Thursday, December 11, 2014


                How does insomnia happen?  Well, first ya get up to tend to a mild case of salmon croquette roulette, fully intent on crawling back in bed to blissful sleep.  Of course ya are kinda stumblin round n-all, being half asleep, when bladder splatter alert over rides heartburn.

                After pressure overload averted, as usual the mandatory hand washing is interrupted by soap bar squirting out of hand to bathroom floor parts unknown.  And of course while unsuccessfully trying to find tha soap, being bent over n-all, stomach contents shift to throat as burning beacon of original goal, indigestion correction.

                Back in the kitchen, of course when ya reach into overhead cabinet for the near full box of seltzer packets, it falls, it spills, everywhere and then some.  So, after retrieving packets from all over the kitchen floor, cabinet top, microwave top and stove top, and the box is still half empty, ya realize that ain't all the seltzer packets.  So where are they?  Ahh!  In the toaster of course!

                So, now almost fully awake, but not quite, of course ya turn toaster upside down to dump out the packets.  Half an hour later, after cleaning up charred bread crumbs from like everywhere imaginable, ya finally get the seltzer all-a-fizz in mug of water; and after wiping up the of course I spilled the water too... eyes are all a tingly, one wide open, the other shade half drawn, sans sleep... and I still got that heartburn...

                At this point I tried to muster up a I should a stayed in bed pity party, but instead unexpected chuckle escaped lips.  I wondered... why... why am I not aggravated like I most usually would be...

                Then was when I felt the smile of God... Did you not pray for a story to tell...

                Man's medicine or Gods cure... Sometimes indigestion just needs trust and patience to pass... after a little prayer... asked in Jesus name..

                Isaiah 55:9 KJ, "For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."

                Isaiah 55-all & Isaiah 40-all


Thursday, December 4, 2014


                Though Ambi said little, she knew that some, perhaps all, bear no less than at least one thorn; a thorn in the flesh innate born.  And Ambi knew too why carve out with scalpel, when one wee pair of tweezers will do; or even one better for some, for her, to leave thorn lone, that thorn be like the dropping of other shoe.  Indeed Ambi said little, for the fewer the words, the more thought before.  Ambi said little, for by her thorn in the flesh, by her stammering stutter, her fewer words were made better, even made strength in weakness.  "S-s-sta-sta-stutter ba-ba-ba-better," Ambi often smiled at her often thought.  And thus though a stutterer be, Ambi cast miles of smiles alee.

                So, Ambi's dance of life continued on, not switched off to the goal before her.  There were things to be done.  And when one, or more often yet some, anywhere near Ambi applied the big put down, the noose was loosed by unseen hand, til... well you all shall see the Ambi waves of sea...

                "I can't take it anymore!" Bella bleated.

                "Or give any less," Lesley anted in.

                "Oh, give her a break!" Satirra in mean girl glee chimed in, "We all know Bella is more a give-up, than a go-to kind of gal."

                "See, that is exactly what I mean, people always putting me down.  How is a girl ever going to stand her ground with so much negativity all around." Bella felt the pile heaped on.

                All eyes shifted to the silent one, who of stuttering tongue, Ambi offered none, but upon them eyes of love shone.  Then Ambi looked down, down at her feet; shuffled shoe forward, lifted toe, wiggled it round, tilted it to and tilted it fro, till even the shoe bared its sole.

                All eyes turned to odd event.  Even others on that crowded street corner, who had heard Bella's bleat, stopped their lopping gate of day, to see what else Ambi had to say.

                But not one word from Ambi came into play.  The one shoe she withdrew, pulled it back under her to support the view of other shoe.  And still looking down, Ambi shuffled it forward, lifted toe, wiggled it round, tilted it to and tilted it fro, till other shoe bared its sole.

                And it came to pass, Lesley then Satirra gave Bella a hug.  Even others on street corner gave Bella a friendly wink, a pat on back, or a shoulder tug...

                ...And Ambi looked up from her feet, looked upon all with eyes of love, and blessing at last finally said, "Wa-wa-wa-walk wa-wa-wa-with... not on..."

                "After all," Bella smiled, "whose feet don't stink?"

