Protect Water!

 

We all know that gold is considered a precious natural resource. Even timber, coal, and of course oil are valuable natural resources. Some countries produce varying amounts of gemstones, cobalt, nickel, uranium, and iron, which help their countries prosper. Sadly, some of these mining operations can lead to pollution which threatens Earth’s most precious gift. The natural resource that gives us life—water. Without it, we wither and die, and even gold will mean nothing.

Water on our planet is unevenly distributed. Some places have rain to replenish; other places have continual droughts. Fresh groundwater is a rare commodity, because there’s a limited supply available for consumption.

From a certain perspective, my novel, The Happy War is a horror story. Although I am using water as a metaphor for The Living Water, which is the gospel of Jesus, and the characters are symbolic missionaries spreading the Word, it sounds more like a secular, Machiavellian plan for control. 

Which is what I intended. I wanted the reader to imagine a world where something everyone values and needs, is somehow at risk. Without preaching, I had to go to the outrageous depths of fear to make my point. Sure, I try to pass it off as a fairy tale for grownups or a romance, but once you read the entire story, you will not look at a glass of water the same way again.  And, for that, I’m sort of sorry, but for those who see my connection to faith, it will make sense. 

Every day there are Christians being persecuted for believing in Jesus. If you do an internet search you will be shocked. It’s happening right now. Churches sit empty, or are sold as real estate. Our faith is a valuable resource. Dwindling prayers are the platinum of our souls. People die without water, but what about a world without God? (Sigh-drop mic.)

Thank you for stopping by my blog—Intangible Hearts. You can also follow me on Facebook as Intangible Hearts. Please leave a review of The Happy War on Goodreads or on Amazon once you read my harrowing tale. If you have already taken the time to read my book, thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

Author Interview with SOOP

The kind folks at Something or Other Publishing are not only preparing an anthology with my award winning, faith-based story titled, Crocheting in Heaven, but they also interviewed me for their blog. Thought I’d share it here, and if this upcoming book peaks your interest, please order it today!

August 24, 2022 By jesusb 

Author Profile: Eve Gaal

Something Or Other Publishing is proud to introduce Eve Gaal, an established writer and winner of the 1st Prize in the Religion & Spirituality Category of our 1st Annual Short Story Contest.

Eve Gaal

Over 25 years in advertising led Eve Gaal to write stories, poems, and novels. Her work has appeared in anthologies, magazines, and online. Born in Boston but a longtime Californian, Gaal currently lives in the Inland Empire with her husband and her dog named Baba, where she enjoys her time with hobbies including swimming, cooking, crocheting, and reading.

Her writing journey began as a freelance writer after several decades in the newspaper industry, frequenting The Los Angeles Times and The Daily Pilot, where she had an ongoing column. Today, you can appreciate her trademark humor and poetry among various journals such as “Writing for Peace” and books like her first romantic novel, Penniless Hearts.

1st Place in the Religion Category of SOOP’s 1st Annual Short Story Contest. (SOOP)

Her winning story, Crocheting in Heaven, is part of an upcoming anthology from SOOP currently titled SOOP’s Finest: a collection of award-winning short stories, and it follows the tale of Colleen Poole, an elderly hospital patient, and Diane, a hospice nurse. Diane wants to give the frail, dying woman hope by sharing her understanding of heaven. However, time is of the essence here, and she must convince Mrs. Poole there’s a beautiful place waiting on the other side before it’s too late. But how will she be able to make the older woman believe?

Jesus E. Bracho, SOOP’s Director of Marketing, sat down with Eve to engage in a fun Q&A session to learn more about her:

JB: What inspired you to write “Crocheting in Heaven”?

EG: While visiting friends or relatives in hospice, I was inspired by kind nurses.

JB: What was the most challenging part of writing the story?

EG: While I love writing faith-based fiction, I never want to sound “preachy”. 

JB: What genres do you personally like to read?

EG: Fables, fiction, humorous who-done-its, and romance, in that order. 

JB: Do you have any other writing projects in the works?

EG: I have a column at In2uition Magazine titled Apple Blossoms and I’m working on my fourth novel.

JB: Who is your target audience?

