Ray Hughes Interview Breaks Your Heart Into Happy Pieces

I wanted to post this interview for my blog readers. Ray Hughes is one of my favorite poets and speakers because his words have a way of weaving themselves into the fabric of my heart. Start listening. You won't be sorry. This interview was a monthly Writing Forum hosted by Theresa Dedmon's Create Academy - of which I am a leader. This is an international online academy. For information, go to www.theresadedmon.com.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUqMif7UkoM&t=20s

Crisp Mountain Air - By Chris Tracy: April 17 - Thirty Days...

Crisp Mountain Air - By Chris Tracy: April 17 - Thirty Days...: Creativity is in the air. You are made in the image of a wonderful Creator who created not only the world and universe, but your own...

How to Be Reminded of Who You Are

I received a call from my friend, Debbie, on my 70th birthday. We have been friends for 65 years. She grew up across the street from me. We always played together and were best friends. We’ve laughed many laughs and cried many tears together. We don’t talk much these days. We live far apart. But we easily always pick up where we left off.

She told me she had planned to write this to me, but felt compelled to call instead. She started by saying “When Liz and Ceci (other best friends) and I get together and you come up in conversation, we mimic you.” I thought – this is not going to go well. I couldn’t imagine why they would mimic me. But then she went on – in a high-pitched fun voice: “Let’s go do this; let’s go do that; what if we went there; what if we tried this?” She went on to remind me of who I was in high school; a friend who was brave; who tried new things; who believed anything was possible; and who they all loved because of those things. She said they agreed I’m still that person.

 

I don’t remember myself that way. What I remember is being shy and awkward; not very popular; one who didn’t really know where she belonged but tried everything; one who loved sports but was clumsy; one who was sick a lot.

 

I love what Debbie told me. What a birthday gift.

 

We all need to be reminded of who we are, don’t we?

Have you been reminded of who you are lately? If not, find an old friend and have a conversation that will bless you both.

Note: This story was first published on Facebook in 2021. It popped up as a memory today and encouraged me once again. If I hadn't written this down, I would have forgotten it. Be sure to journal your blessings!

Read more of my stories in my book: Tapestry - The Divine Design for Your Life on Amazon.

Grandma's Sunshine Cake

While planning for Easter dinner, I looked for and found my grandmother's handwritten recipe for Sunshine Cake. I also found a letter attached to it, penned to me when I was a young mom. From her Wisconsin apartment, Grandma wrote about a "mixed up" neighbor who smashed her apartment door window; then ran in his "scant swimsuit" across the street. She detailed her time at the coffee shop where she drank too much coffee. She added tips about the cake and mentioned if it "squeaks" you know it's moist and good. 

She asked if I'd sew her a Christmas stocking because she had never had one. "You don't have to put any material things in it, only your love." The letter concluded "Love to you my Honey Bee. P.S. - Am so glad you are enjoying your family so much. This makes me happy, too, you know. Grandma."

What better sunshine could I ask for this Easter weekend than a memory of grandma love? Thankful.

A Poem: Joyful Grace

The graceful way

Of an Iris

As she reaches to the sun...

Fragrant, hiding, free.

Noticed only by the one

Who cares to pay attention.

The flower is okay with that.

She blooms for no one.

Her joy is expressed solely in

Doing that which she

Is created for.

The Holy Hush

Yesterday, I heard someone I admire comment that sometimes we need to leave the worship service and go out by the lake. It was an interview on the heart of worship and honoring the presence of God.

I have talked about this with Rick in recent years. I need the solitude - the holy hush - of being with my Father. I must create space for the sheer awe of who He is and who I am in Him.

I've often thought about ranchers feeding their cattle in the early morning crisp of mountain air. They have been closer to heaven in the love and care of their animals and land than I could ever hope to be in a pew.

A nursing mother in the middle of the night knows this, too.

An artist, lost in his art, knows it.

Me? I go by the river and listen for the birds.

Quiet.

He speaks if we listen.

He loves when we speak.

He is closer than our breath.

Can you hear?

www.christinetracy.com