She

And I laugh out loud. I have so many "hes", plural of he, she is almost an anomaly for me. Two beautiful daughter-in-laws and three granddaughters have been gifted to my by the  Father; other wise my life is full to the brim of "hes". Not news to anyone who knows me or has every visited my blog, I have five sons, two live in permanent grandsons, plus two live with their parents grandsons. All these boys and all their friends and cohorts filled my home with more than the allowed by FDA levels of testosterone. Sometimes I tell people, folks who I sense will see the humor, I suffer from OET, Over Exposure to Testosterone. Amazing how some are offended by the words testosterone or estrogen as if I was explicitly discussing one particular personal activity that could be associated with the two hormones. Sheesh.

She, well...growing up my playmates were more likely than not boys. I loved playing army, or building forts in the woods. I wasn't afraid of worms and could bait my own hook from early childhood. I can swing a hammer, run and hand drill, and I even know how to work a level. I could change the oil in my first and second car, even know where the grease fittings could be found and how many pumps each on needed. I used t' could throw a pretty decent spiral.
Female talents for the most part escaped my understanding or comprehension. Don't get me wrong; it was the 70's I liked mini skirts and shorty shorts. Tube tops and halters. I could dress like a girl, just not sure how to act like a girl. Not that I was boyish or not feminine, but to have a conversation about fashion or make up or heaven forbid a dance or date, I was clueless. My tongue wrapped around the wisdom teeth I was born without and my throat dried up shut tighter than the  toilet when a teenage son tried to flush a whole roll of paper towels filled with dog barf.

Today I am a wife, mother, grandmother, and when I have the energy and brain cells a pretty good friend. But growing up a SHE was not easy. I know now what I did not understand then. It is ok to be different from everyone else. In fact, God MEANT  me to be the way I am. He created me with the gifts and talents that I have to do the work He has set out for me, just for me, special like.
I would rather shovel manure than scrub floors, work with the cows than the laundry, rather wear muck boots than, heels (or any shoe not a boot) I like to cook, but take out is better. Heaven forbid I still not pick my own worm and bait my own hook. I am grateful God that He took the time to design me to be me.

 

Selfie with new shades

Five Minute Friday, a day late again..."Red"

As in seeing red? on the red eye? In the red? Not able to wear red? (That would be me) The Red Dawn, does that date me? Red at night...? I am running out of creative quips. Not usually a problem for me, but the noise in the house is deafening. The couch and my own self seem to have been mistaken for trampolines. I am pretty darn sure that i am to going to find a quiet five minutes and since it not still Friday I figured I had better just peck something out and be done with it for this week. Now the spitting and sucking it back up into a little boy mouth is a bit distracting. Oh well, red huh? Hmm, red is the Blood that was spilt so on days like today and every day for that matter, means the sinning i will most likely be doing today, the ones committed by my little ones have been covered, debt paid in full, cast down and away from the Sight of then holy God...

Once agin I have been duped my the cyber gouls. I was published and because of my technically challenged fingers my cmpleted though feebly so is poof gone. So I will attempt to finish this week off. Praise God as long as the sun rises and I still have breath I there will be another opportunity to try again.

Five Minte Friday: Mercy

Mercy
Mercy can sometimes be; easy to take, not so easy to give. The work of redemption demonstrated at the cross through the resurrection can be assumed by the Grace conscious Christian. We receive grace and mercy through our salvation and though we all sometimes, me more than I care to admit, can experience condemnation,  better know as self pity, when we commit some ugly or public sin. When we grieve the ones we love because of our selfish actions or words it is easy to fall into a, "Woe is me.. I am horrible"  mode where what we really want is someone to affirm what we already know, that we are OK because of His Saving Mercy and Grace. To me they kind of go together, Grace and Mercy. Often though, I think it can be easy to meander through our lives living our day to day assuming the Mercy of the Cross, and more often the mercy others offer us when we sin against them, disappoint them, or are just plain ignorant of their obvious need. After all as Christians we walk in kindness and reflect the Goodness and Kindness of our Jesus, so we wound NEVER intentionally offend. Or so we think. But Mercy, begins and ends with how we treat, respond to those closest to us. Only when I am continually conscious of my daily need of the Cross Mercy and am regularly my Merciful God  admitting my need for Him, His Work, His Mercy can I pour out my feeble human mercy on those I love.  Gratitude for our most precious gift, a passionate acknowledgement of the Mercy we receive daily should in turn be reflected in the mercy we give to other. Forgiveness. Kind words spoken aptly. Generous sacrifice of our precious time. the acceptance and gratitude for mercy given to us.  Let us give as those who have receive abundantly and may Mercy abound.

