English: A marshmallow that has been roasted o...

English: A marshmallow that has been roasted over an open flame. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It was hard over at the center today, what with people pushin’ and shovin’ again and the sly blade too. The sly verbal (or non-verbal) blade (this time a woman) hurts most, straight to the heart, the unkindest cut. It’s hard to take the blade, if your heart feels like a marshmallow.

Marshmallows are good, once in a while. I don’t like the sweetsie puffy marshmallow stuff from a jar, but I like regular marshmallows, charred brown and almost burnt (controlled and careful burning), melting in the middle, on a stick.

Remember the “sit-upons” some of us made for camping trips? We did that in Girl Scouts. We stitched together (did I stitch?) some kind of oilcloth (waterproof) material into something we could sit upon, outside, on the ground.

Many years ago, in yet another Sunday School class, we started talking about camping out, of all things. (Jesus camped out a lot. Maybe that was it). Anyway, one honest man said: “I like to camp out at remote Holiday Inns.” That sounds better than rain and cold and the occasional scorpion in the tent. (Been there. Done that. Long ago).

Still, what can we do, when God lets the hard-hearted and frightening things (and people) hurt us inside, to mellow our hearts?

When I was driving over here, I had to slow down behind a little improv golf cart, hauling big blue trash cans in a wagon. It made a jangly sound and I glanced under the moving cart and there was some kind of hook or crook metal thing, attached and draggin’ on the pavement, soundin’ exactly like jingle bells.

When you hear that stranger’s jingle bells, and you know it’s not Christmas, it’s time to take care, back off and get away!

Earlier, when I parked and walked toward the library, a bumper sticker fluffed, “Don’t postpone joy.” Hell’s bells. I’m tryin’. Where’s the chocolate?

 

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