Archive for May, 2014

no idea aka [BLANK]

It’s 2:30 in the afternoon,

less than ten hours left in the day,

Blog Day,

and I’ve no idea what I’m writing / posting about today.



I’ve plenty of ideas,

but none done,

nothing I can dash off at this,

the last minute.

Thus far,

I’ve got my writing done a few days in advance.

Not so idealistically

or goal-oriented as to get an edge on it

as it was writing when inspiration struck.

Inspiration hasn’t struck.

So I’m writing ,

about not writing.

Could be a very short post.

Or a very long one.

I have the impressive ability to talk a lot,

i.e. use a lot of words,

to convey simple stories and ideas.

Like nothing.

I don’t guess it gets much less than nothing.

Too much physics to wrap my



head around describing

or talking about less than nothing

which would be negative.

Like a black hole.

Maybe it’s the “summer’s here” mindset,

you know,



I’m a teacher, remember?

And yesterday was our last day.

And although I was assisting with one group,

I was it for my Spanish students.

And I gave the Final Exam yesterday.

And now I’m ready to

check out for a while.


I’m always ready to check out,

But it doesn’t happen.

[refer to previous post [Disconnected, 5-9-14]

“I’m an artist, there’s never not something to do!”



[Drowning, 4-11-14]

“I’m a writer, there’s never nothing to say.


Remember the tabs?

My brain is always going,

no shut off valve.

Maybe this



is my brain’s way of shut down.

Or system maintenance.

The server is down for maintenance.

Don’t know when it’ll be back.

It surprises me.

It’ll come back with some sort of surge.

Clever little pun there,

did ya catch it?


Power surge,

surge of creativity and mental activity.

[wish it would translate to physical activity]

It’s my blog,

I’m allowed to be corny if I wanna.

Since I’m blaming this on summer lazy days,

I’ll mention a few of the

intended summer projects,


Since my days all run together,

the whole lazy days of summer really

hold little definition for me.

Same is true for artists.

There’s never time off.

And without the illusive cash flow,

much of my plans are more of a

wish list.

Like going to the beach.

Or driving to the mountains,

which I’m closer to.

I do have a sleep-over planned

for my granddaughter,

next week after the last day of school.

I’ll have six giggly little girlies here.

We’ll watch movies,

build a blanket fort,

or tent,

or maybe we’ll call it a Princess Castle.

We’ll play in the sprinkler

and paint footprints and handprints.

Might make mini-pizzas for supper

or hotdogs,

and I’ll make cinnamon biscuit balls for breakfast.

That’ll take care of one night,

and part of two days.

I love being outdoors,

and love working in the yard so

I’ll plant some daisies

and plant some grass seed.

I’ve a gift certificate

so I can go to Lowe’s

and get toys for the yard.

Toys being the daisies and grass seed.

And clippers to trim the shrubs,

and maybe new lawn chairs.

I have one,

a plastic one,

and it broke when the wind blew it off the porch.

It’s still sittable,

but only if I sit at an angle,

and don’t lean back.

There’s the ongoing,

perpetual project

of cleaning,


My stuff.

In the house.

I’ve made great strides,

significant progress.

But it’s ongoing,


ever fluctuating.

Incoming mail,



Now that the semester is over,

I can set aside the lesson plans.

For now.

I’m looking ahead to the fall,

already framing in my mind

how I’ll take on the new year.

This past year,

I jumped in without a plan.

I started as a helper-outer,

and took on more as the year progressed.

This past semester,

my Spanish skills were called upon

to teach Español

to the single ninth grader,

and to the solitary seventh grader.

We’re a home school setting,

they share class time and space.

And that was all me.

I took from my college textbook,

and created lessons,

and we had fun.

And they learned.

I was one proud teacher yesterday when

they both gave their reports!

This led me to another project.

I’ll be offering workshops in Español this summer.

So I’ve lessons to plan for that.

Simple, really.

Basic day-to-day knowledge.

Daily stuff.

No grammar for the workshop,


“Hello, my name is,”

and “How are you?”

Stuff like that.

Maybe, “I want to buy some carrots.”


“How much does the horse cost?”

You know,

in case someone is selling a horse.

And you want to buy it.


by the way, is,

¿Cuánto cuesta el caballo?

Of course,

I’m reading.

Constantly reading.

One of the perks of being an author.

I could literally sit on the beach

[assuming I can get there]

and read all day and call it work.

