My Son My Teacher

Mike and Heather came last week. I was in on it but it was a surprise for my husband who didn’t know he was going to be treated to a Conestoga steak for his birthday.

We really didn’t plan for day following. It was just a day to visit and enjoy company and do “whatever”.

For Mike and I “whatever” came in the form of a trek down to the pond to adjust the sights on my rifle. I wasn’t really comfortable doing it myself and he welcomed the opportunity to become acquainted with one of the loves of my father’s life.

So we grabbed paper, a box, tape, shells, an ink pen and the gun, and headed down the hill. Our pond is a great place to shoot because of a steep bank on one side. When you place your target there whatever you hit, or even miss, becomes a permanent part of the ground. With livestock, a road and neighbors, that’s important.

I was impressed. He turned the rowboat up to steady his aim and sort of sit/laid, sniper style to shoot. It didn’t take too many rounds.

Then it was my turn. I grudgingly got down in the dirt and dutifully held the gun as a drill instructor had taught me so I could utilize my dominant eye. It was a good technique, but according to Mike, it was wrong for me.

Teaching, i.e, retraining me came as natural to him as breathing . . . it wasn’t planned – it just happened. He showed me how to hold the gun on the other shoulder and look down the scope with both eyes open. His goal was my success and we went through several rounds, with him coaching to fine tune my skill through each one.

Halfway through all this it hit me that the roles were now reversed. For so many years I taught him and tried to coach him in successful life skills. We both took some lumps and bruises in the process. Now it was his turn, and he was doing the same for me. Line upon line, precept upon precept, he helped me learn something I thought was impossible. I stood in awe of his knowledge, and even more of his teaching skills. He didn’t learn any of that from me.

I kept the last target. It’s folded up in the case as a memento of the day. It’s not that I hit it five times in succession, which I quickly admit I’m proud of, but as a reminder that God makes boys into fine men, and that we’re never too old to learn from our children.

Of Wine and Ice And Boys and Men

We recently started the New Testament in our study of women in the Bible at the jail. Naturally, Mary, the birth mother of Jesus, is the first one and I have to admit that studying her life has been somewhat of a challenge. I find it easier to relate to wounded or imperfect women than those who seemed to get it right.

So this week I've studied John 2: 1-11, the passage about Jesus's first miracle where he turned the water to wine. It's a very familiar story but for me I just never quite "got it." Sure, it was all there, the wedding, the guests, the water, the pots, Mary, Jesus and the other characters. But what happened between them . . . that's the part that always troubled me. The way Jesus addressed his earthly mother never seemed right. (Without getting too theological here I know it was right, after all He is God. ) One commentator offers this viewpoint, another commentator says that, it seems they're just as confused as I am. Then there's this whole holy mystery of Mary and Jesus shrouded in this theological cloud of mumbo jumbo anyway. Yeah, troubling.

There were a few new revelations. It seems Mary may have been more than an invited guest. As with many weddings friends and family work together to pull off festivities for a new couple. Mary's having the authority to tell the servants what to do give the impression that she's in charge somehow. Else why would the servants obey Jesus?

So I prayed through the passage. It's not something I do often, and admittedly should do more, And this time, boy did I ever get it. When I got to verse four I heard my own son's voice from deep somewhere in my memory.

It was a hot day, a bunch of people were on their way to our house, and we were out of ice. I couldn't leave because I had to greet people and eagerly asked the first person to arrive, my Mike, to run to the store for a couple of bags.

Big Sigh . . "Woman, what am I gonna to do with you?" And he took charge of the situation and saved the day. Nobody knew we had even been out and everyone had a great visit.

Jesus . . . Mike - what an interesting and delightful comparison. Both needs were real, both requests were made by mom's trying to pull off a social event and thinking about the needs of others, and both needs were met by a man/child in process of becoming an independent adult. Mike got the ice. Jesus turned water to wine.

So Jesus's words, "Woman, what have I do do with thee?" no longer read as a rude "get out of my face" remark. I hear Mike. Everything will be ok.

And I hear Jesus lovingly saying, "Roslyn, what am I going to do with you?" And I know he's got it all under control. He's God. He can do that.

