%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   My journey through (and beyond) the valley with Cancer as my companion. |
|
Dear Friend: This is not a Blog about writing! (I already have one of those.) This is a blog about a journey I am taking with illness. I have recently been diagnosed with Cancer. My goal is honest therapy as I progress through, and beyond this new reality in my life. I hope that, somewhere along the way you will find some words that will help you too. While this is, in fact, an interactive Blog, I hope that you will scroll slowly down this page. For you see, the front of this Blog IS my journey. The entries are conversations that are held along the journey.Yes, there is a lot on it--before actually getting to the Blog entries. But, I hope that by the objects and words which appear before the Blog itself, you might come to understand just a little bit about me, and my journey, and some truly amazing friends who have agreed to journey with me. I hope that you, too, will choose to accompany me on my walk--through the Valley. I invite you to join me, and discover the wondrous truths, meet some truly amazing people, and share those "memorable" moments this journey will undoubtedly present. Come along, won't you? In His Care, ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Would you like to help me help others? I found this amazing organization, and I am proud to be a sponsor. I hope you will check it out. It's called The Network For Good.  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "RISUS OMNIA - INCRUMENTUS PER DEDECUS - SAPIENTIA PER DAMNUM" ("Every thing is funny - Growth through humiliation - Wisdom through loss") ~Leunig~ The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse. ~Helen Keller~ "If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people." ~Virginia Woolf~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "There is strength in truth." ~The Barton Family Crest~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** “Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” — Helen Keller, American social activist, public speaker and author (1880-1968) I have moved the list of my thanks for those who have helped to make this little Blog so very special. I hope that you will take a moment to read the list, growing every day, and let these fellow travellers along this journey know that you appreciate the contributions they make to our walk together.
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4 ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Please feel free to click on the Blog Rings icon below to be transported to some of the very best of the Best Bloggers around WDC. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** If you are new to WDC, or to our Blogging community, I highly recommend the monthly edition of "The Blogville News". Feel free to click below, and let scarlett_o_h know that a Blogger sent ya! Hey! We've started a Christian's Blog Ring on WDC. Click on the logo, and join us! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Budroe
 Ring LeaderI have three publications at the moment. Here is a link to purchase my latest one. Buy a great read, and help a fellow writer out, Okay?  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| When I was (and, yes I once was) a child, there were certain things you did, or did not do. You did call anyone so much as a moment older than you "Sir!", or "Ma'am!" You did NOT let the word "Yeah!" leave your lips--ever. You DID follow the words "Yes!" and "No!" with either "Sir", "Ma'am", or "Please!" You did NOT wear a hat, cap, toboggan cap, Watch Cap, Fedora, skimmer, or Chapeau indoors, Ever! (Or in the presence of a lady!) You DID open doors for women, pay for their meals, and escort them to their tables, where you assisted them with their chairs. All women were ladies. You did NOT--EVER--backtalk, back sass, or smart off to a parent. This was considered to be voluntary suicide, every time. In public? No jury in the country would convict a parent for "correcting" a child, much less for such a serious offense as back-talking a parent--in public! (In fact, the parent could well be taken to task for NOT correcting such a miscreant child!) We had "Special" clothes, "Church" clothes, "School" clothes, and "Play" clothes. We did NOT compare labels. We compared the shine of the shoe, and the cleanliness of the garment. A well-groomed child wore ironed clothes, even "wash and wear" garments. In my community there was nearly no higher praise for a Mother than for one of her friends to comment "She sure hangs a nice wash!" or "She sure sweeps a nice yard!" You DID understand the parent/child relationship. The one was a direct reflection of the other. Every moment, every time. One did NOT reflect badly upon the other, ever. You did NOT miss meal time. At our house, the evening meal was "on the table" at 6:00PM. (Not 5:59, and absoLUTELY not at 6:01 PM) You DID arrive at the table at least five minutes (but not more than fifteen minutes) prior to the stated mealtime. You checked in thirty minutes prior, to OFFER to help Mom prepare the meal, the table, the place settings, or the garbage bin--anything to help your Mother. You did NOT begin to eat until everyone was present for the meal--ever! (See above.) When Mother lifted her fork, you could dig in.That was, of course, after the meal Blessing. You DID bless the food you ate, before you ate it! The cook of a meal did NOT touch a dirty dish. Ever! No one left the table unless, and until, they were excused by the senior parent at the table. That was usually Father. (The companion to Mother.) The evening (or morning, or noon) meal was not complete until "the dishes" were done! You did NOT skip chores. You did NOT shop (for anything) on Sunday. No stores were open. Why would they be? NOBODY shops on Sunday! That was a day of Rest, Re-Creation, and Renewal. Sunday was, at my house, a day of Worship. Worship was a privilege. We preapared for Sunday Worship following "doing the dishes" on Saturday Night. Worship ended following "doing the dishes" on Sunday evening, when we "got ready for School". You DID your homework. You did NOT skip, ditch, cut, or miss class! One of the most significant awards for any student was "Perfect Attendance"! You did NOT cheat! Ever! When someone spoke to you, they looked into your eyes. You looked into their eyes, and gave them your fullest attention. You did NOT watch, observe, or "listen to" the television during mealtime. You did NOT lie to another person, about anything! (Well, never about anything that really mattered, anyway.) You did NOT steal--ever! Anything! You DID ask permission--for