Saturday Sausage

Loved this cute plaque I picked up at one of those yard sales after that funeral I posted about earlier.

With all these funerals I really did need to just go out in the sunshine and find something cheerful at a yard sale to hang on the wall.

"I can only please one person per day.

Today is not your day.

Tomorrow is not looking good either."

Last Thursday did not look good for our pigs.

We can get all hung up spending our lives trying to please people--

or--getting all bent out of shape when someone isn't pleased with us. 

Sometimes it takes some growing up to realize that it's not necessary to please everyone,

and that not everybody is going to like us

or agree with us

or think everything we do or say or believe is right. 

And it takes some growing up to realize that's okay.

They might think we're downright stupid, eccentric, wrong, or just "strange."

Especially if we are different than they are. 

Some of them can really grind you into sausage.

Sausage is the best kind of pig meat anyhow, our family agrees.

We've already used several packages and have several planned to give away to people like the folks who loaned us their heavy duty meat grinder to put 89 pounds of our pork through last Friday.

We can't always please everybody,

but we can always help somebody.

Right in the middle of cutting up the meat from two pigs, the children took a break to watch their daddy pull our neighbor out of the muddy ditch.

He was the same neighbor that pulled Jonathan's truck out of our pasture the week before.

Sometimes you just have to get on top of what people think of you and just simply do them a good turn. 

Or let them do a good turn for you. 

We're just all a bunch of poor humans--and when our hearts have been broken and crushed and ground into sausage--they usually turn out a great deal more useful than the chunks of meat with hard bone hidden inside,

or meat hiding under layers and layers of fat--

like walls and walls of quiet self-protection.

Do we submit to the ways the Lord works--

the people He brings into our lives to prune us?

Do we withdraw into shells of self-protection, where we can't be honest and open?

Where we can't talk things over honestly and openly?

Being humans, we all take turns being the sausage, 

or being the-- sometimes inadvertent-- grinder.

None of us are the prepackaged solution to everyone else's problems.

Most of us can't even figure out our own. 

And we fear the grinder of others' opinions, knowing we'll be in a million pieces before it's all over.

But that is okay.

Better to be in pieces--tender, soft, workable,small, humble and sweet,

than hard-hearted or covered with layers of self-protection.

Better to be broken bread and crushed grapes and baked fish and fried potato patties

than a chunk of pig bone or pork fat.

Holy Water

Last week was a test of our faith in more than one way.

Here Crystal is standing near Divine Redeemer Catholic church, where we attended another funeral last week. 

Sorry for all the funerals, but that is a part of our lives right now.

The lady for whom Crystal had cleaned house died suddenly of complications after falling and cracking four ribs.  

This happened within a day or two after Jonathan specifically requested prayer in Sunday School that our children could find paying work.

And then the only regular job that Crystal had suddenly disappeared!

Could we give thanks for this sudden and unequivocal "NO" to our prayers?

I guess our prayers were missing the sprinkling of this holy water found in the foyer of the Catholic church

where Crystal and I gingerly entered to attend our first taste of a Catholic mass.

Ha ha.

Don't worry. 

We are not converting to Catholicism. 

Thank you.

In the deserted side of the large church where we explored a bit after the funeral, I took a few photos.

Here is one of a sort of nursery called  "Cry Room,"
which contained a few pews and a statue of the "blessed mother Mary."

It was a small funeral in a large sanctuary, and I managed to get this photo hopefully without anyone seeing us,  from a side sanctuary window without disturbing anyone just beyond the middle of the sanctuary. 

Crystal and I sat near the back, observing. I knew that in a missions or cultural class at Bible College she will probably be attending services in Jewish and Muslim centers, so I didn't figure it would damage us to quietly observe a Catholic funeral. 

However, there were times that I felt like I was in an idols' temple!

Three young choir boys were involved in carrying a crucifix ahead of the casket, carrying an incense holder and swinging it by a chain, and holding an enormous prayer book for the presiding priest who had to hold up both hands to do the prayer and so could not hold the book on his own. 

The prayers and rituals read in a sing song voice lacked heart.

Surprisingly, there was singing of familiar songs such as "Softly and Tenderly," and "Prayer of St. Francis of Assissi."

I noticed that the hymn "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" was in their hymnal!

Over the casket, the priest sprinkled "holy water" such as is contained in these little brick basins along the wall of the sanctuary.

I could understand how people could get trapped into sensing a certain security from the rituals because they were richly sprinkled with readings from the Bible and Biblical songs and hymns. 

But the erroneous idolizing of Mary and the saints was interwoven into their religion, along with other unscriptural rituals. 

