When we brought Cindy home, she was taller than I was. Cindy was our Blue Murrell Collie- a Lassie-like dog. She was my best friend. Later when I started kindergarten, I couldn't wait to go home and teach Cindy what I was learning. Ok, so I was a little strange! :)

But she was my first student. That dog didn't mind one bit. She was always happy to see me. I could tell because she would leap up with her tail a waging ready to knock down anything in its path to lick my face and welcome me home.

It is dogs like this that Organic dog food is made for!

A Single Conversation Can Change Your Life

"A single conversation can change your life."

"I can believe that could be possible for some people."

"Do you think that it is possible for you?"

"One time I had a conversation that really seemed to be a divine appointment. I was vacationing in Branson when I felt as though I had entered into the most prophetic discussion of my young life. I still think about that vacation and that conversation and wonder what if I had followed that trail. Where would I be today? But even more important, that very conversation was the seed for something that might soon fruit in my life today."

"Sometimes when a person is on vacation, they are more receptive to the possibilities that are available to them. Life is certainly whatever you choose to make it. But even when we don't embrace something at its original entrance in our lives, God doesn't forget. Perhaps it is not time yet. Perhaps the time is just around the corner."

In a world deliciously removed from lectures and homework, and the nightly long distance telephone calls that always ended in sobs of sadness, we discovered the joie de vivre of life near the Ozarks of Missouri.

My pillsbury dough boy had arrived from Chicago for a long weekend. We stole away from the small private woman's campus that my father had sent me to, to keep me away from this beau of mine, and drove the country roads to the Little Switzerland of America- a quaint little town in Arkansas on a lake.

In a lodge nestled in the mountains we dreamed of the life we would live. Ah, so many dreams we shared that weekend. Recalling that priceless weekend I realize that the story would make a fabulous movie on the big screen.

I can still see Ted fishing into the hatchback of his economy car circa 1970's and drawing out the ancient and mysterious fishing tackle box that we found on a trail in the woods.

Someday perhaps I will write a screenplay about our adventure. It will surely touch the hearts of audiences everywhere.

Gone were the brittle and cracked, sun-bleached leathery seats. The seats of the Lilliemobile were reborn and fashioned of fine downy white-goose cushions covered in yellow and white gingham check cloth of a high Egyptian thread count.

A flouncy skirt covered the sides and fell in graceful ruffles along the floorboard.

Strategically positioned was Lillie's Portable Water Filters.

The Passionate Journey was another book idea that bloomed in the garden of my mind.

My mind is a veritable garden of story starters, plots and made-for screen scenes.

Problem is they rarely move beyond the secret and aging files of my mind. For me they make my head a fun place to hang out, but perhaps they are really meant to be shared.

I see them in bold living color with intricate emotions and scents, that roll in my brain like cinema on the big screen.

In one scene, the characters jaunt to an Eden-like paradise for a 1940's Florida vacation, stopping along the way to visit at Cross Creek with Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.

A Sacred Outpouring From Another World

For me the passionate journey involves volumes of written work. I'm always writing.

In fact I think I was born to write. Writing helps me to enter the deepest regions of my soul. Writing helps me to clarify what I really want to accomplish with my life.

Sometimes when I am writing in a journal, I catch a glimpse of an illuminating point at the tip of the writing pens, where it intersects the page. While there is no real clue to this odd phenomena, I believe it to be a divine illumination from the heavens above, especially in light of some of the work that flows when I know that no one else will read my work. When I reread it I am suprised by the lyrical beauty of the words and the message. If only I could write like that when I knew someone else would be reading it. but in those moments when the words flood the page, I often think that I am merely an open and willing channel for a sacred outpouring from another world.