A Single Moment

What? I caught it didn't I? Where's my treat?

Joy in Baby Smiles

There is pure joy on a small child's face that will light up my heart. Parker has a smile that is from his little heart and tickles me pink. When is the last time you smiled with your heart?

Teresa Gale

Tangled Yarn

I am trying to make an afghan, trying is the key word here. Many times in the past, I have fumbled with this feat. I self taught myself in the art of crochet, which means my projects are not ever perfect.

Yet I keep trying. I have made a few afghan’s and some scarves and my family tells me they like them. However, my imperfect piece drives me nuts. I cannot tell you how many times I took them apart and redid them. My ends would trail uneven, start shorter, end up longer, they waved at me in their imperfect state, sticking tongues out to taunt me.

So this year, after a long hiatus from my craft or lack thereof, I signed up for a beginner’s class at a local craft store. I was excited I would finally master the uneven edges of my blankets. The class was good, but didn’t teach me anything really that I had not taught myself. I asked the instructor about my problem and was told we would get to it. We never did. I found myself crocheting away in class, a head of the rest of the students which gave me some confidence.

The flame of creativity bit me hard and I decided to buy some supplies and try again. I used a tip the instructor gave in class and started crocheting like mad. I was going to take some scrap yarn and make my grandson Logan an afghan for Christmas.

Away I went and found I enjoyed the process, it was relaxing. I wove about ten rows and then saw my blanket was once again uneven. Frustrated, I took it apart, not once, but twice. I grew more and more frustrated in my process and decided to search on line for my problem. I read I needed to count my stitches. Duh, I had been told that once before, but ignored the suggestion.

Isn’t that just like us, to ignore something an experienced person will tell us because we think we novice crafters or fill in the blank_____ know better? I took the advice this time and am on my way to the finish line with a blanket that is straight on the edges. Duh! *Smack in the head*

My frustration now lies in the way the instructor told me to pull the yarn out to start. We students were instructed to reach into the center of the yarn and pull out this mess that resembles spaghetti. While this works most of the time, I am finding as I try to cross the finish line before Christmas that sometimes my spaghetti frustrates me as it tangles up.

This morning, my insomnia had me up and with TV off and prayers said, I decided to crochet. I felt very emotional this morning, probably due to insomnia of late and the message I received in prayer this morning. Nevertheless, I took out my afghan and began a row of white yarn. I neared the end of one row and found my spaghetti yarn tangled.

I tugged, I pulled, I unwound, I used every method I found to untangle this mess. Finally, I tied off my end of the row and with scissors I cut the yarn. Reaching inside, pulled out a big hunk of yarn and just wanted to weep at the mess. I silently and not too kindly, cursed the instructor and began the process of untangling.

I found I tensed during the process and my frustration grew. Next thing I know, I am crying. Isn’t that just like a woman on the edge of sleepless nights? As I sat crying, fingers pulled gently and then harder, waves of feelings welled up. I found the process an aggravating nuisance. Taking a deep breath, I thought of my prayers this morning as I praised God.

Suddenly, His message to me became clearer and using a simple ball of yarn, God gave me an example. He told me my heart needed to be pure and clean, I needed to test it. Test the strength of my heart? I questioned His message and then immediately went into my worry mode. What do you mean test my heart? I prayed safety for my children he brought to my mind, to my husband who is sick and wracked my brain for what God was planning. The word Trust came to mind as it has a lot lately in my prayers and writing.

I sat with this mess of a ball of yarn and it dawned on me this must be what my heart looks like to God. Yet, he reaches into the center of it all and pulls out the chunks and kinks of spaghetti like problems and gently tugs and straightens; pulls and untangles the mess inside. God is the master of tangled messes.

While I can break the thread, I find it hard to do, sometimes I need help. Sometimes when the tangles become too messy, I am ready to throw it all away and start anew. It made me wonder at why God patiently untangles my heart time and time again. He lovingly waits, pulls, waits, uses expert fingers to get to the center of the knots and untie them. Problems? Yes I imagine at times God must also find problems in the process. I think He must shake His head at me in wonder at just how tangled I have let my heart go. Yet still in those moments I am so disappointed, He waits for me to pause so He can take over.

I have never been a very patient person, but when I am, I see results. God is waiting on me to stop pulling away from Him and allow him to untangle me. So I take a deep breath for I realize that it is in being persistent that my work of art will be finished. While it may not be perfect, it will be made with love, just as God made me in love.

I will continue to untangle my ball of yarn; I will continue to weave my afghan just as I will allow God to continue His work of art in me. Trust; yes, I think I will trust in the Master artist.



