You for You!

My sister recently showed me pictures from a family gathering.

A family that was mine, but not mine.

I was in the picture, appearing to be maybe three years old.

Unaware of what would follow.

It made me sad. For all we’ve lost, for what might have been, for that disconnect that never healed itself; partly my fault, partly theirs.

This song reminded me of it.

Love the people in your lives. They need it, but so do you!!


The Crash

She knew something had to be said. Had to be done. Something had to happen to shake up the sameness with which she met each day. She was bored. She was disinterested. She was going to find herself in trouble soon, if she didn’t first find something purposeful to do with her life. That’s when she’d read the words from that classic book, My Utmost for His Highest.

“If you do not break the moorings, God will have to break them by a storm and send you out. Launch all on God, go out on the great swelling tide of His purpose, and you will get your eyes open (June 8 reading).”

“What was she missing?” she wondered. “What tide? What swelling? What purpose? What was she missing?”

The black.

Blurry vision. Pain. Someone was talking, but she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Sounds. All around her, motion. She was being questioned, but by whom?

Moments passed. How many? Who could tell?

Touching. Hands moving over her body, attempting to find broken bones. Consciousness, then sleep again. A sharp pinch, or was it a poke? Metal sliding under skin.

Hands, again. Hands moving slowly, while consciousness tried again. Clothes ripping, or torn, or shredded…

“Can you move? Do you feel any pain? Can you tell us your name?”

Questions swirling around like bats in fog. Hard. Hard to understand. Harder, still, to respond. She couldn’t.

Black again, then light rising. “How long? How long had it been?”

White rectangle on black. Stiff. So close, but her arms wouldn’t rise to the occasion. Prayers? Tears? Family? Angels?!

A warm sensation came over her, enveloped her. She slept once more.

The Lost is Found-Dreams


Have you ever gone to sleep with something on your mind, and then dreamed about it during the night?

I knew a mom once whose daughter had lost her boyfriend’s class ring. If it wasn’t found, the family of the girl would have to reimburse the purchase price; an expensive proposition for anyone. Mom prayed, and in her dreams that night God asked her to look again. Moreover, he directed her where to look. In the milk carton the family used for composted materials. It seemed odd, strange even, but in the morning, she went to the spot she had been directed to search out and lifted-up a wilted lettuce leaf. There, laying atop the rotting vegetables, was the class ring.

God cares about everything that affects us. Everything!

You may not be missing a class ring today. You may not be receiving divine guidance in your dreams. Maybe the things you’ve lost have stayed lost.

One thing is for sure: God’s still communicating with his world.

Sometimes he communicates truth through a song that we can’t get out of our heads.

Sometimes, he speaks life into our lives through the words of others, written in blogs.

He impresses upon us a particular way forward.

He keeps reminding us of that certain person.

He sends us to compost heaps, where we find direction, guidance, help and yes, rings.

If it’s been a while since you’ve heard from God, maybe it’s time to find a field, a rock, and a promise especially for you.  That’s what I’m doing today. Join me.

When has the lost been found in your life? What are you missing today?


The Waiting Room


waiting room

The busy sounds emanating from the waiting room were jarring. A game show playing on the large flat screen TV overhead. People working puzzles nearby. Hospital staff members laughing it up in their cubicled spaces behind thick glass. The constant sound of flushing as one person after another emptied bladders previously filled with coffee too strong to provide any pleasure from drinking.

“Why can’t they all just shut up!?” Sue sighed. She held her fingers over her ears once more, hoping to drown them all out.

“What is taking so long?” she asked his friend, sitting near enough to him to send a drop of spittle careening onto his jacket as she sputtered and fumed about the wait.

“These things take time,” he’d said. “You want them to be thorough, don’t you? Find everything? Not miss something vital?”

“Oh, my God!” Sue said, as she stormed out of the waiting room. She needed to be away from these people, away from this situation. Far away from the fear. Far enough that she couldn’t feel it any longer; didn’t have to struggle with it breathing down her neck. Didn’t have to fight so fiercely for that little shred of serenity she needed to keep her stable. Of course, she knew these things took time. Of course, she wanted them to find anything that might cause problems later if they didn’t find it. Of course, she wanted a good report at the end of all this.

“What a dolt!” she thought. She needed this to be done!

After a few minutes in the hallway and a smoke snuck outside, she headed back in to the too warm enclosure where they remained waiting patiently for news that might ruin their lives.

“I seriously don’t know how much longer I can sit here.” She said, to no one in particular. As she did so, she stuck her hand into the pocket of her ratty jeans and touched the serenity coin. She lifted her cell phone from the denim oubliette that held it and began dialing.

Again, she was on her feet. This time in search of someone who would understand. God, she wanted a drink!






Story by Lori H. Copyright reserved April 27, 2018


Ridgebury’s Gift

Spot lit microphone and stand on an empty stage

With a calculated gait she eased toward the open mic. Her soft pink lips moved closer to the cold steel end of the amplifier as the audience hushed their noise. The waitresses stopped serving drinks. The drunken businessmen focused on her with rapt attention. The bartender’s rag stopped in mid-swipe, as gently her hair moved across her face on its way to her chin.

She glanced out at the crowd. She knew what was happening to them. She’d seen it before. She’d experienced it herself, although it seemed a million years before. She knew the talent she possessed and she knew how to use it to her benefit. Long after she’d mesmerized them with her song, they’d want her. Want to be near her. Want to touch her. Want to own her talent, her swagger; her promise.

She sang at this same gay bar every week, and every man in the place wanted to be like her. Desirable. Longed for. Unique. She never allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to crawl inside their skins, though. Her calling was of another bent. She served another Master. She worked for a different kind of “high.” She’d have it too, that promised reward, after this gig was done. For now, she gave the gift He’d sent her to give, a melody so sweet and enchanting it moved even the most hardened heart to beg for more.

It all began with that first moist note, and she sang it low and slow…





Copyright Lori Hoose, April 4, 2018