Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement – Page 2

The Anti Resolution

Happy New Year to all of you. May 2024 bring us faith, hope, love, joy, and peace. I know that is a lot to ask of a year, but the Bible tells us in 1 Thessalonians 5:17 to “pray without ceasing.”

Dear Lord, my enduring prayer for my world, my church, my family (both of biology and of love), my enemies, and even myself is that you will grace us all with these blessings in the year that waits before us. Amen.

This is the time of year when people make resolutions to improve themselves. I often resolve to make changes in my life, but rarely do I follow through on those changes. I saw a quote on Facebook yesterday. The poster said, “I’m going to open a new gym called Resolutions. There will be exercise equipment in it during the first two weeks of January. After that, it will become a wine bar.” That pretty much sums up my experience with new year’s resolutions. Just change “wine bar” to “ice cream parlor” and you will have me pegged. It can be discouraging.

Why do we make resolutions? We want to be healthier and happier. Does making resolutions really help us meet that goal? I’m not sure it does.

First of all, what we want is usually an outcome, not the process. Everybody wants to go to Disney World, but nobody really wants to spend 7 hours on a cramped airplane with dozens of hyper stimulated children. We may want to be thinner, but don’t particularly want to stop eating ice cream. I think for a resolution to be meaningful (and have even the tiniest chance of success,) it must focus on the journey and not the destination. If I resolve to increase my level of physical activity, it may work if I genuinely believe and honor the notion that increasing my level of physical activity will make me happier and healthier just for its own sake. It won’t work if the reason I make the resolution is because I believe I will get thinner if I increase my level of physical activity. I am unfairly raising the bar for success if I resolve to increase my physical activity but “really” mean that I resolve to lose weight- an outcome over which I don’t have complete control. It is a recipe for failure.

Secondly, a year is a very long time. The average life expectancy for a woman in the United States is 79 years. I have already lived 64 years of mine. That leaves me with about 15 years to go, statistically speaking. The year 2024 may represent 7% of the time I have left. Deciding in January how the year will go and how I will want to live that year seems a little reckless. There are a lot of variables that can impact the facts and circumstances of my life over the course of a year. The improvements I consider making on January 1^st may not be healthy, possible, or beneficial in the landscape of the life I end up living on March 12^th or August 9^th or December 25^th. Again, setting resolutions that assume everything will be the same throughout the year as it is on January 1^st is just resolving to fail.

I do not know quite how to describe the impact of the year 2023 on me. I ended 2022 with gratitude, exhaustion, and a relatively clear vision of what I thought the next year would be. More importantly, I think I had a pretty clear vision of who I would be during the new year. I learned and grew a lot in 2022. The resolutions I thought about making for 2023 had a lot to do with recrafting relationships to accommodate the new me. To be honest, I thought I had done the work I needed to do in 2021 and 2022 to be the person I wanted to be. My resolutions for 2023 centered on how to reap the rewards of that work.

Yes, I did do some reward-reaping and relationship recrafting in 2023, but the truth is that I was still a long way from who God intended me to be. This year 2023 was one of the most painful, most challenging, and most precious years of my life. I resolved some decades-old pain that has eaten away at my soul for over 40 years. I learned to stand up for my own convictions. I embraced the idea that I can still be right, even if someone else thinks I am wrong. I have shared some of my epiphany year in this blog, so I won’t delve into specifics again. The other revelation I had during 2023 is that the only way to live effectively is to live in the moment. I have always been a compulsive planner, creating detailed action plans for everything and strategizing solutions to every possible scenario. There is nothing wrong with planning. I believe that it is important to be present and in the moment during the planning process. I am never going to stop being a planner and I do not want to stop being a planner. However, it is just as important to be present and in the moment during the doing process. I’ve done things in 2023 that I never, never could have even imagined as possibilities in the past. I did not always manage these new, unplanned scenarios perfectly. I did not always do what I resolved to do. However, there was NO failure. Even circumstances that did not yield the results I wanted or expected were huge triumphs in my personal development. No harm, no foul.

As I go into 2024, I am making no resolutions. I am choosing instead to observe the world around me and my responses. I am choosing to be curious and open to what God has in store for me. I am choosing to embrace unexpected conditions and adapt in order to sail with the wind. I am not choosing resolutions to develop myself into a happier, healthier person. I am choosing explorations and experiments.

Who’s with me? Do you make resolutions? Why or why not? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a wonderful 2024!

Terri/Dorry 😊

A Gentle Christmas

This pre-Christmas season was different for me than many of its predecessors. We did many of the same activities, but they felt different to me. The activities felt less dramatic and frantic. It was not a bad thing. My life coach would be very happy to hear that the difference was that I was more inclined to immerse myself in each exquisite, sensual, joyful moment instead of seeing the whole totality of Christmas cheer as one, interwoven, overwhelming monolith of mood. In the past, each of these activities, conversations, experiences precariously balanced on the success or failure of the one before it. Each holly jolly moment had to be “just so” to keep the Christmas monolith from crumbling onto my heart like an avalanche of disappointment. If I skipped something that has always been part of Christmas in my life, or if I did not imbue some gift with a manic level of sentimentality and sparkle, or if some Noel bell rang hollow for some reason- Christmas would be a failure and I would be left in the holiday wasteland for another year.

This year, I savored each Christmas theme park. I let each Christmas treat I ate sit on my taste buds. I threw myself into activities that brought me pleasure in the moment and skipped events that I typically do only because “I always do them.” I entertained people that I love, when it was convenient for me and for all of them. I bought and made presents that I believe brought joy to the recipients. If I did not find something that spoke to me for a certain person, I did not despair. I decorated my Christmas trees with ornaments that made me happy and did not worry that my “elegant tree” was no longer elegant. In fact, the lack of elegance did not even register with me until I mentioned it to someone else. I did the decorating over several days; thus avoiding the exhaustion and panic I often feel. I went to bed tired but had refreshing sleep nearly every night. I wrote Christmas cards strictly for the purpose of bringing pleasure and connection, not because I “had to” because other people would send them to me. In fact, I recognized that my Christmas card list was a trifle arduous and decided to do something different throughout 2024 to make my greetings more personal and effective.

