A Mother's Monday

Not every Monday begins so delectably, but this last Monday did. I woke to the tune of meadowlarks, robins, and roosters outside the open window.  

That early morning hour, cheer was simply in the air, and I drank it in gratefully, thankful that I had the painless energy (unlike today) to get up and around and start into the day's duties--including starting a huge laundry--while noting the neighbor's cows appearing on the hill above us to graze. I can't describe how delightful that morning was.

I had the first load on the lines around eight o'clock, after packing lunches for the guys, and then Hannah and I discussed where to plant my cauliflower, broccoli, and cabbage seedlings.

And then I planted them.

Later in the morning Crystal and I went up to plant more in the garden at our pastor's, where Mathel said she wasn't able to do much garden at all this year, but we could have it. So we are planting there, too.

We are dealing with so many things right now--cancer/chemo, concerning PSA numbers now for Jonathan, and so much more, that I find working in the garden while robins trill nearby is incredibly therapeutic.

But after all that, I was stiff and sore and haven't gotten over it yet!

We are having Peter Casalino and son for a very late supper this evening after they worked with Jonathan and Danny all day at Wounded  Knee, and I've just been doing a little at a time trying to make lasagna and sides while Crystal has been working/driving most of the day.

But there is always time to stop and admire the way the morning sun hits the petunias.

And start to package a book order for 21 of the book Dale Sherman: Sharpshooting Missionary.

And take a phone call from my son Tim as he finishes a logging trip. 

And contact a sister-in-law about picnic plans for Jonathan's dad's 90th birthday next week...

Prayer Around the Flagpole of Melette County Courthouse

 Yesterday's National Day of Prayer was remembered by thousands around the country, even if some of the groups were small, like ours that met at noon around the flagpole of the Melette County Courthouse. Mrs. Kristal Becker, staying with us ladies for a couple days, joined us. 

Mrs. Mathel Ambrose, pastor's wife at Lakota Community Chapel, spearheaded the gathering, even inviting the mayor, who, of all things, did indeed show up! Hannah brought her guitar to accompany us all singing "My Country Tis of Thee," after the pledge of allegiance to the flag. 

"I'm not good at praying," the mayor admitted, standing beside me, when Mathel nodded our direction to ask me to lead in prayer for one of the subjects she had chosen. We assured the mayor Mathel had meant for me to pray, and so I prayed for government officials, including the mayor, as Mathel had asked. 

Others around the circle prayed for our country's education and schools; for our churches; for our families; for our government; for our military. 

A sheriff arrived, talking with two young men who pulled up in their own vehicle. 

The engine of a truck parking nearby kept up enough noise that it was sometimes hard to hear what each one in the circle prayed. Finally it roared off, as Pastor Ambrose waited to pray for our military. Teenagers from the nearby school walked by in twos and threes. 

And maybe we were just a small group of nine who attended a half hour time of Scripture and prayer in the middle of an oblivious world going on with their noise, but robins chirped nearby, and small but earnest prayers found a hearing before a great God 

Who loves to do great things with small prayers.

Making a Difference for Orphan Girls

This week the Lord gave me the good gift of feeling fairly decent, unlike I felt the last two times I got chemo. During days 5 to 8 post chemo the last two times, I was having a very rough time. This time not so much--even though it included having to meet with the board of Society of Indian Mission Monday which would usually stress me out something awful. 

I found myself not so very stressed, and the board was simply incredible. I felt inspired, encouraged, and rejuvenated by their kindness and confidence.

Yesterday and today, Kristal Becker, wife of SIM interim president Mark Becker, came to spend a couple days with us Lucas ladies who were left behind while all the men folk of the mission attended the Men Arise Event in Rapid City this week. Kristal brought with her a sewing project spearheaded by Misty Peterson in orphanage work in Lesotho, Africa, as well as for Susan Carter and for another missionary in Peru. 

Kristal and her army of seamstresses sew hundreds of these washable personal hygiene items for underprivileged and orphan girls in third world countries--girls who might be sent out to the cow shed a week out of the month, resulting in not being able to attend school and falling behind in education; girls who can't keep a job because they have no way to take care of themselves with dignity. 

She showed us a picture of about 35 girls in Lesotho holding their hand-sewn bags of kits that Kristal Becker and her seamstresses had sewn and put together and then Misty Peterson distributed.

Hearing one story after another from Kristal of how girls are treated filled my heart with compassion and a desire to help. 

I hadn't known what I'd be able to do while my men were gone to Men Arise because my life revolves around taking care of them, making food and bread and sending extra sandwiches along for BHE crew. Plus there was chemo.

