Recapturing Dreams

Sweet dreams from the night hours are shattered by the sounds that awaken me in the morning. The burdens of the day crushed any memories of those dreams beneath their weight.

I struggle to recapture the dreams. They tease me with the promises of their sweet kisses but they are elusive and, playfully, the run away.

The morning coffee cuts through the clouds of what the dreams may have been and they are gone forever.

Were they dreams of love?

Were they dreams of money?

Were they dreams of success?

Or, were they nightmares?

What had I been thinking of that seeped into my subconscious and gave birth to a dream?

As a child, I used to daydream a lot and I still daydream. The daydreams are different now than then but they do have one thing in common; when I daydream, I dream about happiness.

When I think about my reality, I realize that I am much happier than I am sad. Too often, I dwell on the downside of things rather than thing about all the blessings God has given me and He has given me oh so much. I have a great family, a job I love and oh so many friends who I love.

I will try not to let my mind be crowded with worry about the tasks I have to do. Instead, I will try to honor my God by thanking Him for giving me strength for the task.

Father, I thank you for the many blessings in my life. So many times, I mistakenly think on burdens when I should be looking at blessings. Father, forgive me for doing that. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Spanish Moss, Concrete and Asphalt Carpets and Florida State Memories

Strange interludes of madness seem to softly walk by me. Memories of yesterday blend in with now and create the fabric of which my life is made.

Memories of Tallahassee begin to flicker like the beginning of a motion picture in a darkened movie theater; memories of Spanish moss hanging from oak trees, near Lafayette Circle; memories of canopied roads off side streets down Mahan Drive.

As the motion picture begins to start, and the memory becomes less clouded, canopy roads and Spanish moss give way to a carpet made of asphalt and concrete, surrounded by curtains of steel and bright lights.

The city becomes more clinical looking each day, but parts of it still retain a rural, genteel Southern charm. There are still women who say, “Bless your little heart,” old men who call all women “honey” and young people who answer their elders with “yes, sir,” “no, sir,” “yes, ma’am,” “no, ma’am.”

As Mahan becomes Tennessee Street and you go farther into Tallahassee, you come up on Florida State University. Turn down Macomb Street and then College Avenue and you will see the Westcott Building with its historic fountain. Memories of being a student at the College of Communication seem to emerge on the silver screen, as I watch frat boys in a Jeep drive by and throw a pledge into the fountain and drive off. Minutes later, the frat boys are back, throwing another pledge into the fountain. (At least, I hope they were pledges and not students the guys had decided to kidnap.)

I also see the scene where I was thrown into the fountain by three girls but that was pre-planned as a stunt for a TV show (1800 Seconds) that the students produced for WFSU-TV. Unfortunately, that footage never aired because there was too much background noise from the fountain.

The fountain that the unfortunate students and I (who actually had fun being thrown in by three cute girls) were thrown in was replaced by an exact replica of the original fountain in 1988 because of failure in the support structure of the original. I remember lazy days spent sitting at the fountain, talking with friends. I even remember sitting there, talking to my friend, Nicole (Nicky), on my birthday.

I was a student at FSU during 1986 and 1987, transferring from North Florida Junior College (now North Florida Community College). Football reigned, although FSU was struggling like a newborn calf to find its legs to stand on. Bobby Bowden was the head coach but he had not yet reached his legend status. Mark Richt, current University of Georgia head coach, was a grad assistant for the Seminoles, having formerly been a backup quarterback for the University of Miami.

On the evening of Saturday, Sept. 13, 1986, FSU did not have a football game. A 21-year-old starting offensive tackle for the team was shot following an argument at a dance outside of Montgomery Gym. Pablo Lopez died at the hospital at 1:30 a.m. the next day. Nicky and I spoke briefly that Monday about the death of the young man who she knew but that I never met.

A longer conversation about Pablo’s death took place between Mark Richt and Coach Bowden and Richt gave his heart to the Lord. Today, he is an example to young men everywhere, especially in Athens, Ga.