The season seemed to go quickly, but it did not feel rushed. I was always looking forward to the next seasonal delight… but I was not looking forward to it until the current one was finished. I’m not sure what has changed for me, but whatever it was made the period between mid-November and Christmas extremely enriching and enjoyable. I was musing about this a week or so before Christmas. For the past five years or so, we have either gone to friends for Christmas dinner or had people come to our house. This year, our little family of friends is somewhat scattered. I originally thought to invite people over but decided against it. I had a bit of a health challenge (everything is great now, by the way!) which took up a lot of energy. As Christmas approached, though, I was starting to feel a little “meh” because I had no festive party planned. I wasn’t sure how it was going to feel when the day rolled around with nothing on my dance card.

I did end up inviting another couple to come for dinner on December 22. We festived ourselves silly. It really did feel like a Christmas gathering. However, I still wondered how I was going to feel about a “quiet Christmas.”

As it turned out, Max and I had a wonderful Christmas together. On Christmas Eve, I went to the Sunday morning church service. Max met me and another couple from our family of friends at a local restaurant for brunch. After enjoying some food, fun, and fellowship, we went our separate ways. Max and I opened Christmas presents later in the day, drove around looking at Christmas lights in our development, and watched our traditional Christmas Eve movie- Little Women. The next day, we attended Christmas morning church service during which our deacon delivered the sermon. In my family of origin, we opened gifts on Christmas Day after going to church. Each year, my mother, who has been deceased for seven Christmases buys us each a present. We opened our presents from my mother after Christmas morning service. I watched the Christmas Eve service from my church so I could hear the choir sing and my pastor preach. Later, we watched football and just hung out with each other. We ended the day watching another traditional movie for us- Therese: The Story of Saint Therese of Lisieux.

When people ask how my Christmas was, I could say “nice, but quiet.” However, that is not quite correct. I think it is more accurate to say, “nice, but gentle.” I found a lot of joy this Christmas season. It was not noisy and loud, but it was audible and profound. I connected with many of my traditions in a way that did not feel forced. I let go of traditions that do not nurture me. I planted myself firmly in moments of wonder and excitement. I did not hop, jump, or dodge from one glob of fun to the next. I found myself steeping emotion and meaning into each moment instead of slapping a slipshod coat of sentimentality over timeslots as I rushed to make my next “appointment” with happiness. The monolith is not one, fungible tankard of Christmas cheer. When you take a step back, that monolith is a mosaic made up of dozens and dozens of individual, beautifully crafted moments and experiences.

I slept in heavenly peace this Christmas season because I had a gentle Christmas.

How would you describe your Christmas? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Blessed Christmas!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Beyond The North Pole

Those of you who read my blog regularly (and if you don’t, why the heck not?!) know that Max plays Elf on the Shelf for me every year in December. Each morning, before I wake, he helps my elf find clever hiding places so I can play elf hide-and-seek. Up until this year, the grown-up version of the elf was very tiny- about as long as my thumb and half as wide. Kringle’s size made it possible for him to hide in a wide variety of bizarre places. Not a good option for the younger set. Most kids worth their salt would have become bored and frustrated looking for a microscopic elf. Children would have the good sense to wander off to pursue more rewarding activities. I was not so wise. I often needed multiple hints to locate him and there were some mornings I searched for a good half hour before calling “ally, ally, outs in free.” The elf would giggle maniacally when Max retrieved him from a place I either would never think to look or, embarrassingly, where I had already looked several times.

Max liked that Kringle the Elf was so small because it gave him the advantage in the game. I liked that he was small because it made him unique and interesting. On the other hand, Kringle’s size made him kind of delicate. And hiding places like a slat on a plantation shutter or in the fold of a blanket on the couch were definitely hazardous to his health. His little appendages were about as thick as toothpicks and more fragile. Over the years, bits of him kept breaking off until there was really only a torso, head, and bit of a cap left of him. It was pathetic, but I would not relent and replace him.

For one thing, my Kringle was part of a limited-edition promotion. You cannot just buy tiny elves. The elves in the stores were all much bigger than Kringle. If Kringle is the measuring stick, a regular elf on the shelf seems like a mutant. One year, Amazon gave away these mini-elves with a $100 purchase. Since spending $100 on Amazon was child’s play for my mother, she acquired several of these little guys and gave them away for Christmas of 2015. That is the other reason I was loathe to replace Kringle. My mother bought him and inspired the game of elf hide and seek that Gary plays with me each December. Kringle was part of my Christmas sentimental journey to visit my Momma.

This year, however, when Max and I were wandering around Hobby Lobby a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, we found a facsimile elf that was only slightly larger than Kringle. Max finally convinced me to let Kringle go home to the Great North Pole In The Sky and bring a new elf, Kristina, into our little family. I agreed reluctantly only on the condition that I myself had no part in disposing of our mutilated little Kringle. One day he just disappeared. I assume he is enjoying his retirement in a nice safe hiding place.

Kristina has been an excellent elf, although I still think of Kringle fondly. She is a little bigger so she is a little easier to find. However, she is easily as sneaky as Kringle. Some days, I have found her lickety-split. Other days, I have needed hints. Two days, I surrendered to her stealthfulness. She hid inside the battery compartment of my wooden Bavarian village. She hid in the paper bag that holds the Christmas card Max bought me. She hid under the edge of the Christmas tree skirt. I think my favorite place that she hid was inside the stable on my fake gingerbread nativity set. I guess she was trying to get there before the wise men.

I sometimes wonder if I am ever going to grow up. Then, I wonder if I want to.

What Christmas activities are making you jolly this year? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Merry Christmas, everyone! Love and joy come to you!

see the nativity set on the bottom shelf- fake gingerbread manger scene, complete with elf!

See her bringing that all important gift of peppermint to the Baby Jesus!

The Lights On The Christmas Tree

Many of you know that 2023 has been a pivotal year for me. It has been scary, challenging, and painful. On the other hand, it has been a year of great growth and liberation. I’ve learned so much. I’ve spent most of my life living in fear and emotional pain, thinking it was imperfectly normal. This year, I’ve discovered how it feels when pain is not my de facto state of being. It feels more wonderful than I can say. I find myself often reflecting on my improved mental health with a sense of awe and bemusement.