Teresa Gale

Joyful Trimmings

On a recent trip home during Thanksgiving, I got the honor and humor of watching my parents during holiday trimmings. Trimmings in more than the bird and dinner preperations. My mom's loving hands snipped my dad's hair as I snapped away on my camera. Mom has been cutting dad's hair for as long as I can remember. I watched them both joke and chat during the process. My dad's eyes close in the pleasure of mom's skillful hair cutting.

Dad reminds me here a bit of old Santa getting trimmed before his long trip to distribute gifts around the world. His eyes close in rest and enjoyment of the moment.

This photo is on my screen saver right now, reminding me to remember to find joy in simple things. Things such as the touch of a human hand, the joy in love surrounding me, the love of both my parents and the love of God who allows these moments.

I am so blessed to have these two wonderful and loving people in my life. There I find great joy.

Blessings,

Teresa

Long Journey Home

I won! I did it! I wrote 50k in words in less than 30 days. Not only that people, I found an ending for once in my life.

I know, you are all wondering what in the world I am speaking about. NANO, National Writing Month in November. I have participated many years, not always finished and never wrote an ending to any of my stories. Not so this year, I did it!

Now before you ask to read it or for my autograph (*blushing*), I will have to tell you this story was somewhat a personal journey.

Confused? I bet. :) This story was one of forgiveness. It was a journey. While I will admit this novel is not one of my best stories it is close to my heart. I will edit it, I will print it out one day. I am thankful for this process, for this long journey home to forgive some people in my life.

I give all credit to my Maker who led me through this process, who held me in his heart as I walked this long journey and was able to make peace. It was a long time coming and very emotional time for me. It was also a drawing closer to God and a very spiritual walk for me. I learned to discern the voice of God and truly listen.

I can close a book or two of my past and greet my future with far less baggage. My steps are lighter, my heart sings praises and my passion for writing has returned.

Thank you Lord! We did it!

Blessings,

Teresa Gale

Joy in the Moment

Joy comes wrapped in the simpliest things like spending time sharing a family tradition. In the midst of a snowfall, wrapped up like a scene from "The Christmas Story" we find joy. Laughter is the sweetest of sounds.

Merry Christmas to all and we pray you find your joy this season and many reasons to be thankful.

Teresa Gale

Joy in Accomplishments

One of my most joyful moments was witnessing my daughter receive her diploma from Ursuline. She works full time, married and expecting a baby here and managed to graduate. The joy in her accomplishment thrills me to this day. I am so very proud of her. Love you so much.

Teresa Gale

Joy in Celebrations

There are so many celebrations in life. One of them is celebration of birthdays. I celebrate the life of my husband. There is joy in having him in my life, I am so thankful for him every day. He brings me much joy and love.

Jumping for Joy

On a recent family vacation, I watched from the safety of the boat dock as my grandson jumped with abandon into the water. I was blessed enough to have him repeat this so I could capture it on film.

It's a great feeling to let go and jump right in and children seem to do so without fear while we adults tend to hold back, consider the waters before we jump in.

Watching my grandson jump in with so much joy inspires me to not "fear the waters" but to jump into my own life.

May we all today be blessed with enough child-like joy to Jump for Joy!

Teresa Gale

Joy Part 2

I posted a photo last Friday depicting joy of my mom and her great grandchild, Logan. As I sat writing for NANO this morning, I thought of joy and how often it escapes us and can go unnoticed.  Today I found this photo, one of my favorites of two daughters and see the joy so clearly on their faces.

The story I am writing has been a journey into so many places, one of them being finding the joy that is alive in myself. I had so long pushed it away, to busy to take notice, too serious to allow myself to play.

I am blessed to have found joy in my life and my new desire is that I take hold of it daily. I no longer wish to push things away until that perfect time. There is no time like the present.

My blessings in joy have been my children. As a mother, my heart overflows with joy that God allowed me to share in the lives of such beautiful people. He blesses me with six and continues those blessings with grandchildren.

I pray today, we all find those moments of joy and live in those moments. I pray each of us finds the joy God has created in every one of us and lets celebrate in it.

Teresa Gale

Just a Single Moment: Joy!

There are single moments in life that need to be treasured. Pure Joy!

Write Time

I have been spending the last eleven days in the trenches of writing. It has sure been awhile since I challenged myself to tell a story. Although this story is not my best, it has been a very liberating writing. I am on this incredible journey with my writing right now, unearthing things I had long wanted to release.

I pray that God leads me to deeper truths and that after this challenge is over, a new journey will begin. So while I have been exhausted from work, writing and all that it entails, I am also excited about how good it feels.

Life is short, too short to waste time not enjoying those things you love. Life is meant to be lived, to love and to experience so much more. Life is about letting go and allowing God to work in your life. In my life I have held on to things far too long. I have held on to stuff that has held me back. God is leading me to a new place and a new awareness of life.