EG: I write fairy tales for grown-ups and faith-based fantasy with a twist of adventure. When truth becomes stranger than fiction, it’s time to indulge in a romantic comedy taking place on an island, Vegas or Panama. In this case, I’m taking readers to Heaven. 

JB: What do you hope readers take away from your story?

EG: If I can give one person hope, my story has made a difference. 

JB: Do you have any advice for aspiring authors?

EG: Yes! Read all the books you can get your hands on. Then, after you’ve read all the books your teachers and instructors gave you, read the ones you’ve heard about and always wanted to read. Read everything and don’t stop. Read the cereal box, the junk mail, and the newspaper. Read poems and read something wild on the internet. Go back and catch up on stuff you missed as a child. Read the classics, but if they bore you, that’s all right; read bestsellers. Rather than having an excuse, pick any book that looks good to you, and then do it again! Write reviews of every book, and post them on Goodreads. Share your reading journey. It’s your life, and your writing will benefit. No writer’s conference or book on writing can replace reading.

Readers can pre-order “Crocheting in Heaven” through her customized pre-order page right here. Learn more about Eve Gaal through the links below:

Website: evegaal.com

Twitter: @EveGaal

Facebook: Penniless Hearts

LinkedIn: Eve Gaal

Blog: Eve Gaal Blog 

 I think if you have an eye for art, or appreciate crafts like painting, crocheting, knitting, sewing, quilting, woodworking, basketmaking, mosaic tiles, stained glass, sculpting or drawing, you'll enjoy my story. I look forward to seeing your comments! 

The Circle of Life- Believe in the Tomato

 

 

To be honest, I LOVE this series on the circle of life, because none of it would be possible without seeds of faith.  Just when we thought the hundred-degree heat, and drought conditions in California, would dry up our garden, there are tomatoes on the vine, almost ready to be picked.

Tomatoes, are wonderful in salads, sandwiches, soups and sauces.  The ones in our garden, after what seemed like forever, turned bright red, are super juicy, and have the fabulous taste of summer in every bite. 

Since most of us like pizza and spaghetti, it’s not surprising to know that Italy is one of the top tomato producing countries in the world, after China, India, Turkey, Spain and the U.S.

In Italy they are called POMODORO

In Germany, Spain, France and Portugal, the word is TOMATE

In Hungary they call a tomato a PARADICSOM—which also translates to Eden and Paradise.

In Turkey they are DOMATES

In Holland and South Africa, they say TOMAAT.

Finally, I was able to make a Caprese Salad with avocado. Delicious and worth the wait!

Filled with antioxidants, tomatoes are grown all over the globe and are classified as a fruit, but are also called vegetables. The reasons seem mysterious, but it has to do with the seeds. Those little things that move mountains. The stuff empires are built upon. Tiny little seeds.  

Staying Optimistic

 

March 2021 is such an interesting month. By this time, we should have an idea which way things are going. We’ve left the cliff behind, right? After a year like 2020, our ears are perked like Easter bunnies and our eyes focus on the horizon. It's almost St. Patrick's Day when folks hold up a glass and say, Slainte, which means health. Speaking of health, things are better, right?

The future of America depends on kids who can attend school! Teams are waiting for star players, while crickets hang out under the dugout. Libraries are opening but have several restrictions, churches take reservations, restaurants may, or may not, have indoor seating, and you might be able to try on clothes at your favorite department store, but don’t quote me. And, while you’re out and about, don’t get tired, because there are no benches or places to sit. I’m convinced double masking is for the young. I can’t do it.

How about the age limit for a vaccine? Should I skip it all together? Will anyone want to hug or shake hands anymore? Is kissing someone on the cheek forbidden? Dancing? Weddings? Dang, I'm confused.

It’s like that song by The Clash, ‘Should I stay or Should I Go?’ 

Thankfully, there’s one constant--the love in our hearts coming from God. One Alpha and Omega who is the same yesterday, today and forever. I think I’ll focus on that for now.

 Happy St. Patrick's Day to all my friends!

Though I had trouble breathing,
 the merchandise spoke to me. 

