winter wonder

The fire has gone out.  My fingers are cold.

But you know what?  I am a grateful woman.

There are bags of pellets for the pellet stove out in the garage.  The sun is streaming through my (supposedly) energy-efficient window in my (relatively) warm house.  My pantry is stocked with nutritious food, and if it weren't, it would be a matter of minutes for me to go buy what I need at my choice of nearby variety-laden supermarkets - and with cash, I might add, that my able-bodied husband earns honestly at his fairly-compensated and steady long-term job.

My children are warmly clothed.

My to-do list centers on maintenance rather than on survival.

I'm more likely to need to vacuum my carpets than patch a leaky roof.


We ration Christmas cookies to curtail greed ....
  .... some are rationing the last of the rice, to keep starvation at bay.


A World Vision Catalog came to our door a week ago, and as we pored over the photos of foreign children holding ducks and goats, suddenly the wish lists we'd laboriously thought up for the children in our lives seemed awfully petty.

                             When we could give food....





What are you grateful for today?

                            How could you show it?

perspective for a Monday

I walked along a riverside park today, newly healed from flooding.

I passed a tree, tipped over on its side, roots to the air and trailing branches in the current. It would not die: all along its trunk it sported sprouts, green hope that willed itself to live.

Where waters rushed the grass the ground was rough. My shoes would stick. I walked more slowly there, the grandeur round me lost for sake of footing; my eyes were down, saw mud and barely-clinging grasses new with spunk. The arching oaks above I did not see – till roughness past, I raised my eyes once more and knew my state. So like life I laughed – how roughness narrows vision, and all I see is churned-up soil, roiling and stumbledy with rocks. To see the beauty, then, I have to stop. I can't look up if I keep on, when I'm on tumbledy ground. I have to stop, or stumble on unseeing.

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of God."  Hebrews 12:2

But then! to look above the roughness and see far for once! A sense of smallness I didn't know I sought comes rushing in, a comfort. The trees are tall, have been here since before my eyes saw light. The rivers' banks will still be here when I'm no more. The water came from far and does not notice me before it passes by for parts unseen. It never hurries.

Some geese, distraught at my approach, honked their distress. Not wanting enmity, I found a bench to put their minds at ease (& mine). I watched the river, saw raindrops twinkling at the edge. The image given back was smeared, impressionistic. No bankside tree was clear in all those raindrops. A single drop would alter it but little; the multitude obscured the whole reflection.

"Now we see but a poor reflection as in a [bronze] mirror; then we shall see face to face.  Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."  I Corinthians 13:12

Again, like life. The kitchen floor, the dishes, all the laundry piling up, the crying kid, the supper not yet planned – heap up like teardrops in my vision, keeping me from seeing clear the simple truth: they need my love.

Just love.

Just stop on stumbledly ground; look up into his Face and feel my smallness. The universe is on His shoulders, not on mine. I'm His and He will carry me. He was, and is, and always will be Here and Now: I AM's his name. Let God be God and I'll just be His child. Look up, and faith (my hand in His) will keep my feet for sure.

[adding to my refrain of praise....]

# 186 - a day off, and its potential

# 187 - (nostalgia)  the smell of fall's first heat:  hot dust

# 188 - chill air (again!)

# 189 - a friend who skips, and listens

# 190 - raindrops twinkling rivers' edge

# 191 - the maples, bit with color

# 192 - that whorl in bark, and wrinkling down to roots

# 193 - the sound of raindrops on my roof

all I have needed...

I'm writing tonight from my throne, a pale pink peony tucked behind my ear and a pearl bracelet cool on my wrist.  I've discovered a taste for being fanned, and sung to.

It all started with supper.

Roast chicken pretty much equals feast night at our house, and I suppose we were all in an expansive mood.  Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice hovered hungrily as I separated the meat onto a dish for supper, the bones and skin into the crockpot for stock.  I fed them each a token taste; Lil' Snip got more perhaps than he was strictly due.

But Spice lingered after the others had dispersed, wanting desperately to help.  She whisked the gravy on the stove and wondered aloud how hard it was to pick meat from a chicken.  Oh to be a grownup, she mused wistfully, and privileged to pick the chicken.

Finally all was ready, and my Farmer home bearing peppers, tomatoes, sweet onions and a fresh gallon jar of milk.  Too hungry even to use his bounty, we blessed the food and dove right in - baked potatoes, roast chicken, gravy and green beans.

Somewhere along the way, Spice's daydream of cleaning the chicken herself grew larger.  "For your birthday (when I'm older)," she declared, happy at the thought, "I'll do all the cooking and washing for you, all day!"  I fed Lil' Snip another bite and said I'd like that.  Her sisters joined the theme.  They'd all conspire to pamper me, they said, and wait on me like maids.

Supper ended, and was cleared; dishes washed away.  Imaginations soared, and soon I was invited to a royal seat, festooned with blankets and red pillows.  Sugar handed me a note:  "Ideas:" it said.  "1)  Work on a sewing project.  2) Read a book.  3) Just relax.  4)  Have somebody fan you.  5) Write in your private journal."

Naturally number four caught my eye, and sure enough, a fan materialized, and happy fights erupted over who would get to wave it.  While Spice, the victor, fanned me, Sugar brought me chocolate and Nice, on my request for a raisin (to let her join the fun), brought me a giant handful and a plastic cup of almonds.  Lil' Snip sat on my royal lap, paging through his ladybug book.


In such estate, it was a small step to order entertainment.  I suggested a small girls choir.  Three assembled, and took requests.  A handful of hymns later, they ended with "Like a River Glorious."  I closed my eyes to listen.

The choir broke up.  Sugar searched for gifts (a peony barrette and beaded white bracelet) while Spice sang to me, lullaby after soothing lullaby.

"When I am very, very old," I told my daughters, overwhelmed with blessing, "and it's time for me to go home to Jesus, and you are gathered round me singing, like you did now, I will close my eyes and not be sure whether I'm in heaven yet, or here."


"...blessings all mine, and ten thousand beside....."