Are There Rainbows?

Well I guess its a question of a state of mind..................

a question of half full or half empty..............

by looking back at where you started all this and how its grown............. the website, the members, the contacts, the links, the people who have visited the site, the feedback.............. all this has been part of the journey..............

And points to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.............

a sense of achievement and a sense of satisfaction ...........

a sense that you tried,

a sense of being there for others and helping others even if you weren't aware of the results...........

a purpose in life..........

a fulfilling of your life...........

all this brings contentment with your lot..............

that's the rainbow..............

and the pot of gold is how you've grown within yourself.............

your resilience despite the odds.............

Mother Teresa was once asked how she could feel that she was achieving anything when she looked around her and saw so much misery and poverty. She replied that even by helping one person to die with dignity and comfort she was achieving something............. She saw God in these poor people's eyes and knelt to soothe away their fears.............

that to me was a very profound statement.................. because basically in the contemplative path they talk about a time when you view things as God views them........ you see them as God would........... perfect........ and loving.......... and that is how the mystic/contemplative views things.......... even inanimate objects or animals and plant life.............. they take on a new dimension..............

very hard to explain............... the words don't do the idea any justice............ but if you dwell on it you begin to get an inkling of it all............

everything become pristine and sharper.........

so my dear............. we all have rainbows in our lives.............. its how we view our life that allows us to see them...........

maybe this isn't exactly what you had in mind my writing........... but this is my way of saying that your rainbow is shining or shimmering brightly over my sky.................

don't forget you've got to have a bit rain to allow the rainbow to follow.............

What to Look for in an Angel

Show me an angel! cynics sneer.

She is not an angel. She can't fly.

He can't be an angel, he stumbled

just now. I want Super. I want Wonder.

Show me miracles, show me tricks.

Tell me how these so-called angels

are any different from you or from me.

Let me arm-wrestle one and we'll see!

All I can say is, here I stand,

alive and well and full of hope.

Not that angels can't be human.

Not that one can turn thunder

and lightning into whipped cream

and lavender sky. All they really do is

listen. All they really do.

is open the doors

to their hearts and souls and invite

us in. Don't let us out 'til we're ready

to fight off the blues and get cracking.

Can take baby steps back to our old selves.

Pooh on angels having to be superhuman.

Think what a human is capable of.

when he or she loves the way love

should be loved. Angels who stepped into

my life – not flew, mind – simply cared

enough to give their very best. Believe

in angels? They're not asking you to.

Point is, there are those who believe in you.

Listen not for the flutter of wings, but "Let

me hold you, let me help you. Grieve,

honey, get it out. Then tell me

what I can do to help. Work things out

together, but for now lay your head down

and rest. That's it. You'll be all right!

. . .Oh my, could that be an angel you see?

Phyllis Jean Green

Green Always In

Who does not love Spring?

Every year she shows up

with planeloads of gifts

she has wrapped herself. Green

has got to be her best color,

but she is aware she looks hot

in red, and blue is way cool.

Any and all shades of purple

suit her highness to a tee.

Yellows of every persuasion

spice up the palace grounds.

Her majesty loves that the sky

often changes clothes. Sun

can be butter, lemon, flame,

or a far-out orange. White,

she does not wear as well,

but a bit of contrast is good,

she knows. The flowers

she is famous for take notes

from the sun or doll in royal,

midnight, navy, or baby blue.

Others like to copy the moon

and float down the stairs

in frothy grays or shimmering

silver and gold. To all

it is an honor to attend

the coming out affair

of the season. For Spring

is perhaps the bravest

of the brave. After all,

she has seen blizzards maim

and kill infants that winter

helped bring into the world

by carrying them in her womb

for months. Others were swept

away by floods. Still others

ended up stillborn for lack

of water. Human machines

crush many a tender sprout

and lay waste to trees and shrubs

that are needed to keep

temperatures down as Spring’s reign

winds toward Summer’s. Yes,

and robins still grace her lawn.

Daffodils still trumpet, and dogwood

blizzards feather dust away the chill.

Spring is more than a season.

Spring is the guts to start over.

Spring is the heart to have a ball.

Spring is the courage to plant

and replant. Birdsong, a psalm,

a raindance, sun singing soul.

*Invisible Woman*

*It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to

school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when

the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?"*

*"Nobody," he shrugged. Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is

only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?"*

*I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to

my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen.

Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there

for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone

turn the TV down?" Nothing.*

*Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there

for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to

a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the

conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept

right on talking.*

*I'm invisible.*

*It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way

one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be

taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"

Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping

the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see

me at all. *

*I'm invisible.*

*Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can

you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not

even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite

guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order,

"Right around 5:30, please."*

*I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes

that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude but now

they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.*

*She's going¸ she's going¸ she's gone!*

*One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a

friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and

she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there,

looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to

compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress;

it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was

pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut

butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a

beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."*

*It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why

she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with

admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."*

*In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would

discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I

could pattern my work:*

*No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their

names.*

*These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see

finished.*

*They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.*

*The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of

God saw everything.*

*A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the

cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird

on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you

spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by

the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God

sees."*

*I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost

as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the

sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of

kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is

too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great

cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."*

*At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease

that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own

self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.*

*I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one

of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to

work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book

went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime

because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. *

*When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's

bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the

morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three

hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a

shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And

then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna

love it there."*

*As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're

doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel,

not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the

world by the sacrifices of invisible women. *

*~~Author Unknown*