Welcome 2020 by Betty Badgett

WELCOME 2020

            **************************************

             It’s 2020!!  A brand new decade.  I embrace this new year with the sun shining on my face, head tilted towards the sky and my arms open wide. Ready to embrace all the blessings God has in store for me. 

                I’m releasing all the hurt and pain of the past year.   Not holding grudges or anger towards anyone.  Too Toxic.

                 Looking forward with great expectations to widening my scope of friends, but only those who enrich my life and not drain from it.

                 This new year gives hope for new beginnings and challenges. For all the loses in my life last year, I cherish the memories, keep the love hidden away in my heart and feel very grateful for having shared those experiences even if only for a brief moment.

                  I start my new mornings of 2020 with a moment of quiet reflection and a prayer of thanksgiving. Thankful that I’m still alive and well.

                  So, bring it on 2020, I’m ready!  Ready to jump into the abyss, not knowing what awaits me. Ready to love again after the devastating loss of my husband of forty four years.  Ready to take my place as the matriarch of the family.  Sharing wisdom and knowledge of a life well lived to this very moment, to all who will listen.

                    HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE

The Things that Matter Most by Betty Badgett

The things that matter most are not
always tangible. Air matters but you
Can't touch it. Love matters but you can't grab it with your hands.

Yesterday, while driving to the local
Supermarket, an on coming car speeding like a space ship headed to
Mars, zoom past me in a haze. I
Was angry in that moment and wanted to speed up to catch up to him and
Use all the curse words in my vocabulary!
I thought about it for a second, and
Calmed myself. The important thing
Was, I was fine and my car was fine.
That's what mattered the most.

In this short life of ours we need to
Grab on to the things that matter most
To us. That includes the people we love, the things we enjoy doing and
Those quiet moments alone with our
Inner spirit and our God.

We take so much for granted every day. The closet full of nice clothes to
Pick from, the endless pairs of shoes
And sneakers, our cars sitting patiently
In the drive way waiting for us. What
If in an instant a house fire claims all
Our belongs, or a hurricane such as
Dorian comes along and wipes out
Our life as we knew it. When we watch
The news daily and witness the
Devastation that has taken place all
Around us it should cause us to hit
The pause button on our lives and
Think for a moment about those things
That matter most.

At the close of every Ellen Degeneris
Show, she closes by saying,
"Be kind to one another."

I think that's a great place to start!

Live each day as if you are not sure
Tomorrow is coming. I'm living my
Best life! Are you?

Meandering Thoughts: What's In a Name by Roberta Lacey

When I was born, my parents decided to name me Roberta.    They hadn't planned on any particular name, though dozens had been suggested.   While still in the hospital, a nurse asked my Mother if she'd liked the name Roberta.   She did and my Dad agreed.  Helen was my middle moniker after my paternal grandma, Nana.

On the day of my baptism, the priest apparently was unfamiliar with that name and was unsure if it was a saint's name.    I guess he hadn't heard of Saint Robert Bellarmine.   Therefore, he put  "Helen Roberta" on my baptismal certificate.   However when my birth certificate was printed in the City of New York, I was Roberti Helen, not Roberta Helen.   Some idiot in the office issuing birth certificates decided the "i" ending was the norm for the feminine of Robert.   When i was a young woman, I committed the crime of altering the birth certificate by making the "i" into an "a".

My Dad usually called me "Berta" or "Bert", neither of which did I care for.   My sister always called me "Bert".   Only my Mom called me "Roberta".   When I got to parochial school, I was always called Helen, since that was the name on the baptismal certificate.   Neither my parents nor I complained.  Perhaps we should have.   In those days, we were more accepting of established rules.   As I grew older and in high school, I was always called "Roberta"; some friends called me "Bobbi" which was fine with me.

Now my big sister's name was Elizabeth.  When she turned sixteen, she demanded to be called "Betty"; fearful of being called Liz or Lizzy.   It didn't hurt Liz Taylor to be given those names decades later.

My Mom's name was Mary.  I never heard her called anything but "Mae".   Dad's name was Joseph, which could never be anything else but "Joe".  Now take a classmate of mine whose name was Alfreda Stank....yes, "Stank".  She cringed every morning when attendance was called in school; bracing herself for the giggles from classmates less sensitive to her feelings.   She was the only daughter among seven brothers.  They taught her how to fight and have thick skin.  In fact, she became quite a tomboy in school, but that attitude didn't endear her to the boys or the girls.   The girls didn't tease her; we wouldn't dare.  The boys were a bit more careful upon realizing she could give one a black eye if necessary.   What would that do to a boy's reputation?   I'm sure her Polish parents could have legally changed their name, "Stankowsky", to a more acceptable  shortening than "Stank".   "Sankowsky" was fine.   At least, poor Alfreda would not have been called "Stinky Freda" and worse.   Her hygiene was excellent regardless of the cruel barbs thrown at her behind her back and sometimes to her face if a boy felt mean and or brave enough.

