Victoria Rose

Our family has had it's share of additions the last few years.  When the boys got married we gained two awesome daughter-in-laws.  I really think of them more as daughters than in-laws.  A few years later, our birth daughters married two great guys within a year of each other.  Bonus!  More sons!

Now the addition has become multiplication and we are waiting on grandchildren.  One son+wife is awaiting referrals for adoption while the other son+wife is going through the first pregnancy in our family in over 20 years.  I'm anxious about both; excited to meet the ones God has picked out for us to love; excited to meet the baby girl (we found out yesterday) who will be our first grandchild by birth.

We have one little one in heaven already.  His/her name is Scout.  We never got to know this one.  Scout was in heaven by the time anyone knew Scout had been created.  I like to believe that my grandmother is caring for this wee one till  heaven is complete.

We get to hold Victoria Rose late this summer.  She's already kicking her momma. I realized this morning that she will come into this world with a lot of my own circumstances.  She is the first born in her family and a girl.  That makes for a strong woman.  She is the first grandchild for one set of grandparents.  That makes for a lot of attention.  She has older boy cousins on the other side.  She'll annoy the crap out of them but they will love and protect her.  She has grandmothers who have overcome obstacles in life. When she's old enough to understand, it will give her strength.  She has grandpas who love God. This will be a beacon of light.

So in a tiny way, I feel like I know her already and even now my heart sees her as a dark beauty with a fierce heart like her parents.   Rest and grow dear Tori.  You'll come into a crazy world that is changing so fast it makes our heads spin, but you're coming to parents who will love and protect you, and who trust in a God who does the same.

The Zombies Are Here. Seriously.

I don't like zombies.  There's something about the undead that doesn't set well with me.  Never has. Maybe it was too much exposure to rotting flesh when I was a kid.  If you've been around hunting/fishing/farming/road kill or dead mice, you know what I mean. Whether in literature, culture or costume they just  bother me.

I have tolerated a bit.  Some of the family likes Walking Dead. I managed an episode or two before grossing out.  One adult child participated in a zombie walk . .  in full costume.  I had to admit the costume was creative, albeit creepy.

It recently hit me why.

We are all zombies.

Yeah, I know that's ridiculous.  After all we're all alive, functional, and civilized.  Most of the time anyway.

But really, we ARE all zombies.  We're born that way.

You see, in God's eyes, the sin we are born into and give no thought to every day is every bit as filthy, disgusting and sickening as the rot and decay in the stories. Scripture calls it being dead in trespasses and sins. We are all prone to pride, unbelief, envy, hatred, lust, etc., and while we think we've got it handled with these polite masks of propriety, God sees our hearts as the nasty spiritual filth it really is.  And he doesn't allow it into His home (heaven) just like none of us would bring a rotting corpse into our homes.

I'm thankful for my Savior today.  His sacrifice made it possible for this dead person to live.  Pretty miraculous stuff - making a dead person live -  but that's Who He is.  That's what He delights to do.  It's why we need Him.

Red

But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, easy to be entreated,  full of mercy and good fruits, without variance, without hypocrisy.
 James 3:17

Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful. Luke 6:36

I'm out of chicken food. I'll get more later this morning.

But I did have some grain that had weavels in it so I took it out to the chickens first thing this morning. It was the first time I sat on the back steps to feed the chickens and I didn't know what to expect, but I knew I wanted to give the laying hens and the momma and chicks priority. That's why I poured it in piles around my feed and sat there. The hens and chicks are used to that.

Some curious and hungry roosters did come along wanting to eat. I'm ok with that as as long as they behave themselves. Smut is one of our two pretty roosters. I call him that because of the dark colored neck and plume feathers. In between is every color of the rainbow. I try to take care of him as his brother, Red, continually runs him away from food. All food, all the time.

The mama hen and the babies found a pile of cornmeal close that they were happily working on. Smut got brave enough to get close to me . . . and promptly started bullying the little ones to get out of his way! Not on my watch Dude! He met each transgression with a small rock. I don't know if he got the idea or not but he did give up as he didn't care for the rocks.

