A Dance with a King (Story)

This story was passed on to me by a 17-year-old. I wanted to share it with my readers. ~ ESA

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A Dance with A King 

I sat on my bed, curled up in a ball; my jet black hair masked me and all my melancholy glory. My eyes burned from all the tears that came out, my nose was running so much I gave up sniffling it back in. My lips were chapped; they tasted salty from the tears. My face was sticky from it, but warm from the flow coming out.

I held my arms tightly around my knees; I drew them closer as if they were my last life force.

My boom box played “Oh Darling!” by Plugin Stereo. I cried even more thinking of joyous thoughts, all the happy times we had together.

“She lied!” I cried as the fresh tear flow began. “She lied.”

I buried my face deeper in my dark kneecaps to the point where I started seeing a format of shapes behind my closed eyelids.

Maybe if I squeeze tight enough, I will leave this world. 

“Elizabeth.” A soft voice called. It sounded like bells ringing, it was deep yet comforting.

“Yes?” I said not picking my face up.

“Look at me.” The mysterious voice said.

I was afraid to pick my head up, I didn’t want anyone to see me so broken. But how could someone get in? My door is locked. 

Who is this man? 

I looked up slowly, in front of me, by my room door, stood a glowing figure. He was glowing gold; he was smiling. He looked about five foot, seven, with a smile that made me feel like I could touch the sky if I jumped. He stood still as his eyes assessed me.

Who are you? I thought to myself even though I already had a hunch.

“You know me,” he said warmly. He didn’t move.

“I know you?” I said slowly testing each word. I took my eyes off of him and looked at my bed, studying the floral patterns on it. They swirled, they became pink, the leaves turned green leading into a crème color. 

I know you? But I’ve never seen you a day in my life. Or maybe I have and I just don’t remember; after all, didn’t I read somewhere that the mind does this? Remember things you don’t pay attention too? Hmm . . . 

“I know you,” I said louder now, sitting up and staring at him.

I sniffled.

“You know me,” he said evenly.

“I don’t remember you.”

He shrugged and walked over to my bed; with three strides he was right next to me. I placed my feet on the floor looking at this glowing man. I had a better look at him now; he had shoulder length brown hair that looked soft, the gentlest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Yet he looked big and muscular. Can a muscular man be gentle? 

I bit my lip.

“Jesus,” I said trying not to sound crazy, but somewhere in me, this fit.

He smiled. 

Unholy everything, this is Jesus! In my room, this is awesome! I felt happiness surge through me. 

 “I need you.” I said quietly. I placed my head back down.

He sat near me, looking at me.

“I need you Jesus, sometimes I feel like you’re not there, like you’re not listening, like you’re busy with others. But that’s okay if you are, I’m sure other people have bigger problems, bigger than mine.” I tried to swallow the bile rising in my throat signaling a new shed of tears. Not in front of Jesus I chastised myself.

“Why not in front of Jesus?” He pushed my hair behind my back so he could get  better look at me.

“Because I don’t want you to see me this way.”

“What way?”

“Unhappy.” I felt the tear roll down my face.

“I have nothing but time, and if I can’t see you this way who can, Elizabeth? Who do you trust more than Me?”

I stayed quiet.

He continued; “I am always here, I will come to those who believe and call upon My name. I am a King, that is correct, but I am also yours. I gave Myself for you; you are precious to Me. I have all the time for you.”

“And what about others?”

“I have time for them too. I am God.” He smiled at me; His eyes twinkled.

It was the most beautiful sight ever. 

“My best friend hates me.”

“Why?” He folded His hands in His lap.

“Because she thinks I’m a slut.” I choked back the tears.

“Cry if you need to; I’m here,” He said tenderly, “Did she call you a slut?”

I laughed. Jesus using the term “slut;” that’s one for the books. 

“No, but she didn’t need to. She thinks every guy she likes, I like as well just because we’re friends, and I think it’s because I’m friends with them and she doesn’t like it. I mean she’s so beautiful, how can she think that I’d do something so vile as to take the one she’s interested in?”

He stayed quiet for a while.

I just looked at my hands.

“Does she know she’s beautiful?” He asked quietly.

“She should.” I bit my nails.

“Yes, but sometimes what you think people know, they don’t really know.”

I looked at him. “So she’s insecure because she doesn’t know she’s beautiful?” I thought about it for a moment. “Well Miranda always did have problems with guys; but this You already know.”

