Another Year

Well, I didn't get a white Christmas. But it snowed beautifully the day after...and today as I left Indiana to return to Texas. I was just happy to see snow. There is something peaceful about it, despite all the havoc it can wreak. Perhaps there is a lesson in that, but sitting in the most stressful airport in the United States (Kansas City) isn't conducive to thinking deep thoughts.

It was a nice Christmas. Way too much food (as always), lots of noise and activity with the dogs (especially as Gus pesters the others), games and new movies to watch. As always, it went by too quickly.

It's hard to believe 2012 is almost over. I don't know what it is about 2013, but it seems like an odd year. Maybe it's the 13...unlucky or something. For me, it can only go up. At least I hope. 2012 has been a little hard. One of those years that will go in the record books along with 1998, 2004 and 2007. And yet where would I be in my life without 1998, 2004 and 2007? Truly, I shutter to think. In a few years, I'm sure I will say the same about 2012. Of course there is a lesson in that, too. But again, hours of travel and the Kansas City airport don't make for sound thinking.

But as I think of the year our Sovereign God just brought me through and the one that is to come (and only He knows what it will hold), I am beginning to think of the goals that will encourage me through the year...that will keep me going. For one, to read more books by godly men that will encourage me in my walk. Secondly, to get back to writing. I've hardly put pen to paper this past year (or fingers to keyboard), but when I do I remember how it calms me and gives me joy. Thirdly, to work on my dollhouse as I have things to put into it or do some scrapbooking in between that. Something that puts what little creativity I have in that direction to work. The color and imagination will help me recover from the endless paperwork I "enjoy" eight hours every day. And lastly, pray more specifically for the desires of my heart to the Father who delights in me.

Traditions: Decorations

In so many ways, the decorations we put up at Christmas are not entirely traditional. For one, this will be my 33rd Christmas....33 years and seven other siblings later there are some memorable decorations no longer around. For instance, the nativity scene I first remember has long been broken to pieces and thrown away...

I was thinking the other day that I don't even remember putting up lights on the house until I was well into my teens...or even twenties. Today I consider that a tradition, to put up lights before December arrives so you won't freeze to death and take them down after Easter when they're no longer frozen to the house. But, apparently, that fun is just over a decade old.

So is one of my favorite decorations to put up: my Christmas village. I always wanted a Christmas village. So, not quite ten years ago my sisters got together, purchased pieces to a ceramic village and painted each piece themselves. The next two years following, I got a few more pieces, lovingly painted by my sisters. Each is marked at the bottom with their name, and the whole thing is very special to me. These past several years I have put it up at Thanksgiving so I can enjoy it a few days then and again when I arrive home for Christmas. Just this year I was thinking I need to purchase a train to run around it...maybe next year. :)

Of course, there are my ornaments. Most of these are more than twenty years old, some more than thirty. And each became special in their own way. I love pulling them out of their boxes and hanging them up, remembering who gave them to me and the occasion. My Christmas ornaments are like a living picture book...

Every year, we put up a live tree. I can't imagine my family will ever put up a fake one. We hang our stockings....sometimes by a fire with care but that depends on the house we're living in. The one in Indiana does not have a fireplace, so they are placed on the staircase with care. Mom made each of our stockings (too large, she says, for they are hard to fill) and we all love the uniqueness of each of them. (I even have fabric in the attic for the stockings Mom will make my children.) When I was in elementary school, Mom had someone make ceramic stocking holders we used for years and years. Some are still around, but in the last few years she has purchased each of us our own, as unique as our stockings.

There is greenery, but Katey (the one who loves to decorate) started that about ten or less years ago, and while I think it is lovely and enjoy having it out have never put it out myself. And then Mom decorates her pineapple plant...another in-the-last-decade tradition...and a story I won't detail here. But I do look for it when I go home. :)

Traditions: Food

I'm thinking by what I hear from others that the traditions we have surrounding food is...hmm, over the top? Maybe not, but we certainly have quite a few.

One is our cookies. We start with gingerbread, which we always make the day after Thanksgiving. It's a big deal - takes hours between mixing the dough, rolling it out and cutting them with cookie cutters, and then elaborate decor with sprinkles and icing. We have everything from traditional Christmas trees to "Walmart wreaths" (which are blue with yellow smiley faces).

After that, it's a first-come-first-bake as far as who makes the other cookies. In New Hampshire, our pastor's kids would come over to help us dip pretzels in almond bark (and make a mess). Now it's not quite so much fun. There are Surprise cookies, Sandies, Spritz (my favorite!), coconut ball, peanut butter balls and fudge. Enough cookies to feed an army...

Then is our traditional Christmas Eve dinner. This comes from dad's side of the family, but we're not quite so German, thanks to Mom's Scottish side, so we leave out the pickled herring and raw meats of every kind. But we do have cold cuts of bologna, salami, ham, turkey and roast beef. Cheeses if all sorts: cheddar, pepperjack, horseradish cheddar, provolone and swiss. A relish tray, assorted crackers, cheese balls, sausage balls, little wieners, a couple of breads/rolls and deviled eggs. As you can imagine, for all it's simplicity, this is our most expensive meal of the year.

Then comes Christmas dinner. Some years we have turkey and some years we have ham. (I think mom would have Country Ham if she could get it - just have a jug of water handy.) Depending on what meat is served, the side dishes follow suit. So we could have stuffing and sweat potatoes, or we could could have a potato casserole and rolls. We almost always have cranberry sauce and green bean casserole.

