How shall there be a testimony without a test? Can one testify to the faithfulness of God if that faith has not been tested?
My sister in law went home to her Lord and Savior a week ago today. My heart has been in my throat stopping up any words that ever I might have had for over two weeks as we awaited the call of her Lord upon her body. I had a dream one night about her telling me she was no longer cold all the time, and soon Jesus was going to call her name and she would go to Him. We ached, we cried, we rejoiced.
My husband’s sister had more testimony than most. Her first husband passed, then her young daughter died young, and yet, she was faithful. Just as God was there for her, she was there in the community for so many people. The largess of one’s testimony is not truly experienced until the grieving days. The out pouring of people and their time, gifts, and flowers at the funeral is a natural reaction to the testimony of a believers faith.
The children’s sermon on Sunday after all the eventful week was about the overflowing love and faithfulness of the heavenly Father. We had just witnessed this overflow. The love of the Lord was an overflow in Monica’s life to all those she met. And that love was poured back into her family in their moment of grief.
Psalm 23 has a phrase… “my cup runneth over” that follows the concept that God has prepared a table before us in the very presence of our enemies. And yet, He blesses us so abundantly that our cup runs over. We just witnessed the truth of that passage. While it seemed so much had been taken from Monica throughout her life, yet God had blessed more. God took away, but He also gave, to the point of overflowing cup of love.
There are so many little things that one remembers of another. Some of those stories are just for our own grieving hearts to heal. Other memories come at just the right moment to bring a smile that wipes away a current tear.
This moment of grief is bittersweet. We have grieved much these last two years with passing of parents and other relatives. It seems fitting that our dear sister who mourned much in her life should have her joy and rest after this season of sorrow in our lives. One’s heart can only endure so much sorrow. We are thankful for the little lives that have joined us these past two years. Her grandsons, our little grandson and another on the way, reminds us that God turns our sorrow into joy.
Lord, I am reminded of the song “Trading my sorrows” that was popular a number of years ago. I ask that you would turn our grief to rejoicing as we remember Monica and her love for You. Lift our spirits with the hope that only eternal reunions can bring. May the sweet by and by become sweeter every day.
Psalm 126:5-6 “those who sow in tears, shall reap with joy. He who continually goes forth weeping bearing seed for sowing shall doubtless come again with rejoicing Bringing the sheaves with him.”
My dear sister in law lived this verse to full and overflowing spreading the seeds of love and eternal hope wherever she went. And we rejoice that someday, her family and the rest of us, shall be gathered once again in the heavenly realms as great sheaves of harvest. How fitting that she should go home to those who have gone before during harvest season.
Sometimes it feels necessary to sum up one moment in life with a statement or feeling, or overwhelming conscious thought. This past week is one of those moments in my life. A dear uncle of mine passed away rather expected but shockingly so it happened, alone and without the knowledge of anyone in the family for a matter of days. The week for me began with a rather inconspicuous heartburn problem that seemed to have no digestive cause. The “heartburn” lasted until exactly the hour that I learned of my Uncle’s passing. Why was my spirit so vexed within me?
I was on a ten day streak of shortened sleeping hours for no apparent reason also. Some nights no more that two or three hours of actual sleep found me wondering just what really is going on here. We had a lot of phone conversations among family for the first week of the news until the decision was made that some of us do feel the need to honor his life and the contribution that he gave to each of us in our life’s journey.
Just because someone does not ever acknowledge the Maker of heaven and earth publicly, does it mean that we should no less be thankful to the maker for their influence in our lives? Or rather can we be thankful for the the difficult people in our lives just as we are grateful for the everyday people that help the world go around? Yes, scripture tells us that we are to be thankful in every thing. In all circumstance’s giving thanks always for all that God does in our lives and through the people around us that we might give God the glory. Even if they do not.
Before I share some of my favorite memories, I first want to share some of my dad’s favorite memories that he shared with me those last weeks before his passing.
Once when he and his brother were just pre-teens, they and a couple of neighbor boys were put in charge of driving some cattle across a number of miles to new pasture land. They seem so young to be on such a big mission, but for both of them it was a real highlight of their growing to manhood. At one point, my dad fell asleep while telling the story again, and then began muttering that he was trying to find his brother. They would often be out all day on horseback bringing cows home, or moving them to different pastures. They truly were the American cowboys that one sees in the picture books.
Another story is about boxing gloves that one of their friends or cousins was given as a gift. There was many a rowe with their friends as the boys dug into each other to beat one or the other in a boxing match. At one point, one of the older boys goaded my dad into fighting him even though there was quite an age, height, and weight difference. My dad was fiesty enough to land the boy a hit to the gut that took his air away and he caved in letting my dad take the win. Hearing him tell the story was quite hilarous as the exaggerations improved upon each telling.
My earliest memories of my Uncle were as a little toddler standing up on the seat of the pickup cushion with my arms reaching out to touch either shoulder. At one point I could hold it in no longer and my dad says I rubbed my Uncle’s head and said, “You don’t have any hair up here.” He replied as always on his baldness, “Hair is like grass, It does not grow on a busy street.”
My uncle had a self confidence that outshined his stuttering speech. His ego and male magnetism was not always a positive trait. And it often rubbed people the wrong way. Late in his life many of the relatives believed that he may have had autism or some other smart brain social disfunction. But for those of us that did visit with him occasionally his intelligence made for easy conversation.
Of all my uncles, my dad’s brother is the only phone number in my phone, in which HE actually called me. That does make it seem rather special that we have this ability to honor him with a memorial service and spend some time celebrating his life.
