Tuesday, December 20, 2005
TESTING...AGAIN
This is a test...I have been unable to view my blog. I can access it through my blogger dashboard but not by its address. Has anyone else had this problem or is it just my computer? I'm publishing this post to see if it shows up.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
A CHRISTMAS STORY
I received this in an email and thought it was good enough to share:
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the town,
not a sign of Baby Jesus was anywhere to be found.
The people were all busy with Christmastime chores
like decorating and baking and shopping in stores.
No one sang "Away in a manger, no crib for a bed".
Instead, they sang of Santa dressed up in bright red.
Mama watched Martha Stewart, Papa took a short nap
as hour upon hour the presents they'd wrap.
When what from the TV did they suddenly hear?
But an ad...which told of a big sale at Sears.
So away to the mall they all flew like a flash...
buying things on credit and others with cash.
And as they made their way home from their trip to the mall,
did they think about Jesus? Oh no...not at all.
Their lives were so busy with their Christmastime things,
no time to remember Jesus, the King of all Kings.
There were presents to wrap and cookies to bake,
how could they stop and remember who died for their sake?
To pray to the Savior...they had no time to stop
because they needed more time to "shop 'til they dropped".
On WalMart! On K-Mart! On Target! On Penneys!
On Hallmark! On Zales! A quick lunch at Denny's!
From the big stores downtown to the stores at the mall
they would dash away, dash away, and visit them all!
And up on the roof there arose such a clatter
As grandpa hung icicle lights up on his brand new stepladder.
He hung lights that would flash, he hung lights that would twirl;
yet he never once prayed to Jesus...Light of the World.
Christ's eyes...how they twinkle! Christ's spirit...how merry!
Christ's love...how enormous! Our burdens He'll carry!
So instead of being busy, overworked, and uptight
let's put Christ back in Christmas and enjoy some good nights.
Merry Christmas, my friends.
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the town,
not a sign of Baby Jesus was anywhere to be found.
The people were all busy with Christmastime chores
like decorating and baking and shopping in stores.
No one sang "Away in a manger, no crib for a bed".
Instead, they sang of Santa dressed up in bright red.
Mama watched Martha Stewart, Papa took a short nap
as hour upon hour the presents they'd wrap.
When what from the TV did they suddenly hear?
But an ad...which told of a big sale at Sears.
So away to the mall they all flew like a flash...
buying things on credit and others with cash.
And as they made their way home from their trip to the mall,
did they think about Jesus? Oh no...not at all.
Their lives were so busy with their Christmastime things,
no time to remember Jesus, the King of all Kings.
There were presents to wrap and cookies to bake,
how could they stop and remember who died for their sake?
To pray to the Savior...they had no time to stop
because they needed more time to "shop 'til they dropped".
On WalMart! On K-Mart! On Target! On Penneys!
On Hallmark! On Zales! A quick lunch at Denny's!
From the big stores downtown to the stores at the mall
they would dash away, dash away, and visit them all!
And up on the roof there arose such a clatter
As grandpa hung icicle lights up on his brand new stepladder.
He hung lights that would flash, he hung lights that would twirl;
yet he never once prayed to Jesus...Light of the World.
Christ's eyes...how they twinkle! Christ's spirit...how merry!
Christ's love...how enormous! Our burdens He'll carry!
So instead of being busy, overworked, and uptight
let's put Christ back in Christmas and enjoy some good nights.
Merry Christmas, my friends.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
COME THOU LONG EXPECTED JESUS
Every December, for the past nineteen years, our family has anticipated the celebration of Jesus's birth by setting up our nativity scene in the center of a candle-ring graced with evergreen sprigs and lit by four candles; three of them purple, one pink. We light the first purple candle during supper on the first Sunday in Advent, followed by the second and third purple candles on the successive Sunday evenings. We light the pink candle the fourth Sunday as the Christ candle.
We also have a wall hanging we put up that pictures the background for the manger scene. Each night there is a figure to be put on the background, affixed there with Poster Tack. It begins with a small city of Bethlehem on the horizon followed by lambs, sheep, a cow, donkey, camels, shepherds, Wise Men, Mary, Joseph, a bright star, angels, and finally, the Baby Jesus. This Advent set came with a pamphlet that contains a scripture verse and prayer to be read for each figure.
We have been observing Advent this way since Ramsey's second Christmas and it is looked forward to every year. Except this year, Ramsey, who is going on twenty has complained that it is getting boring. We told him, "Tough. You loved this when you were growing up the same way your sisters and brother do. We look forward to continuing the tradition with our grandchildren." (We got an eyeroll on that one.) Funny thing is, Ramsey still wants to be the one to put up certain "favorite" pieces, ie., the star, the Gloria Angel, the shepherd boy, and, of course, the Baby in the manger. And, boy, if someone sticks one of the figures in the "wrong" spot he is quick to correct them. When we kid him about having the scene layout memorized from the picture on the front of the pamphlet he retorts grumpily, "Well, yeah, after all these years it's burned in my brain." That's a good thing.
And he's already staked his claim to putting up the final, crowning piece this year: the Baby Jesus.
We also have a wall hanging we put up that pictures the background for the manger scene. Each night there is a figure to be put on the background, affixed there with Poster Tack. It begins with a small city of Bethlehem on the horizon followed by lambs, sheep, a cow, donkey, camels, shepherds, Wise Men, Mary, Joseph, a bright star, angels, and finally, the Baby Jesus. This Advent set came with a pamphlet that contains a scripture verse and prayer to be read for each figure.
We have been observing Advent this way since Ramsey's second Christmas and it is looked forward to every year. Except this year, Ramsey, who is going on twenty has complained that it is getting boring. We told him, "Tough. You loved this when you were growing up the same way your sisters and brother do. We look forward to continuing the tradition with our grandchildren." (We got an eyeroll on that one.) Funny thing is, Ramsey still wants to be the one to put up certain "favorite" pieces, ie., the star, the Gloria Angel, the shepherd boy, and, of course, the Baby in the manger. And, boy, if someone sticks one of the figures in the "wrong" spot he is quick to correct them. When we kid him about having the scene layout memorized from the picture on the front of the pamphlet he retorts grumpily, "Well, yeah, after all these years it's burned in my brain." That's a good thing.
And he's already staked his claim to putting up the final, crowning piece this year: the Baby Jesus.
Friday, December 09, 2005
WREATH ROUNDUP
Well, it's that time of the year again. Yep, the holidays, Christmas and the New Year. All the preparation and planning. And, for our family, this includes making wreaths. For a few years now we've made them to give as gifts. I may be slightly prejudiced, but our wreaths are extraordinarily nice. We use a variety of native greens: double balsam is the mainstay with accent pieces of cedar, spruce, princess pine, and white pine. They are decorated with a burgundy or red velour bow, a few pine cones with their tips painted white, and clusters of red berries. Not too cluttered or gawdy. I would post a picture of one, but I don't have the ability (know-how & technology) to do that yet...maybe next year.
Which brings me to the next part of this post: Our gift wreaths have been well received and appreciated by friends and family; so well, that people have encouraged us to make them for sale. That hasn't been feasible until now. Our wreaths are made with a steel clamp-ring form. This requires using a clamp machine and in the past I've borrowed one from a friend. But I've had to wait until she was done making her wreaths and this often wasn't until right before Christmas...too late for me to make them for sale.
This year we invested in our own clamp machine, a case of 100 clamp-ring forms, a case of ribbon, six spools of florist wire, and a case each of red berries and white berries. To the tune of about $400 (gulp!). As with any business, there's always an initial start-up cost. We weren't able to make this investment until this month, which is really too late for any great sales promotion for this holiday season, but we are planning to launch it as a family business next year.
Making wreaths is a lot of work; starting with going out to harvest all the different evergreen boughs (which requires the purchase of a permit). Then clipping the the boughs to size, bundling four or five pieces of balsam with an accent piece, such as princess pine or cedar, placing it in the form and closing the clamps with the machine. Repeat that process thirteen more times for each wreath and trim any stray pieces to give a uniform appearance. Then comes decorating; the worst part is making the bow. I hate making bows! To get a nice bow, I use about nine feet of 2 5/8 inch wide ribbon and loop, twist, tie, and pray through gritted teeth. Sometimes they turn out...sometimes I start over. After I attach the ribbon to the wreath with florist wire, I wire on pine cones and berries. Voila! Takes about an hour from start to finish for one wreath, not counting cutting and clipping boughs and making the dreaded bow.
Ideally, one should harvest the boughs and other greens before we have much snow (it's ALOT of work digging princess pine out from under the snow...like Mark and I did this year), but if you get the boughs too early they dry out, turn brown, and needles fall like rain. So you have to watch the forecast to beat the weather, be in production by early to mid-November to have wreaths ready by deer season and Thanksgiving.
All of this takes place simultaneously with everything else that goes on in our family's life: homeschooling, work, church activities, chores, hunting, and holiday preparations...with a little sleep interspersed here and there! Thankfully, we have four kids who are willing to help make this possible and it didn't hurt to give them a little incentive...any money made from the sale of wreaths will go toward a family vacation.
We'll need one.
Which brings me to the next part of this post: Our gift wreaths have been well received and appreciated by friends and family; so well, that people have encouraged us to make them for sale. That hasn't been feasible until now. Our wreaths are made with a steel clamp-ring form. This requires using a clamp machine and in the past I've borrowed one from a friend. But I've had to wait until she was done making her wreaths and this often wasn't until right before Christmas...too late for me to make them for sale.
This year we invested in our own clamp machine, a case of 100 clamp-ring forms, a case of ribbon, six spools of florist wire, and a case each of red berries and white berries. To the tune of about $400 (gulp!). As with any business, there's always an initial start-up cost. We weren't able to make this investment until this month, which is really too late for any great sales promotion for this holiday season, but we are planning to launch it as a family business next year.
Making wreaths is a lot of work; starting with going out to harvest all the different evergreen boughs (which requires the purchase of a permit). Then clipping the the boughs to size, bundling four or five pieces of balsam with an accent piece, such as princess pine or cedar, placing it in the form and closing the clamps with the machine. Repeat that process thirteen more times for each wreath and trim any stray pieces to give a uniform appearance. Then comes decorating; the worst part is making the bow. I hate making bows! To get a nice bow, I use about nine feet of 2 5/8 inch wide ribbon and loop, twist, tie, and pray through gritted teeth. Sometimes they turn out...sometimes I start over. After I attach the ribbon to the wreath with florist wire, I wire on pine cones and berries. Voila! Takes about an hour from start to finish for one wreath, not counting cutting and clipping boughs and making the dreaded bow.
Ideally, one should harvest the boughs and other greens before we have much snow (it's ALOT of work digging princess pine out from under the snow...like Mark and I did this year), but if you get the boughs too early they dry out, turn brown, and needles fall like rain. So you have to watch the forecast to beat the weather, be in production by early to mid-November to have wreaths ready by deer season and Thanksgiving.
All of this takes place simultaneously with everything else that goes on in our family's life: homeschooling, work, church activities, chores, hunting, and holiday preparations...with a little sleep interspersed here and there! Thankfully, we have four kids who are willing to help make this possible and it didn't hurt to give them a little incentive...any money made from the sale of wreaths will go toward a family vacation.
We'll need one.
Monday, November 28, 2005
DOE, A DEER, A FEMALE DEER...
Well, the Wisconsin regular gun season has closed for another year and it's time for the Buck Report. We have one buck to report. After seven days of the nine-day season passing, with Mark only seeing a couple does, he finally got his buck on Saturday morning. A really nice nine-point. We were all pretty happy, but none more so than Mark, as he'd been getting a little discouraged.
He'd gone out alone that morning, as Taylie wanted to sleep (those 5AM revelies were catching up to her) and Ramsey had to work. It was about 14* below zero (yup!) and Mark said by the time he walked in 400-500 yards he had to stop to catch his wind. Sucking in that cold air while trying to hurry to beat the sunrise was making him feel an asthma attack coming on. As he rested, he surveyed his surroundings in the filtered early morning light and couldn't believe his eyes when he saw, to his left, a picture-perfect buck at about 80 yards. It was standing facing away from him, but looking back over its shoulder at him. As Mark put his rifle up the deer turned its head to look at the doe it was following, giving him only the back of the neck to shoot at. And that's where he hit it, with the shot coming out the buck's cheek. He dropped in his tracks. Nice shot.
Then came the drag back out to the road (puff, puff). As he struggled to load that big guy in the back of the truck by himself a vehicle stuffed with Blaze Orange clad hunters went by honking and giving him the thumbs-up. Thanks, guys.
Taylie's first deer hunt was a bit of a disappointment to her as she never got an opportunity for a shot. But she learned a lot and had some quality time with her Dad. And there's always next year!
Ramsey hung two deer on the "buck pole"; both does, a smaller one taken during the regular season, and one really big doe taken today during the Blackpowder season. Yeah, he's not done yet. Blackpowder goes for ten days, Michigan gun season goes til the end of the month, and late bow season goes until the end of the year. With the six-point buck he took earlier this month during bow season his count is three and he has a few tags to fill yet. He's only slightly obsessed. We've nicknamed him Mini Ted "Whack 'em and Stack ''em" Nugent.
For those who may wonder at all this "slaughter", it is not just done for sport. It is the mainstay of our diet. I buy very little meat from the store; a little pork and chicken once in awhile for variety. We clean and butcher our deer ourselves. Mark de-bones it all, we wrap and freeze the tenderloins, steaks, and a few roasts. We grind a lot of the meat for burger and also make jerky and sausage. We always give my folks a completely processed (cut, wrapped, ground) deer for their Christmas present. None of it goes to waste. We are very thankful for God's provision.
