Aspire To Lead A Quiet Life

Simply Darlene

2011-07-21T08:25:00.000-07:00

Hey! I have a new blog called Simply Darlene.

You can find me over yonder... I miss ya.

A Proper Church Lady I Am Not

2011-05-26T16:07:00.000-07:00

What does that Annie Oakley sort of image have to do with me? Well, I reckon you ought to follow me over here to find out.

And if you are still coming to this old blog, just stop it. I miss ya. Come to my new place. Please. ;-)

Light-bulb Moment

2011-05-17T14:43:00.000-07:00

Heya. I have several new pieces over at my other site, ya know, the one where I have unpacked my blogging bags?

Here's one about a homeschooling light-bulb moment.

Perpendicularity

Here's one about writing, and I ask you some questions.
It's a good conversation so far.

What's the Purpose of Literature?

Here's one about this kid I know.
There are a few photos included too.

Where's Pa?

Hope to see you in the new neighborhood.

Blessings.

Writers Drive...

2011-05-02T07:53:00.000-07:00

Alrighty, I have a new blog and I am working out the kinks on the design. Perhaps I should have left well enough alone and stayed here at blogger, but I didn't. I moved. It's rather like starting out again--well, I reckon because I am.

Starting.
Over.
Again.

Here's a post I wrote Saturday about the responsibility of writers.

Somebody Finally Told Me

2011-04-22T08:57:00.000-07:00

Before coming to know the Lord as my Savior, nobody ever told me the meaning of Easter.

As a schoolgirl I did notice that some of my "churchy" friends skipped the hot lunch meat a couple days the week prior to Easter. When I asked, they merely mumbled. What I heard was not noteworthy, I don't think they even mentioned Christ. All I got out of it was they do it because it's what they're supposed to do.

Nobody ever told me why they gave up something.

Living in the country and mostly staying home on weekends, I wasn't privy to seeing ladies dressed in grande floral dresses, donning bonnets, and holding hands with little girls dressed the same, only wearing pink tights instead of nylons. How did I know such fanciful outfits exist? Oh, I saw their likes on the TV or at the grocery store, thumbing through the heads of lettuce.

Nobody ever told me why their eyes sparkled and why they were dressed so nice.

From childhood and well into my adult years I still thought Easter was some sort of springtime celebration that welcomed baby chicks and fuzzy bunnies. I thought it was about eating jelly bean candy and chocolate bunnies. I thought it was about hunting for hard-boiled, colored eggs and baskets filled with strange plastic grass.

Nobody ever told me why it was a day everyone smiled.

Along the way, seeds were planted when my grandma sang "Rock of Ages" as she fried chicken and mashed potatoes on summer nights spent at the farm. Along the way seeds were watered when someone asked if they could pray for an ill member of my family. Along the way, folks privately prayed for my salvation.

Then the one Easter a friend invited us to church. I told her I did not have a pretty floral dress, let alone a bonnet. She smiled and said it didn't matter. Wear my jeans. And my boots. Just come. I was pregnant with our son and I was very ill with morning/afternoon/evening sickness. I spend more time out in the bushes alongside the church than I did inside. Strangers, women from inside, came out and talked with me. Someone brought me water. My friend, she patted my back each time I returned.

I heard only bits of the message... God had a son named Jesus. Jesus died. A few days later, Jesus came alive again and walked right out of a tomb. He walked and talked among some ladies and fellows He knew. God and Jesus did this because they love me. I could belong to Jesus and His dad. And they could take all my sins away.

I started to understand... because somebody finally told me.

One year later, to the day, those very same friends sat in our little country church with their two kids. She held my five-month old baby while he encouraged us with smiles (and silent prayer I am certain). My husband and I took turns professing our dedication, devotion, commitment, and acceptance of Christ as our Saviour. Rather than wear our Easter Sunday best, we approached the pastor covered in all manner of sinful gunk. We were dunked and brought up outta the water, risen to live a new life in and for Christ.

... as I stood there, dripping and crying and smiling, I finally understood most things nobody ever told me. On the anniversary of His resurrection, I also rose to a life everlasting.

Sunday is the seven-year baptism anniversary for my husband and me. Now we are raising a little warrior for Christ. And you can be sure, he understands what all the Easter hoopla is really about.

* I have moved to a new blog called SIMPLY DARLENE,

please come over and read something more of what it means
to be a child of God's...

and don't forget to change your subscription thingy
so you know when I've posted something new ;-)

Pull Up A Chair

2011-04-04T14:10:00.000-07:00

Come if you are able

I’ve got anew place,

A new table

Ready for spring

And all that she

Buds

Bursts

Grows

Sings.