More Weeds to Love Well, if I keel over before anyone reads this from alkaloid poisoning, this post will have to serve as my last communication. I don't think I'm any danger though. Yes, I know the photo is downright frightening, but in a way it's super cool as well. I attempted to have this tree identified some years ago. I don't know if my photo wasn't that good or what, but the tree expert extension agent in the next county missed it completely. I learned it's true identity a few days ago. It was a rainy day and I had some business to handle with my former neighbor who is now my insurance agent. Like friends do, we caught up on everything under the sun, including a story about how my fire ant cream helped one of his kids. Then out of the blue he reminisces about something that happened to him before that last kid was even born. An old fellow took him out riding in his old pickup truck down a dirt road up near Evergreen. He showed him a tree, peeled off a piece of bark and had him hold the underside against his gum. In a few moments he didn't feel a thing. . . . the gum was numb. It was an old Indian remedy for toothaches. It was a fascinating story, and out of the blue Roy had his friend on the phone. I was even able to talk to him and here's the rest of the story. The tree is a Prickly Ash, aka Southern Prickly Ash, aka Toothache Tree. It's not common and is most often found on, you guessed it, fence lines. And there's more to it than numbing gums. Turns out it's good for arthritis and will, in his words, "clean your arteries." It's supposed to "reduce bad cholesterol and raise good cholesterol" I found out earlier this year that I have high cholesterol, so I figure there's not a lot to lose by giving it a shot. I already know it won't kill me because I positively identified my trees by putting the underside of a piece of bark on my gum. It actually numbed the whole left side of my face. So I'm going easy on the stuff. Bark is soaking in a mason jar with apple cider vinegar and I'm told it tastes really bad, but thats no biggie . . . a spoonful of sugar, I mean honey, will help it go down. And isn't ACV and honey supposed to be some kind of miracle cure for a lot of stuff anyway? So what if it's got a few alkaloids in it. But just in case, you've got a photo of the molecule for the autopsy.

Facing Fall

Well, I've got 18 more minutes of Sept. 1, 2009 and I'm still wondering what happened to August. Most years I dread August. Here in the southeast corner of AL it's a miserable month with miserable heat and humidity. I've dealt with it mentally for many years by quietly counting the weeks till the temperatures let up.

I've not had to do that this year. We left early in the month and headed north. Brian had a long anticipated meniscal transplant and we went up to be with them. It was our first trip to Raleigh since he and Bonnie got married. While it was still hot there, except for walking Lucy, our grand-dog, we didn't feel it too much since helping them through those first few rough days after surgery was priority - which meant staying inside. Bonnie has some great shots if anyone wants to venture over to their blog . . . and yes, I was sewing during the surgery. It relieved the frustration of endless CNN newscast repeats and I secretly wished the bags I was stitching were voodoo dolls of certain persons whose leftist lies we had to endure in the waiting room. Making family members endure health reform brainwashing tactics during a stressful time is not the way to win them over.

Coming home was better than anticipated - Norman stopped at Ikea in Charlotte and gave me the tour. At home we were greeted by a tropical storm! I love those things. They don't do nearly as much damage as hurricanes and tornadoes, but do bring blessed rain and cooler temperatures. We even dipped below (gasp!) 70 several nights.

Of course we had an overgrown yard, overgrown garden, piles of mail and projects and bills to deal with on return . . . all expected, and still not all dealt with yet. But we're home and trying to slog through it all. There have been a lot of joys - seeing Beck back to college by the skin of her teeth, reuniting with old friends, Bible study with my peeps . . . and there have been some devistations too. I take comfort that God's got that under control.

In other news, Cindy has taken it upon herself to continually bless us all with her wry humor. I have to be the #1 fan of FriendADay. Those 100 visitors yesterday . . . I love Facebook posts!

The days around the fourth weekend were interesting. Mike, Heather and a friend drove to the west coast to be in a wedding only to be rear ended in southern CA and miss the rehersal after getting lost. Then the minister, our much loved BroJo, came up missing Sunday morning. Our cat, Lucky, (and yes, we heard the crass jokes about her getting lucky) had four sweet kittens under the guest bed while hoards of frantic friends and family, ourselves included, tried to find Joel across three thousand miles. My reward for helping find him finally, and then finding the kittens, was being hissed at by a newborn kitty. I thought I was imagining it at first, but it pretty much hisses at me every day. Ok, so maybe they're not all so sweet - the jury is still out on that one.

I also got to the jail late because of all of the above, only to be turned me away because they were under quarantine.

Then last weekend we doubled our apiary when another beekeeper threw in the towel and we obtained their bees and equipment. God bless my dear husband for his support and help, and for enduring multiple stings after his first encounter with a hot hive.

So now it's, whoops, two minutes into September 2 and my calendar is already bulging. I worked at the computer so long today I thought my eyeballs were going to melt out of my head, and after making a cute repurposed purse, well, here I am again. At least this is somewhat more pleasurable.

So if you see me sometime this month, you can be sure I probably need a hug, a big one even. Between the bees, upcoming classes to teach, upcoming projects to complete, upcoming trips, another farmer's market starting and trying to hold down the fort at home, yeah. . . . it's good to be home.

