I miss her

I'm home from Montana. My heart is so sore from being at my Grandma's house without my grandma there. I'd like to have a day to myself to brood and mourn and think everything through, but that won't happen. I've hardly had any time alone in the last week, and everything's been so busy.
But. That's just me. On to her.

My grandma was a writer. She wrote a lot of poetry and stories. And I'm glad she left it behind for us, so we could always have those parts of her.

On Thursday my girl cousins and I went through some of my grandma's jewelry boxes. She had a lot of old and new things all mingled together. She liked to keep things. My cousin thought it was because she was a pack rat, but I think it was partly because she cherished things, sort of like I do. Things that seem like junk, really aren't, when you realize she kept it because a grandkid gave it to her as a gift, or because she wore it on a special day.

I wrote a poem, trying to use the same style she always did, and it's not great, but I thought I'd share it anyway.

Grandma's Jewelry Box

Grandma's jewelry box was filled with many things
pins and brooches, watches beads
and pretty little rings.
What delight her granddaughters found
in trying on each piece
along with her old hats and gowns.

And now, the time has come for us to inherit these treasures
and as we look, we discover Grandma's life
was full of simple pleasures.
She loved the elegant along with the bold
so she kept all of those pretty things
and cherished the the stories they told

Grandma's jewelry box,
saved through generations
the great and small, she loved them all
as she did her grand children.

So much to say, so little time.
I would love to share all that's been happening these last few days And I will, but right now I'm enjoying time with my cherished family, savoring our time together. I haven't seen some of them for almost 15 years!
Sitting here on the couch with my aunt and enjoying some peace and quiet now that the busy funearl day is wrapping up. My cousins went to the bar, and some of us stayed behind and did music stuff with my cousin, second cousin once removed, and hubby and all who cared to watch. It's been a good day, but a sad day too. I miss my grandma already.

Royalty

You descended from royalty
and high-classy folk
yet you chose the simple life
of praying for your daily bread and scraping and saving
and you lived there all those years
finding contentment in something outside of
home and garden and family and life
outside of the way people viewed you or how you were treated
Blossoming like a rose in the thorns
and all who came into your presence
found solace and rest
and comfort of down-to-earth and being liked just as you were
Those who met you out of context
knew you were beautiful and full of class
you who could have lived among royalty and riches
who took the way of the worker
and it probably wasn't all you thought it would be
there in the Montana desert
hanging laundry and baking bread
but you pressed on
growing your garden of peace and honor
in your trail, all those who felt your care
And you found the value in simple things,
and looked for stories in the everyday.
You lived a noble life, like those you knew who went before
and you painted the stories of so many folks, of family and friends
and years gone by.
the words you wrote meant a lot to us
And you mean so much more.

No Compromise

Ever since I met my husband, he has raved about Keith Green. I didn't know much about him at all. He happened to have written a song I really liked, "There is a Redeemer", but that was about all I knew. Over the years, I've put together details to know a little more. I didn't really like him. His music is abrasive and his voice is annoying. He was an amazing pianist, but I just haven't been a big fan of his. But a couple weeks ago, I picked up his biography in the church library. I thought I should read it to know a little more, and I recently found out that they're making a movie about him, so i wanted to read the book first. [editor's note: having read it, I can see why my husband respects him so much. He's so similar!]

It was a really good read. I think everyone should read it (especially you, Scarlet because the beginning half reminded me a lot of you). He has a really amazing story. Starting with his childhood popularity and fame, stretching through his teen years of searching and seeking the "Truth", and then into his married life and the development of his ministry and music.

He set aside music for a while to see if it was what God wanted. In the meantime, he'd tell people about Jesus and pray with them to be saved, and if they needed a way out of what they were stuck in, he'd have them move in with him and Melody. He and his wife adopted an 11 year old girl when they'd been married a year. They eventually picked up songwriting and music again, and picked up a record label. He rose to popularity so fast, despite his controversial opinions about things. As his housing of new converts and seekers overtook the neighborhood, they became official, calling themselves "Last Days Ministries". As the ministry spread with more music, preaching and newsletters and literature, they decided to move to Texas, where you can still find them. Of course, if you hear anything about him, you know he died after 7 years in ministry in a plane crash. So the book talks about all that time.

I'm the same age he was when he died, and I have very little to show for it. He had so much. But that was his personality and his calling.

