Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart: October 2019

Thursday, October 31, 2019

Your Dying Spouse 692 - My First Music Video! {FMF}

You asked for it!

You DEMANDED it!

And now...YOU'VE GOT IT!

Yes...here's Andrew Budek-Schmeisser making his singing debut with I Feel Pretty.

Well, the first couple of lines, anyway, because Barb's camera can only do five seconds of video at a time, and my voice will only last that long.

But when you hear it, I'm sure that you'll agree that five seconds was enough.

Or more than enough.

And yes, a few years ago I really did sing I Feel Pretty in the produce aisle at Walmart, just to make Barb smile.

She's still smiling.

Why should I curse my fate?
There's so much to enjoy
and such grace to appreciate,
used in God's employ.
Even Jesus had to die;
that portal can't be dodged,
but there's no need to wonder why,
nor complaints that must be lodged.
Every day's a given page
to write on as we will,
to tear and shred in futile rage,
or to mark with gracious quill.
When at last to God's will I concede,
may He find my words a cracking read.

And over to Juile Andrews (who has nothing on me!) singing I Feel Pretty.

Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.

Friends are everything. I couldn't have done it.

Marley, the canine waif from Afghanistan, whom WE helped save, has a Facebook page! Please drop by to see how happy he is today.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links.

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

Your Dying Spouse 691 - Someone To Watch Over Me

It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but there are times when I wish I could talk to someone about this whole cancer gig, someone who could provide some measure of reassurance.

The hard thing is, through most of my live I have been that person.

So I keep a lid on things, and in public I play the whole mess for laughs.

In private...well, I still play it for laughs.

But I am sure concerned...well, no, scared. The tumours are all around my neck now (did someone just say choke-hold?), and they seem to link to swollen lymph nodes along the chest wall...and to the pancreas.

That is not a happy thought, especially since I've never had a hankering for necklaces.

Especially not the malignant kind.

I wish I knew a guru

or some enlightened soul;

perhaps a talking kangaroo,

or a beatific troll.

I wish that I could sit down

with tea well-laced with rum,

and discuss, without a frown,

what I shall soon become.

I wish that there were answers

that did not inspire dread,

not daily seeing cancer's

wish to make me dead.

You'd think, with all that I've endured

that I'd not need be reassured.

And here is Willie Nelson (yes, really) singing Someone To Watch Over Me.

Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.

Friends are everything. I couldn't have done it.

Marley, the canine waif from Afghanistan, whom WE helped save, has a Facebook page! Please drop by to see how happy he is today.

Monday, October 28, 2019

Your Dying Spouse 690 - California Dreamin'

OK, first, a disclaimer. I have nothing against California or Californians, but I could not resist the temptation to take the mickey out of the state's reputation, given the opportunity.

Barb went to Indiana at the end of last week, and flying home on October 26, 2019, she was routed through Los Angeles. The flight would continue on to Albuquerque, but still, I was concerned...

This was the advice I gave her:

Do not get off the aeroplane
Lock yourself in the restroom
Close your eyes and cover your ears.
Pray loudly in the manner of T.D. Jakes
Wear a tinfoil hat.

You can't be too careful.

Right now my wife is travelling,

and I'm quite concerned today

that her mind might come unravelling;

she's flying through LA!

In Christ she always had reliance,

and she listens when God talks,

but coming home, will she take guidance

from a pair of crystal rocks?

She's only there a couple hours,

but that's enough for trauma,

enough to now extoll the powers

of Mendocino marijuana.

She'll yet be apple of my eye

if she returns dressed like a guy.

Music from the beach Boys, with It's a Beautiful Day.

Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.

Friends are everything. I couldn't have done it.

Marley, the canine waif from Afghanistan, whom WE helped save, has a Facebook page! Please drop by to see how happy he is today.

Thursday, October 24, 2019

Your Dying Spouse 689 - Death Is Not The Enemy {FMF}

It feels like things are running down. I told Barb that the character of things is changing, that the affliction is becoming more systemic, less localized. Cancer does what it wants, I guess.

She said, "That can't be good."

I don't now how this is going to go. I wish there were a roadmap...or maybe, on second thought, I don't.

Without a doctor giving a definite prognosis (no insurance means no doctor), I can keep hoping past the lumps in my neck that make swallowing almost impossible, past the fact that I'm not really digesting food, past the fever and the chills...

...and I can hope for a better tomorrow, since ignorance is bliss.

And if not...

If you believe, as I do, that death is not the end, then death is not the enemy. If personalied, death is the gatekeeper into a new and glorious world, although the gate itelf may be hard and painful.

What did Jesus say?

Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it. Matt. 7:14

Maybe so.

I have far outrun the Reaper,

but not much of me remains;

pain is growing, getting deeper

and he's eating at my gains.

I hear the rustle of his cloak,

and admit that's got me shook.

Breath comes now in shallow choke

and I'm afraid to look.

I cannot plead for mercy;

no appeal can thus be made,

but before my strength deserts me,

I turn, with finger raised.

And now begins another story,

for Death looks down, and says, "I'm sorry"

Music from Lonestar, With Me.

Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.

Friends are everything. I couldn't have done it.

Marley, the canine waif from Afghanistan, whom WE helped save, has a Facebook page! Please drop by to see how happy he is today.

Wednesday, October 23, 2019

Your Dying Spouse 688 - To The Third Degree

I was afraid to try to weld.

Not because I was afraid of bunring myself, or of blowing myself into small pieces through mishandling the gas bottles.

I was afraid I couldn't do it any more.

So, last week, I jut 'surprised' the situation, ent own to the shop, and started welding some bits I had prepared weeks ago.

And it went well. It took a few minutes to find the rhythm, but my hands were steady, and it was as if I'd never left.

I guess the moral is that fear prevents you from doing things, a lot more than reality ever does.

Yes, I burned myself.

No, I didn't blow up, but the hoses gave up the ghost the next day, leaking, and I could have made a sudden entrance into God's presence.

Just last week I burned my hard

to the very painful third degree.

But dear friend, please understand,

this was not loss, but victory.

I'd thought my welding days were done

and that I'd fabricate no more.

A lengthy race at last was run,

the closing of a dream-filled door.

But still my hand was sure and steady,

and while the contretemps brought pain

the shining bead proclaimed me ready

to burn hard steel in hope again.

Determination therefore renders

one small space of No Surrender.

The burn is shown in the pictures below; it's not large but the pain is really exquisite. It is serving a purpose; Carol Ashby regularly subjects the characters of her Light Of The Empire novels, set in ancient Rome, to some really dreaful occurances, and I've given her a running commentary so that she may one day write some unortunate and clumsy blacksmith.