super tuesday

I must confess I am watching more TV tonight than I did on Super Bowl Sunday night. I guess for us, "Super Tuesday" is our Super Bowl, political junkees that we are. It's no secret that these primaries are like none other in history, and it has been a fascinating ride. Doesn't sound like it's over either. Boniface brought yellow roses (got them for a steal at our new Trader Joe's) to our Bible study this afternoon, and they are wonderful eye candy relief as we watch the returns tonight.  Thank you, thoughtful friend! 

trial run

It's not often I practice a recipe, but I saw mini quiches somewhere and wanted to try them. I could not find the recipe, of course, so found something similar online, but without the piecrust I wanted. So I thought I'd give it a whirl, adapting the recipe. This was on my mind this morning, so I got up early to get it started and sure enough it worked! It will be nice for a ladies' brunch or (hint) Young Girls' Valentine Tea Party ... And, when Spouse got up, there was breakfast for him! Now, the question is, can I do it the same again?

look before you leap!

I told my friend the other day to remind her girls that "this is the year!!" She didn't seem to know what I was talking about -- even when I said, "they can propose to a man this year." In fact, everyone around the table we were sitting at seemed clueless about what I was talking about, so I began to doubt myself what I was saying.

But now, after ever-so-thorough research, I know it's true. That is, the fable or myth is true, if that's a possible statement. St. Patrick was the beginning, on the British Isles. In the late 4th, early 5th century, St. Bridget, head of the nunnery, went to St. Patrick, then bishop of Ireland, for help. All the sisters were in revolt, demanding the right to propose marriage to reluctant suitors. (Guess nuns could marry in those days.) St. Patrick was sympathetic for these women living in a society where only men could do the asking so he decreed that women be allowed to propose marriage during one year out of four. The "open season on bachelors" took place during Leap Year, and has ever since. (Leap Year occurring every four years in order to keep the calendar year syncronised with the seasonal or astronomical year.)

Apparently Bridget asked St. Patrick to marry her and he gently refused, softening the rejection with a kiss and a silk gown. Thereafter, men were obliged to make some sort of payment for refusing a marriage offer.  This was an unwritten law in the British Isles for many centuries, and in 1228 the Scottish parliament passed legislation imposing a heavy fine on any man refusing a proposal of marriage from a woman.

And where did the term "Leap Year" come from? The every four years that we needed that extra day to catch up.  "Leap Day" actually was completely ignored in financial and legal matters, with anything falling on that extra day dated  Feb. 28th rather than 29th. Therefore that date was "leaped over" as if it did not exist.

Of course things have changed significantly over time, and such things as  April Fool's Day and Leap Year are no longer taken seriously. But it is fun to know the history of such things. And, for my husband's cousin, we certainly won't leap over her birthday this year on the 29th. She's only had about eleven!

Nothing in My Hand

When I have nothing in my hand

Where with to serve my King,
When Thy commandments find me weak,
And wanting everything,
My soul, upon Thy greatness cast,
Shall rise divinely free;
Then will I serve with what Thou hast,
And gird myself with Thee.

~Anna L. Waring

I was reading my little Joy and Strength devotional book today, as I have done for many years. Occasionally I make a note when something has been significant in my life related to what I've read. I noted that eight years ago today I read this and it was a sort of epiphany for me in a decision I was making. I was sorting out if I had the courage and "where-with-all" to co-lead a team of teenage girls to Romania, where we would work with orphans. I wasn't sure I could relate well with the girls, be away from home for over two weeks, and many other concerns that forced their way into my mind. I had been praying, yet fearful, and I still remember the morning I read this. Sun was shining into the blue room where I sat spending time with God. It was as if this huge confidence in God rose from my being and I knew without a doubt I should go, and yes, I would be able to manage with God's help. It was all about realizing I have "nothing in my hand" to serve Him with, and realizing HE would do the serving through me.

Of course it turned out to be a wonderful time. I had no trouble relating to the

 girls, and the joy of sharing the love of God with so many orphans there was 

simply a lifetime high point. I could write a book about the babies confined all day to their cribs, and how we saw them become more lively through our care of them. God certainly proved His power in my life those weeks as He filled my empty hands. It is one of those stories in my life that I look back on and smile.

The Touch of A Hand

I could tell "Baby Boy A" had Down Syndrome just seeing him from across the room. For many newborns, it is not so obvious. But this baby had classic symptoms: slanted eyes, rounded face, thrusting tongue, fragile skin, erratic breathing difficulties (he had heart trouble) and blue hands and feet (due to poor circulation, or all the needle pokes he'd already experienced in his young life). I am partial to Down's babies so was delighted to be caring for him. I like to tell the mamas, when they are ready to hear it, about all the Down kids I know who are making a difference in the world.

