Computer woes? I rise above.

After a couple of months of computer woes, I refuse to stay down since I live with my computer--even more so since it has been on the fritz. No, not putting on the ritz, quite the contrary.

My dear cpu does things that no one can explain. It is refusing to upload Microsoft critical updates. I've been contacting them for a week. I've deleted files the easy way and the hard way, typing in the lengthy computer codes and downloading third party files which Microsoft says I need, but will not guarantee that they will work or do the job properly. Why can't MS fix their own mistakes?

It's been almost 36 hours since I posted the last, 'It's not working.'

I was trying to update another program, but alas, it too won't work.

Yes, I have checked for viruses and malware etc. My anti virus program that has had fits and spurts of wear says I have too many anti-virus programs, residually on the computer. I asked how to get rid of the extras, since I technically had uninstalled all the others. But I have to contact the company whose site is gumming up my works that I left because it allowed a worm and a virus to destroy my Christmas season and the new year 5 years back and when I said I'd get another competent program, their response was to leave their little piece in my computer, draining resources.

Enough whining. I'm going to get some cheese for that 'whine' LOL. Just deal with it, Lyn. C'est la vie ou le guerre.

See ya,
L.

I could have sworn you said there was going to be plenty of room to share. Share. I thought that meant 50/50. So, what percentages did you understand 'share' to be?
Leelu and Razzle (the dog who they said couldn't get along with cats) -- boy, did we prove them wrong!

"Meow, meow. Didn't I tell you to keep that camera out of my face? It's not that I'm doing anything wrong. My paw is not pulling the food towards me; it's resting on the bowl. Meow, meow, yes, yes, that's it! It's resting on the bowl! Get that camera outta my face, meow, meow. I have five sisters--now That's a sister act!

One of Leelu's kittens was caught in the act of pulling the food bowl towards her--akin to the hand in the cookie jar. :)

The Loss of a Pet Brings Grief, but God has a Plan

I lost my beloved dog of 13 years last week. He had shown no sign other than old age. Suddenly he hovered near me one night. I could tell something was wrong. I picked him up and held him for several hours–I stroked him, wondering what was wrong. He twisted–his way of saying, “I want to get down.” so I put him gently on the floor. He crawled under my chair and curled up. I heard him whimper and breathe irregularly. He died in the night and I found his little body curled as if asleep. We buried him that day and planted a tree over him in our garden. I miss him profoundly.

I understand my grief and the grief of others in this situation and wish each who has lost their dearly loved pet will find in the coming days that there are glimpses of peace and comfort. I am a Christian, a chaplain and I believe in the afterlife.

My God loves beautiful things as the creator of the infinite universe, galaxies, dimensions and quantum tachyons and our little world we call earth. My God is love. God does not waste precious resources.

I believe that the animal friends we are entrusted with during their short lives are one of God’s gifts to us to reflect unconditional love that God offers us. Humans struggle with unconditional love. Animals don’t seem to have difficulty with it at all.

My God of love who doesn’t waste creation has a plan for the well being of everything. Matthew speaks to God looking after the sparrows and flowers, saying that King Solomon was not arrayed as these. The God who loves us enough to care for flowers and sparrows, loves yours and my cat and/or dog. God has a plan.

God’s plans are often unfathomable. They are always loving, always wise and have our best at heart.

The Kittens are Squeaking and Rolling around

The kittens are squeaking, much to the consternation of our mutt, Razzle (who maybe should be named Rascal) because she is part Pit bull and Doberman. Since both of those breeds are hunters, Razzle sees a squeaky animal is much better than a squeaky toy because they move. We have the kitten zone barricaded, but we are trying to introduce the pale squeakers to Razzle gently.

They need to interact safely and we give them both little doses of each other's scents. A basket full of kitties on the bed gives Razzle a chance to stick her nose at the edge and the little ones to reach up with their teeny paws and scratch her nose. Their little claws snag more than scratch; tickle more than hurt.

Their round faces have blue eyes with one exception--one has a pink eye and is pure white. Though they are nearly all white, faint markings are beginning to show. Since their parentage is a cross between Persian, Himalayan and Tabby, it will be interesting to see what emerges.

Leelu feeds and licks them well, so they are very clean and plump. Their teeny tiny paws don't sustain their plentiful bellies and round heads, so they mostly drag or roll around. Their bed is in a stack of soft towels, but they snuggle and pile on like a football game tackle rather than lie in a row like sardines. The hair is finally showing on their tails. When they're full grown, they'll have fluffy raccoon tails like Leelu's.

