The Hidden Miracle of Microchimerism

 The Hidden Miracle of Miocrochimerism
I found out about an event that occurs when a woman becomes pregnant. I haven’t done a lot of reading on the subject, but it’s an impressive fact. When a woman becomes pregnant and the child begins to form inside of her womb, some of the mother’s DNA crosses over the placental barrier and the infant’s DNA crosses into the mother’s bloodstream to become a permanent part of the mother’s make-up.
This fact came from a study that doctor’s made with women who had heart problems. The doctor’s initial thoughts were that the baby’s DNA was attacking the cells of the mother’s heart. They were in a quandry of what to do. But as they continued to study the phenomenon, they discovered that the infant’s DNA was actually rushing to its mother’s heart to try to heal the injury. The thought was so impressive that I had to step back. I had to think about this preservation miracle. It’s an amazing aspect of a woman’s pregnancy. The conclusion was hidden when the physicians evaluated the women by the fact that some of the women hadn’t written in their history that they were pregnant. On farther questioning, some of the women had an ectopic pregnancy, had a miscarriage, or had an abortion that hadn’t been reported to the doctors.
Those facts were astounding. It caused my mind to go into overdrive. Women who terminated their pregnancy decidin to abort a child that same child was now trying to heal and save the life of the woman who’d earlier casually aborted them. It was tragicaly ironic.
Margaret Sanger set into motion Planned Parenthood with the express purpose of destroying black children. She wanted to create an institution to carry out racial genocide. Think of the millions of innocent infants that have been terminated by this cruel and heartless woman and those who follow in her footsteps. Innocent blood remains on their hands. It saddens me to think of the mothers who are alive today even after they have chosen to kill their unborn children. I feel sad for the women who have no remorse destroying a life and actually take pride in the fact that they chose to abort a baby instead of allowing that unborn soul to live.

Blogging

 Blogging
I began to blog quite a few years ago mostly to share my life experiences and family stories of my relatives that were told to me of my parents, grandparents, and other kinfolk. I wanted to keep the past alive for my children and grandchildren because I didn’t listen closely to my relatives when they shared their stories and much to my dismay, many have been lost. Most of my stories will never be recovered unless someone shares a story with me or says something that jogs my memory.
Many of my blogs are about things that have happened to me. Some are the thoughts that I have about some subject or my take on what is happening. I try to share stories of my childhood, my school days, my time in the United Statres Navy, my college days, and my time working as a registered nurse. I share stories about other nurses, patients, and even doctors.
When I started writing my blog, I wrote a story every day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. It began to wear on me. I would struggle to think of new themes, new ideas, or remembering fresh stories. It became such a chore that I almost stopped writing altogether. I retreated and began to post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. My word count was 350 to 450 words per post. That limit was tolerable although there are still days I struggle.
I was talking to an acquaintance about my blog and gave him a business card. He just returned from Japan. As I talked with him, I brought the conversation to my blog. I asked him if he thought that some of his Japanese acquaintances could use my blog to improve their English. He asid that they did fairly well with their English, but thought that they might improve and learn some slang and how English was sritten to improve their skills. Being the person who wanted to increase my readership, I asked if he could mention my blog to them. He said that he would. We will see if my number count increases.
All in al to date I have made 2025 posts. The readership fluctuates, some days only a few, while other days the number is quite large. There is one part of my screen that lists the number of readers and what country they are from. Hopefully I will see some readers from Japan.