You Never Walk Alone

 

As a writer with hobbies like reading, cooking and crocheting, getting exercise is imperative. The last few weeks we’ve had to go on slow, short walks, even though my legs prefer, and need, longer walks. The short walk is about a quarter mile and the long walk is a lovely two miles. While there are a few medium routes that are one mile long, I get overruled on those due to hilly terrain or traffic. Hubs has pain from knee surgery and an old ankle injury. Maybe I was a Labrador retriever in my last life, because I love to go for walks. Short, long or in between, I’m happy with any kind of walk!

Funny thing is, I have a sweet friend who would gladly walk with me and go on long, strenuous walks, but bless her heart, she likes to go fast! She’ll round the corner, shouting and turning back to me, “Hurry up,” she’ll say, “come on!”  But, I don't want to hurry. Being outside is a luxury during a pandemic. We've been cooped up like chickens and locked up like convicts! This is 2021—nothing is fast—why should I be fast?  I like to listen to the birds sing, I like to enjoy the fresh air, the flowers and the all-around scenery, perhaps take photos of a sprouting tree or the yellow underbelly of a finch. Sadly, I told her I’ll walk with my husband, who would rather do just about anything these days, and yet, out of the kindness of his heart, he still acquiesces to the short walk; this is the same guy who once walked 100 miles at one time in the Army!  

When I go alone, I opt for a brisk medium walk. Truth be told, I miss walking my dogs. Pinky is a senior dog and I can’t risk some lightning fast dog approaching her and scaring her to death. She’s been attacked before in La Quinta (Bull dog and Rottweiler-15 stitches), and then almost again when we lost Fiona to a big Belgian Malinois running off leash. Fiona had on a thick camouflaged harness, looking adorable, when out of the blue, tragedy struck.  I picked up Pinky and ran home screaming, “Jesus help me!” Yup, I left Fiona and my husband to die. Fortunately, Steve survived, but after fighting over Fiona, the dog had bit Steve’s throat while looking for his jugular!

Later, when animal control took a report, they told us they weren’t putting the bad dog down, only placing him on house arrest for one year! Just appalling. Sorry for the sad facts, but walking just isn’t the same without your furry friends at your side. And, I suppose as time goes on, I'll be  relegated to going it alone or mopping my floors instead. Housework sucks! 

The thing is, I shouldn’t mind walking alone. After all, I’m never alone, right? Remember that song from the musical “Carousel”, called, “You’ll Never Walk Alone?” Here’s a great rendition: 

Today, I noticed a few chalk drawings in front of the park where Fiona and Steve were attacked. A year and half later, my head still can’t shake those vivid, painful memories. How can something like this happen in our neighborhood? I fight back tears every time I walk by the scene of the bloody event and there, at my feet is a message.  A chalk drawing to remind me--He’s here--wherever I choose to step-- and wherever I intend to go.

Intangible Gratitude

 

As we come to the end of 2020,

 I realize this is the year of the intangible heart.

Days without friends,

celebrations spent apart.

It’s been a year of reflection,

personal growth,

a wild election.

 

Virtual hugs,

helped us avoid

killer germs--disastrous bugs.

And,

while the business world met on zoom,

our goals were to stay clear

of anything resembling a hospital room.

 

Online charity doesn’t feel the same;

I feel like a number,

at least I have a name.

A few dresses in my closet,

have yet to be worn,

but only if things return

to some sense of norm.

 

Al-bums—picture files,

I stalk old photos

searching for smiles,

funny memories,

of travel,

and dogs.

Then there’s music,

Which has a way of making me

rise above complications,

silent,

self-absorbed situations.

 

Suddenly,

I’m kind of domesticated.

There’s cooking, baking,

laundry and more,

putting my heart into whatever I’m making.

Not a bother,

Not a chore.

Maybe a poem,

about staying safe

and wearing a mask.

 

And if ever,

(my intangible heart

is trying to say,)

there was a time,

to get on my knees to pray,

it’d be now.

Merry Christmas to all my friends and family members!

Please stay safe!!

Intangible Grace

There are times the universe will ask you do something in return. Perhaps as payment for the sunny days, the healthy days, the perfect days.

Your resolve doesn’t waver during these times. You focus and follow through and accomplish what is needed with a flourish and a smile.