It has been a long time since I have been back to FSU but I will return next Saturday as the Seminoles continue their proud football heritage under Coach Jimbo Fisher. It will be my birthday and I hope to celebrate in victory as the Seminoles defeat Murray State. Go, Seminoles!

Before the Answer Comes

I am still searching for an answer to why God left me here after I went into cardiac arrest in December, died, was revived, the doctors telling my family there was nothing else they could do for me and then being healed by the mighty hand of God.

I know that He has plans for me. Jeremiah 29:11 tells me,  “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. “

I know that I have family members I have to care for, including a mentally challenged sister, and that alone would be a good reason to keep me here. But there seems to be something bigger waiting for me.

I am still waiting for an answer.

I know that I have to let go of selfish ambitions before I find an answer.

I do things for others outside my family, but I have to stop doing things begrudgingly before I find the answer.

I have to stop putting works ahead of praising God for His grace before the answer comes.

Father, today, I ask that you free me from selfish ambition as I seek the answer to what You want me to do. I ask that you help me do things for others from a heart of love instead of a begrudging heart. Help me stop putting works ahead of praise and grace. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

The Truth About Life

I remember convertibles, typewriters and pretty girls staring pensively from windows at the high school.

Cool fall weather. The smell of smoke coming from the grill where hamburgers were being cooked at the football stadium where the Tigers played their home games.

The rambling ramshackle house where I grew up enters into my mind and I hear the footsteps of memories walking towards me.

My memories walk up to me and tell me how easy it was back then, but I still remember. I remember thinking how hard it was for me. Even today, all these many years later, I still think life is hard a lot of the time.

I am sure that everyone feels that way sometimes. I must remember, however, that God has always reached down and lifted me up when I just couldn’t push myself up off the floor. He takes my frown, turns it upside down and makes it into a smile.

I know that, years later, I will reflect back on the hard times I had and smile and say, “That was easy.”  So will you.

Life is hard.

No. Life is easy.

The truth is that life is life. I know there are good times and there are bad times. It’s all a part of life, but if we keep our minds focused on Christ, we can still life our heads up high and smile.

Larry the Cable Guy and the Hot Dogs

I just saw Larry the Cable Guy at Love’s Travel Stop in Lee. His credit card wasn’t working and I bought two hot dogs for him. For $2.39, Larry got a blessing but I got a bigger blessing from God because actually, it was a truck driver. It was an honor for me to help him out because as Merle Haggard sang in the theme song to the TV show, “Movin’ On,” “The white line is backbone of this country.” Let’s support our American farmers, American businesses and American truckers. And, the guy actually looked like Larry the Cable Guy. How cool is that?

World Champions

It was just a game and sometimes I would get confused about the infield fly rule but I remember the names. Man, did I remember the names!

Steve Garvey at first base for the Dodgers.  Davey Lopes played second base for the Dodgers. Bill Russell was at shortstop. Ron Cey played third base. In the outfield were Dusty Baker, Rick Monday and Reggie Smith. On the mound was Don Sutton. Steve Yeager was the catcher.

The Dodgers were my team back in 1978 but they would always run into the New York Yankees in the World Series. My dad was a Yanks fan so it made for an interesting rivalry.

Time goes on. Teams change. There is no more team loyalty for the players. It’s all about loyalty to the paycheck. I cannot blame the players for being that way. I would probably be the same way if I were offered as much money as them to do my job. Another newspaper would make a bigger offer and off I would go, changing my green jersey for a different color. I don’t see that happening, though, and I am happy to carry on the tradition at Greene Publishing, with my publisher, Emerald Greene (yes, that is her real name) and her mother, Mary Ellen, and daughters, Cheltsie and Brooke. I am the editor and have three fantastic reporters, Kristin Finney, Lynette Norris and Bryant Thigpen. There is also a fantastic production crew, Heather Bowen and Dee Hall, and an excellent newspaper carrier, Sheree Miller.

I thank God for my own family, but I also thank him for my work family. I thank Him that my team is like the Dodgers in the 1970s. I thank Him that my team is like the Yankees in the late 1970s. The team is National League champs. They are American League champs. My team is world champions.

