15
May
21

Homecoming

Where is your place?

Come take a SPIN!

Whenever I discuss the important places in my life, I usually list four: 

  • Columbus, Ohio – the place where I was born.
  • Seattle, Washington – the place to which our family moved in 1969 (and still the region where my four siblings and stepmom live)
  • Kansas City, MO metro area – the place I lived for 44 years, and
  • Fort Collins, CO – the place I live right now.

The fact of the matter is, I sat down the other day and made a list of every house I have lived in since infancy and came up with the staggering total of 27. 

27!

That means I have only lived – on average – 2.55 years in each of those places. 

Doesn’t that make me sound like a restless vagabond, constantly in search of that elusive IDEAL PLACE? I certainly think so.

And it kind of begs the question: “Is there such a thing as The Ideal Place?” 

In my life I have known people who believe in the existence of The Ideal Place and are engaged in a restless, lifelong search for it. 

They want the Ideal Climate

They want the Ideal Topography and Geography

They want the Ideal Quantity (and Quality) of Cultural Amenities

They want the Ideal Cost of Living.

They want a place with the Ideal Reputation.

And of course, they want to make sure this Ideal Place is populated by the Ideal Type of Person. You know… the type that is friendly, but not too friendly. Diverse, but not too diverse. Educated, but not too educated. And so on…

The sad outcome of this quest is that each place they live in somehow falls short on one or more of these critical criteria. 

And so, convinced that the next stop will be the answer, they pack up and move there… and start the process all over again.

I have to say, with the notable exception of the seedy place in Tacoma where Jeff, Marcus, and I lived, and probably my one-bedroom apartment on McGee Street in Kansas City, I have really LOVED every one of the 27 different places I have lived. 

Some I chose willingly, while other places were forced on me by the circumstance. But in every case, I knew it was not going to be the WHERE that made the difference… it was going to be the WHAT, as in “What kind of person are you going to be here in this new environment?” 

Because, as Buckaroo Banzai said in the 1984 cult classic film, “No matter where you go, there you are!” 

The truth is, God sees us – and KNOWS us – wherever we are. God knows us inside and out, whether we’re wearing the plaid flannel of Colorado, the flip-flops of Miami Beach, or the grungy, torn blue jeans of Seattle. As the psalmist once said, “My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes beheld my unformed substance…” (Psalm 139:15-16, NRSV).

The scene can change, but unless we change too, we will find ourselves facing the same problems all over again in the next place we go. 

Today I live in Fort Collins, Colorado. It is a nice, friendly, attractive, stimulating place with awesome vistas and lots of indoor and outdoor stuff to do. And yet, despite all its sterling qualities, I REALLY still miss the people and places of the Kansas City area. 

But you know what? I’ve made up my mind that here, with God and the love of my life by my side, is where I am going to call HOME

Abundant blessings;

14
May
21

News to Me

In the morning it is usually NPR’s Morning Edition, followed by 1A, and then – time permitting, of course – a smidgen or two of The Takeaway with Tanzina Vega.

NBC Nightly News and Dateline anchor Lester Holt poses for photos on the Nightly News set, at NBC headquarters, in New York, Wednesday, July 31, 2019. (AP Photo/Richard Drew)

In the evening we rarely miss a date with Lester Holt and the NBC Nightly News, even if it means catching him on the DVR. Rounding out the day is usually the local TV news at 10.

Each of these programs helps put Joan and me in touch with the news of the world. Each delivers the news in its own unique way, shedding light, insight, and perspective on the events and issues of the day.

There have been a few times during the past year, however, when we have turned, looked at each other, and said – in unison – “Why bother!?” Every newscast seemed to be a carbon copy of the night before; here are today’s COVID stats… here is how COVID is affecting the economy… here are the political fights around dealing with COVID… here is how other countries are handling COVID… and just to mix things up a little bit, let’s throw in a mass shooting somewhere in the U.S. once a week or so.

And there for a while we did shut it off… electing instead for double episodes of JEOPARDY! 

But as election season ended and COVID began to abate, we returned to our nightly newsviewing practice. Most of the time, I’ll admit, tuning in to the news is an act of pure habit. And yes, a whole lot of the time it is just more of the S.O.S. (Same Old Stuff, of course).