I was talking to my life coach Todd about this transformation. In coaching me, one of his main areas of emphasis has been emotional resilience. He helps me learn to sit with difficult emotions, understanding that I will be able to withstand them and that they will pass. One of his axioms is that feelings are not forever. There have been many opportunities for me to practice this skill in the past couple of years. As I have developed emotional resiliency, my major focus has been mostly relief when I don’t feel shattered and valueless. I have been gaining strength and confidence, especially over the past year. Recently, I have started to think beyond the moments of relief and contentment, wondering if this newfound peace can really be a new default way of being for me going forward.

I told Todd that I understood his perspective that feelings are not forever. I agreed that I have experienced the phenomenon of paddling my emotional resiliency boat into safe harbors over the past couple of years. However, I can also look in my rear-view mirror and see a time not so long ago when feelings WERE forever. I asked Todd how I could be confident that I was changed in some fundamental way that would prevent me from turning future painful feelings into forever conditions. He replied with a metaphor that resonated profoundly with me.

He explained that, for many years, I had no concept of self-determination. I had no understanding that I had any power to change conditions that made me depressed, scared, angry, or other otherwise emotionally hobbled. No matter what happened in my life, no matter how anyone treated me, no matter what needs I had- I simply accepted whatever came my way, believing I had no right or ability to change it. Now, I know that I have agency in my own life. I can often take actions and have conversations that can change my circumstances. I can choose how I respond to events that I do not have the capacity to change. Todd said it was like having a stone in my shoe. Most of my life, I wandered around with a stone in my shoe without even knowing I had a stone in my shoe. I just knew something hurt. Since I did not know there was a stone stabbing into the sole of my foot, I never took my shoe off to shake it out. Therefore, the pain WAS forever. Now, I know that there is a stone in my shoe. I can take time out to extract it when necessary, so the pain will be temporary.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to muse a little more about this metaphor. I decorated the house for Christmas. I pulled out the self-lighting tree I purchased last year. It is one of those fancy-dancy trees that have this “magic” central pole to make the tree light up all over without having to attach multiple strings of lights to each other. I love the lights on this tree. They are so colorful, with pure, clean shades of pink, blue, green, yellow, red, and blue. It makes me happy just to look at them.

I heaved the tree out of its box, struggling to stabilize the trunk in the holder and maneuver the upper section into place. I am just a little too short on one end and a lot too lacking in upper body strength to assemble the entire thing without breaking a sweat. The tree also attacked me with its thousands of sharp plastic needles, leaving bloody scratches on my forearms. Finally, I had the entire structure standing straight and strong, overlooking my living room. The colorful universe of lights twinkled from top to bottom.

I lovingly unwrapped my ornaments- all of which hold sentimental meaning for me. There is not a single boxed, generic Christmas ball on my tree. I have one ornament that graced my maternal grandmother’s tree when she was a child. I have numerous Tinkerbell ornaments. I can tell you where Max and I were visiting when I purchased many of them. I have a reindeer wearing Alohawear swimming trunks from my first trip to Hawaii- he does jumping jacks when I pull a string. I have a hippopotamus ornament that I originally bought for my mother soon after we moved to Florida. We used to drive by this store that sold large bronze statuary. One day, Momma mused out loud why anyone would want a huge bronze hippo on their front lawn. Confused, I asked her what she meant. She pointed to one of the statues on display. I advised her that it was a cow, not a hippopotamus. That ornament always makes me laugh.

I found places on the tree for each ornament, reminiscing as I worked. Finally, I stepped back to admire my handiwork. I saw that it was good. The ornaments brought me joy and the lights sparkled. I felt like the completed Christmas tree was worth the considerable effort and lacerations. I went into another room to do some additional decorating.

When I returned to the living room, something looked wrong to me. It took me a second to realize it, but it soon hit me that the top half of the tree was no longer twinkling. It was no longer glowing. It was no longer colorful. It was no longer lit. It seemed that the magic pole had lost its magic, no longer transmitting power through both sections of the tree. I had limited options for troubleshooting because it is not that easy to manipulate a tree decked out with 64+ years of sentimental ornaments. I gingerly tried a few possibilities, but to no avail. The bottom had twinkling, colorful lights dancing around it, but the lights came to an abrupt halt mid-tree. It looked silly, so I decided it would be better to turn the lights off completely.

As the evening wore on, I kept looking at the tree in all its non-lit splendor. It made me sad to see it so lifeless and flat. Also, because there were no lights drawing my eye to the sparkle, all I saw was the clumsiness of my ornament placement. The blank spaces and the places on the tree where too many ornaments bunched together glared at me. All the joy I felt in decorating the tree seemed artificial. I experienced a palpable feeling of pain, disappointment, and resignation. I prepared myself to tolerate the lightless tree for the next few weeks, trying to convince myself that it was okay.

It wasn’t okay, though. I was downright sad. I thought about buying a few strings of lights to give the tree a little oomph, but everyone knows that the lights go on the tree first. I wasn’t sure how it would work to try to string the lights around the already decorated tree. I sure as heck did not want to remove all the ornaments and start over again. It seemed like a waste of money to buy lights, since the tree came with plenty of lights… if they would just light. I kept trying to convince myself that it was not a big deal, but I could not let it go. It was a stone in my shoe.

By the next day, I had decided. I didn’t care if the lights were supposed to go on first. I didn’t care if I was spending $20-$30 that I should not have had to spend. I wanted lights on my Christmas tree, and it was within my power to have them. I took myself to Lowe’s, bought three hundred colored lights, and added a string of clear lights to put around the bottom of the tree, for good measure. When I got home, I draped the lights around the tree, over the ornaments. It was not perfect. In fact, it is pretty messy and bunchy in places. Removing the lights will probably be a nightmare. But you know what? When the lights are on, I don’t see the mess. I just see the lights. And they make me happy.

There was a time when I would have simply lived with the lightless tree, silently grieving while putting on a happy face. I would have simply tried to tolerate the disappointment because that was my state of being. I certainly would not have entertained the notion that I could do anything to change my set of circumstances… or that it was okay for me to even want to change it.

I guess an old elf can learn new tricks.