just about everything except bathing, going to your room to do homework, or carrying out the trash. Your Parents had a say about your friends. They always knew who you were with, what you were doing, and where you were doing it. You knew when to be home, and you were. "It's not fair!" was NOT an option. It was not about "Fair!" It was about survival--yours. Other outcomes were always an option. You did NOT argue, question, discuss, do a feasibility study, involve an encounter group, or publish a survey regarding the decisions of a Parent. Ever. This was NOT a problem among your peer group. We actually felt loved because of this truth. We WERE loved because of this truth. You DID make choices. Choices had consequences. Some consequences were positive, uplifting, encouraging, motivating, and desirable. Some consequences were not. You DID know the difference--every time. Your parents were NOT your friends, your pals, your buddies, or your sexual partners. They were not the police, the Judge, or God (they were just the next thing to them!). They were not your advisors, mentors, counsellors, spiritual directors, guides, or confidantes. They WERE your parents. Every time, no matter what. This did NOT change. Parents were not evaluated, inspected, or studied. There was no manual for parenting. Being a parent was a natural consequence (see above) of a choice made. You WERE accountable for every choice you made. Every one. The consequences of your choices were consistently carried out by you, your family, and your community. Consistency mattered. If your choice was to involuntarily force your choice upon someone else, there were special consequences just for you. These were NEVER happy consequences. Accountability, responsibility, and consistency were the lessons life taught you as a child. The earlier, the better. This WAS Survivor, The Real World, and Ward and June Cleaver, all rolled into one. We knew the rules. We abided by the rules. We respected the rules, and those who kept them. We mastered a rule BEFORE we went messin' with it, just to cut down on untoward surprises (like prison time, for instance!) that could embarass our family into having to move to a different continent. We admitted our faults, named our sins, and faced our fears. We DID understand that first you must understand the Sin--or you will NEVER understand the Grace. It was NOT about "Feel Good!". It was all about "Be Good!". Life was tough, but you made it with the help of your family, friends, and community. To require a friend or neighbor to ask for help was the greatest disrespect you could show. It was unheard of among the better circles of life. Friends, family, neighbors didn't ask--they did. Children WERE at home, or playing in their own yards, by sundown. Sleepovers were arranged well in advance. Parents checked--a lot! Any act of disrespect, disobedience, or dishonor could end a friendship. Friendship mattered. You did NOT put friendship at risk--ever. You DID what you were expected to do, as you were expected to do it--every time, without complaint, or reminder--from anyone! Yes, back in the day, living life as a kid was really tough. Funny though, my friends used to be really good people. They were honest. They did not lie. They did not steal. They did not dishonor their Father, or their Mother. They did not take the name of the Lord in vain. They did not murder. They did not covet. They did not lust, in their heart, after another person. They did not make other Gods to Worship. They remembered the Sabbath, and they kept it Holy (wholly!). They.... could name the Ten Commandments--even without the movie. For those of you who do not remember when Ronald Regan was President because it was "before your time", these will surely sound as tribal feudalism with just a pinch of fundamental brainwashed terrorism thrown in. We called it "Growing Up!" The strange thing is, we did. And, we certainly took every available opportunity to test limits, bounce off of responsibilities, and land on our butts, trying desperately to remember what our names were! We grew. We learned. We shared. That WAS the olden way. One of the ways that truth was guaranteed was in the training up of the youngsters by the Aunts and Uncles. They could teach us gently, without compromise or punishment. It was a safe learning environment. Every visit with my Aunts and Uncles was very much "going to school". But, over the Honeypots, the records, or the track, there were lessons to be learned. Perhaps the greatest of the sadness in my life today is in the knowledge that now, all of my teachers are Home. Like it or not, I have graduated the course of instruction. Now, it is my turn. Now I must teach--someone! I miss it. I miss it terribly. And suddenly, I am the old guy. How the heck did THAT happen? Can someone tell me, please? It looks like there is finally going to be, once again, a family banquet in Heaven for the Bartons. Everyone is home, and it is mealtime. The final child has come Home, and the meal is just being prepared. It is being hosted by a very special guest: The Lord of Creation. The Guy in the Apron, flippin' the burgers? That's Dad! He wouldn't miss THIS one for the World! And, I gotta ask ya. Who could blame Him? To cousins Scott, James, Liza, and Anne: Oh, today is hard; so very hard. Hold my hand, and help me get through just this one day. I'll help you. I'll hold your hand, or even your heart. And we will, together, make it through today, one today at a time. I promise. In His Care, and Yours, Budroe |
| No, beloved. The Publisher did NOT, in fact, come mounted upon the Albino steed, Certified Check in pasty hand. Oh, that it would be so! I had come to a stopping point in the "Pull Up A Stone" series. There were/are several different directions to go from it's current location on the map of things to be said, but sermons that will most likely never be preached. That happens a lot in the life of a Minister. We sometimes get so excited by our own learning during the teaching process that many new avenues reveal themselves. Such has been happening with this series. Yet, by "coincidence", one path suddenly stood out boldly from among the many. And, as luck would have it, it also is a path which (now that I see it) makes perfect sense, and is the only reasonable path to take. It is the only one that leads all the way back to the beginning! Isn't that just nifty? In other news: I had occasion to do a self - inventory over the past couple of days. One of the things I had to realize is the simple number of things I am currently juggling. I wasn't so much afraid of the number as I was impressed. Then the realization hit me that none of them have moved very well, or very far, in quite a while. When you are juggling, the best way to get movement (there are actually several different ways to accomplish this goal) is to add elements!! Yeah! More on that as it develops. Please keep my cousin Annie B. and her brothers and sister in your prayers for these days. They are amazingly strong people--even in the weakness of their loss. I would ask you to lift them up, and carry them through these next days. It's 97 degrees at my little house. Or, wait, is that the humidity? *sigh* But I'll TAKE it! I do pray this note finds you all safe, well, and happy. Which brings me to a question one of my friends along this journey asked me recently. "Why do you sign your comments?" Because they are love letters. