PB and Andy

My mother used to say that February wasn’t good for anything but reading a good long book. I’ve adopted her philosophy with a twist. February isn’t good for anything but reading a good long book on a beach.

PB and I headed south for a couple weeks and came home when February was just about over. We enjoyed sunny skies and warm sand in our toes. We saw some sights and spent time with some lovely people along the way.

Our last stop was Mount Airy, North Carolina, the hometown of Andy Griffith, and the inspiration for the fictional town of Mayberry.

During the early days of the pandemic, everybody had an opinion they were happy to share. Those in a leadership position of any kind during that time know how stressful it was to maintain peace and harmony. In the midst of chaos and criticism, uncertainty and unpleasantness, PB and I escaped to Mayberry every night after supper.

A half hour with Andy, Barney, Aunt Bee and Goober lowered our blood pressure. We laughed a little, we learned a lesson, and we whistled the theme song. For a few moments, we harkened back to our own childhoods (like Opie’s) in small towns (like Mayberry). The TV show provided a sacred thirty minutes of simple joy and warm community, things that were sadly lacking in the world at the time.

When we made plans to take off this February and visit family in North Carolina, it was a no-brainer. PB booked a night in Andy Griffith’s boyhood home and one of the kids set us up with a ride in Barney’s squad car. We went to the Andy Griffith Museum, had lunch at Snappy Diner, and stopped in at Floyd’s Barbershop. We sat in the sheriff’s chair at the courthouse and bought a souvenir at Wally’s service station. It was a walk back in time.

Watching the Andy Griffith Show
(even if you’ve seen all 249 episodes)
while sitting in Andy’s living room
would make you smile, too.


I’m throwing a little celebration here on “small drop” today! 

Thirteen years ago, on February 2nd, this little experiment began and I had no idea what I was doing. I still don’t know exactly what I’m doing, or if I’m doing it right, or if it’s even worth doing! I do know my little blog isn’t fancy-schmancy or in a league with the big-girl bloggers out there. But I’m content with a small space to articulate my small thoughts to my small audience! So, happy birthday, “small drop”! 

As I hit this milestone, some thanks are in order. 

Thanks to my son-in-law, Noah, who said to me one January day, “You should have a blog.” Within a few seconds and a few clickety-clacks on my laptop, a new babe was born! I was extremely intimidated and it took me a month to get enough nerve to publish my first post.

Thanks to my two girls, who encouraged me by saying that I did, indeed, have something to say, and then told their girlfriends to read their mom’s blog. However, if my daughters were the only ones who ever read this, it would be enough for me. 

Thanks to my sons, who let me use their experiences to demonstrate grace.

Thanks to my grandchildren, who garner more “likes” than any other type of post.

Thanks to PB, who doesn’t mind when I sit him down and plop the computer in his lap and say, “Want to read my blog?” To which he responds, “Did you write about me?”

Thanks to my friends who intentionally stop by, as well as readers who drop in by accident. You have no idea how it thrills my heart to know you’ve been by for a visit!

One more: Thanks be to God, who was the original Word that became flesh and lived among us for awhile. And continues to live among us. Amen!

The Helmet

“Where’s my helmet?”
Those are the first words this little guy says when he comes to our house.

He wears it for walks in the woods.

He wears it while watching TV with Opa.

He wears it while riding in the boat with his sissy.

It’s a good idea to wear a helmet these days.

protect the minds of our little ones.
Help them to seek truth and goodness and beauty.
Help them to walk in Your ways and think Your thoughts.
Guard them from hollow and deceptive philosophy.
May the helmet of salvation keep them safe.

“Put on the full armor of God.
Take the helmet of salvation.”
Ephesians 6

I Like You

PB and I exchange cards on Valentine’s Day.
That’s it.
No flowers, no candy, no fancy dinner out.

Even buying a card seems extravagant these days. Next year, I’m going to take my love to Walmart and peruse the valentine section, pick out a card, have him read it, then put it back on the rack. I may even give him a kiss right there in aisle three. We might hold hands as we walk out to the parking lot. With the money we saved, we could pick up a burger and fries and eat it in the car on the way home. Sounds perfect.

This year, however, we did splurge on cards
and PB found just the right one for me.

Forty-two and a half years ago,
we promised to love and cherish each other.
I’ve never once doubted PB’s love for me since that day.
We never promised to like each other though.