Not only do I need

to read other authors,

which enhances my own work,

but I read to give reviews,

which then


comes back to me

in the form of reviews for my own work.

Classic you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours.

Also called courtesy.

Also called I love this part of this job!

I’ve no small litany of

drawing and painting projects

in my head as well.

And a new pad,


a large one,

of watercolor paper.

Hey! Greg Marquez,

I’mma be watercoloring this summer!!

And making artist books.

Have I mentioned

I love making artist books?

I do.

I love books as art too,

made quite the fancy sculpture last spring.

And there’s the one I made for the poem I wrote.

Years ago.

Your Light in Me.

Of course,

I like to go for my walks,

and sit outside.

That’s holy time for me,

worship time,

communion time.

‘specially if it’s raining.

I’d be utterly remiss,

as a writer,

if I failed to give mention

to my writing.

Of course,

I’ll be writing.

I’ve one novel to promote


and #2 to write.


So I’ve much to do this summer.

If I can get past this



Not if,


for this I know.

The creative whim will strike,

the creativity will flow,

verily it doth flow,

if unseen just now.

And by next week,

or before next week at 2:30,

I’ll have something

written and posted already.

Something lovely

and polished.


even profound.

Read Full Post »

Why now?


after more than half a century have I finally discovered I’m an artist?

And am practicing my art?

And yes, I’m more than half-a-century old,

five years more than half-a-century, to be exact.

Maybe the question should be phrased the other way ‘round,

“Why did it take me so long to discover I’m an artist?”

Rather, “Why did it take so many years to release my inner artist?”Rather, “… to accept myself as an artist?”)

Artists don’t fit into the holes that the pegs go into.

You know, square peg, square hole.

It’s not even a matter of a triangle peg in a round hole,

we artists just aren’t peg-n-hole material.

We’re free-form, and there’s no hole or peg for that.

Yet, I spent waaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy too many years

trying to fit into a hole that I’m not designed for.

I’m not a peg.

Still, why so long?

Well, besides being an artist,

I’m a people pleaser.

(It’s ok, it’s how Papa God made me.)

Not, I repeat, NOT to be confused with being a doormat.

That said, I was a doormat.

I tried to please everyone.

And by everyone,

I mean literally,


Which, I now know,

is impossible.


There was one person I failed to,

neglected to,

try to please.



Yeah. I didn’t think I should please me,

didn’t think I was worth anybody trying to make me happy.

Not even God…..


So, I did my best to fit in some hole,

or box,

or human mold.

And I managed,

I functioned.

But I did not flourish.

I did not thrive.

I did not grow

or blossom

or bloom.

My art was stifled.

I was stifled.

And, stifled,

I was dying inside.

My soul was dying,

my heart was dying.

My identity was dying.


But I’m tenacious.

Sometimes we ask, “Why me, God?” when disaster strikes.

I ask, “Why me?” when I think about the grace He’s poured on me,

in me,

through me.

“Why me?” when I realize

I didn’t give up

[I wanted to, a million times, tried to, a million times]

but I can’t.

It’s not in me to quit.

“Why me?”

when it’s all falling apart and yet I hang on.

It’s simple really,

I have a purpose,

a destiny,

we all do.

And to discover that,

to discover and embrace my purpose and my destiny,

my identity,

that’s the journey.

That’s the discovery.

I struggled,



through the depression,

the angst,

the dissatisfaction

of trying to be something I’m not.

Fought against it,

tried to squelch it,

hide my artistic skills.

Was embarrassed to share my talent,

thought I was being vain.

Not true,

Papa has placed the gift in me,

in each of us,

for the very purpose of sharing it!

A treasure cannot stay buried.

And my artist has risen,

rather like a Phoenix,

from the ashes of the disaster of trying to conform to a peg-hole,

of trying to remain confined to a box.

I’m not made to conform,

I’m made to transform,

to BE transformed,

by the Word of God.

And the more His Word is established in me,

the more of what He created me to be

is also established.

I knew I was a musician always.

Piano lessons as a little girl (taught by my Mom,)

voice lessons at age 12,

[intended] vocal music major in college.

Didn’t happen,

life happened,

and I got married instead.

And had babies.

And got divorced.

I couldn’t settle,

my artist was trying,

trying to get out,

but I wouldn’t let her.

No job assignment satisfied,

and no job lasted.

(many were temp assignments, anyway)

My first speaking role in a theatre production

was Dr. Armstrong in Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians.