He nodded. “So you see, maybe she’s not angry with you, but jealous because of you.”

“Why?” I looked at Him as if He sprouted a second head.

“See that goes back to what I just said: you are beautiful. I would think you knew it, but you don’t; otherwise you would’ve seen this is the problem.” He placed His hand on my shoulder drawing me closer to Him. 

He smells like a carpenter; like wood and sawdust, but like olive oil and cocoa butter. I inhaled deeply closing my eyes. I’m out of tears to cry, that’s a new one. 

“I want to show you something.” He stood up as I looked at Him confused. He pulled me up gently and wrapped His arms around my waist, with a flash of blinding white light we were in a different place.

It looked like a ballroom, it was round and huge, the white pillars looked like they were Greek, the floors reflected my face perfectly; they were marble with a large locus flower in the middle. The balcony was decorated, it looked ideal for a wedding.

“Are You getting married?” I asked as I looked up at the balcony. I knew we were in Heaven; I didn’t know how, but I guess from the atmosphere, and the way things looked: this had to be Heaven. No way was marble this beautiful; no way could you find pillars as large as the twin towers and perfectly taken care of; the balcony was large as an opera house’s balcony. If this wasn’t Heaven, then this has got to be the closest thing to it.

“I am.” He held His hand out, I walked over to Him. When did my clothes change? I was wearing a puffy white wedding gown it hung loosely off my shoulder, as my hair was pinned up in a princess bun. I wore white gloves like Cinderella; I could hear my heels click on the floor as I walked slowly towards Him.

Music started to play. Where was it coming from? I looked around as He pulled me closer to Him. “Where is this music coming from?”

“Worry yourself with nothing but me right now.” His voice sounded so close, I could lean in and kiss Him, but I met His steady gaze with shaky breaths. Is He trying to dance with me? I can’t dance.

He smiled lovingly.

“And nothing compares to your embrace, light up the world, forever reign.” The lyrics went as He twirled me gently. As my dress twirled with me, He began to pull me closer with one hand on my waist, the other in mine. 

I had one hand on His shoulder and the other in His, we were waltzing. 

I’m dancing, I can’t dance but I’m dancing. How is this possible?

“Anything is possible with God.” He said telepathically.

We moved faster, it was like we were hopping now, as we danced in a slow circle, as the music picked up.

“My heart will sing, no other name, Jesus!” The singer cooed passionately in the song.

My heart sings His name only.

“Oh I run into your arms; I run into your arms; the riches of your love; will always be enough; and nothing compares to your embrace,” the song went.

The song continued to play; we never took our eyes off each other. He tightened His grip; He kissed my neck; I rubbed His cheek. I felt as if this were a fairytale.

“Now you must return.” He said after the song finished and we took our bows.

“I know.” But I was so happy that I didn’t mind.

With the same flash, we were back in my room. He hugged me deeply, and then backed up as He disappeared.

I awoke with a jolt; my room was the same. No sign of Him anywhere. Was that a dream? Was it my imagination, or was it real?

I looked around for some sign that it wasn’t my imagination but actually something real. I got nothing.

I stood up and walked to my closet. When I opened it, I saw the same gloves I wore in the dream, in there.

I smiled to myself.

The song changed; it now played “Pray” by Sanctus Real. I guess He wants me to pray.

I got on my knees, holding the cross between my palms, and began the Lord’s Prayer. Thank you God for sacrificing your son for me and for the whole world.

Two Wolves (Story)

There is a beautiful story that possibly originated by the Cherokee People. There are two versions that I've found.
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An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. 
 
"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. "It is a terrible fight between two wolves. 

"One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. 

"The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. 

"The same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too." 

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?" 

The old Cherokee smiled and simply replied, "The one you feed." 

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An old Grandfather said to his grandson, who came to him with anger at a friend who had done him an injustice, "Let me tell you a story. 

"I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do. 

"But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times." 

He continued, "It is as if there are two wolves inside me. One is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him, and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way. 

"But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. 

"He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is helpless anger, for his anger will change nothing. 

"Sometimes, it is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit." 

The youth looked intently into his Grandfather's eyes and asked, "Which one wins, Grandfather?" 

The Grandfather smiled and quietly said, "The one I feed."
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~ESA

Weeds and Wheat (Parable)

There once was a field planted with the finest seeds of grain.

