I'm Doing You a Favor Because I Like You

Perhaps I live under a rock.  I sometimes wonder if I'm the last person to discover great books, toys, ideas, artists, and so on.  Some time ago, I rediscovered a great song and spent the season enjoying it.  It's a lovely, beautiful song called Winter Snow, simple and gorgeous with touching lyrics.  I grew fonder with each listen, so much so that I asked my husband for the artist's CD for Christmas. 

He listened, God bless him. 

Perhaps you live under a rock too.  If so, let me share a few lyrics with you from the CD my husband gave me for Christmas called The House You're Building (which is not a Christmas album and does not contain "Winter Snow") because you don't want to miss this. 

You live in a million places
Your fingerprints can be seen on a million faces
There is a trace of You in every hallelujah
Every song that I sing

For love of You
I'm a sky on fire
Because of You I come alive
And it's Your sacred heart within me beating
Your voice within me singing out
For love of You

You are the highway I travel
Cause I watched You carve streets of gold from the sand and gravel
I gave you brokenness
You gave me innocence
And now, this road leads to glory
For Love of You

And if that doesn't win you over, how about these words:

As the dew falls on the blade
You have touched all this fragile frame
And as a mother knows her baby's face
You know me
As the Summer air within my chest
I have breathed You deep down into my breast
And as You know the hairs upon my head
Every thought and every word I've said

Savior, You have known me as I am
Healer, You have known me as I was
As I will be
In the morning, in the evening
You have known me.
Known

If you haven't already, get to know Audrey Assad.  If you know her, share.

You're welcome.

Counting old and new gifts and those new-to-me #551- 575:

a husband who spoils me

new songs

Winter Snow

words

sledding with my family

silly boys

winter lambs

snowmen and the children who build them

a white Christmas

our annual Christmas Eve traditions, plus new memories

The Nativity Story

Snowmen Sundaes

shared communion and "Silent Night" by candlelight in a circle in the sanctuary

winter snow falling, quiet, soft and slow as we left the church

Christmas morning and day

and the next day

and the next (so much family!)

Cella's chocolate covered cherries in my stocking (yum!)

the blessing of being able to give well

the excitement on my sugars' faces because of what they're giving

their belief in the One who gives best

her request to sing "Jesus Loves Me"

her whisper in church days later, "Jesus loves me."

JOY!

a new year full of promise and mystery

I'm Doing You a Favor Because I Like You

The Week I Didn't Get Run Over By Cows

My mom and dad decided to take off for vacation last week and left me in charge of the farm.  Grin.

As my sis said, I got to play farmer while they were gone, and I admit, I liked it.  (Especially since there wasn't anything really difficult to do.)  Every day began with starting up my dad's big green pick-up truck in the silence of the morning. I'd roll the window down and drive into the sun to feed "the girls," as Dad calls them.

My dad gave up livestock many years ago, but he still has to have a few animals around.  He just can't help it.  So right now, he has four beautiful young black cows that come once a day from the pasture for breakfast. 

The routine is simple.  Drive the trunk, honk the horn, fill the bucket, unlatch the gate, and pour the feed in the trough.  Dad calls to the girls before he enters their area (and actually gets close to them).

I decided to switch things up.  My routine went something like this:

Days 1 and 2:  I'd sneak in as quietly as the truck allowed, fill the bucket and then honk the horn -- to give me a little more time before their eight hundred pound bodies were hurling toward the feed bucket.  Then, I'd simply smile and say, "Good morning, Girls," and those huge young things would stop short so fast, the dust would whirl.  Power in the word.  Dad swears they're his most docile cows ever, but I wasn't taking any chances. I have three children at home, you know.

Day 3:  The cows are waiting for me at the gate, blocking my way to the feed trough.  Fiddlesticks.  I speak to them, hoping that my voice will spook them enough to clear the way, but apparently my power is gone.  I gather up my courage to get in amongst them, but frankly, I don't have much.  So I climb the fence by the trough instead.  The cows get fed; I don't get run over.  We're all happy.

Day 4:  I sigh with relief that the girls aren't waiting for me and prepare the bucket of feed.  I struggle to get the bag of feed open and to lift the hefty bag without spilling it, but thankfully not all my muscle is gone, and I get the job done.  I carry the bucket, honk the horn, call them to breakfast, pour the feed and wait.  And wait . . . and wait. 

