huh

........ my dad always said...."MY CHILDREN, DON'T FALL IN LOVE WITH THIS WORLD...WE ARE JUST PASSING THROUGH....BUT HEAVEN AND ETERNITY IS FOREVER." Which one will we choose?
Not my dad, but a quote I excerpted from a prolife column comment section; cuts right to the heart. Where does your love fall? Who and or what is your first love. Nothing but Jesus will satisfy. Will bring contentment. Peace. Relief from fear. From Anxiety. No one but Jesus fills the empty spaces in your heart. Your life. The deep chiasms of your soul. The world we live in is, "empty pale and poor compared to loving your my lord, so lead me to follow hard after you." Tonight is one of those empty nights, where the people and calling the Lord has placed in my life should fill to the overflow with satisfaction and purpose. Only, I am tired. Bath time looms ahead like some prehistoric ogre waiting to devour my eyeballs and suck my guts out through the empty holes...yes, it is that bad. Not always, sometimes, I only lose the eyeballs, not the corresponding guts. Either way, bath time is followed promptly by bedtime; another Olympic event requiring, strength, stamina, and the fierceness  of scarred alley cat. Even now, my orders of shower time, are going unheeded. Time to step it up a bit. Be back later...perhaps. 

Five Minute Friday: Write

I have been writing as long as I can remember; I have paper proof as far back as junior high. During my third failed attempt at a college degree, somewhere around fifteen years ago, an English professor affirmed my secret heart longing; he said I was good. My heart was full to the overflow with the confirmation of a life long dream, maybe I could write something someone somewhere might want to read.
Almost two decades and more than half an adult life later, still I plug along. Five Minute Friday has given my the kick in the rear I needed to at least put some words out there. My commitment to write something every week continues to draw me back. Like tonight the words are sometimes forced and awkward. But to write is one of my great loves. Yes, I love Jesus first, my family, friends, neighbors, and enemies, but writing gives me outlet to express that love, and often the frustrations brought on by all that required loving. Tonight I wish the words flowed easy, instead of crunchy and as I said forced. I can remember when writing was required by some teacher of professor I, often felt then that I got my best stuff in the middle of the night as deadlines approached. Later, I would go back and reread and realize that if I had taken my time and I could have done ever better. So much of life by the grace of God is similar. If I hurriedly rush through my required chores and life duties, God will bless me with a level of success. Children get raised. Dinner gets made. We get up and do it again. But purposed life, purposed writing, will result in great blessing to those around us, and hopefully to even one person who reads a scratched out word or two by a wanna be writer. So let us live, let us write, let us love, in the name of Jesus and trust Him to use our words, and our lives for His Glory.

True

True: Writing prompt Five Minute

I do not know how to do this in five minutes. True. What is most true is that living life is hard. For me. For many. Maybe for all? Getting up in the morning is the most difficult, thinking about the day that looms ahead, a day so much larger and scarier than my mind or already weary body can fathom. The future I had anticipated with great faith  for the last twenty-five plus years has arrived, and it is not the picture I had envisioned.  The day when the joy of the Lord would fill my house, my kids, my husband. The struggles we had endured during our growing up and old  years would have passed. Communication that had been nonexistent would be found. Healing words would echo off of walls glazed with the Living Holy Spirit. A peace that passes understanding would permeate the sweet aroma of unconditional abounding love. The hard working husband who had built a comfortable life for his wife and family would have found a safe harbor to anchor his broken and bruised heart, allowing the softness he kept locked tight deep in the dank musty bowls of his life vessel, to break forth. His family, wife, friends would see and experience in this life the true hero that lies within.

Yet, still we struggle. My hero still hide the best of him, keeping it safe from the pain of real life. Our home still filled with life, little humans, bigger humans wanting, needing seemingly more of me than I have left to give. A teen struggles, really struggles to remain loyal to the Jesus he loves, but sees the world out there and all is tasty evil. His mother's heart breaks to fix it for him, counsels, but knows he must find the faith that is his alone, or it is no faith at all. So she watches. And prays. Little ones need lunches packed, papers signed, hair combed on picture day, oops. Spankings, and hugs. Cookies, and vegetables. Need to learn so much, do I remember how? Do I have the energy to care?
All these are true. I am weary. The life I had faith was not the one He had ordained for my good and His Glory.
What is even more true than the most true. Is that I still have faith. A better faith now. A faith that He will complete the good work He began in me. In my husband. In my sons. And in the little grandson who are becoming more like sons every day. It is not my vision that I am in faith for any longer. But a greater Vision that will become mine in time. It is true, I am weary, life is hard. Real Hard. But the Truth is the greatest of all and in Him I will rest.