My Uncle was an engineer, a wood working hobbyist, a distance range management land holder, a political activist, a writer (dropping lines to new paper editors frequently), and so much more. When I was a little girl all I new was that he helped build airplanes. To encourage my love of math in early high-school years, he gave me a photo of prototype Boeing 737 and signed the back of it for my birthday.. I am rather sad the picture was ruined by weather a number of years ago. But I remember it clearly.
My Uncle was also one of the few people of my relatives that seemed to really enjoy asking me about my greenhouse and how things were going with it. We could discuss herbs, plants, bugs, and soil content with ease and it was always a stimulating conversation. He also loved music, and thoroughly enjoyed hearing about my daughters and their accomplishments through the years. I remember having a discussion about the purchase of their instruments and the makers of each after they acquired the violins, cello, and viola each. He was so well rounded in his knowledge.
My Uncle’s wood lathe hobby was also an inspiration to my father in law. And sharing some of the items that my uncle made often inspired my dad in law to try his hand at certain toy making and kitchen utensils. The coffee scoops that my Uncle turned out of cherry wood or apple wood are some of my favorite. I use them every single day.
What I learned most from my Uncle was how to encourage young people and listen to what they are interested in. I enjoy asking my grand kids or other children “intelligent” questions and getting them to express their thoughts in more than just one word answers. While there were times my Uncle seemed overbearing to others, or a little fixed on a particular subject that i knew nothing aboout, the good that he taught me out weights the bad. And while I never heard him acknowledge that the Supreme Intelligence is the giver of all knowledge and wisdom, I know that God is Him who makes one smart and another not so much. Yet we can learn from every day people just the same as we can learn from those far above our station.
In my coffee grounds jar there lies a scoop, a measure for my daily portion of caffiene allowance, it is the gift of my Uncle’s handiwork and I shall treasure it as I treasure the memory of his input in my life.
One cannot ever really find themself, one is only found by the Great Shepherd. We are all at our core lost sheep. Only by the grace of the Holy Spirit our ears are opened to hear the voice of the Shepherd calling out name. Isaiah 53: “All we like sheep have gone astray, each of us to our own way.”
Hearing that my Uncle was found a day or so after his summons to death was so sad to me. His spending so much of his life alone, and knowing his eyesight loss was similar to mine, it pained me to hear that he was discovered deceased by his good confidant and cousin. How hard it is to go through the personal belongings and try to find all of the important documents and such. How hard it is to make those calls to the officials and the relatives. In the face of death, life marches on and so much has to be accounted for.
What truth does God have for me in Christ during this moment as our family makes the transition to life without my uncle. Of course those who had daily interaction and weekly phone calls, and monthly business dealings, all find themselves making changes.
My life at such a distance will only be affected in the memories and the planned gatherings, and the many phone calls remembering. What matters most I think is how I feel like I did not get to share the truth about God’s gift of my Uncle, to him. I never told him that I believed God gave him an intelligent mind to stimulate those around him to do more and be more. I am also sorry that our visits never got into the spiritual side very often. It just seemed the moment was never right for me to share things along that line of conversation.
I am not without hope, though, as my Uncle was the one who orchestrated both of his parent’s memorial services, with daughters and I providing the music. Both of the services were Christianity based and the gospel message shared. He also attended my dad’s memorial service and told me how pleased he was of his nieces and nephews aftewards.
Proverbs 27:18 “Whoever keeps the fig tree will eat its fruit, so he who waits on his master will be honored.”
Books this month: “My brother’s keeper” about Gettysburg during civil war. Fellowship of the rings again. “The Long Patrol” by Bryan Jaques, Theo of Golden, 30 Key Moments in the history of Christianity, a mystery about dethroning a blackmail agency, and a modern descriptive journal of an 1880’s young lady. The books have been keeping me company while I count to 159. But meanwhile, I took some breaks to make some baskets.
Journal sibling happenings not an option as someone might read it. So I will leave my much bothered adult siblings and in laws out of the writings. We have had hospitalizations, cancer scares, trip chronicles, parent talks, and exciting baby to be news to share. We still communicate much so that is all a plus!
Journal garden mishaps are not interesting at all. One of the petunia plants in the cream can planters just up and croaked. Not sure why, except it was very soggy! The good news is that my little row of mixed zinnias are in full bloom and the colors are so vibrant. Also the gladiolas that I managed to return to the soil are also putting out the glorious colors and tipping over, I need to get a string up to help them stay upright. The lilies in the various gardens have loved the moisture we are finally getting. And those blooms also stand out in the landscape.
Journal crochet is okay because that keeps me most occupied. While I cannot post the baby blanket until someone sees it first, I will keep chatting up the other projects that I do during breaks from the ever concentrated counting. Some rows sure take me a long time if I’m listening to well to my book on audio. I also don’t always listen very well on the phone as I finish my counting sequenceQ
The baskets have been so fun. The three five gallon pail size were stiffened with some wood glue mixed with water. It took a couple of days to dry in the sunshine or in the bathtub. The little one is an ice cream pail size. I tried a new technique for the stiffness. Crochet a chain using two strands of yarn, then crochet the basket using a single crochet continuum. I was so excited about the natural ability of the basket to stand up, that I immediately began a medium size basket.
Mental health awareness. Hope while focusing on today can sometimes be tricky. Scripture says not to worry about tomorrow because there will be enough troubles in this day alone. There are days that the distant future scares me. Especially if I start thinking about my eyesight or lack thereof. I worry about certain adjustments in lifestayle for myself and those around me.