We were about half way through the grain when Red discovered what was going on. Red is the big boss of all the chickens. He probably has every shade of orange known to man on him with an awesome blue/black plume. I watched with amusement as he surveyed the situation with great dignity, and cautiously approached center where momma and the babies were feasting on cornmeal. I had a rock ready for him.

And I didn't have to use it. That big powerful bird stayed at the outskirts of the cornmeal pile and gently ate alongside the little ones as though he were one of them.

I sat there in complete amazement. Red rules the yard and the coop. He keeps the other roosters in check. So it amazed me that rather than bully the small ones away from food like all the other chickens he deferred to them when he hadn't had breakfast himself.

When the food got low and I knew momma and the chicks had ate plenty I went back inside. After getting a cup of coffee I looked out to see the same pattern – momma and the chicks were safely eating beside him center stage with all the other chickens leaving them alone.

Momma told me that Red was being what a father is supposed to be to his family – a sacrificial protector. To quote one of my kids, it warmed the cockles of my heart. I guess God knew which rooster needed to be #1 in our yard. And I think I'll throw him and extra handful from now on. 

Thoughts On Being Chicken

We have chickens.  Maybe they have us -  that could be debatable.  Whatever the case, I am mobbed with them whenever I go outside these days. And I always subconsciously hear Karen Carpenter softly singing  "Why do birds suddenly appear . . . ?"  I know the answer to that one -  FOOD!

They stay cooped up most of the year as we don't particularly want them eating Norman's berries or the fresh vegetables we love most of the year. During the winter months though, we let them out.  At first they are hesitant, but slowly venture further from their normal domain.  They eat bugs, slugs, seeds and anything else they can scrape or catch.  And chicken feed.  Lots of chicken feed.  The better they're fed, the better they bless us with eggs.  I sometimes joke to my husband that those bright orange yolks he loves are probably recycled palmetto bugs.  If you don't know what a palmetto bug is, it's like a monster cockroach that feeds off decaying wood and leaves.  They function sort of like an above ground earthworm but are a lot grosser.

The black copper hen blessed us with chicks Jan 1.  It was a nice way to start the new year.  We knew from previous experience that chicks are particularly vulnerable as many wild critters are hungry in the wintertime.  We've known of coyotes, hawks, bobcats, coons, and possums all  to venture up here on the hill in hopes of feasting on foul.  These chicks were two or three days old when I heard some hawks screeching in the tops of a pecan tree making plans to swoop down.  They flew when I hurled some choice words their way.  I'm sure they had no idea what I was saying, but I like to think they knew it was for them as they left in a hurry and we've not seen them since. 

Regardless, baby chicks need to eat, and regular laying pellets aren't exactly formulated for them.  So I trucked down to the feed store and got some chick feed - it's small with a bit of medication to protect them from diseases.  I fixed a real nice setup on one side of the barn for them - it had plenty of food, water and shelter and momma hen and babies were all happy in there till the horses smelled the feed.  I came out one morning to find them loose and their nice little home broken into by a big nosed horse who was too greedy for anyone's good.

It left me with a dilemma:.  With open feeding, that is, me throwing food for all the chickens, how was I supposed to feed the babies without the big chickens getting their food?  It took some work, but I did it.  And it was simple.  I earned their trust.

Talk about a process. Chickens are by nature, well, chickens.  They thrive on calm and run in fear from almost everything. I had to learn to move slowly and not scare the daylights out of them, something I did a lot  as I really enjoy hurling chunks of wood at big mean roosters. Momma Hen knew instinctively knew what food  the babies needed and while she never particularly cared for the stick I held to push the other chickens away from them, she did figure out that it wasn't for them. Now days I put the chick feed behind the wheel of the riding mower and the babies eat just a few inches away from me.  They're not scared.  Every once in a while one of the other hens or roosters want to take over their feeding spot, but I'm there and they don't try much anymore. Momma Hen eats with the big chickens now, and the babies, maybe a yard from her, eat in safety and play on the underside of the mower till she calls them.  She'll find a quiet spot, gently cluck and they'll run and scurry under her wings.  Everybody's full, everyone is happy.