Addendum 

Point being, there is what is true,  and then there is THE TRUTH. The TRUTH trumps true every time. Praise God.

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.

no words

I cannot figure out why the words I need to spill out will not come to my mind or fingertips. So much emotion boiling bottled up within. A thrashing heart that cannot find the peace it needs, that seeks its savior, needs the Spirit, to reveal the grace, that begs for mercy, to relieve the pain of this world's wars.

Days Gone By

"Those were the days my friend, we thought they'd never end"
Simpler kinder days, when the future lay ahead, and not dangling behind as a long ago memory. Sullen thoughts for a girl redeemed by the Blood of a loving Savior. Musings tainted with self; self  pity, self centeredness, just plain old selfishness. Yuck! Not who I want to be, not who I thought I had worked hard to become. Jesus has rescued me from my own self, and praise God for that.. It is good that I see I am not who I think I am, at least not completely, still need sanctifying. I plead with my God to be always reminding me that all that I am is by His grace alone. All my treasures but trash before a Holy God.

Now, as far as the photos above, that was a bitter sweet day. I love my boy. I love that horse. We all looked pretty darn good that day. And tomorrow will bloom bright and new, regardless of my fickle heart. My thoughts are rambling like the tremble deep in my spirit that begs for a touch, a brushing, a passing nudge from Jesus, a reminder of His love for me,  in spite of my self.

Tears

Tears burst, drip, gush, and trickle; but from what from well do they spring forth? The eyes?  The heart? When we hold them in, back, keep them to ourselves, do they build up like a dam waiting for a future opportunity to overflow? Can they be stored up to be spent another day, waiting for a more opportune time to be displayed publically, or absorbed quietly into a favorite pillow?

We are grieving, or rejoicing, or lonely, or oddly pensive when the tiny droplets slip silently down a tightened jowl. Embarrassed hoping they have escaped unseen, or prayerfully seeking solace from a trusted friend, our tears beg to be accounted, collected, remembered, honored if only within our own watery soul.

Demonstrating courage, we forge ahead, confident that no weapon, no weariness, no brokenness can stand against the loving sacrifice of our Caring Savior. We are held close, protected and comforted by arms we cannot see yet always confident in their gentle strength that never lets us loose.

Any Day Now

Any Day Now

What? What? Really?

Life happens. Children grow up. Leave home. The song is about a love affair, not family relationships. Or friends. Or our health. Or our brain function. Or our agility and mobility. Yet, all of these facets of our simplistically complicated lives ebb and flow; they fluctuate. In my life anyhow, nothing stays the same from one day to the next, and hence the chorus of this tune is often weaving though my thoughts. My constantly evolving family grows everyday. Grows in number and maturity; stature and complexity. As a preschooler proudly presents his paintings and projects so I display the smeary out of the lines canvas of my life and family. Far from perfect but lovely beyond compare; I know the heavenly Father's loving fingers will with gentle brush strokes fill in the blanks and smooth the misshapen until that final day when the picture complete will hang in Glory.

of life and love and loyalty

Seems like a lot of thoughts to take on in one blog entry. Why I choose a title and them try and write inspired is beyond me, especially this morning when honestly I should be making breakfast, or rousting Jeremiah, or running to the barn myself to throw some hay at the hungry horses. But the house is uncharacteristically quiet and my fingers and heart were drawn to the page.

In a nutshell, in case I get, when I get sucked away:

•    Life is fragile; eternity is one breath away for all of us
•    Love unconditionally, even those you do not really care for. If God has placed them in your  life; they are yours to love without question or excuse.
•    Loyalty, to our dearest is without a question absolute. Keep confidences, bear offences without wavering in affection. Even when we have no reason to remain, never leave their side.

Sometimes,

• life is often really hard . God is good. Always
• Love can hurt and cut like a long hot knife. God will provide the healing balm of his suffering to ease yours
•  Loyalty can take many forms, including distance. Be sure it is affirmed and confirmed.  Never allow the folks in your life to doubt yours even when space is required to keep love alive.

God will always provide a way. Seek it with your whole heart.