The sun shown down gentle and warm. The ground, freshly tilled, remained moist with the gentle washings of the rain.

Soon the spouts began to grow, bright and green, as they stretched toward the sun.

As the spouts grew, the weeds snaked their roots under the tilled soil and sprouted their own kind in the field.

Concerned for the grain, the field hands took action.

They heated the plants hoping to scorch the weeds. Many wheat stalks withered. The ground became dry and bitter; roots were pulled up when the wind buffeted the field.

The field hands spread poisons hoping to kill the weeds that way. The wheat itself also sickened, many stalks never gaining the head that grain reaches in its maturity.

As a last resort in their vendetta to kill the weeds, the field hands viciously attacked the field, cutting down stalks of wheat as well as weeds, leaving both to wither and die rootless on the side.

At last the weeds were gone. A fraction of the wheat remained in the field, ready to be harvested.

When the landowner arrived, he looked dismayed at the remaining wheat.

His eyes tearfully moved to the piles of wheat cut and cast with the weeds on the side, the lines of wheat that had sickened and never matured, and the remnants of the wheat that were scorched so badly, they never had the chance to grow.

"What became of the crops I planted?" he inquired of his field hands.

"The weeds had gotten into the field, Master. But don't worry," they added proudly. "We got rid of them."

The landowner wept bitterly...

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Let those who have ears, hear.

~ESA

From Tears to Tools

Two correspondents are dealing with judgmental people, in particular ones that feel that it is their right and responsibility to tell others how to live. Sadly, there are some who believe that if people do not follow their particular religious beliefs and/or practices, they are "damned." I've heard the frustration and tears from those attacked, and offer some tools.

To the Judges, remember: "Judge not lest you be judged." If you tell anyone else to toe the line of a particular law, YOU will be the one accountable for every law, from shellfish and polyester, to burnt sacrifices at the Temple in Jerusalem at the appropriate time and date. Instead, I plead with you: Love and Forgive. For in doing so, you are also Forgiven.

This post, however, is addressed primarily to those who suffer from judges.

We cannot change or control how another thinks or acts. We can only change how we respond to that person. I will acknowledge that this can be hard, particularly when that person is a friend, spouse, or family member. They know how to push our buttons, and can hurt us more deeply.

In every situation we encounter, there is only one decision that needs to be made: Do we want to share God's Love, or do we want to be right? One speaks to the spirit; the other to the ego.

When angry, frustrated or upset, we speak and act through our ego. Only an ego can talk to another ego, and they do not communicate at all.

The ego insists that we fight, defend, issue "pre-emptive strikes" in the name of defense, and that we are right and all others are wrong. My ego even had the gall to tell me that Yeshua/Jesus Himself is wrong! That's a pretty highly-inflated mindset we can have.

But we are not in our right mindset when we think like that. The ego is also how the adversary /devil/negativity influences our minds and skews our perceptions. So we need to learn to be more spirit-minded.

While WE cannot change a person's perspective, God can. Thus we should pray in the silence of our heart, and be patient, allowing God to work things out in Divine ways and timing. There's a much bigger picture than we see.

The reason I add "in the silence of our heart" is that people toss into a heated argument, "I will pray for you." Or better yet, "God make this person UNDERSTAND that (s)he is wrong!" Even with good intentions, this only triggers more anger and defensiveness.

We should also pray for ourselves; God helps us think with the right mindset (spirit vs. ego) when we ask.

If we find that we cannot get into the right mindset, especially if the other person knows just how and when to hit those hot buttons, there is another simple tactic we can use.

We need to see the other person through God's eyes. Our ego tells us they are wrong, judgmental, rude, etc. Our spirit sees that at least one perception has been skewed; perhaps both, as it takes two to argue.

God looks upon the person and sees a beloved son or daughter.

While the image to the left comforts when we face life's challenges, it can also be a tool. When someone hurts, angers or frustrates us, we can picture that person in God's arms too.

It's amazing how this changes heart, mind and perspective.

The human mind is capable of a lot more than most understand. We can use it to harm one another, or help one another. We choose between spirit-mindset and ego-mindset.

When someone attacks me, saying how their way is the only way, I try to step back and see how God views this person. They are loved. They may be perceiving through the ego at the moment. But they are loved. So I offer my prayers to God and love to that person.