It's crossed my mind several times that I'm a lot like those chickens.  I'm small, weak, and vulnerable to a lot of predators, mostly my own failures and weaknesses.  And I've got Someone who cares for me a lot more than I care for those chickens.  But do I trust Him enough not to go flying and squawking away every time He shows his might and power or some new threat screeches from the top of a tree?  I've had to admit at this stage of life that I face many fears that I didn't know existed when I was younger.  And I confess that I sometimes respond by running away rather than running to my Savior.

So yeah, I'm chicken.  I just desire to be like the ones who recognize the Parent's voice and run to safety, not like the fearful ones who run from everything and get slaughtered.

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together , even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!  Matthew 23:37

Christmas in January

I still have my tree up.

Yeah, I know that's lame.  I should have everything packed away and tidied up by now, but for some dumb reason, I can't.  Not just yet.

I can't put my finger on it, but it don't feel right, at least it hasn't so far.

Maybe it's because I was so insanely busy in December I didn't get the decorations up till late.

Maybe it's because it really didn't even seem like Christmas till Mom got here and we're still celebrating.  Seriously - every day she is here life is a party.  A sedate mature one of course, but we have fun.

Maybe it's because more family is coming as my inlaws move down the road from us next month.

Maybe it's because my best Christmas present isn't scheduled to arrive till July.  (I promise, the tree won't stay up THAT long!)

And lastly there's this aggravating naggy feeling that I'm missing something  . . . and that's the part that drives me nuts.

Whatever the case, I'll get to it when I get to it.  But if you see my lights in the meantime, it's because Christmas isn't quite ready to be over at the Horton house.

Let's Make a Deal

NOT!

I have run across several individuals over the years who make "bargains" with God.  It goes like this, "God, if you will do this, then I will do that." Most often when the person gets what they want, they go on their merry way and completely forget their obligation to the Almighty.

The same mentality often manifests itself in  reverse, "Lord, I did this, so why didn't you do that?  Or even more open, like one girl wailed at the jail, "I'm a good person, why did God let this happen to me??"  

Truth be known, we've probably all been guilty of this kind of divine manipulation in our hearts at some point or another.  It's what is known as a presumptuous sin, the one that David asked to be kept far from. "Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me: then shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression."  Psalms 19:13

There's good reason the words "great transgression" are used in connection with this kind of thinking. It goes like this:

1.  When we try to make deals with God we're not doing what we should be doing anyway.

2.  Our "bargains" reveal the idols in our heart, the things that we have put ahead of God.

3.  Bargaining shows that we follow God for the benefits, that our love for God is circumstantial.

4.  Bargaining says the empty tomb is not enough.


Make a deal with God?  I don't think so.  

Lord, keep me from presumptuous sins! 
  

Running with the Ball

Have I mentioned that sometimes God just drops awesomeness in my lap?  It happened again this week.  I was in the Wal Mart parking lot when the phone rang and a fellow beek  (slang for beekeeper) asked "Hey, you want my extra Hawaiian queens?"

Do I want Hawaiian queens?  That's like asking if I want to live long and prosper, a new SUV, or a winning lottery ticket (not that I play the lottery mind you).  But yes, I wanted them!

The deal with a Hawaiian queen in February is, it gives you a serious head start on your bee year.  A good honey crop is imperative on having healthy hives with many, many bees.  And the sooner said hives can build their population from the winter slump, the more bees will be ready to start making the sweet golden stuff when the surrounding nectar producing flowers are in full swing.  The new queens will allow me to split my existing hives with vigorous layers so that I'll have many more bees to make honey with than I would have growing my own  queens. It's a good thing. 

So yes.  Hawaiian queens are my lapload of awesomeness this week.  Live Long your Highnesses, and Prosper!

Welcome 2012!

