INSPIRATION FROM THE COMMONPLACE

LAY THEM DOWN

2012-01-19T07:19:00.003-06:00

Matthew 15:30 . . Then great multitudes came to Him, having with them the lame, blind, mute, maimed, and many others; and they laid them down at Jesus' feet, and he healed them.

Ahh!! There's a secret here. I take my 'many other's to Jesus, and I might even lay them down at His feet . . . but I still hold tight.

Jesus was on the side of a mountain. Can't you picture these people trudging up that hill with their burdens (their lame, blind, . . and many others) in their arms? Even a child becomes heavy after awhile of not being able to support their own weight. They would have been tired when they reached Jesus, winded, arms and backs aching and legs perhaps too weak to take another step.

I can imagine they were more than ready to lay their precious ones at His feet, then perhaps step back or sit down to catch their breath and see what Jesus would do. "Here, Jesus . . . I can't carry this charge one step further."

My problem? Oh--I climb the hill. I even believe that Jesus is able to heal. But I won't relinquish my . . . many others. I stand there winded and anxious, my lungs bursting in need of air, and my back bent and aching because I continue to hold tight. The distance from my arms to His feet a chasm I don't have faith enough to cross.

Isn't that silly? Can't you just hear Him say. . . letitgo! Turn loose! give it up!!

Have you ever walked 'down' a steep hill with your arms full. Your own weight alone propels you forward, faster, faster, faster, until at the bottom you are in a heap, debris showering you, dirt in your eyes, pebbles pelting your shoulders. You're shaken, bruised, humiliated, and . . . let's face it, plumb mad. The journey would have been so much safer if you had been able to use your arms and hands for balance, or to cling to a bush or an outcropped rock--or even been able to SEE the root strewn across the path because your arms were now empty.

And you could have--had you laid your . . . many others. . .at His feet, and let Him heal them i the manner He chose . . . and not held on . . . and not held on. .

It's not carrying the load uphill that glorifies God. It's not even standing at His feet with our arms full. It's the turning loose, letting go. It's the LAID THEM AT HIS FEET!

HE does the healing.

SOMETIMES

2012-01-16T05:59:00.002-06:00

SOMETIMES I'm so encouraged I'm foolish enough to think I might have had something to do with all that has encouraged me.

SOMETIMES God shows me--all too clearly--that I did not.

SOMETIMES I pray, believing.

SOMETIMES I don't.

SOMETIMES I think a good spanking might help.

SOMETIMES God spanks me.

SOMETIMES I have to remember I am still a child

HIS CHILD

ALL THE TIME.

PRAISE

2012-01-04T07:25:00.003-06:00

OKAY, so am I allowed to change my word? When I started studying 'gratitude' I found that gratitude, thanksgiving, confession, all were embedded in Praise. So I am changing my word for 2012 to Praise.

Our younger daughter once said, "I want to become so much like Jesus, that I won't have to

'think' about what He would do, I'll just do it."

Oh, how I long for that relationship . . . to have Praise so embedded in my life that I won't have to 'think' about it, just do it!!

MASTER PAINTER

2011-12-30T17:42:00.004-06:00

SOMETIMES, YOU DON'T NEED WORDS.

MY WORD FOR THE YEAR!

2011-12-28T20:14:00.003-06:00

I was challenged by an agent's post on facebook regarding a 'practice' that best selling author Deborah Macomber does each year. She chooses one word, and that is her focus for the entire year. One entire year.

The more I thought about it, the more intrigued I became. I'm a 'wordy' person, and to think of focusing/chewing/meditating/pitching my tent over only one word was fascinating.

It also made me realize how 'shallow' I've become in my thinking.

For instance: I have been choosing to share something I'm grateful for each day on this blog.

So far, it has dealt with 'things'.

But just putting this one-word idea into practice for one short day makes me realize how very little I've dug into this 'grateful' thing--choosing, instead, hum-drum things. Not that hum-drum is wrong. A whole lot of life is just that, hum-drum, and etceteras. But I wonder how different I might see things if I chose to look at them through the eyes of gratitude?

God's word doesn't tell us to be thankful FOR everything . . but rather, IN everything. And I don't think He was meaning IN the house, In our fancy cars/boats/airplanes/ fancy jobs--you get the picture.

I think He means that while the pipes are frozen, the car is out of gas, I'm out of laundry soap, and there are three kids vomiting I need to practice the IN everything!!

And yes, that might also mean when a loved one dies, or walks away, when a child becomes prodigal or the boss hands you a pink slip . . . it's still the IN that matters.

I have a friend who has agreed to journey with me . . . not on the same 'word' boat--she will choose her own.

I also believe He wants to show Himself to me through this one little word. I know His thoughts are not my thoughts, and His ways not my ways. I want to partake of Who He IS with a heart completely given to thanksgiving.

But this coming year, 2012, I CHOOSE GRATITUDE.

Please hold me accountable.

And if you choose to come along . . . won't you let me know what 'word' you will be traveling with? Might we pray for one another?

Blessings

SMALL THINGS THAT MELT!!

2011-12-27T22:14:00.003-06:00

I am now on day nine of this bug. Enough already!

While I am actually feeling much better, a hacking cough plagues me. Either I am unable to go to sleep because of it--or I awaken during the night and spend nearly an hour or more coughing until I can hardly catch my breath.

No fever.

I suck on these Ricola drops nearly all day long, and while they are in my mouth the cough is less.

But, alas!! They melt and so the cycle starts all over again.

However, because I truly want to be grateful even in the midst of the hacking--I will go on record to declare that on--

December 27, 2011

I am most grateful for these small herbal drops that give me at least a small measure or relief.

ETC.

2011-12-26T19:54:00.002-06:00

It's not that I am UNgrateful that I find it hard to post today. It's more that we've been fighting a 'bug' for a week now.

Oh, we're getting better. It's just SO slow. And--more than ever--fully aware that we just don't snap out of things as quickly as we did at one time.

I ventured to the Dollar Store today--maybe gone 45 minutes--and it spanked me.

Now this evening we are both tired . . . and tired of this stuff.

But I AM grateful for the ETC.'s in our lives.

Really I am.

WALLS!

2011-12-25T15:59:00.005-06:00

While I have bemoaned the fact that our cove has been dry, I must also say that we were grateful that it was because it allowed us to build the sea wall that was needed to protect our shoreline.

Though it looks like there is water in it now--and there is--it is still so shallow that even the geese wade in it, not belly deep. When it is at the level we need in order to launch our small fishing boat, or even the paddle boat, it will cover a substantial part of the rocks and blocks that you are able to see now.

I see this as a parallel to what Jesus does for me--over and over again. In my dry periods. . . he builds the walls that will stand the wearing away of the waves and storms that will come.

I wish I could say I never went dry . . . but I am reminded of a song that we used to sing a long time ago--In The Valley He Restoreth My Soul.

On this Christmas Day, 2011, I am grateful for my Lord, Who builds walls not to keep me out, but to become a fortress against whatever storms come my way. . .

CHRISTMAS EVE MORNING

2011-12-24T04:37:00.002-06:00

From my office window, this early Christmas Eve morning, the light from the neighbor's yard across the lake reflects on the water between us, a thin pencil on the other side widening to a soft glow nearer our shore.

In my window a candle flame flickers (battery operated, of course) and I can see one star shining in the sky above--the rest obscured by branches.

In the next hours homes across this land will be in the throes of celebrating Christmas.

I wonder . . . will they also celebrate Him, Who is THE LIGHT?

Only a few days ago the distance between us and the neighbors across our cove was covered in mud . . . our little corner of the lake dry for months now.

Amazingly enough how just one day of steady rain, not even all that much accumulation, filled our cove with enough water to at least look like a lake again. It's deceiving--it's not yet belly deep to the geese that visit, but they manage to float when they take a notion.

There is a comfort to the reflection. . .a promise, if you will.

Oh, that our celebrations of this season might be a reflection of HIM who is both LIVING WATER and LIGHT!!

Blessed Christmas Eve Day to you all, dear friends.

P.S. click on the picture to get a 'larger' view!! It really is very pretty.

FOR BEDS AND PILLOWS AND WARM COVERS!

2011-12-20T20:27:00.003-06:00

December 20, 2011

No picture tonight. I've got something . . . sore throat, achy, hacky cough. I'm not grateful for it.

But I am VERY grateful for my warm bed on the couch, my pillow and my warm cover.

And my warm house . . . and for Advil. And . . .

you get the picture!! Although, no picture.!!

AHH! TECHNOLOGY

2011-12-19T22:23:00.003-06:00

Isn't this just great?!

Tonight was our youngest grandson's Christmas program. But bad weather was moving in, and we live an hour and a half away. Too risky, we felt. But our sweet DIL said she would take pictures.

And here he is. . . the one on the far right!! Via--of all things--Facebook!!

How techy is that? We got a picture, I took a picture, and now can share it.

December 19, 2011

Although all the technology baffles me most of the time, I am grateful to be living in such a time as this!! I Love it!!

SAYING GOODBYE IS HARD.

2011-12-17T22:05:00.004-06:00

I didn't post yesterday. Not because I wasn't grateful, but rather because it was just so hard.

This is a picture of a dear friend. Yesterday I attended her funeral.

I don't like goodbyes! I KNOW without a doubt we will see one another one day in Heaven, but this was hard.

So much to say, but my heart is so full I don't know where to begin.

December 17, 2011

I am very, very grateful I knew this lady and could call her my friend.

SLICES OF LIFE.

2011-12-15T08:19:00.003-06:00

I love the little Clementine oranges we get at Christmas time.

They are sweet, and seedless.

I wish life was like that! Little slices, always sweet, never anything hard hidden within.

How boring!! And how ungrateful we would be after awhile.

How could anyone ever appreciate the sweetness, if they never experience the bitter.

And it's the hard times, those pesky 'seeds' we run into occasionally (sometimes daily), that cause us to grow.

December 15, 2011

I'm grateful for a loving God who has allowed Himself to be shown, in my daily slices of life, even among the hard and potentially bitter times. His sweetness is not seasonal.

THY WORD!

2011-12-14T09:52:00.003-06:00

I got a new computer this year. A MacBook Pro! I love it, but it did have a learning curve. Up to this time I always worked in Word - - - this came loaded with Pages.

Ah!! I love how common things smack of Jesus to me!!

I write in my Bible, underline passages, and often date them. To me that's like working in Pages. . . page, after page after page.

But then, when I get ready to close the Pages--it asks me if I want to save the changes made, and how. See where I'm going here? If I'm not done with the document. . . I save it in Pages. But when I am ready to SUBMIT. . . I must change it to Word.

My underlined PAGES, with dates, and scribbles and notes on the side . . . are HIS WORD!!

Now . . . to SUBMIT!!

This morning I found myself at the same place I was on 4/20/00. But I love the ending!!

BE AT REST, ONCE MORE, O MY SOUL, FOR THE LORD HAS BEEN GOOD TO YOU!!

December 14, 2011

For PAGES of HIS WORD!! O, Lord, I am grateful.

REFLECTIONS

2011-12-13T07:36:00.002-06:00

I realize this is a strange picture. . . but it's still early morning.

We woke up to the wonderful sound of rain!

And I loved the reflections the Christmas lights made on the wet deck.

Tiny little lights, just doing what they are supposed to do . . . shine.

December 13, 2011.

I'm grateful that obedience reflects. May my tiny little light bring joy to someone this day.

LITLE GIRLS IN PIGTAILS!

2011-12-12T21:01:00.003-06:00

Our youngest granddaughter turned 11 years old today.

And we got to be a part of it.

I'm so thankful!!

So very, very grateful for this little birthday girl, in pigtails!!

And that she still loves little girly things.

Like lamps that glow, and funny little beads that you put in water and they grow.

Oh, that life would stay so simple!!

December 12, 2011

I am grateful for Amy Julane Hiebert!!

IT'S NOT THE GIFT. . . IT'S THE GIVER!

2011-12-11T09:38:00.003-06:00

You know how, once in a lifetime, you are blessed with a kindred spirit? I was!! A friend who seemed to know what I was thinking without it being said--although she was more than happy to let me do MOST of the talking.

She moved away many years ago, but I still miss her terribly. This year, especially, I have yearned for a good old sit-down talk/cry/laugh with her.

On the backs of my kitchen chairs hang little crocheted stockings. She gave them to me. No--she didn't crochet them herself *big smile here thinking about what she could do with a crochet needle and hank of yarn*, but she found them hiding in some second-hand store somewhere and bought the whole mess of them. . . for me. . . because she knew if I had been with her I would have oohed and ahhed over them.

I could probably go to WalMart and find something similar. It's not the silly stockings. . . it's what they represent. Not filling them with goodies. . . but still having the sack she sent them in, price tags still on them (hee hee) and knowing that wherever she is right now . . even as I type this. . . she is also thinking of me!!

Like my Jesus. . . Whose cross is a constant reminder of the price He paid . . . and Who, right now, even as I type this . . .is thinking of me.

December 11, 2011

For hearts intwined even across long distances . . . for a King who became a Child. . . for the Giver!! I am grateful.

THE STAR SILL SHINES

2011-12-10T08:25:00.003-06:00

Driving home from a large city the other evening, granddaughter #1 remarked about being unable to see the stars, though the moon was quite bright.

But the closer we got to home, a two hour drive later, the more stars were visible.

We first had to escape the glow and confusion of all the other lights that surround a city. . . the stars were there all the time.

As sure as light accompanies the new day, the darkness of night is punctuated by the surety of the moon and stars. Hidden, perhaps, by all the glitter and shimmer we allow to surround us.

But the wonder of it all is that He doesn't take them from us. . . we have to remove ourselves from all else that shines . And the farther away we get from the false light of man, we are blessed by the brightness of His light. . . His creation.

I realize this is an ongoing theme, but over and over again since beginning this project of posting my gratefulness each day, I am awed by the message of His never changing presence. And once again, I am so very, very grateful for the reminders.