Three basket sizes completed this last month. The medium and small done with the crochet chain and single crochet continuum method.
Allergy reactions that cause phobia. Anxiety over every bite can be pretty nerve wracking. So eating out has been dropped down to a minimum for the last few weeks. We have to be so careful when ordering food even at simple things. I am about ready to visit an integrated health provider and start figuring out this gut health thing.
Pets and such are generally okay to journal about, except that my son-in-law just had to say goodbye to his eleven year old cat. It was a hard way to let a cat go. No one likes that daily routine change. We miss the constance of pets when they are no longer with us. Right now we have a visiting tom cat that is much like a siren or Casper the ghost. Not real friendly but brave enough to attempt eating on the back deck. I have not seen an all out fight happen, but it seems likely.I call him Siren as he announces his presence in such a fashion. Pretty bold actually.
The fruit basket upset in our life is mostly that the fig tree simply could not handle the spider mite pressure. I also think that a water filter is in the happenings for the greenhouse. We use rural water that is system treated and occasionally the plants roots simple give up under the treated water in the soil. So this fall I will get some rich compost and some more fertilizer for the whole house after the sides get put back together. The whole outer shell is being replaced. Which actually means that right now, the building is naked. I’m planning on doing it in green instead of white. We’ll see if the color change acts as a good luck charm!
Well, I delayed this post long enough that hubby got the last of the wood shell on the dome yesterday. We worked together some until the head cold he had the week prior took up residence in my head. I’m a bit under the weather, but grand doggy comes this week for a vacation stay while my daughter and son in law go on a trip. It’s time to wrap this up and write about something more significant.
The words of Jesus on the night before his crucifixion are a command that should make us think about what it means to “do” things. Realizing that there is always a motive behind any “doing” is quite humbling. Why do we do what we do? Is it merely self preservation or is it self sacrifice? Jesus showed the way to love, the truth, and what living is all about. We do so much that seems meaningless but is it in remembrance of Jesus? Is it communion more that just the breaking of bread and the drinking of wine?
Thinking about my dad this past month makes me wonder how much of what I do is remembering him? We planted a tree on May 21 in honor of our daughter and son in laws tenth anniversary. Our 35th in just ten days later went a little uneventful. No major memory making there, as the next day became more upheaval that we expected. My mother had a major life event and landed in the hospital for eleven days.
Then Father’s day came along. It was hard for me to focus on my hubby’s dad’s memory when the day marked the year to date after my dad’s passing. Yet there were lots of thoughts about both of them. And just a few days later, I found a new thought process going through my head.
We have so many broken pieces in our lives that need to be picked up. There are the broken relationships that mark how life was lived with or without people. There are the broken hearts and broken bodies that never really seem to heal no matter how much time passes. There are the broken homes and broken houses and broken people that mess up churches and break up families of all sorts. So many broken memories that we have to constantly bring to the master physician. Face it we live in a broken world.
There is a Bible verse that runs through my head often. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those with a contrite spirit.” (Psalm 34:18). I get the brokenhearted thing as I have many a time felt that bleeding emotional feeling. But what is contrite, what kind of spirit is one with contrition?
Contrite is defined as feeling deeply remorseful and understanding one’s wrongful behavior. It can also be the feeling proceeding repentance. A contrite spirit is one who knows her own sinful motives behind an action and chooses to have a changed of heart. While a broken heart is often caused by another a contrite spirit is evidenced by a “change of heart” when one realizes the wrongs done to another.
Thinking about my husband’s mom and the cookies that she made by the thousands the other day was humbling. First of all our recipe nearly failed because the margarine was not “baking margarine.” It had too much water content. We added and added and added more dry ingredients to get the right consistency. Then of course was the fact that my husband felt like he had murdered the cookies and finally had to walk away for his grumpy attitude. So I tried to finish the job and had to put the dough the fridge to stiffen up because of our 67% humidity. As many times as mom made cookies I don’t remeber that she every was driven to anger over the process. Bother but we were not making cookies in remembrance of her love of baking, now, were we?
Thinking about hubby’s dad and remembering him was easy the other day as his two sons worked together on a project. So muchof what dad did was marked by draining energy over the years and his “good enough” thought process. I find myself deciding the longevity of a project and deciding how much energy I should put into it and than stating that should be “good enough.” It is all based on what really matters to me. Yet I find that motive driving me to be self preserving rather that self sacrificing.
However, I began thinking out Jesus and His life and sacrifice on the cross in the “good enough” terms. Wow, that was mind boggling. Really now, in all of my thoughts about how brokenness has entered my life, I must constantly be reminded that Jesus is Good Enough for ALL of the brokenness. And in all of the times when I have been broken in my motives towards others, Jesus is good enough to give me a change of heart and help me love the way that He would. Yes, Jesus in all of my life experience has always been the “Good Enough” answer for everything.
My father in law loved to make toys and one of the toys I took that he made was a kaleidoscope. . So this month as I thought bout the project I wanted to crochet all of the pieces came together for this journal entry. One of my friends gave me a large sack full of leftover yarn. I thought about all the broken pieces in the little toy. First the pieces of mirror placed in a triangle, then the confetti or colored glass that turns out the designs. Life is like a kaleidoscope, sometimes all those broken pieces put together make a really fun design. It might not seem that way at the time. So all the leftover broken pieces of yarn when put together in the right order can make a real;y fun lapghan-afghan.
