From a letter

I hesitate to post this, but it expresses my feelings about change.  Change that has happened because I lived to be the young age of xx.  Got one of those emails from a friend explaining why folk send forwarded emails rather than write.  I had often thought it was because they just wanted to smile and say HI>  like meeting them on the street, or seeing them at the local coffee shop.  My mornings when I can consist of reading some of these, but I don't forward.  I know it is annoying.  I am skilled at deleting much of my email, but make a point of sometimes reading it.  Today I read Flylady emails and learned about how decluttering can free up children as well as adults, even ADHD children with whom I have had much experience during my years in public education. 

The following is my reply to Pat and Ernie, who had sent me a charming fictitious story about a man being admitted to heaven through a humble gate, because he refused to enter the pearly gates if they would not let his dog in as well.  I went on in my reply to state how I felt about these emails and about changes in the church, and in particular music in the church, and how the emphasis on families sometimes brought sadness to those of us who are alone, but how Jesus, who ministers to singles brings hope. 

Because this is long, and I know my friends don't need to be burdened with my thoughts, I have eliminated my email list on this post only.  Perhaps I will include a photo, but since noone but me will read it, perhaps I won't. 

Well here goes.  The entry is long, so I will shut up.  Have to go do my breakfast and check the laundry, and open the blinds, lest my neighbors think I died.  Then get to weight watchers.  Nuff said.  If you read this.. Thanks.

Thanks Ernie  (or Pat) 
Wonder if that place takes cats as well?
Anyway, That is what I figured about folks who forward emails.  Sometimes I reads them.  Sometimes I don't. 
It won't be long before most of my friends that are my age or older will be in that place, pets or no pets.  We can trust our Heavenly Father to do it right in that department.  If it were me, I would have a tough time figuring out what to do with all of the animals we attach to ourselves. 

Mitch Miller died yesterday.  He was 99 years old.  Wow!  Singing must be good for you. 
I am only 65, so I am a young something or another, but already I cannot do many of the things I used to do, and somehow, sadly, church is not the thrill it once was to me.  But Jesus remains the same....  as was promised in Scripture.

I thought last week when we did Communion and the pastor made such an emphasis about families sitting together, and I sat alone, most of my single friends having either died, or gone elsewhere, how the original Communion was with 12 single men and the Lord.  With children and women being around to tend to the house.  That gave me comfort and I could once again concentrate on what God had given us so freely in Jesus, and not on the peripherals that I no longer had in my life. 

They did manage to sing one song that was familiar and touched my heart.  How much more can I ask for?  The new generation is not touched by the music that touched me in the past and still touches me now.  It was good to see many in the front rows standing and lifting their hands in worship for this particular song, a modern arrangement of Amazing Grace.  Funny, but I don't see a lot of singing going on with many of the newer songs like we used to back in the day. 

But last night I watched the final moments of the AG youth talent convention (National) being held in Detroit this week.  The music, was not anything I had heard before, but the words were plain and tied in with the message being given by an articulate young black preacher.  My heart even responded to the message....  "Give Him your dirt... and give Him your talent"  and let Him do what he pleases with both.  Simple, profound Gospel message of the Lordship of Christ.  I remembered how this truth was taught to us back when we were young adults, in the Navigators,  Inter Varsity, or just plain our own church youth movements in our young days as Christians. 

I hope I have run the race well.  I have certainly tried.  Somehow I missed the boat on getting married and having children, and thus grandchildren.  Or perhaps it was not intended to be.  Nevertheless, I have served, I have kept the faith.  I have passed it on.  Now it is in the hands of this new generation, or generations.  Makes me wonder how the older generations felt when I was young.  I know there was criticism, but the music remained for them,  I think.... Or perhaps they wanted a more contemplative music, and our beat was too fast....  I don't know. 

Well thanks for hearing me vent.  Sometimes I need to write these things more for myself than for others.  I guess because I actually can type pretty well (Had to for my job ) I tend to put things on paper and it helps me to think.  Or perhaps I have too much time alone.  Well it is time to get on with my day and see what I can do about the laundry that will never dry hanging in my basement today.  Perhaps the laundromat?  I did quilts in my poor little extra big washer yesterday.  Was so shocked when that worked.  But wet they were too heavy for the dryer, so they are draped across lines and furniture in my little 400 square foot basement, two floors down. 

Mornings for me consist of waiting till 7 AM to take my blood sugar readings and my pills, then off to the bath or the kitchen for breakfast, then on to my day.  Today, I have weight watchers.  And all that housework to do, and perhaps I can catalog a few books, as the donation load is piling up again. 


On Aug 3, 2010, at 8:04 AM, ERNEST WARD wrote:

This explains why I forward jokes, and it says it all for me.

 A  man and his dog were walking along a road.
 The man was enjoying the scenery, 
 when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead.

 He remembered  dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years.
 He wondered where the road was leading them.

 After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road.

 It looked like  fine marble..

 At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.

 When he was standing before it, he saw a  magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the  street that led to the gate looked like pure gold.

 He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one  side.

 When he was close  enough, he called out, 'Excuse me, where are we?'

 'This is Heaven,  sir,' the man answered.

 'Wow! Would you happen to have some water?'  the man asked.

 'Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up.'

 The man gestured, and the gate began to  open.  'Can my friend,' gesturing toward his dog, 'come in, too?' the traveler asked.

 'I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept  pets.'

 The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the  road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.

 After  another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt  road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. 

 There was no fence.

 As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning  against a tree and reading a book....



    'Excuse me!' he called  to the man. 'Do you have any water?'

 'Yeah, sure, there's a pump over  there, come on in.'

 'How about my friend here?' the traveler gestured  to the dog.

 'There should be a bowl by the pump,'  said the man.

 They went  through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with  a bowl beside it..

 The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink  himself, then he gave some to the dog.

 When they were full, he and the dog  walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree.

 'What do you  call this place?' the traveler asked.

 'This is Heaven,' he  answered.

 'Well, that's confusing,' the traveler said.

 'The man down the road said that was Heaven, too.'

 'Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's hell.'

 'Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?'

 'No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind.'


 Soooo. Now you see, sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding stuff to us without writing a word. Maybe this will explain it.

 When you  are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do?  You forward mails.

 When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact,you forward jokes.

 When you have something to say, but don't  know what, and don't know how....you forward stuff.


 A  'forward' lets you know that you are still remembered, you are still important, you are still  loved, you are still cared for.


 So, next time if you get a 'forward', don't think that you've been sent just     another forwarded joke, but that you've been thought of today and your friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.

 You are welcome at my water bowl anytime !!