I've lost the cows.  I look all over, listening carefully, driving up and down the road and trying not to panic.  I return to the barn and peer down the pasture as far as I can see.  No sign of them anywhere.  I have no cell phone with me, and I'm wearing flip-flops (not practical pasture-walking wear).  So, I race home to get into farmer gear and make sure Baby Girl is still sleeping.  I grab my cell phone, pull on sturdy shoes and rush back to the barn. 

Wouldn't you know it, while I was gone, the girls decided to appear.  My heart rate returns to normal, and I give them a scolding.  Just so they know exactly what they did to me by showing up late.

Day 5:  The girls are used to me now.  I've given them names:  Lucy, Ethyl, Penny (a Pound) and Chicken. 

Lucy and Ethyl are quite the pair.  They just make me smile and they always seem to come together.  There's safety -- and good times -- in numbers.

Penny (a Pound) takes her food seriously.  She hardly ever gave me a glance once that feed was poured and was first to the feed trough.  She's doing her job to make a fine steak.  (Notice the bored stare as she impatiently waits for her food.)

And then there's Chicken.  At first, she refused to eat if I was near.  Skittish.  Even when I was on the other side of the fence, she'd hang way back -- missing out on her meal.

Eventually, she'd decide to get her food before Penny ate it all, but she'd keep a wary eye on me.  She must have been afraid I'd eat her or something.  Ahem. 

As I watched them feast the last day, I realized I'd miss them and this routine.  But I admit I'm a teeny bit glad that I don't have to worry anymore about getting run over every morning.

And I'd hate to get any more attached to them.  If I did, I'm not sure I could eat that steak.

 

The Week I Didn't Get Run Over By Cows

A Grand Entrance

Did you ever dream of making a grand entrance?  You know, the Scarlett O'Hara type with the big ball gown down a sweeping staircase with all eyes on you?  I think it's a common little girl dream that hangs around even in big girls' heads.  That idea of holding the attention of all those watching as you are looking your most beautiful and put-together.

Well, this isn't one of those entrances.  This is a quiet, backdoor visit.  The comfortable kind between friends wearing pony tails and cut-off shorts because I just can't make the effort to put on the makeup and best dress -- and I know I don't have to because we like each other.  I'm here to tell you of my indecision and my confession. 

When I stepped away from my computer a couple of weeks ago, I felt relief.  No more checking emails to see if anyone had a thought to share that I needed to respond to.  No more expectations of reading other blogs and leaving my thoughts with them.  No more pondering and designing in my head how to share something worthwhile with everyone . . . and with excellence, to boot. 

For almost three weeks now, I've been swimming in writer's laziness.  And I can't decide if I want to stop.

I've been journaling for years and not sharing it except on occasion.  I've mentioned that before.  There's no pressure that way to craft or to proofread or to filter thoughts in an organized fashion.  And there's no pressure to keep a timetable so that a reader knows when to expect it.  I have a greater respect for journalists now. 

What I've learned about blogging:  be regular in your writing, share quality content over quantity, connect with your readers.  All good advice.  But it's also tiring at times.  And there is the meat of my confession.  My retreat has shown me just how time-consuming and tiring my journaling in this format has been.  And so this is me in my indecision:  Do I continue or not?  I question it because I do appreciate the accountability to write better.  I confess I am also slightly addicted to the feedback you are gracious to give.  But most of all, I've discovered some really great people that I will likely never meet but enjoy a connection with.  People I hope to sit with someday on the other side and talk with face-to-face.  You people.

I would appreciate any prayers and thoughts you wish to send my way as I try to decide how to handle this.

Thanks, my friends.

A Grand Entrance

Second Chances

Scoop, lift, unload.  Three shovels in rhythm as new stone makes pretty.  Three pairs of strong arms take turns as another smooths and shifts rock with hands and feet.  It's that season again:  landscaping time.  We work together side-by-side, as families should.  Sometimes laughing, sometimes squabbling.  But enjoying. 

We live in the middle of farm fields.  My parents are just down the road, on the corner.  My mom said if they ever named the place, she would call it Windy Corner.  A truly fitting name.  And since we live on the hill of the same farm, our little section should be christened Windy Hill. 