He was so quiet. It was almost as if he wanted to be as good as he could. He rarely cried. He got jaundiced so had to have photo therapy. His home became an isolette filled with bright lights. His only garb was a bikini and shades over his eyes. I left him that way and the next day when I returned I could tell he had had his fill of the "box," as we call it. He wanted out. Plus I knew he missed his mama who had had to go home the day before. I got him out of the box, cleaned him up, bundled him snugly in a blanket, and held him tight. His big brown eyes looked deep into my heart, and he stopped crying. I held him as long as I could before my other babies demanded attention.

Back in the box his breathing went funky so we did more tests on the poor little fella. He passed them all, but still didn't look right. Just a nursing instinct. So the docs decided to keep him another day just to watch. After all he had the big heart problem.

His parents came to visit. They don't speak English. The day before, soon after they were told by interpreter the definitive diagnosis, I went into mama's room. She was crying and dad looked bewildered. My limited knowledge of their language failed me at that moment. I had no words to comfort them in their grief and fear. So I went to mama and put my hand on to her shoulder and held it there while I looked into her eyes and shared her sorrow for that brief moment. I tried to communicate hope. Just a touch of my hand, but it seemed to bring some comfort.

How frustrated I felt not to be able to talk to her as I would if we shared the same language. The next day when it became apparent that their baby had to stay yet another day, I told her best I could in her language and her tears burst forth again. Imagine--not understanding everything, having a sick baby, and not being able to take the baby home to care for. Again I reached for her––what else could I do? I tried to let her know it would be okay as I rested my hand on her arm. I wish it could have been more, but that was all I had. And, of course, "Baby Boy A" will be on my mind for a long time to come.

A Life Well Lived

An encourager of ours died this week ... he was relatively young. Older than us, at a different life stage, but Dan and Betsey always befriended us and encouraged us as we started out our married life and had kids. They were an example in so many ways as they raised their kids, gave generously, and looked out for others.

When we left for Africa Betsey sewed us beautiful slip covers for our couch, and did many other things to provide for our home there and help us get ready to go. She is beautiful, and reminds me of a butterfly...not in a flighty way, but because she was quietly here, there, and everywhere, always knowing where to land--who needed a helping hand, who needed an encouraging note, who needed a hug. Dan was a counselor by profession, and by nature. He knew just the questions to ask, and before you knew it, out poured your heart.

They graciously gave us their home to live in for a week one time--their house by a lake. What fun to "play house" in such a beautiful home with Betsey's tasteful decorating. We never saw them after they moved out to California a few years ago ... to begin a new life with old friends and family already living there. They dove right in from all we heard and connected with a church and ministry. Thus when Dan got cancer, they had many around them. About 18 months ago he wrote a beautiful good-bye letter, thinking he had only weeks to live. He wrote another one a year later. Then Betsey wrote two months ago. My heart went out to her as she shared the same fears I would have, thinking about what the future held for her. Then a Christmas card with a gorgeous photo of them ... looking older, but still looking good. It talked about how they enjoyed quiet days together--good days, and not so good days, but accepting of them all and thankful for every moment together. (They were so in love.) And then, finally, two days ago, an email floated in, forwarded many times, with the simple words, "Dan is home." Family and friends around him, singing songs of the faith, and then he slipped away into his beloved Savior's presence.

What a life well lived. A life of giving to others of time, wisdom, and resources. Dan thoroughly enjoyed life, but how much more he loved his Lord and wanted to be in heaven with him. I know Betsey is thrilled he is free from pain and at peace. I know that same peace fills her. We are so thankful that we had the privilege of a friendship with them––a true gift from God.

photo by lulu

A Theater of His Glory

Walking on the track today, I thanked God for His glory in all creation. It came to me that the very dull, indoor track I was walking on, was held together by God's will. That indoor track, buildings, bridges, medical discoveries, surgeries, and on I could go ... are all because of God's design, power, and infinite glory. Just as all of nature shows off His handiwork, so does the plain, ordinary stuff (that is, ordinary until you start thinking about it.) This quote from Eric Alexander in a speech at Urbana in 1981 includes a sentence that says it so beautifully. It's all worth reading.

"True worship is rendering to God the glory which is due his holy name. And this is the great end and purpose for which all things exist. God created the world as a theater in which to display His glory. He created man and woman in order that they might reflect the image of his glory. He sent Jesus in order that the glory of God might be seen in the face of Jesus Christ. He redeemed sinners in order that they may be changed into the image of his glory."

nuts on soup

Originally uploaded by podso

I'm wondering why the older I get the more I enjoy a cold, cloudy, rainy day. I always think, "This is an English kind of day," and remember our visits there. Maybe it's because I always long to slow down and it's much easier to stay home in bad weather. I'm all for coziness, too, which comes more easily on such days. And then there's soup. Always better on a day like today with cold rain and even some sleet earlier on. Love it! Tonight I started our soup with a tuscan white bean soup from a package and then added all kinds of things. I was intrigued by what was written on the label of the package, and I must credit the brand: *lessi. It said, among other beautiful comments about soup, "There is a saying in Southern Italy that ... translates to 'Soup does seven things. It relieves your hunger, quenches your thirst, fills your stomach, cleans your teeth, makes you sleep, helps you digest, and colors your cheeks.'" Spouse and I added: "And makes your nose run!" (great decongestant).