What have you learned this holiday season? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me to terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a holly jolly day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Bulking Up My Faith Muscles

I recently told you about my resolution to do more than talk a good game about my faith. I remember a minister who taught a Bible study I once attended. He said that you have to be careful when you pray for faith. Sometimes, God will just give you more faith. Sometimes, however, he may put you in a situation which requires you to exercise your faith, thus growing that faith. And, sometimes, if you are really blessed, God will test you in a way that demonstrates to you just how much faith you already have. These are some scary possibilities but I am beginning to realize that to grow faith, one must actually step out in faith. Talking is not enough. Action and practice are necessary. To bulk up one’s faith, one must exercise the faith muscles.

A few months ago, I led an Alpha course at my church. This was the fourth Alpha course I have helped lead. Alpha is a program made up of eleven weekly evening sessions, plus a day retreat. The original purpose of the course was to provide a place for people who would not identify themselves as churchgoers or Christians to grapple with the big questions of life, faith, purpose, and God. However, we find that the course has dramatic benefits for people at any point on their spiritual travels. Each evening begins with a dinner, followed by a video presentation on some aspect of Christianity. Then, the guests break into small discussion groups to talk about their perspectives, experiences, questions, doubts, fears, observations, and anything else they wish to say. Coordinating the program is a rewarding, enriching, and soul-feeding experience for me. In the past, it has also been exhausting and stressful for me.

At the beginning of this Alpha course, my life coach challenged me. He advised that I prepare no more than half as much as I would have in the past. He encouraged me to trust the Holy Spirit, trust my own competence, and trust the qualities that God created in me. Faith in God and faith in myself was a radically different strategy than my previous modus operandi of trying to anticipate and guard against any possible (or, for that matter, impossible!) uncomfortable eventuality. I always said that we only opened the door and turned on the lights during the Alpha course. God was the one who did all the work. Despite what I said and despite my intellectual understanding that it was true, I could not seem to refrain from doing, doing, doing in any spare moment between sessions to try to cover all my bases. I felt terrified at the very notion of dialing back on preparation… but also strangely liberated. I decided to try it. Why not? I convinced myself that it wasn’t brain surgery, and no one was going to die if something uncomfortable happened. In fact, someone might grow.

Someone did grow. Me.

I had FUN during this Alpha course. I not only said I was going to let the Holy Spirit take the reins. I actually did it. The burden was much lighter. In the past, I had to beg and plead to get people to provide meals. I usually ended up providing several myself. This time, I had a surplus of people agreeing to help with the food. One of my precious sisters by selection who attended the course in the past and enjoyed it volunteered to be my production partner. This reduced the work, the worry, and the responsibility of the program by way more than half. I didn’t worry about things going wrong. Nothing really went wrong. When something went a little bit off center, I relied on help from the team and even the guests to get us back on track. I also relied on my own personality and sense of humor to offset any awkwardness. I figured out that every offering, no matter how imperfect, is a priceless gift to God. We had the largest number of guests we have ever had on an Alpha course and our guests had the highest level of consistent attendance. The guest feedback was stellar.

God has been working on me, clearly. Let me tell you a story. When I first agreed to help with Alpha (without ever having attended a course, by the way), I did so because I did a lot of group facilitation work in my career. I was not necessarily thinking about roles that involved cooking, serving meals, and providing a cozy, hospitable environment. I had never even hosted a party in my life. I grew up in a family that did not entertain. I eat like a four-year-old, so my cooking repertoire is extremely limited. I am as introverted as one can get on the Myers-Briggs scale. Somehow, I wandered into the path of a runaway volunteer recruiter and ended up being the Alpha hospitality princess. I stepped out in faith. I, who had never thrown a party in her life, was holding dinner parties for fifty every week. And nothing tragic happened.

During that first Alpha program, one of the guests brought up the subject of Lent. We were talking about how to use the Lenten season as a time of spiritual growth. I told the small group that I wanted to learn to pray better during the time leading up to Easter. One of the participants in the course was the chaplain for our church ladies’ group. She made it her business to nominate me to succeed her, telling me it would be an excellent way for me to develop my prayer skills. I stepped out in faith. It was a jarring jolt to my system, but my nominator was absolutely right. In acting as the chaplain, I became more intentional about prayer. I excavated and rebuilt the foundation of my own prayer life. I experimented with leading the monthly meeting devotionals with different types of prayer. I looked for ways to engage and involve our membership in creating active, powerful prayer. I presented a workshop about prayer, which culminated in a time of focused, peaceful, silent prayer. Our ladies told me they felt as if they truly felt the spirit of God in the room with us. I allowed myself to be more vulnerable in sharing my own writing and prayers. There is no question that I developed my prayer skills during the two years I served as chaplain. And I loved doing it.

Over the past few years, I have expanded the scope of my “stepping out in faith” activities beyond Alpha. I have been involved in leadership in my church. The issues under discussion are more sensitive and controversial- sometimes even divisive. I have never been a fighter. All my life, I have avoided conflict and confrontation. My idea of peace-making and negotiating is appeasement. I give up instead of standing up. I have always convinced myself that whatever the issue in question was, it wasn’t a big deal, and I just did not care enough to fight. Although I hid from it, I did always understand that there are some things that are big deals and that I do care. Lately, God has been leading me to step out in faith in trickier situations. I believe He has put it in my heart to stand up and be counted on some issues- maybe even be a warrior.

It has not been easy. I struggle with myself and with others as I take this step out in faith. It is hard for me to trust my own thoughts and perspectives, especially when others resist. Some relationships have been strained. I try to do everything, even disagree with people, with love. I am aware, however, that my heart sometimes gets heated. I wonder if I am truly doing what God wants of me, especially since fighting is so counter to my nature. I wonder if I am simply pridefully pursuing my own perspective Selecting me to do spiritual battle seems a funny choice for God to make. On the other hand- precisely because this behavior is so unlike anything I would choose for myself- perhaps it must be God.