So pull up a chair...

To read the rest of this poem at my new place, come on over...

Here are some reads at my new place:

* Come If You Are Able

* Sort of Man

* an introduction to Simply Darlene

Blank Pages

2011-03-24T21:46:00.000-07:00

Blank pages scare me.

It's because they stare so hard, so blatant, so unabashed. Oh, the nerve! There they are, usually one piled atop another, with their parallel blue lines, just waiting. Perhaps they want me to tickle their fancy with ink rhymes about spoons, moons, and raccoons? Or maybe the white spaces are looking for clickity mechanical pencils to uncover stories about teenage tandem-bicycle joyrides? What if the cursor sits and blinks, blinks, blinks, but can be put out of it's annoying, repetitive misery by typed words about this country girl I know who wore cowboy boots to her wedding and slept in the bed of a pick-up for her honeymoon?

Oh wait! I have something here, a poem-story-poem merger:

long after the honeymoon
a raccoon
tried to eat the moon
with a spoon
But since he couldn't reach the moon he opted for one of my son's red-feathered laying hens. One dead chicken, one sad kid, and one mad mamma. The next day I found mister black eyes, harassing the girls by trying to wring their necks right inside of the coop. In broad daylight, no less. So I shot at him. I missed that mean ole 'coon
but now he eats the moon
with a big hole
in his spoon.

Blank pages scare me.

What about you? What scares you more, blank pages or words that I have written?

* Thank you for all of your prayers and thoughts and kind words regarding my equine mishap. I am much better, but I overdo it a bit and then have to take it easy; we have a lot going on here at the ole ranchola. Basically, I think something shook free as a result of my recent head-thumping because I have oodles of noodles, no, actually, I have oodles of stuff I have penned. I caution you to read it at your own risk because oodles of noodles make for interesting blog fodder... whatever.

A Letter

2011-03-16T20:11:00.000-07:00

Dear People of Japan,

May ripples of petals
and scents of prayers
reign on your shores.

Love,
me

This post and the header image are dedicated to my friend,

miss Kathy, simply because our tears mingle
and her ache is mine.

And yes, miss, I am heading straight back to bed,

so don't go opening your Texas size can of whoop just yet.

Time Out

2011-03-08T13:39:00.000-08:00

Taking some time out for this crazy concussion and back injury recovery...

Thanks for your prayers and kind words.

Now i have an excuse for my synaptic-al misfirings,

a crack in the skull will do that to a person.

And no, I am not trading my horse in for three goats. Although if you would've asked me Saturday night, I would have said "yes" to the exchange. However, I may invent super-duper saddle velco.

Blessings.

Whispers-n-Feathers

2011-03-04T08:23:00.000-08:00

Quail. Two flocks of those silly birds live here. I especially love their little hangy-down, forehead feathers. (Yes, I am sure that is the official name.)

This is what I spied the other day. From what I could hear, mister quail did all the talking. You can click each image for a better view of the quail couple's escapade.

While standing at the puddle edge, mister quail forms an idea.

He invites mrs. quail for a night on the town
--after whispering tweet nothings in her ear.

Follow me hon!
Yes, you need to get out from behind the tree.
No, they don't care how you are dressed,
really.

What did i tell ya?
this jive is jumping!

Let's flap
and dance.

Yes, ma'am, it's okay
to shake
your
tail-feathers!

...later on mrs. quail whispers her own
tweet nothings in his ear

Of course they know just how
to maneuver around those hangy-down, forehead feathers.

* If you need to eavesdrop on yet another conversation, join me here

Come, sit with me.

2011-03-03T07:59:00.000-08:00

There's room
aplenty
at the counter

for elbows
coffee cups
and honey-soaked
crumbs.

for tears
laughter
and heart-squeezed
prayers.

* Thank you, friends, for joining me as I need to grasp His goodness and cling tight by His strength

and look ahead in hopeful expectation of the good that is coming.

So let him walk...

2011-03-01T07:32:00.000-08:00

But as God has distributed

to each one,

as the Lord has called

each one,

so let him walk.

~ 1 Cor. 7:17 (NKJV)

We are moving. Again.

Moving.

Again.

It's hard to fathom the constant state of flux my family has been in for the past couple of years. Massive lay-offs. A job relocation. An almost yearlong separation. One cat pee mess of a rental house. Followed by one lovely rental house.

And finally, just three months ago, we bought just the right home and property; it suits our family and our critters just fine.

But...

I am re-packing the barely unpacked boxes. I am sorting. I am tossing. I am donating. I am wondering why my family has so much stuff.