Jesus's birthday cake is always dessert. When we were kids, this was a simple cake (vanilla or chocolate), iced and saying "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" Now it is quite elaborate, depending on who makes it (which tends to be either Sally or Abby). Last year was gingerbread/chocolate which was three layers with spiced icing - straight from Southern Living. Not sure what it will be this year. However, there is one tradition we always follow: each of us gets a candle on their slice to blow out after we sing "Happy Birthday". And don't ask me how this tradition got started, but we try to light all the candles with one match: passing it from person to person all the way around the table.

Of course there is also eggnog to be found in the refrigerator. And Dad is always cracking nuts. There are candy canes...and there tends to be assorted cookies and baked goods (especially the latter now that all 5 siblings that live in IN work in a bakery) all over the kitchen cabinets. So, there's a lot of nibbling throughout the season...and a lot of running afterwards.

Happy 21st Birthday, Jenny!

Traditions: The Quirky

I'm sure if your family has Christmas traditions, some of them you probably don't know how they really came about...or why they stuck. So it is in our family.

For instance, we put up our Christmas tree the second Saturday of December: the day Navy plays Army. Go Navy! Beat Army! Which they have for the past eleven years...so I'm guessing that's now a tradition, too. :)

Grace goes around and says to Abby almost every time she sees her, "It's almost Christmas, Charlie!" Not sure when Grace started this one, but it can be explained. "Charlie" is Abby's nickname. The line comes from The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever which we watch every Christmas Eve...I think still on VHS!

The whole point of making a Christmas list is not really to suggest to your many siblings and parents what you really want. It's more of a "if you have a million dollars to spend on me, I would like a _______". Some of us are much more creative than others. Caleb's list is just plain creative: this year he wanted a sister who would fill the soap dispenser (and probably one that would replace the toilet paper).

Although if you asked Abby, this is our last Christmas with "children" in the house. (Next year Caleb will be 18...but, of course, age does not qualify adulthood as I'm sure you know.) So what makes very little sense is that Grace (who will turn 23 two weeks after Christmas) still bounces around the house in abject excitement from Thanksgiving until Christmas and then until her birthday. Or why we still get up at six in the morning to open gifts!

And lastly, this tradition has now fallen to the wayside: we would all take one day to do all our Christmas shopping together. That does still occur for those at home, but...Daniel is no longer there to buy some random form of deodorant at Wal-mart or get dragged into Bath and Body because all we girls need a couple of extra arms to try out all the scents. (The latter he's probably quite grateful for.)

Traditions: The History

Last night I attended a Christmas party with Haley at her church. Before the main speaker got up, a few women shared the Christmas traditions their families enjoy. It got me to thinking about what I would say if I got up in front of 200 women to share my traditions (after I got over the shaking...which I probably wouldn't). Instead, I'll share them on my blog (and won't shake).

First of all, I think it would be appropriate to share a little bit of history. It's safe enough to say that traditions come from my dad's Catholic/German/Polish side of my family - not the Scot Presbyterians on my mom's side. In Dad's family Christmas means tradition. From the earliest age, if we spent Christmas with that side of the family, I remember the wafer Grandma brought out. She and Grandpa would break it in half, then share those halfs with my dad and his sisters, who would then share those parts with my mom and any uncles who had married into the family. When I got a bit older, I was included, then my siblings and cousins. I think the object was to represent sharing and unity, but all I remember as a kid was the wafers didn't taste like anything and after sharing pieces with everyone in the room all you got was a wad of sweaty wafer in your hand. I have to say that I think I missed the point.

I would almost say it was a tradition to open our presents at Grandma's house a different way every year. From everyone at once, to taking turns, to the adults first and kids after...I can't remember them all. But Grandma never seemed to find a way she liked it.

Grandma's decorations, the tier of cookies (I loved that tradition as a kid - I never had to ask for a cookie, just take one!), Grandma and Grandpa sending us a box full of tupperware containing cookies and nuts, Christmas Eve dinner (yuck on the pickled herring), a gingerbread house...everything they did was traditional. It had to be. My grandmother would die before giving up her traditions.

And what of my mom's side of the family? Umm...even my mom will say that aside from the oyster casserole (which she hates, so that didn't come into our family), they didn't really have any.  Being Scot Presbyterian, I imagine my long distant ancestors didn't even celebrate Christmas. Too pagan.

I think the history of my family goes far in explaining a series I'll write during the next few weeks on my family's traditions at Christmas. And why, if God ever gives me a family, I'll have traditions. I guess they're a part of who I am.

Merry Christmas to Me

I remember when I was a teenager one of my sisters, who was about three at time, discovered Christmas shopping and giving. Being generous by nature, she bought everyone little gifts...including herself. And she wrapped everyone's little gifts...including her own. And on Christmas morning, we all opened our gifts from her...as did she. :)

I guess I am a bit guilty of buying one or two gifts for myself over the last 33 Christmases of my life. Usually it was a new CD of Christmas music. But with Pandora and the huge CD library one of my sister's has, I don't even do that anymore. But this year I went all out. I bought myself a rather expensive gift...even though it is quite small.