I guess I always thought that by the time I reached the advance age of sixty-four, God would be finished with me. I figured that He would have already equipped me with whatever attributes or talents He needed me to have to do the work He wanted me to do. It never occurred to me that He would want me to take on something completely out of character once I hit chapter three in my own personal book of life. I have to confess that I am still not sure that is what is happening because it is so darn difficult. The robe of authentic righteous indignation fits me poorly. There have been many times when I have tugged on the hem or pushed up the sleeves. More than once, I have had it half over my head to remove it. This experience requires me to surf wilder waves in my faith than ever in my life. I said a couple of weeks ago that I feel like I’ve struggled with my faith, but I know that “grown” is a better word that “struggled.” I sometimes think about what it has meant to stand up for one’s faith. The early Christian martyrs died for Christianity. There are still places in the world where people are jailed and murdered for their faith. Even in Western countries, there are people who are ridiculed and isolated from family and friends because they choose to become Christians. I have never experienced anything like those kinds of spiritual trials. Maybe the reason God is choosing me to stand up in this small way now is to show me that I can do it. God doesn’t need me to protect Him, but He wants me to trust that He will protect me.

What experiences have you had that has stretched your faith? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a muscle bound day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Thinking About Thanking

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving in the United States. People all over the country will be counting their blessings. I like to think I count my blessings every day. Gratitude is a big deal to me. Every Thursday, I post five of the things for which I am most thankful from the preceding week. I have been celebrating “Thankful Thursday” in this way for about 15 years. It is a rare week when my “thankfuls” do not fall trippingly off my fingertips along the keyboard. There are sooooo many things that I receive with great gratitude every single week. It is hard to know what to do as an encore for Thanksgiving Thursday!

That is not going to keep me from trying, however.

Here is a whole passel of thankfuls that have come my way in 2023:

I am thankful for Max, who loves me and grows with me all the time.
I am thankful for Todd Payne.
I am thankful that I was finally able to release the huge burden of pain related to my marriage that I carried for over 40 years.
I am thankful for learning to draw boundaries.
I am thankful for the beautiful, precious, amazing family of friends that inhabit my life.
I am thankful for the congregation at St. James Episcopal Church.
I am thankful for Tom and Kathleen Trees.
I am thankful for a beautiful, joyful, rewarding Alpha course experience, after a three-year hiatus.
I am thankful for the oceans and beaches.
I am thankful for beautiful and fragrant flowers.
I am thankful for tall trees that dapple the paths beneath them with sunlight and shadow.
I am thankful for mountains and streams.
I am thankful for the leaves changing color.
I am thankful for Cathy and Jim Gocella who supported me through the difficult time when my much-loved cousin Ann passed from this life to the next.
I am thankful that good homes were found for Ann’s cats.
I am thankful for my pretty, sweet, cozy house.
I am thankful for soft, snuggly blankets.
I am thankful for air conditioning.
I am thankful that no hurricanes hit my neighborhood this summer.
I am thankful for our vacations this year that were not only fun and beautiful, but also enriched me in terms of confidence, peace, and connection.
I am thankful for the return of gingerbread at Starbucks.
I am thankful even for the struggles and challenges of this past year because I can see how God has grown me through them.
I am thankful that God did not leave me alone and orphaned during the struggles and challenges- because without God, there would have been only destruction instead of growth.

I am stopping at 23 because there is something satisfying and orderly about having 23 thankfuls for 2023. Also, it is Wednesday, and I am already late posting my blog for this week. Please know, however, that there are many more reasons for my gratitude this Thanksgiving week. If you are reading this today, YOU are one of those reasons!

Have a thankful day!

Terri/Dorry😊

What are your “thankfuls” this Thanksgiving week? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

The Scriptures According To Terri

After writing The Scriptures According To Tinker Bell, I started thinking about my own relationship with the Bible. Once again, I am hoping that no one will take this blog post as blasphemous or disrespectful. I am in no way comparing myself to the godly Hall of Famers that God chose to transcribe His Holy words. I just think that, for the scriptures to live, we all need to integrate them into our own experience. In doing so, we open the door for God to create very specific, personal guidance in each of our hearts.

Over this past year, I have been bumping along on my way down a rougher, less developed expanse of my spiritual road than I am used to navigating. My initial impulse is to say that I have “struggled” with faith. Upon reflection, I realized that perspective is blatantly inaccurate. I would use the word “grown” instead of the word “struggled.” Growth spurts are usually uncomfortable. They have the capacity to make us feel less capable, less grounded, and less confident. That is what the last year has been like for me. On the other hand, growth spurts also have the capacity to make us stronger, more powerful, and more steadfast.

Recently, my church presented a “spiritual gifts inventory” as part of our annual parish stewardship dinner. As I scored my inventory, I found some predictable conclusions. There were a few surprises, however. I scored rather low in the “faith” category of spiritual gifts. This gave me pause because most of the people in my life think of me as a faithful person- not just in the sense of being loyal in my relationships, but in the sense of having spiritual trust and maturity. I rarely perceive in myself the godly faithfulness others say they see in me. I have always prioritized faith development in my life and tried to grow in my relationship with God. I guess I’ve always felt that, if I intentionally tried to grow spiritually, my efforts would result in a stronger, deeper, more secure faith.

It seems that faith development takes more than just being intentional.

The reason for my lower “faith score” is likely my habitual inclination towards worry. All of my life, I have struggled with self-doubt and incessant, unreasonable worrying. It is hard to reconcile my irrational fears, overthinking, and over-the-top preparing with my professed faith in an all-powerful, all-loving God. Someone once said that faith is the opposite of fear. The Bible tells us repeatedly not to be afraid, but to trust in the providence of God. I want to integrate all of these admonitions into my very soul but worry still wins out a good percentage of the time.

In grappling with this problem of mine, I’ve tried many different strategies. Undoing a lifetime of hard-wired anxiety is not easy. I remember composing a memo from God that I posted on my office tack board. It said:

To: All humankind

From: The Sovereign God and Creator of the Universe

Subject: Worrying

Effective immediately, you are to stop worrying. Additionally, you are to stop trying to control the world. That’s my job.

Love,

God

It was good to have a visual reminder. I think it helped. I doubt anyone who ever worked with me would agree that it helped at all. I am a very talented worrier. Worrying was my brand. Again, not really congruent with my profession that I am a Christian believer who places her faith in God.

I am beginning to realize that to grow faith, one must actually step out in faith. Talking is not enough. Intellectualizing is not enough. Action and practice are necessary.

