THE UNUSUAL SEED

ELIZABETH

Thirty years ago, I became acquainted with Elizabeth. As a private tutor, I would be assisting her in the academics. What a darling eight year old she was, with dark, curly hair. Brown glass frames surrounded her big brown eyes. She was quite content, giving me a big smile as we introduced ourselves to one another. We took our seats at the table and began what would be many years of a beautiful student-teacher relationship.

Staying longer than the one-hour session, we would munch on some dinner, as we worked on many a class project. There were words to learn to make reading fun and the fundamentals of writing a sentence, soon to become great essays of adventure and history.

Math became entertaining rather than a nightmare, moving from one concept to the next. We would visit away as flour and water were mixed to make dough for map making, or dirt and glue to design an Indian village. The messier things were, the more we enjoyed working on the assignment. Of course, there were the sugar cubes, stacked to make the pyramids of Egypt and the igloos of Alaska.

I watched Elizabeth change from being a darling child into a young lady as she began her junior high years. We continued to write papers, do math problems and complete messy projects. I began to know some of her friends from school, offering advice as needed.

She began to know the man I had started to date, with him stopping by while we were doing lessons. When I married Tom, she was the only young person invited to the wedding. She wore a bright red dress, setting off those dark brown eyes, now behind contact lenses, and her dark hair, showing the beautiful 12 year old she had become.

Our time together now went beyond the lessons. We would pick her up to take her on mountain picnics. Out would come the chicken and potato salad, sitting in a meadow surrounded by aspen trees, a small creek nearby. There would always be chocolate, a favorite for the three of us, to finish off our meal. We would visit non-stop during our walk out of the meadow and on the way home, dropping her off after dark where she and her parents resided.

On a beautiful summer afternoon, our phone would ring, with Elizabeth on the other end. She would say it was a nice day to have a meadow picnic, telling us what to bring and what time we should pick her up. We were delighted she wanted to enjoy the outdoors with us.

Soon, we had another person joining us on the picnics, our baby son. Elizabeth and our son adored one another; I do not know who had the bigger smile. I had told her years before it was as if she was my first child; now she was the big sister of Bret. A few years later, Molly was born, making her a big sister once again. We continued our lessons at the table through these years, with her spending extra time at the house to be with Bret and Molly. They could not wait for her to come. We continued with our picnics. Elizabeth and I were attached at the shoulders, whether on a picnic, having lessons, or sitting in the backyard of her family home. One summer evening, she and I were leading the mountain walk, side by side, as she told me of the boy she liked at school, with our baby Molly snuggled around my chest, Bret and Tom not too far behind us. We were having quite an intense conversation when ‘the boys’ came running up to us. They said a deer walked directly in front of us, crossing our path. The two of us had not noticed, as we were talking, heads down as we watched the trail in front of us. All of us laughed, saying our conversation took a priority over a four legged animal in nature!

There were knocks at the door, and phone calls were frequent, as she got into her teens. She needed to air what was bothering her or had a personal problem to solve. There was the noon day visit one day to tell me she had wrecked the car her dad had just finished re-furbishing and she hadn’t been home yet to tell him; would I be silently by her sideas she broke the news.

It became time for Elizabeth to write her essay for college admission. She came over to show me her writing. I was quite surprised to see that she had made me the topic of her essay. She talked about the odd- looking seed that ‘Marie’ had found in the garden. Instead of tossing it away, I had tended to it, giving it extra care. I would not give up on the different seed.

She named herself as being the different seed. I had taken something no one else wanted and made it blossom into something wonderful. No longer was the world filled with complex and intricate symbols. In its place was a harmony, displayed as “one extraordinary pattern.” Dyslexia no longer dominated her learning. Academics made sense. I had encouraged her to take up different athletics, where she excelled. The funny looking seed had sprouted into success.

I was overcome by her writing. For once, I was at a loss for words. Never did I expect anyone to base a paper on my actions. My working with her was always a joy, never a chore.

Elizabeth did get into college, and during her freshman year, I gave birth to our third child, arriving eight weeks early. I knew Elizabeth would love to see the new addition to our family, meeting Kathryn when she came home for the summer, ready to take her on a meadow picnic.

One spring morning, with Kathryn in my arms, I received a phone call; Elizabeth had died the day before, in a car accident. She had just taken off her seat belt to grab some bread off the floor to make a sandwich. She and the driver of the car laughed at the smashed bread. The car went slightly off the road. An overcorrection had the car swerve and Elizabeth was ejected from the car, dying instantly.

Part of me died that day. Tom felt the same way. It was tough to tell Bret and Molly the teen they loved and adored was not coming home. Baby Kathryn would only know her through our memories.

In time, as Kathryn grew, people began to call her Elizabeth. An instant apology was said, saying they did not know why he or she called her Elizabeth instead of Kathryn. We would only smile, saying it was fine, thinking of our ‘first child.’

Elizabeth became part of Kathryn’s life, keeping her alive by memories. Soon after her passing, her parents asked if we would take them to the meadow where we picnicked all those years. There, some of Elizabeth’s ashes were spread, always being there as we ate our chicken and chocolates in later years.

In her young wisdom, around the age of nine, Kathryn asked me if it was true that Elizabeth died when she was eight weeks old. I said yes. She continued, asking me if it was true that she was born eight weeks early. Again, I said yes. After a pause, she said that then it was so, that when one dies, another one was born. I could only smile, tears coming to my eyes.

Kathryn, now age 18, came to me several years ago, to ask how old she was when Elizabeth died. She had forgotten our previous conversation. I said she was only eight weeks old. She was surprised, as it felt she had always known her. I replied that it shows how strong Elizabeth’s spirit is, strong memories living within her. This was uncommon for me to say, but so many of her actions were just like Elizabeth’s, all the way down to her dark hair and radiant eyes.

Teachers, friends and acquaintances continue to call Kathryn by the name of Elizabeth. Our family smiles as we hear this, knowing God has a way to help mend our broken hearts.

As her parents cleaned out Elizabeth’s dorm room, they found a letter she had just written me, sitting on her desk. I could not bear to read it for a number of months. When I did, she was writing to tell me how she was interested in Christianity, wanting to know more. I wish I could have told her about our Trinitarian Christ and how glorious it is to have Him in our daily lives. What visits we would have had!

I think she knows this, though. She has left a positive impact on our family. I, as others, will always feel Elizabeth remains alive, in our actions and in our hearts.

A New Year is starting, the time for all of us to adopt the seed that is an anomaly among the many. Do so in the memory of Elizabeth, or someone else leaving tugs to the heart. May God’s Spirit and Blessings be felt as the seed is nourished, blossoming into success.

~Marie T. Morrison~

MEMORIES

It is the end of the year, a time to think about the memories coming to us through the past 365 days. Review photos, conversations and pictures, in our minds and thoughts. Laugh over them, cry over them, talk about them. The emotions will differ. No matter what they are, it is okay. Our Lord expects tears, frustrations, anger, laughter, satisfaction and love. If life was easy, there would be no wisdom, lessons learned through experience. It may not be as we had hoped, but it is the God’s way. The actions of one person may save the lives of hundreds. It does not seem fair, but it is not up to us to judge; that is saved for our Lord and Savior.
~Marie T. Morrison~

DECADES

In a relationship, there may be a bump or two. Pray to our Lord, what is best do to at the time of an upset. There is the question, of what should be done; should one cut only the wronged branch or should the roots be destroyed, severing any future hope of renewing growth among the branches. Trees can last decades. It is up to us feeling God's spirit, to make a relationship last as long.
~Marie T. Morrison~

Wipe Away The Tears

Something hard to realize is that we cannot control everything in life. Trying to fight to make it so will not work. Prayer is what helps. God can fill the soul with solace. He will help wipe away the tears, whispering words of encouragement. As we let go, tranquility replaces the storm.


~Marie Morrison~

MELODIES

Music fills the soul with spirituality, doing so for hundreds of years. It is not a coincidence. God is hiding in the wings of angels, as they spread the same melodious notes of peace and comfort to humanity across the seas.


~Marie Morrison~

Eve of Christmas

On the Eve of Christmas, let us await with excitement the celebration of our Savior’s birth. It is time for family, friends and strangers to welcome all with a greeting of love and joy.


~Marie T. Morrison~

NEWS OF THE SEASON

"A little four year old ran up to me the other day, most passionate, his green eyes sparkling. He placed his hands on my lap, cheerfullly exclaiming, 'Happy Merry Christmas!', while beaming with joy. A silent prayer was quickly said to God, thanking Him for sending this darling little messenger to share the news of the season.

~Marie T. Morrison~"

NEWS OF THE SEASON

"A little four year old ran up to me the other day, most passionate, his green eyes sparkling. He placed his hands on my lap, cheerfullly exclaiming, 'Happy Merry Christmas!', while beaming with joy. A silent prayer was quickly said to God, thanking Him for sending this darling little messenger to share the news of the season.

~Marie T. Morrison~"

IMPRESSIONS

A person’s character makes an impression on peers, teachers, children and future employers. Living the Second Great Commandment, of loving your neighbor as you do yourself, is a good reminder of the impression we want to make upon those in our lives.


~Marie T. Morrison~

MILESTONES

Milestones can be marked from the tiniest of achievements. There is baby’s first smile and those first steps, followed by many more. Raising one’s hand in the classroom is a triumph, displaying knowledge, ever growing through the years. Saying “I do” are two simple words, but said together bring about a force of new life. Glory to God for having every moment count!