The story begins with I love carousels. In 2004, Hallmark produced a carousel and one of the animals for it: a lion. Over the next several years, they would produce one animal to add to it. In 2004 they produced so many lions they were selling them off half price after Christmas. So, my sister Katey (who bought me the carousel) fell back to her Scottish roots and decided she would wait till after Christmas to purchase 2005's animal, a giraffe. However, Hallmark decided (because they're a corporation and it's sound business) not to produce as many giraffes. Which meant they were all sold out by Christmas and could not be begged, borrowed or stolen afterwards. Within a few years the only place to find them was eBay...for anywhere between $125 to $200. Way too much this Scots-blooded person wanted to chunk out.

But I decided this Christmas as I was putting my carousel up (minus the giraffe) that I wanted to see if I could complete it. So I started watching eBay and bidding on the one's that were less than $100. On Monday I became quite the eBay guru. The bid wasn't going to end until 10 minutes after I left work...so I followed it on my phone. And won!

So this year my carousel will be complete...and my Christmas money spent in advanced.

More Clichés

A few weeks ago (or more...time goes by too fast, and I didn't look), I posted about clichés. Today, I came across another one.

We've all heard the phrase: "out of the frying pan and into the fire". We all know what it means, although if any of us are truly honest about it, we probably haven't really experienced it. For we live very comfortable lives in the US. Apparently it has been in use in some form or fashion since BC. Aesop made it famous in his fables. And, we Christian Reformers will be quite proud, Thomas More used it to describe William Tyndale during a pamphlet war. (And was quite right - literally.)

But perhaps the real phrase came into being as recorded thus:

"What shall we do! What shall we do!" he (Bilbo Baggins) cried. "Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!" he said, and it became a proverb, though we now say 'out of the frying-pan into the fire' in the same sort of uncomfortable situations.  - J.R.R. Tolkien in The Hobbit.

Bilbo could have gone on to say "Escaping wolves to escape spiders to escape dragons." For Tolkien had the art of each trial of his characters being worst than the last down to an art...

Yes, I am re-reading The Hobbit. In preparation for the movie which shall soon be upon us. After all, it's been 16 or 17 years since I have read it, and I'm discovering I have forgotten more than half the plot. Now I shall be quite ready to see how well the movie follows the book. (Well, over the next three years...) And, truly, it's well worth reading. I forgot how well Tolkien writes.

But in case you're wondering, as my roommate was, no I will NOT be re-reading Les Miserables before the movie premiers. I think spending hours several years ago wading through Waterloo and then wandering around 19th century Paris sewer systems are more than sufficient for one lifetime. Besides, I'd much rather just watch Hugh Jackman for a few hours!

A Christmas Novella Review

It's Christmas once again and so I pull out a few Christmas stories to get into the season. (Or try to...when you live somewhere where you can still go to the beach every day, I can never feel very seasonal.) Among my favorites I add a few new ones. This year I added A Christmas Home.

Many of you might know the prequel to this book thanks to Hallmark's Hall of Fame: A Dog Named Christmas. A good story about a dog adopted for Christmas, A Christmas Home continues the story of Todd, his parents, Christmas and newfound friend Laura and her dog Gracie as they fae finding homes for the animals at the closing shelter. A simple story, easy to read and a nice way to spend an afternoon. If you just want to curl up with a short, heart warming tale as it snows outside (or you wish it would snow), this is a good tale.



This book was provided by Waterbrook Multnomah for review purposes only.

A Time to be Thankful

You may know the name Matthew Henry. He wrote (along with a few scholars as he died before it was completed) and excellent set of commentaries on the Bible. Once, he was robbed of his wallet. Knowing how he ought to give thanks for all things, he wrote (in true Matthew Henry style):

“Let me be thankful, first, because he never robbed me before; second, because although he took my purse, he did not take my life; third, because although he took all I possessed, it was not much; and fourth, because it was I who was robbed, not I who robbed.”

It is that time of year when we focus on being thankful, although, like Matthew Henry, we know it is our duty to be always thankful in all things. And so I shall be thankful:

First, because although I can’t remember the last time I saw rain, water still comes out of the faucet when I turn it on.

Second, because although Texas is not far from the equator, it is not directly on it.

Third, because although Texans don’t see to care who crosses into their border, they also don’t care who crosses back over it.

And fourth, because although I have now lived in Texas three times, I was not born here.

What would you do?

If you fell sick today and were told by God to set your house in order for you would soon die, what would you do?

Some people might make a bucket list and do whatever it is they’ve always wanted to do. Others might try to make a final effort to make their life count. Still others would call hospice and set their house in order so their family wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Most would beg God (whether they ever cared for Him before or not) for more life.

That is exactly what King Hezekiah of Judah did. You probably all know the story recorded in 2 Kings and in Isaiah. The prophet Isaiah came to the sick Hezekiah and told him to put his house in order for he would soon die. Hezekiah rolled over, cried, and begged God for more life. After all, he was a very good man, right? God heard Hezekiah’s cry, told Isaiah to return and said He would give Hezekiah fifteen more years. To prove He would do as He said, God changed time and set the sun back ten degrees.

In return, Hezekiah praised God. Then he begot Manasseh, who would be the most wicked king the nation of Judah ever had. And in his great pride, showed the tiny nation of Babylon all his wealth. When Isaiah called him to task on that and said God would one day hand all of Judah’s wealth and Hezekiah’s offspring into Babylon’s hand, Hezekiah didn’t care. He wanted only peace and truth for his own generation. He had no regard for his sons, grandsons or the legacy that would be lost.

