School Days

Hello everyone! I am briefly stopping in to wish everyone a great first day of school. May God's glory and favor shine on each student, teacher, and administrative staff. Blessings to all!

I also wanted to let everyone know that I will be taking my Comprehensive Exams in two weeks and would greatly appreciate every one's prayers on this journey.

I, hopefully, will be posting on this blog more frequently than once a week after my exams. I so look forward to writing each and every day and I thank God for depositing in me such a divine gift and desire.

In all things give thanks! To God Be the Glory!!

Love to all, Marlena :-)

A Coal Miner’s Daughter, Man’s Best Friend and Cheesecake

Today, I sit gathered around the kitchen table with my own version of the Golden Girls, which is a television sitcom about some elderly women who became roommates and the best of friends, only my friends and I are not quite elderly and we share our lives with man’s best friend, instead of man (well at the present moment anyway, I am sure Mr. Right will be along any day now, but he has to get along with Fido). We, like the Golden Girls, spend our time together dinning on cheesecake and drinking coffee while we discuss life issues and days gone by. The only real difference that I can see is my best bud, my baby, Brutus, a mixture of Lab, Brittney Spaniel, and Alaskan Husky, curled up at my feet patiently waiting for that drop of cheese cake to come falling to the floor.

I have to admit that most days Brutus, that cute medium sized, somewhat tan and white fur ball, seems more like an added appendage than a dog, but the truth is that I couldn’t imagine my life without him. However, I digress, for this story does ultimately end up with Brutus but it began with a stray dog. So, in the immortal words of that most famous Golden Girl, Sophia, portrayed by Estelle Getty on the sitcom, “Picture it…”

Small town Pennsylvania, Autumn, 1985, a young coal miner’s daughter, blond hair and blue eyes, without a soul to play with, steps outside of her family home to play with her favorite baton with dreams of becoming a majorette one day. She starts to lift those skinny, scrawny legs as high as she can and marches down the sidewalk, twirling like she has never twirled before. Yet, to take her routine up a notch and add some flare, she makes a bold and daring move and tosses that baton high up in the air only to have the bitter disappointment to see it land somewhere off in the distance and not in her talented dream-filled hands.

Though, not wanting to give up on her dream, she gingerly walks over towards the sound of the thundering thud of the baton where it hit the ground to pick it up and try it again. However, when she went to stand back up, a slobbery, smelly tongue, streaked the side of her freckled cheek. She looked at the source of this kiss with amazement; for what she had been praying for, God had just allowed to walk right into her own backyard. He was a beautiful Golden Retriever, with his fur shinning like the sun and his tail wagging wildly behind him. It was clear to see that he was just as happy to see his new friend as she was to see him, especially when she couldn’t get him to stop kissing her. It could have been that he was just simply grateful for a friendly face after his long journey, but I think it was much more than that because it started off a chain of events that this little girl would never forget.

The reality of the situation was that both friends were grateful to have crossed each other’s path that day, even though the little girl new that somewhere deep in her heart of hearts that there was someone out there who loved her new friend just as much as she did and was missing him terribly. She knew what she had to do and she reached down grabbing the dogs bright blue collar that was around his fury fluffy neck, and read the silver bone tag that was dangling down in front, “If found, please return Lucky to …” There it was, the truth that she had known all along and it was time to reunite Lucky with his best friend. So she marched those same skinny scrawny legs back up to her house only this time, instead of the baton, she had Lucky following along right beside her.

After a somewhat long, pleading and drawn out explanation to her mother, she picked up the phone and dialed the number engraved on the tag. The man on the phone was more than ecstatic to hear this meek little voice on the other end and the good news that it had to share, and a half hour later Lucky was back in the arms of his family. Yet, once again the agonizingly bitter disappointment darkened the heart of this little girl, for though she was happy that Lucky made it back home, she was alone again. However, like her unwillingness to give up with the baton, she was unwilling to give up on God to answer her prayer for a true best friend, for a dog just like Lucky.

Feeling both determined and still a little lonely, she went upstairs to her bedroom to pray. She sat down cross legged on her floor and just started talking to God, pleading with him in much the same way that she did her mother only minutes before. She wondered what she could do that might make God remember her prayer and hopefully answer it a little quicker, when all of the sudden it hit her, almost like a light bulb illuminating right above her. She would write it down; after all that’s what she had seen adults do over and over again to remember things. However, not having any paper on hand, she decided she would write it on her white bedroom door with bright orange crayon. God would surely see that prayer written on her door and she was certain a dog would be on his way to her house again, and this time she would get to keep him.