Lately though, I’ve thought about it and concluded that I really WANT the news of the world in my life. 

  • I want to be reminded that there are other people and other stories besides mine out there. 
  • I want… no NEED… to be reminded that the realities of tragedy, heartbreak, war, disease, and despair exist even if they have not come home to roost on my doorstep at the moment. 
  • I need to see faces that don’t look like mine, beliefs that don’t square with mine, experiences and art and landscapes and foods and clothing and lives that remind me of the unimaginable blessing of living in such a rich, textured world as this. 

So far, the news has been that vehicle – whether delivered by my radio or my TV set – that has consistently put me in touch with the people, events, and realities that keep taking me outside my cozy little comfort zone. 

And besides… if the news gets too crass, dull, or grotesque, there is always JEOPARDY!

[“I’ll take Potent Potables for $400, please!”]

Abundant blessings;

12
May
21

Sharing Sea Bass

Forgive me, blogosphere, for I have sinned.

They make it look so EASY!

Today’s confession: I am not good at sharing. 

Especially when it comes to food.

But don’t take my word for it. Just ask Joan.

Allow me to set the scene: Joan and I are sitting across from one another having a meal at a nice, but not-too-expensive Fort Collins restaurant. We have ordered two different entrees and are both enjoying our selections. At exactly one bite past the halfway point of consuming the Featured Item on my plate, I notice a floating fork in the corner of my field of vision… it is slowly advancing in my direction.

Attached to that floating fork is the right hand of my beloved. 

I look up, warily. There is a smile on her lips and pure charm in her eyes as she bats those lovely eyelashes and demurely asks, “Can I have a bite?”

Whereas most loving spouses would return that smile, lean back in their chair, and say, “Certainly, honey. Go right ahead!” I, instead, balk. In my mind I have calculated the precise number of bites left on my plate and have devised plans for the enjoyment of every one of them. The prospect of losing even one sets my pulse racing.

At war with these basic protective instincts is an aspiration to be seen by my spouse as a “good guy;” read, “One who shares freely of all his possessions.”

So, I end up smiling feebly and muttering a barely audible, “Uh, sure… go ahead… I guess.”

Pretty pathetic, no?

In the first place, it is ridiculous to imagine that giving away ONE SMALL BITE of my food will make the slightest difference in my satiation, my nourishment, or my joy. 

Secondly, what kind of MONSTER chooses to hoard all their gustatorial enjoyment… especially from the one you have covenanted to become “one flesh” with? (Genesis 2:24, and Matthew 19:5, NRSV). 

And thirdly, (but probably not lastly), what does that sort of miserly response on such a MINOR matter say about that person’s general generosity quotient? 

I can sit here and talk all day about the fact that I grew up in a family of five kids where food was scarce and to be guarded with one’s life. But frankly that was a long, long time ago. Those tapes should really not be playing in my 69-year-old head any longer. 

It’s not as if the faith I profess to profess is exactly silent on this topic. Jesus himself said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” (Acts 20:35, NRSV). The Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Galatians, listed GENEROSITY as one of his famous “fruits of the spirit”: “… the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness…” (Galatians 5:22, NRSV). And in making this list, I am sure Paul was probably taking for granted that OF COURSE spouses would demonstrate these “fruits” to one another.

So, what’s my problem, anyway?

It may be that I suffer from the disease of ENTITLEMENT… the sense that the world and those around me OWE ME something.

It may be that I somehow see life as a “zero sum” equation… that is, you gaining something necessarily means me losing something. 

Or it may just mean that I really, REALLY love steamed sea bass. 

Whatever the final verdict, I pray that my character flaw might be instructive to you in your journey.

As it turns out, Jesus was right after all… it really is more blessed to give than to receive.

Abundant blessings;

11
May
21

Seeking Soulpain Relief

“The reason women have the babies instead of men…” my wife explained, immediately following the birth of our second child, “… is because men couldn’t handle the pain.”

Me… earlier today.

After a short time of harrumphing, sputtering, and expressing considerable masculine indignation, I was forced to pause and process…

… and then admit she was totally right. 

I will confess right up front; I am a complete wimp when it comes to pain. Always have been and likely always will be.

