Horse Mosaic from Scrap--Glorifying God with His Gifts

Last Thursday after my infusion at the cancer center, Jonathan and I took a closer look at a horse mosaic outside the entrance. 

This beautiful work of art had been created from scrap metal--from the stand made from a wheel to the nose made from bent spoons!

We looked it over from side to side. 

I can't even imagine what it would be like to have talent like that. 

A friend sent us more pictures of these scrap metal mosaics made by the same man. 

Here is another sculpture with a cowboy on the horse! I am in awe of such imagination and skill. 

This mosaic was made by the same man who teaches others, and his students made the leaves for this "tree."

It seems everyone has his own gift, some this and some that. While getting my infusion, I read this article in a Country magazine of a man who hand paints woodpeckers for people to attach to trees to bring a splash of all-season color to their properties. He has made thousands of these, all painted by hand. 

Hannah uses her skill with flower gardening to bring a beautiful late summer bouquet of marigolds and daisies to church. 

Another's gift may be the gift of humor, such as the lady at the cancer center check-in desk who usually has fresh plaques or some kind of humorous decor at her desk. She also has pictures children or friends have drawn with Christian notes on them, which makes me think she must be a believer. 

The lady who hosted Jonathan and me a week and a half ago on our way to Jonathan's surgery had the imagination and vision to turn an over 100-year-old, dilapidated house into a beautiful air BnB. 

Whatever gift God gives us, may we use it for His honor and glory. We may think all we have is scrap metal or lemons to offer God. 

We may think we are damaged goods or too weak with disease or pain to be any good.

But God loves to take scraps and junk and worn out things to still make something amazing.

May we just let Him do with us as best pleases Him!

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread--But Please Don't Let the Dog Eat It First!

"Do you have to forgive dogs?" Danny wanted to know as our family sat around the lunch table today. For a moment, we wondered about this strange question, and then I remembered.

Earlier this week, a dog had gotten into Danny's lunch bucket and eaten his sandwich, and then another day another dog did the same thing! 

"Sandwiches are the highlight of my day!" Danny said as we cleaned up after supper, expecting to make another sandwich or two for him for the next day. 

"I'm glad to hear that!" I said as I thought back on all the daily sandwiches we make for him, usually out of homemade sandwich buns or sourdough bread though sometimes from marked down bought breads.

"One of the guys was complaining that he got tired of sandwiches," Danny added. It's not so with Danny. 

Of course, every day the sandwich might be a bit different. The bread type may vary, the meat may be anything from home processed venison roast to ham slices to thinly sliced smoked turkey sandwich meat. Then the cheese can be anything from pepper jack to cheddar to homemade goat cheese. He likes lettuce on that, and with cucumbers in season, I use slices of that. 

And always, tired or not, I make the sandwiches with love--the secret ingredient to the best food. 

Perhaps sandwiches made out of gooey white bread with bologna and American cheese and without the love of a wife or mother really do get tiresome.  

A couple days after the first sandwich loss episode, upon arriving at the mission barn before work, Danny had set his lunch bucket near the work truck since the truck was locked, knowing then he'd see it and not forget to put it in the truck to take to work. 

Bad idea.

 Another dog found the lunch bucket while Danny was busy with the guys. It ate both the boiled eggs Danny had taken for breakfast, as well as both sandwiches, Danny lamented on the family chat! Various sad and pitying emojis appeared on the chat before Danny later discovered one of his sandwiches in a bucket of tools. It must have fallen out of his lunchbox somehow during the drive to Mission, and Danny had assumed the dog had eaten both.

It appeared instead that God had taken pity on a young man who both liked and needed his lunch and had amazingly provided for the rescuing of at least one sandwich so Danny did not have to go hungry on a busy day of work. 

"Give us this day our daily bread," I thought to myself, "but please don't let the dog eat it first!"

Jonathan's Miracle--Part 2

(Continuing from Part 1)

But soon thereafter, a team of three nurses came in to let Jonathan know they would be his team for the surgery. 

The male nurse's name was Jonathan, too! We laughed about that, and I said how I loved the name, that it had a good meaning, "God is gracious."
"That's what I've heard, " the nurse acknowledged. 

And little did we know how gracious God would truly be!

Here nurse Jonathan is with Jonathan (wrapped in something we'd never seen before, a sort of foil, vacuum-warmed blanket) and all his glorious attire, topped with (or should I say, bottomed with) sunshine yellow socks!

Which remind me of the giant Russian sunflowers we passed the day before on our way to Sioux Falls through the South Dakota countryside. 

With Jonathan in surgery, I decided to go get the Honda and park it up closer, since Jonathan was going to be whoozy after anesthesia and surgery. 

I also ventured a walk around the cancer center right next door and found a little corner that had been made into a chapel. 