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| On this day, June 6th, 2007, there are two significant events in my life which have played out. The first is the fact that, at about 5:15PM EDT, my beloved Aunt Jena took her last breath of life on this Earth. It was immediately followed by her first breath in Heaven! She is safely now in the arms of her Lord, and Saviour, Jesus. She is surrounded by those who have been patiently, yet knowingly awaiting her arrival for some time. She is joined again to her lover, her mate, and her husband. She joins her family now complete. As she was the last to make her appearance on Earth, so she was the last to make it Home! It is a particular joy for me to know that, now, she is Aunt Jena to my family as well, who join in what must surely be a celebration of the Ages. While our sadness is overwhelming, it is but for a little while. Forever upon forever is a really long time to be happy. I am sad for her beloved sons and daughters who now understand the sad reality that one can become orphaned at any age. But, they are a strong, loving, and dedicated family of believers who, more than anything else, are completely devoted to each other. What a victory! The race run well, to completion! Can you just imagine? We, who must continue for a time on this journey, cannot know or concieve of the Glory upon Glory which my beloved Aunt is soon to experience. She has stood for her entire life for her Lord. Now, she stands with him side by side before the Father of Creation. She was not shy in her life here in talking about Him. She knew Him well, as a friend. How much more will her joy be talking with Him! I am so proud of the journey I was honored to witness. I am so very happy for the victorious Warrior who never wavered, even in the midst of the greatest possible struggle this earthly life affords. I am so very, very sad that I do not have her voice to give me strength, hope, and courage. But I have, and I keep as my constant companion, her face. Everything she ever taught me, or said to me, is completely visible. She guides me, and loves me still. May you now recieve the fullness of your reward for time, and all the eternities, my beloved. Welcome Home! I love you now, and forever. On this date, in the year 1944, my Father was one of hundreds of thousands of American soldiers who first stepped foot upon the sandy beaches of France, near Normandy. My father's assignment was to act as a Platoon Leader for his troops landing on Omaha Beach. The assault of which he, in particular, was a part, experienced over 40% mortality--within the first hour. His platoon experienced a mortality rate of over 80%--within the first ten minutes. It is strangely fitting that these two events become significant to me today, friend. If but for the Grace of my Dad, my Father would not have been around to give me life. We often wring our hands in discouraging disbelief, wanting to "know" the purpose we have been given. Sometimes, even as we are living it out, we cannot see it. Believe me when I tell you that I am, by no possible stretch of the imagination, anything special. God's Grace to one soldier paved the way for this entry to be made. One woman who, since January 9th, 1971, has stood in the gap for her Sister-my Mother-and made herself as available to my family as she ever was to her own, helped me survive long enough to learn how to live life honorably, joyfully, and purposely. I am, in my deepest heart, grateful for them both. I honor them for their duty, their sacrifice, and their courage in the face of battle. I celebrate their victory, even today. I am thankful to have known them, to have loved them, and to have learned those things in life that really do truly matter from them. I seriously doubt my ability to ever be anything like them. But, regardless of what it is that I shall be when I grow up, there is no doubt that I have had some sterling examples of what a good person should be. I know it's possible. That gives me hope. In this world, what could possibly be a greater gift to leave? Rest well, Warriors. Rest well. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| I received word from my beloved cousins this evening. It seems that my Aunt Jena is near the end of her journey. She has been comatose for several days, and her systems are shutting down. According to her care givers, she is much closer to Home than she is here, with us. She is expected to complete her journey very shortly--within hours. I, thanks to my dear Annie B. got some moments to speak, one more time, my love for my Aunt--to my Aunt. To her family's surprise, she responded verbally. They were shocked, but I was not. If the history of my life is worthy, this is but the first of many such moments yet to come for my Aunt and I. In our family, we are well aware of our Guardian Angels. We know most of them by name. This is a Sacred and Holy time for that family. They are standing on Holy Ground. This is a time which, for them, involves a lot of simple human selfishness. But, for this particular family, they are also gratefully aware of the truth in this moment. God is not near, He is Here! This is His moment! Hers will be a celebration of life! And, as anyone who has known her would immediately tell you, my Aunt Jena has had a life durned well worthy of celebrating. While the notion of not having this incredible woman available to my next concern, or fear, or victory stuns me into immobility, this is the journey of her life! It does come to me that her Birth Day is in four days. And, suddenly, I realize that her birth day could well be today! I celebrate the reality that this lady made my life very special simply because she was IN my life. To have a biological relationship with such a person as this is one of those extreme gifts, and benefits of having lived this life. The joy of a life lived so fully, with such joy and pure delight--even in the very bad