Our friend Millie was supposedly in heaven because she'd been baptized a Catholic and her good works had put her there.

Yet the emptiness was obvious. 

Millie's friend, shoulders bent and twisted with age, seemed to still be reeling with the shock of her friend's death, but was proud that Millie had "converted" to Catholicism. 

We did not say much at the time, because it did not seem appropriate to argue doctrinal issues when someone was grieving and anxious. 

We had quickly wondered to ourselves if we had been faithful in sharing the gospel with Millie, 

but Crystal had tried to do what she could. She had once given her the million dollar tract, and Millie had read it and told her it was good. 

The observing of this service gave us much to talk about back home with the family at the next breakfast table. 

About why we pray to "Our Father" instead of Our Mother, and what is the use of "holy" water,

and what it is that gets us to heaven. 

On our way home, funeral clothes and all, we stopped at a few yard sales. At one we discovered a swarm of yellow jackets drowning on the sidewalk.

Looking up, we saw this nest also aswarm with the bees.

I don't suppose this muddy stream would be considered holy water.

The boys find salamanders after the rains.

And when I brought a big potato bag in from the garage, I didn't know it contained a little mouse till it escaped the next morning.

Here everyone is lined up watching to see when the mouse will come out of its corner and hopefully be dealt with by the cat.

As I mentioned above, Crystal losing her job was a test of our faith.

Jonathan immediately said that God must have something better for her.

And later, as I was waiting on the Lord and asking Him to show us what to do, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps God had different plans for Crystal this summer than to find a paying job. 

Crystal had wanted to go to Africa again this year, but several things had hindered and with all the uncertainty she had decided against it.

We had other plans for the summer--till they fell through.

She needed a job to earn toward Bible College, and the job she had she suddenly lost.

And suddenly, we realized-- was God calling her to go with her cousins who are leaving in a month on another Bible distribution trip to Africa?

And by taking away her job, was He asking her and us to once again rely on Him to supply her needs?

It took a few days and more tests of faith where it looked like the cost would be prohibitive,

but then cousin Ezra found a seat on the same plane as the other cousins and for the same price of just $1270.

So today Crystal made the decision, purchased the ticket, and is so excited again to be making plans, 

not just hopefully to begin Bible College this fall at Penn View Bible Institute

but to make another trip to South Africa and Nimibia from July 1st to August 11.

We ask your prayers, but praise God as well!

Happy 50th, Dave!

Sunday we'd been invited to a picnic honoring Jonathan's older brother Dave

for his 50th birthday.

His wife Ruth and their family had done a lovely job of planning a simple but delicious meal

of pulled pork sandwiches, potato salad, chips, veggies, and of course

the centerpiece cake and icecream.

It was very chilly and breezy so Dave couldn't get the candles to stay lit!

Grandpa, Cheryl (Dave's oldest daughter) and Bryan (his son) are in the background.

I got this picture of the pavilion from the hillside. It's a nice little park, 

not far from Grandma and pa Lucas's new home.

Every last person in the clan was there except Barbara and Chad who live in Idaho.

They had hung a few simple decorations that were dangling and swinging in the breeze. 

All the black table cloths which seemed to represent Dave's going 

"over the hill"

reminded me of all the black, yellow and white tablecloths we helped spread on Friday

at a Springs Rescue Mission event we volunteered for.

It was a "Cute-as-a-Bee" Baby Shower for mothers in need, hosted by the social center building of

a Presbyterian church right down town. 

We helped set up tables, organize the categories of baby items, and then sort boxes and bins and bags of baby clothing and other items.

I chose to sort newborn clothing. How fun!

The coordinator had emailed me that she needed my boys as well as the girls,

so Sammy and Timmy came along, too, and helped unload the trucks. 

I so appreciated Sammy pitching in here to help set up all the baby furniture and everything that had been donated by many area churches, including about 10,000 diapers.

Timmy helped a lot, too. Here he is organizing blankets and other baby items.

We had an extremely busy weekend, between the funeral and this event and then work at our own church, but our house had been upended with the wet basement and our cistern water was temporarily contaminated, so till things were back under control, it was nice to get away a few times.

We look forward to being involved perhaps again next year.

After working at the baby shower, I dropped the boys with their dad to work at flood control at our church as well

(repairing some landscape issues that contribute to water running into the basement)

and went to a couple goodwills, only to have some strange noises start flopping on our van.

Back at church later, Jonathan thought a U-joint had gone out,

but instead it was just two bolts that had come out of the brakes.

It took him a couple trips to the auto parts store to find the right size bolts, and finally the van

could be on its way home. 

All on the same day he had issues with his truck shaking because of mud getting into his brakes

after getting stuck on our property in all the mud.