The Bible tells us that Hezekiah was one of the most righteous kings Judah had. He tore down idols and high places, had scribes write up Solomon’s proverbs and turned to God in his greatest need when Assyria almost conquered them. Which made me wonder as I was reading this story recently, why did such a righteous man prefer life on earth over eternity in Heaven?

Who knows what Hezekiah had in mind. More good works, copying out more of Solomon’s proverbs, making the temple grand. There are a lot of things one can do in fifteen years, especially as a very wealthy king. And, in the end, God is sovereign. He always knew Hezekiah would have fifteen more years, Manasseh would be born and become an evil king and Babylon would overcome Judah.

But if you were told today to set your house in order for you would soon die, what would you do? Me? I would tell God to take me. I am ready to go Home.

Getting ready...

As you can see, I've made my blog more wintery. But it's wishful thinking. I've learned over the last three years that no matter how wintery my blog looks, whether Haley and I put up a tree or not, how many miles I run listening to Christmas music, whether I bake dozens of cookies or none and no matter how many gifts I purchase: I don't feel Christmasy.

Sunny blue skies, temperatures of 70 and an occasional frost do not make winter.

I've been having a lot of dreams lately of snow: mounds and mounds of snow. I picture it in my head. I see pictures on the internet. And I cry. I was talking to a friend just last night about the holidays and started crying. I'm not usually emotional. I keep my tears to myself. But thinking about another winter that isn't winter at all...perhaps it's just as well or my tears would freeze on my cheeks.

So, I guess I'm not getting ready for anything. Just hoping. And praying. And, perhaps, getting sick. As Proverbs wisely says, "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick..."

If only the desire would come...

Clichés

There are all kinds of clichés in the English language that, quite frankly, don't make any sense. In conversation last week, a friend remarked about someone, "Well, I guess she wants to have her cake and eat it, too...you know, that cliché doesn't make a lot of sense."

 "No, it doesn't," I agreed. "I mean, if you have your cake of course you're going to eat it."

Unless, perhaps, it's chocolate which I don't particularly like. I'll probably try to give that one away...

Of course, if you want to know something today you just pull up Google and find your answer. So, that's what we did. And the answer to "have your cake and eat it, too?"? Well, apparently, it's backwards.

When the cliché originally came into the English language hundreds of years ago, it was actually, "You can't have your cake and eat it, too." Which makes a lot more sense. For you can't both have a cake and have eaten it. (Unless you count that you have it digesting in your stomach.) And that is what we mean when we say that cliché: you can't have both of whatever it is you want - you have to pick one or another.

 I think I shall try to make a concerted effort to correct my English and now say, "Well, you can't eat your cake and have it, too." In all likelihood, the person I say this to will reply, "That's not how that goes." And, because I can be a smart alleck, I will then share my wisdom with one who, obviously, is not quite so wise.

 But I might just change the cliché totally. Because the English-speaking world does not have the market cornered on this phrase. It seems that most languages have a similar cliché, using different items to make the point of our inability have two things at once. My two personal favorites are:

 Dutch: "You can't have flour in your mouth and blow."

 Italian: "You can't have a casket full of wine and your wife drunk."

 I have to admit the latter makes me wonder... If I feel really smart-allecky, I might use that one. Just to see what kind of looks I get!

Grammar Report

My dad has been visiting this weekend. This morning he showed me Caleb's grammar report. And I will admit, my "baby" brother is a better writer than I...at least at satire. But, then, most of my younger siblings are better at just about everything than I am. (Maybe I can take credit in teaching them something and them excelling from there, but I doubt it.) Regardless, I do take pride in my younger siblings' achievements. So, with the writer's permission, I thought I would share:

Toilet paper can become a very complicated matter if one lets it get out of hand (no pun intended). Has anyone of us not had the unfortunate and deeply annoying experience of sitting down to do one’s business in the facilities and only realized that the tools required to complete one’s goal are not readily available when one reaches the end of the journey to heed the call of the wild? I myself have many times sat down in relative comfort and peace of mind to relieve my stress, only to realize that some inconsiderate philistine has taken all of the toilet paper required to finish my work and have had to make the awkward, and often treacherous maneuver to stand up and reach around the edge of the doorway and grab a roll from our supply of replacements. And in one than more occasion, not only did the uncouth barbarian take all of my immediately required amenities but they also didn’t bother to even open the new package of replacements, forcing me therefore to further extend my anguish and try to reach both arms around the protrusion and rip the package apart in order to restore peace of mind to myself and the rest of the household. The really tragic part of the whole affair is that it all could be avoided if certain proverbial idiots thought to merely place a new roll of urgently desired cloth on the back of the seat of relief. Of course we have all heard the excuses, “there was still some left”, “I forgot”, “I couldn’t find any”, “it wasn’t me” and my personal favorite “I didn’t think you needed any”. We often take our duties in this life for granted, but there is no calling that compares to that of caring for one’s fellow man and may we all be able to look in the mirror tonight and think with pride, “I didn’t leave my brother hanging”.

Twenty Minutes

Twenty minutes can be a long span of time...or a short span of time. It depends on what you're doing. If I'm reading a really good book and have only twenty minutes to sit down and enjoy it, it's a very short period of time. But if I decide to jump rope for twenty minutes straight, well, it's amazing how long that can be.