times, has been a beacon for her family at every level. Her children, each a precious gift, have chosen to emulate the best things of two amazing parents. Both the gentle strength of their Mother, and the strong gentleness of their Father pour from them each and every one as a living testimony of what right truly is. I have been the lucky one on this boatride, for I have witnessed the birth, growth, and blossoming of goodness in my life. They are my cousins by birth; they are my friends by the Grace of God. Each with their own particular doses of sadness, pain, and sadness through their own lives still reach for the very best in themselves, and in others. They are the living embodiment of their Mother's Crown, which will surely sparkle. I like them. I admire and respect them. Although I can never measure up, I love them each as fully as any person I have ever had the privilege to love in this life. I am honored to know them, and to call them my family. Much more importantly, I call them my friends. I give them my love, and my conviction that, in these hours and moments, Heaven is about to become a much better place, indeed! And, there is no doubt in my broken heart that a "crowd of witnesses" is assembling to greet my Aunt Jena that would make St. Pete himself blush! Never say to me again that anyone "loses their battle". I just know too many who have won this battle in a most spectacular way! Jena B. Royster is most assuredly one of them! What a life well-lived, and a journey so well finished. What love, devotion, and support this phenomenal human mustered for her journey! What a victory, indeed! Well done, AJ! Rest in the bosom of Jesus, my beloved, and hear the only words that have ever truly mattered in the entirety of the Universe: "Welcome Home, my beloved!" In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| Well, now you've gone and done it--again! This day has followed the theme of the past few days. I've been kinda down, actually. I know this is part of the journey. You have those days where you think too much, remember too much about some things--and not enough about others, and you get a bit weepy. Yep, me too. I was surprised for several reasons. I have a tank that can hold a pretty good reserve of tears. I like to think that my walk is meant to bring hope, and maybe a yuck or two to others. But, just like all the other belly buttons on this spinning orb, I do have my moments. Whoa, boy HOWDY! Hang on, Dad. I gotta load on! There wasn't really anything in particular that kicked it off. I think maybe it was just time. Whether I needed Dad to give me a big ole hug, or whether He just needed to, I do not really know. But, however it got started, it's been goin' on for a little while. Frustration no doubt plays a role. I'm pretty frustrated these days. But, from where I'm lookin', and given the things that I am dealing with in my little world, there is plenty to be frustrated about. In case I never mentioned it, me and frustration just don't much see eye-to-eye. I don't like it. Partly, because when I'm frustrated, I feel nearly out of control. That's just a bad trait for a kid on this journey. I'm dealing, most of the time. But then, I too have my days. One of my rules of living is that frustration is nothing more than Ole Ugly tryin' ta get in my head, and in my heart. He knows there's no welcome mat in either place, but keeps on slitherin' around, seeing where some entrance might be available. I gotta tell ya, Ole Clubfoot knows his job pretty well. He's been at it a really long time. Sorry to say, he's had some pretty good results for his efforts over the course of time, too. When I feel frustration creepin' in, I have ways that I use to help overcome it. Mostly, they work. We all have "coping mechanisms" in our lives. The trouble comes when we begin to trust them too much. We have emotions for a reason. Pain is a signal. Something's wrong. We cry because it hurts. We, of all the creatures born from the Chasm, have the ability to process, and respond purposely to those things we feel. Our emotions are given to us for important reasons. Yet, we spend entirely too much of our available heartbeats trying to "cope". Sometimes, a good cryin' jag, or a manly-sized screamin' fit is just what we need to do. It's a gift from a loving Dad, just to help us over the hard parts. Fear is a lie, yet we feel it sometimes. We should not deny the feelings, or "cope" by turning them off. It makes us look like an 8 year-old with mud on our shoes. "Who, me?" Yeah, you. Trying to repress our emotions is not healthy. Controlling our emotions is, sometimes, just like herding cats. Even if it IS a good idea, it's not likely to happen. On this journey emotions get (like everything else) amplified. It's not that little things become huge things so much. It's just that little things have a way of creating huge responses. We try to control them. We try to "bear up". Ridiculous. That's not how we are made. That is not how we are built. That is NOT who we are. And, when we live our lives, even for a moment, as we are NOT, then Ole Cornbread Face wins. So, in my little world, those who know me will not feel uncomfortable at all to hear me say, "Hey! Let-er-rip!" So, I've been rippin' for a little bit. And, that has let Dad get really close to me. Why should I be discouraged? I don't know, Mahalia. I just am. And, that's good enough because it is me being the ME that I was created to be, okay? Why should the shadows fall? Well, Mahalia, they ain't nobody tole me that part. But, I know they do! I'm a kid, after all. It's not my job to explain the Universe. It's my job to be a kid in it. Sometimes, I just do what kids gotta do sometimes. And, like any other kid, sometimes I need my Dad to hug the breath right outa me. Why? Well, why not? Because it usually hurts like dammit, that's why. Especially when you come equipped with an over-sized reserve tank. It takes a while to get past the overflow. And, I don't know about you, but once I get started, it takes a while. It builds for days, and sometimes it just takes days to get beyond it. I don't much like going through it, but in those times, my Dad shows up. How can that be such a bad thing? Well, because no matter how hard He's huggin', I'm still feelin'. It takes a while. I'm allowed, Dad said so. And then, in the midst of the storm, my Dad shows up in a special way--through friends. My work has, in the past two days, been honored three different times. I received a Merit Badge, and an Awardicon from crackedbizkit for my work. I was truly shocked. But, lookie! ![Merit Badge in Inspirational
[Click For More Info]
Many thanks for your insight and inspiration.
