It rains often here as we approach winter. Trees are stripping themselves of their leaves, and preparing for the winter months ahead. When I look up at the sky, I see dark clouds. A sacred entombment is on its way. Nature hides itself, and miraculously, I do too. I have learned to appreciate hiding myself as I slow down and re-energize for spring.
Be safe this weekend.
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia
The view is austere! The situation distressful.
While politicians sit in their playpens, wringing their hands because their political ideologies are not working, a cancer is spreading among us. This pestiferous cluster of cells is eating away at the human race, and politicians are helpless. They can’t help us.
The atrocities keep increasing, and the platitudes spoken by elected officials are no longer sufficient. They can't help us.
WE must face the fact that education is limited when it comes to dealing with situations that demand ingenuity and outside of the box thinking. The theoretical cookbooks of elite universities with their equations and theoretical solutions are useless. They can't help us.
So what do we do now?
Every morning a new trauma presents itself, and we watch death rob us of our young and our old as leaders debate and try to explain why it happened. But they can’t help us!
“What are you going to do, Prophet?” The Child asked.
“Nothing, Child.”
“Why not? Don't you feel the pain, the sorrow? Don’t you see the desperation on people's faces? Don't you hear the wailing?”
“Yes, Child.”
“Then, what are you going to do about it, Prophet?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing. Did I hear you say nothing, Prophet?
“Yes, Child.”
“Why not?” The Child screamed.
“They haven't asked me.”
Shalom aleichem,
Pat Garcia
Some people call him a harlot’s son; one of his grandmothers was a prostitute. Others say he wasn’t really completely Jewish; the Moabite tainted his bloodline.
Who was this man that respected man’s will to choose; that reached out to the brokenhearted and healed the sick?
What could have possessed him to be mocked, scorned, tortured and then hung on a cross? Could it have been love?
Today, over 2000 years later, some people celebrate his resurrection.
I am one of those people.
Shouts of praise came out of the mouths of the women that found his tomb empty, and I, too, shout with praise, JESUS IS RISEN!
Happy Easter Everyone,
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
On April 1, the A to Z Blog Challenge for 2015 begins, and I will be taking part once again.
The challenge is a time where writers come together and write about topics and situations that interest them and make acquaintances.
A small group of people has come together to lead us through the challenge this year and I would like to thank them in advance for accepting the responsibility to walk with every writer who participates.
Also in advance, I would like to thank every reader who will visit my blog. Normally, I feature the Blog Challenge on one of my WordPress blogs as well as TypePad and Blogger, but this year it will be featured on Blogger at www.patgarciaandeverythingmustchange.com and TypePad at www.patgarciaschaack.com - Wind, Rain, Winding Roads & Sunshine ––The By-Ways Of Life only.
My theme featuring The Child and The Prophet will continue.
So, I look forward to your dropping by as The Child moves out on her lily pad into the unknown with The Prophet as her guide and The Whale as her friend. Who knows, maybe she will meet a new companion on the way that will join her.
"Can't," said the Child. "Can't, Can't Can't," she chanted as she stomped around the huge lily pad on the ocean.
"Why can't you?" asked The Prophet.
Sitting in the middle of the lily pad, The Prophet observed the Child's drooping shoulders and bowed head.
"I can't. I know I can't," The Child replied, and the tears flowed.
"Why is that child?"
"Because I'm tired, and if you really cared about me, you would twirl your magic wand, and free me from my fears."
"Why are you tired, Child?"
"I'm tired of going nowhere. We've been on this lily pad for I don't know how long, and we're still in the same place. Why don't you wave that magic wand of yours and tell it to make something happen?"
A smile came upon The Prophet face. It amazed him that her discouragement kept her from seeing the progress that she'd made.
"Is that why you can't, Child?"
"I'm just tired and discouraged?"
"Why are you discouraged, Child?"
"You know you're a contagious little disease that contaminates my mind making me think I can find my purpose."
"Child, what are you afraid of?" The Prophet asked.
"I didn't say I was afraid."
"But you are. The nearer you get to your purpose you say, can't, and your shoulders droop. So tell me, what are you afraid of?"
"I guess I'm afraid of failing," replied The Child.
"Would you like to turn back?"
"No!" The Child said loudly. "I can't turn back."
"Why not?" asked The Prophet?
"Because I don't want to," replied The Child.
"Which means?"
"I won't say can't anymore. Even in failure, there's success." The Child mumbled.
"That's very nice to hear," replied The Prophet.
"Prophet?"
"Yes, Child?"
"Can we dance on the ocean?"
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
Samuel mourned over Saul. God told him to stop mourning and sent him David.
