I felt so Unwanted.

Ok so my last post hit an all time record of the least number of comments ever. I began to ask if it was at all worth it all this writing and nobody listening. There are so many other things I could do with the time. Then I thought about how busy I have been these last few weeks and how busy everybody else must be. On top of all the problems with the snow comes the preparations for Christmas. So instead of feeling unwanted and sorry for me I thought about all those busy people out there in blogger land.

I dragged through all the stories and information I have gathered wondering what to put on here at this time. Then I remembered the professor who was doing some research into what young people thought of love. Some of these make me smile and some of them make me think.

He asked a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, "What does love mean?" The answers he got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined.



"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love." Rebecca - age 8



When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth." Billy - age 4



"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other." Karl - age 5



"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs." Chrissy - age 6



"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired." Terri - age 4



Love is when my mum makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK." Danny - age 7



"Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss" Emily - age 8



"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen," Bobby - age 7 (Wow!)



"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate," Nikka - age 6



"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday." Noelle - age 7



"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well." Tommy - age 6



"During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore," Cindy - age 8



"My mum loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night." Clare - age 6



"Love is when Mum gives Daddy the best piece of chicken." Elaine -age 5



"Love is when Mum sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford." Chris - age 7



"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones." Lauren - age 4



"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you." Karen - age 7



"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget," Jessica - age 8



A minister once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child. The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbour was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his Mother asked him what he had said to the neighbour, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."

They make Me Smile

They make Me Smile

Well yesterday was most certainly a very mixed day of surprises and thoughts. It began with me deciding that I was feeling a lot better than I had in a long time, well enough to maybe even consider getting ready to take part in a race. I thought the best way to test this out was to go forth on my morning run and do a measured distance of a 10k run, 6.2 miles. My thinking was if I could do this in a reasonable time with a bit of training maybe I could manage a not too bad race around my birthday time. I did just that and was happy to discover that I could in fact do it in a reasonable time for my age.

In the process though, I very nearly got killed. I was running along a country road with no pavements. I was tight into the edge and running towards oncoming traffic. I was wearing bright yellow gear so could be seen for miles. Yet a car sped towards me the driver in a dream as he passed I felt the car rubbing along my leg and side. The driver awoke with a shock and had the nerve to blow his horn at me and wave two fingers at me. Amazing how such an experience makes you want to take stock.

Later in the day I got a message to tell me the painting I have used here sold. Another reason to stop, and take stock of what I am doing. There are still one or two people who seem to like my artwork.

The title of this painting came to me from a lovely remembrance of a dear old lady who lived in my parish. Let me share this with you.

I had a large, and I do mean large lawn when I was a minister. Like most people I spent a bit of time cutting and cultivating it. I had a neighbour who did the same with his. One day he was passing and commented that I had a not too bad crop of daises on my lawn. This prompted me to work even harder to have the kind of lawn you could putt a golf ball on.

Around about this time my wife said to me that the old lady in question had a lot of daises growing in her lawn and that it was getting long. She wondered if maybe I could find time to go down and give it a cut for her. I liked the old lady and was more than willing to do just that. I went down to see her. When I arrived she was sitting in the back garden. She invited me to join her and to go pour myself a coffee. As we sat, she began to say, “My the daises are so beautiful, how they open out and almost smile at you. They fill me with a feeling of love and happiness. It is such a shame all you folks spend so much time trying so hard to just get a green lawn. Look at what you are all missing.”

I did not offer to cut the lawn instead I say and enjoyed the daises. I have never had the same need to have a pristine lawn ever again.

This painting I sold was not of daises but sunflowers, but they reminded me of my dear old friend and her daises. So I called it, They Make Me Smile.

My old friend when she died she was buried in the local graveyard. In the summer there is always a lovely crop of daises on her grave. They remind everybody of her love.

When is a daisy a weed? Only when it is in the wrong lawn.

Have a nice day.

I am no longer linking to my other blog because I intend to stop writing it hoping that those who read it might come and join me here.

It Is What Lies In The Heart That Really Matters.