Running on Empty

When there is no more, how do we, I, go on? Waking up, thinking of the day ahead, my mind aches with chores, duties, and love that must be given out, drawn up from a well whose dank walls release droplets landing deep into the shallow pool.
A well run long, once fresh and clear,  bubbled exuberant
life filled
refreshing
loving
touching
flowing.
The spring, the source, cut short, stopped up.
Debris and waste once filtered out now dam the cleansing flow that filled the well and drenched the parched.
O return dear Lord and guard the heart the source of life and love.
Refresh the weary. Soften the hardened. Release the flow.
Let love abound.

Prompt "Worship" Five Minute Friday

I have been disappointed in myself that I cannot write except on Fridays for five minutes. If I can make myself do it on Friday why not everyday?  Or any day? Or once in a while? Or ever again on my own; unprompted. It's easy to think worships happens on Sunday, before the preaching, or at a women's meeting, or even in the car with the radio basting. But worship isn't about singing or raising hands or shouting hallelujah. Though I love all those things. I love to shout 'cause I don't sing to good. I know though worship is in the day by day. The little stuff. The living of life akin to the Spirit. Choosing kind words over harsh. Ignoring an offense. Overlooking a child's disobedience (just once in a while). Giving thanks when I want to whine and complain. Not unloading my WHOLE day on my weary husband. Living life with reckless abandon to God's Goodness and Faithfulness. Knowing my every breath, every inhale and exhale of every one of my children, their children, and my beautiful daughter in laws is under the care and watch of the Creator of all the universe. Like my grandson below. Jumping off. Jumping in. Over his head. Complete joy. Unhindered. Unrestricted. Fearless. Hallelujah. Praise Jehovah. 

Last. Five Minute Friday prompt

 

 

 

The last thing he said to me, "Fine. I'm going to bed." A heavy sigh slips through my tense pursed lips. The tall offended teenager lumbers down the hall in a huff. Angry words are the last I hear and his heart believes my last words to him tonight were critical and harsh. Seems like words fly around loose unbound by civility or respect. I won't claim my words weren't stern; I was trying to press a point. Though I still believe the intent of my heart was legitimate; I am sad that these last words before sleep caused angst and tension. Parenting is such an uphill climb sometimes. Pursuing the offended would I know from experience, only exacerbate the problem. Because this is the youngest of five sons I know that these last words will be redeemed and tonight is not the end....Jesus, Alpha and Omega, beginning and the end...the First and the Last; remain in my home and continue your work. Help us all to guard our hearts and tongues so that last words will more often be good words.

Five Minute Friday prompt: small

Small

I am small. I want to be smaller. I want God to be huge in my life. Great big grand huge. I am sad to say I fall short of small. making me and my not so important stuff huge; and God and His plan. His ways. His people, not big enough in my life. Tonight I sit here a day late for Five Minute Friday and years behind in my growth and spiritual pursuits. My love is lacking, my self interest, self preservation, self seeking soul ways all growing like the Rumor weed if I am not on my guard. 

I am tired, the week ends finishing up the local county fair. My son, my live in grand babies, my husband all provided me with ample opportunities to serve big by making myself small... I served. I did my duties. Kids got where they needed to be. I covered my teen's home and barn chores, took small ones to see the ponies and eat a fair hotdog. But grumbling, internal whining, a few external sharp replies took the edge off my desire to be small and allowed my reflection of self to grow large. Instead of little me and Big God, I made me big and God small. 

Grateful for grace and that much of my hugeness remained internal... I rejoice once more in the Hugeness of the Cross and and the Mighty Work accomplished there. Sweet Jesus, shrink me, make me small, that the You in me may grow large and evident and Love out loud.