If You Build It They Will Come

 If You Build It They Will Come
My daughters Amanda Yoder and Anna Prinkey are using a wooden pallet, pieces of cardboard, and furring strips to construct a fake privy. Amanda volunteered to create a replica of an outhouse for her daughter Hannah’s school. The school needed one for the Halloween float and for a school play. My basement has been the design area, laboratory, and construction site for the portable potty. Screws and staples attach the wood and cardboard. Spray paint and magic markers are being used to simulate the weathered wood of the outside toilet. I almost got a high from the fumes, but I guess it is better than if the latrine was in use and stinking. The project is about eighty percent done with only the way for the toilet door to be securely closed. A fold in a long cardboard piece made the door’s hinge. Surgery using a box-cutter made the half-moon design and v-shaped notch ventillation spot at the top of the door. I’m not sure how Amanda is planning to transport this monstrous seven foot tall privy to the school. Maybe she can convince her brother-in-law James Prinkey to haul it in his truck, if not, you may see a Subaru driving along the highway with an outhouse being sticking out of the rear end.
Before indoor plumbing came into vogue, the outdoor privy was a home’s necessity. The wooden building was constructed to give privacy to the user. The slender shed was built to cover a deep hole in the ground and for the safety of the user. Every home had one, city dweller or out in the country. If the privy was in the city where there was no land to excavate a new hole or if it constructed of more permanent material, the cess pool would have to be emptied by “honey-dippers.” Honey-dippers were men who would for a fee, empty the waste products and dispose of it.
Spinder, flies, bees, and other insects found the outhouse a perfect place to set up residency, which made the trip to the toilet scary. The stink even masked by lime was unpleasant. Weather was another factor to consider, the heat of the summer increased the smell and activity of the insects and the winter chill on bare flesh could end up with frostbitten bottoms. Toilet paper was non-existent and corn cobs or catalogs were put into another use.
There may be one more evening of work at the construction site before the travelling toilet makes its maiden voyage to Mount Pleasant, Pennsylvania.

Autumn's Amazing Palette

 Autumn’s Amazing Palette
Every time I go outside, I am amazed at the bright colors and hues that have graced the trees around my home. This year, the transformation has been extended because of the cold snaps interspersed with periods of warmth and sunshine. Oaks, maples, aspen, beech, willows, wild cherry, and apple trees form nature’s quilt to cover slopes of western Pennsylvania.
The hills that were so very recently colored in a wide variety of greens, have tossed off that lush verdant cloak and donned a Joseph’s-coat-of-many-colors, but more flamboyantly. Each tree is covered in leaves of various shapes that have been assigned to that tree. The shapes shimmered and shone in the summer sun where shadows chased each other when the breezes stroked them. Their summer attire was beautiful, but it covered the rich hues that are inherent in each leaf.
In autumn, the green slowly recedes and the hidden becomes revealed in aall its majesty. Ever so slowly the colors blend. One hue fades and the other strengthens. Each leaf takes its time revealing one color after another. The breeze shifts the foliage’s position to change the entire presentation of the tree. The changing position in the shade and sunshine almost appear as the scales on a snake.
Is it any wonder that we are amazed with the world that God has created? It is an ever changing panorama of His intelligence and creativity. When we look around, it is surprising that God can create such a difference using the same ingredients: air, clouds, soil, rocks, and plants. They vary from deserts, mountains, jungles, seashores. The beauty is remarkable and yet so different
When our church group travelled out West, we’d comment on the beauty of the rocks, sand, and cacti. There would be locals who asked, “Where are you from?” We’d say Pennsylvania and more often than not, they’d say, “Trees. That would be so beautiful.”
We don’t take the time to really enjoy the land around us, but I believe that the colors of autumn can cause us to enjoy what God has given us.