Later, as all of it comes together and rises to fruition, you wonder how the heck it happened. What made you do it? How in the world was all of it possible?

Your eyes pop open in the middle of the night and you realize this is beyond your doing. You are merely a stronger tool displaying as much grace as possible. A cog in a mighty wheel. A note in a song. A drop of rain in a bucket.

This Saturday, The Legends of Wildomar-Tall Tales will be acted out on stage at Le Grand Playhouse. I wrote one third of the play and two of the songs. I put together the program, had them printed, folded each one by hand with my husband and sister.  I also tried to encourage sponsorship's and inspired my family members to participate. I hung up posters in the park that blew away in the wind.  Since one actor dropped out, I’m double cast! The director wants me to be funnier. I’m expected to change into boots, chew on hay and know my lines. Huh?

The address is 16275 Grand Ave., Lake Elsinore. The play will be on September 7^th and also on the 14th. Tickets are $10 and are available by going online to BRICK or at Facebook events at: https://www.facebook.com/events/2396311220655774/ .

All the ticket proceeds will be going to BRICK, which stands for Brain Research in Cancer Kids which is an affinity of Rady’s Children’s Hospital.

BRICK was started by a family with a toddler, named Les. His grandmother is a friend of mine. Les had a brain tumor that changed his life. He endured countless hours in the hospital, surgeries, radiation, chemotherapy and pain. Most of those things began over 16 years ago.

This Saturday, I am honored and humbled to hear that Les and his parents, will be taking tickets at the door. This is not a tall tale and I have no words.

Beyond Luck

“We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.” Proverbs 16:9

Even the most controlling person in the world, say a four-star General or a CEO, knows that you can’t control everything. Americans feel that way about elections. People who work on live television know they can’t control everything. Go to the intensive care unit and talk to a heart specialist or an oncologist. Nope, can’t control the outcomes. Sadly, even pediatric units are full of young patients.

 But take a person to Vegas and suddenly everyone thinks they can control the odds. They are going to win because they are not losers. They have saved and scrimped so they can win a poker championship or slot tournament and yet, most of the time, in the final minutes, something happens that takes it all away. Every nickel, penny and quarter, not to mention dollar, is gone like a poof of smoke in a magic show. And yet, we don’t give up taking risks. We jaywalk, smoke cigarettes and eat fattening foods. Life is a gamble, isn’t it?

I used to think so. Each time we buckled into our cars, stepped off a curb or took a flight. It all appeared to be a game of chance. Every shopping cart is a 50-50 toss-up regarding germs. Would it be paranoid to think that the percentage against me on handshakes could have been deadly? Maybe it was luck. I had to be lucky to have reached my destinations. I even survived some surgeries. So far, I’m half-way through flu-season and the odds are good, but something tells me it’s not about me being Lady Luck. Sometimes I’m lucky but sometimes I’m not lucky at all.  

Of course, there are superstitions that also work on us everyday. What if we’re booked onto the thirteenth floor? What if the saltshaker is knocked over? Or you step on a crack? What if I didn’t wear my lucky necklace? Or carry my favorite purse? These can continue without end: Leprechauns? Angels? Fairies? Saints? Talismans? Gnomes? Odin? I’ve known sales people who had to run home for their favorite pen before a workday could begin. Don’t most of us have a lucky coin? A rabbit’s foot?  Or a four-leaf clover? Add in horoscopes and the Chinese fortune cookies and pretty soon, you have a massive variety of distractions raising the odds.

Or you can slow down and pray, but I doubt that will give you triple sevens. Right now, I’m working on my manuscript, Penniless Souls, which takes place in Las Vegas. My fictional characters are torn between taking chances and having faith in God. As a woman of faith, I have to admit my love for angels. Which means the people populating my book can be as lucky as I want them to be. Or not. 

Human frailty blows away at the first strong gust of wind, but God's will is solid as granite.  He is love, and works in mysterious ways. His will prevails over our measly wishes.

Don't you think that sometimes, what we perceive as winning, may not be winning at all?

Peaceful Perspectives

Do you prefer original ideas from a famous author?

"Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it can only be attained through understanding." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

The practical sound of science? 

"Peace cannot be kept by force. 

It can only be achieved by understanding." - Albert Einstein

Or...

