Conner and Lilly Christmas 2021

 

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Blessing on this Veterans' Day

Beloved Mother Goddess, Beloved Father God, We ask for blessings on all those who have served their country in the armed forces.
We ask for healing for the veterans who have been wounded, in body and soul, in conflicts around the globe.
We pray for those with injured bodies and traumatized spirits. Bring solace to them. May we pray for them when they cannot pray.
Bring peace to all veterans' hearts and peace to the regions they fought in.
Bless all the soldiers who served in any manner. May their calling to serve continue in their lives in many positive ways.
Give us all creative vision to see a world that, growing weary with fighting, moves to affirming the life of every human being and so moves beyond war.
So mote it be!

 

 

A Folded Napkin

The Folded Napkin ... A Truckers Story (as told to me by an anonymous source)

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome.

I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good, and the pies are homemade. The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ" the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. All the salt and pepper shakers were exactly in place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table.

Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Bell Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look.

He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked.

"We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay."

"I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?"

Frannie quickly told Bell Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed: "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK," she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables.

 Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I didn't get that table where Bell Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup."

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something  For Stevie.

Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds.

Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: "truckers."

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy.

I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

“Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!"

I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins.

"First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.

Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother.

"There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving,"

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired.

Plant a seed and watch it grow. At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or forward it fulfilling the need! If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate person.

Blessings!

Too Much or Not Enough?

Google Images

During the holiday season, when the custom of giving gifts is popular, the belief that "Blessed are those who give, for they shall receive sevenfold," seems so appropriate.  There seems to be a blessing in return that comes from giving to and sharing with others. At the same time, the custom often makes us look at our “status” and financial position as we calculate what is affordable as gifts. Will that recipient think less of you if you spend $10 less for that generic brand as opposed to a brand name? How does it make you feel if you have $10 less to your name?

During this time we will find ourselves with questions about what we have because our possessions can hold us back upon the way to perfection if we have so many that they consume our time taking care of them. What happens to your feeling of abundance when you think you must guard what you have instead of sharing? This feeling of guarding your possessions may disengage you from the flow of abundance

So, ask yourself, would it be better to share what you have? Having "things" is so much engrained in our consumer mentality that we might find it an unusual thought to consider "sharing" what we have with others… but it can, no, it should be done, and done happily.

People are taught to consider possessing an abundance of "things" to be a sign of success.  Thus, we have the bumper stickers that say:  "He who dies with the most toys WINS!"  Really? Life is a game? What is the prize?

With wisdom we are shown that the person who is the wealthiest does not want for more, regardless of how much or how little he has.  Whereas the poor man has a plethora of "wants" and feels the lack of his desires.

Of these two individuals, who is the happiest?  Who has the most well-being?

Which one would YOU rather be?

It's worth thinking about…

Next, let’s talk about gratitude………

 

Truly Despicable!

Fox News


Despite silence from many religious leaders, I feel impelled to publicly decry the current policy (it is not the law) that has been implemented by this current President and his administration that results in innocent children, children of all ages and many national origins, being forcefully, physically separated from their parents and/or guardians.

It is my understanding that the illegal crossing of the national border is a misdemeanor offense at worse and a non-offense if the act involved the request of asylum in the United States. Imagine being pulled over for speeding and having your child taken as a result. No child should be used as a negotiation tool at any level. Our immigration policy is in need of an overhaul, complete overhaul, including border security along with the “legal” process of obtaining citizenship. However, this method of forcing change reeks of prejudicial treatment. Condemned by the UN committee for Human Rights, so, we will just leave the committee. How can we as a country then pass judgment on other countries for their inhumane policies and acts? Where does the line get drawn? (Never mind, we can just erase that line, too). We are sinking fast to the ranks of third-world countries when it comes to our political morals and ethics.

What is sadder is the acceptance and support of an egotistical man-child who has empathy only for his bank accounts. He acts like the world is the school yard and if he does not get his way he will either take his ball and go home or bribe the kids with a chocolate bar (aka money). The majority of Americans did not vote for him, despite his many claims. Did he win fairly via the Electoral College? Per the Constitution, yes, he did. (Russian influence or not) So where are all the non-followers? Where is the Congressional action? They have become enablers, just like his cronies. No checks and balances are in play.

Follow the money, as it usually answers so many questions, particularly the “why”. This money trail leads to ransom being paid for the release of the children in return for the coveted “wall”. Is that how real politics works?

Being in my senior years I cannot help but wonder wonder what the reactions would have been if this occurred in the 1960s and '70s. Action in any non-violent legal form at any level is needed to halt or redirect this maniacal regime. Enable or intervene?

The Language of Love

                                                                                                                Google Images

The following was given to me by a friend with a request to post on his behalf. Please give it a read and feel free to leave some feedback. and, as always, don't forget to click that "Follow"button. Thanks!

Dear Heart!

In this day and era of 2018, we are experiencing the most aggressive changes we have ever seen.  We have witnessed technology take a step forward very quickly. We have witnessed moral values shift to a completely new set off rules and regulations. The mass media is trying to adapt and never before has the stress that steams from these changes affected our children as intensely.

One might ask, if these changes are for the better, or if they are for the worst. Opinions are divided and I have personally witnessed us abandoning our outdoors plans and enrolling in more activities within the four walls we live in! The natural balance has been disturbed by many and with no intention of trying to get it back. Mistakes are a part of being human, they are needed to promote self growth. However, we are suppose to learn from them, and then, embrace the positive changes that are innate.

 I would like to take this chance to send love and blessings to all those out there, regardless of age, gender, sexual orientation or religious beliefs, as everyone is be entitled to they liberty of expression, thought and belief. Many of us suffer on a daily basis as the society standards of “normal” and of “acceptable” are changing at the speed of light, much too fast for us to keep up. Some develop an emotional type of depression that will end up becoming a vicious cycle of lack of self esteem, a loss of courage, as we become beings that are lost, unbalanced and not even aware of everything that makes us unique. We think our qualities are flaws and all our efforts will never be good enough for us to be recognized as a valuable individual, special and Irreplaceable. My advice would be, look in the mirror, the fact alone that no one else looks like you makes you special and unique. Let that sink in if you feel it is a good idea to do so.
   
Let us all practice forgiveness, let’s love those who love us, and love the ones who criticize us even more, as they hide they own feelings of inadequacy by bullying their peers, their sadness, their loss of hope, take a toll on who they are meant to be. They are suffering, too, and maybe more than what we ever could imagine. Some things are easier said than done but with the proper discipline they are possible. There are very little things we cannot achieve if we have the compatible mindset. Once again, YOU are special, YOU are unique. Let that sink in, if you deem it important.

We might all be different in color, gender, and even nationality, but we should never forget we all have access to a universal language, the one we receive as babies, as we grow up…

Please do not allow yourself to forget this language:

The Language of Love & Forgiveness

Anonymous