~Marie T. Morrison~

Spirituality From A Wheelchair: REMEMBER

It is human nature to lose contact with someone when a correspondence hasn't been returned. The recipient may not be able to answer, due to health or economic reasons. It isthe time of year we send greetings to one and all, not deleting some on our lists from the past. Feel God's love for everyone, doing the same. It could mean an unfortunate one can have a smile, excited to be remembered.

CHOOSING YOU

It is okay to experience self pity from time to time, but try not to dwell in it. Share the sad feelings with God and a few people where a close relationship exists. Try, then, to focus on other things. It will be hard, but as tough as it is, we must. God wants us to, inspiring others how we are to live and move on. Being a messenger might not be what we had in mind during the course of life, but God knows why He has chosen you. Not everyone can deliver God's word.
~Marie Morrison~

DECISIONS

Decisions are choices taking place, while others are God’s handiwork. Various souls are to meet long before they know it. God is smiling, as it was His intention for it to happen. As Ecclesiastes 3 tells us, there is a time for everything. We are to take a backseat, letting God work at His own pace. He has his reasons; we are to accept them. No, it is not easy. In time, we will understand.


~Marie T. Morrison~

INTRICATE

Our bodies hold hundreds of bones, nerves, muscles, veins, arteries and cells. Though there are many, all connect together, making us one. It is amazing to see how much God put into creating us, filled with an intricacy beyond words. Tears come to the eyes, in gratitude, for entrusting us with even the tiniest of fragments, all surrounding the soul, gifting us with a life only He could provide, from the moment of conception until we join Him in Heaven.


~Marie Morrison~

THE CHALLENGE!

Challenges come in all sizes. Not only that, the size of the challenge can be small to one person, yet be quite large to another. Either way, respect is given to the beholder, urging one on to carry the given cross, doing what is possible to make it lighter. It can’t be done alone; God must have His hand in it.

I recall my cross country skiing days. Every time I would try to ski down a slope, after trudging up the mountain, I would fall numerous times. This went on for several years. I knew who my true friends were, as they continued to ask me to join them, though I would slow the group with my incessant spills. I’m surprised myself that I kept at it, as I would be wet and cold by the end of the day, being embedded deep into the snow each time my body made contact with it.

One night, while conversing with God, I was exasperated, wishing I could stay up on my skis for once. His reply to me was so simple; “I will hold you up. Remember that!” I couldn’t wait for the next ski trip. Nine of us began our downhill glide, going through the trees and leaning to the left or right to get around the snow covered bushes. I felt the wind on my face, passing one friend after another, grinning big. To God, I was saying, “I did it! Look at me! Thank you!”

I was the second one down the mountain. The first person there was laughing, not believing his eyes, as I was always the last one to get back to the car. As the others came in, they, too, were laughing, talking of me zooming by them, leaving a trail wind behind.

Challenges do come from God. He knows what He is doing, wanting us to break down the barriers placed before us, strengthening our wisdom. They are the building blocks, teaching us how to experience life to the fullest. Our new knowledge spreads, all of us learning from one another.

The lesson learned is taught to the next generation. I remember how afraid I used to be on a certain part of the road I had to travel daily. I would be nervous the moment I began my drive, dreading what was ahead of me. It took another conversation with God for me to switch my thinking, looking at this part of the road as an exciting portion of my drive rather than a scary one. Soon, I couldn’t wait to reach that point, to prove to both God and myself I could handle it easily. I shared this experience with my own children, as they expressed how they hated that same stretch of road. They quickly forgot how that part of the ride had been a scary one. There were not fearful sections anymore, only new challenges to meet and overcome.

Driving in a snowstorm used to unsettle me. Now, I only have to say a prayer to God, telling Him we will get through it together. He doesn’t let me down. A former student and friend, Andrea, said how great it is to live where the temperatures drop below zero in the winter. She said the ‘challenge of the very cold is one I enjoy.’ That is my dear Andrea for you. She never seems to have a bad day, looking forward to the challenges in her daily life, keeping a chipper voice along with her contagious smile.

It is a choice on how to approach the given challenge. For instance, I could make my health and pain control me. Long ago, though, I decided I control my life, not my pain. There is only one chance at living in this world. I wasn’t going to let it waste away. God is there to help carry the burden, which is only another word for challenge. The weight is heavier if God is not part of the equation. I only need to recall what he once said to me, “I will hold you up! Remember that!”

MINUTES

There are moments when we find ourselves wishing we were doing something else for those thirty minutes or sixty minutes, having to be somewhere we’d rather not be. It could be visiting a relative, sitting in a house of worship or going to an activity because it means so much to another person. Looking at it as only a few minutes in a day, week, month or year, it really isn’t long at all. Those few minutes of time can result in everlasting memories.


~Marie Morrison~

GENTLY: Part II

Some have asked me to tell a little more about the soul I envisioned. There is a story how this picture came to me. Not long ago, I learned on the news a young man had been attacked by a shark. A friend carried him to shore, but it was too late; his leg had been severed, causing him to bleed to death. Immediately, my mind saw the soul that had left his body, having the shape of a cloud, creating waves of color. I felt a spiritual connection with this young man, though I never saw a photo of him nor had heard of his name. It gave me comfort, God giving me insight of how our colorful souls leave for Heaven at the time He asks us to join Him..


~Marie Morrison~

GENTLY

At one’s passing. I envision God’s angels gently holding the soul, casting a transparent myriad of colors, glistening like an aged bottle, light as a cloud. Some colors are more pronounced, conforming to the wisdom, love, struggles, and laughter experienced while on earth. It eases the mind for those left behind, feeling the peace of God’s radiant light in this time of darkness.


~Marie Morrison~

Unique

God made life unique. Leaves differ, veins creating intricate designs. Pebbles and stones carry individual shapes and varying tinges of a color. Brittle seashells have distinct, elaborate, stories to tell. Prairies of grass and and masses of trees make fresh music in the cool breeze. Mortals are part of every specialty in nature. In God’s recipe, the ingredients are a shade different from our fellowman. We love one another, for the formula we have been given.


~Marie Morrison~

TENDING

Switching gears to move at a slower pace is rewarding.  Surroundings do not become a blur. There is time to smile at a stranger and wave hello to neighbors. Breathing is nice and steady. A sense of peace is a healthy way to take care of ourselves, giving the means to tend to those in need.

~Marie Morrison

POWER

Respect. A word that has a universe of power behind it. It indicates courtesy, grace, compassion, politeness, gentleness and dignity. It signifies kindness, benevolence, consideration, being thoughtful and treating others with a kind heart. It is how God wants us to be. Practicing respect makes the world a better place.



~Marie Morrison~

SEEKING

In every life, there are mountains to climb, reaching the hope we are seeking. There are valleys below, ready to bury anger, leaving a harmony of silence behind. Seeds blow, embedding their roots deep into the soil wherever we walk, blossoming into petals of angel wings. Mazes of winding rivers and clear lakes are anxious to wash away sadness, misdeeds and guilt. Contentment and joy remain, filling the soul. The spirit triumphs. A prayer to God is made, feeling blessed to live in His world.




~Marie Morrison~

Spirituality From A Wheelchair:The Heart

The heart is big enough to hold love for everyone. There is always room for one more.
~Marie Morrison~"

RESERVATIONS

Becoming a disciple of Christ is not reserved for theologians. Giving someone a hug, listening to a person in need, greeting Christ at the beginning and ending of the day, sharing a smile and praying for others are a few of the ways we spread His message. A simple gesture, while reaching out to others, is how we walk with Him.



~Marie Morrison~

INVIGORATED

Christ’s nourishment brings an explosion of fire into the body and soul. The spirit is invigorated and ready to carry out God’s will.


~Marie Morrison~

TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOUR LIFE

It is common knowledge to not take advantage of others. Rather, take full advantage of your life. We only get one chance in this world to do everything we can with the mind, soul, body and spirit. Go for it!
~Marie Morrison~"

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At times, we hear the unbelievable. How could someone we know so well, part of our spiritual family, do the unexpected? I ,and others, can only pray for those involved; God will be there to take it from our hands.
~Marie Morrison~

Facebook | Spirituality From A Wheelchair:Thanks

I thank God daily for giving me my fortunate life. It is the time of year where I thank Him more so. I pray that those going through tough times will receive one small blessing or joy each day.
~Marie Morrison~"

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Creating, praying, laughing, acceptance, a good attitude and having faith is the right prescription to have a great life!
~Marie Morrison~"

CHRISTOPHER

I first met Christopher at a teen get together in our home. I was sitting among them when I heard comments from a young man sitting on the floor by me. I took a second look at him, as he had tattoos around his neck, arms and upper chest, seen by the sleeveless shirt he was wearing. He was an anomaly, the only teen there that had any sort of body art. It caught me off guard. As I responded to what he said, I tried hid my face from showing an element of surprise.

Christopher continued to come over throughout the summer. The first thing he did when he came into our home was to give me a hug. He would ask how I was, showing sincere interest. He would tell me what was new in his life, in no hurry to go meet the rest of the teens in our basement, the hangout for all the young people.

One night, while the teens were downstairs, playing music and having a good time, he came upstairs to get something to eat. I was having insomnia, playing some silly solitaire game on the computer. He got his food, but instead of going downstairs, he plopped down on the couch to give me pointers on how to score higher with the cards in front of me. He stayed on, asking me where I used to work, one of several questions about my life as he munched away.

In time, his name was in the pot for whatever I was making for dinner. He would go off to be with other teens, but then would come out to the kitchen to visit while I cooked. He mentioned he was getting another tattoo soon, saving up for it. I asked him to tell me the meaning of the tattoos he already had. Every one of them had to do with love, friendship, caring and kindness. There were others to mean he would never smoke, drink alcohol and take drugs. I was impressed.