Loving the Insanity

I have a new favorite blog - besides my own, and Brian and Bonnies, and my girls Facebook posts, and my pastor's . . . . ok I have a lot of favorites. But this is my first favorite PICTURE blog. Enjoy!

Friend A Day

About Friend A Day

We exist to bring friendship to a lonely, busy world. It’s tough making new friends, so we’re here to bring new friends to you. In fact, we’ll bring a friend a day to you.

Doesn't that just touch your heart????? One question . . . Who is the sexy handsome bearded man with the chickens???

Touching History

I am so tired I could drop - and I plan to very soon. This has been an eventful day and I wanted to get a few things out of my heart and shot into cyberspace while it was still fresh.

Norman and I celebrated "part two" of our thirty year anniversary this weekend. We drove to Americus, GA late yesterday, spent the night at a cheesy Day's Inn, and hunted down a church in a small town about twelve miles from there this morning.

I'll tell it to you the way I told it to my Mom.

"We visited a different church today."

"Really? How'd it go?"

"Well, Sunday School was really good. The teacher gave a great lesson with a very clear presentation of the gospel. The pastor was a nice guy, really great with children. His style of worship was somewhat more formal than what we are used to but it was good."

"Where did you go?"

"Georgia."

I could hear the bewilderment in her voice by now but wasn't quite ready to spill the beans. "Why in the world did you go to church in Georgia?"

"We wanted to hear the Sunday School teacher."

Then she dropped the million dollar question . . . "Why? Who was it?"

I think she was still puzzled when I told her it was former President Jimmy Carter. It took a bit of explaining before she realized that he had taught Sunday School since he was 18 years old (he's 84 now) and despite political opinion, is a genuine Christian with a heart for God.

And that's how we spent today. We went to church, then hung around Plains most of the afternoon visiting historic sites.

The former president is an excellent teacher. I thought it was neat that his lesson meshed very nicely with the Beth Moore series our ladies group is doing now. I about bust a seam when the pastor used the same scripture passage from II Samuel 7 we've been studying as well.

It was a different kind of church experience. The crowd was greeted by Mrs. Jan - Amy's 4th grade teacher, apparently a very old and trusted friend/co-laborer and church member. She guided the group through Secret Service security, proper presidential Sunday School etiquette, potty breaks and photography procedures. She knew her job well, and while she handled the job with diplomacy and humor, you sure didn't want to get on her bad side! When she started playing the piano for worship service - the room dropped to a dead hush!

There are many more details, but here are some important things currently in the front of my very tired brain:

1. I know America scoffs at "the Carter years" like they are an embarrassment. Thus the Carters themselves aren't held in as high esteem as say, the Reagan's were. This is unfortunate. The Carters are the kind of people that made America great. America needs more people with the values and work ethic these people continue to live.

2. They've probably done more for humanity since the White House than any other president, ever. Good grief - he got the Nobel Prize in 2002. While the Carter Center is not a religious organization, per se, the humanitarian efforts to third world countries generates tremendous goodwill towards the US. Goodwill means those countries keep their doors open to the US. This means missionaries go IN many of those countries. I have a sneaking suspicion that heaven will reveal many a soul saved because his work helped keep the door open. Can you say, "For such a time as this!?"

3. He cares about souls for heaven. Not only did he give a very clear presentation of the gospel, incorporated very effortlessly into the lesson, he challenged everyone present to share it with others.

4. He has made an eternal impact on the community. Norman visited a while with a very nice young black man who works at one of the parks. He's a college student presently writing a book about how his faith has transformed from one of religion to one of relationship. (I'm getting holy goosebumps again!)

With that I bid you goodnight.

My First Ever Farmer’s Market

I’ve managed to get a few varied events under my belt the last several years with my little bitty bee and honey business. Each one is a new learning experience and I’ve slowly figured out what type events are worthwhile and which ones aren’t. This year, 2009, I’ve actually participated in two new venues. The first one was an art festival where I did a childrens activity. While sales were so-so, the fact that it was in my backyard and the fun with the children made the effort worthwhile.

The second was today – a brand new Farmer’s Market! I have to hand it to the Downtown Group, and Julie Bishop in particular, this was a well prepared event! We were met by a small army of volunteers from First Baptist Church who anticipated our needs before we recognized them. Our spaces were well organized and clearly marked. Vendors had access to nice restroom facilities (though I must admit having difficulty finding them!) and parking for both vendors and guests was more than adequate.

I did not take any honey. (1. I don’t have any yet and 2. If I did I only sell in Dale County anyway), but I did take Cinnamon Creamed Honey of which I sold about 2/3 of what I brought. My partner in crime and fellow beekeeper Bill Miller sold completely out of honey, even down to his sample jars. I think he was pretty pleased.