So while putting together this leftover yarn into a pretty pattern, I thought about all the broken happenings in our lives this moment. Broken relationships, broken bodies, broken churches, broken work environments, broken career paths, broken families, broken houses, broken car water pumps, broken tooth, and the list goes on. Yet what we do with all of this brokenness matters. Our reaction to one another, to the pieces we have to pick up and the relationships that we put back together matters. We can sweep up the glass and throw it away, or pick up bits and pieces and make a kaleidoscope full of beauty and blessing.
Life gives us a whole lot of little pieces sometimes and what we do with it matters. Do we run away from the challenge to become a better person, learning how to communicate love and care to the broken spirits around us? Or do we go around breaking others hearts by our incapacity to learn new ways of doing things?
Broken hearts belong to God. Hearts that are willing to change are so because God’s Spirit has softened them. Oh, that I would look at my broken heart moments as the softening of the Holy Spirit to become more like Christ.
C2C crochet kaleidescope pattern using left over yarn and a little skein or two of new No. 5 yarn. A little heavy, but it’s like bottling up the heat of summer for a comfy cozy winter afghan!
Some days I scare myself. Like walking out to the grill the other day and nearly thinking the stairs were closer than they aught to be, and falling. Well, I did not fall, and the stairs were another two steps, but the electrical “fear” shock still went through me. Then there was the day trying to walk in the dark hallway with my granddaughter on my hip. Her cringe every few moments told me I was getting her too close to the doorway or wall for her comfort. So I decided she had feet, and would just have to walk herself when it was not safe for me to carry her.
Left: the Eastern White Cedar that the bird planted at my daughter’s first house, was rescued from a landscape project and nursed along at my greenhouse for four years. We planted it on their anniversary. Right: my little bleeding heart bush is finally taking root and put out flowers. We had one at our house in Minnesota, and I have wanted one ever since.
I mean really, I don’t need to give her the anxiety of electrical shock scares all of the time also. Someone tried to convince me that the feeling I have, anxiety is based on my gut and some imbalance. Well, I know when they happen. Yes, it’s a gut level response. Fear! And the imbalance is the momentary feeling that I’m going to fall.
That has happened. Like a couple of years ago when a little rocker / sliding toddler chair was in the middle of the hall. I crashed over it big time. And the time the little jumper chair was in front of me and I crashed over that unto my knees. When vision fails me, gravity does not.
And now there is the word blenders. Like the day I asked my daughter for some cheerios for dog retrieval treats. I thought I said Cheerios, the oatmeal cereal. Instead my blender mind spit out oreos. They have cocoa powder which is a toxen to little dogs. Really? I think someone stuck a spun in the blender. Or left a spatula in my mind, when I needed a scubbie!
Oh that happened one time… I mean the spoon in the blender. It was a glass blender nearly fifteen years ago maybe. What a mess. The ingredients went all over the kitchen. And the glass broke too. Did I say that was a mess?
Maybe I’m over thinking these. But honestly when the baby’s name takes a pet name replacement, it’s scary. I did not think I was getting old yet.
So next time I say we need some more cereal, don’t forget the breakfast sausages!
Kramer is the most ridiculous cat, he curls up to sleep in the funnel on top of the rain barrel under the down spout. He has become quite the favorite cat (being the only one left and very friendly.)
And in other news, the nightmare about having a “guide” horse happened again. NOOOOO! While I know that horses live longer, a dog has a lot less allergy implications. I am so allergic to horses that I had to take Benadryl every time I took care of Cocoa, and that means he did not get the care he deserved.
Also doing research about hidden ingredients. Dextrose. Is the plant glucose that is a starchy sugar past. It can come from a number of plant starches, and most often is NOT single ingredient. So maybe potato, corn, rice, or other starch plants. Bother.
Book Review: Two books this week worth mentioning. “All the broken places “ by John Boyne and “The pearl” by John Steinbeck. The first is a World War II recovery novel. I don’t particularly care for gruesome details and skipped over most of the gory stuff. The novel is essential about guilt. How we try to reconcile it ourselves. The second is a battle of good versus evil. It is a much shorter story and I recommend it for the middle school ages. A 1947 writing, it is a parable expansion and a good read. The comprehension of treasure and real value is an undertone throughout the book.
The next week our family passes some milestones. My first daughter and son in law celebrate ten years married, while we will celebrate 35. There really aren’t enough words to describe the difference that twenty years makes on marriage. The unconditional, seet, knowing love is far better than aged wine or cheese. It can’t really be explained in one blog or book.
This week a friend donated me a large sack of yarn! Eureka! What fun. Projects are endless options now. We also got part of the garden planted. The two large garden boxes and the tomato tubs. It’s time to do something with myself again. Maybe I’ll just play with dog. We bought him a new ball this week, so he had to take it to bed with him. It’s so funny!
May is nearly over and the entires have been sparse this month. Another milestone was added in the family yesterday… my second daughter announced a precious baby package will arrive around Christmas time. Oh, I am so excited. It’s pretty hard to contain myself. Putting a lid on such news until the foretell permission is granted is difficult.
The exciting part about the whole week was there is a large stash of baby yarn in the bag from our friend. Yay! God knew and provided. Now I can study some patterns and make decisions and pray for another little one to hold! And pray that I won’t call the baby by a pet’s name… “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in God’s ears and those around me also!”
I recently came across some studies about the coded messages in Scripture through looking at the names in the genealogy lists. There are several available links on the web if you just search it. The Messianic Message encoded in the Genesis chapter five list of names was the first one that I looked at. Then there is Matthew chapter one and others. It’s kind of fun. So I thought, why not loopk up my own family heritage and their name meanings.
