Ladder of Mercy

Bright Spots

2012-01-17T17:40:00.000-08:00

Last summer when I took this picture of some of the biggest and brightest and most dynamic thunder heads I've ever seen, I thought of the very end--which is really the very beginning. I thought of what the Bible says about how Jesus will come with clouds, angels eagerly coming with Him, and how just before they come, the voice from God's throne says, "It is done!" Then the lightnings, thunderings, and voices.

My thunder clouds were nowhere near the glory we'll see on that day.

Meanwhile, in the middle of studies and work and cooking and cleaning and wondering where in the world I'll be by this time next year, there's another brightness to get our eyes ready for the unparalleled light we'll see in Jesus' face.

"The more we look at the promises of the Word of God, the brighter they grow. The more we practice them, teh deeper will be our understanding of them."

(White, Ellen G. Manuscript 7, 1874)

"The Word of God is sufficient to enlighten the most beclouded mind, and may be understood by those who have any desire to understand it."

(White, Ellen G. Testimonies, vol. 5, 663, 1889)

Do you desire this brightness, this light, this Word, like I do? Even if it's only the slightest desire, God will be near to teach us. And I can't imagine having a better teacher than the One who owns all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.

Sunshine in my Soul...and in the sky

2011-12-31T11:30:00.000-08:00

(A few delights from our day.)

Last night when my bread wasn't rising fast enough for me to knead it and get it baked before sundown, I thought I would roll it out and make breadsticks. To that end, I had it all smoothed out on the largest of all my tiny counter spaces, olive oil and herbs sprinkled over the top.

Just moments before I started the slices that would make the whole into bread sticks, my husband came in the room and said,

"Oh, are you making pizza?"

Well, no. I wasn't. But why not? It sounded good to me, too. And it has been a delicious edition to two meals now. And I think next time we make beans in the crock pot, I'll plop in a few whole potatoes so that we can have "baked" potatoes with our beans.

This morning at church a woman approached us. "Which one of you plays the piano well?" she asked.

It has been a while since I've heard this question much, but I'm about as accustomed to it as I am to drinking water or going for a walk. We both play the piano well, in fact, and yes, one of us could easily step in since you don't have a pianist today. Oh, yes, I suppose the other of us would be willing to help lead the singing as well.

No, we don't begrudge anyone, or think how bad they must be at planning ahead. I've been that planner on many occasions, desperate for someone, anyone, who could play, and I know well not only the feeling of being asked to help at the last minute, but also the great feeling of relief when someone says that beautiful word, YES.

I looked over the notebook she handed me. Just hymns. No problem. Then there was the one praise song--a little more modern and a little less easily in my fingers. I've played every hymn in the hymnal (try it sometime--it's great fun), but some of the newer ones in newer books...well, they're composed a little differently than four-part hymns according to the voice leading rules in counterpoint or the common practice era. (Enough said.)

In my mind, I read the music, singing and playing it silently. I do this several times before I realize I've played it before. Ten to fifteen years ago. With the pastor's wife at the electronic keyboard next to me. It's a nice song, and it's still floating around in my mind this afternoon:

"Blessed be the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come."

I've never had anybody ask me to fill in for a sermon, although sometimes I feel like I learn enough from my Bible study during the week to do it if necessary. They ask me to play the piano quite often, though, and I'm glad I can do what my hand finds to do to be useful, to let the congregation praise and pray together to the God I serve and love.

This afternoon, we'll do as our friend songleader suggested--get out in the sunshine. The rest of the week may bring snow and cold, so we'll take our forty degrees while we can have them. For the rest of the winter (as always, whether the weather outside is rain or shine), we'll be relying on the Sunshine in our souls for light.

P.S.

If you're looking for good reading, we haven't been able to put Escape from Death down. We're like a couple of little kids...maybe just one more chapter?

Storage Issues

2011-12-14T15:36:00.000-08:00

I just filled our thirty-sixth jar with applesauce. Do you know how many jars we had room for in our cupboard? Nine. We still have about a bushel to cook and sauce. I would be lying if I told you I knew where I was going to put them all. That applies to the wonderful half-gallon jars of apple juice we did several weeks ago, too.

Can you feel my dilemma?

Until the Work is Finished

2011-12-04T05:36:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, I woke up late. You see, I had been up late, and the surest result of being up late is waking up late. It had been the Christmas concert, and the choral instructor had invited his graduate assistants over afterwards to celebrate and visit. We were tired, but we were glowing.

I knew we would not be on time for Sabbath school, but I wanted to finish the reading for our class nonetheless. We've been studying what it really means to gain an education, and I was not about to miss the reading titled "The Lifework."

"Success in any line demands a definite aim," I read. "Such an aim is set before the youth of today. The heaven-appointed purpose of giving the gospel to the world in this generation is the noblest that can appeal to any human being. It opens a field of effort to everyone whose heart Christ has touched."

(White, Ellen G. Education. Boise, ID: Pacific Press, 1903, 1952, p. 262.)

I continue on to read that no child, however unpromising he or she may appear, should be denied the best training and education that can be obtained, lest any would thus be prepared to do the work that God has set before them. However humble their work may seem, they may still reach many for the Savior.

I also read how to find the lifework. "To do our best in the work that lies nearest, to commit our ways to God, and to watch for the indications of His providence--these are rules that ensure safe guidance in the choice of an occupation." (White, 267.)

Later with our class, we discuss this most important endeavor of spreading the gospel. We see and say how we cannot share an experience in walking with God if we have not had it. We see that we have an urgent responsibility to all those around us. We see that those who have had experiences in sharing their faith need to train those who are new to the faith and new to the task to ensure success.

We see that when we are connected with the strength of God and filled with the Holy Spirit, we will never lose our strength. But if we do grow weary, we know where to turn for rest and renewal. (See Matthew 11:28-30, which also tells us that we renew our strength for renewed labor with Christ.)

When we go in to the sanctuary for the worship service, we see that our friend who led the discussion in Sabbath school will also be giving the sermon. And we are glad, for he is a deep thinker and a man of God.

He speaks of work, and how prior to being in the seminary, his job (not that of a pastor) was of the sort that you worked around the clock if necessary to get the job done on time. Maybe you even worked one hundred hours that week. Maybe you really enjoyed the company benefits, but the Blackberry they gave you also meant that you needed to reply to any e-mail that came through your phone within one or two minutes.

He took us to Isaiah chapter 6, where we read of Isaiah's calling. I've usually focused on Isaiah's willingness: "Here I am, send me." But this time he points out something that has NEVER sunk into my heart before. It's in verse 11. It's something Isaiah really wants to know. What has he really gotten into?

"Then said I, 'Lord, how long?' And He answered, 'Until the cities be wasted without inhabitant, and the houses without man, and the land be utterly desolate.'"

In other words, until the work is DONE. You can't stop working until the work is finished. Christ doesn't stop working until His work is finished, either. He completed His work on the cross, and just before He comes, He will have completed His work in the heavenly sanctuary. (But that's a whole different study. Feel free to ask me if you have questions about that!)

It's like our friend's former job. And it's like canning peaches or making grape juice. When the fruit is ripe, you get up, stay up, labor over it until it's all canned. You don't go to the beach for a swim while there are still ripe peaches waiting to be processed. If you do that, they'll perish before you can get them preserved.

The fruits are like people who don't know Jesus. If we don't labor over them, they might perish before they know their Savior, too.

Perhaps more than ever, that sank in for me yesterday. There are people I pray for--people who I want to see come to know Jesus and His saving power in their lives. I want them to gain the victory over the sins that so easily beset them.

But praying isn't enough. Don't get me wrong. The work CANNOT happen without prayer. Prayer, however, is not the whole work. There are other kinds of labor that have to happen. How do I know?

Well, Jesus Himself said so.

"And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, 'All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.' Amen." Matthew 28:18-20.

He sends all of us out to do this work. But He's not like the overbearing, demanding boss who's always looking over your shoulder. He promises to always be with us, and He assures us that He has all the power to accomplish the things He asks us to do.

Here I am, Lord, send me.

(There is more to share about these themes from my study and experience yesterday, which I hope to do soon. Now, however, I must eat breakfast and accomplish the last things on the list for this semester. May all my readers walk with the Lord today.)

The Friday Night Table

2011-11-25T15:17:00.000-08:00

For the first time in my Michigan home, I dug out Christmas decorations today. What better way to open Sabbath with my in-laws than to set a lovely blue table?

My guests are the only ones left in a long line of guests who came for my husband's graduate choral recital, which went brilliantly well on Monday night.

And I had a few moments to myself today, which hasn't happened in quite some time. I thought a spot of beauty was in order. With my ribbons and blue glass "rocks", saved from dorm room decorations in college, my sparkly snowflakes bought for my first tree on my first Christmas on my own, a couple ornaments from the collection my aunt gave us, and a few candles, my husband and guests decided it looked quite nice.

And this last one is for all of us fisher-folk in the family.

Sunset at the Lake

2011-11-13T07:12:00.000-08:00

Memories of Summer

2011-11-10T18:38:00.000-08:00

I don't think I will ever grow weary of the way summer abundance, squirreled away in my cupboards, makes winter warm and tastey. No matter how much work it is.

Happy Sabbath, Mom

2011-10-28T16:17:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if it's genetic, or just part of the family culture. My grandmother loved barns. My mom loves barns (is it because they make her think of her mom, who she loved very much?). I love barns--because they make me think of those very special women in my life, AND because they have a country charm and beauty that just can't be surpassed.

I'm guessing my great (or great-great?) grandmother would have loved to have a barn the night she fought the wolves all night (they wanted to eat her dead cow...and she also wanted to eat her dead cow), but probably for a totally non-aesthetic reason. And I digress.

Dear Mom,

Thanks for the shoes. They're cute. Thanks again for the skirt you sent them to match, too. And my little niecelet and her mom already love the things you sent her.

Thanks for your constant prayers, support, creativity, and work for God. I know He uses you in you family and in your job. I know He'll bless your sermon tomorrow, too, and I'll be praying for you.

Barns may not be an official love language, but this one comes to you as a loving squeeze, from the little girl who not so long ago wore all the tiny little baby clothes you bought.

-H

Cardinals and Travels

2011-10-28T10:17:00.000-07:00

When we first visited Michigan and settled on a place to live--a little single-wide the perfect price for students that has been sold by friends to friends for several years--I couldn't believe the blessing showered on me. It was a Red Bud tree, my very favorite of all the flowering trees. Not only would there be on in my yard, but also two in the neighbor's yard. I'm surrounded!

When we moved in, it was nearing the end of summer, and our little Red Bud was green and thick with leaves. Little did I know that when the leaves fell off there would be a bird feeder hanging from its branches.

We were newly-weds, and as many couples probably do, we had LOTS of birdseed left over from the wedding. As it got colder, and there were fewer and fewer sources of food for birds, we began feeding what became quite a crowd. One guest in particular often caught our attention--a fat little cardinal who would sit at the bird feeder for very long periods of time.

Today as I sat on the couch and looked out our window, I was especially glad for our big flowering bush that has red berries for all the birds in the fall. That means we'll still have some visitors until we have time to get the bird feeder filled again. There was a cardinal in the bush this morning, and I can't help but wonder if he was one of the three tiny little birdlets that used to live in the nest right outside our kitchen window. (I took pictures of them, but through the window the really wiggly little birds didn't turn out so well.)

It seems there are blessings everywhere I turn, both large and small. Flowers in the spring, bird food in the fall, a good place for a nest--all of them things for the eye to enjoy, especially knowing that our heavenly Father even feeds the birds.

Today I'm also remembering some blessings experienced more than thirteen years ago, and they are almost a whole world away (literally) from the birds outside my window. Maybe I won't say much about it now, but if you're willing to visit YouTube for a few minutes, you'll get a hint at the experience I'm talking about.

Ok, and here's another hint: This is a very special lady whose family I have known since I was four years old. I shared the privilege of working with them on four different occasions in four different countries, in the effort of introducing people to the Savior.

Immune Boosting Drink

2011-10-20T17:20:00.000-07:00

Somehow it's the time of year when busy students come down with little sicknesses, and often keep coming to school with their colds in tow. I'm one of them. I don't have anything too major--just a little soarness in the throat. But I pulled out the big guns (in addition to a little extra sleep), and made my good friend's famous Immune Boosting Drink.

It's not for the faint of heart, but I promise that if you dare to try it next time you start to get sick, you will very likely actually think it tastes good. And your body will thank you. Here's the recipe.

6 lemons, juiced

6 cloves garlic

1/2 onion

thumb-sized piece of fresh ginger (or dump in some ground ginger if you don't have fresh)

1/2 c raw honey

1/2 t (or more) cayenne pepper

If you're like me, you'll blend it up and add enough water to make two quarts, drinking one quart before bed and one quart the next morning. If you're even braver like my husband, you'll leave out the honey, blend up everything else, and drink it straight, WITHOUT dilluting it at all.

What to do Without Water

2011-10-11T07:04:00.000-07:00

It's fall break, and we're enjoying a slow morning at home. I go to the sink to rinse my hands, mid-breakfast.

"Honey," I say, startled, "we have no water."

My thoughts: Welcome to life in a trailer park. Of course they didn't let us know ahead of time. We need to go to the office, if they're even open, and see what the deal is.

My husband's words: "Let's fix the toilet!"

He's right. It's a GREAT time to fix the toilet. We've been putting it off for weeks, not wanting to go to the trouble of turning our water off (because our toilets don't have their own shut-off valves--I know, not even the guy at Home Depot had heard of toilets without their own shut-off valves before). And now we're handed this opportunity. Don't we live a charmed life?

Prophets and Kings

2011-10-02T17:44:00.000-07:00

Many of my readers know this title as a book--a very good one--by a favorite author of mine, Ellen G. White.

Tonight, though, I'm thinking of this title as the name of my husband's intramural football team.

I know. You might think of all the negatives associated with "competitive sports." But when I think of this incredible group of guys, I remember how last year, when things were tight for us, they wouldn't let us pay for my husband's jersey. Then at the end of the season, they went together and bought a much-needed winter jacket for him.

From all different countries and academic disciplines, these guys love to get exercise. They love to be together, to pray together. They have great attitudes, and even though they win a lot of games, winning isn't the most important thing to them.

This year, as the flag football season approaches, they had many more guys wanting to play than they had room for. So three or four of them got together to decide how to run the team this fall. Aside from deciding who would be on the team, they wanted to take their regular prayer times to a new level:

"What if we go through a book together or something?"

They decided on a classic called Steps to Christ, and although the season hasn't officially started, they've already begun their group readings and sharing, many of them even posting their thoughts for all to see on Facebook.

Football isn't my thing. But as the season approaches, I'm delighted that my husband has such a great group of friends to spend time with, learning and growing together in character as they also get some much-needed physical exercise to balance out the rigor of academic studies. I'll probably even try to watch a game or two.

Sabbath Blessings (So Far)

2011-10-01T05:06:00.000-07:00

With my husband away for the evening (I was staying home to have a quiet, restful evening), I had more than an hour before sundown and the beginning of the Sabbath. Realizing that a Visa gift card we had expired yesterday, I attempted to spend the balance online. With that failing, I thought I walk up to the nearest store (we have only one car, and my husband had driven it to vespers where he was playing the piano) and buy a little fruit.

I walked over the bridge, and saw that the trees and the river looked something like the picture above. In the store, I found apples, spaghetti sauce, some bird seed. I thought I had a little left to spend, so I set out in search of tofu.