Many people say they don't like venison but I'm convinced they tried meat that was not handled properly: if it hangs too long in warmer weather, if the tallow is not all removed, and if it's butchered with the bones in; all these can give venison that "gamey" taste that turns many people off. Our meat has no such taste. We've had people eat it, not knowing it was venison, and give sincere compliments specifically on the meat. They're shocked when they learn it's venison because they didn't know it could taste so good. And it is very healthy; very little fat and no cholestrol.
We've raised our family on venison, grouse, duck, and fish. The kids get to choose what they want for their birthday dinner and it's almost always venison or fish. Many years ago, when Ramsey was about a year and a half old, we were visiting one of my sisters over the holidays. My sister, Tara, prepared a wonderful pork roast with mashed potatoes, gravy, and all the extras. It was a delicious meal. I fixed a plate for little Ramsey and set it on the highchair tray in front of him. He looked at it and said, "Where's the venison?"
That's my boy.
He'd gone out alone that morning, as Taylie wanted to sleep (those 5AM revelies were catching up to her) and Ramsey had to work. It was about 14* below zero (yup!) and Mark said by the time he walked in 400-500 yards he had to stop to catch his wind. Sucking in that cold air while trying to hurry to beat the sunrise was making him feel an asthma attack coming on. As he rested, he surveyed his surroundings in the filtered early morning light and couldn't believe his eyes when he saw, to his left, a picture-perfect buck at about 80 yards. It was standing facing away from him, but looking back over its shoulder at him. As Mark put his rifle up the deer turned its head to look at the doe it was following, giving him only the back of the neck to shoot at. And that's where he hit it, with the shot coming out the buck's cheek. He dropped in his tracks. Nice shot.
Then came the drag back out to the road (puff, puff). As he struggled to load that big guy in the back of the truck by himself a vehicle stuffed with Blaze Orange clad hunters went by honking and giving him the thumbs-up. Thanks, guys.
Taylie's first deer hunt was a bit of a disappointment to her as she never got an opportunity for a shot. But she learned a lot and had some quality time with her Dad. And there's always next year!
Ramsey hung two deer on the "buck pole"; both does, a smaller one taken during the regular season, and one really big doe taken today during the Blackpowder season. Yeah, he's not done yet. Blackpowder goes for ten days, Michigan gun season goes til the end of the month, and late bow season goes until the end of the year. With the six-point buck he took earlier this month during bow season his count is three and he has a few tags to fill yet. He's only slightly obsessed. We've nicknamed him Mini Ted "Whack 'em and Stack ''em" Nugent.
For those who may wonder at all this "slaughter", it is not just done for sport. It is the mainstay of our diet. I buy very little meat from the store; a little pork and chicken once in awhile for variety. We clean and butcher our deer ourselves. Mark de-bones it all, we wrap and freeze the tenderloins, steaks, and a few roasts. We grind a lot of the meat for burger and also make jerky and sausage. We always give my folks a completely processed (cut, wrapped, ground) deer for their Christmas present. None of it goes to waste. We are very thankful for God's provision.
Many people say they don't like venison but I'm convinced they tried meat that was not handled properly: if it hangs too long in warmer weather, if the tallow is not all removed, and if it's butchered with the bones in; all these can give venison that "gamey" taste that turns many people off. Our meat has no such taste. We've had people eat it, not knowing it was venison, and give sincere compliments specifically on the meat. They're shocked when they learn it's venison because they didn't know it could taste so good. And it is very healthy; very little fat and no cholestrol.
We've raised our family on venison, grouse, duck, and fish. The kids get to choose what they want for their birthday dinner and it's almost always venison or fish. Many years ago, when Ramsey was about a year and a half old, we were visiting one of my sisters over the holidays. My sister, Tara, prepared a wonderful pork roast with mashed potatoes, gravy, and all the extras. It was a delicious meal. I fixed a plate for little Ramsey and set it on the highchair tray in front of him. He looked at it and said, "Where's the venison?"
That's my boy.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
COUNTING MY BLESSINGS
What many regard as the first Thanksgiving took place in December 1621 as the religious Separatist Pilgrims held a three-day feast to celebrate God's provision and a bountiful harvest. The day did not become a national holiday until 1863 when President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday of November a national day of thanksgiving. Later, the ever economy-minded President Franklin Roosevelt declared that Thanksgiving should always be on the fourth Thursday of the month to encourage holiday shopping; never on the occasional fifth Thursday.
I find counting my blessing and looking for things to be thankful for can really make a positive difference in my mood and outlook; not just today, but every day. God has so richly blessed me. Everything I have, everything I need, comes from Him.
I find counting my blessing and looking for things to be thankful for can really make a positive difference in my mood and outlook; not just today, but every day. God has so richly blessed me. Everything I have, everything I need, comes from Him.
MY TOP TEN THINGS TO BE THANKFUL FOR
1) Jesus Christ loved me and died for me before I loved Him.
2) God's grace is sufficient for me.
3) He promised He will never leave me nor forsake me.
4) His strength is made perfect in my weakness.
5) His mercies are new every morning.
6) He has given me a godly husband who loves me, is a good provider,
and a great dad.
7) He has given me four healthy, beautiful children.
8) My children all know Jesus as their Savior.
9) I have everything I need.
10) We enjoy good health.
Those are just the top ten; I could go on and on with big and little things. I hope you all can say the same. Let's make it a point to be thankful everyday; not just on this national holiday.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
PARENTAL IDIOMS
It can be rather dismaying to find yourself spouting forth nonsensical things to your children that your parents spouted at you. You wondered where they came up with these odd expressions and idioms. Now you are hearing them echoing down the ages out of your own mouth. Maybe it's genetic; maybe they got them from their parents.
Maybe not. I'm pretty sure my mother's exclamations of "Oskamalochy" and "Bulshevacky" were original to her. (Is it possible to misspell a non-word?) "Oskamalochy" was her primary expression of extreme alarm upon encountering any spider, snake, or putrefied potato. I've found it rather fitting on similar occasions. "Bulshevacky", I'm pretty sure, was her good Baptist upbringing way of not saying "bullshit". Dad used that term liberally enough for all of us. Personally, I've not found the substitute as safisfying as the real thing.
Most of us have heard the threat, "I'm going to knock you into next week!" But my dad took that one to another level with "I'm gonna hit you so hard you'll wear out rollin'!" or "I'll knock you so hard your kids'll be born dizzy!" I spent a fair amount of time as a youngster pondering that one. Now my kids do.
I'm sure Dad's "Take all you want, but eat all you take" and "Yours is not to question why; yours is but to do or die" came directly from his Marine boot camp experience. And he enforced them like any drill sergeant worth his salt would. I never needed any further clarification on those two and my kids have never asked for any either.
One of my dad's that I never got a handle on was, "This is going to hurt me worse than it hurts you." .....Really?! Eighteen lashes with a wooden spoon on the bare butt later. Thankfully, that's one I've never heard come out of my mouth. And though we did spank our children in their formative years when needed, it was one or two smacks on a clothed bottom.
And there's the dire consequences ones: "You're gonna fall and break your neck", "You're gonna slip and poke your eye out", "You're gonna get the bends and drown", "You're gonna inhale that and choke to death", and last, but not least..."You can drown in two inches of water, ya know!" Unbelievably, I heard that last one come out of my mouth not too long ago.
You know what they say..."The nut doesn't fall too far from the tree!"
Maybe not. I'm pretty sure my mother's exclamations of "Oskamalochy" and "Bulshevacky" were original to her. (Is it possible to misspell a non-word?) "Oskamalochy" was her primary expression of extreme alarm upon encountering any spider, snake, or putrefied potato. I've found it rather fitting on similar occasions. "Bulshevacky", I'm pretty sure, was her good Baptist upbringing way of not saying "bullshit". Dad used that term liberally enough for all of us. Personally, I've not found the substitute as safisfying as the real thing.
Most of us have heard the threat, "I'm going to knock you into next week!" But my dad took that one to another level with "I'm gonna hit you so hard you'll wear out rollin'!" or "I'll knock you so hard your kids'll be born dizzy!" I spent a fair amount of time as a youngster pondering that one. Now my kids do.
I'm sure Dad's "Take all you want, but eat all you take" and "Yours is not to question why; yours is but to do or die" came directly from his Marine boot camp experience. And he enforced them like any drill sergeant worth his salt would. I never needed any further clarification on those two and my kids have never asked for any either.
One of my dad's that I never got a handle on was, "This is going to hurt me worse than it hurts you." .....Really?! Eighteen lashes with a wooden spoon on the bare butt later. Thankfully, that's one I've never heard come out of my mouth. And though we did spank our children in their formative years when needed, it was one or two smacks on a clothed bottom.
And there's the dire consequences ones: "You're gonna fall and break your neck", "You're gonna slip and poke your eye out", "You're gonna get the bends and drown", "You're gonna inhale that and choke to death", and last, but not least..."You can drown in two inches of water, ya know!" Unbelievably, I heard that last one come out of my mouth not too long ago.
You know what they say..."The nut doesn't fall too far from the tree!"
Sunday, November 20, 2005
TEST RUN
Testing...testing...one, two, three...check, check, check...
(I'm not investing a whole lot of myself in this post)
(I'm not investing a whole lot of myself in this post)
BLOG RANT
OK, so you would NOT believe the problems I suffered trying to publish yesterday's post! I began composing it at around 6AM and did not actually semi-successfully publish it until 7PM (with generous breaks to eat, get another cup of coffee, go to the bathroom, bang my head on the computer desk, and attend a friend's jewelry party).
First, about 3/4 of the way through composing, we had a power outage -- GONE! Power came back on minutes later and I started over only to have the power flick off for a few seconds -- GONE AGAIN!! AAARRGH!
Yes, I tried to save my work but was not able to.
After starting over for the THIRD time, typing quickly and not stopping to proofread, I finished and clicked the SAVE AS DRAFT button. Whereupon I received an Error Message: Your HTML cannot be accepted: Tag is broken Huh? I know nothing about Web page technicalities (for years I thought HTML was an abbreviation for Hotmail). I checked my saved drafts and, guess what? Not there!! 'Bout this time my mind is bordering dangerously close to a psychotic break.
I searched through my saved drafts and eventually found it but could only view it in HTML form. I saw typos needing correction and the spacing and font size was all messed up, but I was unable to change any of that. I went to the BlogSpot help sites, read all the current issues, and known problems. No help there. I emailed Blogger support and received a generic email listing topics that might help and found one that had a tutorial about HTML. This quick crash course gave me enough extremely limited understanding to go back and monkey around with a "tag" at the end of my post. This allowed me to finally be able to publish, but not correct errors. When I tried to edit the post I lost it for a while again in cyber neverland. When I finally tracked it down and got it published I had to just suffer the typos, improper spacing, and unwanted font size changes.
I'm telling ya, it was enough to make me give up blogging for good. Obviously, I haven't, but if this post gives me any guff I'm outta here!
First, about 3/4 of the way through composing, we had a power outage -- GONE! Power came back on minutes later and I started over only to have the power flick off for a few seconds -- GONE AGAIN!! AAARRGH!
Yes, I tried to save my work but was not able to.
After starting over for the THIRD time, typing quickly and not stopping to proofread, I finished and clicked the SAVE AS DRAFT button. Whereupon I received an Error Message: Your HTML cannot be accepted: Tag is broken Huh? I know nothing about Web page technicalities (for years I thought HTML was an abbreviation for Hotmail). I checked my saved drafts and, guess what? Not there!! 'Bout this time my mind is bordering dangerously close to a psychotic break.
I searched through my saved drafts and eventually found it but could only view it in HTML form. I saw typos needing correction and the spacing and font size was all messed up, but I was unable to change any of that. I went to the BlogSpot help sites, read all the current issues, and known problems. No help there. I emailed Blogger support and received a generic email listing topics that might help and found one that had a tutorial about HTML. This quick crash course gave me enough extremely limited understanding to go back and monkey around with a "tag" at the end of my post. This allowed me to finally be able to publish, but not correct errors. When I tried to edit the post I lost it for a while again in cyber neverland. When I finally tracked it down and got it published I had to just suffer the typos, improper spacing, and unwanted font size changes.
I'm telling ya, it was enough to make me give up blogging for good. Obviously, I haven't, but if this post gives me any guff I'm outta here!
Saturday, November 19, 2005
MY BUCK STORY
I don't blow the dust off this story too often, but watching my teenage daughter head out early this morning for her first Opening Morning deer hunt flashed me back 29 (!!) years. It goes like this:
The year was 1976 and I was a junior in high school. I had been out of town the two days before Opening Day with fellow thespians at the State Drama Competition. I don't remember the name of 3-act play, but I do remember I played a very pregnant, ditzy woman named Maizy and we won second place. We arrived home around midnight and my dad shagged me out of bed around 5 AM.
Dad had taken me down in the valley below our little farmstead earlier that week and had me shoot his .308 Remington Mohawk at the Ace of Spades he'd tacked to a tree about 30 yards away. He only gave me four rounds and I placed all four on the card with two rounds actually in the spade. "Good enough," he said.
