First Lessons

Since I'm chugged up with a nasty summer cold and have chosen not to share it with the whole church I'm home alone this morning.

And since Sunday morning belongs to God regardless I found a reference to my very first Prison Ministry lesson in a favorite book I was thumbing through. It took me back - quite a few years in fact.

The lesson was on Michal, the daughter of Saul and the first wife of David. The story of her life begins as a young princess in love and ends as an embittered woman left to her own misery. The passages that intrigued me to study her are found in II Samuel 6:

vs. 16 And as the ark of the Lord came into the city of David, Michal Saul's daughter looked through a window, and saw king David leaping and dancing before the Lord; and she despised him in her heart.

vs. 20 Then David returned to bless his household. And Michal the daughter of Saul came out to meet David, and said, How glorious was the king of Israel to day, who uncovered himself to day in the eyes of the handmaids of his servants, as one of the vain fellows shamelessly uncovereth himself!

The starry eyed bride who helped her husband escape death was now attacking him with everything she had. What happened?

The bottom line of the lesson is in Who/what each chose to worship. David had lost himself in worship to God. Michal worshiped, well, other things. It's that simple.

In the twelve or thirteen years that have passed since first delving into Michal's life, I've read many books and heard many lessons and sermons that continue to shed light on this thing about worship. Perhaps the best is from my pastor:

“Worship is focusing my minds attention and my heart's affection on who God is and everything He has done for me.” David Lewis

Everyone worships something. Some recognize it, some don't. Some admit it, some don't. Most go through life blindly chasing what they think will bring happiness. The list of idols is long: new (house, car, job etc), romance, finances, authority, recognition, etc. There's no denying these things bring pleasure, but good things are ultimately unsatisfying when they are THE ultimate thing. In Michal's case it was self image. She was trapped in that preteen girlish nightmare of what people thought.

I love Mark Batterson's take on this incident:

“I think David gives us a picture of pure worship. Worship is disrobing. It is taking of those things outside our relationship with Christ that we find our identity and security in. It is a reminder that our royal robes are like 'filthy rags.' It's not about what we can do for God. It's about what God has done for us. And that understanding produces the greatest freedom in the world: having nothing to prove.”

I hope you will worship with me today.  Clothed of course.

Martha and Mary Revisited

I love Martha.  She has a servant's heart, she holds herself together, she's practical and not afraid to work.  And she's been preached "against" for as long as I remember.  There's no getting around that Jesus gently turned her attention to more important matters in Luke 10, but the whole picture seems greatly out of focus when John 11 is taken into consideration.

So here we are -  two sisters and a dead brother.  Both heartbroken.  Both mourning.  Both wishing the friend they love had been there four days earlier.  And Martha finds out he's on his way.

"Rabbi, if you had been here my brother would not have died."

And here's where her true faith comes through:  " But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee."

And with these words Martha was the first one to receive some of the most powerful words recorded in the Bible, "I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE . . . "

Consider Mary now.  She's back at the house being consoled by a  bunch of people who get up and follow her to Jesus.  I don't know about you, but that tells me that Martha's being able to slip away unnoticed meant that she was holding it together.  The crowd gathered around Mary was trying to help the emotionally fragile sister from falling apart.  Or they were enjoying the show.

Think I'm being hard on Mary?  Look closer.  After falling at Jesus feet Mary said the exact same words to Jesus. "Rabbi, if you had been here my brother would not have died."

The Savior's response is dramatically different.  Instead of powerful words of comfort  he "groaned in the spirit, and was troubled."

Why would that be?  Why would Jesus offer powerful words of comfort to Martha and be troubled with Mary?

Because He knew where each was at in their spiritual progress.  Martha showed a mature faith.  Mary didn't show any faith at all.

OK, I'm going to jump off a theological cliff here and propose something radical . . .  Luke 10 happened after John 11.

It makes sense.  Jesus's gentle reprimand of Martha in Luke 10 wasn't that she was doing anything wrong . .  she had simply failed to notice that Mary finally got it!  Emotionally frail Mary's choosing that "good part" was the step of faith she had taken in coming to real  faith in the Savior, the kind that Martha had already demonstrated.  Mary later demonstrated her own faith in washing Jesus's feet.

There are Marthas in this world and there are Marys.  Some have strong faith, others struggle to come to faith at all. While the orthodox challenge to balance service with worship is a valid one, I personally think Luke 10 is more of a challenge to the Marthas of this world to be gentle and understanding of the Marys.

They are after all our sisters.

Bible Bum Raps

Call me a champion for the underdog.  I find myself taking that position in a lot of situations so it should be no wonder that I admire these people in Scripture as well.  So today starts a new tag - the same as this title.

