Pen Pal Project

junk-mailHave you noticed your mailbox flooded with adds and junk?

Remember having a pen pal?

clasped-hands-541849_960_720Would you like to make a friend, perhaps for life?

 

 

letter-700386_960_720Do you love getting letters instead of bills?
Are you willing to write once or twice a month? (This doesn’t have to be a long letter.  Sometimes a note or a cute card or bookmark or… is sufficient.)

Then join the Pen Pal list and I’ll match you up!

Here’s how to join the Pen Pal list.

Please message me asatisfiedspirit@mail.com with:
Your name
Your address
Your blog address (Not a requirement to participate!)
Your hobbies
Would you like an International pen pal (International letters cost $1.15)

I’m looking forward to this! I hope you are too!

Blessings to you and yours!

Marie

P.S. I’m not going to police this. Once you’re assigned to a pal you’re on your own. I will keep a list of partners, though.

Wash Me

We are often reminded  that we need to be ‘washed’ in a variety of ways to be made ‘clean’.    Such phrases as, ‘Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow’, ‘Washed in the blood of the lamb’,  ‘Wash in the River of Life’, remind us that we are cleansed spiritually as well as physically.  Jesus washed the feet of the Disciples at the last supper to remind them to be servants.  (John 13:12-17)  The story that follows was sent in an email from a friend.  There was no author listed.  Enjoy!

Rain

A little girl had been shopping with her Mom in WalMart.  She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of innocence.

It was pouring outside.  The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout.  We all stood there, under the awning, just inside the door of the WalMart.  We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their hurried day.

I am always mesmerized by rainfall.  I got lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world.  Memories of running, splashing so carefree as a child came pouring in as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day.

Her little voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in.  “Mom let’s run through the rain,” she said.  “What?” Mom asked.

“Let’s run through the rain!” she repeated.

“No, honey.  We’ll wait until it slows down a bit”, Mom replied.

This young child waited a minute and repeated, “Mom, let’s run through the rain.”

“We’ll get soaked if we do”, Mom said.

“No, we won’t Mom.  That’s not what you said this morning”, the young girl said as she tugged at her Mom’s arm.

“This morning?  When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?”

“Don’t you remember?  When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, ‘If God can get us through this, He can get us through anything!’

The entire crowd stopped dead silent…I swear you couldn’t hear anything but the rain…We all stood silently.  No one left.  Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say.

Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly.  Same might even ignore what was said.  But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child’s life.  A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith.

“Honey, you are absolutely right.  Let’s run through the rain.  If GOD lets us get wet, well maybe we just need washing,” Mom said.

Then off they ran.  We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes, through the puddles.  They got soaked.

They were followed by a few who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars.  And yes, I did.  I ran.  I got wet.  I needed washing.

Circumstances or people can take away your material possessions, they can take away your money, and they can take away your health.  But no one can ever take away your precious memories…So, don’t forget to make time and take the opportunities to make memories every day.

Father, drench me with the cleansing power of Your Holy Rain.  As Peter said at the Last Supper, not just my feet but my hands, my head, and all of me.  Grant me the mercy that comes from Your Healing Rain.  Make it so!