But instead of tofu, what should I find but half-gallon canning jars! Right then and there I knew I needed a cart! This size of canning jar is not quite easy to find in our little Michigan town and the surrounding area, and with plans to make apple juice in a week or two, I could not pass these up even though I knew I would need to spend more money than originally planned.

On my way back, I ran into another canning friend who I knew had been searching and searching for this particular kind of jar.

"They have half-gallon jars!" I gleefully announced, and we both went straight to them, loaded our carts, and went our separate ways.

I checked out, paying for everything including my four boxes of jars. Only as the bagger began loading everything back into my cart did I realize my dilemma.

"Oh, no! I didn't bring my car, and I don't know how to get everything home!" I blurted.

I stood there sheepishly wondering what I was going to do. I didn't see my fellow jar buyer anywhere in the near vicinity. My husband would be in the middle of practicing with the other musicians, so I couldn't call him. The bagger was telling me I could leave the jars at the store and come right back to get them. But he didn't understand. My car wasn't waiting for me at home. If I tried to walk home and back, it would take me at least four trips to get everything taken care of. And I couldn't even make one return trip before sundown.

I looked toward the store entrance right at the same moment that two musicians came through the door. Friends! I knew they would have come in at least one car if not one car each. I knew they would rescue me.

Sure enough, I waited for the one to finish her purchases. She drove me home, helped me carry in my boxes of jar-treasure. I sent her away with a plate of supper. And she laughed at me (well, with me, I suppose, since I was laughing at me too).

Then followed a quiet evening, with reading, conversations with my mom and one sister-in-law, a long warm bath. My husband came home to a tower of boxes beside the couch, and he was overjoyed to learn that we now had vessels for the apple juice we're longing to make.

And we've had other Sabbath blessings as the morning came and turned to afternoon:

Hearing voices of loved ones living continents away from me

Hearing voices read and share what they have learned from group Bible study

Hearing voices of husband and the choir he is in making music during the worship hour

Sitting with young friends while their parents and my husband sang in choir

Seeing the sunrise, and a cloudless sky

Seeing a cardinal in our bush, eating its berries

Seeing a friend from far away, who is here for a family visit as well as business

Feeling the warmth of the heater on my feet

Smelling food warming up in the oven, which we will also soon taste

Tasting barley crackers, sent to us from Mom in Oregon

The Beauty of the Mind

2011-09-30T17:14:00.000-07:00

My mom just posted a lovely article about memory. Especially focusing on things learned in childhood, she talks about how important it is to give children a pure and wonderful mental diet, teaching them to memorize the lessons of the Bible in word and song. The following are some thoughts that are running around in my mind in response to her article.

The things I memorized in childhood still stick with me. My husband and I both recited the fourth commandment the other day, in unison, without missing a word. It's not something I review on a regular basis. I hadn't read the words terribly recently. But unlike my upcoming recital repertoire, which I do review and attempt to engrave more deeply in my mind for hours every day, these words flowed easily off my tongue, instantly available, word for word.

I think there are a couple of reasons for that. One is that, as most of us realize these days, children's minds are especially efficient in memorizing and retaining information, perhaps partly because children love repetition as much as they do.

But perhaps there's another good reason. Bible verses, Sabbath school songs (or any hymns or spiritual songs) are all things that God has a big interest in helping us retain and retrieve when we have need of them. This is one memory tool that is available to every person at every age--even those who feel that their minds are slowing down.

In my own life, I've experienced many times the blessings of memory.

During two or so of my adult years, my Sabbath mornings were spent with the littlest children, playing the piano for their Sabbath school class. I hope they still remember the songs we taught them, and the lessons from the stories my friend told them every week. I do. They have come back to encourage me during quite a few trials, and have inspired hope and faith in my heart.

I've also worked on some memory projects of my own, and I'm well on my way to memorizing an entire book of the Bible (praise God who gives the wisdom for this endeavor!). I cannot even begin to count the times that this memory project has enriched my Bible study, both within the book I've been working with and in other books of the Bible. It has been an amazing journey to see how often the Bible interprets itself, and how often God gives me insights into His Word through my increasing familiarity with it.

I want to say one other thing about singing and memorizing: I know of few things that can bring my heart more courage than singing--OUT LOUD--words of faith in Jesus and praise to God my Creator and Redeemer. Try it out for yourself. It's hard to let Satan get you discouraged when you openly and outwardly give yourself to worship in song.

Musicians

2011-09-26T18:47:00.001-07:00

Things get goofy in the music department sometimes. We work hard, we get tired, we don't know where to find the next source for our research projects. We sit down on the couches in the lounge for supper, and the conversations take interesting turns.

One classmate is particularly known for her quick wit. I asked her what price she found on Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach's Essay on the True Art of Playing Keyboard Instruments.

Keep in mind that this man has been dead for a very long time, and has absolutely no need of a monthly income. Also keep in mind that our copies in the library look like an equivalent could be found for a more than reasonable price.

So when she replies "FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS", I nearly faint.

And she sympathetically blurts out, "It's a good thing you ain't pregnant, 'cause if you were, you would have just had your baby right then."

Another classmate offers this explanation for the high price:

They printed the translation in Taiwan and had to ship it accross the ocean in a row boat. The high price for each copy sold pays the rowers.

Evidently used copies sell for a little cheaper, and now you have a glimpse into the true life a musician.

Pleasing God

2011-09-26T04:08:00.000-07:00

I've been studying. Of course, my classes and exams call for a disciplined study. More important to me than any degree or class, however, is the study of the Bible.

Most recently, my course of study has taken me to several chapters in both the old and new Testaments that talk about judgments on nations. I've discovered that even when people or nations are rebellious, God gives space (or time) to repent (see Revelation 2:21 and Jeremiah chapter 18). The mercy and patience of God are beautifully depicted.

This morning, my study took me to Jeremiah 48:38, where it says this: "There shall be lamentation generally upon all the housetops of Moab, and in the streets thereof: for I have broken Moab like a vessel wherein is no pleasure, saith the LORD."

Several things immediately leaped out at me. I had seen this imagery before. If you dig out your concordance, you will find the imagery of a potter's vessel broken in Isaiah 30:14, Jeremiah 19:11, Revelation 2:27, as well as Psalm 2:8,9 (there might be more--these are just the ones I've studied so far).

But something in the description of the vessel this time caught my eye. There is no pleasure in it. What would cause me to be a vessel wherein there is pleasure? I wonder.

And almost immediately another text comes to mind, this time having more to to with a person in history than a nation.

"By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; and was not found, because God had translated him: for before his translation he had this testimony, that he pleased God. But without faith it is impossible to please Him: for he that cometh to God must believe that He is [or exists], and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him." Hebrews 11:5, 6.

What did I learn here?

I can please God by having faith in Him, and believing the promises (and all the other parts) of His word.

While I might not immediately know exactly how to diligently seek Him, I can think of several ways to seek Him more diligently than I do now (including more time spent studying and even memorizing His word, diligently protecting my time for secret prayer, remembering Him throughout my busy days, and the like).

God is pleased and delighted when I exercise this faith and trust in Him.

Without this diligence, this faith in God my Creator and Redeemer, my life will have no purpose and might as well be broken like a potter's vessel. Which thought reminds me of this verse, these words of Christ: "Whosoever shall fall upon that Stone [meaning Himself] shall be broken; but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder." Luke 20:18.

May we all know only the brokenness that comes from falling upon Christ, and leaning upon Him for our total salvation, and not the crushing weight of being a vessel without pleasure and without faith in His righteousness, His blood shed and plead for us.

More of Our Lives in Food

2011-09-24T05:25:00.000-07:00

Today we are visiting with friends, the wife a Brazilian in the music department with us, the husband a graduate of the seminary from Rwanda.

Their Sabbath school begins at 11:00, so we are going for Sabbath breakfast, Sabbath school, the worship service, and lunch afterward around 2:00 p.m. We are bringing home-made grape juice, and pancake mix from our favorite recipe. I don't know when we've been invited over for breakfast before, and I'm quite looking forward to it.

This morning I'm remembering our other friends who picked grapes with us last week, planning to do their own canning for the very first time, which must have been an adventure for them. I'm also remembering the best Friend of all, our Savior, who promised not to drink any grape juice until we could drink it with Him when He comes to take us home.

I can't wait.

Our {Recent} Lives in Food

2011-09-23T16:36:00.000-07:00

Sabbath Lunches with Friends

A couple of weeks ago, we gleefully accepted an invitation to Sabbath lunch with some dear friends, the husband of Serbian descent in the seminary, the wife of regular American mix in the music department with us.

We discovered that it is the Serbian tradition to eat simply--a bowl of good, hearty soup preceding the meal. In this case, we had a delicious butternut squash soup, made with the obvious squash with a bit of onion (and maybe potato) cooked and blended together. The seasoning was simple as well, the vegetable stock, salt, and a few herbs enhancing but not overpowering the flavors of the vegetables. We've already experimented with recreating this item from the menu.

Hearty bread, a lovely rice casserole, a soy-bean hummus, and a tomato-cucumber salad completed the meal.

Once the food was settled in our bellies, we took a walk in the sunshine, greeted the neighbor kitty, leaped through the harvested corn fields, arriving back at their house to jabber the rest of the day away...until 10:00 p.m.!

Also recently, some friends came into our home for Sabbath lunch. Thanks to an academy classmate of mine, a basic meal of spagetti and garlic bread had a special and very delicious flair.

Food Preservation

You would understand, wouldn't you, the drive to pick as many bushels of grapes as possible in the one hour you have available, only to find that picking the grapes went much faster than juicing and canning? And the urge that came only a day and a half later, when the kitchen STILL wasn't cleaned up, to pick more the next weekend?

You'd also understand how glad we are that, as we used our last jar of applesauce this week (made from the apples pictured above), we have fall break coming up so that we can make at least as much applesauce as last year? And maybe even buy twice as many so that we can make our own apple juice as well? Even though we know it's tons of work?

The Bread of Heaven

Most of all, I hope you understand how it is that a person could be stuck in the same three chapters of Isaiah for about as many weeks, searching out other texts that illumine them and learning life lessons from them every morning and evening--what it means to have Bible study in your life that not only fills your spiritual hunger for TODAY, but also quickens your mind regarding the eternal truths of the great controversy between God and Satan.

2011-09-08T17:55:00.000-07:00

We had hardly been home for three days before we (translate I) made a long list entitled "things to accomplish before school starts". We had three weeks.

One item on it was to finish all my Alaska fishing posts. We are nearing the end of our third week back in school, and as you can see, my fishing posts aren't anywhere near complete! I do promise them someday, but I'm not going to guarantee when. As I told my mother the other day when she said it would be fun if I were on Facebook, "I hardly have time to clip my toenails, let alone join Facebook!"

Yes, I'm immersed in music and studies at present, and spent some time with the Bach French and English keyboard suites, as you might be able to tell from a miss-spelling on a little menu item on my list last week: "Yam/Suite Potato Fries". Or should that have been sweet potatoes instead?

But we did pick blueberries (as you can see from the photo) before school started, and managed a few other homey chores in the mix. And we're enjoying the beginnings of fall in Michigan--which reminds me that we need to call our lovely, faith-filled blueberry lady to see if her grape harvest is nearly ripe. Maybe she'll let us pick from the "thank-offering row", which is a different row every year and yet yields more than any of the other rows.

Though busy, the days are filled with delights:

The best husband ever

Excellent teachers

Friends new and old

A new niece

Tasty food

Amish country and farms

Piano lessons full of new insights into the physicality as well as musicality of being a pianist

A second year of Analytical Techniques, just for fun

New insights in the Bible after I asked God to help me understand

Cheerful, sturdy clothing

Our crockpot

Prayer time alone and with my husband

Feeling healthy and energetic

Getting more exercise

Starting the second year of the master's program instead of the first, and having many familiar things in life where last year at this time almost everything was unfamiliar

May God grant each of you, dear readers, the sweetest of His blessings this week.

Who's the Brave One? Bristol Bay Journal Part 4

2011-08-02T17:17:00.001-07:00

That first Sabbath afternoon, we go walking along a beach, one my husband remembers well from childhood. The bluffs above have a "new" owner, who happens to be there camping with his sister for the week. They are friendly, and don't mind our exploring.

"Run as fast as you can in that direction!" my husband shouts.

He and his brothers aren't afraid of much, so I am instantly suspicious about what may happen to me if I do. I answer that I'd rather not, but that I'd be happy to watch him do so, which he gleefully does.

Then he disappears (translate drops or falls) into a pit.

But the grass is tall and deep and pads things well, so he isn't hurt. I still meander at my pace, glad not to fall into any pits. I am not the brave one of the two of us.
***
Later, back on the boat, we call my sister-in-law, the pregnant one in a foreign country who has been getting used to all new things and even using words from a new language.

It's a new thing, this calling people from the F.V. Ingolf--the cell phone only came on board as a useful item last summer, but already we are basking in the connections this device allows us to make with the outside world.

As only sisters-in-law can do, she and I discuss the ins and outs of being a girl on the fishing boat: the bucket, the lack of showers, the close quarters and where-to-go-when-I-need-introvert-time sorts of issues.

"You're brave!" she concludes.

I disagree. She's the brave one. Every time I feel overwhelmed in life, whether on the boat or not, I think of her and all she does and is and feel sheepish that I could possibly allow my heart to be discouraged when I know she faces so much more, every day.
***
We start out of the harbor as the tide allows, which is somewhere in the middle of the night. I stir from my sleep, and wonder if I should wake up completely for this moment, this first for me. Then I decide I will need to have rested, and fall back asleep.

The water treats me well on the first day. It doesn't make too many waves, and I don't get sick. I learn a little of how to steer the boat (at least, I think perhaps I began learning this the first day, but the days do so run together), and I squiggle and curve a little around the bay.

I do not learn how to stop and start. Steering is enough of bravery for the first lesson.

How to be Happy with a Day's Work

2011-07-29T18:17:00.000-07:00

At the end of my day, there are things on the list that haven't been done yet. There are things that got crossed off the list, too. I sit near the window with the blinds open longer than usual, because as Sabbath deepens with the darkness at sunset, I hope against hope that the fireflies are still here. Sure enough, I get to see some, flying right accross my front porch. I love fireflies.

While my husband is at choir rehearsal, I read Psalm 92, the one titled "Psalm for the Sabbath." As the temptation to wish I had accomplished more today crosses my mind, I read about the best way to resist such futile thoughts:

"It is a good thing to give thanks unto the LORD, and to sing praises unto Thy name, O most High: to shew forth Thy lovingkindness in the morning, and Thy faithfulness every night, upon an instrument of ten strings, and upon the psaltery; upon the harp with a solemn sound. For Thou, LORD, hast made me glad through Thy work: I will triumph in the works of Thy hands." Psalm 92:1-4

I may not have done everything I meant to do. I may have made mistakes, and have things to repent of.

But that's the beauty of the gospel, of the robe of Christ's righteousness. At the end of the day, when I come before the throne to claim the merits of Jesus, I can look over the hours and the accomplishments and take His instead of mine. I can review what He did today in my life--the prayers He answered, the blessings He bestowed--and triumph in the work He did.

The choice seems clear.