I’m obviously not an experienced farmer’s market vendor, at least not yet, but based on today’s experience here’s what I’ve gleaned so far:

1. I like my tent better than EZ-Up. It’s easier to set up, at least that’s my opinion for now. Mr. E. Herman of FL is loaning us his brand spanking new one and today we had to put the cover on and various other new tent things. I don’t know, I may change my mind before the month is over.

2. Farmer’s market customers are NICE. They aren’t in a hurry and are at the market because they are genuinely interested in eating natural and wholesome foods. I found that most refreshing.

3. Lord, Please deliver me from loud radio station speakers. It’s too soon to predict a pattern, but I suspect W***Fm to be involved with the massive headache I left with.

4. COOLERS AND ICED DRINKS are life savers. Friends who bring coolers with iced drinks are the best kind of friends. I want to be that kind of friend!!

5. Girls with that special “something” still draw a lot of attention. My girls were in bee costumes, and while they were adorable, loveliness radiated because what’s on the inside radiated out.

6. Ok, maybe the EZ-Up had an advantage; we did put a cover on one side to keep the sun out. That was a tremendous help, especially for the bees.

7. TAKE A CAMERA. There was this one little guy who tried on a bee veil . . . talk about a Kodak moment!

8. Lots of $1 and $5 bills.

9. Plan to crash afterwards.

10. Four hours of intense PR can feel like 2 days without sleep.

That being said . . . it’s time for this girl to crash.

Jesus and Fame

I thought it a very beautiful thing in John ch. 2 when Jesus turned the water into wine. Here He was, one of many guests at a wedding feast, probably unnoticed in the crowd, when He did this beautiful, generous and kind miracle unknown to anyone but the servants and a few close acquaintances. The grace and humility in his contentment to remain anonymous for this deed was profound. I know people like that. They are full of good works and are perfectly happy if nobody knows a thing.

The passage immediately following the miracle in Cana stands in stark contrast. Here we see Jesus in a completely different light. He patiently braided together a whip with many small strands, then took it into the temple and immediately became a public figure, a spectacle if you will, by overturning tables, knocking things over, and running out the crooks who had set up operations there. The Bible doesn't say if anyone took a hit off that whip, but there's no doubt it was put into use and those guys had a healthy respect for it. This wasn't a hasty action. It was meticulous and planned. And Jesus knew He was essentially pasting a bulls eye on Himself for the rest of His ministry.

A lot of times we think of being Christlike only in terms of the miracle at Cana - good deeds without recognition. I think sometimes we neglect the other side of the coin, that being Christlike requires a willingness to be seen and known.

To Jesus recognition didn't matter. If no one knew, that was fine with Him. Fact is, many times He told people to keep things mum. Yet when He needed to be in the limelight, He didn't shy away from either popularity or unpopularity. All that mattered was bringing glory to His Father.

I once asked a lady to help in a presentation that would essentially bring the gospel to a secular venue. She is known for her quiet good works and I expected her to happily respond to such a great opportunity. It wasn't the case though . . . "I could never have people look at me!"

Jesus wasn't like that. His sinlessness was shown in that He needed no recognition for what He did, and on the opposite end of the spectrum, was perfectly OK with being thrust into the limelight. The underlying factor that made both possible was that He had a greater purpose.

How am I doing? I don't know. I like a pat on the back when I do something good. That's pride. There have been times when I've enjoyed the limelight. That's pride as well. The truth is, both extremes reveal sinful nature. "Look at me" and "Don't look at me" both reveal pride, because both are about "me". True Christlikeness is revealed in obedience that is equally willing to be anonymous or famous, popular or unpopular.

Obedience/ dying to self is the key. Jesus became obedient to death, and if I present myself a living sacrifice today, the Glory of my God is the only thing that matters. I want to be like Jesus that way.

Rainy Monday Musings

This is kind of a hard post for me to put into words. I know what I want to share but I don't know where to start. I've been in kind of a funk spiritually since April. I don't know whether the exhaustion of moving the office and various other big projects have anything to do with it, spending my first ever Mother's day ALONE this month (as in no kids in sight) or what, but daily devotions and regular church activities just haven't cut it. It finally hit me that I'm missing peace and that "sound mind" part of II Tim. 1:7. Thanks to a visiting speaker that peace issue was addressed. Thanks to Pastor Henry Wright's teaching I know that a sound mind is found in a right relationship with the second person of the trinity, Jesus Christ.

I didn't intend to neglect Jesus. He is my Savior and best friend, yet I've had to admit that I have spent a long time (years) learning to love and trust God (the Father) the way He intended a father/child relationship to function. Fear is no longer a stronghold in my life thanks to this dynamic, for lack of a better word, in my relationship with God.

