When Your Roses Become a Snack for Goats

A few weeks ago, a gate was left open. Children were visiting who did not understand the significance of gates when goats are on the farm.

And so, a goat visited the back yard--and the back deck.

She ate down my beautiful yellow rose bush to nothing but a few stems and thorns.

Yum! What a luscious snack!

I don't understand why she didn't eat the red and white petunias which were on either side of the roses, but I decided to be thankful. At least she didn't eat those AND my yellow roses.

Just my beautiful roses.

And around the same time, the pigs got into the back yard and ate down the comfrey plant, which is good for asthma and many other uses and which I had just brought back from my sister-in-law in PA and Rose had planted by our back door step. They ate every bit, clear to the root. 

They even dug up the root!

And the cow got out and ate my irises by the front porch.

This picture is before they were eaten.

These are my mom's irises at her place in Missouri.
No goats, no pigs, no cow. They bloom profusely. I wandered around and around those irises a few months ago, pulling weeds and taking a picture.

Here were her roses, too. 

Thriving lushly. 

No murderous animals to eat them live. 

I struggle to have the heart to grow roses or irises or anything at all, even a garden. 

It seems the only thing that will grow safely around here is weeds--and beets with one or two foot high greens with a big staple through the tiny root!

But we still try. 

Even though the poor rosebush disappeared I know not where, the petunias are still blooming at least, some beets are growing, some morning glories are thriving, some lettuce is ready for salads,
a few flowers in hanging baskets are still blooming on our front porch,
and some blue chicory (one of my favorite flowers) is blooming surprisingly in our yard.

So when God takes the beautiful yellow roses from my life, I will look for the blue chicory.

Why is there a lump in my throat and a hurt in my heart?

It is not just about yellow roses. 

Perhaps you understand.

And when He allows something good and healing like comfrey to be eaten up and yanked clear out clear down to the root,

it might look dead and hopeless, but let me tell you something. 

Someone replanted the yanked up comfrey root, and watered it and tended it.

And it is growing back all over again.

Because that is what God does. 

He resurrects the dead, eaten things in our lives. 

And He took my roses, but He gave me hundreds of morning glories this year.

He took my yellow roses that I chose and bought myself, and gave me blue chicory that I don't remember ever seeing before this year.

He gave me umpteen yellow sunflowers. 

I must not get stuck on wanting my yellow roses.

I must surrender all my yellow roses to God and let Him give me instead His choice of beauty for ashes, His choice of cheer and comfort.
It just might come from a blue flower that I might not have appreciated as much as I do this year!

It might come from a person whom I overlooked, or a fellowship that was beneath my expectations.

God's chicory is every bit as beautiful as my yellow roses!

Drawer Day--One Thing at a Time

Yesterday was Drawer Day for me. I decided to clean out drawers including the big kitchen desk drawer which was stuffed with millions of things that I didn't know how they got there or where to put them. I spread it out on the table and this is what it looked like.

 Talk about feeling overwhelmed! But I thought if I just dealt with one thing at a time I could probably get through the pile in an hour. I started Gathering up all the screwdrivers, pliers, sockets, and other little tools and got them to the garage where Timmy directed me where to put them. Electrical tape, masking tape and other tape and glue went where they belonged. I put a tweezers in the medicine cabinet and a pencil sharpener in the school desk. The string went to my room to tie a birthday gift for Timmy today. Old batteries and flashlights that didn't work got thrown away while flashlights that did work got put back in the drawer. And so on through the whole pile.

    I am proud to announce that the kitchen drawer only has a few items neatly stowed away at this time, and the sewing drawer is also neatly organized all because one mom who didn't know how to get it done just put away one thing at a time. One thing at a time, one step at a time and jobs get done.

 One piece of wood at a time.

 One repair at a time.

One prayer at a time.

When everything is overwhelming, just one thing at a time, just one day at a time helps us slog through it.

"Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble."

Mat. 6:34

Our family is right now in the middle of learning "Day by Day."
"Day by day and with each passing moment
Strength I find to meet my trials here,
Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment,
I've no cause for worry or for fear.
He Whose heart is kind beyond all measure,
Gives unto each day what He deems best,
Lovingly its part of pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with peace and rest."

