It’s My Right To Be Wrong

Is it wrong to be right? That depends.

Being knowledgeable, educated, and informed is admirable. Having to always be right is wrong. Not only is it a character flaw, it’s irritating as hell to others! I know. I mean, I know I’m right. I mean…wait. Let me explain.

I was so consumed with being right that I didn’t see how I was affecting others.  I just thought they were copping an attitude because they were wrong. To compound my condition, “not being wrong” trumped “being right.” Anyway, we all know: nobody likes a smarty-pants, a know-it-all.

Pathetically, I didn’t consider myself to be a know-it-all; I just thought I was always right. It’s called “a blind spot.” For me, it was one of many. The incident that triggered my most notorious delusion was a road trip.PHOTO COMPASS N S E W

I was reared in Tennessee, attended college in Mississippi, lived and worked in Mississippi, Illinois, and Colorado until I moved back south to Alabama. On the first trip traveling north to visit my parents in West Tennessee, a mysterious incidence occurred to us, my sister and me, pairofabnormals.

The journey involves driving west across the Alabama border into Columbus, Mississippi. At Columbus, we turn due north, where “magnetic (compass) north” and “geographical (true) north” are exactly the same, toward which we continue through Tupelo (yes, the birthplace of Elvis), then Corinth, and up into Jackson, Tennessee before arriving in Martin, our hometown. It was upon entering the small town of Tupelo that my compass went haywire.

Although we followed the road signs, we found ourselves on the road back to Alabama. We circled back in our autocraft to the city’s entrance and tried it again, paying closer attention.

Flabbergasted, we found ourselves back on the vexingly familiar road to Alabama. From our prior practice runs, we recognized the Tupelo exit and frantically veered for it before it was too late.

This time, my navigational skills kicked in. I knew we were headed north. For us to have persisted in circling Tupelo, we must have been turning back west to end up returning south, so I offered this sage advice to calculate east: “Follow the sun because it sets in the east.”

Well, there are two things you can’t take back: childbirth and your words. Now, it is written!
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We finally found our way out. But, on our second and third trips back to Tennessee, we experienced what we have respectfully labeled “The Tupelo Triangle” again, and again. Now, the interstate bi-passes Tupelo, but I suffer déjà vu just at the thought.

I’ve been humble, and I’ve been humbled. Hmmm. Do I want to be right or have satisfying relationships? It’s a heart choice. In truth, I was hiding my insecurity behind the mask of confidence. The masquerade translated into arrogance.

You know: When being confronted by arrogance, it’s like a burr under a saddle? Woe, Nellie!

I’ve learned that it’s not important to have the last word, to know all the answers, or to appear to be more than I am. What matters is other’s feelings and doing my best not to cause offense.

My feelings don’t suffer anymore when I’m wrong; though when I am, it’s always good for a laugh. In fact, stroking my ego is a thing of the past. Toot, toot! Ooops…

Even now, sometimes when I’m wrong, my sister loves to remind me: “The sun sets in the east.”

“East is east and west is west, And the wrong one I have chose.” (song “Buttons and Bows”)

WHEREVER!

Independence Day

God bless America and those who have sacrificed for our freedom!

PHOTO 4th of July Freedom Home of the free bec of braveIf you know anyone suffering from PTSD, Gary Young, founder of Young Living Essential Oils, has formulated the “Freedom Sleep and Freedom Release Collection” to soothe the mind and help release emotional trauma. Let’s help to bring them back to freedom.

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“Cactus” and Bullwinkle

Getting ready for The Fourth?

PHOTO PISTOL GRILL

No permit needed for this “firearm. It would’ve been perfect for my hunter Dad, “Cactus.” He and his hunting buddies bragged over strong Maker’s Mark. But, NO bragging, my dad was a reMARKable marksman!

“Cactus” is a legend in my neck-of-the-woods. Particularly, the part of his 2 daughters being photographed sitting in “Bullwinkle’s” palmates. (Anyone know of the pics’ whereabouts?) This guy is so-o-o big, it takes double loading doors to maneuver him indoors! The only place we could view him was at our local pool hall.

PHOTO Daddy's Bullwinkle.

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Daddy taught me how to “lead” dove for an accurate shoot (and my bag limit); how to draw my bow, and aim my arrow, for a “bull’s eye.” But, what I inherited from my dad was a love of nature.

