...journey onward...

fade, fade

2012-02-10T18:24:00.000-05:00

the peony.

it withered.

it faded.

i watched it go slowly.

it made me a little bit sad.

but happy, too.

aging flowers are beautiful. their petals remind me of the soft, wrinkly cheeks of grandmothers.

the wrinkles, they stand out on my own face, more lines to mark the passage of days.

the grey hair, it keeps coming. the other day a teenager peered at my head (in teenager fashion) and said, "wow! what a lot of white hair you have!" he asked permission to pull out a white strand. "will it hurt?" he asked, half jest, half curiosity. he pulled it out. "see, here it is," he flaunted the white strand like a banner before my nose. it was unmistakably white.

the white hair salts my head, increases, but i have hair. and though it shows signs of aging, trumpets the fact that i am no longer so youthful, i find myself growing more comfortable with it every day. this is how i am. it's a mercy to accept yourself for who God has ordained you to be.

to find the beauty

2012-02-07T16:59:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it is good to interrupt one's self in the midst of a work day, interrupt one's self with firm intent to wander around and notice what has grown up lovely.

Today was just the right time for stopping to notice while fully equipped with a camera. I wandered around the gardens of Sarah, she who lives a stone's throw away (a very stiff stone's throw, that is.) I found beauty as I wandered. I found refreshment and delight.

Gerbera Daisy the First, leaking water.

Charming Little One on the way to becoming.

Charming Little One again.

Gerbera Daisy Yellow, pure sunshiny happiness.

Pink Rose just newly begun.

Full Blown Rose, mature and yielding a heady fragrance.

Small Pink Rose of great possibility.

Look at those layers of petal.

Just Beginning, still all green, full of what is yet to be.

After all, not all who wander are lost. So says Tolkien. Perhaps, at times, those who wander are doing the finding.

when it rains

2012-02-06T19:22:00.000-05:00

Good things happen when it rains.

I am fond of rain. When I was a child, I'd beg to go out and play in the rain. I would find the deepest puddles and splash happily. I rode my bike through the wet till the back of me was a solid brown color. Even today I will gladly don a pair of Wellingtons, find an umbrella, and stroll through a summer rain.

Last summer I was desperately trying to finish some garden work while a storm brewed. I raced the rain, but it won. I ended up dashing through the downpour to put away the tools. I felt like a five-year-old again. There may have been an extra twirl or two, and I may have stayed out in it longer than was strictly necessary. I was thoroughly drenched and completely happy when I finally made it inside. There were puddles to clean up.

Just before I stepped out of my classroom this afternoon, the heavens opened. They poured rain. I clutched my computer bag to my side and thought, "Things are going to get wet."

One young man, one of those who used to sit in my classroom a few years ago, must have read my thoughts. He promptly fetched an umbrella and gallantly offered to escort me home. He kept up a steady conversation and carefully held the umbrella over my head the whole way to the door. I could not keep the grin from my face.

As I said, good things happen when it rains.

it is grace

2012-01-31T21:44:00.000-05:00

All of life is grace.

I scrawl it there on my desktop calendar. I want to remember it, how grace spills over into all the days. I need reminding.

* * *

In reading class, when he opens his mouth to say one word and another less pertinent word somehow slips out, we look at each other and burst into uncontrollable giggles. It's the wrong word at the wrong time but somehow it's right because we all see the humor in it. I barely manage to reign in my mirth. I stumble through my paragraph, dare to dart a glance at him after I've made it to the last period. His eyes still twinkle. We smother round two of giggles. I try to think sober thoughts while I hide behind my book. After all, I am the teacher, but it's a mercy to laugh when the humor overtakes us.

* * *

She brings a heart-shaped tin filled with a delicious strawberry dessert to me at the end of a crazy school day. One look at it's beauty, one taste of fresh strawberries, and I am instantly revived. It doesn't last long, but what a wonderful gift, her thoughtfulness.

* * *

She wrinkles up her nose in math class. "Pheeee-eewww!" she exclaims. "What's that smell?!" and she holds her nose. I look at the other student; I ask if he smells anything. He shakes his head. I take a few exploring sniffs and smell nothing amiss. "It stinks!" she says with all zeal. He looks over at her contemplatively for a few minutes, then raises his hand. "I know what she's probably smelling," he volunteers. "Sometimes when you have a cold, your nose smells like rotten sandwiches." I think "Rotten sandwiches?!!" and try desperately not to laugh. I thank him for his helpfulness and we swiftly return to the flashcards at hand. His helpfulness, it is a good gift.

* * *

We make it to the one hundredth day of school. We inflate a hundred balloons. We celebrate.

* * *

All of life is a gift. There's so much grace, so much mercy, in these the ordinary days of this my ordinary life. I look for grace, count it, receive it with gratitude. Seeing the grace changes everything.

here

2012-01-28T12:46:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning feeling as if I'd like very much to be about 1,036 miles north of here. Sometimes it is that way. Sunshine and balmy weather are all well and good, but occasionally the longing for family trumps everything else. Sometimes the longing for four seasons over-powers me. Sometimes I wish for gentle rolling hills.

So after I had a little chat with a sister, I went to market. I found a flower booth, and low and behold, there was a bucket full of peonies. They shouted to me. I leaned down over that gorgeous mass and took a good sniff, then I carefully picked out the most beautiful one I could see. I stood in line to pay, and struck up a conversation with another lady from Ohio. She told me about the whole hedge of peonies she used to have. We had a happy five minutes of flower talk.

I brought my peony home and found a vase it could live in. I pulled out my camera which has gone nearly rusty from disuse and clicked the shutter button a few times.

There is hope. I can go on. Spring will come again, spring in Ohio. When it does, I'll go home and putter around peony hedges and plant zinnias and grow nasturtilums and raise scarlet runner beans.

Right now I am here, and this is where I'm called to be. I have work to do here. I will go on and do it. I'll look for the joy in ordinary days, and I'll find it because God's promise holds true. He won't leave me comfortless; He'll give me just what I need to walk on, finish this work He calls me to do.

There is a good deal of beauty to be found right here. Beauty like the sun setting over Lido Beach.

Or the beauty of birds clustered in one golden beam of light.

Beauty of sunlight sparkling on water, making transparent gold of breaking waves.

Beauty of pristine shells washed up after sea travels.

Here. Here is where He is, where I am, where He can best do the work in my heart that needs doing. Here I stay till He is finished.

on pain

2012-01-20T04:13:00.001-05:00

I've just finished reading a most fascinating book. It's titled "Indian Captive: The Story of Mary Jemison" by Lois Lenski. It's a true story of a young girl who was captured and later adopted by the Seneca Indians.

The first years she spent with the Indians were difficult, terribly painful. She wanted to return to her family. She disliked the Indian ways. The future looked hopeless. But somewhere along the way, she begins to love the people who have adopted her as one of their own. Near the end of the book she discovers that the Indians who captured her have killed all of her family except two of her brothers. She realizes she has nowhere to return to. She has no home but with the Indians until, one day, an English captain comes to her village and offers to pay her ransom. She chooses to stay with the Indians.

This paragraph is my favorite one in the whole book.

"No, by coming to the Indians, she was the richer. She had learned much that she might not otherwise have learned. No matter what lay in store for her, she was willing now to go out to meet it. All that she had suffered in coming to the Indians would make the rest of her life easy by comparison. No pain, no sorrow which the future held, would be too great to bear. She was sister to the animals, to all growing things; she was sister to the Indians because she had suffered pain with them. Because her pain had been so great, she would be sister to the suffering as long as she lived. Washed clean by pain, she faced the future unafraid."

There's profound truth in that one simple paragraph. Pain educates us as nothing else can. Pain is a sort of mercy. If we didn't feel the burn of fire, we would most likely be consumed by it. Our response to pain determines how we will live. Pain can make us withdraw and turn bitter, or pain can soften us, gentle us, educate us to live more rightly with those around us.

Mary Jemison live with the Indians the rest of her days. They named her Little-Woman-of-Great Courage.

on a Monday morning

2012-01-17T06:00:00.000-05:00

She stands there with the sunlight streaming in around her. "Miss Rosita," she says, "I like you very much," and she spreads her arms wide to show me how much.

I smile, echo her words, and think how nice it is to know this. She flits out the door to find her friends, and I busy myself with last minute preparations for the day. I think about the lesson she has given me.

"I love you" is necessary to say and hear, but I can't stop there. "I love you" communicates that I accept you, no matter what. When I say, "I like you," I show appreciation for who you are. The two are different, you see. Loving someone is the cement that holds that relationship together. Liking someone makes the loving delightful.

I sit in the Monday morning sunshine and thank God again that I am here.

out of the muddle

2012-01-12T19:04:00.001-05:00

We painted today. We swirled watercolor around on stiff, white paper. There was quite a royal mess till we were done with this our joyful occupation. The table looked disastrous, but we didn't really care. We had painted, and that was enough.

Project Watercolor Monograms found on pinterest.com.

I taught students today. I stood in front of them and spoke words and made white scrawls on a green chalkboard. I answered questions and scored their work. My desk looked very scary till the day was done, but what did it matter? We had learned, and that was enough.

Sometimes you have to live with a little bit of chaos, a portion of crazy, so that good things can come of it. I'm a firm believer in organization. I like to have a place for everything. I like when everything is in its place. But sometimes life interrupts us in the middle of our tidiness and we realize that wonderful things can happen while all is in a muddle around us.

The most important thing isn't how things look on the outside, it's how things are on the inside.

in the learning

2012-01-05T11:37:00.001-05:00

"But I think those are sentences, even if you don't think so," she says to me with a good deal of fervor. I look into her eyes and see myself mirrored there a hundred times. This learning to go back and correct mistakes made in haste is a difficult thing. Thirty-one years and I still haven't learned it fully.

I explain to her that every sentence needs a subject and a predicate. Her sentences are all predicate, no subject. She looks at me again and I know it's a little bit beyond her grasp, so I give her several examples of a complete sentence. She looks a thundercloud, and I know she doesn't want to do it. I explain that doing her work cheerfully and to the best of her ability is important to God. She sighs and returns to her desk.

She corrects what she thinks is no mistake at all, and brings her paper to me. The sentences all march in order, each predicate balanced by its subject. I smile my delight and tell her everything makes beautiful sense now.

"It really didn't take that long," she admits. "If you try to do it cheerfully it goes so much faster." She walks back to her desk with a smile on her face.

from the library

2012-01-04T18:38:00.000-05:00

I was bent over a stack of books, when her pixie voice interrupted me. I glanced over at the librarian's counter in the middle of the children's section and there she is, earnest face pointed upwards. "Do you have any non-fiction books about fairies?" she asks. She's wearing a twirly, floral skirt.

The librarian looks at her blankly. "Well...like...fairy tales?" she asks.

Pixie Voice hesitates, and I can see she is serious. "Maybe," she says, but slowly, wistfulness written on her face. Can the wonderful please be real?

The librarian looks up several books on her computer and helps Pixie Voice find them. I go back to my stack of books and continue checking them out. I think about little girls and their quest for happy stories, the good endings. I look at my stack of books and think, "Big girls aren't so different from the little ones; they love the good stories, too."

We love beauty and happy endings. We like when things come right and the world twirls sensibly on its axis. And that is as it should be. We should love what is true, what is right and noble and lovely. Philippians 4:8 tells us this. We become what we think, what we read, what we watch, what we hear.

To fill one's mind with good things, and most importantly with the Word of God, is to encourage proper thinking and right living.

Things won't always be right and the endings will sometimes leave us in tears. The truth is, this desire for beautiful and noble things is calling us home, calling us back to our Heavenly Father who is preparing the place where all will be eternally right.

Joyeux Noel

2011-12-25T08:30:00.000-05:00

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

~Luke 2:14

May your days be merry and bright. May you feel the glory, the peace, His good will toward you.

this good gift

2011-12-07T15:47:00.000-05:00

He stops by my classroom after school. I ask how his day went. He says ok, no homework, then proceeds to tell me about his math. "I never was very good at it, but you already know that," he says with a sheepish grin, the same grin from second grade. He hangs around and tells me stories, picks up an eraser and playfully threatens to erase the chalkboard filled with white scrawls for tomorrow. I smile; he laughs.

I have always wanted to be a mother, and suddenly, seated here in this empty classroom at days end, talking with a former student, I realize how blessed I am. I may not have children that are my own, but I have a special connection with all those I've taught, students I've been privileged to know. I have mothered.

I think of the verse I read recently.

"For it is written, Rejoice, thou barren that bearest not; break forth and cry, thou that travailest not: for the desolate hath many more children than she which hath an husband." Galatians 4:27.

