Code of Ethics

It is where our Lord holds us close and we pray that believing in Him is the right way of life.


 

Code of Ethics 3

 

Looking back to my younger years , I never understood life. Why do trees blow in the direction of the wind? Why do the leaves turn in the autumn chill? Why does the sun rise in the east in the early morn? My mother tried to explain that it was the way God intended, long before I was born. I guess she was right. I never questioned what she said, although I never understood. But it was actually the principles of life that she was trying to preach.


 

2 Peter 1: 3

His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence

 


I grew up fast after Pop passed. Life changed for us. My brother and I never agreed on anything. Respect was a word that was hardly heard but I learned early there was a code. A code to follow…be it God, family, or honoring those you love. But it came with a price. We showered our feelings over the hurts we endured.

All of us learn early in life, somehow, there is a code of ethics we must follow. It is where our Lord holds us close and we pray that believing in Him is the right way of life. We give our hearts to Him as He is our Savior. It gives us direction.

 

Code of Ethics

 

Honoring the past and looking forward to the future, we praise our parents and teach the future generations that God is the common denominator of respect. Humbly we give praise…it is our way of life.

God’s eloquence sustains life for all his creations. I’m humbled by His magnificent beauty and shutter at His presence. We give thanks before we partake. Remember, if it wasn’t for His ever presence in our lives, we would remain in the absence of His grace.

 

Code of Ethics 2

 

 

Let us worship His name!

 

 

 


 

 

Engraved Hurts

Like soldiers on a battleground, our persistent thoughts are marching on….


We sit across the table from each other and the tension rises like ocean waves before a hurricane. Our hearts ache from the daily frustrations. Words fly like cannonballs across the bow. The night is lighting up from the fiery hurts and our broken souls is damforgiveness 2aging our spirits. There is not a “sorry” that can mend the fury; no kindness is coming from giving; no hugs healing the hardened hearts; just short little snippets that become too repetitive to hear. I’m asking for grace to bring some peace to the table. But when two hearts aren’t in sync, God has His work cut out for Himself. Our love is souring like month old milk.

Love, like spring pollen, carries off to a neighbor’s lawn; walls are retaining the temper and silence is becoming enemy number one. So my conscience knocks on heaven’s gates and I’ll pray for our Lord to hear my heart. But like statues in the wind, the prayers are standing guard of the present. Life, cruel at times, has no invitation. Joy, the ultimate restorer between two hearts, is waiting on the other side.

mignon mclaughlin

I’m in awe watching the tears as they flow and sorrow can’t explain the reckoning. Blame is passing like vegetables at Thanksgiving. There is no rhyme or reason. Our Lord sits at the head of the table trying to join our hearts in prayer. Stubborn though, our minds are overruling the prayers. Like soldiers on a battleground, our persistent thoughts are marching on…. I’m carrying the flag trying to surrender but our guns are still drawn.

Morning arrives and a tranquility, like the dew from the night before, is falling over the engraved flowers. Hearts are listening to subconscious minds as we cease fire. Over early coffee, our guns are holstered. An anointing brings a smile as the sun breaks through the thunder. Love is being restored and the sun is warming little petals. God, the only true peacemaker, is reigning over the battlefields of our minds. We sit in peace and the quiet sermon is coming as the gentle breeze rings the wind chimes.

I’m asking myself, could this have been avoided? Unequivocally, yes, if God is first and past hurts are left by the headstones of our deceased memories. We’re limping away, now handicapped from the wounds encountered from the night before.

Mandrell

So, here we are off on our busy day….people to meet, bills to pay, and our Lord is holding down the fort. We are marching off, alone, to fight our own personal battles…

 

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EDITOR NOTES:  Did you ever hurt the person you loved?  Did you say unwanted things?  If you have hurt someone you loved, it is not easy to repair this mistake.  It is time to seek forgiveness.  You may have to go to great lengths to win over the trust once again.

Watch your words in a fit of temper and weigh the pros and cons of every word you utter. If you want to express your anger at an event, target the incident and not the person.

Be truly repentant…

 


Related Articles:

A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. (Proverbs 15:1)

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; … (1 Corinthians 13:13)

And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.   (1 Peter 5:10)

 


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Empty Memories

Not even the scrapbook recalls the love ….. turmoil of emotional child abuse


emotional abuse 2In the quiet evening, your mind strays to younger days. Nestled in the love seat, you think about the lonely life that has lead you down the paths of disillusion. There in the confusion, disconnection is a way of life. Heart wrenching, love was in limited supply; not much to go around and rationed like a commodity. It was not associated with warmth but instead, related to the flowers or gardens.