Well, God wasn’t the only one who would see that orange crayon because as the little girl lay sleeping that night dreaming of her new doggie that was on his way, her mother was reading the prayer on her door. Needless to say a few days later, the little girl came home from school on a crisp autumn afternoon excited because she new her best girl friend was coming for a sleep over. She could barely contain herself when she saw her friend sitting at the table, in fact, she was so excited that she never even noticed the answer to her prayer laying quietly by the kitchen stove. She wondered why everyone around her was laughing and pointing towards that area of the kitchen, when all of the sudden out of the corner of her baby blue eyes she caught a glimpse of a small brown furry creature starring right back at her with two big black shinny pieces of coal for eyes and a thumping tail, for it was hitting the stove at a mile a minute. “A dog, you got me a dog,” she screamed, “thank-you, thank-you,” and privately she whispered, “Thank-you Jesus.”

Uggie, her new best friend, was a mixture of Lhasa Apso and Shih Tzu, and would prove to be a very loyal and loving companion for many years. The little girl’s loneliness was now a thing of the past. Who was this coal miner’s daughter you might ask, well that little girl was me and not only did I learn that prayer was a power thing but I learned the wonderful companionship that our four footed friends could provide. These lessons are ones that I will never forget for as long as I live, nor will I forget the chain of events that changed my life forever.

Uggie passed on about a year after I grew my added appendage, Brutus, and though Brutus was a young pup at the time, he loved his older brother very much and was saddened by his passing. However, as younger brothers will do, Brutus, with a new found sense of honor and loyalty, took over the job of faithful companion and ever-dutiful cheesecake taste tester. Brutus is fifteen years old now and still fulfilling his honored role and I will forever and always be grateful to that stray dog, Lucky, that day for teaching me the true meaning of a friend and the assurance that I can always trust Jesus to hear me when I call. I have a friend in Brutus because I first found a friend in Jesus. J

Times Winged Chariot

Times Winged Chariot

Times winged chariot at my back,

May as well be a chariot of blazing inferno.

Its nagging ticks and tocks relinquish no slack.

Elijah, like a phoenix, showed,

Wild, burning, churning flames of volcanic fire.

His chariot, a searing comet, shooting beyond the universe, from a destractful world below.

My heart holds only one deep desire,

Instead of this bomb ticking force in my hand,

Please Dear God give me heavenly fire.

Elijah, a prophet, a gift from God to man;

In an instant of pure glory filled clouds,

Knew the dawning hour was at hand.

Take me away like Elijah in a fiery shroud,

No more will times winged chariot beat so loud.

Written By Marlena H. Johnston © 1997

Unclogging Your Fountain

Unclogging Your Fountain

We’ve all been there, right? You know what I am talking about, those nights, those frustrating, lonely nights when you desperately want to write but notta, nothing, zip, zilch flows from your fingertips or the pen you are writing with is filled with invisible ink. I am reminded of the film, Throw Momma from the Train, starring Billy Crystal and Danny De Vito. There is a scene in the film where Billy Crystal plays a divorced writer/college professor who is trying to revive his career, but he has writer’s block, severe writer’s block. So, he takes a trip down to the beach with a bottle of alcohol to wash away the clog that is blocking his writing flow. He basically ends up getting drunk and still has his writer’s block, stuck with this unfinished opening sentence, “The night was…”

In fact, on this very night, I feel exactly like Billy Crystal’s character as I try to write about being a writer. Although, I’ll admit, I also have those awesome days when the fountain of words seems to flow deep and wide in a never ending stream. Those are the days when I feel that God is just pouring the words through my soul. He is, after all, my muse, my inspiration and I, I am his scribe. I pray continuously that He would use me, much in the way that he used his disciples when they wrote down His Word. This is my dream, my desire and my prayer because you see, I wouldn’t even be writing today if it were not with His blessing. Writing is just one of the many gifts that God bestows upon His people.

So, here I am, a writer, somewhat of a novice but at the same time, I have been writing for years, since the ripe age of 13 years old. I always wanted to be good at something and most of the time I felt that I wasn’t good at anything. I had a brother who was an excellent artist, a mother who seemed to be good at pretty much everything she did, and a father who was good at being a dad in every sense of the word. Then one day, it just happened. I was sitting in my high school English class waiting for the bell to ring and class to begin, when I just started writing. That was it; I was hooked on the written word and have been ever since.