December 10, 2011

For the star that led the wisemen to Jesus, and the stars that still shine His promises, I am grateful.

STOPS!

2011-12-09T10:36:00.003-06:00

I realize I missed yesterday. I left home to watch a granddaughter play basketball, and ended up staying all night . . . without my computer. So I would have to say that on December 8, 2011, I was very thankful for my family who even acted excited to bed me down for the night . . . even had a new toothbrush for me to use! Now--that is hospitality. :)

The picture is of a door stop that I use on our bedroom door. It is heavy, and is supposed to look grungy!! Just in case anyone was concerned.

But more important than holding the door open (or shut) is the reminder that I need STOPS in my life--both to hold me back and also to keep me open.

I don't like change, but I am a person full of ideas and when a new thought enters my head I have been known (sadly enough) to rush headlong into a project only to get in the middle and realize I am in WAY over my head and have no idea how to get out. My STOP would have been prayer, and seeking counsel.

But I also know I need to be OPEN for the changes and opportunities that God brings my direction. To move when He says move. To learn to trust His prodding and then be obedient.

And yes. . . sometimes I look grungy in the doing.

December 9, 2011

Thank you, Lord, for the STOPS you put in my life, even when they seem heavy at times. And I am most grateful that You cover my grunge with Your love.

FREEDOM

2011-12-07T09:24:00.003-06:00

When our neighbor moved, she asked me to choose something from her home that I would like. I chose this replica flag--not only because I love Americana, but also for what it represents.

December 7, is a memorable date as we are reminded, once again, of how quickly our freedom can be challenged, and the cost that was paid to maintain it.

On this day, December 7, 2011, I am grateful for those men and women from years past, and yet today, who sacrifice the comforts of family and home so that we might enjoy those very things.

May we NEVER forget.

WARMTH

2011-12-06T09:02:00.000-06:00

DECEMBER 6, 2011

For warm homes, and warm hearts, I am grateful.

TISSUES, PLEASE!

2011-12-05T07:33:00.005-06:00

I learned how to iron by faithfully pressing all the wrinkles out of my daddy's big old red bandanas.

At the time, I don't think I gave much thought as to what went in that piece of cloth, was stored in his pocket, then dropped into the old wringer washer with the work britches.

Of course, if they happened to be white, they went into the washer first . . . and the same water was used for everything!!

All my green friends may not approve or agree. However--

December 5, 2011

I am VERY grateful today, with my nose running non-stop, for tissues!!

PATTERNS

2011-12-04T08:07:00.002-06:00

December 45, 2011

I am grateful for reminders of all the ways He chooses to color, cut, shape, and stitch together the pattern He has for my life.

ASHES TO ASHES . . .

2011-12-03T07:27:00.003-06:00

December 3, 2011

I am grateful for a loving heavenly Father, Who is able to rebuild from ashes.

SURPRISES!

2011-12-02T05:36:00.002-06:00

These little red birds were a gift from our daughter-in-love, Becky. She knew how much I love cardinals, and brought them home from . . . somewhere.

They hang in the doorway which separates the kitchen from our entry way . . . and are supposed to welcome guests as they come in.

However--Becky has a way of letting us know she has been present . . . and we never know how it might present itself.

Often, it takes quite a long time before we realize that something is not quite as it should be.

Just this morning I realized . . . again. . . (she has done this before and it took me by surprise then, also) . . . that she turned these little guys around.

Now, the first thing you see when you enter, is there little tails all lined up, and the WELCOME isn't visible until you leave!!

December 2, 2011

I am grateful for the every day reminders of love from so many different sources.

THE PRESENT OF HIS PRESENCE

2011-12-01T07:31:00.002-06:00

DECEMBER 1, 2001

I AM GRATEFUL FOR THE GIFT OF HIS PRESENCE.

THE COLORS OF MY LIFE

2011-11-30T06:12:00.002-06:00

This stained-glass window was custom made for me by a local artist. I just gave him the colors I wanted, and picked out the old window frame. He did the rest.

Jesus is like that, you know. Only He picks the colors, too.

And sets them within the frame of who you are.

This window hangs in the doorway that separates our kitchen from the living room. It is quite tall, so there is no danger of anyone getting whacked.

I love this reminder. It's not an idol . . . only another altar.

November 30, 2011

I am grateful for the variety of shapes, sizes and colors of people and experiences God has chosen to set within the framework of my life. May the result be pleasing unto Him as I allow His SON to shine through.

HIS SHEEP AM I!

2011-11-29T07:26:00.003-06:00

November 29, 2011.

I am grateful I am one of His lambs!!

REMINDERS

2011-11-28T08:59:00.003-06:00

Our Christmas tree is loaded with these little glass red birds with sparkles on their wings and frosted breasts.

I love them.

They represent a time when my world seemed to be spinning out of control . . . and of a time when HE set it all straight and smooth again.

They represent tears HE has wiped away. Worries HE has calmed. Fears HE has released.

I never see a red bird that I am not reminded of HIS faithfulness to me. A precious memory of the past . . . a blessed hope of the future.

November 28, 2011

I am grateful for a God who keeps his promises . . . and loves to remind us of His presence.

CHANGES!

2011-11-27T08:26:00.003-06:00

I love living where there are seasons. . . where temperatures vary and trees put on new flashy red and yellow gowns before stripping, leaving their apparel lying in heaps on the ground, then brazenly standing naked with the advance of Old Man Winter.

However, I don't like change . . . ordinarily. Especially change that takes me from my comfort zone.

We still drive 1.5 hours to the doctor, dentist, etc.. . . hubby doesn't like change, either.

Yesterday we had our family Thanksgiving. I watched our grandkids laughing and tumbling, pushing and shoving in play, and was glad for change . . . for growth both in body and in spirit.

I listened to our sons talk about their walk with the Lord, and realized how very much they have changed. . . and my heart was SO full as they revealed their hearts and their desires to know what HE has for them as husbands, fathers, disciples.

I listened and observed our daughters-in-love visit and laugh and love one another and said 'thank you, Lord,' for these two who have made our sons such wonderful mates, and are awesome moms to our grands.

Christmas will be at our younger son's home. For the first time in a whole, whole lot of years, we will not have children coming home . . . we will be going. And perhaps for the first time in a whole, whole lot of years, I am aware of how my mother must have felt. Not angry, or resentful. Not really even sad. Just a realization that things change, and we must change with them.

As eagerly as we awaited each family's arrival at our door on those special holidays---will they now await, with excitement, our coming to them?

This is our last year with everyone 'in the nest'. Our oldest grandchild goes off to college next year. Have we said enough? Have we said too much? Have we provided that 'safe' place in her growing-up years? Will she always remember us?

Ah! I don't like change, ordinarily. But oh, may I never stand in its way. May I be gracious and loving and willing to make the transition between 'was' and 'is'.

Can change become my friend?

November 27, 2011

Today I am so very, very grateful for my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who NEVER changes.

LITTLE IS MUCH . . .

2011-11-26T08:55:00.003-06:00

The big cottonwood tree in our yard has these huge roots that have surfaced, and make the most enchanting 'fairy tale' lakes, or ponds, or whatever I deem them that day.

Like the cove where we live. . . these have been dry!

But last night God sent a shower . . . not a lot . . but little is much when HE is in it.

This morning my imagination lake is full! Even floating a leaf/boat!

November 26, 2011

Today I am grateful for rain! Every drop of it!!

OTHERS, LORD, YES OTHERS

2011-11-25T14:02:00.003-06:00

Years ago, I heard a missionary lady share about her introduction into the culture of an Indian tribe in South America. The thing that bothered her the most was their constant attendance at every window or doorway, observing every activity of this strange white lady and her family.

Then the Lord reminded her. . . OTHERS were the reason she was there, and she placed a 'mental' sign above every opening in her home that she might never forget.

Shortly after that I purchased these letters and have them placed under a clock my Bob made . . . as a reminder to take TIME for OTHERS.

Today, November 25, 2011--

I am grateful for all the OTHERS in my life.

FOR LIGHT THAT DOESN'T FLICKER

2011-11-24T06:58:00.002-06:00

What you can't see in this picture is that the bulb flickers--and resembles a burning flame.

What I would rather you see is the reflection.

HE is my light!!

I want to reflect that.

Not 'flickering' when winds of diversity blow.

But be steady, burning, welcoming, giving light where darkness once obscured.

DAY #2, November 24, 2011

I am thankful today that HE never changes.

GIVING THANKS

2011-11-23T06:36:00.004-06:00

The day before Thanksgiving. Doesn't that strike you as a bit . . . UNthankful?

Like there is only one day a year we celebrate ALL the reasons we have to give thanks?

Oh, I don't mind celebrating. I love the time with the family, the food, conversation, laughs and memories.

But, somehow it just seems wrong to only do it once a year.

You know what I mean?

So what 'ya gonna do about it grandma?

Well- for starters--I'm going to post EVERY DAY for a year . . . thank-yous from the commonplace that fill my heart!!

Join me, please. And add your thanks. . . . from your very own common places!!

It won't be a contest of importance or order . . . or obvious . . . just an AHA moment when you reach the bottom of a drawer you are cleaning, or the back of a closet, or something tucked away on the corner of a shelf that you completely forgot about. . . .!!

DAY # 1. NOVEMBER 23, 2011

Grandson #2 had a funny little snowman stack pencil at a ballgame one night--something to help him not become quite so bored with an entire evening of girls basketball!! I admired it. Last week, at the ballgame, he gave it to me. I AM THANKFUL for a tender little heart who is wiling to part with something of his very own to make someone else happy!! THANK YOU Drew! I love it!! May your heart always be so tender and giving as God continues to grow you into His man!

I am NOT the GREAT I AM!

2011-11-21T08:03:00.002-06:00

For too long, I've tried to manipulate the GREAT I AM, by the puny person I am.

No more.

Today, I shall be eternally thankful for a God. . . THE I AM . . . won't let me be who I think I am.

But rather, has a bigger plan.

He only bids me come. . . and He will do the rest . . . when I rest in Him

and let Him be.

I AM.

WILL I EVER LEARN

2011-10-19T20:56:00.002-05:00

Will I ever learn to:

What would YOU put in here? Ten things!! In two words--

1. Shut up

2. Speak up

3. Let go

4. Hold on

5. Seek counsel

6. Take advice

7. Stand firm

8. Give in

9. Forgive others

10. Forgive myself

STUCK

2011-10-13T05:21:00.002-05:00

I'm stuck.

Again.

Because I don't plot well.

Because I don't follow the plot even when I do plot.

Because I have characters like me

Who don't follow the norm

And who don't even know what norm is.

Who end sentences in prepositions and when they try

to fix it

They get stuck

with me

Again.

I don't like being stuck.

Ever.

Maybe I should stick with plotting.

Sticking isn't so bad.

As being

Stuck.

Again.

THE MOON, MY GIRLS AND ME !

2011-10-10T22:17:00.004-05:00

When my girls were away at college I told them to look at the moon.

And I would be looking, too.

And sometimes, when I would stand and gaze into the sky, it made me miss them more and I couldn't wait for them to come home.

Tonight the moon is full and bright.

And I watched it rise.

Does the moon look different from heaven?

I miss them, but someday I will be the one coming home.

Stillness, with Him

2011-10-10T01:15:00.002-05:00

It was a grey and blustery day.

Only enough moisture now and then to tease a dry and thirsty land.

I laughed at the bossy looking clouds, all puffed up with promises they failed to keep so many times in the past.

I laughed--and now they are crying.

I'm glad! In fact, I'm thankful.

I love listening to their tears drip on the roof of our wee cottage.

In the stillness of the early morning, with Him.

LIVING WATER?

2011-08-22T05:09:00.003-05:00

Our normal, beautiful lake has become ugly over the last several hot, dry weeks. With little rain to replenish, it is going down at about the rate of one inch a day. Sadly enough, this allows the moss that grows beneath the water to grow above its face, and now covers the largest part of our cove--a phenomena not seen in the deeper waters.

Oh, the lessons one can glean. It's not that the moss isn't in the deeper waters. The lake is still receding at the same rate out in the middle . . . there's just more water to cover it!

Haven't you ever experienced that dryness? Those periods when it seems as though nothing fresh is coming in. Those times when you feel stagnant, and shallow and . . . yucky?

If you consider that HE is the living water. . . that His word is often compared to water. . . hmm! Yep! That pretty much says it.

You can see in the picture the 'still deep waters' off our dock. And guess where we still catch fish? When I STAY in His Word. . . when I allow Him to wash me, through that Word, guess what!! That's where the 'fish' go. You think the world doesn't know? You think others can't see?

Kinda makes you want to go wash your face, doesn't it? Kinda makes you want to BE washed afresh, doesn't it?

The kicker? This same yucky water is a part of our city water supply. It must go through the purifying process before anyone may partake of its life-giving goodness.

So must I!

"Seeing" Red

2011-08-06T09:35:00.003-05:00

What do you think of when someone says "I saw red"?

Yep--me too. They were angry!! A lot like the old idea that if a bull sees red he will charge. (not true, I must say. . .they'll charge if and when they want to charge at any color. Trust me.)

If I would give you one-word prompts--likely the answers would all be--red:

Apple

Lipstick

Geraniums (Okay, some might have other colors here but for me this flower should only be red)

Hearts

Blood

See how closely our mind "sees" color just by word association? Or how any specific color points us to either emotional, spiritual, or physical pictures?

My point? As a writer, I color-code my characters according to their strongest characteristic--the way I want my reader to see them. If that character is red, then most of his inner or external dialogue will probably show that. By the end of the first few chapters the reader should--by dialogue, tag lines or action beats--know who is talking, reacting, etc.. My "red" character is most likely going to be aggressive, anger-easily, over-react to situations, etc.. His speech will be sharp, caustic perhaps, spicy (think of cayenne pepper).