A source of pleasure to all, everyone traipses through the bedroom to peak in the closet drawer--the location which Leelu continues to insist is the best spot. Such is our daily routine, along with constantly replenishing mom's bowl of food and washing an amazing number of towels every day to keep pace with the six charmers whose main goal in life is to eat, poop & pee and, then sleep.

My job is going to increase as they grow bigger and I will need to scoop the litter box and catch the escapees as they go exploring. I take that back. That's what kids are for, right? LOL

Lyn

Unimaginable pain

I usually don't write about pain. Life exists with pain. I try to be upbeat and positive. But I had a set back in my road to recovery from five back surgeries (1 major, 4 minor) in addition to the pain that remains from the surgeries they couldn't do because the prognosis was not a good one.

A simple action, bending, reversed the enormous progress I had made. Now I am crawling to locations. If I can get up, it is to walk with painful slowness, inching my way from my zero gravity chair (which takes pressure off the disk compression) to the bathroom and back. No amount of heavy drugs which the doctor has prescribed take it away. And I hate them because they make me feel dizzy and sleepy. My alertness disappears and stupidity reigns.

No position: sitting, lying, walking or standing/leaning puts me into a relaxed mode. Some positions cause more internal screaming than the others, but all remind me to be grateful for those days of lesser pain which allow movement without grunting. I'm not certain why some pain evokes an audible response, but I have discovered they do. This is one of those days. May it pass like a dream at the waking.

Lyn

Leelu and the kittens - motherhood

I can't help seeing how similar Leelu's entrance into motherhood paralleled mine.

Leelu explored anywhere and everywhere, outside and inside; on the go and attractive to those she encountered.

I explored many lands and locations; researched diligently outside and inside and people I met indicated they appreciated my attention.

Motherhood descended upon Leelu and she spends her time nurturing her suckling little ones; remanded to the box I created for her.

Motherhood descended upon me and I nurture my little ones who, as they grow older, increase their demands on my time and energies. (Some days they seem to 'suck' the life out of me. LOL) Do I feel stuck? Honestly, somedays, yes. Most of the time, no. For the rewards outweigh the challenges.

Leelu creeps out of her box for short excursions while bugling-tummy-kitties doze in the plush towels bunched together to keep warm.

I creep out, through the net, while my little ones doze or are otherwise occupied--as long as they are satisfied.

Leelu returns to snuggle and comfort her precious charges the moment they whimper.

I turn to my precious charges when requested and give comfort and hugs when they let me.

Motherhood is motherhood...regardless of the species.

Lyn

Brain fuel and rejeuvenation

I read that if I try something new each day; test myself a little that my brain will continue to 'grow' not as a child's brain grows, but with fresh transmitters. So I spend a little time each day on my own blog, playing Scrabble and Hangman. Silly, huh? But I'm testing and growing my brain while having some fun. I call it a win-win.

Welcome! Some days are challenging. Others are like walking across a misty bridge in solitary reflection; rolling so fast down a freshly mown grassy slope that reality is a blur; or waging war tossing armfuls of leaves in dying colors of orange, red, yellow and brown after raking them into piles or maybe, sliding down a snow covered slope on a sled with polished rails with the wind roughing your cheeks and hair wisping out the back from under a knit cap–an exercise in bliss. Whatever your day is like, I hope you will find encouragement, humor, solace, thought-provoking ideas and support from what you read here or the interaction you encounter.

Leelu and her Kittens

Leelu was barely a kitten when she slept with the wrong sort, the ugly gray cat down the block with the smashed face. Now she has six tiny babies with rat-like tails and translucent skin and fuzzy fur.

They haven't opened their eyes but that doesn't stop them from finding their place to suckle of mom's bounty. Seeing the gray hued fur on five of them, one standing out with pure white fur, lined up like sardines in a row; some suckling, others hanging on with their mouths, but asleep touches me with a sense of peace. All is right with the world.

Their pug faces are a tribute to the gray cat down the block. Mom has beautiful markings on her white fur. Her blue eyes stare with unflinching stance, taking in all activity around her. Aware always of the needs of her little ones--she knows when to relax and when to fight.

Speaking of fighting, two of the little ones vie for the same spot and blindly strike at each other with scrawny claws. Humorous to behold. It brings a smile to my day and I hope to yours.

Is Jesus Real and did the resurrection happen?