Elijah complained about being alone, being isolated; God listened and sent him Elisha.
All through history we see the same pattern. When God gets ready to move, to intervene, He moves ahead and does something new.
Everything changes; nothing remains the same. One of the basic fundamental premises of living a successful life is the willingness to accept change. You want your life to be different; then change your way of doing things. Reach for the stars that have been planted inside of you and make something out of them.
Yes, stars. We all have them. But we have to be careful that we don't bury them in the sand.
That what one man did, he hid the one gift that he was good at.
Didn't dare to use it, because he thought he might lose it. In the end, he lost it
anyway: he was afraid to change.
There is nothing so frightening about living as living a life of comfortableness. It has robbed many a man and woman of joy and happiness.
Even God get bored with that!
We lull ourselves into a contentment that borders on stupidity and are afraid to change. Our lives grow unexciting, stiff, boring, and we placate ourselves with gossip about others clothed under the mantle of concern and friendly visits as we surround ourselves with like minded people whom we think are moving up, but they are just as stuck in the quagmire as we are.
So, don't be afraid to step out there. There will be giants in your land disguised as resistance, doubt, discrimination, isolation and many more. However, there is fantastic, unbelievable strength and joy in overcoming.
Wineskins," said the man. "You want new wineskins?"
"Yes sir," said the Wine Grower, "I'd love to order 7000 of those fine
golden wineskins."
"But that is going to cost you a fortune," said the owner of the shop. "You
had a pretty good harvest last year, and I tell you you can use those
wineskins you had from last year. The wine will still taste the same."
"I'm not so sure about that," said the Wine Grower." But you see this year, I am doing
something different. Last year's harvest was good. So, I decided to brew a noble wine."
"Man, no one does that," said the Shop Owner. "It takes too much time! Besides you're going to be the
laughingstock of the town, maybe even the whole state."
"That may be true."
"So, do you still want to order those wineskins?" The shop owner asked.
"Sure do. In fact raise the order to 12000."
The shop owner would have fainted if he could have.
"I sure hope you know what you're doing," he said.
"Oh yes, I know exactly what I'm doing," The Wine Grower said, and he chuckled as he departed the store.
And no one pours new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the new wine will burst the skins, the wine will run out, and the wineskins will be ruined. No, new wine must be poured into new wineskins. New International Version (1984 Edition) ZONDERVAN
Ciao,
Pat Garcia
There are times when you wake up and wish you had not. Nothing hurts; no pain in your body; family, friends, and neighbors are all excelling, and you are looking forward to the day ahead. Even though your day is scheduled so tight that you can hardly breathe, all is well with your world. Yet, your early morning wake up disturbs you. You feel strange, restless, exposed, but to what you cannot say.
Like Job, you get up and while drinking your first cup of coffee:
When events like this start taking place that take control of your life out of your hands, hold on, you're caught-on-your-blindside.
Caught-on-your-blindside takes place without your being forewarned. The night before you were dancing to the beat of boogie down baby, or half-heartedly listening to the woes of a friend as you planned your week, or trying to choose which securities you would buy with your bonus for signing on a desired customer for your company.
Suddenly occurrences take place that shake up your entire small world, and as you sit there wondering what will happen next, you yearn to hide yourself because the view in your life has been blocked––you're caught-on-your-blindside.
That is what happened to the woman who had been given a son. Married to an older man, she didn't expect to have a child. She befriended the Prophet out of the kindness of her heart:
Her hospitality towards him,
Her consideration,
Her unselfishness,
Gave her the desire of her heart--a son.
Her son became ill while visiting the father in the fields, and he sent him home to his mother. She did all she knew to comfort him, but the child died as he sat in her lap. Bang! She was caught-on-her-blindside.
There is no way to escape being caught-on-your-blindside; No one is exempt: Like David, before he became king, you run away from crazed people and sour incidences that test your commitment and your reason to live. That you can't see what is on the side of you, whether left or right, or even see through your rear window is natural: And your front windshield is clouded over by foggy incidences that come at you, one after the other: They block your view.
You can't avoid the blindside either: many have tried, but all have failed.
Caught-on-your-blindside is not
A cultural thing
A medical disease or sickness,
A mental illness,
A race problem,
A lack of intelligence,
A behavioral issue of whether you are good or bad,
Or something you did wrongly.
It does not stem from our bad choices.
It is a shy phenomenon that pops up unexpectedly, tests our character, our integrity, our beliefs, and then it leaves just as stealthily as it came––in its own time.
It never wears out its welcome.
