Potato Couch – Page 7 – Rebekah Lyn Books

Hello friends

Come sit with us on the potato couch, the seat of all inspiration, and friendship. Thanks for joining us. It was lovely to hear back from you. We appreciate the long and priceless association we have with you and look forward to getting to know you better.

I was twelve the first and only time I went to church camp. It was near Colorado Springs. We learned a campfire song: “It’s love, it’s love, it’s love that makes the world go round. Oh, we’re sailing over the ocean, we’re sailing over the sea, we’re sailing over the ocean and the deep blue sea.” Those simple words carry the meaning of our relationship with God and with people, and I decided to explore them to the best of my ability for the rest of my life. I have done so and it has been a delight to focus in that way.

We hope to share some of the love and joy we have in people, in writing and in prayer. Perhaps that is in reverse order, because to us, in reality it’s prayer that makes love move around. We will want to know what you think and we would love to hear your ideas about how we are doing with the website. Know that we will be praying for all our readers and friends and hoping that you will be praying for us too.

Love, DiVoran

I Stole a Muffin

Today, Memorial Day, I stole a muffin from a gas/convenience store.

Honestly I didn’t mean to steal it. I didn’t even need it, I wasn’t hungry, but how often do you pass up what you think is going to be a free muffin? I could have had a raised donut, which I like better, but one of those giant muffins, cut in quarters, will last me four days.

Anyhow, here’s how it happened, I go in to use the restroom and it turns out to be the best looking roadside convenience store I’ve ever been in. I have seen some, believe me!

Spacious, clean, the employees wear blue and white uniforms, and the one handling the food wears white silicone gloves and a hairnet. The bathroom is pristine clean. I am so impressed I want to fill out a little comment card and give the workers a lift for their troubles. The girl at the check-out looks up with a tired face that soon becomes a smiling one as she hustles to get a receipt (even though I hadn’t bought anything) that had on it how to offer a comment to head-quarters. Oh, good these hard-working people will get national recognition because of my small good deed for the day. She shows me the information to use to do the deed. Okay, I can make a phone call, or looky, there’s a place where you can go on-line. I have some trouble with that sometimes, so I think a cozy chat on the phone making someone feel good will be just the ticket.

After the associate hands me the receipt with all the information she says, “For doing this, you get a free baked goodie.”

“Oh, boy, I say, “I didn’t know that!” and go right over to the clear Lucite case that holds the jewels: raised donuts, crullers, chocolate éclairs, and giant muffins. They have frosted bags to put them in and long tongs with which to grab them. I carefully select a muffin because if I cut it in quarters it will last me four days, When I look around for the girl who said I could have it, I saw that she was busy so I just raised the bag in a salute and smiled and turned to go on my way. She did look harried. It made me feel good that she need not bother with me again,

I came home and, looking forward to a cozy chat, I used my home phone to call and tell someone how much I liked their store. Well, now sometimes, I’m almost too naïve to live. Of course there was no cozy chat. I followed the numbers the best I could. Press one for English and so on. After the auto-phone-robot asked how much money I spent and I successfully pressed 0 it asked why I went in there. Fortunately bathroom was on the list and I triumphantly pressed 3. Usually there’s a stumper and no one to explain to, but in this case, everything was going better than expected. They asked for my zipcode and I knew that all right. Then they asked if I bought just gas, just product, or gas and product. Zero didn’t work this time. I punched it twice and then the third time I held it down. Wouldn’t that be a good way to get a human operator? Well, no. It came back and said it didn’t understand me and that I should call back another time. Unsaid was: (WHEN YOU GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER, DUMMY). I set the phone gently on its stand.

Now I’m an hour away from that place, I have cut up the muffin and put it in the refrigerator. One quarter of it waits for afternoon coffee time. I read the receipt to try to figure out what to do now. At the bottom it gives me the number I am supposed to use to redeem my muffin after I have done all this reporting stuff. I definitely owe them! I decide to go for the website, which can be a jungle for me.

