Answered Prayer

It's almost a cliche to say that God has a sense of humor. And, when you think about it, probably not the thing to say about a thrice holy God. But He certainly answers our humorous prayers.

To make a long story short, let's just say one of the toilets in my bathroom broke. I thought I had turned off the water to it, but it continued to leak. So, I got out a bucket. No problem...until I had to go away for a week. No one was going to be up at the house to empty the bucket every couple of days. Would I come home to a "flooded" bathroom? Not what I wanted to think about as I packed for Thanksgiving. So, I prayed.

Okay, so this might all seem a bit ridiculous - me standing in my bathroom and praying that it would not flood while I was away. I tightened the plumbing one more time (since perhaps I hadn't tightened it enough the first time), put out a couple of towels and put the bucket it place. Then I prayed that this toilet would do the opposite of the the widow's cruse of oil. I didn't want oil until I filled every container in my house - I simply wanted no water on the floor when I returned. Still, my faith doesn't move very many mountains. I was sure I would come home to a wet floor.

But, as you might already know, I didn't. As a matter of fact, the bucket was but a tenth or so full. The towels and floors were completely dry. And, as if that isn't answered prayer enough, the toilet hasn't leaked since! And even though you might be laughing at all this (just as I was), I am happy to say that my thrice holy God answers prayer - sense of humor or not!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Could we with ink the ocean fill,

And were the skies of parchment made;

Were every stalk on earth a quill,

And every man a scribe by trade;

To write the love of God above

Would drain the ocean dry;

Nor could the scroll contain the whole,

Though stretched from sky to sky.

- by Frederick Lehman -

Home - wherever that is

As the old gospel hymn says, "The world is not my home, I'm just a-passin' through...". For some of us that reality is almost a daily reminder. The question, "Where are you from?" always causes me to pause. I can join in almost any conversation with a, "Oh, I'm from there" which isn't a lie whether they're talking about Nashville or Boston. I can laugh hysterically at Saturday Night Live making fun of Newt Gingrich stomping New Hampshire, or I can roll my eyes at Texans who will vote for Rick Perry simply because he's from Texas. And you don't want to know how many times I start filling out something with a wrong address...well, an address that isn't my present one.

All that to say I'm home. Sort of. Actually, I think I've crossed over yet another right of passage into adulthood. For officially I suppose I can say I'm at my parents' house. It's not exactly home. For the first time in the two years I've been in Texas, I come to Indiana as a guest - meaning I don't have a bedroom here in anymore. Well, I am sleeping in my bed. In a room with my desk, my dresser and one of my bookshelves. But my desk doesn't have any of my belongings in it. My dresser has only a few of my clothes in it. My bookshelf does have my books on it, but only fifty or so of them. As for my bed, well, it's been moved and I'm sleeping on sheets and a quilt discovered in closets and a chest. Everything else I own is scattered about the house, being used by someone else, or packed away in boxes in the attic. It's all waiting for me to decide where I will officially make my home. Like I ever plan on making that decision.

It's been odd the last couple of times I've visited "home". When I went to New Hampshire in June, I felt like I was at war with myself - one foot in two worlds. I consider New Hampshire "home" like my parents consider Tennessee to be "home". I love New Hampshire. I would happily live the rest of my life there, except I must confess there is at least one thing in Texas I don't want to live without. Hence the two worlds. Coming to Indiana doesn't have that same effect. I only lived here 9 months, and I could well live without cornfields for the rest of my life. But most of my family is here. And I love being with them. But their life is certainly not the one I am use to anymore.

But I am happily home for the holidays...this time in Indiana. Next year? Well, who knows.

What Isn't Done

Some weeks it seems like I get more not done than done. Thankfully I'm not talking about work. Because this is my last day before I head off to Indiana for a week to spend Thanksgiving with my family. My to-do list is done, every form everyone should need printed in bulk, admits as completed as possible, etc. Hopefully I won't come back to a national disaster area.

I'm talking more personal. Like so much for getting all the windows into my dollhouse before I leave. I still have tomorrow to put a few in. I hope all the kitchen, the library, and the 2nd and 3rd floor halls. The rest will probably have to wait, although I can glue some pieces together so they'll be ready to go.

Didn't get a bit of shopping I wanted to get done before I leave accomplished either. Oh, well. Missed shopping ventures are never losses in my book.

There are still a few other things I need to do before I leave, a couple pretty important (like laundry, calling the bank) and some that will probably just have to wait until I get back. Like I'll have a great deal of time between now and Christmas. Although, I will have to fit that shopping in...

On Wednesday in my class at church we did a thankfulness tree. Nothing unusual about that, but instead of cutting the leaves out of construction paper I decided the kids could do leaf rubbings, cut those out and write what they're thankful for on that. I had to go to a park to get leaves (mesquite leaves don't work for rubbing) and could only find oak and some kind of elm. (Although, I guess kudzu would have worked...) First the kids couldn't believe those were real leaves. Then they didn't know what to do with them. I had to demonstrate putting leaves under the paper and coloring over them with a crayon. Now I thought leaf rubbings were something most kids did by the age of 3. But apparently that isn't the case in Texas where trees (and, therefore, leaves) are a luxury item.

Guess we learned more than the fact that God can do all His holy will. Which, sadly, was not putting trees in the state of Texas.

Book Review

The first book I picked up by Kim Vogel Sawyer was My Heart Remembers. I loved it. Which is why I kept reading her books. And which is why I was a bit disappointed with her newest A Whisper of Peace.

The story is good. A story of forgiveness, and starting a mission to Alaskan Indians, and the joys and trials of life. While Lizzie is the heroine of the story, a young woman estranged from her mother's tribe, I found Vivian to be much more interesting. For Vivian, the missionary's sister, is a young woman trying to prove by whatever means she can that she is worth something. As for Clay, the missionary, I had trouble relating to him. His drive and passion are heroic, but there is no explanation of why he feels so driven.

For those who are reading Kim Vogel Sawyer for the first time, A Whisper of Peace will be a good story. But for those who have read a few of her novels before, I think you will be disappointed.

Interested? http://www.bethanyhouse.com/ME2/Audiences/dirmod.asp?sid=0477683E4046471488BD7BAC8DCFB004&nm=&type=PubCom&mod=PubComProductCatalog&mid=BF1316AF9E334B7BA1C33CB61CF48A4E&tier=3&id=53C1467E9E474559B1856B1C32D3FF12



This book was provided for review by Bethany House Publishers.