tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67671439593971267532024-03-05T04:47:13.574-06:00Dogwood CrossingA Record of our Days HereUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-79869717538188116702010-04-14T07:57:00.001-05:002010-05-31T20:08:36.796-05:00Cultivating...<div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">A</span>nd I am washing dishes again, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">and wiping crumbs from under the baby's chair when I hear it.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">He's been tinkering with the tractor for a while</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">and now the low rumble of old engine can be heard </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">through an open window over the kitchen sink ... </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /><strong><em>and gentle wind invites me to come</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>and leave my work.</em></strong></span> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">I toss the dish rag and go.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></div><div align="center"></span><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">I don't want to miss what <em>is</em> going to happen,</span><span style="font-size:85%;"></div><div align="center">what <em>will</em> happen even if I try to ignore it. </div><p align="center"><em>It is time.<br />Time to join in the breaking.</em> </span><span style="font-size:85%;"></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457470688443054450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj4EqX71eatG_jDCVWRPPGQfcZht9sTDBjGCZPbUFwtPLmPkqb7cehmlKDoZiDtkmfgr_HS7YS_DZdpanPwAE-EdI8_YmyK2dcjL64Rt6y45jFfs_O-QFDymBuJulEDsCEr-q5fNKd1t4/s320/100_2338.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;">A</span>nd hardened dirt feels the turning of disks,</p><p align="center">the upset of settled ground, </p><p align="center"></span><span style="font-size:85%;">and all the earth heaves and brings to <span style="font-size:100%;">L</span>ight</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that which was hidden in darkness.</span><br /></p><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">And it is hard, and clumpy, and obviously dirty...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">but the <em>children</em> run about full of excitement. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">They kick off their boots and socks - run around <em>barefoot</em>, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">instinctively knowing that <strong><a href="http://dogwood-crossing.blogspot.com/2009/10/bare-feet.html"><em><span style="font-size:100%;">b</span>reaking is <span style="font-size:100%;">h</span>oly <span style="font-size:100%;">w</span>ork</em></a><em>.</em></strong><em><br /></em><br /></span></div><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458661839983371634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibsGA9MqPa35TiYTj0BSNrgGFDrwQudIywhpb_FwOKpoamI_sct6vFYiXvGTerQ21r0AP-Q0GBYv_XC_4dNyeWOhZ91TFrfWWAh8MqJyNvJT8RAm30RaTOkU_8MMB8eW8N5_krGOozNQc/s320/100_2454.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">A</span>nd my heart, made of dirt, full of dirt,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><span style="font-size:85%;">knows why I have been invited to come... and be here...</span><span style="font-size:85%;">to toss aside my </span><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah+64%3A6&version=NIV"><span style="font-size:85%;">filthy rags </span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">and let the </span><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ezekiel+1&version=KJV"><span style="font-size:85%;">wheels of His throne </span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">come near enough to break me again...</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">and it is a vulnerable place to be,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">but I know:</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">T</span>his is where the <em>cultivating of a life God desires</em> begins. </span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"The sacrifice You desire is a broken spirit.<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God."</span></span></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Psalm 51:17 (New Living Translation)</span></span></p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458661846183821730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-QGva-dh40TxXmJecrbNSSGnV_WMDOrOrNOqcGpIABBSEtf7SElcwuoRkbVxem-42x7S946YEO4VbBSPfplyO5w075xInxDWFZUY9yjL8IQULqZb1LDjy1dCiHhsdQNusiWcfAkSG_ao/s320/100_2457.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-size:85%;">New work in our garden continues ...</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">and I silently pray </span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that His Word may find good soil in which to grow.</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Grace to you,</span></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"></a><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"></a></p><p align="center"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/126/0E3309365C4ADE58610BDD08D719E226.png" /></a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-52986222830719085642010-04-13T08:55:00.007-05:002010-04-13T12:27:46.420-05:00Afternoon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgb1HeuFi0n1_BJCkfKU4G0g2aCHJugtQpp_icR4muy-ktJ78sMjlZYVB6PbY42_t1ShO_LjNOLsoPma9vBNk1UCOykjUscQRjXrdrS2H7bnY6gq-RZgQZg48MDMj7owKAF4ewushJwc/s1600/100_2307.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459622547617211474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgb1HeuFi0n1_BJCkfKU4G0g2aCHJugtQpp_icR4muy-ktJ78sMjlZYVB6PbY42_t1ShO_LjNOLsoPma9vBNk1UCOykjUscQRjXrdrS2H7bnY6gq-RZgQZg48MDMj7owKAF4ewushJwc/s320/100_2307.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyjnm0Ks_11w2Kl0J1ycVL97wvuSde_0wqpZAuyWRoPLecIgOEysFtRSSqZsMokBFGE6qy1-vSlNpXG32JtgKjIEkE5nObhYhia8csNT-lDX-mfXgABnAcBdteMsuyXk3XiPfYwHJaF8/s1600/100_2304.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459622536029046354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyjnm0Ks_11w2Kl0J1ycVL97wvuSde_0wqpZAuyWRoPLecIgOEysFtRSSqZsMokBFGE6qy1-vSlNpXG32JtgKjIEkE5nObhYhia8csNT-lDX-mfXgABnAcBdteMsuyXk3XiPfYwHJaF8/s320/100_2304.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0RWgKgtJ6kZTpqQZwcAYla6MHmEZoe1_PzkmG-Iv2qMiSDGsHXEkooZxEKBjVFrGB0o9-Sjtm1m54IdL75ALlh2FZcZstr9LCH2gCYVpzusREaSNOJW9VAynUn1Qpp2aPeAyF3vOste0/s1600/100_2206.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459622531725650674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0RWgKgtJ6kZTpqQZwcAYla6MHmEZoe1_PzkmG-Iv2qMiSDGsHXEkooZxEKBjVFrGB0o9-Sjtm1m54IdL75ALlh2FZcZstr9LCH2gCYVpzusREaSNOJW9VAynUn1Qpp2aPeAyF3vOste0/s320/100_2206.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">There are a few things in life </span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that are gone before you know it...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">bubbles, </span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">popsicles, </span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">and childhood.</span></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Grace to you,</span><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div></div><p align="center"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/126/0E3309365C4ADE58610BDD08D719E226.png" /></a></p><div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-4733429218644864872010-04-12T07:00:00.001-05:002010-04-12T07:00:07.793-05:00Gratitude List<div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">"<em><span style="font-size:130%;">G</span>ratitude</em> is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul."