Wordless Wednesday

Back to Preschool

JT went back to preschool last Friday. He was so excited and ready to go. My extroverted child needs preschool. He loves to make new friends and interact with everyone...adult, teenager, child - it doesn't matter.

JT is attending preschool at our church again, and I'm thrilled that he has Mrs. Shannon for his teacher, friend & fellow carpool driver, and Mrs. Lisa. I pray he has a great year at preschool!

I love you little buddy! Momma Wolg

Poses before school with his new PIRATE nap mat

Gets to use HIS new umbrella for school
JT with his new teachers -- Mrs. Shannon & Mrs. Lisa

I Wish

To name just a few:

I wish for...


• my kids to be saved sooner rather than later...as children


• there to be no such thing as cancer and nothing in its place


• no wars


• to be a "hot momma" with a rock'in bod and everything in its proper place... LOL!


• my kids to mind all the time...like me when I was a child ;) LOL


• JT to be completely potty trained...getting much closer; can't wait for the raise & no diapers!


• more people had perspective on what's important & and I could all the time...too much time, effort and money spent on stupid stuff


• everyone to love cats as much as I do...I adore my kitties :)


• my friend Allyson to have never gotten cancer, or wonder why, or if she'll get it again


• I could have met my grandfather ("Red"), Mimi's Dad


• to see my sister more (miss her and our girl time)


• one of my best friends to be saved...won't stop hoping & praying


• life to not revolve around money


• our friends' daughter, Jordan, to not have leukemia


• I would have had more time with my Grandma Dovie


• that I hadn't spent so many years away from God...nothing like trying to have babies & motherhood to rock your world and bring you back


• to be a better Mom to my kids & a better wife to my husband


• the ability to eat and drink anything and not gain a pound...chocolate, frappucinos, mexican food


• the ability to see myself through God's eyes


• my daughter and son to know how much they are loved by me, Daddy and God


• my kids to learn how unique God made them and stay true to it


• my hubby to know how much I love and treasure him


• my family to stay safe and healthy


• beautiful hair and skin


• weekly, professional spa pedicures...miss them, no job -- no nail salon


• better discipline for my quiet time with God

The Ragman

The Ragman, The Ragman, The Christ!

I saw a strange sight. I stumbled upon a story most strange, like nothing my life, my street sense, my sly tongue had ever prepared me for. Hush child. Hush now, and I will tell it to you.

Even before the dawn one Friday morning I noticed a young man, handsome and strong, walking the alleys of the City. He was pulling an old cart filled with clothes both bright and new, and he was calling in a clear, tenor voice: "Rags!" Ah, the air was foul and the first light filthy to be crossed by such sweet music!

"Rags! New rags for old! I take your tired rags! Rags!"

"Now, this is a wonder," I thought to myself, for the man stood six-feet-four, and his arms were like tree limbs, hard and muscular, and his eyes flashed intelligence. Could he find no better job than this, to be a ragman in the inner city?

I followed him. My curiosity drove me. And I wasn't disappointed.

Soon the Ragman saw a woman sitting on her back porch. She was sobbing into her handkerchief, sighing and shedding a thousand tears. Her knees and elbows made a sad X. Her shoulders shook. Her heart was breaking.

The Ragman stopped his cart. Quietly he walked to the woman, stepping round tin cans, dead toys, and Pampers.

"Give me your rag," he said so gently, and "and I'll give you another."

He slipped the handkerchief from her eyes. She looked up, and he lay across her palm a linen cloth so clean and new that it shined. She blinked from the gift to the giver.

Then, as he began to pull his cart again, the Ragman did a strange thing: he put her stained, snotty handkerchief to his own face; and then he began to weep, to sob as grievously as she had done, his shoulders shaking. Yet she was left behind without a tear.

"This is a wonder," I breathed to myself, and I followed the sobbing Ragman like a child who cannot turn away from mystery.

"Rags! Rags! New rags for old!"

In a little while, when the sky showed gray behind the rooftops and I could see the shredded curtains hanging out black windows, the Ragman came upon a girl whose head was wrapped in a bandage, whose eyes were empty. Blood soaked her bandage. A single line of blood ran down her cheek.

Now the tall Ragman looked upon this child with pity, and he drew a lovely yellow bonnet from his cart.

"Give me your rag," he said, tracing his own line on her cheek, and "and I'll give you mine."