 Do you find hope and strength in faith? 

"If we have no peace, 

it is because we have forgotten

 that we belong to each other." - Mother Teresa

Abundant Love and Crosses

Luke 15:7-“Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.”

One at a Time

Eve Gaal

Imagine my bewilderment at coming across this

collection of crosses probably made in China.

The cynic in me laughed--

maybe my dark side.

While the best in me hailed it as an achievement

here in our egocentric

capitalistic society.

A display of blatant commercialism

necessitated by

those who thirst for life.

But does it matter?

If even one human being

perhaps while making these crosses,

painting them, packing them, stacking them

begins to believe?

If one sailor on a

giant freighter crossing

through the Panama Canal

lifts one of these boxes and peeks inside.

They’ll decorate walls,

lonely  halls or

the side of roads where hate may have raged.

One mind that reconsiders,

forgives—

a family kept together--

a marriage saved.

A tribute to the fallen--

a comforting memory,

a marker of love.

If only one,

eye rests on the symbol and prays?

If one teenager who loses a friend to drugs

takes a tearful gaze

at the commemorative cross

reflecting on ‘why’.

If one life is saved,

from the clutches of doom—

the fire and fumes--

and one heart has turned toward God--

He will rejoice and be glad.

John 6:35

Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst.”

Social Media Hearts--(A Poem)

Look at the world,

where varied types of hearts commingle.

Some seem fully oxygenated,

gassed up

ready to whirl over others like a lawnmower.

Delete key overload,

parental controls,

a pack of unfriended hearts--

who had once made us smile.

Adult supervision lingers as

spiritual guidance,

legal representation,

group administrators,

and an authoritative boss.

Assisted living pulls hearts into

managed care and hospice.

One end is another beginning.

Wary hearts meekly gasp for air,

a word,

perhaps a meal.

Some are fearful and alone--

they kick--

act embarrassed—

ashamed of the past.

Sad hearts often find themselves mortified to be human.

They feel the species is regressing--

it does sound rather depressing.

And science invented a pill,

increasing serotonin--

flowing with emotional  dopamine

numbing like legalized cannabis.

Look away, look away, look away Dixieland.

Watch the news—hear the fire and the missiles--

see handsome soldiers break their mother’s hearts.

There are evil hearts that stab with knives made of sarcasm.

Sometimes they crawl into the recesses of their ventricles

pushing their own bloody convictions

behind an alias,

a nameless heart.

Cowardly hearts that prey

without a spine.

Waiting for a payoff?

Or simply inebriated?

Unattached and disloyal knights

who don’t care about anybody’s heart.   

Courageous hearts peacefully march for rights.

They proudly protest unfairness.

Stomping out bad hearts with vocalizations,

banners and communal prayer.

Like a roller-coaster—hearts can skyrocket at the medical center.

Hearts come and go.

On foot or carried on a stretcher.

Some have stitches and stents--

some turn to God and repent.

Wild ones twirl like overjoyed ballerinas.

Some people paint dreams around their heart like a picket fence.

They weave through clouds on multi-hued fantasy creatures,

and sing or write poetry about grateful hearts.   

Some are volunteering,

rescuing, knitting or putting out fires.

Millions of magnificent hearts connect into a loving tapestry.

But can honest hearts keep the good from unraveling?

Can we manage the truth behind our limitations,

while guarding innocent hearts?

In Time of Harmony by Paul Signac 1893

#

by Eve Gaal

Bleeping Our Way to Heaven

Is it Newton's third law? For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

A friend of mine recently posted incredible photos involving his jump from a plane. I imagine he had it on his bucket list and wanted everyone to see this amazing, but not surprising achievement. I say not surprising because this is someone who does the inconceivable on a regular basis. In fact, he may even be on one of those waiting lists to ride a rocket into space or he’s currently hiring Sherpas for his hike up K2. Anyway, this post is about a joke he made under his photos about the word he used all the way to the ground. His jump was on a sunny day with favorable conditions and another jumper held onto him with the parachute. In other words, he had a 99% chance of surviving the jump and thank goodness, everything worked out fine. And yet--I can’t really blame him for this but he shouted the word--the f-word—all the way down.