Lonely for Five Minuet Friday

Third attempt...hoping my technical ineptness does not constitute cheating in regards to the five minute time limit. If so, I am, cheating. If not here we go again.

I slipped the plastic "key" card into the slot, BINGO, the little green light flashes on; I correctly navigated technology and I am I the right room. Tossing my overnight on the rack thingy, I unload the remaining armload of belongings on the desk. Eyeing the wine, I hunt for a ice bucket. Alone, at last yes all by myself. Strangely at peace. A styrofoam cup unwrapped serves nicely as a wine glass. The red wine chilling; I know should be served room temperature, what a rebel I am. Alone is not lonely for me. Without the pursuit of God given pursuing me always friends, and of course my huge family, three men children and a husband at home, I would willingly become a recluse. Not good for my soul, but amazing for my fallen flesh. Always have struggled with loneliness in a crowd, a crowd being anyplace where there are more folks that just me. God has created each of us uniquely personal, individual, well different.  Some thrive on activity, bustle, and chaos. Not me. I am thankful for weekends such as this where God allows me a break from the work of stretching He is doing in my heart an spirit. 

In then day to day, decisions must be made, husbands and kids cared for, grand babies and their parents made time for and loved on. (All of these bring me great joy and gladness with out question), but the feeling than i am never doing enough, or doing it right, or like so and so, leaves me often frustrated, defeated, and LONELY. Cause of course everyone is getting right...Right? 

Thank you Jesus for continually putting people in my life and good words written in love before me. I am reminded that I am uniquely called to my life and my family for Your purpose and good works. With best intent and all of Grace I continue on, often lonely in my journey, but never alone In my walk. 

Story for Five Minute Friday

Story, really; a story... Like I don't have hundreds. Five sons, seven grandchildren, two on the way. Two grandchildren, permanent members of my almost empty empty nest. The nest my husband and I painstakingly constructed, through a professional contractor, four and a half years ago. Painstakingly constructed as a retirement home...one that would meet our physical,mental, spiritual needs well into our golden years, now occupied my an almost grown teen and two small boys kindergarten and first grade with a high school graduation date some where into our late 60's...very late...do I have stories? Of course, the hind quarters of a chipmunk in my washing machine.  The recent trip to inner Ontario Canadan, first one with both small boys; including the 10" cut deep into the leather of the third seat of my Ford Expedition. No one knows anything about it. Stories, yep I have stories. For sure the only one that matters or posses any real meaning is the story of why my life is not my own and that the happily ever after of my story begins and ends at the Cross and in the Love of my Resurrected Jesus. Apart from Him even my most entertaining story wound be void of excitement, humor, or even a snicker. Jesus gets me up in the morning and tucks me in secure at the end of each day. I smile now as I think back over a weeks worth of stories...a week in a Canadian river valley could fill the Britannica...but I am content to to thank Jesus and smile myself to sleep.

Hard

Life can be hard. Difficult. Sometimes seemingly impossible. Faith should be the evidence of the unseen. A mystery that allows us to walk with confidence during the hard. Sometimes finding faith is hard. It is for me right now. Still I KNOW in my head what I don't FEEL in my heart. Apart from Jesus I can possess no good thing ..even things the world tells us are good are ashes and dust apart from Christ. Lord, bless my friends who don't know you and are walking in hard, bless them and lend them grace and pull their hearts to you. In faith.

Broken

Would be easy to come up with cliche type scribble. But then the norm or ordinary are not close friends of mine. Traveling north today with, well with the whole family, the whole family that still lives at home, in the house. Plus one dear friend, babysitter Extrodinare. Our family on vacations could sometimes, many times be easily confused with the Griswold vacations. Always an adventure, never boring; tears, tantrums, terrifying car rides tag along. Two boys, the grandsons are experiencing  their maiden voyage of supposedly fun family trip. Third seat squabbling has been minimal, unless of course you ask the easily irritated teenage man child in the middle seat, in which case then the whole trip inclulding his whole life sucks. We are a blended family. Blended from the start; his and mine, later ours, later again two adopted. Five in all, we were a broken unit. For the long haul we are truely evidence of the grace of a healing mending God. Day to day there were bits and pieces of broken hearts and souls scattered about. As grown ups the older boys are building new relationships on grown up Jesus loving values and commonalities. Children of their own bring new perspective and renewed devotion and desire of the Saviour. What once was lost is being found. And those of us stuffed into the black Ford Expdition heading north, we are begging the Jesus who mends the broken to ride along and be ever present as we attempt to relax and vacation or "be on holiday" at the "cottage" on our Canadian Vacation.

grace

Overwhelmed by the Grace and Love of Jesus today. Feeling, sensing His pleasure in my feeble stab at righteousness. My flesh got the better of me most of the day. I know and am grateful for the grace afforded me by the glorious cross.