One night, arriving after dinner had been served; he gave me his gentle smile as he said he was hungry. I said there were some frozen mini-pizzas, he could heat microwave a few. He kept that smile on his face, giving me the puppy eyes to say he really wanted something homemade. Of course, I fell for it. He followed me to the kitchen, just as a puppy would, visiting while I put together something for him. As I put it on the table for him, it was as if he had won the lottery. He was very excited and most appreciative, cleaning up everything afterwards.

I found out from him how much he loves to draw, hoping to make a career of it. He brings his drawings over, giving me the opportunity to see how talented he is. I admire how hard he works not only on each drawing, but also on going out to push his work in the art world.

Looking at this kind and talented young man from afar, a wrong impression is created. Seeing the tattoos would make many turn their backs on him. I feel my life is a better one because of who he is. He has taught me to turn away no one. Look deep inside the soul, where the spirit resides. Show interest in others. Share bread together. God is loving it, bringing diversity into one unit, once again letting us know we are all the same.

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Hope will bring a fragment of sunshine on dreary days.

~Marie Morrison~

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Strips of bright orange are stretched across a deep blue palette. Wisps of pastel pink and orange are blended in, among the illuminative bits of white. Shades of yellow are casting out atop the mixture of colors. God painted a stunning sunset to end this beautiful day.

~Marie Morrison~

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Strips of bright orange are stretched across a deep blue palette. Wisps of pastel pink and orange are blended in, among the illuminative bits of white. Shades of yellow are casting out atop the mixture of colors. God painted a stunning sunset to end this beautiful day.

~Marie Morrison~

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When it is least expected, a connection between two people happens, bringing forth love, happiness, a sharing in spirit or a new friendship. It may seem a coincidence, but God knew what He was doing, playing a part in the master plan!

~Marie Morrison~"

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It takes time to find the perfect passageway to contentment. Whatever the route, it must include God as the soul mate. He will not desert us along the way. Rather, he will add encouragement, using impeccable words. All we have to do is listen.
~Marie Morrison~"

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We must cherish life because God’s Spirit dwells within us. Without His Spirit, we hold an empty existence. I thank God for providing His nourishment to sustain and empower us on our daily journey.
~Marie Morrison~"

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Moods can change as often as the weather for some we encounter. Let us pray that they will find the peace and the void that is missing in their lives."

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We tend to open the door only a sliver if we do not know who is knocking, or may ignore the caller altogether. Our Lord wants us to welcome everyone. What a challenge! A solid and sturdy faith will assist us in having the narrow door open wide, making it possible for many to enter into our lives.
~Marie Morrison~"

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Spoken words can affect someone in the years to come. May the words remembered be of a positive nature. Say a prayer to God, asking for strength to hold in the negative thoughts. What is said can change a person’s life.

~Marie Morrison.~"

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Having opposing viewpoints does not mean ignoring those in need. Our minds may think differently, but we all carry God’s Spirit."

~Marie Morrison~

Blessings to the Veterans

"Blessings to all of our veterans. They have given up their freedom so we may have our freedom. As they go on their journeys, at the present time or in recalling the past, God will never abandon them. He is providing them with fortitude, a gift of the Holy Spirit and one of the Cardinal Virtues. Thank you, veterans, for... your courage, fighting evil to keep us safe.~Marie Morrison~"

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Losing a loved one brings seasons of memories. Images are of birthdays, dinner time visits, special songs, trips, favorite foods and books, laughing over silly things, and so much more. The first year brings out the rawest of emotions for those left behind. Time does not really heal, as the absence only shows the pers...on is not coming back. Knowing that they are now holding hands with God is our only comfort."
~Marie Morrison~

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Facebook Spirituality From A Wheelchair: "Living your passion can mean you love what you are doing. From another view, passion is going through pain and suffering, as Jesus did. Christ rose again, and so shall we, renewed with His Spirit, ready to meet another day.
~Marie Morrison~"

BATTLES AND SUFFERINGS

There are many battles in our world. We have the military, but let us not forget those suffering from depression, personal demons, illness, types of abuse, hurtful relationships and struggles of many sorts. We pray to God, asking Him to help those in need, that they may feel His unconditional love and peace.

~Marie Morrison~

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Facebook Spirituality From A Wheelchair: "A troubling time brings sadness, anger and frustrations. At the same time, it may end strained relationships, form new bits of wisdom and a new outlook on life. Crumbled pieces are swept away, as a new self begins. God is silently in the wings nurturing this fresh start on living in His world."

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Facebook Spirituality From A Wheelchair: "We must tend to our bodies as we do our gardens. We nourish it with water and get rid of the chaff, separating it from what is essential for growth. We treasure these gifts God has given us, different but so alike. Tending to both will bring out God’s spiritual abundance of loving our neighbors as we do ourselves."

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Facebook (1) Spirituality From A Wheelchair: "I could make a list of all the things going wrong in my life or I could turn around and make a list of all the good things going on in my life. I believe I will choose to do the latter. Our Lord will smile."

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Facebook Spirituality From A Wheelchair: "Spirituality From A Wheelchair We can get into the habit of routines, forgetting to take in life itself. Do one thing different today. As you do so, you can say to God, 'See, God! I can do something differently! Now I think of you as I do so!'"

A QUIET MOMENT

It is 2:00 AM. A candle is lit, while my lavendar incense rests elegantly in a delicate vase nearby, releasing a pleasant, soothing, fragrance. Slowly, I sip my chamomile tea with milk, as I attempt to put my mind into a sense of calm. What dreams I will have, picturing fields of lavendar. The rays of the sun will show off all their glory, as I breathe in the sweet, heavenly smells of this exquisite, purple flower.

A LOOK AT SEPTEMBER 11

Many of us can remember the day President Kennedy was assassinated. We know where we were when we heard the news. We can say the same about hearing the news of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. There were also the unexpected deaths of Elvis and John Lennon. Each individual left some form of impact on us. We could tell other generations how it was like, being part of history.

We had no idea that the next chapter in history would involve the assassination of thousands, on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. The killings this time were not prominent figures of our society. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters died that day. They kissed and hugged their families good-bye that morning, expecting to return home that evening. Many were looking forward to the upcoming football season, while others were thinking about the open house that evening at a child’s school. There were the newly engaged, dreaming of wedding plans, and those finding out they were going to become a mom or dad, excited to become a parent for the first time, or maybe for the second or third time. The new baby would join the family of siblings, ages two and four.

There were others flying to get home, anxious to be back with their loved ones. Some were on business trips, preparing to make a presentation or be attending one. Cell phones were at work, callers telling those on the other line to have dinner ready, looking forward to a favorite casserole. Still others were in the military, doing what was necessary to keep our country the safe place that it has been since 1776.

In an instant, all of this was taken away from us. Instead of mourning one individual, there were those thousands of individuals to mourn. The wrath of one group of people changed innumerable lives. Mommy or Daddy would not be coming home; those season tickets for an NFL game would go unused. Weddings were not going to take place and becoming a parent within the year was no more. In its place were fear, grief, tears, questions and anger. Dissipated was the nuclear family, broken, unable to be replaced.

Living two thousand miles from this heinous act, I could provide prayers for many. However, to feel the terror those did on that day is not something I can empathize. I can express my condolences, but I cannot say, “I know how you feel.”

I was not covered with ashes, the results of destruction. I did not hear the sounds of panic, nor did I take in the odors they inhaled. When I shut my eyes, I do not see plumes of smoke, the mass running of thousands to nowhere, or people jumping from windows to their death. I did not have someone knock on my door to say my loved one didn’t make it, nor did I have to rush from one person to the next, photo in hand, to ask if someone had seen this important person in my life.

It has been nine years since the assassinations. Those who were in grade school are now in high school. Weddings have taken place and babies have been born. The void remains, however, of those lost that day. Survivors remember as if it happened yesterday.

Many more have lost their lives since then, giving up their freedom so we may keep ours. Loved ones continue to experience falling to their knees in agony, after hearing of another death. The sense of security no longer exists as it did before. The unknown lingers heavily on the minds of all people. There is a look of alarm in the surviving victims, never letting one’s guard down. Lives have been rebuilt, but not at the same endurance and strength as before. There is a determination to be the ones in control, but in the back of everyone’s mind is the thought to be careful, to be ready for anything.

I commend those who were directly affected on September 11, 2001. They have had to keep living, in spite of the torment experienced. Time goes on, with that second hand never slowing down on the clock. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into months and months into years. No one can turn back time. It has been a long, continuous, journey, not over yet. My prayers and compassion will always be there, as they travel this arduous road.

AT LONG LAST

Greetings! At long last, I am back to my writing. It has been quite awhile since I felt well enough to write. I went in to get medical tests done, only to come out worse than before the tests. Apparently, the tests triggered something else in the body, causing additional problems.


At times, I have felt so ill that I began to wonder if I would ever have a quality of life again. Those fleeting thoughts only lasted seconds, as I knew my life was much better than that of others. I had food to eat, water to drink, a roof over my head and a dear family to care for me. I also felt that my suffering was nothing compared to that of our Lord Jesus. In fact, I became closer to Jesus because of all the additional problems.

It is easy to take for granted what each of our days brings us. We tend to be busy from the moment we open our eyes and get out of bed each day. There is the morning rush, getting out the door, not wanting to be late for our destinations. Around us, everyone else is also running, usually with a sense of worry. “Will there be much traffic? Will I find a parking place? I hope I can get a seat and not have to stand during the ride. Why do I have to attend that meeting? It is always such a waste of time.”