Yes, I know I'm ten days late and I was supposed to think all this through before now, but I have to tell you, your predecessor  threw me under the bus there at the last and I really couldn't think about you.

I guess it's only fitting that 2011 went out on a loud note for me.  In a way, 2011 was just LOUD for me.  There was the wedding, there were the business and financial issues, there were people coming and going so fast that I thought our door was a high speed fan.  There were great blessings, and there were great sorrows.

And there was God.  I have to tell you, the only reason any of the other made sense, let alone worked out, was because of Him.  It's like everything bad you threw at me, He turned it into good, even the broke ribs you left me hurting with as you whimpered off into the history books.

So I welcome 2012.  I don't know if this year will be any better, but you know, that don't matter.  I know the One who created and controls time, and I know how the story ends, whether it ends with you or one of your children . . . so it's ok.  I welcome you, I embrace you, and while I don't dare hope you'll be kinder and gentler (after all, raw dependence on God does have it's benefits) I look forward to walking with and through the coming months with you.

Schooled

Since my husband's heart surgery (triple bypass, July 2010) I have watched with happiness and moderate amusement as he's incorporated less stress and more enjoyment into his life.  I shouldn't have been surprised that his love of music played into it.  Now mind you, about all he can play is anything electronic, or mechanical in the case of his beloved Edison.  He did a little trumpet in high school, but that's really it as far as an actual instrument.

One of the results of this is an increasing collection of media.  At first it was lp's, also known as 78's.  That was ok.  We've had a traditional turntable for years.  Then one day I noticed a huge box on the front porch.  I started to take it in only to realize I needed a hand truck - the sucker was heavy!  Turns out it was a pristine condition TEAC reel to reel tape deck that once served a radio station.  He'd practically stole the thing on Ebay. 

"What are you going to play on that?" I asked.  He just grinned.  And proceeded to hook it up and whip out a couple of tapes.  The sound was phenomenal, Mancini probably didn't sound that good playing live.

"Ok, that's fine.  I can live with that - just please throw out those eight track tapes that came with the reels."  He only nodded that he'd heard me.

Now mind you, in redneck Alabama where I grew up eight tracks were a scourge. My only memories of them were of raunchy tears in your beer country music and piles of dirty ones laying in the floorboards of pickup trucks along with empty chewing tobacco pouches. This was NOT something I wanted in my house.

More boxes have come and gone since then. Knowing he won't buy anything unless old Abe Lincoln gets squeezed real hard I don't keep track of what he's doing.  Evey day I hear what I've come to consider "vintage music" - sounds from the past that shaped America, sounds that our children would only recognize from commercials with no understanding that what they are hearing shaped two, and in some cases three previous generations.  I'm hearing history - big band, 50's, 60's and 70's elevator music, a lot of classic gospel, a bit of jazz - the list goes on.

This morning I heard something that hit a nerve -  Summertime from Show Boat.  My dad used to sing it, and he did it great justice.  I've always loved that song, partly for the good memories it invokes, partly for the sheer haunting beauty of it.  I found my sweetheart and told him how much it meant to me only to be laughed out of the room.

"It's from a tape of great American music . . . . . and it's an eight track"

No Moss on this Rear

A few years ago I heard a snippet of a talk on the radio that really, really, caught my attention.  The speaker was recalling an old preacher man speaking to a him and his peers, a group of fresh faced college boys who had yet to experience life beyond a dorm room.  The talk went like this:

(Imagine a elderly voice with a couple of rocks thrown in for graininess)  "You know, most Christians sit on their rears year after year and say,  'God, show me an open door!', and they sit with moss growing on their rear.  But not me.  I say "God, if you don't want me going through that door you better close it!',  and there aint no moss growing on this rear"

My Becky and I loved it and adopted it as a motto which soon turned into a life principal.  She went on to a college in the far north, married a great guy and together they are looking and working toward of life of service to others as they complete their studies.  No moss there.

