Simplistic Changes

sim·plic·i·ty     [sim-plis-i-tee]  

noun, plural sim·plic·i·ties.

1. the state, quality, or an instance of being simple. 
2. freedom from complexity, intricacy, or division into parts: an organism of great simplicity. 
3. absence of luxury, pretentiousness, ornament,etc.; plainness: a life of simplicity. 
4. freedom from deceit or guile; sincerity;artlessness; naturalness: a simplicity of manner. 
5. lack of mental acuteness or shrewdness: Politics is not a field for simplicity about human nature.

Origin: 
1325–75; Middle English simplicite  (< Old Frenchsimplicité ) < Latin simplicitās  simpleness, equivalentto simplici (stem of simplex ) simplex + -tās -ty²

Related forms

non·sim·plic·i·ty, noun, plural non·sim·plic·i·ties.

o·ver·sim·plic·i·ty, noun

su·per·sim·plic·i·ty, noun

Synonyms 
candor, directness, honesty.

“Out of clutter, find simplicity. From discord, find harmony. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.”   ~Albert Einstein

Proverbs 13:7

The Message

⁷ A pretentious, showy life is an empty life;
    a plain and simple life is a full life.

You may recall, this was my “word,” my theme, if you will, for 2013.

Again, we are paring down our possessions. We have a contract on our home and if all is approved, we will be vacating by July 1^st!

This is exciting! This is frightening!

Things may be quiet from here for a while as we attempt to become even more simplistic in our lifestyle and possessions! 

Please remember us in prayer, as this has been our home for 17 years and there are a lot of memories here!

Simply yours,

Tamara

Neighborhood Tragedy

It was a heart wrenching weekend in our subdivision Saturday. I was fixing dinner at approximately 4:00 pm when I heard sirens up close and personal. Husband was out running some errands, so I thought perhaps he had been accosted for making a turn without indicating (he’s been known to do this on occasion).  

When I went outside the door to have a look, a police officer was setting up traffic cones to prohibit travel on our street.  This was just to the east of our home.

As I approached the street I saw the neighbor’s house across the street  and two doors down fully engulfed in flames. The police were there in force setting up perimeters, the emergency medical personal, but the fire department (all volunteer, mind you) had not yet arrived. We could hear the sirens wailing in the distance.

I went back into the house, turned off the stove and joined my neighbors.  Two doors down, our neighbor had the mother and two children in her home. So many tears and so much sorrow as the mother watched her home being consumed by flame. The young daughter’s concern was pets left inside the home… but the family, the mother and children were safely outside the burning home.

The firefighters arrived and began in earnest their attempt to extinguish the blazing home. A hydrant was close at hand and they hooked up and began to hose down the exterior and the garage that was open and spewing flames as if it were a dragon’s lair.

Where the fire damaged the roof

Once some ground had been gained, several firefighters climbed to the roof and began the arduous task of inspecting it for ‘hot spots’ each of them using a long pole.  After they climbed back down, portions of the roof burst into flames. Next we heard a horrific explosion and the vehicle parked in the driveway burst into flame.

Our street was awash with not only the emergency responders, but the” lookie-loos” who come to watch the unfolding tragedy. Those, the curious, the sight seers.

The garage, where it appears the fire started

The father showed up and approached his wife asking for clarification on “how could this happen?”  All in all, it was an unpleasant exchange and my heart broke for this wife in the anger the husband expressed over the happening situation. 

Lea from My Letters to Emily wrote of her state’s devastating tornadoes from this past week. She pondered the ago old question of “why”…  Why, indeed.

It is always amazing to watch, see and hear a person’s response to tragedy and the “why” of it all.

The vehicle that was destroyed

Please pray for this family as they are brought to mind. Pray they are able to recover and that this tragedy does not destroy their family unit.

 Simply yours,

Tamara

II Corinthians 1:3-5The Message 

The Rescue

^3-5 All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us. We have plenty of hard times that come from following the Messiah, but no more so than the good times of his healing comfort—we get a full measure of that, too.

A Weekend Offering

Wounded Warriors

On the 21^st we traveled to the VA Hospital.  Husband had some tests run. Our closest VA Hospital is in Tucson Arizona. As I understand it, it is one of the top rated facilities on a national level. It is impressive.

What impressed me even more were the wounded warriors I silently observed. Young men and women returning from the Middle East with an array of sundry… well, wounds and scars; those that are visible and those that remain invisible.

A number of them had therapy dogs. As I have read and understand it, these working dogs assist the soldiers who are suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Even though these soldiers may appear to be whole, they are wholly wounded. Wounded in their Spirit and that is a dangerous and sad place to be wounded.