Poetry seems to be my venue of choice to convey my thoughts and those thoughts that I believe are divinely inspired; however, essays, articles, short stories and possibly some day that novel are also on my to do list. I think, perhaps, the best thing for a writer to do, besides pray, is to not limit himself or herself in his or her writing. We all have our own ideas of what type of writing we feel we are good at, but that may not be the only type of writing we are good at.

Another pearl of wisdom to remember, is that you need share your work, even if it is just with your mother because there is no point to writing if it is not going to get read by someone.

What about journals? Well, that is something uniquely different because that is meant to be more of a form of therapy for your soul, for you; where an article, an essay, a story, a novel, a poem, are all things that are meant to be shared with someone else.

Finally, to bring another movie into the mix, I am reminded of the film, Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit. In this film, Whoopi Goldberg’s character is trying to get one her students to realize her dream and not to let it be crushed by her harsh surroundings. She quotes a book by a well-known author, stating that, “If you get up in the morning and you can think of nothing else then ….,” in this case it was singing, “then, you are a singer.” This goes for writers too. If you get up in the morning and can think of nothing else then writing, then you are a writer.”

I have tried to improve my writing over the years by learning all I can about the written word in school and then all through out my college career, which is still in motion at the present moment. However, in order to be a writer, you need to write, having all the knowledge about the written word in the world will not do any good if it isn’t put to good use. It can’t be one of those once in a blue moon type of deals.

Writing is a craft that has to be nurtured and cared for, and most of all, it needs support, which is why it is essential to find others like you to be around by joining a writer’s group. This was a step that was pretty hard for me to take because it meant putting “me” out there and sometimes getting back, oh that dreaded word, “criticism,” but I have to say that it is completely worth all the effort. Plus, as a bonus, when you have one of those frustrating, lonely nights and all you can think of is “The night was….,” you can toss that bottle of alcohol into the trash and call upon your fellow writers to lend a hand, which they will without fail, and you won’t wake up with that horrid headache in the morning. Now, some might ask for an honorable mention, but I promise you, you will be thanking them up and down for their help and you might even reward them by making them a character in that novel you are writing, just for getting you over the hump.

So, whatever your muse might be, whatever your inspiration, allow it to do its job and when it does, be ready with pen and paper, key board, monitor, disk and printer, or that trusty lap top that you carry around and just let the fountain flow.

Hang In There...

Coffee Cat Talk: Hanging in There

My friend takes care of her granddaughter, Morgan, on a regular basis and recently her granddaughter got a kitty for a present. She loves her kitty very dearly. However, her kitty is unable to live at her house due to the current occupant who happens to be a very large, very overgrown Rottweiler named Sarah. Therefore, Grandma is now the present landlord and caretaker of the kitty, which Morgan frequently stops by to administer the necessary hugs, kisses and string play.

Well, it just so happens that one day Morgan had the before mentioned question bearing heavily on her mind. She gingerly walked out into the kitchen holding her kitty and looked up at her grandma, who was having her morning cup of java, with endearing eyes and said, “Grandma, I don’t want my kitty to get left behind when we go to heaven.” Grandma was somewhat taken back by Morgan’s statement of love and concern for her kitty but not all that surprised because it was plain to see that this kitty was more than a special companion for her granddaughter, this kitty was her best friend. She did her best to explain to her granddaughter her belief that God has a special place for all the animals, especially kitties, where he will let us visit them as often as we would like to see them. Yet, the doubts still continued to resonate in Morgan’s mind and she wasn’t as certain as her grandmother about this special place in heaven for the animals. So, after pondering these things for some time, she looked back up at her grandmother and stated, “Grandma, I think that when Jesus comes back to take us home, I will just grab my kitty on the way up and hold on tight.” Her grandmother shared a chuckle at this simple statement of faith from her granddaughter, but was clearly touched to see so much love between this little girl and her cat.

Although, knowing cats the way I do as I have my own special feline companion, I think it will be the cat who is holding on tight as they tend to do when their paws and claws leave the ground. In fact, I can’t help but see the image in my mind of that famed picture of the kitten hanging from a rope with the words above stating, “Hang in There,” as a message of hope.