This despite the fact that I grew up in the, “Rub some dirt on it and get back in there” era. 

For me, every experience of pain is like it is happening for the first time EVER. It shocks me. It surprises me. It insults me. It takes my breath away. It deftly penetrates beneath my hard, protective shell and short-circuits my wiring, leaving me whimpering and grimacing like a dewy fawn.

And yes, I know pain is necessary. “Pain is a teacher,” they say. Pain – whether physical, emotional, or spiritual – serves to alert us to situations that demand immediate, therapeutic attention.

Pain also reminds us – in case we forget – about the inescapability of our mortality.

Yes, yes. Sure. I’ve heard all of that and know it is all 100% true.

But still… why does pain have to be so damned… PAINFUL?! So INTRUSIVE?! So RUDE and OBNOXIOUS?!

None of us is immune from pain! It attacks young and old, rich and poor, man and woman, smart and dumb all alike. And because pain is so universal, we have developed an impressive arsenal of tools for dealing with its periodic visits. 

Sometimes we employ the denial tool I mentioned earlier. If that one fails (which it almost always does), we might reach for one of a variety of numbing agents… tools designed to blunt the signals sent to our brain from the site of the primary assault. 

Numbing works for a while but must always be repeated… often with stronger and stronger doses of the number. [NOTE: the “b” there in the word “number” is silent.] Sadly, before people find lasting relief from their pain, they often find life-destroying addiction to those numbing agents.

Finally, when the pain is severe or chronic or long-lasting enough, we decide that the only thing left to do is go to the Source and ask, “Where and why did this pain start in the first place?”

For about the past week I have been dealing with excruciating lower back pain… the kind that makes me walk around the house like a cartoon of a little old man. Today, finally, I decided (with much loving encouragement from Joan) that it was time to try and get to the root of the issue… to stop denying, numbing, and avoiding.

Sadly, before I did, the pain had to get really, really bad.

Isn’t that what happens sometimes in our souls, too? 

Don’t we each have those moments in life that bring us genuine soulpain? And don’t we start out coping with that pain by denying it even exists? And then, when we discover that denial really IS just a river in Egypt instead of an effective coping strategy, don’t we regularly move on to trying to NUMB the pain? 

So, my question is; how bad does the pain have to get? How much agony do we have to endure? How deep does our addiction to numbing agents have to go before we decide it is time to seek out the SOURCE?

For a lot of folks, the source of that soulpain is the lack of a good, solid answer to the question of PURPOSE; Who am I? Why am I here? What is my life supposed to be about? What is LIFE about?

The Teacher, writing in the book of Ecclesiastes, is not exactly the bluebird of happiness on this topic. For those who are tempted to find meaning in their work he (or she) writes, “What do mortals get from all the toil and strain with which they toil under the sun?  For all their days are full of pain, and their work is a vexation; even at night their minds do not rest. This also is vanity.” (Ecclesiastes 2:22-23, NRSV).

Jesus, on the other hand, offers an alternative. In the 14th chapter of John’s gospel, Jesus tells us that he is, “… the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” (John 14:6, NRSV). And on 15 separate later occasions in the New Testament, he then commands his followers to “LOVE ONE ANOTHER.”

It seems to me that if you were looking for a good, reliable “soulpain reliever,” those words might be about as close to the Source as you could get. 

Abundant blessings;

07
May
21

Listening to The Voice

“I love you,” she said.

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She paused. And then added, “Always have… always will.”

And although he’d heard those words from her thousands of times during the 24 years of their relationship, it was different this time.

That word – aimed squarely at HIM – set off little vibrations at the center of his spine… Vibrations that rippled up, down, and out through his toes and his fingertips. 

It was like he was hearing it fresh and new… in a way he had never heard it before. 

It jolted him.

It excited him.

And frankly, it also scared him a little.

He raised his chin. Her eyes met his. And stayed there. Unwavering… Soft… Steady.

He walked through the door she had opened and tumbled headfirst into something wild and holy and fresh.

In that moment, she welcomed him into a place of DEVOTION. 

In her eyes he saw COMMITMENT. 

In her demeanor he felt the full weight of UNCONDITIONALITY.

