It was the biggest estate sale of the year. The home of local business owners was being dismantled and contents dispersed following the demise of the surviving spouse. I had met her a year or so ago at the funeral of her elderly neighbor, one of our church members. She was a very refined lady who was mourning the loss of her friend. Now she was gone.
When we entered the home, I gasped. The high walls of the rustic back entrance were covered in folk art, signs, pictures, and memorabilia. I saw the wooden cutout of a cow that would look cute in my kitchen, but it would be cheaper tomorrow when prices would be slashed. The rooms were filled with a glut of beautiful, framed art in large dimensions, stacks of handmade quilts, gleaming copper pots, boilers, and cookware, as well as rugs, books, lovely tables and every manner of decor.
Other than picking up a kitchen tablecloth, I was so overwhelmed that we left without much. The next day, unbelievably, it had almost been picked clean, except for buildings outside whose entire contents were offered for bid. Besides the cow, which was about the only thing hanging on the wall of the entry, I picked up a piece of artwork my eyes had chanced upon. It was a print of an old painting that looked just like our youngest granddaugter when she was about a year old! It was so much like her it made us laugh and we couldn't resist it.
Now I smile every time I pass the picture that is now hanging in my hall. It makes me even more eager to see her when we go down to their house in a couple of weeks for her fourth birthday! Seeing Maddie and her 6-year old sister on Skype recently made me miss them even more. The birthday girl's amazing red hair has grown to shoulder length and floats vapor-like around her darling face. Be still, my heart! Big sister's golden curls peeked out from a knit cap over a feathery scarf she wore in her play. Sweet babies!
When I asked for a birthday present suggestion from their father, he suggested an iTunes card. She loves to play with an old iPhone and is very good at the games they put on there for her. Such sophistication! I hope she likes the everyday plaything I bought for her today besides the fancy card! She is joining the electronic world like her older cousins, leaving an old-fashioned Mimi to poke around estate sales, ruefully dismissing antique doll furniture, teddy bears and doll collections as proper gifts for today's pre-schooler. Maybe I will just get them for myself!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
It's a Wonderful World
The snowy weather had put me in a baking mood. I had made peach cobbler one day, homemade strawberry shortcake another day, and was making banana nut bread yesterday. I had bananas, but no packaged chopped walnuts. We did, however, have some leftover whole walnuts from Christmas in a hanging wire basket in the kitchen. I began cracking them--an easy task with the nutmeats popping out with practically no effort.
As I cracked them, I noticed what marvelous packaging they were in. Imagine wrapping something in wood! And such beautiful delicate--yet hardy--wood. The walnut shell bore the marks of its creator in the tracery of lines on its surface. A wonderful food product requiring no refrigeration, preservation, or processing. Just waiting to be opened to add flavor and crunch to my banana bread!
Of course, the banana, Nature's (God's) perfect food, is a wonder in itself. Encased in its tough, leathery skin, the soft fruit is perfectly protected, yet easy to access, even for a child. I read somewhere that God made the foods that are particularly good for us in bright colors. What school lunch box has not been brightened by a school-bus yellow banana?
As I mixed the ingredients in the bowl, I added an egg. The egg. Another work of genius. How to package a runny, gelatinous mass for ease in consumption, yet give it enough protection to withstand the weight of a hen, the possible brunt of her claws, and the handling of transport, let alone preserving the freshness and beauty of it?
Since we collect eggs from our chickens daily, I've learned that, providing the natural protective coating, or "bloom," on the egg hasn't been washed off, they can be stored safely for days out of the fridge. In fact, many foreign countries offer them for sale in markets just sitting out in bowls or baskets, never refrigerated. Who could invent this? Only God!
A friend and sister in the Lord passed away last week. Her hobby was turtles! I often wondered what she saw in them, but just today I saw an amazing video posted on Facebook. A turtle was on its back, and a fellow turtle rescued it! In a fascinating, patient, act of reptile intelligence and affection? concern? or instinct, the turtle nudged, probed and lifted with it's sharp beak until the other cold-blooded vertebrate was on all four feet. Then he pushed the turtle encouragingly along until the screen went black. Doesn't sound cold-blooded to me!