I pray many more will find their way to your port - and have the time to stop awhile and [Link To Item #1216869] !!!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Inspirational-960.gif) And, my writing recieved an OPAL Award from gar57, too! I'll admit it to ya. I got a lot on my plate these days. You all know that, or at least some of it. Sometimes I wonder why the weight just doesn't break the plate! Then, I take a minute, and I look around. Not far, and not for long. It doesn't take it. I truly hate where my cuz is, right now. I've been there plenty of times before. It's a very scary place. I'd wish she wouldn't have to be there. But then, I remember the Sacredness of that place, and the Holiness of that place. I wouldn't take that away from her. I know she can, and will handle what comes ahead. While my heart is breaking for her, it is also rejoicing, for so many reasons. Duplicity of emotions can be a frustrating thing. And, suddenly, one of my most favorite songs comes through my speakers (quite unannounced, and unexpected). It served as a reminder to me that I felt was not just important, but imperative: "What a friend we have, in Jesus. All our pain, and griefs, to bear. I know that I am not the only person on the planet with either pain OR griefs. But, I have my share. It's my share that has had me burdened these past few days. Sometimes to the point that I just don't know what to do with them. Do you ever have times like that, or am I now legally certifiable? Where do you put this kind of pain? How do you unload these frustrations? "What a privilege to carry, EVERYTHING to God in prayer." One of the difficult times of my life, which I try hard not to remember most times, dealt with the final day of my Sister Lyn's life. Because of a family meltdown, and other reasons, it happened that I was alone with her for most of the days of her final admission to the Hospital. About 0430 in the morning, something hit me square in the soul. I got up from the chair beside her bed, and walked outside the Hospital. It only took "Hey, Dad?", and I was a train wreck...in progress. Well, I was mad enough to punch (several times) a cement pillar, anyway. She had done the deal. Her journey was, and still is, an inspiration to all who had the honor of knowing her. It wasn't easy, by any means. But, at every turn, and at every step, she did it well--and right! I was terribly angry. To top it off, I was angry with myself! I couldn't fight the feelings inside. I could not bring myself to say what my heart felt. "Let her come Home, Dad!" I shouted into the early morning darkness. "Why won't you let my Sissy come on Home?" I never felt so small, ever. Hopeless, and completely helpless, there was nothing I could do. There was nothing anyone could do. Her young, 53 year-old body had only begun to get the fact that it was dying. It had fought violently against it, but had finally begun the active dying process. I had held her hand for days, feeling it grow slowly colder by the hour. Yet, she breathed. I sang to her, talked to her, and loved her. She wasn't alone. That was the agreement. That was my honor. I will never forget the moment. "King Jesus, please bring my Sissy Home to my Dad. She has fought the good fight, and has won the battle. She has been the Warrior's Warrior! She never ran, and she never waivered. But, her battle is done! Please put her in our Dad's arms, and let her know His Peace. Please?" I had to feel that. It was part of my lesson on that day. It would sustain me through many days after. It sustains me today. That's one reason why I will never forget that moment. But, the other reason is because of what I experienced immediately after that moment. It was not something I caused, or created. I was just a broken little kid, all alone in the early morning darkness of a very dark day. Peace descended upon me. It came, wave after wave until I was lost in it. It consumed who I was, and left me just...different. No trumpets. No lightening bolts. It just was. "Oh, what Peace we often forfeit! Oh, what needless pain we bear." He couldn't give what I couldn't ask. I knew that well before the event had occurred. I was just "coping" with my emotions. Interesting choice. I refused to think in my heart that I could ever wish for just such a thing as that. I couldn't (and, in many ways, still cannot) imagine a moment of my life without my Sister in it. I surely did not want to face it. And, I sure wasn't going to ask Dad for it. See, sometimes we do that. It's 'cause we gottem belly buckons. It's kind of difficult to go before the Throne of the Most High God, and beg to get beat over the heart with a stick so big that only Dad can handle it. We cope. We internalize. We get frustrated. We become afraid. We run from, and deny ourselves what is best because it's gonna hurt. Sometimes, it's gonna hurt like dammit. Who do you know that looks forward to that? Is there a way around it? Nope. Not if you are one of Dad's kids, there isn't. Is that fair? Sure it is. We just cannot set our vision past the pain, or the frustration. Why do we allow these moments into our lives? "All because we do not carry, EVERYTHING to God--in prayer." And, after all the "coping", sometimes ya just have to let 'er rip! And, that is most assuredly when your loving Dad is gonna show up, and show off! In the craziness of life, it is somehow reassuring to know that Dad will love His kids, no matter what. In the form of kindness from a couple of friends along this journey Dad let me know that He is still Dad. I thank these friends for the kindness they have so generously shown to me. Theirs was a selfless act of kindness. They most likely had zero idea of that their gentle kindness meant to me. And, as sad as it may be to hear from someone who purports to be a writer, I'm just not sure how to tell them in words, or in a way they would understand and/or accept. But, Dad knows. "Are you weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care? Precious Savior, still our refuge; take it to the Lord in prayer. Do thy friends despise, forsake thee? Take it to the Lord in prayer! In his arms he'll take and shield thee; thou wilt find a solace there." And, the simple truth of it is...that's the simple truth of it. Solace is an amazing concept, unless you have ever felt it. I've felt it many times in my life. For some ridiculous reason, I feel it today. It was given, through a gift of kindness, by a Dad who just is crazy stupid nuts in love with His kids. Today, I got to remember that I'm one of His kids, too. He's got it all. And, that's enough. