If you were lost in the desert
Without food or water…
How would you feel
When you stumbled upon
My lunch special board?
Would you ask why
My restaurant was here
Of all places?
Or would you say:
“Thank God, I found you!”
If you were driving down the road
And saw an open gate –
With a dirt road through a pasture…
Would you notice
The little church in the distance
With the lights on?
Would you turn around
For the welcome permission
To enter and be alone?
Or would you say: “Why in Hell
Would anyone build a church
In the middle of nowhere…
Who’s going to come?”
Well, how did you think I arrived in the desert?
When you needed to be saved?
Did I question God about a feasibility study?
No, he knew we would need each other.
And the church I have built,
In the middle of nowhere…
Who gave me that dream?
Who told me you would turn around
And by Faith and by Grace
I would only see the tire tracks
The next morning…
But because you left His church
Your moment of “one-hell-of-a-heart-attack,”
That would have taken the lives of others,
Behind the wheel…was aborted.
I say by Faith and by Grace
And by Grace and by God
We affect each other
Like lines on a blueprint.
Some months after my parents, Jim and Grace Moore moved their trailer into the Canadian Headquarters of the Emissaries of Divine Light, my mother wrote a letter. She addressed it to the leader of the Emissaries, Lord Martin Cecil, who was now her neighbour.
She wrote to let him know she was thankful to be participating in the vision of the Third Sacred School and to thank him for his leadership in this.
Then she added: “But I wouldn’t win a popularity contest here.”
That Sunday at service, he answered her, woven in without any background of her letter and fitting to his one hour talk. It was simple: “You’re in a bad way if you can win a popularity contest.”
I imagine my mother seated in the log chapel with a big smile on her face. She talked about this letter and others into her later years.
My mother wasn’t popular with the women’s group on-site, but she had friends who “loved what she loved.” She was also a magnet to strangers who had an open heart. — Getting off the greyhound bus with strangers continuing to write to her years later because they sat beside her and enjoyed the conversation. In her care home, one lady stranger wanted her wheelchair beside my mother’s. As she explained to me, “I feel good when I’m beside your mother.”
I tell you the story of my mother’s letter because of the information it gives and reminder. How it is recognized in the bible, “When men hate and revile you, be exceedingly glad because then you know you are doing the Lord’s work.”
No New Age author will ever embrace this bible teaching. They wouldn’t sell books if they did. They will accuse you of “projecting” and offer their works so you can fix your “projector”.
It is peculiar to those who love and serve the Lord with an open heart that life will bring your enemies in various ways. I say what my Aunt Dorthy often told to everyone and everything: “Bless their heart!”
If you’ve had the experience of being unpopular at certain times in your life, chances are you were doing something different and perhaps more reflective of the real world within you.
There are pay-offs for people who don’t like us. Once you understand this, you realize what even the New Age people know is true:
A finger in the hand pointing has three fingers pointing back.
In light of recent events…what is the solution? For you and I and the whole world, I am suggesting a rising.
A rising of Love in the language of every culture on this planet. Let it be: The Love Manifesto. Let it be yours.
The action part of the manifesto is “manifest”. So what you write in your Love Manifesto has the power of action. It could be written on a napkin in a restaurant or etched on a stone in a field. Sign it, and it becomes active. You can use initials or any word you love about yourself.
The marks and words of Love are not for your eyes only. Chances are an Angel will move it further down the road. One day you will notice something beautiful, out in the world, with your name on it!
Knowing we will be followed all the days of our life – write yourManifesto of Love. Make a paper plane out of it and let it go. From time to time – write a new one. Make it your biggest secret or tell everyone you know.
Remember, Angels, are waiting on us with boomerangs.
So play alive and write your Manifesto of Love as only you can.
I am writing this having come back from a long-overdue walk down my road. After two driveways, I observed my neighbours abandoned house and acreage. Here the horses died over the winter, and now their dirt pasture is a mass of daisies.
For 20 plus years, I knew Patches, Babe and Dusty. I like to think they knew me. Being able to talk about the evidence of this in this world is still pending…
This spring, I took a while to register their absence. I was still looking for the horses. Visible at the intersection every time my car returned home and when not visible…noticed. I didn’t realize how much I was watching, witnessing and when I could participating in what was the best I could do for them.
Now I like to think a display of white daisies on their earth table is their reward. What they really ate and what made them survivors and not sufferers.
This arrangement included in the early years the Black Lab “Blotto”. He was abandoned to a chain and a dog house to protect what an empty place can invite, how he dragged his dog house to show his enthusiasm for Jessey and me when we walked by — waiting to repeat the effort when we walked back. A few times he escaped and like all Labs slobbered his way down the road. A black flash oblivious to a heavy chain flying out like a ribbon on a kite.