We serve an amazing God! Next time I see a turtle, I may give it banana bread!
As I cracked them, I noticed what marvelous packaging they were in. Imagine wrapping something in wood! And such beautiful delicate--yet hardy--wood. The walnut shell bore the marks of its creator in the tracery of lines on its surface. A wonderful food product requiring no refrigeration, preservation, or processing. Just waiting to be opened to add flavor and crunch to my banana bread!
Of course, the banana, Nature's (God's) perfect food, is a wonder in itself. Encased in its tough, leathery skin, the soft fruit is perfectly protected, yet easy to access, even for a child. I read somewhere that God made the foods that are particularly good for us in bright colors. What school lunch box has not been brightened by a school-bus yellow banana?
As I mixed the ingredients in the bowl, I added an egg. The egg. Another work of genius. How to package a runny, gelatinous mass for ease in consumption, yet give it enough protection to withstand the weight of a hen, the possible brunt of her claws, and the handling of transport, let alone preserving the freshness and beauty of it?
Since we collect eggs from our chickens daily, I've learned that, providing the natural protective coating, or "bloom," on the egg hasn't been washed off, they can be stored safely for days out of the fridge. In fact, many foreign countries offer them for sale in markets just sitting out in bowls or baskets, never refrigerated. Who could invent this? Only God!
A friend and sister in the Lord passed away last week. Her hobby was turtles! I often wondered what she saw in them, but just today I saw an amazing video posted on Facebook. A turtle was on its back, and a fellow turtle rescued it! In a fascinating, patient, act of reptile intelligence and affection? concern? or instinct, the turtle nudged, probed and lifted with it's sharp beak until the other cold-blooded vertebrate was on all four feet. Then he pushed the turtle encouragingly along until the screen went black. Doesn't sound cold-blooded to me!
We serve an amazing God! Next time I see a turtle, I may give it banana bread!
Monday, February 25, 2013
Joy in the Morning
Today I sat in the car as Howard ran in for a purchase on the way home from the funeral of Clara, our pastor's wife. It couldn't have been worse weather for a funeral. The leaden sky was flinging stinging little spits of mist born by the swirling north wind. We are under a blizzard watch, but so far the few flakes I've seen haven't made it to the ground in the near-freezing temperatures.
There is a strange beauty to the trees I glimpse though my streaked windshield. The bare branches somehow are managing to look more wintery than when they were blanketed with snow, as if they are colder with no covering. Maybe it is the right weather for a funeral after all, with a somber, grey heaven weeping icy tears, cascading in a watery flood down the face of the glass.
Strangely, I have wept few tears today, and then only while empathizing with the families of the loved one we are remembering. I thought of my own family and sorrowed for them with vicarious tears if it had been I who had passed.
Just then the plaintive, familiar notes of a song sung at the funeral of my own mother wafted out from the car radio. I recognized it as "Beulah Land," the song I had requested for her funeral, since her name was Beulah. Whether for memories of her or for the one who who would be laid to rest today, the tears started as I thought about these two ladies.
Though they were both spiritual giants, they nevertheless were very human with all the quirks and foibles of their own personalities. Today in the eulogy one of the sons referred fondly to his late mother as "The Turtle Whisperer." She loved turtles! Whenever her birthday came around, she got miniature ceramic turtles, turtle-themed gifts, or turtle jewelry. I gave her a box of chocolate turtles once, the carmel-pecan treat that mimicked a turtle shape.
"She really did!" he exclaimed. "She would whisper to them and they would come and eat!" She had seven that lived in their back yard. "They were all named, too!" her son concluded. I think the turtle thing got its start during the many years they lived in Arizona.
Clara's first husband had died when her youngest son was ten years old. All three boys liked wrestling, and she was an avid fan at their matches, loyally (and loudly) cheering them on from the sidelines. She knew wrestling holds and was not above taking down an opponent of her own, if she could get a volunteer female relative to accept the challenge.
Mama had her hands full with eleven children, her only hobby that I can think of being crocheting. She did have a love of horses, though, and sometimes reminisced with us about her girlhood horse, Dudley. We went to drive-in movies as a family back then, and I remember her saying, "I love a good horse picture."