I mentioned that I visited a little village that sits in the very heart of Edinburgh the capital of Scotland. Let me tell you just a bit more about this. For most visitors to Edinburgh its main street is its centre. Princess Street has on one side the castle towering above the city. Also on that side is at street level its beautiful gardens with its art galleries built in classical style. For many this is the heart of Edinburgh. If this was in fact the case Edinburgh would be pretty much like many other cities.

But not far off this main street lies a little cobble street that leads down into a little village that has been there since Edinburgh was just in its infancy. It is possible to walk through the village and all the way to the sea following the river of Leith never ever more than a few hundred yards from all the buzz of city life.

It is little wonder I love this city, because it has a beating heart at its centre.

I heard the other day that the heart is more akin to the brain that we ever knew before. Well scientifically maybe that is true but we all knew the importance of the heart. "Countenance is a press conference that your face calls to give the state of union of your inner heart." In other words the face merely reflects the inner you.

On being asked how he won a race a famous runner said, “Easy I just threw my heart into it and my body followed.”

I remember when I was fairly young I went with a friend to stay with her grandmother. Her grandmother lived directly under the Forth Rail Bridge. Trains roll over this bridge day and night. The first time I heard it in her home I almost had a heart attack, she on the other hand never seemed to notice. She said she had hardened her heart to the sound and now she did not notice at all.

The same hardening process can occur when friends speak to us and we don not respond. Eventually we stop hearing them all together. I have a silent vow I make frequently that I will never ever ignore the voice of another and especially not that of my friends.

So if I do not comment on your blog as often as I would like please trust and believe me it is not because I do not want to it is often just simply that I am responding to another voice but I still hold yours dear in my mind.



It is not the face or the words but what lies in the heart that makes us what we are. Tend to the heart and the rest will come easily.



This is the way of the Tao.



Today I will put two pictures on here of the heart of Edinburgh and one on my other blog. I hope you agree that not many cities have a beating heart like this.

This blog is linked to my other. The Beating Heart Of A City

The Empty Box

Do you ever feel down and cannot understand why or how to get out of it? I am a person, who because of the intensity of how I feel about life. have those times I call the dark nights. They creep up on me; often this happens after a real period of creativity. Bang, before I know it I am on the floor. I used to get deeply concerned about this and the result was always the same it got worse. Then I found a little event that gave me a way to shorten these events, not stop them. Let me share it with you and then offer you a gift.


The story is about a father and his daughter. He was sitting reading a book while his daughter was busy on the other side of the room. He happened to notice she was using a sheet of gold paper that had been bought for wrapping Christmas presents. He gave the girl a ticking of for wasting what was a sheet of expensive paper.

The next morning, Christmas day, the daughter handed her father a present of a box wrapped in golden paper. “This is a special present just for you daddy,” she said. He was ashamed that he had made comments the day before. he opened the present to find an empty box.

“Do you not know when you give somebody a present you are supposed to put something in it,” he said. “Oh I did said the little girl. I blew lots of little kisses into that box just for you, because I love you so much.” The father, ashamed for the second time sat with the tears running down his cheeks.

The box was kept for years. Every time he felt down he got the box out and opened it and took out one of the kisses and remembered how blessed he was.

I have one of those boxes. It is filled with the memories of all the wonderful things that have been said to me and done for me. When I ham down I close my eyes and take it off the shelf and open it and remember one of those precious moments.

It is a wonderful box because it gets fuller and fuller as the years go on. It is a magic box a bit like a compost bin, no matter how much I put in it there always seems room for more.

Yesterday was my lucky day. I was able to procure a large quantity of these boxes and if you would like one just let me know.

This blog is linked to my other: The Wee Burn

It Is Never Too Late To say I Love You

Every so often somebody thanks me for this blog and I feel overwhelmed. I am a very fortunate person to have so many lovely people reading this and leaving comments. I read all of your blogs and some days make comments but every day I leave this computer to face the day uplifted from reading what others are saying and doing.


