Napkin Scrawl #32 - Dancing Stars in the Night Sky

The night sky is clear and lit with beautiful stars, tonight. I always look for the Big Dipper when I look up. I trace the stars from point to point, drawing out each constellation that I’ve learned in past years. The Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, scooping and pouring stardust into each other. The Pleiades, which were introduced to me as the Seven Sisters, and let’s not forget Orion, whose belt is all I can identify.

Tonight, as I sat on the porch looking up, I noticed a different sparkle with my naked eye. I examined two stars, Phad and Merak, that form the bottom of Big Dipper’s bowl. Something new shined out to me. The twinkle of the stars in the night sky, sparkled colors of red, blue, and yellow, too. If you look just right and watch closely, maybe you can see them too. Of course, the scholarly say it’s light refraction or some such explanation. To me, though, their twinkle is more than refraction and dust, but dancing stars in the night sky. Each dance to their on song. First one, then another, and finally I see, they’re all dancing for me, in the night sky, pristine.

Do stars wear diamonds that shine as they dance? Do stars join Balls decked out in sparkles? Of course, I know what school books teach. But to me, they’re dressed in diamonds and dance for us all to see. They dance beautifully and shimmer brightly in the night sky, each saying, "Dance with me."

Fanning the Flames

Have you ever just sat staring at your computer screen, wondering, what shall I write? You tap your fingers on the keyboard as if warming them up to run a marathon, yet nothing happens. Your hands begin to wonder if they are plugged into your brain. You flex your fingers, crack your knuckles and enter a transitory state, with eyes glazed as your brain begins to filter through all the various subjects that pique your curiosity. A vampire, werewolves, fairies, witches, magic, dragons, hmmm… all just words and no story to support them.

As you stare into the backlit screen of your laptop, hoping that something, anything would pop into your mind to become a story, you realize you’ve real life has preoccupied your thoughts. You’ve not taken the time to travel to the depths of your mind. You’ve not fantasized, dreamed, or even wished upon a star. Reality kicks butt! Deep within, the furnace needs stoking. Peeking inside is one smoldering coal. It slowly exhausts the fuel it once burned. Around the edges of that coal are the fire retardant remnants of reality pressing in to snuff out the vibrant glow and fierce heat that it once inspired.

Sadness, even pity takes hold as you realize you’ve neglected the one unique feature of yourself, your imagination. You open the furnace grate and begin to fan the heat and glow of that one ember of coal. You watch as the light brightens and sparks start to fly. But, all this fanning will quench the ember in due time unless fuel is added for the ember’s appetite. “I must feed that sole ember.” So, you pull a thought from your mind as if it is a beautiful strand of twisted fiber that you hope weaves itself into a bigger story. Perhaps then, something might unravel and feed that lone piece of glowing coal in the belly of your fertile imagination.

At first, words become kindling. Like thin pieces of wood, you throw words atop the glowing coal, feeding that once anemic appetite. Soon, a spark lights a fire the words you’ve begun to weave. Gently you breathe life into the small flame. You add more and soon your words become sentences, which then start a thought, and finally, you have written a creative exercise that flexes the anemic burn from deep within.

Your creativity begins to flex and glow, burning hotter, glowing brighter, and growing larger. You realize how lucky you were to find that one ember of coal to build upon. Never again will you neglect your own creativity, the one thing that makes you feel alive. Maintaining the fire within requires input and output. The fire must breathe and be fed. It must consume before it can give anything.

Not everything you feed your imagination has to be worthy of readers. However, like any other muscle in your physical body, your imagination needs a workout too. Stay practiced. Stay sharp. As you do, you will find that the seeds sown in your fertile imagination will create a magnificent masterpiece.

Angels in Our Lives - A Memorial of a Wonderful Woman

Do you believe in Angels? I do. I think Angels cross our paths every day to help us, and sometimes they guide us. Sometimes they are with us for a day, a week, or longer.

As a young child, my parents moved into a middle-income neighborhood that brushed on a low-income area. From a child’s perspective, it was a rough neighborhood. Growing up with troubled kids, troubled families, was difficult. That is not to say that we were in the toughest part of the city, no there were worse.

On the street that we moved to, there was one woman who became that Angel in our lives. She lived in the middle of the block, had five kids of her own, but every kid around our neighborhood knew her.

One day shortly after we moved to Ventura, California, one of her daughters came over to befriend me. She invited us to church…a church that was not like what I was accustomed. My brother and I went with her family, and it changed our lives.

Margaret Gage, known to me as Mrs. Gage, took all five of her kids plus my brother and me to a church where we decided to follow Jesus. In the years that followed, Mrs. Gage babysat us, and then later just kept a close eye on us.

Through the years, she and my mother became very close, as Mrs. Gage guided my mother to Christ as well.

Every time I visited her, she ALWAYS had open arms, hugging me until there was no room to suck in my breath. I remember once I stopped by to visit and she had asked me to call her by her first name. I told her that she would always be Mrs. Gage to me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to use her first name, it was that to me, I respected her, cherished her, and by calling her Mrs. Gage, it reminded me of how much I did love and respect her.

Today, my mother called utterly broken and crying. Through her sobs, she informed me that Mrs. Gage had passed away on March 17, 2011. I believe she was 79 years old.

Mrs. Gage was an Angel in my life. She admonished, protected, and guided me. So, you will understand when I say; I don’t believe she passed away, I believe she was called home by our Lord. Her time here on earth was finished.

Margaret Gage touched many lives while she visited this earth. Thank you, Mrs. Gage, for touching mine.

