Author: djpasternak

I’ve written several blogs about encounters with ‘feathered friends’ of mine: turkeys, little birds, chickens, even one vulture. I had never realized the trend here and something else came to mind a few days ago. When we were building our home from the ground up, actually the first and only house we ever owned, we heard a winsome sound in the early morning hours of work on our two acre lot.

I called it the song of the morning dove. It wasn’t until many years later I realized it was called a mourning dove. A day or two ago I also realized that my yet to be published first novel titled Daybreak from on High began and ended with a dove. In fact the first title I used was Doves in the Temple. Although most people think the sound is mournful, I associate the song of the dove with morning, a joyful time of day for me.

In fact I often say aloud a bible verse while sitting on my eastern deck at daybreak: The favors of the lord are renewed each morning, so great is His faithfulness. My husband put together a small fountain birdbath featuring two cement love birds. Frequently two living doves visit there to enjoy the cool waters. My novel includes both the mourning of Jesus passion and the joy of the morning of His resurrection. The dove is a symbol and reminder that like the olive branch carried in the beak of a dove, peace will eventually prevail. After the flood’s engulfing waters, solid ground will appear.

After the first baby bird fell to the ground I could hear the mother bird chirping before finally coming back to the nest, She was trying to get another baby to leave the comfort of its mossy home. Standing on the deck railing, she flew to the nest and chirped away. Then flew to a branch of a nearby tree encouraging the little one to do the same but this one would have no part in leaving its home.

So back and forth mama bird flew frantically trying to show her offspring how great it would be to fly. The sound of her chattering went on and on and I couldn’t stand there the rest of the day. I looked in on the progress once in a while and I can imagine how frustrated that mother was. Later I was in the kitchen and looked out the front window and two little brown fluffy birds scampered toward a large bush and disappeared under the thick branches.

The mama kept up the chirpy song scolding the stubborn ‘kids’. I went back to my cooking and wondered if those two renegades would ever take flight. When my husband came in for supper he told me the funniest thing happened while he was working in his garage Two baby birds came in together through the open garage door and he was able to shew them back outside.

I could not help but think of my own children: how one of them would still be home if a pretty girl hadn’t lured him out of the nest and the other one who was only too eager to wander off. I also understand the frantic mama birdie trying to watch over the flight of her offspring. The good thing is that my two children both return to the nest at least now and then. And I believe the mama bird and I hold our little ones tightly in our hearts.

One night as I was thinking about my writing, something I had not realized before about the subject matter I chose in poems and short reflections occurred to me. Events with my encounters with animals were exclusively those with feathers. Several incidents are recorded in various blog posts: robins, blue birds, chickens, turkeys and even one about a vulture.

Perhaps it all began with a young banty rooster, my pet when I lived on my grandparents farm when I was only three. I am not really a confirmed animal lover at all but a number of fowl came into my life and I found meanings in each encounter with them. In fact, one of those incidents happened a day or two ago when a small brown bird made a nest of moss in the glorious shocking pink hanging geranium plant visible through the sliding glass door to my back deck

I dread to admit I wanted to protect my plant (I am a plant lover) by removing the nest but my husband, a much more sensitive person toward bugs, birds etc., evoked a sense of guilt in me and I let it be. Every time I opened the door the little mommy or daddy bird would fly back and forth and sing frantically until I closed the door and hid myself from the parent birdie.

It was only two or three weeks later that I heard a rather perturbed song coming from the mother bird on my deck railing. She ( sorry about the pronoun but it had to be the mother) was telling one of her brood to leave the nest. She must have been exhausted with the care and feeding of the little ones.

I certainly understand that feeling especially with my daughter who kept us up literally every hour of the night for her first year of life. She wanted to nurse and her crying forced us to get up and then after nursing she would cry again and throw up. You can figure that out, but we were oblivious to why at the time. Her little tummy was too full. Finally I stopped nursing after one year and she slept all night,

Well now back to the poor mother exerting every effort even going in and flying out of the nest trying to teach the ‘kid’ to fly. I would check on the delema now and then and happened to see a tiny fluffy little thing tumble out and reach the ground after a wobbly flight.