It was COLD Opening Morning with about ten inches of snow on the ground. This was before the days of Blaze Orange so one wore something somewhat red. My get-up happened be a quilted, nylon jacket and pants that made an annoying whish when you moved. Dad hammered into my head what good ears deer have and that I had to be absolutely quiet. We headed out in our old Ford Falcon station wagon to what is known as the Haymeadow Creek area about five miles from our home. We drove in on an old logging road, left the car and walked in about a half mile where he left me sitting under a huge old spruce with branches that hung down to the ground forming a sort of tent. I sat on the hump the roots made and leaned against the trunk, completely screened from view. There was a deer trail passing right by this tree and I could see quite a ways in either direction on it. Dad told me I was not to leave my stand for any reason and he headed off into the woods.
It was crackling cold in the last moments of dark and early dawn. I was freezing within a half an hour. As the woods began to lighten with the coming day the squirrels started stomping around in the dry leaves under other trees. It's unbelievable how loud those little critters are. They kept me on edge as I was sure it was a deer heading my way. The chickadees were almost as bad. They would flit in among the branches of my spruce, perch and check me out with loud dee dee dees.
By 7AM my hands were buried deep in my pockets and I was feeling like a frozen turd. As I was wiggling my toes in my Sorels, trying to get some circulation going, I saw snow falling from some tag alders up alongside the trail. More squirrels or chickadees, I supposed. Suddenly, the alder branches were moving vigorously and then what appeared to be heavier branches pushed through the alders and, without a sound, an 8-point buck stepped out onto the trail. He looked left, right, left for traffic, just as his mama taught him, and then proceeded down the trail toward me and my tree. At this point my hands were in my pockets, the .308 across my knees, and all I could think of was the whish my jacket was going to make if I moved. So I didn't. I watched as the buck walked until he was alongside the spruce I was under and there he stopped. He seemed to sense something was there and he peered through the snow-ladened bows. Then, much to huge dismay, he pushed his antlers, head, and all but his hindquarters through the branches and into my space under the tree! I could have reached out and scratched him between the ears, he was that close. His head was lowered and he just looked me in the eye. I don't think I blinked and I don't know if I was even breathing. He was 'cuz his breath was curling from his nose.
"What the hell's that matter with you?"
"He trusted me and I SHOT him!"
Dad just looked at me like I'd gone loco. He had never shot a nice buck in all his years of hunting; though he'd always put meat on the table, if you get my drift.
I pulled myself together and we dragged that buck out to the Falcon, loaded him up and it wasn't until we ran into the first group of local hunters that I started to feel a little better. They were quite impressed with my kill. When we stopped at my grandparents' on the way home, I thought my grandpa was going to burst with pride. Mom was very proud and my younger sisters were amazed. During the course of that winter I felt a growing sense of pride in my accomplishment overshadowing my remorse for my betrayal of the deer as his meat fed our family.
So there you have it. My buck story. I hunted for another nine seasons and never got a shot at another deer. I was nearly shot by another hunter one year and another year I was run over by a herd of deer. The last year I went out I was four months pregnant with my first child and decided the blood that should have been in my extremities was collected in my womb nourishing that baby and it was too dang cold to pee in the woods every half hour.
AFTERWORD: When we butchered that deer my dad cut off the rack and put in the loft of the horse barn where it stayed most of the winter. In the spring I noticed it was gone and Dad said it had maggots on it and he got rid of it. I was bummed because I'd wanted to mount it somehow. The following October I turned 17 and we had my birthday dinner at my grandparents'. The best gift I received was from my proud grandfather: he had soaked the deer skull in a lye solution and mounted the rack on a piece of oak he'd cut from an old pew from the Catholic Church that was torn down a few years before. He used to be a tool-and-die man and with his tools he'd stamped these words onto a brass plate he affixed to the oak:
The year was 1976 and I was a junior in high school. I had been out of town the two days before Opening Day with fellow thespians at the State Drama Competition. I don't remember the name of 3-act play, but I do remember I played a very pregnant, ditzy woman named Maizy and we won second place. We arrived home around midnight and my dad shagged me out of bed around 5 AM.
Dad had taken me down in the valley below our little farmstead earlier that week and had me shoot his .308 Remington Mohawk at the Ace of Spades he'd tacked to a tree about 30 yards away. He only gave me four rounds and I placed all four on the card with two rounds actually in the spade. "Good enough," he said.
It was COLD Opening Morning with about ten inches of snow on the ground. This was before the days of Blaze Orange so one wore something somewhat red. My get-up happened be a quilted, nylon jacket and pants that made an annoying whish when you moved. Dad hammered into my head what good ears deer have and that I had to be absolutely quiet. We headed out in our old Ford Falcon station wagon to what is known as the Haymeadow Creek area about five miles from our home. We drove in on an old logging road, left the car and walked in about a half mile where he left me sitting under a huge old spruce with branches that hung down to the ground forming a sort of tent. I sat on the hump the roots made and leaned against the trunk, completely screened from view. There was a deer trail passing right by this tree and I could see quite a ways in either direction on it. Dad told me I was not to leave my stand for any reason and he headed off into the woods.
It was crackling cold in the last moments of dark and early dawn. I was freezing within a half an hour. As the woods began to lighten with the coming day the squirrels started stomping around in the dry leaves under other trees. It's unbelievable how loud those little critters are. They kept me on edge as I was sure it was a deer heading my way. The chickadees were almost as bad. They would flit in among the branches of my spruce, perch and check me out with loud dee dee dees.
By 7AM my hands were buried deep in my pockets and I was feeling like a frozen turd. As I was wiggling my toes in my Sorels, trying to get some circulation going, I saw snow falling from some tag alders up alongside the trail. More squirrels or chickadees, I supposed. Suddenly, the alder branches were moving vigorously and then what appeared to be heavier branches pushed through the alders and, without a sound, an 8-point buck stepped out onto the trail. He looked left, right, left for traffic, just as his mama taught him, and then proceeded down the trail toward me and my tree. At this point my hands were in my pockets, the .308 across my knees, and all I could think of was the whish my jacket was going to make if I moved. So I didn't. I watched as the buck walked until he was alongside the spruce I was under and there he stopped. He seemed to sense something was there and he peered through the snow-ladened bows. Then, much to huge dismay, he pushed his antlers, head, and all but his hindquarters through the branches and into my space under the tree! I could have reached out and scratched him between the ears, he was that close. His head was lowered and he just looked me in the eye. I don't think I blinked and I don't know if I was even breathing. He was 'cuz his breath was curling from his nose.
INTERMISSION
(Ya'll can take a potty break 'cuz this saga's not done yet.)
I don't know how long we were like that, me looking at him looking at me with my hands in my pockets, rifle across my lap, and my mind a blank. Then he calmly backed out from under the spruce, flicked his tail once, and walked on down the trail. He did not run and did not seemed at all disturbed by our encounter. Only my eyes moved as I watched him disappear 40 or 50 yards down the trail until he hung a right around some small balsams. Then I suddenly unthawed, both body and mind. I can't believe that just happened...good thing there's tracks in the snow, 'cuz Dad would never believe this...I can't believe I didn't shoot...I just let him walk away! I turned around and knelt on the side of the root hump and looked in the direction the deer had disappeared. All of a sudden I saw him in an opening between the balsams. I quickly shouldered the rifle, put the crosshairs of the scope right behind his shoulder, took a breath, let it half out as I took up the slack on the trigger, held my breath and squeezed off the shot. Not being solidly positioned on that hump, the recoil knocked me off balance and I tipped back on my rump. I ejected the empty casing, put on the safety, dusted myself off, and sat back down on the hump to wait for my dad. Well, at least I can say I shot at the darn thing.
I didn't go look to see if I'd actually hit the deer because I really didn't think I had and, besides, Dad told me not to leave my stand for any reason.
About 20 minutes later, I could hear him whistling, "The infantry, the infantry, with the dirt behind their ears! The infantry, the infantry, could drink their weight in beers! The artillery and the calvary and all of them engineers could never lick the infantry in a hundred million years!" He'd heard my shot and asked what I'd seen. I told him what has happened and showed him the tracks. He told me to sit tight and he followed the trail of the deer. I was busy wondering if we were gonna get to go home for lunch when I heard him call, "Lo, you better get over here!" I trudged through the snow figuring I might have winged this deer and we were going to have to track him. I came around the balsams and there was Dad standing over the buck who had taken one leap and piled up in the snow. My shot had entered right where I'd aimed and come out the opposite shoulder passing right through the heart and lungs. He was dead before he ever hit the ground.
About 20 minutes later, I could hear him whistling, "The infantry, the infantry, with the dirt behind their ears! The infantry, the infantry, could drink their weight in beers! The artillery and the calvary and all of them engineers could never lick the infantry in a hundred million years!" He'd heard my shot and asked what I'd seen. I told him what has happened and showed him the tracks. He told me to sit tight and he followed the trail of the deer. I was busy wondering if we were gonna get to go home for lunch when I heard him call, "Lo, you better get over here!" I trudged through the snow figuring I might have winged this deer and we were going to have to track him. I came around the balsams and there was Dad standing over the buck who had taken one leap and piled up in the snow. My shot had entered right where I'd aimed and come out the opposite shoulder passing right through the heart and lungs. He was dead before he ever hit the ground.
I was stunned. Dad was just grinning and shaking his head. I started to run around squealing and he told me to pipe down or I'd have ever hunter in Vilas County showing up. As he proceeded to show me how to gut it, the awful truth hit me like a ton of bricks. He trusted me and I shot him! To Dad's dismay, I began to cry.
"What the hell's that matter with you?"
"He trusted me and I SHOT him!"
Dad just looked at me like I'd gone loco. He had never shot a nice buck in all his years of hunting; though he'd always put meat on the table, if you get my drift.
I pulled myself together and we dragged that buck out to the Falcon, loaded him up and it wasn't until we ran into the first group of local hunters that I started to feel a little better. They were quite impressed with my kill. When we stopped at my grandparents' on the way home, I thought my grandpa was going to burst with pride. Mom was very proud and my younger sisters were amazed. During the course of that winter I felt a growing sense of pride in my accomplishment overshadowing my remorse for my betrayal of the deer as his meat fed our family.
So there you have it. My buck story. I hunted for another nine seasons and never got a shot at another deer. I was nearly shot by another hunter one year and another year I was run over by a herd of deer. The last year I went out I was four months pregnant with my first child and decided the blood that should have been in my extremities was collected in my womb nourishing that baby and it was too dang cold to pee in the woods every half hour.
AFTERWORD: When we butchered that deer my dad cut off the rack and put in the loft of the horse barn where it stayed most of the winter. In the spring I noticed it was gone and Dad said it had maggots on it and he got rid of it. I was bummed because I'd wanted to mount it somehow. The following October I turned 17 and we had my birthday dinner at my grandparents'. The best gift I received was from my proud grandfather: he had soaked the deer skull in a lye solution and mounted the rack on a piece of oak he'd cut from an old pew from the Catholic Church that was torn down a few years before. He used to be a tool-and-die man and with his tools he'd stamped these words onto a brass plate he affixed to the oak:
TAKEN BY
LORA CORSER -16 -
WITH ONE
SHOT
NOV -21-1976
Friday, November 11, 2005
VENISON FOR A VETERAN
A couple weeks ago I informed the four kids that they were all going to be responsible for planning and preparing one supper a month. I said they had to keep the cost under $10 and that included dessert, if they wanted it. Ramsey, of course, dug in his heels and objected to this idea, but the other three enthusiastically started looking at cookbooks and in the freezer, pantry, and cupboards. Wylie was the first to pick his day to cook and claimed today, Veteran's Day. I asked him if we should invite Papa (my dad) to join us for the meal and he liked that idea as well.
Wy wanted to learn to cook fish, venison, and duck. We have plenty of duck, thanks to Ramsey, but no venison as of two days ago. So Wy was going with duck. Tuesday evening I checked messages on the answering machine and heard a twangy, redneck voice say, "Venison. It's what's for dinner." Couple hours later there was a nice six-point hanging in the garage. And Wyler switched gears on his dinner menu: tenderloin, mashed potatoes, and corn with cranberry-apple cobbler for dessert.
My dad is coming down from Ontonagon to participate in the Veteran's Day ceremony held every year at the school, then he'll go to the nursing home to visit the vets who reside there, and also go spend some time with a fellow Marine and Korean vet who is slowly dying of cancer.
Dad did his part in serving his country and now he's doing his part in remembering, honoring, and encouraging fellow veterans. I'm glad to do my part and teach my children to never forget the sacrifices made by their grandfather and so many others. Are you doing your part?
Wy wanted to learn to cook fish, venison, and duck. We have plenty of duck, thanks to Ramsey, but no venison as of two days ago. So Wy was going with duck. Tuesday evening I checked messages on the answering machine and heard a twangy, redneck voice say, "Venison. It's what's for dinner." Couple hours later there was a nice six-point hanging in the garage. And Wyler switched gears on his dinner menu: tenderloin, mashed potatoes, and corn with cranberry-apple cobbler for dessert.
My dad is coming down from Ontonagon to participate in the Veteran's Day ceremony held every year at the school, then he'll go to the nursing home to visit the vets who reside there, and also go spend some time with a fellow Marine and Korean vet who is slowly dying of cancer.
Dad did his part in serving his country and now he's doing his part in remembering, honoring, and encouraging fellow veterans. I'm glad to do my part and teach my children to never forget the sacrifices made by their grandfather and so many others. Are you doing your part?
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
WHERE IS THE TOLERANCE?
