Grumbling

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Our women’s study is currently working through the book of Exodus.  This week we read about all the grumbling going on by the Israelite people in the wilderness. (Exodus 16)   One month after the dramatic parting of the Red Sea and deliverance from slavery, they looked back at the good old days in Egypt with nostalgia.  “There we sat around pots of meat…”   So when the food supply ran out, the grumbling began.  They grumbled against Moses and accused him of leading them out into the desert to starve them all to death.  But God heard all the complaining and took it personally.  Moses told the people, “You are not grumbling against us, but against the Lord.”

After coming down pretty hard on those wilderness wanderers, I began to wonder if I ever grumbled.  If?  Boy, was I in for a rude awakening.  The experiment began as I heard PB’s alarm go off at 4:45 a.m.  Now, I’m an early riser, but my hubby’s Friday morning routine is too extreme even for me.  Grumble.  An hour later, I went into the bathroom to find the toilet paper roll was empty.  Grumble.  When I came out to the kitchen, my son’s midnight snack debris was all over the counter.  Grumble. 

The toaster was set too high and my english muffin burned…..the dishwasher needed unloading……one of the socks I put on had a hole in it……grumble, grumble, grumble.  And I hadn’t even left the house yet.  Oh my.  Oh my goodness.  I wasn’t even close to being without food and water in the middle of a desert.  And was God taking my complaints to heart?  Are my murmurings, when I come right down to it, really a way to gripe against the One who is supposed to be in charge of the world?

Try it.  I dare you.  Keep track of how many times you grumble for a day.  Then try walking around in a desert for 40 years.

Collector

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Some people collect knick-knacks like tea cups and shot glasses.  Others gather fishing lures and baseball cards.  None of those types of things interest me.  Instead, I am a collector of ideas. During this dark and cold time of year, when Christmas decorations are put away and the wind chill is -10 degrees, I go to my endless file folders and peruse my collection of ideas. 

There’s a folder of decorating plans: fabulous pictures of designer homes along with simple ideas for organizing  junk drawers and such. 

 Another folder holds exercise workouts and articles on health and fitness; that one’s rather skinny; go figure! 

Then there’s a thick one that contains lists of book titles that were recommended or I heard about from somewhere. 

 

Even thicker is a file of craft and sewing ideas.  Actually, I needed to transfer those to a box a few years ago; but all the patterns are organized by file folder according to specific types.  File folders just make me happy, I guess. 

 

I have a writing file where stories I’ve started, writing prompts, and every “Quotable Quotes” page from Reader’s Digest’s last 10 years are tucked. 

 By far the mother lode of all is the recipe file, which has grown to several boxes.

I realize that the purpose of such a magnificent collection is to spur one on to actually take action; to knit that scarf, cook that dish, read that book, do those exercises.  But in the doldrums of winter, sometimes the ideas themselves are enough entertainment for me.  I like thinking about creativity almost more than being creative.   

 I wonder what will happen to my collection someday.  Oh, how I hope it falls into the hands of someone who will be inspired to create beautiful things.  In the meantime, I’m considering picking one idea each week….. well, maybe one each month, to pull out of the file and bring to life.  I’ll let you know when I’m done thinking about it….

In With the New

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Most days slip by; they are ordinary and plain.  Some days are heavy with significance and deserve our full attention.  Today is one of those.

I remember many New Year’s Eve celebrations with Grandpa O.  He and Grandma would invite friends and family over for a fun evening of games and good food.  But as the clock neared midnight, he would gather us all in the living room and Grandpa would “pray in” the new year.  I always loved hearing him pray, but especially on New Year’s Eve.  All of us sensed Grandpa’s deep love for God and listening to him give thanks for the year past and speak blessing into the year to come was truly hallowed.  I think we all felt that, no matter what the next year would bring or how badly we would mess up, at least we started it off right.

PB (my hubby, short for Pastor Blake) remembers when, as a boy, he would climb up in the church belfry and “ring in” the new year.  Walking through the dark, empty church at midnight was eerie; one’s imagination could run rampant climbing up the steps to the belfry.  He recalls grabbing the dangling rope, pulling with all his weight and being lifted right off the ground as the bell began ringing.  The Methodists joined in with the ringing of the Catholic and Baptist bells to announce the new year had begun.

We did not “pray in” or “ring in” 2011.  We went to a movie and went to bed early!  But today I am giving some serious thought to a new start, a fresh beginning.  I will start a new journal and make a list of goals.  I will pick out a Bible verse to pray for my children throughout the year and decide what to study.  I will choose a hymn to memorize and begin a new page of prayer requests.  In with the new!