I told this story to another friend of mine who told me that most of the garbled speak on the black boxes they fish out of the ocean or dig out of the ash-filled rubble have nothing but curse words on the tapes. This of course, made me wonder, how I would react, had I jumped from a plane or had landed upside down in a cornfield. When a truck is coming at us, crossing the center divide and it looks like we’re ready to meet our maker, will we use the worst profanity we know how to utter?  Is this subject too morbid to think about or should we address this dire situation before it’s too late?

I pushed my devout friend and wondered how she would react. We both laughed and agreed, that instead of asking the Lord to forgive our sins or perhaps taking those last precious moments to beg for His divine mercy before committing our weary souls to Heaven, we’d be cursing like sailors. So I asked her if she had any ideas about how to deal with our last minute situation, to which she replied, “We need to practice.”

Practice? This left me in a quandary worse than before, when I naively thought my two Chihuahuas would stop fighting some day and peace would reign over the entire world. How do you suppose I should practice? I’ve listened to the clap of thunder hit close by and felt my body shake uncontrollably with fear, while my brain knew I was safe inside a building. Even the logical aspects couldn’t control my severe subconscious response. At least with thunder, there’s the comforting time lapse of one-Mississippi- two Mississippi- three, etc. to reassure us the storm is heading farther away. This doesn’t mean I don’t use expletives but as I age, my response to the thunder controls some of the shaking. Google says that the chance of being hit by lightening in California is 1 in 7,538,382, odds strangely similar to the California lotto. But let’s not digress because this is serious.

 I’m assuming prayer or meditation is part of the “practice” equation but still, isn’t it asking too much of the human brain to stop a normal fear of death during an emotional goodbye? The Bible tells us to “Fear Not,” over three hundred times but our brain synapses can detect danger, which in turn sends impulsive warnings to our vocal chords. Even if we logically and faithfully say we don’t fear death, can we train ourselves not to curse in our final moments? After all, doesn’t it sound like a good idea to be heading to the Pearly Gates without vulgarities flying left and right? Do you have any suggestions?

Will My Character believe Christina's Story?

    My nervous character, Father Joe, suddenly feels insecure around two well-known and honorable men of the cloth affiliated with the Basilica in Chicago. They arrived on his invitation to deal with a young girl named Christina who could potentially cause trouble. All of it is giving him nightmares! Here's an excerpt taking place as Father Joe picks them up at the station:

From Chapter 10 of The Fifth Commandment

On sale September 24th thru the 30th

 “Hey, how was the trip?” Father Joe started the car. It was a beige Volvo with 259,000 miles on the odometer. 

     “Fine, except we were a bit rushed due to traffic.” Trying to keep their anxious excitement to a minimum, they continued with small talk about the weather and the train amenities. “How about you?  Anything new since last night?”

   He chocked the vision of Jesus on the side of the church to shadows playing with his mind—but later that evening he had a powerful dream. “Not really, but I’m feeling strange about this whole thing. Our little parish can’t handle the publicity. Imagine what would happen if this leaked out?” He turned on the blinkers and turned into the church parking lot. “Don’t you remember what happened in Medugorje?  Thousands flocked to the tiny village….”

     “Yeah, we remember, Joe” Father George interrupted. “I’ve been there.”

     Father Andrew laughed, “Heck people even pay big money on EBAY for granola clusters shaped like Moses holding stone tablets.”

     “I guess I’m just worried about my generous parishioners. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of their kindness,” Father Joe said as he led the way into his office. “Besides, I had a horrible dream last night.”

“You saw St. Peter?” Andrew quipped.

Father George laughed. “No,” Father Joe explained. “It was us in purgatory. Sadly, I think Christina was there too.”

“Oooh, tell us more,” they smiled and followed each other inside.

“I will, but hold on for a second. There’s a lot going on.”

     “Well, to be perfectly honest with you Joe, I’m kind of excited.” Father Andrew said, searching the room for a plug for his tape-recorder. “Don’t worry, this won’t be another Fatima for goodness sake, have some faith. This is probably the most exciting thing to happen in Normal, Illinois. It could be the economic boost this area needs right now.”