Now, coming from someone who's never been a big fan of the "Jesus Movement" (but whose parents were saved because of it), but who's facinated with history in general, this was really fun to read. I had so many challenging thoughts during all of it. Keith was a person who decided what was right and went with it all the way, hard core. He wasn't always right, and sometimes he had to correct himself, but he was honest.

It's made me think, looking at his life and the things he said, how much have I watered down what I believe to fit into the mold? WHere have I compromised my passion? What would a person like Keith Green think of my life, and what would that reflect about what God sees and thinks? The album art for his second album was really cool. It's a picture of Mordecai from the Bible, not bowing to Haman (and apparently I copied a bad quality version but I'm too lazy to change it).

I can't really explain everything I've thought while I've read the book, but it has endeared a person to me who I didn't like before, and reading it has caused me to think about what I'm sharing with others. How lost the world is, searching for their answers, but not finding them. And what responsibility I have, if I claim that I hold the truth in my heart, to share it. I'm not going to camp out listening to Keith Green albums any time soon, but I really enjoyed discovering the story behind his songs, and the way God used one man so profoundly.

Sweet river Roll

I listen to this song sometimes when I'm in the right melancholy mood. It's in my head tonight. I listened to it on repeat when I lost Grace. It's sort of depressing, but when I hear "Sweet River Roll" it's just like Jesus is there, and I know He rolls all over over. FYI, I am NOT a big waterdeep fan, but sometimes they pull off a good tune.


"Sweet River Roll" by Waterdeep
Homebound Henry's got a tumor in his head
He wakes up every morning after dreaming he was dead
He used to think that life was boring, but now that's not the case
He turns to his wife in the evening, he says "Honey I'm afraid I'm gonna lose this race."

Sweet River, roll all over me
Sweet River, roll all over me

Soaking wet Juliet- she lives in a well full of tears
Her husband left her for some bimbo after twenty-two years
Now she's got to start all over, but she's just so terrified
She thinks it woulda been so much easier if he woulda just died

And I'm lookin out my car window sittin' in the pouring rain
Although your house is fifteen miles away, I can still feel your pain
I've thought and prayed and worked it through about a hundred times or more
How your soul just cries to everyone to help you get up off the floor
Right now it's morning, you're probably totally unaware
of the flood of kisses you hold back by the way that you despair
It ain't me I'm talking about here, or anybody else you can touch
That's all I want to say right now, I don't want to say too much

except Sweet Jesus, roll all over me
Sweet Jesus, roll all over me...
You gotta come down and just set me free

Old Friends

When I was a new person in youth group, my brother and I decided to go on the welcome new freshmen canoe trip at the beginning of my sophomore year. While I stood in the lobby with other kids, amongst sleeping bags and tents and backpacks, waiting awkwardly for someone--anyone---to come talk to me, my brother disappeared with his friends.
Then came Rachel. She just walked over and said, "hi." I was relieved anyone was talking to me or standing with me. she was never great at making conversation, but we found enough to talk about. Her friends had all graduated so she told me she needed to meet new people. Perfect. She was a year older than I and went to a different school. But she became the friend I needed to be part of the youth group. We got along really well, and always sat together and sang on worship team and roomed together on trips. For the next two years, she was my real youth group friend. The other kids talked to me and we all got along, but Rachel was my mainstay. I always felt comfortable with her, even when neither of us had anything to say.
We had great times. And we lost touch as we went our seperate ways.
Tonight we met up again because she was in town (her folks still lvie here). We sat at chili's for two hours just talking and catching up. It was great. Because, when so many of the people I knew back in those days have changed and become completely different people, she hasn't. It was just like that first camping trip (where, insodently I got sick and threw up and had to go home early, but the thing with Rachel stuck nonetheless).
As I drove home, I wondered about what makes some friendships stick and be able to pick up even after yaers apart. And why some just go away. I think it's partly personality. And it's partly just true fellowship that comes from Christ. Rachel and I shared developing years together, and because our relationship with Christ was what we had in common at first, we could still connect these years later. Of course, a lot is personality too. I'm always open to meeting back up with old friends and catching up, and in fact I really like doing it. Not everyone does, and that's fine too. That's what we have facebook for, right?

