Bloom Where You are Planted and Endure to the End

Around Mother's Day this year, my Visiting Teaching companion brought me a little flowering plant in a miniature clay pot as a token of her friendship, with wishes for a happy Mother's Day. It was a kind and thoughtful gesture, and I am grateful for her friendship.

With little thought, I plunked the little plant in the safest place in my house for a plant: on the window sill over the kitchen sink. And there it has remained all these months. With little thought, I have watered it whenever it looked thirsty. The backdrop behind it has changed noticeably three times -- from spring to summer, then summer to fall, and most recently, to winter. Through these many months, without missing a single day, it has been decked out in dainty pink blossoms. Today I looked at my little friend, and it gave me a message loud and clear: Bloom where you are planted, and endure to the end.

Our Heavenly Father has planted us in the choicest spot for us in His vineyard. He has provided for our spiritual and temporal nourishment. He asks that we do the best we can where we are and with what resources are available to us, and that we not give up. To bloom where we are planted, and to endure to the end. What more to be said?

Only that I hope my little friend holds on. I am so grateful for the encouragement.

“Uh-uh! No way!” I insisted, shaking my head. “Bob, there’s no way I’m going to even try to give Happy a bath.”

“We have to, Pam. Giving Jack a bath doesn’t solve the problem unless Happy gets one, too.”
I knew he was right, but I also knew Happy. I knew there was no way she was going to cooperate like Jack did, and I wasn’t about to do battle with an eight- legged cat with 14 needle-like claws in each paw.

Jack was allergic to fleas, and his beautiful thick long fur was the perfect haven for them. Happy was not allergic to fleas. We would have never known she had fleas if we hadn’t seen Jack scratching incessantly. The fleas hitched a ride into the house on Happy, then many hopped onto Jack where they took up permanent residence, making him totally miserable. I had just finished bathing Jack in the sink in our laundry room at the back of our house.

Ungloved, I gently picked him up and placed him in the warm water.

“Meow,” he complained gently as I poured water over his back and cupped it around his neck.

“Meow, “ he complained again as I hurriedly doused him with flea shampoo, not knowing how long he would patiently endure this assault on his personal dignity. I massaged the shampoo into the more tender belly region, the place those nasty fleas feasted on his sweet blood.

“Meeeooow, “ he stiffened and began to protest , not more loudly, but certainly pleading. I felt horrible. This was the cat who took whatever anyone handed him -- the gentle, faithful cat who more than once allowed little children to crawl on him without a hiss, scratch or yowl, and without even walking away from them, but who always waited for me to rescue him.

Now, here I was, his trusted friend, pouring water over him, and stinky shampoo, too. And he just sat in the tub allowing me to do it. I hurried to rinse the suds from his thick fur. I reached for the towel that was draped across my shoulders and wrapped him snugly in it to absorb the wet and his protest. He relaxed in my arms while I cooed sweet reassurances of my undying affection for so sweet a kitty.

That was when Bob appeared and suggested it was Happy’s turn. She sat licking her paw and occasionally running it across her face, amused by what she seemed to sense Jack had just endured. I know she felt invincible. This is the cat who made it very clear from the very beginning that she was in charge. She ignored our banter over her fate. No one in their right mind would give her a bath. And, until now, she never had reason to question our sanity.

Bob insisted. “Pam, she has to have a bath.” I knew he was right, but the visions of what was about to take place were not pleasant.

“Ok,” I relented. “But not in the laundry room. You’re going to have to help, and there’s not enough room back there. We’ll have to do her in the kitchen sink. You will have to hold her, and I’ll wash her. You better go find some leather gloves. You’re gonna need ‘em.”

The Unsuspecting Cat continued to preen while Bob rounded up some gloves. I finished towel-drying the Sweet Cat and turned him loose to finish the job. I rounded up another old towel and went to the kitchen to prepare for The Ordeal. I filled the left side of the sink with warm water, and placed the open flea shampoo in an easy reach. I took a deep breath, and casually strolled into the family room toward Happy, who was still grooming herself. She was probably chuckling to herself about how funny Jack looked and how she wouldn’t be caught dead looking like that. I know she thought those kind of things. It’s who she was.

I scooped her up, spoke a few reassuring words in her ear, and quickly headed back to the kitchen. Bob was poised at the sink, donned in long leather work gloves. Happy was squirming. She wasn’t one who relished being picked up when it wasn’t her idea, and all of a sudden she seemed to be catching the same vision I had had only moments before. And it wasn’t a pleasant one.