And now it's time to move on. I'm hungry to know my Savior.

It's his power that has my mind reeling today. A lot of things come to mind when you hear the word "power". There are so may uses of the word and ways in which power is defined, shown, and used it covers a lot of ground. And Jesus said "all power is given me". "All" in itself, considering all the meanings, is pretty staggering. Combined with the word "power" and, well, our gaskets just can't hold that much. It's here we step from the realm of understanding into the realm of faith.

But I do want to offer a faint glimmer of understanding. This is something that God showed me yesterday while teaching at the jail. Consider the atomic bomb . . . Little Boy that was detonated over Hiroshima in 1945 successfully converted 600 milligrams (.02 ounce, the weight of a little dust) of uranium into energy. The resulting explosion killed 140,000 people with those closest to the blast being vaporized in nanoseconds.

When you consider the Holiness of our God having the power of even a few pieces of uranium dust, how dare we think we can stand before Him? At least not without a covering of His provision? This is exactly what God did for his friend, Moses, when he hid him behind a rock to prevent him from being killed by the brightness of His glory.

"The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereoff." My Jesus owns far, far more than a few specs of uranium dust. It's ALL His. When you consider the mass of the earth is generally accepted as 5.9742 × 10²⁴ kilograms, (did you get that, ten to the 24'th power kilograms?), the energy stored in our world alone is so far beyond comprehension we can only express it in terms of power.

And it's all His. I don't know about you, but I know who's side I want to be on! And I'm thankful to have His covering!

Dead Mice Offerings (image deliberately omitted)

We have two cats, Stitches and Lucky. They are about as opposite in personalities as it’s possible for two felines to be. Stitches is demure and doesn’t like to be held, yet she’s the one who will cuddle against my backside in the sewing room chair when given the opportunity. Lucky on the other hand is a Tigger; impetuous, playful, and affectionate.

We don’t know which one of them is leaving us “presents”.

It started this spring after we were gone for a week. We came home to a thoroughly disgusting dead mouse on the porch by the back door. The unspoken message was, “You weren’t here to feed us, we don’t want you to leave again so we’re going to feed you.”

There have been two this week, and neither were on the back porch by the door . . . no, they were in the work area of the kitchen where thankfully I didn’t step on them. I’ve not figured out what the meow message is supposed to be, unless it’s something like, “I’d like mine medium rare”, which of course we know isn’t going to happen.

It crossed my mind this morning while disposing of mousie #2, (found intact next to the refrigerator unlike it’s predecessor that had internal parts missing) that our offerings to God must seem a lot like that sometimes. I know my cats mean well. My mom told me years ago that it’s their way of taking care of their family and showing appreciation. Yet what possible use could a dead mouse be to a human other than something to throw out and maybe fertilize the garden . . . like compost? And when you consider the diseases that mice can carry do you even want to do that??

I’m reminded that my own works are like that to God, pretty disgusting. While I may mean well, and be very sincere, if it’s not led by His Spirit, and washed in His Blood, it’s not worth a whole lot in eternity’s economy.

And eternity, under the shadow of his wings, is where I want to live. So no dead mice for my God today! He wants my heart and I’m glad to give it to Him – just not on the kitchen floor.

Monday Musings

I've been in a funk lately. I'm fairly sure it's because of the steady stream of travel, shows, visitors, big projects etc, especially the last few days. I like funky music occasionally, but I don't like being in a funk. It's like you just go through the motions of life with no emotion, no passion, nothing. I know that the walk of faith is not dependent on feelings, but feelings certainly make the passage more enjoyable.

Today I talked to Betty P for the first time. Betty is one of my correspondence students for the prison ministry. I don't know her story, but I know she's been my most faithful student since 2005. Wherever she moves she stays in touch and just keeps on studying. If lessons get lost or returned she'll call the church and give a good address. This time she gave a phone number as well.

If I ever run out of study material Betty will be the one to complete all the lessons. Even though it was our first personal contact, there was a sweet kinship of spirit that only the Lord can give - I've prayed over many a lesson of hers and now I feel like I have a new friend. Hearing her voice and getting to know her a bit more was precious. I've known her faithful spirit for years now. She's my only student to continue Bible study long after leaving a locked facility.

I don't think about it often but I full well expect to meet and rejoice with all my believing students in heaven someday. Today, God banished a funk by giving me a little heaven here. He couldn't have given me a better encouragement to remain faithful and finish strong.