I find myself growing increasingly intolerant of the intolerance I see among the proponents of tolerance. Allow me to share here something written by Franklin Graham, son of Billy Graham, which aptly expresses what I have been thinking and feeling:
Tolerance has become the new watchword of our times. It is heralded as perhaps the highest virtue in Western culture that glues people of differing backgrounds and ideologies together for the sake of promoting cultural unity. And why shouldn't it be? It sounds good, right? In fact, it sounds so good that anyone who would dare talk negatively about this sacred cow of civility would almost be considered immoral. But that's just the point. The media and the governmental bureaucrats tell us to be tolerant of everything and anything except the Gospel of salvation, all in the name of political correctness. It seems almost ironic that Christians are not being tolerated by such a "tolerant" society.
So I admit, I get frustrated and a bit defensive when I encounter intolerance toward the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ. In Western societies these days, just about any viewpoint, religion, or behavior is exempt from criticism in the name of "tolerance". It is "politically incorrect" to give anything but reverent respect to the most off-the-wall ideas that come from individuals. All of this is done in the name of "tolerance".
But such tolerance is not universal. One of the few loopholes in the "law of tolerance" involves followers of the Name of Jesus Christ. If you are a born-again Christian, don't expect the same tolerance that others enjoy -- the playing field is not level as it relates to other beliefs. For decades now, Christians have been on the run over issues like prayer in public forums and Nativity scenes erected on public property.
To illustrate: Since the September 11 attacks, there has been heightened interest in America concerning Islam. For instance, one California school district went so far as to require seventh grade students to learn the tenets of Islam, study important persons in the history of the religion, learn verses from the Koran, pray "in the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful," and chant "Praise to Allah, Lord of Creation."
Can you imagine the lawsuits that would raise their ugly heads if a teacher commanded students to memorize Bible verses, recite the Lord's Prayer, or pray in the Name of Jesus? Any teacher that would allow this would be fired, and the school district sued!
Christians are increasingly not tolerated because they are viewed as intolerant! In the past, "tolerance" in matters of faith meant respectful acknowledgment of different ideas. It did not mean that all such ideas were granted equal validity as truth. It makes me wonder why other religions are able to promote their theology in public forums. Even our government seems to bend over backward to give them a hearing. But these days if you mention the Name of Jesus or seek to discuss Christian ideas publicly, you risk being labeled by the media-created term "the religious right" and are considered a dangerous threat to the doctrine of the separation of church and state.
An FBI analysis show that Thomas Jefferson's views on church and state weren't what we've heard -- far from it. When Jefferson penned his now famous phrase, "a wall of separation between Church and State", in a letter dated January 1, 1802, to the Danbury Baptist Association in Connecticut, did he expect it to be memorable? Maybe. A 1998 FBI laboratory analysis of the letter showed that Jefferson labored over that portion of the letter, perhaps fussing over its political impact. But did our third president expect his words to effectively drive religion out of the public square? No. Jefferson's initial draft reveals his understanding that the federal government simply lacked jurisdiction over religion. So who gave us the wall of separation that renders prayers at graduations and in public parks unconstitutional? The author of that wall was not Jefferson, but U.S. Supreme Court Justice Hugo Black, appointed by Franklin Roosevelt in 1937 and who served until his death in 1971. In a number of rulings he helped write, Black used Jefferson's language, but not Jefferson's meaning. Black's separationist leanings became more aggressive over time, resulting in rulings that ordered the removal of religious instruction, prayer and Bible reading from public schools and bans on graduation prayers and the posting of the Ten Commandments.
One of Jefferson's greatest achievements was the passage of the Virginia Statute of Religious Liberty, which was passed in 1786 after a long and heated debate in the legislature. This piece of legislation provided the basis for the constitutional guarantee of religious freedom as found in the First Amendment of the Constitution...Jefferson's wish had been turned into law: "An Act for Establishing Religious Freedom...that all men shall be free to profess, and by argument to maintaiin, their opinion in matters of religion, and that the same shall in no wise diminish, enlarge, or affect their civil capacities."
The painful irony is that it was our Christian roots in America that created an environment supportive of free thought and behavior that has resulted in tolerance, as it is now understood. Regardless of what the media movers and shakers think about Christians, the truth remains that their very freedom to express such opinions is a result of this nation's Christian heritage. Our democratic system did not spring from Hindu, Buddhist, Shinto, or Moslem traditions. The Bible -- not the Koran, Vedas, Tripitika, or other so-called holy books -- is the source of our nation's philosophy on the value of mankind and how they should treat one another and be governed. Even today, men and women are laying down their lives to preserve our Bible-based freedom.
America is infatuated with this false understanding of tolerance. To be truly tolerant is not to give every idea equal standing or to compromise the truth in the interest of keeping the peace and making everyone happy. Being tolerant does mean accepting the fact that every person is created in the image of Almighty God and that we each have a soul that will live for eternity. Jesus Christ paid the price for our eternal salvation through the shedding of His blood on Calvary's cross for all men -- equally.
As American citizens, Christians have the same constitutional rights as everyone else. I am offended when others display intolerance when I take my stand for Jesus Christ. Such intolerance should not totally surprise me either. The Lord Jesus Christ warns that His followers cannot avoid being hated for His "name's sake".
The Name of Jesus Christ is a lightning rod because Jesus Christ represents the division of life between good and evil, God and Satan, light and darkness, righteousness and sin, heaven and hell. The Name of Jesus shouts out a choice: "Whom will you serve, give your life to, depend upon?" Rebellious, self-willed people want to retain the right to decide for themselves which way they will take. Jesus denies this option. Speaking on His behalf, the Apostle Peter said, "For there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved."
Jesus is gentle, but He is not weak. He loves the sinner but is absolutely intolerant of sin. He is not a negotiator. He is Lord. It is this bristling truth that invites intolerance toward Christians. Jesus did not say, "Do your own thing; all roads lead to God." That would have made Jesus "politically correct", but Jesus is not politically correct. He is Lord.
Tolerance has become the new watchword of our times. It is heralded as perhaps the highest virtue in Western culture that glues people of differing backgrounds and ideologies together for the sake of promoting cultural unity. And why shouldn't it be? It sounds good, right? In fact, it sounds so good that anyone who would dare talk negatively about this sacred cow of civility would almost be considered immoral. But that's just the point. The media and the governmental bureaucrats tell us to be tolerant of everything and anything except the Gospel of salvation, all in the name of political correctness. It seems almost ironic that Christians are not being tolerated by such a "tolerant" society.
So I admit, I get frustrated and a bit defensive when I encounter intolerance toward the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ. In Western societies these days, just about any viewpoint, religion, or behavior is exempt from criticism in the name of "tolerance". It is "politically incorrect" to give anything but reverent respect to the most off-the-wall ideas that come from individuals. All of this is done in the name of "tolerance".
But such tolerance is not universal. One of the few loopholes in the "law of tolerance" involves followers of the Name of Jesus Christ. If you are a born-again Christian, don't expect the same tolerance that others enjoy -- the playing field is not level as it relates to other beliefs. For decades now, Christians have been on the run over issues like prayer in public forums and Nativity scenes erected on public property.
To illustrate: Since the September 11 attacks, there has been heightened interest in America concerning Islam. For instance, one California school district went so far as to require seventh grade students to learn the tenets of Islam, study important persons in the history of the religion, learn verses from the Koran, pray "in the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful," and chant "Praise to Allah, Lord of Creation."
Can you imagine the lawsuits that would raise their ugly heads if a teacher commanded students to memorize Bible verses, recite the Lord's Prayer, or pray in the Name of Jesus? Any teacher that would allow this would be fired, and the school district sued!
Christians are increasingly not tolerated because they are viewed as intolerant! In the past, "tolerance" in matters of faith meant respectful acknowledgment of different ideas. It did not mean that all such ideas were granted equal validity as truth. It makes me wonder why other religions are able to promote their theology in public forums. Even our government seems to bend over backward to give them a hearing. But these days if you mention the Name of Jesus or seek to discuss Christian ideas publicly, you risk being labeled by the media-created term "the religious right" and are considered a dangerous threat to the doctrine of the separation of church and state.
An FBI analysis show that Thomas Jefferson's views on church and state weren't what we've heard -- far from it. When Jefferson penned his now famous phrase, "a wall of separation between Church and State", in a letter dated January 1, 1802, to the Danbury Baptist Association in Connecticut, did he expect it to be memorable? Maybe. A 1998 FBI laboratory analysis of the letter showed that Jefferson labored over that portion of the letter, perhaps fussing over its political impact. But did our third president expect his words to effectively drive religion out of the public square? No. Jefferson's initial draft reveals his understanding that the federal government simply lacked jurisdiction over religion. So who gave us the wall of separation that renders prayers at graduations and in public parks unconstitutional? The author of that wall was not Jefferson, but U.S. Supreme Court Justice Hugo Black, appointed by Franklin Roosevelt in 1937 and who served until his death in 1971. In a number of rulings he helped write, Black used Jefferson's language, but not Jefferson's meaning. Black's separationist leanings became more aggressive over time, resulting in rulings that ordered the removal of religious instruction, prayer and Bible reading from public schools and bans on graduation prayers and the posting of the Ten Commandments.
One of Jefferson's greatest achievements was the passage of the Virginia Statute of Religious Liberty, which was passed in 1786 after a long and heated debate in the legislature. This piece of legislation provided the basis for the constitutional guarantee of religious freedom as found in the First Amendment of the Constitution...Jefferson's wish had been turned into law: "An Act for Establishing Religious Freedom...that all men shall be free to profess, and by argument to maintaiin, their opinion in matters of religion, and that the same shall in no wise diminish, enlarge, or affect their civil capacities."
The painful irony is that it was our Christian roots in America that created an environment supportive of free thought and behavior that has resulted in tolerance, as it is now understood. Regardless of what the media movers and shakers think about Christians, the truth remains that their very freedom to express such opinions is a result of this nation's Christian heritage. Our democratic system did not spring from Hindu, Buddhist, Shinto, or Moslem traditions. The Bible -- not the Koran, Vedas, Tripitika, or other so-called holy books -- is the source of our nation's philosophy on the value of mankind and how they should treat one another and be governed. Even today, men and women are laying down their lives to preserve our Bible-based freedom.
America is infatuated with this false understanding of tolerance. To be truly tolerant is not to give every idea equal standing or to compromise the truth in the interest of keeping the peace and making everyone happy. Being tolerant does mean accepting the fact that every person is created in the image of Almighty God and that we each have a soul that will live for eternity. Jesus Christ paid the price for our eternal salvation through the shedding of His blood on Calvary's cross for all men -- equally.
As American citizens, Christians have the same constitutional rights as everyone else. I am offended when others display intolerance when I take my stand for Jesus Christ. Such intolerance should not totally surprise me either. The Lord Jesus Christ warns that His followers cannot avoid being hated for His "name's sake".
The Name of Jesus Christ is a lightning rod because Jesus Christ represents the division of life between good and evil, God and Satan, light and darkness, righteousness and sin, heaven and hell. The Name of Jesus shouts out a choice: "Whom will you serve, give your life to, depend upon?" Rebellious, self-willed people want to retain the right to decide for themselves which way they will take. Jesus denies this option. Speaking on His behalf, the Apostle Peter said, "For there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved."
Jesus is gentle, but He is not weak. He loves the sinner but is absolutely intolerant of sin. He is not a negotiator. He is Lord. It is this bristling truth that invites intolerance toward Christians. Jesus did not say, "Do your own thing; all roads lead to God." That would have made Jesus "politically correct", but Jesus is not politically correct. He is Lord.
Friday, October 28, 2005
I REST MY CASE
As I have a full day today, instead of writing a blog I would refer my readers to my post titled "Drama King" of October 18th and the fourth comment posted on it. Disclaimer: Entirely his doing.
Have a great day!
Have a great day!
Thursday, October 27, 2005
FRICK AND FRACK
Last night we had our friends, Diane and Rick, over for dinner. Diane and Rick Frick. I know...the name cracks us up, too. Don't know what his parents were thinking. But you know what's even more remarkable? Rick and Diane named their only child, a son, Rick! Go figure. Anyway, I digress...
Together they are another Ricky and Lucy Ricardo. She is wacky and he is her straight-man. Diane says whatever comes to her mind. To say she is uninhibited is an understatement. Whether she ever embarrasses her husband is hard to say. I think because they've been together so long (around 35 years) he's just used to her. When I first met her I didn't know quite what to make of her. Now I find her delightful. She never stops talking, and with full-color animation. The stories she tells of their travels and adventures are so bizarre as to be unbelievable, but Rick verifies that she is not exaggerating in the least. I choked three times laughing during dinner -- talk about dinner and a show! My stomach hurt from laughing and swallowing too much air.
A year ago Rick suffered a terrible accident and fell off the roof of his own home (no worker's comp for that). He shattered his hip, fractured his pelvis, injured his back and arm. It has been a long, difficult, and life-changing year for them. Two surgeries: one to put him back together with screws and plates, and the other to remove said hardware and try (unsuccessfully) to remove a surgical drillbit which broke off imbedded in bone during the first surgery(!). Never one to sit around, Rick always was working on something...on the job, at home, or for friends. Now he can't work. Between that realization and the constant pain he endures, I think he came near a breaking point. But, that's where his little spitfire wife, Diane, comes in. She cajoles, prods, encourages, berates, defends, scolds, torments, champions, and loves her husband. She has been at his side, in spite of her own fears and fatigue, caring for him, up at all hours when he can't sleep for the pain, wiping his butt (as she unabashedly tells us), feeding him, listening to him, intervening for him...this little 4'10" wildcat has put more than one high-powered, highly degreed surgeon into tail-tuck and back-up mode.