Let go; Let God
It's in better Hands
~ESA

Planting the Seed (Story)

Written four years ago, it's time to re-post this. Enjoy! ~ ESA

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The early morning sun rose gloriously as two walkers strolled down a quiet New England Main Street. As they passed a new eatery, the woman grinned mischievously when she read the name: Mustard Seed Cafe.

She sipped her coffee and commented, "That sign reminds me of something. Maybe something you said once, about a seed...."

The man laughed, white teeth showing through his beard. "And what did you take away from that one?"

She glanced about, looking for something to inspire a witty reply. "Wasn't there a parable involved...?"

A little bird dove to the sidewalk before them, picked at the concrete block a moment, then fluttered away.

"No," she admitted with a wry grin, "The parable in mind involved seed being tossed in different places, each failing save the seed that hit fertile grown and produced hundredfold or something like that."

He chuckled nodding, "...something like that. So what about the mustard seed?"

She grinned as she took another sip. "Little seed becomes big plant. Right?"

His deep brown eyes took on a blend of challenge and mischief, "Maybe you can write a story about it?"

She smirked, "Yeah, right."

He gestured expansively with his arm, "You are a writer; you were given that gift. Write a story about it. Maybe then you'd understand it better."

She took a good swallow of her coffee, while she wrapped her mind around the challenge, knowing there was something there that maybe DID make a good story. As the story shifted to her mental back burner, the conversation changed, covering a broad range of topics.

Before she knew it, they arrived at the topic she needed to broach. Part of her shyly wanted to hold back and digress, but another part knew this is why she asked her companion to walk with her this morning. She really needed his advice, his guidance. She rolled the still-warm metal travel mug between her palms as she searched for the words.

"I... I really don't know what I should be doing with my life. All these little projects get started, and then... they just seem to peeter off into nothing. I feel like I start so many things and just can't seem to finish them. What is it that I should do?"

He draped his arm lovingly across her shoulders and smiled gently. "Plant the seeds."

"And then?"

"Nurture them a little until they sprout."

Her hands paused as she glanced quizzically at him. "And then?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

He grinned, seeing she wasn't getting it, but - with infinite patience - gave her the time to think. "Nothing."

She knew that look on his face, she'd seen it before. She walked wordlessly at his side for a spell, fingers wrapped around the warmth of the mug and her shoulders snug in his embrace.

"But if I do nothing, what will happen to all I started? It would just unravel, wouldn't it?"

"Not necessarily."

Again she shot him an inquiring look, raising one eyebrow in his direction.

He laughed at her expression, but didn't say a word.

"Well?"

He paused and turned to face her, with a mischievous smile of his own.

She stopped and faced him with a look that clearly read, "Tell me or stop teasing me."

He playfully poked the bridge of her nose and quietly replied, "That's my job."

The challenge in her eyes faded as comprehension dawned in her mind.

Smiling, they resumed their walk.

She nodded and tossed back the last of the coffee. "You're right. I really should trust you more often."

Companionably the two continued their stroll down a New England Main Street. Two pairs of sandals tapped quietly along the sidewalk: one pair worn below jeans and a T-shirt, and the other beneath a desert robe from a bygone age.

Lest We Forget

Today, America celebrates Memorial Day. While there is ever-increasing focus on the military, I'd like to take a moment to also note - and thank - others who give life and limb for the sake of others. 

Firefighters, both paid and volunteer, who are the primary responders to fires, accidents and many other calls, ranging from routine to bizarre.

They put their life on the line many times, from entering blazing buildings, to working at roadway accidents on rainy nights, to entering icy water.

In addition to helping fellow man, they are also called to rescue animals from family pets, to farm livestock, to a wide variety of wildlife.

Some leave loved ones in the middle of dinner or the dead of night to answer the call, and never come home again... 

Police, both paid and auxiliary volunteers, put themselves at risk, from high-speed chases, to gunfire-fights, from domestic fights, to bomb responses, from mass evacuations, to search and rescue.

Officers are killed in line of action; also when they simply walk to help a disabled motorist and are struck by a distracted driver. 

EMT, Paramedics and ambulance crews are mostly volunteers across this country. They also put themselves at risk on a regular basis. They speed through traffic, where cars jump out into their way; they work roadside at accidents with cars whizzing past.

Many don't realize these dedicated men and women also go into very dangerous situations, such as rescuing some over the side of a cliff. They enter dangerous neighborhoods to help the fallen or sick. I didn't realize the extent of danger until a NYC Paramedic friend walked up in bullet-proof vest. On calls where someone was shot, the bullets are still flying when they arrive...