This war-time syndrome at one time was call “being shell-shocked”. I recall World War II Veterans who were friends of my parents who were “different” due to what they witnessed during war time endeavors. Some were alcoholics trying to self-medicate themselves into oblivion. Others were, well, what my Grandmother called “touched”. Not dangerous, by any means but unpredictable and unable to be engaged in full time employment.

I recall one such man who sat on the bank on the north side of Wooster. He would watch the cars go by. He would often decide to enter the traffic to attempt to “control” it or he would begin sweeping the high traffic roadway. Sometimes a family member would come and gently take his arm and lead him back home. Sometimes it was law enforcement personnel who would pull over and lead him home. He wasn't a menace, only an inconvenient interruption if you were in a hurry to get from one end of town to another.

I cannot tell you the number of young warriors I saw with wounds to their extremities. Braces on maimed legs; missing legs; in wheelchairs, walking with the aid of crutches, or walking with the aid of a prosthetic leg or in some cases legs. One can only imagine how these injuries were received. Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs) are the most likely the culprit.

Most of these soldiers were mid-thirties or younger. These are ones who prior to this point in their lives believed themselves to be invincible. They are now re-thinking their world, their lives and their futures.  

Husband was going through an annual interview with a counselor when I saw him. He was young, under the age of thirty most likely. His right leg was maimed and in a brace. It was scarred and appeared that all the calf muscle was missing. He walked with a limp, not pronounced, but it was discernible. His left leg’s calf was covered with an ornate tattoo.

How does one say, “Thank you for your service” in the face of such sacrifice? When we were leaving I approached him and did say just that. I maintained eye contact and added “and for your sacrifice.” He looked at me with his penetrating brown eyes and nodded an acknowledgement. My heart was wrenched as I walked the corridor to the elevator.

What a ministry potential! We just might need to re-think church and reach out to this group. Perhaps we need to consider easier access to our buildings and restrooms. Maybe we need to offer evening support groups. Maybe we just need to take the time to sit and listen to these young soldiers. They are most likely angry at God for allowing this to happen to them. And they are mourning. They are mourning the loss of a limb and the loss of innocence. We, the disciples, the followers of Christ need to come along side and help to lead them home. We don’t have to have all the answers. We only need to have time, compassion and the ability to pray with and for them.

I love the way the 23 Psalm reads in The Message:

23 ^1-3 God, my shepherd!
    I don’t need a thing.You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
    you find me quiet pools to drink from.True to your word,
    you let me catch my breath
    and send me in the right direction.
⁴ Even when the way goes through
    Death Valley,
I’m not afraid    when you walk at my side.Your trusty shepherd’s crook
    makes me feel secure.
⁵ You serve me a six-course dinner
    right in front of my enemies.You revive my drooping head;
    my cup brims with blessing.
⁶ Your beauty and love chase after me
    every day of my life. I’m back home in the house of God
    for the rest of my life.

Especially verse 6. We need to help shepherd them and lead them back home.

Simply yours,

Tamara

Wordless Wednesday

Ocotillo at Sunset (pronounced: oak a tee o)

Thirty-four Years Later

We celebrated our 34^th anniversary on the 19^th. It was a quiet and reflective celebration. We went to lunch after church, nothing special, just nice and quiet. We were given complimentary desserts following the meal.

My devotional from yesterday read: "Our Holy calling [asks us] to live with an open-handed, open-hearted generosity and abandon, holding tightly to that which comes from God and willingly letting everything else go."  –Martha Highsmith, Disciplines 2012 That was an appropriate anniversary devotional, don’t you think?

We also realize that in our current society everything conspires against longevity in marriage. Marriage is a sacred trust. We have not always done everything right. We still don’t. Forgiveness is a large part of marriage as well as looking out for the other’s best interest.

I don’t know if I’ve ever shared this before, but this is a second marriage for both of us. We had history going into this. I brought a daughter into the marriage so we had a ready-made family.

I’ve found that some churches are not as forgiving about divorce as society is. We came to faith after four years of marriage and this issue seemed to be held over our heads and we were not allowed to participate in certain ministries of the church. We were treated as “less than”. I asked one of the church leaders if the forgiveness we had received from Christ was therefore conditional. He had no response to my query.

That is not what I wanted to focus on in this post, however. I want to focus on mortality. I’ve noticed that not a lot of “Boomers” seem to have their affairs in order. No wills or trusts. No pre-arranged funeral plans. Nothing left to say what they would like to have in the way of a memorial or funeral.