Snow Day Corn Chowder

Chop fine and boil until tender in small amount of water:

3-4 medium potatoes
3-4 carrots
2-3 stalks celery

Add salt and pepper to taste--and/or, chicken bullion

Add:
1 C milk
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can corn

Heat and enjoy!
(can add more vegetables, a can of creamed corn, cheese, white wine--whatever suits your fancy)
Optional: bacon bits (I've never tried this)

Thanks, Lillian, for a wonderful recipe used many times over 30 years! Now, where's the snow?

Bread and Milk

I needed groceries today so decided to adapt to the culture and join the bread and milk gang at the local grocery. You see, snow is predicted for tomorrow––yes, just after yesterday's light dusting (I heard a weather person say snow breeds more snow ...) And when that "s" word gets out, here in the sunny south there's a mad dash for "bread and milk" at the shops. Snow here does not usually last on the ground more than a few hours, so one can wonder why all this bread and milk is needed, but it's a fact. Just look at the shop shelves toward evening when a storm is predicted. Empty in the bread section, and the milk has gone missing.

I decided today just to enjoy the crowd and to check out what everyone had in their carts. I determined to make it a major shopping and so, apparently, did everyone else. Would I feel like corn chowder tomorrow? Or spaghetti at night? Or maybe pizza with a dvd ... I better be prepared for whatever. The lines were long as people unloaded their full grocery carts, but like most times when something like this is brewing, everyone was in good spirits and friendly. It made for an actually pleasant experience. And now for the snow. The sky looks like it and I'm ready. Snow is definitely an "event" here. I'm glad this time I'll be at home for the show.

Her Preciousness

Good friend Boniface sent me a card with this sweet girl on the front. She was congratulating me on the news of the baby girl grandchild coming. She thought ours would be a "towhead," not a brunette, but I loved these words of hers (Boniface always has a way with words): "It's her preciousness I send you!"

what are little girls made of?

I'm thinking a lot about little girls now. When baby girls at work have pretty outfits, I take special note. Like little Sophie yesterday who was sporting a bow like this one!

Bread from Heaven

I came home pretty tired from a busy day at work. Winter weather is on the horizon, so babies have decided to be born. They were wheeled in the door almost non stop. So I was wearily thinking about what to make for supper. We had some left overs. Should I develop them into a major meal (sigh), or turn them into a big pot of soup? "If only I had some good bread to go with it, soup would be the ticket," I said to Spouse. Went on up to my little office in my ivory tower to check email. I figured somehow by the time I finished up, I would know what to do about supper. Just as I turned off the computer, the doorbell rang. It was Jack's mom from across the street, armed with a loaf of cool rise French bread (http://podso.blogspot.com/2007/12/very-cool-french-bread.html), JUST out of the oven (and some brownies on the side!) She had been baking!

The aroma of warm bread filled the house as I pulled out a pot and began the soup. Hmmm ... just right for a cold night with a storm in the air. And since I always make soup on "snow days" (should the snow or ice actually come), but will be at work tomorrow, Spouse will have his snow soup. For certainly there will be some leftovers. At least of soup!

Thank you, Lord, and thank you, "Jack Mommy" (as mothers are called in West Africa ---the oldest child's name attached to "mommy").

Shared Stories

I feel connected to many people. Of course I've lived a long time and in many places, and have had intense experiences with a wide variety of people through the years. Sometimes I just pause and ponder the wonder of that for awhile. For instance, the college buddy that recently got in touch with me––if we saw each other in person, we would pick up where we left off––no doubt about it. The things that connect us--primarily shared experiences--are forever branded into our hearts and memories. I saw cousins at our family reunion that I hadn't seen in decades. But because we shared something together, we instantly felt connected and had memories to talk about. There are a couple of families in this fair city––our paths rarely cross––but we're connected. We have shared experiences from growing up, and an intertwining of old friends we keep up on. When we run into each other at the dentist's office or Walmart, we chat at a level deeper than newer friendships.

I think it's partly about the intensity of what we experienced together––all these people in Spouse's and my past––high school youth group (we were tight!), college life, camps, nurses' training, seminary, house church, sponsoring refugee families together, missionary life in Africa, having babies and raising kids, mission trips––I guess these are all what you could call "bonding" experiences. And probably the strongest bonds come from hard times we went through together. That's a big "weave together," as well as our lives together in Christ.

I love the stories I share with others. For me its like a special collection I own ... my own personal heirlooms. I must be feeling sentimental tonight. Anything to avoid studying!

Photos: Spouse and I in skits while we were summer day camp counselors at our college. You can probably guess who is who!

Eating Elephants

 This is going to be a tough week.  Already I feel overwhelmed.  A lot going on, extra stuff, ending with a recertification test at work on Friday (I would be happy to never take a test again ... I get very stressed over any little or big test). My other work feels like a blank page, though it really isn't ... it just seems that way. And no "home time" visible on the immediate horizon, which I need so badly to keep me sane! 

