April 14, 2004 5:25 P.M.

PAGE ONE

I have been down this road so many times before. I feel as though I know every jagged crack in its surface. Every place where puddles of water collect after an afternoon shower. It is early June, and I have come back for a visit. As I have so many times in the past, I kick off my shoes, and feel the warm combination of the moist soil and thin pavement, pressed together by the passage of time. My feet are still sensitive from being protected by winter shoes. They will be conditioned soon to shoeless walking, but just now, as I step gingerly along the path, I feel a tiny pebble press into the bottom of my foot. I startle, lift my leg, and brush the rock into the grass. I want to trace the meandering crack in the pavement, following it along with my toes, watching out for the collected muddy pools narrowing my footpath to cross almost as a slippery bridge, in places. I pause and breathe in deeply. The fragrance of rain upon new grass is sweet and refreshing. The sunlight warms my skin. I edge off the path. Bare feet on damp grass. I wiggle my toes into the soft green turf, and feel restored and filled with peace. A mare in the field beyond the fence whinnies softly. I hear the slapping sound of her shaking off the moisture from rain�or shaking off flies�or, perhaps it is just a sleepy stretching. It is too early in the Kentucky summer for the cicadas to be singing their mid-summer song. Leaves gently rustling, the buzz of a fly, the snort and shake of the horse - are the only sounds to be heard. The road ahead curves out of sight around a bend and disappears into the leafy low-hanging boughs of trees. I stand silently in awe of nature�s way of perpetuating itself�its seemingly eternal nature. I have changed from childhood to adulthood, to�, but this remains the same. Year after year, the gentle rains fall upon the soil. Puddles form, and green appears. Breezes blow. Flies swarm. The sun brings warmth. The trees cast their long shadows across each path. I will come and go. These remain. And there is strength in that.

Note: This photo was taken by Adam Jones of Louisville, Kentucky. It could have been �my� road. This is where I was born, grew up, married and started out my life. I have walked down �this� road�somewhere�sometime before. Surely.

So often, when I see a photo, I want to �write about it�, or sometimes I write a brief poem. Photos seem to bring this out- almost more than actually being there. I am not sure just why this is true.

PAGE TWO

I promised you some photos of my kitchen. The �old� kitchen photos didn�t come out well. But here are a couple photos of the kitchen with new appliances and new lighting. The ceiling still has to be patched and painted because of the removal of the previous light fixtures.

And this was getting ready for Easter.

PAGE THREE

In his book "Living Life on Purpose", Greg Anderson shares the story of one man's journey back to the lost joy of living: His wife had left him and he was completely depressed. He had lost faith in himself, in other people, in God--he found no joy in anything.

One rainy morning this man went to a small neighborhood restaurant for breakfast. Although several people were at the diner, no one was speaking to anyone else. Our miserable friend hunched over the counter, stirring his coffee with a spoon.

In one of the small booths along the window was a young mother with a little girl. They had just been served their food when the little girl broke the sad silence by almost shouting, "Momma, why don't we say our prayers here?"

The waitress who had just served their breakfast turned around and said, "Sure, honey, we pray here. Will you say the prayer for us?" And she turned and looked at the rest of the people in the restaurant and said, "Bow your heads."

Surprisingly, one by one, the heads went down. The little girl then bowed her head, folded her hands, and said, "God is great, God is good, and we thank him for our food. Amen."

That prayer changed the entire atmosphere. People began to talk with one another. The waitress said, "We should do that every morning."

"All of a sudden," said our friend, "my whole frame of mind started to improve. From that little girl's example, I started to thank God for all that I did have and stop majoring in all that I didn't have. I started to choose happiness."

This little story was part of a �prayer email� that Eleanor, a minister friend of mine in Illinois sends regularly to a web group.

That last phrase: �I started to choose happiness� really hit me when I read this story. If you have been reading the �Homespun Philosopher� for any length of time, you know that is an area I struggle with on an everyday basis. But it is a very important subject. Dennis Prager, well-known talk show host, commentator and Jewish Bible teacher has written a book entitled �Happiness is a Difficult Thing�. It is well worth reading.

Gratitude is the attitude which opens the door to happiness.

Thanks for reading! You make me happy.

Text � copyright 2003 - 2008 The Homespun Philosopher

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