Front Porch Sitting
There was a time not so long ago that when friends visited and the weather was nice, they sat on the front porch and talked. Often there was a bench-shaped swing that hung at the ends of long chains that were attached to the ceiling to support the swing. There were chairs of all sorts and in usable condition; many were mismatched. It was a shaded, cool area to gather, visit, renew friendships, talk and relax.
I remember my Grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner’s front porch. Her front porch was large with cinderblock half walls and tall pillars. It was tucked beneath two large evergreen trees. The cement block sides were topped with green wooden flower boxes filled with red geraniums. Two, painted green Adirondack chairs and a settee adorned the porch. Gram stored rolled up rugs on the settee in the winter. It made a warn nest to curl up inside, bundled in a rug cocoon when the inside of her home got too warm or noisey.
In many of past memories the front porch became a gathering place. It could have been the front porch a friend, a relative or even our own home. Many of us sat on the front porch to help to peel the husks off ears of corn, to shell peas, or to snap green beans, getting them ready to freeze or for canning. Doing the work outside only made sense. It kept the messiness outside where it would be easier to remove with just a broom.
 The work was a reason for people of all ages to sit, keep their hands busy, and yet it had the benefit of having time to talk and share their thoughts and memories. Too often we don’t take the time anymore to sit and talk. So many people have lost their families past history and closeness gained by that time together.
People don’t use the phrase of, “C’mon up and set a spell” anymore. We are too caught up in the hustle of daily living, if we can call the business of the rat race earning a living. Neighbors are no longer neighbors. They are strangers that just happen to live next door to where we live. We may know their names and wave to them on occasion when they are outside, but they haven’t become the friendly neighbors that neighbors once were.

What Makes an Ornament an Heirloom?

 What Makes an Ornament an Heirloom?
Each Christmas as I place my collection of Christmas ornaments on the tree, I think of the various ornaments that my grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner would hang on her large fresh cut pine tree. My grandmother had beautiful ornaments of hand-strung beads. The beads were of various sizes and colors, shaped by wire into birdhouses, crosses, and stars. The glass balls would click softly as they were placed on the tree. She had snowflakes made of brightly colored thicker aluminum sheets that rustled as they were hung on the branch tips. There were hand-blown glass balls; some frosted, some mirrored, and some of see-through glass that nestled in the bare niches of the tree. Although I don’t have any of my grandmother’s treasures, I can see the images of that bright kaleidoscope in my mind’s eye.
I have ornaments that are my heirlooms and will be passed along to my children. Some will probably be given to my grandchildren. These are the ornaments that my children and grandchildren have made, such as photos and handmade decorations with their faces or writing that peek back from the branches of my tree. Hopefully these heirlooms will be added to their memory and be cherished to them as they are to me.
When my kids were growing up, my wife Cindy Morrison Beck and I bought each child a new Christmas ornament. As they grew older and were able to handle them safely, they became responsible to hang, remove, and store them. Their ornaments were kept separate and stored from year to year. When they married, those decorations went with them to their new home. They carried a bit of the Christmas tradition with them and started a Christmas tradition there.
So, what makes an ornament an heirloom? Is it the item’s condition of preservation? Is it the length of time that it has existed? Is it an heirloom because of the craftsmanship or from what it’s been made? I believe it’s something more fragile than glass or even paper. It’s the memories that were created and still cling to the ornament. May your Christmas be filled with heirlooms, Merry Christmas.

When the Lost is Found

 When the Lost Is Found
Can you remember the intense feeling of relief when you finally find something that you’ve misplaced; your wallet, your keys, your checkbook, or your glasses? Can you recall the feeling of that huge weight being lifted off your shoulders? A wave of comfort floods your being when that all consuming worry has been removed and is no longer a pressing concern.
In Luke 15:8-10 a woman lost a valuable silver coin. She was distressed and she lit a candle, swept every room, and searched every corner of her house. She couldn’t rest. When she found it, she was so elated that she called her friends and neighbors saying, “Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost.”
In the same chapter a shepherd noticed that one of his hundred sheep was missing. He left the flock and diligently searched for the lost one. He returned to his trail, looking for signs where the sheep wandered away. When he found the lamb, he laid it across his shoulders, rejoicing that the lost sheep had been found. The shepherd went home and called his friends and neighbors, saying, “Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”
In a similar vein, there’s the story of the prodigal son. Luke shares the parable of a second-born son who approached his father asking for his share of his expected inheritance. He was bold enouugh to ask for his share of the wealth that his father earned before the father died. The father didn’t deny the son’s request, but gave it to him.
Immediately the young man left his home and fled to a far away country. He began to spend his inheritance on riotous living. He began to live a carefree life with wanton spending of the inheritance. The word wanton has a meaning of senseless lewdness. He bought “friends” to help him spend his money on extravagant spending for food and drink. His capricious lifestyle soon left him penniless and his “friends” deserted him when he was in need.
The young man found a job tending pigs. It got to the point he was eating what he was feeding to the hogs. Coming to his senses, he went home to his father. Instead of tunrning the son away, he greeted the boy with open arms. The father said, “For this my son who was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” The father made a feast and rejoiced for he who was lost is now found. The Bible says there is rejoicing in heaven when a lost soul accepts Christ as Saviour.