So I need to remember how to eat an elephant. One bite at a time. And that's how I'll face this week. One step at a time, first things first.  God in charge of course, and providing the strength and grace to get through. Here I go!

small moments in ordinary days

I'm giving an early second read to our Christmas cards this year. Sometimes I wait months. Maybe I'm just ready to get on with January. It's always a joy to read and absorb all the news a second time. ...One of my best friends in college and nursing school found my email address, wrote me the other day, and we reconnected after 18 years. So much to catch up on and what a great photo of her family! Our long emails back and forth have taken me back to another time. ... I fell the other day, face-down on the cement while rushing into a store. I'm still finding body parts hurting that I wasn't aware existed. Eldest son lectured me on my age, how I needed to think "old" a bit more, since I still act like I am young (proof: the neighborhood kids begged me to ride bikes with them). I smiled at his wisdom, but even more, his concern. ...The next day at work, God was gracious in giving me a manageable assignment, as my body was aching ... and for my messed up face, some explaining had to be done to my babies' parents. ... Since it's been raining and the sun is in full swing today, I hope to see Jack out across the street so we can look at our teeth collections (he has only one in his so far.) By the way, he told me that he and his sister were considering waiting until all their baby teeth were out, and putting them in a massive pile under their pillows, hoping for something like a million dollars from the tooth fairy. 

... Stopped by a friend's house yesterday on the way home from work after stopping at my mom's (she's the kind of friend you can drop in on unannounced.)  She had been out of town for weeks, and it was great to see her. Walking into her home was like entering a haven of rest. Calm, peaceful, a hot cup of tea already in the kettle ... good rest for a weary soul. ...My husband's basketball coach (now age 81 he tells us) loves to forward us emails. Usually they are funny and they always are just a reminder he is thinking of us and is alive and well. Today he sent us a picture of this ... wow did it fly me right back to my childhood! ...

...But most exciting, and not a small moment at all, was the phone call yesterday telling us that our grandbaby- in-the-womb is doing very, very well, and is a "she!" Now that is a change for this family of boys! We are excited and most of all, thankful to God!

a good rain check

We attempted to do some business at the motor vehicle place last week, but after the line had not moved once in  20 minutes, we decided to take a rain check. This morning we went early and once inside the door it did not take too long. There were two women "manning" the desks.  The younger one spent most of her time frustrated while studying overly large manuals, trying to help a man with an estate problem. We got the older, calmer, very together woman who obviously knew what she was doing. She was cheerful too (such demeanor is not always found at the DMV). We walked out smiling. Spouse said, "Can you imagine if we had gotten the other woman?" We thanked God that we got her!

We have a car belonging to the dean of our college overnighting in our garage (no place for it where they are visiting). We have not seen this gentleman since graduation day many, many years ago. He also taught us psych very well.  He happens to be a friend with friends of ours here in town. I could not get over the fact that we were visiting with Dr. B. in the front of our house last night. He didn't look any older, but he must have been in his 30s back then (though I probably thought he was at least 50.) How surreal.

One further note on today. Driving into our cul de sac from the grocery store, little Jack across the street motioned for me to stop as he had some news to share. He had lost his first tooth. Helped it out with his wash cloth. When I came back from another errand, he called me over, asking if I wouldn't like a closer look at the gaping hole. He just made my day! I told him tomorrow I would bring over my collection of my two boys' baby teeth. I am wondering why I still have them, and now what I should do with them. 

Hope Springs

Spouse got a little hope ornament from a friend when he was going through a hard time of illness. Since I love the word hope, and think of it especially when entering a new year, I decided to move "hope" from his office to my kitchen window. And, I decided to do some research on the word. The usual definitions appeared: "a feeling of expectation or desire for a certain thing to happen" or, "grounds for believing that something good may happen." But imagine my surprise at finding that this dictionary termed archaic the definition "a feeling of trust." To me, that's what it's all about. Trust, or faith––in Someone, of course.

Somewhere else I read, "Hope is often the result of faith, in that while hope is an emotion, faith carries a divinely inspired and informed form of positive belief. Hope is typically contrasted with despair [see photo of hope visiting despair], but despair may also refer to a crisis of faith. Hence, when used in a religious context, hope carries a connotation of being aware of spiritual truth."

Personally I can't imagine life without hope. In my mind, all hope is really spiritual,  for God is the one who controls the results of hope.  And God puts hope into our hearts by faith. I have known times of despair, and I know it doesn't honor God, for it shows a lack of trust in what God's plan is for my every moment. But "hope springs eternal" and I cannot despair for long when I am thinking clearly. When I bring hope back into the picture, sun seems to arrive too, just as it will shine through the hope hanging at my window! From Psalm 39:  For now Lord, what do I wait for? My hope is in You!

 

Hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. Romans 8:24-25

Decisively Cold

It's nice to have really cold weather stay here for a time. In the teens this morning. I call it a "decisive cold" -- when it is cold in earnest. Reminds me of my childhood up north when our mom made us wear "leggings" under our skirts to school. How we hated them! 

