Powerful Notes

Today I read the second half of a novel that greatly inspired me. About a mother who loses her entire family in Hitler's occupation of Leningrad (St. Petersburg) during the reign of Stalin. It was horribly depressing, and I cried through the whole thing. It was, however, not about tragedy. It was about the nature of love and forgiveness and moving on in the face of the impossible. It made me take a very hard look at myself, things that I've done and ways I've reacted to the things done to me. This author gets more into the mind of women than any I have ever read. Immediately after finishing (literally, I read the last pages in the car on the way) the story I went to Institute, where we talked about the nature of God and ourselves as His children. Needless to say, I had a LOT come to mind. I don't want to turn this into an essay, or elaborate in detail because I feel the true significance would be lost or twisted. But I thought I'd post the notes I took during this institute class, because it's something I want to share. Something very powerful.

'Steel in the blood.' 'The -insert chosen nationality or occupation-in me.' 'Her -insert chosen strong relative-'s relation.' So many sayings that boil down to the same thing. The God in us.


The part that continues to want to live, to create, to endure. The part that CONTINUES.



God is love. Love is all that endures. Love is all that creates. Love is a force in every dimension. Physical, emotional, spiritual. It is everywhere, in everything.

Every action is caused by or fueled with love. It is the origination of everything.

I have seen depravation, horror, death, hate. Lives ruined by every type of sin imaginable. I have not seen nor heard any thing to negate the evidence of God's love and power in all beings, in everything around me.

People are choosing to deny love, to deny and defy God. They deny themselves. They choose to separate themselves from the forgiveness and joy that comes automatically with love. I can not deny myself-my Savior-my love-my God. I am a child of God. God is love. I am love.

We have only to see and feel our own reactions to hate, anger and pain to realize we are made of love. It hurts us and we protect ourselves however we can.

I am sure that God is real and of His love for me through a thousand tiny little things that he shows me each and every day. For the guidance that I recieve, the spirit that I feel, the questions I am asked and what they make me think. I can feel His love in the hug of the two year old girl I nanny, and see it in the eyes of my friend who thinks she is beyond redemption and yet holds onto hope. I see Him in change for the better, in flowers among the thorns, in nature that continues to heal and rebuild-no matter how many times it is destroyed.

The tree of life in the vision is the love of God and the seeds are grown inside of you! You taste it only when it is grown and bearing fruit. When you have become and are able to issue to others the true love of God.

A Venture to Remember

A Venture to Remember

Tonight I went walking in memory lane,
Picking flowers from tree's most reminiscent to me.
First blown in with the scent of fresh fallen rain,
Came visions of growing, which taught my closed eyes to see
Lost dreams and lost passions that time has proved vain,
Which had sprung up behind me in the cracks of the lee
Whose shelter I crawled from, and yet I left fain
To explore the forgotten held in my memory.
For then I saw blossoms of laughter and game
And among glowing branches I danced joyous, happy
To remember their shining moments of flame.
My dancing brought me to the shores of a great black sea
Into which I careened with no thought of pain
Until crashing down on my heart and mind came the key
To rememb'ring why I'd no love of the lane
And why stayed so many years in the safe little lee
Hidden, forgetting, with no venture to diegn
Tempt me from imagined invulnerability.
Yet then I was trapped neath the waves of my bane
And suffered full punishment for the things I let be
That could have been succored with a righteous aim
If only I had listened when called upon to see.
A hand reached to grab me from waves that would maim
And laid me upon sweet smelling florets so softly
That I wept from the sudden absence of pain.
I looked up for the savior passionately
And tears stung my eyes for the unforseen gain
Of a friend I'd forgotten lived here in memory.
His smile angelic, he called out my name
And told me he had always been and always would be
The force I could lean on to keep my soul sane
To keep me from wallowing in my own misery.
He took up my hand and together we came,
Through long meadows of flowers each more precious to me
Home by the trial of my memory lane.

Battle

How do you fight a battle when you don't understand your enemy? How can you win a war when you're fighting on both sides? How will I defeat my foe if every step I take pulls me in two directions so forcefully that I will soon be split in two? How do I fight a battle when my enemy is me?

Searching Stars

Searching Stars

Sitting in the cooling sand,

While the gloaming settles round us.

Wavelets whisper against the land

As if to still the world with trust.

Here I tell my secrets,

My dreams and all my soul.

Here are all my doubts met,

By a private, comforting lull.

With the sun set all my worries,

Burning rays that brought no peace.

