GOD MAKES THE DRINK, NOT THE CUPS

One cold evening late in December, a group of alumni who were well established in their careers, got together to visit their old professor. After arriving at his residence, each began to boast of their individual successes, and before long old rivalries began to surface. Their only common thread seemed to be bitter complaints about the stresses each of them experienced in their workplaces and in their daily lives.

The professor listened quietly, then offered his guests a cup of hot chocolate. He went to the kitchen and returned with a large container and an assortment of cups, porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal; some plain looking, some expensive, some quite exquisite, telling them to help themselves to the hot chocolate.

When all of his former students had a cup of the chocolate in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups were quickly taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress. Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the hot chocolate. In most cases the cup is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was the warm drink, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best, most attractive cup...and then you began eyeing and envying one another's cups."

"Now consider this: Life is the hot chocolate, the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define, nor change the quality of Life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the warm drink God has provided us. GOD MAKES THE DRINK, NOT THE CUPS.

Enjoy your hot chocolate! And remember: The happiest people don't have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything."

DON'T JUST SIT THERE!

Do you ever feel like you are going nowhere?

Have you ever just stopped what you are doing because you were frustrated?

Well, my friend I have news for you. We are all going places even when we stop.

I was responding in an email to my friend Nathaniel. I said, "It's always good to have a dream and an ultimate dream, but use patchwork on the reality of your life."

I was talking about my front porch. It desperately needs to be replaced, but we can't afford it.

When I think about it, I have three possibilities.

1. My ultimate dream would be to tear it down and replace it with a small two story addition. Our bedroom is tiny so the second story would expand it a bit. The downstairs extension would be a closed in sitting area.

2. The dream would be to just replace the porch with a three season enclosure.

3. The reality is to patch the porch with a few new boards and lots
of paint.

I realized when I said this that formula is perfect for so many of my everyday dreams and plans.

The ultimate dream, the dream and the patchwork of reality.

Of course, one could argue that the fourth would be to do nothing.

Let it sit.

Then I "just happened to" (it never "just happens" for me) come across two interesting facts.

We may try to "sit this one out" but we are still moving.

How?

Earth's average distance to the Sun is 150,000,000 km (93 million miles), therefore the distance it travels as it circles the Sun in one year is that radius x 2 x pi, or 942,000,000 million kilometers
in a year of 24 hours/day x 365 1/4 = 8,766 hours so you divide to get 107,000 km/h or about 67,000 mph.

Yep! That's you and I on the move even when we sit still.  (I didn't figure that out. I researched it. There are other more complicated answers available, but I think this makes my point.)

Oh, what about creating a "new you"?

My doctors keep telling me that I need to re-create myself in order to be happy.

I found out I already do that without really trying...

Your skin, due to shedding of skin cells, replaces itself every 7 years. Actually, your skin sheds every 28-45 days, rejuvenating the epidermis and allowing the next generation of skin cells to come forward. The dead skin needs to slough off to allow the new cells to the top. We shed about 40 lbs of skin in a lifetime.

Gee, I need to lose weight. 40 lbs isn't bad.

Yes, there were other influences and possibilities with that fact, too, but again I think it makes the point.

The truth is you can't just sit there and expect positive change in your life. You can't just stop in one place and expect to get towhere you really want to be.

You have all that you need to make those changes.

You don't want to end up with a life that has been patched up too many times.

So, "don't just sit there!"

"I believe in you!