Nowhere, in these conversations with ourselves, or with another person, is there a thought for God. We are just too busy. Our days remain busy, taking care of this need and that, forgetting the need to say a prayer, thanking our Lord for another day. At the end of the day, there is again the traffic to deal with on the way home, the meals to fix, the family activities to attend, the helping with a child's homework, and the house to clean. There is the television show to watch, so everything has to be complete by then. Once again, there is not the time to think about a prayer, praising Jesus for getting through one more day.

It is a vicious cycle, day in and day out. It is not until our health changes, and we cannot keep up with our hectic lives, do we sit back, remembering whom it is that lets us have a family, gives us beautiful sunrises and sunsets, and makes fertile ground so we may have food on the table.

Though I continue to wear out easily, I am adjusting to my new quality of life. I continue to pray for others listed in my prayer journal, aware we are never alone as we carry our crosses. Overcoming our challenges is a motive of God’s, teaching us to become stronger in our faith. It is faith that gives us hope. Once we have hope, we will believe God is right there with us, as we climb through the obstacles to reach our goals. If we fall, God will help us rise and persevere, no matter the journey. Thank you, dear Lord, for always being there.

Hope, Faith and Wisdom

When I lose something, I get mad at myself, wishing the item could speak, saying, "I am over here!" Until I find my lost item, I have a hard time doing anything else. My mind is remains focused on the displaced article. I do stay calm while searching, unlike my husband. As I hear the sounds of frustration coming from the other room, I know he is madly trying to find something. I stay quiet, not wanting to add to his anxiety.

Eventually, we do find what we have misplaced, letting out a sigh of relief. We easily forget how much time we spent looking, moving on with our lives. It is not always so easy, though to forget and move on when a life is lost. I recently heard a story from a 13 year old, about her mother passing away when she was only ten. As the story unfolds, I forget to take a breath, as it is such a tragic occurrence. I am learning not only about the loss of a mother; this young person feels responsible for her death. Why? Because a goodnight kiss was not shared the night before this terrible fate.

For three years, this child has internally taken the blame. I do what I can to console this young person, attempting to ease the thoughts, that it had nothing to do with a goodnight gesture. It was an unexpected illness. I wish I could make life as it was before for this precious little being. What I can do is remember to keep life in perspective. If something is not where I usually keep it, it is no big deal. I will picture the solemn face of an innocent child understanding the true meaning of a loss. Though somber, the young teen tells me hope and faith remain. Someday, mother and child will reunite in Heaven. Once again, I learn it is the wisdom of a child where I learn the true meaning of life.

EVERYTHING

EVERYTHING


Recently, I finished a book by Jan Karon, the writer of The Mitford Series. The books are a joy to read, about the happenings in a small community. The main character is a preacher, who can get himself into different predicaments. If he is not involved in one directly, he is there to assist someone get out of the difficult situation he or she is in.

I came to a part in the book that left quite an impression upon me. Father Tim is to stand in for another preacher, to give the weekly sermon. He does not know how to begin his sermon, much less what to say after he makes his introduction. Suddenly, the words come to him, “In everything, give thanks.” He knew these words came from the Bible, but how could someone give thanks for everything?

This got me to thinking how hard it is to give thanks for everything. After all, life is not always a bowl of beautiful roses. Still recovering myself from a painful procedure a few days ago, I do not exactly want to thank the medical team for the pain inflicted. People get the willies just hearing what happened. However, I am thankful I was placed in excellent hands. The doctor was friendly and relaxed, as were others in the room. The nurse was special, someone you could think of as being ‘everyone’s mother.’ Afterwards, I had my family greeting me, taking care of me during recovery. How thankful I am, to have loved ones surrounding me.

We face different levels of challenges in our daily lives. What we must do is trust in God as we greet them, having the faith to know we can make it, not giving up on hope. Without hope, we would be lost. We wonder how we can keep living after a dearly loved one passes. What we have to do is have the faith to know we will see our beloved again someday. We thank God for the hope we grasp onto until that day comes. We give thanks for the friends, families and strangers placed beside us as we struggle through each day.

The past cannot be altered. We have to say thank you for the time we did have together, picking up pieces of wisdom from those whom have gone before us. Those seeds of wisdom are planted, bringing forth words of faith and hope to all generations. We say a prayer of thanks for those words, which blossom and fade, leaving more seeds to grow and prosper the next year, and the year after that.

If things always go smoothly, we forget to take time to actually see and feel what has been given to us. We do not inhale a deep breath and let out a sigh of gladness, just for life itself. No, things do not always go the way we want. It is not always up to us to decide on what is to happen with our lives. We thank God for giving us the freedom of choice, asking Him for the strength of faith, hope and love when the choices of others affects us. We thank Him for His trust, while coming to terms with our excitements and sorrows. We are thankful for those words of wisdom, always reseeding, allowing us to grow in His Spirit, today and always.

THE TREASURE OF ALL TREASURES

Describing what a treasure is depicts different images in everyone’s mind. For a child, it may be a ladybug seen on a blade of grass. A young teen may treasure a new pair of shoes, now the fad. An older teen will love the improved cell phone. As a young adult, there is the dream car, waiting many years to save the money to buy one. The older adult will treasure memories of their children, as they go through their growing years. The senior adults treasure the letters and cards sent by the grandchildren, keeping them by their favorite chair.


As I reflect upon my treasures, my loved ones are invaluable to me. My faith and God are priceless as well. Thinking back to my years of teaching, I will never forget the treasured gifts I received. What made them so special was that they were handed to me with such strong emotions.

I never worked at a school located in an upper income class neighborhood. My students came from homes where a chicken is served once a year on Thanksgiving. There were no birthday presents. They had never been to a restaurant, not even to have a popular fast food hamburger or taco diner.

One year, I had a boy, about nine years old, who started to bring me a present a day. I was still in my first years of teaching, taken with his generosity, knowing how his family had little money. Some days, it was a candy bar or a package of sunflower seeds. At times, it was a small paperback book, usually one meant for a teenager. He had proudly signed his name and mine inside the cover of each of them. After this had been going on for a little over two weeks, a couple of his classmates approached me, out of earshot of the bighearted gift giver. Apparently, he was going to the little store down the street from the school, stealing something to give me the next day. I was horrified!

After school that day, I called the manager of the store, describing the child who frequented his store daily. I said he had been stealing something from him daily, over the past few weeks. There was a silence for a moment on his end, coming to life suddenly, announcing to me, “Here he comes, RIGHT NOW!” The phone went dead as he went to pursue the gift-giving robber. My student was back in class the next day, as if nothing ever happened. I am not sure what the manager said to him in the store, but it must have made an impression, as all presents stopped. I dimly remember going over to the store, offering reimbursement for all stolen items. The manager did not charge me, only glad that the stealing had stopped.

Having stolen items on me was not a treasure, but it still spoke to my heart. I treasured the thought that the boy wanted to make me happy. I had made him happy in my classroom; now he wanted to do the same for me.

Another year, I had told students how much I loved the Spider Man comics. This was years before there was a movie on the webbed creature. They loved to hear my excitement, as I would tell Spider Man episodes. It made me become a person, just as they were, not someone who came in from nowhere at the beginning of the day and return to nowhere at the end of it. This is the typical thought of a student, that there is no chance a teacher has any other kind of life.

As Christmas came around that year, a student approached me, having something wrapped for me. It was rolled up tightly, a ribbon circling the gift several times. His eyes were big, standing in front of me, as I unwrapped his gift. Inside the wrappings was his own treasure; a very well worn comic book of Spider Man. I almost started to cry, it meant so much to me. He had so little at his house, yet he wanted me to have his most valuable possession. This meant more to me than the many boxes of chocolates teachers were getting from students living in other neighborhoods. I will never forget the token of love shown. He knew what Christmas was truly about, not the television ads on what would bring meaning and happiness.

I had another highly-prized gift handed to me another year. The mother of a particular student did not like me. She truly despised me. Her mentally challenged son had passed from one year to the next, playing games all day long. Now that I had him, I did not want the games. I wanted him to learn to read, write and do math problems. His mother was furious I was having him work. Sometimes, he would come up to my desk to warn me his mom was coming by after school to yell at me. He would continue to come up numerous times on that particular day, to tell me the time was getting closer for his mom to yell at me.

In time, the mother began to see how much her son had learned. He was asking her to buy the classical music I played in the class as they worked, had outstanding penmanship, could read and was multiplying numbers. She was now showing up after school, coming in with her sponge and bucket of suds, to clean the classroom for me. She would ask me if I remembered how much she used to hate me, as she scrubbed one desk after another. I grinned, assuring her I certainly did recall those times.

At the last week of school, her son proudly handed me a wrapped gift from him and his mother. He said they saw the book on a table outside a store and decided it would be the perfect gift for me. Inside the wrappings was a book. The title was, Love and Desire and Hate by Joan Collins. A little summary inside the used book cover talks about the love, greed and lust action, a definite page turner. It is signed, with pride and with love, by both the mother and son. This became another treasure, though I must admit, I never did read it. The mother came by after school, her eyes twinkling as bright as her son’s, over this gift. I hugged them both, saying how special it was to me. The mother, who worked two or three jobs to put food on the table, said they just had to buy the book for me, as I was now important in their lives.

I would never trade my riches with anyone. If I did, I would lose those treasured memories that came with them. True treasures always come from the beloved heart.

