Gratitude #25: SUNDAY

The Problem with Chick Flicks.

I really, really, really enjoy a select few movies that I willingly watch over and over again. Pride and Prejudice is one of them. You see, Elizabeth's defense of her family, her sense of self respect, her ability to admit that she was wrong and to appreciate Darcy despite all his quirks, and quizzical brow-ness... it's marvelous. My husband doesn't share the sentiment, could you tell? ... and that's okay. There's rare a chick flick I enjoy near as much as I enjoy Pride and Prejudice or A Walk To Remember , and I wanted to explain why. You see, there's more than just a few problems with (many, not all) chick flicks: (and if you have a chick flick that escapes many of these pitfalls then please oh please leave it's title in the comment section!) The heroine (or suitor) is less than honorable. I have a hard time rooting for a girl to get a gentleman when she's spending her time being scandalously loose with other men ( #thenotebook) . An...

Have You Ever Read a Book That Made You Grieve? Rejoice? Weep?

Have you ever read a book that spoke so deeply to your soul that you wept while you read it, couldn't put it down even for the pain, and thought about it for days after you finished? I have. I've been fortunate to wander upon many books that have done such for me, but the most recent literary treasure of this variety in my life has been "Between Shades of Gray" by Ruta Sepetys. I don't want to give much away, but I will say this: this book brought to my awareness of the WWII era histories of many Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian people. Previous to this novel I was aware that Jews (and other persecuted groups alongside them such as gypsies, the intellectually disabled and homosexuals) were victims of holocaust crimes under Hitler. But I was not aware that Stalin held his own "cleanse" and subjected millions of people to labor, cruelty, and death. The reason why I loved this book was because of the humanity and true charity many victims chose ...

Where's Number Three

A neighbor in her mid-thirties. A woman in her seventies. Their single commonality? They both asked me: Where's number three? I have a son, his name Charlie And then McKay, he's not quite three In my heart, both fit perfectly Yet others ask: Where's number three? Perhaps it's that I miscarried, My spouse's infidelity, The ache of infertility, A battle raging mentally, Illness on a crippling spree, Our family is complete, maybe. The reason's one or more of these, Yet you dare ask: Where's number three? In this question, running free Are judgements, jeering icily "You're not enough, Mik, can't you see? Buck up and give us number three!" I used to flounder, squirm, agree Or curl up small, cry, and plead. With time, I've seen things differently. I won't explain for number three. The questions of maternity Are just between my spouse and me And Parents, guiding Heavenly So please don't ask: Where's number three? Artwork Credit: Be...

God is Good to the Johnsons

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