This thought, and some comments I read on a blog yesterday brought back many moments from my past where I have just smiled. Let me explain. Somebody was speaking of her husband and how he is so different from her and how sometimes she wish he was more thoughtful and deep in discussion. In the next sentence she said how much she loved him. This brought a number of comments from readers saying something similar. I laughed.

The number of times in my ministry I heard husbands and wives telling me little such secrets. Ignoring the shortcoming, and confessing the love. I always had the same response, “You really should be telling your husband/wife this not me. Do it before it is too late.”

Let me tell you a lovely story, well it moved me.

There was once a man and woman who had been married for more than 60 years. They had shared everything. They had talked about everything. They had kept no secrets from each other except that the little old woman had a shoe box in the top of her closet that she had cautioned her husband never to open or ask her about. For all of these years, he had never thought about the box, but one day the little old woman got very sick and the doctor said she would not recover. In trying to sort out their affairs, the little old man took down the shoe box and took it to his wife's bedside. She agreed that it was time that he should know what was in the box. When he opened it, he found two crocheted doilies and a stack of money totalling £15,000. He asked her about the contents. "When we were to be married," she said, "My grandmother told me the secret of a happy marriage was to never argue. She told me that if I ever got angry with you, I should just keep quiet and crochet a doily." The little old man was so moved; he had to fight back tears. Only two precious doilies were in the box. She had only been angry with him twice in all those years of living and loving. He almost burst with happiness. "Honey," he said, "that explains the doilies, but what about all of this money? Where did it come from?" "Oh," she said, "That’s the money I made from selling the doilies."

I wonder what it is that my wife keeps in that big chest hidden in her wardrobe

This blog is linked to my other. Too Late To Crow Today

To Feel respected and Loved is a Joy

Long ago, in the hills of the Himalayas near a lotus pool, there was once born a baby elephant. He was a magnificent elephant, pure white with feet and face the colour of coral. His trunk gleamed like a silver rope and his ivory tusks curled up in a long arc.


He followed his mother everywhere. She plucked the tenderest leaves and sweetest mangoes from the tall trees and gave them to him. "First you, then me," she said. She bathed him in the cool lotus pool among the fragrant flowers. Drawing the sparkling water up in her trunk, she sprayed him over the top of his head and back until he shone. Then filling his trunk with water, he took careful aim and squirted a perfect geyser right between his mother's eyes. Without blinking, she squirted him back. And back and forth, they gleefully squirted and splashed each other. Splish! Splash!

Then they rested in the soft muck with their trunks curled together. In the deep shadows of afternoon, the mother elephant rested in the shade of a rose-apple tree and watched her son romp and frolic with the other baby elephants.

The little elephant grew and grew until he was the tallest and strongest young bull in the herd. And while he grew taller and stronger, his mother grew older and older. Her tusks were yellow and broken and in time she became blind. The young elephant plucked the tenderest leaves and sweetest mangoes from the tall trees and gave them to his dear old blind mother. "First you, then me," he said.

He bathed her in the cool lotus pool among the fragrant flowers. Drawing the sparkling water up in his trunk, he sprayed her over the top of her head and back until she shone. Then they rested in the soft muck with their trunks curled together. In the deep shadows of afternoon, the young elephant guided his mother to the shade of a rose-apple tree. Then he went roaming with the other elephants. One day a king was hunting and spied the beautiful white

elephant. "What a splendid animal! I must have him to ride upon!" So the king captured the elephant and put him in the royal stable. He adorned him with silk and jewels and garlands of lotus flowers. He gave him sweet grass and juicy plums and filled his trough with pure water.

But the young elephant would not eat or drink. He wept and wept, growing thinner each day. "Noble elephant," said the king, "I adorn you with silk and jewels. I give you the finest food and the purest water, yet you do not eat or drink. What will please you?" The young elephant said, "Silk and jewels, food and drink do not make me happy. My blind old mother is alone in the forest with no one to care for her. Though I may die, I will take no food or water until I give some to her first."