Napking Scrawl #28 -- Battle Within

Helpless and alone, I sit here wishing you were here. My heart beats the hardest when you are on my mind. It reminds me of what once was and what could be. As if to tell me there is a void, my heart squeezes hard to remind me that you aren’t here and that yet again, I am alone.

“Be still my heart,” I direct my thoughts. “Try to see the bright side. With no one here to fill you, you can beat all the harder and with more freedom. You can show your independence!” As if my heart had a mind of its own … I shake my head in wonderment, knowing I can do nothing to fill the absence. My mind wanders, thinking of ways to busy itself and fill the gap within my soul.

Closing my eyes, I look deep within and I remember the last time we were together. Your touch, you scent, your kiss are all but a memory, first vivid, clear and tangible, then fading into a mist. Mentally, I reach out to touch you, but like smoke, you vanish. What happened? Where did you go? Why did you leave?

My heart reminds me of the love that it once had and shows me the flame still glowing deep within. Now it only flickers, small and not so brightly, but it still dances in my heart waiting to burn ablaze once again.

My mind begins to wonder, does your heart beat hard within you? Does it remind you of me? Do you feel a void? Do you need me as I need you? Perhaps not, I think. Perhaps I’m the needy one. Perhaps I’m the only one who feels a void.

If that is the case and it is only me, my heart cries out for you once more. Come back to me quickly, for there is a battle going on, where heart and mind battle within, trying to find the reason why there is this great emptiness. My heart craves your touch. It needs your kiss to rekindle the fire.

Both heart and mind agree on one thing. I love you.

Napkin Scrawl #27 -- Lighting Our Path

Our lives are full of many paths laid out before us. Which direction we choose depends on decisions we make during the duration of our lives. We find that many paths do lead to the same outcome, yet others do not. Some paths, though they lead to a common goal, might be longer than another might, but they still meet that common goal.

Now, consider that this path is dark, unclear, muddled in some way, perhaps even distorted. You know you must go forward because there is nothing behind you. The past leads you nowhere. You could stay where you stand right now, living with what you have right now, never changing, just accepting. Oddly though, that in and of itself, is a decision as well. Therefore, it still keeps us moving in a forward motion.

However, we know that our lives require more.

Say that our paths, throughout our lifetime, are illuminated by various kinds of lights. Bright ones, dim ones, various colored ones, warm ones, and cool ones. Some of these lights may glow brightly. Others are steady, consistent glows lighting a smaller portion of our paths. Some lights draw us to them because they may shine brightly or they make us feel secure. Others we avoid because of how they make us feel. Each light has its benefits…and each its own hindrances. We make our decisions to walk down a path based on what we can see on that path. These lights represent people and opportunities that are on each path.

One light burns so brightly, it brings us happiness. It brings us excitement and clarity, making everything visible and plain to see. Nevertheless, a light can only burn so bright and only for a short time then eventually, it burns out, sometimes leaving us in the dark. In most cases, that darkness isn’t long or scary. You just keep moving on until another light illuminates our path. Other times, the darkness is so dark, so muddled, and so scary, we are afraid to move forward. We fear the things that may or may not be in front of us. We fear we’ll walk off our path, perhaps ending our journey.

Off in the distance, we see faint lights that glow, but because we are in the dark, we can’t see how to get to those low glowing places, or that next point in our path.

Then, from nowhere really, you see a dim light moving toward you. The closer it gets, the bigger and brighter it becomes. It brings excitement and joy to your heart, and peace to your soul. You find yourself drawn to it, forgetting the darkness that you stand in. You find yourself rushing for the light that brings you peace. No other light in the distance seems to matter, but that one, that little moving light is the one you need.

You discover that small light is a person who holds a flashlight or lantern, walking his or her own path. They are the ones who stop along the way, getting to know the people who cross their paths. They stop to comfort and encourage us. Often and when necessary, they help us along our paths by guiding, advising, encouraging, or just listening. Sometimes, that person stays with you the whole way, through the bright times and the dark times, always there to shine their light on your path as you walk through life. Sometimes that person changes, and you meet another to walk with you. And sometimes, that person needs you to hold the light whilst they determine their path.

None of us was ever suppose to walk alone. We need our friends, sometimes to guide us, sometimes to carry us, but always to support us and help us see the way.

Napkin Scrawl #18 -- Desert Storms

Temperatures reach the triple digits on a daily basis. Today was no different. Taking time from my daily routine, I sit on the back porch admiring how quickly the angry black clouds moved in. A steady breeze blows the scent of rain across my face. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply.

The air becomes still as a loud crack and rumble reverberate through the sky. As I recline back in my chair with the soles of my feet against a supporting pillar, the thunder reminds me of its immense power as I feel the vibration through my feet.

Soon, sprinkles of fresh rain tickle the tops of my feet as it begins to fall. I curb the temptation to move from the porch to the center of my yard. The sprinkles that start to fall are refreshing, but, the danger of lightning still abounds. No flash appears, yet the sky grumbles and moans as if in pain or angry at lightning’s strike, ripping and tearing through it.

The breeze stops again before the sky moans and grumbles with one last roll of thunder. Deafening silence consumes the air again.

The storm moves further north, and as fast as it began, it ends. Blue skies peek from the angry clouds.

Lightning claws its way through the clouds and sky with thunder as its voice. “I’m not done!” It seems to scream. Just like the rest of the storm, it too vanishes and moves onward.

Maybe on another day, the rain will stay longer, washing the dirt and grime away.