Over the past year or so, I have been trying to take that step out in faith by acting rather than just mouthing platitudes. It has not been easy, and I have encountered resistance. I decided I wanted another visual reminder to encourage me. Psalm 46:10 tells us, “Be still and know that I am God.” This, I thought, is the perfect verse for me. I decided to search Etsy to see if there were any rock-painting artists who offered small rocks with customized designs. Writing the whole verse on a rock seemed like too much to fit, but I thought I could get one with Psalm 46:10 written on it. I found someone who did this work, and I promptly ordered my rock right there on my cell phone.

My rock appeared a few days later. I was so pleased. It had a little picture of a flower on one side and the Scripture citation on the other. I slipped it into my change purse and made a habit of looking at it whenever I pulled out some cash.

One day, I was writing an email and wanted to quote my comforting Scripture verse. Because I have never been very good at memorizing Bible verses, I could not recall the citation. My purse was handy, so I pulled out my rock. As I began typing the Scripture reference, something just felt wrong. I decided to check the verse on my phone. Apparently, because of my haste when I ordered the rock and because of my clumsy fat fingers, I erred when I typed in the particulars for my order on Etsy. Instead of “Psalm 46:10,” I inadvertently ordered “Psalm 46:19.”

Psalm 46:19 does not exist.

At first, I felt deflated and inadequate. How could I mess up like that? How could I be so disrespectful of God’s holy word? I did not even want to order another rock with the correct citation on it. I actually felt ashamed and embarrassed.

Then, I realized something. I made a mistake, but I had only good intentions. God could use that mistake for good (Romans 8:28.) I started thinking about what God might want me to know. Maybe Psalm 46:19, although not in anyone else’s Bible, is a verse God is trying to inscribe on my heart. What would God say to me, if He was going to offer a new Scripture verse just for me and for my struggle with worrying and self-doubt?

After some prayerful reflection, I came up with this:

I am a precious child of God and I bring joy to the world. I can trust that He has created me elegantly and equipped me perfectly to live the life He sets before me.

Psalm 46:19

God does not make mistakes and He uses even our mistakes to work for the benefit of those who love Him. Maybe everyone could use a mistake as an opportunity to consider what God’s private Scripture for each of us might be.

If God wrote a Scripture verse just for you, what would it say? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a faithful day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Sometimes You Feel Like A Nut; Sometimes You Don’t- part 2

Thank you for returning to read the denouement! As promised, here is the final chapter of our New England saga…

Directions were an adventure all their own for the entire trip. My confidence in GPS turned out to be somewhat unfounded in the White Mountains and the Green Mountains. Google Maps floated in and out of commission on my phone. This made me tense. Luckily, Max’s phone did a better job of picking up the GPS signal, so we did not end up in Canada. It was all a little stressful, never knowing exactly where I was headed when I put the car in gear.

We stopped at Queegee Gorge on our way to our next stop- Killington, Vermont. I was feeling pretty chuffed that I had found my way back to Vermont, so I suggested we take the hike down into the gorge. I fully expected Max to politely- or not so politely- decline. When I asked if he felt up for the hike, he said “sure.” He must have been feeling pretty chuffed, too. It turned out to be a wonderful, beautiful, uplifting experience. In fact, that hike stands out to me as a top favorite moment in a week of almost nothing but favorite moments. The hike was exhilarating enough to feel challenging and rewarding but was not so difficult to leave me feeling defeated. The greens and golds and browns of the trees filtered the sunlight, weaving webs of shadows under the canopy of branches. I went to New England to see the fall colors. The fall colors were mind-blowing, no question. I also have to say that the green-gold tapestry in the forest surrounding the Queegee Gorge trail was magical also.

Since we were in the area, we also stopped at the Simon Pearce showroom. For those of you who have never heard of Simon Pearce (which included me until a month or so ago), the company makes hand-blown glassware that is clear and pure beyond anything I could ever have imagined before I saw it. We were able to watch the artisans making some of the products while we were there. The showroom is a every s huge open space. Every surface is covered with crystal confections catching rays of light, faceting those rays of light into thousands of tiny bits, and throwing confetti of light back into the atmosphere. It is a starry night, without stars and without night. I wanted my own piece of star, but the prices at Simon Pearce are not for the faint-hearted. I hemmed and hawed and debated until I finally walked away without purchasing. I would like to say I felt good about myself for demonstrating excellent impulse control, but that would be a lie. I did not feel good about myself. I have yet to recover from leaving Simon Pearce empty-handed.

We spent the next day in Woodstock, enjoying the shops and autumn decorations. The day began auspiciously when I found a magnificent parking spot- quite a feat in a village without parking structures- Predictably, my GPS abandoned me, and I got lost when I tried to get to Billings Farm after our Woodstock visit. It turned out that I was going in the wrong direction, which we found out when the GPS finally roused itself. We were going in the wrong direction… right past Simon Pearce. You would have thought I would have taken this as a sign from God, but I did not. I once more passed up the opportunity to acquire very expensive glass table décor.

We did eventually find our way to Billings Farm and had a delightful time. My favorite part was loving on the newborn baby cows. One of these enchanting critters named Fig was especially enamored with me. She nuzzled me, slipped her head under my hand for pets, licked my hands and forearms, and gnawed on my fingers and hands. It didn’t hurt. In fact, it felt kind of pleasant at the time. About half an hour later, I grabbed a railing to steady myself as I walked down a flight of stairs. As soon as my hand made contact with the rail, I realized my hand hurt. I looked at my hand and saw a light bruise in the perfect shape of a calf’s upper palate. Note to self for the future: beware of champing bovines.

On our final full day in Vermont, we headed back to Burlington. I heard about this incredible, over-the-top Christmas store in Shelbourne, right outside of Burlington. I was sure it had my name written all over it. As we approached Shelbourne, I noticed a sign on the side of the road pointing the direction to the Vermont Teddy Bear Company. I made a wild, spontaneous, and madcap decision that we should stop there. Actually, it was not so much a “decision” as it was a “primal calling.” Max and I have a thing about bears. Being in the proximity of the Vermont Teddy Bear Company was complete serendipity. I did take this as a sign from God. After exploring the whole facility, taking a tour, and learning all about how the good people in Vermont build a teddy bear, I plunked down my credit card to pay $100 for a limited edition fall foliage teddy bear. Her name is Maple Sugar. After taking the tour, I at least knew WHY a teddy bear should cost $100. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

After the teddy bear nirvana, we stopped at the Christmas store which was indeed a sight to behold. I circumnavigated the shop at least four times and kept seeing new items every time. It was like somebody took all the fancy decorations in all the fancy holiday windows in Manhattan, along with all the leftover Christmas merchandise, and stuffed it all together in a 2000 square foot barn… and then let the public wander through the Christmas explosion for free.

