Energy Follows Attention

I was caught up in the blahs of winter's long nights and gloomy days, snow and ice, grief and uncertainty. Follow along and I'll tell you why I put them in past tense.

Sorting files I came across "The Golden Key," a five-page booklet by Emmet Fox (1886-1951), New Thought leader and writer. It is available at http://www.unityworldhq.org/. I made a cup of mint and green leaf tea and sat down to read. My poem inspires sharing what I learned.

The wisdom given

at the lofty peak

included the instructions,

'It's not yours to keep.'

Emmet Fox said, "Stop thinking about the difficulty, whatever it is, and think about God instead."

Practice The Attitude of Gratitude.

Mother Theresa said she would not demonstrate against war, but she would march for peace. She understood energy follows attention.

I was reminded, yet again, to get out of my own way. Putting attention only on God allows Him to go to work resolving my problems. At bedtime I surrendered my boat load of troubles and fell asleep praising Him..

I awoke this morning at peace.

Whether you believe in a Higher Power or not, it works. Go ahead test it, and let us know what happens.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Dreamers

George Washington had dreams of opportunity for our new nation. I suspect Betsy Ross stitched our first flag with dreams and prayers for our country's women and children: nurture, don't destroy.

Martin Luther King Jr.had a dream of equality. January 20th Barack Obama will be installed as our first African-American President. Dr. King would be proud. President Obama's "can do" spirit
inspires. He is forthright and honest. God bless and protect him, his family, his administration, our country.

I dream of world-wide good health and abundance ; inexpensive, renewable energy; Earth healed; all people living in peace.

What we think, feel and speak we bring into existence--positive and negative. Peace cannot be dictated, it is personal. When we take responsibility for our thoughts and feelings, purge the negatives and reprogram with positives, the puzzle pieces of peace fall into place.

What positives do you want to bring into existence in your life and world?

The last word in all of this is.......love.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

January on the Farm

msn photo

Wrapped in my rose, flannel-covered duvet, I remember childhood winters on the farm. Night captured the sun and its sundog shadow signaling Nature to slide open the deep freeze door. Bitter cold waltzed out to test animals and people.

Evening's fist of coal warmed the resting cook stove. Overnight both cooled down causing freezing of the teakettle on the stove and the faucet across the room. Outside, wheat straw bales lined the north side of the house providing minimal insulation. Inside walls felt icy. Pale blue and white striped wallpaper over layers of newspaper, over lathe, didn't stop a blizzard, it strained it. The house begged for warmth. Dad's laundered long johns leaned against the dining room wall frozen stiff, ghost-like.

Standing close to the stove, Jani and I shucked out of school clothes into warmed, red flannel pj's. Socks stayed on. Clinging to the warmth, we scurried up the steps. The sheets warmed just to the shape of our spooning bodies.

The wind argued furiously with the plastic on the windows. The house shuddered. Subzero nights moved Dad to light the oil stove in our room. It took the sting off our second floor. Yuk! Stinky, oily-smelling. flames leaped behind the glass showing off their "hot stuff." If they got out, everything could be destroyed, including Myrtle, our pet lamb in the cellar. Terrified, I couldn't sleep; I had to keep watch.

Morning was announced by squeaks and clatters. Mom was in the kitchen lifting the lid on the cook stove; wood thunked in feeding its hungry appetite. We rushed to use the icy-rimmed chamber pot. Quick as cats we dashed down the steps sideways. Huddling near the cook stove's 'safe' fire we changed into school clothes. The phone rang, "No school today." Yeah!

Dad said he would take care of the livestock. No chores and no homework equaled a free day. Icicles hung from cattle's coats and steamy breaths. The axe made a hollow sound with each chop toward moving water. Chips flew. Cattle flinched. Dad's hands grew numb and stiff. His nose dripped. He cussed the weather.

Mother fixed cream of wheat with raisins and slathered scratchy slices of oven-toasted homemade bread with fresh butter and last summer's peach jam. The view from our kitchen table was eye-popping. Even the wind paused. Between our house and windbreak Nature had delivered feet of snow. Winter's diamonds sparkled in the sunlight.

Jani and I bundled in our Christmas boots, navy-blue coats, hats and gloves to make "first tracks" pioneer-like. Stomping and squealing we played fox and geese and threw snowballs at each other and the wash house. Dad went rabbit hunting while we built a lopsided snowman Mom could see from the kitchen window. Our gloves soggy and our faces rosy ,we fell backwards making snow angels.

Mom called out, "Come get this bowl and fill it with snow." We did. Warming by the fire we watched her stir in sweet cream from the cellar, a small amount of sugar and vanilla. Smiling, she spooned it into bowls and handed us each one. We hesitated. "Try it," she insisted taking a spoonful, "It's snowcream." Rich and creamy mini-crystals tickled my tongue. Delicious. She put a dish aside for dad. We three giggled and ate the rest. Snowcream, a yesterday pleasure.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series