                 Romans 3:23; 6:23; Psalm 119:105; James 1:22

                 Why did Jesus wash the feet of his disciples?  John 13:14 KJ, "If I then, your Lord and Master have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another's feet.  For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you."


Saturday, November 22, 2014


                Forearm against kitchen door jamb, back of wrist to forehead, Kim yawned.  With free hand she cradled swollen tummy, pulled over sized t-shirt up to her little pug nose, breathed deep. Her eyes closed.  His scent wafted warm.  She opened eyes.  "Well there he is the love of my life in the sunrise light."  She smiled, but shook her head.  "Every morning, every morning at the kitchen island," she sighed, "wearing another one of those kooky avocado t-shirts, cut-off jeans and that same frayed straw hat."  She paused, pulled out the front of the t-shirt from her bosom. Giant green avocado stared up at her.  She frowned.  "The man has got to be stopped!" She giggled.

                Oblivious to the plot hatching behind his back, Bob at kitchen island danced to Caribbean beat on the radio, while adding finishing touch to extra-early morning brunch.  "Simple, yet elegant, nothing like fresh avocado, lime, and..."

                ...Soft hands slid around his waist.  Bob looked down.  Something was boring hard under his right armpit.  It felt like a rib being taken.  Between arm and ribs, moppet haired head popped out. The attached nose crinkled, sniffed.  Her lips declared, "Why does lime, avocado, and fresh homemade tortilla chips haf-ta smell so good!"

                "Your craving, or baby's?"  Bob smiled.

                "Ooh, just one!"  Kim reached out, snagged chip.

                "Hey, you are eating my art!"  Bob complained.

                "It is pretty neat how you spiraled serving tray with chips, avocado and lime round poblano chiles."  Kim offered misdirection compliment, seized opportunity to snatch another tortilla chip.

                "You little sneak!"  Bob clamped her in head lock, kissed moppet head.

                Like a spotted owl twisting neck, Kim looked up at him, demanded, "On the lips, old man!"

                Bob bent over to comply.  Kim's warm breath caressed his face.  His lips brushed hers...

                ...Kim snitched hand full of chips, escaped, scampered out kitchen to balcony table.

                "You mischievous little twerp!  You wrecked the spiral!  It was gonna be my masterpiece on chirpagram."  Bob lamented, carried serving tray out to chip munching wife; sat down beside her.

                "Bob, Bob, your whimpering is not silent.  I can hear you."  Kim teased.  She bumped shoulder into his arm, added, "And since you are perturbed at me anyway, I might as well use this time to ask..."  Kim halted speech; knew, that like all typical men, Bob could not let unfinished business lie.

                Bob squeezed lime wedge over avocado slices and tortilla chips, combined the two.  In mid munch he mumbled,  "So, like what, Kim?"

                "Sweetie, you know I love you..."  Kim stopped again; hid half smirk with chip in hand; patted self on back with thought, "Mistress of manipulation, that's me."

                "...But?"  Bob bit.

                "But sweetie, we are about to bring a little Bob or Kimette into this over sized beach hut.  Should we not be a little more responsible?  Say, maybe consider giving up childlike fixation on all things avocado?  I mean, like are we going to dress our kid in avocado garb the rest of his or her life?  Come on!"  She tried to elbow a smile out of him... but Bob grew eerily silent, a tad too silent, tellingly silent, silence that screamed... "Bob!  You didn't!"  Kim whipped frayed straw hat from his head; frisbeed it from balcony into avocado garden below.  "You already bought avocado outfits for the baby, didn't cha, Bob?  How many, how many did you buy?"  Tears began to well in Kim's eyes.

                Bob hugged Kim close, rocked her in his arms, soothed, "Kimmie, let us never forget love is the best fertilizer for little avocados to grow in.  Us papa and momma avocados just gotta wrap 'em up in our branches, hide 'em from them beaky birds and marauding possums, until it's time for avocado pod to peel open and assimilate... Resistance is futile..."

                Kim burst into full blown fake sobbing... careened into belly laughter...

                Bob chuckled, observed, "Doctorette of male psychology meets match."

                "I have got to stop laughing before I pee myself!" Kim stifled chortle.