But right now I'm thinking of nephew farmer who probably stayed up all night watching out for  his tender young blueberry plants. And will again tonight undoubtedly.

This photo, the banner, and little blondie photo are all credited to my sister who has a way with her camera!

stewed tomatoes on a second date

Last night we had supper with friends and then went bowling. At their house. Really. They had gotten a new Nintendo  game for Christmas called Wii ... or something like that. All kinds of sports games to be played on the TV. You actually physically play the game.  We did a whole game of bowling. It was so real (sounds of the bowling alley, etc.) that one could easily think they were bowling. What amused us was how much we bowled like we used to.  Spouse took that long sweep of his arm and the curve always came down towards the end of the long lane. I messed up a lot, dropping the ball behind me (and saw bystanders jumping out of the way), and almost falling into the lane as I would drop the ball for the trip down the lane. How did these characteristics come through with just a virtual electronic game? 

The echo of the bowling alley remained with us as we drove home and we felt like we had really bowled--we were actually a little tired! It all reminded us of our second date so many years ago. Yep, we went bowling with another couple. I wore a red shirt dress, quite commonly worn in those days, striped with small flowers.  It was affectionately known by many on our small campus as my "stewed tomatoes dress." And yes, I probably fell into the bowling alley a few times too! Never mind, if it makes people laugh, it's okay!

Look from the Top

This is a spendid word for a busy day
with its crush of work of all sorts. If we get
caught in the crush and pushed down, so to
speak, the next thing we know is that we are grovelling in the dust.

Things are on top of us, we are not on top of anything.
SO the words come "Look from the top"
Come with Me from all that, come up the mountain with Me,
look from everything UP to the Lord Jesus, Who is our Peace,
our Victory and our JOY, for we are where we look ...

from Amy Carmichael in Edges of His Ways re. Song of Songs 4:8

End of Year Review

It's a clean up day ... getting decorations put away (still keeping the tree up a bit longer for Spouse) ... washing linens after the house guests have left, organizing some stuff for Good Will, getting started on writing the thank you notes (called by an article in the London Times, the "last bastion in an epidemic of discourtesy"--see women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/

the_way_we_live/article3097017.ece), and generally drying out after a wonderful three days of much needed rain. 

As I putter about, it's time to muse on that End of Year Review, or better yet, "how I'd like to do things better in the new year." No resolutions, mind you, just seeking God and His leading ... wanting to become more like Him.

Rondo Rendezvous

We celebrated Christmas on the 26th when family members arrived in town. In the midst of setting the table for our special dinner, I collected the mail and out fell a small packet from a dear friend in England. Inside? "Mini coasters," which Janette knows I love. The package called them "mini rondos." So I guess that's their real name. Amazing ... arriving just in time to add to the table decor! They looked so lovely! And the packaging told me Janette had purchased them on High St. in Arundal ... a place I have been to with her! Thank you, Janette! We loved using them, and none spoiled so they can be used again next Christmas!

It's All About the Manger

jesus & mary in the manger
Originally uploaded by podso

From my sister's Christmas letter: "Each Christmas as we struggle to preserve a sense of worship and gratitude amidst all the busyness which accompany this time of year, it seems as though there is some point [when] God breaks through and moves me with a song or verse, or maybe a word from a friend, and I am blessed. This year it was the last line of one of the songs in our choir cantata, sung as a solo by a sweet and clear soprano voice: 'The manger held it all.' So simple and so profound.

"Everything we need in this life and the next was held in that Bethlehem manger 2000 years ago. Our hopes, desires, dreams, and above all our need for forgiveness and fellowship with God, are all gathered up and met in Christ Jesus. One of [our] father's favorite Christmas carols, 'O Little Town of Bethlehem' says, 'The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight.'"

messy deeds

good deeds
Originally uploaded by podso

The other day I lingered in bed after the phone call came telling me I could stay home from work. The luxury of sleeping in tempted me briefly, but is easier said than done when my mind begins to work. I wiggled my toes and stretched as I thought of the luxury of unplanned free time. The gift of a day. Maybe I would just spend the whole day reading. Or making a few Christmas cookies. Definitely time for myself.

Then I remembered an elderly friend who had been rushed to the hospital the night before. I should check on her and maybe I should take my mom along with me to visit her. There was someone else I needed to visit in another hospital too. And find a plant to take to her. And then there was someone else who I needed to help with a change to a new drug plan. Suddenly my day seemed planned as I hopped out of bed to start it. I decided, okay, this would be a day of giving to others. I pictured myself serenely gliding through the day, bestowing acts of kindness on others like the sprinkling of fairy dust.

Well it certainly did not turn out that way. I did do what I needed and wanted to do, but it was a big case of one thing can lead to another. Throw in the mix holiday traffic, not the right plant where I thought it would be, and some extremely inept insurance people on the phone with me for an hour reducing me to tears. The day deteriorated rapidly.