THE CHAIR

No matter where she moved or who she married that little chair had a place in her home. I had admired it for years and, although it was nothing special except that it belonged to her, I longed to have it.
Bright pink corduroy, she called it a "Sweetheart Chair". It was sort of heart shaped on the back and I guess the color, pink, gave it its name. Why I was so drawn to it, I can't really say. I just was.
Aunt Ann was like a second mother to me; full of advice, especially about men, relationships and marriage. Heaven knows she was fully schooled to give it, having had four husbands of her own, two of which she just plain out lived. She believed in marriage and it was quite obvious that when she was between husbands, she wasn't happy.
She loved taking care of her husband (and everyone else for that matter), waiting on them hand and foot, satisfying their every need. God fearing and a true servant to the Lord, she lived her life as an example of that and there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't draw from her unfaltering faith and her willingness to serve him and others.
Pecan pies were her specialty and my Dad said she was as good a cook as my Grandmother (who, he would always add, was one of the best). If I needed a recipe for anything it was her I called because she knew it by heart and even today I can fondly hear her say, "Well Honey, let me tell you what you need.".
Like my Grandmother, Aunt Ann never met a stranger and her home and her kitchen table was open to anyone and everyone. She made sure you never left without eating something, even at the very least, a slice of pie and coffee.
I guess that is why I wasn't surprised by her answer when I mentioned the chair. "Aunt Ann" I said while admiring it again, "if you ever decide to get rid of that chair, would you let me have first dibs?" "Why sure, Honey", she would say. Then, in a whisper, "You just come over some time when Harry isn't around, and I will just give it to you". I knew she feared Harry and what he would say or do if she gave something away, so I just accepted that.
He was her fourth husband and at the time she met him she was well into her seventies and had all but given up on the idea of having a companion for the remainder of her life. Harry courted her with flowers and cards, gifts and affection and she was like a schoolgirl with her first crush. A retired fireman, he seemed perfect in every way and we were all thrilled when she announced their plans to marry. But Harry was not the man she thought he was and the following 9 years with him would prove to be a struggle and a challenge of faith, hope and love for even the most dedicated of Christians.
In long conversations with her on the phone late at night, she would reveal to me the darkest and most troubling of stories about Harry and his bizarre behaviors. I knew she was afraid, afraid to stay and afraid to leave. We would talk for hours and I was always instructed by her, "Now Honey, don't say anything to anyone, this is just between us, OK?"
As we grew closer, I learned to love and respect her more than I ever thought possible. She was so good to everyone, and no matter how much she was driven down by Harry, she would always rebound with a smile and a kind word. Although I feared for her safety and well being, her dark secrets about Harry were mine and hers alone and out of love and faithfulness to her; I kept them to myself as she had asked.
October 12th of 1999 would prove to be one of the darkest days of my life when word came that she had died tragically and unexpectedly. My personal loss was unbearable. Gone was my mentor, my advisor, my counselor and the one person who could light up my life with the sound of her voice. I was lost. The months following her death would result in a total lack of communication and cooperation from Harry. He closed the doors and locked us out, denying us even the smallest of her possessions.
Months later, after hopeless negotiations with Harry and as a last resort, her daughter Jan would hire an attorney to obtain a small list of personal items that belonged with our family and had been handed down through generations. As my 50th birthday drew near and still grieving her loss, I dreaded it. Each special event in my life since her death just didn't have the same enthusiasm and I knew not having her here to burst through the front door, carrying her pecan pies and calling out to me, "Honey, what can I do to help you?" would be yet another challenge to my faith in understanding why.
As I busied myself with preparations for the party my daughters were hosting for my 50th, the doorbell rang. Aunt Ann's daughter, Jan and her husband Joe had dropped by to wish me a happy birthday and apologize for not being in town to attend the event the following day. We visited for several hours and caught up on family and friends, world events and local news. Joe excused himself and went unnoticed to his truck.
A few moments later he returned carrying a rather large wrapped 'gift' that he carefully sat down at my feet. "What's this?" I questioned. "It's your birthday present. Open it up", Jan coaxed. Bewildered by the whole thing, I cautiously un-wrapped the gift. I stood in total silence and amazement, my throat blocked by a huge emotional lump. There, at my feet, was that little pink Sweetheart Chair.
I turned to my cousin, with tears in my eyes, unable to speak. As if she could read my mind she explained, "When I gave the lawyer my list of items I wanted from Mother's house, I remembered the chair - the chair I knew Mother wanted you to have." I had no idea she even knew of the discussions about the chair, much less that she would request it - for me! It was the perfect gift - and suddenly turning 50 never looked better to me.
To lighten the mood, Joe asked with enthusiasm, "Well, where do you want it?" I wiped my cheeks and instructed him, "Follow me, I have the perfect place for it". He picked it up once again and followed me down the hallway to my room. As he sat it in the spot I selected, the wonderful memories I had of my conversations with Aunt Ann filled me with warmth I had long forgotten since her death. Her very presence was there too.

So there it sits, that little pink chair - the Sweetheart Chair, she called it - right there in my room and when I open my eyes in the morning, it is the first thing I look at and remember with great fondness my special Aunt Ann and I can almost here her say, "Now Honey."

THE COLOR OF MY WORLD

Strange, isn’t it? No, actually it‚s bizarre. Ladies, you can identify with this. When you‚re pregnant, don‚t you happen to see pregnant women everywhere you go?
I have a friend who, distraught about losing his hair, saw bald men wherever he went.

Same thing happens to me. When the discussion about my blindness surfaces, stories about a myriad of eye problems flood the conversation. Recently, a friend told me his father also lost his sight. All he could see were shadows and one other thing--the color orange. So, as a good son, he painted all items in his father‚s home bright orange.

"Hmm," I said. "Wonder what that might be like. Guess it would be better than not seeing any color at all."

But then reality struck me. Though I have no sight and thus, am unable to see any colors at all, my world is painted brighter than a rainbow across a blue sky.
I see the color of hope. Hope that fills my heart every morning and nudges me along from the moment my feet slide into my bedroom slippers. Hope because I have the gift of one more day. Hope to find yet another way to brighten someone else‚s life. And also the hope that the triumph over my difficulties can serve as encouragement to others.

Vivid hues of adventure brush across the canvas of my world. Adventure, particularly when I travel by myself. When I pick up my white cane, kiss hubby good-bye, I brace for the adventure ahead, unaware of the friends I’ll meet along the way, I welcome each unknown step. I giggle inside, wondering what stories I’ll hear from the passenger seated beside me on the plane. And the excitement of knowing I’ll come home with stories to tell adds to the adventure.

The bold color of determination highlights my days as well. Writing fiction is tough, requires tons of talent and rewrites, patience and more hard work.

But the deep shade of determination brushes over spots of discouragement. And perseverance blends with determination resulting in the painting of success.
Also, the brilliant shades of joy purposefully dotted swirl throughout. And, though not overpowering, the accent gives a refreshing and revitalizing look to my world.
A soft hue of quiet reflection adds a warm tone. Reflection in silence before God to draw serenity and calmness in the midst of a hurried world.

And finally, a rich wooden frame of gratitude borders the portrait I see. Enormous gratitude as the eyes of my heart gaze upon the divine artist whose hands brushed vibrant colors across my world.