Grasshoppers in the Corn

The other day the children discovered that grasshoppers, large and small, were starting to eat our corn.

They promptly brought in the four young turkeys who love to eat grasshoppers but have no idea how to find the hoppers on their own.

The turkeys were just bumbling clumsily around in the corn patch, knocking down the bean plants.

So Danny and Hannah sneaked around catching all the grasshoppers they could find

and tossing them to the turkeys.

At least we don't have the grasshopper plague like was at a friend's place in Wyoming a few weeks ago--grasshoppers so bad they were literally eating the handle of a hoe or rake or some such tool.

What to Do When Your Heart Aches--Visit the Chicken Coop

Don't ask me why my heart is aching because I ain't gonna tell you.

There's too long a list anyway.  

And plus I'm a middle-aged woman who doesn't even need a reason and my heart aches anyway.

But when I don't quite have things altogether, I find a little quietness and peace

 out in the chicken coop in the late afternoon or evening. 

When I feel restless or sad, I go gather the eggs.

Some of them are in a pile in an empty nest, and others are under chickens, still very warm and fresh.

I know chickens have their pecking orders, sort of like humans, and one or two hens peck me good and hard if I dare to disturb them, also sort of like humans, but generally, there is a peaceful atmosphere in that little coop.

Back in the corner of the smaller chick pen there might be two or three eggs on the floor.

 And right now there are even four turkeys in the pen.

 

There is just something about chickens going to roost for the night.

They know where their home is, and where they are safe, and as long as they don't mess up the pecking order, they seem to live at peace and just live their lives as they were meant to be lived.

Here are some more young chickens going to roost for the night,

well out of reach of whatever coyote or other wild beast kept coming and stealing one after another recently.

Also, if I go out into the pasture, the pigs will come snorting and grunting up and butt into my legs because, as usual, just like pigs, they think I have food for them.

Not this time.

The first sunflower in the garden is peeking up at us.

And the carrots are lush.

Weeding our little gardens is another stress reliever.

The morning glories are lush as they climb the fence.

This garden is just beautiful under the hail screen.
I pick lettuce and pull weeds and check the size of the green beans and peek around to see how much the zucchini have grown. 

 And I come away with my heart feeling much better. 

Soothed by quietness.

Relieved by getting my hands in the weeds and shaking off dirt, 

shaking off the dirt of sadness and despair and disgust at the wickedness around.

And instead I begin to thank God for the beauty around me--

the morning glories Hannah planted in a hanging basket, and all the other flowers Jonathan and the children gave me for Mother's Day...

the laughter and good attitudes of my children,

the endearing and calming voice of my husband calling in during the day with a "Hello, dear!" or "Hello, Sweetheart! How are you doing?"

I can forget about the stuff going on in the world around us for a while as I hang laundry in the sunshine, waken in the morning to sparrows twittering, watch happy children doing their work or busy at play, 

iron clothes in a home cooled with a swamp cooler,

and turn on a spigot to find plenty of running water after years of sparse water.

So much to thank God for and be comforted by.

And may I never forget that these small things are just little pictures of His grace,

something so immense it cannot be contained or pictured, really.

Big, soft, comforting promises like a feather comforter to snuggle in.

Words from a heavenly Father to be touched by.

The knowledge that someday there will be no more heartache or tears or distress

or midlife crises or hurt feelings or strained relationships or financial burdens.

We will be forever with the Lord.

Annoying Church People--and Logs We Wish to Remove

I read an article recently about how the devil likes to insult the bride of Christ by helping God's people to notice each others' faults. 

(Here is the link in case you would enjoy a thought-provoking read.

https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/the-bride-satan-loves-to-insult)

He gets us to assume our own faults are like a little splinter while others' faults are like logs,

like the log stuck at the top of a waterfall in a waterway the children discovered near our camp spot

in early July.

This water is pouring through a stream bed that comes out of a water tunnel dug through the mountain clear back in 1898 or something like that.

There had been a water war between Wyoming and Colorado, and so this much water was diverted from a river upstream and allowed to flow into Colorado.

The children discovered this stream and waterfall the evening we camped there, and the next morning insisted on taking their dad and mom up to see it. 

You should have seen all the children helping their parents across the wide stream.

