Ruminate

I’ve just submitted a short story to a Christian fiction magazine, Ruminate (http://www.ruminatemagazine.com). I wrote it about 3 years ago, and am at the point I want it out there. I can handle my name being on it, on that topic, on those emotions.

Maybe now I can go finish the other three stories. I’ve got Nano fever, after all.

Spiritual Warfare

For two weeks I’ve seen this coming, sort of.  Let me explain, and perhaps fictional literature is better to do the job at this than my direct experience?

At any rate this is the way I choose to express my Self and my Experience at the moment.

 — — — — — 
I think THIS would be a good introduction.
At the misty shoreline, Frank paused as Scott chose to break the silence by skipping a rock.  Looking up from the dead leaves he had been shuffling against yellow and red lake rocks, Frank’s eyes pierced through the older man, boring past him to an unseen point.

“They care, you know.”

Frank was silent, digging his hands deeper into his pockets and his feet just shuffled against the remaining reminders of fall.  Turning from Scott, he gazed over the lake, watching the wafts of mist rise before the sun turned the sky yellow.  Breathing in slowly, he exhaled, “Never said it was about them.”

“Then, tell me.  You’ve got to tell someone, don’t you?  Can’t say you’re not busting at the seams to tell someone.”

Swallowing, Frank continued looking to the opposite horizon of the lake while the camp lay in slumber behind them.  “Ever get an invitation from a distant friend?  You feel obliged for what you once had with them, but now you don’t have much connecting you anymore?  It’s not like that.  This is like your best friend asking you to consider a serious decision that benefits both of you.”  Frank looked expectantly at Scott, who was more pensive than passive, “Go on.”

“Well, like I’ve told Thom, it’s kind of like praying at church.  I’m talking to a Friend about things that would benefit both of us, once we’ve each heard the other and considered whether the gain is worth the battle.”

“What battle.”

Frank looked at Scott like he was a fool, “Souls.  God asked me to help fight for the Souls that have the least inkling of belonging to Him.  What were you thinking I was going to say?”

“Not a clue.  Good and Evil is hardly convincing these days.”

The teen shrugged his flannel-clad shoulders, “It’s been called worse.”

“How’d you get to this point?”

“What point? Quiet?  God’s not in the loud wind, right?”

With a nod of his head to the right, Scott conceded.  “What happens? Where do you go?”

“Where do you go in the boundary blurriness between sleep and waking?  God uses that space, for me, to enter into His realm.  At first I was scared and unable to do very much at all.  I was answering the phone, so to speak, or returning the R.S.V.P.  Now that boundary just stretches out before me.  I really can’t explain what really happens.  As for where I go, I’m still right here.”

Scott nodded, longer curls than his brother bobbed along.  Turning his gaze in the same direction of Frank’s he let silence slip over them for a while.  Breaking it, “So, God asks you to fight for souls.  How do you know which ones?”

“I don’t.  He tells me and I heed.”

“How does He tell you?”

“Mary’s the four-star General of His Army.  It’s marching all around every day even though you can’t see or feel the trembling of it’s force.  I’ve experienced their power, since I’m not the only one living that joins forces with the commanders and generals, which you must know are the saints.  Mary lets me know.”

“Mary.”

“Yes.”  With that Frank turned from Scott and wandered a bit further along the shoreline, signalling with his body language the exploration was over.  If Scott wanted more, he’d have to chisel through Frank’s armour, or enter God’s world.

Photos from November 26th

On the day after Thanksgiving, I went out to the South Coast Botanical Garden since I had been aching to take photos, and needed to get out of the house. An acquaintance of mine from other hiking trips has a gorgeous camera and is able to take professional quality landscape panoramics.  So, with his images feeding my itchy fingers, and mom’s sour mood driving me from the house, I took to the Garden.

About 30 minutes into the park, I was photographing a borage bush that coincidentally had a bee on it.  Well, Mr. Bee decided to fly at me, and thinking it went up my sleeve, I did my bee dance and dropped the camera with the lens fully extended.  [Insert woeful face here]

These are the photographs before the bee incident.

Paper-white Narcissus
 In the Rose Garden
 Fuchsia in a Hanging Basket
 Daisy in the Volunteer Garden
 Peppers in the Volunteer Garden
 Dewdrops
 Lily of Some Sort
 Coral and Pink hued daisies

Maranatha!

Veni, veni Emmanuel;
Captivum solve Israel,
Qui gemit in exilio,
Privatus Dei Filio.
Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel,
Nascetur pro te, Israel!
Veni, veni, O Oriens;
Solare nos adveniens,
Noctis depelle nebulas,
Dirasque noctis tenebras.

Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel,

Nascetur pro te, Israel!

 

Veni, Clavis Davidica!
Regna reclude caelica; 
Fac iter tutum superum,
Et claude vias inferum.

Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel,

Nascetur pro te, Israel!

 

Veni, veni Adonai!
Qui populo in Sinai,
Legem dedisti vertice,
In maiestate gloriae.

Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel,

Nascetur pro te, Israel!

 

On Being Defensive

I almost can’t remember all the events of today…almost.

By 11am the fit was ready to hit the shan.  I got up to go grab a chart from the office, when the front desk lady stops me, tells me a social worker from APS (adult protective services) tried to get in touch with me on the phone, and that he would be coming to the ADHC.  I replied that I did not a [his name] and why would APS be coming to the Center?  I got the chart and the Administrator asked me the same question, I denied it again.  It was decided with nursing, the front desk lady and the program director present that no one would be speaking to the APS social worker alone.  In fact it was decided by the Administrator that she would sit in with me while the APS was speaking with me, and there would be a joint session with the APS as well.  These decisions are against regulations.

Going back to my office, I was cornered in the hallway between my office and the nurses office by my boss (the owner of the ADHC).  He was asking about the APS report I had copied on Thursday, and I explained it as, which is the truth: I made a couple of copies because I only have a Spanish version, and I only had one English version,  and needed a few others for the future.  He wasn’t pleased.  I called my co-social worker from the bathroom.  Then using the classic female ploy of grabbing my purse and heading back into the restroom, I called the APS and gave them my name and number; informed them that if they were sending out a social worker to the Center to get in touch with him and tell him no joint meetings, that he had to insist on single meetings.

Then I went back to my desk and returned to my paperwork, writing up letters to doctors telling them that their patients are showing the first signs of dementia or Alzheimer’s.  I was having a fun morning between that and orienting the elderly schizophrenic that there wasn’t actually someone there talking to him on the couch.
 I called my co-social worker on my cell a second time, now having shut the door and jammed the door-stopper in, so I could speak with some assurance that I wouldn’t be interrupted.

After this, some discussion in the social work office with the Administrator, myself, and the LCSW about the specifics of our paperwork and the confusion that is occurring with the audit, and where previous social workers dropped the ball.  Then we all headed back to the office to go over some other charts to clear up the matter with the Program Director, and the front desk lady comes in.  She says that the man who she thought was the APS social worker was coming in from another agency and was investigating my abused elder’s caregiver for a felony case, and wanted to check on his safety, and was about to go to the house and check on the other elders living there as well.  So the supposed APS worker was really a social worker from another agency checking in to see about the abused client because his caregiver is wanted for a felony case.  I don’t know the nature of that felony.

…and my back stopped hurting for a moment.