Sometimes I stand in front of the mirror, wondering where to begin. The years have quietly gathered, and somehow I became one of the stories I used to listen to.
The freckles that once danced across my face have settled into the soft blotches of time. Roadmaps of blue trace my legs, each vein a reminder that every mile has been traveled for a reason.
My memory isn’t quite as sharp, and names occasionally slip away. That’s one of the honest truths about growing older— it asks us to laugh more and worry a little less.
There was a time when I was fearless, wild-hearted, and convinced tomorrow would wait forever.
Then forty arrived, and everything changed.
Not because my body grew older, but because my soul finally woke up.
I met Jesus in a way I never had before. He offered the Bread of Life, and for the first time I was truly hungry.
Taking that first bite rearranged everything.
Old habits lost their grip. Heavy burdens became lighter. The things that once consumed my thoughts slowly surrendered to a peace I had never known.
The wrinkles came. The gray hairs multiplied. The scars never disappeared.
But neither did God’s faithfulness.
Now I welcome every silver strand, every scar, every stretch mark, every laugh line, because each one tells the story of a life that has been lived— and a Savior who never stopped walking beside me.
Yes, these eyes need glasses. These ears appreciate a little extra volume. My knees complain before my mouth does.
But my heart? It’s never been younger.
I’ll spend whatever days remain telling anyone who will listen about the goodness I’ve found in Jesus Christ.
Every victory belongs to Him. Every chapter points back to Him. Every breath is another opportunity to give Him glory.
One day, these old hands will rest. The typing will stop. This tired body will breathe its last.
If you’re looking for me then, don’t search among the memories.
Look toward Heaven.
And if you’ve placed your trust in Jesus, we’ll meet again— where scars are healed, tears are forgotten, and growing old is replaced with everlasting life.
Until then, I’ll wear my sixty-one years with gratitude, a cheerful heart, and enough silver strands to remind the world
that God’s grace looks beautiful at every age.
Gray isn’t something to cover up. Scars aren’t something to hide. They’re signatures of survival, reminders of grace, and evidence that God has faithfully carried us farther than we ever imagined. If aging is a gift, then every silver strand is another ribbon tied around the blessing
There’s something admirable about people who go above and beyond. They do more than what’s expected, not because they have to, but because they take pride in doing a job well. Most of us appreciate those folks. We thank them, praise them, and sometimes even come to depend on them.
And maybe that’s where the trouble begins.
There’s nothing wrong with giving your best effort. If you’re going to do a job, do it well. Sweep the floor like it matters. Write the report like your name is on it. Show up when you said you would. Those are values worth keeping.
What bugs me is when people start expecting that extra effort as if it’s owed to them.
Somewhere along the way, society seems to have become comfortable letting the workers carry the load while others stand by and watch. The dependable people keep being dependable, and the rest often feel no conviction about letting them do all the heavy lifting. Why? I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is that it bugs me.
It bugs me that I can work more than forty hours a week, come home tired, and still find time to take care of responsibilities, pursue interests, and make room for the things that matter. Yet I hear people complain they have no time at all.
It bugs me when coworkers refuse to pull their share of the load and are perfectly content letting everyone else pick up the slack.
It bugs me when people say they’re going to do something and then never follow through.
It bugs me when excuses become more common than accountability.
It bugs me when standards slip so low that simply doing what you said you would do is considered extraordinary. And then you expect an award for doing what you said you would do anyways.
Most of all, it bugs me because I know better.
I know we live in a fallen world. I know people are imperfect. I know disappointment has been part of the human condition since the Garden. Yet knowing that truth doesn’t make it any less frustrating when we see it play out day after day.
Maybe the real challenge isn’t dealing with other people’s shortcomings. Maybe it’s guarding our own hearts against becoming bitter because of them.
After all, if we allow someone else’s lack of effort to steal our joy, then they’ve taken more from us than our time—they’ve taken our peace.
So yes, it bugs me.
It bugs me when people don’t care, don’t contribute, don’t follow through, and don’t hold themselves to a higher standard.
But tomorrow, I’ll still get up, do my work, keep my word, and give my best effort—not because everyone else does, but because that’s who I want to be.
And perhaps that’s the difference between carrying a burden and carrying a conviction.
Sometimes the world may settle for “good enough.”
But some of us were raised to believe that if a thing is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.
And that conviction, bugs and all, is still worth keeping.
There are weekends when life hands you a lesson disguised as a lawn mower.
Last weekend, our faithful mower officially “shit the bed.” For those who have never heard that, that’s New England language for it’s dead and not coming back. Not exactly the way we planned to spend a Saturday.
Tall Cool 😎ne spent the entire morning—and a good part of the afternoon—trying to resurrect it. After enough tinkering, troubleshooting, and muttering under his breath, he came to the conclusion that the starter would need to be rebuilt. Unfortunately, the grass had no interest in waiting patiently for repairs. It was still growing, and growing fast.
So off to Home Depot we went.
After about twenty minutes of comparing models, reading labels, and debating features, Tall Cool 😎ne made his decision. Four hundred dollars later, we were headed home with a brand-new push mower riding proudly in the back of the truck.
There was only one small concern.
The box had a crushed hole in the side.
I suggested we open it up and make sure everything looked okay before leaving the store. Tall Cool 😎ne assured me it would be fine.
Well… mostly fine.