Mama has been in heaven these many years now, and our friend has just arrived. Maybe they'll meet up there and laugh about their earthly days and their present joys, for both had a wonderful sense of humor. Just thinking about them has me smiling, if through tears, and the barren landscape is now becoming a beautiful carpet of snow, maybe several inches before morning!
There is a strange beauty to the trees I glimpse though my streaked windshield. The bare branches somehow are managing to look more wintery than when they were blanketed with snow, as if they are colder with no covering. Maybe it is the right weather for a funeral after all, with a somber, grey heaven weeping icy tears, cascading in a watery flood down the face of the glass.
Strangely, I have wept few tears today, and then only while empathizing with the families of the loved one we are remembering. I thought of my own family and sorrowed for them with vicarious tears if it had been I who had passed.
Just then the plaintive, familiar notes of a song sung at the funeral of my own mother wafted out from the car radio. I recognized it as "Beulah Land," the song I had requested for her funeral, since her name was Beulah. Whether for memories of her or for the one who who would be laid to rest today, the tears started as I thought about these two ladies.
Though they were both spiritual giants, they nevertheless were very human with all the quirks and foibles of their own personalities. Today in the eulogy one of the sons referred fondly to his late mother as "The Turtle Whisperer." She loved turtles! Whenever her birthday came around, she got miniature ceramic turtles, turtle-themed gifts, or turtle jewelry. I gave her a box of chocolate turtles once, the carmel-pecan treat that mimicked a turtle shape.
"She really did!" he exclaimed. "She would whisper to them and they would come and eat!" She had seven that lived in their back yard. "They were all named, too!" her son concluded. I think the turtle thing got its start during the many years they lived in Arizona.
Clara's first husband had died when her youngest son was ten years old. All three boys liked wrestling, and she was an avid fan at their matches, loyally (and loudly) cheering them on from the sidelines. She knew wrestling holds and was not above taking down an opponent of her own, if she could get a volunteer female relative to accept the challenge.
Mama had her hands full with eleven children, her only hobby that I can think of being crocheting. She did have a love of horses, though, and sometimes reminisced with us about her girlhood horse, Dudley. We went to drive-in movies as a family back then, and I remember her saying, "I love a good horse picture."
Mama has been in heaven these many years now, and our friend has just arrived. Maybe they'll meet up there and laugh about their earthly days and their present joys, for both had a wonderful sense of humor. Just thinking about them has me smiling, if through tears, and the barren landscape is now becoming a beautiful carpet of snow, maybe several inches before morning!
Saturday, February 23, 2013
A Joyful Noise
I was aware of someone motioning to me from across the aisle in church last Sunday. Then I heard an intense whisper saying, "Could you please pass me my tambourine?" It was my friend, Clara, the pastor's wife. She normally sat at the end of my row to the left, but today she was sitting with a friend who was visiting the services.
I nudged my seat partner and passed on the message, gesturing as inconspicuously as possible for the tambourine. "What?" the lady responded, her face screwed into a puzzled frown. She is 84 and very hard of hearing. When she finally understood, she elbowed the 90-something lady next to her. The tamborine was under the seat in front of her. Thankfully, the spirited song service was muffling our activity, because this elderly saint is even more deaf and cannot see well, either, but she, too, plays the tambourine that was lying next to Clara's.
At last the instrument was conveyed along the row and reached Sister Clara's outstretched hand. What a joyful sound as she energetically tapped, shook and kept time in a jingling rhythm to the praise song. I think her feet were moving, too. A few minutes before, this spiritual dynamo had stridden to the front to stand in front of the altar and give a message to the congregation from the Holy Spirit. It was a strong, forceful word giving assurance of God's oversight and an admonition to "Fear not! For I am with you!"
Just as we were sitting down and the pastor was about to receive the offering for the children's missionary fund-raiser, his attention was drawn to the second row as he turned abruptly and said, "We need to have prayer for my wife. She is having a severe headache." As we gathered around her, he passed the anointing oil to me and I touched her forehead while many laid their hands on her and prayed fervently.