Belong

Belong. What belongs to me is nothing really. A dear friend told me once that something is never really yours until you give it away. I had never thought of myself as a shallow person, just the opposite most likely. Creative, pensive, sensitive; but honesty, I didn't have a clue. My husband and I had been told many times we had the gift of generosity. If we recognized a need somewhere we would pray separately and often we would both sense God leading us to respond down to penny or detail in the same manner. I felt as if I had given away much...but held no increased attachment as the former owner.
the last few years I have had to give, lay my life down every day in way(s) I would never have chosen. Jesus has slowly surely stripped away at my ownership of self. I have experienced fatigue, weariness, frustration, depression, abandonment, anger, bitterness; I could go on. All because a few months shy of my 50th birthday Jesus dropped two small boys into my life and said, "cancel your plans for the rest of your life, these babies need a place to belong." Almost two years passed before they became fulltime permanent members of our nearly empty nest; I'm sure God knew I needed that long to crack open my stubborn selfish heart.
Five years later I am more fatigued, more weary, often cranky, and sometimes FEEL very alone. But what I know is because I have given up claim to my life, well...more like it is daily being peeled out of my often clenched arthritis laced fingers, I am finally content  in my own skin. When we give our lives away we find them, and we realise we are exactly were we belong. And my little boys, they know where they belong, and they are learning its all because of Jesus. Because Ammie belongs to Him they are safe and just where they belong.

Perfect

 

 

Grateful for a lovely day. A gift from a perfect God. Grateful Ammie, mamma, friend, and wife; thankful for a quiet evening, competed chores, and lovely dinner with my gambling man.

Farming and fuel, coal to be exact, equals risky business. Faith, endless days, and and a never look back attitude drive a man, mine, to fall out of bed at 4:30 AM and go till the work is done. Some days he's the bug and some days he's the windshield. Every day is hard but every day is worth the heartache, the exhaustion, and the physical pain. Admittedly, he thrives on the adventure; the desire to beat the odds and to be successful. Yet, the life he has built by the grace favor of the Lord blesses many and provides for his family in a way the small town boy could never have imagined. 

Because of his example his sons have grown to be hard working Jesus loving husbands and fathers. Different choices, different paths have resulted in varied experiences; but each owe who they have are and continue to become to their dad.

Perfect man, of course not. Emotions kept locked up tight. His affections demonstrated though his work, his provision, and occasional kind word. Bristly exterior disguises a tender spirit seen only occasionally by his help mate, the exceptionally discerning or those brave enough to venture in close. Despite the crusty exterior I am blessed to be his wife and for better or worse we will make it to the end. God is our foundation. The Cross our lifeline. The family we have grown a blessed gift from our Heavenly Father.
Happy Father's day dear husband. May our sweet Saviour continue to lead us on this amazing adventure.

there will be times my mama said

May 26th, I guess that is next Monday or Sunday? My mom would be seventy five years old if she were still walking around down here on Earth. Instead I am left to wonder how her staying would have made a difference in my life? I would definitely be a better gardener. I might even still be canning, keeping, putting up foodstuff from a vegetable garden of sorts. At the very least my fledgling patch of spindly perennials would benefit from her knowledge and hopefully from a touch or two of her green thumbs.
Would I be a better parent? A better grandparent, cause she would be a great grandparent soon to be seven times.  Her words of wisdom and insight so faded from memory, lost in the years buried beneath the turmoil of today. My prayer would be that her words, thoughts, admonishings are implanted in my being beyond the cognizant deep in my innermost.
Do I wish her back from the Presence of the Father? How could I? Her joy complete, her song of praise sweetly ministering to my Jesus. The Jesus who carries me, feeds me, presents me with my every breath and very life; she sits in His Presence. Selfishly, I wouldn't mind a conversation or two. An embrace, some advice on my rocky soil. Eternity is a quick breath away. Whereas each moment here with the ones I cherish a gift beyond compare. To die is gain, it live is Christ. In this imperfect fallen world I can ask for nothing more.