Once we got home and unpacked it, there it was—a respectable scratch on the side exactly where the box had been damaged. Nothing that affected performance, but enough to make you wonder if people still take pride in doing a job well.
I suppose I could have called and asked for a discount. But then I thought, is it really worth the aggravation? It’s a lawn mower. If it’s doing its job, scratches are inevitable. Still, when you buy something new, you expect it to arrive looking new.
But the grass wasn’t getting any shorter while I pondered customer service standards.
Once the mower was assembled, fueled, and ready for action, the real fun began.
Tall Cool 😎ne tackled one side of the yard while I raked magnolia pods into piles. Magnolia trees are beautiful, but when they were designed they clearly were never meant to be on a small piece of property. Between the pods, leaves, and assorted yard debris, they create enough work to qualify as a part-time job.
Before long, we settled into a rhythm, tag-teaming per say, taking turns pushing the mower across the yard. An hour and a half later, we stood there exhausted—hot, sweaty, dusty, and thoroughly worn out.
But the lawn looked great.
All 0.61 acres of it.
As we admired our handiwork, a thought crossed my mind.
People pay monthly memberships to gyms so they can walk on treadmills, push weighted sleds, and work up a sweat. We spent $400 one time, got a full-body workout, enjoyed fresh air, accomplished something useful, and ended up with a freshly cut lawn.
Of course, there is one difference.
The gym doesn’t keep growing back every week.
The grass, however, has already scheduled our next workout.
Crackerberries Wisdom: Sometimes life gives you a choice between a gym membership and a lawn mower. One builds muscles. The other builds muscles and character. Either way, you’re going to sweat.
This morning I woke up and found a sticky note attached to my monitor. I have absolutely no recollection of writing it. The note simply said:
“Flossing teeth and confessing sins has to be intentional.”
Now, where that thought came from is beyond me, but since I promised myself I would try to post weekly, I figured I’d give it some thought.
The Flossing Struggle
I’ll be honest—flossing is not my favorite thing. The floss gets stuck, and every now and then I’m convinced I’m about to pull out an old filling. Nothing ruins a morning quite like that feeling.
Dental visits aren’t exactly high on my list of favorite activities either. In fact, this sticky note reminded me that I need to call about a bill I still have sitting on my desk.
But whether we like it or not, flossing requires intention. You have to get in between every tooth, behind every nook and cranny. It takes effort.
Personally, I prefer dental tape over regular floss, but everyone has their preferences. Tall Cool ☺ne uses a water pick. I haven’t quite mastered that yet—it usually results in water splashed across the mirror and down the front of my shirt and all over the rest of the bathroom. If you’ve ever used one, you know exactly what I mean!
The Connection
The more I thought about that mysterious sticky note, the more I understood where it was going.
Confessing our sins is a lot like flossing.
If we truly want to repent and move forward, we have to be intentional about it. It’s easy to offer a quick, general prayer:
“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned.”
And God certainly hears sincere hearts.
But sometimes real growth happens when we get specific:
“Lord, forgive me for judging someone before I knew the whole story.”
“Lord, forgive me for speaking harshly when patience was needed.”
“Lord, forgive me for putting my own desires ahead of Your will.”
Intentional confession requires us to examine the hidden places of our hearts—the areas we’d often rather avoid. Much like flossing reaches the places a toothbrush misses, honest confession reaches the places surface-level prayers can overlook.
Progress, not perfection
The goal isn’t perfection. None of us will achieve that this side of heaven.
The goal is a growing relationship with Christ.
Being intentional doesn’t mean we’ll get everything right. It means we’re willing to look honestly at ourselves, acknowledge where we’ve fallen short, and bring those things before God.
That’s a start.
And sometimes a start is exactly what we need.
Final Crackerberries Thought 🍓
Maybe that’s why that sticky note showed up on my monitor.
Whether it’s caring for our teeth, nurturing relationships, growing our faith, or confessing our sins, the things that matter most rarely happen by accident.
They happen when we choose to be intentional.
What’s your take? Is flossing teeth a good comparison to confessing sins when it comes to being intentional? What do you need to be intentional about? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
Until next time, keep finding the berries hidden in everyday life. 🍓
*By Barbie Anderson— Adapted and formatted for blog publication*
♥♥Every Girl Wanted a Prom Date♥♥
The alarm went off and I reached over to stop the monotonous beeping.
“Great,” I thought. “Another day closer to the prom and I still don’t have a date. What a wonderful school year this has been.”
My little sister Sarah pounded on the bedroom door.
“Mama says get up!”
“I’m up,” I groaned, kicking off the covers.
Everyone was already gathered around the breakfast table. Dad hid behind the newspaper with his coffee while Mom cooked eggs at the stove. Jeff and Sarah were arguing over fabric softener commercials like it was a national emergency.
“I want the bear one!” Sarah insisted.
I stared at them in disbelief.
“Mom,” I said, raising my voice, “this is the end of the world. The end of my life — and you’re discussing fabric softeners?”
Dad lowered the newspaper just enough to glance at me.
“Didn’t see anything in here about the end of the world,” he said calmly before returning to the sports section.
“I don’t have a date for prom,” I snapped. “It’s less than two weeks away.”
Jeff immediately smirked.
“Have Melvin take you.”
Sarah nearly choked laughing.
“S’Melvin! Melvin!”
“You’re both jerks,” I said, blinking back tears.
Dad finally sighed and folded the paper.
