Everyday Miracles: The Little Red Fire Truck

Everyday Miracles: The Little Red Fire Truck: "The Little Red Fire Truck Oh what joy was my new toy? What luck a working fire truck. Mounted on the sides were two hoses. My Dad ..."

The Little Red Fire Truck

The Little Red Fire Truck

      Oh what joy was my new toy? What luck a working fire truck. Mounted on the sides were two hoses. My Dad said, “Use them only to water the roses.”

     For several  days I played outside and then my curiosity went astray.  I took my little red fire truck inside to play.  I got into my dad's top drawer, matches I found there were four. I quietly closed my bedroom door and piled paper in the middle of the floor. One by one I struck a match until the paper one did catch. My little red fire truck the flames it couldn’t douse, the fire now began to burn our house.

      Into my room came fireman Frank. On his back was a big air tank.   

     Once outside I looked all around and could see my family was all safe and sound.  The paramedics looked at my hands which were burned and said, “What a sad lesson you have learned. To be a fireman on a truck takes more than just a little luck. Firemen have to go to school. It’s there they learn to use each tool. A fireman wears special clothes. They have knee high boots with metal-tip toes. They wear a hard hat on their head. Should anything fall they’d have nothing to dread.  When it comes to fire learn all the rules and let safety be your greatest tool." 

The End

Lori Weidenbacher

Troubled Waters

Hi,
I just wanted to offer up a thanksgiving praise and prayer to our awesome God who is ever faithful and mindful of his children. God heals, leads, guides and comforts us. Sometimes in times of trial and testing he removes us up and out of harms way or he removes the trials from our path. Sometimes instead of calming the storms of life he calms the child who is sailing troubled waters. It is times such as these that I often find myself asking why, when and how long kind of questions. It is when I turn to God in prayer and seek his help and guidance through His Holy Word that I begin to feel God's soft quiet assurance of his presence and the reminder to my heart that speaks through his word, child just be still and know that I Am God. As I trust and obey there comes a peace that passes all understandiing. Ths waters may still be troubled and the waves may be ever increasing but the child is feeling a stillness, a quietness, a calm and a peace that passes all understanding.
Praise To Our Awesome Wonderful God
Amen,
Lori

Melissa and the stranger

With tear filled eyes I cryed out in prayer. Teach me how to teach the children.
This story is the answer to that prayer.

Melissa and the Stranger

        Melissa Mouse wanted some money for the candy machine at the supermarket. Her mother gave her a nickel, and then reached for a jar of pickles. Melissa turned with a flash and was off with a dash to the candy machine to spend her nickel. At the machine she saw the gumballs glistening through the glass. In with a click went the nickel. She turned it but it only jiggled. She was sad you can see, but what could she do? She was only a little mouse.  Then a strange ugly rat appeared beside her. He asked if he might be of aid. With a turn of his hand came a gumball which was as yellow as a nighttime candle. She popped the gumball into her mouth and mumbled a little thank you.

      Then the stranger picked her up. “Oh no,” said Melissa Mouse, but the stranger said, “It’s okay. I’m taking you to my house.”

      “I don’t want to go with you!” she kicked and screamed, but no one knew he was not her dad. No one seemed to be bothered that this stranger was not her father. There was a little chime in Melissa’s mind as she quickly remembered a little rhyme. It was only the day before at school that she had learned this safety rule. Never ever go with a stranger; you never know when it might mean Danger! 

      Melissa remembered, and the words “you’re not my daddy put me down!” caused everyone in the store to look around. There was a bit of a clatter, mumbling, and chatter as everyone ran to see just what the matter was. Melissa’s mother who was in the back of the store ran quickly towards the open door. The stranger holding Melissa put her down and looked at the ground with an awful frown. He said, “I was just playing a little joke; just having a little fun.” Then the stranger tried to run, but was quickly stopped outside in the sun by a man wearing a hat, a badge, and a gun, who took the strange rat away to a place where he would have a very long stay. Melissa holding her mother’s hand went home to play. She would always remember that day, and in her mind she would always find this simple little rhyme. Never ever go with a stranger, you never know when it might mean Danger!

