Tag Archive | Story

Fort Snelling

This past weekend, my husband and I went to a regional conference in Minneapolis.

The conference was great, and we learned a lot. We met with old friends, and made some new ones. And of course, we ate entirely too much good food!

When the conference was over, we were treated to a private tour of Fort Snelling.

It was a short tour, but amazing because there were only four of us with our guide.

I put all my photos in a small video so that I could share them with you.

The photos, of course, don’t do it justice. You need to go yourself!

Imagine yourself living in the Commandants house (see how short that bed is!), or in the barracks, or looking through the portals and seeing your enemy on his way!

While we were there, I kept imaging the sound of the bugle calls flowing over the parade grounds.

So I added a couple of links, in case you were inspired to hear them as well.

 

->The Meaning of Taps

->Bugle Calls with Descriptions

 

Thanks for stopping in!

Once Upon a Time

This 5 for 5 Brain Dump, was written on April 4, 2018. Once Upon a Time was the prompt:
First I’ll share what I wrote, then show you why I’m happy just how I am.
Here is what I wrote, 5 for 5 Brain Dump style. If you don’t know what 5 for 5 Brain Dump is, Click here to find out more about it.

            Once upon a time……..

There was a little girl, who spent most of her time alone. She never really minded being alone, when she was really small.

She played in her mind with imaginary farm animals, and ballerinas. Ballerina milk maids made her smile.

As she grew, she found that other children had not spent time alone, but rather, played with their friends.

So she tried to make friends, only to find that they were not nearly as friendly as her imaginary ones. In fact, they were mean and bully-ish.

She switched again, back to playing alone, and found herself quite happy to do so.

For that I am grateful. For she, is me.

Listen here –>     In My Own Little Corner

Those years of playing alone, I was really quite content, but it weighed heavy that I didn’t appear to fit in with all the others.

Psalms 139:13-16 says this;

For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. 

Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.

I am, as are you, exactly the way that God planned for us to be.

He has a plan for us. Whether we are happy being quiet, or happy being in a boisterous crowd.

I have learned to enjoy peacefulness in a way that others cannot. Quietude.

I can function quite well in a crowd, but Quietude calls my name.

How about you?

 

Volunteer?

People. We’re all the same.

We want to be seen.

We want to be known.

We want to matter.

We want to make a difference.

Here I am sharing my experience with just one of the multitudes of ways we can make this happen.

The pay is so often not monetary.

The look in a young mothers eyes when here child can safely live in her room again, without becoming sick.

An American Veteran who has served well, but now must rely on his sister for even the simplest of tasks; bathing or being able reach the sink to brush his teeth.

The elderly woman who the only thing that stands between her and leaving her lifetime home for a nursing home, is bad plumbing.

Or the family whose life is forever changed when daddy has a collision with a deer, and will never walk again.

These are real stories. We tell them again and again. Because WE, can make a difference.

We can help, and I’ve since found out that even the little guys like to help.

You may not have Rebuilding Together near you, but you probably have Meals on Wheels, or some other source of senior resources, or even a shelter of some sort. They can all use your help. Talented or not, it doesn’t matter.

I encourage you to go out and do something for someone today. Believe me, you’ll be helping your own soul as well!

 

Rebuilding Together

Rebuilding Together Muscatine

Rebuilding Together Muscatine County – Facebook

Baggage

For the longest time, I believed that I was taking care of my baggage.

Only to realize years later, that I was not cleaning out the junk,

but instead, rearranging it, giving more room for more junk.

How refreshing to have new luggage, with plenty of room for the good stuff.

We’ll chat more about how that’s done as we go along,

or you can contact me here or on Twitter @DeborahSPC to begin to take some steps.

Part Three – Growing Up Churched (3/3)

 

The Men People Trusted.

 

In the church I grew up in, and in all churches, military, businesses, families etc, there is a hierarchy.

There is always the boss, followed closely by an assistant. There are scribes, and treasurers, and event planners.

Churches have Pastors, Assistant Pastors, Executive Pastors, Teaching Pastors, along with secretaries, treasurers and then Deacon Boards.

All of that being said, one must know that if you are to hold one of those positions, you have proven yourself to be trustworthy and upstanding, as a child might even think; Holy.

After church service, there was a Sunday school class. Adults went to a different part of the building than the kids. I can still see it in my mind, all the people passing in the hall to go to their respective classes.

There, going the opposite direction as me, was a deacon who locked his eyes on me. I was around 12 or so, so I just thought he was being friendly. Each week, as we passed in the hallway, he would lock eyes on me and began to walk a little closer. I had no vocabulary for it, but I knew it felt weird. It felt scary, even creepy. He then proceeded to touch me where he shouldn’t. Every time a bit more aggressively.

My stomach would roil, and my heart would threaten to come out of my throat when I saw him coming. I knew he was a deacon. Someone the other adults looked up to and even trusted. Who would believe the words of this child, who in her wrongness didn’t fit in anywhere?

I never told a soul. Several months and several incidents passed. I made up some story about not wanting to go to class any more, even though I really did want to.

So I wasn’t in the hallway anymore, the terror and the feeling of even more wrongness stayed with me. I will always wonder if I was the only one. Statistically speaking, there were probably many more..

That was “Back in the day”, when secret things were secret things. The problem with secret things is that they tend to tarnish their container. I was tarnished, through no fault of my own, but acted out tarnished for the next several years.

Until much, much later I found out a few things; it was not my fault, God did not see me as faulty, people are people, whether they be in high places or low, even little girls and boys should talk about any secrets that adults make happen, that make them feel awful and anxious and scared.

In a previous post, The Cartography of Our Scars I addressed the fact that our scars, our landscape, makes us who we are.

Sure, I can wish it never happened, but it did, and so much more. But now I have only to use that rutted road to hold on to someone else’s hand, to help them find the way out.

Remember when that woman I barely knew said it wasn’t my fault?

The truth that she spoke to me set me on the twisty road to freedom.