Betty J. Slade

 

  • The calling is bigger

    In 1986, I began holding yearly Christian Artist and Writers' Retreats. For 21 years, my Sweet Al and I opened our doors here on the Blanco. I was beginning to understand in my own life that my creativity was not sourced from me, but was a gift I had been given. And, as such, would be entrusted to me; it had to be a part of a calling form God. It seemed like everywhere I went I found other "frustrated artists" who were coming to the same understanding. But therein lay a bigger problem. There d…

  • When We Can't See the Forest for the Trees

    A widow sold my friend a 1957 red Chevy. It was polished and detailed with chrome and roared when it rolled. My friend said to her, “Your late husband must have spent hundreds of hours on this car.” Her response, “Yes, he did. I wished I had the time with him that he spent on his car.” Apparently, the widow saw more clearly than her husband did, but it was too late. Ouch! When I heard this, I was nailed to the wall. I knew I was guilty of the same thing. I missed the wrestling banquet this year …

  • God is in Hollywood, too

    It's graduation season: a time for fresh faces, bright eyes and young minds full of hope and ideas to venture out to new places beyond our little town of Pagosa Springs. I remember the class of 1981. We watched as our first child received her high school diploma. The class song initially recorded by Barry Manilow said it best: "I made it through the rain. We dreamers have our ways, of facing raining days and somehow, we survive. We keep the feelings warm, protect them from the storm until our ti…

  • Is there a doctor in the house?

    My son yelled out as he pulled and pushed at my compression stocking, "I need help." My Sweet Al, along with three dogs and a daughter, huddled around me, excited to participate in this undertaking. This was one of those times when being the center of attention was the last thing I wanted. With a bead of sweat pooling on his forehead, my son uttered a breathless command, "Hold up Mother's leg." My Sweet Al braced his good foot against the fireplace and held my ankle in the air. Meanwhile, my son…


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