When faced with a query about the truth of Jesus and the resurrection, I submitted the following to the man who opened his blog for others to comment:

First, I would say that any belief starts from faith. For Christian faith, I believe God calls us and we respond to the love that distinguishes Christianity from other religions. This is an intangible, but no less valid that recognizing any expression of love.

Next, I submit that you ask God, directly, in the form of a prayer for guidance the exact question you seek. For example, “If I am to believe in the resurrection, can you not direct me to the answer?”

I trust that God meets us where we are and leads us step by step. God’s word is a light for our path Psalm 119 and shines on the path enough for us to take the next step.

On the idea of the veracity of the resurrection, I submit the following:

Jesus showed himself to witnesses: first the women, then Peter and John, then two on the road to Emmaus, then the eleven (including Thomas who touched his wounds for proof), and then to the 500 and then he was with the disciples again when he went to heaven. All of these instances are told in the gospels and Acts.

Jesus claimed to be the son of man and the Son of God able to forgive sins (Mark 4-no one can forgive save God alone)and John the baptizer witnessed the spirit descending on Jesus like a dove and the voice from heaven calling Jesus his son (with whom he was very pleased.)

Other historians (e.g. Josephus) corroborate Jesus’ real existence and the Quran references the prophet Jesus. Most historians accept the circumstance that there was a real person named Jesus about whom all these things are written.

I submit that claiming to be the son of God is a claim to made by either the true Son of God or by a crazy person. If I were to claim to be God’s only son, I would be escorted to a psychiatrist for abnormal behavior. This is because I am not that person and my behavior is aberrant if I claim I am. Would the Quran call me a prophet? I don’t think so. Would historians call me a prophet, a sage or someone to be revered? Yet, he is, consistently, called a prophet by others and not a “crazy person.”

Either Christ is crazy or he is who he says he is. Christ claims that they would kill him and in three days, he would rise again.(Matt 20) Either this is true or he is a false prophet.

Josephus, a Jew, and the writers of the Quran—two sources from faith groups that deny that Jesus is the son of God, speak of Jesus as the Christ, a prophet. They don’t speak of him as that crazy idiot who claimed foolishly that he was a prophet.

Proving something to be true, doesn’t make a believer, just as not being certain of what to believe make one an unbeliever. Fortunately, I am not God, the judge nor am I applying for the position. The truth of belief that people seem so ardently challenging you to follow is ultimately a question that only you and God can answer.

I applaud your search. Paul commended the Bereans as people who studied diligently. It is only in the constant study and examination that we will truly find the truth. The truth can set us free. Free to be more Christ-like, gentle with sinners and critical of arrogance.

I hope that I was of some benefit in your search.

I pray for the living when someone has died

I pray for the living when someone has died

For the living must go on when they want to hide

I pray for the living when someone has died

The love goes on, but no longer is there pride

For there is much to do and so little time

And yet the time seems to crawl by

As conflicting feelings well up and pry

Open all the pain and joy that no longer is mine.

I pray for the living when someone has died

For the living must go on when they want to hide.

The AP reported the world news: In Turkey masked gunman killed 44 at a wedding including the bride and groom, but two girls survived when their slain friends fell on top of them. I cried for people I don’t know. How could a day that is supposed to be filled with such hope and joy be destroyed.

The AP reported that 5 were killed in Pakistan by a suicide bomber; lives laid waste by false beliefs that the God of love would honor people who destroy themselves and others. Tears well up for the families of those who won’t see their loved ones coming home.

The number of dead from the swine flu is diminishing. The world took the pandemic fears seriously. I read a blog of someone who claimed the swine flu was overrated. Sometimes damned if you do or don’t. Because people took the CDC seriously and prevented exposure and washed thoroughly and we didn’t lose 200,000 people as in the early 1900s then we are overreacting? I don’t think so. We escaped a disaster of staggering proportions. And for everyone who died there is a family or group of friends left behind.

When I was nine I lost my dad and I began a poem that I finished when I was older. Still the parts of pain that a 9 year old understood amaze me today. Profound.

Words of Wisdom

Solomon wrote that there is nothing new under the sun. (Ecclesiastes) Others have expressed it as 'everything old is new again.' Perhaps this is why truisms have such a long life. They start as simple truths. Others recognize it and glom on to using the phrases.

There are some people whose words may be directed at a specific audience e.g. writers, but whose words are transcendent because one can substitute other nouns e.g. any trade, within the sentence and the thought remains true.

The Http://Behlerblog.Wordpress.com is like that. Lynn writes with such honesty and clarity that her blog consistently rises to the top of worthwhile reads.

