Timidly
When I woke this morning about five am this morning, the world outside of my bedroom window was dark and silent. There was no sounds of a breeze, no sounds of traffic, and it wasn’r raining. I remained in bed thinking I could possibly gain a few more minutes of shut-eye, but it was not to be. I was awake. Slowly the darkness outside lightened so I could make out the shapes of the trees and I heard the first tentative notes of a bird. It wasn’t a full song, only a few uncoordinated notes. The notes seemed tentative as if the bird was testing its voice. The silence returned. The feeble light remained, but was growing stronger. The sound of the same bird called out again. There were a few more notes, but still it was not completing its song. The bird’s calling fell silent again.
I remember reading that when the birds begin to sing that there are poores in the leaves of the trees which close at night and open in the daylight. The open pores take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen, retaining the carbon that nourishes the plant. Scientists have linked the opening of the pores to the singing of the birds. The bird songs seem to stimulate the trees to open their pores.
These thoughts were steeping in my brain as the morning light and the calling on this single bird grew longer and stronger. Soon several other birds joined the choir. Their songs blended together as the sun rose. After their melodies swelled into a cantata celebrating the morning, they seemed to still for awhile. Perhaps they were looking for breakfast.
I am awake now, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and thinking of the tasks at hand. Soon I will be shuffling through the house making breakfast noises and starting another day by adding a few more lines to the pages of my life.

 When Shadows Fall
When purple shadows fell and fireflies would come out to dance in the summer’s deepening evening sky, I would listen to the songs of a whippoorwill on a fence post at the edge of my grandfather’s Raymond Miner’s field. Sometimes a pair of mourning doves would add their sad sounding tones to the chorus of crickets and frogs from the swampy area behind the chicken house. I remember sitting on one of the two green Adirondack chairs and settee that claimed spots on my grandparents Miner’s wide concrete porch. It extended across the front of my grandparents Miner’s large two-story farmhouse. There was another settee made of twisted grapevines and sapling pieces, but very few people sat on it because the ribs of the twisted vines made the seat uncomfortable for people to sit.
Four tall hemlocks guarded the entrance of the brick walkway. They spread their branches to protect the house from the heat of the sun and the chill of winter winds. The porch became a shady haven for me where I often played or sought a quiet refuge beneath their thickly needled limbs. It was a cool sanctuary on the hottest of days, a dry shelter when the rains poured down, and even protection from the cold winter winds.
Grandma Miner would store her rugs on the Adirondack settee in the winter. They made a great cocoon where I could to burrow deep into their warmth away from the cold and the noise of aunts, uncles, and the horde of cousins still inside the house. It was a blessed relief after the activity, boisterous voices, and accumulated heat of Gram’s wood burning cook stove and the mass of people gathered inside.
Gram’s house had one other sanctuary. It was found in their formal sitting room. Children were forbidden to step foot inside, but if I was careful and quiet enough, I could slip inside unobserved and crawl behind the bulky sofa. It was clad in pale blue stiff, almost porcupine-feeling plush fabric that was prickly and rough for any kid to sit on when they were wearing shorts. The stiff fabric caused bare legs to itch almost to the point of being unbearable. It eliminated a child’s ability to sit still for more than a few seconds.
Sometimes my memories fade as I age and shadows fall blurring facts or hiding names and places from my remembrance. That’s why I share these recollections in writing as they emerge from the past. I want my thoughts to be captured before they become lost as the darkness falls and the lights fail.