I can choose to soften him a bit--especially by the end of the story (unless, of course, you prefer him this way).

I might care to picture him as warm, friendly, comforting, etc..

Now--play the game.

What character do you have in mind, either in a book you have read, or one you are writing? Care to share?

COLOR ME RED

2011-07-28T22:32:00.003-05:00

OKAY, AN ARTIST I'M NOT

This is homework!! Pretend this funny little fella represents a character from a book you have read recently. The "head" pictures his 'intellect'--the way he thinks--the way he expresses himself--the way he 'looks' at life. The first heart is a symbol of his emotions--his spiritual being--his reaction to life. And the bottom upside-down heart is his physical--the way he walks, stands, moves, etc.. And they are all RED.

You may use both positive and negative traits of that color. For example: RED can be warm and comforting (picture sitting in front of a fire on a cold winter night). It can also be hot and dangerous (picture that same fire out of control, consuming everything in its path). RED can be shy (a blush) or it can be angry (same face, different emotion).

Okay, now you have the picture. Play this game with me. Who have you chosen? And why?

I think by the time we work through the next colors we will see a pattern emerge.

It will be fun--I promise!

And speaking of promises--what greater promise than the shed BLOOD of Jesus?

COLOR ME A WRITER.

2011-07-27T06:34:00.003-05:00

One color describes me fairly well--I am YELLOW!

What personality trait pops into your mind with that statement? COWARD, perhaps. That would be me. Basically--I'm terrified of the word NO! I hear it a lot. . .but when it comes to allowing it to slip it's way through my beautiful, ruby-red lips--well folks, it just ain't gonna happen.

With that tidbit of knowledge tucked safely away in your head, you will understand why I am now in the following predicament: I was asked to do a workshop at a writer's conference in April. Guess what I DIDN'T say?

Not only am I now every shade of YELLOW you can imagine, I am also a whole lot of other colors such as BLACK and BLUE from constantly kicking myself.

However, I DO have a plan. And YOU'RE IT! I have been, over the last several weeks, devising a way of developing the characters in my stories. For the next several 'blogging' days, I want to share those.

The name of my workshop is the same as the title of this blog entry. COLOR ME A WRITER: The Art of Painting Word Pictures.

Please join me in two days for the rest of the story.

WAITING ROOMS

2011-07-08T07:20:00.003-05:00

I don't like waiting rooms. Period. But that's where I am this morning. Waiting while my baby is being examined by two different doctors. Oh, I trust the doctors. They want this child to be healthy as badly as I do. But it doesn't matter. I still don't like waiting rooms.

Perhaps the hardest part is knowing they are taking my baby apart piece by piece, and sending her back to me the same way. Her name is Robin . . . my baby, that is. And so far they have only returned one appendage . . . with the necessary suggestions for treatment written right on her body. They say she'll get well. I just need to heed their advice. But I've been busy, you know, and haven't had time to really have the prescriptions filled. Maybe next week.

I've already done a lot of amputating. . . a cut here and a cut there. She's much shorter than she is supposed to be . . . somewhere under the 90th percentile. The doctors are supposed to be letting me know where I can find new parts to add back on. Hopefully. I trust them, you see.

Even after my local doctors are through, I will still need to send her on to a Specialist. Oh, I do so want to send her as healthy as can be.

Pray for wisdom for the doctors. . . and faithfulness on the part of this mother. I do so hate waiting rooms.

YOU CAN'T TAKE THE FIREFIGHTER OUT OF THE MAN!

2011-07-05T07:04:00.009-05:00

Do we ever outgrow the need to know our daddy is watching and will keep us safe?

All the men in our family are firefighters. They are a lot like fishermen. . . each fire fought gets a bit larger in the telling. But they do have fun!!.

The stream of water being forced through the fire hose is very powerful. The fellas could aim it at the back of this tube and send the kids scooting across the water. They loved it!! They loved standing under it. And it was beautiful cascading onto the lake.

Do we ever outgrow the need to know our daddy is watching. Oh, the sense of safety that gives!!

I pray I never ever lose that childlike faith of knowing that even when I slip fall, and go under--my Father sees me and will come to my rescue.

She sets about her work vigorously . . . Pr. 31:17a

2011-06-27T09:18:00.005-05:00

After a bad wind storm, my Bob came in with this nest- - - the one our little mama oriole worked so diligently to build with the string we provided. We were awed at the complexity of her design. How, we asked, could such a small creature, with no hands, manage to wrap the string around the branch and then weave it into itself? What doesn't show is how leaves were brought up around the nest and woven in to provide protection from being spied from the ground. The string even is knotted in some places.

But the real surprise came when a few days later our little mama was back. She hopped from chair to table back to chair again and we decided she must be looking for more string. Only this time she became quite particular. She refused the string

but eagerly took pieces of thread. Would you believe I unwound nearly a half a spool of thread, cutting it into lengths of 8-10-12 inches, which she would gather over and over again. All day I cut, and she returned, and the next morning was back for more However, when she was done she was done. I doubt we will find this nest, and that's okay. The poor dear deserves to be secure.

But what a lesson! What a lesson!

Puts a whole new slant on 'bird brain' doesn't it?

PATIENCE

2011-06-21T07:28:00.006-05:00

This long-legged neighbor comes to our dock regularly each morning--and waits. Some days he will pace, long neck craned toward the water, evidently watching--but always waiting. Unless frightened away, he will stay for as long as thirty minutes before launching, huge wings spanned in what is an awkward take-off, and soar into the trees across the lake. We have yet to see him actually catch anything. But he still comes, still paces, and still waits.

Last week I finally was able to hit the 'send' button, and cyber-mail my book to the two lovely ladies who are my critique partners. Now, I'm a little like this old heron. I wait. I pace. I crane my neck (well, when my computer is on my lap it I DO have to crane my neck a bit).

My waiting, and pacing, and craning may never result in a 'catch'. The odds of becoming a published author are slim at best. But the journey has been worth it. And perhaps that is why the funny looking bird returns each morning. Maybe he enjoys the flight. The fact that he sits on our dock morning after morning tells me that somewhere, somehow he is pulling something from the water--just not here--just not now.

Just not here--just not now.

PERSEVERANCE AND DISCIPLINE

2011-06-10T06:32:00.004-05:00

I need to sweep our deck. Company is coming, and the deck is littered with seed-pods from the huge cottonwood tree in our yard. There are also several pieces of white string, and hanks of twine. The seed pods are an act of nature. The string--well it has a story.

Two days ago, while my Bob and I were having our morning coffee, we noticed a female oriole busy pulling on a loose string that was hanging from one of the cushions in a chair on the deck right outside our windows. It tugged and tugged, but to no avail. I finally went out and cut the string loose, and before long she returned and retrieved it. That would have been the end of it, had we not lingered (we do a lot of lingering these days--because we can). In a short time she was back, head cocked this way and that, appearing to be searching for more.

Now--if you have ever been in my Bob's workshop, you know that there is an order to everything. Even to string that hangs from some clever little contraption, and you can just snip it to whatever length you need--presto! So--he went out and in a few short minutes was back with a handful of string cut in various lengths which he scattered across the deck.

Sure enough. She came back--and the fun began. But what was most fascinating was the methodical way she gathered the loot. Peck--the string was in her mouth. Another peck, and it was looped. And after several of these little pecky maneuvers, it would be coiled enough she could fly away without it dragging behind her getting hung up in the branches along the way. We must have cut 50 pieces of string. Granddaughter #4 was here, and she cut string, too, and time and again the little female oriole returned. Never missing a piece no matter where we laid it.

Interestingly enough, at one point we put out pieces of jute, just for variety. She would NOT take the jute. No matter if it was the only string out there, she refused and seemed most frustrated--hopping from one chair to another, onto the table, back down onto the floor of the deck, searching for her white string.

Then--there came a time she didn't return. Obviously--she had enough to finish her task of home-building.

What a lesson. She knew what she "needed", wouldn't take a different option even though it seemed to be more attractive (you know--bigger and better than the birds over on the next branch), etc., and when she finished her task she didn't keep coming back for more. No more handouts!!

Hmm! Now what commonplace lesson could be learned?

The brain of a bird is how big?

At least they use theirs!!

BEGINNINGS

2011-05-23T13:06:00.003-05:00

This is Leah, granddaughter #2, on the evening of her 8th grade commencement. To look at her now, one would never guess what a very rough beginning she had. Born by emergency C-section, she 'crashed' shortly afterwards and was taken by Neonatal ambulance to a hospital in Wichita, Kansas. When she came home two weeks later it was on a heart monitor, and apnea monitor. She scared us all to death for nearly the first four months of her life. Then, almost magically (if you believe in magic--we prefer to call it a God thing) Leah became a healthy, happy, fun loving kid. Today she is remarkably athletic, funny, beautiful and happy.

Leah wants to go to college in Montana, become a teacher, and get married on a Thursday (because EVERYONE gets married on the weekend ). We think she will do it, too! She loves kids, dogs, horses, and food!! Not necessarily in that order.

And we love her, in any order you name. What a fun ride these next four years will be!!

ROBIN

2011-05-18T09:35:00.003-05:00

For those of you who have asked (well, two people have been curious. . .and one of them was my husband) Yes, I am still working on a book. It takes a long time. Really it does.

Now, for those of you who may have an interest--beyond whether I am going to actually fix a meal today--my original goal was to have it finished by the end of April. It didn't happen. Life happened. So my NEW goal is to finish by the end of May--which MAY not happen, either (pun intentional).

I have only 6,000 words left to reach the goal the editor requested. This, of course, is first draft--rough first draft. A lot has to happen in these 6,000 words so I must choose carefully. And even after I am able to write "The End"--it won't be. Then comes editing. . . first by me, before I send it off to my crit partners, then by my trusty wholesome twosome who will determine what I do next.I have a definite advantage in that both of my critique partners are having their WIPs edited by a professional. I can't afford to do that--but will, no doubt, glean much good advice from their experience.

Though the editor gave me eighteen months (until March of 2012) to finish this first book in a series of three (IF they get picked up by her publishing house), I want to have it done earlier than that to show my good faith effort to meet a deadline. So my really, really final deadline is September, when I will see her again at ACFW conference in St. Louis.

BTW--the series is called (subject to change, of course) BRIDES OF THE FEATHER

And the books are: Robin; Wren and Lark. Now--doesn't that pique your interest?

The setting is the flint hills of Kansas in the late 1800's. . . and each book is about a different sister (all with bird names) from Chicago, who have fallen, due to circumstances beyond their control, on the mercy of their crusty old uncle, who just happens to own a ranch named The Feather.

Stay tuned for more. BTW--joining me on this journey only requires occasional deposits to my PRAYPal account. *smiling*.

BE STILL. . .

2011-05-16T20:08:00.003-05:00

There is a stillness on our lake tonight that is both beautiful and lonely. Golden fingers of setting sun poke through greening trees long the banks while one lone goose swims by our dock, calling for who-knows-what.

Why is it that 'being still' evokes so much emotion? And why do I struggle so with this command of our Lord. BE STILL AND KNOW. . . He says. KNOW THAT I AM GOD. KNOW. . . I AM . . . GOD.

In the cacophony of this world, I must remind myself that stillness and silence are not synonyms. I long to reach the point in my walk with Jesus, that even among the clatter and clamor of all around me I will be able to practice 'being still'. And even more, I yearn to know Him so intimately that when all around is still, my heart and mind will listen

even through the silence

to hear only I AM.

RIPPLES ON THE WATER--PEACE, BE STILL!!

2011-05-10T08:28:00.004-05:00

I often think I should call this blog--LESSONS FROM THE LAKE. I've never lived close to water until moving here a little over a year ago, but now I would miss it terribly. We are in a cove, a quiet no-wake zone. Even at night we can see the lake reflected either by the moon overhead, or yard and/or decorative lights from across the way.

Mother's Day was windy enought here were white-caps roiling across the cove. However, I could sit in my swing by the water and hardly even feel a breeze, and our water-front was still and smooth. There is timber to the east of us, and it juts out enough that we actually sit a bit behind it along our shore. This tiny little island slows down the flow of wind and turmoil that is evident on the water's surface.

Today we are not as protected, as the wind has more of a southwest flow, yet the ripples on the water look as though they are rolling into the wind, and my empty swing along the shore is moving as though someone were in it.

Tomorrow night, May 11, we will be attending a meeting which may determine whether we stay in this wee cottage by the lake. A meeting that has us lake-dwellers feeling the effects of unpredictable winds--and there doesn't seem to be a protected place of refuge. We feel driven into the wind, and it is hard. The small, gentle ripples that are seen today, could well become angry, churning waters, with the real threat of capsize for us who long to call this home.

Yet--I am reminded that WE are not in charge. He, who calmed the angry seas so long ago, to calm his anxious fellow boat-mates, is still in charge of the wind which stirs the depths. I cling to the knowledge that He ordains my days and TRUSTING IN MY FATHER'S WISE BESTOWMENT, I'VE NOT CAUSE FOR WORRY OR FOR FEAR.

THE LOGIC BEHIND MAMA ON THE GATE. . .

2011-04-22T13:48:00.003-05:00

For nearly 12 years we lived directly behind my parents, with a sidewalk attaching our two homes. I was the only sibling close, my only brother lived in Washington state, and our intent was to be close enough to help my parents in their aging years, yet not so close as to hear their TV. Their home set at the front of three city lots, our home was at the front of six city lots and our backyards, though continuous, actually kept us apart.

I'm smiling as I write this--perhaps so I won't cry. My parents were younger than we are now when we made this momentous decision. And only now do I realize their intense need to care for themselves. The following incident is only an example:

My normal routine, after returning home from my job, was to check on my parents. As I didn't get home until after 5:00, it always stymied me that they would have already had their evening meal and were ready for the evening with the TV blaring, their favorite country/western radio station playing, and the police/fire scanner turned on high so they wouldn't miss anything important that might be going on somewhere!!