And there have been many days since August 25, 1979 that I’m pretty sure he didn’t like me too much. I know that because there were some days I didn’t like him either. But we loved each other still.

Love is a given.
We vowed to love each other
and every day we choose to make good on that promise.

But to be liked?
That’s different.

It means he would choose me for a friend even if we weren’t a couple.
It means he appreciates my quirky ways, even finding delight in them.
It means he’s genuinely interested in what I’m doing and where I’m going.
It means he would rather have me along than go somewhere alone.

He doesn’t just put up with me.
He likes me.

I think it’s possible that my Valentine card is a reflection of Divine Love.
Sure, God loves us. He has to. He promised He would.
But I also think He really, really likes us.
He chooses us,
delights in us,
is interested in us,
desires us to join Him.

“This is what the Lord says… You are mine.” Isaiah 43:1

How sweet it is to be liked by You. ❤️

Presto! 41 Years!

PB and I celebrated our 41st wedding anniversary this week.img_0755

Also this week, the electric knife we got as a wedding present bit the dust.
“The Cutup” made by Presto was a darn good product.
It carved many a Thanksgiving turkey,
sliced heaps of warm bread loaves,
and de-kerneled cobs of corn for the freezer.
Sure, we had to wrap it with electrician’s tape to hold it together.
And the label had to be glued on a few times over the years.
But forty-one years of slicing is nothing to sneeze at.


The key to a good electric knife is the smooth motion of the two blades.
They have to go back and forth in sync,
while staying firmly attached to each other.
One goes forward, the other one moves back.
Then the other one slides up as the one slips back.
It happens so fast, you might not even notice all the slipping and sliding.
All you see is the whirring teamwork of the blades working in tandem.

That old knife is a little like PB and me.
We’re a good team.
We keep each other sharp.
We’ve cut through a lot together.
We’ve patched up a few cracks.
We haven’t gotten too bent out of shape.
We’ve stayed attached to God and each other.
Of course, PB is quite a “cut-up”.
But he’s also been a faithful, reliable partner.
There’s no one I’d rather slice through life with.

Seems like yesterday when we unwrapped that wedding present.
Presto! Forty-one years!



This, Too

Over 450 times the Bible says,
“And it came to pass.”
Zero times the Bible says,
“And it came to stay.”

Covid-19 has come.
Covid-19 will pass.

It has not come to stay.
This, too, shall pass.
(That’s not in the Bible.)

There is a story being written right now.
It’s the story that you will tell when you look back on this strange time.
How did you weather the crisis?
How did you respond in love to others?
What did God teach you?
How were you shaped by the experience?
You are the author of that story.
Make it a good one.

this too


Two Thumbs Down


I didn’t think my thumbs would be the first to go.
The doctor said it comes from wear and tear over time.

The pain I’m feeling in my thumb joints
is a result of years and years of
playing the piano and playing catch
holding a pencil and filling up journals
pulling weeds and pushing grocery carts
scooping cookie dough and unscrewing pickle jar lids
stitching quilts and sewing on patches
squeezing out dishrags and kneading bread
snapping beans and peeling potatoes
putting in ponytails and hanging out laundry
scrubbing floors and washing windows
prying apart Legos and picking flowers
wiping noses and tying shoes.

I have not appreciate these two digits enough.
They have been silent laborers, unsung heroes, strong assistants.
Take a good look at your thumbs today and bless them.

thumbs up

Five Shirts

When PB saw the Six Dresses I made for our granddaughters,
the pressure was on to come up with something special for our grandsons.
Opa did not disappoint.
He designed five T-shirts for the boys.



What in the world does “Barnebarn” mean, you ask?
“Grandchild”, of course.
In Norwegian.

Six Dresses

This summer I pulled out my sewing machine.
It’s been a while.
I thought about the dresses I made for my girls when they were little.
Then I thought about my little granddaughters.
So I made six dresses.


As I sewed, I prayed for their six little hearts.
“Help them to pin their hopes and dreams to You.”
“When things are coming apart at the seams, help them turn to You.”
Hem them in by Your love, before and behind.”
“Give them the desire to gather together with other believers.”
Finish off their rough edges so they don’t unravel.”
“Help them not be afraid to go against the grain of culture.”
“Protect them from developing unfair biases.”
“Help them give grace to people who needle them.”
“May they live according to the pattern set in scripture.”
“Give them Your strength to iron out their problems.”


May the Word that is sown (sewn?) into their hearts
take root and produce fruit (and pink flowers!).