Angela

I've met some of my neighbors but we all keep to ourselves.

I clicked

Liver and onions

An ice cream Drumstick

July 18 Happy birthday to.. Vin Diesel(58th Birthday)1967 American actor (The Fast and the Furious), born in Alameda County, California Kristen Bell(45th Birthday)1980 American actress (Veronica Mars, Frozen), born in Huntington Woods, Michigan

It's been 10 months since my cat passed away. I mourn everyday. I keep thinking that I need to let go and move forward with a new pet. Maybe to help with the healing but I always talk myself out of it. I'm on the fence and not sure my heart is ready but I do miss having a cat. At the same time, I'm scared to re-adopt.

My heart goes out to you @Krissycakes09 . Id advise you to do as Lavender has suggested. My prayers are with you. Please check in and let us know how you're doing.

I would tell them, Happy 55th Anniversary Mom and Dad. I miss you both.

abject adjective | AB-jekt What It Means Abject usually describes things that are extremely bad or severe. It can also describe something that feels or shows shame, or someone lacking courage or strength.

Do you like your neighborhood? What do you like about it? Have you met any of your neighbors? How did you meet?"

How often do you get a medical check-up?

Did you hear they arrested the devil? Yeah, they got him on possession.

Allodoxaphobia is the fear of other people’s opinions

Venus is the only planet to spin clockwise.

@new to Mental Health Haven.

Proverbs 3:5-6 KJV - Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. 6 In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 NKJV).

The old composer was in the twilight of life. He was only fifty-seven years of age, but he seemed so much older. Always misshapen in appearance, he now looked like a hunchbacked gnome. A tempestuous past had finally worn his soul down to a nub. He had overcome so much. His mother tried to abort him, his grandfather rejected him, and his father almost destroyed him. Though he was a musical prodigy, his dyslexia made it difficult for him to read or write. He was ugly in appearance, melancholy in temperament, and painfully shy. Rejected by every woman he ever loved, he would live out his life in loneliness. Almost all of his fees went to support a family left destitute by his drunken father. Yet poverty didn’t impede productivity. He drove himself with perfectionistic frenzy to earn the approval he craved. Some two hundred years later, his soaring symphonies still leave us breathless. They also reveal the inner rage that drove him to write such gloriously tempestuous scores. Just as he experienced success, he contracted an incurable disability. He drove himself to compose as many works as possible in the short time left. As his disability increased, so did his miraculous output. Yet his obsessive-compulsive personality, fueled by emotional turmoil, ruined almost all his friendships. Critics complained that his symphonies were strange, overtly extravagant, and even risqué. He would utter these cynical words on his deathbed: “Plaudite, amici, comoedia finite est.” (Applaud friends, the comedy is over.) In his final days, he spent long evenings playing a broken-down harpsichord that had been sold cheaply at auction. Its finish was faded; keys were missing. And it was hopelessly out of tune. Yet tears of joy flowed down the composer’s face when he played that wreck of a harpsichord. Those watching said that the malformed body became serenely beautiful. Maybe he had finally begun to relax after fifty-seven years of frantic turbulence. His servants would look at each other with sly grins. You would think that old Ludwig van Beethoven was hearing a symphony from heaven instead of the sour notes on a broken instrument. And maybe he was! As you may know, the disability that should have ruined his career was the loss of his hearing. It was a miracle that he could have written symphonies for the ages when he was going deaf. Now he existed in a world of total silence. But he was hearing the music that the harpsichord should make, not the sour notes it did make. Do you ever feel like Beethoven’s wreck of a harpsichord—faded and peeling, with your best days behind you? Are you a few ivories short of a full keyboard? Remember this, dear friend: God has purchased you with the priceless sacrifice of his only begotten Son. He’s not deaf like Beethoven. He hears all your sour notes. But he chooses to enjoy your best ones and loves you all the more for those that aren’t so good. The story of Beethoven’s harpsichord gives this hope: God plays his most beautiful symphonies on broken instruments. Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand. Isaiah 41 https://tbibles.com/twpu

Handmade, Heavenmade “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:24, NIV) Did you know that a small seed holds within it everything it needs to start a new plant? Every seed includes the “food” that will energize its initial growth into a sprout. It includes a little bit of moisture that will nourish it as the sun warms the soil. Every seed that is planted is a miniature universe of life just waiting to start. By now, you can probably see the comparison. Like a seed, you’ve been buried in the soil of sorrow. It’s dark and cold, and it’s hard to see how anything could grow from this mixture of rocks of sadness and compost of old dreams and soil of dusty hopes and plans. Grief feels like falling to the ground and dying. From where life has planted you, you might think that your life will only ever be this—a single seed of that vibrant kernel of wheat life that used to be. However, if you’ve spent any time around a garden, you know there’s more than meets the eye here. Burial is precisely what seeds need to grow. Darkness incubates them. Soil doesn’t smother, it cradles them. Where it might seem that death reigns, life is actually beginning to sprout. The same is true for you as you rebuild your life after loss. Regardless of how loss has reshaped your life, your life’s seed has been planted, and it’s time to grow. There’s a lot of work before you as you learn to live with loss. We’ve talked about some of that work this week—the self-care, the emotional and spiritual honesty, the practical plans and work that lie before you. But lest you think that this work will always be a drudgery or harvest only minimal results, hear the words of Jesus to you. “If [a single seed] dies, it produces many seeds.” Growth after loss isn’t just a possibility. If you seek it out, it’s a probability. God asks you to step forward in trust and do the work that he has put before you. As you put your hand to the plow, as you cultivate the soil of your life, you’ll discover that your work isn’t only made by you. This handmade crafting of your life is also heavenmade. Paul describes it like this to the church at Philippi: “he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6). The death of your person is not the death of you. God has so much life ahead for you. I can’t wait to see you grow! https://tbibles.com/xUko

https://www.onthisday.com/ July 17 Happy birthday to David Hasselhoff (73rd Birthday)