One evening, when checking on them, my mama remarked that she would like to have her sewing machine moved to the basement. Not an unreasonable wish--unless you knew that her machine was encased in a cabinet my dad built, that was strong enough to live in. Daddy was a pack-rat, so he didn't like to buy anything that he might be able to pick up for free somewhere along the way. I don't know where he got the lumber to build this thing--but let me tell you--it was heavy duty stuff.

Since we had plans for that evening, I assured her that my Bob would be up the next evening to move it for them. Now--my daddy was not a very big man--smaller than my mama by probably 50-60 pounds or so. Plus--he was given to stress fractures in his back with any heavy lifting.

Well, as independent as they were I should have realized that 'waiting' was not an option. I now know how hard it is to ask for help-and even harder to wait for it. But at the time I was too busy, and growing old seemed so many years away.

The next evening, after our own supper, we went to move the beast to the basement. Enter house--Mama and Daddy enjoying their TV--as were most of the closer neighbors, I am sure. Radio station playing, scanner scanning.

Me: So, you ready to move your sewing machine?

Mama: Oh, we did that this afternoon.

Me: (attempting to not sound frustrated) By yourselves? I told you we would help. Daddy--what if it would have slipped and fallen on you? (I could only imagine the small grease spot he would have made at the bottom of the stairs.)

Daddy, with a sly grin: Oh, it weren't going anywhere. I had it tied with a rope to Mama at the top of the stairs.

Does this story ring even vaguely familiar? Like maybe--"you get on the gate and don't let Angel come over?"

Daddy wasn't hurt--Angel didn't even attempt to jump the gate. . . but more and more I realize that we are where my parents once were. I wish I could tell them I understand better now!

I wish I could tell them a lot of things. . . face-to-face one more time.

WE CALLED HER ANGEL--BUT SHE WASN'T!!

2011-04-18T07:50:00.008-05:00

You know how certain people make such a lasting impression that you will re-think, and re-tell every aspect of your relationship?

We had a cow like that. Yep, that's right--a great big (really big) black baldy mama.(that would mean she was black with a white face--but she had hair!!)

Hubby called her Angel--the obvious being she was anything but. . . . She was a super good mama--growled like a she-bear if you got anywhere near her calf. In fact--she huffed and puffed if you got near her for any reason. She was cranky. She was nearly impossible to load. She was able to leap a tall fence, or go over the side of a loading chute, in one bound. And to try to get her in a working chute to give her (this is going to hurt me more than it does you) yearly shots, was an adventure in itself. Thus--this long tale.

One summer we had an outbreak of anaplasmosis--we weren't the only ones but for our small herd it was pretty devastating. (For city people reading this--anaplas is NOT a good thing to have. . .cows were dropping like flies).We ended up bringing them all off summer pasture back to our place because it required giving them all shots--and home is where we had the working chute. Real cowboys would work them in the pasture--we weren't real cowboys, and we were old!!

All went well, until it was Angel's turn. I was at the head gate--standing very, very still so as to not spook her as she headed down the tight alley. My job was to 'clank' the head gate just as soon as she stuck her head through. Yeah! Right! Like she was going to cooperate.

I realized it wasn't working when I heard hubby talking to her--really he was yelling, and it wasn't pretty. Actually, he was hanging in a corner, arms over the fence, kicking at her and she was wallowing the daylights out of him! Pretty scary. Little did I know my Bob could say "Angel" in so many languages!!

Finally tired of the name calling, the above named mama decided to go back into the barn. Whew! Well, I thought whew until my madder-than-she-was cowboy told me the next move.

"Here, mama (this time he meant me--never called me Angel), you come sit on this gate so she don't try to go over and we'll give it another shot. At this point I wasn't sure what kind of a 'shot' he might be referring to. However, good little wife that I was, I armed myself with two very sturdy long-handled whips (I should probably mention that I armed myself with these same two whips each time I entered the corrals) and straddled the iron gate and confessed every known sin, and a few I was thinking of should this animal decide to leave the corral in my direction--and I prayed. But, hubby was already bloody and banged-up from his previous encounter, so I tried not to further his angst by telling him what I thought of this idea.

"Ready mama?" Hubs shouted--I think he meant me--my eyes were closed so I couldn't be sure which 'mama' he was yelling at. At any rate, I twirled my whips and nodded my head. I needed to use the necessary so badly I couldn't take the chance of actually doing much else at this point.

Deep breath--barn door opens--Angel steps out, takes one looonnnnggg look at both of us and walks to the chute--down the long alley, sticks her head through the gate and waits for cowboy to hustle around the outside and 'clank' her in. Mama (that would be me) dislodges from the gate, gives her set of shots on one side while hubs takes care of the other.

I promise you--when Angel walked out of that chute she gave us a rather loud huff of disdain and smirked. Well, actually it was slobber, but I knew what she meant. I did the same thing as I walked past hubs (I didn't slobber, but I tried to spit like a real cowboy). Now, what in the world could I have done if she had decided to abdicate over the gate?

She was no ANGEL. No sirree--but, oh my goodness, she was a good mama.

AND WE'LL NEVER FORGET HER!!!

I do hope they will say that about me, one day.

. . . and her children rise up and call her blessed.!!

MONDAY MORNING RUBBA-DUBBA

2011-04-11T09:30:00.004-05:00

In a world so busy, so full of noise--do you ever wish for a quiet spot? I don't know what your ideal place would look like--perhaps a remote cabin in the mountains, a weekend home in the country, or a wee cottage on the lake (got mine! got mine!). But, I think I am safe to assume that our first thought of peace and quietness involves a place.

Perhaps we equate solitude with a place, other than where we are at the moment, because our memories are stored away with small chips of sound. A phone ringing in the night, the wailing of sirens, the squealing of tires, a baby's cry--or laughter, neighbors shouting, etc., all evoke emotions, whether good or bad, that take us down paths we might not want to follow right now, thank you very much.

So we dream of a place where we can escape--a place with no phone, no TV, outside of hearing distance of sirens or traffic, or neighbors.

A year ago we moved to our wee cottage on the lake. Like others, I have dreamed of a such a place--although it was never a lake but rather a cabin in the woods. We have both--timber on one side, the lake in front, etc.. But you know what I have learned (though I have a bad habit of unlearning on a fairly regular basis).

TRUE PEACE, QUIETNESS, STILLNESS, whatever tag you put on it is that you are seeking--comes NOT from the place you occupy but from within--from the HEART, and WHO occupies it. If I am completely honest, the very cacophony of noises I wish to escape are the very ones that comfort me. This morning it is the rubba-dubba of my washing machine that tell me my Monday is going as planned. The pounding of a hammer in the distance tells me that someone else's day is progressing. And traffic (though very sparse out here) going by on Lake Road telegraphs Summer is a comin'.

No one has every accused me of being a quick leaner. It seems I often have to have the lesson pounded into my mind over and over again. But, because my Lord is faithful, HE is teaching me that if I want real peace. . . if I want real quietness. . .if I want the place of my dreams . . . then I must DWELL IN HIM. And I can do that amidst all the other hub-bub out there. Him and me, we can be tight!!

BUT NOW I SEE . . .

2011-04-08T07:26:00.003-05:00

There is a mist hanging over our cove this morning--so thick I can hardly see the neighbors across the lake. When the sun gets high enough it will be beautiful to see the fog change colors and finally give way to clarity. Though we can see to take the step in front of us, it is the distance that is unclear.

Ever experience that feeling? You know where you are--but can't see far enough ahead to be sure where you are going? '

I went to the eye doctor last week for my yearly checkup. My eyes, according to his diagnosis, are extremely inflamed and I am now needing to put in drops, drink more water, take fish oil, and stay out of drying wind/breeze, etc.. It's not 'losing sight' threatening. Just need to make some lifestyle changes.

I wish all my 'unseens and unknowns' were so easily fixed. And more than that--I wish I would remember that when the SON breaks through, the fog will be beautiful, and what isn't seen in the 'now' of my life, will be made clear.

All He requires is my obedience to take that one step that He has revealed.

I can do that! Come to think of it--TRUST is a lifestyle change, too.!!

PATIENCE

2011-03-11T08:15:00.003-06:00

Amy, our 10-year-old granddaughter, fished all last summer and only caught one fish.

Then--grandpa Bob purchased new bait and she was more than excited to try it out. In went the pole, and thus started the wait. About dusk, she ran to check on it and came squealing to the house "Gpa, I caught one, I caught one."

Suffice it to say that by the time it was too dark, and too cold, for her to continue fishing she had ten (that's right 10) crappie in her bucket. The power bait worked!!

Writing is much like this. You cast, and cast and cast and nothing happens. Then you change tactics (perhaps a new story, or at least you start applying everything you have learned). You figure out what fish you want to bite (doesn't do any good to try to sell a historical if all they want is contemporary, or young adult, or futuristic) and where they bite best (you go to conferences, blog sites, networking sites). You have to figure out when is the best time to cast your line (or lines--pun intended). Then you cast, sometimes reel in an empty hook (rejections), but you cast again, and again.

Amy had success after a long dry summer of waiting. Bait was a factor--know-how a factor--perseverance a huge factor.

I don't expect to get ten contracts--but one would certainly be nice.

In the meantime--I'll keep on fishing!!

AHHH--wildlife!

2011-03-09T08:12:00.002-06:00

In the midst of a grey, misty, moisty day--God sent sixteen pelicans to our cove. They came soaring in, huge black-tipped wings outstretched, and hardly made a ripple on the water when they landed.

As beautiful as they are--and as fun as they are to watch--they do not play well with others.

We also have a new bunch of ducks--we think they are buffalo head or canvass back. They tease the pelicans by diving under then popping up some distance away. The pelicans circle and even form lines to herd them out of the water.

On the roof of the boat ramp, across the cove, two geese have perched to watch the contest--or escape. And in our yard--the neighbor's dog is attending to its morning constitutional.

Ahhh---the wonders of lake living!!!

WITHOUT WOOD A FIRE GOES OUT . . . PROV. 26:20 NIV

2011-03-07T08:29:00.004-06:00

IT'S NOT THE SIZE OF THE WOOD THAT CAUSES THE FIRE TO CONTINUE TO BURN - - - IT'S HOW OFTEN THE FIRE IS FED.

BLUE SHADOWS

2011-02-28T11:49:00.003-06:00

Among all the colorless timber, one old tree stood in proper relationship to the sun and cast a strong, blue shadow atop the frozen cold of the earth.

I want to be like such a shadow!

The result of being in proper relationship to the SON.

WHY NOT TRUST?

2011-02-23T08:27:00.002-06:00

At the beginning of the year I began using a small devotional book by Hannah Whitall Smith, God is Enough. I've been challenged each day. Today's reading had this:

"It is not hard, you find, to trust the management of the universe and all outward creation to the Lord. Can your case then be so much more complex and difficult than these, that you need to be anxious or troubled about His management of you?" HWS

Sometimes I feel like I've just had my hands slapped, followed by a loud No! No!

How about you--did you awaken this morning with a burden? Say it with me--

GOD IS ENOUGH!

FOCUS, FOCUS, FOCUS

2011-02-21T09:10:00.002-06:00

It's cold!! Our thermometer this morning (the one in the house with a little wire that runs out of the house) said 18 degrees. Add the wind chill (or do you subtract it?) At any rate--it is cold. After a week of above normal temps, it seems especially brisk.

I've been playing camera tag all morning with a beautiful bald eagle. He's hunting in our cove--swooping low over the water. The little mud hens have been flying in, fish are jumping. It must look like a real smorgasboard out there to that big majestic bird. I just wanted so badly to be able to post a picture on this blog. But I only own a small digital camera--no special lenses--and I just can't seem to get the crazy thing aimed the right direction at the right time.

I have some lovely pictures of the sky, the limbs in the trees in the next yard, the trees across the cove--but no eagle.

Some days my life seems like that, too. Ever have those days? You know--where you "aimed" one direction but by the time you took a good look at the 'picture' it seemed blurred, full of dead branches, and empty sky? You meant to start the laundry, but when you went to get the dirty towels you decided to clean the tub, and when you went to get the cleaning supplies you noticed dirty dishes? Then, since you were in the kitchen it might be nice to clean out the refrigerator? Once the refrigerator was actually clean--there was nothing to eat, so it meant you had to go grocery shopping? And while you were in town you might as well run some other errands? So you run the errands first so groceries don't have to sit in the car, then you come home and you don't have groceries, forgot one errand, no food in the fridge, still a ring around the tub and no clean towels. And the washer lid is up but you can't remember why?

I need to write at least 1500 words today, but first I need to put in a load of laundry, strip the bunkroom beds (grandkids here this past weekend), and send an email to my crazy friend in Colorado who has my mind popping with one of her crazy schemes.

Oh, and the eagle just flew past again. Maybe if I'm patient enough I can get a picture. I think my problem was--I just wasn't focused.

IT HAS TO GET BETTER!

2011-02-18T07:21:00.005-06:00

The water has opened on our end of the cove, and the geese are coming in large numbers to enjoy it. Yesterday was unseasonably warm--75 degrees here on our lake--and we could hear them honking their delight far into the night.

I love to watch them feed--but am always reminded of how my mama would tell me to be careful now--you don't want others to see your underwear. (this was before little girls wore jeans or shorts to school).

The white you see showing here are the geese--bottoms up--feeding on whatever it is they find to eat under the water.

So what does looking at goose bottoms have to do with my writing journey? Well--there are days when you feel like you are a queen, all dressed up in flowing gowns and a crown of jewels on your head. The words came, and they were really good (an opinion only), and by the end of the day you feel like you definitely ruled.

Then there are days when you feel like you are standing in your unmentionables (although I did mention them, didn't I?) and everyone is looking--and laughing. "You? A writer? Ha! Show me the words."