Lori  Weidenbacher

Eclipsed

Double Exposure

     Identity is the defining characteristics that differentiate one person from another, however; the mirrored reflections of self are colored by the negative opinions of other people that distort reality creating a double exposure. A dual image is the result of one image or picture that is put on top of another. The first image is clear and reflects the perception of true self. The second image is a fuzzy distorted interpretation of one’s self when it is viewed through a false label. A double exposure occurs as the two images merge resulting in a blended effect of fact and fiction. I have learned that the surface level of me at times was the part of my identity that was affected by the social labels of my youth. It is the surface level of self, which seeks acceptance from others. Identity has layers that are influenced by language and time. The outer layer of Identity is often determined by social acceptance. The deeper self is the truer self that at times must speak an internal dialog of personal acceptance because it is meshed or intertwined with the labeling process and is eclipsed by a false label. When the external sound of the world become to loud I often find comfort and peace just being still and listening to the sound of my own breath, knowing I Am.

Lori Weidenbacher

Everyday miracles, dreams and visions

                                                                      Miracles
In my dream there were four people who knew one another and were connected somehow. An event took place that affected each of them differently, and had also separated them. Years went by and one day one of them, a women, was shopping in an outdoor market and while she was walking she began to sing. A woman buying fruit at the market heard the song and rushed along side the first woman and began to sing along. Aged only by the passage of time the second woman was and is one of the four who was separated by the event. Joy and harmony rang out as the two continued to sing. Another woman hearing the song came and interlaced her arms with the other two women and began to sing. These three now shared a grateful smile and lifted their voices in joy at their reunion. The voices of these three singing and sharing the same song filled the air and was carried on the wind throughout  the area. From a distance another woman hearing the sound of the song came running and joined in harmony with the others. Each of these youthful friends had weathered the same stormy event, were separated, and now reunited by the words of a familiar song. Standing from a distance I could feel myself apart of this story. While dreaming I found myself saying, I know this song. One word stood out clearer then the rest. It is the word mayim. Perhaps the reason it stood out for me was it was repeated four times in the song. I awoke to the sound of my own voice in my head, saying, I know this word. In a language I understand this word means water. They were singing a song about water.
Everyday at work now I sing or hum this song about water  because it comforts me and fills my heart with joy.

Lori Weidenbacher

Miracles happen everyday. Believe

                                                     WINDSWEPT    

Dark clouds and snowflakes covered the starry moonlit night.  The car headlights were all I had to illuminate the darkness ahead of me.  There would be no going back.  There was nowhere to turn around on this snowy mountain road.  My nerves were tensed, fingers gripped tight, knuckles white as fear crept over me.

                This was to be a kinship reunion, a thanksgiving pilgrimage to visit family and friends.  It was not a time to think about hopes for tomorrow or to relive memories of yesterday.  I had to focus on what was right in front of me here and now.  I could hear the sound of rushing water from a river on my left and the hovering calls of a screech owl flying high above majestic pines on my right.  These were my only help, all I had to aid me through this forest maze.

                                                                         

                Light pierced the darkness as the sun began to rise on a new day.  Hope replaced the fear.  A screech owl returning home was replaced by an eagle in flight.  The snowy icy unknown became a white pillowy playground sparkling in the sunlight.  Dark clouds became a rosebud offering to the heavens, slowly opening as the sun rose higher and higher.

                                                                            

                A journey, which I had, began at dusk now ended with the dawn.  I had made it through the canyon and was poised at the crossroads at the canyon's end.

                Here at the crossroads was a small gathering of people each going in different directions.  Clustered in the middle was a sight which I have never seen before.  All the trees in a small gully were severely windswept, some bowing almost to the ground from the harsh canyon wind beating against them.  I looked at the trees and then I looked at the people here at the crossroads.  Some of the people looked at the trees turning their heads first to the right then to the left with a look of aspiration on their faces.  They looked as thought they wanted to jump right out of their cars, pick up those trees and make them stand up straight.  Other people looked at the trees with a fleeting glance, turning away pretending not to have noticed the trees.  There was one man among them who seemed different.  He had a look like that of a carpenter about him.  His eyes were warm and caring, and he had a smile of acceptance on his face as he looked at the trees.  To a carpenter these trees are a treasured find.  Shaped by the winds of adversity, the heartwood and annual growth rings showed richness in their woodgrain.  A carpenter would take these trees just as they are and use them to work his will.

                I asked a woman for directions but she only looked at me.  I was from the hills a mountain person and she was from the valley.  She looked at me first this way and then that way with a look of aspiration on her face as though she wanted to pick me up and make me stand up straight. I asked a man for directions.  He gave me only a fleeting glance pretending not to have noticed me.  The hurt and pain I felt from these people was replaced by peace and love as I remembered a carpenter who saw in me something the others had missed.  He saw in me something uniquely different not strangely different.  He alone would take me just as I am and use me to work his will.

