Fire in the Field!

One day while the crew was working on our house in South Dakota, I went over to see about something, and then I stood there by the garage door, looking out in the distant field.

 Larry Siegel and Burt Hartley were out there with their machines, putting in the leach field for the septic system.

And all of a sudden I saw something that scared me. 

In between the one machine and the other I saw a fire!

It had started in the grass!

And no one was noticing but me!

Just the day before, we had seen smoke on our way home from Pierre. That dark smoke was billowing so badly that we were sure that someone had to have called in about the fire already. 

But the closer we got, realizing how desolate the area was there, Jonathan decided to call fire chief Keith Lavery and ask if he should call it in. 

"When in doubt," Keith said, "call 911." 

If someone has already called the fire in, it won't hurt anything. 

But in fact, when Jonathan called in, it didn't sound like anyone else had called in yet!

Soon we saw and heard an emergency vehicle headed down the road, siren blaring. Later we learned that the fire was successfully out.

Now it was my turn!

I must alert my guys to the fire their machines must have started! 

There was just one trouble! 

Neither Jonathan nor John Holderbaum who was with him could see the fire!

"It's right there!" I pointed. "Right between the machines!"

Jonathan still couldn't see it. 

"That flame!" I said helplessly. Why could he not see it?

"It's a flag!" Jonathan said. His eyes rolled slightly. "You need your glasses!" he added a little scornfully. 

And what could I say? 

It was true. It was a flag, and I needed to go get my glasses on. 

I had been so sure it was a flame!

It was even flickering!

But come to find out, it was just a little orange flag the men had planted in the ground to mark where the trenches should be dug,

just like the other orange flags along the driveway, marking where to grade and level. 

There it was, waving in the breeze, and I thought it was a flame flickering, about to start a grass fire!

I would have been greatly embarrassed if I had not learned to laugh at myself a long time ago. 

And I didn't think much more about it until I opened some mail that my son Sam had brought with him up from Colorado when he brought the horse trailer up with our steer.

 

In the pile of envelopes was a card from our pastor and his wife, letting us know they were praying for us. 

And inside the card was printed this verse, "When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee."

The reference had been underlined, "Isaiah 43:2, KJV"

And just like that, I thought about the fire I had seen, or rather, thought I saw. 

God's promise was that when we walk through the fire, we shall not be burned.

Neither shall the flame kindle upon us.

It may flicker and flash and crackle, but it will not kindle upon us.  

Just like the fake fire I saw in the field, it will be as if it wasn't even a fire at all. 

Just an orange flag flickering in the breeze. 

I am taking that as a promise for myself in these days of uncertainty about my physical condition and uncertainty about many other things as well. 

The devil may want to start fires and billow smoke and scare us half to death,

but God has promised that we shall not be burned,

nor shall the fire kindle upon us.

 

Unexpected news--and Golden Leaves in the Sky

I was not expecting the news I received Tuesday, nor was our doctor. Mammograms and an ultrasound had been scheduled to follow up on a doctor appointment, and I was sitting in the ultrasound room waiting for the radiologist to come with her results. 

"It looks like breast cancer," the radiologist told me bluntly. "And the lymph nodes look suspicious, too. You'll be contacted by our office to set up an appointment for a biopsy. 

Do you have any questions?"

Two or three sentences, and then do I have any questions?

I did not.

No questions at all. My mind drew a complete blank. I wonder why. 

I have always been thin as a rail, and then there is a mass.

The ultrasound lady, I thought, had tears in her eyes. I looked back at the radiologist. 

I did not know what to ask, and I said so. 

Finally, I came up with a question. 

"What is it that makes you believe it looks like cancer?" I asked falteringly. 

"There's a mass," she said, "and there's calcifications. And the lymph nodes look suspicious."

"Suspicious." Whatever that meant. 

She left and the lady who had done the ultrasound after several mammograms brought me a paper about what to expect when you go in for a biopsy.  

Needles. Snips of tissue. Six or eight of them, and then they will want biopsies of lymph nodes, too. It will sound like a stapler. You have to lie still even when you get stapled way down deep. 

And stuff like that. 

"Not to scare you, but it will sound like a stapler."

No, I'm not scared. Of course not.  

It was too surreal to scare me.

Plus, I had felt such crazy peace nearly every time I had started to worry about the lump I'd discovered a while back. 

There was so much peace that I almost didn't go to the doctor. Finally Jonathan and I decided I really should go get checked out. And the doctor confirmed that it didn't seem to be anything serious. 