Beasts in the Buckwheat Patch

 Beasts in the Buckwheat Patch
Friday and Saturday I volunteered at the annual Buckwheat and Sausage Festival for the Ohiopyle Fire Department just like I have form ofer fifty years. The differfence this year was that my son Andrew Beck joined me. He picked me up and we rode together. We were able to talk and I shared the history of the places that we passed. It was dark and foggy and sometimes couldn’t seethe spots.
We found a place to park and joined the other volunteers inside of the firehall. Soon we had the griddles heating and more men arrived. It was chilly outside, but soon everyone was in tee shirts. Eventually we had to open the garage doors to cool the room down. It doesn’t take long for twelve 32X18 inch grills to warm a truck bay. When the doors opened, we could see our breath, but the cool air felt good.
Andrew said that he had to slam on his brakes to avoid a deer. On Saturday morning I had to do the same to avoid three deer as they emerged from the darkness and into my headlights. The crowd of diners started out as a rush but lulled into a trickle. We fried and took breaks. Leaning over the waist-high grills causes lower back pain. People weren’t created to stand in that position. Smokey the Bear visited and mingled with the customers. For the most part, even the children enjoyed Smokey’s visit. When the expected crowds thinned, Andrew and I got to come home about three pm. I was glad we’d sprnt the day together and talked.
Saturday as I drove to Ohiopyle, I couldn’t help but notice the fantastic clouds and sunrise. It was impressive and I wish someone would have been with me to take photos to share. There were already a few men were there and we started to heat the griddles. Let the games begin. Wrapped in an apron, the chore of flipping sausage patties went into full operation.
In the early afternoon, a second beaast appeared. It was a large gentleman who donned a Sasquatch costume and worked the crowd, selling photos of himself and customers for $2.00. It was another vendor to add to the others who sold their wares from tents.
I was glad to get home and shower the grease from my body and hair. The wonderful blessing each year is that from the lard, my hands get as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

Adjusting

Adjusting
All of us need to adjust sometimes in our lives, whether it happens with folks as newlyweds, with new parents at the birth of a child, or the grief with the death of a parent, sibling, spouse, or God forbid the death of a child. These are major adjustments that we must make in order to continue living. But we must make hundreds of minor adjustments each day; from what to make for breakfast when there’s no milk for our cereal to what to wear when the clothing we wanted is in the laundry waiting to be washed.
During each day we readjust our clothing to fit more comfortably, adjust our seatbelts when we intend to drive our cars, or adjust the channel on the television set changing to the program we want to watch. I’m still adjusting to an experimental medication for a trial study with my diabetes. I’ve tolerated it farlywell. I’ve found several of the side effects are present and discomforting but no severe reactions yet. I’ll continue with the medication until the trail is over in November.
Because the medication is working almost too well, my PCP is worried that my blood sugar is too low, so I’ve halved some of my daily medications and try to adjust my insulin to parallel what I’ve eaten for supper. She would lke my morning fasting blood sugar to be nearer to 100 and sometimes I’ll drop down into the 70’s.
Before I started the experimental drug, if my blood sugar would drop anywhere 100, I would know it and often feel faint. I am careful and always have some candy near at hand.
Later today I plan to go to Ohiopyle to fry sausage for the Sausage and Buckwheat festival. I have volunteered to work there for fifty years, except when health issues have interferred.