So the first task was to find all of my mother lineage or the matrilineal. Somehow I could only go back four generations. My great-great-grandma Helen was a school teacher in Nebraska. And I did not find any information on her mother or where she came from.
While sharing all the facts on the web, and putting myself out there in care of identity fraud scares me some. So I’ll do my best at encoding. Haha If you read my blog all the way through maybe there is something to be learned.
Beginning with Yvonne a derivative of Yew wood. What? The Yew wood evergreen tree in Europe is an enduring long lived tree of short stature. Yep, that’s me the shortest one in the family. While long lived is yet to be seen, endurance doesn’t seem as far fetched. When I was able to run track in junior high, I ran the last and longest leg of the relay. So for a short time I did have endurance in my running ability. But longevity in my ability to play piano has proved true. Even though I can no longer read the music, I am graced with new listening skills every year.
Recently listening to the songs of faith in relation to Holy week, I played “The Holy City” for the first time with no music. It was always so hard when I had to read the music and figure out all of the symphonic rhythms and such. I was quite pleased with myself for learning the new song and just have to work on the third verse yet some.
My middle name Annette means “God gives favor or grace.” And I think I already heard that before. My maiden name with all it’s connections to my father gets into being “high born” or “breeding stock.” Which is kind of funny when I think how important my Grandpa’s cows were to him. He had more pictures of his cows than any other thing. I like to think of the meaning more about the mercy God showed me in leading me to be born again through Christ. And finally my married name meaning scholar or scribe, brings me to realize yet again just how much writing means to me. God gives me endurance, grace, a higher calling to write what will matter to the next generation.
Llangernyw Yew Wood tree in Great Britain. Looked up history of oldest Yew tree and found this wikipedia link! Fun Facts!
Now to the matrilineal message God has given me. Helen who was a milliner means “bright and shining one.” I know that God is the true Light. Helen’s daughter Marie was a school teacher, homemaker, and mother. I wore her wedding dress at my own wedding. The delicate hand stitched roses were so pretty. Marie means “beloved.” And that’s truly how I felt that day and ever since. Marie’s daughter Mildred was her second daughter. Mildred means “gentle strength” and that is truly how I view my grandma. She was verbally abused as a child for being a girl instead of a boy and did not let that affect how she treated her five children or 18 grandchildren. My mother’s name Sharon means “a fertile, level plain.” I think of my mother as being the one who cultivated each of her children to accept the seeds of eternal life. When the whole message is put together I see God’s handwork in the message of love for me. God the bright shinng Light calls me His beloved, giving me strength and spiritual fertility in my soul for endurance.
The surname message is almost the same. Yahweh the Gracious God is faithful. More faithful than the rising sun, the Lord of the morning is Lord of the harvest. He who made the seed, plants the seed and harvests the seed gives life. God planted eternity within my heart. Born of the Spirit into a Higher calling to write and study His ways! Yes God is the gracious, faithful, morning star, planting and reaping the souls of hearts whom He has written eternity upon. I love that verse in Ecclesiates that says that. Ecclesiastes 3:11. “God has put eternity in man’s heart.”
Names do have meanings. And many people name their children sill alphabetical names without thinking of the future implications. Both my daughters were named after pretty flowers. So there’s that. I did not look up the grandmothers names on my paternal set. But I did do the full sentence of surname and first names.
Yahweh, the Bright and Shining is faithful to His beloved. The Warrior (Lord) of the morning is gentle and strong. The Reaper will sow an enduring forest! Another sentence says “The enduring words sown in the fertile soul will be a harvest. Like the strength of the morning sun overcoming the cold of night, God is gentle, faithful to His Beloved the Lord Yahweh shines life through every breath that I take.” There are so many ways that God speaks to us. Are we listening?
This week is Holy Week in the Christian calendar. The weather is giving us another roller coaster ride. One day we wear t-shirts and the next day dig out the winter coat again. Preparing for Easter for me will be cleaning up that first bed room again. And making a menu for my grocery man.
We got my mother moved back to assisted living after her rehab stay. That was exhausting. So much. Just plain much. I hope we can do some more to make her rooms more accessible in the next visit also. So perhaps that’s what I ought to be focusing on here also. It’s just so much easier to to sit and crochet.
Enough of my field entrance ramblings, the topic at hand is names. I took a look at the names of those mentioned in the Gospels who stayed with Christ beneath the cross. John 19:25, “Now there stood by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene.” (Also His disciple John). Mary has three or more meanings. And there were three of them there, so Beloved, bitter, and rebellious all seem appropriate. Magdalene means woman from the high tower or watch tower. Yes, she did certainly watch her Lord until the end. Cleopas means “Glory of the Father”. And yes, that fits also as Jesus was the Glory of God come down to earth. John means God is gracious, or Yahweh is gracious. And yes the emblem of the cross has become synonymous with God’s grace. The interaction at eh foot of the cross between Jesus, John and His mother Mary has been repeated often. For in this directive, He commanded John to take care of His mother. It is an intensely private and special moment.
Perhaps it resonates so well with me after having watched three of our four parents enter into eternal rest over the last year. There were not a whole lot of commands or directives at the last moments. Except for my father-in-law’s statement “I’m not worried about tomorrow.” There was nothing else said that really sticks in my mind as a directive or command. Yet, I watched my husband taking care of my mother this past week or two in the same manner of love and care that he did with those who have gone before. We do what we can while we have them.
The generations that have gone before us are God’s message to us that He provided for us. The generations that come after us are those to whome we have the chance to write on the tablets of their hearts His grace and mercy. And another small bit of wisdom I heard this week: the meaning of our life is to find our God-given gifts and the purpose of our life is to give those gifts away.
