Post Traumatic Sixites-Reality TV Begins

In 2010, reality tv has taken over the networks. But in the sixties, reality tv begins--and it was reality. Watching the news made you duck. It started with the replays of President Kennedy's assassination, then we watched Lee Harvey Oswald get shot. Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King were gunned down, and we watched.

There were riots, church bombings, and civil rights workers killed. The Vietnam war was broadcast regularly, until they had to stop because someone saw their son dead on a stretcher before they were even notified. And into the seventies, there were students killed at Kent State, and the clocktower massacre.

Before this, television was non-threatening entertainment. Women and children never got killed. Actually, I saw the first lady die in an episode of Bonanza. Anyway.

So trying to sell reality television to me is a hard-sell. I have seen the real stuff. And it left the youth of the sixties with a plateful of hard truth.

New Year

Wedge the wind beneath me
Challenge my heart with hope
Within my walls of walking
Life lifts,
Tracking trials
Molding memories
Choosing
Past or present
Which
Can break barriers
Or construct concrete.
Smiles surpass
Clearly commence
The present prevails
I begin again.

Surely Joy Comes In The Morning

HIDE AND SEEK

Quiet morning rising,
Still darkness in my heart.
I reach out for a light
To cross the room.
Sleepy eyes, blurred in shadows.
Dull thoughts, searching through the gloom
For what has come before.

I draw back the curtains
To let the soft light
Filter through the room,
Seeking out reminders
Of what the Lord has done.

The shadows fail.
The soft, pale light of promise
Fills the room.
I turn to face this dawn:
Fresh hope and joy.

Christian Living

You are my life and breath,
My fiber, and the basis of my being.
You are the strength in my soul,
The keeper of the courage in my heart.

In the devastation of broken dreams,
Among the ruins of unrecognized hope,
You are the foundation for rebuilding
and rebirth,
The keeper of the courage in my heart.

Your Word is like a strong arm,
Your will a wall of safety.
You are faith itself, and never ending hope.
Though earthquakes rock my life
And split my dreams like paper
I cling to You, my constant source of strength,
Oh Lord, my hope and my eternal love.

You own my heart, and all that I have
Belongs to You.
What can I do that does not come from You?
What thought, or dream conceived,
Does not spring from Your creation?
I am, I am because You are,
Oh Lord.I am because You are.

Post Traumatic Stress in the Sixties

We know today that posttraumatic stress disorder is plaguing veterans. It took a long time for to admit that those who live with the constant threat of death are never the same. I remember when my husband returned from Vietnam. He was confused, angry, and finally, dangerous for me and my child to be around. I tried to get help from the Army and from the Veterans hospital, but no one knew then what we do now.
And I think also about growing up during the sixties, with the Cold war, the "duck and tuck" drills, the bomb shelters, and TV tests. I wonder sometimes if we all don't have just a shred of PTSD. That sense of fight or flight that leaves us jumpy, that lead us on the rebellious path that is the legacy of the sixties.
If we can dive into ourselves, and remember, we can help with the universal acceptance that man, in terms of both male and female, have difficulty taking lives in the exploding environment that is war, and then not expect these veterans to return to normality with the descent from the plane.
Acclamation into normality needs some time.
And, in the US today, what is normal? Don't we all share in the towers, in the fear? Of course, we live each day, we laugh, we go on, because that is the nature of man, to survive. But we can acknowledge, and have mercy.
I have lived with this sense of an impending threat since I was small, since I watched the TV, listened to adults talk about the bomb, about nuclear threats, and did the drills in school.
When I was 10, I wrote this poem:

I'd hate to be in a war
Even if I didn't get hurt.
To have some strange man come and say " I won you,"
I didn't know I was a prize.
Surprise!

Discovered

I saw my dreams today in your eyes.
That glance surprised me.
The dreams danced lightly,
Snapshots from the future
I keep, and no one knows.
But your eyes knew.

Jewels, my feelings,
Displayed within my heart,
Diamond fire on dark velvet:
Merchant's wares.
And I, so startled, thought,
"I have a fortress so secure",
Bright chambers for my dreams
And stalwart sentries
Guarding all my treasure.

Miser, I am,
Holding all of this, but safe.
Until I saw what frightened me:
That someone knew my soft and secret child.

And yet, I would not trade
Or lay these jewels aside.
The feelings they reflect
Glide across my heart, so silken,
And, within their folds,
I clamor through this fortress,
Opening my dreams to see
How you have come by them,
And how they nested in your eyes.

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Faith

A door beyond vision
or
A place beyond touch.
What cannot be known, is.
Transparent substance
That sustains through trials
And leads, like a light,
Down the shadowed corridors
Of an unknown day.

Things beyond knowledge
Are known through the heart:
Planted by a word from God
That grows, perceptive in the Spirit,
Discerning what is
And has not been,
Yet.

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Sacred Things

Sacred things.
Keeping secrets,
Listening when you’re busy
Holding memories tight
And opening your heart.

Loving the unlovely
Smiling when you’re worn
Patiently tying a child’s shoe
And opening your heart.

For all the sacred thoughts and dreams
For holy smiles and words
For sunshine on a winter’s day
We hold our sacred things
Gently, like young children,
And sacredly open our hearts.

Copyright penstruck

What is Mercy

This is mercy.
The sense of dread is gone.
My shoulders lightened,
And smiling goes deeper than my lips,
Into my thoughts, into my eyes.
The everyday is restored with greeting.