My final word count for yesterday--after all was said and done? 5--yeppers! Five whole words! But they were good ones. :)

Now, if you don't mind-I'm going to go put on some britches. Surely today will be better!!

Two characters to introduce today: William Arthur Benson, III: And old friend of Robin's from Chicago.

Anna Kathryn Blair: A long time friend, and one-time fiancee of Ty Morgan's.

OOH--what tangled webs we weave!!

HAPPY DAY AFTER . . . AND THE DAY AFTER THAT

2011-02-15T07:12:00.004-06:00

It's not that I'm against Valentine's Day. I'm not at all. It's just that for some, it must be the hardest day of the year. So much is made of receiving something from that special "someone". But what if there is no one special? Or what if that someone special just walked out of your life--either by choice or by death?

No, I believe we can show love--not just one day a year--but rather all year long. But the bottom line is--we probably don't.

How many times have I missed the opportunity to tell my loved ones that I do love them? That they are the most important people in my life?

How often am I sensitive enough to those around me--family excluded--to let them know that they have a special place in my corner of the world?

And so very often I fail to start my day by proclaiming my love for my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ--the One who gave the ultimate for the least.

A lot of days are like Valentines--meant to show love and end up causing dread or pain. Yet--each day is a new day and I can choose, in this brand new day, to brighten my corner or pull it behind a curtain. I think I will choose to let my light shine. I might just go to town and buy the "day after sale" valentine cards---and send them in July!!

You see, we don't HAVE to have a special day to celebrate!

And for those who are reading this. . . I LOVE YOU!!

REVELATION

2011-02-07T08:15:00.002-06:00

The Bible is a book not of theories but of actual facts. Things are not true because they are in the Bible, but they are only in the Bible because they are true. Hannah Whitall Smith

IF THIS DOESN'T BLESS YOUR HEART, YOU BETTER CHECK TO SEE IF YOU'RE STILL ALIVE.

HENRIETTA, ALBERT AND EMMA--OH MY!

2011-02-04T07:45:00.002-06:00

EMMA LEDBETTER: Owner of Emma's Mercantile. Wise, loveable, becomes mother-figure to Robin.

HENRIETTA HARVEY: Everyone knows someone like Henrietta. Fussy, busybody, gossip. Never intends harm or pain, but inevitably causes it. Lives with her son and insists on running his life.

ALBERT HARVEY: Postmaster in Cedar Grove. Lives with mother (Henrietta). Socially awkward. Victim of his mother's desire to have him married--to a woman of her choosing, of course.

The most fun of developing characters is--you can make them any way you want, as long as they are believable. So, as happens often, you end up with composites of a whole lot of different personalities rolled into one make-believe person. And, living in this day and age, it would be hard to come up with character traits that wouldn't be believable--after all, doesn't anything go?

Actually--no. I write historicals--so my characters cannot do or say something that would not have been done or said in that time period. I have to make sure that any detail (even little things like zippers) would have actually been authentic.

Just last night I realized that the current scene I was working on probably would not have happened. A slip-up in my plotting, (my friend has me plotting now, instead of being a SOTPer. And, I have already let her know I don't like her much because of it.)

Today will be spent un-doing that part of the story and going in a different direction, though it will be important that I end up at the same destination--conflict! Believable conflict! Authentic to the time period. Authentic to the personality of my characters. And unpredictable to my readers.

Just a couple of more characters to introduce next week--then I'll start posting bits and pieces--hopefully enough to whet your appetite!!

. . .A SHELTER IN THE TIME OF STORM

2011-02-02T07:28:00.001-06:00

Tho raging storms may round us beat . . . O Jesus is a Rock in a weary land--a shelter in the time of storm!

COME, LET US REASON TOGETHER. . . .

2011-01-31T09:00:00.003-06:00

For the past several years I have made it a practice to read through the Psalms and Proverbs each month--you can do this by reading five Psalms and one chapter of Proverbs each day. By using different translations/paraphrases of the Bible it gives me a wonderful smorgasboard of FOOD.

This morning I read Proverbs 31 - - - again. And, like most every other time I read it, I realize how little like the Proverbs 31 woman I am. . . yet, I do love the lady.

Proverbs 31:11 KJV . . . The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her. . .
Has kept me from many a foolish decisions. That's not to say I haven't made plenty of wrong choices, but when trusted, especially with finances, I weigh my opportunities against this verse--will he still trust in me?

But this morning, reading in The Message, the author's interpretation of verse 17 really struck me. I realize, fully, this is a paraphrase, so while the KJV reads . . .She girdeth her loins with strength and strengthens her arms. The MSG reads
First thing in the morning, she dresses for work, rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started.

Hmmm. Well--I don't!!

I'm not going to elaborate on how much I miss the mark--but I do wonder--what part of this lovely lady do you claim. . . and what description really alludes you?

Come . . . let us reason together!!!

MEET 'EM--GREET 'EM--LOVE 'EM---PLEASE!!

2011-01-28T09:34:00.003-06:00

ROBIN: 22 years old. Raised in Chicago. One of three sisters, now left without parents but with a lot of debt to repay. Goes to Kansas, at her uncle's request, to help on his ranch--the Feather.
She assumes she is to be keeping house. Surprise!!

UNCLE JOHN: Eccentric, but very loveable brother to Robin's pa. Owner of the Feather, a large ranch situated in the Flint Hills of Kansas. He was born and raised on this ranch. Never married.

TY MORGAN: 26 years old. Owns the Hawk, an even larger ranch, situated next to the Feather. Also the preacher (by default) of the only church in the small town of Cedar Grove, Kansas.

These are the three main characters with a point of view (POV)--which means that even though there are other characters in the story--anytime they are 'on stage', one of these three characters must be there with them and you will see and hear what is going on through the POV character's eyes. If it gets confusing--it shouldn't!!

POV was one of the hardest aspects of writing, for me. I just couldn't get it. I remember one of the first critiques I ever received and they said DECIDE WHICH POV YOU ARE IN AND STICK WITH IT. Yeah--critiques are often in RED INK and it can look like your pages are bleeding. And--they might as well be because sometimes they hurt!! I had no idea what POV was, and it took me a long time to get the nerve to ask. Mainly because there were a LOT of other remarks in that first critique--and I didn't understand any of them. For instance. THIS IS BS--THE READER DOESN'T NEED IT. YOU SLIPPED INTO AI HERE. YOU ARE HEAD-HOPPING (this preceded the . . . decide which POV, etc.) Then they had the nerve, at the end, to add LOL

Okay--hear me out. I spent most of my childhood on a farm, and when I submitted my first attempt at writing for critique we were living on a farm. SO--BS, AI, and head-hopping meant something COMPLETELY different to me. And then the insult--LOL--I thought she was calling me a Little Old Lady!!

This writing world is wacky, painfully slow, painfully painful (at times), but full of wonderful, wonderful people who really do want to help, regardless of how much it hurts.

And now I can LOL at my first attempts. And the next time you pick up a book, and settle down into a comfy chair to read, please say a prayer for the author. She's probably sitting at her computer, crying over the critique she just received on her new project--and wondering if she'll ever learn all the rules.!!

More characters, next week. Hope you will join me.!!

WEDNESDAY'S WORD--JANUARY 26, 2011

2011-01-26T08:35:00.003-06:00

ROMANS 12: 1 - 2 MSG: So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life--your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life--and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.

ROMANS 12:1-2 NIV: Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God. . .this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transofmred by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will.

ROMANS 12:1-2 KVJ: I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

Monday's Musings--January 24, 2011

2011-01-24T06:07:00.002-06:00

It's still dark, but the big yardlight in our backyard reveals a glistening frost on the railing of our deck, and remnants of yesterday's flurries sparkle good-morning. I've actually been awake since 3:00 a.m., and finally got up around 3:30, knowing my tossing and turning was surely interfering with my Bob's sleep. So--I got up, turned up the furnace, made coffee--and prayed.

By nature, I'm a "meddling mom". And, unfortunately, that has carried over into my relationship with the Lord--I am also a "meddling child". So sure that He needs my help--that I must remind Him who our kids are, and what problems they are facing. And, of course, I have the perfect solution. Everything gets fixed--no struggles, always enough money and enough wisdom and enough strength and enough. . . enough everything. I DON'T WANT MY LOVED ONES TO HURT!! Or struggle. Or doubt. Get the picture?

This afternoon our 14 y/o granddaughter has an appointment at Children's Mercy Hospital, with a pediatric gastroenterologist because of stomach pain that has persisted since before Thanksgiving, in spite of medications. Medications--I might add--that she reacted to very adversely and snowballed into even more problems.

I want HIM to fix it!!

And you know what He told me? I AM

I AM--The Great Physician
I AM--He, who formed her in her mother's womb
I AM--The ONE who has a plan for her--not to harm her but to give her a hope and a future.
I AM ALL--AND I AM ENOUGH.

And--because I AM--I want you to--Be Still. . . trust . . .wait patiently. . .fret not. . . lean.

And because--HE IS

i will.

FRIDAY'S FRICTION JOURNEY--JANUARY 21, 2011

2011-01-21T11:26:00.004-06:00

We didn't take many vacations when I was growing up--but the ones my parents managed to wiggle out of their very small and unpredictable income were memorable. My daddy never met a stranger--and when we would stop for gas (that was back in the days when someone actually came out of the tiny little station and pumped it for you) he would get back into the car and know where the guy lived, how many kids he had, and if he had a dog named Spot. We always arrivd at our destination--but not always on the day we planned, or by the route that was originally mapped.

I am blessed with a daughter-in-law who is absolutely fearless when it comes to turning off the main road--you know, the one that is actually ON the map--and take what she calls her "Adventure Rides". I've accompanied her on a few of these--usually with fear and trembling. Not so much fear that we would get lost to the point of becoming only a pile of bones before we were found, but that we might, in the process, get shot for trespassing! In the Flint Hills it is quite possible to drive for hours on nothing more than two ruts cut into the prairie, across cattle guards, and even once in awhile past a mailbox. It was the mailboxes that would lead her to say "See mom, we're on a legitimate road". I was not always so easily convinced.

Now, I'm finding this writing journey can be its very own adventure. I know where I'm headed, along the way I've met some real characters and I can tell you what they look like, where they live, and if they have a dog named spot. What I CAN'T always predict is what they are going to do. Nor can I always be absolutely sure that the two little ruts I happen to be following that day will actually get me anywhere. Most generally, the road I'm following is not on the map I so carefully unfolded at the beginning.

This week one of my characters, William Benson, by name, wrote a letter to my heroine. Now William is really a nice guy, but the missle my sweet little Robin received was written by a real wimpy jerk. Hmm. . .won't it be interesting to find out why? It was--in a very roundabout, jerky, proud way, a proposal of marriage. But why would he want her? She has no money, no social standing, is responsible for two other sisters, is now in Kansas working for an eccentric old uncle, and has an infirmity.

Ah---his daddy knows something that he has not told William, and is pushing for a quick marriage. I wonder what it might be?

If you know--would you please tell me? I love Robin and don't want to see her end up with a wimp.

WEDNESDAY'S WORD--JANUARY 19, 2011

2011-01-19T09:43:00.002-06:00

Psalm 17: 3 - 5 MSG:

Go ahead, examine me from inside out,surprise me in the middle of the night--you'll find I'm just what I say I am. My words don't run loose.

I'm not trying to get my way in the world's way. I'm trying to get YOUR way, YOUR Word's way. I'm staying on YOUR trail; I'm putting one foot in front of the other.

I'm not giving up.

MONDAY'S MUSINGS--JANUARY 17, 2011

2011-01-17T09:32:00.005-06:00

They say more snow is coming. Looking out my office window the world is nearly colorless--at first glance. But then, as I sit and really, really look--there is a little yellow bird house hanging from a brown/gray branch, and a bright red hummingbird feeder swaying against the backdrop of a silvery/gray lake. Two green lawn chairs sit close to the water--which is now "stiff", beside golden-hued rocks which form a fire pit. Across the lake our neighbors blue house resembles a bluebird perched on the hill--the new-wood-pink deck jutted our direction.

Earlier this morning a majestic bald eagle flew low across the frozen waters, and on into the timber--shopping for breakfast, no doubt. Then large V-shaped lines of geese flew north, honking encouragement to the one in front to keep going against the sharp, cold wind.

They say more snow is coming. We are warm, have plenty of food on hand, and blessed. We are ready.

They say Jesus is coming. As I look at the news feed on my computer, and read the daily paper, all looks hopeless, colorless, sad. There are those who say the youth of today don't care, are not true followers, ar a lost generation. There are homeless, jobless, hurting, hungry people. And they said the same thing when Jesus was still on earth.

Am I saying all is well? All are toasty, warm, fed, blessed? No--not at all. But I can tell you this--if you LOOK, if you are still enough to see--then the bleakness changes. In the small community we call home--there is a whole public school full of kids who, without exception, stand and cheer when one of their classmates participates in the 100 yard dash--IN HIS WALKER. An entire football/basketball team who hug him after a win. . . and a community who is praying for him as he returns this week to Children's Mercy Hospital in KC to undergo intensive therapy after surgery to straighten the bones in his legs.

There were people who rallied behind the family of a teacher who died too young, and finished a project he started. There were families that had food and gifts because others cared. And there were older people who had their yards cleaned, and minor repairs done because a group of PUBLIC high school kids cared enough to do it.

Do you want to see something besides the bleakness? Then you have to look. Every day there are those who are coloring their little corner of the world--but they aren't the ones you normally hear about. Every day you can see someone--young or old--put the arms of Jesus around someone.

THEY SAY JESUS IS COMING AGAIN. I am warmed by His presence, fed by His Word, encouraged by His people, blessed beyond measure and READY!

In the meantime--I'm gonna keep lookin'.

Friday's Fiction Journey--January 14, 2011

2011-01-14T08:29:00.002-06:00

So--I'm writing a book. Sound simple enough? Even as a little girl I had stories in my head that just itched to get out. I can remember telling my mother I was going to write a book--and she laughed at me. Maybe that's why I didn't try sooner.