Finding My Inner Farmgirl

My friend Rachael visited over the weekend. Rachael's visits are always a delight. We do all kinds of crazy stuff like dig in the trash gully on my property, rob bees, sit and sweat for hours, and enjoy insane animal adventures. This visit she went on a swarm call with me and actually found the queen bee in the swarm bucket, by herself! Rach is a true renaissance woman. She's every bit as much at home in a frilly Victorian frock as she is denim and flannel. She makes fine bonnets and can handle a pistol or tomahawk with equal skill.

Needless to say I look forward to her visits.

This time she left me something priceless - a couple of magazines featuring bees and honey as their topic of the month. You know me, if it's honey related, I'm all for it!

One of the magazines is Mary Janes Farm. I have to admit, I was pretty much a goner with the first photo I saw, a little girl in a bee costume. The old timey bee embrodery patterns were a treat too. Interviews with beekeepers, recipes, etc were all presented beautifully and tastefully.

Then I saw the website . . . it turns out Mary Jane is a real person. Her vision, hard work and passion have touched many lives and there are "Farmgirl" chapters, each sporting it's own unique apron, all over the country. It's a great site to peruse while on hold. The networking is awesome - today I found Aunt Daisey , tea jellies, and all kinds of cool crafty blogs. Talk about inspiration! Between all the adorable aprons and links to other women out there doing their own thing, I felt my kind, our kind, of different was a special thing.

So Thank You dear Rachael for your own precious friendship, and also for helping me appreciate my Inner Farmgirl.

Green Goodness: Just Wear Your Gloves

The stinging nettle stand I mentioned a few weeks earlier has grown substantially, in fact there's a couple of nice bushy mounds of it by the barn. Now that I recognize it every time I see where it's spread to another place I'm pleased. It seems to like to grow against rocks and buildings. I've not seen any out in the open, it's almost like it's trying not to be noticed.

But I notice! And a couple of days ago I donned my gloves and a pair of snips and harvested some stalks with tender greens. I was nervous about the gloves, but I figured the barbs would be less likely to penetrate latex than leather or cloth gloves. It was a gamble that paid off. I snipped them low with kitchen scissors, took them in an washed them, all the while being careful not to get them against any bare skin.

My sister had told me they didn't taste great but were great for you. All my research supported that but I wasn't up to a meal of straight nettles, so I mixed them with canned turnip greens. To tell you the truth, I couldn't tell I was eating anything out of the ordinary, but then, I wasn't doing a high ratio of nettles to greens either. It's been almost forty eight hours and no hint of symptoms, so at least I know it's not poisonous.

What was left after snipping the tender greens off the stalk I bound up in a string and hung it just outside the back door. It may be an old wives tale but it's supposed to help keep flies out. So far so good! They're supposed to be naturally leery of the little barbs. I hope it's true - I HATE flies!

I think tea is next on the agenda. They'll be gone as soon as it gets hot so I plan to harvest soon.
Who would have thought a plant that causes so much pain would do so much good?

You Knew Me!

It’s been almost a year since I met Buford Stitcher. Mr. Stitcher is an older gentleman who lives in Randolph County. I became aware of him ten or fifteen years ago after my husband saw an article about him in our local paper. The significance is that he’s from my hometown. He travels here once or twice a year for a local event. When I asked my mom if she knew anything about him she was quick to reply, “Oh yes! He and your Dad go way back.”

I thought I knew about all my dad’s friends but this was news to me. Whatever the case after my own involvement with the organization he was with, it was hit and miss trying to get up with him. And it finally happened last spring.

When I met Mr. Stitcher I introduced myself and told him who my parents were only to see an astonished reaction as his face dropped and his hands went into the air, “You little girls! I can’t believe how you’ve grown!”

It was my turn for an epiphany. For a moment I was five years old instead of fifty. He knew me.

I have to believe this is how Nathanial felt when Jesus announced “I saw you when you were under the fig tree,” and how the woman at the well felt when she ran into the village proclaiming, “Come see a man that told me all I ever did!”

There’s something comforting and liberating about being known. I immediately felt a kinship and freedom of relationship in the knowledge that Mr. Stitcher had known me as a child. It meant a lot later that year as he hugged me at my father’s viewing.

I take joy today in that my God, my Father in heaven KNOWS me and loves me, and unlike all my earthly relationships that I can only live in ‘in the moment’, He lives in those moments before and behind me as well and loves me there too. He knows who I was yesterday, and is working to change me into who I should be tomorrow.

How can I not love him and accept his comfort today?

The Whore in My Heart

Yesterday was my week for Prison Ministry. As usual, my dear husband got a few jollies at the expense of unknowing acquaintances with his usual, “she’s in jail’, or “she’s getting out of jail” remarks. God love him.