Father, thank you for the work my hands have found to do. Thank you for appointing me to be the editor of a small town newspaper. Thank you for the lovely people I meet all the time and for the fun I get to have with them. I even thank you, Lord, for the hard stories I sometimes have to do. Father, I ask that you go with me and that you guide me. I give you praise in all things. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Treading the High Wire

I have to trust in the tautness of the cable as I attempt to walk the high wire from a building on one side of the street to a building on the other side of the street.

I must resist the urge to look back to the place I began my journey. I do not want to be like the Hebrew children who complained they would be better off in Egypt than they were after God had granted them liberty.

I must not pay attention to the traffic and the mass of humanity in the street below. Millions of eyes look to see if I will fall.

I must not fear crossing to the other side. I do not want to embrace the cries of the ten spies who returned and told Joshua that there were giants in Canaan.

I have my own giant that I must conquer. I must conquer the high wire. I take another step. I lose my balance. Time seems to stand still as I fall from the cables and head to the street below.

Expecting to feel asphalt, I instead feel the strong but gentle arms of my Savior, Jesus Christ, as He catches me.

So many times, I have found myself on a high wire and so many times I have fallen, but oh so many times, Jesus has caught me.

Thank you, Father, for being there for me. For understanding me and for giving me understand. Thank you for forgiving me and helping me learn to forgive others. Thank you for catching me the times I fall from the high wire. I love you. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Something About Monday

The weekend draws to a close and Monday looms ahead.

I will admit that Monday has never really been one of my favorite days. Think about all the songs about Monday that were hits over the years. Fats Domino sang “Blue Monday.” Fats lamented the fact that he hated blue Monday. The Carpenters sang “Rainy Days and Mondays,” with that refrain “Hangin’ around, nothin’ to do but frown, rainy days and Mondays always get me down.” The Mamas and Papas sang “Monday, Monday, don’t trust that day.”

While I don’t hate Monday, and I love my job, I hate the fact that Saturday and Sunday have to end and I have to go back to work again. When I get there, though, Monday comes. Monday goes. The week passes by in a rush and then we have the weekend. The rest of the week still seems longer than Saturday, though. Sunday is the second shortest day of the week.

So, I will put on a smile tomorrow and enter the workforce again, with a prayer to God, in Jesus’ name in my heart.

Lord, let me enter the week with a possible attitude. Help the obstacles before me seem diminished in my eyesight and help me conquer them. Help me have kind words for people and they have the same for me. Thank you, Father, for all that you do for me and thank you for helping me have a great job and co-workers I love working with. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Courage

Most of us have far more courage than we ever dreamed we possessed~Dale Carnegie

Saturday Will Soon Be a Whisper

Saturday’s memories will only be a whisper tomorrow. Washed away with the tide of time, they will be drowned in the ocean of so many other memories.

Why do Saturdays have to disappear so fast? Why does that day of all the others seem so short? Maybe it’s because most of the time I get a chance to breathe on Saturday. The rest of the week, even Sunday, seems like it’s such a game of hurry up for me.

Saturdays have always been special days for me. As a young child, I would watch cartoons. Later, I would still watch the cartoons, but joining them in the afternoon would be “Star Trek” and “Championship Wrestling from Florida” and, in the fall, college football.

Books were also on my Saturday to-do list. There were so many books and so little time. Today, there are still so many books and so little time.

I am a geek. I am a nerd. I will not claim to be smart, but I will say that I love learning. I love reading. I love watching documentaries. I love watching Cali Lewis and John P. on Geek Beat TV and learning more and more about technology and our ever-changing world. I am thirsty and hungry for knowledge and there are so many ways to gain that knowledge today.

One thing I find myself sorely lacking in, however, is wisdom. There are not enough Saturdays in a year or in my lifetime to give me the wisdom that I so desperately need. I thank God, though, that I have His Word to guide me and His grace and forgiveness to help me when I stumble.

Saturday’s memories will soon turn to whispers which will get farther away as I step into next week and walk along its corridors. Oh, how I will miss Saturday, but chances are, Saturday will soon appear before me again.