I tell Diane she ought to write a book and she waves me off. I tell her I'll write the book because it would be a best-seller and the money will help take care of their insurmountable medical bills. She just laughs. Problem is, I don't think the written word can do Diane justice; it would be difficult to capture her in a book. Maybe the Big Screen...but Lucy's gone; who could ever play the part of Diane Frick?
Together they are another Ricky and Lucy Ricardo. She is wacky and he is her straight-man. Diane says whatever comes to her mind. To say she is uninhibited is an understatement. Whether she ever embarrasses her husband is hard to say. I think because they've been together so long (around 35 years) he's just used to her. When I first met her I didn't know quite what to make of her. Now I find her delightful. She never stops talking, and with full-color animation. The stories she tells of their travels and adventures are so bizarre as to be unbelievable, but Rick verifies that she is not exaggerating in the least. I choked three times laughing during dinner -- talk about dinner and a show! My stomach hurt from laughing and swallowing too much air.
A year ago Rick suffered a terrible accident and fell off the roof of his own home (no worker's comp for that). He shattered his hip, fractured his pelvis, injured his back and arm. It has been a long, difficult, and life-changing year for them. Two surgeries: one to put him back together with screws and plates, and the other to remove said hardware and try (unsuccessfully) to remove a surgical drillbit which broke off imbedded in bone during the first surgery(!). Never one to sit around, Rick always was working on something...on the job, at home, or for friends. Now he can't work. Between that realization and the constant pain he endures, I think he came near a breaking point. But, that's where his little spitfire wife, Diane, comes in. She cajoles, prods, encourages, berates, defends, scolds, torments, champions, and loves her husband. She has been at his side, in spite of her own fears and fatigue, caring for him, up at all hours when he can't sleep for the pain, wiping his butt (as she unabashedly tells us), feeding him, listening to him, intervening for him...this little 4'10" wildcat has put more than one high-powered, highly degreed surgeon into tail-tuck and back-up mode.
I tell Diane she ought to write a book and she waves me off. I tell her I'll write the book because it would be a best-seller and the money will help take care of their insurmountable medical bills. She just laughs. Problem is, I don't think the written word can do Diane justice; it would be difficult to capture her in a book. Maybe the Big Screen...but Lucy's gone; who could ever play the part of Diane Frick?
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
CALL OF THE WILD
There they go...can hardly see them, though, being that they're fully camoed out. I squint, narrowing my vision, trying make out who these mysterious early morning figures are; silhouetted against the faint lightening in the east. I have a very distraught labrador at my feet...funny...usually she's afraid of strange things in the dark, but now seems very eager to go outside. The figures part ways, one carrying a bow and the other a cased shotgun. The archer disappears into the woods behind our home while the gunman commandeers Ramsey's Chevy and canoe. Boy, he's not going to be happy when he finally rolls out of the sack at 9:45 and finds his wheels gone.
This covert operation is making me skittish. I go to rouse my sleeping children and gather them in a safer, interior room of the house (do we have an interior room?). I open the girls' bedroom door to find in Taylie's bed a very fat cat blinking sleepily in the warm spot left after her sister's departure. Inspection of the boys' room reveals an empty top bunk...
The time is 6:43 AM. These two kids usually have to be pried out of bed with a crowbar or a glass of cold water. Maybe I should start using a duck call and a deer grunt...or a whiff of "Doe in Estrus" waved under their noses...
This covert operation is making me skittish. I go to rouse my sleeping children and gather them in a safer, interior room of the house (do we have an interior room?). I open the girls' bedroom door to find in Taylie's bed a very fat cat blinking sleepily in the warm spot left after her sister's departure. Inspection of the boys' room reveals an empty top bunk...
The time is 6:43 AM. These two kids usually have to be pried out of bed with a crowbar or a glass of cold water. Maybe I should start using a duck call and a deer grunt...or a whiff of "Doe in Estrus" waved under their noses...
Thursday, October 20, 2005
ITCHY AND SCRATCHY GO TO CRYSTAL FALLS
Sunday I bought two bushels of baking apples (Cortlands and Wolf Rivers) from the guy with the apple truck in town. Yesterday my mom came over and we spent the day peeling, slicing, and freezing apples for pies and making applesauce. Kind of a tradition. The kitchen was a mess, but the house sure smelled good. I love tucking those packages of apple slices in my freezer; it's that "hunkering down" thing I've written of before. And there's nothing like fresh homemade apple pie, warm from the oven!
Ramsey is sitting in his tree stand in the woods behind our house this evening and Mark is guiding up on Lake Gogebic. Hopefully, they both will have good luck. I am glad Ramsey is deer hunting tonight because he's been obsessed with duck hunting lately and I'm wanting venison.
It's been a busy week with no end in sight. Tomorrow the kids have art class and piano lessons, Mark guides again tomorrow and Saturday, Taylie worked at the Tackle Box with Ramsey today and does again on Saturday. I am on worship team at church this Sunday and will have practice sometime Saturday. I'm still chipping away at fall cleaning, the leaves are almost all down and then the raking begins.
As for the goofy title -- I thought it might create some interest in this somewhat boring post.
Ramsey is sitting in his tree stand in the woods behind our house this evening and Mark is guiding up on Lake Gogebic. Hopefully, they both will have good luck. I am glad Ramsey is deer hunting tonight because he's been obsessed with duck hunting lately and I'm wanting venison.
It's been a busy week with no end in sight. Tomorrow the kids have art class and piano lessons, Mark guides again tomorrow and Saturday, Taylie worked at the Tackle Box with Ramsey today and does again on Saturday. I am on worship team at church this Sunday and will have practice sometime Saturday. I'm still chipping away at fall cleaning, the leaves are almost all down and then the raking begins.
As for the goofy title -- I thought it might create some interest in this somewhat boring post.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
DRAMA KING
The first and third Tuesday each month during the school year, our local library hosts a homeschool group activity. This semester we are studying drama and putting on a production of the Wizard of Oz. The library has brought in a retired drama professor to teach and direct. A very good opportunity for these homeschoolers.
Not if you ask my son, Wylie. It's rather ironic that he detests having to go to this class; as he is easily the most dramatic of my four children and definitely a born comedian. He was the unplanned "oops" born 13 months after his sister. It wasn't funny at the time, but God must have known I would need comic relief.
Wylie has tried everything to get out of having to attend drama:
"I'll take piano lessons if I don't have to take drama."
I told him he was taking both.
"I'm painfully shy."
Yeah, right.
Today his dramatic flair really surfaced. He faked diarrhea for six hours, clutching his belly and staggering for the bathroom.
"I can't go today, Mom."
I gave him a Pepto Bismol tablet and told him to get in the car.
At drama practice he didn't suffer a single cramp nor made a single trip to the washroom. He hammed it up as the Scarecrow, much to the delight of his co-actors. He just can't help himself.
Not if you ask my son, Wylie. It's rather ironic that he detests having to go to this class; as he is easily the most dramatic of my four children and definitely a born comedian. He was the unplanned "oops" born 13 months after his sister. It wasn't funny at the time, but God must have known I would need comic relief.
Wylie has tried everything to get out of having to attend drama:
"I'll take piano lessons if I don't have to take drama."
I told him he was taking both.
"I'm painfully shy."
Yeah, right.
Today his dramatic flair really surfaced. He faked diarrhea for six hours, clutching his belly and staggering for the bathroom.
"I can't go today, Mom."
I gave him a Pepto Bismol tablet and told him to get in the car.
At drama practice he didn't suffer a single cramp nor made a single trip to the washroom. He hammed it up as the Scarecrow, much to the delight of his co-actors. He just can't help himself.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
99 AND HOLDING
As long as I'm on the subject of birthdays and getting older...
My grandmother, affectionately known as "Nana", turned 99 on the first of this month...99...ninety-nine...no matter how you write it, that's OLD. But I will say this, Nana has aged gracefully. At least, up until the last couple years anyway. She has lost some of the grace but none of her style. For example, last year when I was helping her celebrate her birthday, she announced, "I can't believe I'm 87 years old! Why, I'm pushing 90!" I, ungracefully of course, had to set her straight, "I hate to burst your bubble, Nana, but you aren't 87, you're 98. You're pushing 100." "No I'm not!" she retorted. "I'm afraid you are," I said, "Do the math." (A former elementary teacher can never resist that challenge.) "What year is this?" Nana asked. "2004," says I, "and you were born in 1906". She did the cyphering on paper and I knew when she had the answer because all she said was, "Shit." Not real graceful but very much her style.
On her birthday this year, as I sat on the edge of her bed in the nursing home where she's resided since breaking her hip last winter, she announced, after coughing, that she hated to cough. Upon my asking why she said, "Because I pee all over when I cough." Too bad she hadn't made that announcement before I got settled on the bed with her. She thought it was funny. Not very graceful but, nevertheless, her style.
She also declared she was not ready to die but didn't want to see another birthday because she did not want to end up having Willard Scott wish her a happy 100th. You watch...she'll outlive Willard just to spite him. Not real graceful, but definitely her style.
My grandmother, affectionately known as "Nana", turned 99 on the first of this month...99...ninety-nine...no matter how you write it, that's OLD. But I will say this, Nana has aged gracefully. At least, up until the last couple years anyway. She has lost some of the grace but none of her style. For example, last year when I was helping her celebrate her birthday, she announced, "I can't believe I'm 87 years old! Why, I'm pushing 90!" I, ungracefully of course, had to set her straight, "I hate to burst your bubble, Nana, but you aren't 87, you're 98. You're pushing 100." "No I'm not!" she retorted. "I'm afraid you are," I said, "Do the math." (A former elementary teacher can never resist that challenge.) "What year is this?" Nana asked. "2004," says I, "and you were born in 1906". She did the cyphering on paper and I knew when she had the answer because all she said was, "Shit." Not real graceful but very much her style.
On her birthday this year, as I sat on the edge of her bed in the nursing home where she's resided since breaking her hip last winter, she announced, after coughing, that she hated to cough. Upon my asking why she said, "Because I pee all over when I cough." Too bad she hadn't made that announcement before I got settled on the bed with her. She thought it was funny. Not very graceful but, nevertheless, her style.
She also declared she was not ready to die but didn't want to see another birthday because she did not want to end up having Willard Scott wish her a happy 100th. You watch...she'll outlive Willard just to spite him. Not real graceful, but definitely her style.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
est. 1960
Me and Gander Mountain. Both established in 1960. Two of my husband's favorites.
Having recently celebrated my birthday, I find myself pondering how I ever got to be 45 years old. I'm not depressed or devastated by this; just astounded. I can quite clearly remember my seventh birthday (but I can't remember what I came downstairs for). How can I be old enough to clearly remember anything 38 years ago? How did I end up in this body with parts that hurt for no apparent reason? Since when do I snore? Why am I suddenly interested in magazines with articles touting titles like, "Flatter Abs in Eight Days!"?
Before the rest of you who are older than me start rubbing my nose in the fact that I am "just a youngster", let me wallow in being 45 for a while. I'll deal with 50 when I get there.
Having recently celebrated my birthday, I find myself pondering how I ever got to be 45 years old. I'm not depressed or devastated by this; just astounded. I can quite clearly remember my seventh birthday (but I can't remember what I came downstairs for). How can I be old enough to clearly remember anything 38 years ago? How did I end up in this body with parts that hurt for no apparent reason? Since when do I snore? Why am I suddenly interested in magazines with articles touting titles like, "Flatter Abs in Eight Days!"?
Before the rest of you who are older than me start rubbing my nose in the fact that I am "just a youngster", let me wallow in being 45 for a while. I'll deal with 50 when I get there.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
UNDER PRESSURE
Whew! Got that done...off my mind and off my to-do list. I just finished canning pickled beets and dilled green beans. The vegetables had been waiting for me and I was under pressure that they would spoil before I could get to them. I had big plans yesterday to get the zucchini grated and frozen, the beets pickled, and the beans dilled, but...as it seems to happen...Tessa and Wylie came down with a virus that's going around. I have not been summoned that often since all my kids were little. "Mom...Mama...Mom...Mom...Mama...Mom..." Aaaargh! Anyway, between tending to the two sickies, I only managed to get the zucchini dealt with and baked two loaves of zucchini bread and made supper. Oh, and did two loads of laundry, ran Taylie to work at 10:00, and back into town to pick her up at 2:00.
So it is a big relief today to have the rest of the veggies processed and gleaming green and purple in their jars. Canning is always kind of a high tension thing for me. Aside from the "get 'em done before they rot" thing, I get stressed by kids underfoot when I'm working with boiling liquids and hot jars. I don't even deal with pressure canning; I stick to boiling water bath canning. Probably a carry-over from my childhood when my mother would be canning tomatoes and practically shriek at my sister and me to "GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN!! THIS THING COULD BLOW UP!!" Scared the wits out of us as we hid at the far end of the house with visions of our mom dying in an explosion of steaming hot tomatoes. No thank you. I'm perfectly content to buy my tomatoes precanned from the store. My dear friend, Linda, pressure cans tomatoes. I can only assume her mother didn't do any canning when Linda was little. Ignorance is bliss.