When I worked for the Federal Government many years ago, my boss's first name was Bernice.   He was a native of England.  The names Carroll with two l;s and two r's, Evelyn, Beverly or Florence, as in Flo Zigfield, come to mind when I wonder what their parents were thinking.   Obviously, in some countries, those names are acceptable for boys.  But why put a child in the position where he or she has to fight or be ashamed when anyone mentions his/her name"?   When school attendance is called, he/she may answer meekly "here" but wishing he/she was not.   Remember the song "A Boy Named Sue"?   Enough said.

I was especially careful when it came to naming my own four children....all boys.   I also made certain their "nick-names" and or initials would not embarrass them.   There was a nice young man named Bradley Moore.   The initials B M were printed on his Junior Varsity jacket.   That example is mild, but several others are not.   It could be worse:  how about B S emblazoned on his jacket, especially if he had the "art" of throwing it.

                                                                                                  

When God Has a Plan by Betty Badgett

WHEN   GOD   HAS   A   PLAN

 As a child growing up in a single parent home, I recall hearing my mother say, “God always has a plan, and if you want to make him laugh, just tell him yours.”  I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant at that time, but as the years have passed, I’ve come to understand the meaning of that.

There were so many things in my life that I thought I was in total control of, sometimes they worked out the way I wanted them too, and sometimes they didn’t work out at all or perhaps in ways that I could never have imagined.

Finally, I realized that there is a higher power that I have to answer too and not the other way around.  God is not sitting some place high in the sky waiting for my to do list, telling Him what I wanted, when I wanted it and how

I expected it to show up in my life. 

Four years ago, the doctors found a tumor on my husband’s colon.  He underwent surgery to remove the tumor.  He was cancer free for one year.  I had prayed, and asked God for a miracle.  I got it!!  Just as I had asked.  But then a year later, it had returned on his liver and I was devastated.  What happened?  I had prayed, told God what I wanted and waited patiently for Him to give me what I asked for.  He did, and I was thankful, but now what?  I felt that God had answered my prayer but now He had changed His mind, and said no to the miracle

I had prayed for.

My husband underwent a total of four rounds of chemo, but this time, nothing was responding as I had hoped and prayed.  A year and a half went by and he was placed on hospice, as there was nothing else that could be done.

One night while sitting at my husband’s bedside, I totally surrendered my plans to God.  No more lists of things I wanted and expected of Him.  No longer was I going to expect God to work according to my plans. I began to pray differently.

       Dear God,

       I surrender everything to you, including my life and my husband’s life. I have no control over his life or mine.  “Not as I will, but as Thy will”.

Where had I heard those words before? 

In August of 2014, God took him home to be with him. I never say he died of cancer, because that would give cancer too much control. God had a plan, and His will was done. 

God always has a plan for our lives.  We may not understand it, or even agree with it, we just have to remember who’s in charge of our lives and submit to his will.

PROVERBS 16 verse 9:

       “A mans heart plans his way,

          But the Lord directs his steps.”

                                         

                                         

Meandering Thoughts by Roberta Lacey

For twenty one years,  I lived in Bayside, L.I.   There were many children in our neighborhood.  The average family consisted of two parents and two to three children, with the exception of one which had seven offspring.   In the 1920's through 1930's, we were mostly Irish, Polish and German.   We all got along well enough with the exception of a couple who had their spats on occasion, especially when one neighbor kept his dog tied up all day and night regardless of the weather.   The only shelter was an opening in a small area in back of the house with little protection from the wind and cold of a L.I. winter.   The one neighbor not only wanted to sleep at night but was concerned for the poor animal.    Thankfully, we did not live too closely to that thoughtless neighbor; however, the howling dog could be heard for several blocks.

    One of my little friends, Evelyn, lived two blocks away.   I thought she was nice and friendly.   Upon inviting me to her home one afternoon,  she said she wanted me to see her pets.   Hoping to see kittens or puppies, I was aghast to see several terrariums with snakes of all sizes.   I hate snakes and anything else that slivers about.   As long as she kept the lids on top of the glass containers, I wasn't too frightened.   Some snakes were quite long and fat.  She said they were fed mice.   Suppose the glass broke, i thought to myself.  Her mom and dad were doctors and allowed their only child a lot of freedom.   I thought she had too much freedom, especially with her tongue.   When she refused to do something her mother requested of her, Evelyn alarmed me with the words she used to sass her mother.  Her mother's response was, "Now Evelyn dear, I'm sure you will want to think about your answering me in that manner and want to apologize.   Perhaps Evelyn thought about her fresh mouth, but did not apologize.

