he'd let me know how he felt about that as well ... chirping ... CHIRPING.

When he'd had his fill, he'd turn his head away - beak tightly closed - refusing to eat any more.  Babies are like that.

With a full belly, he'd sleep it off for an hour or so.  Then we'd start the feeding process once more.  Day in/Day out.  But at least he'd sleep through the night.

We even took him on a long weekend trip to Ohio.  He met his maternal grandparents, and his extended families.

The weekend we returned home to North Carolina, Shem spread his wings.  In just two days, he'd learned to fly.

To our surprise, many times after a flight around the room or around the deck outside, he'd land on our shoulders. 

To our delight, he'd accepted us as his adopted family. 

Our veterinarian friend told us we could likely count on Shem using our shoulders as landing pads whenever we sat on our front porch ... even after leaving us 'empty-nesters.'

With heavy hearts, we knew the time had come to allow Shem to routinely hang out with 'birds-of-a-feather.'  We had already introduced him to the Finches, Wrens, and Sparrows next door.

He was ready.

I was going to set him free Monday afternoon.

Sadly though, late Monday morning, he seemed to be feeling a bit under-the-weather.  No matter my nursing skills, Shem didn't improve.

Granddaughter, Audrey
and
'Shem', our Bird-Child

His condition worsened.  Quickly.

In the palm of my hand, Shem died at 11:35 a.m.

He did not die alone.

After all we'd been through together, I wasn't going to leave him now.  He'd already experienced loneliness once in his too-short life.  I was determined my baby bird would not suffer the pain of loneliness again.

We miss him.

* sniff *

I have a hunch there must be birds in Heaven.