Rescue Workers/First Responders include those who go into danger immediately following a tornado, flood, hurricane, tsunami, earthquake or similar. They brave collapsing debris, churning waters and/or flames to help complete strangers.

In times of emergency, often these people are NOT trained emergency responders, but simply caring hearts who first arrive on the scene and realize that someone needs help!

And the most important...

The Peacemakers and Those who stand up for the rights of others, especially those who do so at the cost of their own lives. The news reports deaths in other parts of the world where people die protesting against unfair or inhumane laws or leaders. We in US should not forget our own similarly fallen.

Our largest generation, the Baby Boomers, lived through and should not forget the 1960's, where many people ~ men and women, black and white ~ died simply because they stated in words and non-aggressive actions that segregation is WRONG.

Some, likewise, died on US soil while protesting for Peace during a time of war.

On this Memorial Day, in addition to fallen military, may we especially remember those who have NEVER raised a hand to harm another, but lost life or limb in helping others and in making this a better world. Not just those in the US, but those all around the world...

In Memoriam

- ESA

Memorial Weekend Memory (True Story)

On Memorial Day weekend in 2010, I had a fun adventure I'd like to share with my readers. While I hope to share the smiles, I also hope one can see how one can be guided to help another anywhere, any time, in more ways than we may realize.

That year, my husband and I decided to spend the long weekend apart; he'd do things that he liked, and I'd drive out to visit friends of mine in Northeastern PA. For some reason, my boss decided to let the employees leave by noon that Friday. So, given that I wanted to avoid the holiday traffic on the drive from New England, through New York State to the Northeastern corner of PA, I found myself heading out a few hours before my planned time.

While I plan things, I love improvidence too. So I decided on the drive out to stop by for a surprise visit with other friends in Carbondale, PA before I went to the home of the friends I had planned to visit out in Wayne County. After all, I had quite a few hours to kill before my anticipated arrival of 9 pm that evening.

I was on the "new highway" (Route 6) where it bypasses downtown Carbondale when I happen to notice a broken-down car, a group of four people, and the tow-truck driver with his truck. So, given I was only minutes from where my friend lived and knew the neighborhood intimately (as I had lived there a number of years myself), I stopped to see if they needed a lift.

It turns out, the four young (18-21 years of age) people were on their way from Brooklyn, NY to some camp in Wayne County PA when their car broke down. As the tow-truck driver only had room for one person, I took the other three and, knowing the location of the tow-truck's shop, said we'd meet them there.

At the garage, they were disheartened to discover that the fix was not an easy one. The car would not be ready for a couple of days as the part needed to be ordered. It was amusing and sad to watch as they tried offering more and more money to get the mechanic to fix the car sooner. They didn't understand that the part really was NOT there in the shop, and no amount of bribing would get them on the road sooner. I also had to argue with the youths several times that the people working on their car were honest; that almost everyone in that area was honest and hard working. They were not "trying to pull a fast one." Ironically, I later discovered the reason their car stopped working was because the young driver didn't believe HIS mechanic in New York when he was told they needed more coolant for the engine; so they cooked it on the drive to PA...

They called several people they knew at this camp, and, to their dismay, discovered only one who would give them a ride from Carbondale to the camp - for $300! Both the tow-truck driver and I were horrified by this, and we both offered to give them a ride. Wayne County was just "over the mountain" and not worth $300 in gas. The tow-truck driver, however, has an appointment near Scranton, first, and could drive them out in his car afterward. It would be another two hours before he returned.

It turns out, the youth couldn't wait that long as they needed to be at the camp by sunset, for religious observations. So, I loaded all four and an amazing amount of luggage for just a weekend into my Jeep with myself. I noted, though, as I'm playing a manual version of 3-D tetris with the four youth and their belongings, that if my husband HAD been with me on this trip I would never be able to help them now. I had only myself and one bag and we barely squeezed in with stuff on everyone's laps save mine.

The next several hours were interesting, especially given that a point-to-point drive should have only taken a half-hour or less.