“Jessica, don’t talk to your brother and sister that way.”
“It’s not a phase,” I protested after Mom tried to calm everyone down. “I really don’t have a date.”
Then came the dramatic declaration:
“I’ll be miserable until I get one!”
My family rolled their eyes in perfect unison.
“Oh, Lord, please give her a date,” my brother Jeff groaned, clasping his hands together in mock prayer. “Spare us this agony.”
Dad finally lowered his newspaper and looked straight at me.
“Why don’t you take her, Jeff? You don’t have a date for the prom either.”
“No way!” Jeff squealed. “I’m not dressing up in a monkey suit.”
“And I’m not going with my own brother,” I snapped. “How embarrassing would that be?”
At the time, I thought going to prom alone was the worst thing that could happen.
A week later, I would have given anything to go with my brother instead.
—
## The Missed Bus
Four days before prom, I missed the school bus.
At first, I figured it wasn’t a big deal. School was only a short walk away, and missing first period gave me extra time to finish the English assignment I had conveniently “forgotten” to do.
I sat down at the bus stop bench, digging through my backpack for my book.
That’s when I noticed an old newspaper crumpled beside me.
Underneath it sat a beat-up, ratty old sneaker.
“Whatcha got there?” a raspy voice asked.
I jumped.
An older woman sat beside me. I had never seen her before. She looked rough around the edges — oversized coat, overstuffed bag, and a toothless grin that somehow managed to feel both unsettling and warm.
She picked up the newspaper and made herself comfortable.
“Sit and talk awhile,” she said. “I ain’t gonna bite ya.”
I sat back down, carefully leaving plenty of space between us.
— ## A Strange Conversation
“You go to school?” she asked while pulling a chocolate bar from her bag.
“Yeah. I’m supposed to be there right now.”
“Never got the chance to go to high school myself,” she said. Then she held out the candy. “Go ahead. It ain’t poison.”
I accepted a tiny piece out of politeness.
Then came the question I was tired of hearing.
“You going to the prom Saturday?”
“Not unless I magically find a date,” I muttered.
The woman studied me for a moment.
“Pretty girl like you ain’t got a date?”
“Not by choice,” I answered.
She raised an eyebrow.
“How many boys have *you* asked?”
I stared at her.
Ask a boy to prom?
That wasn’t how things worked.
As if she could read my mind, she shrugged.
“This is the ’90s, sweetheart. Girls can ask boys too.”
I imagined asking Jerry Davis — the best-looking guy in school — to prom.
Just the thought made my face burn.
“You shy?” she asked.
Maybe.
Or maybe I was just terrified of rejection.
—
## The Sneaker Idea
The woman picked up the old sneaker and turned it over in her hands.
“I got an idea,” she said.
I should have walked away right then.
Instead, I listened.
“Pretend you’re a princess in a fairy tale,” she said. “Take this sneaker to school and find the boy it fits.”
I blinked.
“Are you crazy?”
“Depends how desperate you are for a prom date.”
The worst part?
I *was* desperate.
She pushed the sneaker into my hands.
“Sometimes miracles need a little encouragement,” she said before shuffling away.
And somehow for some weird unknown reason… I took the sneaker with me.
—
## The Search for ‘Prince Charming’
By lunchtime, the entire school knew about the sneaker.
I pretended the idea had been mine all along.
At first, everybody laughed.
Then they joined in.
One by one, boys tried on the old sneaker while the cafeteria cheered them on.
Even Jerry Davis tried it.
No luck.
After what felt like the hundredth failed attempt, I finally sighed.
“I guess Prince Charming doesn’t go to this school.”
That’s when Jeff pointed across the cafeteria.
“You didn’t try *his* foot.”
Sitting alone at a table stacked with books was Melvin Ingstrom.
Melvin was… different.
He looked like he’d stepped out of the 1950s. Horn-rimmed glasses. Greased hair. Penny loafers. Cuffed jeans.
Definitely not the guy I pictured taking me to prom.
“Not Melvin,” I whispered.
Jeff ignored me.
“Melvin! Get over here!”
The entire cafeteria watched as Melvin slowly walked toward us.
Jeff shoved the sneaker onto his foot.
And it fit.
Perfectly.
“Looks like Jess found her Prince Charming!” Jeff shouted.
Everyone applauded.
Melvin smiled.
I wanted to disappear.
—
## Prom Night
Now it was prom night.
I stood upstairs staring at myself in the mirror, trying to calm my nerves.
Any second, Melvin would arrive.
I was convinced the evening would be a disaster.
Then the doorbell rang.
“Jessica, Melvin is here!” Mom called.
Before I could move, my little sister Sarah burst into my room, completely out of breath.
“Jessie,” she gasped, “he doesn’t even look like Melvin anymore!”
I hurried downstairs.
And for the first time, I realized something important.
Maybe I had been so busy chasing the idea of the *perfect* date that I never gave anyone real a chance.
Maybe fairy tales don’t always begin with glass slippers and princes.
Sometimes they begin with a beat-up old sneaker at a bus stop.
—
## Final Thoughts
This story is a reminder that expectations can blind us to unexpected opportunities.
We often build perfect images in our minds — about people, relationships, and even ourselves. But sometimes the people we overlook are the ones who surprise us the most.
And sometimes, all it takes to change your story is the courage to try something completely unexpected.
Would you have taken the sneaker to school?