</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">~Henry Ward Beecher</span></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2mC8QmQeEcYhYs4SxW3tMf3WanFenEwBbbJKZwZqD9FESEFGinnmPmmuFuquB1bCDMMOxCvpQrwGCgi6YVGCMHdyokHciIbcDblKnh5OuD0nWYuuSsqzEoBBt7smv069xoMs7-etN4o/s1600/100_2343.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459077855000214674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2mC8QmQeEcYhYs4SxW3tMf3WanFenEwBbbJKZwZqD9FESEFGinnmPmmuFuquB1bCDMMOxCvpQrwGCgi6YVGCMHdyokHciIbcDblKnh5OuD0nWYuuSsqzEoBBt7smv069xoMs7-etN4o/s320/100_2343.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:85%;">6. little Boys finding forgotten carrots</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_k_x9AV1lBdpiCFttpex4TusugMLshrNdWmRwEQWA5ToZy9mHIIwKJJygSN8rjC2Bx75084A2wX-NFGYuonUJoF22Dur2IiVk20bG08xNWFVIolu8wFnCfT2hj5SdSKZxhZOOdrRt0M/s1600/100_2346.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459077843571269058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_k_x9AV1lBdpiCFttpex4TusugMLshrNdWmRwEQWA5ToZy9mHIIwKJJygSN8rjC2Bx75084A2wX-NFGYuonUJoF22Dur2IiVk20bG08xNWFVIolu8wFnCfT2hj5SdSKZxhZOOdrRt0M/s320/100_2346.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:85%;">7. taste of crisp carrots rinsed under water hose</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">8. listening to Joseph sing about how much he likes carrots</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">9. catching up escaped equine animals </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">with a bucket of feed dangling out of car window</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7SBwRc6ZGWa2IN9zm2mkTWCPLiDFxWrajSdVeRiaLPc987gWTCjjmFi61BCnB5WyFeJ8KMimHfJOKrnhHVapl_KB3yTK9jPCTdKo45zDMkLu52yYqePRRNE54z_zS2xOvmgB1yIEirg/s1600/100_2407.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459077839457778946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7SBwRc6ZGWa2IN9zm2mkTWCPLiDFxWrajSdVeRiaLPc987gWTCjjmFi61BCnB5WyFeJ8KMimHfJOKrnhHVapl_KB3yTK9jPCTdKo45zDMkLu52yYqePRRNE54z_zS2xOvmgB1yIEirg/s320/100_2407.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:85%;">10. wisps of baby-girl's hair, growing longer everyday</span><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuZz-HFV9g4KMiVL77BFsG59cVSUSmRu-reJYno7nI1NF_u6v5ejS330cMwxXqEJC27gKES1Oux04Nb3Azv0FwKNL4Qbc1d1FpI2CNYvRr6Zd-XsF_HCxCajokREBOkXR-wpnFzaNT5U/s1600/100_2389.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459077829666832754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuZz-HFV9g4KMiVL77BFsG59cVSUSmRu-reJYno7nI1NF_u6v5ejS330cMwxXqEJC27gKES1Oux04Nb3Azv0FwKNL4Qbc1d1FpI2CNYvRr6Zd-XsF_HCxCajokREBOkXR-wpnFzaNT5U/s320/100_2389.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:85%;">11. snacktime on the porch steps</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">12. Andy's lower back getting better</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">13. boys playing in creek with GI JOE toys and boats</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">14. washing the 4-wheeler after accidentally getting it stuck down by the creek</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzWNqrqei-mQ443pMAI0ZxtKeG4gc9D13ug7XWBDAYGpr6r2UpFUs9zDqQNmScQJdGcElPjxv3dd2_e3Euhz5NALsY_0FFAkk3gx3VmrhJL3rA4-ydeWC8WMoNJTaMQXQOLJXlP1BYd0/s1600/100_2434.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459077821415838610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzWNqrqei-mQ443pMAI0ZxtKeG4gc9D13ug7XWBDAYGpr6r2UpFUs9zDqQNmScQJdGcElPjxv3dd2_e3Euhz5NALsY_0FFAkk3gx3VmrhJL3rA4-ydeWC8WMoNJTaMQXQOLJXlP1BYd0/s320/100_2434.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:85%;">15. time together on Saturday</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Grace to you,</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/126/0E3309365C4ADE58610BDD08D719E226.png" /></a><br /></div><br /><center><a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/"><img title="holy experience" alt="holy experience" src="http://i534.photobucket.com/albums/ee349/GDest07/ann%20voskamp/mondaybutton2.png" /></a></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-8976417538952653462010-04-04T20:24:00.006-05:002010-04-04T21:50:50.635-05:00Gratitide List<div align="center">They protrude like tiny yellow trumpets </div><br /><div align="center">along the road and through the woods, </div><br /><div align="center">announcing Holy Week. </div><br /><div align="center">Every spring they emerge randomly </div><br /><div align="center">among the briars and draping over </div><br /><div align="center">the tops of dead-looking trees... </div><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><div align="center">...And so begins my <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2006/11/gift-list-thousand-things.html">gratitude</a> <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2006/11/gift-list-thousand-things.html">list</a>.<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456468827839538210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuwFIR46WPuSaKmFaR5e28720kaDsDIPgv8XGfLXV1_FgJa4AMmfKhsGqtAopHQqUJXUqTEH6wmpU51i0FXt0655AMDQl0Rm1Oa4VmxKwhdLFMr58R2QVhbs7iipkME7i5IPnQRJxJWU/s320/100_2107.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">1. Yellow trumpets silently reminding me </span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that the He has come and will come again.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjla2xdvvvtoCGoqVt0fAXkjka9hti1Wor5kEQ_yCRL3WDfDENWuCBhrJfyX0oHK56tBxcgA72aKpN7uHq9iGdwRiUmEY0yxz6lpySIej4XDYkNAqGzZIOzC6PMACx2L-gvHy3o-BwaMgA/s1600/100_2285.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456463153175774130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjla2xdvvvtoCGoqVt0fAXkjka9hti1Wor5kEQ_yCRL3WDfDENWuCBhrJfyX0oHK56tBxcgA72aKpN7uHq9iGdwRiUmEY0yxz6lpySIej4XDYkNAqGzZIOzC6PMACx2L-gvHy3o-BwaMgA/s320/100_2285.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">2.Laughter of little boys as they chase each other in clover.</span></div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456468800414040290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkv_HUcXoM2cHQJ_t2f9xofnqeikf9JNhgAA8Blnr2AKO7GNhkYFOC-JNvX8vIgD2dwNENWzsdbgKBUKYQQqDQ2H-Hhq5jnL3o92Wo7QLQGSGvgbXppPuXmcbuj3CnW15rHhcBfGmtjiY/s320/100_2048.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">3. Actually finding a four-leaf clover!!</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456463164572148034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaj9UW9lZU4bgo_nUn8B8d3NzdVDL33MGoq-kf3fPqUMwx2g6HrycdFklZ49BhFeFEDL6MeE_PJaJAB36gfSnb2W23_cFil308B3Msnh55wuCg-BRJIZiGCX0VsaXXWf8lJD0SCWfgVg/s320/100_2317.jpg" border="0" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKQl9yz1IQuQ4bBM07BV4-bBU_eXWjUO0mDwCx3aMC8bMYntR71rsG_qXpay_s8l8X_vS0SMSv0OVxS0v7Vx2ZASYAxUg5VgBxNnj6kAdMJ9oSxuHHwbzYgDSXyfsXnpp6p4gLVI4G7c/s1600/100_2327.jpg"></a></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">4.Buzzing of bumblebee wings.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456463148493220130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKQl9yz1IQuQ4bBM07BV4-bBU_eXWjUO0mDwCx3aMC8bMYntR71rsG_qXpay_s8l8X_vS0SMSv0OVxS0v7Vx2ZASYAxUg5VgBxNnj6kAdMJ9oSxuHHwbzYgDSXyfsXnpp6p4gLVI4G7c/s320/100_2327.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:85%;">5. All the <a href="http://dogwood-crossing.blogspot.com/2010/01/during-cold-days-of-january.html">work</a> Andy put into helping start my little blueberry patch!