But this week, I was so happy to be able to pitch in and help Kristal with the parts and pieces she pulled out of her bins she'd brought along for this trip to SD. First, yesterday we attached plastic snaps to 62 sewed pad protectors (my job being to choose, match, and pull out the four parts of the snaps from her snap organizer, and Hannah's and her job being to do the attaching with the tools) and today we finished sewing 10 more of the protectors from start to finish. That was enough for five girls since they give two apiece. Feeling I am making a difference for someone in need is huge for me!

While we worked on the sewing project, Crystal made her specialty Indian butter chicken and rice, complete with naan bread like she'd learned how to make while working at the Indian restaurant nine years ago in Colorado Springs with our friend Gaya. 

All this while two new buds blossomed on the orchid that Jonathan gave me a couple months ago, 

and two iris watched placidly from the vase of blue flax that I'd picked two evenings earlier before a killing frost. 

Our Pastor's Honor Flight as Vietnam War Vet

 This morning our pastor's wife sent a photo of Pastor Ambrose in a different setting than the little rural town where he has pastored humbly and faithfully for about 32 years. 

Back in the 60's he was over at Vietnam in the military--paying a huge price. Yet today he is still alive, active (though barely), and ministering in a different army and answering to a different General. 

Pastor Harold Ambrose's son Jonathan (same name as my husband!) nominated him for this Midwest Honor Flight, "One Final Flight With Honor," among others in the midwest. The plane flew out from Sioux Falls last night, arriving in Washington, D.C., this morning. 

There a simple South Dakota pastor, war veteran, and son took their place by the South Dakota part of the Veterans' Memorial there in D. C. With all the walking involved, it was good to see that his son is taking care of him and giving him wheels!

What a special time for a man of 82 years old! We pray he survives the rigorous trip home!

Meanwhile, back here in South Dakota, Crystal and I are participating in embroidering patches for a quilt commemorating the 250th anniversary of our nation. A lady in our community has been finding people to embroider and she wants to put this quilt together this year. 

I had already finished the first patch above when chemo day came and I was in the hospital on my 60th birthday. I had taken along the second patch, but as I sat in that chair in that cancer center infusion room, I didn't feel like embroidering--until I looked at the words and thought of what all the soldiers and airmen and infantry went through to keep us free. 

"Home of the Brave." 

In that moment, I knew that picking up a patch of embroidery that I didn't really want to do while getting the painful needle poke into my port and another hour and a half of drugs that make me sleepy and ill and drugged and hot and fatigued 

was not anything in comparison to what those men endured. 

I picked up the white patch, the silver needle, and the golden thread. 

And a not-so-brave lady in a cancer clinic in South Dakota stitched just a few more stitches in her own patchwork quilt of daily life. 

Pest Day--Skunk, Porcupine, Beaver, Thistles

Today turned into Pest Eradication Day!

Out on the ranch where Danny works, they were dealing with a skunk, beaver, and porcupines--all in one day! 

While my younger sister in Missouri sent a photo of the gallons of strawberries they picked from their garden, Hannah and I went out to our garden and dug thistles. 

Hannah was mopey this morning, saying she didn't want to go out and dig thistles. But thistles are taking over part of the garden area and someone has to do something about it. I guess that someone is us!

I offered to go out and help, seeing how long I could last.

So there we were, diligently digging out one thistle after another clear down to their long, horrible, grasping roots, pulling  them one by one or two by two out of the clinging dirt and asking ourselves why on earth did Eve have to offer Adam that fruit and why did he eat it and what a mess they made of the beautiful world God had made!

And yet, even in the thistles and skunks and other rodents (and did I mention the eight mice that Hannah collected into her own trap of sorts yesterday from our barn where they had eaten a hole into the grain sack) there were redemptive beauties--the second iris blooming in Hannah's flower garden.

Iris--my grandma's favorite spring flower and one loved equally by my own mother.

While nasty Canadian thistles piled up higher and higher in this blue bin, we watched the neighbor cows appear over the top of the hill nearby and had to scold our dog to stop barking at them as if they were thieves.  

Meadowlarks serenaded us, and other spring birds trilled. I was grateful I had energy to keep digging, and digging, and digging, slow and panting sometimes--but still digging and having the energy to do so just six days post chemo. 

So much better than last month when I was completely laid out at this point after chemo.

Inside, more pests (fungus gnats) were eating some of Hannah's plants she's worked so hard to grow, and she has these yellow sticky traps for those. Everywhere it seemed there were pests today, and to be honest, several in our family admitted to feeling blue, from Jonathan leaving this morning to fix for the umpteenth time a garage door opener he'd installed somewhere, to Hannah not sure why she felt so mopey, to a son calling feeling lonely and needing someone to talk to as he drove truck toward Denver, mountains, snow and bad roads. 
I pray for his safety and wisdom as a storm barrels in to that area, and for the safety of all the guys traveling through that area to come to Men Arise in Rapid City, SD, tomorrow.