When we reached the hotel in Burlington, we encountered another complication. The hotel had no record of our reservation, despite the fact that I had an email confirmation. I made the reservation through a third-party website and, it appeared, that somehow the reservation information never made it to the hotel. After several unsatisfactory phone calls and online help chats, I got ahold of someone who promised to check and call me back. The hotel had only one more room left. Since I prepaid with my reservation, I was not too excited about renting the one remaining room and paying twice. Still, both Max and I were getting nervous about waiting on the customer service person to get back to me because we feared the room would sell before we resolved the problem. Another gentleman, who had been staying in the hotel for business for the past several weeks, overheard our conversation. He told us that it was Parents Weekend at the nearby University of Vermont and, also, Canadian Thanksgiving weekend. He helpfully advised us that it was unlikely that we would find lodging anywhere in the vicinity that night. We took the one remaining room, and I figured I could try to mop up the issue with the third-party website when we got home.

All of this took some time, and I was getting hungry. We did have a dinner reservation at five, so we headed out to the restaurant. On the way, we got lost again. Surprise, not surprise. As we made a U-turn to right ourselves, I noticed a very attractive, tony kind of Vermont gift store strategically placed across the main highway from the restaurant. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed glassware in the window. Simon Pearce? I resolved to check it out after ingesting some nourishment. We enjoyed a delicious dinner in a great environment with excellent service. It was a great “cherry on top” end to our trip. While we were at dinner, I checked the gift store’s website. Indeed, they did feature Simon Pearce glass. However, they closed at 5:00pm. Final opportunity to acquire expensive glassware thwarted!

The next day, we traveled home. Aside from a layover (originally 3 hours, extended to 6 hours) in JFK airport, all was well. We got back to our house around 11:00pm, tired and relieved to be home.

Over the past weeks since we have been back, I’ve reflected on the trip often. When we left, I really felt like I wanted and needed a vacation. I was looking forward to rest, relaxation, refreshment, pampering, and a generous helping of TLC. This trip was not that. It was not a vacation. It was an adventure. It was thrilling and exhilarating and confidence-building. It was organic and real and vibrant. I suppose most people would not have considered our adventure “edgy,” but it was for us. Sometimes it is good when God shakes you past your comfortable frontier and into the expanded unknown. Sometimes, you want a vacation, but you need an adventure.

Sometimes you feel like a nut and sometimes you don’t. And sometimes you don’t feel like a nut, but find you enjoy it once you bite into one!

Despite everything, I was still sad to leave New England

Have you ever taken a trip that did not play out the way you expected, but was still an amazing experience? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have an adventurous day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Sometimes You Feel Like A Nut; Sometimes You Don’t- Part One

As you have probably intuited if you are a regular reader of my blog, 2023 has been a pivotal year for me, although stressful. I’ve confronted and battled with some big demons from my past. My last living relative on my mother’s side became critically ill and died, which meant two unplanned trips to Pennsylvania for me. This illness also meant saying good-bye to a much-loved cousin, waiting with her as she finished life in this world, resolving emotionally fraught end-of-life issues, and overseeing her estate. There has also been a rather unsettling shift and expansion of my spiritual life. During the course of this year, I have been working to put the self-discoveries into practice in real life. Change is difficult for most people. For me, it is an uphill slog over a mountain of mud while wearing cement boots. I felt like a vacation was definitely in order.

Recently, Max and I took off on a trip to Vermont and New Hampshire. We took a bus tour of New England about five years ago. That trip was a comedy of errors- so many things went wrong- but I loved, loved, loved New England. I decided that I wanted to go back, without the restrictions of a tour group or the need to constantly bop from one hotel to another. We decided to limit the number of destinations on this trip and to wander in the wind without planning every possible moment. I

In the past, I would have been too scared and nervous to attempt such a bold move. In the past, my anxiety insisted on tidy, carefully planned and scheduled, professionally orchestrated bus tours. I worried I would not be able to find my way around if we went on our own. I worried about directions and driving conditions. I worried that we would miss something critical if I served as the tour guide. I worried that we would “waste time” if I could not articulate a moment-by-moment agenda for the trip before we ever left home. I worried that selecting hotels or vacation rentals on my own would result in lodging us on Skid Row or similarly sketchy neighborhoods.

I was much more confident of my abilities this year. In the past couple of years, I have driven to Georgia, and South Carolina. I drove all over the state of Pennsylvania and much of Maryland during my trips related to my cousin’s death. I have stayed in a few vacation rentals in the past and all of them have been fine.

I was kind of amazed that I was not more nervous as we embarked on the trip. I was actually feeling pretty sassy. I told myself that all that “putting the self-discoveries into practice in real life” was paying off big time. Take that, crappy self-esteem! Still, I was looking forward to a week of relaxing, irresponsible, reinvigorating vacation.

What happened was not that.

Incidentally, my birthday was the day before we left on the trip. It was fairly low key because we were preparing for the trip and wrapping our heads around the notion of leaving for the airport to fly to Vermont at 0 dark yesterday. I had scheduled an Uber a few days before and I thought we were set to leave at 3:30am. Uber confirmed my reservation so I thought we were good. Luckily, a nagging notion in the back of my mind prepared me when 3:30am proved to be too early for the Uber driver. I drove us to the airport. It was not only too early for the Uber driver, but it was also too early for valet parking at the airport. I left Max at the terminal with the luggage and ventured off to find a parking spot. I left the car and headed back to the terminal, breathing a silent prayer that I would be able to locate the vehicle when we returned in six days.

Our flight to Vermont was uneventful. “Eventful” happened for the first time when we went to pick up the rental car in Burlington. I handed over my credit card and driver’s license, like a good girl. The guy at the counter pointed out that my driver’s license was expired… because my birthday was the day before. I had no idea. We solved that problem by having Max rent the car with his unexpired license. The next step to my “solution” was for me to drive the rental car around all week as an unauthorized driver on the vehicle. When we went to get some lunch, I quickly renewed my driver’s license online, but that still did not address the unauthorized driver problem. Luckily, I was not arrested at any time while I was in New England.