When her color did not improve and the seriousness of the situation became obvious, someone was dispatched to call 911. After what seemed interminable minutes, an ambulance arrived, transporting our now barely-responsive leader to the hospital. Word was not good, and many of us gathered at the hospital, coming and going until late into the night in our prayerful vigil. By the next morning, the unthinkable had happened. Clara had left us and gone home to heaven.
In our shock and grief and sad good-byes, we took comfort in the fact that the departed had attained her heavenly reward, the goal she had kept in front of her for a lifetime. And now it is not hard to imagine her in the celestial realms, singing and rejoicing, and even joyfully sounding the tambourine.
I nudged my seat partner and passed on the message, gesturing as inconspicuously as possible for the tambourine. "What?" the lady responded, her face screwed into a puzzled frown. She is 84 and very hard of hearing. When she finally understood, she elbowed the 90-something lady next to her. The tamborine was under the seat in front of her. Thankfully, the spirited song service was muffling our activity, because this elderly saint is even more deaf and cannot see well, either, but she, too, plays the tambourine that was lying next to Clara's.
At last the instrument was conveyed along the row and reached Sister Clara's outstretched hand. What a joyful sound as she energetically tapped, shook and kept time in a jingling rhythm to the praise song. I think her feet were moving, too. A few minutes before, this spiritual dynamo had stridden to the front to stand in front of the altar and give a message to the congregation from the Holy Spirit. It was a strong, forceful word giving assurance of God's oversight and an admonition to "Fear not! For I am with you!"
Just as we were sitting down and the pastor was about to receive the offering for the children's missionary fund-raiser, his attention was drawn to the second row as he turned abruptly and said, "We need to have prayer for my wife. She is having a severe headache." As we gathered around her, he passed the anointing oil to me and I touched her forehead while many laid their hands on her and prayed fervently.
When her color did not improve and the seriousness of the situation became obvious, someone was dispatched to call 911. After what seemed interminable minutes, an ambulance arrived, transporting our now barely-responsive leader to the hospital. Word was not good, and many of us gathered at the hospital, coming and going until late into the night in our prayerful vigil. By the next morning, the unthinkable had happened. Clara had left us and gone home to heaven.
In our shock and grief and sad good-byes, we took comfort in the fact that the departed had attained her heavenly reward, the goal she had kept in front of her for a lifetime. And now it is not hard to imagine her in the celestial realms, singing and rejoicing, and even joyfully sounding the tambourine.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
The Unforeseen
Amazing! A meteor struck in Russia on Friday! The first time in over a hundred years that a massive, exploding meteor has hit the earth. That has not happened in my lifetime, nor in my mother's lifetime. Not since 1908. My dad would have been 3 years old.
Not only that, but Earth narrowly escaped being hit by an asteroid the day before! A considerably bigger space rock! Scientists have known about the asteroid for nearly a year, but the meteor was too small to show up on instruments. Not too small to injure lots of people and scare them out of their wits, though. One Russian man said on television, "We thought it was the end of the earth (world)!"
Shades of Chicken Little and "The sky is falling, the sky is falling!" Truthfully, though, space particles fall quite regularly, but most are burned up in the earth's atmosphere. Others might fall harmlessly into our oceans, which cover about two-thirds of the earth.
Some people think that a giant asteroid hitting the planet could truly mean the end of the world someday. Television preacher Pat Robertson and others believe that the mountain referred to in Revelation 8:9 could be a meteor. It reads, "And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea: and the third part of it became blood."
Verse 10 says, "Then the third angel sounded: And a great star fell from heaven, burning like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water." These horrendous events destroyed a third of the earth's vegetation, a third of the sea creatures, and a third of the ships.
Although we may worry about the end of the world, we would do well to give thought to our own lives. When we die, that is the end of the world for us, and unless we have made Jesus our Savior, there is no hope.
Sunday was an ordinary Sunday at church, until suddenly our pastor's wife had severe pain in her head. Although we gathered around her and prayed for her, the ambulance had to be called and she was taken to the hospital. Hours later, she was gone. A day that had begun as just another Sunday to worship the Lord would in less than 24 hours end with our precious sister meeting Him in heaven. It pays to be ready. You never know.