Hey Bud What's Happening

 Hey Bud What’s Happening
Yesterday was another Connellsville Area Senior Highschool monthly get-together. It was a time of laughter and some tears. About eight peoplegathered to have lunch, tease, and talk. The topics may range from memories to what is happenng now. With all of us getiing older, the issue of our health and complaints of knee pain, back pain, and general aches will come up, but rather than to dwell on those things we make jokes and change the subject.
I shared that we purchased a memorial brick for the Cameron Park in Connellsville, Pennsylvania for a class mate who has graduated to his heavenly reward. It wasn’t a pleasant thought of John no longer being able to share a meal with us.
Sharing the receipt I got in the mail for the purchase of the brick caused a few tears, even our wait-person Heather was missing him and teased us about John’s now absent humor. Just before we finished eating, two younger, good-looking men entered and sat a table away from where we were gathered. Our loud teasing flowed over to them. We heard their conversation, which caused our interaction with them. It was their first time at Bud Murphy’s and as they perused the menu, we made suggestions, but jokingly “warned” them about Heather the wait-person.
As I said, the young men were handsome and one of our class ladies tried out her “cougar skin” and teased them, saying she needed a better view. I think she was still wound up about finding a dead battery in her car yesterday. I commented that at least the battery for her pacemaker wasn’t dead. It is a wonderful relief from the stress and strain to be with friends and let our hair down. (For those who still have hair and for others who have occasional “bad hair” days)
Before we left, I gave each of the men my business card. I am still writing in my blog and am trying to write another novel, so until I publish again, I pimp for readers of my old books and for those who read my blogspot.

Purity

 Purity
Not so long ago there was an advertisement for a certain laundry detergent. The magazine and television ads displayed a blue and white box with a photo of a mother holding a smiling infant in her arms. Its slogan proclaimed that Ivory Snow flakes were ninty-nine and forty-four percent pure. It was the soap to which mothers turned to safely clean their infant’s diapers and clothing. Ivory Snow wasn’t harsh for the baby’s skin, but really cleaned the soiled diapers for the infant’s tender bottom.
Today we hear gold and silver being advertised for sale either in coins, ingots, or jewelry with guarentees fof their percentage of purity. So mnay products are being labeled as pure: cooking oils, spices, salt, and we musn’t forget water. The advertisements for bottled waters are described as coming from fresh mountain streams, filtered mountain springs, unpolluted water from distant unspoiled lakes, or from exotic, far away islands.
Purity is prized by God. Moral purity is God’s standard. What God has defined as sin is still a sin no matter what mankind now says. Words that were not so long ago were considered crude and not fit to be said in normal conversations now flow out of even babies. The words are the crux of many of the popular songs and have gained entrance into television and movies. Wholesome movies with interesting plots have been replaced by salacious perversions of entertainment.
Music videos are just another way for musical hacks to sell their perversions to the younger generations. The advertisements and half time shows pander to sins and perversions. The everyday television advertisements all seem to try to use double entendre or perverted leanings to sell their products.
The perveyors of perversions are indoctrinating children by instilling false views on gender to children who are still learning to read. They are filling libraries with verbal pornography. They are contorting children’s thoughts into ideas that were considered a mental illness a decade ago. What was once a hidden sin is now openy and pridefully flaunted as normal.
The book of Philippians says to think on these things, truth, honesty, things that are just, pure, lovely, and of good report and virtue. The peace of God shall keep hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