Husband and I have pre-arranged plans, so yesterday we discussed for a bit purchasing “shrouds” or some such thing as we have chosen cremation for our plans. I told him I though purchasing nice (but not real expensive) sheets for that time would work well. I also told him that I want the person in charge to allow me to “dress” him (Husband) when the time comes.  Should it be the other way around, then him to dress me. The final care, I suppose and a step in the healing process.

Husband’s mother is 92. We hope she goes before we do as cremation appalls her. It does for a lot of persons. I learned there are some wonderful choices available, such as having your ashes placed into soil with a tree to be planted in memory of the loved one. Nice urns of course, to display the loved one. We’re thinking a columbarium niche for final interment.

I believe I will leave you with an assignment today. It is a difficult assignment. Write your own obituary. What is it you want people to know and/or remember about you when you’ve passed on? Write it out.

I have a file that is titled “In The Event Of”  for that very purpose. I can tell you in all honesty that purchasing a pre-arranged plan, leaving directions for a service (to include musical selections) and writing a will or trust are the easy parts. The obituary is the difficult part.

The phrase “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” comes from the funeral service in the Book of Common Prayer, and it is based on Genesis 3:19. That passage says that we begin and end as dust. Where did the ashes come from? The compilers of the Book of Common Prayer were careful to produce what is called metrical text—text that when a congregation reads it, it all comes out even. So they pulled in Genesis 18:27 and Job 30:19, in which dust and ashes are both components of the human body. 

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust” is poetic. That exact phrase is not in the Bible, but it is Biblical through and through.

Each church of the Anglican Communion has its own version of the Book of Common Prayer. In the current American version, this phrase appears on page 485 (Burial Rite 1) and on page 501 (Burial Rite 2) in a prayer that is said by the priest as earth is ceremonially cast on the coffin:

In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brother ; and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen.

The funeral service is poignantly meaningful and a literary masterpiece that has rightly become part of the literary treasure of the English language. You’d be surprised how many pastors whose churches have no formal liturgy use the Book of Common Prayer as a worship resource.  From http://www.kencollins.com/answers/question-27.htm

Simply yours,

Tamara

Psalm 48:14

Amplified Bible (AMP)

¹⁴ For this God is our God forever and ever; He will be our guide [even] until death.

Silent Sunday

from Goggle Images

Remembrances

re·mem·brance

  [ri-mem-bruhns] 

noun

1.

a retained mental impression; memory.

2.

the act or fact of remembering.

3.

the power or faculty of remembering.

4.

the length of time over which recollection or memory extends.

5.

the state of being remembered; commemoration: to hold someone's name in remembrance.

In your heart, in your mind’s eye, where is it you call home? I know, I know… we are to call Heaven our home, but the picture I posted yesterday reminded me of my childhood home.

I grew up in a rural community in Ohio next to the Erie-Lackawanna railroad. The trains lulled me to sleep on hot, humid August nights. The sound of the train cars clacking down the track singing their song which for all the world sounded like, “don’t look back, don’t look back”. Yet I find that is what I am doing. Remembering… remembering the sights, the sounds and the scents of my childhood.

I remember watching the man from the Post Office bringing a big canvas bag to hang on a pole facing the railroad tracks. This was a daily chore at a prescribed time for a certain train’s pickup. Then he and I would watch as the person in the last car used a hooked instrument to snag the bag and take it into the train, where presumably the mail was sorted by postal employees.

We witnessed too, the early evening when the bag was torn open and letters, bills, payments and other sundry items went flying across the rural countryside. In short order the authorities were on site attempting to locate lost mail and fill out and file all the appropriate government forms, I’m sure.

Ohio is a land of water, of moisture, of humidity. There is nothing fresher than the scent of the vernal spring in Ohio. It is a moist, earthy yet clean smell. I am sure the scent of an Ohio rain must ascend to the throne room of God. The rain in Arizona has its own scent, not unpleasant, but different, almost musty. It is Ohio’s scent I miss.

It is May and soon the fireflies will wing their flight. I miss the magic of fireflies. They are not a part of Arizona. I wish to share the enchantment of these faerie-like creatures with my Arizona Grands, as this is something they have never seen. At dusk, these creatures begin their dance, their ballet, if you will, through the deep woods, the meadows and the fields. They are fascinating to watch.

It was a summer ritual where we would try to catch them and put them in a mason jar with holes punched in the lid. We children would them put them in our room at night and be mesmerized into a deep sleep as we tried to watch them. In the morning the captives were set free.

I’ve almost been able to simulate the fireflies in a mason jar effect by putting a string of lights in a jar. We use it as a night light in the bathroom when the Grands stay with us. It’s a good effect, but it is too “white” and not quite golden colored enough to actually resemble fireflies.