But that is being saved for another post.

I uploaded a bunch of pictures this afternoon in between researching school curriculum for next year

and doing office work.

Mother's Day Photos and Sis. Carole's Funeral

My sister Dorcas sent us Mother's Day photos of herself with her daughters and then with her sons, which gave me the idea for these snaps of my daughters and me near our church.

It's easy to think everyone else has their acts together when we don't. 

Like when we're trying to get four girls and a mom in one piece for a photo.

And the boys are a whole different story.

Like when  we end up getting to church late, with one kid kicking off his shoes and showing a hole so big in his socks that not just one but two toes are sticking through, to say nothing of a second hole with a heel showing through.

And he's holding his foot high in the air in the middle of the service without any compunction.

When are you boys going to cooperate?

There's always got to be one not quite showing up.

And there's lots of nice smiles till it's the actual picture.

But oh, well, it's a little interlude in between posts about funerals!!!

This week we attended the funeral of our sweet friend, Carole VanWagenen, who finally made it safely across the river. 

The night before she died, having been mostly unresponsive and unmoving for days, 

while the pastor and his wife and the Frenches were singing for her,

she had suddenly sat up and tried to say something. It was a little miracle!

Here are the Frenches singing at her funeral.

Our former pastor, Bro. Derald Hunt, sharing a eulogy using an acrostic using Carole's name:

C--Caring

A--Always there

R--Real

O--Others oriented

L--Loving

E--Everyone included

Our pastor, Bro. Steve Kearney, shared a refreshing message and presented the gospel to any present who did not know the Lord.

Jonathan Finch, who had been one of Carole's caregivers, and Robert Lefever played a trumpet solo:

"When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder."

The pall bearers were (from back left clockwise) Ward French, Michael Clark, Jonathan Finch, Derald Hunt, Tim Rhoades (Naomi French's brother) and Ben Reynolds.

Sis. Carole's final resting place was in Evergreen Cemetery, one of the most beautiful cemeteries I've ever been in. Sammy heard someone say that fourteen years ago this cemetery already had 75,000 people buried in it. 

In the distance, the mountains near Pikes Peak are visible.

Our pastor led in singing "Amazing Grace," and told us that this casket was just a "hope chest!"

It was one of the most joyful and hopeful funerals I've ever been to.

We knew beyond a shadow of doubt Sis. Carole was in heaven.

And since her husband had gone on before and she had no children, there were no immediate family left to grieve. 

Just friends to rejoice for her complete healing and victorious home going.

Back at the parsonage funeral reception there was a new little one to rejoice over.

Crystal is holding Priscilla [Lefever] Carrol's little baby boy.

Priscilla is washing dishes.

Grandma Fern Lefever just loves her first grandbaby.

He's so pretty everyone thinks he is a girl, she says, no matter how much blue you dress him in!

And Grandpa Robert wouldn't be bursting his buttons or anything like that.

And when Carrie remarked about how this funeral bouquet was her favorite, 

it got sent home with her!

It still looks beautiful in the morning sunlight.
 And on Sunday morning when a little time was set aside in the morning service for thoughts of Sis. Carole, Jonathan read this poem that I had been inspired to write shortly after hearing about her crossing over.
*********
  Sis. Carole's New Address

What was it like, Sis. Carole,
  When the angels lifted you,
From that weary bed and took you instead
  To a home beyond the blue?


What was it like when they set you down
  Upon those streets of gold
And with hand held tight, you stood upright
  Till without a hand to hold

You stood all strong and suddenly found
 That you could walk and skip?
That when you had a chance you could run and dance
  And do a cartwheel flip?

What was it like to reach your arm
   And find you were embraced?
To sense a tug and feel a hug
   And look into Christ's face?

What was it like to hear His voice
   And hear that "Child, well done!"
To leave this stark old earth's thick dark
   For the land of eternal Sun?

What was it like to leave your poor
   Weak body far below?
To walk flowery fields now strong and healed
  With Christ Who loves you so?

Send us a note, Sis. Carole,
   To answer these thoughts on our mind.
With fingers so agile that once lay so fragile,
   Write us a note undersigned,

Signed by one "Carole Van Wagenen,
   Redeemed by God's marvelous grace."
Resting in Christ, whose blood has sufficed
  To merit you see His face.

Send us a note, Sister Carole,
   From your heavenly home addressed.
Touched with perfumes from heavenly blooms,
  From your home of eternal rest.
 

Goodbye, goodbye, Sis. Carole,
  But the end of our own road is not far.
Pass your baton! We are following on
  With our wagons hitched to your Star!

    ---lovingly penned by her friend,
            Anna Lucas