I came home with a splitting headache many hours later (long after I would have arrived home from work). I had a talk with myself on the way. What led me to believe that acts of kindness come wrapped in ease? Did I think I was owed a "walk in the park" just because I was helping others? Nowhere does Christ say our doing good for others will be pain free. If anyone knows about that, He does.

One of my prized possessions is a little soup bucket I have in my kitchen. The story, as I understand it, is that my great grandmother used it to take soup to sick people. I have a mental picture of a tiny Dutch woman in her heavy brown cape, walking down a city street carrying a little pot of soup and probably a basket of bread too. My soup bucket reminds me to think of others. My guess is that she didn't have an easy time with her good deeds either. 

Out of Africa

We have two new ornaments on our tree this year--a gift from some women in Nigeria who live with great challenges. They receive help from our mission and wanted to thank us all so made ornaments and sent them to our headquarters. I love the color and the tie-dyed fabric––in the shape of the continent we love so much! Another reminder at Christmas of our beloved Africa!

Very Cool French Bread

I am making my good friend Susanna's French bread today. I love using recipes that remind me of friends or family members! The nifty thing about this is there is no kneading and you can make it ahead and refrigerate up to 24 hours before baking. So you can get the mess cleaned up, yet have very freshly baked bread when it's time to eat. There's nothing like the scent of bread baking to warm the heart (and start the stomach growling!)

Cool Rise French Bread

2 C flour
2 pkg. active dry yeast (or 2 1/2 Tb. loose)
1 Tb. Sugar
1 Tb. Salt
2 Tb. softened butter or margarine
2 1/4 Hot tap water

Combine dry ingredients to blend and add the hot water and butter. Mix with electric beater on medium for two minutes. Add one cup flour and beat on high for one minute or thick and elastic. Scrape sides of bowl and gradually mix in enough flour (about 2 more cups) to form a soft dough that leaves the sides of the bowl. Turn out onto floured board, round to a ball, cover with plastic wrap and a towel on top. Let rest for 20 minutes.

Punch down and divide into two equal portions. Roll into approx. 8 x 15 in. rectangle. Roll up tightly like a jelly roll, beginning with the long side. Seal edge and tuck in and seal ends. Place on greased baking sheet, seam side down. Brush with oil and cover loosely with plastic wrap.

Refrigerate from two to 24 hours. Remove, uncover and let stand 10 minutes while preheating oven to 400. Brush gently with cold water and slash tops of loaves at two inch intervals. Bake for 30-40 minutes.

ready for soup

Angel Watching At Our Door

Marshmallows, Not

Our little friends from across the street came for African stew last night––oh, yes, with their parents of course. First Kayla presented me with the frilly blue girl. "Oh!" I exclaimed, "Made from a marshmallow."

"No, not a marshmallow," came her soft, endearing reply. Then Jack presented his some kind of protector guy. "Well this must be made of marshmallows," I stupidly insisted, not being up on the very latest in art supplies. "Nope!" came a more determined answer.

We had a good time, and I love my new Christmas decorations!

Angel Exchange

It's been more than ten years ago that I belonged to a small group that did an ornament exchange at its Christmas party. We were a feisty bunch so it was a lot of fun as we bantered about, grabbing up each other's adored ornament in exchange for one we didn't like as much. One particular year, two of us were going after the same angel ornament. I won, but felt bad later. So, I dropped the angel off at this friend's house, with a note that simply said, "to an angel."

I liked this idea, so the next year I dropped another small gift outside her door labeled "to an angel." This went on a couple of years (I always had to stalk her house and find a time to drop it by when she wasn't home.) One year she "caught me." I quickly waved and scooted on out of the driveway.

That's when the angel exchange began. She soon dropped a litte gift at my door. And so we have continued to drop small angel or angel-related presents off at each other's house every Christmas, never with any hint of the gift giver. We don't comment on it when we see each other either. But we know what's going on.

This year I really thought we were done. For we go to different churches and our paths no longer cross except for the occasional wedding or other special event. The pizza delivery guy rang our doorbell the other night. He handed my son the pizza and ... the angel gift sitting by my door in the dark.

What to my wondrous eye did I unwrap but a beautiful spode Christmas plate ... and a glass angel on the side. How fun! Now the ball is in my court. I found a sweet pewter angel ornament marked down at the hospital gift shop Christmas sale. I hope she'll be at work today when I try to drop it at her door. And so the tradition continues.

Not a White Christmas

Even though it was years ago, I remember the time as clearly as if it were taking place today. We were a young family, just settled down to life in West Africa, when our world came crashing down around us. Spouse got very, very sick and turned yellow.

Due to a recent coup, borders were closed and grocery store shelves were empty. Spouse couldn’t even get a blood test to tell for sure what was wrong. We lived near the university and knew the dean of the medical school, so he made house calls to check on Spouse though there was nothing he could do.