We built on this land four years ago.  We took down the two old scrub pines in front of the house -- the only two trees on the property where animals were once pastured.  It's a beautiful place, but it's wide open to the weather.  We've planted several trees that are doing their job of growing each year, but they're still fairly small, so one can only expect so much.  We feel every breeze and gale that blows.

Last year, we finally got to the job of landscaping the front.  A new sidewalk was poured the year before, and I was ready to make pretty.  A design was drawn, shrubs and flowers purchased, mulch chosen.  We dug, planted, prepped and poured.  We struggled against a strong breeze to lay plastic weed control and to scoop mulch, but when it was finished, we were pleased with the sight.

Enter the wind and a science lesson on how it changes the landscape over time.  By the end of the year, our mulch was scattered to the far corners of the world, the plastic was shredded and the weeds were having a heyday.  It wasn't pretty. 

Take two.  This summer, as we laid new plastic and scooped sturdy rock on Windy Hill, my husband several times said with a grin, "I wish we'd done this last year."

And I remembered my mom saying often to me, "We learn from our mistakes." 

Yes, we do.  We learn that sometimes we're not as smart as we thought we were.  We learn that "where there's a will, there's a way" doesn't necessarily hold true.  We learn that there are some things stronger than we are.  We learn that practical is sometimes more important than pretty (and can actually be pretty too).  We learn that doing it right the first time saves time. 

And we learn that second chances can still be enjoyable, especially when you're surrounded by people you love. 

What sort of second chances have you experienced lately?

Second Chances

Our Favorite Summer Things

"Summer time, and the livin' is easy."  Mmmm, summer time . . . I even love the song.  While I'm admittedly not a fan of extreme heat (and might even be heard complaining about it), there are many things about summer that I really do L-O-V-E. 

Today, I'm going to go out and enjoy a few of these things.  I hope you do too!

sandals

sundresses

strawberries

pink roses

popsicles

sparklers

fireflies

bronzer

weddings

waterproof mascara

little kids' pjs

fun in the pool

peonies

stargazer lilies

cool washcloths

mason jars

the beach

butterflies

tinted moisturizer

turquoise

cloud watching

star gazing

fresh food from the garden

picnics

county fairs

bare feet

It's Friendly Friday.  I ask; you answer.

What do you L-O-V-E about summer?

Tell me.  I really want to know!  Then get outta here and enjoy it!

Our Favorite Summer Things

Honoring Sacrifice

Christ sacrificed all to save us.  He battled death and won, and through His victory, He provides freedom.

I honor Him today by honoring others who have battled for freedom and lost their lives or a part of themselves in the process.  For those who have sacrificed time, comfort, safety, family, friends, peace of mind and countless other things for my freedom -- Thank you.

image by andrewconn

Fading light dims the sight
And a star gems the sky, gleaming bright
From afar drawing nigh,
Falls the night.

Day is done, gone the sun
From the lakes, from the hills, from the skies
All is well, safely rest;
God is nigh.

Then goodnight, peaceful night;
Till the light of the dawn shineth bright.
God is near, do not fear,
Friend, goodnight    
(Taps)

Honoring Sacrifice

He Speaks a Foreign Language

When I met my husband, he was attending college at some engineering school called Rose-Hulman.  I'd never heard of it, but apparently it's often been ranked as the number one engineering school in the country.  Yes, he's smart (and my little brother followed in his footsteps and attended dork school there too).  I love them both.

When people ask me what my husband does, I usually just give his title.  And when they ask me for details, I scramble and try in vain to throw out some meaningful-sounding terms like design and three phase and things like that.  It's not like we don't communicate or anything. It's just that when we talk about his work, we don't usually talk about those kinds of things.  Because he likes me.  I really don't know what he does over there, but I know the funny stories from each day.

My guy is doing some cool things and has been asked to speak at conferences and write a few articles to share them.  Recently, he was telling me about some article he was asked to co-author.  He sent it to me via email and asked if I'd like to read it.  Our bedtime conversation went something like this:

Me:  How long is it?

Him:  About a page and a half.  Not long.

Me:  Will I be able to understand it?  (He knows how technologically-challenged I am.)

Him:  I think it will only have a couple of terms you might not understand.  (Then he then went on to say something about system integration and encoding and messaging and control four -- or was it control C?  I don't know.  You get the picture.)