Weary

How odd that life can be so difficult; as a Christian, shouldn't I be Joyful in all situations? Giddy with the Love of God? Well, I am not. I am tired. My bones ache with a weariness deeper than pain, a fatigue of the heart as well as the body. My desire is to rise up in the life I am called to live, sometimes the rising up is more difficult than others, today seems to be one of those times. I do not desire to be a martyr, don't want to be remembered as one who suffered for the cause. My desire is to live my life, my way, and have God say it was His Plan. But really, how do we know His Plan? How can I be sure I am suffering for His Glory and not my own? Oh yea, I said I did not want to suffer, or did I?  The adulation one receives for doing a hard thing can be intoxicating. Praise and being told you are an inspiration to many can be addictive. It is not all that hard to humbly assure the praiser that really I am not all that worthy; I am just doing the job I have been given. And, I am, doing the job I have been given. Nights like tonight cause me to wonder, "Am I really supposed to be doing this job?" Do I hold on to it because it is the RIGHT THING or because I am too cowardly to stand up and say, "You know what? I should not be doing this." If this "calling" is hurting the rest of my family, my own mental and physical health, is it what God WANTS me to be doing? If it were a case of merely my suffering for the greater good of others that would be an easy question to answer, despite the challenge, I want to do hard things for my God. What I don't want is to keep doing a job that is meant for someone else. Am I willing to remove my hand to let God show His? Or, do I keep pressing in, waiting for His Hand to show me a better way to continue on? I do not want to be a coward, either by continuing on this path or by admitting I am weak and am walking in shoes not meant for my feet. How do I hear God?
I love my little boys, like I have loved all my sons. I want them to have the very best life possible. I am not convinced our home is that very best. I know it is not the best for my husband or my teenage son. I raised four sons to men basically on my own. I should be able to do it again with only two. If this truly were God, would it be so absolutely difficult every day of our lives. Would I not have trained the younger one by now that screaming I hate you and spitting at me is not a good thing? After four years surely I should have been a good enough parent that I could take one small child for milk and eggs and not have the store manager correct that child twice, only to have him run out of the store into a busy parking lot? What kind of parent/grandparent am I? Now, am I slobbering in self pity? Or, is this real frustration? And fear? I need counsel. The kind and supportive lady, one child's therapist, keeps looking me in the eyes and  gently reassuring me that, I can do this. I do not need a cheerleader, don't get me wrong, I really like her and she is helpful. But, I do not believe she understands the depth of dysfunction that we walk in. I am not sure this rant is meant to be published. Certainly is not my usual ramble of humor and spiritual quips. Definitely not posting the link on Facebook. If any of my true followers, all two of you, have any input or thoughts I would love to hear from you. I do know I need to talk to a pastor. I know God has a Grand Plan, I know it like I know my name...(no smart comments) it is other folks whose names I forget. But every option open to us, and they are few, has real and major flaws. Please pray for me, for us. For my teen, my husband, and my precious little boys.

Howling

Wind whines and whirls outside my window, reminding one of a snarling dragon circling and circling his prey. Even the six inches of insulation and super snug Anderson windows can't keep out the menacing, mocking of the angry gales. Inside I sit on my chair, even the dog senses the threat, completely out of character she limps up and forces a spot for herself at my side. Her head on the arm of the chair she stares out into the gray morning keeping a quiet watch all the time hip pressed to hip at my side, like me taking comfort in the nearness of a loyal friend. Both of us slower and creakier than an earlier time but still, though often grudgingly, embracing the chores laid before us at this winter season of life. I suppose for me it is only a mid autumn as far as age, but today in body and spirit, my bones and heart feel the heavy chill of winter and its formidable darkness. Remorse seeps in as I pine for an warmer sunnier countenance; I plead for a lighter heart and more limber joints. My desire is to laugh at the days ahead and to be confident in the sustenance of my Lord.

The above photo shows the brilliance of the morning sun as it shines through a frozen landscape. My prayer today is that the Light of the Lord will break into my cold tired heart and allow the beauty of the day, of my life, of my salvation to illuminate my path, warming my frozen ambition into activity and purpose; lifting me out of my comfortable lazy chair, taking up the mantle placed upon me with excitement and joy, knowing that my living even what I cannot see or sense will produce in myself and those around me a Holy Garden that will nourish and sustain.

breathing

Life, the inhaling and exhaling oxygen and other related gases; a fist sized muscle contacting rhythmically pumping the fluids of life to waiting appendages and organs. Humans, the most complex living organism on the planet Earth. Organically speaking. If only it were all that simple. Inhaling and exhaling. At times this bare minimum can become the equivalent of climbing Everest. Not that I have or ever will have the desire to experience that hefty feat. I began this little essay months ago. At the time thought it trite and let it lie in the draft pile. Wishing to write a few words about the holiday, and other events I discovered the opening sentences a bit intriguing. Though now the day's events have taken their toll and my eyes and are begging me to put them and the rest of my humanness to bed. I must comply. I will leave this little teaser hoping to get back to it before too many more days pass. So that being typed, Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.