I’ve taught on women in the Bible for years. It’s a good fit for what I do as there are so very many “bad” (thank you Liz Curtis Higgs) women in the Bible. The message behind the story is always the same: Jesus loves broken women, Jesus loves YOU, and died to get you back.

So yesterday’s spotlight was on the wife of Hosea, Gomer. The story is never easy for me as I can’t relate to a woman who would leave her husband and children for any reason. And it’s tough because of the way it’s written. The verses in the book jump back and forth from Gomer and Hosea to God and Israel, then back again. Another reason it’s hard is because a precious family member is going through the fire in his marriage because his wife thinks the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, very similar to Gomer.

And it’s tough because the wild life and lovers and desire for independence that called to Gomer call to me.

Don’t get the wrong idea - I don’t know any bad men seeking unholy fulfillment. But just like Israel left her God to go chasing (whoring) after the pleasures and false gods of the world, I find my own heart pulled every day away from God in more directions than I care to confess.

“Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, Prone to leave the God I love!”

I’m sure Gomer had no way of knowing that her decisions would ultimately lead to an auction block, her beauty gone, hands tied and barely looking at the ground as people bid on her. The humiliation had to be excruciating. I wonder how she felt when she heard a familiar voice in the crowd outbidding everyone else . . . and I wonder what went through her mind as she heard fifteen silver pieces deposited with the auctioneer, and watched a years worth of food traded as her husband bought her back. Was he going to beat her? Would he invoke the ancient law and have her executed?

No. She was restored, and cherished.

“Such love constrains me.” Gomer reminds me again that nothing, absolutely nothing, will fulfill my heart and my life except relationship with my God. The price he paid to get me off the auction block was heaven's ultimate sacrifice. How can I not love him?

Loving my Weeds

I spent a little time outdoors today. It was nice to get some fresh air as our temps have been pretty low recently and even though it was overcast, it was warm enough to be enjoyable.

My mission was chickweed. A few weeks ago an angel of mercy disguised as a bank rep called, and upon hearing my cough and learning we were recovering from the crud offered some down home advice: Chickweed tea. Actually, chickweed tea with lime.

It wasn't the first time I'd heard that this lowly pest had value. Initially learning that it was rich in nutrients and edible didn't promt me to go out and eat it, but this time I had a need. I was hacking like crazy trying to clear my chest, and nothing was coming up.

God knew, and had a huge wad of chickweed waiting by the door, hanging out of a flowerpot, when I got home. I rinsed it and laid it on a rack over the broiler pan on the wood stove. It was dry in no time.

Making tea was a bit frightening. I used a tea ball and full well expected it to taste like crap, but it didn't. It had sort of a greenish taste, but a teaspoon of lime overpowered it . . . and of course I sweetened it with honey.

It worked! It worked great, and it didn't take long to learn to like the stuff! I'm hooked now, and don't want to be without a good supply of dried chickweed in case we ever have that need again . . . which is why I was searching around the property for a good stand of the stuff.

My search was not in vain. Not only did I find a good amount of chickweed, I was thrilled to find a few stinging nettle growing by a rock pile at the edge of the garden. I left them alone for the time being as I don't have an immediate need. That way they can grow nice and big for me, and hopefully reproduce.

The other thing I found was dandelion. Lots and lots of dandelion. I'll be gathering some of it in the near future too as my dh is already talking about getting the garden dug up for late winter planting.

Those last few moments outside provided a kind of epiphany. As I surveyed the mess left over from the last garden I realized that many of the plants inhabiting that space now are every bit as valuable as the vegetables we had harvested months earlier. Any other year I would have used roundup on them or tossed them root and all in the garbage. Now they were like gifts from God that I had never wanted, let alone appreciated. And they were everywhere.

Yeah, I love my weeds.

Wednesday Thoughts

It’s cold outside, a chilling 33 degrees to be exact, and just a few minutes after 10 am at that. This is extreme for south Alabama. I count my blessings though. I spoke to a friend in Indiana who was working outside in 2 (yes, two) degree weather. God bless the sunny south!

Its winter in a lot of ways. Our house is quiet again after a rollicking Christmas break. I’m ok with that as the still makes for good meditation and prayer. I sometimes think God gets tired of trying to get things through our thick heads in the midst of the noise and clutter of life we surround ourselves with.

I think the winter that bothers me most is in the struggles I see my children dealing with. All the merriment did not fend off the routine (and some not so routine) issues of life, and outright satanic attack.

So on this very cold day, my heart is on fire and I’m pleading with God on behalf of those I love. PA, CA, Montgomery, Troy, Dothan, FL, NC, Memphis, the UP, Afghanistan, . . . I've got kids in a lot of places and prayer has no distance. God would hear just as well as if I was in the next room.