I am also wondering why someone who craves roots and history and strong family ties and living on the same land as previous generations, has been living a life much akin to that of a gypsy.

Family...

When push comes to shove, it's all about family. It's about the here and now family. Not the days gone by family. It's about my husband and our son.

Mainly, it's about God as our Father.

He has opened doors so we shall follow.

Despite the pain and strain of a separation and yet another house sale in a muddy market, we shall follow where He leads.

Someone once had the sensitivity of a porcupine as she told me, "Well, I never. I never could allow my family to be separated. I never. I never could spend one night away from my husband."

Then she slowly shook her head back and forth, pursed-up her lips like she'd just sucked a lemon, and looked up through lowered lashes. You know what I'm talking about. She looked at me in disgust.

Family...

My family. We seek God. We follow Him.

When we ask for doors to open, do we dare not to step through? I think not.

I like routine. I like normalcy. I like unpacked boxes. Really, I do. I want to feel comfortable in a home I call my own.

Don't we all?

It is not in my genetic make-up to be a vagabond. I've always wanted...

to swing from the same tree, to wade in the same creek, to plant in the same dirt, to walk the same halls, to gaze upon the same sunset horizon, to hold the same doorknobs

as those before me in my Montana lineage, all in the farmhouse my grandpa built on homesteaded land.

But...

God has different plans.

Perhaps...

He is busy showing me, teaching me, leading me,

along the paths that lead to Him.

Paths that crest upon a mountaintop follow trails that are sometimes steep, sometimes rocky. The summit is where one catches her breath.

And looks around.

Where one knows...

that her earthly home is just a roof and walls.

If anyone would like to speak sass to me and/or look at me through lowered lashes, go on, go on. I mean go on and do it already.

Whatever makes you feel better,

good. I'll even give ya a lemon of your very own.

(But then I'll pray for you,

cause you've missed the point in all of your scorekeeping about what a perfect family situation looks like.)

This time, instead of biting my lip and looking away,I reckon I'll say...

"I've got news for you, my friend. Between boxes and red duct tape and markers

and real estate transactions, my boys and I,

well, we are wrapped in Our Heavenly Father's Love.

And there ain't no place we'd rather be."

Please join my family in thanking God and praising Him for how He is going to bless our family as we sell this home and move, yet again. Thank Him! Praise Him! We are eagerly awaiting,in hopeful anticipation,and with hearts bursting of thanksgiving of how He will continue to bless and guide us.

That's the way one ought to live. And pray.

And if you fancy the back story of our relocation saga, just search "relocation" in that nifty little search box. I don't have the time or patience to link all the stories for ya. I've got folks coming by this morning to help us get ready for selling this beautiful home. So, I gotta go get out of my pj's and into my jeans.

Playing with Emily

2011-02-28T08:30:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I talk to myself, other times I talk to the books I read, and all the time I wish I could talk to those who penned the words that I eat...

I'll tell you how the sun rose,-
one ribbon at a time.

I'll tell you how the Lord loves,-
each sinner all of the time.

Then I said softy to myself,
"That must have been the sun!"

Then I said to the crowd,
"I cannot believe He gave His only Son!"

* italicized, gray words are Emily Dickinson's from "I'll Tell You How the Sun Rose."

For Whom Do you Play?

2011-02-24T09:02:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I stopped by Billy Coffey's place and there I found exactly what I am used to, a big ole heart, a faith-tainted view, and a story that speaks volumes beyond the printed word. This time he wrote about Albert Pujols, a baseball player for the St. Louis Cardinals, who, in Billy's words, is "A good one. So good, in fact, that at the tender age of thirty-one, he's already considered among the best to ever play the game." And as sometimes happens when I read Billy's work, a connection was formed. But this time it was different. This time it was as if I already had met his words in another place. This odd sensation wriggled around and around, until quite frankly, I had to know why.

Finally, after digging through last summer's images, I discovered my reason for the insistent familiarity. Two photographs.

For me, photography isn't just about seeing what or who I've caught in my camera's crossfire, it's about feeling & smelling & tasting & hearing. And knowing. Knowing that my God, the God of the universe, made not only me, but all of this for His good pleasure.

In response to Billy's story, I knew what to do with the images.

I had to share...
the sound of cleats grinding into dirt,
the smell of buttered popcorn ,
the joy of stolen bases ,
stained t-shirt from dripping hot dogs ,
& bleachers erupting in screams of home-run delight.

But I also had to ask the obvious question resulting from the merger of Billy's story and my images, "For Whom Do You Play?"

Swing the bat-
crack!

