Wordless Wednesday

May the force be with you. Do you think I could leave 2015 without some nod to Star Wars, besides writing "in a galaxy far, far away" too many times? Which sometimes 1977 feels like. Happy New Year!

Dawns Christmas

 Dawns Christmas
          by
    Mollie Lyon

I'm not having a Martha Christmas time.

But I'm not much of a Mary either.

I'm reminded on a Sunday

-Emmanuel-

God with us, me.

It came upon a Midnight Clear-

the angels I need to hear

In the dark, the plains, the sadness of the earth,

I hear the angels sing.

I'm coming back to the heart of Christmas

I'm sorry for the thing we've made of it.

It's all about You, Jesus.

I feel stripped of all the trappings, the fussing,

the gatherings, the family,

Gone to heaven or far away.

It's down to Jesus.

Dawns Christmas Morn

A Savior is born.

A relief, a breath.

Quiet.

It's done.

Put that pesky John 7:7 away.

A Baby is born today.

The world loves the Babe.

John 7:7 come another day.

Today is peace.

Today is still.

Today the Savior lives in a manger.

                                                                where He  poses no danger.

Tomorrow the trees go down.

Tomorrow we go back to the world

But today, today, we worship

the Lord

The Savior in the manger

Brings peace for a day and

poses no danger.

 New Living Translation
The world can't hate you, but it does hate me because I accuse it of doing evil. 

December 25, 2015

At the Christmas Eve service I attended last night at Hickory United Methodist Church in Hermitage, Pennsylvania, I heard a sermon "The Danger of the Manger."  The message by Pastor Dave Evans centered around this poem I wrote two years ago. Belief only in the Babe and not His purpose in coming to this world will not save us. We must remember the reason the Babe that is the King came.

 This year, I name it Hope Christmas. I read the posts of friends fighting through hard times and their words were the angels on the dark plains of life. Jesus lives more in my life each year. I went through a Great Sadness, a name I steal from The Shack, for a period of time. But Hope lives and Jesus is the reason for this Hope. I praise my God for loving me enough to die as a Man to cleanse me of my sins.

I pray for my friends, readers and passers-by, a Hope filled Christmas. Jesus came not because God's Hand was forced in a world full of Chaos, but because He is on the throne forever. Jesus was slain before the foundation of the world. He is the only King who became a baby. His purpose always on His mind as He walked this earth. My heart is filled with the wonder of His love. May you accept it and be filled, too. And for those who have loved ones in a far country, who seemed to have walked from their faith, remember our Good Shepherd will not let one be snatched from Him. Jesus loves them more than we can. His love is stronger than a mother's. This is the Hope of Christmas. God always had the plan, outside of time.
                                                                       Merry Christmas

Wordless Wednesday

The sunsets are getting later and a full moon this Christmas.

Circumstantial Evidence

Review of Circumstantial Evidence

Finished Frank Secich's memoir last night. This book provided a fun romp through history of power pop rock in Western Pennsylvania and Eastern Ohio, starts in the 1960's and continues until this year. I had interviewed Frank about his successful band, Blue Ash, beginnings and the definition of Youngstown, Ohio distinctive sound, for our local paper, The Way It Was, so I anticipated hearing more stories of the glory days of bands with talent and guts and a great big belief in themselves.

Reading this book was like sitting down and hearing Frank tell story after story. I am reminded of how different the sixties were from today. The dress codes, the hair, the rebellion for fun's sake and the belief “if I have a guitar life is good.” In our home area of Sharon, Pennsylvania, the goal of staying out of the steel mills drove many dreams. I am just a few years younger, so much of that period, I remember from observing my older siblings, but being a kid, I didn't have those battles. Hearing the local flavor brought memories for me. In fact, many were the same from when I waited for my brother to tell me when he came home from cruising, like the Green Man and the Haunted House.

As any good story teller, Frank tugged at my heart at times, too. His chapter on meeting his wife of over forty years would bring out the romantic in anyone. And the love he has for his son, evidenced by laying up his guitar and the road to raise his pride and joy, keeps with family values and the importance of a strong father. Jake grew into a responsible young man. This may not be the usual rock and roll story.

Frank met many celebrities through his years of performing. I didn't feel though he was name dropping. He encountered and enjoyed the company, just the same as anyone he would have met. Frank loves great times and enjoys jokes. His one band mate, Stiv Bator, did a lot of kooky things. My favorite involved Dick Van Dyke, who recently he celebrated his ninieth birthday. Stiv met him and told him how as watching his TV show as a kid gave him a father figure he lacked in his personal life, so much he was led to his career. Dick asked him what that was. Stiv replied, “A lead singer in a punk band.”

Dick walked away.