Perhaps Paul wasn't speaking of a second and third grade teacher, but his words ring true for me today. I embrace with gratitude this good gift. For this grace, I rejoice.

the greatest of these

2011-12-05T21:09:00.000-05:00

It's recess and she settles in beside me. We watch the game from the sidelines, me just weary and her still in recovery from tumbling out of a tree. I tell her I once fell out of a tree and had the breath knocked right out of me. She squints and looks up at me, probably trying to imagine. I don't look like a tree climber anymore, I suppose.

I sit there and listen to her chatter. And then in the middle of the chatter she drops a gem. I think hard. She tells me that we shouldn't ever judge people. "That's God's job," she says. "We should just be kind. And anyways, we don't really know. We don't know them inside," she punctuates sentences with hand motions. I nod my head. She's right.

Why do I so often judge people? I have no right. Why don't I choose love instead? I'm learning that love is a choice. Love is a choice to act in loving ways. Love gives grace and mercy and second chances. Love lifts. Life is simplified when I remember this the greatest commandment: to love God and my neighbor. Love isn't just a cozy feeling. Love can be tough and hard and beautiful all at once.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
~1 Corinthians 13: 4-7 NIV

another pillow

2011-12-03T08:28:00.000-05:00

This was my project this week.

I have a dear friend who loves birds, so I had a good excuse to try my hand at some more fabric painting with freezer paper stencils. It's just so much fun!

impossibility

2011-12-01T21:40:00.000-05:00

One assignment for my students today was to work together to build a manger scene with play dough. I told them they had to figure out among themselves who would do what, and how they would accomplish it.

"Miss Rosita, just with play dough?!!" they asked in consternation.

"But I can't make animals with play dough!"

"How are we ever gonna make Mary and Joseph?"

"And just how do you make sheep?"

I smiled and said, "Of course you can make it. Just try." They looked doubtful.

Halfway through the day something changed, and suddenly everyone was willing to give their best.

"I've got Baby Jesus!"

"I'll do the sheep."

"I think I could make a camel."

They sorted it out, sorted themselves out, got their marching order. I sat and watched and listened and felt the buzz of creative energy whizzing around the room in dizzying circles. Excited whispers and smothered exclamations were punctuated with trips to their desks to fetch what instruments they needed. A ruler made lines to represent fur on the backs of sheep. A lead pencil was used to poke eyes and shape mouths.

The results were amazing, stunning.

Perfect? No. Creative and ingenious? Absolutely!

Impossibility is always an opportunity for something extraordinary to happen.

P.S.

If you've never taught school, never taught elementary grades, you're missing out. It's just that much fun. Granted there are days when the simplest concept defies explaining, your desk is buried in work of every degree, the little one with a cold is sneezing all over the place, and there are more puzzles with missing pieces than there are whole ones. But every job has it's stretching times, every profession has it's difficult moments. I happen to think that in teaching, the delightful times far outweigh the difficult ones.

truth

2011-11-30T17:06:00.000-05:00

She's the inquisitive one. Well, really, they all are. But she just asks all the questions, asks them as they come to her.

She leans forward in her chair, "Are we supposed to love everyone?"

I nod my head. Sometimes one must conserve on breath and words and all.

She bounces in her seat and says, "Good! Because I do."

She sits quiet for a moment, the seriousness showing on her face. She turns to me and those big brown eyes, they are eloquent. She is about to impart truth. I lean forward.

"It doesn't really matter so much what you wear," she begins, "or what you do. It's what's in here that really counts," she says tapping in the region of her heart. "Because everyone's the same, really."

I nod consent, this time not bothering about conservation. I'm reaching for my pen and paper, knowing I could write a book on all the things I'm learning under the tutelage of these my students.

of loss and questions and life...

2011-11-16T19:39:00.001-05:00

it's easy to get caught up in life, caught up in things that seem so important.

but an accident, a phone call, an email later and we suddenly see everything differently.

i received news this morning that a cousin of mine was in a fatal car accident last night. one can never prepare for news such as that. twenty years of living, sharply cut off.

i believe like my brother who said, "everything happens for a reason." but i sorrow and the belief is shot through with wondering.

truth is, i will never see as God does. His ways, of late, have made no sense to me. there have been many times in the last month when i wanted to ask Him questions, hard, broken questions. life hasn't been so much as to say rosy. it's had some pretty tough spots.

these questions i've been asking myself, "will i stay faithful, in the midst of confusion and disappointment? will i still call Him good when life hurts and i'm scared? will i trust Him in the grief and loss?"

i must remember that no matter what, circumstances never change His character. sometimes you have to lead your heart with your head, for belief is rarely made of feelings.

good

2011-11-08T20:17:00.000-05:00

She says them to me, these startling words, as she sits across the table at lunch. Her hazel gaze intent, her hands emphasizing the point.

"Good is good and bad is good, too."

I look at her puzzled.

She expounds. "Bad seems bad, but if you can hang on long enough, if you can just trust Jesus, then you'll get through it and your faith will be so much stronger. Then the bad stuff makes good stuff in your heart."

I sit in silence and listen carefully to the words of an eight-year-old. I feel God's presence, and a little classroom becomes holy ground. I worship.

The talk turns to prayer. I remind the youngsters of how we prayed for the sister halfway around the world. I tell them that I've heard from her and God has answered their prayers, prayers they offered for her and her team. Their faces glow.

Little girl of the hazel eyes says, "God really does hear our prayers!" Another one chimes in, "I like praying!" and I think amens and pray hallelujahs and a difficult day turns on its head at noon and becomes a sacred one.

Now lunch conversations aren't always so edifying. Trust me. But today, when I needed extra strength, God met us there and made of the ordinary something hallowed and beautiful.

life is a mess

2011-11-05T22:02:00.000-04:00

Life is messy. It just is.

It's the unexpected interruptions in a day that cause everything to spiral into chaos. It's the discovery of unkindness happening right under your nose that wipes your feet from underneath you. The evidence of imperfect relationships has you wondering if you've learned anything at all about how to get along with people. Dashed hopes leave an ache in their wake and the desire to build hard, strong walls where there were none before. Dreams grow dusty and old, and you wonder if you'll ever draw breath enough to accomplish them.

Life is a mess. It's never perfect.

But the truth on the other side of the balance is that life is a beautiful gift.

It's the perfect shade of blue over the bay that sends your spirit soaring. It's the humble kindness of a dear friend that lifts you back onto your feet again. The evidence of forgiveness and the restoration of a relationship gone sour breathes new life into your living. God grows the hope in you and gives you new dreams, dreams of doing His work.

I'm faced with the truth again. All of life is a gift. I can choose to focus on the things that leave me feeling sad and dejected, or I can choose to look at Christ. The deep inadequacy in my heart gives broad opportunity for His abundant grace. When I have no words to say, He can speak through me. When I am empty, I am ready for worship.

I'm reminded of the words that came on another day when I was feeling weary, a wreck, and it's still true. Christ wants all of me. He can handle the messy, He is acquainted with grief, He knows sorrow.

He teaches me compassion through the mess that is my life.

on being sort of short

2011-10-31T21:01:00.000-04:00

Being a girl who isn't so very tall does occasionally have its benefits.

I didn't always think that. You see, I'm the shortest in my family. Now I'm not so very short, I'm just blessed with tall siblings and parents. But when I was younger, like maybe eighteen, I used to dream of being tall. Then I could see things without straining my neck and threatening its attachment to my head. Then I wouldn't forever have needed to adjust the driver's seat in the car that I shared with my tall siblings. Then I wouldn't have had to jump to get that thing on the top shelf. (Here I might insert that jumping to get things on top shelves isn't so much as to say a very smart idea, especially if said things are made of glass.) But best of all if I were tall then I could, well, you know, walk tall and regal. Great ambitions, huh?

Well, today I was reminded that being short sometimes has its perks.

You see, when you're short and you're on a plane jam-packed with people all ready to rush the forward door, that heavy piece of luggage far, far above your head becomes an opportunity. You reach up and attempt to wiggle the heavy thing into position so that it won't accidentally give someone a very bad headache on its way down. A voice behind you says, "Here, I'll get that." You back away into someone's fat bag and respond gratefully that it would be a big help.

Then a tall gentleman reaches up and easily lifts down weighty things and sends you on your way, happy and grateful. No headaches, no stretched muscles, just kindness and old fashioned courtesy to warm your heart. "Being less than tall isn't so bad after all," you think as you trot away home.

questions

2011-10-23T21:13:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking about something. It's called "What Does God Want Me to Do With My Life?" A long and ponderous subject, this. One that snags me up occasionally.

I had a phone conversation yesterday with a very dear friend of mine. At present she's living abroad, seemingly buried in some insignificant corner, quietly working for God. Her job description is not terribly impressive, and I've often heard her speak almost apologetically of its simple plainness. But here's the thing. God is teaching her truth in that corner. She's learning so much. While we were talking, it suddenly washed over me how beautiful and gentle she is, from the inside all the way out. God is literally transforming her whilst she is there, quietly tucked away.

It could seem to all the world that her talents are being wasted.

In the course of our conversation, we discussed that big question, what does God want of us? She told me that recently someone hinted to her that it might be good for her to come back to the states, settle down to a real job, and you know, make some money, look out for herself. She's single, after all.

That got us to talking about what really matters in this life. It got me to thinking long and hard about what I value most, what my real goals are. Do I want to exhaust my life looking after myself, leaving all God's best work undone? Would I "throw away my life" if He required it of me? Can I really trust Him to care for me, all my life long? Am I willing to give till others think I'm crazy? Will I settle for living in the Comfortable Zone of Normal?

I am no saint. Should you peek into my journal, which I strictly forbid, you would know I'm made of clay, prone to error, and not really who I should be at all. But the deepest desire of my heart is to be who God intends me to be, to do what He wills for me to do. Maybe it's not so hard to know what God wants me to do with my life. Maybe all it takes is living every moment obedient to truth I know, loving Him above all else?

How has it been for you? How have you known the will of God for your life?

I'd love to hear thoughts from you, kind readers. If you find shyness overtakes you at thought of posting a comment for all to see, feel free to quietly slip a note to me via email at irosita09 at gmail dot com.

project saturday

2011-10-15T17:13:00.000-04:00

It has been far too long since I did any kind of creative project. I have been sorely in need of it.

Today's project came from an idea I saw on pinterest involving burlap and monograms. I modified it for my own need. My present need is a daily reminder to be grateful.

I used cream colored burlap, a freezer paper stencil like I used on this post, and fabric paint.

I'm planning to use it to cover a stretched canvas.

I had some grey paint leftover. One should always use up leftover paint, right? So I dug around and found a fleur de lis stencil I had cut out on another crafty day. I used it on a 17"x17" piece.

I'm trying to decide if it will become a pillow or another piece of wall art.

I don't know if you're like this or not, but sometimes I get to feeling as if my head will explode with all the ideas rattling around in it. The best way to defuse such a crisis is generally doing some kind of do-it-yourself project. Something that involves paint or glue or scissors or thread.

There's therapy in using your hands.

at market

2011-10-08T21:56:00.001-04:00

We went to market today, my friend and I. We stopped at a little French cafe on Main Street for a pastry first, then meandered our way past all the various booths. The dogs, they're everywhere. I don't especially love dogs. I can appreciate a well mannered dog in its proper environment, but dogs underfoot when I'm browsing for produce? Not so very much. I'm always just slightly wary of them, afraid they'll help themselves to a part of me that I still want to keep. Like say, a pound of flesh.

Anyway. This is not about the dogs. Let us rescue our train of thought from going to the dogs. (I don't even want to contemplate all the bad puns I just created.)

We went to market. We did not buy a fat pig. Instead I saw a ripe tomato that needed a good home. So I picked it up. On my stroll to the cashier, I ambled past a display of fall pumpkins and gourds. I am prejudiced about all things fall. One little pumpkin fairly leaped into my arms. It wanted to ride home with me, and I discovered that I wanted the same thing. So we joined company.

I finally made it to the cashier. While I stood in line, I absentmindedly watched the cashier one row over. This is what I saw and heard.

Cashier: "Your total is four dollars even."
Customer 1 digs around in wallet and whips out a credit card. She hands it to the cashier.
Cashier: "Oh, we only take cash."
Customer 1 looks about her in great consternation. She opens her wallet. Even I can see there isn't a single dollar in sight. "I don't have any cash," she says.
Customer 2, who happens to be holding up the line in front of me, has heard all and suddenly comes to the rescue: "I can do that!" she fairly shouts. She promptly pays the bill.
Customer 1 in great puzzlement: "But how am I going to pay you back?"
Customer 2 smiles: "You don't need to. Just pay it forward."
Customer 1 picks up her bag and after profusely thanking kind Customer 2, she walks away, looking a bit dazed.

I stand in line and I just smile. I give thanks on a Saturday morning in the middle of busy Lemon Avenue. I give thanks for the kindness and goodwill of strangers.

