Ms Toy Whisperer

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I grew up in Shirley drinking Shirley Temples and being entertained by Ms. Black. Great life.
Next time I’m in NYC, I’ll stay in the core of the big apple at a low-hanging price.
It seems to be working…

It seems to be working…

Hello, my name is parishioner.

I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I have no shortage of critics.

Perhaps you’ve heard that I am: unfaithful, not committed, lazy, a person of convenience.

You’ve heard that I am full of:  good intentions, a house of relatives in town, money I don’t share, the need for a sacrament.

Maybe I’ve visited before and discovered:  I don’t know all the traditions, I cannot sing, I didn’t memorize the responses, my unrest.

Maybe I needed you and I was:  afraid, hesitant, too proud, waiting to be judged.

Maybe I joined and you found me: distant, non-participatory, pre-occupied with my woes, tardy.

I tried to serve but was caught off-guard by: when to kneel, how to follow the missalette, stares, sitting in a ‘regulars’ seat.

I did not feel included and was surprised nobody:  offered me the sign of peace, held my hand during the Lord’s prayer, said good-bye, asked me to come back.

My experience has driven me to: read the Bible, listen to gospel music, volunteer, try again.

It is true, and I have something to say:  please help me, know that I wanted to come back sooner, tell me why you don’t practice your faith outside of these walls, I consider myself a Christian.

But remember, I never said I was: a theologian, devote, not weak, not still in need of prayer.

My name is parishioner.

I welcome the: doubts, odds, challenge, community.

I welcome the: prayer, love, readings, Jesus. 

I cannot shut my eyes to the people who make me: doubt myself, doubt my beliefs, are all-knowing, don’t respect that my spirituality is very personal.

I realize that not everyone is able to worship in the same room.  In the past, there has been a division among gender, age, race and sexuality.

I too know that Christ suffered for me by: being beaten, carrying his cross, dying, being resurrected.

Which is far worse than my:  discomfort, ignorance, peace, need for belonging.

So, I will come back to mass and make all of you:  accept me, want me in your community, love me, need me too.

I cannot promise that I will always be gracious.  I am only a parishioner.  I am not a: parent, teacher, eucharistic minister, a nun.

I will come back.

I know God wants me in His house.

My body is aching to be there.

There is something bigger in store for me.

It is my path, my journey.

Hello, my name is parishioner.

I miss you.  

I’m sorry.

I will be back next Sunday.  

I love you too.

We are all super heroes because we have the Super power of prayer.
Ms. Toy Whisperer
vintagetoyarchive:

UNEEDA: 1967 PLUMPEES Rubber Baby Squeak Doll

vintagetoyarchive:

UNEEDA: 1967 PLUMPEES Rubber Baby Squeak Doll

I’m a Leo.  That would have been great to be at this luncheon.

I’m a Leo.  That would have been great to be at this luncheon.

XLVIII

Every year while watching the Superbowl, I remember that I am the same age as a Championship effort.  I’m also as old as the Slinky and Pampers.  I told my in-laws last year that I was a jock Mom, stretched to my limits, whom never grew up.  

I too have always been competitive, although nowadays it’s at the dinner table versus the playing fields.  We watched the first half of the game at my parents house.  I joined in with the original team, family, and ate my portion of homemade macaroni and cheese.  Realizing the Broncos may be stewing for awhile, I later went out and had a hearty bowl of beef stew and a biscuit.  My nephews only gave me a hard time when they also saw me eat a large ice cream cone.  I’d just figured if the Broncos were going to go down kicking, I’d get creamed with them.  So much so, that I did take my mother up on finishing the rest of her chicken a la king.  It too was creamy but the toast points i ate with it did not spur any more points for the Broncos.  

On to the in-laws a few miles down the street for the halftime show.  The name Bruno Mars seemed to give me a sweet tooth, so I reached into the candy house upon our arrival.  I tried to watch the show but I am not a fan of The Red Hot Chili Peppers.  I am a fan, however, of Grampie’s cheese stuffed peppers.  It was just one.  They do zing though.  Enough so, that I realized I should maybe slow down.  I reached for the fruit and took a bunch of grapes.  Literally, a bunch.  It was like it was a competition with myself.  I took the whole vine and found my seat for the second half.  

My girls and I had met my husband at his parents for the second part of the game.  He’d been cooking with his Dad.  Yes, I threw away my naked stem and replaced it with more finger food.  Grampie’s homemade french fries.  It was just one bowl.  By the fourth quarter, I decided I couldn’t watch the game any longer than I could watch the rest of the family devouring Richie’s buffalo wings.  They smelled delicious and besides, if I ate five, maybe the Broncos would score five touchdowns in the next eight minutes.  

I guess I just tend to route for the Underdog.  He was my favorite cartoon as a child.  I, on the other hand, would not be flying for awhile.  I had eaten more than a Superhero and linebacker combined.  I was more than stretched to the limits.  So much so, I was already hoping for some pampering if I didn’t feel too well in the morning.  

Say it is so.

Say it is so.