My fellow parishioners are finally getting just what they want — they’ve succeeded in running the new priest of out town — and I’m ashamed.
Monthly Archives: March 2015
Do Something
Do something.
I can’t.
I’m only one.
And there’s just
Too much to do.
I can’t erase poverty,
Can’t cure disease,
Can’t bandage the broken,
Can’t take away pain.
Do something.
I’m not sure.
I’m just me.
And there’s so much
I’m unqualified for.
I’m not a doctor,
Not a lawmaker,
Not an evangelist,
Not a researcher or hero.
Do something.
Well, all right,
If You insist.
If You’ll help.
I can hold somebody’s hand,
Dry somebody’s tears,
Listen. Be present.
I can donate to a cause,
I can be an encourager,
I can pray.
Now you’ve got the idea! Do something.
I don’t expect you
To do everything.
Just do something
And trust that I AM
Will handle the rest.
Working together
We can make a difference.
My precious child,
I love you so much!
Target Practice, Perhaps?
“We would just go out and line up a bunch of cans and shoot with rifles, handguns and at times, submachine guns… When I was a kid it was a controlled atmosphere, we weren’t shooting at humans… we were shooting at cans and bottles mostly. I will most certainly take my kids out for target practice.”
– Johnny Depp
The other day, I caught a glimpse of something that puzzled me, so I harnessed Dallas up for a walkie to get a closer look.
Here’s what we saw:
Giving Mama Some Space
Dallas here.
Mama’s on a tear, and I’m hiding low. Watching her as usual, but out of harm’s way.
Because I’ve lived with her long enough to know two things:
1) She gets like this when she’s stressed, and
2) This, too, shall pass.
Writing
Rejection.
We writers
Open our souls
To the whole world
To see and to judge
What we labor to bring forth.
Sometimes it’s spectacular, inspired, or even divine;
Other times, it’s nothing but garbage
Wasting good ink and paper.
Or worse, merely average.
Running in circles
Saying nothing
Important.
Note: This one came to me late at night. If there’s a name for this poetic form (with word count increasing by one on lines 1-7, then decreasing back to one), somebody please let me know!
Is this appropriate?
I’m probably treading thin ice here, but something happened (again!) in church this weekend, and I’ve just got to expound.
Happy B-day, Domer
May you live a long life
Full of gladness and health,
With a pocket full of gold
As the least of your wealth.
May the dreams you hold dearest
Be those which come true,
May the kindness you spread,
Keep returning to you. — Irish Blessing
Happy Happy Birthday to the BEST SON EVER!! Love you bunches!
Turn It Off!!
Winter, you have worn out your very last welcome. Me
Forecasters were right on target yesterday when they assured us we were in line for an additional 4-8 inches of snow (the last tally I saw indicates we got at least six).
I don’t know about others, but I’ve had it Up To Here with winter!
Musings by an ND Domer's Mom 