The Way

A kid from our church died today. He had an asthma attack on Sunday and went into cardiac arrest. They put him on life support at the hospital, and we all prayed and prayed for three days. He was 16, and like I've said before, death is such a hard thing to grapple with. It's part of life, but it's still hard. Especially someone who had so much to still give to the world. So I wrote this, because that's how I process things like this.

The Way

and we prayed all night that you would change what events had set in motion
that you would stop the train
turn it around
because we knew you could.
But instead you chose your way, with thoughts that dwell in clouds beyond our understanding
the way of Wisdom that reaches beyond man's mind
the healing of hearts that hurts, the fatal cut
And it felt like you left us there
our requests laid bare before your throne, but you stayed far away
listening and waiting, with some kind of impeccable timing only you could explain
and you chose not to explain anyway.
We wondered if you were there, but you were all along
with your eyes that watch each sparrow fall
and count the hairs on our heads.
With a heart big enough to encompass all pain and questions and doubt
and a Way that brings life and healing
even in death.

To My Dad

A lot of girls grow up wondering if they're loved, if they're beautiful, if anyone cares about them. Wanting to be cherished and treasured, hoping to find someone who will treat them like a princess.
Well, I didn't. those were not questions that went through my mind. Because my dad was there for me. It wasn't that he told me all of the things I wanted to hear. I just knew. He didn't grow up in a relational family who talked about feelings, and I'm not the sort who spills life out on any blank canvas, so I guess Dad and I didn't always have a lot to talk about. But he was there. He was home for every supper. He played baseball and soccer with us and went on bike rides. He prayed with us at night and read us stories before bed. He came to concerts and ceremonies and took us on vacation.
He was there at night when I had bad dreams, after work and supper when we'd play in the yard, and every morning, when I got up, I found him downstairs, reading his Bible or finishing off breakfast.
He set an example of hard work and diligence and discipline.
And he loved me. He didn't always have time for me. I'm a typical overlooked middle child. But I never wondered if he loved me or even if he liked me. He just did.
I'm thankful that I inherited so much of his personality. I strive to live in wisdom and discernment, to dedicate my life to God and to work hard. I'm thankful that he is who he is now, a grandfather with time for his grand kids. A dad who serves his family still, even when they should all be grown ups.
In a world with so many hurts and battles, I'm glad I had a dad to walk with me through them. Because a lot of girls don't. And, even though he isn't perfect, he's perfect for me. And I love him with all my heart.

Bomb Shells

You know how it is when you're going about normal life and things seem really good, and then out of nowhere, a bomb hits? Like your dad calls you to tell you your grandma's in the hospital and it's not looking really great?
Then all of a sudden, life goes into slow motion and you have a hard time really focusing on anything else? The bomb just consumes your thoughts and energy?

So it's finally happening. I've known for years that my grandparents didn't have much time left, but... but I don't want that to be true. So I've been juggling worries and thoughts and anxiety and memories, wishing that life were easier to live, and death weren't part of it.

On Sunday our pastor preached from Daniel 10. After he had a vision, an angel came to explain it to him and he said, "I am overcome with anguish because of the vision, my lord, and I am helpless. ¹⁷ How can I, your servant, talk with you, my lord? My strength is gone and I can hardly breathe."
The pastor talked about how in our lives we experience things that put us in that position, and of course, GOd is present there. He gives us a way out. The angel's response to Daniel was that he strengthened him and said, "Do not be afraid O man, highly esteemed. Peace! Be strong now! Be very strong."

So there I am. I"m sure there will be more to say about this in the coming weeks. I'd appreciate prayer if you're the praying sort.

June 6, 1944

So few of us actually have a chance to be part of history. Witness it, sure. I'll always remember where I was when OJ's verdict came out, when Oklahoma City was bombed, and when the towers got attacked, when presidents were elected, etc. But to have been a part of it is something different.

Today is the anniversary of D-Day. It seems to be a forgotten day 66 years later. I remember the 50th anniversary. It was a big deal then. What happened on D-Day turned the war around and became the beginning of the end. When the troops invaded at Normandy, there was such a slim chance they would succeed. But they literally bit the bullet and tried anyway. I think God was on their side. I know God was on the side of so many soldiers.

You probably know I like to brag about my Grandfather, who got to be part of history that day. For years, he never talked about it with us grand kids. Lately he's started sharing details, and it's amazing. He shouldn't have made it. His friends on each side were shot to death. He was hit as well, close to his stomach, and he ran around on the beach for quite a while before he lost consciousness.