</span></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Grace to you,</span> </p><p align="center"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/126/0E3309365C4ADE58610BDD08D719E226.png" /></a></p><p align="center"></p><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456463139353632994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 90px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCLzcbcUfpu-OWTORVvxGpYL968iNBrj7B7baNqYwBGuUnB5OtQePM54DJYehPIBjqCcqSczYWGh30N6BvwJ1hOXL0ZvJZvMkct9wmYBy8OqghXSg7rGJmyBhJeBe4KIBAhHRgVg1h4U/s320/mondaybutton2.png" border="0" /><br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlix3G16F5UmWEmvINrC6lFhujiHz0-APbFTQpnYlszAXNKq0hCYpADgVv2s9QTYgAJnTAlDtpTWOXrOBuPLRESHDuNE1YWMMP-lDSCLNkCnEXq54Y8Fgtu4ZXJOgR9YpocuqW-gp5z9M/s1600/signature.bmp"></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-60227907551970611502010-04-02T07:49:00.006-05:002010-04-03T12:49:48.081-05:00Good Friday<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9aMrOneLTiGzWqu-UndsLjGiFals9Xq6r-BXoX4BJrIfC-Q1G9dLLy-rtuhyHWA7KpvcXiUcSWONQrRbM6ee4Va_Odl2FiPlLe_TxzCfRorG5QKg2ztvzVTA77Bmq25NMevSs0ilBaJc/s1600/1eastercross003.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455807146703756546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 197px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9aMrOneLTiGzWqu-UndsLjGiFals9Xq6r-BXoX4BJrIfC-Q1G9dLLy-rtuhyHWA7KpvcXiUcSWONQrRbM6ee4Va_Odl2FiPlLe_TxzCfRorG5QKg2ztvzVTA77Bmq25NMevSs0ilBaJc/s320/1eastercross003.png" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">Pictures from Subiaco Abbey ...</span></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">and a vivid reminder of </span></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">what Good Friday first looked like,</span></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">from Ann at holy experience.... </span></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2010/04/on-road-to-calvary.html">http://www.aholyexperience.com/2010/04/on-road-to-calvary.html</a></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><span style="font-size:78%;">Grace to you,<br /></span><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div></div><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/126/0E3309365C4ADE58610BDD08D719E226.png" /></a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-1949830842751428172010-03-31T14:00:00.000-05:002010-04-01T08:02:45.749-05:00<div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">W</span>hen all the dust was wiped clean ....</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">and the windows poured in afternoon spring light... </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">the community came over for an Easter Tour of Homes </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">to help raise money for the new community center.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">And I looked at a picture of Him </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">as I encouraged the crowd to join me in the kitchen</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">where grandma's dishes graced the wooden table.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454977080320805202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvBQhwAaTN1kIgQl7rppexky1k8tMxlm4WPmV-h49ZEmcQ9Od2lp0VCSItNAeRn_B0H5PjiW9WiUDplYeSnB56L99-rfOOBoc4P0rqtdCX1M4dWgQ1xjUMddh2OlVX2vVrdx-QsMbK-Y/s320/100_2059.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">A<span style="font-size:78%;">nd I looked at the picture of Him again </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">as the folks made their way </span><span style="font-size:78%;">upstairs.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454977096888665410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0lVx8_aLwBYl6uyglt1vlGeOKtJLZKd_dRYxNYizglYfmyiHZUZrj7GqBJfC24CDLNtSgAvUBjJ78YpMz91nRjcaF1yYGABrYIcHg2VCbu2iPI3cCIpJo-fFNVzF8sK5L5pcq581mBc/s320/100_2064.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">A<span style="font-size:78%;">nd every which way I went through the house,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">I was reminded of Him. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">And that He loved me this much...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454977087900181234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgfCW8zr9xudhZNZQ7D1zdzT145esLtiVBiBE3fpTUfEVMFcydc3FrxjReZF6LfyCfhpsVfBUkMWNCIZutguvQQM5HxkrfXWGGZrpXRxzShKaQ1dyJ63hEsE62eKWP9a1GRBMWfq7vEg/s320/100_2061.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Y</span> es, this much. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454977100175150610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8iwKRPcD0Y9Yti6FXqk-zUaF7-BC5dE7MaO9Wu2gHCkeTE0EQTmWt7cj1_2BVsFqnQPEyc7W0KTUPxVntULkX9JefJ_AsIIjupiKcuWG_s9mEWn7LbI2yL5Df0BAciG23ksXBoewctiE/s320/100_2065.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-size:100%;"></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">A</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;">nd yes, that is a real tree in my house...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">after all, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">trees are very much a part of The Story. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></div></span><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454977113094541906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzSdijkjk164kqCQLu_q4QAGP44UTNopTqgGrxhvnpBb6RPI8t6NoBE6nKqUQtBJFYAq0n9-69x6KPhDaFKKC1R5wZOzBvLVK_OkayNcHfI6ZMpxXe6fnCWUXcBeQVe5Y9NBefPXciQro/s320/100_2140.jpg" border="0" /><br />Between the living room and the study </span><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">I planted a dogwood tree.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">Legend is the cross was made out of dogwood...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">We will plant it in the yard this Easter,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">bury it's roots in earth</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">so that it may continue to live.</span> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkChMS1CRenGyVPzlqW9IpJFS2_tpCr9YlhnQpt_eqmZ__KQdhTQH6QSz8w8XqsP9ahvOoNmhVfOMk0pGaOxkWIlZXDgcfGh9N2kWNDv31PdptTwblRpdHqXw9yl-l5t5ZOzO7MwG-R7g/s1600/100_2152.jpg"><span style="font-size:78%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454978867095342722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkChMS1CRenGyVPzlqW9IpJFS2_tpCr9YlhnQpt_eqmZ__KQdhTQH6QSz8w8XqsP9ahvOoNmhVfOMk0pGaOxkWIlZXDgcfGh9N2kWNDv31PdptTwblRpdHqXw9yl-l5t5ZOzO7MwG-R7g/s320/100_2152.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">And the Stations of the Cross hang<br />on branches,<br />our version of Easter-ornaments</span>.<br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwSPiXL8kHHr40lwWHWNWx_eXqgPcZO_Lhy4e6FjkcOcVJiJ6Su2V5Eqy9M9Z4KKb-rcvAhmhOc3kV6smFell54Xt0_4zGDHlr0gerbeUlJX9kJwNvtqm8SVJv75v2EUOuBnhzYF2SPc/s1600/100_2141.jpg"><span style="font-size:78%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454978855958598130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwSPiXL8kHHr40lwWHWNWx_eXqgPcZO_Lhy4e6FjkcOcVJiJ6Su2V5Eqy9M9Z4KKb-rcvAhmhOc3kV6smFell54Xt0_4zGDHlr0gerbeUlJX9kJwNvtqm8SVJv75v2EUOuBnhzYF2SPc/s320/100_2141.