This was no time for hesitation or for the faint of heart. With one courageous plunge, Happy was in the sink, in the water. Bob clasped his hands firmly around her neck and tried to hold her still. The eight legs were wildly flailing, all 118 needle-sharp claws extended six inches toward anything they could grasp. An impassioned hiss-growl escaped from deep in her throat. I poured water over her from a cup and quickly grabbed the shampoo. This five pound claw-embedded ball of wet fur was pushing back with the strength of Sampson. She was half way out of the sink onto the counter and Bob bodily laid across her while I tried to lather her up. She was gaining on us. I snatched another cup of water and began to rinse what was left of her in the sink, her hindquarters. Yowls, hisses and all manner of hithertofore unknown cat-noises filled the air. Water everywhere, Bob and I were soaked, the kitchen counter, the floor, the window. More water poured over the wrathful cat, and Bob warned me she was winning the match.

We agreed: on the count of three, we would turn her loose.

“One……two…….three!

We let go, hopped back in unison, arms raised outstretched. Happy flew off the counter drenched and dripping. Yes, flew. Cats can fly. I saw it with my own eyes. She landed and ran from the kitchen into the family room. We let her have her space for a bit, then I approached cautiously with the towel to help her regain her dignity. She let me.

Sometime later, she walked into the kitchen where Bob was standing. She sidled up to him slowly, until near his feet. Then hissing, she took a serious swipe at his ankles with her claw infested paws, and ran away. For several days she repeated this remonstration, be sure he knew just how she felt about what he had done to her. Somehow, I escaped her wrath.

Judging from a few comments that I have received on the poems below, I see that I have offended some people by posting them. That was not my intention. The man who wrote these things lived in an oppressive communist regime and recognizes the symptoms of that type of government. His writings are graphic, yes. He fled oppression. He is a fierce defender of the American way of life. I will not apologize for that. I'm with him.

I respect the office of the President of the United States. I will not disparage it, nor the person who holds that office. But I will exercise my right and my duty as a citizen of the United States to call any of my elected officials to task when they fail to uphold the Constitution.

Our country is at a crossroads. We can move ahead in a continued path of freedom, liberty and a capitalist society, or we can surrender our freedoms to a government who promises to "take care of us". Personally, I've always believed that individuals must be responsible for themselves, and take care of their neighbors personally rather than thru a government system. If you do not agree, I am sorry for that. But this is my blog and I reserve the right to share my feelings here.

Crowds

The following poem was written by a man whom I met on the http://www.gopusa.com/ forum. He is a former Russian, now an American citizen living in the USA. Having lived under a regime like Obama is proposing, Mike is a fierce defender of our liberty. Oh, that we would all awake before we lose it!

When I asked Mike if I could send this to my sister, this was his reply:

"Pam, you can share it with anybody, including your zombified friend. My name is Michael Shtalman. You can also clarify that I was in the country where Obamas ones won under the pretext of "bringing hope". Even if it helps one person to start thinking as opposed to swallow the media poison - I'd be satisfied."





Crowds
by Michael Shtalman


Our crowd is checkered with H-placards

Ecstatic fellas are shouting: H…, H…, H…!!!

Hope unites us and helps us feel elated

Yes, we can!!!

Can what?

Don’t be a cynical reactionary, dude.

Something good, common good, very common …

The open-ended slogans stem from open hearts

Stop laughing and shut up you,

Damn egg-headed critics!

We greet a great leader, a savior, here

Yes, we can – - subdue those greedy egotists,

Those self-interested bourgeois thugs.

He will install true people’s bureaucracy

And redistribute the wealth justly

95% of the citizens will flourish *

And the damn rich 5% pay for that;

The rest of the world will respect us again

Charisma and socialistic vision alone,

Not the “experience”, will do the miracles.

Holding their breath, a multitude of Germans

Heed his speech at the Großer Stern

Some chicks pee their panties**

Everybody shouts with ardor:

“Heil, Heil, Heil Hitler !!!”



And now you, schleppers, encouraged by a zombie,

Are going to schlep to Florida. Faceless crowd …
H…, H…, H…

* 95% of the Hitler’s party, NSDAP, were workers. Obama also likes to claim he is acting in the best interests of 95% of the “working people”
* * According to some historic records, at least some Hitler admirers urinated upon hearing of his speeches.

