Mary's Heartbeats

So the story goes that Ruth, the foreigner, travels back with her mother-in-law, Naomi, to the town of Bethlehem.  Ruth takes to the local barley and wheat fields to pick up leftover grain to provide food for them.  In the process, Ruth gains the favor of Boaz the owner of the farm.  He specifically instructs his workers to purposely drop handfuls of grain that can be picked up by Ruth, as they are tying up their harvest bundles. . . Gleaning is hard work, especially bending over to pick up a few grains here and there.  But finding a handful or clump of grain would certainly be encouraging and rewarding to find.  Sometimes I am too focused on the task of gleaning.  I find myself tired of stooping, bending, scavenging for small strands of grain.  Maybe I am missing the "handful of purpose" dropped right before me. . . I look outside at my garden and have to admit that that there are numerous "handfuls of purpose".  The hanging jasmine on my...

I am not a big meat eater, even though I was raised on that foundation as a child of the Midwest.  Potatoes and beef provided sustenance for our family.  Vegetables were just tolerated and usually existed only as corn, peas or beans.  No wonder constipation was always an inevitable!  Yet, even in spite of that, there is nothing like a Sunday dinner with Mom's roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes, along with Dad's favorite Lima beans, and oh, don't forget the gelatin salad.  Perhaps there would be  crescent rolls too.  Sharing it with family including wives or girlfriends or grandchildren that made it even taste better . . .  Just as you could always count on meat and potatoes, there are people that have graced my life that have given me that same savory satisfaction.  Individuals who were who they said they were;  "what you saw was what you got"; basic, down to earth, without pretense, humble, simple and kind.  Individuals who e...

Stepping up on my footstool, I rummaged through my shelf of purses.  My large quilted bag held my scarves, but now I knew it was time for it to serve a better cause than just being a scarf bag.  Plus, it was brand new, so it would be perfect to give for the donation.  Spreading out all the scarves on my bed, I began folding and sorting them in an orderly manner.  Underneath the pile, I found the "black bonnet" of my Mom, the one she always wore when riding in the car.  It was made of fine thin, net like material, with small gold dots, and had a pearly oval clasp that adjusted to her neck when she put it on.  She never liked to have her hair blown with the windows rolled down in our car.  Nope, she worked hard each day in putting her thick silver/black hair into a french roll, and had it shaped just right around her face, so no matter how hot the car would be, no wind was going to undo her doo!  Year after year, she faithfully wore that bonnet, a...

I hurried to change into my sweats and running shoes.  The evening darkness was quickly shadowing down,  and I didn't want to miss the colors of a cold sun setting.  It had been a wonderful day, I gave Christmas Tea to my neighbors who all lived in the corner of my street.  It was fun to prepare the menu and decorate the house. But my real joy came from our table conversation.  I realized again the value of female relationships.  Women have such endurance and resilience with life, and yet have hear ts that long to be nurtured, heard and understood.  No one is immune to battles, and comfort comes in letting one another into our journeys, even if it is for the brief time of an afternoon tea.  I found myself inspired and energetic, and heading out the door with Goldyn, I felt like I could run forever. . . I didn't think that the plant would really grow.  It had actually been part of a floral arrangement, my former Director of Nursing ...