     The office lights were off. Father Joe went to the window first, opening the blinds. It was ten minutes after four. Then he stood up, walked back towards the door and turned on the overhead lights before sitting down at his desk.

“Now, tell us about your dream, Joe.” Father Andrew always loved tales of intrigue.

     “Wasn’t she supposed to be here at four?” Father George asked, as he took his place on the foldout chair.

     “Don’t worry, any teenager wanting as much attention as she does will be here.” He shuffled more bulletins and decided to tell them about his dream while waiting. “Drink anyone?” Father Joe needed one, but waited for them to gently decline. He enjoyed their company, but thought they were a wee bit pedantic. The scholars he knew weren’t as serious as these two and all his friends in school drank wine and scotch like giant beluga whales being released from captivity. They were bigger actors than Christina--all a bunch of phonies. Didn’t they see this hoax for what it really was? He took it to be a young girl’s desperate cry for attention. Why did they need to drag this out for almost a week now? Didn’t they have better things to do than hang out in his parish?

Will Father Joe come to believe Christina's unusual story?

Want to hear about his dream?

Then click here to order your copy of The Fifth Commandment today!

The Fabric of Love

Psalm 13913: You formed my inmost being; you knit me in my mother's womb.

I’m winding prayers onto spools.

Every night

and morning—

In between-- 
for those who need it.

A sort of Oompa Loompa

feeding into the atmosphere with

material made of my soul.

Fortunately,

I’m not alone.

This colorful tapestry of prayer

can unravel like crocheted pieces

that need to be reworked.

Quite a global mega project.

When hearts are bursting with pain,

We clasp hands to each other embracing those we love--

Kiss them on the cheek--

glad they’re alive.

We are knit together.

Collective tears drop into floods--

 or get lost in rubble--

quakes in Italy--

homes burning in California.

There are children running from bombs in 2016!

Babies are dying.

It’s time to untangle the anger.

And some people

add to the drama

because they are mad

sad

or just plain bad.

Children dodging bombs in Syria?

Shootings here--there and everywhere?

A 7 year old tried to sell his teddy bear for food—last week in Ohio.

Here--in the U.S. A.

We’re up to our ears in knots!

Can we weave our prayers together?

A tighter--powerful hold—

create a peaceful pattern--

double and triple stitched from the spools of our prayers?

Dealing With Premonitions

Some people might call it a strength and others a weakness but to me premonitions are an unwanted, possibly hellish burden. A warning with a shocking message attached to it. It’s a questionable and foreboding suggestion wanting my support and trust. And like omens, I feel they come from a dark and unnatural, foreboding place. Unlike death and taxes the two infamous things looming on the horizon that we can all predict—to a point. For me personally, there are just enough foreshadowing thoughts basking around in the crevices of my brain to freak me out and keep me on my mortal toes.

Pretty sight from yesterday's walk

But the sun comes up and hopefully the flowers will bloom and that’s how far we--as humans--normally reach because we don’t have any idea how—exactly--the flowers will bloom—what will be the shape, size, scent and color. Will they bring friends such as butterflies and birds? Will it be a huge mega blossom leaning to the right or will there be a galaxy of small starry blooms creating a chorus-- rather than one or two headliners stealing the show?

 I put my faith in God and have to question things that don’t sound, or look right. I’m disgusted about the fact that I have what I perceive as ‘negative’ powers because—please sing along-- “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.” I’m talking about premonitions—or inclinations based on intuition that something ominous will happen-- not good, happy things. The word premonition has negative connotations and most people know I’m a glass is half full, hopeless optimist. Sometimes however-- despite all my analytical skills and faith-- there are people—accidents—doctors--things that shout me down to size, wallop me on the head and shock the dickens out of Christmas. In other words, it’s not foolproof and I get big, sad surprises too.

 Sometimes these premonitions come to me in my dreams or while driving. My first manuscript is a story woven together from several of these dreams called The Fifth Commandment. It took me years to gather my courage to publish it as a short novella and now  I’ve finally released it for editing--hoping that by putting it out there—releasing into the wild-- my mind can move back to finishing my WIP/the sequel to my romantic novel, Penniless Hearts.

 As far as premonitions, here are a few of my frightening examples:

 I write a hypothetical –fiction--blog post and something happens to make it true.