Why wallow in my own inadequacies when I can triumph in the things Jesus did for me today, or in the things He created and sustains in the nature I see all around me? What better reason would there be to give thanks than these fireflies outside and this cleanest of hearts transplanted in me? Who wouldn't love the mind that thought to make a little flying bug that glows, and the heart that loved me so much that He died to save my life?

All Things Familiar: Bristol Bay Journal Part 3

2011-07-18T09:29:00.000-07:00

It's amazing to me, sitting there in church, how I am in this place for the first time, yet I know the preacher.

He used to visit my small Washington town, pop into my office, read my e-mail messages from afar. Now we're both visiting here, a familiar place to him but an unfamiliar place to me. He remembers me, remembers my parents when we chat and I tell him my maiden name, and I meet his lovely wife.

The deeper familiarity, however, is one I recognize in the message he shares that day: Christ's robe of righteousness, His blood shed for me, is both enough for my salvation, and my only salvation.

It's a meal I never tire of--the spiritual food of Christ and Him crucified, offering me nourishment and victory in every moment.

The Last Shower: Bristol Bay Fishing Part 2

2011-07-17T19:22:00.000-07:00

The morning comes before I need it to in Alaska, and night comes quite late. Sabbath, from sundown to sundown, runs from something like ten before midnight until the same time the next day. I don't remember exactly. And I don't know how early the sun comes up, but it's quite early. Since the night isn't terribly dark, I simply rely on my body's need for rest and not the darkness to put me to sleep that first night.

My body didn't fail me that night or any night following for as long as I was on the boat.

We all stir and rise--all four of us, these other three experienced fishermen and their inexperienced new arrival, who share these 32 feet one way and 12 feet the other way--and begin preparations for the day. I participate in Bible readings and prayer with various combinations of them at least twice before breakfast, and then realize that, if I am to keep my word and play the piano for church services this morning, I had better eat, shower, dress, and go.

But it's not that simple, and I begin planning my attack:

Eat first. Husband just made breakfast, so take advantage of it.

Collect Bible and purse to take with me to church, along with anything else I need from the boat. (Who wants to come all the way back down to the dock and climb over two other boats to get one little thing when a little efficiency might actually get me to the church on time?)

Go to the van (the one that we drive) with father-in-law so that

he can take me to the locker (which is also known as the van, but we don't drive it because it's just a big trailer that stores things in it all year, even when it's not fishing season). The locker isn't very far away--maybe five- to ten-minutes' walk--but at this point every minute counts. I also need father-in-law along because it's still only my first twenty-four hours out here, and I haven't proven that I can open the locker by myself. Or, more importantly, close and lock it again when I'm done gathering the clothes I would like to wear to church, along with my towel and toiletries for the shower.

Take my shower at the PAF bathroom (this time, we decide the PAF is better for me than the community bath house because it's free and we don't need to grab the sack of quarters).

Ride to church, play the piano. Husband will ride one of the bikes up the {smallish} hill to church when he is finished cleaning up breakfast as well as himself, and I will see him there.

There's only one slight interruption to my brilliant orchestration of the morning: Someone else is in the PAF shower stall when I arrive and need to get into it myself. No matter. I soon realize she is almost done, and as we trade spaces, she slipping out and I slipping in, we strike up a bit of conversation.

It's funny how quickly we have trained ourselves to find commonality between strangers. I don't remember how, but it's not long before we discover it. She's running late to church, too.

Does she need a ride? Well, yes. No, she doesn't recall meeting my family. She's set netting...we're drift. That must be why. No, really, I'll be done sooner than you can walk up the hill, and we'd be happy to give you a ride.

{I don't confess I'm the pianist, and Father-in-law coordinates the whole fishermen's service, so they're not likely to start without us anyway.}

I finish the shower, knowing it will likely be my last until the next Friday. Somehow it seems just like any other shower, but I know it won't be long until I will long for another just like it. Or maybe the next one should be longer. Yes, I think to myself, by this time tomorrow I won't feel like this last shower was long enough, lingered in enough.

We climb in the van, she and I in the back, and continue our common-ground investigation.

What do you do for the rest of the year, when you're not fishing? She a first-grade teacher, I a graduate school student in music.

Where? Oh, really? She must know such-and-such a man, who came and spoke for some events I helped coordinate before I went back to school. She does, and asks if I know her daughter and son-in-law who live in the same small Michigan town I do. I don't, but we determine we know some more people in common from said small town, and that she has connections in the small Washington town I used to live in.

She has been fishing six summers. I have only been in town since yesterday afternoon and I'll try out the fishing part by tomorrow. I wonder what keeps her coming back every year, but before I get a chance to ask, we are at church and I am whisked inside just in time to make arrangements with singer-classmate from college who happens to be fishing this summer to sing special music next Sabbath (perhaps a duet with choir-director husband?), walk to the electric keyboard, eye it suspiciously (that's how I always look at the electronic ones the first time), and begin playing.

Landing in a New World: Bristol Bay Journal Part 1

2011-07-14T12:45:00.000-07:00

My father-in-law booked my flight. He must have known which side of the plane would get the best views, and he made sure to get me a window seat not only on my flight to Anchorage, but also on the short jump over to Dillingham.

I had never seen so many little lakes before. I wondered if I could count them, but soon decided it would be more accurate to wait until some point after the second coming and simply ask God how many there were. Certainly He would remember. He'll probably even tell me each of their names.

Which made me wonder, since He calls each of the stars by name and we humans can't possibly know and name all the stars, if He gives things names in addition to the names we give them. Or before we give names to anything. Another thing to ask, I suppose. He let Adam name the animals, but I guess I don't know if God has His own names for Alaska's lakes.

The gentleman next to me is a dentist, on his first trip to Alaska for a fishing vacation. I am a music student, a vegetarian one, on my second trip to Alaska in general but my first trip to Bristol Bay for a commercial fishing venture with my husband and father-in-law.

They've put in quite a few seasons together, and the whole family is waiting with baited breath to see how I will take to fish and water. Will I get sea sick? Will the sight of all the dead fish make my stomach churn?

"Don't eat any fish," says my brother-in-law.

I'm startled. Did I hear him right? Really? This is his one recommendation?

"At least, not if you want to stay vegetarian. They'll taste so good you'll want to keep eating them."

I'm skeptical about this advice, but I don't intend to set about proving him wrong.

We land in Dillingham, get off the plane, follow the crowd across the runway, through a fence, and around to the front of the airport. It feels like a crowd, probably because everyone is waiting for baggage in a small space, and it takes some time before I can get close enough to find out if my bags landed with me. Meanwhile, the kind family friend who meets me at the airport figures out who I am, and we wait for luggage together.

The tide schedule has been nicely arranged so that the F.V. Ingolf will come into the harbor to meet me by early evening. Still, there is time to see the fish and game office and get introduced to a few more family friends before the fishermen deliver the day's catch and fill up with fuel.

When we get to the harbor, I meet my driver's nephew, who also happens to have been a high school classmate of mine. I decide this may be a new world, but it is still part of a rather small one. We park and get out, and my gracious hostess points toward the boat (otherwise, she knows, I may never find it on my own) and sends me down the dock to be reunited with my husband after nearly a week apart.

I stop at the row she indicated. They are about the third boat from the dock. I peer at each of three orange slickers, each with their backs to me. Which one is he? I ask myself, and after a moment of pondering, make my best guess and shout out my greetings. He turns, smiles, waves.

Good. Got it right.

I tour the boat, which doesn't take long. It's 32 feet in length--the longest regulations will allow for this activity. We get my bags, take them to the "locker", which is essentially like a semi trailer parked here to store fishing-season things year-round, and sort through what I will need on the boat and what I will leave on land for the week. I take enough pairs of socks to wear a new pair every day, just in case, even though I know I might wear the same pair all week as we work hard and sleep hard between sets of fish.

We get my fishing licenses and my Peter Pan hat, go to the grocery store, prepare for Sabbath. I will spend my first night and day on the boat in the harbor, and I find that although the sleeping quarters are quite efficient in their use of space and would probably make my mother feel rather closed in (good thing claustrophobia doesn't have to be inherited), they are cozy and well padded with sleeping bags. There's even enough room for my husband next to me.

Five Memories

2011-07-13T17:13:00.000-07:00

Thinking back over the school year, sorting through goals, piling themes around in my mind, weaving a few related ones together, a conversation with my piano teacher surfaces more than once, perhaps in more mental stacks than she imagined it would.

One stack, the obvious one, is what I call the "How in the world am I going to do this graduate school thing, recital and all, for another year?" pile. The other, the one even closer to my heart of hearts, is what I call the "How in the world am I going to get this whole book of the Bible stay in my mind for a lifetime?" pile. And somehow, her words ring true not just for school, but also for life.

When it comes to the music (the hour of it I've begun to learn in preparation for my graduate recital), I struggle to stay focused, play the details I know are there without getting distracted by other thoughts.

When it comes to the words (the Revelation, and now parts of Daniel, that I've quietly been tucking away inside myself for several years now), I struggle to review enough, keep them fresh, feel like they're ingrained to the point that I could honestly look you in the eye and tell you I've memorized a book of the Bible and be able to recite all its sentences and paragraphs to you at the drop of a hat.

How do I make a memory? One that really stays? One that I can communicate effectively and accurately to others around me when I need to or want to?

She gives me words, ideas about making memories. I write them down, feeling that I might otherwise forget them.

There are five kinds, she says. Five memories to build.

Most of the time, unless we force ourselves to exercise more of them, we might build two or three memories at most. She's right, I decide, because the more I think about what she says, I believe I use only two, and I figure out how those two without the others set me up for some of the fumbles I make in the recital hall.

These are they:

Visual: what the music looks like in the score (on the page). Or, in memorizing Scripture, this would be what the words look like in my Bible.

Visual: what the notes look like on the keyboard as I play them. Or, in memorizing Scripture, this might be the mental picture of what the words are describing.

Aural: what the music sounds like. Or, what the words sound like aloud.

Muscular: what the music feels like in my hands as I play it. Or, what the words feel like in my mouth as I speak them. (I know that might seem strange, but if you've ever sung formally, like in a choir, you generally begin to recognize not just how something sounds when it sounds good, but how it feels in your mouth and vocal chords when you sing it.)

Theoretical: how the music (individual notes, chords, phrases, etc.) functions as it moves from one section to the next. Or, how the words string together to form phrases, sentences, verses, paragraphs, chapters, books...

Point being this: whether I'm working toward playing a recital or putting memory verses away for the long term, have I gone through the passage thinking specifically about sound? Is my visual memory built only on what the notes look like as my hands play them, or could I also "see" what they look like on the page and play them from memory as if I'm actually reading them from the score?

If I could turn one piano piece, or one verse of the Bible, into five different memories in my mind, wouldn't I increase my chances of reproducing it accurately? Even if I'm tired? Even if something in the moment distracts me?

It would cost me, to be sure--time, energy, mental exploration. But somehow it strikes me that the potential payoff would be well worth the effort.

Bring what you have {not what you don't have} to Jesus

2011-06-21T21:28:00.000-07:00

Maybe the whole crowd--the thousands gathered at Christ's feet--could see the waters of Galilee from their mountain perch. Drawn more to Him than to the water, more to Him than to lunch, more to Him than to supper, and as that mealtime approaches again on the third day, He knows when their hearts have had enough to digest for the present.

The Master of all trades, He calls the disciples to Himself, and turns from spoken food to thoughts of another kind of meal: The crowds don't have anything to eat. I have compassion on them. They are hungry. I can't send them away without food.

At this moment, the disciples get very realistic, logical, economical, reasonable. They don't have enough bread to feed a crowd of four thousand men, let alone all the women and children also in their midst.

Instead of asking whether they trust Him, whether they think He can do another miracle after everything they've already seen Him do, or where their faith is (although sometimes He asks that, too), Jesus responds with a basic, concrete question.

How many loaves do you have?

Seven. The answer, small, tiny, hardly significant, yet beautiful like a little wildflower, is also concrete.

You and I have heard this story a million times. I don't even need to tell you what happens next--how everyone gets their fill and there are leftovers.

But this time as I read, I noticed something. Maybe even the solution to my constant sense of inadequacy, the intense feeling that what I have to offer the world, my neighbor, my classmate, my friend, my husband, my God, is never going to be enough.

They bring the loaves--all seven of them--to Jesus. They bring the fishes--the few little ones--to Jesus.

I can't think of a way to shout this to you across the screen loudly enough. They don't take the little bits of food to the multitude, expecting any miracle. They work for Jesus, and they report directly to Him, bringing Him everything they have. They don't go looking for anything they don't have.

He asks what they have, and they bring it to Him. All of it. Not one disciple keeps back one of the little fish to snack on later if something doesn't work out. Everything goes into Jesus' {very capable} hands.

No one gets fed that day because of anything the disciples have or do. They get fed because Jesus blesses the food and multiplies it. It's simple food, but everyone has enough.

Did you ever wonder why He, who would have know how to make just exactly enough with no more and no less, made so many leftovers? From seven small loaves of bread to seven baskets full of them. And where did they find all the baskets?

I'll be honest. That boggles my mind. Such abundance, such bounty, from something that seemed like such nothingness.

Or did you ever wonder if you had anything of value to offer those around you? Whether your grasp of the gospel was enough to feed your hungering neighbor? Whether your energy was enough to give a bit of extra attention to the {husband, child, friend} who needs your {ears, helping hand, time, love}? Whether you ought to bother offer yourself, when you think others have more to give?

I wonder some of these things every day. And some days, I wonder all of them at once.

But today, thinking of how Jesus fed the multitude, I wonder if I should stop wondering these things. Maybe today I shouldn't offer scraps to everyone around me, or worry about everything I don't have to offer them.

Maybe I should use the energy and focus to gather up the scraps and bits and pieces, bringing them all to Jesus. And after He blesses and multipies them, handing them out to the crowds who really come to His feet and not mine anyway, maybe my biggest and most pressing wonder will be what He wants me to do with the baskets and baskets of leftovers there are at the end of the meal.

Shedding Abroad

2011-05-30T06:10:00.000-07:00

Of late, I have been thinking of where love comes from--the kind of love that I am supposed to have in the humility of Christ for souls, for people.

I'm not thinking of the people I naturally connect with, form deep bonds with right from the start, who bless me just by being in the room. No, not those. I'm thinking of the ones Jesus had to tell me to love. The ones who, sometimes or all the time, feel like my enemies, or worse yet, God's enemies.

Meanwhile, I keep chipping away at my long-term memory projects (I hope to post more about these soon), in this case the book of Daniel, one verse at a time. I come to chapter four, where king Nebuchadnezzar has another disturbing dream. He calls all the sorcerers in his kingdom, seeking some kind of interpretation for the dream.

None of them can help.

Just like last time, I think to myself. Why doesn't he call Daniel first, since at least this time he knows Daniel's God was the only one who could interpret the dream last time? Why does he fall so easily back to these vain babblers? He has had all the evidence a person could ask for--even seeing God rescue His followers from a fiery furnace--and yet he STILL goes back to the false gods for counsel? This man makes no sense.

Soon, of course, the king does call for Daniel, in this moment the king's one connection with the Most High. The last resort.

The thought strikes. How many times do I make the true God my last resort instead of my first one?

Daniel hears the dream. It's the huge tree, the strong tree, the tree that bears a lot of fruit and provides shelter for all the beasts and birds, the tree that is so tall it reaches to heaven and can be seen through the whole earth. Yet a God larger than the tree, the God of heaven, decrees that the tree should be cut down, and that Nebuchadnezzar (symbolized by this tree) would be like a wild beast for seven years, with no human capacity to reason.