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| Tonight's local news tonight brought to those of us who live in Southeastern Indiana a double dose of sadness. Two communities, fifty miles apart, lost members on the same day in combat in Iraq. Neither community has more than 20,000 persons as members. One young man, 19 years old, leaves a wife and two small children, and their community, to grieve. The other, a 20 year old soldier, was killed when his vehicle encountered an Improvised Explosive Device (IED). I have a dear friend (who also is along on this journey as well) who just returned home to his four small children following his third deployment. He served as a Scout. Those are the folks that purposely go out and try to find IEDs. He would go back tomorrow to keep one more casualty from suffering. Two men have died. Two communities have lost a hero. I honor them here because it is something I can do. I disagree with this war. I support our troops. This is, in my mind, an unnecessary tragedy. But, when a Hearse is driving down the country roads of rural Indiana, and the side of the road is lined with people who just simply wish to show their respect for a stranger, some things do come into focus. I couldn't save them. My friend couldn't protect them. Their compatriots didn't leave them. It is just a tragedy--which is fast becoming the usual fare of our daily lives. The loss of our heroes should never be usual. We should never wipe away such tragedy. Both young men were known as believers, as Christ-followers. They answered the call of duty, with honor. Today, they are Home. We, left to struggle with their loss, will eventually move on.Yet, it is important for us to stop and consider just what we are asking of our heroes. It is important to consider what they are about, and why. But, first, we need to honor them in whatever manner is possible, and appropriate. The simple fact of the matter is, agree or disagree, these heroes died for a purpose much larger than themselves. They are not heroes because they died. They are heroes because they went. And, to me, that is perhaps the greatest tragedy of all. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| I must begin with a disclaimer: Everything you are about to read is 100% true. Having said that.... On Tuesday evening, I met a boarder I did not know I had--a mouse. It was not, as one would have thought had they witnessed my initial response, the world's largest, meanest, most vicious rat with attitude on steroids. No, it was a mouse. Your common, everyday fieldmouse. Ok? After some quick, yet panic-ridden conversation with my friend Tom, I went to his home where he graciously gave me a glue trap. He told me I needed to freeze it. Why? I have no idea, but one doesn't question Tom on such things as this. He knows. He's a home owner, ya know. I brought the trap home. The mouse noticed. Actually the mouse was watching me from atop the kitchen table as I returned. It seems she (I decided it was a she!) had discovered the joy of a potato chip bag, and was busily decomposing it one sliver at a time when I interrupted her industrious machinations. I put the glue trap into the freezer. The mouse made for the hidden parts. Effectively, I might add. I figured 24 hours would suffice for the glue to freeze. According to the instructions clearly printed on the top of the trap, freezing would activate the glue, while making it easier to remove the plastic strip atop the glue when you build the trap. The first was true. The second, however, was not. No, not at all. The following evening, about 7:30PM, the lady mouse decided to let me know she was happy and well, playing with her newly found treasure--the potato chip bag. I left it there purposely, yes I did. It worked like the proverbial dream. She found it--again! She also reminded me that I had a date with the freezer. I immediately went thereto, and retrieved said trap, now nicely frozen. The mouse noticed. I swear, she stood on her two back legs and cocked her little mouse head, watching me with some amount of interest. I gave her quite the show. Some twenty freakin' minutes worth of me fighting with a strip of plastic that was not goin' anywhere, thank you very much. (This is definitely a design flaw--unless you are a four year old--or a mouse!) Getting much more glue on me than was called for, I finally removed (with the help of a pair of vice grips and some arc-welding equipment) the plastic strip. I decided to leave the trap flat. Looking at Mrs. Mouse, I laid the glue trap on the floor next to the kitchen doorway. If she stayed on the table, she was safe. If she stayed in the kitchen, she was safe. If she felt adventurous, things could get, umm...sticky. I returned to the living room, after dousing the kitchen lights. There's just no sense interrupting an industrious mouse, after all. Fifteen minutes. Not a second more. Mrs. Mouse discovered, the hard way, the glue trap. With all four feet, and her entire tail, she suddenly thought my predicament with the plastic strip not quite so amusing. I, on the other hand, was feeling great sadness. Mrs. Mouse had just sealed her fate, if not the potato chip bag. I phoned Tom, with an update. I explained the design defect to him in great detail. I have no idea why he found humor in that. He suggested I leave Mrs. Mouse in place overnight. According to Tom (I had no idea he was a Mouse Psychologist, but as I said, one does not argue with a home owner!) perhaps Mrs. Mouse had some unindicted co-conspirators lurking about. Who ever heard of there being one mouse in a house? I was lamenting my impending mouse-icide with great difficulty. I have lived my entire life believing that, if you didn't make it, you don't have the right to kill it. Combat became the one decided exception to that rule. Overnight, I lay in bed listening to Mrs. Mouse frantically attempting to remove herself from the glue trap. When I awoke on Thursday morning, she had managed to move the trap some seven FEET, but had done nothing to improve her own situation, sadly. Either she had no compatriots, or they were satisfied to leave her to her own fate. There were no other mice, or mouse tracks near the trap. Mrs. Mouse was one tired little critter, I