This early morning, I struggled to wake and write. I made the coffee and took the dogs out to find snow on the ground. Not much, but snow. At first I groaned about it, but the crisp air entered my lungs and woke me up to an awareness of the beauty in this white stuff. It is a new day, a new season and I am alive.

Take time today to enjoy life. Take a moment and think of something you truly love and then go do it. May this day be filled with the rich blessings in life. Go out and play in the snow.

National Writing

It's that time of year again and I am more determined to finish this year even if my unfinished novel is jibberish! I want to write and have allowed so much else get in my way. So this year I am facing this challenge and going forth.

I will keep you all posted as much as I can.

Wish me luck.

Teresa Gale

Just A Single Moment-Sunrise Over the Falls

Sunday Moments-Falling for Pumpkins

Single Moments~With A Few Words

September 3, 2011 our Baby Girl took on a new role as wife. Happy tears flowed freely that day.

Written Words

How often do you write? I mean really, truly write. Do you write for the art of it? Does anyone send cards, letters, write a blog, journal or even write out your monthly bills?


It seems to me the written word and I do mean the old fashioned written word has gone the way of modern technology. It has been a pet peeve of mine for quite some time now. I have written about it, ranted over it and just plain felt frustrated by it all. Yet there are times even I succumb to the quick way to communicate and send a text or such.

I am a letter writer, the old fashioned kind where you open your mail box and there awaits a good long letter. I have fond memories of sending and receiving those types of letters and have shoe boxes full of them. However, in the past several years, I can honestly say, the letters have dwindled to almost nothing. Hardly ever do I find a gem waiting inside for me to discover.

Our family moved a lot and I do mean a lot, and not because we were a military family either. I have credited this to my mother who just plain “got bored.” When I say I moved a lot, at last count, (After awhile you just stop counting.) I attended twenty-two different schools.

I was a shy, quiet young girl, afraid to make friends due to the fact in a few weeks we might be on to another location, another home, and another school. I had little time to make friends and when I did, we often lost touch. It was the letters from my grandmother, her name was Goldie and she surely had a heart of Gold. She would pen me letters, short, sweet and with longing to see her granddaughter. I loved the tidbits of news and once I devoured the letter, I would scurry off to my room in search of lined notebook paper in which to answer her.

It was during this time I wanted something that did not look like school paper, but real stationary. Believe it or not, there used to be something called Stationary Stores. I would walk in and be totally overwhelmed with the choices, the colors the textures. I would try to find sets with matching envelopes and occasionally splurged and some really delicate paper with complicated designs. That type of paper was treasured, stored and saved for the most important letter receivers of mine. I loved the intricate designs and often hated to part with any.


I am not sure anyone enjoyed my letters as much as I did in writing them. I do know on the odd chance someone might write me back, it would forge me on no matter what was going on in my life. There were letters written in childish penmanship I would find after my grandmother’s death. She had saved these letters throughout our writing journey together and it touched me. It meant my words meant something to her and I carted them home after her death to re-read and re-live those parts of my past.

Having moved around as much as I did and being shy, afraid to lose more friends, I wrote a lot, kept a diary (which my brothers stole and broke into) and tried my hand at poetry. I disappeared into the world of writing and words, often penning my thoughts and feelings to no one other than myself.

Later on, life got in the way, I became a young bride, then a young mother, more children came, many more moves and lots of tragedy. All of which made me lose my way into my little world of writing. I stopped the letters due to the simple fact I had little time and seldom received answers back. After Grandmother died, I just gave up.


I will admit, reluctantly, for a few years, I stopped writing and joined the troops of  e-mailer’s, bloggers, and texters. After the first embers of excitement waned, I lost interest even in the technology. I found it did not satisfy the writer in me.

So, my journey back into the land of writing letters returned with a new fever. I no longer cared if I found a letter in my mailbox I found instead a new joy in the act of penning a letter. I would write in long-hand or simply type my life in words out to the recipient.

I sent cards to my own grandchildren, hoping beyond hope that I would instill in them the act of a good letter or simple thank you card. I often enclose stickers, coins or dollar bills along with words of love and interest in their small lives. Once in awhile, I get one back. I don’t worry about it.

What does concern me is how easy we have given up these things in life. What worries me is they no long teach our children ‘cursive’ handwriting, therefore they can not read my handwriting. I know I should move on with the times, yet I struggle with giving up those simple pleasures in life that are going the wayside of technology. I fight this urge to throw in the towel simply because every one else is.