I remember that we're not always called to do big things. Sometimes a small act of mercy shouts louder than the best sermon. Sometimes we're placed in a corner that feels unknown, hidden, and asked to use all our best talents there. No fanfare, just ordinary duty done for extraordinary God.

wanting

2011-09-22T19:55:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I wish for a life of extraordinary adventure and excitement.

Living loud and grand and adventurous looks glamorous. But sometimes doing, without fanfare, the humble job that lies before us is the most heroic thing we can do. I know people like that. People who do the quiet work and live the simple life. I know people who carry on with great endurance and the only thing you see is the smile on their face.

I wailed and moaned and groaned today. I was grouchy. I flung out words I wished later I could have retracted. It was a hot and very bothering sort of day, somewhere in the region of the nineties with a real feel of about a hundred and three degrees. It seemed as if we took two steps backward for every step forward and by the end of the school day I was ready to toss everything out the door. Everything.

I sat hot and bothered and wished for fall at home. I thought longingly of apple cider made with the neighbor's press while we all stand around cutting up apples and telling tall tales. I thought of homemade donuts and brisk autumn breezes. I thought of color filling the branches and then floating gently to earth. I thought of clear fall days and pumpkin patches. I thought of campfires and frosty mornings.

Then suddenly I found myself very grouchy and very discontent.

So I came home and the air conditioner got a work out and I tugged out a long sleeved sweater and donned a yellow scarf. I lit a candle and pulled out a pile of books. I decided that I'm not heroic and I'd probably flunk out of a life of adventure anyway.

I decided to try to practice what I once heard. "Happiness is not having what you want. It is wanting what you have." ~Rabbi Hyman Schachtel

So I'm going to practice wanting this...

..and the wildly, goofy fun, the simple, serious wisdom that these, my students, share daily.

P.S. Don't you love the handmade glasses? They were all ingeniously made by several of the students, all by themselves.

led of the littles

2011-09-13T16:59:00.000-04:00

The days go by and we settle into the rhythm and routine of school. The first awkwardness of a new situation has rubbed off and we are learning our places in the grander scheme of things.

We sound out words and add numbers and play "Old Grey Wolf" at break time. We get ant bites and scratched up knees and bumped up heads. We learn about Captain John Smith and protein. We read and study and grow and learn.

But best of all, we pray.

Oh, how I love to hear the little ones pray! They are earnest, sincere. They pray just like they talk. There's no pretense, no stiff formal language. They know God hears them. They request prayer endlessly for the same person.

They believe. They hope. They ask.

I wish I was more like them.

So often I get discouraged if answers (at least the kind I desire) are not swiftly meted out. I pray and hope and then let disappointment rob me of the joy. A girl in the second grade said one morning, "Sometimes God says yes, and sometimes He answers no, and sometimes He says just wait a little bit. You know."

Like I said, they teach me far more than I teach them.

what teacher's days are made of

2011-09-02T17:31:00.000-04:00

My students have made many discovering trips this year. They haven't discovered the North Pole, but they have found many wonderful things while foraging in bush and shrub and tree in nearby areas. What a lot of things live in the hidden places!

It would be unkind of me to keep all these discoveries from you, so I will share them as I viewed them from behind my lens.

I might add that a camera is a handy shield. It allows you to show interest and delight without risk of betraying your inordinate fear of objects being viewed.

My education in the delight of creepy, crawly things was never pursued. I may have been a tomboy when I was young, but insects were, well they were just, umm, they were, you know, they seemed to be, yes, well. Something tells me I'm not explaining myself very well.

Let's get on with the pictures.

Mr. Baby Frog is first up. Here's a side view.

The front view displays the beady eyes to best advantage. One finds that they must hold tight to little things like frogs. Though they are small, they can travel at great speeds and in large, electrifying leaps.

Here is Miss Lizzie Lizard. She has often nearly been the death of me. Having grown up in a region not supportive of lizard habits and abilities, I have far too often been taken unawares.

Mr. Wooly of the Worm. He makes me itchy just looking at him.

Mrs. Roly Poly. I get shivers at the thought of those little feet scurrying up my finger.

And Slowpoke the Snail. I get whole body trembles when I think of the trail of slime he leaves behind.

So that's what I view on a fairly regular basis from behind my trusty Canon. Frogs and lizards and caterpillars and rolly-pollies and snails.

Occasionally a beautiful, perfect bubble comes floating by. Then the topsy turvy part of my life rights itself and I breathe easy.

Thank-you God, for this good day.

The End.

when homesick

2011-08-25T19:08:00.000-04:00

I've been feeling just slightly homesick the past several days.
I miss my garden.

I miss my mama smiling in my garden.

I miss my friends who came to visit and stopped by to visit the garden, too.

I miss my papa and the brothers.
I miss clear Ohio days, cool breezes.
I miss the wonderful transition of deep summer to early autumn.

Ok. I just miss everything back home.

But since I'm here and not there, let me count the good things around me.

We've had a great day and a half of school, wonderful beginning that prophesies good things to come.
I have five fascinating young people that I am privileged to become acquainted with.
Our conversations have already proved highly entertaining.
Emphasize highly.
(What should a teacher do if she has a strong tendency to giggle at the wrong time?)
They are organizing their ranks, and we shall presently have our marching order well established.
I get to do something I thoroughly enjoy, teach.
I've been discovering answers to prayers.
God is here.
I sense His Presence.

Do things have to be just as I want them to be in order for me to be happy? That's a question I've been pondering. The more I think about it, the less I am convinced that the answer should be yes. I don't think real happiness depends on circumstances. Does it instead rest in the knowledge that God is sovereign and the imperfections of our lives can be orchestrated by Him to produce great quantities of joy?

of students and their teachers

2011-08-22T16:50:00.000-04:00

It is more than slightly disconcerting when your former second and third grade students (of not so long ago) walk up to you and say, "Hi, Miss Rosita," whilst looking down at you. Down, I say.

It was not so very long ago that they would tuck themselves comfortable up under my arm for a little hug. And it was not so long ago that I could easily touch the tops of their heads.

These days, it would be me who should have to be tucked under anyone's arm and there would be no small amount of stretching should I try to touch the tops of their heads. For the young men, these actions would not be so very much welcomed anyway.

So I content myself with looking at them from a short distance, delighting in who they are becoming. Sometimes I feel just a tiny bit sad that we'll most likely never spend another school year together, ensconced in the same classroom. Most of the time I just sit there with a silly grin on my face, remembering all the good times, remembering how they stretched me, remembering all I was taught by them.

Teaching is an exhilarating, exhausting, exacting task. Sometimes when you're in the middle of it you lose your vision and it looks as if you will never accomplish anything. You feel sure the best course of action would be to abandon the course altogether.

That's where hope saves the day. We, none of us, have a guarantee that our work will not be in vain. We have no sure outcome promised. But we try and we do and we wait and we work. Most of all we hope. We do our best with the powerful love of God flowing through us, and we hold on to hope.

So with a new year just around the corner and five new faces filling my classroom, I fill my heart with hope. I know there will most likely be difficulty to walk through. I know there will be good times. The best thing I know is that the God of hope will be here with us. He will carry us through.

Cheers for '11-'12!

still alive here

2011-08-20T19:41:00.000-04:00

Things have been quiet in this corner.

Things have been happening: I returned to Florida.

Things are about to happen: I am gearing up for a new school year.

My time is not my own any more. But then again, it never has been.

~So Long...

2011-08-12T11:11:00.000-04:00

Here's a little story on YouTube that inspired me today.
Discovered via Design Mom.

Happy Friday!

happy golden days

2011-08-11T08:31:00.000-04:00

Summer spells gardens.

And sunflowers.

And red sunflowers.

And blushing yellow sunflowers.

I'm not entirely sure I want the summer to end.

It has been a most gorgeous one.

blessed am i

2011-08-10T19:27:00.000-04:00

There is a happy ending to my sad career as a car shopper. The windows of heaven opened, blessings fell down, and now I have a car.

Meet Goldilocks.

She is not the color I had wished for, and I wasn't really searching for another Honda. But there she was and there I was and then we came home together.

She has a leather interior, heated seats, and a few other features my former car did not have.

I told God I would trust Him with finding a new set of wheels. He gave me one that is more than a slight upgrade from what I had. That's the kind of God He is. He gives blessing above and beyond what we think to ask.

to buy a car

2011-08-09T14:17:00.000-04:00

I recently informed you that fabric shopping in a certain city is not for the faint of heart. Well, today I am here to tell you that acquiring fabric in Chiang Mai is as a dreamy afternoon nap compared with what has more recently consumed my time.

If ever you should set out to purchase a vehicle, sit down first and very carefully consider. It would also be helpful to familiarize yourself with every single part that might belong to a car. You may even wish to study the parts that aren't on a car. Just study any word that appears unfamiliar. You cannot be too well informed.

After study time comes a time of much looking. You will search online till autotrader.com or cars.com becomes more familiar to you than your own face.

Then, when you are armed with a fistful of money, you will make your way to the thing they call The Lot. I strongly advise you to get ten extra hours of sleep before you go, and don't even think about having jet lag.

At The Lot, you will look and then look some more. You will test drive a car or ten. You will try to look intelligent when all around you is whirling an absolute hurricane of unfamiliar terms. Cylinders and drivetrains and timing belts and all-wheel-drives will be pelting you with unfamiliarity.

There will inevitably come a time in your car shopping career when the heads of all the salesmen will swivel in one direction. That direction will lead to you, your face, your trembling lower lip. You will wish for a hole to open up in the floor, or at the very least desire a table under which you could take refuge.

But there will be no hole and no table. You will be required to speak intelligently whilst standing firmly upright. Ten hopeful eyes will stare at you. You might dream about saying, "I'll take a Bernina Serger, please." But then you'll jolt yourself back to reality and beg for some time to think things through.

The ten hopeful stares will mask their disappointment and will graciously tell you that it is wise to think things over.

You fairly run towards the vehicle you borrowed to go car shopping.

You'll go home and eat a bucketful of ice cream and go to bed at eight o'clock.

You will quite cheerfully consider walking as the chief means of transportation for the rest of your life.

somewhere, over the rainbow

2011-08-07T21:18:00.000-04:00

It's a Sunday evening and I drive home amidst the splatter of raindrops. Suddenly the sun bursts through the western clouds and golden summer light is everywhere.

The golden light and the splattering raindrops mingle and a rainbow is born.

Breathtaking signature on a misty summer eve, never ending promise from the Eternal Promise Keeper.

I slow. I roll down my window and drink in the colors, stretch out my hand to catch raindrops.

I remember that, "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Lam. 3:22-23

I breathe easier, swoop my hand through the raindrops, and drive on home.

All is well; God keeps His promises. I can trust Him; He is good. He gives and He takes away and still my heart will choose to bless His name. Nothing happens to me that cannot be used in redemption. All is truly grace.

I sigh one deep satisfied sigh and go fetch my camera. Good times, people, good times must be recorded.

Someday we'll see over the rainbow. We'll know the best of good times. We'll live one endless picture of promise, of grace. We'll be home.

I can hardly wait.

window cleaning

2011-08-06T14:35:00.000-04:00

It's Saturday.

I washed windows.

I enjoy washing windows.

Especially since I discovered a secret to making the windows sparkle.

Here's my recipe for success.

Add 1/4 a cup of white vinegar and several drops of dish detergent to a bucket of hot water.
Fetch a good scrubbing rag and an old cotton shirt (or some other such cottony thing).
Wash the window with the water/vinegar/soap mixture and polish it dry with the old cotton shirt.
Step back and enjoy the view.

The results are invariably stunning.

Happy Saturday.

on this good day

2011-08-04T19:50:00.000-04:00

There was ample time for picking flowers today.

That's the best part about having a flower garden. There are endless possibilities, countless opportunities for puttering with beauty. Even weeding ceases to be a chore and becomes a delightful past time.

There was time for a whole lot more than picking flowers today. Sadly enough, not much else was a accomplished.

Does anyone have a cure for the opposite of motivation? (Here's where Pooh would say, 'The what of a what?' in a very helpful way and we would feel slightly comforted.)

If so, please advise me.

For I am all out of motivation and the to do list continues to grow.

P.S. The flowers are from the flower garden that didn't fail. The flower garden that is, in fact, thriving beyond all my wildest dreams. Sometimes life surprises you that way.

cure for sleeplessness

2011-08-03T04:21:00.002-04:00

It's 3:23 a.m. I can't sleep. This may be due in part to the fact that I practically fell asleep at the supper table and retired to bed directly thereafter. I was asleep by 7:15 p.m. on a Tuesday night.

My body thinks it's half a day ahead of itself. How to convince it otherwise?

Sister is not around to pump me up with caffeine and keep me up in the evening hours by convincing me to play all manner of games. I think I played half a dozen table games I'd never played before in the first week I visited her.