                With our Thanksgiving feast over, memories renewed, my heart and stomach full, I left my Thanksgiving reunion to go back home.

                It was nearing dusk as I pushed past the windswept trees and headed back up the canyon.

                The storm having past, moon and starlight replaced the sunlight.  An eagle returning home was replaced by a screech owl in flight.

                I stopped at the edge of the echoing hills, opening a window I called out a soft salutation to the hills and to the heavens.  A gentle stirring inside me was felt as an affirmation came back to me.  Bouncing off surrounding hills ands trees into the stillness inside me I heard and felt the words 'I love you' returned.  Teardrops now replaced snowflakes as I felt my spirit being windswept.

Lori Weidenbacher

Forgiven

Forgiven

I have noticed that when I am living in the present moment that the voice of the wind is heard.

This reminds me of when I was a child and of the words spoken to me by my Grandmother, “Be quiet and listen, and as you hold the seashell next to your ear you can hear the sound of sea.” I always found wisdom in Grandmothers words, so pressing the large seashell next to my ear, I was quiet and listened. Encapsulated within that seashell was the sound of the sea and if I truly listened I could hear the sound of waves crashing upon a distant shoreline.

Living life, with each heartbeat, each breath in the moment I believe quickens the senses. Life within that moment is real, and we can see, hear, taste, smell and feel with greater clarity. When I live in the moment I can smell the beauty of life that surround me and I can taste and enjoy the fruits of life given to me by a loving Creator. When I live in the moment I can touch and be touched, heal and be healed, love and be loved.

To forgive and be forgiven opens up my heart to allow the love of God to flow like a river that flows to me and through me and out to others.

I will seek each day to ask for forgiveness, and ask God for his love and support to help me live and stay in the moment, and to be of comfort and aid to all those I care for.

Lori Weidenbacher

Who Am I

Who Am I?

I am, a voice blowing in the wind
I am, the silence from deep within
I am, a footstep on dry leaves
I am, the quiet unseen breeze
I am, a wave crashing upon the sand
I am, a faded image of a distant land
I am, a rose in the horizon sky
I am, an eagle’s unfurled wing to fly
I am, a reflection upon the water
I am, the one who’s in search of the Father
I am, the crippled lamb
I am, made whole in Yeshua’s hand

Lori Weidenbacher

Believe

Miracles happen everyday. BELIEVE


                                                              Believe

Andy the Ant wanted to be an Acrobat. “An Acrobat Ant, how absurd,” said Aunt Amy Ant. “I’m afraid you will never be an Army Ant, like your great Uncle Art, he was the greatest American Army Ant.” The cool winds of autumn blew a sudden surprise, the winds lifted Aunt Amy’s apron quite high, like the wings of a gentle bird she flew up and then down, up and then down those crazy winds carried Aunt Amy the Ant, then just as mysterious as the winds had appeared they stopped at the address of Andy’s Aunt Amy, she smiled waved good-bye and soon sank out of sight.

Andy walked along Appledale Road and saw Angry Amos Ant standing near a fallen apple. As Andy got closer he could hear Amos say, “Oh no, this will never do, this one’s too fat, and that one’s too thin, this one’s too tall, and that one’s too small. Oh no, none of these will do, not one of these apples shall go into my apple pie!” Still quite angry he refused to stay, and soon Angry Amos just walked away. “Poor Angry Amos I’ve never seen him smile,” Andy said to himself.  “I could make him smile if I were Andy the Acrobat Ant, and my Aunt Amy she could proud,” said Andy.

“Dreaming again Andy Ant?” asked April Aphid who was sitting high in a tree. “An acrobat Ant, how absurd. Take my advice, you can’t afford to waste time, you’ll be an Adult Ant soon. What chores have they assigned you, what deeds shall you do, a farmer Ant, and the gatherer of the fruits, an army Ant, who is the protector of hundreds? Oh what will you do Andy Ant, you must think, time is ticking, and you must not wait? Think once, then twice, and three times to be sure, you will find the right answer Andy Ant, I’m quite sure,” said April Aphid.

“The right answer,” thought Andy. He looked at April Aphid way up high in the air. Soon he began to cry. Andy wept softly; his tears were rather large.