You would sit in your room and play by yourself. Looking out the window, your mother is in her polka dotted blouse, dark slacks, and her garden gloves. She loves her tomatoes and corn on the cob. You just watched …. sitting inside. She never knew the love you desired or saw devotion because it was all about money – how much dad could bring home. You were too young to understand but you knew that love wasn’t suppose look like that. Looking back, you never heard, “I love you”, as you went off to school or while saying your prayers at my bedside.

Animosity seemed to rule the roost. You listened to your friends as they shared their stories on the way to school. They went out over the weekend and as you knocked on their door, you knew they would not be home.

You would have given anything for your parents to include you in their plans. But to throw a ball or enroll you in a curriculum outside of the classroom wasn’t going to happen. Sadly, you would come home and play while most of your friends played at the beach. Softball was the sport.

Yes, it’s sad as those from broken homes look back. You swore you would never do that to your own children. Now those days are long gone too and all that’s left are voids. Not even the scrapbook recalls the love ….. just tarnished empty pages. The snapshots are faded memories you just as soon forget.

For now, life is all but over; the mid-drift spreads and the hair turns gray. Thoughts are all that’s left, like trash to be thrown away. And here you sit as life goes on.

 


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Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. (Psalm 127:3)

Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged. (Colossians 3:21)

Whoever troubles his own household will inherit the wind, and the fool will be servant to the wise of heart. (Proverbs 11:29)

Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5)

 

child abuse ribbon


 

Editor’s Notes:

Signs of Emotional Child Abuse:

 

  • Not showing affection.
  • Ignoring the child’s presence and obvious needs.
  • Ignoring the child when he or she is in need of comfort.
  • Not calling the child by his or her name.
  • Making the child feel unwanted, perhaps by stating or implying that life would be easier without the child. For example, a parent may tell a child, “I wish you were never born.”
  • Ridiculing or belittling the child, such as saying, “You are stupid.”
  • Threatening the child with harsh punishment or even death.
  • Continuous verbal abuse.
  • Comparing the child to siblings or peers.
  • Blaming the child for family problems.

 

Ignoring children’s needs, putting them in unsupervised, dangerous situations, or making a child feel worthless or stupid is child abuse. The result is serious emotional harm. But there is help available!

Parental Alienation Awareness Organization: http://www.paawareness.com

Prevent Child Abuse America: 1-800-CHILDREN or preventchildabuse.org
http://www.preventchildabuse.org/images/docs/emotionalchildabuse.pdf

 

emotional abuse

 

 

Loyalty vs. Respect

So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them…..


I sat on a bench watching two teams play. It was so cold my posterior froze to the wooden board of a bench. Bundled against the elements, facing the virtues of nature’s wrath. I could hardly predict the outcome. The teams fought hard, made some good plays and scored some points; but they walked away with arms wrapped around the opposing players. It was the only thing heartwarming on that bitter, brutal Sunday afternoon. The fans, too, huddled their way out of the bleachers. It didn’t matter whose side you were on. Just fighting to stay warm was worth its weight.

As we walked away, it wasn’t so much about who won or who lost. It was the sportsmanship displayed. “Loyalty ( strongly supporting each other) and respect (ability to admire someone for the abilities and achievements) goes a long way when two oppose one another”, I said to the father of one of boys on the opposing team. He smiled, shook my hand and said ” Good game!”. I guess he understood. Happy to be warm from the frigid winter winds, my heart steadily pumped 98.3 degree blood in this minus zero body.

I think about that game every now and then and the camaraderie we felt. I almost wish for a reunion of sorts; call it the coldest respect loyaltygame in Hades!!! But as I stop and tap my pencil eraser on the tabletop, I’ve come to want the same with everyone I know. It’s not just a wife or child but the guy I’m walking out of a stadium with as well. Loyalty and respect go hand and hand; you can’t have one without the other. My heart pales for those that try to live eliminating one or the other. Should I tear into the heartless as they rejoice with the absence of loyalty?  That surely is not respectful.

So tomorrow comes. Will things change? Will God intervene? Will you have patience and understanding? Can you allow the loyalty from love abound? And what about respect? Do you have the same on the scale for a janitor as you do for our Lord? I wonder….

 
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Related Articles:

Loyalty: Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. Let all that you do be done in love. (1 Corinthians 16:13-14)

Loyalty: Whoever pursues righteousness and kindness will find life, righteousness, and honor. (Proverbs 21:21)

Loyalty: Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13)

Respect: So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets. (Matthew 7:12)

Respect: Therefore whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment. (Romans 13:2)

Respect: We ask you, brothers, to respect those who labor among you and are over you in the Lord and admonish you, and to esteem them very highly in love because of their work. Be at peace among yourselves. (1 Thessalonians 5:12-13)

Fifty Years of Broken Pieces

Can we ever break the chain of disaster, the aftermath, generations later?