Here on the farm, you'd think things would ease up a little with all the kids gone, but that doesn't seem to be the case . . . you see, these wonderful doors keep opening up . . . and God keeps holding them open.  I love it and have seen some truly amazing things in 2011.

In May I fulfilled a life goal of ministering to the homeless with my Cindy through her church in Memphis.

I saw God start a new,  long prayed about chapter in her life. That was wayyy cool and there's more to come!

I've had opportunity to minister in other unexpected capacities.

My bee business has adopted a charity/ministry organization.

Wonderful, smart, talented and gifted people have come alongside me in learning and working with bees.

I've embarked on a dream of becoming a Master Beekeeper along with two friends.

I think I've taught more than I ever have.

My 16 year old sidekick is becoming a leader and a teacher too.

My grandmother heart is starting to awaken at the possibility of an adoption.

Amazing internet sales after a candle went viral.

More opportunities to fill in for my Extension Agent Mentor.

Blessed reunions with people from my past.

Meeting two favorite authors -  one a high school role model, the other a new found treasure.

I'm sure there are others and I may come back and add more later.  I mostly just wanted to get this written down while it was fresh on my mind so I don't forget 2011 as the "No Moss" year.  What's really ironic about that is that I've got TONS of moss left over around here from Becky's wedding!

What a Week!

I've been sighing a breath of relief since Friday as the orders finally started slowing down.  I know that probably sounds a bit strange coming from someone who promotes, promotes, and promotes, but seriously, I was not prepared for the influx of orders that came after Etsy sent out my Primitive Skep Candle  in an Etsy Finds email.

Don't get me wrong - NO COMPLAINTS, in fact, if anything I'm blown away by the awesome power of internet adverting, and even more that Etsy considered me a seller worthy and capable of handling the honor. Now that I've actually said that, I think Etsy's endorsement may be the better of the two.

Regardless - I've given up the 24 hour candle making in favor of more sustainable volumes, and am increasing by volume capacity by taking up mold casting at the same time.  This is an adventure I have dreamed of for years and after collaborating with my good friend Phillip G, who made my awesome Tree Branch Candle mold, the time is right.

This morning I got a message from Jeanette, another Etsy seller,  at The Play Date blog.  She has featured the skep candle in a beautiful collage on that site - a first time honor for this farm girl. After reading her inspirational posts I'm most anxious to get started on the mold casting - like I said, the time is right. 

Choosing Color

"I don't do white."

I felt the room around me kind of pause. The words were spoken to a young lady of color behind the counter of a fast food chain. She had just waited on some other customers of like skin tone and they were silent too. It was a bit awkward as I realized what just came out of my mouth.

You have to understand. I'm a 50+ Caucasian woman, somewhat overweight, obviously not a youth, and obviously suffering from a serious case of foot in mouth disease this day.

The young lady and I were trying to work through some logistics to get my order right. The restaurant only offered packaged dinners - I wanted something different and was trying to explain to this girl why I did not want a biscuit with my fried chicken.

And that's when the awkward statement came out of my mouth.

The long and short of it is, I'm giving up white foods. White flour, white sugar, white pasta, white rice, white potatoes. I'm sure there are some others I need to give up, but that's the big five for me. It's not that I can't have breads, sweets, pasta, rice and taters - I will just have the superior forms and not the inferiors that have become staples of the American diet.

So far so good. I don't know if I'll even be able to tell a difference six months from now, but I do know it won't hurt.

So yeah, I don't do white.

What's in a Name??

Her life was a wreck. She was sick. She was broke. In fact, she was broke because she was sick, and she was still sick thanks to a medical community who didn't have a clue about what was wrong with her, let alone how to help her. And she was desperate.

What do you do when you're desperate? You do desperate things. For her this meant throwing on enough powder or face paint or hair gel or whatever to fain wellness and mingling with a mob hoping she wouldn't be noticed.

Her purpose gave her strength enough to make her way through the crowd. She knew that if she failed she had nothing left but to go home and die. She was so sick she might not even make it home to die. This was it.

At last she found what she was looking for. She stooped down, reached out, then stood up . . . whole, and well.