Final thoughts on names. You might remember my name when you meet me. But there is one name that is far more improtant to know. Proverbs 30:4 says, “Who has ascended into heaven, or descended? Who has gathered the wind in His fists? who has bound the waters in a garment? Whao has established all he ends of the earth? What is His name, and what is His Son’s name, if you know?” Jesus means “savior of the world” and He gave His life away so that we might know Him. Do you know His name?
When I was a very, very little girl – and that is a true understatement – I had a stuffed pink puppy. In my mind the puppy was bigger than I was. My mother says I weighed only fifteen pounds at two years old. That is the same size as my little black dog now.
I have memories of riding this little pink stuffy like it was a horse. It solidified my love for dogs over that of horses at an early age. Though I thought I still liked horses, because my dad trained them, that like was turned to “dislike” until I was a teenager. The love for dogs stuck a little more, even though I cannot recall that the pink fluff ever had a name.
Imaginary Friends are for little kids who have no one to play with them. So I used my stuffy’s, dolls, and other such toys to entertain me until my baby brother came along at six years old. Then in another year or so I developed the management tools that I would need for the rest of my life while bossing him around.
I don’t remember of the little pink fluff had a name. The color was much like Cotton Candy. And though I did not know about such when I received the doggy, later years, I always gravitated to the fair cart for some of the pink fluff. Having it melt in my mouth could transport me to worlds of imagination. So perhaps the puppy’s name was Candy.
About my IF, that is Imaginary Friend from years past. Mine was a magic carpet puppy that I rode like a horse. My little legs hugged the dog and my fingers gripped his ears, and I ran and slid across the floor countless times. In my mind we flew around the room hiding under the table and landing on the sofa. It must have been my constant companion because looking at it in my adult years I noticed the faux fur was completely worn off the fabric.
Another strong memory from those wee bitty years, is of someone asking me if I wanted a piece of candy. I would nod my head vigorously only to be asked once again, if I was “sure.” My poor little brain did not know what the word “sure” meant. I remember doing a circle with my head from no to yes, not knowing what the correct answer was. I hated the question “Are you sure?” I was not sure, I was “Yvonne.” Did my Imaginary Friend have a name? Could it really be imaginary if the puppy was a stuffy that I rode around like a magic carpet?
This past summer when we cleaned out the old house, I found it in the “keepsakes” box. I took a picture of the pink rock and then threw it away. The stuffing in the doggie had turned into a solid mass of something. Not sure why, but the foam innards had hardened into a solid beast. The little puppy did not look near as comely as he had while I rode him across the hard floor of the kitchen as a toddler.
Through the years that followed my toddling days, I turned from this carpet puppy to horses during my play time. But it was not long until I felt the thump of the heart and warmth of live fur baby more comforting. I had a cat in middle school and high school named Mittens. Mittens was grey with white socks on the fore paws. He was such a quiet cat indoors that I snuck him up to my bedroom a lot. The comforting feline pur was so addictive. It was so sad when he had an accident and had to be put down. I cried a lot. Thank goodness he had to go shortly after one of my paper route friends lost her husband. The value of “soul” was not lost on me. I knew someday, maybe, I could have another cat. She would never get another husband.
Today, nearly two score of years later, I still prefer a puppy over a horse. Even though a week ago, my grandson asked if “we could get another horse.” What is this “we” thing, I thought. I already took care of Cocoa for years while taking Benadryl just to be around him. And I know that a cat would make my hubby do the same thing. He is so allergic to the “dusties” that a cat produces with it’s constant shed. That is one of the reasons we now have a Shih Tzu in the house instead of a constant shed dog.
We watched the movie IF (2024) in the fall of 2025. Yeah, we’re cheap and usually wait until the movie is released from theatre and can be seen at home. Once in a great while, we do make it to the show house, but this one escaped our knowing. I really enjoyed the whole concept of the film and thought about my pink Cotton Candy puppy right away. Who wouldn’t remember riding through the house on a pink fluff?
I don’t need an Imaginary Friend when I have a real fur ball. But I do still love the addicting sound of a good motor. I do have six cats outdoors yet. Tabitha and Kramer are probably my favorite right now. Though Kramer won’t sit still very well. Zuchi has followed me around the most, like to the greenhouse and stuff. But Kona does tricks! And though I can’t ride him around like a magic carpet, his greetings and energy are fun and contagious. He does make me laugh with his funny jump-fly over the steps into the living room after a fetch session.
Kona on the daybed after a fetch session.
While I began this writing back in October, today seemed a good day to complete it. I was suppose to visit my little people (grandchildren) but my daughter now has the tummy bug the two youngest shared with her. This winter has been full of immune building experience for them. My last visit to their house was punctuated by a little girl finding the scissors to see what was inside her favorite stuffy. Mommy was pretty upset for having to do surgical repairs once again. Some children are so attracted to the hand held cutters. My mind immediately returned to all of the toys that we repaired for our fur ball Furbie. He wanted to get to the heart “squeaky” and we let him. Then we saved the rabbits, squirrels, skunks, and socks for further demolition. It’s hard to imagine what this little girl might do someday and what this “knowledge” will help her learn.
Meanwhile, my mom took a tumble and aafter a brief hospital stay is now in rehab, riding a bike and learning to use her new “walker” friend. No imagination needed here. Just some hope to get better soon. And not the kind my husband mentioned. One of his coworkers needed a “get better soon” card not because he was ill, but because failure had marked every attempt to teach the kid something new. Some people have no imagination.