Those were dark days for us as Christmas approached. We tried to make the best of it with our two small boys, while we watched their Papa get thinner and thinner. The bile under his skin caused severe itching and relief only came with a scalding bath followed by a cold shower and then a sit under the ceiling fan––a routine not always possible with frequent power outages and lack of water. We were about out of food.

Often sitting with only the light of an oil lamp, I’d hear God speak words of comfort and peace. He reminded me of Isaiah 40 again and again. "He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak…They will soar on wings like eagles…"

God’s grace amazed us. A knock sounded at the door one evening just before Christmas. Linda, a Peace Corps friend, greeted us with a special piece of meat wrapped in shiny tinfoil and a festive bow. Mmm, it was delicious. An adventuresome friend showed up with a cooler full of meat and sack of potatoes bought in a neighboring country (he’d gotten across the border in a desolate area). What a treat!

Not long after that, a friend traveling through our city walked into our house with a gunnysack over his shoulder. He dumped the contents out on our kitchen counter. My eyes opened wide when I realized Henry and Jane had shared from their “special times” stockpile. What stood out the most was a can of powdered lime drink. Now Spouse could have at least a sort of fruit juice. The tiny ants marching around the glass at his bedside didn’t irritate me as they usually did––I was so thrilled to offer him such a treat.

When a truck pulled up to our door I was certain it was a mistake, especially since there were two small barrels for us on it. It didn’t make sense until we learned they had been flown in from London from friends who used to live near us. Having heard of our situation, knowing what the closed borders would mean for our food supply, they knew exactly what to send us. Imbedded in my memory is the thrill of unwrapping foods fresh off English grocery shelves––beautiful, clean packages of flour, sugar, and powdered milk with special holiday treats tucked in. We were overwhelmed at God’s tender care for us.

Before long our doctor friend told us we needed to go home to get better care. It was unsettling to abruptly leave a home and work we loved. But we had learned the valuable principle that God does not make mistakes and knew that He cares deeply for us; and so we trusted Him. We didn’t leave before celebrating Christmas the best we could. We made clothespin ornaments representing each family member to put on our little tree. They are falling apart now, but we still hang them on our tree every year. And when we do, we remember all that God taught us the year our Christmas was yellow.

Flashback!

A young friend told me recently that she is amazed at how everything in our house has a story to go with it. That's what I love about "things." Not so much the actual possession of things, but that most of the stuff around my house has history that is meaningful to me. Christmas ornaments on the tree really bring the stories. I love it when my kids come back home to help put the ornaments on the tree. I get the tree all ready, with the wretched job of stringing the lights all taken care of ahead of time. Spouse sits in a chair––waiting for his single role of plopping the worn angel (given to us by the boys' youth pastor) at the top of the tree––while I dig through unorganized boxes ("next year I'll organize them better") and hand out what needs to be hung on the tree. And while we decorate, the stories flow.

Some ornaments were homemade ... such as "vintage 1978" ... or that was the year I crocheted ornaments, or knitted them ... and the puffy quilted ones I made that mostly remain in the box because of their huge size ... or the painted wood ornaments from sometime in the late 80s ... and then the ones that hung on Spouse's childhood tree (those are really vintage) ... different ones gifted from friends ... and maybe most special, the ones we made from clothespins our "yellow" Christmas. Almost each and every one a "flashback" to something special in our lives.

It reminds me of a program I heard on the radio as a kid called The Listening Post. Stories read aloud, but the listening post would actually open each program with his crackly voice, "In my old wooden heart ... are stories." I like to personify our tree as proclaiming, "Tucked inside my green branches ... are many old stories..."

Hark!

These carollers landed at our doorstep and hopped up onto our piano. Their singing is delightful and I just love the one lady all dressed in furs. She doesn't really need all that get-up with our 78 degree record-breaking/heart-breaking (where did winter go?) weather, but she looks great. Still their singing does not compare to the heavenly music we heard this weekend when our church choir, along with our local symphony orchestra, gave us The Songs of the Saviour. Uplifting and worshipful!

BBs at Christmas?

So this is something to tell about how stupid or naive I can be. There is a big increase in huge blow up Christmas decorations in people's yards. I'm not too crazy about them. When some Winnie the Pooh characters appeared at the corner house a couple of years ago I thought, "Well, that's nice for the kiddies." But when I would leave for work early in the morning they would be deflated and crumpled on the lawn. "How sad," I would think, "it's ruined." That evening they would be up in full bloom again, lighting up their part of the world. Then they would be deflated again. I assumed some kids in the neighborhood were going around shooting BBs at the blow up Christmas decorations. I wondered how long these patient home owners would continue to patch their decorations.

Well now that such decorations have migrated to the house right next door to us, and I have heard the sound of the motor that keeps it "alive" I have figured this thing out. Still I smile when I ride by Winnie the Pooh and Tigger up at the corner. Smile at my stupidity. To think I envisioned a gang of BB gun-toting teens running through the neighborhood on Tigger detail. Smile again!

Whose Head?