The thing about being part of history is that it usually involves something traumatic. Something that changes your life forever. For the folks sitting at home in the states, D-Day meant a well of hope. Hope that the long days and nights would soon end. Hope of seeing their loved ones again. They can tell you what they wore that day and what they did when the news came. As generations have come and gone since that day, it has become little more than a question on a history test. But the guys who were there, who witnessed death and evil and pain and terror, it was never a passing moment. They can close their eyes and relieve it. Their young lives were shaped by that single day, for better or for worse. I hope that I never become callused enough to believe those moments in history don't matter. Because the course of history changed, not only from a tactical standpoint, but from the heart of one soldier, who before the war had never seen outside of his Montana farm, who had a beautiful woman waiting at home for him, who went on to raise five kids and have 21 grand kids, some of whom followed his way in the army. The way his life changed that day could never be explained or spoken, but for whatever outcome we found, he became who he was. And he matters. It all matters to me.

Anniversary Countdown

We've been married nine years now, so I thought I'd put it in numbers:

9 times moving
8 Weddings we've been in
7 Trips to Montana and beyond
6 Years in our first house and living here.
5 Wonderful anniversary trips
4 Trips to the hospital, funerals
3 Babies, Guitars, Drives to California
2 Endless house projects, RV's, Times singing together at church
1 Faithful God, Wonderful life together.

Forth of July, 1995

Last night I started thinking about the summer coming up, and all of the great things that we can do in the warm weather. I thought about things I did as a kid, and my favorite thing was going to a lake and hanging out with friends swimming and being on the beach and riding boats. These were rare occurrences, actually, but always my favorite.

Got me thinking about one year when I was fourteen. In the thick of weirdness at my church, we had this group of friends. My parents did, that is. So, for the Forth of July we went out to one of their places. Out on a farm, with a lake and a big yard and lots of buildings. I didn't know the people very well. My sister was friends with the little daughter. I loved that place. It was beautiful. We had a great day, full of all of the things I loved. They had a pinball machine in one of the sheds that we could play, and of course, all of the lake stuff.

They had a son Calan too. He was a year older than me, tall and skinny with a sad smile and crooked teeth. He had an obsession with comic books. he was an artist. And he had a friend there that weekend so I hardly saw him most of the day. I knew him from church but hadn't hung out with him much. He was in this crowd of fringe people, who didn't put on the church face and try to impress everyone, who weren't popular at school, who were just themselves and let everyone see them for who they were. That weekend, at his house, seeing where he lived and the way he'd decorated his bedroom and the things he liked, I caught a glimpse of his soul. It sort of creeped me out. But he was a nice guy too. we talked a little that day, but I don't remember much about it.

After dark when the folks settled in to watch the fireworks from miles away in their lawn chairs, and my brothers went to light illegal fireworks, some how I ended up following Scott over into a pasture and up a fence and then up onto a rooftop, where we could see the fireworks just perfectly. I snagged my favorite shirt on a nail but I didn't really care. We just sat there and watched the fireworks, and I don't even know why. Maybe we were just two misfits finally connecting on some weird level. Maybe he was lonely like me and like having the company of the opposite sex. It would have been the perfect moment to say or do something romantic, but we just sat there together. And I'll remember it forever because I felt like myself and it had been such a good day and I was safe there.

About a year later, my friend called me to tell me Calan had hanged himself in his bedroom.

I don't know why it mattered so much to me. I didn't ever know him that well, and we left the church before Calan and I became good friends. I think we might have. Maybe that's what haunts me about it. Or maybe it was just that in a lot of ways, I was so much like him. Or maybe it was because it just wasn't right. Because he was a gentle spirit with good to offer the world, who struggled just like anyone else. Who bothered to talk to me. I think about that forth of July sometimes and wonder if things had been a little different, what could have happened with me and Scott after then. And when I get to heaven if he's there I'm gonna ask him what tormented his soul in that lesser world where we once lived where good and bad walked on a tight line, and simplicity and beauty held hands, and horrific and terrible intertwined with every day.

