Just so everyone knows, doing layout for Times of Restoration is a LOT of fun.

Also, if you find any mistakes in the next issue (September/October), it'll probably be my fault.




There is something I wish to understand. How is it that many of you are able to write about your normal, everyday lives and have it come out in a scintillating manner? Is it because your lives are (very possibly) more interesting than mine? Or is it because I lack the ability to engage in a fascinating soliloquy about what I had for breakfast, or the person I so inelegantly ran into while tripping over my own feet? (I've never done that...)

"Well, Rachel, maybe it's because you don't talk much in the first place."

Uhm, true, I suppose, ...but no. Maybe it's because I find so few things in daily life that interest me that I unconsciously decide they are not worth writing about. This could be why! My point of view. Hmm.

So, a new view...

Today I woke up and groaned as I immediately rolled over and turned my back on my clock. (Speaking of inelegant, that was an inelegant sentence.) Why can I not wake as a bird does: singing? Can you imagine? Somehow I don't think my trills would carry any clear, shining tones. Grate, screech, groan... cough. Bleh. Next subject.

It rained the other day. I love rain. In fact, I love rain so much that I am now going to make a stunningly selfish comment about that rain. It was all for me. Every drop. MY rain. Buckets of rain. Enough rain to make a miniature Grand Canyon at the edge of the driveway between Fairwood and Fairview. God likes me so much that He caused a butterfly in Africa to flap it's wings which in turn changed a breeze from one direction, to another. Then that breeze changed a wind pattern. That wind stirred the waves of the ocean. The waves of the ocean created a new breeze over on our fair shores. The new breeze... etc. You get the point. And it was all for MEEEEEEEEE! Aha haha! Heh... er... anyway. Sorry about that.

[Whether or not our rain storms originate in darkest Africa is not my point. Thus, if I have my facts wrong, please understand I'm not a complete idiot, I'm just too lazy to commence a long and involved research project on the subject.]

So far I have managed to apologize for most of what I have written. Rats. Let me try again; this time with my new point of view and no apologies.

It came to me the other day that one reason I rarely, if ever, get excited about anything or even enjoy life that much may be because I have a terrible case of Fence-sitting. I have my little perch in life where I am going to stay, thank you very much. To use energy to get excited takes away from my reserves which are labeled for staying with my tipsy seat atop the fence. Sounds utterly depressing, and it is.

The view from atop is actually quite nice, though, with green pastures on one side and greener on the other. You can see a long crystal stretch of a cool, peaceful brook. Great green trees and shade, beautiful shade. The carnival on the other side of the fence looks like loads of fun, too.

It's all good to look at.

But I sure wouldn't mind drinking some of that cool water. Sitting in the shade, on the grass. Relaxing a little. And then maybe getting a little excited about something, or whatever. Boy, that sounds great.

I spend a lot of my life on a fence, I want something different.

How does one do that?





This is not good

Humans frequently insist on deliberately doing things to themselves that are painful. This brings up a question:

Am I human?

The answer must be yes, thus:

Why am I making myself run?

My aunt challenged me to enter a three mile race with her in eight week's time. I've hardly exercised in a year.