Day in the City

Well not really, unless you consider Gettysburg PA a city; but for a Drew and I it was a day on the town and the battlefield. But that is for later. Maybe way later as fatigue from the day's adventure is taking it's toll. Sure hope I wake up hungry at some point since I brought home from the restaurant an amazing looking piece of pecan pie. But for now alas, I must close my eyes. Dang, really wanted to memorialize this day.

Will

Will is a horse; Will is Jeremiah's horse. Will is a very large horse. Will is so large that I am always impressed, always, every time I see him, impressed with his immense mass. I walk into his stall five days a week , sometimes more. Every time I am amazed at is height and bulk. Each time I stand beside him and stroke his neck or scratch his back I am grateful he is also a very kind horse. He will quietly drop his head so I can slip his halter over his ears, which is necessary since he stands six feet tall at the neck; so his head towers far above mine.
When I walk past him in the run he turns and follows my steps with his eyes, sometimes lumbering along behind just to see what I am up to. He is always polite, waiting patiently for his hay or his three gallon bucket of heavy sweet feed laced with high fat pellets and expensive joint powder. Sadly our gentle giant suffers from multiple joint ailments. The Cosequin powder and monthly injections keep him sound and able to carry his boy across the sand and over the rails.
The bond between the boy and the horse shines in the eyes of the big bay. I am so thankful God brought Will to our family, to my son. He has taught me much about the heart of a horse and about the care of our God. Once frightened and anxious slowly both Will and Jer learned to trust respect one another. Looking back I'm not sure who was more afraid of who. Both tested the other. Jer with his lack of skill and Will with a twisting buck that sent this mother to her knees. Still they refused to give in or give up.
Ribbons have been won and tears have been shed. In the end the two have strengthened own resolve to overcome my toughest hurdles, the ones I lay for myself.
As the horse and the boy had to conquer their inner fears to become together triumphant, Lord help me to allow you to touch my heart and lead to me into victory.

past due

Should be in bed. should have taken a shower. should have been a nicer person today. should have spent more time outside, maybe even weeded something. should have probably gone to the bathroom before I started typing. should have poured myself a smaller glass of wine. should have made that list of things I need to do today, the one I told myself to write up several weeks ago. should have finished the thank you notes to people who did nice stuff for us after my dad died. Instead, I sit here doing nothing, needing to pee and go to bed; too lazy to get up, or maybe to stiff to move.
Even so, life is good, God is great, and I like my wine chilled.

Outside NOW!!!

Can't a girl even enjoy a beer? Globe broken off bedroom light, conveniently snagged from the top bunk, with a plastic coat hanger, plastic for safety. Package of Sponge Bob single serving Mac n Cheese scattered over an entertainment center and wooden floor laden with Thomas the Train puzzle pieces, makes for a challenging clean up should anyone be wondering. Hose turned on outside of the barn whilst Ammie is feeding horses inside the barn, river running into the barn across the dirt floor. No limes for the Corona I decide is required. "Get ur hands OUT OF your pants." for the third time. Hears water spigot turning on around the corner out of sight, God graciously afflicted this particular faucet with a high pitched squeally squeak. K..... get out of the garden. D..... clean that potting soil off the sidewalk. Use your high lift if you have to. Get your hands out of your underwear. Maybe you should use a bigger high lift. Just saying. Wonder if my potatoes boiled over yet. So need the grace of God and limes

What happened to the rest of the pictures

So why did the Blogger ap cut off half of my picture? Huh! Not happy...

Abbi n Jack

No longer the two youngest grandchildren, well, Abbi is still in the youngest two club. But Jack's position has been usurped by a younger sibling, one Finnegan Nehemiah. Now number four top down and 3 bottom up in the pecking order, he is pretty darn near the middle, as in the middle as you can be with an even number of six. Chloe being a full two years old plus five months she could be considered a co-middle. Abbi miss next to the youngest, spent the day with Ammie and DrewAllen, next to the oldest, or numbie two as he is sometimes affectionately referred to. Oops, ended a sentence with a preposition. Dear Cinderali was here from a little after nine until 2:30 when she knocked on Ammie's bedroom door offering a cup of strong black coffee and a quick synopsis of the hour n half of the part of the day I was unconscious during, wanted to say "for" but that would have ended another sentence with a preposition. Can't have too much of that. DrewAllen and I enjoyed the company of number five grandchild. Though I'm sure she was a bit bored by the lack of entertainment we provided; she was polite and did not yawn openly in our presence.
Ammie is ready for bed. Wake up time comes way to early on school days. Thanks Abbi for coming to visit. Come again soon

First Day of Kindergarten

Here we have it; Tuesday was Kaleb's first day of big boy school. The morning circus has begun. Up and out the door by 7:20AM, drop off Jer and Kaleb by 7:50. Back home; Monday, Wednesday,and Friday DrewAllen has to be at preschool by 9:00. So why 'n the heck am I trying to write at 7:03.... Gotta fly.. Or stumble to the car.

pperfect child disturbed adult

I've been pondering lately this notion that many modern parents have bought into; the idea that good parents should create perfect childhood experiences and environments for their children. Bests schools, perfect teeth, stylish clothing, cool cell phones, iPods, iPads, a plethora of after school activities, entertaining or exotic vacations. Never ending supply of personal preferences in food and beverages. Has all this lavishing kid-centered doting birthed a generation of better kids? Or, have we collectively as a society instructed our children that they owe nothing and deserve everything?