Her blog today addresses publishers that seem too good to be true. As is true in all walks of life, be wary of those things which seem too good to be true, they probably are.

My mother used to quote the adage, "Things are seldom as they seem, for skim milk masquerades as cream."

Lynn writes five points: Beware of doing business with one who:
Says Looky me! versus working and building relationships within industry.
Is more Arrogance than confidence (where is their real focus?)
Has an Agenda of their own (which may be to your detriment)
Deals with you in an abusive way, expecting you to save them
P.O. or burn bridges with contacts and resources.

She expresses it better. It's worth checking out her full article...she cites specifics to support her claims. While it's directed at the publishing industry, its value is far beyond one industry. Her words are priceless to those of us who follow her.

COPIED THIS POST FROM MARK TWAIN

It still is fascinating how universal good writers are:
Came across this today from Mark Twain.

"Whenever I am about to publish a book, I feel an impatient desire to know what kind of a book it is. Of course I can find this out only by waiting until the critics shall have printed their reviews. I do know, beforehand, what the verdict of the general public will be, because I have a sure and simple method of ascertaining that. Which is this -- if you care to know. I always read the manuscript to a private group of friends, composed as follows:

1. Man and woman with no sense of humor.
2. Man and woman with medium sense of humor.
3. Man and woman with prodigious sense of humor.
4. An intensely practical person.
5. A sentimental person.
6. Person who must have a moral in, and a purpose.
7. Hypercritical person -- natural flaw-picker and fault-finder.
8. Enthusiast -- person who enjoys anything and everything, almost.
9. Person who watches the others, and applauds or condemns with the majority.
10. Half a dozen bright young girls and boys, unclassified.
11. Person who relishes slang and familiar flippancy.
12. Person who detests them.
13. Person of evenly balanced judicial mind.
14. Man who always goes to sleep.

These people accurately represent the general public."

Recommended by @MaraBG

After reading my post below, @MaraBG led me to this song--truly appropos: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysgAbwKub7Y

Wishcrafting on Twitter: Isolation is the killer of Dreams

My friend @MaraBG on Twitter organized a book party @#booktweet. It was around Barbara Sher's book, Wishcraft, released as a e-book on her website as a 30 year birthday celebration. I downloaded the PDF format to my Adobe and saved it on disk. Then proceeded to read the first several chapters. If you haven't already read it, I recommend it. It's an easy read; not a full-of-herself type of self-help. I should say it is not a self help but rather an others help others book. Her premise is that we cannot do it alone: "Isolation is the killer of dreams." If we look in the front of every book published--at all the acknowledgements, we can see the tip of the iceberg of how it takes a village maybe even a world to get something done. The book provides a step by step series of exercises to do by yourself and then with others who are on the journey to making dreams be fulfilled. Numerous anecdotal moments both saddened and delighted me. The road to success is full of potholes, after all. Sometimes, when we get stuck, we need a towtruck, or a passer by's timely arrival. Those moments create the magic so that dreams become fulfilled.
BTW, if you're interested in being someone's towtruck or that Good Samaritan passer by, let me share how one did it: my true story of when my car broke down one night many years ago in a bedroom town on the outskirts of L.A.
The streets were vacant and dark. My friends and I called a friend that I knew lived in that town (I lived quite a bit farther away) and asked if he knew where an open service station would be. He knew of only one; he asked me where I was and said he'd be over. He came; pushed the car gently to the nearest station and after talking with the owner for a bit, told me that the attendant would work on my car as soon as they finished the one on the lift. I was ready to go into the station to sit on those hard plastic chairs smudged with grease stains, but he called me over to his car and unlocked the trunk. In it, he had a picnic basket full of tasty finger food treats and a bottle of wine with glasses, water bottles and a thermos of coffee. (He says he always has a basket ready at any time.) We all sat and sipped and nibbled and chatted--he'd brought enough for all four of us to enjoy over the next two hours waiting for my car to be fixed. We followed up with water and coffee (no drinking and driving for us) and I went home that night with a smile. A bad evening evolved into a wonderful time and I got by with a little help from my friends. I think Barbara Sher (and the Beatles) would have approved. :)

After a friend noted That Anonymous Poet wrote tons of bad poetry

Indeed, anonymous wrote much.
It really was a crutch
To speak of such and such.
Though often out of touch
Using too big words such
As forasmuch
Or inasmuch
Yet in the attempt to clutch
At fame, anonymous stretched overmuch
To arrive at silly poems; nonesuch
Earned as much
As a penny or such.

by Anonymous (unless you like it, then I wrote it :D)

Leelu My Cat Plays Paw and Pat

I present my foray into children's poetry

Leelu, my cat
Walks into my flat
Her tail in the air
As she smells here and there.
I smile and tap
Upon my lap.