I was a sophomore in high school.

My British accent got me that role.

And no, I’ve never been there,

and yes, now I’m thinking en accent as I type.

My favorite thing to say en accent is,

“I’m born in Mississippi.”

Not sure how,

or why,

but it’s there,

this ability with accents,

and with words.

(something about being a writer…)

It’s just there,

God just popped it in me head,

and this accent anyway,

the British one,

I can turn on and off like a spigot.

I dance.

I play the piano.

I sing.

I act.

And, of course,

I write.

I said for years I couldn’t draw, though.

I was wrong.

Had to take Drawing as part of my college curriculum and discovered that

a) I can, in fact, draw, and

b) I’m pretty darn good – and

c) I like it!


And that brings me to my writing.

Like my accent, it’s just there.

I don’t “conversate,”

I tell stories.

A journalist I’m not.

Short n sweet n to the point,


not me.

I’m descriptive,


(just perhaps) too much…..


I live my characters.

I’m there, in the story,

I feel every emotion,

walk every path,

climb every mountain…

I’m in the story.

It’s a phenomenon I can’t explain,

the story tells itself to me.

I am quite aware that there are not little people in my head,

talking to me.

I fully grasp that it’s my imagination that is producing,

generating my stories.

But within the theatre of my mind,

my characters tell the story to me.

I sometimes don’t know what’s going to happen

until I write it.

Can’t explain it, it’s just there.

Another thing about imagination.


Artistic streak.

It doesn’t stop.

There’s no shut off valve.

It’s going, twenty-four / seven.

It’s like a gajillion browser tabs open

all at once.

Yeah, it’s noisy in my head!!

Still, why now?

Why today?

Why 2014?

Why not 2012, or 2000?

Why not 1990, or 1984 (the year I was divorced.)

Why not 1977, the year I graduated high school?

Why not 2013, the year I graduated from college?

You know, with the pretty pretty degree,

the BFA in Interior Design?

Why now?


Only Papa God knows.

He has a time and a season,

and yes,

I believe we all miss it sometimes.

Truly, most of the time, we miss it.

But it doesn’t take Him by surprise.

He’s there,

He’s ready.

He’s prepared.

So, maybe,

it’s not really a foible in some

Divine time continuum,

perhaps it’s all

His timing after all.

Do I believe He needs the horrors,

the tragedies that befall us

to implement His plan?


Utterly and absolutely no.

You’ve seen it on Facebook,

we all have,

“God won’t give us more than we can handle.”


“He only give His strongest battles to the strongest warriors.”


I have a problem with that,and my problem with it is that

most of the mess we have in our lives

we bring on ourselves.

He’s the One Who gets us out of the mess,

He’s the One Who keeps it from being messier than it already is.

Maybe that’s why I’m so tenacious after all,

why I never give up.

But I do know He uses all the messes and horrors and tragedies for our good,

He tells us that.

When the worst of the worst happens,

He is there,

think footprints in the sand,

guiding us,

carrying us through.

And there is joy on the ‘other side,’

there is always joy on the other side.

He is that joy.

So now?

Because it’s His time and His purpose.

He’s brought me along some kind of journey to get here.

And now,

I embrace the artist in me,

the artist that I am.

Now I embrace what that will mean and look like.

Remember the “recovering inviblet?”

She didn’t even recognize herself as an artist,

couldn’t embrace herself at all.

But I’m not her anymore.

I’m not invisible,

I’m shining and I’m good

and it’s okay to say that.

I’ve got stories to tell,

and pictures to paint and draw,

dances to dance,

and a piano [to retrieve] so I can practice.

I’ve songs to sing,

and plays to play.


Because now is as good a time as any.

Because today is the day the Lord has made,

and I will rejoice and be glad in it.

Because there’s no time like the present.

Because now won’t come again.

Because – For such a time as this. Esther 4:14

Read Full Post »

On being a Granny

Once again, my topic picks itself for me, this week: my granddaughters, on being a grandmother.


There’s a delight that wasn’t there when my kids were growing up, an added dimension, it enriches the depth of being a Mom. [all the more timely, on this Friday after Mother’s Day]


And the topic is at hand because, well, my granddaughters are spending the weekend with me! HAPPY GRANNY!!! I’ve long had “honorary” kids (mostly daughters), friends of my own kids. And their kids are, by default, honorary grandkids. But MY own grandkids are only two. Two precious beautiful little girls who stole my heart from the beginning. Violet* is my daughter’s little girl and she is eight, and Rose* is my son’s daughter and she is four. Violet lived with me, she and her mom, for four years, and we’re pretty tight. Rose lives about an hour away, and my heart was torn for a long time that I wasn’t as close to her. And I don’t mean physical distance.