tell ya. Actually, I thought her dead. She lay on the trap, motionless. As I approached the trap, her whiskers flicked, and her rear flank shook a bit. She still had some fight left in her. Unfortunately, not enough. I gently picked up the trap, and deposited it rather unceremoniously into it's place of final rest--aka th' garbage bin! I took out the garbage that night, and off to the great mousey-beyond Mrs. Mouse went, anon. This was a traumatic event for me. For the reasons indicated, I do have this really big deal about not harming living things. I had a difficult time resting Thursday night. In fact, yes I did have a nightmare, thank you very much. Life is a precious thing, you know. Even to a mouse, life is a precious thing. Their life is much more precious to me than to them, perhaps. Be that as it may, this story is not yet concluded. In fact, it's about to get weird. Yesterday, I visited the Optometrist. We decided that the notion of being able to see was, in fact, a very good thing. The eyeglasses I have worn for over a year are a previous, and very different prescription than I was wearing in April of last year, when they took it upon themselves to do a suicide jump from my desk to the floor-directly underneath my foot! As I rose out of my chair to search for them....*sigh* I'm back at home, after a VERY long visit with the eye doctor person thingey. A new pair of glasses has been ordered, and I should have them in about four weeks. Hey, I'm grateful. I won't be able to type for a month after I get them. I'll be really busy seeing leaves with edges, and like that! Settling in for some very important work on-screen, things got going pretty well when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed what appeared to be movement on the floor to my left. Behind a couple of cans of screen cleaner, and a couple of bug bombs (no more ants?), there was something very large, and completely white moving on the floor. It made no sound, and had some pink spots on it. I immediately realized it must have been a newborn, umm, RAT. Still encased in its birth pouch, it was moving slowly, trying to work its way out of the pouch/bag. I know what this looks like, folks. I used to care for a 12' Python who just loved such dainty delicious treats as this. Now, as I am sure is true with you, two questions immediatly launched themselves into my mind: 1. Where is the Mommy Rat? 2. Which one of us is going to move out of this house? I cared very much about the answer to the first question. As to the second, a coin flip was fine with me. After about 45 minutes of freaking out, alone (it was much too late to see if Tom know a Rat extractor person thingey) I decided I had to remove, forthwith, the sac o rat before it made it to fresh air. As to where the Mom was, I neither knew nor cared. I did know, however, that if I fulfilled my plan, she was gonna be one mad rat. First the baby. Then, we'll worry about the Mom. Now, you must also know friend that only hours before this trauma incurred itself upon my returning peace, my landlady regaled me with the story of a previous tenant of these august digs, who found a family of Possum in what is now my bedroom. An hour's worth of hilarity, punctuated with a modicum of terror on the part of yours truly ensued. I get a dustpan, and a broom. I will scoop the baby rat into the dustpan, and hold it in place with the broom. If I miss, I don't know what I will do. I dare not break the sac, but that rat has just got to go. I don't have enough boxes to move! Besides, I like my little house. I understand why it suddenly seems to be so popular to various and sundry members of the animal kingdom. I like it, too. I'm bigger. I've got a weight advantage. I got squatter's rights, durn it. Bending down with my dustpan shield, I scoop the baby rat up and cover it with the broom. As all guys do, because they are guys, I look at it. (If we look at what we pick out of our noses like there's some kind of quality award at stake, do you really think we ain't gonna look at a nearly born, but not quite yet born rat baby? Huh?) Folks, I learned several things last night. 1. Kleenex in a room with a fan can move all by itself. 2. I need to quit listening to my landlords hilarious stories. 3. Man, am I gonna be glad when I get those glasses! In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| There's a Sermon coming. Run; run as fast as your chair will propel you. :) As you know, the past couple of weeks have been a bit of a challenge for me, on several fronts. The disease, the financial embarrassment, and a generally unpeaceful spirit overall have assaulted me in ways that, regardless of the ability to overcome them each individually, really knocked it in the dirt for me. Friends have prayed without ceasing, brought me food, and shared their treasure. Still, in the Valley, steps may only be taken one at a time. The battle has shown me some things about my "self" that have, more than anything else, just made me sad. The sadness gave way to anger, which led directly to desperation. You could, probably better than anyone else, draw a map of my footsteps on that particular travel. At this late date, and at this extremely advanced level of my own personal chronology, there is still much left to learn--much more than a complete lifetime could hold, I assure you. But, I have had to get to the place Dad would have me be. It has been, is, and will undoubtedly be a difficult path to Him. I, you; we--just do not make it any easier when it is we who are called upon this journey. Well, not if we gottem belly buckon, we don't. Am I supposed to know better? Is it supposed to be easier for me? "Greater faith!" They cry out. But, greater Faith is not dispensed at an ATM. It is not a treat after an afternoon nap. Greater Faith is forged in the fires where steel can be bent, and molded. And, there I found my difficulty. For all of my life, I have always been able and willing to answer every call of my Savior. This time, it seemed as though I could not. You most probably have no idea how terrifying that is for a person like me. How can it be that I cannot answer this call? I have answered them all. Now, fear not. I have surely answered many of them in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong way, and certainly for the wrong reason. But, my Dad knows now, as He has always known, that I am just a kid; a little kid at that, with