                The baby kicked...  Kim hugged her round tummy... Bob hugged Kim,,,

                Kim sighed, "Not just another avocado sunrise..."

                And looking east out over avocado garden and over the Caribbean waters beyond, Bob said, "Praise the LORD for three hearts beating as one..."

Genesis 2:22, "And the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, He made into a woman, and brought her unto the man."






Sunday, November 16, 2014


                "Where's the gravy?" Echoed within the walls of the Sun Rise Diner and the ears of Flo.  Plate laden with scrambled eggs, smoked bacon and buttermilk biscuits barely on table alit, before Roy ism-ized, "Life is just too short... not to have no gravy."

                 "You are a regular gravy savage, Roy.  But before you go on the warpath, Cookie needs a sec to whoop up a fresh batch," Flo placated.

                "Fresh batch!" Roy fained offense, "I needs me gravy aged and gamy.  Gravy that can stand on its own two hind legs, put up a fight!  Gravy that's got a be chewed, subdued..."

                "... not no knock kneed whiney sissy gravy, but gravy with some sass!" Flo recited rest of all too familiar rant.

                "AAaaarrrr - aa-rrr-rrrr!" Roy laughed a hearty. "Hey Flo, you forgot to roll yer eyes when ya said that." He chuckled a tad more.

                "My eye rollin days are on hold, Roy.  It's the only part of me that ever gets a vacation round here." Flo sighed.

                "Aww Flo, you know you'd miss me too much to take a vacation." Roy laughed, but half hoped Flo might someday declare her love.

                "Miss you?  Roy, you eat near three meals a day, six days a week in this greasy spoon; every meal smothered in gravy; gravy that with every bite gets you one step closer to being permanently missed.  Sometimes good gravy... is no gravy at all." Flo raised right eyebrow.

                "I'd rather bleed gravy, than choke on salad!" Roy mattered the fact, "God created the rabbit to mow that garden of old, not Adam and Eve."

                "Oh, like they didn't eat fruit?" Flo shot back.

                "We all know how that worked out, now don't we." Roy observed.

                "Well Roy," Flo looked down nose at him, pontificated, "what if there is no gravy in heaven?"

                "Flo, ya ought ta know: It's on earth that we oft as not fall off the gravy boat; but when we reach home port... it's all gravy in heaven."

                Flo smiled, "Now that sure is deep for one old Roy boy.  Ya know, I might even ask you to go to church with me Sunday," She paused to make sure Roy boy ears did heed, "but on certain conditions."

                "Anything for you, Flo."  Roy boy heart swam the Swoony River.

                "So, next time you eat here," Flo cooed, "let me order for you, say a broiled steak instead of chicken-fried, and a pile of green beans to go along with them mashed tatters."

                "As long as them green beans got just a dribble or two a gravy on top, I..." Flo hug most near knocked old Roy boy out a chair. "GOOD GRAVY!" Echoed within the walls of the Sun Rise Diner and within the heart of Flo... And Roy hugged Flo back, and said, "Sometimes ya gotta give up the gravy... ta get the real gravy..."

                ...And it came to pass on a certain sunny Sunday morning, that sitting in church next to Flo, Roy prayed, "Thank you LORD above for turning this old boys lonesome heart... to one a dancin..."

                Good gravy is best... when seasoned with Jesus' love...

                                        Psalm 30:11-12




Friday, October 17, 2014


                That old road... that old road down yonder... is just about as long... as it is long..." Luke drawled, took sip of wine, burped.

                The cancer of stale cigarette smoke and sour beer ate dim lit air.  On a tad too sticky bar a cockroach used feelers to test tepidity of beer mug condensate; but before quenching thirst scurried away at the movement of Luke's hand, as he laid it on the shoulder of bewildered man.

                Lonesome tear drifted down stream, water-falled from weathered cheek, rippled pool of headless beer in bewildered man's drink. "I just wish... I could be happy all the time," he near wept.

                "Ya know," Luke paused, "I once knew a man with only one leg, and he was hoppy all the time."

                "That is not funny," bewildered man chuckled cry.

