Who is your God?


Who is your God?

What is He or She like?

Do you talk to Him or Her?

A friend and I were discussing God over dinner after she had offered grace before we ate. She had grown up Catholic and felt it was easy to pray to Mary because she was comforted by Jesus’ mother. But when talking to God as a child she used to feel intimidated like he was too omnipotent to be bothered by a little dot on the earth, which was her. But since then her relationship with God has changed. The discussion began.

Who is your God?

What is He like?

Do you talk to Him?

We both believe in a similar male God that looks like a man but contains all power over the universe, and we both believe that love is the first and most powerful law of the universe.

But what came out of the discussion was the influence our dad’s played in establishing a relationship with that “Father Figure” in heaven. It had a huge impact on both of us.

When she mentioned her first impressions of the scary God, I told her that I never ever felt that way about God. I explained that the reason was because my dad was such a kind, loving, soft-hearted father to me that I carried that father figure model clear up to the heavens, beyond the clouds to my God in Heaven. According to my belief He had those same characteristics as my own dad but on a grander scale. She agreed that her father had also been a positive influence in her own life and was also what influenced her new relationship with God as she grew older.

Isn’t that interesting. Our dad’s relationship with us on earth influences how we feel about our Father in the Heavens.

That is pretty powerful and a big responsibility.

We both enjoy talking to God every single day.

And we both believe he listens to our prayers and guides our lives.

Thanks dad’s who love their children so we learn to love GOD.

(I also ask God to give hugs to my dad and mom up there, too.)

RAK Dating Ideas


 Posting dating ideas to support the fun of being kind:

Here is today’s RAK Date Ideas:

THEME: Be Kind To Animals

  1. Bird feeder date: A. Pool your money and go to, Walmart, Home Depot or Lowe’s and purchase one inexpensive bird feeder (or as many as you want), a bag of bird seed, and twine or thin rope. (And/or optional a little hook holder stake that you can push into the ground with your foot. It looks like one of those shepherds crooks but its metal and can hold the feeder). B. Now the fun part. Look for a place where people can watch the birds come feed. Ideas: A Kindergarten window at a school, (ask first), a window or garden at a senior center, a Big tree where you get food at college or gather with friends at a park, a place where people sit for a bus or stop to rest from jogging… and place it there. C. In a few days go and refill it…You get an automatic second date out of this!

  2. Doggy Park date: Go to Walmart or a grocery store and buy some doggy treats that contain bacon. Find the local doggy park and be the dog candy passer outer. Be sure to tell people this is for RAK and ask permission to feed the dogs. The dogs will love you and you will have a blast getting licked to death with your date. Then go eat bacon cheese burgers at Carl’s Jr.

  3. Gather a bunch of old towels from your neighborhood and go buy cat and dog treats (always treats with bacon for the dogs.) Tell people the towels are for the local vets and animal shelter. Drop off the towels to the Vets or take direct to your local Animal Shelter. Then ask if you can volunteer for a few hours for RAK week. Play with the animals for awhile and pass out your treats you bought. 

  4. At a local park, pick up trash. Buy a small bag of birdseed and just spread it around the bottom of trees. Make a place clean for animals. Then have a picnic.

    I support innocent/getting-to-know-you dating. It’s fun.

    During Random Acts of Kindness week, the acts of kindness do not have to be big. Do small acts with someone you want to get to know better. It is a great way to have fun together…

    BTW my boys: Being kind to animals was one of the things to look for….remember that road trip conversation…

Out with the old…


Yesterday I walked out of this cancer center for the last time. It will be emptied out and boarded up in two weeks. There is a brand new top-of-the line modern  cancer facility sparkling clean and ready on the other side of the hospital which has been in the works for years. “Good riddance.” my husband commented last night when I told him about the change. “That place was a dive.”

Yep, it really was.

But I still felt sad.

This was the place I came that dark day when I met my oncologist for the first time.

That automatic sliding door I walked through, I don’t even know how many times. I stretch my arm out and point to the door like I had magic powers and the door would open.

It opened every single time.

I lived through a plethora of emotions and ailments walking through the walls of this old place;

anger, terror, sorrow, fatigue, exhaustion, elation,…aches and pains, bandages, nausea, hair loss, strange illnesses, low white blood counts, radiated, and so many I can’t even list…

I sat behind the curved windows in those green chemo chairs wishing and pleading this was a nightmare that I would someday wake from.

I never did wake up.

It was real.

I met people who had real courage.

Some lived long.

Some lived short.

But we lived facing cancer.

Yesterday I began reminiscing to an infusion nurse as I completed my appointment. We both began to get teary eyed.

I pointed one last time at the automatic door to magically open for me. It made that whoosh sound and a blast of New England winter air filled my lungs. I stood there looking at my cancer center.

The one which held my story.

I hated it.

I loved it.

When my car was retrieved from valet I got in, turned the corner and sped away. I pretty much cried on my way home every single time I left that building.

Today I cried one last time because it grew to be my familiar cancer home with my cancer family there.

They will still be there when I come back.

But not where my story began…

Change is good.



Story #21: Mystery Box

The box’s postage was stamped and canceled but we could not see where it had been sent. There was no return address and it was addressed to Travis, our middle son. It was far before things were bought on the Internet. We set it under our Christmas tree, thinking it was from a grandparent and the sender would be revealed when we opened it. We lived far from family because we had just moved cross country.

On Christmas morning we gave Travis the honor of helping cut open “his box.” When he opened it there were many smaller wrapped gifts inside which all had a tag written, ‘To Travis.’ All the gifts were exactly what a seven year old boy would want. We let him open every single one. I looked at my husband at each gift and he looked at me as if the other one did this without the other knowing. We would shrug with every single gift and look under and around and over each paper, each bow, each tag to see if the mystery giver was revealed.