There wasn't even enough time to feel a flicker of joy when her heart trembled at hearing an authoritative "Who?" She knew it was her. This wasn't supposed to happen, she had thought to do her deed and get out of of there.

A moment of confusion ensued as the mob stopped and tried to figure out what happened. Then the voice spoke again, "Somebody touched me". This time it was personal - she was being called out.

There was nothing to do but to come clean then and there. This dear nameless woman, fell trembling before the One who had made her, and then made her whole. All she could do was pour out her story before Him and hundreds of onlookers.

Jesus's next words not only gave her permission to rejoice in the new life she was given by touching the hem of His garment, but even more so in a new relationship with Him. Her faith in Jesus Christ, not some ethereal idea of something greater out there, but a real faith in the very real Jesus Christ, a faith that called her to action, had made her whole. The "Who" that was singled out as a "Somebody" was now a "Daughter", instructed to go in peace.


Taken from Luke 8:43-47

From Beemusement 101

My Sister Bathsheba

I’ve come to realize this week that one of the reasons I like Bathsheba so much is that we have so very much in common.

Both of us were wronged by a very well liked and popular person.

Both of us had our hearts ripped out and stuffed down our throat.

Both of us were blamed in the other person’s sin.

Both of us endured whispers of ignorant waggling tongues.

And both of us chose to remain silent about the incident and let God handle it.

I love the fact that both God and Solomon vindicated this incredible woman. Even David, who sinned against her, publicly took responsibility for his actions, something that never happened in my case. Her son . . HER son, was chosen by God above his elder brothers to sit on the throne of David. Solomon publicly honored her to a place no woman had ever achieved in Israel’s history. Not only did he set her beside his throne, in essence declaring her his equal, but he wrote about her. How many women have aspired to be the Proverbs 31 woman without realizing that they were aspiring to Bathsheba’s godly character?

I love the fact that she is the only female Old Testament type of Christ. What an honor! What a legacy!

Today I feel the ignorant whispers again. I feel the serpent tearing at the scar tissue of old wounds. And I feel close to Bathsheba. I’m glad she endured to the end. She gives me hope.

Looking Ahead

It's been a while since I wrote about bees. Yes, I still have bees and I love them very much. This is a busy time of year for beekeepers. Even now wild mustard is growing on the sides of the road and it won't be long before we see dandelions pop up in our yards. These are all fresh food sources for the little honeybees who have been cooped up inside all winter long.

Right now I've got about 250 honey supers in my yard waiting for me to clean them. They're not mine, but belong to a beekeeper friend of mine and I get the propolis in exchange for going through them. It's a trade I'm happy to make.

Justin, my 16 year old sidekick, went to Auburn University with me today for the annual Beekeeping Symposium there. With around 400 in attendance, it's the most that have ever gathered for a bee event in this state. With about two thirds of them being new beekeepers, it said a lot of GOOD about the state of beekeeping in Alabama. We split up for a lot of the sessions, him taking more beginner courses and me learning everything else I could. What follows are highlights and a string around my own finger to help remember everything!

First up this morning was a request to do the children's program at the State Beekeeper meeting next October - twice. This will be a pleasure. I've done lot's of children's programs, love kids and have a fun presentation. (Dancing anyone?) It looks like I may be sharing some research on the business end of things I'm currently doing too.

The Master Beekeepers Program excites me. Alabama is actually working on a program for this and once it's finalized and implemented I should be able to be grandfathered in for at least 80% of the qualifications. Dreams do come true!!! Since Justin is getting bees this year he'll be able to go through the program in about 3 years as well starting as an Apprentice. I'm excited for him.

Soap - with as many soap classes as I've sat in on you'd think I'd have made my own by now, but that's soon a thing of the past. I've got a hot process batch in the works and invested in a mold, so we're on the way. No more melt and pour.