Somedays I can wash a small load of laundry in twenty minutes. Other days the washer doesn't want to cooperate and the paint can doesn't weigh enough so twenty minutes doesn't cut it (unless you have a good book to read and want to sit on top of the washer). Other days I could weed-eat the entire inside of the fence in twenty minutes. But some days it takes me twenty minutes of attempting to start the stupid weed-eater before I give up and stomp away from twenty wasted minutes.

There are evenings where it takes me twenty minutes to make myself dinner. But most evenings it only takes five. (A salad isn't that complicated - oatmeal even less.) If I'm missing a penny as I balance my checkboook, it could take twenty minutes to find it. If everything balances, I can have it done in three.

Yesterday I ran 2.2 miles in twenty minutes. Then I went to the post office and moved ten feet in twenty minutes.

I should have brought a good book to read...

My New Morning Exercise Regime

It may be an unforgivable sin to post here that Amy Carmichael is not my all-time, world-renowned, cannot-get-enough-of-her hero. In fact, when I think of "hero" her name doesn't even make my list. It's not that I don't admire her...I just think if I'm going to have a human idol I'll go with Stonewall Jackson or Jefferson Davis.

It may also be an unforgivable sin to then add I've read hardly anything about her or by her. And the one thing that sticks out in my head that I did read has nothing to do with her spirituality, or poetry, or sacrificial service in India. What I always remember is she told the children under her care it was okay to kill an insect inside the house. For that is not where insects belong. Since then I have never blinked twice about killing an insect inside my house.

And since I'm confessing, I will add that I am prejudiced. For if I find a ladybug inside my house, I usually catch it and let it back outside. Moths I don't bother at all (as long a they're not an inch or more large) and roly-polys I ignore. But if the said insect has a sting attached to one side of its body or is a near cousin even without the stinger...well, that insect is history.

This morning such an insect was in my bedroom. I don't think it had a stinger, but it was certainly a member of the wasp family. And, remembering Amy Carmichael's wise words, I promptly found something to kill it with and commenced with the chase. My prey liked to hide up my lamp shade, so I spent quite a bit of time trying to get it to come out. When it finally did, I lost it for a moment. But I rediscovered it on the wall and extinguished it. Thus ended my five-minute morning exercise.

Morning exercise is a good thing. Perhaps tomorrow I'll kill a hornet.

Can't Remember

I thought at one point of time this weekend I had something I really wanted to blog about this week but now....well, my usually sharp memory has flown north for the winter. The rest of me wants to follow. A good psychiatrist would tell me I NEED to follow it.

Twice in the last four days I have dated something as if it is August. That's simply because it is hot enough to be August. Nearly 90 this weekend. I know long winters of grey skies can cause clinical depression. I am a case in point that long summers of a beating sun can cause the same thing. I am so tired of this heat I could scream. I have cried...and cried...and cried...I want out of Texas so bad it hurts.

You may have heard that Texas lost an icon this past weekend: "Big Tex". (As if there is a "Little Tex" somewhere, which there isn't because nothing in Texas is little - right?) It's the huge cowboy that has greeted guests at the Texas State Fair for the last 60 years. It caught fire on Friday morning and went up in flames in a matter of minutes. I don't doubt that for many this was truly a sad thing. He had been the icon of a lifetime. But I heard from a Texan herself who went to the fair on Saturday that all the flowers and signs of "RIP" and "Get Well Soon, Tex" were a little over the top. "Big Tex" will be back next year - bigger and better for the 21st Century. I heard that online there's a picture of next year's: a huge cowboy holding up an even bigger plasma screen TV with Jerry Jones's face flashing on it. Not only is that hilariously funny, I nearly believe it could be.

Well, my lunch break is nearly over. I've got to run to Sam's (they expect me like clockwork every other Tuesday...I'm nearly serious about that for I went to pick up something once on another day and the cashier remarked about it). Then it's back to work where I have a project going that would only take an hour if I didn't keep getting interrupted...like that's going to happen!

Cookies, Soldiers and Boys

Last night we studied Jehovah Sabaoth in my Wednesday night class. The Lord of Hosts. Perfect topic for two eleven-year-old boys who were already talking about war, and guns, and fighting the moment they walked through the classroom door. As we discussed how God is the Lord of Hosts, the different ways He can be so, and how He fought different wars in Scripture...well, I'm not sure either Frankie or Matt could tell me who Ruth married and why that is important but they could give me the battle plan of half the battles in Scripture:

• Gideon's small and carefully chosen army with lamps, pots and trumpets...and the enemy army that turned on each other.
• Jericho's walls coming down with walking and a shout.
• A whole battle won by singing hymns to God.
• The Egyptian army defeated by the Red Sea, after Israel walked through on dry land.
• The sun standing still for Joshua.

If you want to know how God defeated His enemies in battle, ask little boys. They're better than theologians.

For the craft that evening, I had baked gingerbread men and brought tubes of frosting to decorate them into soldiers. My little soldier had his sword, and helmet, and belt, and shoes. It never crossed my mind to add bullet wounds, stitches, eye patches, crushed legs or arrows sticking out of the shoulder. But, of course, that was all Frankie and Matt could think of. For the more battle wounds one has, the better a soldier. And when I thought about it later that night, perhaps they are more accurate. After all, as soldiers of our Jehovah Sabaoth, battling the evil of this world, we are wounded, and sore pressed, and in need of stitches and bandages. And yet, God still uses us. We march on...for we know the victory will be ours.