“Watch what you’re doing Andy Ant,” said Allen the Alligator. Allen opened his sleepy eyes and looked up at Andy. Andy, not watching where he was walking, walked right upon Allen Alligator’s enormous nose. “Sit down my lad and lend an open ear. I heard April Aphid, but there’s really much more. The world is changing, people are born, change, and grow old. Change and grow with it, Andy Ant, you can be an Acrobat,” said Allen the Alligator. “Try once, then twice, and three times if you must. You can do it Andy Ant. You can be an Acrobat,” said Allen the Alligator.

 With a twinkle in his eye, Andy assured Allen the Alligator that he would try and try.

After several attempts and practice Andy learned to swing from vine to vine. In time Andy Ant developed an aerial act and grew up to be an acrobat.

The End

Lori Weidenbacher

Darn

I wrote this story in memory of my Grandmother.

*********

Darn

The sound of the alarm going off awoke me and I stared through blurry eyes at the numbers on the clock.  Quickly I rolled out of bed, dressed, ate, and ran out the door.

After arriving at work I stopped to glance in a mirror just to make sure everything was on and where it belonged.  My hair was combed, teeth brushed, all the buttons on my blouse were done up, my shoes were a pair, and my socks were the same color and the same size.  For appearance sake everything looked fine. But, what no one knew was inside my right shoe I had a hole in my sock.  It didn’t show so no one would know, and when I get home I’d simply mend it.
 
There are two ways to mend a sock.  I know what you may be thinking, fix it or throw it away, but that isn’t what I said.  There are two ways to MEND a sock.  The first way is the fastest.  You hold the torn edges between your fingers, take a needle and thread and whipstitch across the top and tie it.  It takes less than two minutes to mend a sock this way, and you’re ready to put it on and walk away.

You can tell a person who whipstitches their socks by the way they walk.  A person who whipstitches walks down the hall and stops every 4 or 5 feet pulling their foot halfway out of their shoe, they wiggle their toes around trying to find some kind of comfort.  They do this all the way down the hall all day long until they get home and take that whipstitched sock off their foot.

Fortunately there is another way to mend socks, unfortunately it’s almost a lost art, it’s called darning.

I learned how to darn socks from my grandmother. I remember a weekend visit I spent with my grandparents.  Grandmother had promised to take me shopping after the chores were finished.  With everything cleaned I thought we were ready to go when grandmother took out her sewing box and a small bag of socks. I watched her take a sock and put a wooden ball inside of it that opened up and exposed a hole that was inside the sock.  Needle in hand she began to weave a thread back and forth across the top of the sock.  Watching and waiting this seemed to take forever.  I looked at her and said, “I know a way that’s faster, may I help you mend?”  She looked at me with loving eyes and a ginger smile, then answered, “Yes you can mend the mate to the sock I’m darning."  I held the sock tightly in my fingers, and made a fast whipstitch across the top and tied it.  My prize in had I continued to wait and watch.   Finally grandmother was through with hers.  I smiled boastfully and said, “My way is faster."  She replied with words of wisdom and a wonderful smile, “Lori, I always buy your grandfather the same size socks, would you take these two socks and fold them?”.  I put the socks together but stopped and looked quizzingly at my grandmother and said, “You must have made a mistake when you bought this pair because the sock I mended is one inch smaller that its mate."  She chuckled softly and said, “Lori, there are two ways to mend a sock."  The first way is the fastest, it takes very little time or care, but when it’s finished there is shrinkage and it isn’t very comfortable to wear.  The other way to mend a sock takes more of your time as you carefully weave new threads back into the sock where the old ones have been lost or worn out.  It takes longer to mend a sock this way but when you're finished the sock stretches to allow for growth and it's comfortable to wear.

Everywhere we look around us there are worn, torn people.  People who have weathered  trials in life and have been left tattered.  There are families and marriages that have been cut and are pulling apart.  All of these worn torn people are in need of repair, and there are two ways to mend people.  The first way is the fastest.  It takes very little of your time or care.  You simply hold them briefly where they're torn and run a quick stitch through their lives.  However, when you’re through there is shrinkage and it isn’t very comfortable.  The other way to mend people takes more time and love. You must carefully weave new threads of understanding, compassion, friendship, and love back into their lives where the old ones have worn out or lost.  When you finished their lives stretch to allow for growth and it's very comfortable.
There are two ways to mend and two kinds of menders, one is a whipstitcher, the other is a weaver.
Growing up and growing older I remember and love my grandmother for the lessons in life she taught me.

Lori Weidenbacher