I'm not young, and this writing journey is not for the faint of heart. It's a long, long process. At times I have bemoaned the fact that I probably don't even have enough years left to really make a career of this pounding out the stories that fill my mind.

But one wise, PUBLISHED friend, told me "you have as long as God wants you to have, and that's all I have, too." Whew--put that in proper perspective, didn't it?

I do have this encouragement--I have an editor that wants to see the first book of a three book series, and has given me a substantial bit of time to get it to her. That is HUGE. But even after I submit it to her she has to like it enough to approach her committee--and that committee has to like it enough to warrant a contract.

These posts--on Friday's Fiction Journey--will keep me accountable. There are days I can sit and pound out words as fast as they flow from my head to my fingers--then there are days when I go back in and "edit" my own work and end up taking out a lot of those same words. There are times I submit to my crit partners or to my "reader" and find that I need to revise--or maybe even start over.

This week I deleted a complete chapter. And from the time I first talked to the editor until now--I have deleted about 10,000 words. Yes--there are times when it seems like I am going backwards.

My projected word count is 90,000--and I'm at 30,000, (rounded off). Seasoned authors can whip out words much faster. . . but at this point I am still a writer and not an author. I am still trying to figure out what a "reasonable" word count goal is for me on a daily basis. My hubby is my #1 cheerleader. He will eat sandwiches and wait for clean underwear as long as I am writing. I don't want to betray that trust. Neither do I want to just put down words to meet a goal.

I need you to keep me accountable so that I will indeed--finish.

And I want to finish well.

See you next Friday!!

WEDNESDAY'S WORD--JANUARY 12, 2011

2011-01-12T08:33:00.004-06:00

I Corinthians 13: 4-7 MSG

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.
Love doesn't strut,
Doesn't have a swelled head,
Doesn't force itself on others,
Isn't always "me first,"
Doesn't fly off the handle
Doesn't keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn't revel when others grovel,
Takes pleaseure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.

Snow Whispers

2011-01-10T18:27:00.003-06:00

I went to bed not feeling well--and woke up the same way. But there has been something extremely quieting about today. Even before shutting down for the night, it was snowing. Straight down. No wind. Just crystal sparkles caught shimmering in the light from the big pole in our back yard. But there was a sound--like a still, small voice. The snow whispered as it filtered through the branches of the timber.

Today I prayed it would continue to snow. I know, I know--for those of you who have to be out in it, it's no fun. This year we are glad we are no longer feeding mama cows, or anxiously checking for new babies when it turns wet and freezing. But the silence of the lake was awesome. Geese flew in searching for open water and some were content to go ice skating on what was solid. An occasional red cardinal darted among the brown branches, like a ruby on a stick. But Kansas was quiet for a change (although that is supposed to change during the night).

Snow topped the tiki torches on the deck and looked like giant snow cones. And tonight my candles in the windows reflect themselves against a backdrop of shimmering, sparkly, ice droplets.

As awesome as it has been, it makes me realize how very few times I sit long enough, and still enough, to hear God whisper. He says "Be still, and know that I am God". . . but I am not often still.

Tonight I feel worse than last night at this time. But today I heard His voice. . . in the stillness of his handiwork. And it makes me want to whisper, too.

Thank you, Lord.

LET US SPRAY!

2011-01-02T23:10:00.004-06:00

This morning, for the second day in a row, we observed a skunk meanding along our lake frontage between the dock and hubby's workshop. Because there is timber next to our property, a skunk wouldn't be an unusual site--but a skunk slowly sniffing around in the daylight is NOT a good sign.

When we were at Windsong, hubby would often find them in or around the barn--come in after his gun--and then either he would kill it--or it would miraculously dodge the bullets.

This morning the silly thing actually wandered closer to the house and was digging around under the trampoline that sits in our back yard. So, my instructions were to "watch where it goes" and hubby went after the gun. Alas--enter one neighbor's black lab "Star" who also likes to use our "facilities" in the back yard, and thus a merry chase began.

The sly skunk disappeared from my site, but was evidently on the steep side of the bank close to the water because Star was frantically running along the top of the bank, down the ramp to our dock, and back again. Meanwhile, Star's owner and my hubby were frantically trying to call the dog AWAY from the bank.

Needless to say--the skunk won. Oh, it didn't spray anything, or anyone, but it did manage to allude them both, Star and hubby that is.

The gun came back in, minus one bullet. Star was leashed and taken back into the neighbor's house. And the skunk? Well, we'll see if it is brave enough to come back again tomorrow. Either it will have learned that this is not a safe place--or it will decide there is no real danger from either man or beast.

Aren't we mortals like that silly skunk at times? Nosing around where and when we shouldn't be--thinking we are safe--daring the dangers to catch up with us? And--if we get by with it once then what's to keep us from trying it again?

What do we do when faced with danger? Hopefully what the skunk does--
LET US SPRAY!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Ps. 30:11 MSG: YOU DID IT; YOU TURNED MY WILD LAMENT INTO WHIRLING DANCE.

2010-12-31T09:23:00.005-06:00

New Year's Eve is always a bittersweet time for my Bob and me. Our oldest daughter, Tamara Jill, went home to glory on New Year's Eve, 1994, and it changed our lives forever. Our God-filled hearts knew then, as well as today, that it was a glorious homegoing for her. But out mama and daddy hearts broke at the loss. . . now both of our girls (our younger daughter died in 1985 at the age of 23) were gone. For me (julane) it felt like who I was could no longer be described. So much of my life had been spent caring for them and now I didn't know who I was or what I would do. And because our girls knew the Lord, and had wonderful testimonies--and because our entire family knew Him--it was hard for even our Christian friends to understand the depth of our grief. Let me back up aways.

Both of the girls had an incurable muscle disease--a form of muscular dystrophy that seemed to be unique to our family. MD is hereditary--but we knew of no one in our family lines that had been victims of it before--and the course it took with our girls was unusual and unpredictable even to the doctors at Denver Children's Hospital, which is an official muscular dystrophy research hospital. Blogs are not supposed to be long--so I cannot go into detail of all that led up to the time of Lori's (our younger daughter) death. Only in looking back can we make any sense of it at all but suffice it to say that we lived on a yo-yo for 18 years--in and out of hospitals, in and out of crisis, in and out of pain so deep it seemed bottomless and joy so unspeakable it seemed to go even beyond heaven. Lori died October 20, 1985--she was 23 years old--and part of our hearts died with her.

Christmas of 1994 was one of those joyful, on-top-of-the-world, deep satisfying sigh times--until Tammy woke up with a sore throat on December 29. By evening she knew she was in trouble breathing, and the ambulance was called. Since Bob was a fireman, we were very, very well acquainted with all the ambulance personnel and they were absolutely top knotch. Just calling them relaxed her enough to keep her out of serious trouble. Friday was a long, long day. Because her respiratory system was already compromised (even at best) she quickly went into pneumonia and she was fighting SO hard she was unable to sleep.

Saturday morning, December 31, our doctor asked for a conference with Bob and myself. I worked for this doctor, he was a devout Christian and a good friend. We knew his calling for a conference was not a good sign--and it wasn't. Tammy was losing ground and the normal routine would have been to put her on the ventilator to allow her to rest. Only thing--Tammy also loved and trusted this man and because she was an adult they both insisted, at times, that she have discussions with him that did not include us. During one of those times they discussed a scenario such as this. . . and she requested that she NOT be placed on a ventilator. This doctor had a brother who died with MD, and was very "tuned in" to our Tammy.

Can you, for just one minute, put yourself in our place? Basically we were being told that Tammy was slipping away from us and without the ventilator to help her--she would surely not be able to live much longer. Yet--she was no longer a child and while she was still OUR child, it was even more important for us to remember that she was first HIS child. After prayer with the doctor we finally came to the conclusion that as long as she could make the decision we would abide by her wishes--however, if it came to the point that she was still living but could no longer communicate with us then the decision, whatever it might be, would be ours.

Fast forward to evening. It was snowing, our youngest son was staying with me in Tammy's room, and she drifted off to a very peaceful sleep--the first since she had been hospitalized. We gave each other the thumbs-up. . . so glad to see that she was "resting". Little did we know at that time that she was indeed resting in the very arms of Jesus. She still had her external respirator on (which she had worn since the age of 16) and all her monitors were still beeping normally. But later, when other family members arrived we were unable to awaken her--and knew that even with all the man-made devices giving her life--God had given her LIFE!!

Time has erased a lot of the pain--though, this side of glory our empty arms still ache for those girls--but the memories are sweet, and grow sweeter with each passing year. Perhaps because we grow older and are more than ever aware that our own time here is shorter, but our time with them will be a reality that can never again be torn asunder.

We welcome the New Year and all its challenges and blessings. We are blessed beyond measure and enjoy watching our six very healthy grandkids grow into people!! And, if the weather doesn't turn nasty, we have friends of the girls' coming tonight to share the next couple of days with us. These are faithful friends who kindly include us in their lives and share stories that others have not heard.

We watched our daughters go from toddlers, to young teens who eventually had to stop walking and go to wheelchairs and respirators. It was a hard, hard time. When others were dressing up and going out--ours waited.

But now--oh! now!! Somehow I think they must be preparing themselves for a big and glorious New Year's Eve party- - and dressed in their robes of white they will again, as they have done over the past years since leaving our home, DANCE WITH THE KING!!

Indeed, "Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing. . ."

SILENT NIGHT . . .

2010-12-20T06:47:00.003-06:00

Lately I have had a number of restless nights. Some I will attritube to my age and family history, but life does have a way of crowding in now and then, doesn't it? What I have been trying to do, however, is not focus so much on the fact that I am unable to sleep, but rather use those waking minutes/hours to seek His face.

This Christmas I placed candles in every window--the kind that come on with the dusk and shut off when there is sufficient light. I leave them on all night, and because our house is to tiny they produce enough light to freely move about without fear of stumbling or bumping into unseen objects. From my chair by the living room window, and also in my office, I can look out on the lake and, especially these last few nights, the view has been a balm to my soul. There is a placid stillness to the frozen face of the lake. No waves, no ripples, just a reflection of the lights from across the cove.

By nature I am a "fixer". In these last few sleepless nights, I am slowly realizing that I can't fix anything. However, I can take everything that needs fixing to the ONE who is able to do all things. . . the ONE who is present in the storm and silence. The ONE who can change my worry into worship.

Perhaps there will come a day when I will welcome my insomnia as eagerly as I long to know that all is well with my loved ones. And maybe, just maybe, I will learn the real essence of silence. . . and can sing--not only at Christmas--but all year long,

SILENT NIGHT, HOLY NIGHT, ALL IS CALM. . . and experience the fullness of His presence in doing so.

SOME THINGS ARE BETTER LEFT TO THE IMAGINATION.

2010-12-18T10:35:00.004-06:00

Okay. . . I'm a little slow, but remember--I'm a writer and have a vivid imagination. For several weeks, actually a couple of months, we have had little mud hens in our cove. They are fascinating to watch and, according to my granddaughter #2, they can stay under water for 20 seconds at a time while they dive for whatever it is they dive for. Then they "pop" right back up. For a week or so there was a bald eagle in the area and it would make a daily round seeking breakfast. The little hens never did learn that there was NOT safety in numbers. As soon as the eagle would start circling the little birds would paddle as fast as they could to the end of the cove to seek shelter under the overhanging trees. With so many in one location it was like a smorgasbord for the big bird.

So--fast forward. The cove has been iced over this week. For a couple of days there was enough open water to support a few geese, ducks, and the little mud hens, but then one morning there was nothing but ice. Solid ice, except toward the middle (where the open water HAD been, in my defense) there were lots of little brown lumps.

Well, with my vivid imagination I decided the poor little hens had not been able to escape the freezing ice around them and were now stuck. I listened--but they weren't talking to me. I watched--but there didn't seem to be any movement at all.

Finally, after a few days, I mentioned it to dear hubby--who was quick to inform me (with a smirk as big as Texas) that those "dear little things" I was so worried about was nothing more than--goose poop. Apparently the honkers bed down on the ice at night and don't bother to clean up after themselves.

So--I'm just sayin'--some things are best left to the imagination!!

Oh, but I could have written such a cute story. . . .

HE WAS THERE ALL THE TIME . . . .

2010-12-13T07:46:00.005-06:00

When we lived at Windsong Ranch we had a bank of windows in our family room which allowed us to watch the sun come up every morning of the year. We knew where to look, every day, even though the sun moved throughout the year. It was a favorite place for my Bob, and I don't think there were very many mornings that he didn't watch the sun rise over the prairie.

Since moving to the lake we have not been able to get our directions straight. Possibly because we sit at an angle, but we still struggle to figure out which way the wind is actually coming from. And. . . during the summer the timber to the (east?) of us hides the rising sun.

Two days ago the wind howled through this timber . . . and during the night the lake froze in humps as the water reacted to the churning the force of that wind produced. But this morning, all is calm, and through the barren trees, that are now still, the otherwise cloudy sky produced this reminder: It doesn't matter if we can see it or not--the sun will continue to rise.

I don't normally like a lot of change. Although over the past years ours has been constant. At this writing, my heart can identify a little better with the churning waters, the howling wind--unsettled--a sense of questioning. I like still waters, and green leaves, and soft breezes.

But then the Lord, in his graciousness, reminds me that He controls the churning waters, the tempests that blow--the changes that come. Mine is not to question, but to trust--trust--trust.

HE WAS THERE ALL THE TIME.

...EVER CHANGING...EVER THE SAME

2010-11-22T09:48:00.011-06:00

Father, may I always be like this silly little gizmo . . . anchored to the Vine, available to be twisted, turned, reshaped, never making noise in the doing-so, just BEING all, and anything that You want me to be.

And may those looking on, be blessed by the changes they see.