To this very day we never found out who the mystery giver was. We believe that it was from the Big Man from the North Pole. We don’t really know why our little boy was singled out that year. Perhaps he needed some special treatment we were not privy to. Perhaps he wished for his very own package, one quiet night sharing a bedroom with three other brothers because being in the middle of a family of five siblings is not easy. Whoever it was it did the trick.

He has never forgotten.

Christmas magic is real.

Thank you Santa for allowing the ‘middle man’ be the special boy that Christmas.

Story #18: The Christmas Guitar

The young musician showed me several guitars he would like if someone would give him one for Christmas. It was my very first official Guitar Center purchase alone. At first we looked up at all the pretty guitars hanging in rows on a wall. He then would select one down, hold it tenderly as if it were a baby, then play for me. His passion for music and this medium was flowing out through his fingers. I stayed in the store for many hours trying to pick the right one.

 I had been watching my son for awhile. He experiences music. Many people practice and learn songs and get very good but there are a few others that feel music in an intimate way and it truly is another language for their souls. I knew this son had to have this gift and that it was up to me to notify Santa Claus which one he should have. I had my own little stash of money that I had saved for the purchase. I purchased one that sounded rich and clear. I was so excited.  It was one of those gifts that I could barely stand the wait and wanted to tell him so badly. I hid it for Santa. Christmas morning came. He didn’t say much when he took it out of the case. But he touched that guitar exactly like the musician who showed  it to me at the store. And I knew exactly what he felt about it.

Young musicians at Guitar Center are now my good friends. All of my children have discovered over the years that music is one of their love languages.  Guitars, drums, violins, key boards, pianos and even voices are a rich part of our life. As an artist mother my heart swells to see how the arts have become a part of my children by their own choices. Purchasing that guitar was one of the best gifts I ever have ever given. 

Story 17: HO HO HO…NOT!

The car air was now a stale mix of daddy and child toots, Mc Donald’s stale French fries from lunch, and a slight aroma of vomit as we neared our sixth hour of driving Highway 5 from Los Angeles to the Bay Area. We were having Christmas at Grandma’s but the excitement had dimmed around Harris Ranch Area when we had to distract one of our young passengers who up-chucks when he smells cow manure. By the way the distraction rarely works! And once he does it becomes a chain reaction.

We were on our fourth Disney video and nearing the turn off to Highway 680 when our car jerked weird, pulled to the left and began to swivel and shake pretty hard. My husband didn’t curse out loud but I heard him whisper something and luckily we were in the right lane for a pretty easy pull over. He got out and held on tight as the fury of 70 miles per hour traffic tried to grab and take him along to their own destinations. He walked back to see the flat tire now resting on the rim.

It was dark. The San Francisco fog had already moved in for the night. It was years before people used cell phones. And we were fifteen minutes from our destination with five children very done with driving. There were secret Santa gifts, Christmas presents, diapers, suit cases, food stuffed in every corner and now we were stopped dead and knew we would have to unload.  We both gave each other that “you’ve got to be kidding” look then got out and began to unload the back of the van to find the spare.

I did the unpardonable sin by asking “Have you ever changed a flat tire before?” But that thought poofed when drivers began to honk seeing wrapped Christmas presents strewn in the dead grass next to the Highway spotlighted with their mocking head lights. It was so infuriating! We were good at not raising our fingers or screaming out at each honk that held each time as the car swept by…’Hhhhhuuuunnnnkkkk!’  

But we’d hit our limit. It was best to leave my husband alone with the jack, and pour substitute of a tire that was supposed to carry us the rest of the way. “Should we pray on it?” I asked him, before I got back in the car. At least there was a tire there, right?

The children wanted out. I tried to offer more fishy crackers and fruit roll ups which had worked as fun treats on hour two but were not doing the trick. Legs were hitting the seats, tears, whining, and that was just from me…

The tire got changed and the back of the van was no longer perfect puzzle packed like we praise when my husband completes the task in the beginning. We all held presents on our laps for the last lap. I wish I could say the story ended with some Christmas angel coming to our rescue, scooping us up and flying us to our destination or bringing hot chocolate and singing but people just honked and laughed in their own warm cars as they sped past.

We haven’t really laughed about this experience yet and it has been years.

Not all Christmas stories are happy-ever-afters. In fact some feel so sickening sweet we get tired of hearing as if we ate a full chocolate cake and now feel sick.

But I believe we blame Christmas sometimes, when we aren’t enjoying it.

 It seems the world is having so much fun all around us and we are not included or we feel so miserable we don’t want to be included.

But Christmas is not the problem it is really the solution to what we need in those not so funny times. You see Christmas spirit is really a commodity that our spirits and souls desperately need and I believe it is THE emotional fill up of our souls that we ration all year until it comes again.

We need it.

Because what I have realized is that all people everywhere are similar.

And the real Christmas spirit is only based on one word; LOVE.

We all need it.

We all want it.

And we all feel good when we are around it.

And that is what Christmas is trying to do.

God gave His son out of LOVE and I think we want God to stretch his arms around us individually and around all human kind and love us in this moment.

And Christmas is trying its best to do just that…

So Fill up!


Haul out the holly
Put up the tree before my spirit falls again
Fill up the stocking
I may be rushing things, but deck the halls again now

For we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute
Candles in the window
Carols at the spinet

Yes, we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute
It hasn’t snowed a single flurry
But Santa, dear, we’re in a hurry

So climb down the chimney
Turn on the brightest string of light I’ve ever seen
Slice up the fruitcake
It’s time we hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough

For I’ve grown a little leaner
Grown a little colder
Grown a little sadder
Grown a little older

And I need a little angel
Sitting on my shoulder
I need a little Christmas now