Now I am awake at three in the morning thinking of Settlers of Catan and Ticket to Ride and wishing I could go back to sleep. Hefffff. Jet lag, you are not so much as to say Kind. I begin to wonder if you aren't, in fact, taking vengeance now since I practically ignored you when I flew to Thailand.

Here are a few more pictures from Thailand. Maybe one more look backward will then help me look forward. (Who'm I kidding?)

As I mentioned in a previous post, we spent several days and nights at Taraburi Resort. It was quiet. It was refreshing. It was beautiful.

Here's the pool.

An outdoor dining room.

One last plateful of delicious J House cashew chicken.

Special delivery of the cashew chicken was by this beautiful lady.

Fun feature: an outdoor shower.

We went downtown and took some photos by an ancient brick wall one day.

Well. It is now 4:15 a.m. and I am currently yawning. That's bad. When your very own writing puts you to sleep, something must be amiss.

Good day friends, or Good night as the case may be.

home?

2011-08-02T09:07:00.000-04:00

I'm back home after 30+ hours of safe travel.

There is a new range of mountains in the world. It is in my living room. It is comprised chiefly of dirty laundry.

The coffee table looks atrocious; it is littered with cosmetics and gifts and whatnot.

There is ample evidence that I have been away and have now returned.

Only my mind doesn't really want to comprehend it.

I find it difficult to explain this wish to deny reality. All I know is that I went to Thailand expecting to see my sister, to do what she does and well, yeah a whole lot more of the same. I didn't really expect to be impacted so very much by Thailand, by it's people, by the IGo staff and students.

But I was wrong, wonderfully wrong. Somewhere in the two and a half weeks I was there something inside me shifted and now Thailand is inside my heart, I fear never to be removed.

Someone asked me for a highlight of my trip. I stumbled around for words in a most foolish way and the only answer I could come up with was, "Everything." Not profound, only true.

Excuse me, I must go take care of a mountain range and an entire basketful of emotions.

in which there are more pictures

2011-07-26T22:46:00.000-04:00

There would be much to tell since the last time we visited this place with words. Much to tell of adventure and excitement and happenings and accidents and safety and the help of the Lord. But where to find the words to describe it all? And where to find the time to order those words?

Maybe a few photos will suffice. After all, isn't a picture worth a thousand words?

Coffee shops and friends make for excellent times.

With all the zooming about that Gertrude has recently indulged in, her appetite has increased. So we feed her. And sometimes we lock our keys in the seat compartment in the midst of filling her up. Then we have a time of Small Desperation and afterwards comes a time of Great Prying. We manage to wiggle our skinniest hand in under the seat and retrieve the naughty keys. Then we look at each other and giggle foolishly.

Sometimes angels in disguise come floating up the stairs bearing something called Breakfast in Bed.

A kind friend at home tucked a little bit of money into my mailbox and said to take sister and treat her to something fun. So we went and got a pedicure and a manicure thanks to her, the kind friend Cheryl M. I only regret that I went first and so could not capture sister in the chair of bliss.

There was another coffee shop begging to be visited.

And some beautiful ladies to visit with while there. Ladies who speak words of wisdom and experience and honesty. Ladies unafraid to discuss real life issues and to live courageously.

Emphasis on discuss. Emphasis on live.

One day we rented Finos and rode to Lanna. We may have stopped for a picture or two hundred. A Fino is just that much fun. I drove one, all by myself, in the city, in the country. I told you I was exploding out of my comfort zone. The ride wasn't near long enough.

Today we have plans to head to Taraburi Resort & Spa for several days and do a whole lot of nothing. We might sleep and eat and talk and swim, but that's about all that's on the list.

I have a great feeling of dread whenever I remember that I am soon to leave this place.

I want to stay.

Please. Can I just stay?

of silk and umbrellas

2011-07-22T21:26:00.000-04:00

We've been powerfully busy with the doing of many things.

Maybe a few pictures would help to explain.

For dorm meeting this week, sister and I bought flowers and had a few happy moments fixing up a quiet spot.

Another day we arose early and made an excursion to a Thai silk factory and a place where they make umbrellas.

At the silk factory, the silk worms lead a very exciting life. They eat mulberry leaves. All Day Long. That may not sound so thrilling to you, but have you ever tried it? The truly exciting part is the beautiful fabric that comes of all this eating mulberry leaves stuff. Thai silk is sheer gorgeous.

Here are a few of the famous worms in various stages of largeness.

The worms spin yellow cocoons which are later unwound, strand by strand to make the thread for silk fabric.

The looms, where the silk is handwoven, were fascinating. Just look at all those threads.

Imagine threading one of those machines.

The finished product. Here come the rainbows again.

More of the finished product and a beautiful sister.

There was a mirror.

There were two girls surrounded by clothing of silk.

It was a moment not soon to be forgot.

After we had gotten our fill of all things silk, we puttered on down the street to the umbrella factory.

Then of course we bought an umbrella or two.

Then of course we went home.

Then of course we ate lunch.

Then of course we made arnold palmers for the students who were laboring their way through the last week of the semester, weighed down by tests.

Then of course we took a nap.

It had been quite a day.

to buy some fabric

2011-07-20T03:20:00.000-04:00

If you think that shopping for fabric here in Chiang Mai can be accomplished by the faint of heart, try again.

You must first girt up your courage. You must Prepare. You must collect all your strength.

The shop keepers are friendly and helpful. The trouble does not arise from that corner. The Great Difficulty lies elsewhere. In fact, it lies all around you. There are literally piles and stacks and columns and oceans and seas of fabric. Bolt after bolt reclines there in splendor. All the colors of the rainbow are present and maybe even a few colors that didn't make it into the rainbow.

And you are expected to make a choice. Yes. A Choice. You are expected to open your mouth and say in coherent language just which piece of the rainbow you wish to take home with you.

You walk around as in a daze. You look until your brain turns to fluff. You look until you begin to fear that even the fluff will melt away. You pick up a piece and then you see another one three inches over that would be just as nice and you forget if it was purple or burnt orange you were looking for and you stumble over two bolts of fabric and knock down another.

But that's not all. You have an ocean of possibilities in front of you and they all have a price tag attached. You have money, but it's not the kind you are well acquainted with. You have Foreign Currency. Folks, that is a thing to be reckoned with. Foreign Currency has the potential to confuse and destroy all cognitive processes.

There is nothing left to do but open your mouth and give a Loud and Dreadful Wail of Sadness and Consternation.

At just the moment wherein you fear all sanity will leave you, in swoops your sister and saves the day. She makes educated comments and utters many helpful words of encouragement. She calculates cost with unerring precision. She convinces you of which piece of the rainbow would best suit your complexion. She helps.

So you make a purchase and escape out the door. You go home in quietness. The whizzing traffic on either side of you cannot so much as gain a squeak out of you. You discover you have survived and that there is just enough grey fluff left in your brain to keep on living. But whenever someone says Fabric Shopping, you come all over funny and need to dive outside for some fresh air.

The End.

in pictures

2011-07-18T09:49:00.001-04:00

Someone asked for pictures. That someone was you, Kris. Here they are.

*Warning: there are many pictures. It's a very long post. That's all.*

Sister, being the kind and considerate person she is, brought me breakfast in bed on my first morning in Thailand. I was laboring under a disabling mixture of shyness and bewilderment. Breakfast in bed boosted my spirits.

Here's part of the armful of orchids we bought at market. Sheer gorgeous beauty.

Saturday morning we helped to fry several dozen of these pillowy rounds of doughnut goodness. Ahh... fresh doughnuts on a Saturday morning. What can beat that?

Today we went to an international food festival. There was a bewildering array of fruits and vegetables from quite a lot of countries. I looked and looked and looked. There were lots of things I have never seen before.

They had some unique fruit and vegetable displays. Notice the corn in this one. How about this for a wedding in the Midwest in deep summer?

Here's a little octopus that would like to say hello. He was in the Japan booth. He must have gone to the Midwest and found some corn for his hungry belly. If octopuses have bellies.

So many unknown objects, so little time.

How about a mountain of papaya salad? Served in a boat?

The Adventurers.

The Adventurers adventuring.

I wasn't about to try any of this. Sister says the things on top are black and green peppercorns. They looked powerfully suspicious. They looked, in fact, like something a goat might discard on a trot around the barnyard.

How about a big bowl of whole fish lined up along the edge? How about not.

This would be a ginormous rind of Parmesan cheese at the Italian booth.

We tried some of this Tiramisu. Yes, it was very good.

After the food festival sister and I went to a coffee shop. It was cool and pleasant and quiet. We recovered from our culinary experience whilst sharing a refreshing orange drink.

Here's Miss Lovely Sister herself.

Yours truly.

Then tonight we went to a teeny restaurant, a little hut beside the road called J House. The food was amazing. Here's the Spicy Papaya Salad.

And here's the Cashew Chicken dish. A plateful of pure delicious.

One of the chefs. How about that sweet mortar and pestle?

Gertrude, the faithful steed. She can even handle holding two helmets. She is a bike of many talents. We become better friends every day. I squeal less and she speeds more and we're both ok. Imagine that.

And if you're needing to be creeped out, here you go. This is the look you wouldn't want to encounter in real life. It has a rather terrifying effect.

Sawattdiika.

(Good-bye)

again from Chiang Mai

2011-07-17T21:13:00.000-04:00

Sister said there would be time for blogging, but oh my my, as Aunt Edna would say. There is such a lot of things to do and see and hear. There's not very much time for stopping and writing. But we'll snatch a few minutes this morning, try to catch our breath after a ginormous quantity of activity over the weekend. I believe I need another weekend just to recover.

There is never a dull moment to be had here at IGo. And by the way, if you are curious as to what IGo is, go check out their website. They explain things much better than I. Sister works here as the dean of women. Basically she's a mother hen to the dear little chicks. (Pun not intended.)

The IGo students participate in a volleyball tournament once a semester. I happened to come at the right moment to be dragged on into the action on Saturday. It really didn't involve too much dragging. At least not till the day after, and then it was me doing all the dragging around. These old bones work not so well as when they were one and twenty.

Sadly enough, the contribution I made to my team was less than stellar. We did not win. We didn't even make it to the finals. I enjoyed it anyway. I suppose that's not a very tournament-ish spirit to have. But one finds as the years progress that winning isn't everything. Not by a long shot.

Sunday was restful. I loved the singing at church. It was beautiful, worshipful.

And now for today. I think it is going to be a Very Busy Day Indeed, according to a few things sister said. I suppose it will include another ride on Gertrude. We are slowly becoming friends, Gertrude and I. It is only occasionally now that I shriek in high terror at the ride she provides. That is vastly improved from when we first became acquainted. It's also a healthier thing for the one who rides in front of me. I was beginning to fear I should have to provide hearing aids for her before too long. Nor was it fun to have people staring at me as if I had two heads instead of one. I wanted to tell them all that I'm not used to such rides of daring intent. If they'd like to have a similar experience, I'd be happy to take them for a spin on some compelling roads in Guernsey County. Some roads that go steeply up then sharply over then swiftly back around. Then we would see what they think. But I refrained. Sometimes I can control my tongue.

That's all.

they sallied forth

2011-07-15T20:52:00.000-04:00

*I was informed by sister that there would be plenty of time for blogging while I abide in Thailand. She wants these experiences and impressions preserved. So I warn you that there may be a few more posts than usual in the coming days. I warn you that they may be very full of my first impressions and my experiences while here in Thailand.*

I thought traveling halfway around the world was an explosion out of comfort zones. That was before. Before. Before the ride on the back of sister's bike. Now I understand why I get random nudges from the Father, occasional urges to whisper up a prayer for her safety.

Yesterday we rubbed our sleepy eyes and crawled out of bed and made ourselves presentable.

Then we sallied forth.

My sister owns a most trustworthy metal steed, Gertrude. You can read all about Gertrude over at my sister's blog. Gertrude carried us both as we sallied.

There was a time in our journeying that I thanked God for the gift of life. A time or two when I asked for an extension on mine. Gertrude, it seems, likes to squeeze through very tight places. Sometimes her mirror nearly kisses the mirror of the songtaw beside her. When the light is red, she aspires to wiggle her way between the line of cars to the very front. No shrinking violet, that Gertrude.

She took us to a market where there was an absolutely bewildering array of fabrics. It was instant sensory overload. How does one ever make a choice with so many pieces to choose from? Help. Help. Help. I finally settled on a plain black piece. It had a calming effect on my nerves. The best part about market was the armful of pale green orchids we picked up for four dollars. Emphasis on armful. Emphasis on four dollars.

Next we were escorted to a coffee shop. Oh that was good stuff, a coffee shake and a berry something something. All jangling nerves were put to rest and there was much excellent conversation and not a small amount of laughter. Everything is funny when you're with your sister.