Simply yours,

Tamara

John 15:4The Message (MSG)

⁴ “Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a branch can’t bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can’t bear fruit unless you are joined with me.

Wordless Wednesday

Leaving Our Tracks

Mother's Day

Rather than a "Silent Sunday" post this week, I am re-posting my blog from Last Mother's Day. I wish you all a blessed day.

My hope is that if I tell my story clearly enough, I will come to understand its twists and turns, and then perhaps even its meanings. At the very least, I hope to be able to recognize some of the places where the Almighty God has been present within it.

 ~Robert Benson   That We May Perfectly Love Thee

When reading the above quote from my morning devotional I knew beyond a doubt that it was meant for me, to explain in some small fashion why it is I blog.

I seldom have the “ah ha” moment during the course of an action. It comes later as an afterthought and it is then I clearly see the hand of God.

It was Mother’s Day, 1990, and as usual the Ohio weather was unpredictable. I remember it was grey, overcast and quite windy. This was our last May in Ohio as we were moving to Arizona.

When church was over, the Hubs asked where I wanted to go for lunch in honor of Mother’s Day. I spontaneously uttered the name of a restaurant and was met with his look of “Really?” It had never been one of my favorite places to eat, but I let it stand nonetheless.

A faux waiter was holding the door for patrons as the wind was wildly reminiscent of March, not May. Once inside the establishment everyone who appeared to have or would ever excrete estrogen was presented with a carnation in honor of the Day. The line was long, snaking outside as the churches were emptying and the hungry saints were gathering for a feast.

Slowly the line proceeded to the register for the American ceremony of the pay-before-you-eat-everything-you-can-buffet-of-gluttony. Two steps forward, holding pattern for a few, then another step or two…

As was/is my custom I was observing the people around me. There were family units that had just come from church standing in their respective groups of 3, 5, 7 or even more persons. We were a group of three. That’s when I noticed her standing behind us. Elderly, alone and seemingly calm amid the crowd of hungry go-to-church-meeting-feed-me-now Christians.

So it began, that anxious rational of, “Where is her family? Is she meeting someone here? Why is she alone on Mother’s Day?” I even questioned myself for thinking these things when I asked Husband if he noticed her alone. “No,” he said, until I had pointed her out. I looked at him with my basset hound eyes and he said, “What do you want to do?”

I turned and asked her, “Excuse me, are you here with family or are you meeting someone?” She smiled kindly and said, “No, I’m here alone.”  “Wonderful!” I said. “Would you consent to being our ‘surrogate mother’ for the day? His mother is in Florida and mine is in Arizona." She agreed and we presently were at the cash register.

After getting our plates, introductions and blessing the meal we got to know our guest a bit. She had just returned from Florida to bury her husband. They had no children. She was, in essence, alone.

Yes… that anxious rational… the nudging of the Holy Spirit that churns in the pit of my stomach. I’ve learned to pay attention. I always have something more to learn and more tenderness to bathe my heart and spirit in.

With Mother’s Day approaching I thought it might be appropriate to share this event. I am not sharing this as an “Oh look at me, aren't I just the most spiritual person you've ever beheld?” No, actually I know that by even posting this I’ve lost any reward that may have been ascribed, for anything we do should be done in secret and from a place in the heart that responds to the leading of the Holy Spirit. Even the thought of a “reward” was not the reason I responded to this event. It was compassion, it was empathy, it was the leading of the Holy Spirit.

May you have a blessed Mother’s Day and may you be open to the Holy Spirit’s discernment!

Simply yours,

Tamara

PS  James 1:27

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. 

Wordless Wednesday

Psalm 55:8

I would hurry to my place of shelter, far from the tempest and storm.”

The Yard Sale

It was a lot of work but the Yard Sale was a success. Afterwards, as we walked through the house… our home… we kept finding things and saying, “Oh gosh! Maybe we should have put that out, too!”

We were able to find homes for items we no longer used (or wanted) and turn it into cash. It was, as I indicated, work. We met some wonderful people. Some had stories, such as the woman who had a craniotomy this past November. She picked up a sign I had on my wall (and determined I didn’t need anymore). It was dark brown, probably eight inches high by four feet in length and said in an off white lettering, “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass… it’s about learning to dance in the rain”. She picked it up and gently began to tell me her story about the surgery and how she knew she would be alright, that the Lord would take care of her, that God would provide… and that this sign was proof of that. I had a couple of hand thrown pottery mugs that had sayings on them, one was “God Will Provide” and the other was “Spirit of Adoption”. I wrapped them up and gave them to her as a gift. Somehow, they just seemed to have her name written all over them!