Saddle the horse-
ride!

Launch the kite-
fly!

Run the race-
Run the race-
but why?

Let us run with endurance the race

that is set before us!

Looking unto Jesus,

the author and finisher of our faith!

* the last poem stanza is Hebrews 12:1-2 (NKJV); I added the exclamation punctuation

* both photographs taken by me, A Simple Country Girl; August 2010

* you may click on the images for a better view

Thanks mister Billy, for always inspiring.

Always inspiring.

Five Words or Less

2011-02-21T07:41:00.000-08:00

Monday, Monday, Monday

sometimes we just need it

to be a Funday, Funday, Funday...

So, what is my doggy sayin' to you?

(5 words or less)

Wherever You Go...

2011-02-15T08:48:00.000-08:00

Entreat me not to leave you,

Or to turn back from following after you;

For wherever you go, I will go;

And wherever you lodge, I will lodge;

Your people shall be my people,

And your God, my God.

~ Ruth 1:16 (NKJV)

I pray that we shall never, ever, not ever, neglect how we lead another.

Our words hold power.

Our bodies hold strength.

But our hearts hold God...

and our actions demonstrate how we set Him free.

Do you set God Almighty free to run...

free enough for others to see

and even follow?

* We have four horses, three of which are Curlies.

The Curly is a breed well-suited for those allergic to all things equine.

Like me.

Yeah, being a country girl all my life has been fraught with insane allergies, anaphylactic shock, hives,

itching, obscene sneezing, antihistamines,

and copious amounts of snot.

Then came the Curly horse.

Hair somewhat like a poodle, curly.

Bodies somewhat shaped like a barrel.

Mostly hypoallergenic, but each person still has to find

horses suitable to their allergy needs.

Ever since I caught my husband putting our 4-month old, diaper-clad baby atop his "regular" horse

and over the toddler-years as I stood on the porch

as they rode double, trotting off into the wild blue yonder,

I knew something had to change.

And I'm not just talking about their horse-tainted clothes.

Then came the Curly horse...

or in our case, two Curlies,

and one not yet born, but in-utero.

So, there you have it. Actually, there you see it.

My horse, Eclipse, the one my son is riding & training,

now you know why she's got some funky hair and

a really awesome dread-lock mane.

(click on the images to see what I'm talking about)

Since my 7-year old has a way with critters,

much like his father,

I am letting the little fella train my horse.

Oh, I've ridden that mare.

She's rubbed me off on a tree

and the gooseneck of the horse trailer.

She's stood stubborn and non-moving.

She's run like a wild thing.

We are too much alike.

I'll let my boys gentle her

and gentle me.

Eclipse and Snicks; photo taken 3 years ago.
The Curly horse actually sheds it's curls in warm weather.

I pray that we shall never, ever, not ever, neglect how we lead another.

On Sharing Love...

2011-02-11T08:02:00.000-08:00

God's readiness to give and forgive is now public.

Salvation's available for everyone!

We're being shown how to turn our backs on a godless, indulgent life, and how to take on a God-filled, God-honoring life.

This new life is starting right now.

~ Titus 2:11-12

For this is the original message we heard:

We should love each other.

~ 1 John 3:11

This is how we've come to understand and experience love:

Christ sacrificed his life for us.

This is why we ought to live sacrificially for our fellow believers, and not just be out for ourselves.

If you see some brother or sister in need and have the means to do something about it but turn a cold shoulder and do nothing,

what happens to God's love?

~ 1 John 3:16-17

My dear children, let's not just talk about love;

let's practice real love.

This is the only way we'll know we're living truly,

living in God's reality.

~ 1 John 3:18

My beloved friends,

let us continue to love each other since love comes from God.

Everyone who loves is born of God and experiences a relationship with God. The person who refuses to love doesn't know the first thing about God, because God is love

—so you can't know him if you don't love.

This is how God showed his love for us: God sent his only Son into the world so we might live through him.

This is the kind of love we are talking about...

~ 1 John 4:7-10

God is love.

When we take up permanent residence in a life of love,

we live in God and God lives in us.

This way, love has the run of the house,

becomes at home and mature in us...

~ 1 John 4:17

~ all quoted scripture: The Message

Are you sharing His love today?

How?

It doesn't take much... just time, scissors, construction paper, envelopes, addresses, and a willing heart. Oh yes, don't forget the glue.

~ If you so desire, you can click on each image above to see the details. You know about details, right? Those are the often-overlooked tiny places where God shines.

Soul Holes

2011-02-06T18:54:00.000-08:00

"Trust God's Word and His power

more than you trust

your own feelings and experiences.