So it is a big relief today to have the rest of the veggies processed and gleaming green and purple in their jars. Canning is always kind of a high tension thing for me. Aside from the "get 'em done before they rot" thing, I get stressed by kids underfoot when I'm working with boiling liquids and hot jars. I don't even deal with pressure canning; I stick to boiling water bath canning. Probably a carry-over from my childhood when my mother would be canning tomatoes and practically shriek at my sister and me to "GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN!! THIS THING COULD BLOW UP!!" Scared the wits out of us as we hid at the far end of the house with visions of our mom dying in an explosion of steaming hot tomatoes. No thank you. I'm perfectly content to buy my tomatoes precanned from the store. My dear friend, Linda, pressure cans tomatoes. I can only assume her mother didn't do any canning when Linda was little. Ignorance is bliss.
Monday, September 12, 2005
MONDAY MORNING
It is Monday morning and I am trying to get back into the routine of a busy school week day. We returned from camping at Lake Gogebic refreshed and renewed, but I'm finding it difficult to make the transition from R&R to "business as usual". Mondays are always full days for me...doubly so when they follow a weekend away.
Our family weekend was wonderful with great weather, beautiful fall colors swirling down in the breeze, ducks and chipmunks to feed, new friends in the campsite next to us, good eating, and a second place in the walleye tournament for Mark.
The Lord ministered to me in a special way as I spent my quiet time with Him early in the mornings on the shore of the lake; the sun an orange ball peeking above the far treeline. I'd been feeling somewhat pummeled and discouraged of late but He restored my joy and renewed my hope. He's pulled me from the mirey clay, He's given me a brand new day; my heart and soul are praising, Halleluia!
Our family weekend was wonderful with great weather, beautiful fall colors swirling down in the breeze, ducks and chipmunks to feed, new friends in the campsite next to us, good eating, and a second place in the walleye tournament for Mark.
The Lord ministered to me in a special way as I spent my quiet time with Him early in the mornings on the shore of the lake; the sun an orange ball peeking above the far treeline. I'd been feeling somewhat pummeled and discouraged of late but He restored my joy and renewed my hope. He's pulled me from the mirey clay, He's given me a brand new day; my heart and soul are praising, Halleluia!
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
LITTLE SCHOOLHOUSE IN THE BIG WOODS
Today is our first official day of school. We've been doing a little review over the past couple weeks to get back into the swing of things. We will have a three day school week and then leave Thursday evening to go camping and fish the Gogebic Walleye Tournament. Then, no more breaks until Christmas.
I am praying for a good school year; productive and organized. I am working on our school calendar and weighing activities versus current gas prices. We will continue the art class held at our church with a local artist two days a month. Our piano teacher's son will be participating in the art class this year and she has graciously agreed to give the girls their lessons those same days after a brief break for lunch. That means they will only receive piano lessons twice a month rather than weekly but it saves me driving them all the way to Eagle River with gas at $3.40 a gallon. The homeschool group that meets twice a month at the local library will be studying drama and putting on a play this semester. This is another opportunity worth the gas it takes to get them there. And there's youth group at church. If I had to cut everything but one, this would be the one. I trust God will provide the means for me to drive my kids to the activities He would have us participate in.
New textbooks, new notebooks, and renewed goals. This is the start of school. I am motivated and committed. My prayer is that I will be able to maintain a level of motivation and committment to sustain me through May of next year.
I am praying for a good school year; productive and organized. I am working on our school calendar and weighing activities versus current gas prices. We will continue the art class held at our church with a local artist two days a month. Our piano teacher's son will be participating in the art class this year and she has graciously agreed to give the girls their lessons those same days after a brief break for lunch. That means they will only receive piano lessons twice a month rather than weekly but it saves me driving them all the way to Eagle River with gas at $3.40 a gallon. The homeschool group that meets twice a month at the local library will be studying drama and putting on a play this semester. This is another opportunity worth the gas it takes to get them there. And there's youth group at church. If I had to cut everything but one, this would be the one. I trust God will provide the means for me to drive my kids to the activities He would have us participate in.
New textbooks, new notebooks, and renewed goals. This is the start of school. I am motivated and committed. My prayer is that I will be able to maintain a level of motivation and committment to sustain me through May of next year.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS
Seems like every year when my family retreats to the cabins in Silver City there is some great, shocking, scandalous, or devastating event going on somewhere in the world being given 24-hour media coverage. In the ten years we've been going, our trip has coincided with such things as Princess Diana's tragic death, Bill Clinton's affair with Monica, the slimy, mud-slinging home stretch of two presidential campaigns, and the Sept. 11th World Trade Center horror...to name a few. This year it is the unbelievable devastation of Hurricane Katrina.
Being that there are no phones, TVs, or radios at the cabins we are blissfully ignorant of the graphic details and constant talk of these events. I don't say "unaware" because, with the exception of Princess Diana's death, all the aforementioned were already in motion before we headed north. It is not until we come back to "civilization", and stop for our traditional burgers at Henry's Bar in Rockland, that we are brought slammingly back to reality.
This year, the burgers were hard to swallow while watching the scenes of immense wreckage, loss, and death on the TV screens at either end of Henry's dining room. And then last night, watching the senseless looting and violence that this type of catastrophe seems to bring out in some people. I don't understand it and it makes me want to bury my head, not only in the sand but in my hands and weep.
But our peaceful interlude of rest and relaxation in the UP helps me to lift my head, lift my eyes and prayers up to Him who knows all ... all the details, all the pain, all the horror and shock. The true Good News is that God loved the world so much, He sent His beloved Son to die for each and every person ever born so that, if they would just believe in Him and trust Jesus, they would not perish but have eternal life. And salvation is not just something reserved for after our earthly life is over. Walking with JESUS makes all the pain, sorrow, and hardship bearable.
I am daily convicted of the necessity of being faithful to share my faith in Him with those around me; to share the Good News with the lost and searching. There are people all around me who live in devastation and wreckage that has nothing to do with a hurricane.
Being that there are no phones, TVs, or radios at the cabins we are blissfully ignorant of the graphic details and constant talk of these events. I don't say "unaware" because, with the exception of Princess Diana's death, all the aforementioned were already in motion before we headed north. It is not until we come back to "civilization", and stop for our traditional burgers at Henry's Bar in Rockland, that we are brought slammingly back to reality.
This year, the burgers were hard to swallow while watching the scenes of immense wreckage, loss, and death on the TV screens at either end of Henry's dining room. And then last night, watching the senseless looting and violence that this type of catastrophe seems to bring out in some people. I don't understand it and it makes me want to bury my head, not only in the sand but in my hands and weep.
But our peaceful interlude of rest and relaxation in the UP helps me to lift my head, lift my eyes and prayers up to Him who knows all ... all the details, all the pain, all the horror and shock. The true Good News is that God loved the world so much, He sent His beloved Son to die for each and every person ever born so that, if they would just believe in Him and trust Jesus, they would not perish but have eternal life. And salvation is not just something reserved for after our earthly life is over. Walking with JESUS makes all the pain, sorrow, and hardship bearable.
I am daily convicted of the necessity of being faithful to share my faith in Him with those around me; to share the Good News with the lost and searching. There are people all around me who live in devastation and wreckage that has nothing to do with a hurricane.
Friday, August 26, 2005
SILVER CITY
Summer's end is always marked for me by our annual pilgrimage to Silver City, Mi. We, along with my extended family, stay in rustic cabins nestled right on the shore Lake Superior. It is a time away, looked forward to by all, when we can do whatever we want and eat more than we should. My children and their cousins mark their calendars and count down the days til they can romp and play on the beach, in the water, in whichever cabin has the best snacks.
I began this tradition and it has a lot of meaning for me besides the getting away. I came to these same cabins in 1965 and '66 with my parents, younger sister, (youngest sister had not made an appearance yet), and my paternal grandparents. I remember sitting up late at night listening to the adults talking, gathering driftwood for a fire on the beach, and the pet sheep the owners had at the time. Something like that kind of sticks in your mind. Years later, in my mid-thirties, I rediscovered this small resort while on a day-trip to Ontonagon and the Porkies with my grandmother. There was something so familiar about the place and Nana confirmed that it was where we had stayed in the sixties. I promptly went home and booked us two cabins for the following year. How wonderful that was to return there with my kids, their grandparents, and my grandmother! It has now swelled to booking four cabins and both my sisters have joined us. The price has gone up, the beach has shrunk, gas is out of sight but we all agree...this is priceless.
I began this tradition and it has a lot of meaning for me besides the getting away. I came to these same cabins in 1965 and '66 with my parents, younger sister, (youngest sister had not made an appearance yet), and my paternal grandparents. I remember sitting up late at night listening to the adults talking, gathering driftwood for a fire on the beach, and the pet sheep the owners had at the time. Something like that kind of sticks in your mind. Years later, in my mid-thirties, I rediscovered this small resort while on a day-trip to Ontonagon and the Porkies with my grandmother. There was something so familiar about the place and Nana confirmed that it was where we had stayed in the sixties. I promptly went home and booked us two cabins for the following year. How wonderful that was to return there with my kids, their grandparents, and my grandmother! It has now swelled to booking four cabins and both my sisters have joined us. The price has gone up, the beach has shrunk, gas is out of sight but we all agree...this is priceless.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
AUTUMN AWARENESS
The signs of autumn's approach are everywhere. Colored leaves on the ground at the end of our driveway, a completely red-leafed maple on our road, the temptation to turn on the furnace to take off the night's chill. The UPS truck roaring up the drive to deliver boxes of school curriculum. Shotguns, bows, and arrows being checked, adjusted, cleaned, and sighted. The oven giving off delicious aromas...
It was a great summer but it went by so quickly. I am hoping for a beautiful and prolonged fall with warm days and crisp nights...apple crisp, cherry crisp, blueberry crisp. Summer's bounty to enjoy!
It was a great summer but it went by so quickly. I am hoping for a beautiful and prolonged fall with warm days and crisp nights...apple crisp, cherry crisp, blueberry crisp. Summer's bounty to enjoy!
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
GAS PAINS
Ouch! $2.79 a gallon and rising. Pulling up to the pump these days is a painful experience. I am having to carefully consider the necessity of every trip to town or church. Then try to consolidate as much business into each trip as possible. I find it ironic that the Driver's Ed. class Taylie is taking, which will free me up from some of the running around next year, requires me to drive 300 miles getting her there and back during the three week duration of the class.
I am very thankful I do not drive a gas-guzzling, nine mpg, full-size van anymore. My old lady Buick LeSabre gets 28 mpg around town. It may be square, but it gets me there...with change to spare.
I am very thankful I do not drive a gas-guzzling, nine mpg, full-size van anymore. My old lady Buick LeSabre gets 28 mpg around town. It may be square, but it gets me there...with change to spare.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
ON THE ROAD AGAIN
We are heading out for our first camping trip of the year this weekend. It is long overdue. With kids' summer jobs, it is not easy to schedule these things. We will go to one of our favorite campgrounds, Gogebic State Park. The fishermen will pre-fish (whatever that means!) before the Gogebic Walleye Tournament; our next, and annual, camping trip in September.
This is also our maiden voyage with our new camper -- new to us, anyway. After selling our vintage 1971 Holiday Rambler we bought a 1996 Wilderness. She doesn't have quite the character of the old girl's 70's avocado green and harvest gold. More like 90's country blue and mauve. But, I'm sure with time, she'll grow on us; just like the Rambler did.
I am looking forward to a quiet, relaxing weekend with nothing to do. It has been a hectic summer and an even crazier week. I will have the luxury of sleeping in if I want to. I will not have to drive anyone anywhere. I will be able to read without feeling like I should be doing something else. I will not have to answer the phone. I will not have to efficiently plan my day.
It'll be good to be the Queen for a day or two. :)
This is also our maiden voyage with our new camper -- new to us, anyway. After selling our vintage 1971 Holiday Rambler we bought a 1996 Wilderness. She doesn't have quite the character of the old girl's 70's avocado green and harvest gold. More like 90's country blue and mauve. But, I'm sure with time, she'll grow on us; just like the Rambler did.
I am looking forward to a quiet, relaxing weekend with nothing to do. It has been a hectic summer and an even crazier week. I will have the luxury of sleeping in if I want to. I will not have to drive anyone anywhere. I will be able to read without feeling like I should be doing something else. I will not have to answer the phone. I will not have to efficiently plan my day.
It'll be good to be the Queen for a day or two. :)
Saturday, August 06, 2005
MARTHA MARY MOMENT
Wednesday, my busy schedule opened up unexpectedly and I had a choice to make: stay home and get caught up on housework and pay bills, or go to Ontonagon to see my grandmother. These things bore equal pressure on me because I was negligent in both. This summer has been so packed I have struggled to keep up, and unfortunately some very important areas have suffered. As I weighed my options, my conscience told me, "Look at what a dump this house is and those two bills are overdue! How could you have let that happen?" My heart quietly pointed out, "It's been a month since you've seen Nana. Housework and bills will always be here, but she won't." It was the classic Martha Mary thing. (Luke 10:41,42) Happily, my Mary heart won out and I threw some snacks in a cooler, the kids grabbed their swimsuits and towels, and we took off for Ontonagon (stopping in town long enough to pay a couple bills). :)
I am so thankful we went. The kids have not seen their great grandmother since before she fell, breaking her hip, last February and ending up in the nursing home. At almost 99 years of age, a person's resiliency isn't what it used to be and Nana has changed in physical appearance and strength considerably. I was a little concerned about how the kids would handle the nursing home, as it can be disconcerting at times. Once when visiting Nana, her roommate had kicked off her blankets, wriggled down in her bed so her nightgown was up around her waist, and was babbling in Finnish. I summoned an aide and wasn't too disturbed but was glad my kids hadn't witnessed it.