For I am about to do something new.  See, I have already begun!  Do you not see it?  I will make a pathway through the wilderness.  I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.  Isaiah 43:19

The Christmas Necklace

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I wear this necklace every year to the kids’ Christmas program at church. In monetary value it’s worth about $1.99 in glass beads and string. In sentimental value, it is priceless. Here’s the story:

Back in December of 1991, our 9 year old daughter, Katie, was fighting for her life in the intensive care unit at Marshfield Hospital. In a matter of days, she had gone from having a rash to being deathly ill. A few weeks before this sudden turn of events, Katie was learning how to make beaded necklaces at a friend’s house. She and her crafty buddy, Leah, had gotten about halfway done with what was to be my Christmas present and the plan was to finish it together the following week.

But by then, our little girl was in pediatric ICU, 80 miles away from home. Grandpa and Grandma came to take care of our other three children and the churches we were serving. My hubby and I took turns keeping vigil at our sweet girl’s bedside; one of us stayed at the hospital while the other one tried to sleep at the Ronald McDonald House across the street.

A few days before Christmas, blond haired, blue eyed Leah made her way down the hospital corridor and found her friend’s room. She carried with her a box carefully wrapped and tagged with my name. She told me that this was a gift that Katie had intended to give me for Christmas and she figured she better get it to the hospital so Katie could give me my present. Inside the package was the finished beaded necklace. I had never seen a more beautiful piece of jewelry. I didn’t take it off until we brought our girl home 3 weeks later.

I wear it every Christmas so I don’t forget how thankful I am that we have four healthy children. And also not to forget that there are many parents sitting in waiting rooms and hospital rooms who are facing the toughest days of their lives.

Beware that you don’t look down on any of these little ones. For I tell you that in heaven their angels are always in the presence of my heavenly Father. Matthew 18:10 

The Christmas Mouse

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‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring……

……except for a mouse.

AH!!!!  SAY IT ISN’T SO!!!!!

The other day, as I was sweeping out the broom closet, I noticed that a package of little black seeds must have fallen on the floor, right behind the bag of dog food.  Alas, a closer look revealed that they were not seeds at all, but…..you know.  *shudder*  It seems that the old unused dryer vent in that closet lost it’s plug and word got out in the vermin community that just inside the hole was a Christmas dinner of Iams Weight Control nuggets.

You must understand what this does to my psyche.  I am not just disgusted by the thought of …..you know….being in my house.  I am completely creeped-out and feel intensely violated. I am unable to function normally and get tightness across my chest.  I walk about the house with eyes darting into all the dark corners; I open cupboards slowly and make loud coughing noises when I near the closet.  This is not just an aversion to…..you know…..it is a flat out phobia.  Standing on a chair and screaming is the only proper way to react to such a calamity.

I can’t even watch cute cartoon movies about these revolting critters. “Ratatouille”?  A mouse in the kitchen?   That’s a horror scene.  And even though Fievel Mousekewitz sang a great song in “An American Tail”, he still had a…. tail.  *cringe*  I know Cinderella was lonely, and I am aware of the fact that Gus and Jaq did free her so she could try on the glass slipper and fall in love with the Handsome Prince, but I would have chucked it all if it meant befriending a …… you know.  I could go on.  Why in the world are m-i-c-e made out to be loveable and kind-hearted in the movies?  *shiver* 

I’m just hoping and praying that sometime in the wee hours of this Christmas Eve night, we will hear that wonderous sound and I’m not talking about sleigh bells.  My heart will thrill at the SNAP of a peanut butter laden spring loaded trap.  Only then will I be able to reclaim my home for the holidays.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!

Christmas Program

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One of my duties as Christian Ed. Director at our church is to put on a Christmas program with all the children, preschool through 8th grade.  Today was the day.  Which means tonight I am reveling in the fact that I will not have bad dreams about angels refusing to go on stage or wise men horsing around in front of the manger.  After the dress rehearsal I always cry because I’m sure the play will be a disaster.  After the performance I always cry because the play, miraculously, was perfect.  Here’s what I mean:

In the preschool presentation, Mary smiled the sweetest smile you ever saw and waved to her parents.  The lamb knew every song by heart, but came in one beat before everyone else.  She had the prettiest little voice.  The wisemen had penciled in moustaches, giving them an oriental flair.  The angels couldn’t get their wings to stay on straight.  The shepherd’s head scarf fell off and he struggled to tie it back on while kneeling at the manger.  Perfect.

In the the big kids’ play, the soloists hit every note, and sang right into the mic.  Nobody missed their lines and everybody remembered everything I ever told them to do.  The 7th and 8th graders with the most lines delivered them all with expression.  The 6th grader who agreed to sing a solo at the last minute pulled it off without a hitch.  The quiet kids turned it up a notch and the loud kids kept it under control.  Also perfect.

I love doing this.  I’m also really glad it’s over for another year.