Remember, your Rock is Christ,

and it is the sea that ebbs and flows

with the tides, not Him."

~ Samuel Rutherford (March 10 of Streams in the Desert by L.B. Cowman)

He waits.

He waits.

No matter the pattern of your life,
No matter the color of your fabric,

He waits.

He waits,

for you.

* Are you willing and able to live fully right where you are?

~ Yes and no. Sometimes I try and succeed and usually when I get it right, it's because I am living this hymn:

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount, I'm fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing;

Robert Robinson, 1735-1790

* If not, why?

~ When it's not working, when my focus get off-kilter, and when I get all outta whack, it's generally because I have become so comfortable with my own soul holes that I've made an idol out of my despair.

* What about you? How do you live fully
right where you are?

I am reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp.

Many others are doing a bi-weekly book study over at (in)Courage's book club site, Bloom. There you will find insightful posts, wonderful video discussions with the author, and lots of comments.

Since I am not keen on crowds I'll just sorta share my thoughts, mingled with quotes, scripture, songs, and images, right here on the sidelines.

For The Least of These--from Nebraska

2011-02-04T16:46:00.000-08:00

Generous hands are blessed hands
because they give bread to the poor

~ Proverbs 22:9 (MSG)

For he has not ignored

or belittled the suffering

of the needy.

He has not turned his back on them,
but has listened to their cries

for help.

~ Psalm 22:24 (NLT)

where the only profit is for God's children

Thank you very much, miss Michelle,both for the kind words today on your blog and for the donation of images to

for The Least of These.

Please click over to Michelle's place to find out more...

Christmas Day Orphans

2011-02-02T09:12:00.000-08:00

Orphans. The mere word conjures depressing images of tears, diapers, snotty noses and sorrowful thoughts of hungry tummies, starving hearts, and empty hands. Babies. Toddlers. Children.

But, are they the only orphans?

I think not. Let me share a story, intertwined with poetry, about Christmas Day 2010...

After attending a church service and eating a shared meal with other church goers, my son and I joined forces with another family to visit a nearby old folks home. Unfortunately my husband was called to work duty so he headed to phones and computers. My son and I headed to the nursing home attached to the backside of the hospital in our small, eastern Washington farming town.

Orphans live
in nursing homes.
Sometimes their feet
are cold
as they are oft forgotten
once their own kids
have grown.
Now these aged, wrinkled
folks
are just plain old.

No one tucks covers,
slips socks over toes,
plumps pillows,
or puts a thick layer
of blackberry jam
on whole wheat toast
covered in layers of butter,
cinnamon & sugar.

My friend had a list of residents who had no scheduled outings and no expected visitors coming for Christmas Day. She and her family know most of the folks as they come monthly to sing and share. My son and I? It was our first time through the doors. My little fella has a giant heart for the elderly. His best friend at church is a woman who is nearly ninety years old.

I admit, I was worried (about my reaction, about the smells, about the sadness) and anxious (to love someone in my community) and excited about Jesus (after all, it was His birthday and I thought this would be a fine non-wrapped gift to give my King).

Both families lugged boxes full of gifts and goodies. She not only got a list of residents, but she spoke with staff to discover a need that could be met with a gift for the old-timers. My son and I spent part of the previous day buying and then stuffing plastic bags with oranges, boxed raisins, fruit pies, granola bars, chocolate kisses, and crayon notes.

Loose minds
replace tight, orderly thoughts
and teeth soak in cups
on counters, sticky with
yesterday's memories.

Hands tremble, fear
invades
and televisions blare
in their one-room space.

Among our boxes of simple gifts were a new pair of soft slippers, a bottle of lotion that smells of honeysuckles, a fuzzy and cuddly-worthy blanket, and thirteen plastic bags, zipped and filled with snacks.

Sure, all of that stuff bought smiles. But it was the stuff of us that actually brought the love.

When those nursing home doors
swung open
as four
kids and three adults
knocked hips and boxes and elbows,
we stepped gently,
applied band-aids to broken
hearts
that lay, barely
glittering on
disinfectant-scrubbed floors.

One man in particular, I wanted to bring home. I wondered if his children and grandchildren will let me adopt? Or do I just have to go back to the sterile facility time and again to find him as he walks the halls with his memories... memories that he proudly wears as cowboy boots, loose Wrangler jeans, a Veteran of Foreign Wars beret covered in shiny buttons, and a soft smile?

That old man
and I,
we hugged.

After our motley group of crooners sang Christmas carols with each resident, visited while they opened wrapping paper and plastic, my friend's husband led us all in prayer. We did this about ten times. Smiles and hugs and tears soaked me heavy.

