Just Posting

I'm just posting today. I'm trying to figure out how my friend makes her blog look so nice, while I spend hours and hours on mine and it looks like a kid cut and pasted it together. I don't understand this. Guess I just wasn't meant to be online. But this is where I'm at, so give me a break, ok? I'm back only temporarily, I think, until I can find a blog that actually works. Doesn't seem to matter if I'm using a Mac or a PC, this stuff just isn't intuitive. And I'm intuitive. Not much else, but yes, intuitive. So I need an intuitive web program, or whatever these things are. Well, better go back to figuring out what my place in this world is all about. Bye for now! Simply yours, Patty P.S. Oh, just one little thing I meant to say: God is good. All the time.

Stars in a Desert Sky

Stars in a Desert Sky

A Story for my Family

A story of Daddy

by

Patricia Farrell

Christmas, 2008 Lately I’ve found myself taking time away to sort out my thoughts, and to rest from stresses of family. Sometimes I wander in my car, sometimes I land in a swanky coffee place. These days more often it’s the swanky coffee places that win, as it’s very cold this December. One evening I took my journal along, planning to write down some of my feelings in response to a counseling session earlier in the day. Instead, my long lost muse took me elsewhere: Home for Christmas. I hate eating in the middle of a place. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, making a pig of myself. I really feel like just a dressed up pig or something. You can dress her up, but …. And of course I’m wearing black, so every tiny crumb that falls when I break up this dry biscotti or put a piece in my mouth shows up like stars in a desert sky.

Stars in a Desert Sky ……..

Daddy said, “Let’s go for a ride!” and we piled in the car. “Where are we going, Daddy?” we asked excitedly. Sometimes Daddy’s “rides” took us only to the store, sometimes to the beach, sometimes we ended up at Grandma’s. Depending on what kind of day it had been I would be anything from disappointed to elated to down-right depressed at the end of them. But I would never deny I thoroughly enjoyed the “ride” in our old, turquoise, Dodge station-wagon. It had brought us all the way across Dixie from Atlanta, with us singing “California, here I come, right back where I started from!” at the top of our lungs, led by Daddy, for whom alone the song was true. We four girls including Mama were each and every one born in the Atlanta area. “Don’t know,” said Daddy. “Wherever we end up, I guess. Let’s just go for a ride.” “Ok!” we said, wanderlust burning in our young hearts so we couldn’t sit still on the vinyl-upholstered, bench seats. Janice, as usual, had parked in the middle of the front seat, next to Daddy. She always got to go there because she was the baby. I liked the back window best. I could gaze out as long as I liked and watch the tumbleweeds go by …. Or the concrete …. Or sagebrush ….. Or tract homes. Whatever it was going by the window I didn’t always see it anyway. My mind was usually far , far away in a daydream about heroes and heroines and castles and battles won and horses faithful … or dogs … and filled always with singing singing singing. There wasn’t a thing alive I knew that didn’t have a song with it in my mind. I sang (or hummed, when there weren’t any words) my favorite TV shows’ themes over and over in my mind, and sometimes just under the noise of the car so the rest of the family wouldn’t hear me and comment. Or other times I sang along with my mother and sisters to keep Daddy awake on a long drive, like when we kept on driving one day and ended up in the desert. 1,000 Palms, they said it was. Were there really a thousand? “Did you count them, Daddy? How do you know there are a thousand?” Daddy coasted the Dodge along the side of the road, out in nowhere. He cut the engine and turned off the lights. “What’s going on, Daddy? Why did you stop?” “Tell Kathy to quit poking me! Stop it!” “She did it first!” “Now quiet down, settle down!” Daddy’s voice took on his authority figure sound. It wasn’t quite real, it was his fake superior officer voice he used to make us laugh at home sometimes when Mom gave him the job of quieting the herd because her hands were in spaghetti or something. Daddy liked to do that voice. He could pretend he was something more than a seaman 1st class in the Navy or a corporal in the Army. It always backfired, though, because we just got the giggles and couldn’t stop, which was louder than the fighting sometimes. “Now be very, very quiet,” Daddy lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “You want to see something you’ll never see at home?” “What?” we all whispered. “Well,” Daddy liked to take his time. “If you get out of the car and stay right next to it …” we hung on his every word, “… then you just tip your head back as far as it can go….” “Yeah?” said Janice. She was the baby. “Be quiet!” I said, “Daddy’s telling us!” “Shh ….” said Kathy. “All right, settle down. Let’s go outside and you’ll see.” Daddy grabbed Janice as she tried to rush off into the sand. She was the baby. “Stay right here, Dewey.” She did. I guess she did. I don’t remember having to go look for her so she must have. But she really must have been quite a baby still, because she doesn’t seem to remember this kind of thing the way I and Kathy do. But I digress. We all stepped outside the car over Mom’s protests. She didn’t think it was quite safe, but came along to help protect us from the desert. We stood quite close to Daddy, because the night was suddenly very sand, and we had the feeling there was just something not quite right about a family of five and their Dodge station-wagon stopping in the desert in the night to see something they couldn’t see at home. But Daddy was there. Big and strong and not afraid. And so we weren’t either. We were big and strong and not afraid next to Daddy. “Now,” said Daddy in a church voice. “You’re all growing up in the city kind of, and things are getting all built up there so you can’t see the things we used to see every day growing up. Where we live it used to be all trees and orange groves. But out here it’s still just the way nature made it. My dad used to take us out here so we could see this, and so I brought you all out so you can too. Now, look straight up, and tell me what you see.” We looked up, and “oohed” with amazement. “You can’t see ‘em like that where we live,” said Daddy. “Stars in a desert sky shine brighter than anywhere else.” “Why, Daddy?” Kathy asked. “Because the air is so dry there’s no clouds or mist in between, and there’s no smog either. Also all the city lights make the stars look dim where we live. Here they shine so brightly …..” and Daddy seemed to be seeing something far in the heavens. “Just as God created them,” said Mama. “The sun to rule the day and the stars to rule the night …” She snuggled up next to Daddy, who put his arm around her. We took deep breaths of the sun-scorched pure air of the desert. It smelled like tumbleweeds, I thought. Daddy and Mama heaved heavy sighs, and Mama started singing a hymn. We all got back in the car and joined in Mama’s singing. Mama had such a pretty voice, so soft and sweet.

