Blinker Light Repair--When Necessary, Use Words

About a week ago or so, it well past time to repair the burned out blinker light on our van.

Jonathan was getting ready to do the job when I called Danny to come watch.

I watched, too, because who knows when I may need to know how to change a blinker light.

Jonathan and I have our boys watch when we do a job like this, or do it themselves, so that they will learn. They won't learn if we don't teach them.

We have them help when we have to figure out why the swamp cooler is making horrible noises,

and then have them help fix it.

They watch when Dad changes the whole house water filter or works on the water heater.

They learn to operate a wood splitter and a chain saw and a saw mill.

They watch and help when we paint the house or lay new flooring. 

Then when Timmy is back in PA, he and his cousins lay the flooring in the room Crystal is going to be staying in while student teaching.

When we teach our children, we could just let them watch. 

But they learn better if we open our mouths and teach them how to do the project,

and why this or that.

I'm sure I've failed to teach my girls everything I know, but I have tried hard to pass on any practical knowledge I have.

And every day, we try to teach our children what God's Word says.

It takes words.

You've probably heard the saying attributed to St. Francis of Assisi,

"Preach the gospel at all times; when necessary, use words."

We all understand what he meant--that our actions sometimes preach better than our words.

The trouble is--teaching or preaching usually requires words. 

Teaching requires words.

It also requires time, effort, love, patience, and in these days, courage.

In a day where everything goes--except true religion, a commitment to God's Word, and real Christianity that speaks out and speaks up--

teaching while using words requires courage.

Whether we are changing a blinker light bulb, repairing a swamp cooler, patching jeans, sewing buttonholes, writing a paper or learning to grow rhubarb, it takes words to teach our children how to do a new thing.

And it takes words to teach our children what we believe about God
and about what the Bible says and how it should apply to our lives in 2020.
"And these words  which I command you today shall be in your heart.
You shall teach them [the words] diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up.
You shall bind them...[You shall wear them], You shall write them..."
It takes words, my fellow mothers.
*********
Here is an article I found while checking about the author of that quote above.

https://zondervanacademic.com/blog/why-you-shouldnt-preach-the-gospel-at-all-times-and-use-words-when-necessary

Blueberry Pies and A Mother's Value

One day week before last I was feeling a little uncertain what to do with myself in the middle of the afternoon. I thought about making blueberry pies with the berries I'd bought on sale, but pies are extra work.

Instead, I looked at Facebook. 

And somebody shared a video about an Australian newscaster standing up for a mother who had been kind of randomly picked from Facebook

who said she liked to have her house clean before going to bed at night,

and would stay up till nine or twelve o'clock to do it.

And then get up at 4:30 a.m. to make coffee for her husband before he went to work. 

Another news commentator or somebody had reviled this mother as being some sort of slave.

The Australian newscaster, who had a most delightful English accent,

had a different take.

He said, "There are actually mothers out there who LOVE to do what they are doing."

Like me, I guess. I love making my house into a home.

I love overseeing what's going on, and seeing that laundry gets done regularly, and that meals are on time, and that the husband and father gets loved and welcomed and respected and taken care of.

I love getting the dishes done and making homemade goat cheese, like this.

And right in the middle of that short video clip, I made the decision to go ahead and make blueberry pies.

Even though it takes more time than adding fresh blueberries to a bowl of canned peaches (which happens most of the time). 

I left the audio on so I could listen while I started to measure the ingredients for the crust.

The way that newscaster made that ordinary mother into a hero gave me the inspiration I needed to make my pies--just for my own family.

No, I didn't share them out with all our neighbors or take one to a sick relative.

I do that sometimes, too, because it seems like an important thing to do.

And it is.

But it's important to feed our own family, too.

It's important to make a pie every once in a while just for your own family, just to let your husband know he is pretty special.

He and his children are valuable enough to spend my time making a pie.

He stopped and got berry icecream on the way home.

And it was yummy!

Grandma Breaks Her Elbow

Grandma Lucas and Grandpa came out for Timmy's birthday, and that is when we found out that Grandma had broken her elbow when she fell after tripping on a hose Sunday afternoon. Her arm was in a sling, waiting for surgery. By now, she's had surgery, and there is a plate with screws holding her elbow together for the next six weeks! I suppose we could tease her for being "all screwed up!"

Timmy got this denim apron from Rose for his meat-cutting projects.

After his birthday party, we all went out to see Timmy demonstrate his saw mill that he recently set up.

He's showing how he cuts the log to make live edge slabs.  

Rose worked for a week at a nearby dairy, milking several cows for a lady who had to travel to California to attend the funeral of a brother who was murdered in a double or triple murder. Her sister and boyfriend were killed, too. It was so sad! Anyway, the girls brought home several gallons of milk or skim milk every day, and they kept busy making various kinds of cheese and butter!

Here is Hannah, who went to the dairy one morning with Rose. She was happily reading with a kitty on her lap that we raised.

I will leave all the cousins to guess which person this is who had to crawl under the greenhouse to try to coax out the poodle who was about to have puppies. The dogs almost ALWAYS crawl under the greenhouse when they are about to have puppies!

Hearts on Her Hat--Story of a Miracle

  Last week we had friends for supper who have known Jonathan and me since before we were married.
She was wearing an unusual denim hat with little hand-crocheted hearts sewn onto it.

A sort of vintage style, and so many people tell our friend that they love it!
Perfect strangers in stores, for example.
The hat had a story behind it, of a suffering lady who crocheted these hearts.
And then our friends shared another story, which, if you like stories of miracles, you can read on. 
 