I am looking forward to the usual,
Dusting, sweeping, paying bills.
Grateful thanks I awoke this morning.
No one was dead, no one was screaming.
No person was demanding my time, my decision, my thoughts
Today is mine. And I am happy.

Just a simple prayer. “Jesus, help.”
He did, and has, restored my life:
Because life isn’t always dreams fulfilled or desires obtained,
It is the everyday:
The joy of coffee, raindrops on the windows
And the sun rising,
The anticipation of joy.

copyright penstruck

Moonie the Witch

Moonie the witch is an age-old fable
Told oft at night 'round the dinner table
She could fly like a cloud
She was fearless and bold
She was kindness and light
She was always polite

If you had dinner with Moonie
You would dine on the moon
Table set with star dishes and plenty of spoons
You could sit at the table, put the spoon to the floor
Scope up mounds of cheese
And then dig down more

There were sandwiches filled with Jupiter jam
And fine fish from Neptune, and heavenly ham.
Mercury cakes filled with smooth Saturn rings
And plenty of Marzipan icing the thing.
Volumes of Venus beans, Mars sauce on the side
A table so spread, you are almost cockeyed.
Then dirt cakes from Earth, served in sunny jugs,
And Sweet Pluto pudding filled Uranusing mugs.

You would eat all your able,
At the table with spoons
While the stars changed from dishes
To lights for the room.
And Moonie would smile, and offer you more
So that when you were full, you would lay on the floor.


Then Moonie would move all the tables away
Throw you a pillow
So you could comfortably lay.
While she started the music
Comet Tail Hop and Sway
You would stand up and dance,
Little footsteps sashay
The twirling and rocking were magic, pure fun
And everyone laughed, yes, everyone

When the sun began yawning, and rising for day
She would fill sacks with cakes
You could all take away
Then you would climb on the length of her broom
She would fly you to home and your own soft bedroom
Where you lay down your head
And smile with delight
From the dinner and dancing with Moonie that night

Copyright Penstruck

Dancing on the Path

Is this why I danced?
With daisies in my hair
Wore skirts so short
My cheeks were constant blush
And mothered children:

To slip so quietly into assisted living and oatmeal

The past is paved within me
Roads and rooms so filled with what has been
Built upon the gentle stones of schoolyards and promise
Cemented with ambition and dreams
Sorrows and despair.
There are worlds within me,
My vision shines with them
Alive and touching all that I am
Sinew in my soul, whittled wisdoms in my thoughts.

Such eyes as these should not close
With nothing to remember that the future glides
On my footsteps.

Copyright Penstruck

What does it mean to be a Christian

What does it mean to be a Christian? Christian is an accepted term for a group of religious dominations subscribing to the belief that God sent his Son, Jesus, to live and die so that mankind could be once and for all united with God, beyond the Old Testament law.

So does being a Christian mean that you are a member of a denomination, even a non-denomination? Or does being a Christian mean that you, as an individual, have accepted as indisputable truth the Jesus was born of a virgin, lived, and died to reconcile you to God? And, if you, as an individual, believe and accept this, what is the responsibility of your everyday life?

Does it mean you follow a pre-described set of rules defined by an organized sect of the Christian religion? Or do you follow your heart?

It is good to be taught, and to understand Jesus and God's word. It is good to spend time understanding the sin nature of yourself, and why God had the need to send Jesus to die. You cannot change your nature, but you can ask Jesus to change your nature. And you can act as God would, with love, compassion and patience.

You can, through reading the Bible, prayer, and a devotion of thought life, draw close to God. So that you can ask, in any situation, how you should respond.

You cannot get close to God by following rules designed to define how you should act. Do you think God cares if ladies wear makeup, or men play cards? Only if in doing those things, your character is affected. God is concerned about the character of a person, not the actions. But, but, you say.

BUT think about it. The reason you do something is directly related to your inner man. When your character is aligned with God, you will only WANT to do things that reflect that.

It is simple, really, to be a Christian. Do good, and don't wait for people to praise you for it. It is only you and God. You can be a Democrat, and still be a Christian. You can understand that you are meant to live in the world, and be a light, so you mix with unbelievers, you go to school with them, and you work with them.

As you walk, be a person who lives in the light. People will come to you. Because they will be curious about your peace, your kindness, your excellence in your work, or education.

Homeschooling: Learning to spell

When I was a little kid, somehow, I fell in love with words. I had a best friend, Kathy Schmidt. Her last name was the first word I learned to spell.
I am a smart person. But when I was a kid, I didn't have a filter, you know, the thing that makes you hold back on saying what you really mean. That did create some problems for me growing up. But eventually, I learned to craft words more kindly.
Anyway, Kathy and I were in her house, and her Dad was teaching her to spell her last name. S-C-H-M-I-D-T. It was interesting at first, but Kathy just couldn't get it. Her Dad was very patient, spelling it over, and over, and over. "Oh, comeon, Kathy, schmidt, it's not that hard!" I said.
Her Dad looked at me with real kindness, and said not everyone was a smart as me, and I had to learn to be more patient. I said I was sorry, and I meant it. But it set me to wondering, how smart was I? And more, how could words have such power?

Words are the most powerful tools we have. As parents, our words actually shape the personality, security and self-esteem of our kids. As adults, words affirm, solidify and amuse. Words are powerful, use them with care.