She jumps
And bumps
And nuzzles my nose
To tell me
That she's glad she chose
To play
With me
This day.


Leelu, my cat
Says meow in our chats

She eats
Cat treats

And plays Paw and Pat


It’s a game we play.
And we like to say
That We made
It up so we show
How it’s played.

Others, I know
Play it too,
So it must be
They copied
My sweet Leelu.....

Let me know if you want to see the rest of the poem :)

LEELU EXPLORES

Leelu head buts me over the covers. I squint with one eye as her second attack moves in to remind me that IT's TIME TO FEED ME. So I stumble from under the covers tripping and stubbing my toes on whatever the animals have played with overnight that now litter the floor and head to the bathroom where a private dining area has been erected for her eating pleasure. She leaps from tile floor to toilet to her counter top where she whines while waiting for the pop and kawhoosh of the lid of cat food.

The kawoosh of a can lid screams the siren call to all animals--the dogs and cats line up for the licking (akin to kids getting to lick the spoon, bowl and spatula of the remaining chocolate icing.) Plop and scrape; the whining grows insistant.

I use a cat food spatula--tiny enough to scoop every morsel from under the rim, although nothing beats the camel-like-tongue of our doberman mutt; she can sniff a microscopic morsel from 200 yards and beat everyone off the line to get it. She shows a "gimme" attitude for when she arrives on any scene, if another animal beats her to the morsel, she'll wiggle her large behind to insure she gets more than her share. It's hard to argue with the biggest butt around.

Meanwhile, Leelu, impatient, bounds off the counter, skimming the toilet seat (it's important to keep it closed for her access as well as keeping the dogs from using it as an alternate water bowl) and tangling my legs until I bang the dish on her counter alerting her to her breakfast pleasure.

Ah pleasure; she mews her 'thank yous' intermittently between bites. Chomp. Mew *thank you," chomp, Mew "thank you", chomp, Mew "this tastes great", chomp, Mew "thank you," chomp, "I love you." chomp, Mew "thank you" and so on until she's done. She's a social buterfly. I think she keeps up the conversation so I won't leave her to eat alone. Now, Jaz is anther story. Jaz, the cat, loves her privacy. But that's another day.

DISCOVERING TWITTER

Writing a short phrase was never my strong suit. Perhaps that is why Twitter fascinates me. With the limitations of characters, it forces me to be precise and concise in my Tweets. It's also a quick fix into networking. Since the points of contact are short and sweet, perusing them is fast and furious. Suddenly, I'm at the doorstep of extraordinary people around the world that I can tune into with a click of my mouse. Blogs, however, offer me the chance to delve further into what others are doing and present more of myself.

Leelu Explores

Leelu, @(-.-)@, our new kitten, from a neighbor's batch of 'oops, my Siamese purebred met the wrong kind and now we have eight', provides better entertainment than TV. She leaps upon fuzz balls--I let my housekeeping go just so she can find playtoys naturally (heh heh)--and everything is a source of joyful discovery. Her ice blue eyes darken when she is suspicious of sounds, but when she's finished her morning aerobics she bounds upon my lap, spins three times before curling into a fluff ball--blue eyes focussed on me, until my hand begins to stroke her long white fur, mottled with the colors of her birth father. Her head rests on her paw and purrs grow louder with each minute, occassionally interrupted by an immediate need to lick a paw or other part of her body.

LYNN E. HAZEN AND SUSAN TAYLOR BROWN'S SOCIAL MEDIA ADVENTURE

Two outstanding authors entertained the SCBWI Bay Area group with some insightful tips on websites and blogging to the novices and published authors. Discovered the hows and whys of Twitter and a plethora of other sites. Networked among those in the same boat of confusion. I have that dazed look of a soaked sponge ...not the alertness of Sponge Bob but the glazed over version. Fortunately, they provided oodles of handouts with everything I ever wanted to know and more. This was my first visit to an SCBWI event. Well worth the jog. As a result, hope to improve my blog.

Things have a way of working out...according to Somerset Maugham

Listening to the news of the economy, people losing jobs and looking at the diminishing pay when one is on commission...all these things are ripe to ruin a good day. But I believe in the idea that all things work together for our good.