much to learn and the cause of much patience from others. But, this? In the Valley, there is no such thing as an easy lesson. Nor is there any such thing as an unimportant, insignificant, or trivial question either. That is one of the largest burdens upon those of us called upon this journey, it seems. We don't have time for frivolity. There is no such thing as an "easy", or "light" decision. Even in the roughest, most unfair life, there's room for banter. Light-hearted conversation is at the highest premium in the Valley. There are seldom tones of voice which reach even the level of normal conversation. One of my greatest joys on this "WalkThrough the Valley" has been those occasional times when one or the other of my friends along the journey with me would break out in song. And, after more than two weeks, friend, it was a song that brought me to the point of being able, and ready, to walk some more. "When the student is prepared and ready, the Master will appear." That's one of "Mr. Miagi's" (Pat Morita) most famous lines from the "Karate Kid" movie with Ralph Macheo, yet it is one of the most - often misquoted lines of dialogue in all movies. It has taken me more than two weeks to become willing, able, and prepared. I think of the wonderful Hymn, "Are Ye Able?" The words of that glorious hymn were sung at my ordination. They were originally written by a man who knew their meaning well, Earl B. Marlatt. 1 The song is taken from the words of St. Mark 10:38, when Jesus inquires of his Disciples: "But Jesus said unto them, Ye know not what ye ask: can ye drink of the cup that I drink of? and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?." (KJV) "Are Ye Able?" Said the Master, To be crucified with Me? Yea, the sturdy dreamers answered, To the death we follow Thee. Refrain Lord, we are able. Our spirits are Thine. Remold them, make us, like Thee, divine. Thy guiding radiance above us shall be A beacon to God, to love and loyalty. Are you able to relinquish Purple dreams of power and fame, To go down into the valley (my word added), Or to die a death of shame? Refrain Lord, we are able. Our spirits are Thine. Remold them, make us, like Thee, divine. Thy guiding radiance above us shall be A beacon to God, to love and loyalty. Are ye able, when the anguish Racks your mind and heart with pain, To forgive the souls who wrong you, Who would make your striving vain? Refrain Lord, we are able. Our spirits are Thine. Remold them, make us, like Thee, divine. Thy guiding radiance above us shall be A beacon to God, to love and loyalty. Are ye able to remember, When a thief lifts up his eyes, That his pardoned soul is worthy Of a place in paradise? Refrain Lord, we are able. Our spirits are Thine. Remold them, make us, like Thee, divine. Thy guiding radiance above us shall be A beacon to God, to love and loyalty. "Are Ye Able?" Said the Master, To be crucified with Me? Yea, the sturdy dreamers answered, To the death we follow Thee."2 There's just a whole bunch in those words to consider. To truly understand the meaning and significance of them you just have to get to a place where you, and your mind, heart, and even your wounded soul can be transformed. I realized this morning that I was ready, willing, and prepared for precisely that, when I happened across someone singing my heart. I hope you will listen as he sings, and let him sing what I know is your heart, too. Not only is he a wonderful man, but he does what he does just about better than anyone else on the planet. Today, he spoke my heart to Dad. As music so very often has been in my life, it once again serves me today as the vehicle for speaking the unspeakable. Let it bless your hearts. Watch it here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIOnMX1sFJI&mode=related&search= And in the meantime, remember the simple truth that I am in His care, and Yours! Thank you so very much for that. -- Musically Yours, M. B. "Bud" Fields, Jr. Footnotes |
| This week has been one that required me to play a game that I, if I can be completely honest, hate. I've been playing catch-up with every blasted area of my life. There is no avenue I travel which has not, this week, had "Speed Up!" signs all over it. That makes it difficult to create new words, share new events, or experience new thoughts. Those things difficult are still difficult. The "social services" aspect of my life remains on hold, and I cannot force others to move at my speed. Yet, when I look in that direction, it is me lagging behind the power curve. It has been a week, on top of another week, of frustration with those things technological as well. The list just goes on and on. In the midst of the journey, it seems as though I have found myself directly in the middle of a major intersection of several busy thoroughfares. And, I had no idea until I durned near got run over in the process. Thanks to the love and concern of some dear friends who selflessly gave of their treasure, I have at least staunched the financial difficulties for the time being. It is not nearly in the amount, as in the giving. I am humbled by these selfless acts, and am eternally thankful for them. At least, for today, I can eat--and rest. So, while nothing has changed so much, the little changes mean much to me at this time. Sometimes, the smallest advances are the very best we can hope for. Having the patience to endure during these times is the fodder for lessons to be learned. I haven't passed with flying colors. But, at least for today I have done well enough. I must somehow accept these new limitations to my life. I don't have to like them. I hope your week last week was better. I hope this week will be purely legendary (and I do mean that in a good way!) for us all. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| In the past 24 hours, I have had to make some hellishly difficult business decisions. I have made them. In an attempt to understand a dream I have been having for a while, I went back to the first Blog I ever started writing online. The answer to the question going through my mind over the past 24 hours was staring me in the face: gotta get more people to see your work. I wonder if this will work! Well, I'm bettin' at least I'm gonna be the very first around THIS neighborhood who can say THIS: http://www.bloginspace.com In His Care, and Theirs, and Yours, Too! Budroe |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