But the best place Gertrude took us was to Kal Fang, the most gorgeous restaurant I have ever been blessed to enjoy. How can I describe it? It had no walls, just a mass of palms and ferns and all manner of tropical flora planted up around the edge. There was a waterfall by the restrooms. There were little paths and pools to explore. I can't begin to describe it's beauty. It just filled me all the way up like only beauty can. And the food. Oh the food. It was like art and so amazingly delicious.

It was quite the day, my first day in Thailand. I loved it.

halfway around the world

2011-07-15T00:54:00.000-04:00

If some day you should be offered a chance to depart your comfort zone, take it. Comfort zones are way overrated.

I flew halfway around the world this week. And in case you don't know, that was like exploding out of my comfort zone. I have often agreed with Jane Austen who said, "There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort."

For two of the flights, I flew with Korean Air. They know a thing or two about good service. Their planes were comfortable, roomy. There was so much leg room I didn't know quite what to do with my feet. Mostly they sat on the floor and puffed up so badly that I could just barely squeeze them back into my shoes.

There was much to experience in this recent excursion. Not the least of which was food. Let me tell you this: be very cautious when trying seaweed soup for the first time. I find I can live very comfortably without seaweed soup. Very comfortably indeed. For the most part the meals we were served in flight were pretty good. Minus the seaweed soup. I tried some bibimbap the first meal. I tried it because they were out of chicken. I'm sure it was good; my taste buds were just not working so well. It was served with a side of pickles sprinkled with sesame seeds and something red and spicy. The best part of that first meal was the fresh pineapple and honeydew. I tried some pasta for the second meal. That was pretty good. Only my body thought it was about three o'clock in the morning and nearly revolted at the sight of hot food. Nevertheless, I ate and it was good. For the last meal I had chicken, a pile of stewed green goopy stuff, and rice with, well little black things in it. The little black things look powerfully suspicious. They went crunch in your mouth. They looked like the things mice leave behind. My mama taught me to eat what's set before me, so I said a few extra prayers and ate the rice and chicken. It was good. Then there was a bowl of tofu for dessert. I think I could live a very contented life without tofu.

It is helpful to know various languages when you fly to foreign countries. I know English, a smidgen of Dutch, and one or two words in French. Not very helpful this, when you spend nearly fifteen hours flying through the air seated beside a grandpa of Vietnamese descent. I knew not one word of his language, he knew very few of mine. We mostly passed the time in amiable silence and gestured wildly when we needed to communicate. Once I sat up and squirmed around and darted furtive glances at the lavatory. He peered over at me, motioned in a great sweeping manner, and said loudly, "Go. You. Go." To which I nodded most vigorously and went.

I reached Thailand in safety. All the possessions I had deemed necessary to bring arrived with me. I hugged my sister. We giggled ourselves to sleep. It is good to be here. It is good to leave comfort zones behind.

The End.

Amen.

ordinary

2011-07-10T20:22:00.000-04:00

This week, on a Wednesday, there is a long trip to make. It goes halfway around the world and ends in the Orient. I have never traveled that far. I am nervous and wildly excited all at the same time. I really get to go to Thailand?! For two and a half weeks?!! Oh! Oh!

In preparation for a bit of globe trotting, I've been scurrying around, driven by a monster list, eaten up by things to accomplish, regularly forgetting too many things. Yesterday as I stood by the wash line pining up white sheets under a brilliant blue sky, I suddenly realized how foolish it is to race through the day driven by tasks, never stopping to breathe deeply and enjoy the moment for what beauty and life it holds, always rushing on to the next.

Every moment is a gift, even the ordinary ones. Maybe especially the ordinary ones. So often I think it is the grand and glorious moments that are the best part of life, that really make a life. But I begin to think differently.

Most of life is made up of ordinary moments in ordinary days. I often grow weary of normal. Yet somehow I find that routine and schedule bring a necessary balance to my life. It is the ordinary that makes spontaneity possible.

How to find joy in the everyday? See the things that are right and good. Dwell on them. Think of how they show you the Father's good will. Thank Him moment by moment for all that He gives you. Let your mind be filled with awareness of His presence. Be grateful for the difficult. Give thanks for the unpleasant, for He allows nothing that cannot bring redemption.

Most of all, look to see the hand of God everywhere. If you narrowly escape smashing the car ahead of you, recognize His protection. If there is a pile of dirty dishes after a good meal, be grateful for the bounty (I heard you, Mom :)). If you sin, remember that God is so very willing to forgive you, to restore you, if you but ask. If you find a flower in an unlikely spot, pause to worship the One who gives beauty unexpectedly. If a little one snuggles up to you while seated in the pew, draw breath and thank God for love. Let the joy surprise you. Let it fill you. Let it leak out everywhere.

"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." ~Philippians 4:8 ESV

Open your eyes and see that God is everywhere present. Every experience in life teaches us about God. Every experience.

Should you find yourself in possession of an extra moment, (an extra ordinary moment), your prayers for safety in the globe trotting excursion would be greatly appreciated.

a royal weed

2011-07-05T19:14:00.000-04:00

she bears a royal name, this weed who inhabits humble places.

we call her Queen Anne.

Queen Anne of the Lace.

better known as Queen Anne's Lace

who ever would title a weed as royalty?

i've been pondering that question.

at first i thought it would it be one of those eternally optimistic persons whose saccharine discourse sets teeth on edge. someone who always sees the good things and conveniently skips the unpleasant ones. someone who seldom has an honest view of life, who glorifies the everyday sheer out of proportion. someone wearing rose hued spectacles causing great areas of blur and blindness.

and then i thought, no, it would be a pessimist who would title a weed as royalty. someone wielding sharp sarcasm and indelicate irony. someone mocking the humble beauty of a lowly weed. someone wearing dark glasses that caused fully as much blur and blindness as the rosy ones.

but then it came to me that it was neither optimist nor pessimist that named an unassuming weed so grandly. surely Queen Anne's Lace was aptly named by someone who saw that in the ordinary, there is always something of the extraordinary. someone who honestly saw a weed, and eagerly accepted its beauty. someone employing the most delicate of irony to name that ethereal crown nodding serenely in pasture breezes. someone in need of no corrective lenses. someone with ability to see clearly and retain a measure of delight.

cutting grass

2011-06-30T15:30:00.000-04:00

I cut grass today. I did. The Deere mower is still in one piece and besides some minor whiplash I am unharmed. Let trumpets sound and angels sing. There is a reason why my brothers have taken over the mowing responsibilities. It is a very good reason.

First when I sat down to mow, I said very quickly, "Oh no, oh no, oh no." I believe the Deere mower returned the sentiments exactly.

We started by jerks and starts, fits and bumps, screechings and wild spinnings of a steering wheel. We continued mostly in the same fashion, improving only by subtle degrees until the entire side yard had been traversed.

I heaved a huge sigh of relief when we had quit the job. Miracles had happened. We barely escaped running up a pole, narrowly missed burrowing into the shop with our anterior parts, and scarcely avoided eliminating an entire raspberry patch.

Needless to say I was happy to climb down from my perch and return quietly to my sewing machine. I am still in recovery. Perhaps I shall go find a tub of ice cream and a bowl of raspberries to speed the process along.

P.S. Don't ever ask me to mow your lawn.

experiments

2011-06-27T13:49:00.000-04:00

The second round of peony experiment failed. Utterly. The white peony buds were shriveled and crackly, the leaves dried to a crisp.

The pink buds were soft and a little squishy but so very wilted they will not survive.

What happened? I really don't know. Did I wait too long to pull them out and give them a drink? I wish I knew what went wrong.

I was sad for one day. Then I woke up this morning and said,

"Hydrangeas are beautiful."

They are. Beautiful and delicious, white and happy.

For these I will be grateful.

In other good news the flower garden experiment I attempted this year bids to be less of a disaster than I had previously anticipated. I don't have a lot of faith in my growing-flowers-from-seed ability. I have surprised myself and now I want to plant every flower seed I can lay hands on.

Happy petunias started from seed, first to bloom.

Blue saliva from seeds saved last fall.

Stock. I've admired these beauties for a long time, but never had the gumption to grow them. Until this year. I think their silvery leaves are gorgeous.

Snapdragon. We only have about fifty of these. One corner of the garden will be a veritable sea of snapping dragons. Ha. Imagine the cacophony.

Grow, snapdragons, grow in a straight long row.

And best of all, nasturtiums! Or NAHsturtilums as Pooh would say.

I can't wait till they all burst into bloom.

Happy Monday!

hello.

2011-06-22T18:59:00.000-04:00

i'm back.

the yard looks like a hayfield.

the garden is consumed of weeds.

the lavender is sprawled hither and yon.

the flowers in their beds are tall giants nodding sagely in afternoon breeze.

"if you leave, this is what happens. we grow," they seem to say.

but i am home again.

i will tend to the straggly giantness around.

it is good to visit family in a far country.

it is good to return from visiting family in a distant place.

twenty-four plus hours of straight driving (sprinkled with oh, so many stops) makes one quite willing to plant both feet firmly on home soil.

Canada was lovely.

daisies and lupines, Indian paintbrush and buttercups all rivaled for attention.

the lakes and evergreens are still as ruggedly beautiful as they've always been.

the pictures:

lupines, oh lupines.

you are sheer gorgeous.

the new Mr. & Mrs. T.

detail of the bride's dress

one of us has a mom who was responsible for the delicious food.

she outdid herself on the chicken alfredo.

i slipped away with a friend and relation after all the hustle and bustle of wedding excitement.

we had a pot of tea beside the lake.

a pot of tea and lots of encouraging conversation.

thanks Mrs. B.

your journey is amazing!

birch and wild rose

one of my favorite flowers of all time

lake, bush, sky, airplane = Canada

enticing curve of beach

a spinney of young pine in fresh green garb

but all good things must come to an end.
so we waved goodbye.

and came home.
amen.

encore

2011-06-14T09:28:00.001-04:00

the peonies are back!

they returned to sing with the hydrangeas.

oh joy and delight!

you see, we did an experiment.

we took the peonies when they were in soft bud form

(a little squishy but not yet beginning to open).

we wrapped them well in newspaper and stored them in the refrigerator.

three weeks later, we pulled them out, re-cut the stems, plunged them into water,

and voila!

it's peony season again!

there are three more packages in the refrigerator.

three more bouquets to brighten summer days.

on peonies and aging

2011-06-09T14:34:00.000-04:00

Who ever knew that aging peonies could be so achingly beautiful?

Who every knew it's possible to age so gracefully, so softly?

Who knew that withered could be so amazing?

I never knew till the last peony bouquet taught me.

Me who likes the fresh and bright and new,

who shuns withering and sometimes yanks out grey hair.

But why should I be perturbed at the aging?

It is the normal course of things.

Why should I try to smooth away the crow's feet?

They speak years of laughing happiness.

Why should I be disgruntled when I look as if I had lived as many years as I have?

Why?

I look at the peonies and make a fresh decision to live as I am,

in the years I have been given,

with the skin I wear.

p.s. I don't intend to make anyone feel guilty for taking charge of grey hair or wrinkling skin. In fact, I'll probably run to the store to buy new face cream next week. But for today, I got a glimpse of how freeing it would be to simply age the way I am. To age and never worry.

lavender and such

2011-06-08T09:29:00.000-04:00

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

It is.

It's June, and look.

The lavender, here it comes!

Hello scissors. Hello achy back. Hello piles of fresh cut lavender.

Today we harvest tomorrow's delicious scents.

Today's work yielding tomorrow joy.

Oh yes, and my mind runs a thousand places with the truth of it.

How the disciplines of today grace tomorrow with beauty.

How walking in purpose and leading heart by truth brings energy, joy.

Yet I forget this often, and wish for tomorrow's joy without today's discipline.

I mistakenly wish to deserve the easy life with no bumpy roads and no detours.

Far too often I shield myself from the difficult unpleasant.

Not so long ago, this lavender was scraggly, unkempt, overrun.

It submitted to heavy-handed pruning, and much of it was trimmed away.

A hard kind of mercy I would say.

Hard and necessary and in the end freeing.

Today it blooms abundant.

I notice again and again that it is usually the difficult things that bring what we truly long for.

God often uses the painful, sorrowful things to birth life in us.

What know I of happiness where there has been no sorrow?

What know I of health where there has been no illness?

What know I of healing where there has been no pain?

How can I be filled if I am not first emptied?

So I will take my scissors in hand and go out into the bright sunshine.

I will cut and gather and inhale and delight.

I will remember that mercy can seem hard.

I will remember it is necessary.

words

2011-06-06T10:01:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wonder about blogging, this putting down of words into wide open space. I wonder about sending thoughts winging out into unknown regions.

I wonder if I make sense.

I am afraid that often my humor is awkward, my sentences bulky, my point garbled. I am certain that occasionally I leave you to dither in a fog.

Sometimes I write whole posts and happily delete them. Sometimes I go for a week without writing two sentences of sense. I question what I write, I criticize my motives, I ruthlessly expunge.

I doubt and I struggle.