From Pam, a post script: Mike tells me he participates in a Russian American forum who recently took their own poll. Obama 29, McCain 61

Time Out for an Important Message

Like you, I love my country. I love that my life is easier here than it would be if I lived anywhere else on this earth. I love the freedoms I enjoy -- the freedom to speak my mind without fear of being imprisoned for my opinions, the freedom to travel throughout the country without restraint, the freedom to worship my God in the way I choose, the freedom to gather uninhibited with other people, the freedom to take part in the political process that chooses who will lead and govern my city, my county, my state and my country. And many more freedoms do we all enjoy on a daily basis.

There was a time when I was too busy to really get involved in the political process, but nonetheless did what I could to educate myself about the candidates and issues and voted my conscience. In recent years, I've paid much more attention, and have even served in various capacities in our precinct. For one thing, our freedoms are being eroded line by line, here a little, there a little. Perhaps age has given me a perspective I didn't have before, and I can see where we seem to be headed as a country. And it concerns me deeply.

So here we are, just 5 days away from "Super Tuesday", a day when 23 states will hold their primary elections (or caucuses in some states). These states are Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Kansas, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Utah, and West Virginia. Rules may vary somewhat from state to state as to how this process is carried out, but I believe in most, if not all states, you have to have registered to vote in a certain time frame before the election. This information is available on-line by looking at your state's website for Elections information.

I know that many of the people who might wander onto this blog are busy with young families and other responsibilities. Those duties are most important, and precious, and timely. But I hope that you will make the time to get out and vote on Tuesday if your primary will be held then, and if it isn't, find out when it will be, and vote then. The bottom line is -- at least to my way of thinking -- is that the primary elections are every bit as important, if not more so, than the general election in November. This is the election that determines who your party's candidate will be.

Ok, that's the most important part. But something else -- and I'm going to stick my neck out here -- I'm conservative. I believe in less government involvement in the lives of citizens. I believe that we as individuals should be as self-sufficient as possible and not surrender our freedom to our government by taking handouts from them. I also believe there are times when some of us need government help, and that is ok. The candidates who are selected as the potential president of our country have very different approaches to government. Select wisely. Your future, and the future of your children is at stake.

He Knows the End From the Beginning

In the midst of a trial, great or small, have you wondered where your Heavenly Father was and why he wasn’t hearing or answering your prayers? I’m ashamed to admit that I have. But this morning, for no particular reason, my mind went back to some incidents that happened in my life that remind me that He is always there and He always answers our prayers, spoken or only felt, in the best possible way.

In 1976 I was not a happy person. Bob had been out of work for a year and a half, I was working part time. He stayed at home with four-year-old Gayle. We were members of a neighborhood Catholic parish which we did not attend with any frequency. My life, at least, was not in order, and although I knew that, I didn‘t have any idea how to change it. I was struggling personally as well as with the circumstances in our lives.

After having looked for a job for a length of time, Bob started thinking that his best option would be to join the Army. Not only would he have a job, but they would give him special training in the field of his choice. He had served his obligation in the National Guard for six years in the late ‘60’s and early 70’s, and at the end of that time had sworn that he would never stand in line again. I took that to mean that he was definitely done with military service. When he announced to me, pretty much out of the blue, that he was thinking about joining the Army, I was horrified. I knew what that would entail: we would have to leave our home, our home town, all of our friends, and our family, and we would become -- gasp -- Gypsies!! I protested long and loudly. I refused. I probably even stomped my feet and cried. And I must have prayed that this foolish ideal would evaporate.

Looking back, I see now that Heavenly Father knew my needs so much better than I. He was moving me in a direction to end my struggling and help me make my life right, to put it in harmony with the best that He has for me. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, so when Bob came home from enlisting, I cried. He was committed for four years. When he showed me on a map where we would be living in Texas, I ripped the page from the atlas into many pieces and told him of all the places I might want to live, that is, if I ever even considered leaving Toledo, Texas was the last place I would choose. He was unfazed. He calmly but firmly told me that he had joined the Army and that he was going. I could stay or I could go. That was that.

We had been married almost ten years. I hadn’t come that far through the challenges of early married life, to give up yet. I swallowed my pride, and began doing all that needed to be done to move our little family to Texas and to adjust to a whole new life ahead. I told Bob I was with him for four years, but no more, and after that if he chose to stay in the Army, he would be doing it alone. I still wasn’t happy, but I was going. I didn't know it at the time, but I was taking the first step toward putting my will in line with Heavenly Father’s.

to be continued