I have believed for a long time that old St. Nick (Nicodemous - the teacher of the teachers in Jesus day) truly did understand who Jesus was and believe on Him as the Messiah.  It's one of those things that I didn't broadcast as traditional Christian thinking is to rag on St. Nick as an unbeliever.  Truth is,  John 3 doesn't tell what his response to that amazing conversation with Jesus was.  Maybe he worshiped, maybe he had to go home and think about it.  Maybe they continued talking over a latte.  Of course I'm being facetious, but you get the point.

So it was most refreshing to learn that I was not alone.  Kyle Idleman, author of Not A Fan,  gives better explanation of Nick's conversion than I care to attempt. Highly recommended reading.

John 19:39  is an interesting passage:  And there came also Nicodemus, which at the first came to Jesus by night, and brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about an hundred pound weight.

Jesus is dead.  His body had been torn to bits even before the Romans put nails in his hands and feet.  An emergency room staff would have spent several hours disinfecting and suturing the wounds from the barbaric lashes he received had they got him before the crucifixion.  No doubt they would have started antibiotics by iv and put him in icu.  Hundreds of years before it had been prophesied. 

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.  All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.  He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth.  He was taken from prison and from judgment: and who shall declare his generation? for he was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgression of my people was he stricken.  Isaiah 53: 5-8

Nick was one of "them", at least one from their social economic circle, one of the ones who would have lost their power and authority had Jesus taken his rightful place as the ruler of Israel.  Nick had  tried to talk sense into them.  He saw their hatred for this man who claimed to be the Son of God. And he knew the scriptures and saw the prophesies being fulfilled. It was probably not a surprise to him when Jesus actually died.

So he did what he could.  He treated the bloodied, torn, dead and limp body of the Son of God with the greatest honor and respect possible . . . by using 100 pounds of ointment on Him for burial.  A King's burial.  This was unheard of for a common man, but Nick knew this was not a common man that had been tortured and executed. He knew that the Messiah would not, could not, remain dead.  Other prophesies still had to be fulfilled!  And whether the Messiah would return in the same body or another form, Nick seized the opportunity for his last act of worship recorded in scripture by lavishing resources, perhaps more than Mary's box of spikenard,  on his God. 
 

Pinches and Blessings

I have to pinch myself sometimes.

Today is one of those days.

I'm up with the chickens and will load the truck at 7:15, leave at 7:30 to arrive at Farmer's Market to set up at 8:00 so we're ready to open at 9:00. For three hours we'll talk to customers, sell, visit and enjoy the atmosphere. Then it all goes in reverse – pack, load, leave.

Today is a bit different. I'm meeting my friend Mary at 1:30 and we'll set up a new retail customer with her honey and my “stuff”. I'll probably stop by the bank and do a couple of errands before dragging home exhausted and brain dead.

A regular day.

But it's not.

Despite the hustle and bustle it's a very special day - it's my Cindy's birthday. And all day long I'll be holding her close to my heart; remembering who she was, rejoicing in who she has become.

As with most firstborns we have plenty of photos of this small bald girl that came to us thirty three years ago today. So tiny, so sweet. We had no way of knowing that she carried the heart of a lion - full of passion and beauty and grace. We had no way of knowing that her Viking blood would bring forth her inner Warrior Princess - one who would fight for right. We had no way of knowing that she embodied the spirit of Tigger – joy and energy and enthusiasm. We had no way of knowing who she would become.

Today I know. Today I am honored to know the awesome woman my Cindy has become. My daughter is my hero. I find myself humbled and grateful to have been and to be a part of her life.

And I have to pinch myself, because my fondest dreams for the kind of woman she would be have not just come true, but are true and good and just and right beyond my wildest dreams.

Happy Birthday Baby. I love you.

Echos from Canaan

I just heard Caleb and Achsah again.

Our Cindy called.  Cindy is our oldest child and our affectionate nickname for the shortest person in our family is "Warrior Princess".  She may be small, but she'd take on any giant and indeed has faced some formidable ones in her life and come out victorious.

So it was no big deal when I overheard her familiar "Hey Dad!" when she called and was met with "What do you want?!"  from her father.

Boy, is that familiar!

I've loved Achsah for many a year.  There's actually very little said about this plucky gal in scripture, but suffice to say:

1) she was very much her father's daughter
2) she recognized what was good, needful and necessary
3) she wasn't afraid to go for it

Some scholars regard her as pushy while others regard her as a heroine, one who wasn't afraid to brave the challenges of conquering a new land.  And the highly theological regard her as an example for prayer.

Until today I didn't have any source that explained this remarkable woman the way I understand her from my own study  -  so if you're up for a bit of reading and don't mind wading through the explanations to get to know her better, you're in for a treat on this much appreciated (by me!) page.

And you're in for a bit of insight to a beautiful father/daughter relationship that's been repeated for centuries and in my own family as well.

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!