And Daniel is the one who gets to tell the king this crazy, disparaging news. He pauses. The verse (Daniel 4:19) is long, and I have to take it in small sections to get it into my mind, into my memory.

"Then Daniel, whose name was Belteshazzar, was astonied for one hour, and his thoughts troubled him. The king spake, and said, Let not the dream, or the interpretation thereof trouble thee. Belteshazzar answered and said, My lord, the dream be to them that hate thee, and the interpretation thereof to thine enemies."

At this slow-motion pace, the words sink in deeply, and I catch a glimpse of the astonished Daniel that in turn astonishes me.

Maybe it's the hour that it takes for Daniel to speak. Maybe it's the king's plea for him to speak combined with his attempt to assure Daniel that he is brave to hear the interpretation no matter how bad it is. Because I am sure he knows it's going to be bad.

Whatever it is, when Daniel wishes the dream on the king's enemies, I see it: the astounding love of Christ for an enemy. Who has more reason to hate the king than Daniel and his people, who have been torn from their homeland, who have seen the king destroy many of their people as well as the house of the true God?

Sure. I know this king has given Daniel position and honor and education. But Daniel still has every reason to be the one who hates this king. Does he realize that when he wishes, at least figuratively, this dream on those that hate the king, he could easily have been, except for this strange and godly love and forgiveness in his heart, wishing this dream, the seven years of beasthood, on himself?

Yet I see him there. Unable to speak for an hour. More overcome with his grief and astonishment for the king's heart and mind than by the embarrassment of standing before the expectant king without saying anything, not even speaking immediately to prove that the Most High God is the only one who can interpret the dream He has given.

They both know that already anyway, and the king can only take so much of this loving silence. He reaches out to comfort the heart that is breaking for him, and just before diving into the strange and heavy glimpse into Nebuchadnezzar's future, he expresses this soul-love for one who has shunned repeated invitations of grace.

Jesus said to love these enemies, but how did this happen in Daniel's heart? How can this happen in my heart? Can this happen in my heart?

Well, we know the answer to the second question right away: "With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible." (Matthew 19:26)

I turn to Romans 5:5, studied with my Sabbath school class a few weeks ago, where I find the answer: "...the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us."

This is how my heart gets love for souls. I cannot generate it. All I can do is see how empty my efforts are to obtain it and follow Christ's command, and ask by faith for the Holy Spirit, who is promised to me when I ask. And when He comes to my heart, one of the things He does there is give me Christ's love, filling my heart to overflowing.

This is righteousness by faith, new birth. This is the faith that lives and produces good fruit, good works, a deep love for even the enemies.

Mowing the Lawn

2011-05-23T16:37:00.000-07:00

The husband's research was long....and really high quality....and really time-consuming. And our poor grass got long, too....because wife didn't manage to make room in her schedule for that and didn't try very hard to make room, even though the rain and the sun gave the grass all the attention it could desire in two weeks' time.

I've mown plenty of lawn in my time, and somehow, having a husband these days, I basked in the knowing that he would do the chore as soon as all the citations were edited properly.

And now that he's tending the lawn, rejoicing in the research well done, the paper well written, he's reveling in the fresh air.

Since we have a small lawn, we opted for the small mower without motor, which means he hears the birds singing and the neighborhood children playing while he works. Relationships get caught up on, too--he manages phone calls to Grandma, Mom, Dad, leaving message for Twin. And receives calls from soon-to-be-missionary we get to visit with this weekend. (Yay!)

How he ever manages to call all those people in such a short time is beyond me--I would be talking for hours with each one. But his cup and theirs get filled, and I enjoy a quiet moment of writing before our moments together, walking by our river.

A Sign of Success

2011-05-20T14:03:00.000-07:00

Your husband has been outside editing his {30+ pages of} research paper and soaking up the sun while he works. You have been inside cooking and cleaning, preparing the home for Sabbath.

You know you're doing well with all your little jobs when he comes in and says, "I don't know how you can focus on anything else when that bread smells so good in here!"

Blooming

2011-05-17T16:26:00.000-07:00

"No one can give place in his own heart and life for the stream of God's blessing to flow to others, without receiving in himself a rich reward. The hillsides and plains that furnish a channel for the mountain streams to reach the sea suffer no loss thereby. That which they give is repaid a hundredfold. For the stream that goes singing on its way leaves behind its gift of verdure and fruitfulness. The grass on its banks is a fresher green, the trees have a richer verdure, the flowers are more abundant. When the earth lies bare and brown under the summer's parching heat, a line of verdure marks the river's course; and the plain that opened her bosom to bear the mountain's treasure to the sea is clothed with freshness and beauty, a witness to the recompense that God's grace imparts to all who give themselves as a channel for its outflow to the world."

White, Ellen. Thoughts from the Mount of Blessing. 81-82.

Family Worship

2011-05-15T12:26:00.000-07:00

Recently, my husband and I attended the last vespers of the school year--we could hardly believe how fast the time had flown! But that is beside the point, because they had indeed saved one of the best topics for last. A brother and sister, both students at our university and renting a small house together, shared their testimony about family worship, which went something like the following.

They had been busy, squeezing every bit of life into every day, but missing something. One particularly busy morning, seminary student brother bounced into speech pathology student sister's bedroom, where she was frantically studying for an exam.

"Let's have family worship!" he said.

"I don't have time!" she replied.

Both siblings showing a bit of their strong personalities, sister eventually gave in and they had family worship. In fact, that morning they began having family worship together twice, I believe, every day, just as they had done in childhood with their parents.

They started noticing something: a line from the reading would give them needed strength for a trial; a snippet from a hymn sung together that morning would encourage their tired steps; the Lord blessed each with greater efficiency in their regular studies and tasks throughout the day.

The principles and ideas? A set time in the morning and evening that works well for all the members of the family. A set length of time, ensuring a non-rushed morning. Variety. Prayer--for each family member. Singing. Bible reading, or reading from another trusted book. Brief discussion of things read.

They also encouraged family members to have their own private devotional times before the beginning of family worship, and to have family worship before anyone leaves the house for the day.

Perhaps one of the most beautiful things of the presentation was that at the end of a concise presentation, they pretended we were not in the room, and had a family worship so that we could all, in our mixed group of singles, couples, and parents with children, see how they did it. And they applied the principle to everyone, saying that no matter what your life circumstances, it's important to connect daily with others, encouraging and building each other up.

Our couple-family has always had morning prayer together, and a wonderful evening worship. Since this vespers, we have filled out our morning prayer to a morning worship, complete with singing. What a blessing it has already been to our lives, and how grateful we are to be learning and practicing these principles early in our lives and marriage.

(Note: Something else we like to do, as shown in the above photo, is to take a little pocket Bible along on hikes and walks, and at a pretty stopping place, pause to reflect on our Creator and His words for us.)

(If you would like more ideas for family worship, you might reference, as the brother/sister team mentioned above did, a little book called Child Guidance, by Ellen White.)

Five Affirmations Before Breakfast

2011-05-13T16:06:00.000-07:00

We both know it. When I'm rushed in the morning, feeling that the whole day is gone before it has really begun and I'm already behind schedule, I'm not on my best behavior.

But even the knowing doesn't make it any more pleasant for either of us.

Yesterday was just such a morning. Behind again, the minutes slipping right through my fingers. I stepped into the shower, grateful for Husband's offer to whip up breakfast to help offset my tardiness, yet still feeling discouraged.

For once, at this moment, by the grace of God, I did something reasonable.

I prayed--after all, I had just given my Lord the whole day, and wasn't this too part of the day?

I remembered--because "we have nothing to fear for the future, except as we shall forget how the Lord has led us, and His teaching in our past history." (E. G. White, Testimonies to Gospel Workers, p. 31) Last week when I felt discouraged, my feelings reflected no part of reality. It was easy to see it all in retrospect. Could that be true this morning as well?

I smiled--in spite of my stress the words at the bottom of a friend's e-mail came to mind: "Sometimes I believe in five impossible things before breakfast."

I thought--of my husband, to whom words carry great power to encourage or to tear down. What about five affirmations before breakfast? So what if I didn't feel affirming? Far from impossible, wouldn't that be a more pleasant path for both of us than speaking of all my worries before breakfast? Or at any part of the day?

I counted--with each delightful thing about my husband, said to him aloud, came the remembrance of another. And soon these selfless attempts to brighten his day's start, possible because of Jesus' selfless blood shed for me, brought sunshine to my morning as well.

The Ice was All Around: More of the Frozen Lake

2011-01-09T05:30:00.000-08:00

In many places, we could see that the ice was several feet thick. That being the case, of course we walked out on it to get a better view.

The ice formed balls. Farther out toward the water, these balls were not sealed together. But where we were, had been gradually frozen solid as the water washed over them and glued them together.

All this--the ice peaks in the distance, the massive ice berg on which we stood--had been formed in a week or less. When we visited exactly one week prior, the lake was not frozen at all.

All along the peaks at the edge between solid ice and flowing, smaller ice balls, the fury of the lake splashed up against the ice wall, and looked like a series of geysers along the ice line.

Another view of the sun, the gathering storm, the ice.

Testing the surface by throwing snow/ice boulders onto the new surface.

Out at the edge, some of the little ice bergs were still flowing with the waves before being washed in to meld themselves to the larger icy surface.

My handsome husband.

The spray was incredible. You can see in this photo that not only water, but also chunks of ice get swept up in the might of the waves.

Words, and even pictures, fail to describe the scene. I have never seen anything like this in all my life, and it's worth living through a Michigan winter just for that afternoon on the ice.

The Ice was Here: An Introductory Glance

2011-01-08T19:35:00.001-08:00

We'd had a snowstorm, so like we usually do (even if the weather men say to stay home where it's cozy and safe), we took a trip to the lake. We may not live in this area forever, after all, and we simply must take in the beauties as much as we can.

We had heard of the lake freezing. But we had not imagined what it would really be like.

If you scroll down to an earlier post, you can see the same path in warm-weather garb.

I cannot come away from a view like this thinking that water--its properties, the way it goes from lake to ice to cloud to snow--happened in any other way than by the word of God.

Thoughts by the Sea (or Lake Michigan)

2010-10-30T07:38:00.000-07:00

In the contemplation of Christ, we linger on the shore of a love that is measureless.

We endeavor to tell of this love, and language fails us.

We consider His life on earth, His sacrifice for us, His work in heaven as our advocate, and the mansions He is preparing for those who love Him, and we can only exclaim, O the height and depth of the love of Christ!

Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins.

Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.

In every true disciple, this love, like sacred fire, burns on the alter of the heart.

It was on the earth that the love of God was revealed through Christ. It is on the earth that His children are to reflect this love through blameless lives. Thus sinners will be led to the cross, to behold the Lamb of God.

(White, Ellen G. The Acts of the Aposltes. p. 334.)

Autumn Sabbath

2010-10-09T14:46:00.000-07:00

After a wonderful lunch (how bountifully the Lord provides!) and far, far away from our families, my husband and I thought we would take some pictures of our Michigan autumn for show and tell. And what a beautiful Sabbath day we had for the venture! Well over 70 degrees, the weather gave us the perfect excuse to be out and about.

For us, Sabbath is a wonderful reminder of our Creator, and spending time outside in the fresh air among the beauties He has given reminds us how much He cares for our every need and plans for our happiness things we can hardly imagine. "The eyes of all wait upon Thee," writes the Psalmist, "and Thou givest them their meat in due season."

I hate spiders. But my husband thinks the pattern on this one was beautiful.

Last week, the gulls were all afloat on the water in the cold. Why they decided to absent themselves on this glorious day (which I thought would be far better for a bath), we don't know.

A favorite park swing overlooking the river, from which we can see (kind of) the shores of our favorite mission organization across the water. It's romantic, it's peaceful, it's a wonderful place to pray and meditate--and it's far enough away from the {amazing} children's play area to be satisfactorily solitary.

This little fellow kindly posed long enough near his nut bank for us to take several portraits. He's such an avid climber--fearfully and wonderfully made.

Our river. Ours because it runs very near where we live, and we have the privilege of seeing it every day.

"This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!"

Encouragement

2010-07-21T12:17:00.000-07:00

Some words got me thinking, and I praise God for all the courage and faith He has brought to my mind in all these thoughts! I share a few of them here, and apologize for the lack of pictures....

All afternoon, all evening, even this morning as I lay half sleeping, half waking, words poured into my mind. Some I’ve carried in my heart since childhood, some I’ve grasped only in the last week or two.

My eyes scanned my own experience. That wasn’t God’s fault, I thought. Nothing that has happened to me or to those close to me was ever His fault. An enemy hath done this. (Matthew 13:28)

This war, this carnage we experience daily, didn’t begin here, in isolation from God’s own heart. First there was war in heaven. Where all was perfection, peace, joy, love, service, faith, glory, there was war. We’ve seen the wars on earth, the devastation of all sides fighting to the death. We’ve seen valor and courage face to face with evil and treachery; we’ve read the bloody history of war upon war. But how much more terrible would it be to see out and out war in heaven, where all had been bliss, where both armies had strength beyond our imaginings?

Oh, the grief our Father must know!

Lucifer started out perfect, the sun of the morning. Yet he nursed pride, thinking he could overtake the throne of God, that he could have the power of his Creator, that God wasn’t fair to keep him from his goals. (See Isaiah 14)

“And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him…And when the dragon saw that he was cast unto the earth, he persecuted…” (Revelation 12:9, 13)

It was all his fault.

He disguised himself, spoke charming words, and before there was even a third human being on earth, the devil had led astray our first parents. They saw the flowers and leaves dying, they saw their son turn murderer, they faced grief beyond what we could bear, Adam living as near to one thousand years as some of us live near to one hundred.

God made them, and us, with minds, with reason, with choice. An enemy drew them in, and they had chosen. Their pain was Satan’s fault, as well as their own. They had no excuses. Adam and Eve made their choice, and it seemed like ours was forever lost in theirs.

But from the first, God had the answer to all our ruined choices, all the persecutions of the enemy. You know the answer; I know it. We know the cross. We know the Truth that sets us free. We find forgiveness at the cross.

We find justice there, too.

Has someone stolen from me? Whether the theft was petty, concrete, emotional, the price of the theft is paid to me in full for my healing by Christ’s death, whether that person repents or not. Have I been abused? Christ restores by His wounds. Have I been cheated? Have I been hurt? Have I been scorned? All the worlds of hurt in my heart are healed because Jesus died to restore to me what was taken, what was lost.

“By His stripes, we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5)

Jesus knows all our pain. It wasn’t His fault or His doing, but He paid the price for us anyway. Because He was innocent of all guilt in this war between good and evil, God and Satan, His sacrifice pays the price for us. If He had been guilty of any wrong-doing, however small, His death would have paid only the price for His faults, and could not have even begun to pay for ours.
But He was, is, and always will be perfectly holy and pure. Thus the cross is fair. It’s just. It’s merciful. It makes no excuses for sin, but takes sin’s wages from us and puts them on Jesus.

Jesus knows the pain of losing a friend in death. “Jesus wept.” Over Lazarus. Even though He was about to raise him from the dead again.