You know who you are and you know I love you.

Wild Life

Life around here is usually pretty tame. We've got our routines and all the animals pretty much know what to expect. The cats have their regular times for going in and out. The chickens pretty much leave the coop in the morning, roam all day and go back to the coop at night. The cows and horses have their favorite hangouts and we all exist peacefully together.

Till today! I woke this morning to a ruckus just outside my bedroom window that would wake the dead. The chickens were having a holy fit about something and I made it outside and around the corner just in time to see a hawk flee from a bush the chickens were hiding behind.

Tonight on the way home I saw the biggest, most beautiful buck I've ever seen just beside my pasture fence. I couldn't believe my eyes and slowed down and just stared at him. Obviously I spooked him because he turned around, jumped the barb wire fence and went back into the pasture. I've got a few more days to maybe put him in the freezer.

I was still in shock over the deer when I drove around the corner of the house to my favorite parking place. What should I see but my dear kitty, Stitches, face to face with a possum about double her size. I don't know if she was staring it down or what, but the nasty thing ran like a son of a gun when it saw me. I blessed my kitty for being a good guard cat.

So maybe it's an illusion that things are tame around here, or maybe it's just that it's winter and the wild critters are hungry.

Early Morning News

So it's about 4:30 am and I'm up. After a couple of hours of tossing and turning miserably after taking a double first dose antibiotic, here I am, trying to take my mind off my poor churning stomach, surfing the net, laughing over some, and getting sick over other things. I've never been one to stay on top of current events. My world is cluttered and messy enough - more than enough to keep me out of trouble. So I rarely take on the rest of the world's problems. But this morning I've ventured to find the late breaking news, and . . . .

1) The only thing keeping a cease-fire from happening is that Hamas refuses to stop sending missiles into Israel.

2)Add to that that some are putting pressure on our president-elect to initiate low level talks with these thugs . . . .

3) UFO's are being blamed for the destruction of a 66' windmill blade in the UK. Ok, E.T. wasn't really in the photo!

4) A doctor in NY is asking for the return of his kidney (or 1.5 million $) in a divorce.

5) Tom Cruise talks out of both sides of his mouth about health and scienteology. Read the commentary .

6) The Marvel/ Obama/ Spiderman comic coming out, while it may be a collectible, is not highly regarded by insiders . . . One writer refered to it as "depressingly crass."

7) Burger King is giving away Whoppers to Facebook users who will drop 10 friends.

8) Los Angeles was just hit with an earthquake and Yellowstone expereinced 252 small earthquakes the last 5 days of 2008.

9. Google is working on a new and improved search engine called Google Chrome.

10) Continental Airlines successfully demonstrated the use of algae as an aviation fuel yesterday.

11) A 42 state outbreak of salmonella is under investigation by the CDC.

12) Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio will be released in a "bleak drama" set in the 50's called Revolutionary Road. Sounds to me like a sinking ship.

I think that should do me for being savvy on current news for a few days. I have prayed for all the mentioned movie actors, the sick people from the outbreak, our president elect, the peace of Jerusalem and the situation in Israel. Also for everyone on the west coast that they won't disappear into the ocean.

I'm not really sure what I should pray for in connection to the UFO's or the Spidy Comic's. Some things are probably best left alone. While I hope none of my Facebook friends sacrifice for for flame broiled delights, I won't lose any sleep if they do. It's only Facebook.

Taking it all In

OK, I really don't think I've taken in nearly as much as I wish I had, but I'll just blame this daggone sickness for that. This is the third, fourth (?) day of the great earache. Warm salt compresses and mullin bloom infused olive oil have become my constant companions, and as bad as I detest our healthcare system, I'm wondering if I should just break down and go. I don't like the looks of my options either way.

But being convalesced does have its perks: lots of sleep, much needed down time, piddle time, movies I wouldn't have otherwise watched, and reading. I finished The Shack (by Wm Paul Young) this morning through tears and a hungry heart. WOW.

I'll spare you a book review. Suffice it to say the website will give much more than I could say here, but if you're up to a rubber meets the road, and to borrow a phrase, where tragedy confronts eternity, kind of book, this is an emerging classic that can stand a place in the Christian library. The youtube video is good. Be warned, the book has stirred a theological hotbed of debate, so nitpickers should probably steer clear. As a metaphor, it takes a lot of literary, and even theological license in order to drive home blibical truth. I personally think the underlying message of the love of God is worth the effort for those grounded in sound doctrine. Let me emphasize that last point . . . for those grounded in sound doctrine. Even God's own book, the Holy Bible, can be misconstrued and twisted by those who are not.

I need to go repent of some stuff now.