But recently, Rose’s Momma has called on me to have Rose for the week-end. Of course I said yes! Of course I jumped at it. And of course, I’m all about having fun and making the most of it. And of course, Violet comes to stay too so double the fun!


Now, because Violet and her mom live close enough, I get her off the bus after school while her mom is still at work. Half of her birthday parties have been at my house, and I’ve made and decorated four or five of her birthday cakes. We’ve had all but one Christmas together, and she has stayed with me over spring break and part of her summer vacation. My house is a second home to her.


But my connection with Rose has been more tenuous, less bonded. So when her Mommie tells me how excited she is to come see me, my heart thrills!


The first time Rose came down was last fall. It was several weeks before her birthday so she was still three. And although she knew me, she had never been away from her Momma, not out of town, for two nights in a row before. In my exuberance to have fun, I pushed too hard. We went to a festival in the park, in Spartanburg, which is about 25 miles from my house. And it was unusually warm, and by unusually warm, I mean hot, for September. I dragged those poor girls through that festival, determined that they would have fun! It wasn’t epic, but it wasn’t a total failure either.


Next time they were both here, we stayed closer to home and spent the afternoon at the park, playing on the playground. Much more successful afternoon.


This weekend, it’s supposed to rain (per the Weather Channel, remember my obsession with the weather) so I’m planning – subject to change of course – to help them make artist books for their mommies, kind of a Post-Mother’s Day present. I’ve stickers, and all manner of pretties to decorate them with.   I wanna build a blanket fort, and make popcorn, and of course, we have to watch “our” movie, Brave. We watched that together last fall, so it has to be our tradition to watch it together.


The first time, I let them make their own mini-pizzas, too. You know, with canned biscuits for crust, and jar-sauce, loaded with cheese and a topping or two. Maybe we can make some slice-n-bakes this weekend.


Dress-up is a classic, always a favorite. Was one of my favorites as a little girl. Palying princess, doing hair and nails and make-up. Playing school, or hospital, putting puzzles together, the big floor puzzles. I bought several for Violet when they lived with me, and still have them. I guess they’re Granny puzzles now, for all the grand kiddoes when they come. Rose love them. I also have Old Maid, Go Fish and Crazy Eights card games. (I can manage sitting on the floor for a little while!!!)


Of course, I love to read stories. (I do, of course, have stories to write for them. Need to get on that….. ) Violet can help me read now, too. The best part of it, though, is the cuddling while we read. Really, though, the best-best part of the whole weekend, is the cuddling, whether we’re reading or not. That and the giggling. And the hugging.


They’re my grandgirls. And they’re coming to see me. Ain’t nothing better’n that.

Read Full Post »

Only it’s not a friend at all. Depression is no friend. And it’s hounding me again. After many years. Apparently it doesn’t like the glory that’s been taking place in my life, the breakthrough I’ve stepped into. This new level of faith and life and purpose.


Faith is an interesting journey. Not some smooth sailing glide into heaven, no not at all. It’s a joyous journey to be sure. That would be the joy of the Lord. It’s pretty amazing, too. To be in the midst of the worst possible scenario or circumstance imaginable – and have peace! It’s indescribable.


The thing is, the more we seek to follow God, to honor His Word, to live in His Truth, the more hell sets out to keep us from it. The thing of it is, hell has no power. Zero, Zip. Nada.


Yup. You read that right. Hell truly has no power. Satan is a liar, that’s it. That’s his “super power.” Pretty lame. He lied right there in the Garden of Eden, “Did God really say that?”


And Adam and Eve fell for it. Don’t be too hasty to point fingers at them, though. If they hadn’t screwed it up, somebody else would have. Something to do with being human and not perfect.


Remember my post from last week? “Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was invisible. Or she thought she was invisible, felt that way at least. And when she felt people were staring at her, she wished she was invisible. That little girl was me. Hello, my name is Robin, and I’m a recovering invisiblet. I wasn’t shy, I was terrified.” He lied to me. He told me I was worthless, not good enough. He said I didn’t deserve anything Papa God promised me. He used those closest to me to perpetrate the lie. Candy coated to look like a good thing, like it was encouragement.