As he gazed, frozen and utterly moonstruck, fear melted… purpose congealed… doubt dissolved.

“THIS!” he whispered. “This.”

His arms stopped flailing. His legs churned no more. His feet landed on bedrock and stuck.

Homesick no longer, he knew he had arrived… nestled finally in the place where he had always belonged.

As he looked around, The Voice spoke. It came from inside and outside at the same time. It enveloped and caressed him and said, “This is all for you, yes. Every bit of it. But you need to know you did nothing to earn it. True, it is your birthright. But it is also the birthright of every person who has ever lived.”

The Voice continued; “As you stand there, soaking in the reassurance of a love that will not let you go, please know this: the buttery soft blanket you now feel wrapped around your shoulders is also the very foundation of the world. It is the substratum of life itself. It is the Petri dish from which All of Creation grew.”

“When you love, we connect. When you fail or refuse to love, you summon the Void.”

“I thought that my dying for you would add enough emphasis to my message that it would prove the point [see, for example, The Gospel According to John, chapter 3, verse 16]. 

“Clearly, it didn’t.”

“So now the task is yours. Go forth and give. Give love. Give life. Stand on the foundation I’ve provided and don’t expect anything in return.” 

“Do this, my son, ‘… And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.’” (Philippians 4:7 NRSV).

Abundant blessings;

28
Apr
21

An Idle Mind

Idle hands are not a problem for me.

Most of the time, I am either doing something or reveling in the fact that I am NOT doing anything.

An idle mind though? That’s another story entirely.

It happened to me just the other day.

Most of the time, I guard against Idle Brain Syndrome pretty well. I’ve read Proverbs 19:15 where it warns, “Laziness brings on deep sleep; an idle person will suffer hunger.” Lord knows I’d do almost anything to avoid hunger.

So, when I am in the middle of a monotonous or repetitive activity (like exercising or working in the yard), I am pretty good at finding ways to keep my brain engaged. I will go ahead and offer the spiritual answer right off the bat and tell you that I regularly use that idle time to talk with God. 

But not always. 

[Honestly, I sometimes wonder if God gets a little tired of me and my nonsense. God is too polite to come right out and say it, but I’m sure he wants to interrupt me right at the beginning and say something like, “Again, Russell? You know, we’ve been over this territory AT LEAST six thousand times already! Can you come back later when you’ve got some fresh material?”]

Sometimes I listen to music during my tedious stretches.

At other times I listen to podcasts through my Bluetooth device (… some of my favorites include TED Talks, Hidden Brain, The Next Right Thing, Maybe God, Unlocking Us, and Revisionist History). 

But yesterday, while I toiled away at the wearisome task of putting a brick border around one of our front flower beds, I had NOTHING. No music. No podcasts. No prayers.

Just a dull job and an idle mind. 

And now I know why God seems to be such a non-fan of idle brains. 

That’s because they can go anywhere, y’all! They can latch onto an insipid song lyric and wear it smooth. They can invent entire conversations out of whole cloth and orchestrate them so that I ALWAYS come out on top! They can rehash events from the past that should be left well enough alone. They can start imagining things that might/could/should/ possibly happen at some unspecified time in the future and turn them into a nightmare apocalyptic scenario. 

Or they can just descend into meaningless gibberish. 

And once again I am reminded of the incredible width and breadth of possibilities we possess as human beings. The same brain that can become inescapably fixated on the Baby Shark song is also capable of creating art that stirs hearts and souls, or devising words to soothe a grieving friend, or naming all the states of the U.S. in order alphabetically. 

James, the half-brother of Jesus, once wrote, “Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and brackish water?  Can a fig tree, my brothers and sisters, yield olives, or a grapevine figs?” (James 3:11-12, NRSV). 

No. But the human brain can perform an amazing array of complex and even contradictory tasks, all without breaking a sweat. 

And ALL of that is a gift from the God who loves and trusts us.

Is that cool or what?

Abundant blessings;

26
Apr
21

Your Real Name

As Juliet once famously asked, looking heavenward from her balcony, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet…”

Juliet’s ambivalence on the topic of names is understandable; if her lover Romeo hadn’t been cursed with the surname “Montague,” their affair would have been totally copasetic. 

For the rest of us though, names seem to matter… a LOT!