Cheers,
I wrote this story for a class I was taking to be a children’s writer. I’ve been going through some of those old copies and decided before I threw them out, I’d document them here. One day there may not be internet, but for now, it’s better than the fading typed papers.
I’ll say this gently—I don’t quite understand the excitement around tattoos these days.
Before anyone tenses up, hear me out. I’m not against them. I actually have one myself—a tiny, slightly questionable Rolling Stones tattoo on the top of my foot. A little souvenir from a younger, wilder season of life. That version of me has long since moved on… and if I’m being honest, the meaning behind that ink has faded too.
And that’s really where this begins.
When people talk about why they get tattoos, I often hear, “It reminds me of where I’ve been.” And I do understand that—to a degree. There’s something meaningful about remembering where you started and how far you’ve come. Growth matters. Your story matters.
But I keep coming back to this:
We’re not meant to stay there.
We’re not called to live in old chapters on repeat. God’s Word points us forward—toward renewal, restoration, redemption. It calls us to become new, not to permanently anchor ourselves to who we used to be.
Scars feel different to me. You know, the kind that are ugly and are imbedded in your skin from accidents, falls, battles, the kind that make-up doesn’t cover up.
Scars come from living. From healing. From surviving something that once felt like it might take you out. They carry weight because they weren’t chosen for display—they’re simply part of the life you’ve lived.
Tattoos, though, are chosen reminders. Permanent ones.
And I can’t help but wonder—especially for the younger generation covering themselves in meaningful designs—has there been a pause to consider how those choices might feel years down the road? Not just how they’ll look on aging skin, but how they’ll sit emotionally… even spiritually.
Because what feels deeply meaningful today might not hold the same truth tomorrow.
And that’s really the heart of it.
This isn’t about judgment—it’s about perspective. It’s about asking whether we’re holding onto moments we were meant to grow beyond, or stepping fully into who we’re becoming.
Because truth doesn’t need ink to last.
It shows up in how we grow. How we change. How we keep moving forward without constantly looking back.
And that kind of truth only deepens with time.
Even when it’s uncomfortable
Truth sounds simple… until it isn’t.
We say we want honesty—real, unfiltered truth—but when it starts pressing against our comfort, something shifts. Why is it so hard to simply tell the truth? Is it fear of what people might think? Or fear of how they’ll respond?
Because if we’re honest…
Truth isn’t always gentle.
Sometimes it lands heavy. Sometimes it reveals more than we’re ready for. Sometimes it asks something of us.
And maybe that’s why we tiptoe around it.
But here’s the thing—truth, told the first time, stands on its own. It doesn’t need managing or maintaining. It doesn’t require layers.
Lies do.
Truth is steady. It’s real. It doesn’t bend.
And yet…
We live in a world where truth is often filtered. Where stories are shaped before they ever reach us. Where even in our homes, truth gets softened—out of love, out of protection, or simply to keep the peace.
But there’s another layer we don’t always like to admit:
Sometimes we say we want the truth… but we’re not sure we’re ready to feel it.
So where does that leave us?
Maybe it’s not just about telling the truth—it’s about how we carry it.
Empathy matters. Kindness matters. Tone matters.
We can offer truth gently. We can speak it with compassion.
But we shouldn’t reshape it into something easier just to make it more comfortable.
Because truth—even when it feels heavy—is still truth.
And beneath all of this—beneath tattoos, memories, stories, and the versions of ourselves we cling to—there is a deeper truth still:
A storm is coming.
Not one you can see on the horizon, but one that brings everything into the light.
Jesus is coming.
Not only in comfort—but in judgment. Not only in promise—but in fulfillment.
And He will come for those who have remained faithful.
That truth isn’t meant to scare us or leave us fearful—it isn’t meant to wound the heart. It’s meant to awaken it.
Because here’s the grace in it: It’s not too late. Not too late to face the truth. Not too late to live it. Not too late to choose it.
Truth isn’t meant to scar us—it’s meant to shape us. To refine, not to harm. To bring clarity, not damage.
Truth doesn’t bend to fit us… but it will always invite us to rise and meet it.
We all carry a backbone inside of us—some a little sturdier than others, some tested more times than we care to count. And when life presses in, when the weight feels unfair and the stories around you get louder than your own, it’s easy to wonder if you’ve got enough strength left to stand.
But here’s the truth we don’t say often enough: resilience isn’t about never falling—it’s about refusing to stay down.
Everyone has a story. Some wear theirs like a badge, while others quietly carry it like a stone in their pocket. And yes, there will always be voices trying to measure suffering, as if pain could be ranked or compared. But your struggle? It matters. Your breaking point? It’s real.
Still… you’re here.
Scripture reminds us that God is faithful—He will not allow us to face what He hasn’t already equipped us to endure (1 Corinthians 10:13). And that one word tucked into that promise—believers—it matters. Because resilience, the kind that holds when everything else gives way, is rooted in something deeper than willpower.
Maybe right now feels like sinking—like you’re stuck in that red clay kind of struggle, where the harder you fight, the deeper you go. You’re tired. Frustrated. Wondering if you’ll ever get free.
Look up.
See that hand?
That’s Jesus—steady, patient, unshaken. He’s not rushing you, not scolding you. He’s simply waiting… for you to reach back.
Now let’s be honest—grabbing hold doesn’t magically erase the storm. The struggle doesn’t disappear overnight. Life doesn’t suddenly turn easy.
No sir.