MY CHOICE

On a daily, short, reflection I write on Facebook, “Spirituality From A Wheelchair,” I posted recently about my prayer to God. I asked Him to forgive somebody I know. God immediately responded to my prayer, telling me, “I already have forgiven. Now, it is up to you.” This was a revelation for me. My eyes opened wide, followed by a smile. Of course, He has forgiven, as He does not hold grudges. We are the ones whom are guilty of this.

Granted, it has taken me a long time to learn not hold onto a grudge. I was even holding a recent grudge, as I asked God to forgive another. It is an on-going process to move on, instead of remaining stagnant. I have had to ask God to help me move-on, to give me to the strength to do so.

I can be stuck in a whirlpool, asking repeatedly, “How can I forgive this person who has done harm to another of God’s family? Because of those actions, others will never be the same!” I am not progressing anywhere in my life as I continue to ask this. If I take my faith seriously, then I must leave this vicious cycle behind. It is not going to change what has happened. All it does is let me focus on the perpetrator rather than on the innocent victim. I have let badness take priority over goodness.

It is amazing to me that once I have taken the path of forgiveness, that person’s face and name is no longer taking precedence in my head. The actions of a co-worker, someone close to me, or a person I only heard about in the media, is no longer in my thoughts. It is as if God has this enormous chalkboard eraser, wiping my slate clean, as soon as I say I have forgiven.

I cannot just instantly say, “I forgive,” because if I do, I do not feel the sincerity in my words. However, I do not let it linger, as I used to do. At times, I do ‘pass the buck’ onto God, asking Him to help another understand the difference between right and wrong behaviors. I no longer will carry it on my shoulders.

There is such a relief in my tight muscles as I let it go. I may also pray for the troubled one, but now, it is at a different level. There is no longer a feeling of wrath; rather, there is an emotion of being at peace.

I silently ask others to live in the image of God, not in the image of my ideas. God has made each one of us unique and special, holding gifts, burdens, joys and sorrows. We are the ones who must make the choices with what He has given us. If we recognize the choices of others as being in error, ask God to help them get back on the correct path, during their spiritual journey.

A little first grader told me once how angry she was when she saw someone steal a sweater at the store. She wanted to get very angry with the person, proceeding to ask me why this person would take something he did not pay for. I told her about choices God gives us. Continuing, I asked her to pray to God to help the man understand not to this anymore. I gently told her not to stay angry. She could not change this man, but to pray for him. Let him feel God’s love. When he becomes aware of this love, he will not want to take things not belonging to him.

Challenges are part of our daily lives. As God told me, “Now, it is up to you.” These words will remain in my thoughts. I will take the challenges and be at peace with my decisions, living in the image of God.

THE HANDS

For a number of days, I have been contemplating how important our hands are. My mental and written lists have grown endlessly. I realize I could write a thesis on their significance. Just as I wrote that last sentence, another use of them came to my mind, as I scratched a bug bite!

We can join our hands together for many different reasons. I put them together in the form of prayer often, extending outward toward the heavens. I do it in formal prayer and constantly to say another thank you to God for one blessing after another He bestows upon me.

There is also the pressing of the palms together, fingers squeezing opposite hands. Anxiety is expressed. It might be watching the race, excited to see who will win. Maybe it is while watching a movie, the unpredictability hardly able to take. There can be the squeezing of the hands in tenseness, not knowing what the recent medical tests will foretell.

While in the dental chair, I’m sure the dentist looks down at the hands, to see if the patient is handling the procedure with a sense of calmness or one of being quite nervous. I have willed myself, through prayer, to appear quite calm for the dentist. In reality, my fear begins as soon as I hear him or her sit down on that stool on wheels behind me, in the dental chair, rolling up to be by my side.

There are the hands of a brand new baby, so very tiny. There is not a mark on them, so fresh and new. We study those hands, wondering how they will be used in the newborn’s lifetime. The first thing we tend to do is reach out our hands to those wee fingers, watching the grasping of them being wrapped around ours. What joy this brings! A connection is made, a feeling of a warm love being shared between two of God’s souls.

The infant grows into a little being. We hold onto the child’s hand, to protect him or her from fear, or while crossing the street. We put band-aids on those tiny scratches, hands busy at work while at play.

It is a blissful moment as the toddler reaches out for our hand, taking us to see an amazing sunset, the fruit in the garden, or to smell a flower. We can get busy rushing through each day, only to have a child remind us what really counts, as we live and breathe the air of the Holy Spirit.

As the individual grows, food and shelter are necessary for survival. Those hands nurture crops to raise an abundant harvest. . It is shared with others. .A created shelter, made by the hands of many, gives a place to live, bringing friends and family together.

As friends and family gather, there is the greeting through a handshake, placing the hands and arms around one another in a hug, and the holding of hands while sharing a blessing of the meal. After the meal, there continues to be sharing, during board or electronic games, all needing the hands.

Noticing the hands of all who gather, there can be seen hands showing life has not been easy. They are rough to feel and have a look of leather. Others may be soft to touch, but hold deep lines of wisdom There will be the teen, whose body has not yet grown into his or her hands. In time, they will show the signs of experience, just as those who have made it through those struggling years.

We see the hands of honesty as a promise is taken. It may be a creed for an organization, or while taking an oath of office. A hand usually goes up to express what is being said is the truth. Those same hands are raised to give out blessings to our brethren.

Gifted hands provide enjoyment for others, through the many art forms, whether it is music, calligraphy, something on canvas, or dance. The given talents can take our breath away, letting us forget about everything else in life except for the moment.

To join hands in marriage, becoming one, is beautiful. The unity of hands will bring forth many memories in the years to come.

Last night, a story was shared of the mother who saw only a wounded soldier’s hands, seen on the national news. The moment she saw those hands, she knew they belonged to her son, as only a mother would. She made the proper phone calls to ask about him. Soon, there was a knock at her front door to acknowledge it was indeed her son; he had passed away while fighting for our freedom.

God holds us up with His hands. His son died with his hands raised, on the cross. He holds up everyone, at all times, not allowing anyone to hold burdens alone. His mother holds us in her gentle hands, never judging, only giving unconditional love. We only have to open up our hearts to receive the affections of the Holy Family.

Let all of us raise our hands in prayer, for those hurting, those needing a blessing, the joys and the struggles, and in thanks, feeling the eternal love and blessings given to each of us.

Marie T. Morrison
July 20, 2010

MOM WILL NEVER FIND OUT

As one more little pet of the family passes on, it brings me back to our first house pet, Woody, the parakeet. My daughter’s second grade teacher was Mrs. Woody, having a classroom parakeet, known for saying, “Buenos dias!”

My daughter would let Woody out of the cage, sometimes leading to an escape from her bedroom. All chaos would break lose, with yells to quickly shut all windows and doors. This accomplished, the next task would be to capture the bird. He would take flight as soon as someone was close enough to wrap his or her arms around it. It could take up to 30 minutes, with adult supervision, to protect floor lamps and precious items during these escapades.

It came time for me to return to work as a classroom teacher, a week before my three children would begin their year of school. I was very nervous about leaving them, at the tender ages of eleven, eight and five. Relatives would be in and out all day, as would be the neighbors, but I still hesitated about leaving my precious cargo behind. I knew they would be good children, but I still had one rule: Do not let Woody out of the cage while I am gone.

Mid-morning of that first day back, the secretary paged my classroom, to say I had an emergency phone call. Cell phones were in seldom use at this time, leaving me to sprint to the office phone, my heart going into my stomach, both pumping and thumping at top speed. My eight year old is on the line, sobbing. They had let Woody out of the cage, thinking I would never know about it. While running after it, the five year old stepped on the bird, as it landed on the floor. It was not moving. My eleven year old, in bare feet and eyes filled with tears, had scooped up the bird, running down the street to the vet’s office, only two blocks away.

Hearing the news, my heart and stomach slid back into place. From my end, there was not much to say, except that I was sorry. I did not have to add the line of “I told you so,” as this was apparent, told to me through the heaving sobs.

I called the vet’s office. I am seeing dollar signs in front of my eyes now, of the pet hospital’s attempt to save the $15 bird. The receptionist was kind, saying they had never taken in a bird before. However, to see this slender boy, in his shorts and bare feet, crying through his big brown eyes, and asking if they could take care of his little sister’s bird, they were going to give it a try. A vet was tending to the tiny bird at that very moment.

After I returned home from work, the children and I went to check on Woody. We walked to a back room, where a makeshift oxygen mask was covering its small beak. It was resting on the floor of a cage meant for a small, four-legged animal, as it breathed in the oxygen. This would continue through the night and through most of the next day. The children were thrilled, literally jumping up and down, big smiles on their faces. I was happy for them, but I could not help but think of what that oxygen was costing me per hour.

The veterinarian called to say Woody was fine; it was time to pick him up. What excitement there was! As he presented the bird to my eight year old’s cupped hands, the doctor turned to me, smiled, and said, “There is no charge. To see your son’s care for his little sister and the happiness they now have is enough for me.” My expression of thanks was heartfelt. The bird was fine, the vet was pleased, the children were laughing and I was ready to dance a jig.

We did leave a box of chocolates for the vet soon after. We enjoyed Woody for many more years. None of us forgot that day, nor did the children ever let the bird out of the cage if I was not home!

NO MORE

In a former post, I mentioned the telling of a little white lie. Now, I would like to tell you a story of honesty. One Valentine season, my three children and I were in a store I would name “Knick Knacks,” as it was full of items according to the named celebration. As always, Knick Knacks was filled with prospective customers, enjoying the unusual displays of goodies. Suddenly, there was a sound of broken glass in the back of the room. Just as suddenly, a girl, wearing glasses, her light brown hear surrounding her rosy-cheeked face, appeared in front of the cashier. She asked her, in her childhood voice, “You know that little glass heart filled with candy hearts on the back shelf?” The clerk nodded, knowing which one it was. The girl continued, “It’s no more.”