That old man
and I,
we hugged.

Because
when I
turned to leave
for the next
wrinkled soul,
my heart strings
were tugged.
Tight.

He took something from me that day. And I am going back to give him some more. You can count on that.

That old man
and I,
we hugged.

Because
our hearts were
knit
together
by God's
divine fingers.

Sure most definitions of "orphan" include the verbiage "no parents," "fatherless," "motherless," and even "adopted," but whilst looking at the online dictionaries, I did find a definition or two that describes an "orphan" as "one lacking supervision." And even as "a person lacking care."

Psst, you there. Come closer. I have something to tell you... Orphans sometimes are found beneath thin skin and wrinkles. They have hungry tummies, starving hearts, and empty hands too.

And what about those wrinkles? Well, I discovered that those wrinkles actually minister to the orphan in me.

* I submitted this for The High Calling poetry challenge.

Click over for additional words woven around orphans.

Please.

It's February, the month of love.

What are you doing for the sake of love?

Hands & Hearts

2011-02-01T07:31:00.000-08:00

Let us now join hands and hearts as we lift up prayers on behalf of Tessa, daughter of Kathleen and Craig; Tessa, princess daughter of our most High God.

Join me in climbing the ladder to the cross.

Please.

Bear one another’s burdens,

and so fulfill the law

of Christ.

~ Galatians 6:2

my church's bell tower, with ladder shadow

that their hearts may be encouraged,

being knit together

in love

~ Colossians 2:2

* Friends, last September I had the wild pleasure of joining hands and hearts with my friend, miss Kathleen. She hugs and gives and encourages like no other woman I know. Here is a snip-it of our meeting:

In addition to music that made my heart sing, I got to meet miss Kathleen. The love and kindness and sisterhood that this woman of God poured on me were showers from heaven. She and her husband drove six hours, six hours, to meet me and mine. They endured interesting campground residents and lots of rain. Our little country church welcomed them, fed them, and loved on them.

I sat with miss Kathleen and her husband for the latter part of the concert. And we got to hold hands in prayer while Nathan closed the evening with words of praise to God.

miss Kathleen & the hands she uses

to bless others with friendship and love

Hands.

Musically-gifted hands.

Motherly hands.

Friendly hands.

Do you realize how God's blessings pour?

They pour forth

out of

such

hands.

Now it is our turn to do the same unto Kathleen and her family... pour out such blessings.

Recent Diagnosis

2011-01-28T08:02:00.000-08:00

I am suffering from Middle Finger Bump Disintegration. The affliction has targeted my right hand, precisely the space between the tip of my middle finger and my first knuckle. The disease has ravaged the side closest to my pointer finger.

Go ahead and look at your own hand. Once you get an anatomical idea, please read on...

Well folks, the other day, after I finished chores and while I rubbed warm blood back into my hands, I discovered the anatomical malady of Middle Finger Bump Disintegration. I used to have a large, sometimes even ink-stained, callous that bumped up against my pointer finger. It protruded like some sort of boney growth. Imagine my shock and awe as I noticed that mine is completely missing; it's apparently disintegrated into oblivion! And this is really ba-aad (you might want to pull the little kiddies away from the screen)... the area has turned soft.

There is only one remedy for my condition. Sometimes it's painful. And although rare, it has been reported that some people even contract splinters while applying the restorative treatment.

Bring it on! I want my middle finger bump back!

I'm a tough girl. And as my tall, strapping, hunk of a husband generally adds to such a statement, "Yeah, you're tough. Tough smelling all right." Oh, don't get your knickers in a knot, only a country girl can count that as a term of endearment.

Anyway, back to my medical condition, I am tough and I am ready for the re-building, actually, the "reformation" if you will, of my middle finger bump.

Ailment: Middle Finger Bump Disintegration

Treatment: Write with a wooden pencil, sometimes use a mechanical one, and oftentimes use an ink pen.

Prescription Warnings: During treatment, especially in the first days, some minor irritation and swelling may occur. If it does, do NOT apply ice, just rub finger across lips and get back at it. No pain, no gain, sister.

Prognosis: If patient cooperates & participates & doesn't fluctuate far from the treatment plan, her severe case of MFBD will likely reverse.

Additional Notes: A Simple Country Girl must keep her target in-sight, use the proper tools, and self-administer the treatment plan every single day.

Crayon,

pencil,

or pen

yellow legal pads,

and eat-in restaurant tabs

smoothed out napkins

and the back of grocery store tallies.

Words scratch

into the paper fibers.