Well guess what! The promises of God are “Yes and amen!” The gifts of God are without repentance. See that little word? Gifts? That’s not payment for services rendered, as in a wage earned. It’s a gift. A present. Like you give to someone you love for a special occasion. Or for no reason at all. Just ‘cause you love ‘em. To show ‘em you love ‘em. God does that.


He has promised to never leave us or forsake us. Even when we tell Him to. Or when we walk away from Him, He’s there, just a whisper away. Countless times He meddles. And by meddle I mean He runs interference on the schemes of the enemy, you know, the one who lies and wants us dead. And sometimes, Papa God just overwhelms us with His goodness. He’s pretty amazing like that. Remember my pork chop story? Yeah, like that.


So why is my “old friend” hanging around? Better question: why in the name of all that is good and holy am I entertaining it? Dunno. Don’t have a good answer. The easy answer: I’m tired. Not just tired-I-need-a-nap tired. But weary-tired-of-fighting tired. This is a battle I’ve faced my whole life. This depression. This lack. I don’t just mean money. That’s true enough. [reality vs truth for another writing] I’m talking about utter lack. The aforementioned self-esteem? Lack. Utterly. Formerly. Identity? As in knowing who I am? Lack. Utterly. Formerly.


There is another lack, this one especially painful. Relationships. Lack. Utterly. Formerly. God is relational. He’s all about the relationship. That same lack of confidence crippled me in relationships. Past tense. I’ve solid friendships now, my core friendships. Still, I am painfully excruciatingly alone. And lonely. Yes, Jesus is the Friend Who never leaves us. Yes, He is with me in every moment whether I acknowledge Him or not. Yes, I can talk to Him 24/7. But ya know what? He also manifests His presence through others. And while I cherish and appreciate all who are there for me and disparage no one [no one can “be there” all the time] the fact remains that most of my time I spend painfully alone. Yes, I get lost in my books, both reading and writing. Yes, I’ve my art and my kitties to keep me company. Sometimes, though, we need to hear a human voice and feel a human touch. Apostle said it this morning, don’t neglect those around you. Don’t neglect the relationships Papa has blessed you with. Don’t neglect the happenstance connection, the neighbor, in the aisle at the store, on the job or in the classroom. Truly, they are not coincidental, rather they are Divine assignments.


Still, there’s fall out from years of lack. The mountain is gone – see Mark 11:23, “For assuredly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be removed and cast into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that those things he says will be done, he will have whatever he says.” So the mountain of lack is gone. I’m embracing my identity, my daughter-of-the-King status – I’m a Princess. For realz!!! I’m an artist. I make art. And it’s good. And an author. I write. Good stuff. I communicate….. getting there. And money. I’m blessed to be a blessing. Also getting there. And relationships. Growing.


But the lack-monster [aka Goliath] doesn’t let go so easy. He’s dead, but he’s still trying to fight me. And the waves are huge. Waves, as in walking on the water and keep my eyes on Jesus not on the waves. And I listen to lies, lies that I’m not doing it right. That I can’t really expect God to help me, to rescue me. I’ve gotta do this, I’ve gotta do that. I gotta do it better, I didn’t do it right. Man, is that ever old news, on incessant replay. SILENCE!! I speak the Word of God, the Word of Truth to those lies. To that lie. To every lie. I speak the Word.


That’s the answer to every issue, every lack, every lie, every mountain we ever face. The Truth of the Word of God, spoken over our lives, ourselves, our battles. That’s the power we hold over the enemy.


So the intensity of this attack? Tells me the grandeur and opulence of what Papa’s doing. The intensity of this attack? Tells me I’m ON target with Papa, not off base. If I was off base, the enemy, the darkness would leave me be. He wants me off base. Guess I must be pretty spot on target. Based on this attack.