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454978878041718162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUH8tKKu2Jf3QsLbZNnD4u1-b9nH7IDxGYlmf7Npl1kg2UipIwFYby2Ph0lxzqvI3VkUgKOPRL9tpnDhAcGixsUn53puamjUh6mpatIuKLAL_DoeK9nZPCFAZvBYm4F51Ie3-Te13sWo/s320/100_2153.jpg" border="0" /> </span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-20170974080992549422010-03-11T19:59:00.000-06:002010-03-13T11:47:32.272-06:00Benjamin in the Woods<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQCAX3virtP5WM9TUvp53fQCQFfghoW37eTdlJ6WP0_w_0iourqPBaZ41rP7IHHd8VglEUnHBCAG8gkEefWHa5FSGJETTx9cmeB5zAX1-SzzQGEPyo6VlmE-e1aQsloSZg33FykN9EMw/s1600-h/100_1850.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448175161153671442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQCAX3virtP5WM9TUvp53fQCQFfghoW37eTdlJ6WP0_w_0iourqPBaZ41rP7IHHd8VglEUnHBCAG8gkEefWHa5FSGJETTx9cmeB5zAX1-SzzQGEPyo6VlmE-e1aQsloSZg33FykN9EMw/s320/100_1850.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"Maybe nothing is more important than that we keep track, you and I, of these stories of who we are and where we have come from and the people we have met along the way because it is precisely through these stories in all their particularity… that God makes himself known to each of us most powerfully and personally."<br />-Frederick Buechner</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-26454136328142318502010-03-10T09:08:00.000-06:002010-03-10T09:54:49.187-06:00Silent Retreat at Subiaco Abbey<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">"A</span><span style="font-size:85%;">s morning breaks we sing of your mercy, Lord,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">and night will find us proclaiming your fidelity."</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Collectively we gather to speak words of faith and truth. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">We let our lips sing praise, lest the rocks cry out.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">We practice the spiritual disciplines </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">of silence, prayer, journaling..</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">And I fail again. And again.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mouth of mine breaks vow of silence all too easily....</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">out of habit, out of going along with the throng,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">out of wanting to know and be known. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong></strong></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>And yet He still surrounds me with His love, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>the kind that is everlasting.</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">That God- love that never fails.</span></strong> </div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">I withdraw again to a quiet place- alone, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">for even glances of the eye try to speak, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">wanting acceptance from earthly creatures. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">My heart is laid bare before me, and I cry out His words, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">because mine are no good...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Create in me a clean heart, O God. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Renew a right spirit within me."</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">And He answers. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Renewed heart hums, ready to serve-</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">"I have been blessed by the Lord...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">and now, I get to be the blessing."</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">For Ann's beautiful words about the silent retreat</span>:</div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2010/03/what-you-really-need-when-life-is-loud.html">http://www.aholyexperience.com/2010/03/what-you-really-need-when-life-is-loud.html</a></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-9753859355022716472010-02-11T15:25:00.001-06:002010-02-13T20:13:23.015-06:00Forever Love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEuY-qosuTIBv6glQOrJ9m5fHbKOCdOWdDpyPzqMfZv1ZTtmuHcqBNlrt169_kZIxUyB4reIa1ApPjJRm8-c7clAlSvTMAXIIw9olI0VLX1ds2Jxo7S-BhDlkFOiJiZQOs2bvMHv9J4w/s1600-h/100_1895.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437915780496900546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEuY-qosuTIBv6glQOrJ9m5fHbKOCdOWdDpyPzqMfZv1ZTtmuHcqBNlrt169_kZIxUyB4reIa1ApPjJRm8-c7clAlSvTMAXIIw9olI0VLX1ds2Jxo7S-BhDlkFOiJiZQOs2bvMHv9J4w/s320/100_1895.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"...but this is what lasts, this is what goes on forever and ever and will endure times and winds and all the ages. Heaven and love and Jesus. </span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">And there is such a thing as too much money </span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">and too much sun </span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">and too much of a good thing,</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">but this world has only one thing that there can never be enough of:</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>there is no such thing as too much love.</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">And they may not etch it on memorial stone, but granite erodes and quiet people know it so we get up every day and we make the porridge and wash the underwear and pay the bills and tend to the hurting and we etch the love on the hearts, that which beats on without end and we pulse throughout the universe.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>There's a way to do work that lasts forever. </strong></span></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437915774678289682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvW6wuqMafyHXwhScemhtmnbusc1LiehWCj0YBYjPqon8QI0wY2yn9oddT-P-r_vZTvLebu9vCB1WGvUrIhyphenhyphenfNzIBQaIqYALMnstKGTPfTcn1C94KChV1C874F5e-WsS_ciRthvH-zPk/s320/100_1893.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Just do everything with love</strong>."</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">~Ann Voskamp</span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-17640487490667400742010-02-03T22:14:00.000-06:002010-02-04T23:38:45.954-06:0015 Months Old<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">R</span>ain falls steadily outside the window, </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">puddles dot the yard and fill ruts in the drive.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She bundles close on my lap,</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"> head finding rest in the crook of my arm. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Her fingers scratch my back and arm as she nurses, </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">and <strong>I look and look into her eyes</strong>.</span><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">She loves me. </span></strong><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>She <em>really</em> loves me</strong>.</span><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">So much so that I gaze away in disbelief and wonder. </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">My eyes trace her pupils, notice the shades of blue, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">the lines of light that seem living, changing.<br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Where, oh where did such a creature come from?</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">She is all gift.