In the silence there's no hurry,

This night to struggle brings a cease.

The stars map out my future

As they appear in the gentle light,

To promised happiness they lure,

Leading me carefully into soft night.

Night that brings tomorrow

With hopes and dreams I've not yet seen.

Night that brings a new day,

With beauty that has not yet been.

...But now I watch it coming

And my heart cries out for yesteryear.

The pain in truth is numbing...

The future should not bring me fear.

But the sun comes in the morning

And sheds its light on all my days

...There's no hiding from the mourning.

It will find me no matter where I stay.

And those daylight hours will burn me,

Though my mind stays in the night

And I can only pretend to be free

When surrounded by the twilight.

Yet sit in cooling sands I will

And let my troubles seep

Out of my mind and fingers til

The night takes me in sleep.

-KristiAnne Atkinson-

Talking with Tarantula's

The Tarantula's name is Killer. He's as big as my fist with more eyes-that probably see much more-than I care to think about. He's covered in thick brown hair and he moves a little slower than frozen molasses. You see, he is very shy. You would be too, if you were his size and lived in a house with four sporty, rambunctious young boys--Who happened to find it entertaining to shake your cage to see if you would move.

He became the newest member of one of the households I work at last week, when the six-turning-seven year old's father presented him as the paramount birthday gift.

As I mopped up the waterfalls pouring from my eyes while I chopped onions at the house this morning, I happened to glance down at my elbow to find him watching me with all those beady little eyes.

"Well," I spoke in nasally tones, trying not to sneeze, "it's nice of you to finally grace us with your presence sir." I nodded at him cordially, "Those boys have been awfully keen on pulling you out of your reticence. Not that I blame you for hiding really, I'd be frightened if someone put their face that close to me as well."

His little hairy body bobbed slowly up and down. I was reminded irrestibly of Harry Potter's first encounter speaking parseltongue to a python in the London zoo. I couldn't resist.

"Can you...understand me?" I asked slowly.

Killer simply stared at me unblinkingly. Can tarantula's blink I wonder? Hmmm...but perhaps that is a question for another time.

"Hmmm." I said. "You know Mr. Killer, the more I see you, the less frightened I become of you, and the more sympathetic I grow. It seems you enjoy a quiet conversation as much as I do. I notice you only come out now-when it's just me humming along here in the kitchen."

At this point the four year old and his playmate came running into the room screaming.

"I'm gonna spank you-I'm gonna Spank YOU!" They bellowed at each other.

My legs became a mighty fortress and the kitchen an endless track. Killer quickly retreated into his coconut home.

I fed the boys their lunch of slightly warmed hot dogs with apples and cheese and sent them back to their upstairs playroom/battlefield.

I turned to the plastic cage next to the sink.

"That was an adventure wasn't it, Mr.Killer? Goodness those boys are silly. I do wish I had that much energy, don't you?"

Killer stuck one leg out of his coconut, and then another.

Eventually he re-emerged from his hidey hole and we spent the afternoon having a lovely conversation about the best methods to cook stew, how to entertain children without electronics, and what Santa might be bringing the boys for Christmas. After all-how do you top a tarantula?

I got to thinking after I left this afternoon-that perhaps I will never be cured of my inexplicable desire to speak to little furry critters. Of course, it could be an even worse sign that I seem to be under the impression that they understand me, and are communicating back to me in whatever various sundry ways they can.

This realization hit me when I was dropping off dinner at a friends house, and I was mid-conversation with a perversely mean cockatu who takes particular issue with human females. What am I doing? I wondered. This bird probably thinks I'm insane. Of course, that thought just proved my issues went even deeper.

I thought back on all the conversations I've had with God's smaller, speech debilitated creatures over the course of my life and it hit me like that crazy flock of sparrows that attacked me behind the outhouse in the middle of Idaho.

I have a problem.

Does this problem stem from feeling that there are not enough humans on whatever brainwave channel I'm using and so I must release myself to the animals? Or am I simply unable to consider that any living creature might not be able to communicate with the world around it?

Now come the deeper questions. Am I right? Am I simply more in tune with nature? Or am I an escapee from an asylum for Disney princesses gone wrong? After all I'm pretty sure the birds in all the movies I've seen sing along with the princess-rather than attack her at every turn.

Did you know I've been attacked by more than 22 different types of birds that I can count? Five of those in flocks?

Perhaps the birds are the more intelligent animals and they can sense whatever it is that is wrong with me?