Fifty Years of Broken Pieces

Rocking back and forth, staring at the stars, they sparkle and bring such luster below. Solar lights glimmer in the dark. The moon, almost full, shines from the heavens and glows on my patio. Thinking back to childhood, sin abated my older brother and I. We are God’s chosen but we carried the hell our parents created. Never understanding, we would walk to school in the early sunny morn’ and home in the afternoon to the rain and thunder. We were unable to explain or comprehend them.

But my big brother was lucky for he ran away — as far as you can imagine – to the Mediterranean. He hid at the bottom of the deep blue with fish and monsters we’ve never seen. I wasn’t so lucky. I went a couple of miles down the street to the community college and faced the music every night.

Long after Pop’s passing, I was sheltered in reality; the past haunted me. There in my mother’s Polly Anna world of bridge clubs and egg nog, a socialite amongst her pillars, I was lost in the waves where the grain wasn’t so amber.

My brother married, leaving me in confusion of the future where only God knew the outcome. But coming from a broken home and then a complete loss, I had nowhere to run. Marriage was the only vise, but failure after failure left little hope. My brother and I both shared the consequences of our parent’s passing long after he was gone.

But yesterday, fifty years later, my brother now writes, “We commemorate that by grace, together, we have somehow come this far; and still today we miss our father’s love. He didn’t share in our lives as we suffered in our tribulations.” Sadly, I responded to my brothers thoughts, “I cannot imagine where we might be had our ladder been labeled by our father’s love.”

Today I think about all those who will relate. Can we ever break the chain of disaster, the aftermath, generations later? Looking at the repercussions from six decades ago of the final decree, disgraces me. To believe they were watching out on our behalf is almost comical, if it wasn’t so sad. So many children are left like Lord of the rings, begging for attention; hungering remains where hearts are left empty. Today as close as two siblings can be, (without killing each other), our love and respect protects us.

In the end, as the sun sets on another commemorative year, I just pray… may God bless, not just us, but all the lonely, parentless children whose lives are unfulfilled; for He knows those who hunger for salvation, still…..

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http://www.desiringgod.org/articles/to-the-sons-and-daughters-of-divorce

BIBLE:  But you say, “Why does he not?” Because the LORD was witness between you and the wife of your youth, to whom you have been faithless, though she is your companion and your wife by covenant. Did he not make them one, with a portion of the Spirit in their union? And what was the one God seeking? Godly offspring. So guard yourselves in your spirit, and let none of you be faithless to the wife of your youth. [Malachi 2:14-15]

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Mother’s Slippers

….for your children know not your footsteps you have walked


The day breaks and exasperating as life is, will we ever understand the meaning of it?? Reflecting on my mother’s spirit, her heart was in the right place. But we had our moments and it took me a long time to forgive her.

Situations merit decisions with consequences unbeknownst to our children. I, too, fell into that category. Generations later, little explains of a mother’s woes. I will never walk a yard in my mother’s footsteps. I remember the blood, sweat, and tears that came from my growing up years. A lady of stature, eloquence and reprise, I had no idea the hell she lived through all her life.

My thoughts of her linger as I watch the path you meander. God, I pray to grant you serenity, for your children know not your footsteps you have walked. Love is very deep and the hurts resonate from within. Blessed are the weak yet strong in their venue. I walk in your presence; I reach out to comfort your spirit. The harm is immeasurable, as children try to ruin a mother’s love. I listen to your silence as though it screams, like drifts of sand that crest in a storm.

A child might walk in a mother’s steps yet never wear her slippers. I, a mere child of wisdom and respect, can only now relate to the dust storms of my mother’s childhood. I watch this generation, with reflections of my own, resonating from the sixties. Though life was different, hardships are similar.

Testing the time, a mother’s love captivates the mind. All God’s creatures, instinctively, protect the bond. Yet, I watch those who try to revolt, losing themselves when their own offspring arise. Realizing their mistakes, as bi-products conquer in agony, they fight for the same respect of their own predecessors.

Quietly, I sit and watch the yearlings taking turns yielding to their parents. It just doesn’t matter if you fly or walk; children should learn “respect” of the age-old value of seniority. Today, the thought saddens me that we, as kids, didn’t learn the valuable lessons. Those who follow, think that at birth, they already know more than their parents.

