Keeping It Rosy by Liz Flaherty

Sean Dietrich

"Apostle Paul would tell us keep those rosy shades of faith." - from a comment on Sean Dietrich's column. Just because I liked it a lot and reminded me to be grateful even when things aren't especially...rosy.

While I don't have trouble "keeping the faith," it's not always rosy. Not always easy. Sometimes it's hard. Respecting others' faith when they use is as a weapon to hurt people they don't like is impossible. Respecting their right to have that faith is a little easier, but not at all rosy.

But sometimes it is easy. When nurses on horseback, and linemen from all over, and 1000s of FEMA employees go toward trouble instead of away from it, it's easy to have faith in humankind.

When catastrophes strike others, the often promised thoughts and prayers are easy. When I came out here this morning well before daylight and heard the hum of the combines and saw their bright lights in nearby fields, it was easy to mumble, "Keep them safe."

It's easy to pray when school buses are on the road before and after school. To be thankful for kids who give of their time and sometimes their muscles to help others. To remember “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." (John 13:34)

When you have enough and others don't, it's easy to share whether you have the same values or not. It's even easier when you just think about your own values instead of giving a lot of attention to theirs.

If you are a person of faith, it's easier to tell the truth than otherwise. Especially because if you're laying a groundwork of lies, you have to remember what they were. If you choose to believe the liar, what does that say about your faith? Or you?

In case you think I'm sounding more righteous than I'm entitled to, you have a good point. I was not a truth-telling child. I don't like when people take advantage of charity just because they can and they'd rather not work. I judge them even though I know better. Sometimes faith is easy because I'm not the one doing the work, bearing the burden, mourning the loss.

I don't have an end for this, because it's not something that ends. Faith is ongoing, doing for others is ongoing, catastrophes are ongoing, truth--although it's often buried--is ongoing, loving one another is ongoing.

Have a good week. Pray for others if that's what you do, simply wish for the greater good if it's not. Stay safe. Be nice to somebody.

Tales from Behind the Bakery Door by Joe DeRozier

Have you started thinking about Christmas, yet?

If you're like me, you'll wait until the last minute and then have to scrabble around trying to find gifts and stocking stuffers that don't look like...
... well, that don't look like you waited until the last minute and had to scramble around.

My books from the "Tales From Behind The Bakery Door" collection can be a quick and affordable solution.

Six short story collections that blend humor, wit, and heart, while exploring themes of family, friendship, military life, and more.

1. I Don't Know... I Just Make Donuts
2. My Dog Pees When Company Arrives... I'm Glad I Don't
3. Of the 2971-Mile Trip... 75,000 of It Was Nebraska
4. One Day... Your Advice Will Also Be Ignored
5. The Pond and Wet Clothes... I Can't Stop Smelling Them
6. Sometimes Therapy Is... Just Good Friends in an Abandoned House

 (This is a pre-order and won't be available in print until April '25)

You can purchase the books from me directly for $10 (Paperback) or $13 (Hardcover) plus shipping. I can accept PayPal, Venmo, or for those long in the tooth like myself, a check.

or

You can order them through Amazon.
Contact Information
Email: joederozier@yahoo.com
Website: joederozierbooks.com
Facebook: @Joederozier... I just make donuts
Amazon: (Tales From Behind the Bakery Door)
https://a.co/d/2BVrluU

Joe DeRozier

Retreat... by Liz Flaherty

A couple of times a year, my friend Nan Reinhardt take three or four days (or six!) and to on a writing retreat. Usually we're finishing a book (me) or starting one (Nan), and we're tired before we even start. 

We know we're lucky to be able to do this, that we have husbands who keep the home fires burning, that our kids and grandkids don't need us on a daily basis (I'm still a little wounded by that, but not terribly), and that our houses are perfectly happy to not have us to clean it and/or hang the toilet paper the right way. 

And, yes, my house is happier than Nan's because I'm the worst housekeeper on the planet and that's not going to change any time soon. Ever. That's not going to change ever. 

But I'm regressing and trying to be funny when the subject matter is really kind of serious. I hear and read a lot about mental illness and I've made no secret of taking an antidepressant.  We know the political and social media situations are toxic. We know respect for others is more of a meme than an actuality in way too many cases. 

Hence, retreat. No, louder. 

We were gone for six days. The only time we turned on the TV was to watch the vice-presidential debate. Social media was way down on our scale of interest, far below writing, eating, talking, and laughing. It was a great week. 

I'm not saying it's necessary to spend a week in South Haven, Michigan--although I recommend it--to get away from "what ails you." You can do it anywhere. You can do it by closing doors on things and people who create havoc in your soul, turning off devices that have you lying awake at night, not responding to the instigators, watching the sunset, watching the colors change. You can escape by acknowledging kindness and passing it on, by sitting with friends and telling terrible jokes, and by eating soup and pie; it is autumn, after all. 

Enough advice from me for one day. I'm late getting this posted and I have unpacking to do, but I'm wishing you all a good week and a gentle retreat. Be nice to somebody.