  "You Have Five Years to Live!"

            Young Dave Norris sat waiting as Dr. Gilbard--stocky, Swedish, and very, very short–entered the room. In her hands was a thick stack of papers which she set on the table.
    "From all the tests and symptoms regarding your asthma," she explained matter-of-factly, "you have three to five years to live."
    If Dave had been having trouble breathing before this announcement, he could hardly breathe at all now! The year was 1973, and he was just twenty-three years old. He had a young wife and a baby boy at home. He couldn't just die so soon like that! Dave sat stunned as the doctor handed him the stack of papers.
    "This is different information which might be a help to your wife and family when--" she paused, "when it happens. But," she went on cheerfully, "you do have an option. I have actually managed to procure for you a ticket to my very own hospital in Sweden. It is a very good hospital, and they have excellent treatment for asthma patients."
    Sweden was not only far across the ocean, it was also the farthest thing from Dave's mind. He was not the least bit interested in flying across the world to some strange hospital in Sweden, far away from his wife and little boy.   
    "What about moving to a drier climate?" Dave asked desperately. "Would that help?"
    The doctor shook her head thoughtfully. "It might extend your life a year or two," she said.
    But Dave was not deterred. He promptly called his wife and told her the shocking news, adding, "I think we should move to a drier climate first and see if that will help."
    It was true that the humidity in the New England states was terrible. Dave had been born in Connecticut and his wife in Vermont. Between the ocean and the Great Lakes and other lakes in between, humidity was part of life. And for Dave, unfortunately, smoking had also been part of life--ever since he was eight years old, in fact. It was when he was just a young boy that he smoked for the first time, and when he did, it felt like smoking was just a part of him. Everyone in his family smoked, and his body was so used to smoke that it didn't make him sick the first time he tried a cigarette. From the age of eight, he smoked for years until he began to attend a Nazarene Church with his wife and found out that smoking was not a good thing to do. Desperately, he tried to quit smoking, but to no avail. Smoking was so much a part of his life that it was almost impossible to stop.
    Nevertheless, the Lord helped him, and little by little he began to give up the habit. His little family made the big move clear across the country to the state of Colorado which was a sanctuary for asthma patients because of its dry climate. There Dave found a little church in Colorado Springs.
     One day after the pastor heard about Dave's asthma, he called Dave up front.
    "I feel led to have an anointing service," the pastor explained. "I would like to anoint you with oil and pray for God's healing of your asthma."
    Dave had never had such a thing happen to him before, but he was willing. Before long, the front of the church was filled with church folk kneeling in humility and faith, calling on God in prayer for young Dave Norris.
    The next day, a lady from church called the Norrises."How is Dave doing?" she wondered. "He's better, isn't
    Dave was not so sure. He did not feel any better actually, and told the lady so.
    "Then you get down and pray right now!" the lady urged. "I will pray with you over the phone!"
    So Dave and his wife knelt down right there in their little Colorado home [kitchen?] and had another prayer meeting with the lady on the other end of the line calling on God on their behalf. When she finished praying, Dave had to admit that he did not feel bad anymore. Had something really happened to him? Had God healed him?
    From that day on, Dave's life was in God's hands. He continued to suffer some from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, but year after year, God kept him. Fifty years later as he sat at a friend's dinner table, he recalled that day at the doctor's office as vividly as if it were yesterday.

    "I still remember her waddling in," he smiled, "that very, very short Swedish doctor. I still remember her telling me, 'You have five years to live,' and giving me a pile of papers for my wife for after I died, and an airline ticket to Sweden, just in case I wanted to make a last ditch effort! But God had other plans--Colorado, a little church on Seventeenth Street, and His own healing touch! God be praised!"

Time to Paint the House!

Last week we made a quick decision to do something that has needed to be done for a long time--paint the house. Here the children are taping protective paper over the wall paper border.

Sam getting the corners of the high ceiling.

I spent nearly the whole day ahead of time pulling decor off the walls and washing walls and ceilings. We all helped paint, and then there was all the putting back of fixtures.

                     Jonathan brought me home a dozen roses one of those painting days!

I'm afraid these pictures aren't in very good order, and I'm trying to learn to operate things differently since blogger updated and so many things are different!

All I can say is, what a mess! It always gets much worse before it gets better!

The staircase was the worst. Thankfully Sam was not afraid of heights.

Boy, talk about hoping no one showed up for company today!

Hannah helped by unscrewing the electric socket plates and switch plates. 

Popcorn has been a nice snack these evenings!

Rose keeps her horse exercised no matter what is going on.

Jumping Rattlesnakes!

Somewhere near this scene here where Jonathan has been working, there are other places where he and his crew are working--and all the time they have to be on high alert for rattlesnakes.

The snakes like to hide around the cactus or bushes.

The excavator operator dug into a nest of them recently!

He said there must have been at least five or six in one load of dirt he picked up in the excavator bucket.

The snakes were literally jumping out of the bucket, he said!

I am thankful to live further north on the prairie where we have never seen a rattlesnake.

Perhaps there are simply too many dogs around for their comfort.

In Revelation, the devil is called, "that old serpent."

He likes to hide out.

He likes to surprise, deceive, attack and bite people.

But we have a Shield and a Fortress, a Rock and a Defense.

When the world is turning upside down, we have a Refuge.

Even when the devil, the old serpent himself, is jumping out of buckets all around us,

we can be safe in Christ.

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!