The child could only gaze at him while he loosened the bandage, removed it, and tied it to his own head. The bonnet he set on hers. And I gasped at what I saw: for with the bandage went the wound! Against his brow it ran a darker, more substantial blood -- his own!

"Rags! Rags! I take old rags!" cried the sobbing, bleeding, strong, intelligent Ragman.

The sun hurt the sky now, and my eyes; the Ragman seemed more and more in a hurry.

"Are you going to work?" he asked a man who leaned against a telephone pole. The man shook his head.

The Ragman inquired, "Do you have a job?"

"Are you crazy?" sneered the other. He pulled away from the pole, revealing the right sleeve of his jacket. It was flat, the cuff stuffed into the pocket. He had no arm.

"So," said the Ragman. "Give me your jacket, and I'll give you mine."

Such quiet authority in his voice! The one-arm man took off his jacket. So did the Ragman -- and I trembled at what I saw: for the Ragman's arm stayed in his jacket, and when the other put it on, then he had two good arms, thick as tree limbs; but the Ragman had only one.

"Go to work," he said.

After that he saw a drunk, lying unconscious beneath an army blanket, an old man, hunched, wizened, and sick. He took that blanket and wrapped it round himself, but for the drunk he left a new suit of clothes.

And now I had to run to keep up with the Ragman. Though he was weeping uncontrollably, and bleeding freely at his forehead, pulling his cart with one arm, stumbling for drunkenness, falling again and again, exhausted, old, old and sick, yet he went very fast. On spider's legs he skittered through the alleys of the City, this mile and the next, until he'd come to its limits, and then he rushed beyond.

I wept to see the change in this man. I hurt to see his sorrow. And yet I needed to see where he was going in such a haste, perhaps to know what drove him so.

The little, old Ragman -- he came to a landfill. He came to a garbage dump. And then I wanted to help him in what he did, but I hung back, hiding. He climbed the hill. With tormented labor he cleared a little space on that hill. Then he sighed. He lay down. He pillowed his head on a handkerchief and a jacket. He covered his bones with an army blanket. And he died.

Oh, how I cried to witness that death! I slumped in a junked car and wailed and mourned as one who has no hope -- because I had come to love the Ragman. Every other face had faded in the wonder of this man, and I cherished him; but he died. I cried myself to sleep.

I did not know -- how could I know? -- that I slept through Friday night, and Saturday and its night, too.

But then, on Sunday morning, I was wakened by a violence. Light -- pure, hard, demanding light -- slammed against my sour face, and I blinked, and I looked, and I saw the last and the first wonder of all. There was the Ragman, folding the blanket most carefully, a scar on his forehead, but alive! And, besides that, healthy! There was no sign of sorrow or of age, and all the rags that he had gathered shined for cleanliness.

Well, then I lowered my head and, trembling for all that I had seen, I myself walked up to the Ragman. I told him my name with shame, for I was a sorry figure next to him. Then I took of all my clothes in that place and I said to him with dear yearning in my voice, "Dress me."

He dressed me. My Lord, he put new rags on me, and I am a wonder beside him. The Ragman, the Ragman, the Christ.

a modern metaphor written by *Walter Wangfrin, Jr.

Back to School

Yesterday, Sissy had her first day of second grade. She was so excited! And, she was ready...new outfit, new messenger bag, school supplies, hair cut, nails painted, lunch packed, butterflies in stomach, thinks she might miss Mom.

Her first day was great! She loves her teacher and classmates. Luckily, Sissy has her buddy Jaidyn in her class. They've been in the same class every year. When I asked her what she liked the best about her first day, she said "everything". Obviously, Sissy was ready to go back. (So was Mommy!)

I can't believe we're already in the 3rd year of elementary school. Time flies. And, she's growing up so fast. Several teachers noticed how much her legs have grown and her hair has shortened when they saw her for the first time this year. When I dropped her off at class, she gave me a quick hug and picture and said goodbye; I guess she's a big girl now and doesn't need Mom to hold her hand. (sniff) She was ready today for me to drop her off, no need to walk her in. Alrighty then..

JT and I will miss her during the day, especially being JT's playmate, but he will be going back to preschool in September and we'll have play dates. We had fun playing with friends on the first day of school...wish was could do that every day. LOL!

I pray this is wonderful school year for Sissy!

Much love my precious girl,

Momma Wolg

Ready to go to Second Grade

Sissy's new teacher for second grade

True Friend

A True Friend warms you with her presence,

trusts you with her secrets

and remembers you in her prayers.

Much love to my girlfriends!

Momma Wolg