AHB . . . Africanized Honey Bees. We were SO UPSET in our part of the state to learn of the death of our GA neighbor last fall from these devils. Well, it turns out he had collected swarms from Central Florida and taken them home to start his own bee business . . . . . if you know anything about Florida's feral bee population and even a hint of the magnitude of this poor soul's mistake . . . The good news is that ALL of his colonies were eliminated so we should still be a few years out on that problem.

And while we're on that topic our local association should be having an important guest speaker the next few months to address that issue since our corner of the state could very well be first to have to deal with them.

Next week I'll start working the hives in preparation for spring honey flow. Between feeding, swapping brood chamber and splits I've got my work cut out for me. My commercial friend will be teaching me to graft as well. While the jury is still out on which queen rearing method I'll finally settle on, I'm just thankful to be back at this threshold for this year. Life is good. Bring on the dandelions, bring on the bees!

Leviticus Rocks

In this morning’s reading Leviticus 5:1 shook me to my core. It’s not that I’ve not read it before, it was more like this time it read me.

And if a soul sin , and hear the voice of swearing, and is a witness, whether he hath seen or known of it; if he do not utter it, then he shall bear his iniquity.

We had just talked about swearing and using God’s name in vain at the Jail on Sunday. We even read through the Ten Commandments to get it straight. And here it was . . . if you hear swearing, you are guilty.

One of my sons once told me “Leviticus rocks” while going through that class at Word of Life. To me it had mostly been dry, priestly procedures so I had to ask about this new revelation. The bottom line – no matter how hard we try to be clean and guiltless before God, it’s impossible. For the priests, even unknowingly brushing your foot against a dead bug made them unfit to serve – and how would they know?? The certainty of uncertainty forces us to depend on the mercy of God.

So learning that even hearing swear words was somewhat of a slap in the face. I felt like Isaiah: Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts. Isaiah 6:5

We hear them everywhere – on the street, on the job, on the phone, tv, movies, music, the list goes on and on. To some degree there’s no avoiding it. I had to think back over the times I heard my Lord’s name used wrongfully and how it affected me. And I had to repent of the iniquity I bore in even hearing my God and my Savior maligned in that manner.

And I had to consider why swearing, i.e., using any part of the Trinity’s name lightly is wrong.

1. It usurps God’s authority. Of course we know that anybody using God’s name wrongfully in no way displaces the authority of heaven . . . except in that person’s heart at that moment.

2. It makes false presumptions about God’s character.

I’m sure there are other reasons, but those are the two big ones for me.

Consider Shelomiths’s son. She was a Hebrew woman married to an Egyptian man who left Egypt with Moses. We’re not told how old their son was, but at some point after the Ten Commandments he swore using God’s name. The conclusion of that matter shook the Hebrews to the core much like Pearl Harbor or 9/11 shook the national mindset of our country. The young man was executed by stoning, you might say by Levitical rocks, literally. The Jews became so protective of God’s name that it’s pronunciation was lost to the general population and only passed down from one high priest to the next as he lay dying. That’s pretty serious. To this day orthodox Jews who fear God will not write out the word “God” as I’m doing here.

The big question I face is “Where to now?” How am I to respond? What will I do if someone misuses my Lord’s name in my presence?

The easy answer is to avoid people and situations where that could happen. There’s merit to that. There are many places and situations to be avoided. Avoiding people though? No – people need Christ, and how can our feet be beautiful (Romans 10:15) if we run from them instead of to them? There’s one idea, one glimmer of possibility that has come through this, and that’s to use the situation should it arise. As a follower of Christ I should be offended to hear my Lord’s name taken in vain, but rather than express personal insult, confront the offender in genuine love and humility for their own good. People don’t care how much you know but they do know how much you care. So love the sinner – open a dialog to present the gospel, to present Christ to them. It may be the very reason that God, in His sovereignty and providence had you in a Leviticus 5:1 opportunity to begin with.

Happy Birthday Cindy

This is a significant day.

Thirty years ago I had been admitted to St. Margret's Hospital in Hammond Indiana and was spending my first day with a wee little bald headed girl that was born early that morning.