Healing is found

in the grip

of my hand

and the drip

of my heart

both bleed.

One, blood.

And the other, ink.

Would you like to read any of it?

By the way, how's your bump?

One Word

2011-01-24T08:27:00.000-08:00

God.

Your God.

Lord your God.

The Lord your God.

Seek the Lord your God.

Do you seek the Lord your God?

How do you seek the Lord your God?

Isn’t it amazing how one additional word changes each sentence, while leaving the focus the same?

So, did you answer the questions?

I did.

Do you seek the Lord your God?

Yes.

How do you seek the Lord your God?

With fervor

and joy.

With emptiness

and fullness.

With desperation

and love.

One Year Ago...

2011-01-20T16:37:00.000-08:00

This is where I was just one year ago... tight in His healing, renewing, forgiving, grace-filled, and loving grasp. And guess what? This is where I plan to stay.

What about you?

Do you carry any burdens or wounds?

Are you ready and willing to hand it over to the only One who can hoist the heaviness off of your soul?

Join me today over at Healing Hearts, Renewing Minds for the entire story. Please.

Oh yes, I must forewarn you about what you will find at the ministry site -- in order to accept a great healing, one must first have a ginormous wound.

My Work

2011-01-19T19:59:00.000-08:00

For this month’s PhotoPlay, we were instructed to "capture your workspace creatively using one of the techniques" (close-up, overexposure, low angle, and/or rule of thirds focus).

In a funk of sorts, I have not used my camera in days, but I wanted to take a couple of images for this prompt. I selected this one because, well, the others were blurry. But the more I look at it, the more it appeals to me.

My son.

My kitchen.

Each of these are my work.

In addition to the actual prompt, Claire asked the question: "What frustrations does your workplace bring?"

I love the kid.
I love being in the kitchen.

So, the only frustration I have at my place of work is that I cannot properly teach every homeschool subject on the kitchen counter!

It's far from the best image I've ever shot, the focal point is questionable, but it is an image of my workplace. And it encompasses what I love so it's a winner to me.

And whatever you do,

do it heartily, as to the Lord

and not to men,

knowing that from the Lord

you will receive the reward

of the inheritance;

for you serve the Lord Christ.

~ Colossians 3:23&24 (NKJV)

Wondering

2011-01-18T07:54:00.000-08:00

Regarding Sunday morning:

As we clang knees
and gently climb
over the staunchly seated,
pew-end elderly,
do we tumble
toward the sanctuary’s center
because of our weekly habit
or
because of our weakness & desperation?

Is Rest for Wimps?

2011-01-11T07:39:00.000-08:00

Our oft

womanly-pattern,

the Proverbs 31

gal,

does she ever

sit

And be

still?

Or just make

oatmeal

shrouded in

honeyed darkness

and hours later

mend

socks

While dinner

simmers

And bubbles

hot

As golden

day’s

light

wanes?

Is her essence

sweet

savory

just salty?

Who can catch her

for even

a lick

or a hasty

taste

As she scuttles,

to and froe

Hopping,

jumping,

dancing,

and

Fizzing

like spit

on a hot

griddle?

I reckon

Mrs. Proverbs 31

thinks

rest is

for

wimps.

Holding

The Book,

I close

worn pages

Ashamedly

Loose tears

slide down

my face,

I tuck chin

to chest

and admit

My spit

has officially

fizzled

sit

In dark,

in still

next to the wood

stove

as apples

simmer

In cinnamon sauce

I discover rest

isn’t

really

for wimps

…then I hang

wet

laundry

on a frozen

line

and watch

Steam

cling

to noonday’s

light.

* I snapped this picture last week

and birthed this poem just now,

because of the Random Acts of Poetry prompt by Marcus Goodyear, senior editor

at The High Calling:

So where are your edges? What are your struggles?

For next Friday’s Random Act of Poetry,

write a poem about one of your struggles,

but be gentle with yourself.

Ride your own dark ambitions,

gently on a donkey...

* And to answer my own question of "Is rest for wimps?" I would say "nope." I know for certain that am not a wimp. (Seriously, I own a heavy bag, a speed bag, I have pepper spray on my key chain, and I know some take-down moves.) Really though, I am just a woman. A woman in need of occasional rest.

Please Pray

2011-01-06T09:55:00.000-08:00

Yesterday's small town tragedy is today's local, state, and national front page news.

Rainier Police chief dies after shooting

Rainier, Oregon is where my family moved from just over one year ago. Although we were not personally acquainted with Chief Ralph Painter, still we remain intertwined with the community and are connected to those whose roots do run deep with the fallen officer.