Nuisance Critters

So, sittin' on the back porch sipping lukewarm coffee, hoping my presence prevents any real injury one to  the other of small persons playing/arguing in the back yard. Somehow that sentence makes no sense, and I do not know how to fix it and still have it say what I wish it to.

According to my cadet WCO son Canadian Geese are now considered "Nuisance Creatures" in the state of Pennsylvania, similar to the groundhog. We have all been to that pristine pond or lake that appears so lovely until you try and hike the perimeter; only to find your self racing to find warm water and a rag to clean the slimy goo off of your shoes. Apparently at some point since the above picture was taken many of the black and white birds migrated from Canada and decided to stay south of our northern border . Please consider the fact, well known in most public circles, that my memory is not the best:, so my recollection of  the details of the my conversation about the geese may be sketchy. I don't think they can be hunted year round like the groundhog, at least not without the proper water fowl stamp. So before you decide to go out and bag a passel of them check out the PA Game Commission website for all the facts. Either way the fond memories of my childhood remain, all the while I am more than willing to acknowledge that not all that was, still is.

And, I am thinking that is true of far more in life than Canadian Geese. So much more to be added, but an electronic chirping coming from the kitchen alerts me to refrigerator invaders, summoning me inside to survey the carnage I most likely will find on the floor....

The Winds of August

Blogging, something some do for fun, some to put public voice to their chosen cause or passion, some because they want to ad life and color to an otherwise humdrum existence . So, what would provoke me to put letters on a screen, words onto the computer generated paper of today; my thoughts or experiences sent into cyber eternity to be viewed or worse ignored  by family, friends, and strangers?
    If only I could keep after it well enough to satisfy the writer buried, possibly crushed under the weight of neglect, that writer's voice that has cried out to be acknowledged, to be heard, or to have the motivation to even speak. So long ignored that the very fingers pecking out the words do not recognize the noise they are asked to record.
   Even now, with blank mind and weary heart I seek to find the person I lost. or forgot, or allowed to slip away. Or perhaps. the savior has so rattled my soul that that I do not recognize the new creature in the mirror. Could it be that the old must die for the new to be born? Basic Gospel 101 has been the forest I have missed for my consternation with that silly old tree?
    On this side of heaven I now walk as an earthly orphan, yes redeemed for the glory of the Heavenly Father, but fatherless in my flesh. So many lessons, so much wretchedness this month of August. The emptiness of  anxiety echoes off of my cavernous heartache, yearning for clarity of mind and increased strength of bones. Of course i know that I possess all I could ask or imagine, so perhaps it is my imagination that needs to be stretched, expanded. My vision for the uncertain and a confidence that my own weak flesh and soul can be used by the creator not because of my abilities or brilliance but because His plans cannot be thwarted.

Another day another dollar

Just reread my last post. Should repost; it totally encouraged me. Rough couple days...kid wise anyways; kinda make life in general more challenging when chaos abounds. Everyone gets a little cranky. I'm determined to recommit my focus on the freedom of the cross and developing a more specific and purposeful prayer life. Help me Jesus.

posted from Bloggeroid

Muffin Man

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Kind of a rough night. Boys seemed quite full of themselves, and several other creatures too...maybe a combination of wolf, monkey, and a squawking blue jay. All is finally quiet; teenager, out of sorts hubby, and even the dogs are at rest. Not even any snoring or scratching tonight. When I think on the whole canvas of my colorful life I feel blessed, content, filled with a deep resonating joy. Its all the abrasive fragments, the taken out of sovereign context particulars, that set my teeth on edge and pick at the scabby sores of my unsanctified sin. But for now I will take this momentary peace as evidence of my saviors love and His redemptive work that makes me worthy of His Father's love.

posted from Bloggeroid

On the Porch

Boys are playing, not necessarily obeying....normal, I guess. Now we are sharing a cushioned patio chair, because of course they were made for three. Swollen glands making me feel wimpy and weak. Fed kids a combination of corn dogs, cereal, and whole wheat English muffins with peanut butter and Nutella. One added jelly to his. For dessert they capped off the evening of fine dining with a pair of mini popsicles. Yep, well cared are they.
Number one, upset because I wouldn't drive him to the neighbor's to play, threatened to walk since he and his brother knew the way. No sooner had the pompous threat fell from his haughty lips than the fire sirens began to squall. Front door slammed, pretty sure hes not going anywhere.