But what does come is peace—the kind that settles chaos without needing to explain it. A quiet assurance that even in the middle of the mess… you’re going to be okay.
I know trials. I know the kind that leave marks you don’t talk about. And I know there are more ahead—because that’s part of this life. But I’ve made peace with that truth, because my future isn’t tied to temporary battles. It’s anchored in eternity.
So let me ask you something…
Do you want to be resilient? Do you want to rise—buoyant, steady, unbreakable in the places that used to shatter you?
Do you want that promise—no more tears, no more sorrow, no more pain?
Then don’t just sit in the struggle.
Reach.
Ask.
Because resilience isn’t just surviving… —it’s knowing exactly the ONE Who is holding you while you do.
Just leave a note in the comments below and I’ll pray for you. Or….
Learning isn’t just something we did back when notebooks were fresh and knees were skinned—it’s something meant to stay with us. Not necessarily the facts, but the posture. The willingness. The humility to say, I don’t know… yet.
I’ve always believed in learning something new every day. Not because I’m chasing brilliance, but because I’ve seen what happens when people stop being teachable. They get stiff. Certain. Closed off. And if I’m being honest—I used to be one of them.
Think about it. There was a time when we had to learn everything—how to tie our shoes, ride a bike, balance without falling flat on our pride. Now, kids can ask a device to dim the lights, call Grandma, or solve 27 × 38 without blinking. That’s progress, no doubt. But somewhere in all that convenience, we risk losing the grit that comes from figuring things out the hard way.
I still remember clapping out chalkboard erasers and drawing hopscotch grids on sidewalks like it was high art. It sounds almost antique now, but those moments taught us more than we realized—patience, resilience, even a little creativity. And maybe that’s the point: the lesson was never just the task, but who we became while learning it.
The truth is, learning doesn’t retire just because we grow up—it just changes shape. Sometimes it looks like listening instead of talking. Sometimes it’s trial and error. (And yes, sometimes it’s discovering that SURPRISE: anchovies on pizza—even with Tall Cool ☺ne—is still a hard NO!)
So let’s not be the ones who think we’ve arrived.
Stay curious. Stay open. Stay teachable.
Because the day you stop learning… is the day you stop growing.
Faith isn’t always the grand gesture, the bold declaration, or the dramatic leap into the dark. Sometimes it’s much quieter than that. Sometimes it’s simply a soft yes whispered during a morning prayer.
Yes, Lord. I trust You.
So often we place our hope in people. We trust that they will do the right thing. We believe they will follow through with what they say. We expect their actions to match our standards. And when they don’t, disappointment follows.
The truth is simple: people are messy.
Each of us lives by a different set of standards, shaped by our experiences, beliefs, and circumstances. It’s easy to assume that what seems obvious to us should be obvious to everyone else. But that assumption often leads to frustration. What feels right or natural to one person may not even cross another person’s mind.
Lately, I’ve been asking God to help me find peace in that reality. To be content with the standards I try to live by, while remembering that He created each of us uniquely in His image. No two people are the same. Like snowflakes, every life carries its own design.
It should come as no surprise. People will fail us. That is part of being human.
True faith isn’t about expecting perfection from others. It’s about trusting that God will give us the strength to accept what we cannot change. It’s about offering grace while others are still growing, still learning, still becoming who they are meant to be.
Because sometimes faith isn’t the moment we leap.
Sometimes it’s the quiet decision we make again and again — to trust God more than we trust people, to offer grace when disappointment would be easier, and to keep whispering yes even when the world feels uncertain.
And in the end, it’s those quiet yeses that shape who we become.
How about you? Where do you need to let it go and lay in God’s hands and have faith that He’s in control not you?
Evolving Growth is the point, not perfection. Pen to paper. Thoughts turning into words, ink pressing quietly into a page that will eventually outlive the moment that created it. Every line carries a little hesitation, a little truth, and the occasional smudge where certainty once tried to live. Headlines move faster than understanding. News travels quickly, and judgment travels even faster. The questions arrive on schedule: What have you done? What could you have done? As if the world were simple enough for clean answers. History has never been that tidy. Propaganda calls it saving a country. Some are crowned heroes, others disappear into the quiet margins where the unsung always seem to live. Nations fight nations, while smaller wars unfold behind ordinary walls where no flags are raised but the stakes still feel just as high. In war there are no true winners. In the end, everyone falls in one way or another—some loudly, some quietly, but no one untouched. The past, stubborn as ever, has a habit of repeating itself. New slogans. New voices. Yet the same familiar pursuits continue circling the room: power, recognition, control, wealth. And somewhere between the noise of headlines and the echoes of history, a quieter realization waits patiently. Perfection was never the destination. But growth— growth surprisingly leaves fingerprints on every page.
What do you think? Are you evolving? How are your challenges that you face going? Let me know.
I’ve been working on my A-Z posts because I really hope to have them all done before April 1st! Wouldn’t that be a SURPRISE?… I’m close…I really am close.
Yesterday or day before Tall Cool ☺ne was reading/listening to me jabber about one of my polished posts. He commented, “That’s a lot like a post you did awhile back.” He has such a good memory.
I searched and searched for that stupid post and could not find it. Come to find out it was posted on MYSPACE (which I don’t even know where that platform went anymore). I tried to find me but I had no luck. The good thing… (and I guess bad thing) I keep hard copies via paper zone as well as a folder on my desktop of everything I’ve ever written and posted. So here it is, a little more refined. This is a foreshadowing for an upcoming post for one of the letters I’ll be using in the A-Z Blogging challenge.