The year 2013 came in with a bang, and I welcomed in the year with gratitude in my heart. Yet, that did not exempt me from waking up at 2 AM on the very first day of the year, with a strange feeling. I felt as if I were losing ground under my feet, although I was lying in bed. When the first unexpected incident took place, I was speechless: It hit me in my gut: I was caught-on-my-blindside.
Like Esther, I sat back and learned to hold on until my time had passed: There was no other option.
Family and friends cannot help you when you are caught-on-your-blindside. They may give you advice, but usually, it doesn't work. It may, however, ease your pain, make you laugh, or comfort you for a couple of minutes, but it doesn't stop the occurrences from happening. You are caught-on-your-blindside.
What do you do when you are caught-on-your-blindside?
Being caught-on-my-blindside forced me to run to the source of my existence.
If anyone knew what was happening,
If anyone had the control,
If anyone had solutions,
It was the Creator whom I have given my complete trust. Sure, there were days when I thought this will never end, but again, like Abraham, the father of the faith, I hoped against hope because God is faithful: He keeps his promises, one hundred percent.
So, if you wake up and find yourself caught-on-your-blindside, run to the source of your existence and ride it through until you have been given the ability to see clearly again.
Job did:
The woman with the son did:
Esther did:
David did.
Afterward they smiled: They were no longer caught-on-their-blindsides.
Ciao,,
Pat Garcia
He had just reached his tenth year of life as she opened her eyes and blasted out the first cry of her existence.
As relatives living in the household of their father, the two grew up together, and he had watched her mature into the young woman he desired to marry. The covenant of marriage mirrored their love: their nights were filled with anticipation of what lie ahead, and the intimate yearnings of two lovers' heart did not go unfulfilled. Night after night, they lay in each other's arms and explored the depth of their desire for each other.
One would have thought that the unification of their love would have produced a seed. Yet nothing happen, and each month, the woman endured the inquiring looks of the other women in the town, and the whispers of the men who frown upon her barrenness.
Her husband adored her. Despite the frowns, the jeers, the unkind words that came to his ears, his faithfulness to her remain unbroken. She was the child he had seen at birth, the girl that had matured into a woman under his loving care: Unfaithfulness to her never came across his mind; she was the love of his life, yet she was childless.
What would you have done if you knew that a promise had been given to your husband that you had not fulfilled?
The years passed by. Their nights of enjoyment had not decreased. The man she loved had not humiliated her by putting her away or taking on another wife to bear what her body had refused to give him.
She persuaded him to take her handmaid. He agreed and went into the tent of the handmaid; a boy is conceived.
The handmaid rejected the woman whom she had served and her pride brought about abuse from her employer that caused her to runaway, and the father of her child did nothing. His love belonged to the woman whom he had seen at birth.
Thirteen years would pass before the woman did the impossible.
The sky was blue: White fluffy clouds were dancing below the heavenly blue sky when the three men appeared. She helped her husband to prepare the meal and stood inside the tent eavesdropping. The visitors had mysteriously appeared in their part of the desert, and she wanted to find out where they came from. The one in the middle did the talking. She saw how her husband bowed to him, treating him with respect and giving him the highest honor.
Then the visitor told Abraham something that was for her the best joke she had heard in all her years.
"I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah, your wife will have a son."[1]
She laughed. Her whole body shook with laughter at the ludicrous statement, and her visitor heard her laughter.
"Then the LORD said unto Abraham, "Why did Sarah laugh and say will I really have a child, now that I am old? Is anything to hard for the LORD? I will return to you at the appointed time next year, and Sarah will have a son."
Sarah was afraid, so she lied and said, "I did not laugh."
But he said, "Yes, you did laugh."[2]
Sarah was in her 90th year when her baby boy opened his eyes to the world.
This woman who is the mother of many nations, had borned a son and given him the name that reveals one of the basic emotions of God,
He laughs.
Her son was Isaac,
The son of laughter,
The heir of the Promise,
Conceived in the womb of Sarah,
Beloved wife of Abraham,
The Woman who laughed.
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
[1] Genesis 18:10, The New International Version, 1984, ZONDERVAN
[2] Genesis 18:13-15, The New International Version, 1984, ZONDERVAN
Born ten generations after the great flood, the lad grew up hearing the tales about the invisible God from his descendants who had survived. He probably sat at the feet of his great grandfather Noah, many times removed and listened as he taught him lessons in obedience: He learned first hand from his grandfather Shem, son of Noah, who tutored him: Shem opened the boy's eyes to the ordinances and decrees of God.[1] The boy grew up focused: The God of Noah, the God of Shem was his God too.