God is good. The nursing home was quiet, Nana and her roommate were both asleep (and fully covered) when we arrived. I gave the kids the opportunity to come, one by one, to the bedside and look at her. They were able to process what she looks like now, and their reaction, while she was asleep. They were startled and tears were in their eyes, but it was a good thing. I hugged them and talked with them and when I did wake Nana the kids were able to greet her without being hampered by trying to hide their emotions. They were relieved to find she knew them and still had her great sense of humor. We visited about an hour and I knew it was a blessing to Nana as well as to us.
My dad came to the nursing home while we were there and, when we left, we spent some time with him. Then we we headed for the beach. As I sat on the shore watching my kids swim, play and laugh together in that great lake where their great grandmother had once done the same, my heart swelled with joy and thanksgiving. I had made the right choice.
I am so thankful we went. The kids have not seen their great grandmother since before she fell, breaking her hip, last February and ending up in the nursing home. At almost 99 years of age, a person's resiliency isn't what it used to be and Nana has changed in physical appearance and strength considerably. I was a little concerned about how the kids would handle the nursing home, as it can be disconcerting at times. Once when visiting Nana, her roommate had kicked off her blankets, wriggled down in her bed so her nightgown was up around her waist, and was babbling in Finnish. I summoned an aide and wasn't too disturbed but was glad my kids hadn't witnessed it.
God is good. The nursing home was quiet, Nana and her roommate were both asleep (and fully covered) when we arrived. I gave the kids the opportunity to come, one by one, to the bedside and look at her. They were able to process what she looks like now, and their reaction, while she was asleep. They were startled and tears were in their eyes, but it was a good thing. I hugged them and talked with them and when I did wake Nana the kids were able to greet her without being hampered by trying to hide their emotions. They were relieved to find she knew them and still had her great sense of humor. We visited about an hour and I knew it was a blessing to Nana as well as to us.
My dad came to the nursing home while we were there and, when we left, we spent some time with him. Then we we headed for the beach. As I sat on the shore watching my kids swim, play and laugh together in that great lake where their great grandmother had once done the same, my heart swelled with joy and thanksgiving. I had made the right choice.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
DEAL WITH IT
The nightshirt reads: Pull up your big-girl panties and deal with it! Cracked me up. I'm thinking of ordering them in bulk.
I have to admit this sleepwear admonishment applies to me as much, if not more, as it does to anyone I might direct it at. Especially lately, I have been doing a lot of whining, complaining, why-meing, resenting, and other such martyr mentality activities. I am ashamed of myself. A good part of the stuff that drives me nuts, I bring on myself. The rest of it...well, who am I to think I should not have trials, tribulations, irritations, insults, and abuse? My Lord Jesus bore much worse and without self-pity, resentment, and complaint. So, excuse me while I pull up my big-girl panties and deal with it...joyfully.
"I remember my afflictions and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him'." Lamentations 3:19-24
I have to admit this sleepwear admonishment applies to me as much, if not more, as it does to anyone I might direct it at. Especially lately, I have been doing a lot of whining, complaining, why-meing, resenting, and other such martyr mentality activities. I am ashamed of myself. A good part of the stuff that drives me nuts, I bring on myself. The rest of it...well, who am I to think I should not have trials, tribulations, irritations, insults, and abuse? My Lord Jesus bore much worse and without self-pity, resentment, and complaint. So, excuse me while I pull up my big-girl panties and deal with it...joyfully.
"I remember my afflictions and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him'." Lamentations 3:19-24
Sunday, July 31, 2005
OLD FAITHFUL
Wow. It has been three months since I last blogged. I did not tell her I posted one yesterday. I never assumed she would still be faithfully checking my blog page. I should have known. I published a post yesterday afternoon; by five-something this morning, Cheri had posted a comment on it. Talk about faithful...I'd have given up on me long ago.
Lest she think the title of this post refers to her, Cheri's faithfulness in all things is the result her desire to follow the example of Old Faithful. Not the geyser but the Lord God, the great I AM. His faithfulness far exceeds any we will ever know. And talk about not giving up on lost causes! It began with Adam and Eve and their deadly decision to disobey and has continued down through history. To me. And you. "Your love, O Lord, reaches to the heavens, Your faithfulness to the skies." (Ps. 36:5) God loves and blesses those who receive Him. "For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations." (Ps.100:5) He does not give up easily on the lost. "He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:9) He extends mercy and grace to all who come to Him. "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." (1 Jn. 1:9) But those who harden their hearts and continue to turn to their own way, He gives over to their evil desires. "Furthermore, since they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, He gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done. They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity...Although they know God's righteous decree that those who do such things deserve death, they not only continue to do these very things but also approve of those who practice them." (Rm. 1:28,29,32)
I praise God for His faithfulness. I thank Him for not giving up on me. And thank you, too, Cheri.
Lest she think the title of this post refers to her, Cheri's faithfulness in all things is the result her desire to follow the example of Old Faithful. Not the geyser but the Lord God, the great I AM. His faithfulness far exceeds any we will ever know. And talk about not giving up on lost causes! It began with Adam and Eve and their deadly decision to disobey and has continued down through history. To me. And you. "Your love, O Lord, reaches to the heavens, Your faithfulness to the skies." (Ps. 36:5) God loves and blesses those who receive Him. "For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations." (Ps.100:5) He does not give up easily on the lost. "He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:9) He extends mercy and grace to all who come to Him. "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." (1 Jn. 1:9) But those who harden their hearts and continue to turn to their own way, He gives over to their evil desires. "Furthermore, since they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, He gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done. They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity...Although they know God's righteous decree that those who do such things deserve death, they not only continue to do these very things but also approve of those who practice them." (Rm. 1:28,29,32)
I praise God for His faithfulness. I thank Him for not giving up on me. And thank you, too, Cheri.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
TO BLOG OR NOT TO BLOG 2
It has been about 11 months since I first came on the blogging scene. It has been exactly three months since I last blogged (and my posts were pretty sporadic for a while before that). Having said that, I can only plead busyness for my spotty appearances. My good and faithful friend, Cheri, (speaking of both the quality of her friendship and her blogging) has gently and persistently urged me to resume my writing efforts. Her persistence has proved greater than my resistance so...here I am! I am not promising much; except that I will make a greater effort to offer something offhand more regularly.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
SWEET FIFTEEN
Another child's birthday! Today it's Taylie turning fifteen. FIFTEEN!! How did that happen?! I can't believe the cold and windy day in April, when our beautiful baby girl came into our lives, was fifteen years ago. And what an entry it was! She took her sweet time -- eighteen hours of labor with very little progress -- and then, at 8:14 pm, Mama told the midwife, "I have the urge to push!" At 8:15, Taylor Grace was born. A little intense, to say the least. She continues to be intense in all she does...whether silly, serious, interested, or bored. Her likes and dislikes. Her work and play. She still takes us by surprise.
As I observe this tall (for our family), slender, blonde beauty, I can't help but marvel at God's creation; His gift to us. And at how He has gifted this young woman. It is with great anticipation and thankfulness, we await the unfolding of His good and perfect plan for our lovely daughter. Happy birthday, Taylie-girl; may you always be a woman after God's own heart.
As I observe this tall (for our family), slender, blonde beauty, I can't help but marvel at God's creation; His gift to us. And at how He has gifted this young woman. It is with great anticipation and thankfulness, we await the unfolding of His good and perfect plan for our lovely daughter. Happy birthday, Taylie-girl; may you always be a woman after God's own heart.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RAMSEY!
Nineteen years ago today my first child was born and I began this journey known as motherhood. I've come to realize motherhood is one of God's most powerful tools for shaping and refining...not the child, but the mother.
Last year, when he turned 18, Ramsey was gone from us to Fort Leonard Wood, MO, for basic and advanced training. This year, as he turns 19, he is gone again for advanced training at Fort McCoy in southwestern Wisconsin. It's very strange to have a child absent for their birthday...but I guess I better get used to it!
Ramsey was a beautiful baby and a sweet little boy. He has grown to be a fine young man. I have much to be proud of him for and thankful to God for. I am very proud of Ramsey's willingness and commitment to serve our country in the armed forces. I am thankful that God has kept His Hand upon Ramsey, guiding him and protecting him. As I, once again, place my son in God's Hands, my prayer is that He would continue the good work that He began in Ramsey and that his life would bear fruit for God's glory and the furthering of His Kingdom.
Happy Birthday, Rams, and may God keep you, bless you, and guide you always. We love you.
Last year, when he turned 18, Ramsey was gone from us to Fort Leonard Wood, MO, for basic and advanced training. This year, as he turns 19, he is gone again for advanced training at Fort McCoy in southwestern Wisconsin. It's very strange to have a child absent for their birthday...but I guess I better get used to it!
Ramsey was a beautiful baby and a sweet little boy. He has grown to be a fine young man. I have much to be proud of him for and thankful to God for. I am very proud of Ramsey's willingness and commitment to serve our country in the armed forces. I am thankful that God has kept His Hand upon Ramsey, guiding him and protecting him. As I, once again, place my son in God's Hands, my prayer is that He would continue the good work that He began in Ramsey and that his life would bear fruit for God's glory and the furthering of His Kingdom.
Happy Birthday, Rams, and may God keep you, bless you, and guide you always. We love you.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
WINDY CITY ADVENTURES
I'm back to full-force reality since arriving home from a week in Chicago. Had a great time of fun, relaxation, culture, fine dining, shopping, sight-seeing, and silliness. No responsibilities, except for myself, took a little getting used to but I soon adjusted! Some of the highlights of my trip include: Second City comedy club, a William Morris art exhibit at Northwestern University, tour of Frank Lloyd Wright's home and studio in Oak Park, and a day spent at the Art Institute of Chicago. All wonderful experiences for me.
Meaningful on a different level was our visit to the neonatal intensive care unit at Rush Medical Center where Mindy works. It's kind of difficult to describe, as it leaves you at a loss for words. I was hit with so many things as I walked through the unit, stopping by each baby's isolette. The first thing is how beautiful or cute the babies are and then it hits you what their circumstances are: the challenges of being born too early or born with physical anomalies, the sorrow of not being cherished, the horror of a mother's attempt to abort herself. At the same time, you are absorbing the surroundings of monitors, alarms going off warning of imminent death; lights, wires, and tubes; staff busy working on babies so tiny and frail; young parents looking unsure and uncomfortable. It is all pretty overwhelming. But even in the midst of all that, there were glimpses of God's Presence: scripture passages taped to the walls of isolettes (including the card we attach to the knitted hats we send with Ps. 139:13-14), a mother's Bible on top of her child's isolette, and the evidence of His creation in these precious children. I have always had an appreciation of life but this experience certainly deepened it.
I hit the ground running, back in the Northwoods, with a to-do list a mile long and a lot of catching up to do...but it was worth it!
Meaningful on a different level was our visit to the neonatal intensive care unit at Rush Medical Center where Mindy works. It's kind of difficult to describe, as it leaves you at a loss for words. I was hit with so many things as I walked through the unit, stopping by each baby's isolette. The first thing is how beautiful or cute the babies are and then it hits you what their circumstances are: the challenges of being born too early or born with physical anomalies, the sorrow of not being cherished, the horror of a mother's attempt to abort herself. At the same time, you are absorbing the surroundings of monitors, alarms going off warning of imminent death; lights, wires, and tubes; staff busy working on babies so tiny and frail; young parents looking unsure and uncomfortable. It is all pretty overwhelming. But even in the midst of all that, there were glimpses of God's Presence: scripture passages taped to the walls of isolettes (including the card we attach to the knitted hats we send with Ps. 139:13-14), a mother's Bible on top of her child's isolette, and the evidence of His creation in these precious children. I have always had an appreciation of life but this experience certainly deepened it.
I hit the ground running, back in the Northwoods, with a to-do list a mile long and a lot of catching up to do...but it was worth it!
Friday, February 18, 2005
COUNTRY MOUSE, CITY BOUND
On Monday, this backwoods girl is heading to the Windy City for five days. Going down with Cindy to stay with daughter, Mindy. She will take us on a tour of the neonatal intensive care unit at Rush where she works. I will see, firsthand, the precious babies we're knitting hats for. I know it will be an overwhelming experience. Also, I will be spending a day and night with my friend, Karen, who is taking me to Second City, the comedy club downtown Chicago, and on a tour of Frank Lloyd Wright's home and studio in Oak Park. We'll find time to go to the Art Institute, do some big city shopping, and eat at a couple authentic Italian restaurants, as well.
I have much to do in preparation to go. I have never left my family for more than a weekend. It should be interesting how things go around here that week! Along with my travel preparations I also have the usual, and unusual, demands on my time in the next few days: school, kids' art class, grocery shopping, pay bills, laundry, work at Klondike Days, work at a house I clean (besides mine). To quote Calvin & Hobbes, "The days are just packed!"
Blogging probably won't be on my to-do list until after I return from Chicago, and I'll have much to write about then. So, to quote another beloved character, "T.T.F.N.!"
I have much to do in preparation to go. I have never left my family for more than a weekend. It should be interesting how things go around here that week! Along with my travel preparations I also have the usual, and unusual, demands on my time in the next few days: school, kids' art class, grocery shopping, pay bills, laundry, work at Klondike Days, work at a house I clean (besides mine). To quote Calvin & Hobbes, "The days are just packed!"
Blogging probably won't be on my to-do list until after I return from Chicago, and I'll have much to write about then. So, to quote another beloved character, "T.T.F.N.!"