I like to reference Somerset Maugham in his short story, 'The Tobacconist' in which the aging janitor is fired for not being able to read; in his depression he takes a walk and looks for a tobacco shop to buy some smokes. When he cannot find a shop, he decides (along with his wife) to take his savings and open a cubbyhole tobacco shop--it is successful and he repeats the pattern 10 times. Sitting with his accountant reviewing his books, his accountant reports his amazement at the fact of his multimillionaire success and that he is unable to read or write. "Just think where you'd be if you could read or write!" his accountant notes, to which the man replies. "If I could read or write, I'd be a janitor."

To that end, I believe things will work for our good. Have a great day and keep hope alive. :)

CAPTAIN AMERICA...IS LEAVING

While serving on the USS America, my colleague was training a new sailor on how to announce over the P.A. system that the ship’s Captain was leaving. The protocol involves broadcasting the name of the ship (synonymous with the Captain) followed by the words, ‘departing’. In anticipation, the officer required the sailor to practice the singsong formula: "America, …Departing"; "America, …Departing" until the Captain was ready to leave and his aide called to say that he was on his way. My colleague whispered, “The captain is leaving” to the sailor who in turn announced: "CAPTAIN ... AMERICA ... IS LEAVING."

Finding myself

Visiting at the First Presbyterian Church, Monterey CA with its baby boomer congregation; we encouraged our preschoolers to sit around Pastor Jay when he gathered the young around him to hear the weekly “children’s sermon”. He emphasized our need to worship together each week—that it was something we couldn’t do alone and used the analogy of playing ‘Hide and Go Seek’. Encouraging children to think for themselves, he asked. “Can you play ‘Hide and Go Seek’ by yourself? What would happen if you did?” My four year old son, piped up clearly for all those former hippies to hear, “Well, I’d have to go hide,” and after a thought-filled pause, finished, “…and then go find myself.”

Where Lonely Socks Go

Holding up my dirty sock, and smelling the stinky toe, I stop. It drops. I think it winks at me!

“Where is your other sock?” my mom asks for the third time tonight.

“Dunno.” Looking down at the one in my hand and then at the floor for the match. No, it’s not there.

“Do you know where my other sock is?” I whisper to the sock in my hand. I hope that no one knows I’m talking to my sock.

The sock says nothing but sags down low, looks sort of sad; not bad exactly, more twisting its toe—or is it a head—in a shrug? I let go and it falls to the rug.

I lean down low and creep up close, bending my head till I scrunch my nose and eyes and ask again. “Can you tell me where lonely socks go?” Wrinkling my nose from the smell of its toe, I’m not sure if it’s friend or foe. I wait for more, but it chooses not to say; so, I’m stuck with a puzzle. Can I learn today, the secret place where lonely socks go?

Perhaps, some sock can explain how lone socks know to start on a journey and go where they go. There must be one who’s been there and back who will tell its tale; I just have to find it and follow its trail; back to the place where lonely socks go.

So many of mine have gone away that I am certain there must be a special space that lonely socks gather to meet up with others as they travel the world or search the earth; a place where they might need my help to come home.

I seek the one that’s been there and back but I mix up whose’s whose and which’s which, so I’m not certain I’ll track which of my socks has come back from that space where lonely socks go. ...

There's more to the story, it's plain to see, each has lost a sock, maybe two or three. For this explorer the where is revealed yet a question remains though the solution is found. A conundrum exists in the story, as in life. The fun's in the journey more than solving the plight.

“

With God, Nothing is Impossible

“Lieutenant, that baby is dying.” The obstetrician’s condescending voice increased in volume with every sentence. “That baby has less than a five percent chance of being born.

The normally bustling Labor and Delivery unit at the Naval Hospital was quiet, watching the Commander dress me down. “The sonogram and ultrasound have shown no evidence of lungs. The heart is not fully formed, despite the fact that she’s full term. If that baby survives birthing, it…will…die. “

With shoulders squared—her epaulet designations clearly outranking me; she gave me no opportunity to speak. “You were called up here to talk some sense into her. You shouldn’t be giving her any false hope. Don’t use religion to prolong everyone’s trauma. No one needs to be put through this. That baby will die

Beeping monitors provided the backdrop for her continued diatribe, “You can’t change the reality with prayer.” Her pause gave me an opening.

“Eye-to-eye, I said softly with deliberation, “Doctor, …whether… that baby… lives or dies… is not up to… you …or me. Only God decides who lives and dies. If God wants that baby to live, it will live.”

The details of the story are engaging; the end result amazing.

It taught me with God, nothing is impossible.