An occasional breeze lightens the humidity and brings a pleasant peace to my resting spot. Grazing horses in the pasture before me remind me of chores yet to be done. Far away rumbles hint of a possible much needed shower. If only it was always this simple....but then it can be if we allow it. If my eyes are on the Lord than His Breath will be upon my face. His Grace ever before me and His peace my Mainstay. Lord take my rebellious posture and gently readjust my focus so it is You alone I see.

Strange noises from inside, the dragging of a wooden chair across hard oak floors indicate my rest has been suspended...let grace abound.

Two tickets To Paradise or Being Mom

butter fingers

So I see a tiny finger reach behind my almost wilting jug pitcher of flowers left from Easter; they dip into the soft room temperature butter, retrieving a tablespoon sized glob. Doggedly picking at my own dinner I pretend not to notice. Several minutes later the lad proudly announces and shows off, "look at my butter." Top side of his whole grain peanut butter n jelly glistening in the evening sun. I smile.

Long, Long time ago....

 
So I guess its been a while (or awhile?)  since I recorded any thoughts or pecked out any meaningful banter. Multiple problems could be the cause; my computer (laptop) is either missing has sticking keys representing all the important letters and functions. Like "enter" sticks. (.) missing key. (y) sticks and is loose. (T) sticks. (G) not sure what its problem is, doesn't always work. Whine, whine, whine. Yep, I could use the old IPad, except it and blogger are not real friendly and the app is worse. Additionally, after all me years using this forum some inconsiderate geek redesigned the whole shabang...confusing me every time I try and log in or access my stuff. I suppose if I spent more time using the site I might become accustomed and then have one less excuse. But technology changes baffle me. I think I was more computer savvy 15 years ago than now.

Life at the Kimmel Ranch has never been this exciting, well, that probably is not a true statement if I gave it any real thought. The early years did have a character all their own; either I have chosen to forget or like many events that happened more than ten minutes ago its just gone with  no recovery option. If I ponder long and hard enough I can remember finding 22 shells clanging around in the dryer, or all the hair burnt off Ned's cute little 5year old face...the smell of burning hair is quite the memory trigger. Slaughter rock, and the first day of trout season still make me smile. Allen going to the emergency room with half the meat from his elbow lost in the driveway somewhere. Two young boys who used yellow shed paint to decorate our ancient blazer. Faded burgundy and canary yellow...well not quite canary, more like egg yolk. Which by the way reminds me I should put the colored eggs in the fridge. My mom always left them out on the table for a few days decoratively arranged in a real straw Easter basket. But so many things make us sick and kill us that never did back in he day, I'm afraid boiled eggs that have set out might be a new killer. Our house was 58 degrees this morning when we woke up, that's not much warmer than the refrigerator anyhow. But still, why risk it. Course Kaleb tried to eat one shell and all this afternoon. Jer told him the shells would cut up his stomach. Don't think that's true, just some way for Jer to torture Kaleb. Kind of like a big brother would do to a little brother, which of course Kaleb is not, to Jer. Jer is the uncle. Ask him.

Do not be fulled by he cute picture of the two boys sweetly sharing the contents of their Easter Buckets. I am pretty sure they a are making sure they got all the good stuff and didn't leave any of it for the littles. You know, younger sister of cousins. Course I'm confident  Abbi's papa could take 'em, DrewAllen and Kaleb.

Now for the real reason my blog entries are so far and few between, utter exhaustion, which has just overtaken my eyes and fingers. Pushing the silly "y" key multiple times and plum wore me out.

And the excitement at the ranch has finally all fallen asleep.  Too much easter with a small "e" Can never get enough of the Savior Jesus who is the real Easter with the big "E"

warning will be published without proofreading...

Laid Back.

Laid Back, watching PBS... staring at Facebook, enjoying the need to do nothing. I am sleepy but not weary; tired but not exhausted, for tonight, and this is a good thing. Soon the demands of daily responsibilities will return and I will again be hard pressed, yet not undone. My limits will be stretched and my arms will ache. My heart will pound with both joy and anguish. I will be found breathless and by profound awe my breath will be vacuumed from my lungs. Days filled with impossible obstacles will be capped by nights of small victories. Small fingers leave their prints on my soul and send that antique vase crashing to the floor. I will long for heaven yet clench the dirt of this tight in arthritic fists. I will spank, and I will squeeze tightly. I will exhort and in my frailty I will sometimes rip apart what o have struggled to build. I will cry out for grace and venture out uncovered. Lord, go on ahead. Prepare my way. Open my eyes and heart to see and chose the path you have laid.