But just in case, he had ordered mammograms and an ultrasound. 

So after the nearly two months it took to get through a glitch and then wait 6 weeks till they could get me in, I went in.

I wasn't too worried; I was sitting in the waiting room praying for everyone else in my life.

Like my family, like Jonathan who had been to the Men Arise retreat in western Colorado, and my dad who is struggling on a daily basis with his kidney failure, dialysis, and now heart valve functioning at only 15%.

And my suffering brothers and sisters in the world.  

Ukraine. 

Just laying the burdens at the foot of the cross, like the men laid their heavy rocks at the foot of the cross one day at the retreat, representing their burdens. 

And there I was, 

me too. 

With the peace of God enveloping me, His presence so real that when I started asking Him to be with me, I stopped and just thanked Him for being with me, because that Presence was so real. 

When I walked, quite weak, back out to the van, I picked up my phone, wondering who to contact first. 

Jonathan, of course. I saw he'd sent a text wondering when I'd be out. And then I saw a message from Elizabeth Albertson. She knew nothing about anything regarding my appointment or my day.

But there was a song written by Amy Carmichael, one of my favorite authors, "O love of God, let me maintain a constant victory."

Elizabeth sang it for me over Messenger. 

I read it, and then, just because, I listened to it, too. How did God know? How did he nudge a young friend to send a song?

Then I called Jonathan.

And he had already been planning, after dropping his truck at the mechanic, to take me for a ride in the mountains near Woodland Park. 

So that is what we did.  

I wasn't supposed to be so happy, but I was.

I reveled in the beauty of God's creation.

Peace like that could only come from God as I looked at the golden leaves against the sky.  

We ate lunch together in a pretty nook not far up Rampart Road.  

We are moving on with our lives, because our lives are in God's hand. Tomorrow, Lord willing, some of us are going up to South Dakota again, because a crew of men from OH, are coming to help on our house, our driveway, and our septic system. And I am going along to cook. They will be staying in the motel up the hill and taking care of their own breakfasts. Hannah is along to help, and later next week Carrie.

Biopsies are already scheduled for about three weeks from now.

Until then, we lay our burdens at the foot of the cross

and leave them there,

carrying a song away.   

Yes, really.

I'm catching myself singing. 

That is not me, singing out loud. 

This is crazy. 

Just crazy. 

Little things like dogs in the house bug me, and then when I'm told it looks like cancer, I find myself singing.

"O love of God, let me maintain a constant victory!" 

Angel in the Sky This Evening

 This evening while waiting for the family for supper, I was on the phone with my daughter and wandered to the front door and looked out. And this is what I saw!

 I got off the phone immediately so I could take a picture!

If that didn't look like an angel, I didn't know what did!

I had just been reading discouraging or frightening news about what is going on in our nation,

and in our world, 

had just signed a petition against a terrible bill in Congress right now,

just paid for a few faxes to be sent to Congressmen regarding the same bill, 

learned that OPEC cut down its oil production by over 2 million barrels a day,

and that the C C P has opened an office in New York to supposedly monitor C hina ' s citizens (yeah, right).

And nearly every other headline looked to be about as bad. 

The last couple days Jonathan and I both were wandering around the grocery store being as he said, "stunned" at the skyrocketing prices. 

Besides a list of other burdens we are facing.

After a very long and busy day with school and lots of other work, I didn't need all the bad news. 

So needless to say, when I looked out the door and saw this beautiful scene, I had to do a big double take.

I didn't want to be superstitious or make ridiculous assumptions.

But I felt that at the least, I could remind myself that despite all that the devil is doing to destroy God's people,

to destroy families, 

to destroy churches, 

to destroy America,

and to destroy all that is good while bringing in all that is evil

and beyond evil,

God's hand is over all.

 

While this scene from my front door was, technically speaking, just a formation of clouds in front of the sun, 

it was also a shining message to the heart of someone downcast.

"Don't be afraid; I am here.

I am sending My angels to watch over you and all My people."

Within moments the "angel" was gone, but Danny called me back later.

"Do you see the sunset?" he asked.
"It looks like a window in the clouds!"

A "window in the clouds."

It could not have been said better.  

Easy as Pie--But How Easy is Pie?

Saturday Hannah and I made pies to take in for Sunday dinner at Grandpa's. 

We also made some dishes Grandma used to make--coleslaw with hot bacon dressing and zucchini muffins, along with one of the last bear roasts we have from last year, potatoes and carrots and green beans, and buttered beets straight from our garden!

There's something about pies that is just comforting, I think. 