Sometimes I ask myself why? Why keep trying to say things? Why juggle the words and shuffle the sentences? Why edit and add and invert?

Then I ask, why not? Why not write and learn through the process? Why not explore and look up words, expand my knowledge and vocabulary? Why not repent from this hiding behind the bush that I attempt with far too great a regularity?

Life is too short to spend it behind the bushes. Life is too precious a gift to waste. Life is too dear a treasure to hoard. Life is empty if we do not risk and try.

I do not speak profound truth. I am not wise or learned. But I have a voice, and it must be exercised.

So do you.

distraction

2011-06-03T11:17:00.000-04:00

i stepped out the back door to hang up laundry and i saw this.

i happy danced all the way to the wash line.

then i made up a little song to the tune of There's a Light A Comin.

(Antrim Mennonite Choir singers, any memories?)

"there are grapes a comin' to our garden,

there are grapes a comin' our way!"

and i shouted it for a full five minutes at the wash line.

i couldn't help it.

the sky was such a sympathetic listener

and the grass swayed in rhythm
and the grapes are on their way.

grapes people, grapes!

it looks like it will be an abundant year.

glory, hallelujah.

amen.

the only sad thing is, i'll be far away when they ripen.

i want to stand in the kitchen again and be distracted by their fragrance.

speaking of distraction, i'm a bad one for that.
a wise person once told me to pick one thing and finish it.
i wish i could.
i believe life would be much simpler and a whole lot more productive.

my current project list:

a.) sew. clothes of all kinds.
(the wardrobe is in a desperate way)

b.) finish a pillow cover

(she came along after five boys; project for a friend)

c.) prepare for school

(if you've ever been a teacher you know this is the endless one...)

d.) plant a flower garden

(so much to do, so very little time)

e.) make another pillow cover
(so many birthday, so little time)

so i should go work and quit perfecting my distraction techniques.

enjoy the glorious June day.
make up a song at the wash line and belt it out at the top of your lungs.
it's awesome.

oh, and if you want to know what's been my biggest distraction recently,
go to pinterest.com.
but get your must-dos done first.
and if you want to peek at my pins, go here.

ok. bye.

June and haystacks and paeonia

2011-06-02T22:41:00.000-04:00

ah, June, lovely June.

you have been kind to us today, indeed.

with your lovely blue skies and fresh breeze,

your billowy white of cloud and brilliant green of leaf,

you are entirely gorgeous.

at the ranch, we now have a straw stack.

i thought of Caddie Woodlawn and Laura Ingalls.

nostalgia suddenly overwhelmed me and wished to be a little girl again.

i wanted to climb straight to the top and whoooosh right down.

being a big girl now, i contented myself with the thought,

imagined myself whooooshing with straw in my hair.

i am grateful to escape a hard landing.

papa eli who made the straw stack aided by one tall, strong, young man.

once more,

peony love.

i'm afraid this is the last little bunch.

i'm always a little bit sad when the peony ceases to bloom.

but we have had their beauty and we will quiet our souls with the truth that

as long as the earth stands, season will follow season.

the peony will return.

marching off

2011-06-01T15:37:00.000-04:00

i am astonished, sister, to see how many books you carry under your arm.

your skirt seems rather long and trailing for any sizable journey.

i am glad to see you took your pen with you.

happy adventuring.

out from behind the bushes.

(p.s. i didn't know the paint program on my computer could be so much fun.)

she said

2011-06-01T07:58:00.000-04:00

i find that i heartily agree.

small accomplishment

2011-05-31T17:31:00.001-04:00

i sat down this afternoon and swiftly took care of this little project.

it is all i feel like accomplishing in this heat laden day.

i should sew.

i should paint.

i should scribble.

i should weed.

i should cook.

i should wash.

i should get up and do something.

May, dear May, i'm not sure i like you so well masquerading as August.

your heat withers me.

i am the puddle at your feet.

around the house (outside)

2011-05-28T10:06:00.000-04:00

more flowers people.

the roses, they have come.

knockout roses.

a very un-rose-ish name, i'd say.

but beautiful and hardy, nevertheless.

yellow climbing rose.

with nothing much to climb on.

so it becomes a tall gangly bush.

irises can take over.

one must keep them firmly in check.

we've taken to scattering the extras along a fence row.

they continue to proliferate.

my favorite find this spring.

the lavender shows faint signs of color.

oh yes.

peony bouquets.

anyone want to have a wedding?

i think peonies would make the most beautiful wedding bouquets.

just sayin'.

happy weekend.

paeonia

2011-05-27T13:20:00.001-04:00

if you don't answer to the name LaRonda or if you are highly disinterested in peonies,

beat a hasty exit.

now.

there's a whole lot of peony in this post.

and it's chiefly for the sister faraway whose wistfulness i heard the other day.

if you do however enjoy peonies,

let the following be my little gift to you today.

should there be no other reason to enjoy living in Ohio besides the few weeks when the peony blooms,

i'd still choose it in a heartbeat.

someone else has a great appreciation for this gorgeousness.

mr. ant.

so much potential, so little time.

i'd be happy to be an ant. (or an aunt)

come to mama!

hello, beautiful.

this bunch is for a small experiment in preservation of peony buds.

maybe we'll have peonies in July?

white with a blush of pink. ahhh.

sigh.

incredible.

so there you are.

aside from their beauty, peonies are incredibly easy to raise.

unlike other high-maintenance perennials they love to be left alone.

no digging and dividing every other year for these beauties.

give them plenty of space the first time around,

plant them in rich soil with the crowns only two inches deep,

and don't harvest all the flowers.

their gorgeousness will multiply.

now if you prefer marigolds or hollyhocks or coreopsis, that's fine.

i'll take a peony any day, every day.

bit of humor

2011-05-19T15:25:00.000-04:00

Next fall I plan to return to the classroom. To prepare for this dive back into the world of education, I pulled out a box today. A big box full of school related stuff.

I sat down on the couch and went through it carefully.

I came across my plan book for the last year I taught. I laughed most of my way through it. Children say the funniest things.

So I thought maybe a bit of humor would be good on this not-so-sunny kind of day.

From the mouths of my intrepid students:

One young man, while searching for his reading book in all corners of his backpack, "Why did Mom put it in this little apartment?"

"Miss Rosita, you got just the right hands on you. When we are hot, they are cold. You must got a little magic on them. Like a drop or something."

"Why do they wear those tennis racquet shoe-things on their feet when the snow is real deep up north?"

Boy 1: "What's a heartburn?"
Boy 2: "When it feels like your heart's on fire."
Boy 1: "So throw some ice down your throat and you'll have a heart freeze."

"What's worse than two teachers sitting on a tack? A million teachers sitting on a tack."

"Why did the chicken cross the road? He wanted to get to his chicks on the other side."

"Miss Rosita, so the lands make a joyful noise?" asked a young man.
I nodded my head.
"Like cities?" he asked. "Maybe like the grass when it moves."

"I love my teach."

"Miss Rosita, can I give you something? I just want to give you a big hug! I came walking over here and I just felt like giving you one."

"I'm never going to get married. 'Cause then I'd have to fight with my wife. Plus I want to have a big screen and an Xbox and my own bedroom."

"Miss Rosita, when you're finished eating that garlic breath, you need to go brush your teeth. It makes your breath stink."

"One apple danish a day will keep the doctor away."

"The sun's mouth is so big he could use the earth for a big juicy apple."

Young man: "I can't understand why girls don't like beetles."
Teacher: "Well, here's the deal. Girls are a little different than boys."
Young man: "Yeah! I say a lot different."

I love the humor of the young ones!

spring days and rest

2011-05-18T12:39:00.000-04:00

spring, i think, is fickle.

she changes her mind every other minute.

she blows in a storm and all of seven minutes later

she's furiously trying to dry things off with wind and sun.

i suppose some of us shouldn't talk too loudly of fickleness.

there's been a bit of this lately.

grey skies that drop much water.

but last Saturday made up for the recent overload of dreary skies.

it was a gorgeous day.

some wonderful people were around,

and we were outside for quite a lot of it.

there were azure skies and the hugest billowy, white clouds.

the snowball bushes were in full bloom.

so we made an excursion to the south wood,

and there found a ginormous bush,

a beautiful bouquet.

we took the boquet home with us

and found an old milk bottle and a quiet corner.

and there the bouquet and milk jar have dwelt, happily together.

we had lots of fun rambling about

and fishing

and telling stories

and talking about a specific sort of dessert

and sharing life experience

and so on.

you can see it in the faces.

wandering slowly through the day was just what we needed.

i firmly believe that we all should take regular days of rest.

regular days of rambling about with very little on the agenda.

it refreshes us and helps us to gain equilibrium again.

if there's anything i've learned in this little sabbatical i took from teaching,

it's how important rest is to my physical, mental, emotional well being.

honestly, i think whirling around like super someone, getting everything done,

is way overrated.

way, way, way overrated.

resting, letting go of schedules and to-do lists reminds me that i am never in control.

it's God's job to run the world.

i cannot.

rest can look like laziness.

rest takes time and discipline.

rest isn't convenient.

rest is often misunderstood.

but honestly, if you can get past all of that,

it's absolutely worth it.

so on and so forth

2011-05-11T10:42:00.000-04:00

A bit of rambling, a few things to look at, and a freebie.

That's what this post is made of.

I've been admiring this little butter dish.

Beautiful gift from a dear friend.

This set was given to me by the same lady.

I love the cherry design.

And the darling little lid on the sugar bowl.

Pieces made by Mosser Glass.

And now I want to have a party, complete with cream bedecked scones and a pot of Earl Grey tea.

Beautiful things beg to be useful.

I, for one, am happy to oblige.

These days we have been having glorious sunshine.

Sunshine and the heavenly smell of line dried linens and things.

Does anyone of my friends and relations in this vicinity need black-eyed susans?

I have a bushel or two that need to find a new home.

There's nothing wrong with them.

They are merely making a black-eyed susan kind of field where there once was a tidy little flower bed.

Contact me if you live nearby and have an unquenchable thirst for black-eyed susan beauty.

I will be happy to fill you up.

Good day.

fascinating

2011-05-10T20:15:00.000-04:00

...the colors of autumn on spring leaves.

in the living

2011-05-09T20:41:00.000-04:00

"Let not our longing slay the appetite of our living." ~Jim Elliot

I scrawl the words onto a sticky note, paste it to the outside of my prayer journal. Scratched there onto a scrap of paper, the words shout.

I know the power of longing, the crippling force of desire unmet. I know how it can bleed the life out of the living. How it can shutter us into merely existing.

I have only to open the journal, read the desperate, longing laden prayers, hear the echoes of despair that clutter the pages, and I know the truth. Too often the longing does slay my appetite of living. Too often I am quite willing to throw up my arms, toss in the towel. I struggle with the question, the balance, of reality and wistfulness.

But how, how do I stay alive, present, real and not be completely overwhelmed by emotion and desire?

I pick up my pen, pull out the leather bound pages, the book of good gifts. I reach for the discipline of listing gratitude for the many things that are right in my world. Gratefulness turning my focus from what I miss to what is so abundantly all around: His never ending love.

I don't have answers but maybe all I need for right now is here: deep love, renewed focus, discipline of gratitude.

This list continues...

1401. music of a hundred songbirds
1402. sunlight on a golden spring morning
1403. redemption and second chances
1404. sewing project finally begun
1405. discipline and care from the Father who varies not

Happy Mother's Day

2011-05-08T09:43:00.001-04:00

To you, Mom...

...from all of us.

We love you and are so blessed to call you mom.

in silhouette

2011-05-07T10:25:00.000-04:00

we've found a new favorite activity:

making silhouettes.

a simple violet.

color is fun, but black and white is beautiful, too.

one of my favorite beverages.

especially on these cool spring days.

yours truly.

i used to hate my long nose.

now i just tell myself it lends character, distinction, that sort of thing.

sometimes i even believe it.

here's my 'studio'.

i make a huge mess when i do anything.

my sisters used to groan whenever the creative urge overtook me.

i guess things do tend to get a little jungle-ish.

what with fabric all over the place,

glue gun, paper, cutting mat, and scraps rambling across the coffee table,

kitchen counters and table cluttered with scissors and anything related to sewing,
not to mention miscellaneous tea cups and empty dessert dishes filling all the empty corners.

i guess that might be groan-worthy.

someone once said that the piles on a desk are evidence of brain activity.

i think my brain took that and ran.

but back to silhouettes.

i've been wanting to make a collage of silhouettes with my family's profiles.

maybe hang them in the family room and make a guessing game out of it when guests come.

well, maybe not the guessing game part.
but i would like to hang family silhouettes in the family room.

i've already got one brother's profile pic.

he says i now owe him $500.

i might be beyond broke till this project is finished.

once again

2011-05-06T12:22:00.000-04:00

it's that grand time of the year wherein our kitchen turns into a "smells like heaven" place once a week.

that time of year that holds many pots and pans and full counters.

that time when Mom bakes on a Thursday and goes to market on a Friday.

this year, Mom has only one helper.

and that helper isn't such a very good baker.

it's true.

i tend to burn cookies and under bake bread.

you don't want to know what i've done to other unfortunate articles.

i am good for printing labels, weighing products, slapping price tags onto things.

i'm ok with that.

i used to think i had to be good at everything i tried.

but now i don't.

as long as Mom runs the range (literally) we'll be fine.

that is her expertise.

how she does it, i don't know.

she putters with the bread dough and whips up the cookie batter and expertly rolls out cinnamon rolls.

she breathes, and all manner of things go right in the kitchen.

she would modestly tell you that it's not as magical as that.

she'd say it takes practice, that if i do it a bit more, i'd get it, too.

but the truth is, some of us can and some of us don't.

and that's how it should be.

like a child

2011-05-05T22:04:00.000-04:00

There's a little man that drops in on me every other week.