Not all symbols and signs of God and religion have been exterminated from our country and our hospitals. I stood quietly in this little chapel for a while--knowing I was in the presence of God. 

An open Bible was even there, placed prominently before the glass window where water continuously splashed down on the other side between the glass panes. To my delight, the Book of books was open to the Psalms, this time to Psalm 103. 

I stood there and read the whole Psalm in KJV, pausing the longest at the 3rd verse. 

"Who forgiveth all thine iniquities, who healeth all thy diseases."

I paused there a long time. 

It was what Jonathan and I both needed.

Only minutes later, just as I was finishing my last bites of my own boiled eggs and sweet yellow tomato chunks from our own garden, my phone rang. 

"Healthcare," the screen said. 

It seemed way too early. Only half an hour ago Jonathan had headed into surgery. He shouldn't have been done for another 30 or maybe 45 minutes yet, or more. 

I swiped the screen, and the doctor's voice came to me. 

"We're done," he let me know. 

"The fistula was not there."

Are you kidding me?

"It must have healed," the doctor went on nonchalantly, as if such things happened routinely. He only had to excise the abscess area.

And then he told me about finding only one polyp large enough to biopsy, and that the results should be back in a week or so. 

I was so excited I hardly knew what to do with myself. The procedures Jonathan had dreaded the most didn't even have to be done! I messaged our children, our missionary family, and later my siblings.

I got to be the first one to tell Jonathan the good news when he was wheeled blearily back to his room by the nurses. 

By 11:15 that morning, we were on our way home. Jonathan, who had planned on the possibility of a most uncomfortable journey home, was not only able to ride comfortably (thanks to nerve-numbing injection that lasts up to 4 days and helped keep the deep abscess wound from feeling too painful), but got out several times to do last minute errands or buy himself a treat of black licorice at Tractor Supply in Mitchell on our way home. 

I, who usually can't drive more than one or two hours at most without turning it over to Jonathan because I am too weak to drive longer, drove the three and a quarter hours home with no trouble at all.

I was strong enough, alert enough, and got along fine. 

"The Lord will give strength to His people;

the Lord will bless His people with peace."

I would crash the next afternoon, but when I needed the strength, God gave it. 

"He healeth all your diseases."

O Lord, our souls bless You today!

Jonathan's Miracle--Part 1

This week Jonathan experienced a miracle. 

(One of our children caught us "chilling" last weekend, something they rarely see BOTH of us doing at once. And by the way, that was just a caption for the photo, not the miracle, although it is almost a miracle to see us both "chilling" in the livingroom in the middle of the day!)

Jonathan had been dreading this week so badly, with the surgery for the fistula combined with a colonoscopy. The surgeon didn't know what all would be required, but said it was a complicated fistula rather than a simple one (just as I'd been told about my cancer), and Jonathan might have to have something called a seton inserted through the fistula to make it build up scar tissue to close it up, and then there would have to be a second surgery, probably, later. 

Plus there was the surgery prep, which anyone who has had to have a colonoscopy would understand. But anyway, without any further details and to-do, let's just say Jonathan got through all that pre-surgery stuff, and we plummeted out of bed at the cheapest hotel in Sioux Falls at 5:45 in the morning.

In case you are wondering, these photos are from Molly's Manor the night before, but I kept carrying the pleasant and delightful memories with me through the next two hard days. 

This Scripture from Hebrews 11:1 was in the window at the B&B, and we had no idea at that time how much it would come true--"Faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see."

Neither of us could see how the fistula situation was anything but complicated, not healing, and bad.  

The abscess had continued to drain, so how could the situation be anything but bad?

Thankfully, (and surprisingly) I had slept well. Had I not, I had planned to possibly drive back to the hotel to get more sleep later since I had to do the long drive home all by myself later, but I was doing okay, so we checked out and were on our way, arriving to the surgery center at 6:30--parking somewhere far away but in the shade of a large tree, as I expected to maybe come back out and have a nap.

After Jonathan was in his glorious robe and he and I were alone in the prep room, (or was it in the Honda on our way there, I'm not sure which) I opened my New Testament and Psalms and read my next Psalm, 29. I wasn't sure it was very fitting for our occasion, as it was just about the voice of the Lord shaking the wilderness and things like that--but then we got to the last verse, and my voice choked.

"The Lord will give strength to His people--" How I needed that!

"The Lord will bless His people with peace!" How Jonathan needed that!

Then I peeked at the next Psalm, and I just couldn't help it. I read the first two verses out loud. 

"I will extol You, O Lord, for You have lifted me up, and have not let my foes rejoice over me. O Lord my God, I cried out to You, and You healed me."

Our prayer time together was interrupted by the surgeon. He kept looking at me--my eyes were brimming with tears. 

Little did we know that God was doing 

EXACTLY THAT!