To be continued!

I just read an article on-line about gender and sex. Well truthfully I only read a hundred words or less. Words, words, words and more words followed. It is quite pathetic to be so occupied with a basic truth: Men are men and women are women.

Some people say live and let live. Others condemn. I find it sad not to know you are either a man or a woman. Each person is not defined by sex or gender; that is a given. the simple truth. It is reality. All this focus on that sadly leaves the most important point ignored for man to ponder; What was I made for?

There is a podcast I am watching called Talent Talk Tuesdays. Lisa Maladivitch focuses on the fact that each person has his or her very own set of talents and how to identify those talents and develop them and use them. She has a website called WonderfulyMade 139.com. She does not mention sex or gender but focuses on how Wonderfully made each person truly is.

Perhaps one needs to change that focus on sex ID to ponder the fact, the reality, that each one of us is Wonderfully Made and everyone is seeking his or her Maker. The mystery of our own self! Psalm 139: 14

On Sept 20, 2021 I posted: A Prayer Before Writing. Recently one early morning on May 11, 2023, I scribbled down another and thought to share this one as well.

Dear Jesus.

Instill in me the love you have given us so freely. Let me imitate that affection every day, month, hour, and minute of my life. Help me to understand the suffering I bear and the sufferings of all those I love and to know, although not fully, their purpose.

Help me to seek forgiveness from anyone I have offended. Enlighten me through the Holy Spirit where I am lacking in knowledge and understanding. And as He promised His disciples that now we know in part, but then, they and we, will know everything. Amen

After reading the morning meditation and the Daily Mass readings in the Magnificat, I found this entry in one of my journals written on the last day of 2019.

Dec. 31, 2019 Life is truly a gift of God. Although it is a journey leading to eternal life, we cling to these few years on the earth. and to those with whom we share this journey. Even Jesus, knowing His destiny to be forever with His father, expressed His desire to be with his companions, his friends on earth, as written in the Gospel John 14:26-27.

But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. Peace I leave you, my peace I give you. I do not give you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

After saying this, Jesus left the Feast of Passover in the upper room with the twelve Apostles singing. He was at peace knowing they would be together again and in the meantime be reminded of the three years He spent with them on earth. It was the only time mentioned in the Gospels that He sang. He was joy filled because after the passion He would spend eternity with His Father and eventually with his friends, the Twelve and all of us, who believe in Him. We live in the here and now but God put eternity in the human heart.

Planning a party that will take place next month, I realized the innumerable aspects this involves: the details of timing, guest lists, possible glitches etc.With all the planning unexpected events occur and unforeseen obstacles come up. Such is the plight of our human condition. This brings me to the point of this post.

For the past two weeks while planning a party for friends and family, I was also allotting time for my novel Hadar’s Son and spent endless hours researching the book of Acts and related sources including books, Old and New Testament readings as well as on line articles. Yesterday morning I sat looking at the title of Chapter 29 The Council of Jerusalem and the blank page beneath. I had not written a single line for two weeks and still with all the knowledge I gathered, nothing came to me.

I gave it up and decided to go to EWTN Daily Mass readings which I often do in the morning. The first reading Acts 15 was titled The Jerusalem Council. My first thought was how did this happen? Was it by chance? But in my heart I knew it was a detail of God’s planning. But how could He have known the exact time and place I would be in my novel?

Then it came to me God can do all things. He planned the world. He knew me before I was in my mother’s womb. Does this mean God’s will prevails and overrides my own free will? I don’t think so. He may have sent the thought of reading the scripture but I could have ignored His prompting. I had already spent too long sitting at the computer. The good news is I went back to the chapter and wrote three pages.