We knew he was gone when the house and chain disappeared. But not before he spent a few weeks dragging his dog house without his back legs working. For several months Jessey turned her head as if to remind me we were walking by Blotto’s post. Jessey had empathy as most animals do.
You can’t start with what’s wrong to make something right. My neighbour knew I liked his horses and even asked me to ride them. I said no. But I phoned him every time the horses were out and in danger of the Highway. I helped him catch them ’cause wouldn’t you know they usually came to my house. Last spring I called him to let him know I didn’t like the way Patches was looking and were he aware?
So I’m telling you this story to emphasize what seeing Daisy’s in their pasture meant to me today. Here where there was never enough grass growing for three horses to eat. Tall waves of white dancing in the breeze. I had tears in my eyes.
The daisies are telling me to celebrate. Celebrate the beauty of all those years. Of the horse’s survival and how they were actually cared for by Life! In the presence and absence of suffering, they lived into old age, and that is their Victory. For Horse and Dog and one nosey neighbour maybe mine too.
Back in the ’80s, on the ranch, I met a neighbour whose story inspired me. She had been a single mother who had once been a teacher. Now she was in a new relationship and dedicating her time to homeschooling her son.
As she explained to me on a visit with him, he was dyslexic, and she wanted him to have what she knew she could do as an enlightened teacher.
She said, “getting the left and the right and the up and the down to move together as one picture.”
When they left my home, I noticed the essence of “love” hanging in the air from their visit.
A Little Bit Of Love was recorded in Vancouver, B.C. Gord Maxwell on fretless bass (Ian Tyson), Larry Pink on steel guitar (One Horse Blue) and Rocko at the controls. Vocals: Katie & Gord. Katie on her Washburn guitar.
You can download an mp3 copy of “A Little Bit Of Love” here for $1.00 US
I would not be the creative person I am today without having a wonderful “team” of mentors. By this I mean the people who were inspiring to me over my lifetime. In other words, my teachers.
Born with a sensitive nature, I was very lucky. In some ways I won the lotto for being here on this earth now. Because of this it is my responsibility to be the “evidence” of how they mattered!
Here are the “faces” of the five women who played an important role in my life. Overtime I will mention them and if you follow my blog you will get to know them. I know they have something to teach the world. If it shows up in me…you know where it came from!
Today, I thought I’d share the story of my last Cariboo horse. Being an Irish girl from a family of Irish names, it fits his name was Paddy. Bruce Kiskaddon would have liked him. In his words, he was the “old breed with a moustache on the lip.”
My first horse as a young girl came from royalty. When I married, I wasn’t allowed to buy anything higher than “meat price.” Now I don’t regret the horses I owned this way, just the abuse they had suffered before me. I know I gave them a better life for their remaining years. Paddy was one of them.
Paddy’s life started outright, but he had the wrong trainer. This man who “broke him” was a neighbour out our way who loved to do everything “the cowboy way”. His reasoning was, “You gotta make them buck and then get all the buck out of them.” This approach, as most enlightened trainers know, creates a bucking horse.
So “broken in” Paddy returned home to his owner, a casual hobby rider. Sensing his gentle colt was now a little uppity, he sent Paddy off to another trainer a little distance away.
This is where it gets a little complicated
The second trainer had a brother-in-law who was also a vet. When Paddy returned home from the second go-a-round, the word was, “he had the flue.” His swollen body and inability to move was vouched for by a local range rider. Yes, she too had seen him laying down at the trainers all swollen up with…the flue. Remember this for further on.
How I Met Paddy
I met Paddy when the Swiss owners of our ranch asked me to help find a horse for Albert. A friend told me her neighbour didn’t want his horse, and it had befriended her horse on the other side of the fence. Maybe Albert would want to take a look at him.
Albert liked him and asked what I thought. I was concerned about the enlarged “capped” knees he had on his front legs.
“Oh, yeah,” said Paddy’s owner, “he had the flue, and he can’t bend his front legs now.”
I cautioned Albert, but he thought everything would be okay.
Back at the ranch, Paddy didn’t like Albert. He didn’t like men and threw him when he was startled by an oil spot on the pavement. It was a hard landing for a Swiss gentleman who had never ridden before.
One day Albert phoned me, Paddy had backed into a barbwire fence and needed doctoring, and he had to go to Montana. Would I take him back to my place and take care of the cut.
So I did, and Paddy and I had a great three weeks together. He was the only horse I’ve ever had that would trim your flower beds and not walk through them.