My dear friend, The Brady Lady came and helped us with the sale. She is quite the sales person and barked out what was available and by golly, persons went right to them and eventually they sold.

From 6:30 a.m. when we opened the door until approximately 2:00 p.m. we were busy and almost everything was sold. Yard Sales begin and end early in Arizona due to the heat.

I believe that the Lord honored our endeavor because we are seeking to simplify our lives, minimize our possessions and because we prayed about it! You may recall that the word of the year for me was S.I.M.P.L.I.F.Y.

I think it was also due in part to organization, cleanliness and display. I will and have driven by yard sales where items are just thrown out on the lawn. Also, we generally don't sell clothing at our yard sales. Our church has a wonderful program, a Clothing Exchange. Persons bring something and then take something.

This works out wonderfully for low income families and allows single moms to clothe their children adequately.

I am not the person who likes to dicker for a deal, but Husband does and he did. Actually, I’ve been known to say, “Fifty cents, really? Here, I’ll give you a dollar!”

We had a mom and her beautiful little two year old daughter show up, and I had a vintage felt beret in red. I placed it on the child’s head and said, “Every little girl needs to have some dress up clothes, this has your name on it!” She looked so cute with it on, too! I wouldn’t let her mom pay for it and gave her another hat, “just because”. Besides, it was Kentucky Derby day… and every little girl needs a Derby hat!

We even had a couple ask if they could look at our home for purchase, which we are considering! We have some options that we are considering and relocation is one of them. We hope to get closer to Tucson where the VA Clinic is due to Husband’s recently diagnosed disability due to some Viet Nam era exposure. Any and all cardio related issues will be covered completely. He has already had one heart attack and has two stents, so… we’re making some serious inquiries and considerations.

That’s about all for the Yard Sale update!

Simply yours,

Tamara

Proverbs 15:16 The Message

A simple life in the Fear-of-God is better than a rich life with a ton of headaches.

Silent Sunday

The Elephant in the Room

There is an elephant in the room. No one wants to acknowledge it. We carefully maneuver around it. We don’t talk to or about it. Yet the most amazing thing about elephants is their memory and their emotion.


For 12 hours, two herds of wild South African elephants slowly made their way through the Zululand bush until they reached the house of late author Lawrence Anthony, the conservationist who saved their lives.

The formerly violent, rogue elephants, destined to be shot a few years ago as pests, were rescued and rehabilitated by Anthony, who had grown up in the bush and was known as the “Elephant Whisperer.”

For two days the herds loitered at Anthony’s rural compound on the vast Thula Thula game reserve in the South African KwaZulu – to say good-bye to the man they loved. But how did they know he had died March 7, 2012?

Known for his unique ability to calm traumatized elephants, Anthony had become a legend. He is the author of three books, Baghdad Ark, detailing his efforts to rescue the animals at Baghdad Zoo during the Iraqi war, the forthcoming The Last Rhinos, and his bestselling The Elephant Whisperer. You can read more here.

The elephant in the room I refer to is suicide. I’ve written a bit lately on the “dark night of the soul”. That darkness that permeates the soul where you just don’t think you will ever see light again.

I have a dear, dear friend, The Deaconess, whose twin brother took his life recently. This tore through her soul like a frail sheet gets ripped in a gale force wind.

Rick Warren, pastor of Saddleback Church and author of The Purpose Driven Life recently experienced this when his own son took his life.

We had an officer take her life this week. We were personally told of this by administration and offered counseling should it be needed. P.E.R.I.O.D. No formal announcement by the agency, no notification of services or memorial services, not donations for food or flowers or…

Suicide is the elephant in the room. No one wants to speak of it. No one wants to acknowledge it. Visit this spot on FaceBook:

So, in the Jewish tradition, I find myself sitting Shiva yet again… for The Deaconess and her lost twin… for the Warren Family and their lost son… for the officer, her family and those who worked directly with her.

Suicide is not the unforgivable sin. Matthew 12:31 reads: Therefore I say to you, any sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven people, but blasphemy against the Spirit shall not be forgiven.

Suicide leaves hurting souls in its wake. To not acknowledge it is like picking the scab. It may heal, but there will be a scar.

Author Mark Spragg wrote a novel entitled "An Unfinished Life". It was selected as the One-Book-Arizona one year. It is about a life cut short, too short and lives that are affected by the death.

Today, I ask that you remember the families of those who have taken their lives. Remember their pain... remember their hurt... remember their unanswered questions and lift them up in prayer.

Even so... Amen!

Simply yours,

Tamara

2 Corinthians 1:3  New American Standard Bible 

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort,

Wordless Wednesday