For a number of years I engaged in writing letters to the editor of our local newspaper. They included responses to other letters and events; things that really matter to me. Among the letters were those concerning abortion, Donald Trump, and other issues. The paper printed every one of them. At one point our privately owned newspaper was sold to USA Today Network. From that time on, not even one was printed.and I gave up on them.This blog post was inspired by the sudden move away from his strong stand on abortion.by the former President Donald Trump. I know the democrat party is filled with glee because the pro-life voters will not support Trump.His criticism of Governor DeSantis, who has not yet declared a candidacy, just gained the governor a number of passionate supporters.

Note: Other posts on this site can be found by date on the right side of the posts. Check out:the following dates: 7/21/22, 6/15,22, 1/29/21, 1/25/20, 2/1/20

How many of us are there? Have the media and polls underestimated the numbers as they did with the numbers at the March for Life? And how many of those at the January 6th protest were pro-life. After all it was truly a protest and not an insurrection. It was a visual exercise of free speech. Our country is on the brink of destruction financially, culturally, and morally. Yes, we do need to speak about abortion. It is the number one issue!

Note: I did not intend to put this photo here but did it by mistake. However you may draw some relevance from it to this blog. However it is found in a post from May 6, 2020.

How I will miss the daffodils, that only bloom in spring,

But on this day in April I’ve come to say good-by.

Their cheerful heads are drooping. I miss their happy smiles.

Just a few still lingering, where dozens filled the space.

Yet as I sit and listen, the birds refuse to mourn.

Perhaps they know the hidden bulbs retain the seed

To wait and sprout in just another year.

And is it so with people how we mourn for spring once more?

Could we not just rejoice in those present on this day?

For both daffodils and people are forever, never truly gone

The bulbs and souls are hidden Still they never really leave

So on this day in April though sad to see them wilt.

Lift up our hearts and thank the Lord for yet another blooming

And yet another spring to say hello to daffodils and souls

And never mourn again.

DJ Pasternak April 18, 2023

If I knew what Columba and I would experience that night and the next day, I wondered if either of us would have pursued Yeshua and those who arrested Him. Still I am thankful for having been there.

Part 10 Truly this man was the Son of God! Mark 15:39

The Passion and Burial of Our Lord

Columba cried out: “Jon, will your God rescue His Son? Why must He suffer such pain?”

I knew why and needed to tell my friend the reason. “He suffers for our sins and for those of all men. He pays the price for justice. We know that God is just as well as merciful. The mystery is one of God’s love for us. Yeshua is like a lamb led to slaughter, a sacrifice offered like the lambs that are being slain for the Passover Feast.”

Yet it was even difficult for me, raised a Jew, to accept this. How much more beyond the understanding of a Roman. If God allowed this for His own Son, what would become of the friends of Yeshua?

“He is trying to speak. Listen,” Josephus said.

Woman, behold, your son! Son, behold your mother! He said, looking down at His mother and John who stood close to the foot of the cross.

In His agony the Son of God expressed concern for His mother. It was a human quality, love for one’s mother. This man hanging on the cross was both human and divine.

Yeshua said, I thirst.

One of the guards took a sponge, dipped it in a vessel of wine, and stuck it on a sprig of hyssop. Lifting the sponge to Yeshua’s mouth, they tried to make Him drink, but He refused. The guard removed it from Him.

Yeshua spoke saying, My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

He felt abandoned by our Lord just as I had at times. I knew He was God’s Son yet also human. We never saw His Father. Now we had seen the Son face to face.

Minutes later he said, It is Finished.

We realized Yeshua would not be rescued by His Father. He spoke from the cross one last time.

Into Your hands I commend My Spirit.

The wind swept over Golgotha. The earth shook, and a chasm in the solid rock surface separated us from our friends. Columba and I were nearer the cross on one side of the fissure and Josephus and Simon on the other. Darkness unlike any I had seen in daytime covered Golgotha and the Temple area beyond.