Not only that, but Earth narrowly escaped being hit by an asteroid the day before! A considerably bigger space rock! Scientists have known about the asteroid for nearly a year, but the meteor was too small to show up on instruments. Not too small to injure lots of people and scare them out of their wits, though. One Russian man said on television, "We thought it was the end of the earth (world)!"
Shades of Chicken Little and "The sky is falling, the sky is falling!" Truthfully, though, space particles fall quite regularly, but most are burned up in the earth's atmosphere. Others might fall harmlessly into our oceans, which cover about two-thirds of the earth.
Some people think that a giant asteroid hitting the planet could truly mean the end of the world someday. Television preacher Pat Robertson and others believe that the mountain referred to in Revelation 8:9 could be a meteor. It reads, "And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea: and the third part of it became blood."
Verse 10 says, "Then the third angel sounded: And a great star fell from heaven, burning like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water." These horrendous events destroyed a third of the earth's vegetation, a third of the sea creatures, and a third of the ships.
Although we may worry about the end of the world, we would do well to give thought to our own lives. When we die, that is the end of the world for us, and unless we have made Jesus our Savior, there is no hope.
Sunday was an ordinary Sunday at church, until suddenly our pastor's wife had severe pain in her head. Although we gathered around her and prayed for her, the ambulance had to be called and she was taken to the hospital. Hours later, she was gone. A day that had begun as just another Sunday to worship the Lord would in less than 24 hours end with our precious sister meeting Him in heaven. It pays to be ready. You never know.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Simple Pleasures
"Have the girls said anything funny?" I asked my son over the phone about my 3- and 6-year-old granddaugters. He regularly regales me with their funny interpretations, misunderstandings and/or childish wisdom. It helps a long-distance-Mimi feel in touch. I told him I was sending them some Valentines.
"Put something in there," he suggested. Huh? I was going to put a Valentine in there! But I knew he was trying to cement a bond between the kids and us. They get to see their other grandmother frequently, since she lives only three hours away, and they love the attention and presents she brings. "Put in some money, stickers or something," he explained. Well, I guess at their ages, that would be impressive. So I got some Valentine stickers to put in, and he said they were a success.
"Put something in there," he suggested. Huh? I was going to put a Valentine in there! But I knew he was trying to cement a bond between the kids and us. They get to see their other grandmother frequently, since she lives only three hours away, and they love the attention and presents she brings. "Put in some money, stickers or something," he explained. Well, I guess at their ages, that would be impressive. So I got some Valentine stickers to put in, and he said they were a success.
I also put a sheet of stickers in the envelopes of the two grandchildren who live here. I gave them their Valentines on Wednesday, since I wouldn't see them on Thursday. "Oh, puppies!" six-year-old Beth exclaimed about the seal on the envelope, then tore it open, casting aside the Valentine and grabbing the stickers.
When Kate, her 7-year-old sister, did the same thing, I said, "Look at the Valentines!" They actually enjoyed them when I read the verses to them, but when they showed them to their mom, I heard Beth say glumly, "There wasn't any money in them!", prompting a parental lecture. Usually when they get birthday cards, there's money inside, apparently.
I guess kids have always been that way. I remember when my mother put a dime in something she wrote to her little granddaugher about that age many years ago. Later, she sent a card for something, and the little girl opened it and asked her mommy, "Where's the dime?" Times have changed, but kids haven't!
We had a nice, low-key Valentine's Day around here. Since I had to return a heart (how apropos) monitor at 3:00, we couldn't go out of town to eat as we wanted, instead having a late Valentine lunch at a local restaurant.
We spent the evening watching Andy and Barney, followed by The Waltons on a video collection we have. The lovely, poignant scenes of country life and ways, with old-fashioned values being taught in a big family, warmed our hearts. Our supper was homemade potato soup, topping off what one friend referred to as a "homegrown Valentine celebration." The best kind.