And Daddy joined in with his gentle baritone.

Silent Night, holy night All is calm, all is bright Round yon virgin mother and child Holy Infant so tender and mild Sleep in heavenly peace Sleep in heavenly peace. Silent Night, holy night Wise men see the Star so bright With the angels let us sing Alleluia to our King Christ the Savior is here! Jesus our Savior is here.

Janice fell asleep soon after we started home. But I stared out the window long at the desert bright stars, and pondered all these things in my heart. Janice was just a baby. Patricia L. Farrell December 3, 2008 Starbucks, Tualatin (Martinazzi)

What has happened is simple, like a song I learned so young.  I've sloughed off all falsehood.  

I know that sounds simplistic and oversimplified, but it is the truth.

A couple of months ago, I went on our annual family "vacation" to Southern California, spending four days of it at the beach resort my husband grew up visiting every year.  While there, I realized I could not continue my life in the way I had been going.  I didn't know why at the time, and I am still exploring the reasons, but I felt an overwhelming compulsion to. simply. STOP.

Some may believe they recognize here what is commonly called a mid-life crisis.  Others might call it backsliding into my carnal nature.  Still a few may try and characterize my desire to put a stop to the hectic pace of suburban parental life without a husband, mainly, as a psychological crisis in need of a therapist, and maybe they'd be right.  All I know is that listening inside myself I suddenly heard "I'm not going back".  And so I haven't.

Oh yes, I came home physically with my family, how could I not?  But ever since the day I realized I was not living MY life I have not taken up the old reigns, except to care for my children.  And this is right.

You see, I am created in the image of God, a vital part of the Body of Christ, a Masterpiece, a work of art, a living, breathing, growing, giving being, called to service in the arts.  And I can't do better than heed the call.

For a very long time I've listened to voices from outside myself that advise me to ignore the promptings of the Spirit within.  These voices don't hear the Song, and can't appreciate mine.  I refuse to give them the honor of being heard any longer.

Friends and acquaintances (that may be redundant) think I need their advice, need their encouragement to continue in the old ways.  But I need no advice any longer about how to spend my time, energies, and money.  At this point in my life I really think I can be considered mature enough to make these decisions for myself.  They mean well, they just don't get it.

Here are my priorities for answering God's call on the rest of my life:

My children

My family

My gifts and talents

Nothing else matters.  All else will stem from these, and will definitely be enough for me.  For my children and family I will travel anywhere.  In my pursuit of ways to use the gifts and talents I was given will be found ample work as well as amusement. Among my family members, with my children, in using my talents and gifts, my spirit will be filled to overflowing in the worship of the Giver.