Please pray for the family, the friends, the fellow officers, and the entire community as folks come to grips with yesterday's shooting.

Wild Winds Howl

2011-01-03T11:09:00.000-08:00

Wild winds

howl

frozen

whispers

down the back

of my neck,

exposed.

Wrap

scarf,

tuck frayed ends

into coat,

scoop chin

inside,

covered.

Wild winds

howl

loud

screeches

deep in

my heart,

chapped.

Wrap

love,

mend ratted

and tattered,

tuck inside,

covered.

Taking a break, yet again. This third move has about done me in. Priorities need realigned.

Bodies need fed wholesome meals, cross-country skiing, and love simmered in the crock-pot, alongside black beans and chili powder.

Souls need nourishment even more.

Photography ministry likely meeting closed doors. I stepped ahead of God on that project and perhaps focused on me too much. Sometimes mistakes cost time and money and good intentions.

Family focus needs adjustment and a new lens too.

I must write, with pen and paper, like the old days before the computer haze. I can bleed ink onto paper and watch cuts mend before my eyes...

especially when His Words become the litmus pages.

New growth doesn't need Spring

or green grass,

just a tired and soaked heart,

willing to seek

His guidance

before sprouting

in fertile dirt

right where planted.

Because I have shared where I am today, I am linking to L.L.'s group at Seedlings in Stone:

Interestingly food has taken a forefront for me again and one of the places (The High Calling) I frequent is currently focusing on food too. I used to do a better job of keeping up a simple health and raw food blog (but then we moved, again and again and yet again).

Health is one of my passions and achieving optimal health through food has been my focus for years. I used to teach people how to do this. I even have a college degree in School & Community Health Education and amazingly people actually paid me to share my knowledge with them. Likely when I get things sorted out around here, I will intermingle health and food on this site too. (recipes, tips, factoids, resources, etc.)

Yesterday's Lack

2010-12-30T08:38:00.001-08:00

Yesterday's lack

of bright

rainbow colors

gave pause

for focus--

today's gain.

How's your focus?

Priorities

2010-12-28T09:23:00.000-08:00

... So, here I am once more, knee-deep in boxes, clutter, and disorganization. Folks, this is not the way I want to start a new year. Not only is my home a mess, but honestly, I fear that my heart is also a mess. Again.

I wanna start things right with the ringing in of a new year.

- Who doesn't?

I wanna be organized.

- Who doesn't?

I wanna do something spectacular this year.

- Who doesn't?

I wanna, I wanna, I wanna...

That is beginning to sound a lot like whining. And I don't know about you, but whining is ba-aaad. It shreds me like moldy cheese over a grater. I do not like it. I don't tolerate it from my kid so why do I tolerate it from the recesses of my own heart? Me, me, me, I, I, I.

If you want to read the rest of the story, please join me over at HHRM today.

* Photo credit: I snapped that image a few months ago of my son's dog. He seems to be sporting an attitude. How about you?

Star Bright?

2010-12-27T08:03:00.000-08:00

What can a girl do

when she can't get her

after Christmas star

to shine

bright?

When hiding under covers

for an entire day

is not an option

and

There's not enough

hot water for

a long cleansing cry

in a steaming

shower

and

Christmas memories,

barely tucked,

are measured with tears

shed by the neglected elderly

at the nursing home

and

Their sorrow

intermingled with some gifts

of (supposed) joy & snacks & slippers

& Christmas carols

& friend-led prayers

After husband worked

days that bled into nights

Because when a mess

happens and stuff hits

the fan,

he is the one

who gets the call

Everyone else's

clean-up man

...while others gathered

and gifted

and sang

and played cards

Bumping shoulders

next to twinkling

stars

on lit Christmas trees.

What can a girl do

when she can't get her

after Christmas star

to shine

bright?

Drop to knees

bow low

fall on face

lay upon cracked heart,

smashing it into dirty carpet

Let the tears

fall

like a drippy faucet

leaking out

every drop

of disappointment

Sit by the manger

stare at the Babe

gaze at the glittery gold

star taped

to the wall

Such as that

led seeking men in

desert robes

across the sand

Just remember

I am only

flesh and blood

fashioned from the rib

of an earthly man

So my star

need not be bright

For it is

supposed to be

His

that shines

everlasting Light

* I cannot find the scripture where He says

we become small and He becomes great.

Please, if you know it, share it with me.

THANK YOU for your kind words of encouragement

and for pointing me in the proper scriptural direction ...
John 3:30

I am keeping the comments tucked in my heart today.

That's where I need them most.

Blessings.