Despite his kill-it-and-eat-it testosterone, I was tuned in to Earth, God, the Universes, and human consciousness of ALL. I’m gratefully aware of my finite self, who is infinitely a part of I AM.

Are you?

You can be more impressed with my Daniel Boone-ish dad in the “That Was Then” chapter of Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html

Animal Love

I’ve been the blessed owner of 3 dogs: a precious, loyal Miniature Schnauzer, Wolfgang (“WG”), a gorgeous, sweet Irish Setter (“Coors”—yes the beer; he and WG were stepbrothers in the 70’s), and a happy, playful Black Lab, “Shadow,” in the 90’s. (I couldn’t find a picture, but he’s highlighted in the “FYI” chapter of Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html.)

I understand canine loyalty…UNTIL they catch a “can’t-say-no” scent, decide to cause mental distress from a run-away-offering-cash-reward-for-information-of-their-whereabouts, or just to take a cooling swim in the nearby lake!

Even though they were all indoor dogs, they car-traveled, hiked, camped, and jogged with us; and, the Lab loved duck hunting, especially retrieving in the frigid water!

I’ll agree that loved/cared-for dogs will develop a steadfast loyalty to one (occasionally a second) member of their human family. I can even attest to it. The minute I stood up, WG came to attention anticipating our destination. And every day after work, he was waiting at the door to greet me. (Before Coors, WG’s feline stepbrothers, Trampas and Trooper, were associate “look-outs” in my front windows.)

But, let me tell you: my EVERY move is accompanied by my Chinchilla-furred cat, the debonair Fred Astaire—a feral I tamed. His unclipped claw’s dance taps behind me. He knows my routine so well that half the time he leads me, anxiously looking over his shoulder to make sure I don’t get lost on “our” way! He’s as much unconditional love as any dog doesn’t think about being!

iPhone Pictures 066

To squeeze in as much time as he can with me, he sits in the bathroom sink when I brush my teeth, as well as when I put on and take off my make-up; on my desk in front of my computer screen as I write and research; beside my chair when I eat, read, talk on the phone, and go to the bathroom. And, of course, my lap; that goes without saying! Your dog, and Mary’s lamb, have nothing on Fred!

Not only can he scale my fireplace to spring onto the horizontal wood beams adjoined to the outer walls, but he can jump vertically, almost 5-feet, straight up, from my countertops to the top of my kitchen cabinets…to keep a look-out while I cook.

And HONESTLY, I carefully take over-the-shoulder rear views before moving! Even after 13 years of accidentally pressing a claw or tail, he’s still bad about sitting under and behind my wheelchair.

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What an unconditionally loving, loyal dat! Or, could it be “separation anxiety?”

Have you a “Big Fish” tale?

Here’s more on Fred: (an excerpt from Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html )

“He’s a Russian Blue on the outside but pure dog on the inside. He’s that rare breed, half dog/half cat, that I call a dat!

The cat part of him has sleek, satiny slate-colored fur, grass-green eyes (all three of my cats got my eyes), and exceptionally long, fang-like canines. They make it appear as if he’s always smiling. He head butts for kisses, closes his eyes in feline bliss when petted, and stands up on his hind legs to politely pat my arm for attention when I am otherwise predisposed.

The dog part comes running when I whistle, drools when his ears are rubbed, climbs my chair, cat-like, to stand show-dog-style on top of my push-handles, and rolls over on his back with front paws extended…offering up more belly for a belly rub.

Most nights he sleeps propped against my chest under my right arm, on my right shoulder or at my head.”

*The Russian Blue is a naturally occurring breed that may have originated in the port of Arkhangelsk, Russia. They are also…called Archangel Blues. It is believed that sailors took Russian Blues from the Archangel Isles to England and Northern Europe in the 1860s. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_Blue

Think Healthy Thoughts

For me, minoring in psychology was like a baby rocking on its stomach to strengthen its back muscles to walk. It was my foundation for counseling, something I see as strengthening others (myself included) to “walk” into wholeness. Becoming a certified counselor through Elijah House gave me the tools for transformationvisualization, going back to childhood (even back to the womb) to discover root problems, in order to make changes in the present.

BUT, the eyes can’t see what the heart can’t hear. I wasn’t totally there. Gracious Holy Spirit continued to illumine my darkness.