I got there all right, but then I was stuck at a screen asking me to tell them how old I was. I skipped that one, but the next one wanted to know how much education I had, and after that they wanted to know when I graduated from high school. Their numbers didn’t go back that far so I pressed the last one. They said that one or earlier so I was still trying to be honest.

When I got to the end of the trail, I realized someone wanted to invite me to pay them money to educate me. It had nothing to do with muffins or the convenience store either. There were no little xs anywhere, and I couldn’t get back to the store site, so I gave up.

What now? If I ever go back to that town again I could try to stop in and pay for the muffin, but I’ll bet they would want me to do it by phone or online, and I know by now that just won’t work. Anyhow, I’m sorry I can’t tell you where to find that beautiful convenience store. I can’t tell you because, well, you see I’m on the lam and they if saw this they might send the muffin man after me.

Ephesians 4:28 Let him who steals, steal no more.

The Song of My Life

I love singing with the praise team at church. Our director has an astonishing talent. We are a small congregation, none of us formally trained in music except for singing most of our lives. We do it all by ear, including the musicians. I’m not sure how we sound, but for me, singing is like art, I like to do well and be appreciated, but the most important thing is the doing of either one. I read today, May 5, in Streams in the Desert about not letting the song go out of my life. We can,

“sing our cares away easier than we can reason them away.”

This means we can choose to worry and fret; we can try to figure things out for ourselves, or we can tell God about our experiences, our thoughts, and our fears, and ask him for wisdom and guidance. Many times he will fight the battles for us. We’ll look around and the problems have melted. That’s what can come of thanking Him, praising Him, and singing to Him when we have needs or when we wish to express our gratitude to Him for all the love and grace he has poured into our lives.

A Handwritten Card

When I was younger, I decided not to fall into the trap so many older people live in, with several dates a month marked for the purpose of going to the doctor. However, you know what Robert Burns said, “The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglay.” Last week I visited three doctors with a member of the family in two days and this week, for various reasons I will have been in waiting rooms every day except Monday and Wednesday (twice on Thursday).

I get tired of passive things like reading, listening to audio stories, watching TV. (I never do that anyway), but I don’t knit or crochet, so I’m coming up with a new plan. I will take a small packet of paper; pens, maybe watercolor crayons and either write notes or draw a bit.

Emails are a big thing now, but writing notes and letters on paper has been part of my life since I was a child and I still get the urge to do it when I’m waiting. Mother and I wrote to each other every week. I still have all her letters and she kept mine up to her last days. When I was twelve and moved away, my best friend and I wrote each other every day. Recently, we wrote our schooldays memoirs together, but that was by computer. Out of habit, I hurry to the mailbox every day expecting something, but usually it contains only commercial mail, so I take that in, sort it out, and throw most of it away.

On my last run to the SPCA store, I got a thin book that reminds me of Alexander Stoddard’s beautiful, Gift of a Letter. It’s called, The Art of the Handwritten Note: A Guide to Reclaiming Civilized Communication
, this one by Margaret Shepherd.

Realizing how happy it made me to read another book about the subject, I realized I missed writing and receiving handwritten notes more than I knew and decided there was no reason not to take it up again.

Ms. Shepherd says, “Writing by hand makes you look good on paper and feel good inside. Even an ordinary handwritten note is better than the best email, and a good handwritten note on the right occasion is a work of art.”

One thing I’ve always loved about notes is that you can save them and re-read them. I know you can do that with emails, and I do have a file, but for some reason, once they’re out of sight, I never take the time to look at them.

“Art Has Always Survived Technology,” says Margaret Shepherd. I agree. It takes about a minute to write a note, so I’ve put a small pad of paper in my purse and some cards in the door pocket of my car. Last Tuesday I wrote a note to my son, (who, because he lives in another town, always sends a handwritten note on birthdays and mother’s days) and one to our pastor’s wife who did my family a big favor. She is also a card-sender and note writer, so it was a pleasure.

Don’t get me wrong I like to get emails, and I enjoy writing them. It isn’t one or the other, for me, but both. It’s something I’ve missed for many years. Are you missing it too?