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">And I hope her joy is always so full.</span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><div align="center"><br />And oh, I see my reflection in the tiny black circles gazing my way...</div><div align="center">and I whisper low,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">"<strong>I love you too</strong>." </span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><div align="center"><br />I am whispering to her, </div><div align="center">but seeing my reflection I am caught off guard, </div><div align="center">knowing that I don't say those kind words to myself. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">But I like what I see for once...</div><div align="center">and feel like I am good at something...</div><div align="center">that maybe I am a good...</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Milky smile completes thought and says, "Mom." And then continues nursing again.<br />She reaches and points to my nose, eyes, mouth, hair. Always. </div><div align="center">And always in that order. It is her way.<br /><br />And I lean, and kiss her forehead,wipe hair away from face.<br />Massage little feet.<br /></div><div align="center">And give thanks.</div><div align="center">Always give thanks.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-64838763211191749692010-02-01T21:07:00.000-06:002010-02-01T21:40:45.670-06:00Creative SpaceWhen Sweet Pea takes her morning nap, the boys and I gather books together and arrange ourselves just-so. Their growing elbows always accidently poke my lap as they lean close to listen, one on each side of me.<br /><br /><br />Last week we read <em>The Story of the Alamo</em>, and Andy and I woke before dawn to hear a complete reinactment already taking place in the playroom!<br /><br /><br />And after we read <em>The Story of Old Ironsides, </em>these two boys went searching for materials to build their own great ship.<br /><br /><p> </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433481399701961090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6EKTCGFAmVICkK8VZ1C-xiPCSObA-nqDfKQX8lkcjy8BpG8WVIDVtTW4n4ydU6PJPS1nPi3tcnLIEM4FsMSA4xuNhmftquGJQ93WL59PPN7ib-YeRB-wSe5bmV4IFCStaPCLvVlKSgA/s320/100_1846.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><br />Two boys + empty laundry-soap box + limbs we pruned off peach trees +scrap of fabric + a few toy cannons = a good deal of fun!<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433481390478205346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIcWNkbWYbeP61ALugYiVPJdUOW998wuCX20ZaKCCzmbzqUYm0hjJageYhm23VdrCaVCRnnmjR5af186qvfJF_cj0lAWEIvNVmZpbXbg_MjVlaNFWIhvPd89x37eVcFLLdW4Tt5giYVA/s320/100_1843.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433481384582149026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJS1dWr7FKXVcHqqfSbfWcZNBTuVqRoeVELKyYdhb5w0LHvSox8g55whyphenhyphenDtdDlgvyRb8JBGJV0Lcok_axVrxJfkhhN3Mdrx47MU9n2-Xo37U-3R7HnX-wKzh0EVnL_dsmIPhuJFs5o0tg/s320/100_1842.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-79432081325087123312010-01-18T09:17:00.000-06:002010-01-27T15:51:03.366-06:00Lesson from a Child<span style="font-size:85%;">Firstborn wanted to pray outloud at breakfast this morning.<br />I couldn't help but look his way while heads were bowed,<br />for his young voice sounded as if he was going to cry.<br /><br /></span><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong> Morning light rested on his head, </strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong> dew fell from his eyes. </strong></span></div><br /><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431522060505927906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-BP1KEX7P4lT-UddaWgkbembSpVNzn5K9ExXs-HX9y0Z_aOuZSGQ33HRSBMOljjXFXmy5FSjDTTLhBQZGG0BhKGDV1VTbbXiv80s-JcM9gZGlBnXlGvXICnMPshut-51OW2rEOR47zQ/s320/100_1750.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">He is five and prays for the people in Haiti.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-65325387968026664922010-01-17T21:34:00.000-06:002010-01-17T22:03:55.757-06:00The Wall<div align="center"> There used to be a small open space, </div><div align="center">window, door, and light. </div><div align="center">And then, during renovation, a wall went up. </div><div align="center">It was necessary.</div><div align="center">It was bare.</div><div align="center">It blocked memories of how things used to be.</div><div align="center">But things aren't as they once were.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Enough time has passed and</div><div align="center">the wall has now become part of home.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEumummFG-ILBvf7LjfQSfCkeJi1SkVudPSX-Ak85vnirVNdqLdPQg-nxa17GsqKxrFiXBXYe3oK91n5kcMsFOHy5aMR1sf4QObxXK2EBdOH7Q2VxL5dVAGkdvX0S5gGLaxYMCTzGPbyo/s1600-h/100_1738.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427919107199055570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEumummFG-ILBvf7LjfQSfCkeJi1SkVudPSX-Ak85vnirVNdqLdPQg-nxa17GsqKxrFiXBXYe3oK91n5kcMsFOHy5aMR1sf4QObxXK2EBdOH7Q2VxL5dVAGkdvX0S5gGLaxYMCTzGPbyo/s320/100_1738.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">This is the scenic mural that I wallpapered last week on The Wall.<br /></span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-52788286162719669782010-01-14T21:26:00.000-06:002010-01-14T21:59:08.717-06:00On Her Day OffSeveral years ago I wrote part of a poem for my sister:<br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">There was a time not so long ago</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">when you and I shared a room, a common space</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">for the both of us to sleep and to play.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">It was our room, last door on the right </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">at the end of the hall.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Half of it was distinctly yours, and half distinctly mine-</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">though all of it Ours.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">My half of the room was decent, while her half would pass the white glove test! So, yesterday when she had the day off work and decided to come restore order to my study, (which was previously a kitchen) I was so very glad. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjGQ1KM_WhhJmg4ycgwkGL3F3R30ZcrC9YBy36BL7C8WTC1TQo0dLpFfmgJJTetNqGoXhyEw4t_QgsykB5MAB4PtxC7uT3B4ku-MkJ0WnN69IanYSZWSwKhIirasFM9yxqcs4WevscMM/s1600-h/100_1730.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426803773822971074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjGQ1KM_WhhJmg4ycgwkGL3F3R30ZcrC9YBy36BL7C8WTC1TQo0dLpFfmgJJTetNqGoXhyEw4t_QgsykB5MAB4PtxC7uT3B4ku-MkJ0WnN69IanYSZWSwKhIirasFM9yxqcs4WevscMM/s320/100_1730.jpg" border="0" /></a> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426803778451129890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiByh67QlRanvaAXdvFlGYzaufLfHxqHG2s8VG8yzy8595_A7gw4L3EnEZT-Oz0mMBqe96kPEeM99Nd7J9uVG0BRMkHihLEPBNuRrTZeB7yuqEXewow7q1kYVZITM1eLTDvbK4zrnuVWvI/s320/100_1729.jpg" border="0" />Now, if only it would stay that way...</div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:85%;">***I found the poem in a stack of papers yesterday while we were working together.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-37875252913104700502010-01-11T09:38:00.000-06:002010-01-14T21:25:44.120-06:00During the cold days of January...