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.

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.