My grandmother taught me many things. One of the most treasured lessons was the fact that things that are truly important in your life should never be given up. She raised many children in difficult times, nursed her husband during his many illnesses and still clung to the Word of God and the family she so loved. She never stopped loving or doing the very things she enjoyed.

Grandma, thank you. Lesson taken to heart, this is my love letter to you.

Teresa Gale

2011

Dad's Hands

A recent visit to my dad's after he had been released from the hospital became a most emotional one. I love my dad, daddy as I once upon a time called him. He is and always will be my hero. As I sat on the back deck the morning we were to leave, I became teary-eyed at leaving him and mom behind. I wanted to curl into his lap as I did when I was his "little princess" and snuggle into his love.

I watched his hands and became facinated with them. He has strong hands, hands that lifted me as a child gently onto his lap, wiped tears from my eyes and tickled me into fits of laughter. Hands that also lifted heavy boxes in and out of his truck for the company he worked for during his forty some years of loyal employment. These hands twirled thumbs around and around as he spoke, reminding me of his mother, my precious grandmother who had done the same.

His loving hands not only worked to support his family, but they nurtured gardens, picked up small children and waved in the air as he spoke to make a point. They are strong, honest hands, hands you can trust for looking at them you know he is a hard working man of God.

As I stared, I found the tears hard to swallow and I told him in a shaky voice I didn't want to leave this day, but wished I could stay with him for awhile. I cried crock tears as I spoke my words of love and leaned in for a hug. His big hands enveloped his not so little girl and patted my back as he whispered his own endearments in my ear, words that will forever be engraved in the bed of my mind.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I leaned back into my chair and became entranced with his hands once again placed on his lap while fingers twirled, and twirled in place. Family resemblance I thought to myself, from grandma to dad and possibly one day I shall find my own hands repeating the pattern of twirling thumbs.

I shall always be my daddies little girl and he will remain my hero.

I love you Daddy!

Teresa Gale

Just a Single Moment

A Single Moment captured by my lens.

Photographs and Memories

Memories how sweet they can be. Memories have a way of touching places in your heart and tugging at you. It can be a good memory or sad, still the emotions will often trickle out and surprise us.

My brother Mike, recently played with his new hand wand scanner and sent me a email box full of old photographs. Some made me smile, some caused me to miss someone while others had me giggling. I loved each one as I viewed them and saved them to my computer.

I am sharing one today. I cannot remember exactly how old we were, the three of us. I am the oldest, so we won't need to discuss this anymore. My brother Dan at the far left corner two years younger than I, my little brother Mike four years under me is sandwiched between us.

Although I am not sure who took this photo, I do remember we were at a sitter's, perhaps she did. I can recall how sad I felt. I did not like being in her home and forced outside into the hot weather. I can still recall the steam rising off the sidewalk and how still the air around us was. The memory of how close we three were is still within my heart. Seeing this photo made me miss them both. We would often huddle together when scared, or bored.

I am flooded with memories today of my two younger brothers. Dan is no longer with us and it leaves such a hole in my heart. I wonder at what kind of man he would have become. Mike although my younger brother, is also my best friend. I confide in him and depend on him. He teases me in a way only a younger brother can, but treats me with respect. We each have learned a lot since that hot summer day, we have grown in ways I would never imagined.

As I sit looking at that shy girl in this photo, I hardly recall her. She is different than the me of now. That's a good thing. My little brother has become like my big brother. I will hold on to this memory of that particular day and how close we were.

The snap shot of our past is a peek into the window of our future.

Blessings,

Teresa Gale

Absence Makes the Heart What?

Where have I been? What has kept me so silent? Not much, just a very busy life. I stepped in the door here and had not realized that April was my last post. May was water swept away with all the rain and now June is upon us.

I can bet you I am not the only one with a very busy life to lead, but it seems the older I get, the more my calendar is filling up.

School is out, as of today for some of us, which leaves the mess of finding ways to occupy the children. Two grandchildren live with us and I know mom is busy making up a Chore Calendar for the rugrats. I can only pray and hope and wish upon a star that the kids follow it somewhat. One can dream right?

We are busy planning our vacation and looking forward to getting away for a week in a cabin. Water calls, fish bite and lazy afternoons on a boat are really needed for our family.

Well, duty calls once again and I must run. Be back sooner....I promise, pinky swear.

Blessings,

Teresa

April Fools

 I took this photo less than a week ago, a sign of Spring. Budding trees mean winter's end is near. At least that is what we thought. We should have remembered however where we live, for Northern Ohio is never still, always changing and winter refuses to usher out quietly.