A few years after my certification, I read Dr. Thomas Verny’s book, The Secret Life of the Unborn Child. Epiphanies sparked. This was after I had released the hope of motherhood. Previously, I had re-married to have children. At forty, there was a trauma that caused premature menopause.

God chose to stubble burn that field, and replant. Then, my mind was fertile to conceive God’s idea for my healing. Dr. Verny gave me a vocabulary for my, until then, unconscious perceptions.

You know that I don’t apologize for my unconventional avenues in seeking God and wholeness. So, anything I say that ruffles your spiritual beliefs, just place them on a shelf for future reference. This has been my habit for years. Time and again, I take to blowing dust off a few. This is one of those:

With my permission, a counselor took a walk through my spirit. (He is the only person I know gifted in doing this!) It’s sort of like a guided tour. Holy Spirit showed him what I needed to know about my spirit and heart, at that time.

There are some things he saw that I still don’t understand. But, one thing he saw, or didn’t see, has been the path of God’s breadcrumbs. He couldn’t find my heart. Nope. He couldn’t find it. That was around fifteen years ago.

Thus far, there’s been a lot of demolition. I had locked my heart behind so many doors with fortified walls that even I couldn’t find it. That’s why I said Dr. Verny gave me a vocabulary for my…“unconscious perceptions:” beliefs I formed from my mother’s thoughts, insecurities, and fears…while I was in her womb.

Know that your thoughts create your reality. Their energy draws the experiences to you.

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If you’re scratching your head, if this sounds “far-out,” Karol K. Truman’s Feelings BURIED ALIVE NEVER DIE…is the “TREK” for you. It’s a book illumining why feelings trigger our choices and behavior, moment to moment, day to day, year after year.

The first step is grasping your diagnosis of unconsciousness. Severity varies from person to person. A lifetime of unawareness, suppression, and denial affects us all, as does a closed heart.

When writing HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html , it was through the veil of my, then, present consciousness. Ever’ so often, I pick it up to reference something I’ve forgotten. Only a year after publishing it, I’m amazed at where I was headed—to my present consciousness, light years away from then. Before the above books, I think it can offer you a place to start.

The good news: You don’t have to wonder why you don’t see the forest for the trees, just look for green. You’ll find your path. Remember: green is the color for new beginnings, life, and love.

Bamboo can grow ninety-eight inches in 24 hours! God is a God of miracles.

Bamboo Forrest in Japan
Bamboo Forrest in Japan

AFFIRM: “God of creation, Your Divine plan in my life is speeded up under grace.”

“It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, But the glory of kings is to search out a matter.” Proverbs 25:2 (NAS)

Revelation Fireworks

As you probably do, I have several Bibles with varying translations. I even have a New Testament given to my dad (with his Sunday school teacher’s signatures) on June 8, 1934, when he was 13. I also have his pocket-size New Testament issued to him as an enlisted Marine.

               Logos
Logos

My first bible (or the one I still have) is an “Authorized King James Version.” It’s undated, but my handwriting says it was a Christmas gift.

The reason I don’t have a churchpresented bible is because I didn’t go up in front of the church with my Sunday school class to receive one. I felt that the only reason to be presented a bible was for a heart-changing belief, not an age or level in Sunday school. In defiance, I sat in the congregation. I digress.

The bible I’ve studied since 1978 is The Spirit Filled Life Bible, New King James Version. I can’t remember the translation I read in the late 60’s and early 70’s. I gave each new purchase away to the new hitch-hikers I picked up that week. I finally decided that if I was going to keep a bible, I’d have to switch to another version. Whatever.

I married in ‘72, wrecked in ’76, and bought this Spirit-Filled Life Bible in ’78. As you can only imagine, it is underlined, written between-the-lines, asterisk’d, has sticky pad Post-it® notes curled out from a multitude of pages, and has ink-stained dates of HS epiphanies; PLUS, it’s crammed with whatever-I-have-on-hand as book marks. I love my bible! But, I’m not good at regular “devotionals.” I can’t read a specific passage, contemplate it then, pray.

It’s rare for me to stay where I start because epiphany fireworks keep me chasing one reference after another…after another, you know; sort of like a storm chaser. The Trinity is one of my favorite “mystery clouds,” a brain-teaser, a conundrum. Try to grasp It:

God, the fountainhead, named Himself Yahweh, translated “Jehovah.” (Jehovah is believed to be a tense of the Hebrew verb “to be.”) Literally, it means, “He who causes to be.”