Me:  I love it when you speak a foreign language.

Him:  Really?  It gets to ya, huh?

Me:  Yea.  It's that southern-boy accent with the geek-speak language.  It's heart melting.

*Grin.*

How about you?  Anyone in your life speaking Greek (or geek) to you?

He Speaks a Foreign Language

Vote for My Most Beautiful Baby!

I want you to know that she's not just another pretty face.  Oh no, this beautiful baby has her own mind, and she sets out to prove it fairly often.  For example, the other night we were playing outside at a youth retreat camp with a large playground.  The evening was beautiful, but it was getting chilly.  So naturally, I thought it would be reasonable for The Princess to put a jacket on.   

She disagreed. 

And she did it loudly and without shame in front of about fifty people. 

Her lambie and thumb eventually calmed her down -- eventually.  As in after tugging and pulling on her jacket while turning purple and laying on the ground and twisting every which way.  But eventually, she decided enough was enough.  Until it was time to take the jacket off, which for some bizarre reason she did not want to do.  And she seriously considered a repeat performance.  Thank goodness the pizza was ready, and she takes her food even more seriously than, well . . .  just about anything else.

So this hard-playin', tantrum-throwin' Princess isn't just another pretty face.  But her face definitely is pretty.  And I just know you want to vote for her in Parenting BY Dummies' Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful Photo Contest for Unbelievably Cute Kids.  Just click on the link above, find her oh-so-pretty face, check her little box and hit the vote button.  You can do it as often as you like.  The contest ends Friday, May 21st.  Thank you, thank you for your help!!

Vote for My Most Beautiful Baby!

My Favorite SPRING Things (Friendly Friday)

Autumn is my absolute favorite season, but spring has the honor of being a very close second.  I've really enjoyed the warmer weather we've been experiencing and am thankful for all those other favorite things, such as

the smell of rain

baby ducks

baby chickens

baby sheep

(yep, all spring babies)

pink

sunrises

stripes

lilacs

colorful handbags

green

long walks

blossoming trees

short sleeves

fresh breezes

cut grass

cute flats

pretty kites

fun jewelry

clear glass jars

It's Friendly Friday.  I ask; you answer.

What are your favorite spring things?

My Favorite SPRING Things (Friendly Friday)

The Difference Between Sugars and Tails

The Thinker and The Stinker are ten and seven. 

We're still training them to use napkins instead of shirt sleeves,

forks instead of fingers.

On the other hand, Baby Girl is only 17 months old. 

Being the true princess that she is,

she's using her fork regularly.

And that's just one of the many differences between Sugars and Tails.

The Difference Between Sugars and Tails

That Sounds Easy Enough

Some things look as though they would be easy, but they really aren't.  Kicking a little bitty soccer ball into a great big goal looks like it would be easy, but it's not.  Taking a gorgeous photo looks like it would be easy, but it's not.  Spinning on the ice looks like it would be easy, but it's not (unless maybe you're in your car and you didn't mean to).  All of these things look easy because the amazing people that have practiced it make it look so.  For the rest of us common folk, it's just not.

I learned this also applies to cake balls.  My fun-loving, red-headed friend, Anne, introduced me to delicious balls of cake at a New Year's Eve party.  They were incredibly oh-so-rich and yummy, not to mention cute as could be.  I forgot to ask her how to make them, but sometime later stumbled upon these beautiful darlings by Bakerella, the Queen of Cake Pops (and I mean that with admiration).

I looked at the directions for making them and thought,

"That sounds easy enough." 

Ahem. 

Bakerella's

Mine

Notice hers are cake pops.  Mine are balls. 

I couldn't find the little sucker sticks in my tiny town. 

They are just plain cuter sticking up in the air. 

Hers are pretty round balls. 

Mine are lumpy and lopsided.

Hers are smooth and lovely. 

Mine are . .  . lumpy and lopsided.

As I was making them and struggling with the sticky lumps of cake and frosting, I told my hubby, "I have no desire to make these again."  As the melted chocolate became messy with cake crumbs (because I melted too much at once and didn't listen to Bakerella, the Queen of Cake Pops), I told my hubby, "Did I mention I have no desire to make these again?"  As the semisweet chocolate refused to melt (and I've never had that happen), and I was really getting frustrated, I said, "I really never want to make these again!" 

