Sometimes the Sun Comes Out Sooner than You Think

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 Sometimes after we get caught by storms, dropped off in the parking lot, changed into dry clothes, the sun comes out.  Right then.  And really, I'm not kidding.  It's beautiful, warm, hot, enticing.  But instead of going back out to the water, we go to the mansion next door.  And first notice God's little house, just across the way from the mansion built for groups of people to occupy at one time.

 We enjoy the water made beautiful by blue dye, and reflect that we like to drink only the clear water of life.  We can't wait to see that pure river of water of life proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.

 We read the sign, and find that the mansion really was more like a glorified dorm for religious adults, and then later a prison.  Or was that the other building down the hill?  Either way, it didn't seem quite so dreamy after that.  Like some of those things we think are really amazingly wonderful that turn out to be amazingly not-so-wonderful.

 Still, it was beautiful, and we were glad they planted flowers to grow next to the pond.

 And made a cute little gate that even when it was shut made us want to enter in.  And I wonder, since I like this little gate so much, how I will like the big, grand gates made of one pearl each instead of humble wrought iron.  Can you even imagine them?  Don't you want to see them?

 Wouldn't it be worth traveling a straight and narrow path, rather than this curvy, adorable one, just to see those pearly gates?

 Here on this earth, even mansions of luxury have places of humble use.  Places that look pleasant on the outside, with their cheerful red paint, but that probably really stink on the inside.  I hope my heart isn't like that.  But if it is, my prayer is "Fix me, Jesus."

 When you visit mansions, sometimes there's a moment that tells you how classy your mother really is, and how skilled is her eye for beauty.  This time, that was when I saw their potted flowers, planted just like my mother likes to plant hers.  With the spikey things in the middle.

 If I lived in a mansion, I might just choose a cozy little corner to call my own, like this nook at the top, overlooking the grounds.  And then I would just hope the rest of the mansion was filled with people I love.

 I'm glad they made the windows big.  Big enough to see outside, and to let in the light.  I pray my heart is also big and open enough to let in the light from the Word of God, which is the Lamp for my feet, and the Light to my path.

Something tells me these turkeys were just as happy living out in the grassy field as they would have been living in the mansion.  I hope I'm content where I'm placed, too, strengthened by Christ.

Grandpa

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This morning, my sister-in-law sent me a video, one with a bit about the family history, the pioneer days in Alaska.  It features Grandpa, and you'll see the farm, the butte, the mountains where the little white dots (goats and sheep) live.  It'll take you about eight minutes, and it starts about two minutes into the video.  I hope you enjoy it as much as we did!

We'll Miss This

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The lake.  The dunes.  The friends. 

When I think of the friends we'll miss, I get tears in my eyes.

And it seems like only yesterday that we arrived, knowing no one.
(Or maybe like five.)
Like yesterday, but really like ten years ago, we know the friends that well.
When it has actually been just shy of two.

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When I see these flowers up agains a white wall, I think, How beautifl.  How striking.  How lovely to have a tiny, tall flower garden.

But I've read recently how much Adam and Eve grieved to see the first leaf die on this earth, and marvel how much we've become accustomed to this leaf-death.  I look at the flowers again, and see the brown this time.  Not just the green, the red, the vibrant black centers. 

I see the fallen red, the red on the ground.  The dead red. 
The dead red that should have been living.

And I think of living green.  Fields of it. 
In heaven, where even the plucked flowers will never fade.  I long to be there.

I've been reading a lot these last few weeks about being ready for heaven, ready to enjoy that living green that far exceeds any spring green we've witnessed on our waxing-old earth.  About learning here to speak Canaan's languae.  I've read how out of place the Christian is in this world, how nobly peculiar we each will be as we follow our Jesus, taking up our crosses.

Isn't any sacrifice worth heaven?  Isn't it always worth dwelling, for example, on the true, the noble, the right, the pure...?  Isn't it worth seeming a little strange to our friends sometimes, strange because we are so ardently seeking our God that we stand out, even dangerously so?

Daniel thought it was worth everything.  His very life.  If he hadn't, he would not have, as a prisoner of the conquering king, requested a different diet from the rest.  He wouldn't have prayed three times every day in front of an open window, knowing full well it was against the law to do so.