A wonderful book club gathering last evening at a long table set festively for lovers of the Jane Austen time period. She certainly would have felt right at home with us at the table. But instead of Jane's company, we had a phone call, on speaker phone, with the author of this great little book! How fun is that?

For a half hour we plied Lori, who followed Jane around England before writing the book, with questions, listened to her heart story, and heard about her life since the book was written. We even prayed for her. The book––I recommend it––is a surprise. Each page is like unwrapping a package as the author reveals herself in great honesty, while also telling of Jane Austen's life (sometimes clueing us in to not so well known facts.) I would be reading about Jane and suddenly realize that Lori was telling about her own personal life. The weaving back and forth was subtle but delightful. I have never read a book quite like it.

Book club gatherings are more than just about the book we've all read (sometimes furiously up until the last minute). It's even more about stepping back from life a bit and just being with friends, sharing our lives and thoughts ... sipping tea, chewing on sweets ... you know, much as they may have gathered in Jane's day. An amazing book, and a scrumptious evening. Thanks, Boniface!

The Yellow Convertible in My Life

Joy was six years older than me. As a teenager that felt like a big age difference. When we started hanging out, her parents had just bought her a yellow convertible to celebrate her college graduation. When she would pick me up and we'd drive off together with the top down, I felt pretty cool.

Joy came from a family of 12 kids, all strong leaders. A good proportion of them were scattered throughout our metropolitan area, working with youth groups at various churches. During the summer these youth groups would come together on Tuesday nights for a big bash at a barn out in the country. The hour bus ride there was itself a ton of fun, to be sure, but when we arrived, there were even more good times. Over 1000 kids spilled off buses and gathered to play wild games, watch funny skits, sing our hearts out to the rafters of the big ol' barn, and then listen to a "hold-your-attention" talk about faith in God. Many came to a personal relationship with God during those warm summer nights, and for myself, it was a time of intense spiritual growth.

I could never really understand Joy's interest in me. I was a "preacher's kid" (PK) and had had a pretty ideal, "Leave it to Beaver" kind of upbringing. I didn't have any big challenges in life that I needed her counsel about. Yet she, as one of my church youth leaders, chose to spend time with me. We would study the Bible together, and at other times Joy would just take me along for whatever she was doing, talking as we went. Sometimes we'd go to special shops, or to her parents' lake house to canoe ... we would just "do life" together. I guess you could say she had a "ministry of hanging out" with me. Back then it was known as "discipling;" today it is likely to be called "mentoring."

During those years (and it continued into college for I attended the college that Joy taught at), I grew a good deal in my walk with Christ. But I also learned, by her example, to disciple others. I was taught that everyone should mentor someone younger in the faith, and at the same time, be encouraged or mentored by someone older than them. And so I went about my life in this way, naively assuming others knew the concept and were doing the same thing. After all, Christ gave us the example.

When I am doing this actively, I find it stretches me and I grow more as a result. I think this is how God intends it to be. Stretch ... and you grow. And I also realize how much a gift this was in my life, for I know now that not many have had such a privilege as they came along in their faith. And not so many grasp or practice the concept. How God richly blessed me.

I don't see many yellow convertibles any more, but I don't need a glimpse of such a vehicle to take me back to those years of being discipled. I remember them often and will always be incredibly grateful to Joy, a young woman who cared enough to "hang out" with me and bring me along in the faith.

not a winter wonderland

Today it's gray and cold ... "feels" like snow is in the air. Of course it's not, but sometimes in the south, even the "feels like" is good enough. But, with our ongoing draught we could really use either rain or some white stuff!

more

Another quote from our pastor's sermon: "Our incessant busyness works against our maturing in Christ." Further: give yourself a gift and stop! Think! Evaluate! It will take all your life to become what you are to be. God is not going to shout over your noise. Be quiet so you can hear Him.

Take Time

In speaking of Paul's preparation for his main ministry in the book of Acts, our pastor told of how Paul went aside twice for long lengths of time (once 11 years), to be quiet and to listen to God. He reminded us of our need to do the same ... to say no to some of the pulls on our time ... and make time to read, reflect, rest ... and listen to what God is saying. Even, and especially, at this season of the year. We ended the service by singing an old hymn, exhorting each other as we turned to face the center aisle to sing. It was a moving time.

"Take time to be holy, speak oft with thy Lord. Abide in Him always and feed on His Word. Make friends of God's children, help those who are weak, forgetting in nothing, His blessing to seek.

"Take time to be holy, the world rushes on. Spend time in secret with Jesus alone. By looking to Jesus, like Him thou shalt be. Thy friends in thy conduct––His likeness shall see.

"Take time to be holy, let Him by thy guide. And run not before Him, whatever be tide. In joy or in sorrow still follow thy Lord. And, looking to Jesus, still trust in His word.

"Take time to be holy, be calm in thy soul, each thought and each motive beneath His control. Thus led by His spirit to fountains of love, thou soon shalt be fitted for service above."

Five Cousins

I'm in the middle, always the middle of both family sides of girl cousins our age. Which way do I gravitate? Older or younger?