Matt and his soldiers - including one with an arrow in his shoulder and one with a cannon ball wound.

Frankie and his soldiers - including eye patches, stitches...and, generally, the more wounds the better!

Part of the army.

Random Thoughts

Average week last week....average week this one. Which is just as well. Unless, of course, I could choose how to change average.

Got to thinking last week of how great God's creation is, even if it can be kind of gross. I hit a skunk Wednesday night on our dirt road. Didn't mean to. I thought it was clear, but when I found it lying dead in the middle of the road Thursday, well...I guess I'm a murderer. (But I can't say either Haley or I are sorry - not if it ridded us of the skunk that digs up our yard. We're just hoping it doesn't have a family.) Anyhow, I figured we'd have to discuss animal control when I got home from work. Haley's plan, I learned, was to go out with a stick and flip it into the brush. (She's braver than I.) Thankfully, we didn't have to do either. The vultures got it. Disgusting to think about, but a much better solution than a stick or animal control.

Have a new tennis coach on Mondays and Saturdays. The first week he said he had moved there from Nevada. I've met one person born and raised in Nevada who did have an accent I'd never heard. I thought this guy had a rather strong one. I was right, but it wasn't Nevada-ish. He's Canadian - Ontario somewhere. He remarked he thinks Texas is rather nice. Crazy Canadian.

Math tutoring right now. Got throught the word problems easy. Graphing always did give me a headache...but we'll get it. Just not sure how much my student will retain!

Floors!

Several people have asked if I'm still working on my dollhouse. The answer is yes, but the process is slow. That's simply because everything I have to do on it has to be purchased before I can do it...and let me just tell you how expensive that's going to be! But I've got a lamp to put in as soon as I sit down to give it my undivided attention (otherwise, it's far too easy to cut a cord). And I am working on the floors of the kitchen and library. Those floors are much bigger than my naked eye thinks! I thought I had enough flooring...but I'm going to have to purchase more. The kitchen is only half done. As you can see from the picture, all if have left of the library is the edges:

Then it will need to be finished with some polyurethane. I like doing floors! Pieces put in geometrically, making all kinds of patterns depending on which way you turn them. I could do floors all day long.

Doing floors got me to thinking about my options and how I want to do the other floors. One night this week I started thinking about the living room. I thought about a piece of furniture I might like but then told myself, "Well, maybe not. After all, when they move that piece will be awful to move and might not fit in their next living room."

As if my dollhouse family is going to move from house to house every two years...

As if you always purchase furniture that will move easy and not get destroyed by movers...

As if furniture is purchased solely on its ability to work in just about any house...

You don't think I've moved too often, do you?

Guess I'm going to need to build another dollhouse...or two or three. And keep one with me, one at my parents' house and maybe one at my sister's. That way when my dollhouse family needs to move in two years, they will have somewhere to go. I wonder if there are dollhouse size moving boxes?

The Touch of a Life

There are many people in this world who will touch our lives in one way or another as we journey on this pilgrimage to our Home. Some we know well. Some we know very little. And some, in their own quiet way, make an impression that will last, perhaps, a lifetime.

My fondest memory was in February, probably in 2006 or 2007. Although eight years younger than me, his birthday was around the same time as mine. I met him in the crowded hall at church as I put my coat on, a face I saw every week with an almost shy smile that never seemed to disappear. He had a glass jar full of Starbursts in his hands.

"Happy Birthday, Jesse," I told him.

"Thanks. Would you like one? Or two?"

He held the jar out to me and I took a couple of my favorites with a thank-you.

In all honesty, that was probably the longest conversation I ever held with Jesse Amador, although I would greet him if we crossed paths or ask him how work was going now and then. But he was always at church. He was always with his friends. He always wore a smile. He had a sweet, gentle spirit. A young man who the Lord could truly use here on this earth.

But very early this morning as Jesse Amador drove to work, he swerved to miss a dead bear in the road. Swerving back, he lost control of his car, passed over the median and down a hill into the forests of New Hampshire...and met his Savior.

It is hard to understand how the Lord works. Why He would take a promising 24-year-old young man to be with Him when we could think of a hundred reasons for that young man to stay with us. And yet is not Jesse most blessed to be with our Lord?

If you read this, pray for the Amador family: Jesse's parents, his five siblings and his church family who loved him dearly. The days ahead will be hard, but we know there is a Comforter and He will comfort.

A Token

Show me a token for good...  Psalm 86:17a

This is a verse our pastor in New Hampshire would often pray, for as God's children we long that our Heavenly Father will give us just a small token of His graciousness - a reminder that He does love and care for us. I find myself praying this often as late.

In truth, every day we live on this earth is a token of God's goodness. Every breath we take. Every gulp of water we swallow. Every step, every heartbeat, every ounce of sunshine or drop of rain. As a child of God, the fact that my eternity is set in heaven, never to be shaken, is well more than a mere "token" of good. But when life plods on with no reprieve to the dark valley in sight, those tokens are often lost to us. Not absent - never. But, perhaps, stuffed into a pocket...and forgotten.

This weekend God gave me a token for good. I imagine most people down here would protest that there was anything good in it, but for a young woman who longs for autumn and a true winter after years in this endless summer of barrenness, I nearly cried for joy. For two whole days, the sun disappeared. Dark clouds brought not rain but temperatures so chilly I could wear a sweatshirt, sweaters and boots. We put a fire in the fireplace, where I curled up last night to read a good mystery. And last night I huddled under my blankets as temperatures dropped into the 30s...and hated to burrow out this morning.