We spent the night in Burlington and had an enjoyable time wandering the shops at the Church Street Marketplace. The vrbo rental, although a little worn around the edges on the outside, was charming and comfortable on the inside. The next day, we drove to Stowe, VT to visit the Trapp Family Lodge. I wanted to break into song the moment we turned the corner into the parking lot. The hills certainly were alive with the sounds of music and the sights of a million leaves turning into God’s autumn oil painting. The scenery was spectacular, and the resort was uncrowded.

I decided I wanted to hike to the chapel Werner Von Trapp built behind the lodge. Max was not a fan of that idea because it involved walking down a trail some ways from the main path. He was, predictably, concerned that monsters would get me. I think he meant humanoid monsters that might be hiding beside the trail to attack me. I decided to pursue the trail anyway. After I walked about ten minutes, I saw the trail offshoot to the chapel. Mountain goats would have had trouble navigating it. I am not a mountain goat. I have the coordination of a seasick sloth. As I turned to make my way back to the trailhead, I found Max hiking up behind me, to make sure I was okay.

After a lovely morning at the Trapp Family Lodge, we made our way to New Hampshire. We had tickets for a trip to the summit of Mount Washington on the COG railway the next day. Finding our way to our vacation rental proved to be quite difficult. We found the condo development with little trouble but were stymied by the numbering system. There were other renters who eyed us suspiciously as we circled around the complex looking for numbers that did not exist. I don’t blame them for being suspicious. We could have been casing the joint. I finally stopped to ask for help from some of the suspicious strangers, not so much because I thought they could really help, but because I wanted to make sure they didn’t call the cops… especially with that expired license thing. After consulting with the suspicious strangers, calling the condo owner twice, and Max getting out of the car and inspecting the doors of about five different condos (which, of course, all looked alike), we had our eureka moment. We found the right condo. We breathed a sigh of relief as we hauled our suitcases up the flight of stairs leading to the unit. Well, maybe it was a sigh of relief. Maybe we were just winded. The flight of stairs was pretty steep.

For dinner, we googled restaurants in the area. There were only a couple of choices within thirty miles, and they had odd hours of operation. We found a place that was actually connected to a nearby campground. It wasn’t great, but it was certainly acceptable. We should have taken the hint that our vision of “vacation dining” was not going to pan out well at this location. I guess we got taken in because we went to the stunning and elegant Mount Washington Hotel the next morning for a delicious, bountiful breakfast. That meal gave us the false hope that food in Bretton Woods was plentiful and accessible.

We enjoyed beautiful weather for our ride to the summit of Mount Washington. It was 78 degrees at the bottom of the mountain. It was 47 degrees at the top of the mountain, with 40 mile per hour wind gusts. The guide assured us it was a mild day. A few days later, the temperature at the top was -7 degrees and the wind gusts were 75 miles per hour. We learned a lot of interesting information from our tour guide on the railroad trip.

The most important thing I learned is that people from New Hampshire are crazy. When they were building the railway, workers used to fashion makeshift toboggans- dubbed “devil’s shingles”- to descend the mountain. Skiers wield velocity down mountainsides that are more perpendicular than my living room walls are to the floor . I have no clue what keeps them attached to the snow. Daredevils engage in government-sanctioned car races on the automobile trail up the mountain. You notice I don’t call it a “road.” This trail was not even fully paved until last year. It is a narrow path with no guard rails. As these drivers varoom up the mountain, they look out their windows to see fairly alarming scenery- an 8,000 foot drop off into oblivion. If you ask me, all of this is just wrong. I know New Hampshire’s motto is “live free or die,” but I do have to wonder how many of them have ended up dying somewhere on Mount Washington.

When we returned from the summit, we checked out the little “restaurant” at the visitor base of the mountain. You know those hot dogs that whirl around a heat lamp in movie theaters? The cuisine was similar at the “restaurant.” Max and I decided to pass. When we went looking for another Google restaurant. The directions took us into a campground and seemed determined to lead us through a tunnel into the woods. Max’s spirit of adventure did not extend to traveling in a car down a path to nowhere that looked better suited to foot traffic. He asked (well, “asked” might be an understatement) me to give up this folly and get back on the main road. I wasn’t sure how to grant his request, since there was no place really conducive to turning around, I tried, but Max seemed to think I was going to back us off the path into a ravine. Finally, with his direction, I ended up driving the quarter mile or so back to the main road in reverse. At that point, my own sense of adventure was feeling a bit peaked. I was up for driving the 30 miles or so to the next town with a population large enough to warrant a real restaurant that might actually be open at… you know… dinner time. Max, however, was done. He identified a gas station convenience store, and we bought some suspicious looking shrink-wrapped food to stave off cannibalism. I was feeling a bit testy.

Me, without makeup, in front of a tree all dressed up for autumn on the Trapp property

My pictures don’t really do the trees justice

Please tune in next week for the final installment of Sometimes You Feel Like A Nut; Sometimes You Don’t.

Have a nutty day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

The Scriptures According To Tinker Bell

Please don’t take offense at this title. As I shared a couple of weeks ago, I recently told an adapted Tinker Bell story at our church women’s organization annual coffee. In working through the ins and outs of the performance, it occurred to me that the story did, in fact, demonstrate numerous Scriptural principles. Some of you probably pooh-poohed such an idea. I thought I’d share a little pixie dust and help you understand what I mean. This is the handout that I gave the ladies to help make the connection between Tinker Bell and our Christian walk as Episcopal Church Women.

Scriptural Principles Demonstrated in The Secret Of The Wings

Because we are Christians and know that our “magic” comes from God and not some mythical pixie dust tree, here are some Scripture verses that apply to our Pixie Hollow tale!

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Two are better than one, because they have a good return on their labor: if either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.

Psalm 133:1

How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity.

John 13:35

By this everyone will know that you are my disciples if you love one another.

John 15:12-13

My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

1 Peter 4:8-10

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in various forms.

I hope this helps illuminate the pixie dust tree for you!

Have you ever had an experience when an exceptionally secular reference resonated with you on a spiritual level? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have an enlightened day!

Terri/Dorry 😊