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Sharing My Pecan Pie Recipe

Pecan pie is part of celebration or a happy time for me. I know it’s full of sugar, but a small slice once a month won’t undo my life. Pecan pie means gatherings and joy to me. Sharing my pecan pie recipe at the end of this blog. Giving or receiving recipes. It’s a eustress for me. Like writing a poem. Hans Selye, a scientist of the early 1900s, coined the word “stress” and added that positive stress is “eustress.” Good news stress. The opposite is being confronted with bad news or “distress.” We all recognize headaches, conflicts, grief. Distress. The struggle for most of us is slowing down to recognize and enjoy the eustress. And thanking people and God for providing the eustress for us. I

Dogwoods

This one tree is symbolic for many people of the resurrection of the Christ. A cross is in the blossom. It usually blooms in early April, around Easter. Admittedly, I heard the dogwood story as a child. It’s memorable. When I was in my thirties, I noticed how the dogwood trees are in the shape and color of a wedding dress or a swirling maiden. Light and beautiful. Right now, the forest near me is full of white maidens swirling. A delight to the eye. But what I have in my own yard is a pink dogwood. It reminds me of a sister who died from cancer. This sister was named Marilyn, and she taught me much about kindness. She would give her only coat to you if she thought you needed one, thought of

This Cancer Thing!

Again, here I am, seven years later, asking myself: What was this cancer thing about? I was a mental health counselor for 20 years, so I am wired to ask such questions. When anything disturbing happens (personal or global), there’s the question again: What is this or that really about? I’m forever plumbing my soul. Like a war veteran, I carry scars. Some visible, some not. I walked through cancer, surgery, treatments. Stage 3. God walked through it beside me. I was a soldier on the battlefield, and the sky was brewing another storm. I am not naive. Cancer can return, but I do not waste my present days dwelling on past or future. My choice is to live in the now. Blood samples, scans, and onco

The Orphanage: A Place I Once Called Home

I have done the dishes, folded laundry, baked a casserole, opened and closed the door for the dogs umpteen times. I am Queen Busy. I do this when I’m trying to figure something out. I’ve made the decision to share a poem here from Women, Resilient Women, my new book. But now, it’s a question of choosing a poem. It matters to me. (Reality: I know all blog readers will not purchase the book, so which poem do I offer?) I look through my book again. Okay, decision made. A little history to go with the poem. In the summer of 1959, eight brothers, sisters, and I were placed in the Bottom’s Baptist Orphanage (later called Arkansas Baptist Children’s Home) in Monticello, Arkansas. Yes, a big family

When Women "Do Lunch"

What is this about? I probably go to lunch with one of my friends twice a month. I couldn’t care less about where we go, how fancy it is, or what we eat. But, I want it to be semi-quiet, so we can hear what is being said. #1. It’s fun to go to lunch. It’s a time to laugh. #2. I think the topics covered between two women are a bit different from what a husband and wife talk about. #3. It’s therapeutic, full of feelings and thoughts. #4. It’s unstructured. We women simply let the conversation flow. No big plan. #5. Eye contact. That’s where the intimacy happens. We sit face-to-face, share and listen. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but that’s where the magic is. Ask anyone who has ever be

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