But, scrap albums tell who wore the apron strings; for those that sat for the fMother's Slippersamily portrait, she bore the kids upon her lap; her arms stretched out encompassing them. And as you look closer at that old family portrait… notice “Mom’s Slippers”, worn out, against the couch. God love you, Mom……

 

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Related Articles:

Bible:  Galatians 4:19     “My little children, for whom I labor in birth again until Christ is formed in you…”

Bible:  2 Timothy 1:5      Be a woman of God  – “When I call to remembrance the genuine faith that is in you, which dwelt first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice, and I am persuaded is in you also.”)

What does it mean to honor my father and mother?  https://www.gotquestions.org/honor-father-mother


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Where The Dogwoods Blossomed

…piece of history dedicated to things that will never change – Severna Park memories


My father bought a project, in a faraway place, around the bay in Maryland. I was three years old. It looked like we were moving out of the big city to a little community where I knew no one. One cold day, I packed my toys and some clothes, disgruntled that I had to move. My life caved. I was moving away from my best friend. I saw little importance of being stuck on a cliff and all the rules that implied.

Unaware of the significance of growing up in a little place called “Round Bay”, my father took on the challenge of remodeling a turn-of-the century covered dance floor on Eagles Nest Point. Sitting on a cliff, overlooking the water, our weekends became filled with hammers and saws. Mom, I remember, wasn’t very happy living on the old wooden floor, so she would cover it with rugs. It wasn’t much to look at, as I recall; just a roof and a floor but my father was planning to turn it into our home.

It took many months to rebuild that old pavilion. The story goes that in the summer, rich people would come to dance the night away overlooking the Severn.

Eventually… trying to make my mother happy, which was never easy, my father, then bought and constructed a house next door. Bless his soul! Most knew it as the “Smith’s”, but it was the “Bick’s” home first.

I guess I was five, when I was the only one to survive going over the cliff, on my tricycle. That was enough for mom! Things were sketchy and not long afterwards, mom and dad split up. My dad left and we moved to our third home on Waters Road in Round Bay. It was perfect because in the interim, my buddy and his family, moved from Randallstown to just down the road.

My good memories are plentiful. On the 4th of July, fire engines would parade through the neighborhood; in December, folks would gather to canvas the community singing Christmas carols; and then there was Yardley’s annual telephone book – which we now wish we’d held on to!

I watched as Round Bay blossomed after 1953. The swimming meets and festivities at Main beach; and boats turning from wood to fiberglass. Just a brief funny memory…. some years later, after mom remarried, My stepfather, Skip and I went to the Eastern Shore. He had a 12 foot row boat built for me for $125.00. Made of spruce, it sank every season until it swelled.

About 7 years old, we moved away from Waters Road. This time, my dad bought a house for mom, my brother and I, on Riggs Avenue in Olde Severna Park. He paid $12,500 in cash. Moving from Sunset Knoll, in Pasadena, we headed back to Severna Park.

Thanksgiving 1958, mom remarried. It was my stepfather, Skip’s birthday. I guess they chose that date so he wouldn’t forget. Confusing times back then… my dad disappeared; I didn’t know why.

Somewhere around 1960, we moved back to Round Bay onto Laurel Rd, right above “dead man’s curve”. My little brother was born in 1962. I was at Bea and Larry Cranes house – great friends of my parents. I’ll never forget when Mrs. Crane came running outside. I was on my bike, and she was yelling, “It’s a boy! It’s a boy! And it’s on my birthday!”. The stupid things you remember…

The Cranes and my stepfather’s family, the Carr’s, played a large part in St. Martin’s in the Field Episcopal Church. Ironically, there silently stood in the vestibule, my dad’s name engraved on the golden shovel.

My dad passed away in ’65 – a terrible loss to any child. Now I commemorate his life. A man with such vision who played an intricate part in the community. Very few know that. Someday, I hope to retrieve the golden shovel. It no longer stands in the entrance of the original church.

Skip, my stepfather, was a great man; one I could say that his reputation preceded him. He started out in real estate in 1958, moving into a little red house up on the hill, behind Dawson’s store. Skip started working for Tommy and Cliff at the age of 14. He helped support his mother after his father passed away. Born in a house on the B&A, outside of Berrywood, there remains a statue to his legacy.

In 1971 or ’72, mom and Skip bought their final home at the water’s edge by the pier. He thought he was getting ripped off, paying that much money for a house. Looking back, I can’t help but laugh. What an investment!

Proudly, I’ve spent a large part of my life as a little piece of Severna Park. I graduated from Severna Park High School in 1969 and was raised in a wonderful environment. This is an honor to share my true story with you, my friends and family…..dogwood blogThis little piece of history is dedicated to the things that will never change, my memories.