. . . 'NUFF SAID . . .

2010-11-17T08:43:00.003-06:00

I NEEDN'T SAY MORE. . . BUT I WILL!

Since about the beginning of school I have been sending a verse a day to my grandkids via e-mail. It keeps me accountable.

But now, during this Thanksgiving time. . . we have a new "project". We are exchanging lists of things we are thankful for. . . I send them one, they send something back.

The biggest thrill is when they spontaneously add something--like a prayer request, then the other cousins chime in and want to know more so they can keep praying. . .

Oh, I love this "being a grandma" thing.

Several weeks ago I purchased a little block of wood with the above saying on it. . . Jesus Knows Me. . . . Isn't that absolutely profound. To think that He, who is the Creator, King, God of all the universe KNOWS ME?

Oh, I love this "being a child" thing.

My challenge to you, today: Exchange "thank you" lists with someone. . . and dig deep!

AND TWO SHALL BE ONE . . .

2010-11-15T08:42:00.003-06:00

Fifty-two years ago today I marrried my high school sweetheart. I can so well remember thinking (we were 18 at the time), how very old we would be when and if we were able to celebrate fifty years. Now that time has come and gone . . . and you know what? We're not old at all.

I'm so very thankful that we have a Sovereign God. We were so young (though in those years it wasn't unusual), and so very unprepared for life. We didn't know it, of course. But had we known what the years ahead had for us, I'm sure we would have thought we just couldn't possibly hang on.

But we did--by God's Unfailing Grace--HE alone has given us the strength to face every tomorrow--and continues to do so. Yes, we are older, hopefully wiser, and little more secure financially, and know now, what we couldn't comprehend then--that marriage is hard work, parenting is much more than making and having babies, and that being grandparents is the coolest thing ever!!

I love my Bob!

P.S. I wrote in pink because they were my wedding colors.

PS. 71:9b MSG DON'T : . . . PUT ME ON THE SHELF. . .

2010-11-12T08:46:00.005-06:00

. . . Or hang me on the wall . . .

I wish I knew the history behind this beautiful plate. It was given to me by my mother-in-law, therefore I treasure it.

But was it always intended to just adorn a wall? If so--then it has continued to be faithful to that calling. In fact, this hangs on my bathroom wall--because I like to place pretty things in unexpected places. More than likely,--if it could choose--it would be in a china cupboard behind glass doors where no dust or dirt or stink could get to it. But it is in my possession now, and I have chosen to use it to make someone else smile.

The Psalmist's lament was that he not be placed on a shelf. And perhaps he was thinking of a shelf that held only that which was discarded and no longer useful. And I don't want that for myself, either.

Not one word of protest was heard from this lovely painted plate when I chose to put a piece of wire around it, pound a nail, and leave it to hang on a wall behind a toilet.

And if He, who has bought and paid for me, chooses to take me out from behind the safety of my norm, then I pray I will make someone else's life brighter for having been obedient. No matter where. . . .

A TREASURE REDEEMED

2010-11-09T16:46:00.005-06:00

"Watch for the blue bicycle at our drive . . . "

It was my tenth birthday, and I had begged for a bicycle. Mama always made a chocolate cake with seven-minute marshmallow icing for our birthdays, and we would get one present.

After the milking was done that evening, Mama called my brother (my only sibling) and myself outdoors. I will never forget watching my daddy come down the driveway a little bent over and sideways as he maneuvered my present under the yard light. My wish had come true. Never mind that it was used--the basket on front bent, and the kick-stand missing--or even the fact that I had to share it with my brother. It was a bicycle!And my brother didn't seem to mind that it was a girl's bike.

It was many, many years later--after I had become a parent myself--that I fully understood what my begging for that gift must have cost my parents. Not only in dollars and cents--though we had little of either--but also in the angst of their wanting so much to fulfill my wish. They couldn't afford two bicycles. They couldn't even afford a new two-wheeler. But they did all they could with what they had. . . and it was more than enough.

Now a bicycle, much like that treasured one of years ago, stands as a WELCOME sign at our drive--and also a way for us to direct others to our home. Many have commented on this old treasure. Perhaps because it brings back memories of their own childhood. And with those memories comes a new meaning of satisfaction.

I hate that we seem to bypass Thanksgiving . We are so blessed. But our manners are so lacking, aren't they? How very sad that we only set aside one day a year to remember--and then we tuck it away on a shelf between the Halloween candy and the Christmas decorations.

You probably won't have an occasion to drive past this old bicycle--but somewhere in the attics and basements, barns and outbuildings of your memories, you, too, have a treasure you can redeem. A reminder of how little it took to thrill your heart, and hopefully a prayer of deepest gratitude to Him--who alone is the giver of all good things.

Want to share your treasure redeemed?

. . . AND ARE SAFE . . .

2010-10-14T10:51:00.004-05:00

If you look closely enough, you can see a little squirrel sticking his head out of the center hole. Having just watched Sense and Sensiblity, he was named Willoughby--rather a fickle gentleman (I can only guess at the gender of this critter, however).

A friend and I watched Willoughby all Sunday afternoon. He was busy climbing to the top of trees, finding just the right leaves, then quickly returning to this place of safety with those same leaves in his mouth. He would disappear for quite some time then stick his head out to make sure all was well before he emerged again.

As fun as it has been to watch this process--just this past week I violated one of my most heartfelt desires. I have always, always, always wanted to be a "safe place" . . . and last week, when a granddaughter confided in me, I closed the door on that place of safety for her. Oh, it wasn't anything life threatning, nor was it a secret from her parents. And I suppose that one day we will look back and see it as not nearly as large as it seems now. But the fact remains--I didn't provide her with the safety she sought. That place where she could be and say all that was on her heart.

The thing that hurts me the very worst is that it will probably be a long, long time before she returns seeking shelter from her life's storms. (You do remember how stormy 16 years old can be, don't you?) And no matter how many tears I have shed, or apologies I make--words cannot be taken back.

I urge you--all of you who may take the time to read these puny words--THINK before uttering your own.

Instead of unconditional love--she found advice she didn't ask for. Instead of a place where she could feel safe--she was scolded and shut out. Words- - - instead of using them to build up--I used them to tear down.

I can only pray I didn't destroy.

MIND NOT HIGH THINGS . . . ROMANS 12:16

2010-10-01T11:35:00.003-05:00

This funny pizza-looking object is actually a plastic mat that fits in the bottom of my kitchen sink. Can't get much more commonplace than the bottom of a sink--right? I actually have two of them and I don't believe I will ever have to use the second one in my lifetime as I am quite sure, based on the experience I've had, that this one will never wear out.

Not only does this mat protect glassware or any other breakable object that might otherwise be bumped and broken in the process of washing dishes. . . but it is also a constant reminder of two very giving people, Linda and Sue, who, without much money at their ready, always managed a way to give. Giving is a spiritual gift and they have used theirs in countless ways to brighten the lives of those around them. And, like, this funny little plastic cushion, a spiritual gift doesn't wear out.

Oh, you can stick it in a drawer (like the twin to this one) and never have to worry about it getting stained with the leftover goop you normally find in the bottom of the sink after washing dishes, or perhaps cut by sharp knives, or letting residue build up on the other side that you wouldn't want a health inspector to see.

Or--you can put it to use and take all the chances. When this one gets grungy--and it does get nasty even though it is used with soap and water--I get out the bleach and a soft brush and in seconds it is shiny, clean, sterilized and ready to go again. But--no matter how clean it is. . . it's life will be spent basically unobserved by others.

I was thinking of this very lesson last night when I found myself doing dishes after 10:00 o'clock. Why don't I use the dishwasher--some of you are lamenting? Well, for the most part there are only the two of us and it doesn't take me as long to wash them by hand as it would to load, wash, unload and put away from the dishwasher.

We left home around 3;00 o'clock yesterday to drive to a volleyball and football game that our second oldest granddaughter was taking part in--playing volleyball, cheering for the football team. I left dishes on the counter, and gunk in the sink. Iknow, I know--what would people have thought if we had been in an accident and they had to come help--kinda of like when your mama always told you to wear clean underwear when you were going out.

I suppose the bottom line--and the one that really got me thinking was this: Am I willing to be on the bottom? Am I willing to be the "mat" which receives from others grunge that I had no part in the making? Am I willing to "cushion" the sharp objects (words, deeds, etc.) that are thrown at me? And--more than anything--am I willing to have the heat and soap applied, and--if need be- the brush loaded with bleach to clean me up again?

Am I willing to be used in the manner for which God has equipped me--instead of wishing for something else? Even if it means--BEING AT THE BOTTOM?

My question to you, dear reader: What is your spiritual gift? And--are you using it? Or is it stuffed away in a drawer somewhere?

PERSEVERANCE

2010-09-26T20:14:00.004-05:00

This is Amy--our nine-year-old granddaughter. She worked all summer long, and finally landed her very first fish ever this afternoon. She never gave up. Every time she came to the lake she ran to get her pole and waited. Often it seemed she would cast for hours--cast it out, reel it in, over and over again. And just as often she would go home with nothing to show for her very patient efforts.

Today seemed to be just another day much the same. She and grandpa went to the bait shop and got worms but it wasn't until she was leaving and ran to reel in her pole one last time that she caught her very first fish. It wasn't a big fish--wouldn't even feed her--but it WAS a fish. She took it home with her and put it in their stock tank. And no matter how many more she catches--probably none will hold the wonder and excitemen that this first one did.

Fishing is much like writing. You work and work--throwing out the bait (submitting) and more often than not reel your line back in with nothing (rejection slips).

Oh, that I would have the perseverance of this granddaughter!!!

I recently returned from ACFW conference in Indianapolis. I went kicking and screaming. After all, I had thrown out my line last year and my hook came back empty. I hardly had enough bait to even cast again . . . but God gave the increase.

I have 18 months in which to finish a manuscript and submit it to a senior editor from a major publishing house that was interested enough to give me a chance. Pray, with me--all you who visit this commonplace from time to time. I'm not asking you to pray that I will make an impression, or that the editor will be able to sell the idea to her commitee--only that I will finish well.

And that I will persevere for His glory alone. Come with me, please, on this new novel journey.

MAKE ME A SERVANT

2010-09-15T22:33:00.002-05:00

It's 10:30 p.m.. I should be in bed, but want to jot this down first. Tomorrow morning I leave for ACFW conference in Indianapolis, Indiana. Last year was my first year to attend and it blew me away. I went to Denver with a manuscript completely done. . .a one-sheet for the ms and also one for the planned series. I met with an agent and an editor and was encouraged by both. The whole experience was overwhelming. And I couldn't wait to go again.

Well, one year later and so much has changed. We made a major move. I do NOT have a book finished. I do NOT have a one-sheet ready for this manuscript, although I do have one for the planned series. And if I could have had my registration fee returned, I would have SO done it.

But the one recurring thought, as the result of a post on the ACFW loop by the president of ACFW--What if? What if all I am supposed to do is be a blessing to someone else. What if no one--and I mean absolutely no one--is interested in my manuscript. What if, when I meet with the author who is doing my paid critique, she says "go home, and find a different pasttime"? So---what if?

I've pondered that question a lot. And I'm asking for all your prayers that I will go with a servant heart. I am asking the Lord to make me sensitive to those around me--to know when someone needs an encouraging word--or even a look to let them know they are not alone in this wacky writing world. I am taking along 50 little glass hearts and asking the Lord to show me who is to receive one of them. Perhaps the person who serves my coffee at breakfast? Or the person sitting alone while the world is spinning around her. Maybe my roommate, whom I have never met. Of course--my traveling buddies, and the agent and editor and paid critiquer I meet with.

It really doesn't matter this year whether I sell a book or not. Yes--I would love confirmation as to whether I should continue writing--but God will give me that if I seek His face. And if He says "quit", then I want to be willing to do that, also.

Lord, give me the peace that can only come from You . . . and make me a servant, I pray.

Thank you for your prayers.

OUT ON A LIMB . . . ON A BAD HAIR DAY

2010-09-10T13:53:00.003-05:00

Ever feel like this? Out on a limb and having a bad hair day?

It was a misty moisty morning here on the lake. And this poor buzzard sat perched way out on this skinny little branch. Didn't seem to even be aware that there were branches on nearby trees, protected by leaves where the he could have taken refuge.

What you can't see is how often he "preened". I suppose he was trying to dry himself off, but from my vantage point it looked as though he were trying and trying to get his ruffled feathers to stay in place. Poor bird. You can observe his rather "ruffled" state, however.

When I took this picture I was feeling much the same way. I'm leaving for ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) conference next week . . . and was thinking ..julane, you are SO far out on the limb it is about to break off and take you with it. My book isn't finished--the proposal isn't written--the one sheet not done--and I have no "pitch" as of yet. Oh--it would be so much easier to stay home and forget this whole idea of writing. I'm too old--who will take a chance on this grey-headed woman? (do you detect a bit of self pity here--okay--maybe a whole lot of self pity?)

Then a fellow friend on facebook (Yep, I am an fb'er) posted this verse:
Isaiah 46: 4 NIV . . . Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

So I will continue to edit what I DO have written . . . I WILL get the "pitch" ready (have the entire drive to Indy to practice it on the other three traveling buddies) and, if asked, can have a proposal written when I return home. They don't want hard copies, anyway.

God made that old buzzard--just like he made me. But that's where the analogy stops. You see:

God is my refuge--and He sent His Son to die for me. I'm ashamed I had to be reminded, because . . He was there all the time.

DARE TO BE A DAN. . .DELION

2010-09-08T11:51:00.008-05:00

There she stood, bright yellow head obvious among the green grass and autumn leaves that are beginning to tumble. And believe it or not--she's the first of her kind in our yard this entire summer. She came on her own--uninvited--and dares to stand alone.

Years ago I spoke on "flowers" at a Mother/Daughter event. During that speech I made a comparison between a rose and a dandelion.