Snow fell gracefully just two days ago and winter's white veil covered the ground. Amidst the groans of all us weary of snow, I found the snow quiet lovely. Stepping out in the wee hours of morning with our dogs, I stook in the stillness of the snowfall and watched the white lace the trees in a heavy coat. You could almost hear the snow as it fell on the limbs rustling branches. The dogs frolicked, rolled and ran in the white stuff, enjoying the wetness under their feet. It brought a blessing to my heart as I realized life is much like this snowfall, constantly changing, constantly alternating between still moments in time and the bustle of life.

This morning, April 1, I am embrace all changes, past and present. I give thanks to God for moments of early mornings, of nature and all things He brings to me in life. I count my blessings one by one and realize a little winter white weather will not hold me back, it will wash away all the debris. I will continue to stand in awe of all God brings to us.

Teresa Gale

Just A Single Moment - Mr. Potato Head

Just A Single Moment

Birth Day

Just a Single Moment

Spring Dreaming

Just A Single Moment

My Favorite Photo

My brothers and Myself

Just A Single Moment: Sweet Apple Dumplings

Winter Prayers

Winter Prayers







It is February and the snow continues to fall, followed by icy rain and chilling temperatures. We, however, are blessed to be in a home, with heat, with lights, with food and with each other. I think of this as I gazed outside last night after hearing the ping of icy rain hitting our window. I looked at my grandchildren, my son and husband and bowed my head in thanksgiving.


I was alerted by my son actually, that he had not seen me pray over our meal, something that I do all the time and anywhere I am. I found it heartwarming that he would remind me. I guess I am setting an example to my children. My grandchildren who were already chomping down on their burgers and fries all turned to watch me. Puzzled looks upon their faces.


My husband, bless his heart, explained to the children why grandma prays and thanks God for our food and home. I was amazed that anyone had even noticed. It has become so instilled in me to pray before a meal, that I do not realize I do it. Tonight, was the first time in ages that I had to be reminded that I had not prayed. I was truly surprised at my son for pointing it out. For a moment, I almost felt chastised.


Prayers are an important part of my life. I don’t always feel I pray enough, or long enough or even in the right manner. However, I do pray daily. I think of those who truly need to be prayed for and kindly ask God to oblige to move in their lives, as if he didn’t already know right? Yet here I was, a parent, who needed reminded I had not bowed my head and said grace. God is my parent, do I remind him in my prayers. I think so, in some small way, I want him to hear about those I love, care for or worry over.


Just as my heart was warmed that my son noticed, I like the think the same of my Heavenly Father. One of the things I like to do in my prayers is give thanks. In my busy life, I do not always remember to do this, I take things for granted and often days go by before I truly am reminded of just how much I have. I used to keep a blessing book, something I think I need to do again, in which I listed every blessing I could think of in my life. I have so many, some so small that most people would wonder at my giving thanks for it. Yet even the smallest occurrence in our life can be counted as a blessing.


I explained to my grandchildren the story of my buying our home, a home in which they now share with us. I bought this rambling five bedroom house twenty years ago after their father had died. I was a single mom with four young daughters making very little money. I had a down payment and I had a heart to have a home, one in which I could give my daughters some sense of security after the loss we had just experienced.


I went house hunting. I prayed, I mean to tell you, I prayed a lot. The day I found our home, I was not really bowled over by it, but it fit our needs. I remember being at work, waiting to see if the bank approved my loan, a special loan at that time that I was one of the last to get. I prayed that if God really thought it best we purchase the home, he would provide a way. He did. I also signed for a fixed rate for seven years. My plan was in seven years when the rates went up, all four girls would be old enough to move on and out, or so I thought. I would then sell and buy or rent something smaller.


God provided much for us in the last twenty years because I put my faith in him. Four years after I purchased my home, I met Mark, my husband to be. Four years later, we would marry, refinance and God had provided again. I didn’t have to sell. Our home has had children move in and out and back in and back out several times. The home is older, a little more worn and shows signs of wear and tear, but so do we. Last year, we put a new roof over our heads and are secure for awhile longer. I give thanks to God for providing all of this.


We have weathered many storms, saw many cold winters here, lost power a few times, and shoveled snow so high we thought we would never see the end. Now we share this home, the very home God provided for us, with grandchildren and children. We are blessed.


So at every meal, every chance I get, I give thanks to God for all these blessings. As I explained to my grandchildren last night, even in the darkest, scariest storms in life, even when we feel sad, or lonely, we still can find something to count as a blessing.






Teresa Gale

Going Home

Going Home


The word home takes on a special meaning to me. I have lived in more homes than I care to count, went to twenty-two different schools, learned to pack quick and many times lived out of boxes. My parents moved a lot, no, my father was not military; I liked to say my birth mother was just a bored housewife who lived on the excitement of new houses.