My Friend Mitch

Last night I went to see Mitch McVicker perform. I like him, not as much for his music as for his essence. He does a really cool concert using a loop box and all kinds of weird percussion pieces and household items. He talks like Rich Mullins, earthy and poetic all at once, with a new perspective on things you think about all the time. He sings songs that mean something.
If you've read my blog for a long time, you know I like him. I saw him the first time after Grace died, in March, and I bought the album "Love Will Rise". The title track kept me going. I listened to it almost every day, sometimes I'd just let it go on repeat. The world felt so dark and wrong, and the song comforted me and encouraged me to keep going.
He didn't sing it at the second concert I attended the following year, but I (using all the courage and guts I had) went and told him about it (because he's awesome and stays afterward to sign CD's and talk to people). He just smiled this humble smile and nodded his head. He seemed so honored to be used like that.
He sang it this time. And I, having healed so much since that first time i watched him sing it as a brand new song, smiled through it, lost in thoughts of pain and healing and God's mightiness and tenderness and love. For a minute I think Mitch looked out at me, maybe remembering what I'd told him last year. Maybe not. But he did look, and I smiled because God is so good to me.
I think that's the awesome thing about music. You can connect with people on so many different levels. It matters. And I liked what he said at this last concert about how the world doesn't need more Christian musicians. It just needs truth, so he's just trying to merge those. I think he does a good job. (And his link is on my blog if you feel like checking him out). Some day in heaven when we're all sitting around recounting God's hand in our lives, I'll point at Mitch and say thanks.

Weeds

I've been waging war in my yard against weeds. It's pretty much a hopeless cause, but I sort of enjoy pulling them up anyway. There's this satisfying thud sound when you actually yank out the roots. And this annoying rip sound when you don't get it.
We've got creeping charlie, which is about the worst yard weed I can imagine. It crawls around the grass and weaves a foundation in the dirt, suffocating the grass sprouts and eventually taking it all over.

As I was yanking strings of charlies out of the dirt, digging deeper to each level, I thought about weeds in our lives. How they grow underneath and you don't even see them until they've taken over. How sometimes they're big and ugly and take over the whole lawn, but sometimes they look like flowers. And sometimes they're easy to yank out by the roots, and sometimes it's nearly impossible.

They're kind of like the lies that take root in our hearts. Some lies are easy to find and pull out. Some sound good and make us look good, but they're still lies. Some of them are so deeply embedded in our personality and thinking that it's hard to even know where to start uprooting them.

So. I've thought about what lies have grown in my heart. I think we try to pull our weeds in a lot of different ways, but often those aren't pulling down to the roots. Sometimes I think I've pulled a whole weed out of my heart, only to discover it's growing up again, stronger and harder. I know this is vague but of course, weeds arent things people like to display for the whole world to know.

I sprayed parts of my lawn, and as I watch the charlie and clover and crabgrass wither away into brown nastiness, I consider God's word and how it works the same way on those lies in my heart, exposing them for what they are, dismantling them, and making the soil good for what's supposed to be growing.

My Life is Full of Interruptions

Grrrrr. I've been wanting to write so badly lately. I've gotten some good ideas for pieces of stories and plans for new ones, but nothing is coming together. The ones I was working on are stuck. Every last one of them. i need to write devotionals for the theatrical camp and I can't even do that.

Reading a good book makes me want to write even more. I just finished one that i liked and it made me really want to get back to the keys. But tonight I sat and typed two paragraphs before I was interrupted. If I have a good idea of where i'm going, I can slam stuff out with things going on around me and concentrate later when the house gets quiet. (Which seems to be never these days). But when I barely have the inspiration, then it takes all of the concentration I have, which isn't a lot. But now the distractions are full force. The attic project, preparing for a garage sale, theatrical camp, and playdates are taking up all of my free time. It comes in waves. But i apologize. I got nothing.

Mother's Day 2 years later.