His eternal existence is still mind-boggling, but as a child “Who made God?” consumed my thoughts. Growing up on a farm, I understood the concept of a seed.
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The Son, God’s Word—Logos—by which all was created, is the agent of Creation (yet by Holy seed is God Incarnate), reveals Father to us, and is our Redeemer.

I AM existed before time, along with His expression—His Son, along with their production manager/minister Holy Spirit.

Holy Spirit exists from the action of Father and Son’s Love. He mysteriously inspires us, mightily empowers us, and mercifully convicts us.

They were there before anything began!???

How can epiphanies/revelations/insights not spark! After all, the Bible IS The Word of God.

“For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” Hebrews 4:13 (NIV)

What’s one of your “fireworks?”

Rabbits in the Marijuana Patch

Spoiler ALERT!!…for anyone who’s put me on a pedestal: Cushion YOUR FALL! I’ve had mine.

In my youth, this innocent, naïve, credulous ostrich married a drug addict. In spite of a “should o’ been honeymoon night eye-opener,” I didn’t catch on until months into our marriage; even then, denial clouded my knowledge of facts!

Though I was out to “save the world,” after months of observing his and his friend’s TOK-clouded (transcendence?) behavior, I became curious. Yeah.

Would you believe that he was in Law school, and I was in grad school? Anyway, I always studied away from the zombie fray, and in solitude—the graveyard behind my church. I hatched a “harebrained”experiment: “what is the influence of marijuana?” for after I studied for a final.

I knew how to roll a joint. I had watched it being done, MANY-A-TIME, on the little thingamajig they used. But before my “education,” I mistakenly threw one away. (I never fessed up, and guiltily searched everywhere along with the motley crue.) But, I must say: I rolled a beaut!

I don’t remember why I drove the Bronco, because I had a Monte Carlo, but I did. Middle afternoon, I parked behind the church, found my favorite tombstone, laid out my blanket, and studied until experiment thirty—dark. It was time to investigate the supposed “marijuana effect.” I knew exactly what to do.

I reverently removed it from the baggie; hesitant but determined. I struck the match, lit the end, held it close to—but not touching—my lips, sucked in deep, watching the red embers glow….

It was like someone karate-chopped my Adam’s apple! I couldn’t decide if I was going to die from the “hit” to my throat or lack of air from the coughing fit! Man…how stupid…golly-gee!

Everyone always took several hits so, after recovering, I took 2 lesser emphatic puffs…nothing. No euphoria. No “peace out.” Nothing. What was the fuss? That proved it. It must have been those pills they passed around.

I packed up and headed home.

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On the way, the steering column seemed to come out of the dash! OMG!

To be safe, I slowed down. While trying to maintain control, I had to overly rotate the steering wheel back-and-forth, and back-and-forth, and back-and-forth…like a child pretending to drive. To make things worse, some impatient driver behind me started honking and flashing his brights!

What’s his rush? Man!

I slowed down more. Who can be safe with people like that on the road?!

On the last stretch, I thought about the Zesty Cheese Tortillas in my pantry.

GOT THE MUNCHES
GOT THE MUNCHES

A.A. (After Awakening), not a P.S.:

In the 60’s, while in college, I remember a front page headline: “rabbits uprooting marijuana plants from the cannabis research patch.” I wondered how a rabbit could have that strength; and, how they got the plants out of the fenced field.

Now, I wonder if my ex was one of the “rabbits.”

Life and Crossword Puzzles

Are you stuck with no idea of what to do. No clue for your next move?

I think life is much like a crossword puzzle. Specific to each of us amidst the game, God designed a list of tasks. Our tasks intersect with other player’s “list of tasks,” like the “Across” and “Down.” At the juncture/square where we figure out the vertical and horizontal clues, with satisfaction we move on to the next task…as we do in the seasons of our lives.

I’m a BIG fan of crossword puzzles and always have a book nearby! Crossword puzzles entertain and exercise the brain. Whether easy or difficult, over time, they strengthen intellect, improve problem-solving skills, concentration, and memory, with the serendipitous benefit of increasing vocabulary and conversation skills. Hmmm.