“Then said the Jews, See how He loved him!” (John 11:35, 36)

He weeps still with us, when today we face loss and discouragement. Could that be why He does not speak instantly, why He seems silent, for all His tears? He will heal, He will raise up, like He did Lazarus. He promises to wipe away all tears from our faces (Revelation 7:17). Joy will come in the morning.

Jesus knows the pain of betrayal, of loss, of ridicule, of shame, of torture. He experienced it not only in His own life and death on earth, but He also experiences it every day, every hour, every moment, with all of us. “I will never leave you, nor forsake you,” He promised, and with His presence, this Gift of all gifts, we can be content. (Hebrews 13:5) He took up the cross for us, and has not laid it down again, but daily walks the road with us, bearing our burdens.

No matter how alone we feel, no matter how grieved, no matter how isolated, we cling to this promise. God does not lie, and His Word cannot fail. This is a God I can trust, though He slay me. (Job 13:15)

He said we would have trouble in this world. It’s because of the enemy, because of our choices, because of choices others make around us.

“But be of good cheer,” He says. “I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

A Moment Aside

2010-03-23T15:12:00.000-07:00

In the midst of wedding planning and the cares of daily life, I was feeling dreadfully overwhelmed. I felt that I was failing at almost everything--remaining calm under pressure, staying sweet when there was too much to do or when I was tired, rembering that others are human too.

"Do you need a date night tomorrow?" asked my {very wonderful} fiance'.

So off we went the next day, to a close and quiet retreat, both of us ready to watch the sunset. Together.

Later, as I prepared for bed, feeling much more relaxed, I read of the apostle Paul, and the sunset of his life.

"His sufficiency was not in himself, but in the presence and agency of the divine Spirit that filled his soul, and brought every thought into subjection to the will of Christ. The prophet declares, 'Thou wilt keep in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee: because he trusteth in Thee.' The heavenborn peace expressed on Paul's countenance won many a soul to the gospel..."

That's what I need. Perfect peace.

"...Paul carried with him the atmosphere of heaven..."

I'm good at making sure I have my water bottle, purse, chapstick, list of things to conquer. Do I remember to carry the atmosphere of heaven when I get in the car to drive an hour to the next town over? What about when my fiance' or other friends come over to spend the evening?

"...All who associated with him felt the influence of his union with Christ. The fact that his own life exemplified the truth he proclaimed, gave convincing power to his preaching. Here lies the power of truth. The unstudied, unconsious influence of a holy life is the most convincing sermon that can be given in favor of Christianity. Argument, even when unanswerable, may provoke only opposition; but a godly example has a power that it is impossible wholly to resist." (The Acts of the Apostles, 510-511)

The promises are for me, not just for Paul. And I claim them today, not because of anything I have or am, but because of my great need.

Just a Quick Note

2010-03-15T07:59:00.000-07:00

Life has been very busy lately, and although I've had several things I've wanted to post about, it hasn't been happening.

As of February 19, I'm an engaged woman! The wedding is coming up quickly, and my extra time has been devoted to planning and arranging. So fun!

But there's always time to refelct on God's glory. Last night for my evening worship, I was reading in Matthew 17. When I came to verses 6 and 7, the disciples with Jesus on the mount of transfiguration fell on their feet to worship Christ in His glory. He came to them, placed His hand on them, and said, "Don't be afraid."

John, one of these disciples, was privileged to see Christ again in His glory, much later on in his life when he was imprisoned on the isle of Patmos. Even though he had seen this before, he still fell on his face as if he were dead for the awe of the experience.

Can you imagine such glory?

Again, Christ put His right hand upon him, and said, "Fear not."

How thankful I am that He has glory beyond what I can fathom, as well as gentleness in leading His sheep.

A Birthday Celebration

2010-02-04T07:51:00.000-08:00

A small gathering of friends celebrating one of the best things: the life of a friend.

The birthday man prepares to win.

The host (my beau, bottom left), T, and O

Preparing for the attack (on the candles)

ADRA on the Ground in Haiti

2010-01-21T08:15:00.000-08:00

For more than fifty years, ADRA (the Adventist Development and Relief Agency) has had a strong presence around the world.

During the Rwandan genocide in the 1990s, ADRA was the only non-governmental agency to maintain a presence in the country. As a child, I knew the family of a man who stayed in the country as a foreigner and miraculously came out alive.

But ADRA didn't and hasn't stopped its efforts there. It's on the ground in Haiti even today.

To read about
ADRA's immediate response to Haiti's earthquake, or its food and water distribution, visit its web site, where there will also be links to tell you how you can help.

Frozen Flowers

2009-12-08T15:45:00.000-08:00

{I very much wanted to post this with pictures, but could not find my camera to get the proper documentation. Simply use your imaginations!}

I received an e-mail this morning with these excellent words in it:

"When the mustard seed is cast into the ground, the tiny germ lays hold of every element that God has provided for its nutriment, and it speedily develops a sturdy growth. If you have faith like this, you will lay hold upon God’s word, and upon all the helpful agencies He has appointed. Thus your faith will strengthen, and will bring to your aid the power of heaven. The obstacles that are piled by Satan across your path, though apparently as insurmountable as the eternal hills, shall disappear before the demand of faith. 'Nothing shall be impossible unto you.'" Desire of Ages-431

What are the nutriments my faith is grasping hold of?

Giving thanks in all things, for this is God's will for me in Christ Jesus:

the prayers of a faithful beau
normal lab results from the doctor
stress (all things--God would not bid us be thankful for that which would do us harm)
lists
my new shower (still a blessing)
my job
friends' e-mails
the blessing of fellowship
the promise and gift of the Holy Spirit
this post, reminding me of my own reading a few days ago of John 16:20-22: http://www.aholyexperience.com/2009/12/its-part-of-receiving-gift.html
remembering that God's plans are the best plans
looking, with the eye of faith, to Jesus as my Shepherd, myself the helpless sheep, trusting myself to His care, always
exercise, even in the bitter cold
a quiet morning
friend's first grandbaby born early this morning
praying friends
frozen flowers, although left in the car too long in the cold, still bring cheer at the thought I was thought of
my hymnbook, propped up in the towell cupboard, easily viewed and sung from while my blow dryer joined the tunes

A Comforting Figure

2009-12-02T17:06:00.000-08:00

My readings have taken me far and wide in the last few days, far beyond the dust of this earth. May I share a few words that gave me a deep sense of peace and comfort in trial?

"Though the Revelation deals largely in figures, it does not deal in fictions. There is reality in all the things described, and we gain an understanding of the reality when we get a correct interpretation of the figures. Thus, in vision we know that the One upon the throne is God. He is really there. We know the Lamb symbolizes Christ. He too is really there." (Uriah Smith, Daniel and the Revelation, 420)

How can I worry or fret, when God is really there?

He is really there....taking care of all my needs, ruling the universe, making sure the plants grow and the planets follow their courses.

He too is really there....Pleading my case before the throne, having paid my debts with His own life blood.

"O infinite merit of the blood of Christ, which can cleanse us from all our pollutions, and make us meet to tread the holy hill of Zion! O infinite grace of God, which can prepare us to endure the glory, and give us boldness to enter into His presence, even with exceeding joy!" (Uriah Smith, Daniel and the Revelation, 422)

Faith and Overcoming

2009-11-25T08:19:00.000-08:00

"He who has not sufficient faith in Christ to believe that He can keep him from sinning, has not the faith that will give him an entrance into the kingdom of God." White, Ellen G., Manuscript 161, 1897, p9

At first, the above words may seem a discouragement. But to me, they were courage in an hour of need. If God can keep us sinless for eternity when He comes again, surely He can and will grant us the victory now.

So often I feel overcome by my temptations and sins, as if there is no way out. How do I so easily forget that God provides a way out of every temptation as He promised in His Word, and through Christ I can overcome?

Scripture is overflowing with promises of new life and victory. Here are a few:

Isaiah 26:3, 4 "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee: because he trusteth in Thee. Trust ye in the Lord forever: for the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength."

John 15:4 "Abide in Me, and I in you..."

1 Corinthians 2:16 "For who hath known the mind of the Lord, that he may instruct Him? But we have the mind of Christ."

Romans 6:6 "Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin."

Does Jesus Care?

2009-11-04T08:18:00.000-08:00

For my loved ones who have lost a loved one this week, the third verse of a new favorite hymn of mine...

Does Jesus care when I've said goodbye to the dearest on earth to me?

When my sad heart aches till it nearly breaks, does He care enough to be near?

Oh, yes! He cares, I know He cares. His heart is touched with my grief.

When the days are dreary, the long nights weary, I know my Savior cares.

Evening Surprise

2009-09-22T13:31:00.000-07:00

Who wouldn't want to come home to this after a day's work?

Summer Picnic

2009-08-25T15:15:00.000-07:00

Who could turn down a chance to go on a picnic on a day like this? Especially when put on by your sweetheart?

Simple sandwiches and fruit salad taste like the most luxurious feast in the world when eaten outside in good company.

Once our stomachs had their fill, we sat in the light of the fading sun and read from a Book, life's Light, filling minds with God's thoughts and words. A beautiful end to a beautiful day.

Anniversary

2009-08-24T10:32:00.001-07:00

A year ago today, very dear friends united their lives until death parts them. Congratulations to both of you for enjoying the first year of life together!

We Are Nearing Home

2009-08-19T14:21:00.000-07:00

I learned this hymn at a memorial service a summer or two ago, and often sing it when I am nearing my physical home after being away. It reminds me to seek after the heavenly home, and to look ahead to it as much as I look forward to being home after traveling.

Just over the mountains in the promised land

Lies the Holy City built by God's own hand.

As our weary footsteps gain the mountain's crest,

We can view our homeland of eternal rest.

Chorus

We are nearing home, we are nearing home!

See the splendor gleaming from the domes afar,

See the glory streaming through the gates ajar!

There we soon will enter never more to roam,

Hear the angels singing--

We are nearing home, We are nearing home!

From the roles of the prophets we have long been told

Of that wondrous city with its streets of gold.

Now with raptured vision we can see it there,

With its walls of jasper and its mansions fair.

Chorus

Those who enter that city are the chosen few

Who keep God's commandments--faith of Jesus, too.

There we'll lift our voices through the endless days

In sweet songs of gladness and in psalms of praise.

Chorus

My brother, my sister, will you meet us there,

In that land of sunshine where there'll be no care?

Accept of God's message and to Him be true,

Then when Jesus cometh, He will call for you!

Chorus

Pick Me! (A lesson in home decor)

2009-08-06T08:48:00.001-07:00

"Here the few hours of our stay were not spent in useless labor or in doing that which could be done as well as at some other time, but were occupied in a pleasant and profitable manner, restful alike to mind and body. The house was a model of comfort, although not extravagantly furnished. The rooms were all well lighted and ventilated...which is of more real value than the most costly adornments. The parlors were not furnished with that precision which is so tiresome to the eye, but there was a pleasing variety in the articles of furniture.

"The chairs were mostly rockers or easy chairs, not all of the same fashion, but adapted to the comfort of the different members of the family. There were low, cushioned rocking chairs and high, straight-backed ones; there were also comfortable sofas; and all seemed to say, Try me, rest in me. There were tables strewn with books and papers. All was neat and attractive, but without that precise arrangement that seems to warn all beholders not to touch anything for fear of getting it out of place.

"The proprietors of this pleasant home were in such circumstances that they might have furnished and embellished their residence expensively, but htey had wisely chosen comfort rather than display...The God-given sunlight and air had free ingress, with the fragrance of the flowers in the garden. The family were, of course, in keeping with the home; they were cheerful and entertaining, doing everything needful for our comfort...This was a home in the fullest sense of the word."

--Ellen G. White, 1877

Birthday Flowers

2009-07-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

A few days before my birthday, a card arrived in the mail from my mother. I opened it up, and found inside a gift card to go buy flowers.

But there was a catch!

I was not allowed to keep any of the flowers for myself. No, the present to me from my mother was the collection of smiles I would receive from people to whom I gave the flowers I bought.

The store offered big bunches of roses, and for the sale price I was able to purchase four. Four. I'm not sure I've ever felt so rich as when I went through check-out with such an arm-full of flowers.

At home, I got out all the little vases I could find, especially the ones I wouldn't mind parting with. Fourteen or fifteen small bouquets later, I was ready for my mission.

First smiles were the company who came over for dinner and took flowers with them home. Next, a former co-worker, and after that some grandparently folks. Then a former teacher and his wife, and a great aunt and a great uncle.

What lovely visits we had! I couldn't remember having a nicer reason to go visiting, or a better present than the gift giving, and of happy hours with dear friends.

Next day, I took bouquets to the offices and bookstore in our building, but still, I had a few bouquets remaining. A few dried heads took a ride in the USPS, but there were still quite a few left. How could I justify keeping what hadn't been given to me? I needed to find a way to gather at least one more smile.

Like a flash of brilliance, it came to me: I could dry all the remaining flowers, and collect the last smile from my mother herself. And that's just what I did, too.

Health of Body and Soul

2009-07-08T13:56:00.000-07:00

"Nothing tends more to promote health of body and of soul than does a spirit of gratitude and praise. It is a positive duty to resist melancholy, discontented thoughts and feelings--as much a duty as it is to pray. If we are heaven-bound, how can we go as a band of mourners, groaning and complaining all along the way to our Father's house?" The Ministry of Healing, p251

"No tongue can express, no finite mind can conceive, the blessing that results from appreciating the goodness and love of God." The Ministry of Healing, p253

...fixing their minds upon cheerful things...

2009-07-08T08:37:00.001-07:00

A riveting paragraph from my morning reading...

"We are in a world of suffering. Difficulty, trial, and sorrow await us all along the way to the heavenly home. But there are many who make life's burdens doubly heavy by continually anticipating trouble. If they meet with adversity or disappointment, they think that everything is going to ruin, that theirs is the hardest lot of all, that they are surely coming to want. Thus they bring wretchedness upon themselves, and cast a shadow upon all around them. Life itself becomes a burden to them. But it need not be thus. It will cost a determined effort to change the current of their thought. But the change can be made. Their happiness, both for this life and for the life to come, depends upon their fixing their minds upon cheerful things. Let them look away from the dark picture, which is imaginary, to the benefits which God has strewn in their pathway, and beyond these to the unseen and eternal." (The Ministry of Healing, 247-248)

For the Want of a Nail

2009-06-10T16:10:00.000-07:00

Here is a poem my grandmother taught my mother, and my mother taught me.

For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost;
For the want of a shoe, the horse was lost;
For the want of a horse, the rider was lost;
For the want of a soldier, the battle was lost;
For the want of the battle, the war was lost,
All for the want of a nail.

The Subtance of Things Hoped For

2009-06-04T13:20:00.000-07:00

Her daughters scurry around in a dither, as usual, carrying on up to five separate conversations at the same time--and, they will proudly add, keeping track of every word. I don't even have to be there to know how it will be.

Grammy will quietly find a corner of the table, a chair, spread out her crosswords or just sit quietly watching as two or three out of eight birth control methods that didn't work empty countless lunch-size containers of chocolate pudding, mix the pudding with crumbled Oreo cookies and a gummy worm, and putting it all back in with a (washed) silk flower coming out the top.

Or another day, she'll laugh while seven out of seven remaining fight over which one is Mom's Favorite. Or Daddy's Favorite--and my mom, the perfect number seven, wins this one because, after all, Daddy bought her a scooter (motorcycle?) when he wouldn't let any of the others have one.