And lately, we've been singing--memorizing--songs about heaven.  Songs about how life on this earth is exile from home, but Jesus is coming soon.  And the songs go through my mind all day, and bring my heart more in tune with the longing for home.  The real home.

The New Best Hot Weather Idea

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We've been trying to save money on air conditioning, but let's just say studying when it's hot is, well, hard.  So we've made a wading pool.  It's also known as a bathtub.  We just fill the tub ankle-deep with cold water, set a folded up towel outside to step on when we're leaving the wading pool, and that's it.  We've been amazed at how long the water stays cool (or at least feels cool to our feet), and it will get us through another hot one today.

Fruit Stacks

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There's a meal we like to call haystacks.  Chips or rice or both, followed by beans, lettuce, olives, onions, tomatoes, avocados, maybe a salsa (or if you're strange, ketchup) on top.  At least, that's the order I put it in.  Others do it differently.  Like the rice below the chips?  Totally wierd.

Somewhere along the line, I thought it would be yummy to do something similar with fruits, and that's what we're having for supper.  As I type.

Recently, I learned to make my own Graham crackers.  But this week, the last week before comps, I'm not up to much baking.  Besides, it's like 93 outside and I'm not in the mood to heat up the house.

So we've layered the store-bought Graham crackers, some soy yogurt, strawberries, mangos, frozen blueberries, dried cranberries, and coconut.  But it's good with any kind of fruit. 

Do you have any fast (like twenty minutes or less), cool, hot weather recipes that get you through the summer?  I'd love to hear about them!

Sometimes We Get Caught By Storms

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 Sometimes, we go to the beach, coming away and resting a while with fellow laborers--just to enjoy the sun and water and sand for a few Sabbath hours.  We don't think of studies, or exams, except to say what a blessing it is that God set aside a day for us to get away from them.  Even though we're all getting our master's degrees because we want to.  We like to study.  We like to learn.  We like to breathe the fresh air, too.

Sometimes, when we're at the beach, we see a storm coming.  We move quickly, and then even more quickly, because that lightning for sure must have been right off shore.  The boats are getting away, and we're trying to get away, too.  That happens in life, too, right?  We see the danger a little later than would have been best, and we scurry and huff and puff and do the very best we can, only to learn we are out of shape.  Dreadfully out of shape.  Maybe it was all that enjoyment of studies.

So sometimes we just don't run quite fast enough, and our only hope is in Jesus.  The wind is whipping the trees so much that we don't dare linger under them, and the lightning is coming fast enough that we don't dare stand in the open.  The rain comes down so hard that we're drenched to the bone in less than a minute flat, and we can only be grateful it's a warm rain.  Especially when we take a wrong turn in the frenzy of the moment, not seeing clearly because of that warm rain and not taking enough time to think because of the danger at our very right hand.

 We keep walking and walking and curving around the wrong way, just sure that around the next corner another path leading back the right way will show up.  But it doesn't, exactly, for quite a while, and then we decide to take the well-traveled path once and the less traveled path once--any path makes all the difference, really.  One says we've been curving around to the left too much.  Another says you can see the edge of a slope over there, and we really ought to find the bottom.  Surely the parking lot was on that side of the hill.

Before long, we just might see a power line, which means there must be a road.  Sure enough, and the road is like a sauna, with the rain on its over-heated surface.  We come to the stop sign.  144th?  Well, we remember the park and its parking lot being on 138th.  We're a bit far out of the way, wouldn't you say?  We'll ask directions at a house--one we can see from the road.  Yes, that will be safer.  Counsel is great, but don't put yourself in overmuch danger when you're seeking it.

They must be nice here.  They're growing flowers.

Sure enough, the woman of the house offers to show us the trail.  In the rain.  She walks with us a short space, but then stops in her tracks.  "Wouldn't it be better if I drove you?"  Well, now that you mention it, that would be nice.  Because sometimes we can't weather a storm on our own.  And sometimes there's nothing to rescue but God Himself, the God who has power over the storm.  And sometimes He does it through someone who doesn't mind her car seats getting wet while she drives the extra six miles or so.  And sometimes He does it both ways.