And through the fence around the flower garden in the morning--the shape of a cross emerges from our simple clothesline post--

the cross and the sacrifice that redeems poor, fallen man,

giving strength in our weakness,

cheer when we are blue,

and a refuge when we are driving straight into a storm. 

The Sweet Sound of the Lark--and the Saving of the Poor Worms

This morning was Monday, and I woke up feeling low--until I heard the sweet song of a meadowlark outside somewhere. 

It cheered me instantly, and the words came to me from the song sung by my sister Iva, Crystal, and me at Crystal's high school graduation 12 years ago, "You'll Never Walk Alone."

"When you walk through a storm, keep your chin up high

And don't be afraid of the dark.

At the end of the storm is a golden sky

And the sweet, silver song of a lark.

Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, 

Though your dreams be tossed and blown.

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart,

And you'll never walk alone!

You'll never walk alone!"

I thought of the doings of the day--Jonathan and me needing to meet the board of Society of Indian Missions, the laundry to be done this morning, the staff and board picnic this evening in Winner, an hour away. 

And then other words came, from the other song our whole family sang at Crystal's graduation.

"I'll walk with God from this day on.
His helping hand I'll lean upon.
This is my prayer, my humble plea,
May the Lord be ever with me.

There is no death though eyes grow dim;
There is no fear, when I'm near to Him.
I'll lean on him forever, And he'll forsake me never.

He will not fail me as long as my faith is strong
What ever road I may walk along,

I'll walk with God, I'll take his hand

I'll talk with God, He'll understand
I'll pray to him, each day to Him, 

And He'll hear the words that I say.

His hand will guide my throne and rod
Now I'll never walk alone,
While I walk with God!

Recently I thought of how most of the other people we knew in particular and prayed for who had cancer have now passed on--Pearl Kaufman, Steve Gibson, Nathan Bryant, Janet Albertson, and others. But I am still alive.

For how long, I don't know, but God has chosen so far to give me life to live for Him. Friday, two days post chemo, I still had some steroid from the pre-meds pumping through  my system, and I thought I could go along with Danny after he came home from work at Scott's ranch in the afternoon  to fish a couple hours before attending the dedication service at the Martin all-purpose building.

I watched as Danny dug around under the compost/leaf pile in our pastor's garden, finding long, fat earthworms. And I remembered what Isaiah said, "Fear not, you worm Jacob (or I could put my name there)...I will help you," declares the Lord, "and your Redeemer the Holy One of Israel." (Isa. 41:14)

Those worms were supposed to die.

Danny gathered up a couple dozen and sprinkled damp dirt over them inside two of my kitchen cartons, and away we went, the worms on their way to fish hooks and fish mouths and bellies.

Instead, a controlled burn was being done at the very spot we had hoped to fish, smoke billowing high into the air. We spent a couple hours driving here and there at La Creek trying to find another fishing spot and smelling smoke nearly everywhere we went.

Danny was quite unhappy upon not getting a single fish at the one spot he did try, but I have to think that the poor little worms were relieved.

They had been pulled up to be put on the hook, but instead, providence got them off the hook and back into a compost pile at the Lucas garden. 

"Fear not, you worm," God says to my helpless and insignificant heart. "I will help you and save you, and put you exactly where I want you to be."

When You are Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Recently I found myself between a rock and a hard place, as the saying goes, oppressed with something that had come back to haunt me and weigh on my mind. Morning after morning I woke up with my adrenaline rushing before I could even think lucid thoughts. 

I took a step to try to get rid of the burden, but it didn't seem to help much. 

One morning I went to my room, and from the depths of my heart, I prayed, not for myself, but for others who are suffering in the same way--not knowing which decision to make when it seems that no matter what it is will not end up with peace.

I prayed for those who feel distress no matter which way they turn. 

And that is when peace began to come to my own heart. That prayer for others lifted me above my own circumstance and helped me see it for what it was--that I could truly leave the problem in God's hands and let Him take care of it--and me. 

I could wake up in the morning feeling normal--at least as normal as a post-chemo body can feel.

I could trust Christ's  blood to cover, His hand to help, and His peace to keep my mind and heart. 

I could enjoy the photos my children send of little scenes in their lives, like this rustic woodstove and oven that was left on the property Tom and Rose just acquired in Colorado,

and this calf on the ranch where Danny helps every morning. 

I am just a pure, puny human being that doesn't know a lot, but I can trust both big and little problems to my heavenly Father and let Him  carry my care.