He was the second child among three boys: A record of his childhood is not recorded in the Bible. What is recorded is the lineage, the heritage, and the opportunity his father, Terah, missed due to his own idol worship.
Called to leave his country at the age of seventy-five, the man, now married, childless, and wealthy heard the voice to depart, to go, to leave what he had come to know and move into the unknown.
He took his wife; his household, and his nephew along with his household accompanied him. Probably, his entire village considered him to be crazy. Some may have tried to convince him to stay; others may have argued with him, and still others may have pleaded for him to reconsider: But the townspeople's words fell on deaf ears that refused to listen; their visions fell on blind eyes that refuse to see what they saw; the eyes and ears of the man were cloaked with the faith he had received from the tutelage of his tutor and great great grandfather.
At the age of seventy-five, most people are waiting upon death. This man began the adventure of his life.
Leave your country, your people and your father's household and go to the land I will show you. I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you. I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all people on earth will be blessed through you.[2]
"What are you going?" asked the Prophet.
"Don't know," said the man. "God said he will show me."
One man's obedience to launch out into the unknown saved not only a nation but also guaranteed that salvation would come to earth for all mankind forty-two generations, later.
Thus, there were fourteen generations in all from Abraham to David, fourteen from David to the exile to Babylon, and fourteen from the exile to the Christ.[3]
Abraham,
The receiver of the covenant,
The father of many nations,
The father of the faithful.
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
[2] Genesis 12:1-3. THE BIBLE. New International Version, 1984. ZONDERVAN.
[3] Matthew 1:17. THE BIBLE. New International Version, 1984. ZONDERVAN
What do you hear,” the child asked the Prophet, curious to know what was happening below the heavenly atmosphere they lived in, "What do you hear?"
"I hear mothers mourning over the lost of their young."
“But it’s Mother’s Day,” the child replied.
“Oh, how well I know that," answered the Prophet.
"So tell me what do you hear, Prophet? What do you hear?" The child in its naivety thought the earth had gotten better.
"Silence, child, I hear a faint rumbling coming up from a far."
"All right, I won't let out one peeps, but promise me you'll tell me what you hear?" And the child dance around the Prophet with joyous expectations.
"You have my promise. I will only tell you what I hear." Suddenly, the Prophet covered his ears. "Oh the rumble, it’s terrible,” shouted the Prophet. “It gets louder and louder."
"Surely, it is the sound of the people on earth celebrating and cheering as they honor their mothers," the Child said.
"Shh, now, I hear it clearly," The Prophet commanded.
"What is it?" The Child asked.
"It sounds like gunfire going off in schools, at homes, on streets––children killing children."
"But it's Mother's Day."
“Oh, How well I know that." The Prophet mumbled.
"So tell me something good. Tell me of the songs you hear, or the flowers you see, or children honoring their mothers with surprises on this beautiful Mother's Day."
"Wait!" Said the Prophet. "Be still. I hear another cry"
"Oh, goodie. It's about time you heard a beautiful cry."
The Prophet began to cry before the child, and he began to beat his hands against his breast.
What wrong, Prophet, what's wrong? Tell me, what did you hear?”
"Like Rachel crying for her young ones over two thousand years ago, I hear mothers wailing; painful moans, no man can ever imagine, coming up out of the heart of women: mothers wailing for the lost of their young.”
"But it's Mother's Day, Prophet.”
“Oh, how well I know that,” the Prophet answered.
“So, what do you see on this beautiful day for mothers everywhere,” the child asked, hoping the Prophet would report about the presents that made mommies happy on their special day. Maybe, just maybe, the child thought, the Prophet will let me look down and see the celebrations.
“Shall I tell you what I hear? Maybe then you’ll understand what I’m saying,” the Prophet said.
“All right. Tell me, what do you hear, Prophet? What do you hear?”
“I hear mothers wailing for the lost of their young;
Children, whose lives have been cut off by drunken drivers;
Children, whose lives are stopped short by guns in the hands of distorted minds;
Children, whose lives are prematurely ended by the scalpel;
Children, whose lives are snuffed out by bombs as they sleep;
Children, whose lives have been contaminated––destroyed by chemicals dropped from the air as man fights against man.
I see little people, like you, child, who have no voice
To speak out,
To protest,
To vote;
Their lives have been taken away without their consent.”
“But it’s Mother’s Day, Prophet. It’s Mother’s Day.
“Oh, how well I know that!” The Prophet answered.
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
| Sun | Mon | Tue | Wed | Thu | Fri | Sat |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 2 | |||||
| 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |
| 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 |
| 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 |
| 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 |
| 31 |
Recent Comments