                "Tha point be," Luke addressed issue, "not to make fun of such folks, but to help you understand that you need to be careful what you wish for.  If you get nothing else, get this... there is only one sure way to cure them honky-tonk blues... get out of the honky-tonk... get into Jesus..."

                "Luke, you been comin' round this here bar for nigh forty years.  I neva' took ya for no Jesus freak!" Bewildered man eyebrow raised.

                "True, true, I'm a sinner just like you.  Except I been forgiven, even saved." Luke smiled.

                "Good grief, stop afore you violate my political correctness.  Next thing you know, you'll probably bring a Bible in here or sump-um."  Bewildered man raised mug, took hearty chug.

                "The B-I-B-L-E, this is the book for me." Luke popped Bible from shirt pocket.

                Bewildered man choked on his beer, forced it down hard, wheezed in a few short breaths. "I don't need no condemnation," he gasped, "I just need my gratification."

                "Jesus did not come to condemn, but to save." Luke smiled, "Ya see, its not Jesus, but folks that rush to a lotta things they shouldn't: judgment, condemnation, intolerance, all being favorites. And ya might say condemnation is the tyranny of the intolerant; but here in the good old U.S. of A. we got one equally as bad: political correctness, the tyranny of over-tolerance even unto abiding evil, even to taking away our right to freedom of speech, or as I like to call it... the rush to caution."

                "But one man's sin is another man's fun." Bewildered man to sin so clung.

                The shaking under their feet was barely perceptible, until the structure of the building began to rattle... until the front door burst open... cue balls on pool table blew to table end... empty chairs scooted along floor... drinks spilled... a table flipped over... a woman screamed... bewildered man's cap flew from his head...

                As Luke's long hair slapped at his face, he smiled, he said, "Like dust in the wind... so is caution without care..."

                The white knuckle grip bewildered man had on the bar was slipping.  About to be blown away, bewildered man cried out, "Jesus... save me..."

                The wind ceased... through opened door the light returned... a great calm entered the bar... fresh smell of cleansing rain filled the air...

                Jesus loves me," said an awed, but no longer bewildered man.

                "Happiness is a relative thing... especially when one becomes a relative of Jesus... Yet many wonder why... til they look the Spirit in the eye..." Luke took sip of wine... and began quoting, "That old road down yonder is the Roman Road to Salvation found in the Holy B-I-B-L-E." And Luke from his Bible read the how and the why, the very signs on that Roman Road: Romans 3:23; 6:23; 5:8; 10:9; 10:10; 10:13; 5:1; 8:1; 8:38-39.

                A quote or two from the perfectly not politically correct, Jesus: the book of John 3:16-18 KJ, "16)For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. 17)For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. 18)He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God." And... John 8:12 KJ, "I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life."



Tuesday, September 30, 2014


                Gone but not gone, like a contrary pet hiding under the house, amnesia had been missing for quite some time.  "Funny," Cheryl laughed, "how that nonexistent hammers the brain; hammers relentlessly, yet not quite savagely enough to destroy the tissues containing memories, so very funny." Her dry eyes hurt to blink.

                Across kitchen table, Mercie yawned, took sip of black coffee.  "Ya know, Cheryl," Mercie yawned again, "if you were anybody else who knocked on my door at 4:15 in the pitch dark morning," the eyes of Mercie narrowed, "I'd a greeted ya with a 44 magnum slug."

                "Mercie, you always are a tad cranky, especially in the A.M." Cheryl giggled.

                "Four A.M.!"  Mercie grumbled.

                "Oh, its later than that," Cheryl reasoned.

                "A lot later than you think."  Mercie did not blink.  "Lord help me, my name may be Mercie, but I'm just a little girl, well, medium, er large sized old girl.  Help me!"

                "I am so sorry."  Through eyes of Mercie, Cheryl caught glimpse of her own selfishness.  She leaned on table to rise and leave.

                "Not so fast, little missy!"  Mercie grabbed Cheryl's hand before it left table. "Sit!" Mercie growled. "Seeing as how the fact is that your insomnia is not just your own, but mine also; I have decided to cure you, yes, even heal you... before I kill you!"

                Cheryl giggled, although a tad nervously, "Perhaps I might come over a bit later... in the day... maybe?"