This year May 9th was less painful than the previous two years. I think it will be that way with every passing year. And I'm glad, but at the same time, it makes me sad that Grace will become more and more of a memory and less and less of a reality. I missed her. Sitting there at church, realizing that today I could have had a little two year old in my arms while we sang "Blessed Be your Name". I cried a little bit during that song, and then I clung to Arlene.
Jayna was sick so Daniel stayed home with her.
My friend whose baby died the same year as Grace stood on stage for child dedications with her family. Her husband admitted the difficulty of it being his first time on stage since the funeral of their little baby. I cried then too.
Then I didn't cry the rest of the day. The sad part about the due date birthday being on Mother's Day was that I was really conflicted. Part of me wanted to tell everyone and remind them about that little girl I should have been holding. But the considerate part of me just wished everyone happy Mother's Day and got on with life. I'd hoped my church would take my recommendation to have memorial flowers available for mothers who had lost children. They didn't. My family didn't even mention it. But we had a nice time anyway. My sister came home for a few days so we hung out and had ice cream and pizza. Real Mother's Day-ish.
We went to the greenhouse with my mother-in-law and then stopped at the playground and visited for a while. It was nice.
They didn't remember. And I shouldn't expect anyone to. And what would they say even if they did?
One thing that has turned into a little blessing, though, is the friends who were pregnant at the same time as me. There were a LOT of babies born that spring. Two close friends had their due dates a week on either end of mine. They always remember, and I'm thankful. Because even if it's just one person, it matters. It matters that my baby isn't lost forever in the annuls of time and horrific events that everyone's glad they didn't have to experience. Because I love her, and I can't forget and I can't let go. It's all I have to hold on to.
Mother's Day will always be that way for me, I think. Joy and sorrow. Mingled there in my heart, both reminders of Grace. Both reminders of God's faithfulness and goodness and love.

Present Thoughts

i don't have anything remotely profound to write but I feel like updating so I'm just going to talk about random things that I've been living lately. Pick a category, any category!

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants I've lost a little baby fat over the last month. I'm not sure if it's just my body finally returning to normal after being pregnant for 3 years, or if it's medication or what, but it's kind of nice. Except that the clothes I've been wearing are starting to gap and bag. So I've been on the prowl for new jeans. Because I can't live without jeans. Any other form of pants, I can do without, but I am most comfortable in jeans. So. Consignment store, every department store, and back to consignment store. I finally found one pair of pants on sale at Sears that I liked, and two at Goodwill (after trying on at least a dozen pairs). I decided to be selective and not just pick any pair that fit over my thighs. I didn't want stretch ones, anything on the butt (especially jewels) too low or high cut, too loose around the waist, too tight around the ankles or anywhere else(thank you but I am not going to relive the eighties. I am not sixteen and don't want to pretend to be). The result were three pairs that I think will last. I'll keep my eye out, but the hard searching is done. I spent less than $40 total. Not bad, and they're all name brand.

Here comes the Bride (or groom) My cousin-in-law, Rachel, is engaged to a great guy from church, and they're going to be married in two weeks. I can't wait. Mostly because Arlene's a flower girl and Daniel's playing music and it's going to be a joyful family gathering. But also because Rachel is an example of a girl decided to follow God and wait for Him to bring her the right person instead of rushing in and taking the first thing that came along. And I like Jason a lot.

My own brother got engaged last month, but he's decided to wait for a year to get married. Mostly because his fiancee is from another country so there are a lot of details to work out. Also because our younger brother will be deployed to Afganistan for the next year and he wants him to be able to be present for the big life event.

My brother-in-law is also getting married in June. I love his fiancee. She's so awesome. I'm not sure that he's really worthy of her or mature enough to handle adult life, but I guess that's not my call to make (thankfully, because I'd probably screw things up).

Daniel's other cousin also got engaged a couple of weeks ago. To a girl I knew growing up, my mom's friend's daughter. It's kind of cool to hvae her back around and see how the families have changed. Anyway, i guess we'll have another big wedding year, after a couple years of no other weddings.

Simple Pleasures With summer approaching, I've been thinking about activities. I've thought about how busy people are in general driving kids to sports, dance classes, after school clubs, etc. And how families seem to have less and less time together. I don't want our family to be like that. So while I can control it, I think that we're going to forgo scheduled events that we can forgo. (Swimming lessons is a life skill and therefore a different category). I want to have time with my kids to teach them and mold them and help them and let them grow up at their own pace instead of rushing it.

In the same category, I've thought about all of the things we accumulate as we live life, and I've decided (yet again) to work harder at not accumulating them. To classify needs and wants in their true categories, and to avoid spending whenever possible. That's a big statement and probably worthy of its own post. But I won't give it one. I'm just going to make that a weekly prayer that I will discern wisely the difference between wants and needs. I've realized that my kids can't live happy and full lives with so little, that I don't need to set them up for failure by complicating things early on.