Most of us--especially we females--would prefer being a rose--sweet smelling, symbol of love that they are. Yet--consider the dandelion:

1. Ever try to kill one: It's roots sometimes go down three feet. And it's a proven fact that the more the root is cut and scarred--the deeper the root will go.

2. And this little tidbit: Dandelions do not have ovaries and do not need to be fertilized in order to multiply--it is just their nature--it is what they were "born" to do.

3: Mow them off at ground level and what happens? They rise again!! The very next morning. And bring all their friends and relatives with them.

4: And when they become old and grey: The allow the little children to pluck them--huff and puff them--and they scatter only to be seed for more and more just like them.

And a rose:

1. Beautiful to look at--treacherous to hold. A little child is not safe with them.

2. To reproduce they must be nurtured, very carefully, very diligently.

3. Roses don't like wet feet--Really now? No tears? No plunging into the deep? Not even a little wading in unfamiliar territory?

You see--in the long run I guess I'd much rather be a dandelion. I would pray that as the storms buffet and people cut me--my roots would only go deeper. That I might be "rooted" in Him.

I don't want to be the kind of person that has to be coddled in order to reproduce. You know the excuses--"I'll tell them, Lord--when I hear one more good sermon or read one more book on how to make more dandelions--or if you promise me Iwon't have to go alone, or that everyone I meet will be glad to see me?

And my deepest desire, now that I have a "dandelion fuzzy head"--is to be approachable, and available--willing to be scattered not just "hot-housed" with my own kind. Aren't we told to--go ye into all the world? Ahh--the world. The dangerous, Godless world where I might even be mowed down. But wait--won't I rise again?

Oh, I'm sure this little yellow-haird lady will go by the wayside if my hubby finds her.

Yet--for just a moment, on this very quiet, still, autumn morning at Camp Shiloh--I challenge you--wherever you might be--to . . .

Dare to be a Dan--delion.!!

IT'S THE LITTLE THINGS YOU GOTTA WATCH.

2010-09-01T19:35:00.005-05:00

Did I say I didn't like spiders? See--this little thing wasn't at all intimidated by the fact that his prey was MUCH larger than he. Fortunately, this was daytime and I could see very well where he was, and he was busy trying to store his catch under the seam of the siding so wasn't all that interested in me, either--until he realized I was looking at him. When I got the camera too close he actually stood up on his hind legs (they do have hind legs) . . . but he never let got of this moth.

Another lesson--whether you want it or not. The enemy isn't always bigger than we are. There are things out there that look rather small and insignificant than can snare you before you know it. And guess what--the "snarer" (Okay, so it isn't a real word but you know what I mean) isn't going to let go easily. After I took this picture I poked at this spider with a stick. He moved around, up and over and around trying its best to get to a place of safety--but he never let go of the prey. He was determined it was going with him.

Think about it. What small, insignificant predator has you ensnared and won't turn you loose?

I FINALLY used a flyswatter and killed the spider. Then and only then was the prey free, but it was too late to save its life.

You have to consider the small things--go right to the source--and use a swatter!!

OH WHAT WEBS . . .

2010-08-30T19:44:00.002-05:00

I don't like spiders but I am intrigued by their webs. Not the lacy things that hang in the corners of my rooms, but the intricately woven ones that adorn fences, grass and between the banister of our deck this time of year. There is something almost magical about the way the sun shines on the dew that collects during the night and turns them into little "bling blings"

But as much as I am enchanted by their morning appearance--there is nothing worse than running into one at night. Maybe because one knows that at nighttime there is more likely to be a spider hiding in the middle. I want to know where the culprit is perched. And--did you ever notice that after you have inadvertenly encountered the web, you are just SURE you can feel the spider crawling on you -- everywhere?

Life is like that, you know. Often what intrigues and fascinates us by day turns into something more sinister at night. But even in the daytime - - the spider is there. She instinctively hides herself and hopes her prey forgets where they last saw her.

I wish there were a way one could see the dangers that lurk--could remember where one saw the predator -- and remember that what looks beautiful and mystic in the daylight often is just danger in disguise.

I wish Charolette were here to spin her magic . . . and I wish I could pass it on without being an old fogey!!

LIFELINE

2010-08-25T09:52:00.005-05:00

We live in a cove--two houses on one side of us--timber on the other, and lake in front. The house next to us is a "weekender"--Chris. We love her and look forward to her visits here. She was here for a couple of weeks, and will be back over Labor Day. She is becoming a dear friend.

Living on the other side of her are "permanent dwellers", Larry and Marietta. There's not a whole lot of us out here. 350 home sites and perhaps 60 occupied full time. But, it's a small world, and these dear neighbors know a LOT of the same people we do. It's been fun getting acquainted with them. . . and to share mutual "stuff".

But the most amazing thing to us has been--Larry has emphysema and is on oxygen at all times. But does it slow him down? NO. Actually, this morning he is in our yard talking with Bob and his oxygen tubing is attached to his concentrator IN his home, two houses away. Never in our whole life have we ever seen such a LONG supply line.

Now, Larry does everything attached to his "life line". He mows the yard (oxygen tank on his mower), works in his shop (grinding, etc.), tends to his fire pit (oxygen tubing surrounding). My Bob--fireman that he is--is constantly sucking in his breath when he sees this tubing going places where most men would fear to trod--hooked to O2. But Larry is fearless.

Sometimes he rides his lawn mower, or little scooter thingy, over to our house and will sit on the deck with us. To get onto our deck requires climbing several steps--and up he'll come, oxygen tank and all. We are learning to love these two dear people and marvel daily at Larry's "gumption".

What a lesson, that LONG supply line.

Oh, that we would be so attached to Him who is the giver of life--our supply line--without whom we can do nothing. Larry is busy about his day, doing what he can, often more than he should, and doesn't let anything stop him.

I can't see Larry and My Bob visiting from my office window--but I can see the tubing as it snakes across the yard, past the trees, around the corner of the deck. A squirrel has scampered over it and Marietta's faithful black lab, Star, sniffs at it now and again as she tries to figure out where the squirrel went.

My Bob just came in and told me that when Larry first came the tubing wouldn't reach--so he went back home and got an extension.

Lord, may my "supply line" always be visible to others. May they never have to question from whom (or where) my strength cometh. And when I become discouraged that I don't seem to be "reaching" others--don't allow me to "stop short" . . . Be Thou My Extension.

And God Bless Larry!

MY MUSE. . . BUT NOT MY REASON FOR WRITING

2010-08-16T17:56:00.005-05:00

This funny little lady is my muse--my "get 'er done" encourager that lives right outside my office window. I discovered her one day quite by accident. Just writing away--then hit a big chuckhole. Characters left me to get out of the mess by myself, and I found myself staring off into space.

Then--there she was. Oh, at first she was missing one eybrow, didn't have a nose or a mouth--but there was SO much potential. One fat permanent black magic marker in the hands of my 9-year-old granddaughter was all it took. Don't you just love her funny little pug nose?

But to be real truthful--as much as I love her--this funny friend is NOT the reason I write. And while it would be really cool to be published, or to even have an agent who wanted me to be published. . .that's not why I write, either.

If you ever get a chance to read any of my stories you will soon discover that my characters are all very flawed. Especially physically. Maybe because I was the mother of two girls who had less than perfect physical bodies. Perhaps because now, reading their journals, I understand how deeply they hurt at times--and were hurt. How very much they wanted to be like other girls, to have a love and be loved. To be wives and mothers. To have homes of their own. Yet--through it all, the one constant strain in THEIR writing--GOD IS SUFFICIENT, ENOUGH, LOVE PERSONIFIED.

If, in my writing, I can give hope to one person who has found themselves feeling so unlovely, for one reason or another--perhaps not physical but emotional or spiritual or whatever tag you may want to put on it--if in my writing they yearn to know Him and find what it is to be truly loved by the Giver of all that is good--then, that is why I write.

And it just could be that by writing of such things I, too, am reminded how Great is God.

I will keep visiting with my silly little muse posted outside my window. But she is not the reason I write--HE IS.

. . . BUT THE LORD LOOKS ON THE HEART . . .

2010-08-13T09:11:00.008-05:00

One of the first questions Bob had, even before we bought this property, was "Can I build a shop?" The answer was "no". We went home dejected and disappointed. But then, after paying close attention to the properties around us Bob asked . . . "Can I build a boathouse and use it as a shop?" This time the answer was "yes". Go figure.

You can see by the progression of these pictures that by building a "boathouse" we had to place it closer to the water, thus obscurring our view of the lake a bit. Now--it doesn't change the fact the lake exists right where it always did . . . we just can't see it as clearly.

Though the outside is done, and people have stopped by to look and admire. . . the inside is still a work in progress. Bob is busy putting in studs so he can run electricity and hang OSB board on the walls. Then the workbenches can be placed and the tools brought out of storage from hither, tither and beyond . . . and Bob The Builder can once again create and construct.

It hasn't taken the neighbors long to realize that my hubby can do most anything. He has helped various ones
in the area work on a number of projects. They have watched, with great interest, this building being constructed and will, no doubt, be curious to see what comes out of it.

We pray that what they see when they look this direction is not just the "outside". Like the song . . . "This old house has seen the storms . . . " But oh, we have had a Builder who has come back again and again to prop up the leaning places, patch the holes, gut the insides (right down to the bare walls) and being a "new work". There are two large garage doors, one on each end of this boathouse/shop. When they are open they allow passersby to see directly into and straight through the building. What may look like a big "mess" is really a work still very much in progress.

Lord--when neighbors choose to look our way may they see "open doors" with nothing hidden. May we be a testimony to Your Master craftmanship . . . a building in the progress. A place where Your tools are shaping us . . . sawing off what is not needed . . . sanding down the rough edges . . . hammering sense into our selfish and "set-in-our-ways" minds. And when you choose, Father, to finish this project, we pray that what is left for others to see is only what You created on the inside of these deteriorating buildings . . . clean hearts . . . vessels fit for Your use. . . polished until Your image is clearly revealed.

Father, when you look on our hearts . . . may You be pleased.

. . . "Push out into deep water . . .: Luke 5:4

2010-08-07T13:37:00.004-05:00

We live on a lake--but I'm not all that fond of water. Oh, I love sitting in my swing, safe on the shore, and watching the face of our cove change. I delight in my grandkids laughing and splashing as they swim. I don't even mind, too much, being out in the paddle boat. But I don't like not knowing where I can touch bottom. With the heat we are experiencing the level of the water in our cove has gone down. Moss has gathered along the shorelines around the foliage that grows there. And I can imagine slippery things living in the murkiness. I don't want to go in.

Often at night the waters are so still, so beckoning. Our grandkids have even gone swimming after dark, by the light of the moon, and they giggled and played as though it were midday. Often times there are ripples and sparkles, from winds that blow and sun that shines. Other times, it looks angry and dangerous. But the truth is--nothing has changed except that which can be seen--the surface.

Simon had fished all night, and caught nothing. Not until he obeyed Jesus and "pushed out into the deep" did his nets become full--so full he had to have help pulling them in.

I've been in the "safe places" for way, way too long. I've learned what to say, what to wear, and what to expect. I could go through the rest of my life saying the right words, wearing the appropriate attire and never having a vision because of fear of the deep--and my net would be empty.

I watched two little girls fish from our dock yesterday--from the heat of the day until it became too dark to see. And when they came in the left their poles in the water--so sure they would "catch the big one". They went through the whole gamut of bait--shiney, spinning lures; fuzzy looking, dangling lures; brightly colored worms. They tried casting and reeling--and casting and wating for the bobber to be pulled under. But they never lost faith. When their lines became tangled in the weeds they jumped off the dock, into the "deep", followed the line until they reached the end, then patiently pulled it in, ugly looking green stuff and all. Now the little girls are home again--but their poles are still in the water on our dock--and I have instructions as to how to "pull them in".

Oh Lord, grant me the faith and the patience of those two little girls--the courage to go into the deep, where what I can "see" is murky, at best--and the desire to keep casting, reeling, patiently waiting for You to give the increase.

THINGS I NEVER HAD

2010-05-17T07:38:00.002-05:00

I'm not complaining--just stating the facts, ma'am, just the facts. I never had one of those polyester pant suits. Remember when EVERYONE had one? Well, I never did. I made myself a pair of pants and a matching jacket-like thing once..it was green stripes and I know now I must have looked like one of those giant leaf-eating bugs. But it was the closest thing I ever had that resembled a stylish pant suit.

And, you might not believe this. . . but I have never had a blender. This is my own fault. I don't happen to think kitchen gadgets make good gifts--for me, although my Bob gives the ladies in the house a new spatula every Christmas!! It has become a tradition. But, since I voiced my opinion on kitchen gadgets, I've never had a blender. I have a jar with a lid--and I can shake it pretty good for being a granny!!

And, up until about two weeks ago I didn't have a cell phone. Now--that was a biggie. ALL MY FRIENDS had cell phones. My granddaughters even had cell phones. I threatened to buy a toy one and carry it around with me so I would at least LOOK like I had one. But now . . . . I have my very own--it is bright red and has a keyboard and I text! I really do. I used to scold my oldest granddaughter for texting when she was with me. "Rachel, that's rude", I would say with my most grandma-crabby voice. And it is. But I LOVE to text. Now--on a regular keyboard I can type over 100 wpm but on my itsy-bitsy one I am as slow and awkward as spreading cold butter. And you have to learn how to spell all over again!

But in spite of the things I can laugh about NOT having--I have been so, so richly blessed with all that God has given. Not the material things but rather first of all His love and sacrifice for me; my health--at 70 I take NO pills for anything except perhaps an occasional headache; my hubby of nearly 52 years; our sons and their soul mates who have so lovingly put up with our escapades; our grands; friends near and far; and the list could go on and on and on.

Life it too short to worry about polyester or blenders---but boy, I sure do like that texting!! And, did I mention--the phone is red? TTYL :)