Proud as a Peacock

“For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”—Luke 14:11

There he was staring at his reflection in the glass door of the stripping house, a barn attachment once used for stripping tobacco.  But the irony in the picture was that the peacock had been stripped of his tail feathers…well, he had shed them. 

I had seen him in early summer admiring his reflection in the shine of the car door and had to admit he was stunning, his train of brilliant tail feathers extending four feet or more.  On a different occasion I had watched him shake his tail feathers and then fan them out in a beautiful array of blues and greens, turning around like a supermodel at the end of a runway.  Scientists say this is the peacock’s mating strut, designed to attract the peahen.  But I say he was just showing off for me, for there was not a peahen in sight. Hence, the origin of the saying proud as a peacock?

The Hurdles

Lessons learned in elementary school extend way beyond reading, writing, and arithmetic...

The Hurdles
By Desiree Glass

Peering out the window, breeze blowing in

Hair flying

Chatting friends by my side, bouncing up and down on the bumpy bus ride

The pleasant ride that screeched to a halt

When what I spied made me jolt

Dotting the school yard like blemishes on a supermodel—

The Hurdles!

Dread threw itself on me and fear grabbed me by the neck

Squeezing tighter than my red uniform tie

Choking out silent screams,

Oh, no! I can’t!  I’m not fast! 

They’ll laugh at me! I’ll trip over—

The Hurdles!

But I had no choice

No one could escape the trials

Or Sister

Towering over us, her black habit blowing like a thunderstorm coming off the coast

Green baton in one hand and stopwatch in the other

Ticking down the seconds till my turn to face—

The Hurdles!

Terror seized my stomach and twisted it

To kingdom come

Breakfast churned and my soul yearned

To slip from my skin and disappear in the dirt like a spring sprinkle

To escape—

The Hurdles!

Get on your mark!

Get set!

Go!

Monique took off faster than BB the bird dog let loose from the chain

Her head bobbing, eyes focused

Fuzzy braids flying, and her feet n’er touching the ground, let alone—

The Hurdles!

A new record and a smile

On Sister’s face, framed with a white un-halo

O Lord, help me—I’m next!  Send out the seraphim!

Save this girl, slow as a terrapin!

Help me get over—

The Hurdles!

Get on your mark!

Get set!

Go!

I took off as fast as my chubby legs would go

Hair flying, eyes on the hay bales

Legs up and over and over and over and over and I made it over—

The Hurdles!

Forever Stamps

“Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance…”—Ephesians 1:13-14

Pull. Peel.  Press.  Pull. Peel. Press.

I had a rhythm going—thanks largely to my stamp dispenser, which made light work of adding postage to numerous envelopes.  With ease I pulled the plastic-coated backing from the coil, causing the edge of a stamp to slightly peel as it exited the mouth of the dispenser, giving me quick access to pinch it and press it on the next piece of mail.

One of my responsibilities as treasurer of my church is processing our church donations to missions, which includes printing and mailing the checks—a time-consuming task I can perform with very little thought, as I’ve had umpteen years of practice. To keep my job from becoming monotonous I incorporate a little prayer in the process. Each time I sign a check, stuff it in an envelope, and stick a stamp on it, I offer a prayer for that particular ministry. 

This morning while reading the recipient’s name printed on the face of the envelope, I applied the stamp, running my finger across to smooth it, taking in the picture of the American flag. Then I noticed something I had never seen before on the “Forever” stamp—the word “freedom.”

Near in the New Year

“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.”—Psalm 94:19

It’s one of my favorite Christmas gifts—a handmade (with the help of technology) 2013 “Addison” calendar. On the cover my 10 month-old granddaughter holds a 2013 sign, her big blue eyes wide with wonder.

Flipping each page of the calendar sporting a picture of Addie taken in the same month of 2012, I recall those precious moments—her debut in February; her first Easter in March; Mother’s Day when my whole family gathered for a photo on the church steps. And the summer months when I took care of Addie while her parents worked.

I remember cradling Addie in the crook of my arm, rocking in the old porch rocker, both of us lulled by the sounds of the morning, birds chirping, bullfrogs croaking, and a tractor chugging in the distance.  Addie’s curious blue eyes brightened, as she babbled in response.   I remember trail walks, Addie strapped snug in her stroller, mesmerized by bright green foliage and yellow butterflies, soothed by the rhythm of the carriage. I remember car rides that without fail calmed Addie to sleep. I came to know Addie’s cries, signaling food, sleep, or attention. I knew what would make her smile and gurgle and what would comfort her. Except for one day.