 Brain Drain
Have you ever woken up and thought “I don’t wanna? I’m not hungry. I don’t wanna eat. I don’t wanna read my Bible and pray. I don’t really wanna go to work. I don’t wanna get out of bed.” The only reason you stir at all is nature calling and your bladder is full almost to overflowing and you stumble half awake into the bathroom. Now that you’re up, what are you gonna do?
That’s what I felt like this morning. I was greeted by an early morning feeling of nausea. I believe that it is one of the side effects from the experimental medication I am taking for my diabeted. Believe me, when it happens, it is not something that I look forward to. It also makes me appreciate what pregnant women go through when pregnant and now I can sympathize with them.
When I am feeling like this, what do I eat for breakfast? The thought of frying an egg makes me want to head back to bed and hide, but I’ve already taken my morning meds and I have to eat something so my blood sugar doesn’t hit rock bottom. Sometimes I will eat leftovers so I don’t have to cook anything, but I had mashed potatoes and two chicken drumsticks as leftovers and for some reason that menu didn’t seem too appetizing today.
I managed to sort through my refrigerator to find and consume a container of yogurt. I decided it would be the least offensive to my queasy stomach. At last I am able to sit in front of my blank computer screen and try to wring out today’s post. This is it. I’m sorry if it’s not up to my usual dribble, but it is what I have left in me. Maybe I can think of something better for my next post.

Repairs and Preparation
Yesterday was a busy day. It wasn’t as busy as many of my days, but I had something to do most of the time. I had an early apointment with my friends at the experimental diabetic medication center too tur in my diary, have blood drawn, and to get my next bottle of capsules. I imagine that this medication is similar to the injectable Ozempic, but it is oral. I’ve still not been told whether it is a placebo or the real thing, however since I have occasional side effects as the injections, I am on the real thing.
After the blood draw, I drove into Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania to eat breakfast. I had to fast, not eating anything for my blood samples. I enjoyed a quiet breakfast and took my morning medications at a restaurant called “Valley Dairy.” The food is good, ther servers are friendly, and the prices are reasonable. I hurried home to slowly work through the clutter in my office. It’s a never-ending chore. Each assault I make I must decide what to keep and what to toss; flotsam and jetsam. They only things that have no sentimental value are the weekly advertisements in the mail and the dust.
After lunch, I drove to the church for a mini-work day. We are readying the “Prophet’s Chamber/ guest trailer for our summer intern. He is a theological student from Ambassador Bible College in Lattimore, North Carolina. We have had other interns who we house, feed, and have them get the feel of being a youth pastor and learn the responsibilities of being a full time pastor.
There were four “workmen” of the Apocalypse gathered with tools in hand to move the beds into different rooms replace the privacy & room darkening window shades. One of the bedframes attacked me and scraped my shin. OUCH. We had to reposition the curtain rods for the valences and curtains. It was a job that needed to be done Tuesday, because the ladies of the church needed to have all the “mess” done so they could do the final cleaning for the intern’s arrival this coming Monday. We also have a young man who is doing a “meet and greet” and will be staying at the trailor for several days as a possible candidate for the assistant pastor. It’s a meeting to see if he and our church would be compatable and in God’s leading.
Last evening I attended my Granddaughter Hannah Yoder’s spring chorus concert. I had an enjoyable evening, but by the time I got home, my back was tired and so was I.
 

Two Times
I have three llac bushes at my house. They were blooming for about three days. One of my writer friend’s favorite flowers is the lilac. Since they started to bloom I wanted to gather several of the flower clusters and take it to her. She lives about fifteen minutes away.
The flowers on one of the lilac bushes were starting to look bedraggled and I decided that it had to be now before it was too late. I bought a low clear glass vase earlier. I bought it especially to create a bouquet of lilacs for my lilac-loving friend Jan McLaughlin. At the same time, my snowball bush began to show off its white puff balls of blossoms. I collected snowballs, lilacs, lily of the valley, and a few other purple flowers from my flower patch. The purple and white nosegay looked very nice and springlike.
Jan also enjoys to eat dill pickles and to drink the pickling juice, so I stopped on my way to her home amd bought a jar of midget dill pickles. Friday I delivered the pickles and flowers. I surprised her with a knock on her apartment door. She was very happy to see me. I got a hug and she loved the pickles and flowers. We sat and talked for almost an hour before I had an appointment to keep. All in all, it was an enjoyable time.
Later in the afternoon, I was walking to my mailbox and my phone rang. Now I was surprised. The call was from another of my writing friends, Joanne McGough. I hadn’t seen her in more than a year. I thought it was an odd occurrence to hear from both of my two writer friends in such a short time.
Joanne was checking on me. Apparently she had a dream about me. In the dream I was mean and nasty, not at all like my usual self. The dream was so real that she decided to check on me to be sure that I was okay. We chatted for about twelve minutes until she was sure I was still alive and doing well. After agreeing that we needed to get together at a nearby writers meeting or to meet somewhere for lunch, we said goodbye for now.