(But I need to start a new post as this one is getting too long, and too many photos for anyone trying to upload the post.)

25 Years After September 11

Twenty-five years after September 11th, a lady named Kristen in our little community organized a Remembrance Walk at the school track. 

Several of our family decided to join the walk. 

I started to ask different people walking where they were on that notorious day, September 11th. Not one had to search their memory very far. The day was seared into all of our memories! One lady said she was living in North Dakota at the time, and was preparing for the funeral of a country singer's ex-wife's mother that September 11th. Another lady was the librarian in our local school, and she was told to turn on the TV for the whole school because "something was happening." School was rather chaotic the rest of the day!

Our pastor's wife said she was working at her job in the courthouse that day 25 years ago when news came of the disaster. An impromptu prayer meeting was called outside the courthouse, and 75 people showed up to pray that day here in White River!

I told people our own story--how our Rose had turned one month old that very day, and Jonathan hadn't even reached the end of Sweet Road when the radio in his truck was blaring the news. He called me on the phone (something like our little granddaughter was pretending to do today in the parking lot of Big R in Colorado where that same Rose was purchasing feed!) to let me know the World Trade Center had been hit by airplanes. He came home from work quite early that day because no one knew what was going to happen next, and we just wanted to be together as a family. I will never forget the awful images in the newspapers the next day--of airplanes crashing into towers, of towers collapsing, of people jumping from windows. 

Today we got together with others to remember.

Kristen had determined to try, along with others, this year to walk a mile for each person who died on that day. By getting others to join her, they have surpassed that number, and today, about 15 or 20 more joined and walked four laps around the track, which was a mile. Even Jonathan joined us, one day post surgery--because the surgery was not nearly as extensive as had been expected. And I managed to walk, too, two weeks post chemo, but the breeze had kicked up and brought a little cooler air in. 

Kristen had brought some note cards with various sobering or fascinating statistics from that awful day. A friend took this picture of us four trying to hold the notes close together for a picture of them!

102 countries lost citizens in the attacks.

343 firefighters were killed on 9-11 (and about 1400 more died in the next three years from inhalation of dust, smoke, and chemicals). 

About 17,400 people were in the towers at the time of the attack.

Two guide dogs, Salty and Roselle, guided people out of the towers. 

Today, 25 years later, I got this picture of a blooming purple orchid my husband had gotten me a couple weeks ago, with the pink-tinted clouds of morning behind. 

Thank You, Lord, for every bit of peace our nation enjoys at this time, but help in every place where there is even at this moment war, disaster. and distress.

As we remember September 11th, remember those!

In Christ's name, Amen. 

Breakfast Delights on Pottery from Platte

Molly's Manor hostess made this delightful breakfast for us complete with perfectly crisped bacon, two sausages apiece, and folded eggs (ones from the dozen we brought her from our hens) on a bed of greens and decorated with green onion and cherry tomato halves!

Donna really knows how to make breakfast appealing! Had we had bigger stomachs, we could have eaten yogurt, more fruit, and drunk orange juice to our hearts' content. 

I had to laugh at this plaque on the wall: "Calories: tiny creatures that live in your closet and sew your clothes a little bit tighter every night."

We ate our food on pottery dishes made in this home's "back yard," so to speak, right there in the vicinity of Platte. The plates and bowls looked like they'd had chocolate ice cream swirled in them!

We admired the whole cabinet full of that same pottery. 

In 1973, a man by the name of Emil Cahoy found clay on his land and thought maybe he could make pottery out of it. He was 67 years of age at the time. After several attempts, he perfected his "recipe" and continued to make the dishes under the name of Cahoy Pottery. Twenty years later, in 1993, he decided to sell, and Gary and Dawn Johnson purchased the business and continued to make pottery under the name of Clay Creations, using the clay from Mr. Cahoy's farm. 

I found a clay bell hiding back among the gravy boats. 

The brown color is the from the clay, with variance in color coming from different temperatures used while firing. Clay is fired typically at 2100 degrees. No two pieces are ever the same. 

Clay Creations is no longer in business, but these pieces of pottery fascinated me, especially as I remembered what God's Word says about God our Potter, and us His clay. 

I think of Jeremiah who said, "Then the word of the Lord came to me: 'O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter does?' declares the Lord. 'Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel."  Jeremiah 18:1-6

The Heavenly Potter makes no two vessels alike. No vase or pitcher or bowl was alike. 

There were candlesticks, a shaped turkey, even a clay rendition of the Last Supper!

Some more important, some less, but all made with the skilled and purposeful hands of Emil, the potter. 

In these difficult days for Jonathan and me, we may be tempted to wonder why the Potter is doing with us what He is doing. We feel "marred in the hands of the Potter," and yet He is still working on us, using us.

Oh Heavenly Potter, do with us what You will, only may our lives bring honor and glory to You!