Going home for me is traveling to my parents home in which I never lived, in a small town where I never unpacked a box or paid rent. However, it is where my dad and mom live now and have for several years, in a big rambling house that often is full to the brim with family.

The miles seem to stretch further apart these days and the trips home less frequent than when I was a young mother. I find the older I get; the busier I get and the less opportunities to travel the distance. I get homesick often, miss my folks and send cards, letters and try to keep in touch on the phones. It’s not the same as walking in that door and being embraced by my mom and dad, or seeing my grandmother smile.

Pictures line my rooms with photos of family in an attempt to gather them close to me. The substitution is not easy and my heart often aches for a visit. We have six children, all fairly close in distance from our home, a home I have lived longer in than I ever thought possible. We have several grandchildren, busy jobs, four pets and a multitude of commitments. I don’t know how I did the travel when my kids were smaller, but it seemed we found more time back then.

Lately, I could feel the disappointment and something like anger in my dad’s voice quite a few times as he encouraged us to make the trip. They were both lonely and health made it harder for them to travel to us. We recently lost our grandfather and grandma is now staying with my folks. I needed to get home, but found it near impossible with football schedules, school commitments, working loads of overtime and just plain exhaustion from trying to keep up with it all.

I noticed a certain edge in my father’s voice when I spoke to him, a longing to see his only daughter and the guilt weighted heavy. I even found myself defensive and dreading the calls home. My father has never been harsh with me, rarely raised his voice and I can only remember one time in my youth did he spank me. So when dad’s voice gets tense with me, it breaks my heart. What’s worse is I knew it was just plain ole homesickness on his part that we come home.

It took a few weeks to clear the calendar, make sure teen son was going to be responsible and daughter would handle the pets. Hubby and I took the first trip ever all alone with no children or grandchildren in tow. We took our time, stopping often on the four hour drive to give my leg a break which swells often from a recent blood clot. We stopped at our favorite shop along the way and loaded up on goodies.

I found myself getting more and more eager as the miles between my parents and our home drew closer. I wanted; no I needed to see them. As we walked into the door mom enveloped me in her arms, she is much shorter than I and almost has to stand on tip toe to greet me, but it was a hug much needed. Grandma’s face lit up in such a beautiful smile and our ole dog Duke came slowly hobbling our way for a sniff. Dad stopped in twice during the evening, taking short breaks from work and I was so happy to feel his rough beard against my cheek. I was home.

The days flew by, the hours of talking, catching up, laughing, touching each other as we walked by just ended way too quickly. Aunts came by, one of my brothers stopped in and the house filled up with the chatter of family who miss each other very much.

As I sat across the table from my father, my dad, no my daddy, I noticed the years had made him even more handsome. His hair gone whiter, his face a little more weathered, his hands tapping as we spoke just like his mother’s used to. All of it endeared me deeply. Mom was her usual happy self with lots of laughter and telling stories. I tried my best to memorize it all, to take some photos, to capture each precious moment as best I could.

Every time I part, I leave chunks of my heart behind. I often go silent in the car ride home and feel the heavy weight of homesickness clamping on my heart and soul. I long for the things I have never had with my parents, living closer. We have always had these miles between us as jobs and husbands took me further away. I have missed much in their lives and they have missed much in my own.

I wish so often that this could change, but I know in my heart, I can never leave my own children to move closer and my parents just wouldn’t be home moving closer to us. So we settle. We wait for those phone calls, we stalk each other on social network, we plan time together and we wait for the chance to see each other once again.

Although we may have so many miles between us, although we miss a lot of the day to day stuff, we can never erase that feeling of going home. We embrace our time together and cherish those moments together. Until we meet again.



Teresa Gale

Just A Single Moment: Sweet Laughter

Just A Single Moment:"Father and Son:"

Snowfall

Snowfall


Early morning dog walk,

brings biting winds

tore into my aching limbs.

Hobbling with the dogs,

who run circles around me

excited about their frolic

in the white powder.

Tall trees blanketed in white

groan with the wind,

I turn my head skyward,

to the top of the trees,

watch as they seem to nod

down at me in agreement,

limbs reaching out against

the bitter wind.

I hobble up the driveway

marveling at the trees

and self.

Aged with the years,

groaning against the cold

aching limbs in tune with

each other.

Teresa Gale

1/21/11

Dance of Dawn

The lazy fingers of dawn,
creep into my window,
shining in on me.

Dancing rays of light,

filter through smoky windows,
warming me with its touch.

I am awake!
Alive!
Thirsting for more of life.

I await the challenges of a new dawn,
seeking the surprises of the day,
I unwrap the day with trepidation.

The sunbeams call to me.
"Dance with me,
sing your song of life."

