Liquor is the Devil

My siblings and I sometimes shake our heads and exchange words about how our parents seemed so different from the rest of both of their families.  My parents did not drink alcohol in any form or fashion.  My Mom would not even be in any close proximity or allow us kids to be where alcohol was being sold or consumed especially if she observed any manner of jolly boisterous merriment.  I always felt like she seemed to be afraid for us like seeing our relatives slightly tipsey might somehow give us nightmares.  I always felt cheated we had to miss all the fun.  Mom is still living but I have never asked her about why she held such a strong conviction.  Both my parents came from family’s that to me seemed like pleasant social drinkers.  I truly do not remember ever knowing or hearing about any one of them having a problem with alcohol so no ideas as to why we were brought up to believe alcohol was ‘the devil’.  I do not think us kids carried on their ‘alcohol is the devil’ belief but it sure made for some interesting fun at family get togethers.  Dad ever the diplomat had to balance his absolutely no alcohol policy and still have some quality time with his family and remain married to my Mother.  I kinda wonder if Dad would have joined in at least a little, you know in moderation of course, if Mom would have allowed it. Family dynamics!  Here’s to my children, no telling what they say about their Dad and I.  kisses 

Matthew 21:21-22

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” – Roald Dahl         I think this is the secular way of saying have faith.  My Dad was a preacher.  He studied it in college and his whole life long.  He spoke it, believed it and lived it.  I have never met another pastor like him.  My Dad held a full time job for the government with benefits and regular paycheck mostly because he was just a very responsible man and wanted to make sure his family was provided for but his heart was preaching and serving God.  Taking care of his family, friends, neighbors anyone that needed a helping hand seemed to be how Dad lived each day.  We were always active church members in the denomination he was ordained in.  I guess it was about the time I got into junior high a small country church, in a town about 50 miles away, he had helped to establish as a young seminary student, asked him to return.  The original pastor was ready to retire.  The congregation was small so attracting a full time pastor was probably not gonna happen.  They needed someone to care about them, preach on Sunday, visit the homebound, hold a hand and pray before surgery, funerals, weddings, a shoulder to lean on, someone with encouraging words and wise counsel all for pretty much gas money and maybe a little extra when they could manage it.  My Dad was ecstatic.  Convincing my Mom was another thing.  She never liked sharing my Dad’s time.  I was not ever quite sure what she thought being a pastor’s wife was all about but I guess that was between them.  I just know for the next 6 years or so I went with my Dad every Sunday to the little country church while my Mom continued to go, taking my little brother and sister with her, to the local church we used to attend as a family.  My Dad saw ‘magic’ and happiness in everything.  If it bothered him that Mom divided our family on Sundays, I never heard him verbalize it.  I just know he and I had the best times ever.  I loved those people and they sure did love my Dad.  He had the kind of faith that could move mountains.  I hope I will always have his glittering eyes.  kisses 

I feel fine

Good Morning, Good Morning.  It is the day after the end of the world.  “It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine”, as made famous by Skeeter Davis in the hippie 60’s & later REM in the hair band 80’s, keeps ringing in my head. Holy Cow, more has happened to me in the last 2 years than in my whole life put together.  So if the world had really ended like the Mayan calendar, well, I suppose that would have been okay; not really, but I guess no choice.  I have kinda pondered how the leap to the end of the world happened anyway.  Just because the Mayan’s stopped counting or ran out of room or time to calculate or whatever; why is it supposed that it means the end of the world?  I just feel that thinking is quite a leap or huge drawing of conclusions.  I have heard there are whole documentaries on the subject explaining somewhat plausible scenarios to the end of the world as it relates to the Mayan calendar.  So I guess I will repeat a part of the song… ‘I feel fine’.  I hope you feel fine too and have a very Merry weekend.  kisses