Their mom took off her shoes and waded across in Hannah's flip-flops, carrying a small towel to dry off with afterward, and the children placed a log strategically so Jonathan would not have to take off his boots.

By hook or by crook, we all got across, and then, with everyone back into his or her own footwear, we enjoyed the short hike to this stream.

The children were determined to get this clogged log out of the waterfall.

They climbed up and tried to dislodge it from the top.

 

 When that didn't work well enough, they found another log to try to pry it.

Finally, they got that log down the waterfall, but it stuck fast at the bottom!

Carrie decided she liked a challenge!

Was that water ever cold!

But she got the log out!

Yay!

There are times when we would really like to poke, pry, or otherwise dislodge the logs we see in other people's waterfalls. 

They are late all the time, as the article says, or they stink, or they are dirty, or they are poor with relationship skills, or they always have a hand out or they are stingy or they give away too much of their money.

They don't like hugged or they hug too much;

 they are too emotional or they don't have any emotions.

They take things too personally or they don't take responsibility.

They find fault or they don't see the faults they ought to see before using that person. 

They are grouchy or they are way too happy-go-lucky and aren't realistic. 

They are too lazy or they are workaholics; they ignore us or they watch us like a hawk.
They bug us about coming to their church or they hope we won't come. 

The logs bug us. They are in the way. They ruin the landscape. They make us feel bad. 

They clog up the waterway.

Water is so important. And especially the water of life. The water of fellowship. The water of relationship.

There shouldn't be logs there.

But sometimes we just have to leave the logs. Sometimes trying to remove the logs will just do more damage to the streambed or ourselves or the other person.

We will fall off the rock or fall into the water. We will freeze or drown or hurt ourselves or others in the process.

Sunday morning at tent meeting something happened that made us forget about some logs--logs we'd seen in others, and logs we were sure others were seeing in us.

Just after Jonathan and I had sat down on our folding chairs in the gravel under the tent,

somebody's arm was coming around Jonathan's shoulder.

Jonathan looked around, and here it was his best friend, Ken Lefever, from back in Ohio.

His family had traveled in and was there that morning.

"Ken!" I gasped, as Jonathan stood to his feet and the two friends wrapped each other in a huge hug.

Huge hugs have a way of dispersing huge burdens.

Logs and burdens practically disappeared in that moment

because logs disappear when hugs appear. 

A friend had hugged us, had welcomed us unashamedly in front of everyone, and we were loved.

Logs vanish when love appears.

Overturned Trucks and Lilypad Lakes

Just as Jonathan and I were dozing off to sleep Sunday night, I heard footsteps in the house and then an engine starting in the driveway. Startled wide awake, I realized Sam must be heading off to an emergency call.

And my volunteer fireman son wasn't just heading off--he was roaring off at top speed!
The next thing we heard was the assistant chief's vehicle roaring down the road, too, also at top speed.

Well, sleep was fleeing by then, and soon I was up wondering and wandering, praying for the emergency and for my son and doing other quiet things. 

Sam had rushed off the night before as well to help when somebody had a fall.

This time, I would learn the next morning, it was a roll-over, and the driver had left the rolled-over truck blocking Rt. 24 and had disappeared. 

Being the mom of a volunteer fireman makes life interesting, especially when I am also the mom of six other children who keep life hopping.

But then there is Danny. 

The quiet one.

The one who enjoys fishing.

I was eager to get on home three weeks ago after camping for the weekend.

But Danny wanted to do some more fishing and so, while several of the other children headed toward home in Sam's truck, Jonathan parked our van and trailer a while by a lake.

We called it Lilypad Lake. 

It was covered with blooming lilypads.

 Danny caught a big fish in a short time, and then he caught another one. 

So Jonathan decided to stay longer, until he could catch at least one more.

I brought my journal down and sat on a rock to write in it--and saw a scuttling tick on that same rock,

the first tick I think I ever saw just walking on a rock instead of on a person.

Usually, I don't see ticks until they are on or in someone!

Well, I brushed the tick away, and sat writing and watching and otherwise just being quiet for a while,

out in the woods by the lilypad lake.

"He leadeth me beside the still waters."