Apocalyptic Theories I think I mentioned I'm planning to read Revelation. well, I haven't gotten into it yet. But even though I haven't, I've had a few strange dreams where I've been telling people about Jesus returning or something like that. It's probably all of the economic talk that I don't really understand, and people planning for major downturns in the economy and emp's and nuclear warfare. And I think I won't say much about this lest I be label as a religious nut and/or conspiracy theorist and/or doom-seeker and/or something political. And I don't really want any of those stigmas. I'm not worried about the future, which is so nice.

Little Baby Bundles This really does belong in its own post. several friends have had babies lately or announced pregnancy. It sort of makes me want another one. But our house isn't big enough and our lives aren't settled enough, and I'm finally losing weight and other health issues are in play. So I won't. I'm not pregnant. If you see me bawling next week on Mother's Day, it's because it will probably always be a hard day for me, seeing as I was supposed to have a baby then. Please try not to say something stupid. I don't want to hate you. I'll probably have more to say on that soon.

The Green Thumb We've planted a garden this year. I decided it was a useful skill to hone, and would help us be more frugal and maybe even eat more vegitables. So I planted peas, corn, green beans, carrots and spinach. Daniel planted asparagus and a blueberry plant. He's already started growing grapes the last few years, but he transplanted them this year since someone put a garage in the sunlight's way. I also have a little flower garden that was here when we came. I've added gladiolus this year and they're popping up. I have a flower bed in the front we planted with memory of Grace flowers. Four of them made it this year, which made my heart so happy. I really suck at the "green thumb" thing, but practice makes perfect, right?

I guess that's all for now. I'm going to try to do other productive things. Ha ha.

The Bible that Falls Apart...

Ever heard that pithy saying? The Bible that falls apart belongs to the person who doesn't.
I haven't made that my life motto or anything, but my Bible has certainly fallen apart. Literally. I am very sad about this. But, this week I purchased a new NET Bible and have put it in the case and have slowly began my transition. It's a different translation than what I've used my whole life, and it's just... different. New Bibles have this great feeling. They smell like leather and book, and the thin pages crinkle with every fresh turn. The silver lining on the outside hasn't worn away yet, so it's shiny. I like it. But not as much as that old little Bible my parents gave me when I was ten. It was a birthday present, and through the years (eighteen freaking years!) it has accompanied me on retreats, conferences, weekend getaways, vacations, church services, pretty much everywhere. Which explains its wear.

It has been an instrument for change in my life, the words have been my solace and fortitude in hard times, my strength in the day-to-day, my hope and peace and joy. None of that will change, of course, but saying goodbye to it has been sort of difficult for me. Now I will have to search for those passages anew every time, instead of remembering which side of the page I read it on and having that advantage.

I taped a penny on the inside cover because I won it playing simon Says on a retreat, where the spaker was talking about not doing what everyone else does. I also have my name in Russian on a name tag from a missionary potluck when Cindy Howard first got ready to leave. It's held important ipctures, postcards, sayings, letters and sermon notes over the years. Opening its pages is like going thrugh a time capsual. The notes I took at age 12 seem so insigificant now, but they mattered then.

Change is good, though. I look forward to the next twenty years in the NET Bible, experiencing new ways of wording things and fidning more life scriptures. All of the underlining, highlights, notes in the margins and color coding will not transfer with me to the new Bible. Which gives me the goal to read through the whole thing again. I haven't done that since college. I think the new Bible is motivation for many new things.

But I'll still keep that old friend of mine handy. I can't get rid of it. It's like a keepsake, a record of my spiritual journey through my growing years. I'll always treasure it for those memories it keeps, and thank God for making His word available to me through that little Bible and so many other ways.

Reading List

In between Babar, Curious George, Nursery Rhymes and other picture books about squirrels and ducks and who knows what else, I've been picking away book by book. Slowly most of the time. I miss the time I had in college and when I was working to waste time reading all the time. It doesn't happen as much these days, but I have made it a small priority, so as not to let my brain get fried by cleaning up poop and singing the ABC's.

Light reading has been the "Peculiar Treasures" series by Robin Jones Gunn (who, if you know me, know that she is one of my favorites). It's chick-lit which might be all I need to say. It's a spin-off series about a girl in college named Katie Weldon and her experiences with life. Like I said, light reading.