 Saddened
Very recently two older Godly ladies have passed away. I was blessed to know them both, one for a relatively short period of time and the other much of my life. The lady I knew for the shorter amount of time lived in Citrus Heights, California. She was my friend’s Aunt Leah Taynton. I flew to California three years ago with my friend Kathy to visit. I wrote about that adventure and the wonderful time we had during theat vacation. She passed away a week ago.
It was a trip my friend and I almost didn’t make. We stayed the night before the flight at a hotel and in the middle of the night, I remembered I’d need my driver’s license to board the plane. It was at home, tucked inside of my checkbook. I didn’t think I’d need my checkbook and left it at my house. We quickly drove home to fetch it, We made it back in time to eat a “Continental breakfast” before being driven to the airport.
Leah’s death was a surprise and relatively sudden.
The second lady was Miss Jessie Husak. She was a long-time member of our church. Foor as long as I can remember she has been a Sunday school teacher, teaching the younger children. She became ill and was admitted to the hospital. She underwent abdominal surgery in an attempt to correct the problem. With her age and the amount of surgery required, she couldn’t recover. She too passed away. Her funeral is Saturday.
The sadness that the friends and family have is tempered by the knowledge that both these ladies knew Jesus as their Savior and are now walking the streets of heaven. They are with their loved ones who are already there. That is where the comfort lies.
First Corinthians 15:55-57 O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING? O GRAVE, WHERE IS THY VICTORY? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ,

 Afraid. I’m Afraid I Am
I am fearful of what I am thinking of what I am about to do. This past winter has made me deadset on downsizing. I can no longer manage to live in and care for a four bedroom house by myself. At 75 why do I need a house this large? Keeping it clean is a major undertaking and I find myself falling behind on many chores. Cooking and “redding” up afterwarc is more than enough some days. I have begun to actively search for a smaller home on one level with a basement, garage, or storage building.
It’s the thought of moving that causes me to cringe. The last time I moved was almost 45 years ago and that was a Herculaean labor. I was under thirty and had a wife, in-laws, and parents to help. Now I have three kids, spouses, and granddaughters. But they have their lives to live as well. I don’t want to impose on them, but it will have to happen. Some of the things tucked into the attic, basement, and nooks of my house belong to them. I have told them that when I make the move, I will take what I want and need; the rest will stay in the house.I will give them one month to retrieve what they want and the rest will be sold at auction. Once the house is cleared of everything that is not nailed down, I’ll sell the house. It is the only way I can save my sanity. Any other way will be much too stressful.
The jumble of paperwork and legal intricasies that I face are another of my concerns. Back during my first attemp at establishing a new home, my wife Cindy Morrison Beck was there helping to explore the purchase of land, mobile home, and set-up. As newly weds, it was an adventure.
Later when we sold that home and bought this home, the move was definitely a task. Cindy’s dad Elmer (Bud) Morrisan helped us move with his truck. We carried out load after load and Bud said, “Are you carrying out from the back and then back inside?”
We had things stored everywhere and because this house is bigger, it will be much worse. I cower at the thoughts of sorting through the accumulated ‘heirlooms” and ever multiplying paper trails. This has been the collection spot for my past generation and I’ve lived here for nearly forty years.