Establishing a pattern of healthy living establishes hope for a healthy future.
Allowing your body to fall behind in one aspect of healthy living can negatively affect your overall health and happiness as every system in the body is closely interacting with the others. Take control of your health.
A visit to the grocery store will reveal chemicals, processing and lots of fat. Shop mostly in the produce department. Better yet, shop at a produce stand down the road! Eat real food! Summer is the best time to get started. Farmer’s Markets are busy selling their harvests on a regular basis. Berries , tomatoes & squash along with oodles of herbs are plentiful!
Also, visit http://www.naturessunshine.com and start with a really good multivitamin.
You don’t have to purchase everything they sell, just start with a multivitamin, real food and a little exercise! Don’t give up, but press on towards feeling good. You can do it!
Establishing a pattern of healthy living establishes hope for a healthy future.
Sometimes the tides are high, very high. The water is cold and I am alone. The undercurrent pulls me under.
Because I belong to the Most High God, the creator of both Heaven and Earth, I am able to rise to the surface again to breathe. I keep trusting that I will be able to take that next breath, and so I do take that next breath.
In the meantime, I am battered. I am tired and misunderstood. It doesn’t matter. I am trusting in Him.
Well meaning people have tried to offer help. Their help does not help. It is comforting to know that someone cares, though. But their help is not help.
The struggle to stand tall, keep my committments, go forward and not give time or emotion to what others think is difficult because there is that delicate balance between doing what is right and what I have to do & making sure that I don’t lead anyone else down the wrong road. Rebellion is not my goal. Following God is my goal.
“When I am afraid, I will trust in God”.
“Yet though He slay me, in Him will I trust”.
The tide will become low tide at some point and I will enjoy the quiet water, until then I will continue to come up to breathe and know that high tide doesn’t last forever, but eternity with my Heavenly Father does.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Finding a Memory
Before the days of interstate highways, we would go to my grandfather’s mother’s house sometimes. She lived about 60 miles away down a country road. She lived in a little white “granny” house in a place with a really long Indian name. We never were close, but I do have fond memories of going to visit.
It was always on a Sunday that we would pile in the car and follow my cousins and grandparents in their automobiles. We would stop about half way there at one of those highway picnic areas, a roadside stop, that had a couple of concrete tables. The place where we always stopped was close to a creek, so that’s where we washed our hands.
I don’t remember my mother packing a lunch. That’s how oblivious I was as a child. . What I do remember about lunch, though, was that she had always fried a chicken and for whatever reason, it always tasted so good & cold, right out of the cooler. Of course, potato salad was on the menu, too. It was Daddy’s favorite. I don’t remember a dessert. We didn’t need it.
Then, still in my Sunday clothes, I would run down to the creek with my cousins. They were all boys and it was not fair that they could wear pants while I had to be careful in my dress. Mama wouldn’t let me change clothes after church because we seldom saw this particular great-grandmother and I needed to look my best, besides…. it was Sunday.
So back in the cars again. Down the road we went with the windows down and the warm air blowing in our faces, my curly hair flying everywhere.
Finally we pulled into her drive. She would sit out on the front porch with us all afternoon. (Daddy told me that when he was a little boy that she would knit him a pair of socks in an afternoon while they sat on the porch. That’s how fast she could knit.) If it was Easter, we would hunt Easter Eggs in her front yard over and over again. Then , to distract us kids for a while, my daddy and grandfather would take us kids on a hike (yes, I was still in my Sunday clothes…). We would go through the woods down to the spring and hear about how the indians used to go to this very spring years and years ago and drink that water, so we would pretend that we were indians and drink water from the spring.
The last time I ever went to her house for a Sunday afternoon visit I was probably 11 or 12 years old. Years later I heard that she was up on a ladder at the age of 92 painting the outside of her house.
The other day I found myself in a community near where I remembered her living. I had driven out there to take a friend home, so after I dropped her off I thought that I would see if my great-grandmother’s house was still there. The problem was that I hadn’t been there since I was a young girl. I didn’t even have an address. I only had a memory.
So off I went to explore the area to see if anything looked familiar. I drove down one road and then another… beautiful countryside….several new neighborhoods filled with new brick houses. The day was wearing on and I hadn’t found what I was looking for. Lot’s of cars and trucks passed me as I slowly rolled down the country roads looking for that memory.
As time was ticking by, I noticed the sun sliding down behind the hills and I thought that I probably needed to head toward home before I got lost. There were, though, just a couple more roads that I hadn’t explored so, you guessed it, I went for it. I’d lost any connection on my cell phone, so… no “maps” help, but… hey, when would I have this opportunity again? I turned down a road that was named “something Springs Rd.” Maybe this was close to her house and the spring that we used to visit. No, this road looked too new. I turned around and headed toward home. Then, I turned on one more road that I knew would lead me to a main road. After I’d gone a mile or so, I came to an intersection that had a street sign that looked like it had been there for 50 years at least. I turned left. The second house was my great-grandmother’s house, I was sure.
If it wasn’t the right house, it sure looked like it, but looking at this house now I realized that her house would have looked like so many other houses from the same time period.
There was someone in the yard so I snapped one pic and left discreetly, I thought.
I needed to turn around to head home, but at least I had a photo to show my dad. He would be able to tell me if I’d found her house.
Shortly after I turned around to head for home for sure this time, I saw a small, familiar creek! I whipped that phone out again and snapped one more photo! I was almost sure I had found that place in my memory. Before I was able to get going again, a young man in a small red car zipped in front of me blocking my way. He jumped out of his car and started walking toward me. What had I gotten myself into? I was all alone. He wanted to know why I was taking pictures of his house. Uh.. oh….. I hadn’t meant to alarm anybody.
I told him that I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to scare him, that I was just looking for my great-grandmother’s house and I told him her name. He immediately recognized the name and said that ‘yes, that the house had been her’s’. Then I saw this young man’s parents running up to my car. With all the commotion, I felt like I’d screamed “fire!” in a crowded theater.
We talked for a few minutes, all of us… me, in my car and them standing in the road
waving upcoming vehicles on past us. I think the father knew everyone who had past by. I found out that the father’s grandmother was very good friends with my great-grandmother and that in a round about way, we are related. He is the Missions Minister at a local church. They were such amiable people. I’m so glad that I met them.
I’m so glad that I found my great-grandmother’s house. I’m glad that I found my memory. I’m glad that I made a new memory. I just might make that Sunday afternoon visit one more time…maybe stop by KFC and get a bucket of chicken and put it on ice, just for old time’s sake. I might even hike to the spring that the Indians drank from and pretend that I’m an Indian again.