First, the youth discovered that technology is only as good as the signal; and there was absolutely NO AT&T signals in northern Wayne County then. My Verizon cell was iffy at best, but I only own a cheapie flip phone, with no GPS or internet like their newest iPhones had. And my '99 Jeep was far older than that. Thus with the GPS and internet maps gone, I asked them for directions as we navigated the rural back roads past cows, woods and open pastures that looked quite reminiscent of Farmville to them. They tried to decipher some limited directions via email but kept referring back to the last GPS coordinates they had. We finally get to the bottom of the email where it read, "Do not use GPS coordinates as they will not get you to the camp."

So, about 3 miles south of PA's northern border, I pull the car aside and ask the young woman in the passenger side to pull out one of many PAPER maps I had of PA. I wish I had taken a picture of the look on her face at that moment. No one considered the antediluvian method of looking at a paper map to find where they are and where they want to go! Worse, when I read off the cross-roads of the two rural route numbers where we had stopped, plus the last "four-corners" town we passed before, she didn't have a clue how to read the map. So I spent the next five minutes teaching four "kids" how to read a paper map, how to find where we were, and an approximation of where we need to go, knowing the name of the private camp will not be listed on the map.

It turns out we had gone about 20 miles too far north, and while turning around, discovered they had entered the wrong "Lakeville" into the GPS. So we drove back to the nearest four-corners, which had an open-air Bar-B-Que. I pulled in and suggested we get out and get some directions. There was a bit of hesitation, which I didn't understand right away. But when I started to get out, one of the young men bravely leapt from the Jeep and ran ahead of me. I approached the nearest table just in time to hear the last of the directions. ".... then once you pass the church, it's the next left, if you come to the fire house, you've missed it."

This was vague but typical directions from the area. There was no street name, also typical. I asked the young man if he understood the directions and could get us there; he nodded. We were off again. Twenty minutes later, we found the turn, which turned out to the be back road into the camp, but it wasn't marked on the paper map. Thus, my four passengers were VERY uncomfortable with taking this unpaved, unknown road that disappeared very quickly into dense wooded area like something out of a Blair Witch movie. So I continued with our map toward where we believed the front entrance to the camp is.

 It was then that my Jeep pointed out that I have very lousy gas mileage and, as I last filled the tank in New England, she was pinging me to remind me to feed her.

Aware that I had limited range, and the nearest gas station known to me was Honesdale, about 20 minutes south of the camp, I took matters into my own hand. I saw a house where there was a pick-up in the driveway and the inner front door was open. I pulled into the driveway, much to the dismay of my passengers and marched up to the front door. They rolled down the windows and called from safety of the Jeep that I was insane to walk up to a stranger's house like this. While I also grew up under the shadows of New York City skyscrapers and understood their fears, I also lived a decade in this part of the world and knew the people here. I was fine.

An old lady called out for me to enter, and my passengers nearly had a conniption as I opened the screen door and calmly let myself in. Remarkably, I had chosen just the right place to stop. While they did not recognize the name of the camp, the old man was once a volunteer firefighter in the area. While he only knew the local roads by local name, the old lady pulled out a detailed map. Voila! We were able to see the property marks of the camp and backtracked down the local roads to where we were. So I now had very accurate directions, which I wrote down with a pencil and piece of paper the old lady was kind enough to provide.

The next ten minutes were the most amusing of all. I was able to follow detailed turn-by-turn directions, right down to barn silos and major bumps in the road. The youth were amazed that someone not only let a stranger into their home - an old defenseless couple at that! - but gave such great directions without asking for money. In addition, they kept asking me, at every "ping" from my low-fuel warning system, what happens if I run out of gas. They realized - with growing dread - that the last time they saw a gas station was way back in Carbondale. They could not grasp the fact that a stranger would not only stop to help us if we ran out of gas, but would most likely give us some gas so we could get to the nearest station.

The bigger issue would be they had a time deadline, and there was no guarantee we'd be able to get them to the camp before sunset if I ran out of gas. The sun's angle was getting quite low; we were cutting this close. I didn't need them to worry more, so I simply kept telling them, "have a little faith."

On the final stretch, we encountered several other cars pulled on the sides of the dusty unpaved road, while one person or another was out of the car holding up their iPhone or similar device trying to get a signal that wasn't there. The youths and I told them, car by car, "Follow us, we have the good directions." By the time we pulled through the gates of the camp, we had nine other cars following us, and many happy people who all needed to be there before sunset.