However, the barbwire cut left a scar, but that was nothing…
When Albert returned, he told me he was going to ship Paddy for meat, so I bought him. One day I had the “brother-in-law” vet come and inspect Paddy. I wanted to know the real story.
. He said, “I’ve never seen the flue do that to a horse’s knees. That horse was put on the rocks. It’s the way he trains them.” . Paddy lived out his life with me.
. He laid down by putting his front legs out straight in front of him. He got up this way too. I rode him mostly at a walk, and then later Paddy, and I escorted my elderly (80 plus) neighbour “Jud” and his (30 plus) horse “Bud”. I took coffee in a thermos, and we’d ride up the hill to some tree and get off to drink and eat cookies and tell stories. Carrots for the horses. . It wasn’t a good feeling the few times Paddy tripped on the trail, so I rode him less and less, and he got fat. This made it harder for him to get up and down. He never had a chance to grow old. But he played with my husky/wolf cross, who liked to lead him, with the rope in her mouth, around the yard. AND he was loved by my orange cat Teddy. . Paddy got his feelings up a few times at Jud’s horses and one year reared up and got his front hoof caught on the top wire. I counted 26 barbs with blood and hair. Jud gave Paddy a stall in his barn, and I doctored him there. During this time Jud’s goat fell in love with him. . The night Paddy left, the stars seem magnified around the moon. . It made me think he wasn’t wasting any time getting over to the other side. I told my friend Wendy about Paddy and a poem I wrote for his earlier, barbwire backup, at the ranch with Albert. Her illustration of Paddy is here, along with my poetry. . I wrote Paddy’s story here so you could know the more of it… .
On the last Christmas my brother Terry was alive, I heard a loon. From the top balcony, outside his house it came, drifting down Sheridan lake.
I had stepped out to be by myself. Admiring the stars and the way the snow wrapped itself on the tree’s. Here and there a Christmas light poked through on the tree closest to the balcony. Having enjoyed a beautiful Christmas dinner with my family I pondered there. The haunting sound of a loon answered. I looked down the lake thru moon light and shadow only to hear it again.
“Loons in the winter,” I thought. “Was it possible?” So I went downstairs where the men hang out.
“You’ll never guess what I heard…a loon on the lake!”
I had to speak a couple of times. They seemed to be unaware of what I was saying. Then it came:
“Oh no! That couldn’t be…,” they chorused.
Perplexed, I went back up the stairs and stood by the large glass patio windows. The night was bright and the stars were dazzling. Turning to face my sister-in-law Roberta’s shelves, I was deep in thought. I know what I heard.
Faintly, like whispered murmurings, the sounds of a nature tape. “Oh,” I thought, Roberta had this on so low she must have thought she had turned it off! Would this tape have the sound of a loon on it? And if so, how did it get outside, increase in volume and come down the lake?
Today, I remember my brother Terry with the only craft he ever made. Dad had shown him how to make a loon box out of wood. He only made a few so I bought one before the other’s went into Roberta’s store. This was the summer before anyone knew… Now I have his loon box and the mystery of the loon I heard after our last Christmas Dinner with him.
Did the loon call come from the tape? How did it find its way into a beautiful night and setting? I often think of it as the Christmas Loon and it makes me think of my big brother.
“Shake a paw for a treat!” Sam and Boots with Terry 10 years earlier @ Christmas 1988.
One morning, while I was laying in bed, half awake and half asleep; I heard the voice of an expert.
“Her work will never sell.”
“Yes,” I thought dreamily as I stretched. “I know this one…it isn’t seen as commercial.”
Half awake, I understood what was being said. It was as if I was there, looking over the shoulders of the “expert” who was looking at my work.
But this is when I really woke up. The booming voice over it all…
“It’s the currency of Love!”
Two voices waking me up with two different messages!
So I laid in bed for awhile mulling it over.
It was such an intriguing line… “It’s the currency of Love.”
The fact is, one voice wanted me to know I would never make money from my work. The other voice wanted me to know I had already received!
Currency is another word for money. The largest part of the word is current suggesting flow, energy, power.
Yes, Love is a powerhouse – it runs the Universe.
The bible says: “God is Love”.
If you asked me I would tell you this. I find agreement with the work that comes to me. I believe God created me to create. Creating Love is what God spends on me and expects from me in return; The currency of Love.
This is the story of my Life!
This blog “The Living Of Loving” is what I spend on you the reader. If you leave “inspired” it’s been a good exchange.
A near stranger said to me once:
“You have different creative expressions because you are still exploring who you are!”
This is the ultimate pay off. “The currency of Love”
P.S. I will be mulling this experience over for awhile as I’m sure there is more to discover…on my own or in listening.