She'll happily go along with almost anything, but when she puts her foot down, everyone knows she means business.

Like the time she loaded up the first six kids in the Jeep and took herself out to learn how to drive. Driving lessons hadn't gone so well the first time around, and everyone refused to teach her. (Had she driven into a creek? Or was that another ancestor?) But she wouldn't take no for an answer, and by the time she got back, she could drive that Jeep like nobody's business.

She remembered every birthday, every Christmas. The story is that she sent all her children Valentine's cookies every year, but we grandchildren never heard a peep about it. There were at least some among our aunts and uncles who hoarded these famous cookies, and the younger ones didn't get a taste of them until near-adulthood.

Upon moving from one of my childhood homes, I sent her a picture of what it looked like out my window, asking her to paint it for me. She had taken painting classes, I think, several times through the years. She granted my request, and it still sits in my bedroom today, the view looking just like I remember it used to, with every pine tree and every branch as it always was.

Then she had problems with her wrists, got too weak to paint, even to write letters. Ah, those letters....

"It's raining rain today," she'd begin, and continue on with all the news and little acrobatic stick men illustrating the events of the day.

But I got the call this week--hospice took over, she's hardly awake during the day, and we're not sure how long it will be...

A visit now, while she sleeps the days away and hardly wakes for breakfast, would barely yield a few moments for us to connect. And since there's quite a distance between us and the traveling complicated, I've already seen her for the last time.

It was in the fall, and I had flown down for a weekend, just a short time with just the two of us, mostly. We went to church together, ate together, visited with the aunts and uncles together. I saw her in the middle of the night, light shining over her perfect up-right posture as she read her Bible until she could go back to sleep, faith unshakable.

That's what she would want my faith to be right now, while we all begin to miss her--utterly unshakable, the substance of things hoped for, the certainty of things not yet seen.

Climbing the Ladder

2009-06-02T10:23:00.000-07:00

I stand at the top, gazing at the landscape from the height of the monster I've just climbed.

I start these things easily, remembering with the first few steps that I am, sometimes, afraid of heights.

Breathe deeply. Don't stop. Look at the next step. Don't focus on how far you have left to go--let that be peripheral while you focus on the details of the moment. Then at the top, see how far you've come.

It takes work to conquer the fear. Is the top worth the price? Absolutely, and I come down the same way I got up: one steady step at a time.

Only Connect

2009-05-14T07:52:00.000-07:00

I wake up in this city I called home for twenty years, and after morning prayer and reading, after breakfast, after all the familiar morning routines in an unfamiliar house, I dash to the car and turn the key.

It feels a little like getting my driver's license after the second try, and setting out for the dentist's office--the dentist I had been seeing for a decade already, whose office I could picture in my mind but not for the life of me find from the driver's seat.

Yes, lost (again) in familiar territory.

I know the roads I want, I know the roads I'm on. How to make them somehow connect, to get from one set to the other? I can't recall for sure.

I do recall my mother as I pass the freeway entrance I want with no (legal) way to get to it. New to this same town two decades ago, she took that entrance and ended up driving "as fast as she could in the wrong direction."

We laughed then, wondering how our mother could be that silly. I laugh now, realizing I'm that silly, just like her, and having known the town for a long time, I find less excuse for my sillyness than she could claim. Far less excuse.

But I drive on, thinking that the same thing often happens in our faith. We know the roads themselves, but perhaps we don't always know how the roads connect with each other--we know parts of the Bible, but not how to connect them; we know how to pray in the morning, but not how to pray continually throughout the day or how to let our morning Bible reading encourage us in the stress of the day; we know how to surrender in one moment, but not in the next.

We know where we want to go, but not how to get there from where we are.

Or perhaps we travel a road that seems familiar all the way, yet we aren't sure why this road, above all others, is the one we need to be on. Still, we trust that our Father in heaven knows the plans He has for us, that He will give us wisdom in making all the connections we need to grow in faith.

Shell

2009-05-12T14:00:00.000-07:00

I only hope the little fellow made it out alive, and spends his time between meals singing to the neighbors.

Golden Threads

2009-05-04T15:21:00.000-07:00

"Christ has linked His teaching, not only with the day of rest, but with the week of toil...In the plowing and sowing, the tilling and reaping, He teaches us to see an illustration of His work of grace in the heart. So in every line of useful labor and every association of life, He desires us to find a lesson of divine truth. Then our daily toil will no longer absorb our attention and lead us to forget God; it will continually remind us of our Creator and Redeemer. The thought of God will run like a thread of gold through all our homely cares and occupations. For us the glory of His face will again rest upon the face of nature. We shall ever be learning new lessons of heavenly truth and growing into the image of His purity." Christ's Object Lessons, 26, 27

May I take you for a walk?

2009-04-29T13:17:00.000-07:00

Pretend you're with me, even though you're not. Pretend we can spend the hour together, wandering my favorite block, my route through Revelation. (For I memorize while I walk, you see.)
We'll go up the hill toward the cemetery, craning our necks to look at the sky through the canopy of barely-budding trees, and maybe even run into a friend or two along the way. (Who knew so many people would walk in the cemetery of an evening?)

On our own again, we'll slow down to listen as the water ripples under the bridge, nourishing as it goes. "His voice," we'll recall, "is as the sound of many waters." Yes, even His voice feeds the soul as its sound waves pass through, simply for the listening. And with the nourishing comes strength to be, to grow, to do, to bear both burdens and fruit.

We'll stop here. I'll sit on the cement beside the creek, wishing with all my heart that the barbed wire fence had never been strung across the edge of the bridge. How I miss dangling my feet over the edge, freely, as I did when I first started college here. We'll pray here, too, and perhaps I'll even hear your voice while we both pray, if I have your number and I can get you on the phone.
Another evening, we might stop here, in the light, to open hearts to the light of God's glory, seeking Him, knocking on heaven's door (or was that opening our hearts' doors, that He might come in and sup with us, and we with Him?), asking for the blessings only God can give.

Another day, the sun might be out, and we'll go walking again--in the morning this time. It'll be so beautiful out that it will seem like heaven, but for the budding goat heads.

Do enjoy the spring with my any time. It's my delight to have you.

Knowing God's Will

2009-03-03T15:43:00.000-08:00

My life circumstances at present particularly lend themselves to a question, a plea that I often repeat in my prayers.

"What is Your will, Lord? What should I do?"

May I share with you the answers He has given one by one over the last week?

23 February 2009
"'In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.' 1 Thess. 5:18. This command is an assurance that even the things which appear to be against us will work for our good. God would not bid us be thankful for that which would do us harm." The Ministry of Healing, 255.
So in this moment of this day, God's will is not a list, unless the list is a list of gifts from the Father's hand.

"At all times and in all places, in all sorrows and in all afflictions, when the outlook seems dark and the future perplexing, and we feel helpless and alone, the Comforter will be sent in answer to the prayer of faith. Circumstances may separate us from every earthly friend; but no circumstance, no distance, can separate us from the heavenly Comforter. Wherever we are, wherever we may go, He is always at our right hand to support, sustain, uphold, and cheer." The Desire of Ages, p669-670

"But we are not to place the responsibility of our duty upon others, and wait for them to tell us what to do. We cannot depend for counsel upon humanity. The Lord will teach us our duty just as willingly as He will teach somebody else. If we come to Him in faith, He will speak His mysteries to us personally. Our hearts will often burn within us as One draws nigh to commune with us as He did with Enoch. Those who decide to do nothing in any line that will displease God, will know, after presenting their case before Him, just what course to pursue. And they will receive not only wisdom, but strength." The Desire of Ages, p668

24 February 2009
This post.

26 February 2009
"For this cause we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding; That ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God; Strengthened with all might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness; Giving thanks unto the Father, which hath made us meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light..." Colossians 1:9-12

28 February 2009
A Sabbath sermon on Romans 12:1,2
"I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God."
Making God's mercy the foundation, submit your life to Him. What goes into your mind transforms it; therefore, put in whatever is true, noble, right...As we fall upon His mercies in total submission, allowing Him to fill our minds, we will know His will.

March 3, 2009
"We cannot use the Holy Spirit. The Spirit is to use us. . .Only to those who wait humbly upon God, who watch for His guidance and grace, is the Spirit given." The Desire of Ages, p672

Nearly to One Thousand

2009-01-26T14:07:00.000-08:00

I love the image--this little sea gull and my mother, walking the beach together, she fasting and praying for her family, it simply basking in the ocean air. That's what I'm supposed to do these days: simply bask in heaven's air, for the kingdom of heaven is near, and God's hand guides my steps. Her fasting reminds me.

My mother isn't the only one spending time on shores while I wait out the fog of my inland, my homeland. But she, and other friend, bring me sunshine in words, in voice tones over waves of air.

I write them down, my mother, my friend, their voices, their sunshine, along with plenty of other gifts, and realize I am nearly to my one thousand goal mark. Will I stop at a thousand?

No. No, for I have discovered that God Himself won't stop at one thousand, or two thousand, or three thousand. No, for my heart is more awake now than ever. No, for the more my heart can see, the more it begs to see, the more thankful it is for the vision.

His gifts are endless, and even the efforts to write them down reveal to me how impossible it would be to document the mercies of our God.

"And there are also many other things that Jesus did, which if they were written one by one, I supose that even the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. Amen." (John 21:25)

Marbles

2008-12-30T09:46:00.000-08:00

I took such delight in having out-of-town guests for the weekend after Christmas, dear friends I had not seen for a year and a half. All of us being simple people with simple pleasures, it merely took being in the same room to generate smiles and laughter and good conversation.

By Saturday evening after supper, we were toying with decorative glass pebbles on the table, lingering after a fruity supper in the candlelight.

"I don't think these are made out of glass," said one. "Real, round marbles are heavier."

His wife and I were slightly skeptical, and I got out a broken one to show that they were, indeed, made out of glass. But just to check the weight, I dug out some marbles given me by a child, and sure enough, the real marbles were heavier.

Which fact began a round-about discussion of marbles and how the game is played, the way he had played when he was a child and the way we had read about the game being played. Which discussion led to a circle in the carpet, marbles in the middle, shooters, and (at first) very poor aim from my shooting hand.

And I reveled in company and pleasures known to so few in our modern day--contentedness no matter the weather and activity, pleasant connectedness in our disconnected society.

Blessing in Disguise

2008-12-24T08:04:00.000-08:00

I meant to go to town last week to keep an appointment. Snow had fallen, and the air was somewhere below twenty degrees, which didn't please my little car very well. I coaxed and prodded, and pleaded just a bit, all to no avail.

Checking the clock and cancelling my appointment, I called a farmer friend to see if there was any hope of my driving. Yes, of course there was. Never underestimate the ways of a farmer with a troubled engine.

Still, we both agreed: the time had come to take the car to the doctor to see what was the matter. Further discussion with my father brought the matter even closer. Why wait until Friday when I could leave the car at the shop first thing the next morning?

As the car warmed the next morning, a thought was planted in my mind: Load the snow tires in the car now, while you wait, so you don't have to do it on Friday.

This done, I drove the half mile or so to the shop, dropped off my car, and walked to work. It would need to wait there while the engine got cold enough for them to observe the problem. I would not need the car for a few more days.

Over the next two days, so much snow fell that if my car had sat at home, I would have been entirely snowed in. If I had not loaded the snow tires in the car, there was no way I could have had them changed at all by the time I needed them. By now the problem is fixed and my snow tires are securely on the vehicle. Since then, I have not even parked the car in my own driveway for fear of getting stuck, parking instead across the street that gets plowed.

Before I called, my Father in heaven answered my needs, working my car problem into great blessing.

You're More Fun than the Snow in my Sock

2008-12-23T13:05:00.000-08:00

Or was that, "Hildegard, you're more fun in the snow than I thought!"?

Either way, quite a compliment! And either way, I steal the secrets of having fun in the snow from my mother...and from my father. As the Bible says, there is nothing new under the sun, and my insatiable delight in snow got fueled, amazingly enough, by the woman who would move to another city to escape the stuff.

Writing giant messages in the snow with my feet? Her idea, done years ago on top of a frozen lake. We kids (there was a large group of us staying in cabins) looked out after our time occupied indoors to her lovely footwriting in the smoothe, white surface.

Making snow angels? Her idea, too. Although this is mostly a child's activity, I do believe I at least learned it from my mother.

Burying Emily Rose in the snow until only her head showed? Well, Dad inspired that idea when he buried me in sand years ago.

What a blessing it is to have not one, but two creative parents.

Golden Fog

2008-12-09T11:34:00.000-08:00

Driving three hours home, fog still blanketed the earth in late afternoon. Although it drew near the ground in places, there was not enough of it to slow the traffic. At times I could even see patches of almost-blue sky beyond it.

Still, the earth was gray, the frost still clung to the fields.

Unfamiliar with the road, I was not certain where my next turn would come, or how I would recognize it when I reached it. Yet I remembered our highway system always posts signs ahead of the exits, and continued on in faith, surrounded by fog.

As much as I trust the interstate system, how is it that I sometimes doubt that God Himself, who never leaves me nor forsakes me, will clearly signal my way and give me the warning I need to turn?

I drew near the town of turning, yet saw no sign for my exit. The sun began shining more brightly through the fog, which in response began glowing golden. I saw the sign for my exit, and my car curved around the off-ramp until I could join the straight stretch of another highway.

I pointed my tires in a new direction, and at just that moment, all the fog and all the doubt and even the gold dissipated into glorious, clear sunshine. I could see for miles.

God With Us

2008-12-08T09:10:00.000-08:00

"The kingdom of heaven is near," I read. It's the one-sentence revival message given to the lost sheep of Israel, the one thought meant to inspire their lives with renewal and healing.

I can remember one sentence.

At the day's end, I am weary. Do I stay home, finish the dishes, sew on the quilt, practice the piano? Do I run about the town on my errands? Do I join a small group in a Bible study? What is most important to accomplish in this one evening?

In my weariness, I find it difficult to choose, but then I remember: The kingdom of heaven is near, and it is the devil's work to force me into stress, into anything, rather than the atmosphere of heaven.

Thus, in one way, it matters very little which one I choose, for wherever I am and whatever I do, God knows the way that I take and His kingdom is near. (See Matthew 10 and Psalm 139.) I am free to choose from any of the options, to breathe deeply with my mind at rest.

Yet I see that it also matters very much what I choose, for some things enable my soul to dwell in the peace of Immanuel--God with us--much more easily than others. And when I am most weary, my mind and body need the most potent conact with my Creator as possible. Some things take my mind away from the kingdom, while others draw me into it.

"Satan sees that his time is short. He has set all his agencies at work that men may be deceived, deluded, occupied, and entranced until the day of probation shall be ended..."

Whatever keeps the truth from my vision, whatever leaves my mind confused, over-active, or under-active, these are the things I must avoid at all costs.

Shapely

2008-10-28T15:11:00.000-07:00

Matthias says he associates people with colors.

We all promptly desire to know what colors we happen to be. Autumn Grace is yellow, Elizabeth Joy is red. Elizabeth Joy takes a moment to ponder this, being fairly particular about her shades of red.

Numbers and notes are also, by some among us, associated with color.

Emily Rose, little knowing what depths of conversation this will bring to the table, says that when she thinks of people, she thinks of shapes and colors. When she thinks of me, she thinks of a circle.

"Oh!" I gasp. "How did you know? There's a personality indicator based on shapes, and I've been deciding between the circle and the squiggle. I think the circle is stronger than the squiggle."