                No, its healing time, sister!  Enough already!  You been whining over that Jack McMorron guy for over ten years."  Mercie took sip of coffee, sat it down not lightly.

                "His name is Jokull Moraine and its only been a year and a half." Cheryl whined.

                "Seems closer to twenty." Mercie half chuckled, then sort a fazed out in blinkless stupor, coffee mug half way to lips.

                Over rim of coffee mug the eyes of Cheryl smiled.  These too early in the morning soul searches oftentimes required the rebooting of Mercie.  Cheryl rose, retrieved percolator carafe from stove top, stood by Mercie, rested hand on her shoulder, asked, "Need a refresher?"  She poured coffee.

                "Truth be told... truth be told... would be refreshing."  Mercie blinked, as if message received from above.  She took sip of coffee. "It would seem that if only you could find amnesia, you, my dear Cheryl, beloved friend, might find rest.  But is that really the answer?  The big picture involves more than just letting go memories of that McMorron guy."

                "His name is Moraine." Cheryl cringed; just the thought of no more Moraine made heart ache.  Carafe of coffee still in hand, Cheryl collapsed in chair next Mercie,

                Mercie gathered Cheryl's hands in hers. "Finding amnesia is not the answer.  Finding Jesus is.  Move forward with Jesus; worry bout nothing, but pray about everything.  Ask in Jesus name of our Heavenly Father... and his peace which surpasses all understanding shall keep your heart... Let us pray together..."

Our characters take a bow:

Mercie:  mercy, grace, clemency, charity, favor, compassion, forbearance, price paid.

Cheryl:  dear friend (Welsh)

Jokull Moraine:  glacier of ice (Scandinavian);  stone rubble deposited by a glacier (French)

Heavenly Father:  The Living God - The Creator.

Jesus:  His Son - our Savior.

                                         Matthew 11:28-30;  Philippians 4:4-7



Thursday, September 18, 2014


                "Flightless," Bernie Fetter mumbled daily lament, "wingless in bird land.  Why was I born this way?  Why was I hatched at all?"  Emu like legs propelled Bernie through needing a mow grass toward newspaper.

                "Hi Bernie," from lily lined walkway, widow Mattie Freer waved paper.

                "Why is her paper always on the walk and mine eternally in the dew?" His festering brain complained, but he said, "Good morning, Mrs. Freer."  Morning ritual complete, Bernie turned back toward front door, oblivious to the fact that Mrs. Freer's early greetings had increased in occurrence over recent months.  But oblivious he was not to the rising sun revealing silhouette of long legs through house coat. "Long and beautiful," Bernie thought, "unlike my bird legs."

                And so went morning in-idyllic.  While one preened, the other squawked.  While one danced, the other plodded.  While one moved on, the other ground in.  Till one faithful day...

                "Hi Bernie." Mattie waved paper.

                "Good morning Mrs. Freer." Bernie averted eyes from rays of sun passing through house coat; it only reminded him of how ugly he perceived himself to be; and "I shouldn't," he thought, "be admiring Sonny's wife at all.  Sonny Freer was the closest thing to a friend I ever had.  Lord, I miss him."  Bernie headed back to earth bound nest.  Door knob in hand...

                "Bernie, Bernie." Mattie Freer interrupted his doom of gloom trance... "Bernie, can you come over here, perchance?"

                Bernie cracked open door to nest.  Got a tad more than one foot in...

                Bernie, don't you dare act like you don't hear me!" Mattie clasped hand over mouth. "Oh well," she giggled, "no turning back now." She removed hand from mouth. The veins in her neck puffed out as, "Bernie!!!" escaped lips.

                "Be right there," Bernie answered, sighed, tentatively slinked back out nest door, like a bird from under cover after thunder storm..

                "Bernie." Her palm cupped his cheek, lifted his face to hers.

                His spindly legs turned limp spaghetti. "Your hand feels so good."

                "Bernie," Mattie in all tenderness said, "how are you ever going to see me with your eyes closed?"

                Eyes clamped shut, Bernie confessed, "I didn't look.  Well maybe a little yesterday, but not today.  I'm so sorry,  I..."