<div align="center">We dig holes for the blueberry patch. </div><div align="center">Sixty-two of them, in fact. </div><div align="center">Four varieties of rabbit-eye,</div><div align="center"> each three to four years old. </div><div align="center">Powder-blue, Climax, Britewell and Premier- </div><div align="center">each find a welcome peat-moss bed in which to rest. </div><div align="center"></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5seTQ3MZe2qj_BxTO2CGhA5KDg0DyVAylURsoyu7vOZeKshw1FRDpO92Mdi1qORN0w7YEKABCOArEX6s7WUDZAWc_dnCtfqUmPNCOZEkljP8TU9oL8AtaCDI_SdvwecMLF9KS-bX0IAY/s1600-h/100_1725.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426797917170052498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5seTQ3MZe2qj_BxTO2CGhA5KDg0DyVAylURsoyu7vOZeKshw1FRDpO92Mdi1qORN0w7YEKABCOArEX6s7WUDZAWc_dnCtfqUmPNCOZEkljP8TU9oL8AtaCDI_SdvwecMLF9KS-bX0IAY/s320/100_1725.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426797928465770578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjls_ZDpoCrKD9evvyvLRrWpSgiltFgnQk9esS3k0L-RFf6YxYv-Ag8Jtoh5FvUA0x0GSUWeCezFRcukuWng2eD8NoXJKlM1Yt-ELKGeXfYFlbhmVOkJ3VKqsx0DbHd_hvvje1NzP2wbyI/s320/100_1728.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">We also bust the ice so that our animals can drink...</div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426797905817736962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiosowLW7ns7t6gQAYzbVJ1RBZrgj26AHhpUmlte_07RELYO_ju1G2NYPx7H4BjWYE0Wmfc0A7pcsVkT9mNTkKTXHv92-b4kgl-bLQmLsGXhe7gqzqNTpSxzClKs_clqVxBsO2hoYGdykA/s320/100_1713.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFk7m4wQmxb6eJkDYiQr6zkpjrdVZ_1XpQ0jchN_Ha7Tikdp_629bh2-R6HBvts9RlnO_LOp_hEcV-VL4Qd8M80liwa1z4zQMcQG19pPZWhPh97eiQA1WMRElgJ_y7iwWtWfJq2sVR-7w/s1600-h/100_1716.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426797910829852514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFk7m4wQmxb6eJkDYiQr6zkpjrdVZ_1XpQ0jchN_Ha7Tikdp_629bh2-R6HBvts9RlnO_LOp_hEcV-VL4Qd8M80liwa1z4zQMcQG19pPZWhPh97eiQA1WMRElgJ_y7iwWtWfJq2sVR-7w/s320/100_1716.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />LORD, may our lives be filled with living,<br />even during the coldest of days.<br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-73900288892485529542010-01-04T12:12:00.000-06:002010-01-04T19:39:40.760-06:00Keeping Warm<div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitWDVNgARcUAPP63rFMd_eCydTlZ9KdWeGxpdFnicjgleEObgiTxbSTiBqk8iVFYkao89qOrvac9Snr8CoGkzNSs3QfzB3I5nyd9U08FPQtYJnjcKUqe-n2t0JKLfHLc24qW7ehEDM_Xs/s1600-h/029.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422207901067426594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitWDVNgARcUAPP63rFMd_eCydTlZ9KdWeGxpdFnicjgleEObgiTxbSTiBqk8iVFYkao89qOrvac9Snr8CoGkzNSs3QfzB3I5nyd9U08FPQtYJnjcKUqe-n2t0JKLfHLc24qW7ehEDM_Xs/s320/029.JPG" border="0" /></a> It's quite cold here this evening. I've kept the fire going in the woodstove all day, and Andy will probably keep it going through the night. The boys and I started back on our "school" routine, now that the holidays have passed. My mom gave us several old school desks that she picked up from someone she knows, so the playroom is becoming a classroom too. The boys do seem to enjoy having their own desks- their own work space. I've put one coat of colonial red paint on them already, but will finish them up later this week. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">For those who have never been to our home, you must know...I am very fond of antique/flea markets and old-stuff that nobody wants anymore. Not junk. No. No. But furniture with good lines and potential. I'll try to take some pictures of my recent finds and post for you to see. Until then, we'll be keeping warm, reading stories by the fire and watching Sweet Pea learn to walk. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-8569460782347237222009-12-26T11:12:00.000-06:002010-01-02T12:12:08.002-06:00Grace to You<div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">This song was written by our former pastor, John Hendrix.</span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Grace to you.</div><div align="center">Grace to you.</div><div align="center">God's great grace to you.</div><div align="center">As you walk through your life, in joy or in strife, </div><div align="center">God's grace, God's grace to you. </div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417755445781542930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6ihCKjOWKWxPdA-1EoqzCn2EGQ6PjsO2nsVykK5cWBQFpzIzLW-sdLDEqkdrGQrw9u04HexEFHdJAd4kIe2qdTlYFXCdEAU-QdfRXsFLB4N4OkKU75IAGx4BnTC4TyVMjcdNUfCtYuA/s320/197.JPG" border="0" /> <div align="center"><br />Peace to you.</div><div align="center">Peace to you.</div><div align="center">God's great peace to you.</div><div align="center">As you walk through your life, in joy or in strife, </div><div align="center">God's peace, God's peace to you.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417822818758362594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLRUGVTiSO6gXvd26JD9YgFJust_91tz9mK8SeFa45vfyTdsijU5zsXDrGaUAp0ELBzvgkir5kxEbiixAEb4PyV561m2hAbVq4ApqJyQqxPGp24qyO_DUkKOdfzFPFkI3LNtfKWrihBF8/s320/247.JPG" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Love to you.<br />Love to you.<br />God's great love to you.<br />As you walk through your life, in joy or in strife,<br />God's love, God's love to you.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422197376668813490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPcE_TU7ccWeY96YU4FAzYfdP7GD-O_9KQwL05rjONgIopU9ugsG7xYpBGLHajvY-_qBLmr5plQFfA3D6IpY38ZFHPGkJyMh-RhJpKEjE2PXw7O0mZQ1ua3CMQSpw-jUzcSXf7nIA_LE/s320/232.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">Song found on page 663 of the Baptist Hymnal. </span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-49946821745852685042009-12-20T19:02:00.000-06:002009-12-22T21:36:09.540-06:00From the Valley of Vision<div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">I offer this prayer after yet another sorrow....</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">"<em>LORD</em>, <em>High</em> and <em>Holy</em>, <em>Meek</em> and <em>Lowly</em>,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Thou hast brought me to the <span style="font-family:georgia;"><em>valley of vision</em></span>,</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">where I live in the depths but see Thee in the heights;</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold Thy glory. </span></div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417784887316848754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEZYqqtT_KLe-iQ4zhtWI6wgiNyb193WO5_InHVkm9wHFha_h7PpI_Lrmjzpyr3mh7rkkfR0PuvckGi_aTiFIihZLev2v0Jnv3q_WP0_Oa3QbWlwcrt7UVvdO6EMzlzik2IbkNK17wLRs/s320/389.JPG" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Let me learn by paradox </span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that the way down is the way up, </span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that to be low is to be high,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that the broken heart is the healed heart,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that to have nothing is to posess all,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that to give is to receive,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">that </span></p><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em><span style="font-size:100%;">the valley is the place of vision</span></em>.