I’ve answered the phone knowing who is on the other end.

And it can be much much worse—even deadly.

Imagine driving down the road and I’m your passenger. A car speeds by and I say something like, “that guy should slow down or he might meet his maker.” Sure enough, one minute later, we see that same car and it’s totaled. I hold my breath and begin to shake. 

Or the bus trip to Laughlin. I had ridden hundreds of buses but why did I say, “This one is going to break down,” five minutes before we were standing on the side of the road waiting for a replacement? My seatmate joked that the whole fiasco was my fault!

There are many ways to help clear my mind but here are my top six:

 1. Meditate 2. Breathing exercises 3. Spend time in nature 4. Walk my dogs 5. Pray 6. Write or journal

What I’d like to know is why a premonition isn’t a positive thing? As in, why can’t I come up with winning Lotto numbers ahead of time or find out some good news before anyone else? Why aren’t we privy to how the flower will turn toward the sun and blossom on your birthday? Is it because good things are supposed to be surprises? And what about super bad stuff that surprises us—takes us for a loop no matter how sensitive we are to predicting the worst. If we knew all the good things that will happen to us, would we wade through all the bad? Probably not. (Although many great books of fiction start out slow—and end up having exciting plots that you couldn’t predict.)



What about you—have you had any premonitions lately?

Do You Believe?--(Two Poems & more)

I'm putting two weeks into one for a double-scoop of Intangible ice-cream on a waffle-cone post
 to wish you all a fairly sober St. Patrick's Day
 and a chocolate bunny-filled Easter.

I wrote this poem last year for something called

 Poem-a-Day in April of last year and thought it

 might make a nice Easter related post.

On the Secret Subject of Faith

How did that happen?

Can you explain it?

No, No, No, for the third time.

It’s a miracle.

No, it’s not.

It is.

I don’t believe it.

Forget it.

I will not forget it.

See? You do believe it.

Shhh! No, I don’t.

Yes, you do or you’d forget it.

Well something happened.

That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.

Well, how did it happen?

I have no idea.

It’s too weird.

I agree but it happened.

Maybe we shouldn’t tell anyone.

Why not, it’s amazing?

True that, but....

---------------Eve Gaal

"Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies." Mother Teresa

Breaking News: Today from CBS
March 15, 2016- Pope Francis announced Mother Teresa, known around the world for her work with the poorest people in India will become a saint on the fourth of September due to two proven miracles that have been attributed to the nun from Calcutta.

"Intense love does not measure, it just gives." Mother Teresa

Please Don't Give Up on God!

We have some friends who don’t believe anymore. They have told us they flat-out don’t believe in God. While we respect their beliefs, it makes us wonder if they are grateful for the food they eat or the air they breathe and if so, who would be the one they show appreciation towards for the songs coming from the trees and the flowers blooming at the gate. Hard to imagine they don’t care to thank anyone for Monarch butterflies, hummingbirds and violets and are never thankful for anything. Oh well, The Doors had the right lyrics: "People are strange...."

Contemplating my own difficulties made me write this poem: 

Unanswered Prayer

You prayed on your knees.

You closed your eyes for emphasis.

You tagged along with others and felt like drinking the holy water.

You read His Word,

 in His Book.

You highlighted, shared, witnessed and

prayed some more.

and yet....

Something horrible happened

that seemed like He wasn’t listening.

But you know He heard you.

He listened to you before.

He answered other prayers.

This, however was a big request.

A doozy.

               He did what He thought was necessary.

              Things we can’t understand.

And yet. ...

Though your heart felt like it would fall out onto the dusty floor.

You retained your faith.

Kept up hope that someday you’d comprehend it all.

You worshiped more than ever before.

Even while assembling shredded pieces of your heart. 

The world is full of so many distractions that the least we can do is pause in front of the marshmallow chicks at the supermarket to contemplate the meaning of Easter. I hope your heart will feel lifted, renewed and filled with the spring promise of the Lord's resurrection. And for those who don't believe, for whatever reason, my repentant heart is convinced that God loves you too.

Do you believe?

A piece from a famous painting called The Blessed Path by Charles Dulac-See the entire picture here.