A Snowy Sunday

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As a pastor’s wife for 25 years, I can’t remember ever sleeping in on a Sunday morning. “Should I go to church today or not?” never enters the thought process. For me, a Sunday without church is like Thanksgiving dinner without turkey, the 4th of July without fireworks, a peanut butter and apple sandwich without the apples. That’s why yesterday seemed so weird. Something was missing all day.

The midwest was hit with a winter storm Saturday night, complete with blizzard warnings in our area. For the first storm of the season, it was a real doozy. Snow piled up all night and by morning nobody was going anywhere. So instead of getting up and going over to church, like every other Sunday morning, I lolled about in my pjs. Instead of turning the lights on in all the Sunday school rooms, putting out the attendance folders, unlocking the basement enterance, welcoming the kids, running a Christmas program rehearsal, warming up praise band, and playing piano……

I sat in front of the fire and read the Christmas story, sang a few hymns, said a few prayers. I liked it. I could worship like that….. once every 25 years or so. But I just love being with my friends at church on Sunday mornings, so that’s where I’ll be next week, Lord willing.

 I rejoiced with those who said to me, “Let us go to the house of the LORD.”Psalm 122:1

Pick Me

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After the last post, and pondering how Mary responded to God’s message, I’ve been wondering how other people in the Bible reacted to a word from the Lord. For instance, Joseph. There is not one recorded word in the scriptures from the mouth of Joseph. In fact, almost every time he’s mentioned, he’s sleeping. God speaks to Joseph four times, each time in a dream. God is always telling Joseph to “get up”. To Joseph’s credit, what follows is, “so he got up” — but not a word. He must have been the strong silent type.

Now, take Moses. God speaks to him from a burning bush about delivering the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. After giving God four reasons why he is not the man for the job, Moses finally just spits out, “O Lord, please send someone else to do it.” It reminds me of trying to find someone to teach the Junior High Sunday school class.

Then there’s Isaiah. God said, “Whom shall I send?” and Isaiah is like the kid in the back row of the 3rd grade classroom who desperately wants to be the first one to give the answer to the teacher. Isaiah shoots his hand up in the air and almost falls out of his seat, saying “Ooo, oo, oo, me! Send me!!! Pick me!!!” God must have loved that. Especially after dealing with Moses.

Demure Mary, quiet Joseph, reticent Moses, enthusiastic Isaiah – God used them all, regardless of the adjective before their name.

Where There’s a Will…

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I don’t know how preachers do it. Every year during Advent, they must sermonize about Luke 1-2 for several weeks. The story is so familiar and the list of characters is quite small. It must be challenging to shed new light on the old account. Ah! but the wonder of God’s Word is such that there is a gift hidden for the one who seeks. I ask the Lord each Christmas season to show me something new and I’ve never been disappointed.

In church on Sunday, we read about Mary’s response to the angel’s announcement that she was going to have a baby. I’ve always been puzzled that such earth-shattering news delivered by a heavenly being got such an undramatic response. “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said,” doesn’t come close to what my reaction would have been.  (Something more like, “WHAT?!?!?!?!?”) 

Then I noticed something brand new right there in Luke 1. One little word, spoken 9 times by the angel:

“You WILL be with child…”

“He WILL be great and WILL be called the Son of the Most High…..”

“The Lord God WILL give him the throne…”

“He WILL reign….”

“His kingdom WILL never end….”

“The Holy Spirit WILL come upon you….”

“The power of the Most High WILL overshadow you….”

“He WILL be called the Son of God….”

It was a done deal. The plan was already in motion and Mary’s answer was perfect. She didn’t say, “Yes, I’ll do it” or “No, find someone else” because she wasn’t asked; she was told. And there was no way she was about to debate with a heavenly messenger talking about thrones and kingdoms and power.

Sometimes God asks us, “Will you?”. Sometimes He says, “You will.”

“Your kingdom come, Your will be done,” is the best answer still.

I Lift Up My Eyes

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I lift up my eyes to the hills…  Psalm 121:1

In his hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to him.  Psalm 95:4

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you.  Isaiah 55:12

For who is God besides the Lord? And who is the Rock except our God?  Psalm 18:31

Mountains just make you want to think lofty thoughts.  They are one thing I wish I could have brought home with me.  Well, that and my daughter.  And my son-in-law.  So…three things.

AND NOW, FOR SOMETHING TOTALLY DIFFERENT:  As promised, pics of people in awkward positions trying to get comfortable in the vehicle.

It’s hard when you’re 6″3.

That’s better!

It’s harder when you’re 6″4.

Yep, those are Subway sandwiches.  The two boys didn’t stay long in the backseat because the back bumper started dragging on the highway.  I did enjoy a glorious hour in the front seat, though. 

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.