We spent the evening watching Andy and Barney, followed by The Waltons on a video collection we have. The lovely, poignant scenes of country life and ways, with old-fashioned values being taught in a big family, warmed our hearts. Our supper was homemade potato soup, topping off what one friend referred to as a "homegrown Valentine celebration." The best kind.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Solid Ground
"What do you think?" Howard said as he eyed the short pasture slope to the hen house. "Do you think we should drive down?" The snow and slight rain had no doubt softened the soil and we hated to make tracks, but it was easier than walking back up. Anyway, by this time, he was already half-way down. We honked and the chickens scurried out of their coop in anticipation of their reward for the eggs we were about to gather.
Our flock was enjoying the glorious sunshine after the beautiful snow yesterday that was rapidly disappearing under these milder temperatures. They devoured several scoops of feed and were making the happy, off-key sound that voiced their contentment. We watched in satisfaction and amusement, and, after checking their water, got back in the car and curved behind the chicken house up the hill to the road. The grassy turf would give us firm traction, we figured, but we proceeded gingerly, nonetheless.
Suddenly we were slipping! The tires spun as the grass gave way to the mud beneath. Oh, no! Don't let us get stuck! My thoughts were a prayer as I held my breath and willed the tires to grip the surface. Howard backed up and tried again at a different angle. By this time I was praying loudly for help! Again and again we tried to urge the car along as the wheels spun, slinging mud and grass behind us. Unwelcome scenarios of sliding all the way down the hill into a ravine played out in my mind. How would we ever get out if that happened?
Looking for something for a firm foothold, I yelled, "Get on those rocks! That will help us!", pointing to a flat stone slab and other embedded boulders about halfway up. Howard swung the car toward them and gave it a go, but we slipped, nevertheless. He tried again, and this time our tenuous grip on the solid surface held! With a final thrust of the engine, we were out! Enormous relief and happy praises flooded the car. Thank God, we hadn't had to be towed!
"He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings," David said in Psalm 40:2. I certainly identified with that! The next verse says, "And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the Lord." We were singing a new song, all right!
Several times in the Psalms, David refers to the stability of God as the Rock. Jesus himself said, "The stone which the builders rejected is become the head of the corner," referring to Himself in Mark 12:10. I love the words of the old song, "On Christ the Solid Rock I stand, All other ground is sinking sand." In times of sickness, fear, or uncertainty we can trust our firm foundation, Jesus Christ!
Our flock was enjoying the glorious sunshine after the beautiful snow yesterday that was rapidly disappearing under these milder temperatures. They devoured several scoops of feed and were making the happy, off-key sound that voiced their contentment. We watched in satisfaction and amusement, and, after checking their water, got back in the car and curved behind the chicken house up the hill to the road. The grassy turf would give us firm traction, we figured, but we proceeded gingerly, nonetheless.
Suddenly we were slipping! The tires spun as the grass gave way to the mud beneath. Oh, no! Don't let us get stuck! My thoughts were a prayer as I held my breath and willed the tires to grip the surface. Howard backed up and tried again at a different angle. By this time I was praying loudly for help! Again and again we tried to urge the car along as the wheels spun, slinging mud and grass behind us. Unwelcome scenarios of sliding all the way down the hill into a ravine played out in my mind. How would we ever get out if that happened?
Looking for something for a firm foothold, I yelled, "Get on those rocks! That will help us!", pointing to a flat stone slab and other embedded boulders about halfway up. Howard swung the car toward them and gave it a go, but we slipped, nevertheless. He tried again, and this time our tenuous grip on the solid surface held! With a final thrust of the engine, we were out! Enormous relief and happy praises flooded the car. Thank God, we hadn't had to be towed!
"He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings," David said in Psalm 40:2. I certainly identified with that! The next verse says, "And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the Lord." We were singing a new song, all right!
Several times in the Psalms, David refers to the stability of God as the Rock. Jesus himself said, "The stone which the builders rejected is become the head of the corner," referring to Himself in Mark 12:10. I love the words of the old song, "On Christ the Solid Rock I stand, All other ground is sinking sand." In times of sickness, fear, or uncertainty we can trust our firm foundation, Jesus Christ!
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