Our acreage has never had a “name.” It is literally called “the place” where dad grew up. The family homestead is about to experience some major changes, but we aren’t advertising any of those plans due to the potential for future troubles. But the thought that the two old cottonwoods in their past century age might be due to fall soon makes me so sad, that I have wanted to give them their rightful place of honor. The first cottonwood lies just to the west of the original dugout sod house. The tree lived for it’s many buckets of wash water dumped upon it’s base for those first years back in 1860. It lost a large branch over the road just four years ago. Still standing it may be nearly 160 years old. But no one is in any hurry to count those rings. The second cottonwood is just west of where the little wood second home was built. Or perhaps the chicken shack that they used for a few years. It is reported that it would have been planted in 1880 or earlier as that is the date of the little old house. So it perhaps is around 145 years old. Once again no one is itching to count the rings. If I am alive when either goes down, I surely will cry.
Our acreage has always had some animals of some sort, and though farm animals have disappeared and the barn is empty, the cats and dogs will find a lifetime of experiences and happenings a plenty. Cottonwood Place is home to seven cats, two dogs, and two gentle folks that will welcome many a visitor along with the homecoming for the girls that grew up here.
King Charles the third was crowned shortly after we received a rescue named Charlie. The idea that Sir Charles had taken over the guardianship of the acreage was pretty evident. Charlie is the kind of independent dog that simply will not come when he is called off his “track.” So when the delivery van pulls up and does not treat the cookie king with a morsel, we are sure to hear about it for the next few minutes. And asking Charles to leave the van and return to the deck is nearly impossible. Cookies help some, but most of the time, even snatching one cookie, he is soon back to the same old barking fit. There are days, he actually hits the front door with a paw to demand his snack.
Poor dog, other than seven cats and his house people, there is not “animal” shepherding. The cats don’t even get a once over most days. Charlie simply ignores them or steps directly on a cat that is too lazy to move. And now Dasthe saga of cat stories.
This past summer, I tried to add to our hunting crew with some kittens. We lost all but one to the vehicular homicide. I don’t know why some cats are so drawn to the roadsters. Both car and pickup had mouse nest somewhere in the front end during their annual tuneups this fall. Maybe that’s why. But really. We’ve even had to replace serpentine belts due to cat suicide. What is with them things? I know some cat lovers find this quite gruesome, but really, when you live on an acreage animals are really just animals.
The match of Zuch (pronounced Zuke) versus Yin Yang began almost immediately. One day the newcomer actually made it to the back deck feed dishes. For the most part the black and white face symbolixm has stuck to the distance.
Such in the left and Yinyang on the foundation leave hole
After Zuch came back, we took the remainder in for neutralization. He and Boots came back just fine and I really thought we were stuck with just three. Tabitha is still here. I’m not really sure how old she is, maybe seven or eight years. Then about a month ago, the wanderer arrived. We have never seen this cat before.
Black and white saddle back cats are a dime a dozen, really. They seem to be everywhere. The other most common is the grey striped coat. This one has some unusual markings on the face. After finally getting a good picture of him sitting in the common perch, I decided it was just like the symbol for Yin-yang. And so it is. Yinyang and Zuch are still duking it out though. It might be a long battle before the new comer is allowed a morsel of dry kibble.
The cat fights aside, the four-some that came from my sister got their names from the wild, confused, ever present Kramer. We named them after the Seinfeld television show. They have all seemed to take on the personalities of various common known favorite episodes. Kramer has entered the house a number of times in his haste to share some story line. “I must’ve got confused!” Is the most common phrase we declare. At least he is easy to get back out. All four seem to be so underfoot, we call them the Seinfeld gang. Funny how each one of them seems to be taking on the character qualities.
The Seinfeld Gang-Kramer and Costanza left to right followed by Seinfeld and then Bennes on the bottom.
Meanwhile, my hubby and I got through our first January cold virus. Lots of hot liquids and vitamins. My favorite warm drink this week was some chicken broth. We decided to take down the Christmas tree and put the daybed in it’s rightful place in the front window sunshine. What good is a daybed if it’s not in the sunnniest spot in the house.
Updates are always quite delayed when one is not well enough to do anything other than care for own needs. So, I took some time to let the dust settle on the last writing. Probably said way too much. The cat saga here on the homestead is about all the happenings there is in the winter days. The bitter temperatures always makes me amazed how animals get used to such bitter temperatures. We added some fish fat canned cat food to their daily fare. The first day, I nearly lost a finger trying to give them the can of food. Leaned that lesson well.
The beginnings of the chips ahoy remake, a crochet project. Kona on the day bed in the front window a new watchdog posting.
The blanket got renamed “cinnamon toast crunch” after it’s completion. Not all the blankets have names. Sometimes Gavin just claims them by calling them “mine” or “my blanket.” Silly. Saying it’s his favorite means nothing when he says that about every one of them. The Stitch is my favorite, though. Entrelac Crochet makes the perfect blanket feeling!
This writing seems a little random, I know. That might be due to cabin fever setting in. Not sorry for getting hung up on the Ents in our lives. If trees could talk, those two ancient ones would tells the whole story I am sure. And though animals are not “human” we sure put a lot of chrarcter reads into their actions. P.S. Seinfeld took a trip to the never world on the road the other day. Bother , at least he’s not a favorite.