Cindy's birth and early events were a lot like her. My labor was short and intense - the child wasted no time getting here! Thirty years later no grass grows under her feet if she has somewhere to go - when it's time to go, it's time to go!

And she's still a Daddy's girl. How that screaming newborn knew everything would be all right and that she was safe the moment she touched her Daddy's arms in the delivery room amazed us both. The times she has taken comfort in her Dad's embrace in the years since is innumerable. It's been one of the greatest blessings of my life to see my daughter(s) enjoy this blessing I never had.

And she still knows her own mind about things. Her first feeding was trying. After a while the hospital staff thought it was time for her to eat. She thought otherwise. The child wasn't hungry and a staff member spent a good hour with me trying to coax this child to nurse.

Parenthood is a funny thing. When God places this tiny person into your life you really don't know who he or she is - you just know they're yours and your responsibility to raise for God. Time and time together unfold and reveal the incredible person you brought into the world. Thirty years has revealed unbelievable beauty in so may ways that I never in my fondest dreams imagined possible for one young woman to posses. I find myself humbled that God trusted me to parent this child.

So today I celebrate in my heart. I celebrate God's love an mercy. I celebrate the life of my daughter who has become one of my heroes. And I look forward to our family celebration this weekend when we'll break out the cake and ice cream just like we did when she was a little kid. I don't expect her to put her hand in the cake like she did when she was little, but then, who knows? Maybe I should make two, just in case of a cake fight.

I love you Baby, and I'm so proud of you.

Memories of Northland

I’ve been sitting here listing the December transactions in our accounting records most of the day. For the most part it’s tedious work, but once in a while something interesting comes up.

It’s cold outside. For south Alabama its been very cold.. Most years we get one or two days of freezing or below freezing temps. We’ve had a lot of it this year with no expected end in sight, at least that I know of. It’s hard on us southerners who for the most part don’t have clothing designed for sustained low temperatures, enough blankets, or any idea how to maintain life below 40 degrees.

So for me, it was a flashback to come to a single odd entry . . $2.71 spent at 200 Sunset Ave Unit 2 in Coleman, Wisconsin.

For just a second it all came back – Norman and I were in a dinky cheapo rental car and had been driving for hours in the worst conditions we’d seen in years. From the time we landed in Milwaukee all we saw was snow, snow, and more snow, and we had to drive. We were headed to NI to surprise Becky had had been pushing north several hours when hunger and fatigue took over. After eating at a seafood restaurant (that turned out to be a bar to our chagrin, but no other restaurants in town), we stopped at a Shell station for coffee for the last leg of the trip. That’s where we made the purchase. It was very dark, the temperature was about 6 below zero, and we were quite anxious about what lay ahead.

“Are the directions to the college right?
Are the roads ahead ok?
Will we make it safe?
Have they got our room ready?
How will we find where to go once we get there?

Will she be glad to see us?”

I don’t know how it happened but I left my red scarf at the station. No idea what happened, but it was missing after that stop. The coffee was good and much appreciated. We made it back to the main road and continued to push north in the dark for about another hour. After that we drove for miles on side roads to get to the college which, true to everything we were told, really was out in the middle of nowhere in the woods.

Everything worked out fine. We watched our daughter practice for a concert maybe half an hour before we were finally able to see her. Fluke that it was, God worked it out for us to have a little time alone there at the beginning as we held her and talked, and laughed and cried, and talked and laughed and cried some more. It was dream come true for all of us.

The rest of the visit consisted of going to classes, attending her concert, meeting friends, meeting staff, seeing the campus, visiting a nearby town, going to church, etc. We had serious life talks about serious life issues. She had finals the following week for which we stayed out of the way as much as possible. Being at NI allowed us a first hand glimpse of who God is shaping her into, and challenged us in our own walk with Christ. In the end, the cold wasn’t a big deal.

The accounting entries are done now. I think I’ll make a cup of good coffee, sit a spell, reflect on the majesty of God, pray, and cherish the cold. It’s only a temperature.

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.