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,</span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">and the deeper the wells the brighter Thy stars shine;</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Let me find Thy light in my darkness,</span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Thy life in my death,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Thy joy in my sorrow,</span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Thy grace in my sin,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Thy riches in my poverty,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Thy glory in my valley." </span></div><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Amen.</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417784901904022354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqCcC-gIvbZybs1wKvdoVsgMgeeYsBhtAzxtgLL3jchdKdlpVqDsjrvZ-jYnc2kcRpFu45DvwikL7_X5qUKLz3AuZU9IsCDspM8NnOvdLzAj95A-ynaGHVj4wHiRF6k31ST5kpRaH44HE/s320/413.JPG" border="0" /></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">*from the book </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Valley of Vision: A collection of Puritan Prayers and Devotions</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-62860687966158051442009-11-08T15:46:00.000-06:002009-11-10T15:32:44.899-06:00Pecan Harvest, 102 pounds<div align="center">The pecans came a few weeks earlier this year.</div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I know this because I remember picking them up last year, </div><div align="center">still great with child - </div><div align="center">bending, kneeling, reaching,</div><div align="center">feeling contractions and the fall breeze.</div><br /><div align="center">After the baby was born, my family came to visit </div><div align="center">and they picked up a good many as well.</div><div align="center">We sat around the table,</div><div align="center">picking through the nuts and shells,</div><div align="center">visiting and welcoming new babe.</div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">This year I had all these collected by mid-October, </div><div align="center">and the store down the road that advertises</div><div align="center"><em>Baits, Ammo, and Pecan Cracking,</em></div><div align="center">was still closed for the season.</div><div align="center">These bags had to wait until last Monday to be cracked.</div><div align="center">40 cents a pound for cracking<br />or 50 cents a pound for </div><div align="center">cracking, shelling, and blowing.</div><div align="center">I say, "Yes m'am" to 50 cents a pound </div><div align="center">and the lady nods,"Pick'em up t'morrow."</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402565815644512322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguRZjoVnNR0EMzk3txiXoU0WDzR3Jr9QQVyE_VZH2t2xA5VO1tZiIVOChAuIUKHEq1klm54IsDeEUY0UZ3QvL5RiySqyNjAJ8wtSOfgYsL0xR3QeAr8xEB0m5HC1f3g2bneM09wjscI98/s320/100_1346.jpg" border="0" /><br />Yes, 102 pounds of pecans. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center">And that doesn't include the ones I already gave away</div><div align="center">to Grandma Doris, Mamaw Glenda, </div><div align="center">or Hazel and James R.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-nCCbXJI67sXuSGUlSFGyHwL57sfaDa5Bemoi1GVkl_MViOqDkzgPMlt9pghR7rj-nI8XVf6k65ci1WwLg0iF159sJewR1MmUOr3MtGiiwVE63QFFr1aq9ObMhzhEcKTAEy2beaD4V3k/s1600-h/100_1347.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402565820872803138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-nCCbXJI67sXuSGUlSFGyHwL57sfaDa5Bemoi1GVkl_MViOqDkzgPMlt9pghR7rj-nI8XVf6k65ci1WwLg0iF159sJewR1MmUOr3MtGiiwVE63QFFr1aq9ObMhzhEcKTAEy2beaD4V3k/s320/100_1347.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div align="center">They fell in spurts. More on windy days of course.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">They are easier to spot after mid-morning,</div><div align="center">when the sunlight reflects </div><div align="center">a soft shine on the shell, like a satin finish.</div><br /><div align="center">Baby girl was on my hip this year, </div><div align="center">or in the stroller,</div><div align="center">or playing in the grass nearby,</div><div align="center">or taking a nap.</div><br /><div align="center">I'm sure this will be our tradition around her birthday,</div><div align="center">just as oldest son knows,</div><div align="center">"The figs are getting ripe. That means it's almost my birthday."</div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402565825816386466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz5sxKiplzR0tZjIie_3nOTBXTOjs6U5Ep8Xp50KfgdseagH6mrM7oVXErFgPkFQ6H-8qmy27gzjlt9jlo3R2v6loaKgxkELr4ri4Ci929mcETTtjcYkA7BMOmPblC4ms8ebGzryVaAR4/s320/100_1232.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center">What will I do with 102 pounds of pecans?</div><div align="center">Well, first I put them up.</div><div align="center">That means I pick out all the shells, and any of that brown bitter material that sometimes gets stuck in the grooves of the pecan.</div><div align="center">The work is quite enjoyable, and lends itself to pleasant conversation.</div><br /><div align="center">Then I put the pecans in quart-size</div><div align="center">freezer bags in my freezer.</div><div align="center">That's it.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">In the winter, we like to toast them </div><div align="center">in an iron pan on the wood stove with a dab of butter and salt.</div><br /><div align="center">We also like to make Christmas turtles </div><div align="center">with caramel and chocolate,</div><div align="center">pecan pie, pecans sprinkled on salad, pecan pralines...</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-33927535073897565862009-11-04T19:25:00.000-06:002009-11-10T13:47:40.509-06:00Source of Joy<div align="center">"Please. Please don't go to work today. " I whispered, as tears dripped onto the bathroom floor. Slowly I pulled my hair out of my face and into the everyday ponytail. "I've been up all night, and ... I just don't think I'm going to make it through the day. There's no way I can watch the boys like this! ...And I'm scared."<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400431421449737090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLpHcGK0u_0CAGj1xizPUIqxanBiQqbuSDxCcRMn72OLDovYF_1lQk0jGlHD4kfy1tw2VCNhx0XTgWyZY4K2yNYxBT8ZQekIUYEFK4kzTfrn5Jc7cvxeINYWW4mYNrRj98IjCYKP2ZIM/s320/100_1334.jpg" border="0" /><br />He was already getting ready for work, and had planned to come home early to go with me to see the doctor. He held my hand, "You're going to be alright."<br /><br />I had been seeing the doctor pretty frequently, at least every week. But this constant pain was cresting, and the lack of sleep didn't help.<br /><br />He looked at my eyes and knew I was serious. I needed him here. Today.<br /><br />"I'll e-mail my secretary that I'll be working from home."<br /><br />Somehow that alone made me breathe easier. My body returned to bed, my spirit pleaded to God. I needed <em>Him</em> too.<br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400431425525167426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QFLQ4ChWPqghyufC1ESOHmYlRKywwtEMjKcY1Bh90AZBnOHrTXzyjCtEoHwcAH-iesk3FS_UbHT6e7rJrLFnrtfNUx1Ykgb_l8TLoSjuo9pdQ0RLOysyOiYxsl9KynJHqc7fb-VtoxM/s320/100_1338.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">That all happened exactly one year ago.</span> </div><br /><div align="center">Just <em>one </em>year ago.<br /></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">I cannot believe an entire year has passed.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><p align="center">************************************************</p><p align="center">One year ago....