Looking Back

found this in an old note section on Facebook

Monday September 29, 2008
Bottle Baby

Kaleb is asleep; DA is sucking down his evening cocktail of baby formula and rice cereal. Yum, yum! I have just tried to type that four times. My fingers are sure not doing the walking tonight. I swore I would never prop up a bottle for a baby. Oh, well...so many things change. I do have to grab him and burp him or the sleeping may not go so well. He smells so good right now it would be a shame to stink him up with baby puke...fluids again. OK, burping with one hand typing with the other. That's not working so well either.

All is complete. Both babes are sound asleep. Jer brought me some stuff that needs filled out by tomorrow; at least its not two dozen cupcakes or something awful like that. As soon as I get the pics from my camera from my dad's I will post one or two.

Babies keep getting cuter, but I am getting a bit weary. I need my spirit stirred for the long haul. On one hand I cannot imagine not having them, but on the other I am leaning heavily on the Power of God to bring me through this on so many levels. These tiny little people so dependent, so helpless to continue on without their every need being met through the grownups in their lives. The honor, privilege, responsibility of it all is awesome in the overwhelmingly filled with awe kind of way.

And, in a completely different way than the other day I am undone.

Mother's Day

Sometimes a girl has to stay up too late. Just to think. To think about all the stuff, important stuff in her life. Being a mom, a wife, a friend, a crummy housekeeper. All the stuff of life that makes her smile, like being the only one awake and listening to the snoring. If they are snoring and near enough for her to hear it; then they are safe. And somehow; illogically its because of her.
She thinks at least at this moment, she is certain beyond certain that she knows she would die or kill to protect.
The passion of it so strong her heart quickens. the physical,  organic, visceral love aches and soars, coursing, throbbing.
But will she live for Him? Will she acknowledge Him in her living, in her laughing? Explain how He catches her tears and especially cherishes the ones unshed, unseen, bitten back.
How good, how kind He is.
Her life and all its stuff is all about Him. Because of Him.
With a grateful sigh she knows it is He who makes the ordinary extraordinary. The fallen upright.
So she can stand.

Silly Life

My babies; six grandchildren, soon to be seven. With much anticipation I wait to see if the girls will begin to catch up or will the young men storm ahead continuing to crush the estrogen end or our growing family. During the formative years it was me and the boys...much later in life it again seems like that is my calling in life, to be the odd girl out in a testosterone laced castle where young princes reign and the old king prowls my palace wreaking dirty underwear, grimy dishes, and matchbox havoc. A palace where plants are grown to be uprooted, dishes are washed to be dirtied, and socks are doomed to live solitary lives searching with no avail for their life partner.

So will number seven be counted among the few the feminine or the mighty and masculine? Only our dear Father in Heaven and His Holy Son know for sure. The secret mysteries of the Heavens are revealed to us only when He allows, hopefully baiting a hungry people for more of Him. Filling our spiritual bellies with a glimpse of Forever in a fallen world. Sweet, sweet Jesus, give me just enough so I that I always yearn for More.

Opps

So I was going to write tonight, but I played on Facebook and was texting around instead. Now I am tired and am going to bed.
Waiting for the day when time will be on my side, and energy, and creativity; all at the same time.
Goodnight.

An old friend

I did not know I had this picture. Dear sweet Cool...well sweet like I am sweet maybe. I am leaving it at that for now. If you know me then you know I am able to be sweet, just not always evident. Cool was my first horse, and I so many ways my only horse. Yes, we have nine now, but none were or are my my horse in the same way. She has been gone for several years now and still I miss her. Together we learned may valuable life lessons. Seeing the picture brings back a flood of memories, and an empty stabbing sharpness. God gives us many great gifts but not all of them for keeps. Loss can often be as great a teacher as the gift itself if we allow it to turn the eyes of our hearts to the Greatest Gift, the One we can never lose. Today O Lord let me be ever so grateful for You.