If communication is a key to success in life then, these communication skills “cross” over with customers, fellow workers, managers, and loved ones to figure out, work through, and complete designated tasks.

When conscientiously reaching for the answers to life’s clues, satisfaction is inevitable…oh, and yeah: frustration is also an inevitability.
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Like the frustration of uncompleted tasks/unfilled-in squares that lead to dead ends with no solutions, error is a fact of life.  All you can do is: learn from it, let it go, and start anew each day. (Lamentations 3:22-23)

AFFIRM: “My happiness is built upon The Rock. No one, or anything, can interfere. Great is His faithfulness.”

For those of you who feel stuck, without a clue, my book HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU is a simple, practical guide to discover your potential and purpose in life. It’s chock full of hints and clues to get you back in the game. You can read more and purchase it here http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html
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Love Is Energy

I keep harping on the importance of thoughts; reason being that research varies about mental processing for “advertising message retention.”

To positively influence the purchase of a brand/product (in my case, an idea, a thought) some say that “viewers” will forget a message unless it’s often (up to 20 times) repeated.

So, I’m “reiterating” for your health: love. Let judgment go! Holding on to past offenses wrecks havoc on mental AND physical health.

While innocently going about your daily routine, is it not rude for the memory of another’s past action, word, or “imagined offense” to menacingly pop up on your mental screen?! How dare your thoughts! But really, it’s a heart thing.

Out walking, a group of monks were practicing monastic silence, and mindfulness—being aware. Approaching a muddy watery bridge, they came upon a young woman dressed in a kimono, hesitant to cross over. So, one of the monks picked her up and carried her across.

Four hours later, one of the other monks broke his silence with, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” asked the monk.
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“You know we’re not to touch women.”

“Are you still carrying her? I put her down 4 hours ago.”

By dwelling in the past for 4 hours, mentally ruminating the compassionate monk’s action, the judgmental monk not only sacrificed his peace and joy, but also the afforded delights along the way.

AFFIRM: “I am a conduit of forgiveness. My gift is love.”

              LOVE
LOVE

Share and Share Alike

First, I must apologize to my newsletter subscribers. Wednesday was my first “forget.” Please forgive me for a “Chariot Notes” no-show! It WILL be in your mail next Wednesday.

Lately, I’ve read articles on communal civilizations, where money had no value, no one bartered for services, and there was no societal hierarchy—no one “lording” over another. There were no egos.

One or two families tended the land, planted the crops, and harvested its produce. For instance: if it was rice, someone else’s job was storing and cooking it; another person ground it into mill for bread; someone else prepared the bread.

The fishermen fished the streams and lakes. The shepherds cared for the sheep. The shearers sheared. The fleecers prepared the fleece into yarn, then, the yarn was spun, and knitted into clothing.

Vegetables and fruit were the same. Those living in the fields, gardens, and orchards tended, picked, and prepared its produce. The same went for maintaining and directing the water supply for irrigation, drinking, cooking, and hygiene. Each occupation was passed down through the generations.

“For even when we were with you, this we commanded you, that if any would not work, neither should he eat.” 2 Thessalonians 3:10 (KJV)

These weren’t responcibilities. Each member of the village/tribe considered it their sacred rite to the circle of life…so that they could live. What was of value was each member’s contribution to the community. The shepherds ate from the land and wore the clothes, just as the clothiers drank the milk and ate the cheese from the sheep.

No one was homeless, hungry, or naked.

There was no delinquency; no crime; no competition; no stress.

There was no need for banks, government handouts, counseling centers, fitness gyms, farmer’s markets, restaurants, civic centers.

Rural life wasn’t easy, but everyone shared everything. Everything, and everyone, was safe.

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What would you say was the common denominator for such peaceful coexistence?

R.S.V.P.

photo anthropologist African tribe

Here’s the heartwarming result of such harmony:

An anthropologist proposed a game to the kids in an African tribe. He put a basket full of fruit near a tree and told the kids that whoever got there first won the sweet fruits.

When he told them to run, they all took each other’s hands and ran together, then sat together enjoying their treats.

When he asked them why they had run like that, as one could have had all the fruits for himself, they said:

”UBUNTU, how can one of us be happy if all the other ones are sad?”

‘UBUNTU’ in the Xhosa culture means: “I am because we are”

It sounds like God’s original plan, don’t you think?