The illumination of light
plays a sweet melody,
serenading soft lullibies.

Not one to sleep,
nor willing for the lullabies
to lull me away,

I change the tune.
Dance to my own beat,
moving in the rhythm of the new song.

I welcome the dawn's fingers
as they beacon me to
join in the dance of day.

Teresa Gale

Setting Life Straight

Goal Setting


I did it and have only myself to blame. There is something about a New Year that makes me always want to wipe last years’ slate clean and start again. I love the New Year, it gets me motivated and moving. So when a Mom’s writing group that I belong to started a Goal setting group, I jumped in head first.

Well, I think I am in over my head.

I love making lists, have several notebooks full of notes, to do lists, appointments, resolutions and goals. This year is no different. However, when you count I am a lot older, have many more responsibilities, several children living with us and pets, hubby and over full time work, well, I jumped too high off the bridge.

I made a short list, then extended it, then laid it aside when exhaustion set in and was running to keep up with my writer friends. So, today I took a second look at my list and decided to expand more. I broke it up and my next step is to make plans on how to complete these goals.

It is not impossible, it is very probable. So why do I feel like I am drowning in a sea of over stimulation? Because my eyes are always bigger than the rest of me, my brain wants to cram more in than I am comfortable with, so I am re-thinking all this.

I mapped it out on paper, chopped it up in categories which I borrowed from my one of the writing mom’s and took a deep breath. If you are a list maker, I am sure you understand how it feels to make a long list and then cross one thing off, then another, then another until satisfaction or exhaustion sets in. I love seeing my accomplishments.

I will develop a plan and try not to be too stringent, but also, set a habit, a ritual so to speak to see myself off and complete my tasks.

I set up several categories, such as; Home, Ministry, Children, Work, Creativity, Family, Personal, etc. Then I broke them down further and my next plan is to develop steps and how many days per week I want to tackle some or all of my goals. Such as my Relationship Goals with God, I want to continue my daily bible reading, but add more worship and prayer time. I also want to read more inspirational books and develop or find my ministry in life. For Family, I want to spend more quality time, be more encouraging and supportive.

I am starting out late and slow, but today tackled a few of my goals. I wrote for fifteen minutes some gibberish, but I wrote. I completed two scrapbook pages for my creative goal and put together one small magnetic photo frame of my oldest granddaughter. I did a short journal entry, read, threw out two piles of paper for my organization goal and managed to get some house chores done. Whew! A lot in one day, but oh how wonderful it feels!

I have a habit, which I am sure many others do, in which I tend to let my busy life push back the things I really enjoy. I love to write, but seldom do enough to satisfy. I love to scrapbook, but only recently went back to it. I enjoy reading to the point of addiction, but only find time for small snatches of reading.

I am excited about setting my goals and I will be constantly evaluating my progress and re-vamping as necessary. If you are like me and really want to pursue some dreams or just get organized, consider writing down your goals, dreams, task and see what you think is possible. As for me, I am on a new journey and loving every moment.

Till we meet again.



Teresa Gale

Just A Single Moment

Garden of Love

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, a family was born. Each member of this extra-ordinary family was as different and unique as the flowers that once grew in their mother’s garden. Every member of the family bloomed and grew at different stages in their lives and when the wild weeds threatened to over-take and choke them out, the mother and father gardener would tend to the weeds.


The family grew in love and became one of the most beautiful bouquets their mother had ever seen. The years swiftly moved by and mother would often reminisce along with the father about how their once tiny infants had transpired into the strong adults that now stood before them. Mother mused often over the memory of each birth, each new beginning in their family and how the once small child felt in her arms.

A mother’s love grows deep as does the father and the hearts hold each precious moment, and the not so precious moments close. The family had many happy moments and at times suffered through many storms that threatened to tear them to bits. There were times that the family had to hold tight to what they knew was true in their hearts and struggle against the strong winds. Many times, just when the mother felt sure she could not with stand another storm of worry, the calm would set in and before her would stand a stronger child and a more loving family than she ever thought possible.

It was through these stormy times that they each grew stronger and blossomed even more lovely. Mother turned her worries over each time to her heavenly Father and prayed over each child and her husband until the peace enveloped her. She knew in her heart of hearts that God held their family in His mighty hands and that no matter what, they would survive.

Mother’s heart was overfilled with love for her children, so much so that often it felt as if her heart would burst from the joy she held. However, once the children grew and scattered in the wind like seeds of the flowers, planting themselves in other parts of the great city, mother felt at a loss. The once upon a time full house, that had been filled with noise, laughter and talking now felt silent and empty.