It's more than the dessert itself. 

It's the time it takes to make it, the love that goes into a special dessert that's chock full of fruit or creamy stuff.

"Whoever came up with the expression 'easy as pie'?" someone asked yesterday.

We all agreed. Pies take a lot of work, probably about one hour per pie. 

"Maybe we should say, 'easy as brownies'!" someone suggested. 

Talking to Jonathan about pies on the way home, how Grandma used to often have pies for Sunday dinner, and how I like to serve pies, too, every once in a while, I said, 

"I think it's about the love that goes into them."

Because it takes time. But love makes time. 

I would much rather have been hovering at my computer with my writing projects, but instead, I was rolling out pie dough and checking for the best recipe for blueberry pie,

since Jonathan found a deal on blueberries.   

That blueberry pie was amazing-sparkling with sugar sprinkled on top of the lattice topping that Hannah had helped me make.

And after pie and ice cream, the family sat around playing the player piano for Rose's boyfriend's sister who had never heard it before.

 It filled the empty house with happy noise. Grandpa always enjoys when the girls play the piano--and even when someone inserts those music rolls and pumps the pedals and plays very fast Christmas music that makes your feet want to lift right off the floor! 

It was a beautiful dinner time--complete with pies, and photos of the changing leaves and still-blooming clematis outdoors, and love. 

Pies, yes, but most of all--

LOVE.

Mini Hurricane Ian in Sand Hills of Nebraska!

 

Thursday there was a mini hurricane of sorts along Highway 83 going through the sandhills of Nebraska. The unfortunate thing was that we missed out on it until we were about 40 miles further along, nearly to North Platte. I was feeling satisfied that I was managing to drive three hours all the way from South Dakota to North Platte so that Jonathan could do business on his phone and get a little shut-eye, since he'd been up early to take the Snorkelift back, but that's another story. Then Jonathan suddenly woke up from dozing in the passenger seat (I was driving) and thought something looked awry on the flatbed trailer. So he made me pull over. The trailer straps were fine, but he discovered to his consternation that the back door of the truck had somehow come open, and some stuff was missing! We took account and found out that what had fallen out were Hannah's pink backpack with her wallet, camera and clothes; another small green/blue duffle bag of her clothes, a red bag of Hannah's schoolbooks, Danny's rubber boots, and an old battery core. And we didn't know what else. That back door of Jonathan's truck is not in the greatest shape, and perhaps the heavy battery core pushed the latch down or something on the inside.

 The trouble was, we had no idea where the door had come open or how far back we would have to go to find our stuff. And it's not like we can just replace clothes for Hannah very easily, or the money in her wallet, or the schoolbooks she was using!

Jonathan took over driving back. He went rather fast. We prayed and called a couple people back at Mission to ask if they could check the streets we had driven on in Mission. Keith Lavery called a man from church who was on his way home from work in Valentine, NE, to ask him to keep a look out along the road. We drove and drove. We saw something near the road at one place which we all disagreed on what it was, but we took note of the mile marker. We drove all the way back through Thedford and about 20 more miles, worrying the whole time that the stuff had fallen out back in SD somewhere and that someone had picked it up.

Suddenly, we saw it up ahead--a big mess along the road! A mini Hurricane Ian! Torn pages from books and a journal had blown all over the roadside for at least a quarter of a mile. We jumped out and  began to collect the pages, wondering if it was worth it, but knowing we ought to clean up our mess anyway. Further up we could see what must be the green dufflebag of clothes. Hannah's flip-flops were getting so full of some kind of burrs she was having to take one flip-flop off and walk barefoot back to the truck. I was pulling burrs out of my skirt and socks as I went along as they were poking and scratching my leg.

Further up the road we triumphantly spied the missing pink back pack with the wallet and camera still intact. The backpack was scuffed with holes at the corner, but it was intact, and so was the green duffle bag of clothes. Most of the school books were torn in pieces with hundreds of pages strewn all over the side of the road. The red duffle bag they'd been in was nowhere to be seen. Jonathan suspects a vehicle went over it, caught the bag on its suspension, and the bag probably wore open and let the school books out as the vehicle dragged the bag along. Somebody is probably going to find a red bag on their vehicle underside! Jonathan brought a huge black trash bag into which we dumped the mess. We have no idea what became of the battery or rubber boots, but decided they weren't worth losing more time over.