What else could one want?

So don't bother calling and trying to tell me I need to drag myself back to yet another shindig for the sake of an institution which neither cares nor wants the real me. Because I won't be listening.  I'm not listening.  I haven't for about three months.

I have bigger fish to fry.

Pescadores yo osare,

Yo osare,

Yo osare.

Pescadores yo osare

Si seguis a Mi.

Si seguis a Mi,

Si seguis a Mi.

Pescadores yo osare,

Si seguis a Mi.

Now my boat's left on the shoreline behind me,

By Your side I will seek other seas.

Thank You, Jesus.

Simply forever Yours,

Patty

The New Kid on the Block

Introducing Thomas Jefferson Farrell, affectionately known as "Jeffy".  He was added to our family on Wednesday, July 16, 2008.  Jeffy was born March 22, 2008, and is the most darling thing we've ever known in canine breeds.

However, he does have a few idiosyncracies we'd love for him to lose, like peeing on the carpet from time to time... throughout the day.  Usually just AFTER he's brought in from outside, when we least expect it.  Time for Wee-Wee Pads I suspect.  We were told he was house trained.

Then there's his incorrigible habit of chewing the carpet.  If it weren't for the fact he is only finishing what the cats started a couple years ago, he would be only a memory by now, banished forever for having the unmitigated gaul to harm a hair of my husband's house.  He sure is lucky the cats got there first, and were the beloved animal family, therefore set a precedent where that little bit of carpet was concerned.

Or maybe it's just because Jeffy's just so gosh darned CUTE.

And then..... there's the way he digs the sofa.  I don't mean he DIGS the sofa, man.  I mean he actually digs up the sofa.  He found a treat beneath one of the cushions once, so now he believes all he has to do is dig hard enough between them and he'll find one again.  Gladly may he have his way with that sofa.  Never liked it, never will, didn't pick it out in the first place, never wanted it, want it to go away forever.  And soon it shall, heheheheee....

But I digress.  Back to the puppy, or Jeffy, as John has dubbed him.  His endearing qualities more than make up for his wayward puppy peeing, carpet chewing, sofa digging, and even his terrifying the cats, who don't realize he's more afraid of them when they get their dander up than they should be of him.  He lived with bigger dogs and cats almost since he was born.  He thought they'd like him too.  Poor cats, every time he comes over to introduce himself, they think he's going to take a chunk out of them.  If only they could talk to each other.  Ah, well, I'm sure they'll figure it out eventually.  In the meantime the problem is keeping them from eating each other's food.  Time for the baby gate.

Jeffy has the smartest face.  He's always thinking, and the foster nanny thought "the professor" would be a good name for him.  His fur is just right, not too short, not too long, as is his tail, which he wags quite vigorously when he wants to play, which is often.  He NEVER barks.  He yipped at the cats once to ask them to play and it scared the living daylights out of them, so he's never done it since.  He growled once when someone was coming to the door, but we told him to be quiet and he was.  He sleeps peacefully with our son, either on his bed or in Jeffy's own bed, all night, not even rising when we do but waiting until he's invited.  He does his dirty business outdoors, not indoors, thankfully.  He knows where the back door is, and I actually saw him sitting there expectantly yesterday.  (I wonder if that was before or after he peed by my husband's favorite chair.....)  He is the perfect size for cat lovers, about the same size as ours if not a little smaller.  He rides in the car nicely, we were told.  (Although John says on the way home he cried the whole way.)

Enough.  Words can't do him justice.  Enjoy the pics.

If there were a song for this one it would have to "How Much is that Doggy in the Window", as I don't know of any psalms, hymns, or spiritual songs that refer to the wagging tail of a dog.

Simply yours,

Patty

Just want to share this.  Our church partners with World Vision to help bring water to villages in Africa.  Our choir sang an African song for visitors from one of the villages last year.  We sent a team there this month to learn more, and they were greeted by this spontaneous performance of a congregation singing the same African song our choir had sung for their fellow church members when they were here.

http://web.mac.com/gchandl/LGPC-GO-Team/Podcast/Entries/2008/7/6_Woodland_Baptist_Church_-_Bonse_Aba.html

I hope that comes through.  To visit our church's blog go to http://web.mac.com/gchandl/LGPC-GO-Team/Blog/Archive.html

Enjoy.

Simply yours,

Patty