As the youths, thanked me, they asked for my FaceBook or Twitter account so they could "friend" me. I didn't give them my FaceBook name, and was a bit hesitant to give them my Twitter name as well. But, just as I was pulling away, a bit of mischief tugged at the corner of my mind and I thought, why not... I pulled aside, jotted my Twitter account on a piece of paper, drove back and handed it to them.

I knew they were young Jews, and this was a Jewish camp; the Hebrew letters at the camp's entrance confirmed that as much as the yamakas on the two young men. But that really didn't matter as I was just one human being helping another, a "Good Samaritan" one would say. My young passengers took the slip of paper and read it. And as I drove away, I wondered if they would recall their adventures to others that night around a campfire. And when asked who helped them, they may or may not say that I'm @JesusSister on Twitter. :D

In case you're wondering, yes, I somehow managed to get to Honesdale for gas. It was after sunset (about 8:30pm) by then. While I was pumping gas, my friend who was expecting me called to see if I was nearby and if I wanted dinner. I arrived just a few minutes before 9pm - the expected time.

~ Had I not gotten out early
~ Had I not gone without my husband
~ Had I not previously lived in that area
~ Had I not, on a whim, decided to visit a friend
~ Had I not made plans to arrive late that night at another's
~ Had I not randomly stopped at that particular house for directions
~ Had I not had faith in God and other good hearts of the people there

None of this adventure would have happened as it unfolded.
But I'm glad it did.

- ESA

Squish Humor

This is a humorous story I've seen by email, online and taped to the back of the door where I get my mammography. I wanted to share it with my readers as humor... not as a suggestion (especially the ending).

There was a lengthy battle with my nerves after hearing horror stories from my friends. I never had a mammogram, and at 35 everyone said I just had to do it. I actually kept my appointment.

I chose a seat next to a man and his wife in the waiting room. Both the chairs and conversations were so comfortable that before long, I'd forgotten why I was there and asked the man, "So, what are you here for?" Talk about a show stopper.

Dead silence filled the room just as "Nurse Ratchet" stepped out to announce my name. I rushed past giggles, hurrying after the 'angel of mercy'.

Rounding the corner, I was met with, "Hi! I'm Belinda!" This perky clipboard-carrier smiled from ear to ear, tilted her head to one side and crooned, "Alllll I need you to do is step into this room right hereee, strip to the waist, thennn slip on this gown. Everything clearrrr?"

I'm thinking, "Belinda, try decaf. This isn't rocket science."

But before I could say a word, Belinda skipped away to prepare the torture chamber.

It's crazy; the machine transforms a perfectly healthy cup size of 36-B to a size 38- LONG in less than 60 seconds. 

Also, girls aren't made of sugar and spice and everything nice... it's Spandex! We can be stretched, pulled and twisted over a cold 4-inch piece of square glass and still pop back into shape.

With the left side finished, Belinda flipped me (literally) to the right and said, "Hmmmm. Can you stand on your tippy toes and lean in a tad so we can get everything?"

"Fine," I answered. I was freezing, bruised, and out of air, so why not use the remaining circulation in my legs and neck to finish me off?

My body was in a holding pattern that defied gravity (with one boob wedged between two 4-inch pieces of square glass) when we heard and felt the 'ZAP'!

There was complete darkness as the power went off.

"What?" I yelled.

"Oh, maintenance is working. Bet they hit a snag." Belinda chirped happily as she headed for the door.

"Excuse me! You're not leaving me in this vise alone are you?" I shouted.

Belinda kept going and said, "Oh, you fussy puppy... the door's wide open so you'll have the emergency hall lights. I'll be rightttt backkkk."

Before I could shout, "NOOOO!" she disappeared.

And that's exactly how Bubba and Earl, maintenance men extraordinaire, found me, half-naked with parts of me dangling from the 'jaws of life' and the other part smashed between glass!

After exchanging polite, "Hi, how's it going" type greetings, Bubba (or possibly Earl) asked, to my utter disbelief, "Did you know that the power is off?"

Trying to disguise my hysteria, I replied with as much calmness as possible. "Uh, yes... yes I did, thanks."

"You bet, take care," Bubba replied and waved good-bye as though we'd been standing in line at the grocery store.

Two hours later, Belinda breezes in wearing a sheepish grin and making no attempt to suppress her amusement. She said, "Oh, I am sooooo sorry! The power came back on and I totally forgot about you! And silly me, I went to lunch. Are we upset?"

And that, your Honor, is exactly how her head ended up between the clamps....