Smoke and Mirrors (circa 2015)
“Smoke and mirrors” — a way to distract from what’s really going on. A trick to make something look better, cleaner, or more impressive than it actually is.
Magicians use it to create illusions. Companies use it to sell products. And people? We use it too.
In today’s world of cyber reality and virtual friendships, we convince ourselves we truly know people. But the truth is, we only know what’s shown to us. As Brad Paisley put it, things are “so much cooler online.” And he wasn’t wrong.
Filters, edits, and carefully crafted posts turn reality into something else entirely—a polished version of the truth. A red herring. A distraction.
So here it is, plain and simple: writing means risking being known.
(This lets on how old this post is…my book was back in 2014) Pre work at home so I had lots of time to “HOBBY”.)
Last week, I got dropped by a publisher I had signed with to sell my first book. Just like that—gone. Since then, I’ve been trying to regroup, to get myself back together. My social media activity has slowed, and that’s been harder to adjust to than I expected.
Part of my “job”(AKA real life now hobby) was to promote my book daily online. But here’s the honest truth—I don’t care what the experts say: virtual friends can feel like smoke and mirrors. I can’t verify a single book sale that came from any social media promotion.
We all want to be seen. We all want attention. So we chase it—liking, following, sharing—across Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, LinkedIn, Blogger, and a hundred other platforms. (Half of these weren’t even heard of when I wrote this)
But let’s be honest.
Most of those people don’t really know you. And most of them don’t really care. The “like” button often isn’t about connection—it’s about visibility. A quiet trade: I’ll like yours if you like mine.
There are friends. And there are followers. They are not the same.
Now, to be fair—this isn’t true for everyone. But if you want to measure real friendship, ask yourself:
How many people reach out to you personally—not just clicking “like,” but actually checking in? How many would get out of bed in the middle of the night and drive hours to help you? How many would give something of themselves—a pint of blood, a kidney—if you needed it? How many would stand in harm’s way for you?
That’s the difference.
Don’t confuse online connection with real-life relationship. Yes, everything can look better online—but sometimes it’s just a polished illusion. Smoke and mirrors.
Meanwhile, out here in the real world, there are people—real people—who aren’t hiding behind the smoke and mirrors.
Ah, yes, spring has sprung: pollen Robin red breast birds have sung: wheezing Buzzing bees make their nests: coughing Here they come, ants and pests: sneezing Ah, yes, spring has sprung!
Eyes puff up appears to be sand: itchy Guarded with a tissue in hand: snotty Yellow and green dust everywhere: sniveling Ah, yes, spring has sprung!
Flowers and blossoms in full bloom: appeasing Wisteria’s drooping like a flume: still sneezing Till up the dirt, dig the ground: sweating Spread the seeds all around: whining Get out the sports car, va-va-vroom: laughing Ah yes, spring has sprung.
Typically I wake up in the middle of the night and my thought for the days post will come to mind and I’ll start pondering it in in the wee hours of the morning until my watch vibrates at 3:25AM. By then the post is pretty much written and I just have to transfer it from brain to dashboard. Today that was not the case. So here we are with another post that has nothing to do with my theme. I really hope you enjoy the variety show.
Hope everyone is having a great day. Only four more letters to go. We can do this together.
Cheers,
This is part of the A-Z blogging challenge. Don’t forget to visit some of the other bloggers in the challenge and also check out Crackerberries Kitchen!
Temptation interferes with my good writing habit Satan lurks to devour, I understand this tacit Some people are paid for their thesis or theory For me it’s therapeutic when I’m feeling weary The task at hand is one post a day Like gathering manna, I must do it God’s way Though I try to write more and get further ahead The words won’t come, so I Toon Blast instead I know it sounds silly wasting time on a game If my post doesn’t come there’s no one to blame But I trust in the Lord with mind, soul and heart He’ll guide my time and I’ll finish what I start.
Be encouraged, be blessed and if temptation gets you, take the challenge, turn and finish what you start.
Cheers,
This is part of the A-Z blogging challenge. Don’t forget to visit some of the other bloggers in the challenge and also check out Crackerberries Kitchen!
Before I got my hearing aids, I didn’t realize how much noise there was in a day. Having 50% hearing loss in one ear and more than that in the other caused me to miss a lot. Some of the noise is pleasant, some not so much.
I never noticed in the morning when I fed the cats the one who thinks he’s a puppy always would rub my hand when I dumped the food in his dish. He also offers a meow of thanks which I had never heard before. (I know this sounds gross, but I didn’t know how loud toilet paper could be). It makes me smile when I hear Robyn tell Ella “It’s Granny,” and Ella says, “Leo, Leo, Leo”. The morning walks with Tall Cool ☺ne past the ponds fill my ears with croaking frogs and chirping crickets. The morning song of birds singing. I am amazed to hear the noise that I missed for so many years.
There are also noises I’d rather continue to miss, but with good there is also bad. Angry customers who swear under their breath because their bill went up and they think I can’t hear them cussing me out. More angry customers because apparently they couldn’t prioritize so their insurance lapsed and now they have to pay more of a fee to get it reinstated. A screaming child (in the grocery store, in church, anywhere). The noise of a siren just means something awful has happened or is about to. The gunshot of our neighbor shooting snakes will give me goosebumps every time I hear it.