What Are You Looking For

 What are You Looking For
With so much turmoil in the world today, people are looking for something secure, something safe, something that satisfies, but if they are looking for those things in the physical world, they will be sadly disappointed. If they are relying on health, see how quickly that has disappeared with the Covid 19 scare. If they are relying on finances, look how rapidly businesses were restricted or closed and jobs were lost. Knowledge and education, the schools were closed without warning. If people were trusting in the government, see how quickly they lost control to anarchists who looted and burned their cities. The very same government that refuses to take a stand against these criminals are trying to remove guaranteed Constitutional rights such as our freedom of speech (hate speech laws), the right to life (tax funded abortion clinics), the second amendment right to bear arms (government’s constant push to infringe with regulations on guns and ammunition), the assault on the first amendment of freedom of religion (not the false interpretation with freedom FROM religion, the assault on the biblical definition of marriage, of sex, of worshipping when and where we deem necessary). It has been proved over and over that anything worldly is built on shifting sand. It is only temporary, fleeting, and may crumble at any moment.True contentment, real joy, deep peace, genuine satisfaction, lasting delight cannot be found in these temporal things. Temporal things will be destroyed by rust, decay, and will continue to be worn away until they become useless and are cast aside.
God in His goodness has offered a gift, a generous gift. He offers this largesse of love to all who willingly accept it. It is the greatest gift ever given. God allowed His only begotten Son, Jesus to take on the form of a man, bear our sins, and die on the cross of Calvary. Jesus became the ransom for our sin debt that needed to be paid. Although He was sinless, He died to pay a debt he didn’t owe, that we accumulated, and a debt we couldn’t pay.
Through the death and resurrection, Jesus became the sacrificial offering that secured our joy, our peace, our security, and our home eternally. There will be no more tears, no more pain, no more disappointments, no fear, and no more death. Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh to the Father, but by me.” John 14:6.
Salvation is a gift. We can do nothing to earn it. All we need to do is to believe that Jesus paid that price and to accept it. “For God loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” John 3:16

Mirror Mirror On the Wall

 Mirror Mirror on the Wall
While I was talking on the phone to a cousin, we reminded each other of a few of our memories in the past. Her parents, Melvin and Estella Strawderman lived in the house next door to my grandparents, Edson and Anna Beck. Their homes were located in the small town of Indian Head, Pennsylvania. My grandparents’ home was brown Insulbrick and the Shirley’s parent’s home was sided with red Insulbrick.
Both homes were constructed from a larger farm house that had been torn down. From the lumber rescued they were able to build two. Estella and Shirley were caught in a flood in Melcroft, Pennsylvania. They almost perished when that home was destroyed by the rush of water. Erecting the new houses was necessary.
In the house Granddad Beck built was a short hallway connecting the kitchen to the “parlor.” The parlor was a room that was only used when “company” came. I guess we were company, because that’s where we sat when visiting. The itchy maroon material of the sofa would scratch my legs and yet I was expected to sit quietly without fidgeting when visiting them.
One redeeming quality with the visit was a pair of matching ornate gold-gilded framed mirrors that hung on opposing walls of the short hallway. It was the only exciting thing about the visit to my grandparents’ home. Looking into one mirror, I was able see an endless parade of receding reflections of myself.
My grandparents Ray and Rebecca Miner owned a farm. Grandma Miner had the same itchy material covering her sofa, but in blue. I was glad that we weren’t required to sit on it. I could play elsewhere in the house. Here, I was ablr to roam more freely. Knickknacks and other immensely interesting drew me to check things out. Grandpa Miner was known to tussle with the grandkids…even in the parlor.
Their sitting room was supposedly off limits all kids, but entering the forbidden territory was tolerated if I was quiet and just looked around. Grandma had a large mirror that hung above the floor model wood case radio. The mirror had three connected sections. The center part was a normal silver reflecting mirror, while two blue beautiful etched mirrored panels flanked each side. I was in awe of the deep blue color and impressed that it reflected an image as well. On top of the radio sat a shiny black ceramic cat that peered into a globe shaped glass fish bowl. The bowl was always empty, but iIt glistened when sunlight shone on it. The sunshine danced on the cat’s ebony surface.