There was something about being quiet, just drinking in the beauty and the stillness and letting the quietness rest our constantly frazzled spirits,

watching our son flick his line here and there and then stand over-the-knee deep in the quiet lake,

waiting for a bite. 

We didn't know what life would hold for us in just the next few weeks--

everything from rattlesnakes to a man attempting suicide by jumping off a bridge.

But for nearly three hours, we just walked, and sat, and watched our quiet son

fishing in Lilypad Lake.

My Sustain Pedal Problem--and He Shall Sustain You

Over the last few weeks or months, the sustain pedal on our piano had quit working properly.

For those of you who don't play piano, the sustain pedal is the pedal on the right, which, if you press it down with your foot, will cause the sounds of the notes to sustain by releasing the damper pads from touching the strings inside the piano. 

Without this pedal, the notes would all sound choppy and clonky, if you know what I mean, instead of holding their tones for a while and flowing into each other. 

Well, I am not the kind of person to just call an expensive technician to fix something that I can fix myself, so I pulled the big board out from under the piano keys and looked at the pedal and the gismos attached to it. I looked up "sustain pedal on piano won't work" online, and found out that sometimes it just needs an easy fix--tightening the nut on the bolt that connects the pedal to the bars that go to the strings. 

Well, I tried to tighten the nut, and then I tried to loosen it, and then tighten it again, but nothing worked. I was at a loss. Maybe it was a bigger problem with the pads on the strings needing to be adjusted, I wondered.

So, like it or not, I called the piano tuner to come repair my sustain pedal and tune the piano while he was at it. 

He came out and we took that front board off and he sat cross-legged on the floor and started twiddling with the nut. Then he got a pair of pliers out of his toolbox and told me that when you turn that nut, you have to make sure that you hold the bottom part of the bolt with pliers so that the whole thing doesn't turn while you are just trying to tighten the nut. 

I watched him in disbelief as, in a matter of a couple minutes, he fixed the problem by simply knowing what tool to use and how to use it. 

My eyeballs were seeing big numbers in the sky--one hundred and twenty dollars to tighten a nut on the piano and tune it. 

I could not describe my chagrin. My ignorance. My husband's hard-earned money. The piano tuner's skill. It was all rolling together into a ball of "oh no!" in my stomach. 

But I didn't know how to fix that problem. I have no mechanical prowess at all and hated to ask my husband about it who works late into the evening every night to keep his business running. 

So I had to call somebody who had skills with pianos and sustain pedals.

And I just knew God had a lesson for us. 

Sometimes our sustain pedal goes out in our lives. 

We aren't able to sustain the troubles and burdens and perplexities we are faced with. 

Clonk! goes our activity, and "Bonk!' sounds that note in our conversation. "Twonk! Twonk!" gasps one note after another in our relationships. Things are choppy, broken, and not flowing together well at all.  

The sustain pedal's nut has come loose--and in our ignorance and humanity, we don't know how to fix things .

That is when it is nice to have Someone to call, and a way to reach Him through prayer, 

like I knew about Roger's Piano Service and had his number on my bulletin board.

Many of our problems are really simple to fix. 

God knows exactly how to do it and what we ought to do. 

He knows that it is useless to just keep trying to turn that nut around and around, first this way and then that way, without first clamping pliers on the bolt underneath.

But we don't know that. 

That is why in our ignorance, we have to call on Him and ask for His help. 

Sometimes He will show us what we can do--apologize, ask forgiveness, extend forgiveness, know that you have forgiven even if they are still offended, take responsibility, accept the consequences of our decisions, graciously step down, humbly step up, offer to help, put the other person's desires before ours, pray for someone, learn to say "no," choose our "yes's" more carefully, keep our mouths shut next time, look at things from a different perspective. 

Other times, the best fix is to stop twisting and turning a problem around in our minds, and instead grab it with God's pliers and make the thoughts be still in our minds. Go stack wood and weed the garden and make a pie instead of mollygrubbing and trying to figure out why this person said this or why that person did that or what if they were offended by what I did?

Another fix is to stop trying to fix it ourselves and let Him do it. 

But any way you look at it, He knows best how to fix our problems, and how to get the sustain pedal working again!

"Cast your burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved." Psalm 55:22

May He Himself sustain you, tighten the nut on your sustain pedal, and carry your burdens for you.