I was impressed with this young lady. I have never seen a young person, much less an older one, come forward to say he or she had broken something. I admit, I was also impressed with her use of words to explain what had happened. It still makes me laugh, as it does others, when I have shared this story.

The clerk was very nice, thanking her for letting her know. She was not to worry about it, the clerk said, as she went off to clean up the shattered glass.

What a lesson for all of us that day. Because of her honesty, I am sure many more have come forward if something gets broken. I remember going up to a clerk after one of my children knocked a tiny four-dollar porcelain angel off the shelf. On her be-half, the store had clutter everywhere, on the floor and on the shelves, making it very hard to maneuver around. However, the point being, it was still a broken item. I went forward to tell the store’s owner to say what happened. He pulled out his sales pad and charged me, plus tax.

His actions have not stopped me from being honest, though. All I have to do is hear that sweet girl’s voice saying, “It’s no more.” I heard them the day when two of my children, who never argued or fought, decided to give one another a poke right in front of a display promoting a special liquor for the holiday season. We were on the way to the pharmacy, passing the liquor department right before it. Down went the boxed bottle with two drinking glasses, the sound of shattering glass resonating. I was furious. Why, I asked, did you decide to quit being best friends at that very moment? I marched over to the cashier, embarrassed, bringing out my wallet to pay for the mess. He was most kind, telling me to put my money away. My own children did not get away with it, though. It led to a lecture. They hated one of my lectures, leaving me with the feeling this would never happen again.

They continued being best friends, never fighting, never arguing, UNTIL the next year. The moment we passed the same display in the same spot, it was as if something pulled them into a whirling pool. They wordlessly turned around, at the same time, to give a poke. This time I was ready, blocking their hands, saying, “Don’t you DARE.” We made it by, the display staying intact. I did have to give a tiny lecture. It prevented any future incidents.

Though it has been 15 years since I witnessed the exchange between the tween and a clerk, her image will always remain with me. By now, she will likely be married and have a child or two of her own. They do not know what an effect their mother had on all of us that day, making the world a better place.

A LITTLE LIE

While privately working with a 10-year-old one day, we got on the subject of honesty. I mentioned how it is not good to lie, as it can only do harm. He responded by saying that at times, it actually is okay to tell a lie. Surprised, I asked him on what occasions this would be acceptable. He said, “When you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.”

What a beautiful reply. I instantly thought of a dinner a family member has slaved over, so proud of what has been served. How sad it would be, if someone had said, “This dinner is the worst meal I ever ate!”

Many times, we have caught ourselves wanting to say one thing, but saying something else. We are aware of the feelings of another, not wanting to harm the emotions. It is a good question to ask oneself, “Do I cause more detriment by saying what I really think or do I prevent this by watching my choice of words?”

This does not mean we need to go overboard with what we say, to keep another feeling pleased about the mentioned endeavor. To say, “I am pleased with this beautiful dinner you have served,” may be the start of the makings of a great chef.

I know each of us can think of the teacher we had in school who had made a negative remark to someone in our classroom. Instead of making constructive criticism, it was downright critical, leaving it on the mind to this very day. It is so much better to look at the positive instead of the negative. When another asks how you like his or her new clothes, it would be so easy to say, “Ghastly!” To not hurt any feelings, it would be better to say you are glad they are wearing the latest fad or how great the color is. Maybe hard-earned money was saved to buy it. No, it is not something we would even think of wearing, but unless it would bring harm to the individual in front of you, just let it go.

“Let it go.” What a memorable sentence. Don’t hurt someone’s feelings. Let it go. In its place, use encouraging words, permitting those placed before us to nurture their own body, soul and spirit, wherever life takes them.

A YEAR AGO TODAY

My daughter and I just returned from visiting the roadside memorial site of four teens, losing their lives a year ago today, at the hands of a drunk driver. One of the teens was the best friend of my daughter. They had met in second grade, never imagining that nine years later, one of them would meet their fate.


I wrote about Alyssa a year ago, about her giggle, the camping trips my husband would take the two girls on every spring break, her creativeness and how smart she was. It has been a tough year for my child, not understanding how such precious lives could end in the way they did. Hundreds of teens have asked the same question. Somehow, all in our community had connection to one of the four. It may have been through pre-school, soccer, church, drama or in one of the elementary, mid, or high schools they attended. At times, it was a friend of a friend. Of course, there are also the many relatives, some living across the ocean from us. All are touched in ways that words cannot explain.

Several were to graduate from high school this year. At my daughter’s graduation, she wore her bright pink high top shoes, with Alyssa’s name written along the side, to honor her. Alyssa loved wearing her own pair of pink high tops. When my daughter found a pair just like her best friend’s, it made the two of them giggle with glee.

We arrived at the site while a steady, light, rain fell. There stood four wooden crosses, standing about 3 feet high, two feet across. Each has the name of one of the victims beautifully written on the crosspiece. Objects having a meaning to the particular teen surround them. There are religious items, candy, stuffed animals, jewelry, candles and endless flowers. A marker is there, for people to write messages on the crosses, each board being about 3 inches wide. Alyssa’s cross is a bright pink, while the others are in shades of blue, yellow and pink. Added today by my daughter was the Cookie Monster, the Sesame Street character Alyssa adored. It will remain in a plastic bag at the bottom of the cross, shielding it from whatever the weather may be.

After pulling a few weeds from the wet ground from all the crosses, we remained silent, reflecting upon our times with Alyssa, remembering her from childhood years to the young woman she had become. We wrapped our arms around one another’s waist, our eyes never leaving her marker. The rain continued to come down. It did not cease us from the cherished memories we carried.

Many more teens had been there before us today. Brightly colored fresh flowers were placed thoughtfully before all of the crosses. There were roses, sunflowers and so much more. As we were there, more teens arrived, all placing something in front of one or more of the memorials. A silent smile was shared through the rain with each newcomer, each then going back into his or her own world, treasuring special moments of the past. Cars zipped by on the highway behind us, but were non-fazing.

Standing there, I began to picture how many futures were lost that day. No one will get to see how he or she could have changed the world, with his or her knowledge, music or laughter. There will be no marriages, children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren that in turn could have changed the futures for many. One of them may have been the one to find the cure for a terminal disease or a solution to save our world from the deteriorating environment, war or the terrors we face today. What a useless loss. Alcohol won out that day, destroying not only those lives that day, but in all of those left behind. Nothing will ever be the same. We love you Alyssa, Rose, Julian and Kate

THE BUTTERFLY

Silently fluttering in

And out of the blossoms,

Bringing a cry of joy

By all whom see it.

Bright yellows, reds,

Oranges and blues,

Patterns of perfection

Upon both

Of its wings.

We can feel

God's powerful

Silence, sending

A message

Of His

Quiet and gentle presence.

This magnificent creature

Vanishes as

Quickly as it appears,

Taking flight,

To another

Field of

God's spiritual beauty.


Marie T. Morrison

SHEER DELIGHT

Throughout the years, I have had the opportunity to have among my friends and students several who face mental challenges. Thinking about them still brings a smile to my face. As I share some of their stories, know I have changed their names, to give them the dignity they deserve.



One year, I met weekly with a group of children needing extra instruction in their religious knowledge. I might have been worn out from the day’s activities as I entered their classroom, but it never failed that I would walk out feeling happy and refreshed. A friend asked if she could join me one day, after seeing how this group always left me in the best of spirits. Before beginning the class, the friend joined us for cookies and chatter. As she nibbled on one of her cookies, the young man sitting next to her leaned over to take one of her cookies off her plate, popping it into his mouth. He was very polite about this; as he reached over to take the sweet, he said, “Excuse me!” Who could ward off someone’s hand when such politeness is used!



Through a number of years, I had the joy of knowing Sam. Sam made me laugh, though he did not mean to be funny. He was so full of life. Nothing could get in his way. As we munched sandwiches one day at lunch, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He knew exactly what he would be doing. First, he said, he was going to be an FBI agent. When he no longer wanted to be an FBI agent, he planned to become a circus clown. I told him his career plans were perfect. Why not finish life by being silly, bringing constant laughter to others!



Tim was another source of my sunshine.. He and I would have fun in mock wheelchair races. Of course, he always won. I thought my muscles were good, but his made mine look like peanuts. We would have these races after the church services. People learned quickly to laugh and get out of our way.



During one of the church services, he placed his wheelchair next to mine in the aisle. It was hard to focus, as I could feel his love and strong spirit radiating outward. I also noticed he had a bad cold. His relative would tend to him, using her package of tissues. Now, as much as I loved Tim, I really didn’t want to reach out and hold his hand that day, because if the tissue hadn’t been quite ready for him, he would use his hand. I came up with the solution of reaching over to take hold of his wrist, to give it a caring squeeze. Doing so, he looked at me with his tender eyes, raised his wrist and gave my hand a good kiss. All I could do was smile at his gentleness. I was wrapped up in thinking about germs, while all he thought about was sharing his love and kindness.



One parent told me how he and his wife realized the extra chromosome the mentally challenge carry is one of sheer happiness. How blessed all of us are, who get the chance to experience their joy. God knew what he was doing, having this elite group bring us a constant stream of innocence, love and bliss in an otherwise hectic world.