They connect us to a family history, for one thing. They provide the good folks at Ancestry.com with a healthy revenue stream for another. They give us clues about identities or qualities our parents hoped to instill in us, or perhaps detected in the first hours of our lives. 

Take Hunter, for example. Or Rex (Latin for “king”). Or Linda (Spanish for “beautiful”), or any name with blatant biblical origins such as Ruth, or Deborah, or Paul, or any one of the 12 disciples.

On a personal note, I have been engaged in a lifelong tug-of-war with my feelings about my name. My grandfather’s name was George Clifford Brown. My father’s name was George Clifford Brown, Jr. And for reasons I was never privy to, I got the name George RUSSELL Brown. I guess my dad SORT OF wanted to carry on the family lineage but didn’t want me to be burdened by carrying that oh-so-pretentious “III” through life. 

As a very young guy I decided GEORGE sounded “too adult,” so I went with a shortened version of my middle name. That is why, to all my friends and family thereafter I was RUSTY

That name, however, caused me to become the butt of a Sunday school teacher’s cruel joke. I thought it was a little strange that day when she called on me read a passage from the lesson. The subject of the lesson was the Dead Sea Scrolls and as I read aloud, I read that the author described the scrolls as having, “… a rusty brown color.”

Hardy har har, Mrs. Crompton. At least the rest of the class enjoyed your little stunt.

When my family moved from Ohio to the suburbs of Seattle just before my senior year of high school, I decided it was high time for a rite of passage. That was when I dropped RUSTY and went with RUSSELL.

Then, ten years later, I got my next name surprise. When applying for my first passport, that I discovered I had been misspelling my own name. There, in black and white, on my birth certificate, on the space marked, “Middle Name,” it read: RUSSEL. 

One “L”. Not two. 

Now, thanks to the website, “Behind the Name.com,” (https://www.behindthename.com), I have discovered that the name GEORGE comes from the Greek and means “farmer or earthworker,” while Russell (two “Ls”) is derived from French meaning “little red one.” 

How’s THAT for auspicious? 

Here’s the thing though; at this ripe and maturing age, I am finally at peace with my name. As the jokester once said, “I don’t care what you call me, just don’t call me late for dinner.”

I have also come to learn that there two other names that mean a lot more to me… much more than “Rusty,” or “Russell,” (or “Russel,”) or “George.”

As John the Evangelist tells me in the book of 1 John, I have been given the name CHILD OF GOD; “See what great love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God!”

(1 John 3:1, NRSV). 

And Jesus himself called me the best name of all. He has called me “friend.” He was really talking to his original group of disciples when he said this, but I hear Jesus speaking directly to me in John’s gospel when he says, “… but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.” (John 15:15, NRSV).

And you know what? YOU have also received those two awesome names!

How cool is THAT!!

Abundant blessings;

23
Apr
21

Fanboy Nerves

Have you ever met a celebrity?

Growing up, my best friend’s father was the weatherman on the Channel Six Nightly News. I always thought it was pretty cool to go over to Kirk’s house and see Nick Thompson – the guy who told thousands of people in the Columbus, Ohio metro area whether to expect rain, snow, sleet, or sun – sitting in his BarcaLounger in a T-shirt, smoking a cigarette, and reading the newspaper. 

Many years later my friend and I bumped into all five members of the Grateful Dead walking up the alleyway behind Seattle’s Paramount Theater. It was an hour before concert time and they were heading into the stage door, getting ready to play. In that stunned, star-struck moment, the only words I could coax from my mouth were, “Play good!”

What an IDIOT!

To that I can add meeting and posing for a picture with ABC TV’s George Stephanopolous [Trust me, there really IS a picture. I know it’s somewhere around here…] and bumping into Bo Jackson as he dropped off his clothes at a Kansas City dry cleaner.

Compared with some people I know, my list of close encounters of the celebrity kind is very short. The fact is, being in the vicinity of famous and/or accomplished people makes me feel awkward, unimportant, and small. I fear if I had more encounters to report, they would all include awkward, blubbering fanboy moments like the one I had with Jerry Garcia and friends. 

