Reflections...do they matter?

When one finds oneself in one’s late forties and bombarded with memories from high school, one begins to think one is weird…or is it natural to ponder ones 4 year prequel to adulthood at my age?

I am going to blame the book "Twilight", which I recently finished reading. Harsh…I know-- but that poorly written, boring, in lack of a hawt hero read, mostly catapulted my thoughts back to what I was doing when I was Bella’s age. (Not going to delve into those antics now…and btw, Bella begins as the main character in the book)

Those of you close to me might wonder why reading a teen vampire novel would produce total recall to those years as opposed to say… when I spend Tuesday nights with 30-40 high-school students via our church youth group? Excellent question, I actually wondered that myself. So I enquired-- my answer to myself I find very interesting to analyze.

The high school students in our church’s youth ministry, though most of them significantly wiser than I was at their age, do not seem as old to me as my memory of me in high school. I actually recall an illusion of me that mirrors an adult….Eeeeegads.


This makes me wonder all kinds of things like…Do you, my reader, recall yourself as an adult in your high school season? Is my recollection indicative of what I thought of myself then? If so would my life look any differently if I had not, if I actually understood that I was a kid? Which teens that I encounter in my life today perceive themselves as adults, which ones are aware they are just kids? And which of those categories of teens is actually more mature?

Enter Facebook…an abrupt contrast to deep thoughtful questions right? You see, my crazy Facebook page is fun and quirky while at the same time annoying and inefficiently usable. And wouldn’t you know that as soon as I finished reading Twilight, several high school classmates asked me to become their FB friend.

“So…big deal Tink, you have added a few blast from the past Facebook friends… whuupee!”
“Listen little Miss Pixie Dust….doncha evah trash talk my fb friends list…I will take you down!”
So how do I reverse the photo…today I see quite a different reflection! *wink wink*

~Photos copied from Google Images

Odd Shots On Monday

Window frost this morning

Melodies Played By Forgiveness

I watched an admirable movie yesterday titled “Music Within”. I had not recalled ordering it on my Netflix account (sadly not unusual these days) therefore considered just sending it back for lack of interest from the slipcover description. This I ignored since I had the television to myself for a few hours. I decided to just scrap the list in my head of “should do’s” and sit down for a movie all by myself even if it ended up being a bust….”alone with the TV is rare—seize the opportunity Tink”.

The main character, Richard Pimental, is dealt a life as a child with circumstances that I could relate to…they were not replications of mine, yet our heart responses toward our mothers were what I found similar. In contrast the movie displays a life by Richard Pimental that was determined in spite of his mother issues. I eventually gained similar motivation of spirit -- but my road there was very long and resistant…not at all naturally in tact like I witnessed in this film.

Rather, I chose an attitude of victim hood that sucked many years from my life’s purpose; consequently it sucked life from my family as well. Forgiving myself of what it robbed them was one very large mountain for me to climb with countless reoccurring shame visitors rallying to convince me that I was not worthy of such forgiveness.

“Coincidentally” this morning’s worship service topic was forgiveness. It was tremendously joyful to be reassured of forgiveness truths. I was reminded without pain, what my mountain climbs laden with unforgiveness have cost, yet freely dance knowing that victory is won under forgiveness. Even better--life’s gifted purposes are released through a life of victorious forgiveness. These gifts of purpose are our music within.

What is your music within?

This is what I think my music within is:

The House by the Side of the Road

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that swell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by;
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban;
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears
Both parts of an infinite plan;
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by;
They are good, they are bad, they are weak,
They are strong,
Wise, foolish - so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat
Or hurl the cynic's ban? -
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
~Sam Walter Foss

*Photograph is of the home my mother grew up in-taken in 1951