THE ONE WORD RESPONSE

THE ONE WORD RESPONSE


Those of us working with youth know about the one word response. If asked about the school day, the response will be “Fine.” Inquiring if there is homework assigned, we may get a “Yes.” To learn how the test went in a certain class period, an ‘Alright.” will be mumbled. After returning from being with friends and asked what they did, the likely answer will be, “Stuff.” Pressed for more information, we are likely to hear, “I can’t remember.”

When one of our children took a school trip out of state, the chaperone called to say he would make sure our child would call home each day. I could already hear the conversation, or lack thereof, from the mandatory phone call.

“How was the flight?”

“Good.”

“How is the food?”

“Awful.”

“Are you tired?”

“Sorta.”

“Do you have a good roommate?”

“No.”

“What will you be doing today?

“Not sure.”

I am sure you have held similar conversations. I told the chaperone to request that the adolescents talk beyond mono-syllabic replies on their calls home. However, I do not know if this is possible. It is one way how the teens like to push our buttons and give us a few more gray hairs, joining the ever-increasing strands that began to appear as their hormones kicked in.

Recently, I ran into a parent at the post office. I told her it was a delight to have her son over for the cast party at our house. She looked puzzled, not knowing what I was talking about. Though it was a divorce situation and the dad had him that weekend, there were the questions of what he had done over the past couple of days when he returned to her home. He did say, “ Went to somebody’s house.” Now, he knows us well, but our names were not provided. I added that he spent the night, sleeping with the rest of the crew on the floor, all news to her. I said he introduced me to his close friend. The mom asked, “Who is that?” We laughed, saying how we must learn about our own child from someone else.

What is amazing is that the adult never gives up trying to get information, nor does the child ever stop giving us the shortest answers possible. This is what life is about. Keep on questioning. Keep being patient at the answers given. It keeps the spirit alive!

EYES WIDE SHUT

Years ago, I saw the movie, “Eyes Wide Shut.” At the time, I thought it was such an odd name for a movie. It starred Tom Cruise, so of course I had to see it. One cannot turn down a movie with Tom Cruise!


This was a fascinating film. I now understood the given title. It made perfect sense. Now, it is part of my list of idioms. I often refer to it while talking about faith and spirituality.

People may say they have spirituality and faith; it is their actions that count. Their eyes are open, believing in the two, but they are actually not seeing what is behind the terms. Not understanding how to live a spiritual life has the eyes remain shut.

They do not have to stay this way. A little bit of effort can grow into being fully aware of how to live a life to its fullest. It can begin with a simple hello and a smile while passing someone in the grocery aisle. Staying patient in the grocery line, as someone goes for a handwriting of the year award while writing out the perfect check, makes the spirit grow a little more. Not getting angry in the store’s parking lot, as someone zooms by, has those eyes open up a little further.

Initiating small practices of caring and kindness is how spirituality develops. In a restaurant, I ask the name of our server, if I do not see a nametag. There is a complete change in body posture as the person responds. The waiter is pleased to be recognized as a person, rather than being an object who waits upon another. A number of years ago, at the end of our meal, the waiter came over, knelt beside me on one knee, and began to tell me how he recently lost his grandfather. He was emotional, expressing to me how much his granddad had meant to him. I let him talk; I only listened, resting my hand on his arm. As he finished what he was saying, I told him I would say prayers for him, to help him get through these tough times. I added that I was not just saying the words that I would pray; I actually would, as I am quite spiritual. He replied that he could tell I was, that is why he told me his story. He had been holding in the feelings of his grandfather from everyone. When he met me, he finally felt he could say what had been building up inside of him. I was surprised and honored at the same time.

Listening is another way of practicing faith, a faith in God, in others and in my own being. I am no better than my fellow man. No matter the clothes another person wears, the job one holds or the society where an individual resides, all must be treated with dignity. It is not an easy task, but practicing this means applying faith in any situation given to me, As a result, spirituality is part of everyday life. It becomes as easy as breathing. Living out the faith becomes automatic.

I pray for those with eyes wide shut, that they may experience the beauty in life as I see it. I want those eyes, behind a glass shield, to break out and become aware of everything and everyone, caring, loving, listening, understanding,exercising patience and being respectful, wherever they are. I pray that they will see what opportunities stand in front of them, enjoying a fulfilled life, all by learning to live the faith, not just to believe in it.

WHAT IS FAITH?

What is faith?

It is to know that though

We cannot always see the sun,

It rises each day.

It is to know that though

We cannot always be in the

Same room of our loved ones,

We still love them deeply.

It is to know that though the night is black,

There is no emptiness within its vast darkness.

It is to know that though

We cannot see our Creator,

He is always there.

It is to know that though

We cannot touch Him,

He never stops touching us with

His blessings.

It is to know that in the darkness,

He is there to keep us safe

It is to know that no matter

What is given to us,

He is there holding us,

Never, ever letting us go.



~Marie T. Morrison

SUNSHINE, CHERRIES and BLESSINGS

No wind today,
Only blue skies and sunshine.
Birds are chirping,
Excited to attack our tree of cherries.
Those tin plates help a little bit,
In keeping the winged creatures at bay,
Reflecting the bright rays of the warm sun.
It's a beautiful day to sing high praises to God,
For sharing
His spirituality throughout His endless creations.
Blessings to everyone!

WINDY BLESSINGS

Quite a windy day. After saying “GOOD morning, God!,”
I thought of all the weddings today, dresses blowing.
May the new couples feel extra blessings of the Spirit,
Of wisdom, knowledge, faith, love, joy, peace,
Patience, kindness, goodness, humility and self-control,
As they begin their new lives as one."

MATTERS

Today is a whole new day. It doesn’t matter what happened yesterday, it doesn’t matter to worry about tomorrow. Take the day God has given you and live it as if it were your last. Notice every little thing God has put on this earth and hug the people around you. Smile and praise God for this day, to enjoy His never-ending blessings.

HAVING TO SAY GOOD-BYE

Gigi, a toy poodle, has been in the family for nearly 20 years. Her first owner was Aunt Fern. She was spoiled rotten, as a toy poodle should be. Gigi went everywhere with her, wearing a fancy collar, sparkling against her light brown and curly fur. Uncle Tom, Aunt Fern’s husband, spoiled Gigi as much as she did. They took her for daily rides and would stop at Arby’s or McDonald’s to buy her a meal. No, it wasn’t the best diet, but Gigi was didn’t mind. She remained at nine pounds as she munched away on a roast beef sandwich or a Big Mac.
Aunt Fern passed away, but Uncle Tom made sure the daily outings continued. Gigi would sit right there next to him, often with her little head on his lap, curling up under the car’s steering wheel. Now, stops included getting her a medium-rare steak ‘to go’ from a nice restaurant. What a high life she led, having different colored collars, always filled with rhinestones. Her little outfits were adorable. There were those for the summer heat and others for the winter cold. Her leather leash was a shiny gold one. She really did not need a leash, as both Aunt Fern and Uncle Tom carried her everywhere, inside the house and out. At night, she would scratch the blankets on the bed, until they made a little nest, dropping off to sleep near her owner’s pillow.
Uncle Tom passed on, and Gigi came to live with Helen, my mother-in-law. She had a new person to spoil her now. However, she did have to get used to canned dog food for the first time. I have a feeling, though, that Helen was able to sneak Gigi an occasional Arby’s meal while taking her out for a ride. Helen would have Gigi sit on her lap, in the house, while in her wheelchair and when out in the car. After making her nightly nest and snuggling up at night by her new owner, she took to treasuring a tiny stuffed dog, kept under her paws as she slept. Gigi began to snore as she slumbered. She was a tiny thing, but you could hear the snoring two doors down the hall.
Helen became ill, unable to take care of Gigi. She came to live with us. She was no longer an only child. The first time she saw our two other dogs, weighing about four times her weight, she could not figure out who or what they were. Their expressions and tilted heads had the same look as hers. They were two small mutts from the dog pound and here was this nine-pound creature, perfectly groomed.
She did not want to have anything to do with them. They attempted to paw at her, to engage in play, whatever this tiny four-legged animal was. However, her loud yap as their paws touched sent them running. Their cute faces looked hurt, as everyone else wanted to play with them. Gigi didn’t move from her spot; it was not only because she had not seen another dog before, but because she really had not used her legs until now, always being carried everywhere.
The next shock for little Gigi was dry dog food. She actually turned her little snoot up in the air, turning her head to the side, as the bowl was set in front of her. It did not take too long before she accepted the grain. She learned quickly there was competition in this household. If she raised her nose up as a sign of disgrace for the food, one of the other dogs was too happy to eat it for her. It also became the first time for her to accept a dog biscuit. My mother-in-law sadly exclaimed she bought biscuits, but Gigi would not eat them, curious why she would eat them for us. We laughed, saying Gigi was not about to step to the side. If the other two wanted her biscuit, she would let out one of her loud yaps, announcing her claim. They would quickly retreat, not wanting to hear more than once that warning to stay away. She even learned to sit up for the biscuit. Aunt Fern, Uncle Tom and Helen would be quite indignant if they knew their baby had to beg for the biscuit, but Gigi loved it.
My mother-in-law departed to meet her maker, making Gigi a full member of the family. We inherited the collars and outfits, and her tiny stuffed dog, a gray poodle. The three dogs began to get along, even though it was more of a parallel play. She did let them get close to her, just not close to her food bowl or her dog biscuit. She did not need to worry; Pavlov’s Law of Contingency took immediate affect after those first few yaps.
The gray stuffed poodle rested on our bed every night, her paws resting atop it, making a new nest amongst the covers. I could not tell who was snoring louder, my husband or the dog. I decided it would be nicer to move out Gigi than my husband. I made a cute bed of pillows and blankets under my desk, the stuffed poodle resting nearby. Her yaps let me know she did not like this, but I stood my ground. I won’t say it was easy, but I remained stalwart.
She did not stay too mad at me. Soon, she was following me like a shadow, even if I was only moving across the room. Family members and friends would laugh how she stuck to me, never being more than a few inches away from my feet. Yes, I did hold her in my lap while I sat on the couch, reading or visiting with a friend. In the car, she had her own pillow, sitting next to me. In the evenings, though, she became my husband’s dog. She wanted to curl up on his lap, not mine. This became quite the routine for little Gigi. In time, the stuffed dog disappeared, her loving the life among the family.
By now, we had a fourth dog, a border collie. My husband had found her as a puppy deep in the mountains, abandoned under a tree. The collie and Gigi were quite accepting of one another. If the collie and the other ‘big’ dogs ran out the door, madly barking at a bird, she would follow suit, yapping her hardest, trying to keep up with them on her short legs. I do not think she ever knew there was a bird out there; she just knew if they were running and barking she should do this too.
Years slipped by, and she could not sit up to beg anymore. Her eyes filled with cataracts and her hearing was poor. She began to spend much of her time sleeping on her pillows, still making a nest, making sure her special blanket was in its special place. I had lost my shadow. She wanted to be in my lap to sleep, but felt more comfortable under the desk. As the other dogs ran for an ice cube, she tried to join them, but her precious legs would not let her. I saw it hurt her to take any step forward. I took a treat to her and the poor little thing could not even bite down on it. I held out her small bowl of water, seeing it was too difficult to take a sip.
Gigi had been declining over the past several months, but I could not bear to see her put to sleep. Just when I thought it was time, she would excitedly take a dog biscuit or run with the other dogs, happily joining them in the bird chase. Now, I knew it was time to say good-bye.
A month ago, I had called to find out what to do when this time came. It was a tough call that day, but it was easier for me this morning, knowing what to do. I picked her up with one hand, reaching for her favorite blanket with the other. I squeezed her tightly in a hug and placed her in the seat beside mine, this time putting her blanket down first. She immediately fell asleep during the half-hour drive. No longer could she sit up excitedly, staring out during our ride.
At Animal Care, a friendly clerk met me, opening the door for me. I explained to her what I knew I had to do. She was very caring, as was the other clerk, gently talking to me as I gave them the needed information. It was time for the clerk to walk around the desk and take this cherished friend from my arms. I gave her one final, tight hug and handed her to the kind staff member, having her place Gigi’s favorite blanket around her as they walked away. My eyes filled with tears.
She has now joined Aunt Fern, Uncle Tom and Helen. They have waited a long time for her. In no time, she will be eating steak and coddled for all eternity. As they beam that their Gigi has finally come home, I continue to have tears running down my cheeks. God knew what He was doing, blessing all of us with the infinite love of an endearing nine-pound poodle.
Though I have a hole in my heart, my little dog is now at peace. I smile as I envision the surprise of Aunt Fern, Uncle Tom and Helen, hearing Gigi let out a yap, running off to join her four-legged pals in their enchanting chase.