Finally we were back in the truck, so very thankful that we had found the most important things and that the disaster was not worse. This morning, we went through the black trash bag, and salvaged a few of the thinner school books. Even her grammar book I think is salvagable. It's very scuffed but intact. I'll have to order a new A Beka Spanish I textbook, A Beka Consumer Math, A Beka Themes in Literature.

 For a little bit this morning, I was pretty overwhelmed. Not only are we unpacking from two weeks away, but we have a house showing at 3:15 this afternoon, and laundry and cleanup, and we're supposed to be doing school. Danny was having "carpentry class" up in South Dakota the last couple weeks, and is behind in his other subjects. And then I have to try to sort through a big mess of school book pages and try to decide what wrinkled pages we can still use until I order new books.

But one of those pages was a cute poem out of Hannah's ruined literature books. It began,

" Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?" So I laughed and read it out loud to whoever was in the kitchen!

I was able to find it online so I could copy and paste.  https://allpoetry.com/How-Did-You-Die-

How Did You Die? by Edmund Vance Cooke

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful? Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful? Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it, And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only how did you take it? You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? Come up with a smiling face. It's nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there -- that's disgrace. The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce; Be proud of your blackened eye! It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts, It's how did you fight -- and why? And though you be done to the death, what then? If you battled the best you could, If you played your part in the world of men, Why, the Critic will call it good. Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry, It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only how did you die?

 

 

At the River--With Canoe, Christ, and John the Baptist

 Not sure if White River that runs near our place in South Dakota is anything like the Jordan where John the Baptist preached, but it must be a little bit like it,

 

the river that saw and heard a most amazing thing--the meeting of the rough and tumble wilderness preacher and the spotless Lamb of God. I read about it yesterday. 

John was out there doing exactly what God had called him to do--preaching the gospel of repentance and then baptizing the repentant. Then Jesus showed up, coming through the scrub and brush by the river there.

John could have been in awe at best or a bit smug at worst. "Wow! I get to be the one to baptize the Lamb of God!" 

Instead, "I have need to be baptized by You!" the famous baptizer said in consternation, "and do You come to me?" 

Unworthy to carry the dusty sandals of Jesus, he would so much rather be baptized by Jesus than do the baptizing.

But I got something else out of this awe-filled statement.

It was not about the baptism, but about Christ's coming to John--and to us. 

I've heard so many sermons preached on the baptism of the Holy Spirit,

the baptism of the Holy Spirit and fire,

 and how we need to seek it,

ask for it, pray for it, fast for it, and tarry until we get it. 

But I've never heard what I saw and heard as I read this verse yesterday.

 

It would seem that if we need Jesus to baptize us, we should go to Him somehow. 

Through prayer, fasting, seeking, knocking, asking, believing, obeying. 

Right?

 But I saw what else John noted. "And do You come to me?" It was all in the same sentence.

What if our eyes could be opened as John's were, wet and bedraggled in the river, who, knowing he needed the baptism of the Spirit that only Christ can give, also saw in awe and wonder that that same Christ was coming to Him! He is never far away from those who need Him.

What if, as we reach out the wet, dripping hand of our heart in the simplest way imaginable, we would discover Him coming to us, taking that hand and filling us so with His Spirit that His love and grace would ever after flow like a river through our earthen vessels, clay pots though we are, for His glory?

 At whatever river we stand beside, whether the White River, Missouri, Susquehanna, Snake, Rio Grande, Yangtze, Amazon, or Jordan, He comes to us!

I need to be baptized of You, Jesus! Oh, thank You for coming to me this morning!

New Calf on the Ranch--and Coming Boldly

 The new mostly Jersey heifer calf was already out and about outside the barn door yesterday morning, having been born around midnight. You had to know a new creature was on the ranch at the rate the dogs were barking, roaring, and otherwise carrying on. Had fences not been between, the calf would probably have been toast--or fresh steak. But there was a sturdy fence and gate, and the calf didn't know it should be afraid. So it wasn't!

 When I came on the scene to see the newest addition to our ranchette, the calf wasn't afraid of me either. I came inside the gate, brushing the dogs aside and keeping them out. Then I reached out to the calf. 

And instead of being afraid, she came right to me! Her mama was standing there allowing it to happen, allowing her calf to make friends with the ranch family instead of teaching it to fear them.

Not a quiver, not a shake. The calf just came--boldly, unafraid, trustingly. Stuck her head and nose right under the hand that had reached out to pat her brown head.

"Let us therefore come boldly before the throne of grace," the Good Book says, not tremblingly but trustingly,

not fearfully but in faith,

even when the ferocious dogs of our lives are barking and jumping all around us,

"that we obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need."