So. I think I’ve written myself right out of the Darkness. Good-bye Darkness, my old friend. Don’t come to talk to me again. I’ve nothing to say to you.


there is nowhere

Read Full Post »


At least that’s how I feel. I grew up in the 60’s, you know, the Dark Ages. Before cell phones and internet. Before call waiting or answering machines. Before cable TV or even remotes. Well, I do have lights on in the house and the AC is running at the moment, and I did cook breakfast this morning and brew coffee, and not over an open flame, so not really “dark ages.” I did grow up without computers, or cell phones, or cordless phones for that matter. We had one phone in the house, and that was in the kitchen. My grandmother’s house still has the phone in the hallway! I grew up when there was no call waiting or “leave a message at the beep” and no called ID.   I grew up when we went outside to play [see meme’s about growing up in the 60’s.] Oh, wait, “meme” is an internet phenomenon….. Do I feel like I’ve been thrown back in time? Yeah, a little bit. Do I mind? Not so much. Does that surprise me? You betcha!See, my phone service is currently suspended. And because my phone was also my internet connection, well, it’s temporarily suspended too. Sigh…



Life without the cell phone. The constant companion. The electronic growth.



It’s quiet.



Quiet can be a good thing or a bad thing. Depends on how you look at it. And what you do with your time. I choose to view it as a good thing. Now, I have the luxury of this because I know this is temporary. I know that at some point in time [sooner than later I hope, I hope] my service will be restored and I’ll plug back in. My companion will be more than my alarm clock.



You’d think it would be no big deal, though. Having lived before all this technology was around. You’d think it would be like a stroll down memory lane, reminiscent of innocent times. Or something ridiculous like that. It is no such thing. Although I am choosing the positive, it is a handicap. Did I mention I’m a Weather Channel junkie? I constantly check the forecast, and the current temperature. It’s one of my tabs on my home page.



Tabs on my home page. I currently have a dozen. Facebook [who doesn’t???] two emails, two blogs, the aforementioned Weather Channel, Twitter, my Amazon author account and of course, the Amazon page with my novel. [Tessa, in case you’ve missed it. While you’re at it, go get a copy, and leave a review! <—– unabashed plug!]


book cover - 040614


On Facebook, I’ve my personal page and my professional page, Robin E. Mason, Author & Artist. [while you’re at it, go “like” my page, be my fan!!] And I “follow” two different pages for writers. See all the good stuff I’m missing???


See all the time I’ve got that I’m NOT online? [ooohh, that smarts!] I can easily spend two hours trolling Facebook, email and my other connections. And that’s before breakfast! Not the wisest use of my time, says I.


So what am I doing with ALLLLL this “free time?” I’m reading, spending time with my writing, proofreading a manuscript for my writer-friend. [not something I want to do full time, by the way!] I’m an artist, there’s never not something to do!


rem facebook cover - 2


I’m also a teacher. Started out last fall as “something to do until” I landed that great design job. That great design job still hasn’t found me, and teaching is no longer something to do “until.” It is something to do. I love it! And, I’m told, I’m good at it. [yay me!] [go figure!] So there’s that that keeps me busy. And gives me human interaction.


See, I’m on Disability for Rheumatoid Arthritis. [yeah it sucks] Limits what I can do it two ways: first is the dreaded fatigue. More so than any pain associated with RA, the weakness haunts me constantly. And second, is financial. Disability doesn’t give me much to go on. Thank God for, well, for Him. He meets more needs in the most surprising ways. And I’m talking the big stuff – like rent – all way “down” to little things, like pork chops. Yes, pork chops. This is what happened: I was craving pork chops. Didn’t mention it to Him [i.e. prayer] or anyone else for that matter, just a craving. Next thing I know, my neighbor has fixed pork chops for dinner – and sent a plate over for me!! How’s THAT for answered un-prayer!! He did say when we delight in Him, He’ll give us the desire of our heart. And my heart [well my belly] was wanting a pork chop. Pretty cool, huh? So, see, I know my phone AND my internet will be back on. Papa God will see to that!




All this “down time” has allowed me greater “up time” though. “Up time” being prayer / meditation time. I learned / discovered a few years ago that sometimes, those moments spent not verbalizing some great and magnificent prayer, are, in fact, greater and more magnificent by virtue of their simplicity, their innocence. Looking up at the sky or the trees, as my mind wanders, and I connect with Him, seeming random thoughts occur to me. A name drops in my mind, a need, a blessing. And I pray, I interact with Papa God, we talk, as good friends should and do. [this theme and phrase just keeps coming up….. ]


Methinks the constant companion is here to stay. Methinks we shall never go back to the proverbial “simpler times” when there was but a single phone in the house, and it was in the kitchen, or the hallway. Methinks we won’t chuck our laptops and flat screens for – well, I don’t even know what we’d put in their place. TV with rabbit ears? Methinks we can make the best use of the technology we’ve been given, make the wise choice, and log off once in a while. Said by a true FB junkie! Put the phone down, let that text go, belay that response. Spend face time with real faces, live voices. Spend heart time with His heart, His voice.  Methinks He is the Constant Companion.