Don’t take the bait! This is the best advice that I have ever had or given when it comes to provocations. Whether intensional or exceptional malevolent another’s actions or speech can often drive an emotional response that even surprises the respondent. And yes, unfortunately I have been on either end of the action or spoken misstep. Yet, afterwards it’s my own emotional anxiety that is the temperature gauge that tells me, I took the bait. How did I fail so miserably with this recent provocation.
Letting go of intended or unintended sins against my personhood is part of the constant “forgiveness” lifestyle. Because whether people know it or not, feelings are fickle things, and words often hurt more than they are ever meant too. Forgiving current happenings are often easier than putting back the old dry bones in long lost family closets. Yes, Great Grandma Millie, everyone has skeletons in the closets. It’s those old wounds that fester and turn into anger cesspools when the cisterns are not properly dealt with and dug up when there are least expected. Just when you thought the gravel pit had filled it all in, suddenly there is a leak in the storage tank that was still there. Bother, here we go again finding another painful memory to rehash.
While dealing with the wills and trusts and those left behind things of deceased parents, much has come to mind of the fair treatment or unfair treatment that each child receives. Of course each child probably always thinks that another has the “favorite” treatment.
From the book “Anne of Green Gables”. A quote from Marilla Cuthbert while discussing the bringing up of a girl to her brother Matthew, “I’ve never brought up a child, let alone a girl, and I reckon I’ll make a fine mess of it, but nevertheless I will try my best.” Indeed every parent has made a real fine mess of parenting I dare say.
Lots of flowers in the greenhouse but these two get my attention most. summer gardenia and yellow kalanchoe.
So I suppose it best to take the advice of the old minister, unless you are a parent yourself, don’t give parenting advice. And of course, I have one daughter in the woes and bliss of parenting and the other in the woes and bliss of people management. Two entirely different occupations but nonetheless difficulties of relationships that arise regularly upon which advice is sought.
Being the peacemaker in the family is not my strong suit, but yet being in the ministerial position of come to terms with the moment’s of life is part of what I feel God has tasked me with. Or rather, maybe, finding peace with the life that God has dealt to each of us. I often see people in their moment of difficulty grasping for the answere that is only answered by our Lord.
In the middle of the “chips ahoy” remake. Not sure I like it, but the fabric is so wonderful. It’s the dark nature of the color combination. So even after a remake, it’s not what I would choose. Gavin helped with the color sequence.
I remember distinctly when my father, with a tear rolling down his face, admitted he was having trouble being patient. The only answer that I could give him was Jesus. God is the supply of our every desperate cry. And so, too, now when my family has arrived at a conclusion that is unexpected, some of us must look to His aid in our time of need. Keeping the peace and not letting this moment become a wedge that drives us apart is the battle cry that I have taken up.
Disillusions realized can be quite disheartening. Every adult-child finds themselves at one point or another in the understanding that a parent they thought was invincible or perfect, has toppled from their pedestal. I remember when I first realized that adults could be untrustworthy. At the age of sixteen or so, I was sexually assaulted by an elderly church member. Perhaps this is telling too much. My father stood up for me a resolutely refused to attend the church ever again, if there were no disciplinary steps taken. The church did not remove the elder’s status. My father never went to that church again. He took the opinion that church was full of hypocritical child molesters from that point forward. And to my dismay, my mother continued to attend the church freely forgiving the person who so dismantled my innocence. I never told the rest of my siblings that this was part of the larger puzzle that helped my parent’s marriage fall apart.
I saw this happen. I did not blame myself. For our family had done many a winter puzzles. I knew it was just one piece. But I found that I had not fully comprehended the battle that was going on between the two until decades later. My dad felt that just as this man must of abused me, perhaps my mother’s “spiritual” loyalty was in fact adultery or some other sin. He could not understand her choice to attend the church of an elder whom had so abused his daughter. Of course we won’t discuss his own abuse to he children and wife, that was family and his “right” to treat them as he did.
A small note about family genetics here… My father received the retinal disease RP from his mother, and he in turn passed it on to three of six children. Some find the possibility of blindness absolutely frightening, while those of us with the reality see it as just another part of living. Being legally blind provides a chance to understand that is okay to ask for help, because it gives another to discover the gift of giving. While one may find it difficult to ask for help, a blind person must. This character change moves one from blindness to discernment and those who are honest and helpful rather than seeking a reward for their labor are discovered. Discernment in personal character is not just gifted to some individuals. This “seeing” of another’s motive is learned by trial and error. My dad learned to “see” through people in a way that many people never can. Blindness is not always blind!
So there. The truth or some of the truth has been spilled. Provocations whether purposeful or not happen. Emotions and natural responses happen in the heat of the moment. Decisions are made that ripple throughout the decades. Just like Sarai’s choice to give her servant girl to Abraham, generations pay for the sins of the fathers and mothers no matter if restitution is paid. Choices have consequences.
While this is the most abstract painting that I have ever written, I hope that it has not provoked someone to anger or revenge. I have no desire to take on more than what I am responsible for. We alone can control our own actions. It is not up to us to judge or decide what another’s appropriate or inappropriate actions ought to be. Always and ever the only person we can control is ourselves. And so now in the light of past actions that have been revealed, once again it is only my reaction and my response to this moment in time that I can control and prevent a ripple effect that does not create a tsunami of emotions from others.
I pray for our family that we never led the past of the present divide us. God wants families to stay together, to work together, to love on another and be His voice to the world. Satan wants to steal, kill and destroy and I will not let him get a foothold in our family during this unsettling time. We will not make decisions in the heat of this difficulty that change the outcome of our togetherness over the future decades. Choices have consequences. And I will not regret my actions. I choose to love, to forgive, and to keep peace in the family.