But finally, they were finished and the chocolate had set, and even though they were a little lumpy and lopsided, they didn't look terrible.  Just not as perfect and pretty as Bakerella's.  But I didn't take pictures to the party to compare them.  I just put them on a pretty serving platter and set them on the dessert table at Easter dinner.  

Then the compliments started to roll in.  They were good.  Really good.  A little lopsided maybe, but tasty.  Isn't that what really counts after all?

  

So, I've started to think that maybe all that I need is a little more practice.  And some sticks. 

That Sounds Easy Enough

My Favorite WINTER Things

I love lists. I used to love winter. To remind myself why I (used to) love winter, I thought I'd combine my love of lists with my fading affection for winter in hopes that reminiscing will stir my heart to love again. . . .

warm socks fresh from the dryer

Burt’s Bees Lip Shine

red

paper snowflakes

really fat real snowflakes

scarves

sweaters

cinnamon toast

frost



oatmeal

jeans

leather coats

boots

fireplaces

indoor s’mores

good books

glitter

old movies

the Psalms

holidays

fuzzy blankets

snuggling on the couch

candles

Help my heart . . .what are your favorite winter things?

My Favorite WINTER Things

Random Ramblings for the Tens of People

1. When your husband comes home and asks you to “come here a minute,” don’t bellow (with no little annoyance) from the other room, “I’m in the middle of something here!”

Because he just might be bringing home something to cheer you after a rough day. Oops.

2. The phrase “neither snow, nor sleet, nor rain, nor hail” no longer applies to the U.S. Postal Service – at least in my neck of the woods. It’s the second day in a row that I’ve been (impatiently) waiting for a package that holds a gift for my oldest son (that was supposed to be here for Valentine’s Day), and . . . nada. Nothing. Are there no hero mail carriers out there willing to brave the snow for the sake of commercialism? (sigh)

3. Some dreams never die. I still wish I could spin, twirl, float and fly like those Olympic figure skaters . . . and that my sweet hubby could pick me up and fling me across the ice so that I would land on my feet -- or better yet, on one foot -- with a smile.

Well, at least my flowers are pretty.

Random Ramblings for the Tens of People

Tree Envy

When we built our house a few years ago, I began to check out all the houses I passed everywhere we went. For awhile I studied styles: ranch, cottage, farmhouse, Cape Cods. Once we’d made our decision about what to build, I began to obsess over siding and brick choices. We drove around neighborhoods looking at endless combinations. Ditto for shutters. Did I like black, white or burgundy? And then shingles. Sheesh! Every house I drove by was up for examination. Thank goodness the inside was easier for me. We’ve moved several times before this, and I’ve had the chance to redecorate various houses. Plus, these choices are much less permanent and therefore not as anxiety-inducing to me. Already, I’ve repainted a couple of the rooms and am planning what to do with the basement now.

I love the home we built out in the country. It’s quiet. There’s little traffic and lots of room to play. We’re near family. The trip to the mailbox requires a good walk. And it has a great open view; we have front row seats for every sunrise and sunset. Unfortunately, some days it’s a little too open. When we built our house, we took down a couple of old, scraggly trees that had seen better days. The only trees on the property. So once again, I began to scrutinize every home I drove by. Only this time, I didn’t notice the siding or brick, the shingles or the shutters. This time I was, and still am, captivated by the trees.

All those amazing, sturdy giants that give shade when it’s hot

bloom sweet-smelling flowers in the spring,

show off brightly colored leaves in autumn

and block that cold, cold wind in the winter. Trees! I want them! All of them! And big!

My dad advised we plant trees early on, so we planted fourteen pretty little trees the following spring . . . even before we had grass, I think. Twelve have survived, and I love each and every one. My ornamental pears and crab apples displayed pretty blossoms this spring, and my little maple did it’s best to add color this fall.

The evergreens look lovely frosted with snow right now.

And they’re all growing, bless their hearts. Yes, I love my little seven foot trees.

But it’s cold, and the wind is blowing like the dickens, and I’d really like a whole wall of the suckers at about sixty feet tall.

Today, just today, (okay, and maybe a few others) I’d sacrifice my view for that.

Tree Envy