For some, seeing one's breath in the morning is nothing. The thought that it truly is autumn is just part of the calendar reading "October". But for me, none of that is so. I so rarely see my breath in the morning, even in the middle of winter, I sometimes ache to see it. The season of autumn doesn't truly exist in Texas: nothing changes color and the natives think temps in the 80s qualify as a cold spell...while I feel disheartened that the sun beats down upon me yet one more endless day.

Two days of true autumn weather is a mere token...when there are 365 days in a year and at least half of those should be cooler if not downright cold. But the token reminded me that God has not forgotten me down here. He knows where I am. He knows the longings of my heart. And, truly, He does love me. I know He does.

It's 4:40 in the afternoon on Friday...

...and as it flew by with this and that, I nearly forgot I had not posted a second time this week. And this is what you get when I've twenty minutes to do it in and hope the phone doesn't ring!

It's been another week in Texas...little to say about that. I caught up at work! My to-do list for next week is about 12 items long, some of which are just reminders to do something later in the month. All my charting is done, I think the Medicare claims are in the system for September, and next week looks like it could be incredibly dull. But that's my life. I saw a question on a work assessment this week that asked to rate the sentence "I like to work on my own slow, deliberate pace". The option "I don't have a slow, deliberate pace" wasn't a choice...but it's how I work.

Nothing planned for the weekend, but I have hopeful news: it's supposed to be in the 50s tomorrow. In Texas!!!! Real autumn weather!!!! I'm not sure I truly believe it. We'll see tomorrow. But if it is true, then I plan on wearing jeans and a sweatshirt...and then having a party to celebrate the fact I can do that in October in Texas.

The car is washed and waxed - just as my dad always taught me to do. It looks lovely, but it won't for long. That's what happens when you live down a dirt road.

Got to finish reading a mystery tonight. Just a few chapters left and who committed the murder is down to just a few people now...I'm betting on the husband of the woman who supposedly died when the Titanic sank, only I'm not convinced she was on the ship. Which is why the priest had to be killed...he knew that. But we'll see if I'm right. Sherlock Holmes I'm not.

Randomness...it's the only thing that makes my life very interesting right now.

Peaks and Troughs, Part 2

It has been eighteen months since I posted on "peaks and troughs" and C.S. Lewis calls the ups and downs, mountains and valleys of our lives in his The Screwtape Letters. I read back over that post, and was glad for the reminder of how the conversation between Screwtape and his nephew Wormwood goes when Screwtape suggests a "peak" is more successful:

“You mean bring him to a peak?” Wormwood asks.  “But why?  Isn’t it more useful to us when he is in a trough?” 

“No!” Screwtape thunders. “When the patient is in a trough is when the Enemy does His greatest work. It is then the patient will turn to the Enemy and cleave to Him for help.  This makes the patient’s dependence and love for the Enemy even greater.  You must bring the patient to a peak.”

 

When the "Enemy" does His greatest work...I surely hope so.

 

For just as life always is, the peak has disappeared and my trough often seems so deep I can't see over the edge. The view is as dismal as Texas.

 

Which seems like half the problem, at least: Texas. I just want to go north. Cooler weather, beautiful foliage, the promise of winter.

 

And it never rains but it pours. Work, personal things...it all piles up. I feel exhausted by the end of the day, don't want to do anything on the weekends or really care to see anyone. I don't write much because I can't seem to get my thoughts together. I still read - it's ever an escape. And wonder if this trough will ever come to an end.

 

Hope is a brutal word. We hope...and nothing comes of it. So, we despair...and then hope again. Yet where would we be without hope? Always in despair? As much as it can hurt, the thought of no hope is worse.

 

I am grateful that my God doesn't change. He knows. He always knew these things would happen. And I must trust it is for the best. Even though He doesn't seem to be listening, I'm not sure which direction is right and the answer to every prayer is "no". I just keep reminding myself He is my Father. He wouldn't hurt me out of spite anymore than my earthly father would. He holds me in the hollow of His hand. And He does hear...even when He is silent. Trust. I have to trust.

Beautiful New Hampshire

I have heard statistics that say there are more motorcycles per capita in New Hampshire than any other state in the US. I think I saw most of those on Sunday, out for a ride on a lovely autumn day.

I have also heard people in New Hampshire eat more ice cream per capita than anywhere else in the US. I had a small pumpkin ice cream the size of my head that was to die for on Saturday. (Texas has nothing on New Hampshire’s version of a “small” ice cream!)

New Hampshire also has more vanity plates per capita than anywhere else in the US. My favorite: IT-3OVM. (You’ll need your rearview or side mirror for this one…)

I would also dare to say that New Hampshire has more political signs per capita in than anywhere else in the nation. I had forgotten that every major intersection has the grass covered with the them!

The WONDERFULNESS of New Hampshire. I can’t begin to say how glorious it was to be back there. To see the leaves changing into their fiery colors:

  

To walk under stunningly blue skies, around lumbering mountains and beside glittering ponds:

To saunter through old graveyards, imagining history and another time:

And, best of all, to spend time with my dearest friend and her six energized, fun, laughing children. Aren’t they adorable?

For the first time in many, many months I feel I have rested: spirit, soul and body. And, seriously, I want to go back for good.