I think we have a lot of noise in our lives. Some of it is good and some of it not so good.
Zephaniah 1:14 ~ The great day of the Lord is near, It is near and hastens quickly, The noise of the day of the Lord is bitter, There the mighty men shall cry out.
Just something to think about.
Cheers,
This is part of the A-Z blogging challenge. Don’t forget to visit some of the other bloggers in the challenge and also check out Crackerberries Kitchen!
Here we are again. That time of year when we think about Christmas newsletters, cards, gifts, decorations, food, family, friends, etc. One thing I’ve learned about Christmas newsletters is this. Hardly no one reads them. They don’t have time. They set them aside with every intention of reading them later, but somehow they get lost in the shuffle of life happening and they don’t get read.
It occurred to me that I could get people to read if I did something similar to what our Pastor does. Pastor John loves FREE! He says FEED THEM and they will come. That’s why every Wednesday during the warm months, there is a FREE MEAL before Wednesday night service. So I though why not try that. A FREE GIFT offering to you if you read all the way to the end of my letter. YES, you read that right! A FREE GIFT!
Remember the free pen debacle? If you received one, you are lucky. Many were destroyed or thrown away by the USPS. Some were returned to me (equally destroyed). The USPS isn’t what it used to be that is a fact. Then again, nothing really is. I still have some of the pens left. If you would like one, please send a self-addressed, stamped bubble envelope and I’ll be happy to drop that in the mail to you.
Over the years, I’ve written thousands of letters to people, numerous Christmas letters (OH the trees I’ve used). My mother says she’s going to send back all of my letters. (She better not!) I’m trying to declutter things I keep. My cousin, Eric says he hoards things like our grandmother did. I’m sure it must run in the family. Not only do I have a hard time not hoarding things, but I also see it in Robyn and Michael. I thought they got it from me but apparently it’s been a trend in our family for years. The things we hold dear to our hearts; that great painting, a piece of jewelry, an action figure, a favorite book. I love my bible. Tall Cool ☺ne’s mom gave it to me on my sister’s birthday in 2008. My life has not been the same since. Things change.
As I write this letter, the day after Thanksgiving, it is hard not to look at the numerous things I’m thankful for. Instead of the counter being stacked with dirty dishes to wash, they are all clean and just need to be put away. ☺ Seriously though, I am filled with a heart of gratitude. A lot of times we forget to count our blessings and instead we dwell on the “don’t haves” or the “can’t dos”. I think I’ve said it before that no matter where we are in our life, there is always one person out there who we can help. Someone worse off than ourselves. Tall Cool ☺ne puts it this way “If you are being chased by a lion, you don’t have to be the fastest person, you just have to be faster than the slowest person.” There is always someone we can help.
This holiday season, Christmas season, I implore you to do something completely out of the ordinary. Change your Christmas tradition, make a Christmas tradition. Do something you have never done before. If you have never gone to church, find a service and visit, see what it’s like. (It is life changing, believe me.) Invite a relative or a friend for dinner. Instead of spending a ton of money on gifts, make a donation to a non-profit organization or your local soup kitchen. Read T’was the Night before Christmas, watch It’s a Wonderful Life. Do something new that you have never done.
You have made it to the end of the letter and now it is time for the free gift I promised you. John 8:32 You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free. John 3:16 For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten SON that whoever believes in HIM should not perish but have everlasting life.
This is your free gift: eternal life. Repeat after me: Dear Lord Jesus, I know that I am a sinner, and I ask for Your forgiveness. I believe You died for my sins and rose from the dead. I turn from my sins and invite You to come into my heart and life. I want to trust and follow You as my Lord and Savior. Amen.
Enjoy the changes you will see in your life. God bless you all and let the Merry Christmas season begin.
When the thought for this post first came to me, it was in the middle of the night, and as usual I was too lazy write it down. I can’t remember exactly where I was going with this, but I think it had to do with the multitude of different nations that are going to be in heaven.
I work for a company that allows me to work at home. A lot of companies do that now after the Covid thing. I have been working at home since 2015. I love not having to commute, not having to worry about fixing my hair or buying a dress-up wardrobe. I am allowed to wear whatever I want as long as my voice is professional and courteous.
Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone was allowed? Too many things are not allowed. Not allowed to say this, not allowed to say that. Don’t talk politics, don’t talk ‘religion’. No pets allowed, no bare-feet allowed, no cut-off’s, no wonder we have a hard time keeping up with all the rules.
I am on the phone all day long and sometimes people ask me where they are calling. Where I’m from is not where I live and too many times they act surprised that I don’t have the accent that goes along with where they are calling. Lawd, knows I try to get that southern drawl in but I just don’t have it. Sometimes they will ask if I’m a blue state or a red state. They almost never find the humor when I tell them that my favorite color is red but sometimes when I’m feeling down I’m a little blue, so it’s probably safe to say I’m in a constant state of confusion.
I find that people tend to hold stereo-types of others based on where they are from and what they believe. (Terry, Tall Cool 😎ne knows you don’t care how he did it back home! You’ve always done it this way. 🤪 ) I suppose we all tend to have our own opinions on how things should be done and tend to think it should be done the way we have always done it. God create each and every one of us special in our own ways (some of us more special than others — I did indeed ride the short bus).