NOISE and a NICHE

I was in a busy department store this morning. While my daughter shopped for make-up, I found the book aisle. Among the loud noises of intercom announcements, children running and yelling and customers calling out to one another, I was happy and at peace in my quiet niche. I felt the spirituality surround me in my chair while I read many a book cover, loving the touch of the paper.

NOISE and a NICHE

I was in a busy department store this morning. While my taughter shopped for make-up, I found the book aisle. Among the loud noises of intercom announcements, children running and yelling and customers calling out to one another, I was happy and at peace in my quiet nice. I felt the spirituality surround me in my chair while I read many a book cover!

DON'T WORRY

"Woke up to tremendous pain all over. This is when I am strongest in my spirituality, knowing I am not carrying my

cross alone, that God is right there, telling me, 'Good morning! Don't worry. I will keep you company all day long!'

It's great to feel His closeness on these extra special days!"

GRADUATION

Watched my 18 year old graduate this morning, while sitting in my wheelchair and looking out on the football field where the graduates sat. God had the sun shining upon us on this memorable day. Many blessings to all the graduates, feeling the spirituality surrounding them as they venture forth!

DELLA

While attempting to de-clutter,my summer goal,I ran across an article on one of our town’s older elementary schools. I have no idea why I saved the article, as I never attended it. However, I did go to the junior high across the street from this elementary school, allowing me to visit Della’s Place, located in the back alley of Wood Gormley Elementary. Life was innocent and carefree back then. During the lunch break, all of us could leave our campus and walk over to her little store, no adult supervision needed.

Della’s Place was more of a good-sized tool shed than store, dark green in color. There was a plywood front door, painted in the same shade of green, only kept secured with a small padlock when Della wasn’t there. It had a few pane windows, and inside she had painted the three or four picnic tables a bright sky-blue, as well as the walls and floor.

I don’t know how all of us fit in her place every lunch, but we did. We could not wait to buy the penny-candies she had behind her glass counter, or one of her 15-cent hot dogs, served on a Popsicle stick, right out of the constantly boiling pot of water. Rumor was that she would get the Popsicle sticks out of the trash and use them again the next day. This brought forth many a broken stick after the hotdog was consumed, just in case it was true. Of course, there was no such thing as a state health department coming over to check on sanitary conditions.

Della was a feisty woman. She had bright red hair and wore huge rhinestone earrings. She would tell us they were diamonds, though no one believed it. I do not recall her voice ever being a calm one, as she was always calling out to someone to be quiet or to wait his or her turn. We all loved her just the way she was, looking out at us behind her giant glass frames.
The saddest thing about graduating from junior-high was the end of our visits to Della’s. There would be new kids coming to visit the next year, breaking the Popsicle sticks, calling out to Della to give them a hot dog, and Della calling out in turn. She served generations of families.

Della got too old to run the store one day. She closed up shop and that was it. The back of her store faced the yard of a family home, the owner of the property. The store went back to being a tool shed. I know I was not the only adult who would take a walk through the alley in later years, reminiscing about times with Della.

New owners bought the home and planned to tear down their shed, having little idea of its history. As it was a permanent structure, a building permit was required before they could go through with their plans. They were in for a shock, as the locals in town were outraged at such a thought. Della and her building were pieces of history! How could anyone even think of destroying all those memories! The Historical Review Board spent many months arguing that though the building was about to fall down, it must remain.

In the end, the owners won their case. They received permission to tear down its walls. If those walls could talk, what stories it would tell! Rather, we must be the ones to share the stories. We will keep Della alive, as she brought joy to thousands of youngsters, all through her ‘no bigger than a minute’ store of penny-candy and hotdogs.

A Splendid Summer Evening

"http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/pages/Spirituality-From-A-Wheelchair/123019554388130?ref=ts"

Sitting outside on a beautiful summer evening,
The family gathered together around the table on the deck,
Eating by candlelight while surrounded by apple trees.
Hearing the crickets singing ever so lightly
As cards are played after dinner,
With lots of laughter and chatter.
Everyone so happy,
Knowing God is behind these splendid, relaxing moments.

Spirituality From A Wheelchair - WISPS

Blue skies with just wisps of a cloud or two,
a picnic blanket on the mountain grass,
a river below us,
boys with stick fishing poles,
laughing as they wade through the water,
and us playing 'keep away,' our border collie happily being in the middle,
leaping up to grab the twig thrown between my husband and I,
as I sat in my wheelchair.
Thank you, God,
for a perfect day,
while we remember those who have passed on.

Spirituality From a Wheelchair Daily Thought

HOPE...a four letter word we need to spread, every hour and day of the year!

THE SHOEBOX

Sitting among friends the other day, I thought of a story to share. I began to tell about the shoebox.
It rested on the floor underneath a dining room chair, one we rarely used. It sat in a corner, to the right of the china closet. We only used the dining room for special occasions, perhaps on a holiday or maybe having a celebration among family and friends. As we gathered at the table, those close to the chair in the corner would usually ask what was in the faded orange shoebox. We said someone must have left some shoes here, that one day the owner would claim the box. One diner would comment about looking into the box after we ate, but as the conversation moved onto other topics, the shoebox was soon forgotten.
That faded orange shoebox stayed there a couple of years. We would dust around it, sweep around it and mop around it, but never moved the box. The plan was always there, to toss it after a chore was completed or a meal was over, but life does get busy, running from one thing to the next. A shoebox under the chair did not seem to be of major concern.
As I passed by our dining room one day, the box caught my eye. I was not running to get anywhere. It was time, I said to myself, to get rid of it. I would save the box for a school project and give the shoes to a thrift store.
I opened the lid, letting out a small cry of surprise. Inside was the deceased parakeet of my daughter, still displaying all of its bright green and yellow feathers, looking as if it only passed away only yesterday, no aroma seeping out of the cardboard. I proceeded to laugh until my stomach hurt.
That evening, I brought the box out to say I finally removed it from under the dining room chair. They were most anxious to see whose shoes were inside. There were screams of laughter as I removed the lid and they peered into the box.
I am sure at the time this little bird, named Woody, passed away, my daughter asked for a shoebox so we could give him a proper burial. After placing him in the box, none of us could remember why Woody ended up on the floor in the dining room rather than in the garden.
Other parakeets have come and gone since Woody. They all have joined him in a final resting place in the garden. Now, we never fail to have the ceremony on the day each of them has passed away.