He comes with his backpack and crayons and wide grin.

Together we explore the wonderful world of art.

We mix colors and talk shapes and experiment with values.

We make pictures and splash paint around.

We translate bits of the world around us.

Translate with imagination and pigment.

The time flies by.

Before we know it, he must go.

After he leaves, I console myself.

I pick up the brush and fiddle with leftover paint.

Fiddle and find music with the dancing color.

His inspiration grows mine.

I love art.

I love children.

I love the two combined.

It is with great joy that I make plans to return to the classroom

after this little sabbatical is over.

I am delighted to continue my education at the hands of little ones.

I think often of the verses in Matthew 18.

Jesus tells His disciples that in order to enter the kingdom of heaven,

they must become as children.

He speaks specifically about humility.

These thoughts bounce around in my brain.

Is humility the reason children can express themselves so freely?

Does humility give them keener insight?
Greater appreciation for little things?

If in future you see me on a tricycle, I might be trying for the perspective of a three-year-old.

Seems to me that might also work for learning humility.

Don't judge me.

Please.

Thanks.

2011-05-03T23:21:00.000-04:00

Saturday I went flower picking.

I found all these lovelies for free.

Well, I did pay with a few scratches and some extra steps.

It was worth it.

Here is grape hyacinth and hosta leaves from the front flower bed.

This one is wild phlox from the woodland floor.

These violets, purple and yellow, came from a sunny meadow.

Charles Joly Lilac proceeded from the back yard.

New ferns and fiddleheads I found on a very steep hill by a creek.

These dogwoods are from the edge of the forest and the ornamental pink blooms from a friend's yard.

Last but not least, the trillium come from the deep, cool, secret place of a pine wood.

This time of year there is so much beauty out there.
So much beauty for free.

I'm suffering through as many raptures over spring as I did winter.
It can't be helped.
I love the change of seasons almost as much as I love the seasons.

He gives color and grace.
The Good Father shows Himself in this abundant beauty everywhere evident.

they bloom

2011-05-02T19:34:00.000-04:00

For a week now, Fannie Price has been filling the air with perfume.

I wish I was as nice as Fannie Price.

I wish I smelled as delicious as Fannie Price.

But I'm afraid I'm not and I don't.

I doubt and balk and grouch and slight.

I whine and sit on my hands.

Who am I to bear the image of Christ?

Who am I to spread His fragrance?

I am frail and error prone.

Flawed from the beginning.

A broken vessel and I cannot contain His glory.
How can I, vessel of earth that I am?

How can Shekhinah glory radiate from this crusty, broken clay?

Mr. Charles Joly blooms, too.

He cannot help himself, nor would we want him to.

In the midst of my angst, I am drawn again to the words He once gave me.

Words that stunned, convicted, released me.

These words here.
They comfort me again.
I am flawed pottery, but Shekhinah can be here.
It is not perfection He requires, He has plenty of His own to share.
It is honesty He desires.
He wants the truth of who we are in all of our organic humanity.
Maybe, just maybe, the broken places are for Him to shine through.

For Grace I don't deserve, I give thanks.

1366. Silly stories told by gifted story teller
1367. Cloudy skies giving way to persuasive sun
1368. Airy bouquet of dogwood blossom
1369. Forgiveness and the courage to try again
1370. Coupons and a shopping buddy

extraordinary 2

2011-04-27T22:43:00.000-04:00

little Miss Strawberry came by the greenhouse after school today. she squeaked out one high little note as if to sound a trumpet before entering. and there she was, giggle and all. still completely extraordinary.

she made sunshine for us on a dreary afternoon.

she filled the greenhouse with music. the kind only she can make. think warbling angel with a little bit of huskiness.

she sang me her very bestest song. the one that ends with "...my God is so big, so strong, and so mighty, there's nothing my God cannot do." then she looked me straight in the eye, pointed her little finger at me and sang with great conviction, "for you!"

i nearly fell over.

it was like she had read my mind, understood all the worry and fear banging around inside me. it was as if, for one moment, a five-year-old spoke a message straight from God. a message clear, compelling, concise.

recently there have been things that have threatened to overwhelm and constrict. little worries, a dozen preoccupations, small fears. things that could snowball.

i don't do snowball well. i don't do trust well. i don't do depend-on-God well.

many moments of my life i've tried to do things in my own strength. i still try to do things in my own strength. i learn about God's strength, and slide right back to making my own feeble efforts at getting it right.

but here is this little wisp of a girl singing about an all powerful God with such stunning conviction. little weakness singing about Huge Powerfulness.

and it suddenly hits me. the little weak are just the ones to be helped by Huge Power. God wants my weakness, my inability to trust, my failure to rest in His strength. He wants what i have to give, and if weakness is all i have to offer, that's what He will take.

He wants to build something out of the rubbish i give Him.

that's unfathomable.

on the top of my gratitude list tonight is the moment when a skinny little finger pointed at me, a sweet voice sang powerful truth, and God opened my understanding.

in which we go for a second expotition

2011-04-26T10:36:00.000-04:00

this one wasn't to find the north pole since it has already been found by

Winnie Ther Pooh.

you can read about it in his book,

Winnie the Pooh, page 110.

this particular explore was for the backwoods,

just a nice quiet walk with friends and relations.

but before we began,

i was astonished by the sudden appearance of this old man.

i almost had to sit down really fast.

but then i didn't.

i didn't get in front of him to take his picture.

side shots are much better for toads.

one can get a full warty profile without putting anyone in harm's way.

my voice felt a little hoarse after i discovered Mr. Toad and left him to sun.

anyhow.

on with our explore.

fiddleheads

apple blossoms

the scent is absolutely delicious.

they remind me of my maternal grandfather and the time we went mushroom hunting with him. purely by accident my sister, cousin, and i stumbled on a grove of apple trees, all in blossom.

the smell was unimaginable.

wild violets

the rare yellow ones, too

carpet of spring flowers

sis-in-law and i went scouting for mushrooms.

the morel variety.

our hunt was unsuccessful.

that may be due in part to the fact that we hunted for all of five minutes.

the only little mushroom we found was not so edible.

the dogwoods are just beginning to bloom.

LaRonda, they didn't cut down the tree after all.

woohoo!

that's all.

p.s. if you're tired of long posts clogged with photos, i apologize.

it's what's filling our lives right now, this picture stuff.

and the beauty of spring.

alive

2011-04-25T11:58:00.000-04:00

how beautiful is green grass in spring?

how dear are tiny stock plants barely sprouting?

and these impatiens?

and the blue salvia from seeds saved last summer ?

the south and east windows have turned greenhouse and hold hundreds of tiny plants.

we're hoping they all survive.

we have great plans for them.

very great indeed.

you really must see the cherry blossoms again.

one should never walk by a cherry tree in spring and neglect to pause for

a very long time.

ethereal.

for one moment in spring, the bees and i call truce and share swarming space.

we're both too busy to pay attention to each other anyway.

the one word that keeps resounding through the corridors of my mind
in this season when the earth wakes from winter sleep is
alive.

everything comes alive in spring.

everything is reborn and new.

it's Easter truth, planned from the beginning of time.

that's what i'm most grateful for today,

Easter truth, planned from the beginning of time.
after dormancy of winter where everything sleeps, looks lifeless,
spring bursts forth with the truth:
life was there all along.

occasionally life is cloaked in dark stillness,
valleys can hide, shadows may cover us,
but the dark and the quiet don't always take life away.
life is often nurtured in the dark and the quiet places.
some seeds won't sprout unless they are covered in darkness.

the best truth of Easter is that morning always comes.
the tomb will be emptied.
the seeds do sprout, trees leaf out again,
and every death can become a birth to something new.

i continue counting.

1331. rain in puddles on soggy earth
1332. sunshine after rain
1333. grace to go on, look up
1334. life, so abundant
1335. His Story of greatest mercy

I Corinthians 3:18

2011-04-24T09:44:00.000-04:00

And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.

a project and some pictures

2011-04-20T20:55:00.000-04:00

a little laddie sailed in to port recently.

i look forward to meeting him in August.

welcome, little Zachary Joseph.

good news calls for celebration.

so i made a pillow.

here's part of it.

i made the sailboat using freezer paper and fabric paint.

it's really very easy.

you cut out a stencil from freezer paper

and iron the paper to the fabric you wish to paint.

then you paint.

something like this.

actually, if you're smart, you insert cardboard

beneath the fabric you are painting

so it doesn't bleed onto what's underneath.

(undahneath! said Piglet in an underneath sort of way.)

let's just pretend that last bit wasn't random.

here's a classic example of forgetting the cardboard.

any ideas on how to cover up pollen colored

smudges on the back of a drawstring bag?

the fun part is peeling off the freezer paper after the paint dries.

bingo! three fleur de lis all lined up and ready to go.

in other news, spring has sprung and is leaking beauty everywhere.

raindrops on ~~roses~~ tulips

don't these dears look like two country ladies taking in the view?

can't get enough of those hills.

fannie price grows daily.

the parade of cherry blossoms begins.

oh, how i do like you, spring.

lilacs and a wedding

2011-04-18T20:25:00.000-04:00

if you're not crazy about lilacs or lavender hued things or wedding flowers, stop now.

leave this page.

you have been warned.

i don't usually get excited about lavender and purple things.

unless it's spring and the lilacs are full blooming.

then for several weeks my favorite color is lilac.

i live and breathe lilacs (even if the scent eventually gives me a headache).

this spring a friend of mine wanted lilacs all over the place at her wedding reception.

i was happy to oblige.

the great thing about shaping lilac branches into bouquets is that they need very little shaping.

just plop them in a vase with fresh, cool water and bingo!

they form themselves into a happy sprawling mass of glorious spring beauty.

free tip: give the stem end a jolly pound with a hammer before you plunge it into the vase.

it breaks the stem open so that it drinks water more easily.

you'd have a hard time drinking through bark, too.

oh, and if you're doing flowers for a wedding and there are various sundry peoples milling about, the whole smash with a hammer thing makes a great conversation piece.

a very great one indeed.

it will start 163 conversations.

given there are 163 sundries to start them with.

with no further ado, may i present.....

the bride's bouquet

a bridesmaid's bouquet

a bridesmaid bouquet finished very simply

delphinium heavenliness

bridal table

bridal table centerpiece

delicious tulips in a still more delicious pitcher

an exquisite of a rose

more lilac and pitcher happiness

a whole lot of lovely in a vessel of glass

i had some big answers to prayer this weekend.

some blessings to count.

...17 hours of travelling time accomplished safely

...safety and deep awareness of the presence of God while travelling alone, through very heavy rains, after dark, on strange roads

...gift of a surprise visit by younger sister and her very competent help with flowers and clean-up

...being filled all the way to brim with the beauty of mountains and spring-blooming trees and calves skipping on vivid green meadows

...honest sharing with a longtime friend

...freedom to rejoice in the (sometimes lonely) path i am on, the journey i take, lead by Father God

good gifts, people, need to be counted.

count them, and count often.

yes, you.

go count.

and pick a bouquet of lilacs.

in which we go for an explore

2011-04-11T15:58:00.000-04:00

we didn't find the north pole.

but we did find quite a lot of beautiful things, a great many things spring.

fannie price the lilac.

fannie after my grandma and price because no price compares to lilacs in spring.

(or if you know 'Mansfield Park', you know another explanation.)

jolly jonquils

wide, rolling meadow going green

tulips promising great things

the first tulip, delivering its promise

mr. charles joly

it's almost cherry blossom time.

three cheers for cherries!

pear buds

we explored the top of the forest,

and the middle of the forest,

and the bottom of the forest.

we came back from our explore refreshed and grateful.

the counting of gratitude continues...