A Little Respect

Whenever I travel, I get caught up on things going on in the world I didn't know anything about. I'm never sure if that's good or not. I mean "happiness is bliss". On the other hand, I don't like to consider myself as being uniformed. On this trip, I am learning about what is going on the world of American's greatest idol: football.

Brief recap: the NFL's refs are on strike. And as no bargain has been reached but the season has begun, replacements are necessary. As I understand it, they have decided not to use refs from Division 1 college ball because they don't want a conflict of interests, headaches with those refs or to interfere with their football season. So, they are using refs from lower college divisions and even high schools.

In our household as we played sports we were always taught to obey the refs. Yes, they make bad calls. Yes, you get upset at them. But on the court or field, their word is final. You don't argue and you don't take on a bad attitude in the middle of the game. If a coach wants to protest a call, that's his business and the proper way to do that is with respect. Apparently, though, once you reach the pros everything your parents taught you goes out the window. Not to mention just honest respect. At least that's what I have witnessed in the NFL games this weekend. Coaches haranguing the refs for bad calls (even if the guys watching the replays uphold them) and players trying to get away with murder on the field.

Now I'm not saying the replacements refs are making brilliant calls on the field. I witnessed a couple of bad ones this weekend. But I also witnessed them loosing control of the game because the coaches and players took an "anything goes" approach. And to be honest, it doesn't reflect well on the coaches and players. I'm not one of those people who thinks NFL players are the greatest heroes in America, but at least be decent. Do you honestly want all the kids who idolize you to act as disrespectful as you do?

These players and coaches ought to consider this: without refs there is no NFL season. So, take your pick: refs who have a learning curve and are going to make some honest bad calls or bench it. And since I'm sure none of you million-dollar-a-season men want to loose all that money, stop acting like your five years old and have just been told you can't have a candy bar. Grow up. And show a little respect.

Leaving!!!

Tomorrow I leave for the beautiful northeast!!!! 

And it can't come too soon. Yesterday is seemed liked everyone and their cousin wanted hospice. I had four admissions and only three nurses to cover them...not to mention all the visits they needed to do with their own patients (and the patients of our two absent nurses). Needless to say, it was hectic. But except for some doctor signatures and stuff, all four are done and safely charted. My desk is clean, and I can leave about one o'clock tomorrow afternoon.

The only problem will be coming back in twelve days...do I really have to?

A Lesson Learned

I got complimented today on good record keeping. Saved my boss some money. In truth, the actual record I thought I brought back to the office is...somewhere? I just didn't delete my e-mails. Not my sent ones, anyway. I forget to clean out that box. Good thing, too.

Last week someone asked me if I like to keep things. NO. After sixteen moves, you learn to just get rid of stuff. I'm a bane in my family: none of my siblings ever wanted me to help them clean out their rooms. (Yes, I got rid of the circle puzzle!!!) Despite that fact, I can still live with less than I own. Which is why half of what I own is here - and half in Indiana.

But as far as backing up stuff and keeping records, I'm pretty good at that. Over the last couple of weeks, I've been putting all my pictures (which are sorted on two CDs a piece in case one decides not to work later...) on flash drives. Call it preparation for when CDs join floppy disks. I do the same with almost everything on my laptop. After all, I can never recreate what I write. I don't want to loose it, even if one day I edit it to the point of tossing out the original story. But even I fail on some points.

I learned in December I need all my e-mail addresses in another location. In case someone hacks your e-mail. Okay, did that. (Sort of...still need to work on being more thorough with that scribbled list.) Yesterday it was my cell phone. It went off and couldn't get itself to completely come back on. I lost all my numbers. And who in 2012 write down or memorizes numbers? I could remember all of two. Between those and talking to people in person, I have recreated most of my list. And written them down. And will put them in my laptop. And print that off. And, perhaps, put them in Fort Knox  - just in case.

I once heard the difference between knowledge and wisdom is this: knowledge is learning from your own stupid mistakes; wisdom is learning from someone else's stupid mistakes and not making them your own. So, be wise and learn from my stupid mistake:

WRITE DOWN YOUR PHONE NUMBERS!!!!

There, I think that about covers it.

Heroes

It is true that today, the word "hero" is loosing it's significance.

"...our ideas of heroism are even more tarnished by our culture's ridiculous obsession with imaginary superheroes, whose fantasy exploits fill everything..." John MacArthur writes.

Think Captain America, Iron Man and Spider Man - all of which are exciting but beyond the grasp of mortal man.

On the other hand, "Real heroes are people whose efforts and sacrifices...change history, or shift the course of history for the better...The world changes for the better because of them."

For me that means Stonewall Jackson, Teddy Roosevelt or John Quincy Adams - all of whom were imperfect but used in amazing ways.

Twelve Unlikely Heroes by John MacArthur is all about real heroes. People who may be small in the vast scheme of things, are full of faults and weaknesses, or seemed by their neighbors to be anything but heroic. But as 1 Corinthians 1:27 says, "But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty."

So, delve into the heroes of Scripture: Samson, Esther, John the Baptist, John Mark, Jonah and (my personal favorite) Jonathan. Strengths, weaknesses, fear, courage. Everything that makes heroism what it truly is.

http://www.thomasnelson.com/twelve-unlikely-heroes.html

This book was provided by Thomas Nelson Publishers for review purposes only.