Serving all men … “I have become all things to all men, that I might by all means save some.” ~ 1 Corinthians 9:22
God doesn’t care what side of the tracks we grew up on. He doesn’t care where we came from. Jesus l♥ves everyone. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanses us for all unrighteousness. ~ 1 John 1:9
What are you holding on to that you can confess and let go of today? Today is the day of salvation.
For those of you who have been here before, go ahead and skip this introduction. New to the world of A-Z? Let me explain, a group of fellow bloggers come together each year to share in the experience of writing a post Monday through Saturday every day for the month of April (see schedule here). When I first started there were 1,509 bloggers signed up! You can read more about the A-Z history here. It’s great to have you along. Even if you didn’t sign up, you can still join in the fun. Just think of something you’d like to share that coincides with the letter of the day. Most of all, get involved, have fun, and make a new friend.
Papercuts are nasty little wounds that don’t bleed much but sometimes the pain lasts for a long time. Crazy how those little wounds on the end of a finger can hurt so much. Words can do the same thing as a papercut. They can be said in a way that is small and meaningless, even jokingly. Sometimes when people say things jokingly, they say it in a manner of which they really mean it but they say it teasingly. Even people they say it to say “I know they said it in good-humor, but …” But, still.
It makes me think of times when people were going on vacation off to the mountains for a ski trip. People would say, “Have a great time, break a leg.” I bet the first person who came up with that saying really meant it. They were jealous that they weren’t going on a trip and so they really wanted that person to break a leg. People say things as a wisecrack, but deep down inside there is that covet, that sinful nature, they really mean it.
Tall Cool ☺ne recently was promoted to a new position from being out in the field to working in the office. Big change for him because he is not a desk-pencil-pushing kind of person. Give him a shovel or the keys to a big rig and send him on his way and he is happy, but being in front of a computer is totally out of his comfort zone. But he is willing to take on the challenge and I applaud him for making the change. A co-worker told him to watch out for papercuts. Funny? Maybe.
In a world of people who don’t know what they want to be, people saying anything they want without regard to others, people meaning something different than what they say, we have to be mindful. Are we building people up? Are we using our words to edify one another? Are we living peacefully among others?
~…in the last days, perilous times will come. ~2 Timothy 3:15
I am cheating a little for today’s post. I’m using an older post from a previous challenge. With light there is no darkness. It fits right into the resilience of our current challenge. How does God’s word keep you resilient in your daily activities?
Dried beans, neatly lined on the window sill Spare pocket change, patience it will soon fill
Great is the Mason jar in every size Open it up to discover the prize.
Let them do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to give, willing to share, storing up for themselves a good foundation for the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life.. 1 Timothy 6:18-19
Mason jars are right in line with April A-Z theme of resilience. Are you a dooms day prepper? Do you have a long-term storage pantry? Have you ever thought about cooking off the grid?
The old-fashioned hand-written letter is definitely a thing of the past. I found this in my grandmother’s old scrapbook. It is dated 1934, which makes this little piece of paper I was careful to scan about 90 years old. Based on the date, my grandmother would have been almost 20 when she wrote this letter to her sister-in-law. I am one of the few left who supports the USPS by writing the old fashion hand-written letter at least once a week.
I find this letter is bittersweet in more ways than one. My grandmother is gone, and has been gone for 36 years. I imagine things were a lot different when it came to relationships in 1934 than they are now. Letters were probably few and far between. There were no emails, no text messages, no personal messages, no phone calls, no Skype, no Face-time, no snap-chat or any of the other social media formats that are available to people today.
Unfortunately, relationships are not valued as much as they were in 1934. People in today’s world take advantage of technology and just assume that their friends and family will always be there at the push of a button. And we wonder why it is so difficult for people to have meaningful connections with each other. Respect is a thing of the past and people don’t value relationships like they used to. If there is a falling-out with one friend, they move on to the next person because with social media you can have 3,848 friends on Facebook, yet still not understand the value of one true friend.
With all of the communicating technology available today one would think that contact with family members or old friends would be a normal thing to do. Today do something out of the ordinary. Contact that relative or old friend you haven’t talked to in awhile. Don’t take that relationship for granted. There is no time like the present.
~I had many things to write, but I do not wish to write you with pen and ink, but I hope to see you shortly and we shall speak face to face. Peace to you … 3 John 13-14
Kissing was Tall Cool ☺ne and I’s favorite thing to do when we were in high school. We couldn’t wait to get out of the class we were in and meet at the locker for a good old smooch before we went back to class. He was tapped on the shoulder a good many times by our high school teachers to come up for breath. Ahh, the good old days. Oh, don’t get me wrong, we still kiss, but it’s not like it was when we were 16! ♥
I was trying to think of something different I could write for today’s post and the only thing that came to mind was to keep it simple, stupid. KISS. There was a post I had written ten years ago about kissing in the deli department. I like to think my writing has improved since then. I thrived on controversial subjects and bringing things out in the open. I try not to do that anymore just because I’m too tired to fight about it.
Sometimes God lays things on our hearts” and even if we don’t want to “fight about it, His word doesn’t change. Some things are right and some things are wrong. Sometimes we have to take on the fight and deliver the hard truths. Back then I knew there was something wrong with that incident, but just didn’t know how wrong it was. Some people know how to deliver these hard conversations in a kind and gentle manner. Me, I’m still learning that empathy thing. He says “If the world hates you, you know that it hated Me before it hated you” John 15:18.
CRACKERBERRIES 