1241. bluster of spring day

1242. warm wood heat

1243. cup of tea

1244. friendship spanning ages

1245. green lights

1246. raspberry roll - kind gift

1247. young voice, high, pure, sweet

1248. cool night wind

1249. evening light

1250. protection and care

1251. disappointments

1252. courage to go on living

1253. tears

1254. beautiful music

1255. compelling Father love

1256. heavy heart, tired soul

1257. wonderful, merciful, heavenly Father

1258. trust that God still moves

1259. rest, quiet peace moments in a storm

1260. forsythia

1261. kind, generous brother

1262. achy muscles

1263. cleaned flower bed

1264. hot bath

1265. starbucks ice cream

1266. warm spring breeze

1267. song of the spring peepers

1268. thoughtful kindness of friends

1269. new favorite recipe

1270. dreams, plans, ambitions

1271. bright morning and birdsong

1272. faithfulness of God, new every day

1273. green shoots in brown soil

1274. hard work

1275. sweet rest

of gardens and such

2011-04-09T22:35:00.000-04:00

it's saturday night. it's late. i'm tired.

the flowerbeds called to me today. i answered. how could i refuse? the weeds met an untimely end. my back does not want to forgive me.

i think i missed my calling. i should have been a horticulturist. that's a long word with a simple meaning: someone who loves to dig in the dirt. and watch things grow. and pull weeds.

(yes, i enjoy pulling weeds.)

i love to garden.

i feel close to God when i toil with soil. it helps me sort out the whirlings in my brain. i rub shoulders with living beauty.

i've often wondered why God put the first two people in a garden. why start them out surrounded by abundance and beauty? does it show us how much He loves the beautiful? how much He wants to surround us with abundant good things?

time slows in a garden. plants don't woosh up into daylight in two minutes. there's waiting and watering and wondering involved. it takes patience and flexibility to do it successfully.

gardens take work, so much work.

but the beauty is worth it. for the true gardener, the process is as much a part of the fun as the end result.

i wish it were so in my life. sometimes i have difficulty enjoying the process, the learning. sometimes i just want to get on through, be done already. but i begin to see that there's a reason all good things take time. often i need the discipline of waiting as much as i need the results.

i think i'll go find what's calling my name. a fine young man gave me a carton of starbucks mocha frap ice cream today. it's been acting a bit like Pooh's pots of hunny ever since it arrived. it's been calling my name very loudly. i think i'll go investigate. maybe investigate all of it, clear down to the bottom of the carton.

so long.

farewell.

auf wiedersehen.

adieu.

p.s. two inches down and it's still starbucks ice cream. oh yes it is. want some? i thoughts so. find yourself a fine young man who is the soul of generosity.

projects

2011-04-07T12:50:00.000-04:00

project fever was in the air last weekend before sister headed back to that place halfway around the world.

the place they call Thailand.

flowers were made, a handbag was finished, a notebook cover completed, a scarf sewed.

i am probably the queen of procrastination and the last moments before a deadline are my signal to get serious.

it's not necessarily an asset.

instead of whirling around with a scissors in one hand and a bolt of fabric in the other, i should have been sitting at the feet of my wise sister, soaking up her presence.

here are some of the flowers we glued together.

my personal favorite is the one with grey stripes.

i love grey.

and white.

and stripes.

here's the handbag.
we just sort of guessed on measurements and such.
it was made by trial and error.
mostly trials and lots of error.
but the bag survived.
so did we.

the flower on the bag illustrates my new favorite color combination: grey and yellow.

pleats on a handbag, definitely a keeper.

i think i like it, trials, errors and all.

here's the little notebook cover.
it looks nothing like what i first pictured in my head when i set out to make it.
that's usually how it goes.
creating things is a long process for me.
i see it in my head, think about how to put it together, discover i don't have the right colors or fabric, and end up with a totally different finished product after i redesign it a dozen times.
it's ok.
i learn a lot on the way.

i miss you, miss L.

the dorky butterfly.

and our last project, a ruffled scarf.
i've seen these around for a while and have been itching to make one.
i was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to accomplish.

and that's all.
for now.

extraordinary

2011-04-06T20:05:00.001-04:00

I worked at the greenhouse today. It all began in a very regular, ordinary sort of way. Sarah and I pulled apart tiny little tomato plants and tucked them in to soil up to their necks. We discussed politics, music, literature, schools, and her cattle. I learn a lot from Sarah. She's a walking encyclopedia when it comes to plants. I soak up that sort of knowledge as fast as I can.

Some day I dream of having a flower farm.

In the afternoon I bagged seeds, aided by one strawberry-haired, musically-inclined young person. Here is where ordinary stops.

This budding musician favored me with a few songs, some of them made up on the spot for my special benefit. She had her own version of "My Favorite Things" that puts Julie Andrews way back in the dust. (No offense Julie; you do sing beautifully.) Many objects close at hand were featured in this song. Things like windows, houses, flowers, bean seeds. Here's one phrase, "And no don't take my favorite bean seeds, no you don't take my favorite bean seeds." Imagine that being trilled at you in angelic, bell tones. Imagine retaining your composure.

She put on programs for me which included much hopping on and off of a certain black crate. She recited a poem she had just barely memorized, leaving most of it unsaid and focusing, instead, on a grand entry and an equally grand exit, punctuated soundly with wild hand motions.

All the music, of course, was pitched at the top of the scale where ordinary mortals fear to tread. Occasionally a bit of croaky-ness accompanied the otherwise angelic sound. Once she started a song down in normal territory, a pitch that even i could attain. She promptly cleared her throat and said, "My throat's not very good today," gave an apologetic little shake of the head, and proceeded to start again with a pitch far above the clouds. I nearly died. Just thinking about it again has me laughing out loud, hysterically.

She is just. too. much. My cheeks literally ache from the huge grin I wore in a vain attempt to disguise my mirthful delight. Occasionally a few giggles would escape me, so i devised a sort of humming sound by which to discourage any further surprise attacks of humor. I would never have dared laugh out loud. That musical talent comes right along with a great deal of insight. You can see it shining out of those earnest, soulful, grey eyes.

She has so much presence.

And I haven't even gotten to the part about the TALL tale she told me. This tale began in truth, became mixed with a great quantity of fiction, and finished with a healthy dose of imagination. Like the songs, it featured handy items and was often built around things she could pick up and carry around. Lots of free demonstration came with the story. It even involved pulling a huge sack of onion sets off a pallet and dragging it around. Imagine willowy strawberryness bent over in half, pulling heavy things along behind her.

She is one in a million.

I concur with my sister.

Books should be written about her.

Dozens of them.

And she's only five years old.

who will go?

2011-04-04T09:27:00.000-04:00

there's been much coming and going in my corner of the world.
mostly going.
family members are scattering to corners of the world.
north, west, far east...
a few of us remain to keep the home landing strip open.

i miss my family when they're not around.
a lot.
i miss the teasing (don't tell the brothers), the jokes, the singing (sometimes extra loud), the interesting conversations around the Sunday dinner table, all the good times.

at the same time, i'm glad they can go.
go into the world.
i'm grateful for a healthy family, willing to take Good News, willing to be Christ's hands and feet outside of comfort zones and far away from home.
after all, that is what the Master requires, that is the job description for all who will be His.
we might not all need to leave home for distant lands, but we do need to tell the Good News.
and maybe, just maybe, more of us should go.
it's impossible to disregard Jesus words in Mark 16:15, "Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature."
not many loopholes there.

the counting of gifts continues...

1236. willing hands, ready feet

1237. hearts obedient

1238. message to share

1239. imperfect lives transformed by grace

1240. hope

treat for the eyes

2011-04-01T07:20:00.000-04:00

want a visual feast?

visit Swedish photographer Mari Erikson's website.

she makes absolutely stunning photos.

be sure to click on all the categories.

everything is delicious,

the gorgeous food,

the light filled rooms,

the girl holding the chicken,

all of it.

if i were going to be a photographer,

i'd want to do it like her.

that's all.

amen.

march and glory

2011-03-31T12:37:00.000-04:00

March leaves us with a bluster.

she came in quietly and is leaving in a whirl of snow and cold, cold air.

but I know that bluster.

she's just shy about putting on spring garb.

i understand.

i feel the same when when i wear a new frock.

only i don't hide it with bluster.

usually.

April can wear spring.

i'm convinced she will.

the lilac bush whispered it to me when i stopped by to see her buds.

a robin whistled it to me last week.

soon the songbirds will fill the nests with eggs,

promise unbroken of life inside.

sort of like faith and hope.

soon glass will be filled with spring flowers,

beauty free and new.

sort of like Amazing Grace.

soon the garden will be filled with inspiring pictures,

glory waiting a canvas and paint.

sort of like our lives.

our story can be filled with Life, inside to out.

our story can be filled with beauty free, new.

our story is glory waiting to happen.

sometimes the glory is hidden in painful things,

sometimes it would slide on by disguised as ordinary,

sometimes we, distracted with bluster, miss it entirely,

and sometimes it unfolds before our very eyes.

the best discipline i have found for viewing glory is counting thanks,

writing numbered lists of gratitude,

reciting back the glory happening in ordinary, painful, beautiful, busy moments.

because God is there,

there is glory.

born to privilege

2011-03-30T08:19:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about how privileged we who live in America are. There are millions hungry (yes millions, that's not a hyperbole) in the world, and most of us have not once suffered involuntarily from hunger. Many people, out of necessity, must dress in rags, live in huts, drink dirty water. We buy more clothes than we need, build gigantic houses, drink clean water without a thought. Churches engage in strife over opinions and the ones thirsty for truth sit empty.

Is there enough food to go around, enough clothes, enough clean water, enough Gospel?

I think of a phrase from Ever After. Queen Marie says this to her son Henry, heir to the throne of France, heir who does not want his throne,

"You were born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations."

Now I know we're not princes or princesses with titles looming over us. Or are we? Are we born to privilege, and do we have specific obligations? Is the money we earn our money, rightfully used all for ourselves? Does God trust us with the good things and wait for us to understand? Would God have us disperse the good we receive instead of hoarding it, spending it, lining our lives in luxury?

These are hard questions. I know. I have loved comfort far too much. I've lived in an excess of comfort far too long. The question I'm asking myself now is, "Can I live with the bare essentials so that others can live with the bare essentials?"

P.S. I realize I am making some fierce generalizations here. If any of you readers are one of those blessed people who give sacrificially, I commend you. Go in peace.

to pray

2011-03-29T22:07:00.000-04:00

i prayed a prayer.

it was a specific request.

i await the answer.

i'm not a very patient person.

trust isn't easy.

i feel like my faith is smaller than a mustard seed.

i know God is powerful.

i know He says, "Let there be light!" and there is Light.

i know He carved the ocean and built the mountains.

but He gives us free choice.

could someone's free choice mean the death of my request?

God doesn't always stop us.

it comes down to this.

can i really trust Him, believe that through intervention or prevention His good plan will succeed?

can i hold on to hope knowing the pin in someone's hand could pop my balloon?

i want to, truly i do.

but i am such a baby.

my steps are so tiny.

i've been praying another prayer.

Mark 9:24 echoes through my head.

“I believe; help my unbelief!”

and maybe that's the point of prayer.

bits and pieces

2011-03-22T20:24:00.000-04:00

this post is random.

very much so.

now you know.

spring is HERE!

hallelujah.

it's time to air out the linens.

i love old linen.

the daffodils are up.

the crocuses are blooming.

i stopped at the library today and found so much to read.

the librarian kindly gave me two large bags.

i waddled on my way to the car.

i needed all of those books.

all of them.

today.

Moss From the Forest is thriving.

i got a new camera.

i like it a lot.

its a Canon Rebel t1i.

i marched up and down the road today, and the March wind kept me company.
i inhaled the fresh air and accidentally gulped in a few breezes from a barnyard that were less than fresh.
i looked at flowers and green fields and grey cloudy sky.
color.
how wonderful it is.
spring.
how magical it is.
life.
what a gift it is.

the end.

Light

2011-03-16T21:48:00.000-04:00

Morning sun shines in the window.

It slants over chair, spills onto table.

I stop mid-step.

Light on the book of Light.

Illuminated words of The Illuminating Word.

Incandescent moment of serendipity.

I smile.

He does that, our Father in Heaven.

Gives us moments that show His sense of humor,

His love of a good pun.

Life is serious.

Sometimes so serious He must cause us to chuckle.

a project

2011-03-15T10:46:00.000-04:00

spring teases us with the occasional warm day, and i scurry to finish my knitting projects.

this cowl is now finally completed.

usually i knit ordinary scarves.

if they're lucky they get a ribbed design.

most times they're just very plain.

very much one color.

but i'm discovering that doing only what you know how to do gets stale.

branching out into unknown territory somehow brings energy.

it stretches you out.

enlarges you.

the buttonholes in this project frightened me for a long time.

fear of botching the whole thing grew procrastination.

but one day, after weeks of haunting the youtube tutorials on knitting buttonholes,

i just did it.

and they turned out fine.

not perfect, but just fine.