I didn't used to like biographies much, but I've started to really enjoy them once in a while. I finished the journals of Lewis and Clark earlier this year (after about three years of being the toilet reader, mind you), so I replaced it with another collection of explorers' diaries (Mammoth Book of Explorers, edited by John Keay). So far, I've read about Georg Wilhelm Stellar, John Dundas Cochrane (who may actually be a relative of mine). He walked from St. Petersburg to Moscow, and made some interesting observations. I've read about several Central and South Asian explorers, Alexander Burns with the Uzbecks, John Wood, Regis-Evariste Huc, and a bunch of others you won't care to know. I'm currently on Sven Hedin at the Source of the Indus. They're good stories with insights abotu culture that you wouldn't expect.


The other biography I've read was entitled "Scars and Stilettos" by Harmony Dust. She was a stripper starting at age 19, and it's the story of how she landed in the sex industry and how she got out. It's a really good read, very descriptive and interesting. Even if you aren't interested in the stripping part, it's a good story about the life of a messed-up girl and how she was redeemed. She now has a ministry to strip clubs in the Los Angeles area called "Treasures". I don't recommend this book to a guy, but to a girl, especially one with baggage from life, I think it would offer a lot of encouragement, and maybe even enlightenment.

I also joined a new club recently. Tonight I finished my first John Grisham novel. My cousin recommended "The Testament", so I bought it at a used bookstore and picked my way through it. Now, I don't know what other Grisham novels are like, but let me just say, I wasn't impressed with the writing. The story was good, and kept me guessing the whole way through. Sometimes it gets a little tedious and long, but it was worth it. Although, Daniel listened to the abridged audio version, and I probably should have gone that route.

Another book recommended by a fellow sci-fi fan friend was "The Invention of Morel" by Adolfo Bioy Casares. Strange book. It was sort of interesting, but there isn't a good way to synopsize it. It's just weird. And I read it because of its association with the show LOST. It's short and reads fast, and it was really interesting. Didn't care for the ending, though.

In the Bible, I've been studying John (hence recent poetry). I've also decided I should read Revelation without the accompaniment of a commentary. Because I've never done that.

I don't have a big list queued up yet, so if anyone has recommendations, I'm happy to explore those options. I think it might be time for another classic.

What Creative Kids do with Spare Time

Prepare yourself for the most awesome thing yuo'll see all week:


Oh yeah. While most girls in junior high packed their caboodle case full of make-up, lotions and other cosmetics, mine was a split-level home for my awesome G.I Joe guy. (I did unpack him and load my case up for youth group trips like retreats and camp, but I don't know why because all I put inside were little containers of shampoo/conditioner and a hairbrush).

In fifth grade and probably sixth too, I didn't have a lot of friends, but I did have a lot of spare time and extra creativity, and a mom who let me do whatever I wanted with her sewing machine. So, I diligently pieced together a house for my G.I. Joe, affectionately named "Dumb Guy" (No idea why). I think his roommate's name was Jack. He came later. for a long time Joe lived alone.

I recently unearthed this favorite memory of mine. I spent a lot of time collecting the right objects for their house. Unfortunately, my stupid tenth grade English teacher obtained some of the objects I'd borrowed from Joe's house for a shadow box project (Jo March's attic).



Here they are showing off their "accessories". Notice a RC tank, a real (plastic) gun, backpacks, and extra rope. The old Bubble Tape container held their video tapes, books, and nintendo parts. (My dad also let me use his jigsaw to cut whatever I wanted). I used to have a TV I made with a piece of scrap wood and nails, but it's been misplaced. Joe broke his leg when I was older. He has a permanent bandage now. :(



Here they are chillin in their living room on their couch, wearing their backpacks. Because they're getting ready to go hiking. But first they needed to watch their favorite show.


It's really hard to make tiny clothes. And, GI Joes are way harder to dress than Barbie Dolls. FYI. All of these are remakes, because my of aforementioned theft from teacher. But you get the general idea. They're pajamas.

Now they're having a late-night chat in Joe's room. He likes to have his stuffed pig nearby. They're also sporting their well-designed and hand crafted flannel pajamas. Very comfortable.

The top layer was their bedrooms. There is a rope ladder in the "closet" hanging from the middle compartment. At one time they had a house guest who stuck around for a long time and that was his house. His name was Weird Troll (my neighbor Jesse's contribution).

Yeah. So.... Now you know my dark secrets. I had a lot of fun with these guys, too. Barbie Dolls were not nearly as exciting.