But here is the truly amazing thing for me to stop and realize; every day I bump into arguably the most famous, the most earth-shaking, most significant human being the world has ever seen! And instead of tensing up and stuttering, I come away overflowing with trust, confidence, and deep peace.

I am sure you know I’m talking about Jesus, right?

No, he didn’t make multiple platinum selling records, or interview Princess Diana, or set NFL rushing records, or walk on the moon.

All Jesus did was make the deaf hear, the lame walk, the blind see, and the dead live again. He only drew the dividing line between B.C. and A.D. on our calendars and got up from the grave three days after offering his earthly life as a sacrifice for you and me. 

Jesus merely set into motion a world-wide movement that has transformed the hearts of billions of men, women, and children and has survived every attempt to wipe it out. 

And yet… this awesome world-changer reaches out to you and to me every day, smiles, and says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Matthew 11:28-29, NRSV). 

And you know what? 

He doesn’t make me even a little bit nervous.

Abundant blessings;

21
Apr
21

Will It Matter?

This was about one action in one moment.

And yet, it was about so much more than that.

The trial of Derek Chauvin that found the former Minneapolis police officer guilty of second-degree murder, third-degree murder, and second-degree manslaughter focused its attention on the isolated action of one misguided police officer and the way he responded to one store owner’s complaint against one individual named George Floyd.

And yet this trial was about so much more. 

Derek Chauvin’s trial was also about using this unique moment in time as a vehicle. As ripples of outrage went out around the world, this trial also became a vehicle for shining a light on the disparities in treatment between white people and people of color by law enforcement officials. It became a vehicle for asking fundamental questions about how police officers handle themselves under stress. It became a vehicle for reexamining the relationships between a police force and communities of color. 

Most of all though, it became a vehicle to help us critically examine whether this nation really means it when it says we stand for, “… justice for all.”

Too many times we have seen shocking cell phone videos. Too many times we have seen body-cam footage. Too many times we have stood in front of our TV sets and asked, “How can they get away with doing THAT?”

And too many times, we have also seen justice denied. 

This time, there were too many eyewitnesses. This time, the visuals were too stark. This time, the “thin blue line of silence” was broken by officers who courageously spoke out against one of their own. This time the ground swelled and churned in righteous outrage. 

This time, justice was done.

We weep in relief. We embrace in celebration. At the same time, though, we wonder, “Will this moment matter? How far will the ripples of this moment spread? Will they reach deeply enough into the substrata of our racially biased criminal justice system to make any long-term difference? 

Or will this ultimately just be about…

… one moment, and

… one man?”

19
Apr
21

Watch Your Eyes!

Today, for the first time in a jillion years, I got new glasses.

Not just new lenses. New frames, too. 

And if I do say so myself, they are pretty danged snazzy. 

All of which made me pause and think about the importance of my eyes.

Somewhere in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus offered his listeners this important observation: “The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eyeis unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness.” (Matthew 6:22-23, NRSV).

Which prompts me to ask: How is your eye… or rather, how are your EYES today?

No question; eyes and their use have always been important to us. Not only do they help us navigate through our surroundings, but they also serve as a critical instrument of self-expression. 

Here in the time of the global pandemic, however, their importance seems to have skyrocketed exponentially. 

Think of it. When we find ourselves in a time – as we do today – where masks hide the lower half of everyone’s face, the entire weight of emotional expression falls on the eyes. We have to learn to “SMIZE” (or “smile with your eyes,” TM, Tyra Banks), express pleasure, fear, concern, angst, boredom, surprise, disgust, horror, love, and 85 other emotions ENTIRELY with our eyes.

That seems like a mighty heavy burden to lay on those two little jelly-filled balls.

This is certainly a time for us to take good care of the health of these critters, for sure. It is also a good time to remember to be a little extra cautious about how we are using our eyes. For example, are we…

… rolling our eyes?

… averting our eyes?

… leering with them?

… looking covetously with them?

… staring with them?

… registering embarrassment or shame with them?

Your eyes disclose your heart. They have the power to hearten or to discourage everyone you meet. 

Our eyes serve as our ambassadors… going out ahead of us to tell others who we are and what we are about. They don’t lie… even when we ask them to.

So, please… take good care of your eyes…

… and watch them carefully.

Abundant blessings;




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