All of us around the table are combinations of circles and squiggles, some with the circle first and some with the squiggle first. We doubt if squares and triangles would find our ensuing conversation quite as fascinating as we do, but we continue on anyway.

We have a roughly circlish mountain lake met and surrounded by a gently squiggling mountain trail. We have a roundish wreath woven of gently squiggling grape vines. We have a squigglish mountain-range horizon just below an almost-setting sun.

The conversation winds around, between bites of food and family-style worship, and we talk of many things. Inevitably, the conversation returns to color.

"If you picture other people as colors, what color are you?"

Oh! What a thought!

Next day, Emily Rose tells me that like Matthias says, it's hard to nail down people's color when you're with them. She has changed her mind about me. I am not so much a comfortable fall green as a gentle, but deep and vibrant with lots of ozone, sky blue.

"How did you know?" I ask. "That is my favorite color."

*****

To learn more about personality by shape, visit http://www.psychometricshapes.co.uk/box.php

Counting Them

2008-10-02T08:42:00.000-07:00

460. Full morning moon

461. Just enough strength

463. Eyes that wash themselves (after contact with garlic-stained hands)

464. Over-protective smoke detector

466. Clean house for Sabbath, accomplished during two hours of phone chatter with a close (but far) friend.

468. Phone call to Dad

470. Slow Sunday, time to practice piano

471. Girls' weekend trip

474. Work to do

475. Massage therapy

477. Walk to and from the bank in sunshine

478. Sliver moon

482. Plenty of cucumbers to give away

483. Friend's baby on the way

488. Outdoors

489. Friends who know me well

490. Learning to draw

498. Basket of tomatoes

503. Pink morning sky

504. Vigorous morning walk, with less pain in the foot, hip, and knee

509. An abundance of lotion

510. Prayer meeting

511. New friendships

Here I am, more than half way to a thousand. Something tells me I won't stop there...

Resting on Grace, part 2

2008-09-19T15:17:00.000-07:00

I promised the story of my front porch chairs, newly enthroning me as I eat my fruit salads in the early-autumn evenings.

A friend of my father's gave him two old camp chairs--or perhaps he found them at Goodwill--wooden folding framwork complimented by thick, faded red canvas fabric to make the seat and the back.

He was particularly fascinated and delighted by their design, but because my mother didn't care for them and because one of the chairs had ripped fabric, he was never able find a suitable place to use them on a regular basis.

My parents recently moved, and I became the fortunate heiress of several treasures as they packed their boxes. As I visited them in their new home in a new state, Dad took me out to the garage, attempting to send me home with more of the things they couldn't find places for.

I stood in amazement. How could he be offering to part with his precious camp chairs? But that he was, saying, "Now that you have a sewing machine, you could get new fabric and fix them."

Without realizing it at the time, I heard in that moment one of the central themes of grace in our world: Sometimes you have to give something up in order to restore it. In giving me the chairs, my father gave them their only hope of survival, the chance that I would take pity on them and sew them some new seats and backs. Which is, in essence, what we all must do with our hearts, giving them up to our God to be created new.

Meanwhile, I had the dusty old wooden frames and some idea of what kind of fabric to look for. I eventually made my way to the fabric store, and browsing through the bargan scrap bin, found a piece of denim sturdy enough and big enough to do the job. And rather than the $4.37 I thought I would have to pay, the clerk gave me a discount and I got it for just about $2.50. A bargain-lover's favorite kind of shopping trip.

I finally finished the project, got rid of the junky chairs that used to occupy the porch, and called Dad as I sat in one of the chairs to tell him they were done. I knew he'd be pleased to hear it.

"Well, cool!" he said. "Now you can give them back to me for Christmas!"

"I don't know..." I said. "You're certainly welcome to come and visit them..."

Resting on Grace, part 1

2008-09-18T14:24:00.000-07:00

This September 17 post, Grace Around Grace, got me thinking not about my wooden table, but about my wooden chairs. The table itself was a gift, yes, a grace given as I finished college and moved into a nearly-empty house. But around the table--Oh, these graces, as well as their story, hold me up each time I sit down.

Their story began long ago, when my childhood front porch, an expanse large enough for us to pretend it was a platform, sat void of chairs. My mother wanted, I think, a bouquet of wooden chairs, each one different in shape and color. We children, likely influenced by our father's skepticism, thought this an odd idea indeed, and it never bore fruit.

She did get a few wooden chairs and paint them white, but her bouquet of chairs still rested in her imagination, waiting for the proper time.

Fast forward ten or twelve years to the day Mom and I stood in the yarn aisle, choosing the colors for my afghan. I was finishing school, and this twenty-something young lady had become much less the tom-boy of her youth. Bouquets of color suddenly made sense. How could life be any other way?

I had become so much of my mother over the years as my understanding of her grew.

I began with three colors: vivid turquoise, lime green, and yellow. Mom suggested a warm color, and the brightest pink seemed the best. There was a catch, though, because she had always taught me to group things in odd numbers...and salmon joined the mix.

Those moments decided the colors for my whole house before I even knew where I would live.

I had bedroom furniture, but nothing else. Mom found a little round table and one old wooden chair for me; Dad reluctantly offered one of his favorite Goodwill finds from beside the wood stove in the garage where he would sit next to the fire just for fun, or to cook his food over its top (a winter-time barbeque).

Then Mom planted an idea in my mind--I'm sure it was she who did it: to paint each chair (I eventually acquired three more from Goodwill) to match each color of my afghan-in-progress. The idea sprouted, and as I bounced it off several (married) friends, the response was always the same:

Do it now, before you're married, or you'll never have another chance.

Whether they were right, I have no idea, but I proceeded with the paint idea anyway, one color at a time. One friend even gave me a gift certificate to a local paint store to spur me on.

The colors had to be specially mixed. I took my yarn pieces with me to the paint section, held them up to the paint chips, and asked the sales representatives to please mix the colors as close to my yarn as possible. I showed up to church and school board meetings, my hands a bright wash of spots. And finally, the chairs were done.

Here you see the first two chairs, the turquoise and the green, reflected in one of my mirrors, also gracefully bestowed out of an aunt's garage after ten years of hiding. You can see from the yellow ladder that the paint spilled over from the chairs to other old wooden things.

Isn't that how grace works, spilling over and touching everything in our lives, never really ending where it started?

Although my little home is now well-furnished, five little yarn swatches still ride around in my mother's purse, ever ready to advise her in the gifts she considers sending my way.

Since every piece of furniture I own has a story of grace, perhaps this will be the first post in a sprinkling of posts on the topic. At the very least, I must also tell of my front porch chairs, which were my dad's delight before he gave them to me, again out of the garage.

My Shepherd, part 2

2008-09-16T12:46:00.001-07:00

Another hymn I've committed to memory is a slightly different setting of the same Psalm. I should say the words, coming from the Scottish Psalter in 1650, are slightly different. The tune on the other hand, Brother James' Air, is rather sprightly while the tune from the part 1 entry is soft and sweet. Both are supremely delightful. I hope you enjoy, as I do, the subtle differences in the verse, bringing the focus to different words and phrases.

The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want. He makes me down to lie,
In pastures green, He leadeth me, the quiet waters by--
He leadeth me, He leadeth me, the quiet waters by.

My soul He doth restore again, and me to walk doth make
Within the paths of righteousness e'en for His own Name's sake--
Within the paths of righteousness, e'en for His own Name's sake.

Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale, yet will I fear no ill,
For Thou art with me, and Thy rod and staff me comfort still--
For Thou art with me, and Thy rod and staff me comfort still.

My table Thou hast furnished in presence of my foes;
My head Thou dost with oil annoint, and my cup overflows--
My head Thou dost with oil annoint, and my cup overflows.

Goodness and mercy all my life shall surely follow me,
And in God's house forevermore my dwelling place shall be--
And in God's house forevermore my dwelling place shall be.

My Shepherd, part 1

2008-09-15T16:00:00.000-07:00

From time to time, I memorize a hymn, and pass time in the car or doing housework by sining as often as I can.

When life is troublesome, the hymns come to mind to spur me on in "giving thanks in all things". When life is brilliantly fine, the hymns enhance my happiness, bringing words of praise to my speechless lips. A friend of mine even sings herself back to sleep when she tosses and turns in the middle of the night. Nothing quite drives the darkness away like a solid, faith-inspiring song.

There are two hymns I enjoy, both settings of the 23rd Psalm. The first is sung to the tune "Resignation" from Southern Harmony, 1835, harmonized by Virgil Thompson and then adapted by Melvin West in 1984 (which is the version in my hymnal). The words are an adaptation of Psalm 23 by Isaac Watts.

My Shepherd will supply my need,
Jehovah is His name.
In pastures fresh, He makes me feed,
Beside the living stream.
He brings my wand'ring spirit back,
When I forsake His ways,
And leads me for His mercy's sake,
In paths of truth and grace.

When I walk through the shades of death,
Thy presence is my stay.
One word of Thy supporting breath
Drives all my fears away.
Thy hand in sight of all my foes
Doth still my table spread;
My cup with blessings overflows,
Thine oil annoints my head.

The sure provisions of my God
Attend me all my days.
Oh, may Thy house be mine abode,
And all my work be praise.
There would I find a settled rest
While others go and come;
No more a stranger or a guest,
But like a child at home.

Savoring

2008-09-15T10:54:00.000-07:00

441. Phone conversation with a dear friend--understanding and being understood, completely.

448. The flower-bearer, who has brightened my office many times, welcoming me into her world and introducing me to as many of her acquaintances as possible.

450. Invitations, even when I can't accept them.

453. Crafting, creating, sharing, eating, analyzing in the midst of a farm with another dear friend.

454, 455. A full moon in the east on the night's drive home, and the same full moon in the west on the morning's brisk walk.

Maidens

2008-09-11T12:44:00.000-07:00

The night before the wedding, maidens rounded a table, beautifully set. Flowers, lace, candles, depression-glass plates, and heart-shaped sandwiches carried to a park silently, deeply honored the morrow's ceremony.

One among us already married, one to be married next day, and the rest without plans specified. The conversation covers common, every-day things--where we work, where we're going to school, what journeys we're embarking upon from this day forward. Yet a sense of the profound colors our words, knowing that tomorrow, two lives will be forever united.

A bridesmaid's brother has made the cake frosting, we've sewed our dresses back together and prayed around the bride. She breathes deep, puts aside stress over last-minute details, and basks in the day.

Of Gardens and Garbage

2008-09-10T13:36:00.000-07:00

The ends of these end-of-summer days bring the glow that only comes during long, nearly-autumn sunsets. It startles me to see the world that way, my garden positively radiant and my near-by garbage can especially out of place in evening's dying breath.

Yes, the light simultaneously catches my breath at the rightness of my garden and the wrongness of my garbage can.

It's a surprise I expect, wait for, linger in. After all, it's right, absolutely correct, for the garbage can to be wrong and the garden to be right.

In my inner world, though, the one where my priorities sit neatly arranged, the light's autumn glowings cast a few shadows I didn't expect, bring out more garbage cans than I remember bringing in. It's hard to tell, but some of the very priorities that have been most garden-like to my soul begin to look the opposite, as if they are in the earliest stages of a metamorphosis, or at least a change in hierarchy.

Or perhaps they've simply been hit by autumn's first frost, unexpectedly, without any warning, and patiently await the gardener to empty the beds, weather the winter, and start fresh.

Every Perfect Gift

2008-08-23T17:26:00.000-07:00

Quite some time has elapsed since I last recorded gifts. Yesterday I passed the four hundred mark. By the end of today, many more will stack themselves in line. By tomorrow, after my dear friend's wedding, they will have multiplied even more.

"Every perfect gift comes from above, from the Father of lights..."

278. Birthday roses from coworkers
282. Drivers' license renewed, on the last possible day
283. Children's hands in mine as our feet feel the way up and down a creek
284. Yard sale sewing machine
287. Ladies picnic, complete with dresses and hats
292. Brake warranty
294. Morning thunder storm, afternoon rain
295. Last hug from friend before she moved away
296. Small town living: package delivered to my office in the morning rather than to my house across the street to be found in the evening
302. Birds singing, as well as frogs
305. Peace in sacrifice
309. Time and place to pick blueberries
312. Church family praying together every day
315. Dancing water in ancient Chinese bowl (OMSI)
335. Cool morning breezes in July, worthy of a sweatshirt
338. Ants in my house...in all things give thanks
341. News of a new person
349. Garden cucumbers and tomatoes
360. Letter from my high-school prayer partner
361. Three moments talking to a bird on the ledge outside my window
363. Cayenne pepper in my sliced finger, stopping the bleeding
367. Business meeting hosted by committee members in their lakeside cabin
377. Looming haircut appointment
394. Box--yes, a whole box--of tomatoes
397. Safe city driving (this small-town, country girl finding her way)
399. Weariness meeting mattress and pillow
401. Generous mother
408. Abundance of water, filling bathtub

Autumn Celebrations

2008-08-15T11:29:00.000-07:00

It's the middle of August, and as fall approaches again it's time to remember all the reasons last autumn was, for me, utterly glorious.

1. Picking elderberries. One September afternoon, the weather beckoned. Rather than waste it all on unpacking my friend in her new apartment, we rushed through the necessary duties, packed a picnic, and gallivanted off to the park. For at the park we knew would be a sumptuous supply of elderberries, from which we would make a delightful syrup to go over home-made bread and pancakes. Not to mention one of the worst messes my kitchen had ever seen. We picked so many berries and made so much syrup that I am still enjoying it out of the freezer. Never waste a beautiful autumn afternoon.

2. Apple Day. Make a guest list and the appropriate phone calls. Invite each person to bring ten pounds of apples and their favorite apple recipes. Bake the pies, make the cider, mix up the apple sauce to make the apple butter, and enjoy the feast at the end of the day.

3. Celebration of Morning. Do you, like me, love the early morning, and feel the grief in your heart when the time changes and the sun comes up an hour "later"? The day of the time change, choose some close friends and a prime location to watch the sun come up. While you await the sun in its brightness, read throughout the Bible about the creation of the lights in the sky and the Light of the world. Sing hymns about light, such as "Morning Has Broken" and "All Creatures of Our God and King". If it's warm, have a picnic breakfast after the sunrise. If it's not, gather in your home for a potluck morning feast.

One Hour a Week

2008-08-04T10:01:00.000-07:00

I've begun reading parenting books.

Those who know me will be at least mildly surprised at this, for I am not married, I have no children, and I am not pregnant. But once a week for an hour, I teach other people's children about Jesus, about the Bible, about all the things God created.

With two weeks under my belt, already I see how each child's heart has specific needs for love, attention, and learning. I see how their minds soak up whatever comes their way. I see the gift of their energy and the opportunity to show them ways to channel it wisely. I see that yes, even at two, they can begin to learn responsible choice making.

And at a complete loss at how to guide their developing minds, I picked out some parenting books and commenced my prayerful study.

I have them for one hour only, and I pray that even this one hour may not be wasted time but rather time that God can use to augment the training the parents give their children at home.

Because He Loves Us

2008-07-30T07:48:00.000-07:00

"We should not present our petitions to God to prove whether He will fulfill His word, but because He will fulfill it; not to prove that He loves us, but because He loves us." Desire of Ages, 125 or 126

timmanah in africa

2008-07-18T08:07:00.000-07:00

Nearly two weeks ago, as I was away from home, my family, some friends, and visited a park. After visiting the salmon, walking past a creek, and kicking around the soccer ball, we were ready to leave. But for some reason, we still stood visiting for a few minutes outside our vehicles in the parking lot.