My overall impression of Frank's book shows me he had a fun time remembering these times. I detected no bitterness even in recalling the unfairness of major recording companies. He noticed talent that never made it big and felt sad but not for himself. The short chapters created an easy quick read. His life of performing is not over as Dead Beat Poets is his newest band with his own songs, as he always wrote his own songs, unusual when he started Blue Ash. Lyrics of songs are also included in the book. I anticipate

Frank has a lot more in him and his life. This may only be book one. I only hope it is not a back injury to give him time to write more.

Book signing and concert December 12  at Get Hip Records, Pittsburgh, PA

You can buy it at
http://www.gethip.com/store/items.php?searchType=Artist&q=secich%2C+frank

Wordless Wednesday

Many times we don't have snow at Christmas. This is 1972, I was in sixth grade. We sang a lovely winter song in chorus and I thought this coat with my blue suede boots would be perfect to wear. 

Wordless Wednesday

My daughter liked the color of joy

Lives Slip Silently By

Another resident passed away this week. She had so many similarities to my mother, being in one class ahead of her at Sharon. She was one, hard to talk to. Bitterness overcame her and finding or giving peace elusive. She fought her aids and often wailed, "I'm going to die here." I only wish now, I had known what was in the obituary, as another life slips silently by:

Lives Slip Silently By

By

Mollie Lyon

 Lives slip silently by.

Who knows what's

Behind that hollow eye,

In dark recesses

Lie past successes.

Gray heads bent

Troubles for a time lent.

We can't see them now

Under that vacant brow.

A sketchy obituary

Read in the paper

Tells some of the story,

But then it's late to know.

We can't reach in.

Sometimes we can't begin.

No one around to start the story

And we find out too late

The story trapped

Behind a precious one's fate.

Peace in Chaos

I saw the feed on AOL before I turned my computer off at work. As I flipped through the radio channels and settled on the one with best reception through the city of New Castle, I half took it in. And I fought the thought, another shooting, how much can a heart break?
Traffic, a little heavy for this small city, kept me from waiting to turn left for the interstate. I continued on State Route 18 through the city, past the hospital I went to nursing school, glancing up at my old dorm room and Sandy had her tree up at the house I boarded my second year. I wanted to see the snowflakes lights hanging I heard one of my co-workers talk about that morning, so I didn't turn at the light to get me to the interstate. In Neshanock Township, I decided quickly to rush the yellow light, instead of waiting to turn left. I thought, twilight, I will enjoy the Christmas lights through rural western Pennsylvania.
The pastoral scenes, the Amish boy jaunting to his mail box, and the sheep in another Amish front yard conflicted with the news on the radio. A local reporter, where the shootings occurred, interviewed a father of a woman in the building. Her last tweet, "Pray for us." Oh, how the powers that be want prayer out of public forum, yet when a tragedy occurs, we want prayer. But I felt disconnect gazing at the peaceful countryside on my ride while listening to a father almost in tears.
I felt, maybe because of memories of an old familiar road or hearing that father, I want to see my dad. It seemed natural, I'm alone, I could stop there for dinner. His quiet ways in bad news comfort. He never showed worry, although I knew events affected him. We would be silent together. A meal set peacefully on the table.
Even as I approached West Middlesex, I thought of my dad's comforting way. I turned right at the light as I often do to drive past the house and down Haywood. The house is still for sale and it is dark. I wonder what happened to this widow or is she only working and not home, yet. I look at my friends' houses, now, occupied by others, too. I don't feel sad. I am grateful for what I had in a time where we walked the streets in peace.
My heavenly Father, also, invites me in quiet to His presence in the midst of the turmoil of this world. Like my dad, He sets a table for me. He gives me peace before my enemies, the ones who want to kill, steal and destroy the peace I have with Him. The word picture of this year, "Rest," comes to my mind. I lean into Jesus.

He sets a table before me, offering me rest. My picture for 2015.

Wordless Wednesday

The ride home.

Team Teddy Tuesday

National Novel Writing Month is over. I have settled more in my new job. And I hear more and more stories about child abuse. All break my heart, but as I retold Teddy's story over the holiday to a niece-in-law and other family members, this one chokes my voice. Teddy's story forces me to write about this. The smiling face that refused to tell on his accusers.
I heard another story this morning of another girl who won't reveal more than a punch in her stomach from her step-father, yet his texts appear inappropriate. She won't return to her home, living between her father and grandmother. She is bold enough to remove herself from a situation, but he has no punishment.
Children want to protect the adults. Children tend to look at the best in an adult in their lives. Children also are scared and don't want to tell. Many reasons that abusers get away with their behavior.
Today, I again ask that we pray for children's boldness in speaking up as they are abused. I pray they find the right adult to confide in, teachers, a neighbor, a friend's parent. As cases are reported, I ask that the child protection agency staff have eyes to see, ears to hear, and senses alert to observe what isn't obvious. With their loads lightened, ability with time, they will delve into cases.
And as always, I pray we all remain alert to what doesn't just seem right. And that we are not afraid to speak up. Abuse prevention remains a passion to me and I urge all to look out for our children.