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It’s been a week, that’s for sure. Still reeling from the loss of my friend, focus had been hard to come by.




I guess that’s where I’ll start. With friendship.





I vest myself deeply in my family and friends. If I’ve got it to give, if I’ve the time or capacity to do or go, I will. And sometimes, even when I really don’t have. And, sometimes, when I probably shouldn’t. [sometimes “helping” isn’t really helping]


Then again, sometimes helping is a great risk. To express love, to venture past tacit boundaries, offer advice, er, I mean, counsel. Sometimes it’s a hug or a smile, or a word of encouragement, “thinking of you today.” I know what that means to me when I get those random words and smiles. A candy bar, or a favorite treat. It’s what friendships are made of, it’s what relationships are made of.





I’ve so many circles of friends, so wide-spread, I’ve a very full heart. I’ve my “inner core” friends, I guess they’re my “besties.” They know me better and longer than anyone else, have been through hell and high water with me, watched me grow, watched me struggle and hurt, watched me learn, watched me fly – flown with me. They’ve encouraged me in ways that defy definition, the little things – like candy bars, or a butterfly window catcher (purple of course) – and the big things – standing in prayer, giving an ear [or IM chat box] when I need someone, a hug when I’m broken. We laugh, at the silliest things – more importantly, we laugh at the same things. Which I guess is part of what defines friendship. Because of distance, we don’t “hang out” often – and when we do it’s the more cherished for it.





There are those who comprise my “outer core,” nearly as bonded as the “besties” but perhaps a little less vested. I’m blessed to have many in this outer core, those who lift me and encourage me, laugh with me and talk with me. I know I can count on them, turn to them when I’m hurting or lonely or sad. They are prayer partners, but they are more than that. We are sisters – a few brothers, too – bonded in love, and in laughter.


“Mantle” friends, the most vast category. Those who I count as friends but don’t interact with often or frequently, or on the regular. There is connection but not the same bond. Laughter, maybe a cup of coffee, a helping hand. Perhaps a shoulder when there are tears. Co-workers, classmates, the random person that makes “the connect.” I count them friends, I like having friends, and I like having lots.


Of course, there’s the “crust.” And because I would place a miserly few in the category of enemy, there are those who are on the fringe of friendship, and they are indeed, “crusty.” You know how it goes, you greet, ask politely what’s up, nod, smile. But there’s no genuine interest, no real concern, lacks the “connect.” And maybe this isn’t really a “friend” category. Maybe “meh” is a more apt classification. “Meh,” I’ll stick with my “crust.” All good pies have to have a crust.





Family all fall into one of the divisions. You know, some are barely a crust, while some are infinitely a core bestie. There’s the black sheep – and they could be core or crust – there’s always the family clown, and the family melodramatist, the matriarch or patriarch, the rock-solid cousin who’s always there.


I count friendship a privilege, and open easily, sometimes too easily, readily, to friendship. I am open, transparent, honest. I’m alone much of the time, and lonely, and that’s hard. I’m an enigma: I cherish my alone time [my Holy time, my creativity time] yet I relish social time.


Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was invisible. Or she thought she was invisible, felt that way at least. And when she felt people were staring at her, she wished she was invisible. That little girl was me. Hello, my name is Robin, and I’m a recovering invisiblet. I wasn’t shy, I was terrified. And that made it quite difficult to make friends. Or to be a friend.


So now, I’m making up for lost time, in a sense. Truly, I’m gaining the maturity and the gift Papa has placed in me all along. That of having friends. That of being a friend.


And of course, I would be remiss if I neglected the greatest Friend of all, Jesus. He’s the Friend Who is always with me [sheesh, do I ever need that reminder!!!] He’s the Friend Who knows me best, and yet never turns His back on me. Never turns me away, or denies me a moment of His time. Of course, He has saved me from my sins and all that “religious” stuff, but He’s my Friend, He’s the Friend Who never leaves my side, Who always has my back. He knows my secrets – and tells me His. And yes, He laughs with me, and cries with me. He feels my pain, and shares my joy. As all good friends should and do. He walks with me, and talks with me – as all good friends should and do.





I’ve friends in all avenues, at every turn. I tend to make friends easily, and stay true. Even when it becomes a memory.

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