Thursday, February 17, 2005
WYLER AUSTIN, THOUGHT WE'D LOST 'IM
Today is our youngest child's 11th birthday. Wyler Austin, aka Wylie. The unplanned, unexpected surprise fourth child, arriving 13 months after his sister. Discovering I was pregnant with him blew me away. I had a tiny infant, was exhausted, and had not yet recovered psychologically from her birth. I didn't tell Mark the news for two weeks. He flipped.
Looking back on that time, I don't know what our life would be without this little goof-ball God bestowed on us. From the moment he arrived in our world, with his huge eyes wide open, he has cracked us up. The Lord must have known we would be needing some comic relief through the years.
Wylie has also given us more heart-stopping moments than the other three put together: eating a glass Christmas ornament (helpfully thrown into his playpen by his sister), tumbling all the way down the basement stairs (after the baby gate was helpfully opened by the same sister), choking on a little square of film from a View Finder reel (sis wasn't involved in that one), swallowing his brother's off-limits Legos, nearly drowning in Lake Superior, and (worst of all by far) wandering off at the age of three at a crowded State Park. The first few years were a real rollercoaster! And now you get the title of this blog.
I offer a prayer of heartfelt gratitude for this son of laughter, our "Isaac", for God's protection of him, and ask for wisdom as we guide him on the path to becoming a godly young man. Happy Birthday "Wyler, Wyler, manure piler"...that's another story.
Looking back on that time, I don't know what our life would be without this little goof-ball God bestowed on us. From the moment he arrived in our world, with his huge eyes wide open, he has cracked us up. The Lord must have known we would be needing some comic relief through the years.
Wylie has also given us more heart-stopping moments than the other three put together: eating a glass Christmas ornament (helpfully thrown into his playpen by his sister), tumbling all the way down the basement stairs (after the baby gate was helpfully opened by the same sister), choking on a little square of film from a View Finder reel (sis wasn't involved in that one), swallowing his brother's off-limits Legos, nearly drowning in Lake Superior, and (worst of all by far) wandering off at the age of three at a crowded State Park. The first few years were a real rollercoaster! And now you get the title of this blog.
I offer a prayer of heartfelt gratitude for this son of laughter, our "Isaac", for God's protection of him, and ask for wisdom as we guide him on the path to becoming a godly young man. Happy Birthday "Wyler, Wyler, manure piler"...that's another story.
Monday, February 14, 2005
I'M A KNIT-WIT
I have just spent over an hour on-line looking at patterns for knitting and felting tote bags. It's astounding what's out there! There are tons of knitting websites, blogs completely devoted to knitting, yarn shops, and chat rooms filled with knitters chatting about their knitting.
I, myself, have five knitting projects in process (besides continuously cranking out newborn hats for the NICU at Rush Medical): felted clogs, two dish cloths, a sweater, and a pair of socks. And here I am looking for another project! I admit it; I'm a knit-wit. But at least I'm not a misfit --
there are too many of us out there! We are a force to be reckoned with!
I, myself, have five knitting projects in process (besides continuously cranking out newborn hats for the NICU at Rush Medical): felted clogs, two dish cloths, a sweater, and a pair of socks. And here I am looking for another project! I admit it; I'm a knit-wit. But at least I'm not a misfit --
there are too many of us out there! We are a force to be reckoned with!
Thursday, February 10, 2005
SIGNS OF THE TIMES
Today was one of those days that kind of rubbed my face in the fact that I am getting older...
Started off top of the morning with my yearly mamogram, picked up my new bifocals at the eyewear center, ran into a high school chum and her granddaughter at the grocery store, and found out my younger sister's former husband suffered a massive heart attack (thankfully, he survived). Finished out the day with our usual Thursday night card game with two other couples, where every hand someone's asking, "What was trump?" or "What was led?" or "Whose deal is it?" You know it's getting pretty bad when your husband is cupping his hand behind his ear to help him hear what someone is saying.
Started off top of the morning with my yearly mamogram, picked up my new bifocals at the eyewear center, ran into a high school chum and her granddaughter at the grocery store, and found out my younger sister's former husband suffered a massive heart attack (thankfully, he survived). Finished out the day with our usual Thursday night card game with two other couples, where every hand someone's asking, "What was trump?" or "What was led?" or "Whose deal is it?" You know it's getting pretty bad when your husband is cupping his hand behind his ear to help him hear what someone is saying.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
RESTING ON MY LAURELS
Here I have been contentedly resting on my laurels in the blogging department, but that has caused certain parties a minor amount of discontent. If I am to be completely honest, I'd have to admit I've just been too lazy to write. Sorry 'bout that!
I got to thinking about the idiom "resting on my laurels". This means we're satisfied with what we've done and we don't try to improve or make things better. Well, that notion clashed with my desire for contentment. There is always room for improvement in my character and output. But I can be very content resting on Jesus' laurels. He has done it all and there is no room for improvement!
I got to thinking about the idiom "resting on my laurels". This means we're satisfied with what we've done and we don't try to improve or make things better. Well, that notion clashed with my desire for contentment. There is always room for improvement in my character and output. But I can be very content resting on Jesus' laurels. He has done it all and there is no room for improvement!
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
WORD OF THE DAY: CONTENTMENT
"If we have not quiet in our minds, outward comfort will do no more for us than a golden slipper on a gouty foot." ~ John Bunyan
(No pun intended there, but I sure found it amusing -- "gouty foot"...John Bunyan...get it?...bunion...OK, never mind!)
With that aside, after I got my chuckle, I was made aware of how God has been working on me in the area of contentment. He keeps bringing it to the forefront of my mind in different ways: the above quote by John Bunyan, author of Pilgrim's Progress; daughter Taylie's literature selection yesterday was a short story by Leo Tolstoy titled, "How Much Land Does A Man Need". In this tale, Tolstoy teaches an important lesson about the Biblical principle of contentment and the consequences of greed. The man in the story was told he could buy, for 1000 rubles, as much land as he could walk around in one day. If he was not back to the starting point when the sun went down he would lose his money and the land. In his greed, he ventured further out than he could make it back from by sundown. When he realized his folly he began to run to try to make it to the starting point before the sun set. He ran himself to death. In the end, six feet of land, from his head to his heels, was all he needed.
God's Word has a lot to say about contentment. "Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you'." Hebrews 13:5 Our discontent can be with our circumstances, our physical appearance, our talents and abilities, and our material possessions. I have struggled with discontent in all these areas at one time or another. Certain ones are chronic. Even if I do gain these things I covet, they won't last. I brought nothing into this world and it is certain I can carry nothing out. But God promises He will never leave me. God alone should be enough. 1Timothy 6:6 says, "Now godliness with contentment is great gain." This is what I want to covet.
(No pun intended there, but I sure found it amusing -- "gouty foot"...John Bunyan...get it?...bunion...OK, never mind!)
With that aside, after I got my chuckle, I was made aware of how God has been working on me in the area of contentment. He keeps bringing it to the forefront of my mind in different ways: the above quote by John Bunyan, author of Pilgrim's Progress; daughter Taylie's literature selection yesterday was a short story by Leo Tolstoy titled, "How Much Land Does A Man Need". In this tale, Tolstoy teaches an important lesson about the Biblical principle of contentment and the consequences of greed. The man in the story was told he could buy, for 1000 rubles, as much land as he could walk around in one day. If he was not back to the starting point when the sun went down he would lose his money and the land. In his greed, he ventured further out than he could make it back from by sundown. When he realized his folly he began to run to try to make it to the starting point before the sun set. He ran himself to death. In the end, six feet of land, from his head to his heels, was all he needed.
God's Word has a lot to say about contentment. "Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you'." Hebrews 13:5 Our discontent can be with our circumstances, our physical appearance, our talents and abilities, and our material possessions. I have struggled with discontent in all these areas at one time or another. Certain ones are chronic. Even if I do gain these things I covet, they won't last. I brought nothing into this world and it is certain I can carry nothing out. But God promises He will never leave me. God alone should be enough. 1Timothy 6:6 says, "Now godliness with contentment is great gain." This is what I want to covet.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
SO YOU SAY YOU WANT A RESOLUTION
Well, this New Year's resolution, to better manage my time, is proving quite challenging (ya think?). But I am resolutely resolved to resolve this resolution. First plan of attack: consistently early to bed, early to rise. I blew the first part of this last night by staying up until 1:am to finish knitting a baby hat. But I stuck with the latter part and forced myself out of bed at 6:30, despite the siren's call of my warm, flannel sheets. Two cups of coffee later (I normally only have one) I am off and running...well, that might be an exaggeration. I've had my devotion time, gotten a load of laundry washed and dried, mixed up pancakes for breakfast, and am eyeballing the rest of my day. Actually, I am eyeballing the end of my day -- the early to bed part won't be a problem tonight.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TESSA ROSE!
Twelve years ago today a beautiful baby girl came into the world and into our lives. She took her time getting here, as she had passed her due date of December 26th and required two and a half days of pitocin-induced labor to make an appearance. The intensity of her birth was duplicated in the intensity of her gaze as her dark eyes locked onto mine as she nursed. In fact, intensity has continued to be the hallmark of her nature and character; she wears her heart on her sleeve and it's all or nothing with her. She is my biggest mess-maker, but she is also my best cleaner-upper. Her creativity is astounding; when she was four she dressed herself in an ensemble (complete with gloves, hat, and handbag) constructed entirely with computer printer paper and staples!
It is a bit of a shock to me that my youngest daughter is now twelve -- on the threshhold of young womanhood. I pray for wisdom as I guide her through these crucial, formative years and help her channel her God-given gifts. My prayer for her comes from Philippians 1:9-11, "May your love abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ -- to the glory and praise of God." Amen and Happy Birthday, Tessa Rosebud!
It is a bit of a shock to me that my youngest daughter is now twelve -- on the threshhold of young womanhood. I pray for wisdom as I guide her through these crucial, formative years and help her channel her God-given gifts. My prayer for her comes from Philippians 1:9-11, "May your love abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ -- to the glory and praise of God." Amen and Happy Birthday, Tessa Rosebud!
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
TIME TO SHINE
My resolution for this new year is to better manage my time. It hits me that time is the only thing that stands between me and eternity. God has given me 1,440 minutes in each day. How I use those minutes is up to me. Some day I will answer to God and give an account of how I managed the gifts He gave me, time being one of them. I was meditating on God's Word to us in Ephesians 5:15-17, as follows: "See then that you walk circumspectly, not as fools but as wise, redeeming the time, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be unwise, but understand what the will of the Lord is." The word "redeem" means to "buy back" or "buy out of". Back from or out of what? I believe in this context it means to buy it out of the world; all the distractions and darkness of the world. We must "walk circumspectly", which literally means to see all around one's self. This tells me I must proceed through each moment of my day carefully choosing how I will act and react, seeking God's will and making choices accordingly. I must understand our times and carve time out of the bondage of evil. To redeem the time means to make the most of every opportunity, not just let it sift away unused or wasted. Verse 11 of this same chapter tells us: "Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather expose them." Expose them with what? With the light Christ gives us. "For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light...finding out what is acceptable to the Lord." (Eph. 5:8-10) Wow...I was once darkness, but now I am light in the Lord. "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine!"
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
A NEW YEAR
After a very nice Christmas with family and friends, we brought in the new year with Mark injuring his back at work on December 29th. After the emergency room, X-rays, doctor's office visits, and an MRI; it was determined to be a ruptured disc. The first few days were the roughest with a lot of pain and discomfort, difficulty moving, getting in and out of bed/recliner, sleepless nights, and a bad reaction to the prescribed pain-killer, Vicadin. But gradually, the pain has lessened and mobility has increased. He will begin physical therapy tomorrow and visit the doctor again on Friday.
As the doctor's order were to not go back to work, it has been interesting having Mark around the house this much. (As Cheri says: "Men are not meant to be home." And I am empathizing with Cindy, whose husband isn't working this winter.) It is difficult to get anything done and he asks, "Who are you calling?" every time I pick up the phone. When I'm in the basement doing laundry, he's calling for me from upstairs. When I'm in the bedroom, he's calling from the kitchen. When I'm doing school with the kids, he's interrupting, "Babe...". I love my husband and I'm always wishing he could be home with us more, but at this point he is getting shack-happy and is alternating between being silly and cranky. Fortunately, it's more often silly.
Some might say all this does not bode well for the new year but I am so thankful that I have my husband, unlike our friend, Sarah, who lost her beloved on December 4th. I am thankful that I can trust God is in control, even when finances are strained and the future is uncertain. I am confident He will provide for us and care for us in His loving mercy. Already, this has been a blessed New Year for us.
As the doctor's order were to not go back to work, it has been interesting having Mark around the house this much. (As Cheri says: "Men are not meant to be home." And I am empathizing with Cindy, whose husband isn't working this winter.) It is difficult to get anything done and he asks, "Who are you calling?" every time I pick up the phone. When I'm in the basement doing laundry, he's calling for me from upstairs. When I'm in the bedroom, he's calling from the kitchen. When I'm doing school with the kids, he's interrupting, "Babe...". I love my husband and I'm always wishing he could be home with us more, but at this point he is getting shack-happy and is alternating between being silly and cranky. Fortunately, it's more often silly.
Some might say all this does not bode well for the new year but I am so thankful that I have my husband, unlike our friend, Sarah, who lost her beloved on December 4th. I am thankful that I can trust God is in control, even when finances are strained and the future is uncertain. I am confident He will provide for us and care for us in His loving mercy. Already, this has been a blessed New Year for us.
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