    One day, I thought I would refuse to do something my mom asked me to do.   I never acted up before, but took a chance.   I sassed my dear, sweet mother.   My father heard me from the next room.  He quickly swept me off the floor and put me across his knees where i got a sound and well deserved spanking.   My father used his psychology.   If a child sasses  his parents, a reminder on the seat of his pants works best.   That was the only time my father ever laid a hand on me and his method worked far better than Evelyn's mother's method.

    Another friend was Alice.  She was about twelve and I was eleven.   Her favorite thing to do on a beautiful summer day was to sit in her garden and listen to classical music.  She had a very handsome big brother, a fifteen year old high school man.   He didn't know I existed.   Regardless, it wasn't fun to be sitting listening to classical music all afternoon anyway.   I appreciate it more now and enjoy certain classicals immensely, but for an eleven year old, it didn't compete with riding a bike and playing games.   I liked action.   Maybe Alice became a virtuoso when she grew up, but I never heard anything about it.

    When I got into high school, I was invited to pledge for a sorority.   It was named Phi Beta something or other, but it didn't mean enough to me to remember.   After accepting the invitation, I was sorry and regretted that I was voted in.   At first, I was somewhat proud to be wearing the black sweater with the white lettering signifying my membership.   However, I thought to myself, "What have I gotten myself into."   My thoughtful father hit the nail on the head, so to speak, when he said with tongue in cheek, "Berta belongs to a snob club".   Some of the girls were very nice, but some thought they were God's answer to womanhood and snobbish, also.   I noticed how they acted toward girls outside the sorority.  I don't, nor ever did like snobs.   Many were obsessed with their clothes and appearance.   Most high school girls have that desire to look great and be popular, however this group carried their obsession a notch further.   A few had vicious tongues, especially with "outsiders" whom they didn't even know.

    A favorite verse of mine is in St. James, chapter 3, verses three thu ten.  I didn't know this verse when I was a kid, but it would have been good if these particular girls learned it.   I'll mention one verse here.   "See how the tiny spark is that sets a huge forest ablaze:  The tongue is such a flame".   So far as I know, those girls didn't give me any trouble, however, I decided I didn't want to be part of their group and soon found a good reason to resign gracefully.

Why Didn't I Help? by Betty Badgett

WHY    DIDN’T    I    HELP ?

 

                One year ago, I remember walking into the neighborhood Dollar Tree two blocks

from my house In Upstate New York.  It was crowded as usual, so I hurried to get my purchases

rush to the nearest cashier so that I would avoid the long lines and be able to quickly leave the

the store.

                 As I stood on line waiting for my turn, I noticed the young gentleman in front of me

standing there with only a large gallon of milk.  He was fumbling in his pockets, perhaps trying

to get his money ready, as he was next on line.  The cashier rang up his purchase and began

looking annoyed as she looked at how fast her line was growing and there was no one working

the register next to her.

                   After searching his pockets trying to come up with the money to give her for his

item, he said, “I’ll be back.”  He turned towards the door and walked out leaving the gallon of

milk on the counter.  The cashier looked even more annoyed as she quickly yelled for someone

to hurry over and place the gallon of milk back in the refrigerator.

                    At that moment I heard a voice inside me saying, “Why didn’t you help?”  I tried

to find an excuse or reason to come up with to answer that question.  Truth was, I had money

in my wallet being that I had just left the ATM machine. I had no answer.  I paid for my

purchases and walked out of the store and headed across the parking lot to my car.  When I got

to my car, I had tears in my eyes.  Suppose that gentleman had children at home waiting on that

gallon of milk for cereal, or just to drink.  I had no idea what his situation was, but there was

 an opportunity to help someone and show kindness, and I had let it pass.  I felt small as a

human being.  I always talk to my kids about being kind and giving and here I was with the

opportunity to do just that and I let it pass.  At that moment I was a hypocrite, 

                I loaded my car and got in.  My heart hurt for that young man, so I took a moment to

say a prayer for him since I had no way of finding him and redoing what had just happened.

Why didn’t I help?  What was I afraid of?  At that moment a thought came to my mind.  Perhaps

God had placed me in that store, on that line, at that exact time to reach out and extend a gift of

kindness to a stranger in need.  I wanted to cry at that moment.  Instead, I vowed to God that if

I were ever in a position to help some one again, I would, so I would never have to ask myself

Why didn’t I help.

Letting Go written by Betty Badgett

Letting go is never easy.  

First you think of all the reasons that you should,

then you think of all the reasons that you shouldn’t.

When a love you’ve cherished for a life

time is suddenly no more,

How do you let go?

It’s hard to let go.

The memories are to strong,

The romance was endless.

The picture of his face is embedded in

a permanent place in your mind, and

In the deepest recesses of your heart

where only you and he resided.

Maybe one day, you’ll sell the home that

you both once shared, move to another state,

buy a new car, get an entirely new hair style

and walk into a new life you’ve tried to

create for yourself.

Well, I did all those things, and it’s still hard

letting go.