Politics, religion, and real life

Gov Huckabee has a few of the Republic presidential candidates on some kind of extended special. Drew put Fox News on earlier before he promptly slipped into snoredome. Because I was busy searching mindless info on the iPad, I paid no attention. Now that I realize what is on and that I have the option to change the channel unnoticed, I feel almost guilty for not watching. I do not want to be one of the ignorant uniformed...but my desire to be entertained, distracted, swept away from the poignantly sharp grind of the daily by and by. A variety of child amusement devices litter the floor. From my perch dirty dishes, leftovers, and unshelved groceries stand defiantly on the granite countertop. My lovely home though not in complete disarray is still moderately cluttered. My vain attempts to ignore the wimpering and wailing coming from down the hall as Jer coaxes my crazy wild sweet baby boys into nighttime slumber, do not prevent a gnawing ball of guilt from twisting my guts and clawing at my weary heart. Bridge ...kids asleep. I agree to watch whatever movie Jer chooses. DrewAllen, not asleep, joins. Just watched "mr popper's penguins" with Jer n drew. But not really cause they fell asleep. DrewAllen apparently not asleep joined me. Because I'm a sucker for a story, any story once began must be finished. Some like the song that never ends, make a grandma a mama again. And I cannot say I love it everyday...or even most days. But the sweet bitter ache in my soul, make it worth it. Whether is the tiny gently kisses of a little boy or the obnoxious snoring of a half manchild, I am a blessed woman.  Guess I left out the region part....that's maybe because it is not a part but the all; and not religion but life. Breathing in and breathing out the very spirit of God.

Twas the night before tomorrow.

It's hard to imagine what life was like then When the evening was peaceful, quiet and free. Before pull ups and sippy cups had to be bought. Before Tractors, and trains, hot wheels and games Littered the hardwood, the carpet, the stairs. When no one crept into my bed in the night Whimpering and whining that they'd suffered a fright. Seems long ago, that my life was my own. My comings and goings were were all about me, And sometimes my husband and our family.... My heart has been challenged and stretched open wide Turns out when you say, "jesus, i give you my life." He takes it And molds it As He sees is best. The Fathers's hand can be felt every day Touching my heart and making it new. The fingers he uses are sticky and small They create lovely drawings on couches and walls. I'm grateful and thankful And blessed beyond measure. For as He has promised He's given great treasure.

Futile or Feudal

I have heard it said that the best way to write is to just write; to begin. I opened my computer 20-30 minutes or so...ago. (is that grammatically correct?) Anyways, torn between going beyond my perfunctory devotional reading, to Bible reading and prayer, I bounced up and down of my chair wiping a bum, closing the refrigerator door, letting the dog out...then back in, and generally being distracted as I watched the kitchen clock tick away my precious time, and nothing I was supposed to do or wanted to do was getting accomplished. So, here I sit, staring at that clock knowing I should have slipped out of my pajamas and into some form of real clothes. I should be ready for my official 8:00 start time, never mind that I woke, no was awoken before 6:30 (about 15 minutes after I hit "ignore" on my alarm) by a very grumpy 3 year old, what is it about 3 year olds and grumpy Audra B? Though he feigned affection, his little fists and elbows pounded away at my mummified flesh demanding I open "his" bathroom door...mind you my bathroom door was open and only a few baby steps away. Threats to spank is cute chubby bottom fell on deaf ears as he continued to snuggle and pound away. My groggy selfish mind, still muddling over what was being asked of me and its longing to drift back into and unconscious oblivion, fought to form some plan of action, or inaction.

Now, with only seven short minutes left, chaos is brewing in the kitchen, and only one of the chaos creators is even awake. An empty, grateful, egg carton glides off the bar and across the hard wood. An unidentified crash can be heard as a devilishly grinning face peers around the stainless steel garbage can to see if I am catching this misbehavior.

Spotted my morning barn hand strolling past the sun room windows, time for real clothes and moving body parts. I hear Sandy hollering a DA to unlock the door, "No!" he hollers back.
Alas, this queen must begin her daily reign. Lord please help her serve joyfully in both the mundane and the mighty.