Mother and father felt truly blessed by each of their children and as hard as it was to see them leave and go out into the world on their own, they stood quietly back and watched. Sometimes, not so quietly, mother would voice her worry and give unwarranted advice much to the amusement of her husband and children.

One by one the children left the humble home of their mother and father and each time the mother’s heart felt like it was breaking in two. When the first one left, she cried for days, worrying over how young her little girl was and fretted over every little thing. As hard as it was, she supported her child’s decision, remembering how young she was when she had left her own home to build a life.

Then when the second one left, mother refused to help pack one box; instead she stood and snapped photos of her baby girl loading the truck that would take her out into the world and into a new life. Mother often helped the children build their homes, lending a hand to unpack but never assisting into the packing up of childhood dreams. The house seemed more quiet with two gone and her heart ached for them to return. Then before long child number three left and then the fourth and the fifth. Before long only the mother, the father and the youngest son was left in a home empty of the laughter that once filled it. The rooms groaned with the weight of sadness that often envelopes a family parting.

Soon however, more family members came to be and the mother and the father became even more blessed with the off-spring of their children. Children moved back in and back out and the circus of life began again. Their large family grew even larger with at first significant others, then husbands and at last grandchildren.

Often, at night, while her husband lay sleeping, mother would slowly walk through the still halls of the house and remember. Pictures lined walls and tables of each child and their children. She would smile at the memories the photo’s held, still shots of captured moments in their busy lives. Small imprints of hands from grandchildren marked the walls and she would remember how the same walls once held crayon marks and how upset she had been. Now her wish was to uncover these painted walls and let the marks remain. If only she had known then what she now held in her heart, never sweat the small stuff.

She wished she could turn back the hands on the clock and hold still. Why had she not played more? Why had she not snuggled them more, or listened more? It was life and the busy moments that often fill it that threaten to choke it just as weeds filled her garden.

It was in those quiet moments in the early mornings while most slept, that mother would miss her children. She would think of them, write in their journals her thoughts and love and worry over how they were.

The building of a family is never easy, each family takes bits and pieces of their past and their significant others past and bring with them memories and traditions to blend together. Sometimes it fits, sometimes it doesn’t. She hoped her children knew this or at the very least was learning it as they set out into the adult world.

The things mother found most difficult and least understood was the letting go of each child. There are moments in a child’s life in which you watch them take those first tentative steps and observe as they begin to wobble unsteadily. Mother would start to reach out, to try and prevent the falling, but often drew back her shaky hand and let them go. It is in the struggle to help, to watch painfully as the child grows into themselves that she felt the most helpless. There were times the children doubted her love, wanting her more involved and sometimes wishing she were less involved.

The mother knew in her heart that the only way her children would grow and become the strong individuals they were to become was to allow them to go on their own. Many times the mother and the father bit tongues, other times sarcasm in advise would spew forth, but in the end, they waited, they watched and they continued to love.

Each time the mother would struggle, she would call to mind a father and son from long, long, long ago. The father loved his son with such a love that his pride would swell and lightness would fill his heart. He watched his son grow, raised by others from afar. Even though he loved his son so very much, he knew it was best to allow two others to bring him up in the world. The father was never far from his son and often would speak to his child. Many times the father watched in pain as those in the city would bully his son, not understanding the strange and unique ways of the young man.

The son often turned to the father, knowing that wise advice would help him through matters and it was this bond that cemented their relationship. The son and the father were extremely close and the love that grew came from mutual respect. Other people could never understand the close relationship of parent and son.

One day though, the son fell into the hands of some very devious people who could not understand the father/son relationship, it threatened their very beings. Because they could not understand, they beat the son, they ridiculed him and finally, they killed him. The son’s father, his other parents stood by and watched all the while inside also were dying. The son however, in his last words turned to his tormenters and forgave them.

The mother drew from the stories she had heard and kept them close to her heart, for she knew the love of a parent and child was strong. The father had faced more pain than she could imagine when his son died and her heart ached at even the thought of this. The father knew best what lie ahead. Mother wished she could see into the future, know in her heart that her own children would find their own way and learn to love enough to forgive.

So for now, she would continue to watch her garden grow, her flowers bloom and life carry on. The seeds of her love would scatter in the wind and she learned to trust the Father knew best, even when she was unsure.

The Garden

The flower only grows

if there is sun to lift it up,

and if the rain nourishes.

Weeds must be pulled

so it does not choke off

the blooms.

Earth must be turned

over now and then to

loosen the hard ground.

In order to transplant

the flower, the roots

must be handled with care.

To let a garden grow rampant,

only allows it to go at risk

of losing it.

So much the garden can

teach us about love

and about life.

Teresa Gale

1/9/11

Just A Single Moment

Just a single moment in a day. Frozen Pond.