                "Shush, just shush, Hon," her hand still cupped his cheek. "Open those pretty brown eyes," Mattie cooed.  The eyes of Bernie met dove eyes.  "Bernie, you need coffee," Mattie chirped.  Her hand departed his cheek; found his hand; did not turn loose till she had Bernie perched at garden table.  "I'll fetch that coffee now.  It's fresh brewed," Mattie smiled promise.

                Round garden table hummingbirds flitted from honey suckle to lily, to flower, to all about; buzzed each other and Bernie alike in territorial flight to stake claim to sweet water feeder Mattie had hung out.  Near kitchen door, over shoulder Mattie asked, "Cream and sugar?"

                "Yes Ma'am," Bernie sighed.  His eyes followed sweet Mattie curves till she disappeared into kitchen.  To self he wondered, "Why is such a lovely dove even bothering with me?" Bernie bent knees, tensed legs, prepared to take flight.  But as if by intervention divine, designated hummingbird landed squarely on the tip of his nose.

                Bearing tray, Mattie returned to find Bernie cross eyed and frozen in place by hummingbird perched on nose.  "I see you have a new friend," Mattie laughed, more a sweet laughette.  She sat tray on garden table; and so cued, hummingbird accomplice flew to wisteria vine, where in lavender flowers he sat as culpable witness.

                From tray Mattie sat out not two, but three cups of coffee.

                "What is happening?" Paranoid Bernie brain neared critical mass.

                Garden gate opened. And lo, into garden strode crow dark clad man, verily the villainous reason for Bernie Fetter's self loathing.  Bernie began to shake.  His nose dripped blood.  Mattie rounded garden table, tilted his head back, pressed napkin to nose, hugged him to her.  "Be strong Bernie.  I promised Sonny before he died to do this for you.  He loved you, Bernie."

                As specter of dark remembrance  neared; Bernie clamped eyes shut, whimpered, "No, please no, don't hurt me." And then he heard... the steps of darkness stop... felt strong male arms embrace him...

                ...Heard just a man, named Mike, weep with him, "I am so sorry, Bernie.  I should have apologized to you years ago.  Your life most certainly would have been better without this jerk harassing you every day at school."

                "Every single day for years!" Bernie howled pain.

                "If what if... could be what was... then we'd all what if today," Mike spoke from the heart, took seat at garden table. "For many years the pain, that I inflicted on you and others, unleashed torment upon me.  How could I have been so evil?  How could I hurt you like that?  More than a few sleepless nights your tears, your fears became mine.  Alcohol and drugs only made it harder to cope with the guilt.  I could not live with myself.  Death seemed the only fitting punishment.  One drunken night alone in bed, I stuck a gun in my mouth.  Finger on trigger, I heard so clearly the word this wicked world despises most, a simple 'No'.  Whether angel or not, I know not, but I knew, that I was not alone.  That morning I found myself in a church pew.  I found God's grace and forgiveness and salvation through his son Jesus.  But Bernie, I never forgot you, just did not know where you moved after Shackleton High School."

                Mattie explained, "Before Sonny passed, he heard Mike had become Pastor Mike in another state.  I promised to get you two together."

                "I am so very sorry, Bernie.  I pray that in your heart you might forgive me and receive peace," Pastor Mike hoped.

                With napkin Mattie wiped tears from past victim's face.  Bernie looked into her soft dove eyes.  He turned to Pastor Mike and spoke, "So, Mikey needs mercy.  Where was the mercy when Mikey boy, Mr. Super Jock, Mr. lets slam Bernie's head into the locker, make him beg on the floor with boot on face, then kick him in the groin, where was the mercy then?  Where was it Mike?  Maybe I should give you a taste of your own medicine?  Maybe... maybe..." Bernie quieted, saw tears well in Mattie's dove eyes, saw Mike hang his head and weep.  Marty stood, took step toward Mike, said, "Or maybe I should just grow up, get a grip, get over it, thank Jesus, and give a new friend a hug?"

                And dove eyes smiled...

                          ... Be no longer wingless in bird land...
                                     ...Be set free by Jesus...

...Jesus, who even from the cross, said: Father forgive them; for they know not what they do...

                     Luke 23:24;  John 14:6;   8:31-32;  1st John 4:17