Colored Glass

The following was written for my ladies christmas party to be given with a tiny glass ornament,

Colored Glass

THen the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground,

and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life;

and man became a living being.Genesis 2:7

So many things I want to share with my dear sisters. I am deeply grieved that I cannot be with you this evening. My God is so amazing, so gentle, so kind, so generous, so faithful. How I could go on and on. I found these glass ornaments and knew they were what I was to bring to this table of friends, but unaware of what He would set on my heart to share. Even as late as this morning I was unsure. I was prodded to search “Colored Glass” on the Internet. Thinking that would not turn up a productive search, I believed GOD would meet me, as He always does. I skimmed down through the search results until I stumbled upon this short article. Three things stood out to me.

1. Stained or colored glass is known for its “utility and beauty.”

2. Glass is made of sand and wood ash

3. A beautiful creation is sometime given its shape as the breath of a man is blown into the unformed to create the formed.

1 Stained-glass windows have been admired for their utility and beauty since ancient Rome, when pieces of colored glass were assembled into patterned window frames. In Europe, the art of stained glass reached its height between 1150 and 1500, when magnificent windows were created for great cathedrals…. "Inestimable beauty.”

2. The basic ingredients for making glass ARE SAND AND WOOD ASH (potash). The mixture is melted into liquid which, when cooled, becomes glass. To color the glass, certain powdered metals are added to the mixture while the glass is still molten

3. Molten glass can be BLOWN into a sausage SHAPE

Mankind was created as a the living God blew His own Holy breath into mere dirt, (sand?) resulting in a living being He said was GOOD, BEAUTIFUL, HIS OWN. May we be known as His living hand blown creations, creatures of “inestimable beauty…for their utility.” Useful and beautiful.

As we look at these simple ornaments may we remember how we were created and that we are purposed to be both useful and beautiful.

at it again

Two little boys, one scaling drawer pulls and climbing on the counter, one singing along with the Wonder Pets; second child tho innocent now, narrowly avoided spilling a half a cup of milk onto the table and down to the floor...
In most homes with preschoolers, The special time occurs any time after 4:00 PM and before they fall unconscious at the end of the days misadventures. A variety of titles have been assigned this exciting time segment. So as to be civil, not vulgar or abrasive, for the purpose of this writing. I have decided on the The Special Time.

The writing moment has passed. Dinner time, shower time, driving around for an hour to encourage an early nod out. The nodding did not happen. Earlier in the week a few errands after dinner sent them both into premature dreamland after only 45 minutes or so. Disappointed and defeated pappy and I wound up the drive and into the garage. The non-stop chatter from the booster seat in the rear grating on our wearing nerves like iodine on an open wound. Leaping out of the back seat and bounding up the stairs and into the house the older finally comes to a sliding twisting stop at the end of the hall. Dropping into our respective dining room chairs we announce, "Ten minutes till bedtime." At least that much time is needed to lick our wounds and gain strength for the last big push, driving the wee tyrants into bed and hopefully sleep and the end of Special Time. Two bathroom trips each, several drinks of water, one small green tractor sailing across the room, three stories, and a new night light later silence slowly slips into the nursery, otherwise known as my library.

Drew asleep in my chair now, and me settled stiffly into the ugly, worn, stuffing leaking, lump of a chair by the crib; we wait for the call announcing the return of our teenage basket ball player. A trip to town for Dad and my attempting to peck out some sort of witty conclusion for this rambling essay, the day comes to and end. I am thankful for my partner and the opportunity to serve the Lord in ways that seem beyond my means and abilities. In this He shows Himself strong and I am blessed.

Now this is Different

First attempt to write on my I Pad. Jer put this blogger app on it and I would like it a whole lot better if I could figure out how to get it to flip to the long side, like keyboard wise.
Kids are sleeping, Jer doing homework, I assume. Drew is still out farming, shelling corn. I'm thinking I should take these furball hacking lungs and put them to bed. Took a sick day today, well a half day I guess. Does a mom ever really get a whole sick day? I think not. Wow! Thought I could maybe insert a picture, not that good yet. But when you choose the photo button cool stuff happens. So do I publish these few random meaningless thoughts? Sure, why not. Whole world may as well know my husband and son got me an I Pad for my birthday. Turning 53 must be a big deal. Maybe by 54 I will have figured out how to use it.

long days night

Kicking beside me the young lad lies, fighting the nodding that keeps tempting his eyes.
I wonder again as his caniption continues,
If I can be dreamin' by the 11:00 news.
Pajamas removed but pull up intact,
I am certain for sure it isn't an act,
The singing, the kicking, the laughing and the spitting,
Are assuredly, purposely designed by my God
Strengthening my character so I'll not be a fraud.
Presenting my life as the gospel alive.
So others might know we can do more than survive.
Through the Cross our lives become adventures worth living.
we are now one with a Love that keeps giving.

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