The king said, "Never have I seen such kindness, not even among humans. It is not right to keep this young elephant in chains." Free, the young elephant raced through the hills looking for his mother. He found her by the lotus pool. There she lay in the mud, too weak to move. With tears in his eyes, he filled his trunk with water and sprayed the top of her head and back until she shone. "Is it raining?" she asked. "Or has my son returned to me?" "It is your very own son!" he cried. "The king has set me free!" As he washed her eyes, a miracle happened. Her sight returned. "May the king rejoice today as I rejoice at seeing my son again!" she said.

The young elephant then plucked the tenderest leaves and sweetest mangoes from a tree and gave them to her. "First you, then me."

What a joy there is in knowing that you are important in the lives of your family. That whatever you have done you have earned their respect and love.

Need I say anymore?

This blog is linked to my other where I discuss the artwork. Poppy Glory

The First Day of a New Marriage.

Yesterday I was talking to two friends. We were interrupted by a couple. They asked if they had got it right and I was who they thought I was. I did not recognise them and wondered what it was they wanted of me. They introduced themselves and a memory sprung to the fore of my mind.


This was a couple I had conducted the wedding of over thirty years ago. Here they were still happy and together. How good it was to see them. They told me they remembered that day as if it was just a short time ago. I asked them what it was they remembered the most. One of the jokes you told after the dinner stuck in their memory. I felt a bit of a disappointment that it was not something I had said during the ceremony.

The story I had told was this.

On the first morning of the honeymoon the bride had got up early. She disappeared leaving the groom wondering what was happening. He heard her leave the house and not soon after returning. Soon she appeared in the room. He was overcome by her beauty, but he was even more surprised to notice that she carried a breakfast tray. On the tray was a large flask of piping hot coffee, bacon and egg, a newspaper and a rose in a little vase.

The groom was overcome with joy. He sat up and enjoyed his breakfast. Over a second cup of coffee he read the newspaper. Having finished he turned and kissed his wife. “Thank you, that was just marvellous, what a way to start a marriage,” he said.

“That is good,” said his wife, “that will be how I expect things to be from now on.”

I had gone on to say that marriage was about two people each caring about the other and each seeking to bring joy to the other.

It seemed that they had remembered that each time they were not agreeing. One or other had often said, “That is how I expect it,” and laughed.

A small joke at a wedding had become part of their lives. We are never ever aware of the effect we are having on others. I thank you all for the comments yesterday I went to bed last night feeling overwhelmed. So here I am today again with my little humorous tale from yesterday.

What little gem will we say today that might affect the lives of others? Thanks Jim and Anne, the real bride and groom for the memories.


This blog is linked to my other where I speak of the art used. Thoughts of Spring and Love

Killing That Which Is Precious.

One day I was out running and had a life changing moment. Running was something new to me and here for the very first time I was running pain free. I felt as if I had wings on my shoes it was such a joy. It was a spring morning and I felt if I spoke to the lambs in the field they would have answered me. Yes I know it sounds silly, but I felt it.


I came home that day and had decided to give up eating meat. For the next twenty four years I did just that. How many times this led to discussions, about whether or not this was the correct thing to do. I was younger then and I always rose to the bait.

Now when people discover I have, after all those years decided to begin eating meat again the same questions come up again. I am older now, yes I know much older, and I no longer take the bait.

Yesterday with all the ideas running around in my head from your musing on the one hand I got to thinking about these things again.

Those who strive to preserve life and respect life are right, it is a good thing. But my thoughts made me realise there are other valuable things we kill that are equally worthy of consideration.

What of those who kill time? Time is a very precious commodity and deserves our respect. Having worked with those serving time, sometimes a long time, I became very aware of how precious it was. Time should never be killed. It ought to be cherished. What of those who for selfish reasons kill honesty? What of those who kill innocence?

What of those who preach without taking account of others, or the other person’s point of view? Are they not guilty of killing respect?

What has made me so serious these past few days? I have spent a life with people and here I am in bloggers world and finding people who have much to share, and do so. I have met people who have much to teach, and do so. I have met people who care, and they take the time each day to do so.