One in our midst noticed the park ranger as he checked the garbage...empty.

I forget just how the conversation started, but it soon turned from trivia about the park to God's amazing grace and the way He provides for His children--even when they have size 13 feet.

Tim and his wife Hannah are coming closer and closer to the day when they will head for Texas and begin their training to join Africa Mercy, where they will spend two years as medical missionaries. I recommend visiting their blog,
"timannah in africa", to read more of their stories.

As God would have it, almost every person in our circle of friends had foreign mission experience, either short-term or long-term, and Tim's story touched a deep chord with us. One suggested that before we all leave, we pray for him and for Hannah, which we did as we circled around him on that quiet summer evening.

What a blessing and encouragement it was to hear Tim's story of faith! Our prayers and thoughts will continue as they embark on this adventure with God.

Lavender Sacrifice

2008-07-09T10:03:00.000-07:00

On my morning walks, I've been memorizing. A large project, I manage a few new verses every day, and a little review. Now I'm in chapter four, the hardest yet.

It's also the shortest yet, and I therefore expected it to be easy. But then there were the last bits:

And when those beasts give glory and honour and thanks to Him that sat on the throne, who liveth for ever and ever, the four and twenty elders fall down before Him that sat on the throne, and worship Him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying, "Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power: for Thou hast created all things, and for Thy pleasure they are and were created."

My mind filled with questions: How does that work? Do they ever eat, or even drink water? Does a life of endless praise and self-sacrificing service get dull, or does every moment of praise heighten the awareness and sharpen the vision of God in all His array of beauty?

My human doubts battled hard, telling me not to trust in the One to whom I owe my all. But as I sat at my desk, counting a rediculous number of coins, the door opened.

A greeting from a local plumber, a shimmery bag full of lavender buds tossed from a workman's hands into mine, a thank-you.

"I harvested my forty plants this year," he said. "I enjoy their beauty, but I enjoy other people's happiness more."

I knew he told the truth, and that it worked--that living to serve others and praise God brings the highest fulfillment, the deepest joy. I see him live that truth.

One of the happiest people I know, he spends his days looking for and expecting appointments made by God, handing out loaves of bread or books or even lavender sachets for the ladies and candy bars for the men, praying with people after he fixes their toilets, spreading the gospel with his words and smile.

Even for him, he told me, the beginning of that lavendar harvest was a struggle. But he chose to do it, and as he began giving away his fragrant bounty, he reaped a greater harvest of joy.

Another Scripture comes to mind, then, giving the best recipe for life there is: "Therefore, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God."

Children of the Waves

2008-07-07T12:46:00.000-07:00

We've been visiting beaches together for twenty-five years, he and I--my whole life and most of his, a quarter century.

Our mother and father, the originators of this beach visiting, had loaded us up in their car, driving us to the water's edge. To this day we sit on the same sides of the car as we did when we were small.

Most of "our" beaches have been rocky or coarse; this was one of our first sandy, smooth, barefoot-friendly ones. The grains of sand squealed as they massaged our running feet. We played frisbee, he played guitar, I drew (or attempted to do so), we pieced together crab corpses hollowed out by the waves and the sand.

Hours later, hungry, we drove to another beach just down the road, for we cannot seem to get enough of the good sea air, and head for home reluctantly only when we are cold.

Wondrous Thought

2008-07-02T07:47:00.000-07:00

"It would have been an almost infinite humiliation for the Son of God to take man's nature, even when Adam stood in his innocence in Eden. But Jesus accepted humanity when the race had been weakened by four thousand years of sin." (Desire of Ages, p 48)

Working through Writers' Block

2008-07-01T08:42:00.000-07:00

This familiar chair holds me this morning as it does every morning, patiently bearing my burden, knowing not that today inspiration comes slowly. It merely does its job consistently, knowing no haste nor delay.

This morning, I am to write a letter, as I often do, weaving words into eye-catching pictures of gratefulness. I know just where I want to go--to God's kindness for all people--but today my route, my map, seems especially evasive. Which flowers, which trees, should I photograph along the way?

I stare out the window, watching a friend park an audaciously large and bright vehicle at his office across the way. Another friend drives past in a humble little white car. It's even smaller than my humble little white car.

I think how kind the mechanics were to me yesterday in my ignorance, my near tears at the effort of learning their foreign language. I think how kind my father is to patiently translate for me at every turn, how generous my boss is to consult with me, adding his translations to my father's.

They, little thinking how much it means to me, offer a grace from God Himself.

You-pick Cherries

2008-06-25T10:32:00.000-07:00

While this picture doesn't do them justice, I had to share with you a supremely charming present I received this morning. A sweet lady brought me not only cherries, but cherries to pick, still on the branch. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything more adorable. The vase upon which they perch was a gift to me at my baptism in 1996.

As for the rest of my list, I'm finding I can't possibly get all God's gifts down on paper, for there would never be room enough or time. However, here are some highlights.

221. Flowers from a lady who visits my office, several bouquets
224. Clouds with definite lines against blue sky
227. Note from Dad: "So well done...to think that you are my daughter!"
233. Help adding radiator fluid
236. Playing a wonderful piano
247. Shoe boxes full of letters from childhood and high school
251. A mother, fasting and praying for me, her daughter
262. Church family
266. Drawing from little girl friend
274. Strawberries, sliced and in the freezer

Letting in the Breeze

2008-06-24T15:26:00.001-07:00

Even as the early morning light poked its way through the slits in my blinds, it dawned on me.

The window is open, but the breeze can't get all the way in.

Out of the bed, next to the window, I twisted open and hoisted the blinds. The air came in like a flood, where before it only trickled, and transformed the room in a moment. The light, too, bathed my chambers in a glow known only to the morning people, the birds, and perhaps too the vegetation.

In that light, I turned to another Light, another Wind, and through the Way opened the doors and windows of my heart, hoisted the blinds, and bathed my soul in His Word.

Agony, but not Defilement

2008-06-16T15:09:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's hard to express to people why I don't see a vindictive or cold God when I see suffering in my life or in the people around me. As I remember how Jesus suffered for me, my suffering always seems inconsequential. How grateful I am for a Savior who bore all the worst for my sake!

Here is something I read the other day that expresses it beautifully.

"When the Savior finally appeared 'in the likeness of men' (Phil. 2:7), and began His ministry of grace, Satan could but bruise the heel, while by every act of humiliation or suffering Christ was bruising the head of His adversary. The anguish that sin has brought was poured into the bosom of the Sinless; yet while Christ endured the contradiction of sinners against Himself, He was paying the debt for sinful man and breaking the bondage in which humanity had been held. Every pang of anguish, every insult, was working out the deliverance of the race.

"Could Satan have induced Christ to yield to a single temptation, could he have led Him by one act or even thought to stain His perfect purity, the prince of darkness would have triumphed over man's Surety and would have gained the whole human family to himself. But while Satan could distress, he could not contaminate. He could cause agony, but not defilement. He made the life of Christ one long scene of conflict and trial, yet with every attack he was losing his hold upon humanity." (Prophets and Kings, 700,701)

I Had a Housewife (!?)

2008-06-11T07:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday at work, a friend phoned to see if I could join our small group for a last-minute meeting that evening. It would be the only time we could meet this week, and all were feeling a desperate need for some spiritual sharing.

Now, I had just returned from a long trip and still needed to make up about 5 1/2 hours of missed sleep--I counted. I needed to buy groceries not only for myself, but for a smallish event I am hosting this evening. Common sense dictated a resounding NO, I could not meet. I simply did not have the time. But that wasn't the answer that came from my lips.

"I could do it if you go grocery shopping for me ahead of time," I blurted.

What did I just ask of her? I thought. How adacious, how presumptuous!

"Oh, that would be perfect," she said excitedly. "We planned to be in town ahead anyway because my husband has an appointment. I can just pick up your things while I'm at the store for mine."

My list prepared already, I simply handed it to her with a few explanations when she came into my office. After work, I arrived home to a stocked refridgerator and just enough time to eat a quick bite and be off to small group.

And what a blessing the spiritual food was to me, in addition to the physical food my housewife friend bought for me!

Gifts Counted

2008-06-10T07:57:00.000-07:00

176. Clean dishes
177. Friend's sample wedding dress, sewn by her mother
178. Bridesmaid dress on order
179. Salt shaker as vase from an ageless friend
180. Smile from night-owl brother, upon his awakening
181. Trip to the beach
182. Touring parents' new house
183. Thrift store find: delightful new skirt
184. Spontaneous six-mile walk with a girlfriend
187. Home-made pin cushion from young-lady friend
190. Unexpected encounter with an old college roommate
191. Girl time
192. Help changing windshield wiper blades
193. Wisdom against the invading ants
194. Peonies and roses from another ageless friend
197. Roses to pick at the neighbors' yard
198. New flag stamps
199. Another writing assignment
200. Pansies in the salad
201. Baby bunny running wild
202. Pure friends
203. Bath confetti
204. Early-morning lupine fields, solid purple
207. Two friends as traveling companions, to another friends' wedding
208. Time with relatives
209. Lodging
210. Wanderings with Grandma: shops, fire, two trains, beaver dams, and a ship
211. Safe travels
215. Rest
216. Listing prime numbers to stay awake driving
217. Hiking in Donner Pass
219. Public restrooms
220. Invitation to campmeeting

You're Welcome

2008-06-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

Gratitude inspires a response. "You're welcome," we say.

I want to ask, "I'm welcome where?"

Perhaps in a store where I buy things, or in a garden with flowers to pick, a home with a good meal, a friend's schedule, or even a heart.

For every bit of gratitude I return to Him, God has for me an assurance that I am truly welcome in His heart.

Key Moments

2008-06-02T13:41:00.000-07:00

I have a dear friend on the verge of moving away. Every moment she gives me in the midst of life's hectic throes is a sweet gift--even when I'm the one who cooks supper to get it!

Friends sang their senior recital yesterday, all centered on the life of Christ and the story of redemption. A thoughtful hour on the life of Christ is never wasted.

A moment with a lizzard, a rabbit, a dog, a bruised lip--a person never need give up childhood, esepecially when one knows children as friends. (How many alligators have you eaten today?)

Sing to Me, Cricket

2008-05-28T12:37:00.000-07:00

I flipped the switch to the copy machine, and heard an unusual noise. I didn't know machines could make noises like that. I stood back a bit, eying the old Minolta.

The sound came again, and this time I realized it was not from the copy machine itself, but from behind a nearby cabinet. Try as I might, I could not spot the source. Boss number one joined the search, both of us without success and both pleased with the natural sound, unnatural as it seemed inside the office.

Boss number two suggested putting out some water for the little fellow, as her mother-in-law used to do in the winter for the crickets who came to live inside her house.

He sang to us all afternoon, off and on. I have yet to hear him today, but his tiny water dish sits next to the cabinet, in hopes that he fares well.

Life's Little Highlights

2008-05-21T17:42:00.000-07:00

Some recent highlights from my gift list:

133. Walking time with a friend
136. Small gift from a small friend
143. Friends praying over me
147. Warmish rain
151. Scripture
158. Preparation day: to-do list entirely done
160. Walk delights: 'possum, moon behind pink clouds
161. Lunch with like-minded friends, deep hours of conversation
162. Garden time
166. Church board meeting
169. Rest
171. Contact lenses
175. High electric bill, leading to double-checking the meter reading for the power company, leading to a significantly reduced bill

To Eat of Faith

2008-05-15T10:55:00.001-07:00

I can't escape this yearning for green growth. My eyes glow (and blink) as I drive through great clouds of dust that signal the farmers' plowing and planting.

Farming is an act of faith. No human eye can look ahead over the summer months and predict hte rain showers or know without a doubt that the seeds will have enough water to sprout and produce the next seeds. Farmers are the greatest optimists of the earth, and by their faith, we eat.

Who, I wonder, eats by my faith?

Desert Places

2008-05-08T14:11:00.000-07:00

At times, I have felt the dryness of desert places--those places God takes me to train me in new ways and stretch my trust in Him before leading me into fresh arenas of faith. The more comfortable I get with God (the more I trust Him), the more comfortable I get with desert places. In fact, my times in the desert have been so precious to me that I almost desire to stay in them, just to know my Savior always as intimately as I do in the desert.

Yet God did not create me, or any of us, for deserts. I was made for gardens (or gardens were made for me). There comes a moment in every desert when God says, "It's time! Come out!"

Remember the children of Israel? After they had come out of Egypt, God led them through the desert and finally called them into the Promised Land. But they refused to go. It was too hard; there were too many giants. God took them back out to the desert, where He continued to shield, guide, and protect them, but how much better it would have been if they had followed Him into the abundance of Canaan!

Centuries later, at the end of their seventy years in Babylon, some of the Israelites were permitted to return to their homes. Many of them, however, chose to stay rather than go to all the work of restoring their land, even though God promised to go with them. Again, He brought them out later when it became clearer to them why they should leave.

Oh, Father, grant me the courage to leave the deserts when you call, to strive for garden living instead of desert wandering.

Girded with Strength

2008-05-07T12:42:00.000-07:00

Last week, I traveled to my parents' house to help them move away from it. My three-hour drive passed quite pleasantly, with one hour of memorized hymns (99) and two of lovely classical music on the radio (100). Before I reached them, my parents and my brother who sings to me on the phone (57), I passed by the one remaining old shack on the country dirt road (130).

Just the week before, my new eye doctor (73) had told me my vision was still more than perfect with my corrective lenses, and the evening light was perfectly beautiful as I made my familiar approach.

The day before, I had held new-born butterflies on my finger (89). I threw out my schedule to do it, leaving dishes in the sink and a lot of packing to do before I left. But they were worth it, and my mind visited their beauty and tranquility more than once as I packed my parents' store room and painted their walls, as a little girl and boy gave me hugs and giggles of delight in the midst of chaos (101).

My friends opened their house to me after my bed traveled from my parents' home, and their house, surrounded by fields of Grass Widows (109), as well as their company (122) girded my soul and body with strength (115). God Himself, amidst my many friends and inspirations, has renewed His peace in my heart (126).

2008-05-06T12:17:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Emily Rose! I will have to be thinking about who I can pass this on to next...

Irrevocable Realities

2008-05-06T09:23:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I had the privilage of joining my fellow high school alumni for a Choraliers reunion. Having attended a private Christian high school, most of the music we sang was sacred. As we gathered together again, we sang several pieces for a worship service.

It amazed me how easily the pieces I had sung years ago in high school still make up part of the fibers of my brain. It didn't take much practice time to be singing them again from memory, difficult and intricate though they are, with every breath mark and each articulation demanded by my conductor as automatic and natural as could be. The things I sang in choir are to me irrevocable realities, never to be exchanged.

How fortunate I am that many of my high school weekends were spent singing praise to God all over my home state, that somehow I heard and followed His leading and selected such positive potentialities to become my actualities.

'Til Death Do Us Part

2008-04-24T08:07:00.001-07:00

More than the scent of a freshly-mown spring lawn (46) or the charm of my little lady's ruffled, lacy blouse (45); more than the early-morning rain drops (47) or my polka dot shower curtain (51), I am grateful today for a mother and father who love each other (52).