I thank you all, each one. I am still reading blogs but may not be able to respond again till early next week but know you are all in my thoughts.

This blog is linked to my other where I discuss the artwork used:- The Killer

The Three Loves

Along time ago in China there were two friends. One friend was a harpist the other was so captivated by his music she could sit and listen to it forever.


When he played the music of the mountains, or sang about the mountains, she would say, “I see them as if we were walking in them.” She would then paint the mounts that had been stirred in her mind.

When he played the music of the rivers and seas she would say, “I can see the waters and feel them on my toes.” She would then paint beautiful pictures of rivers and seas.

One day the listener fell sick and the illness resulted in her death. The harpist cut the strings of his harp and never played again.

Since that day the cutting of the harp strings has been the symbol of true and intimate friendship.

Now compare this to how we use the word love for just about anything. Oh I love a good burger from that burger bar. I just love them so much I have to have one. Or I heard somebody speak yesterday of her love of some particular fan magazine. “I just so love the gossip, I cannot live without my daily doze of it.” Truly this is a quote from her.

We use the word love so loosely it has almost lost its meaning.

The ancient Greeks had three separate words for love. There was Eros, the love of things and lust, the love that wanted and wanted more and more. Then there was Philos, the love one has for friends and family. It is the love that gives and takes, the love that we share freely to those around us. Then there was Agape, the love that gives and goes on giving never ever asking for anything in return.

I used to shock my students by telling them that love was not a word we should use. They were never able to comprehend my thinking. I used to tease them ruthlessly, about how they used the word love for anything and everything.

At first they would say, “Mr T you are nuts, you have totally lost it.” Arguments would pursue about my love of children. Eventually we discussed the use of words.

I “loved” that spark of light I saw coming on as the understanding kicked in. From then on it was easier to make them think before saying anything.



This blog is linked to my other wher I speak of the art:- Love Explodes Into Life

Show Me

There was an old master who was revered by many. He had many followers living in his monastery each one hoping to learn at his feet. One of his students was a very beautiful young lady. Even with her shaven head and plain robe she looked beautiful. One day the master received a note from her declaring her love for him. He was greatly flattered that she should pay him such attention. Here I am an old man, he thought, and she such a beautiful lady. This played on his mind all day, and he asked himself why he thought as he did.


The next day at meditation he stood up and said, “If you really love me then come now and embrace me.” He had thought that he would embarrass her and that would be the end of the matter. He was shocked to discover that he was being embraced by all of his students to the point he could hardly breathe.

We live in an age not only of express everything but also an age of cheap and easy flattery. “Have a lovely day,” it rolls off the tongue and so often means nothing. The trouble with flattery is that it is so easy to want to be flattered. Here was the old master and he was reading so much more into the note from his student than she had meant.

Would it not be good if we always said what we meant? Or if what we wanted to say might cause harm we learned to say nothing. It is no longer the case that we need to speak truth, three times yesterday I heard people claiming they had not told a lie, they had just been, “economical with the truth.” Now there is a phrase to get your mind round. Is that not just a lie?

The other message the old master gives is this. He did not seem to be aware that he was indeed loved as he was. He was craving love, he was loved, more than most of us he just did not seem to see it.

You may not know it but we have a sweet called “Rollo” in the UK. They once advertised on a slogan, “Who would you give your last Rollo to?” Marvellous! I decided to use this in a little story for children. I gave twelve children a Rollo each. I had double wrapped it in foil. I told them it was from me, to them as a symbol of my caring for them. They were each given a choice, they could give it to somebody they loved, or they could eat it. I reminded them that not everybody had got one because I only had twelve. The others I cared for also so maybe they would like to pass them round those who had not got one.

The next Sunday I walked into church to find the communion table and the entire pulpit covered in Rollos. Now, if it were possible I would  give each of you a Rollo, and ask you to pass it on or eat it. It is good to know you are loved but it is equally good to let others know that you love them.

Now who is going to eat that Rollo?

This Blog is linked to my other where I speak of the artwork:-  Love Explosion