<br /><br /></p><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400431426347152306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQs5-961pZM_gIKDlO3ZqroIRDVMVAVqu0OFDzRALE2LCr75SXhRp3A3H82tUTt4XKFwEVZgXCiYMI1b0zuuMCSyW3CYRsFhPCdeJXQ1LpENdXqFE6_0ld_9ychfcTjneOg4yaL5IV9pA/s320/100_1360.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"><em>Little Sweet Pea</em> was born! </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">And so, we celebrate!</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">We light a single candle and hold hands, </div><div align="center">offering thanks, </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">and asking the Lord to bless this little child.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400431431332950482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFYW9o3YkhavNDPGRjUuLcAmyd4lskOdqq6oS43U_SHfWwsBzbyLgyXhaVhPBh9NtJzqXyzY5I5VVXRLLWZKaAAmeOiz9O8g5mLT3cHYXKj1AXxuIqUv3AUGy0IBPv9wkVXIjPHyOySI/s320/100_1366.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><div align="center">Family and friends gather around to watch the sparkle in her eyes,</div><div align="center"><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDliHIftMyfdxKja0yqP_uK3LbYJnBZTuCx9GkiqqtbHF6rmrqiYm1h1NPgR3Yj0SbYVRYYcf_WX6qU5Xhy19gxZB0nVKLYhihVAtHXprjIi9H1tVG1DAHyxuv5-PrahvsPE_11mjckc/s1600-h/100_1372.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400433940219167858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDliHIftMyfdxKja0yqP_uK3LbYJnBZTuCx9GkiqqtbHF6rmrqiYm1h1NPgR3Yj0SbYVRYYcf_WX6qU5Xhy19gxZB0nVKLYhihVAtHXprjIi9H1tVG1DAHyxuv5-PrahvsPE_11mjckc/s320/100_1372.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />to share in her contagious laughter,<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400433961533360066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQL7x2KJeL2ub0RG935yNVzSNUfYIgFeMcKyi7eJkoxC_EGEbvYgKN2H-TL6xOUVArFjnVEMEUGtjlTAdNzJtTIpEi6jG3dKuq8MWAdhyEN-d0yxpgUZuO3E2tPlXlHXqdu0tbMmg1NY/s320/100_1214.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">to hold her close. </p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400433964971487602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2zCE5E4aMgLedehxF9ydI_PxQpTn8etqgXdHE2Uz7VegdqaRbnxboNRnAzRRuQ1KrCSvxwsQJZqM-SIts0TuJFGFv9RHC4hkbYvN3zDYVgFdhpS3QNpbGSHyDmEI_DQB1o8RubuKUYg/s320/100_1223.jpg" border="0" /> </p><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Dear Little One, </div><div align="center">Know that you truly are a source of joy!</div><div align="center">We love you so very, very much! </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Happy 1st Birthday Sweet Pea!<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-53051479389825564712009-11-01T12:30:00.000-06:002009-11-01T10:34:10.720-06:00Lord's Prayer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkXFQHep0ZHErBNIBbykE8dge-ibLE28LF7oEljphwGWcehfgNZIF9_2FGTcYzdHs_nGFKRpaa3n7qfahjyfqQhvRw6XHTdMWMboULIaz_-_8WePGSc4TZAnkehGDBQ_59DCnD2eiADk/s1600-h/100_1316.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399171386250394322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkXFQHep0ZHErBNIBbykE8dge-ibLE28LF7oEljphwGWcehfgNZIF9_2FGTcYzdHs_nGFKRpaa3n7qfahjyfqQhvRw6XHTdMWMboULIaz_-_8WePGSc4TZAnkehGDBQ_59DCnD2eiADk/s320/100_1316.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div align="center">"Pray, then, in this way:</div><br /><div align="center">'Our Father who art in heaven,</div><br /><div align="center">Hallowed be Thy name.</div><br /><div align="center">Thy kingdom come.</div><br /><div align="center">Thy will be done,</div><br /><div align="center">on earth as it is in heaven.</div><div align="center"></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399171391077601570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fU2JtuTD6O3y3PYpPJ0Mv7vblE0UoshXLHDGZ5HshTDLD8qe3VRx4LFPjxdZ5QQ01NFMQo2mbxfmGEKyvzg0Yt91XbJzQe-HGvuheeFBCYINsY9qxMfj-3ceIIT3Y4zWBTwRkNGrsts/s320/100_1317.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center">Give us this day our daily bread.</div><br /><div align="center">And forgive us our debts,</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">as we also have forgiven our debtors.</div><br /><div align="center">And do not lead us into temptation, </div><br /><div align="center">but deliver us from evil. </div><br /><div align="center">For Thine is the kingdom, </div><br /><div align="center">and the power, and the glory,</div><br /><div align="center">forever. </div><br /><div align="center">Amen.</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399171382764663394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRM8IBJTeKgRaV1X69-RtdpHD3GZU0tE7zRtRPM2mkWxTlDUPEBtNBgps_O0lDtGCLh7vBJHl6yDJF3MZkQMM97evGueRwlrAoVGXWjx8892svviAp3h6FZp48VOuo53NW24GnDmKLAsU/s320/100_1315.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">Matthew 6:9-13<br />Picture: Light in the pecan orchard at the White's homeplace.<br /></span></div><br /><br /><div></div><div> </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-10330447601632215392009-10-30T20:33:00.000-05:002009-10-31T11:22:52.045-05:00Season in Time<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5D8W9uFfy6DX2tavlGiGH8VQDD5xgrWYsY12zTs7badDxS2hGci7As_5NpKRcs0dmYmjdRA1MhnzV7oChVOz_QE4buxmHS4eXBqFrkqVdQh8f25zofCQVa4Xs-8QpkLlVrbqHfvX6zMI/s1600-h/100_1027.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398573137495408194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5D8W9uFfy6DX2tavlGiGH8VQDD5xgrWYsY12zTs7badDxS2hGci7As_5NpKRcs0dmYmjdRA1MhnzV7oChVOz_QE4buxmHS4eXBqFrkqVdQh8f25zofCQVa4Xs-8QpkLlVrbqHfvX6zMI/s320/100_1027.jpg" border="0" /></a> My hands are full these days, and so I have not recorded much lately. But I had time to write a quick note to a friend the other day in response to reading a story that she had posted.<br /><br />"Ann,<br />Beautiful.<br />I give thanks for your family,<br />.......your quiet witness that teaches me so much. So very much.<br />It is a privilage to peek in on how grace works in the everyday in your home .<br />May the Lord bless you and bless each of your children and your children's children. And Opa Voskamp.<br />Grace to you,<br />Leslie<br />P.S.***After a hard week at work, my husband said the other night, "Read me some Ann." I had quite a day myself so I said, "Not tonight. I'm jealous of her right now. How does she homeschool all the children, put up applesauce, bake bread, read literature while the children quietly knit, and pray everytime her watch chimes..and post the most inspiring Holy Experience? I can't even get the laundry folded, etc..." You get the idea. I was half joking and half speaking the truth. He kindly replied,"Her children are older than ours. They can feed and dress themselves. They can go to the bathroom without needing help. This season of motherhood is ....." On he explained.<br />So I felt a little better.<br />We read some "Ann" and the Lord spoke to me. He always does when I read your words.<br />Later that night,as I was putting away the laundry, I remembered outloud, "You know one of her kids is still too little to ride a bicycle." He laughed, pulled me close and carried me to bed.<br />"You'll feel better in the morning." And I did. But I confess...I wish that I knew and loved the Lord like you do.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUVg6RRDff12FUWwkfbvM6nG_IiBV_8NBvLKilAlpZz0pALNKmZ6fZZFChs3yBGg55GP854V49-wyJtARp_NqDRPuiBc5gybo6F2sA0-CNgona7kuTOG0l9E0abV8bIXycMNiCopvCBE/s1600-h/100_0870.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398572652534123778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUVg6RRDff12FUWwkfbvM6nG_IiBV_8NBvLKilAlpZz0pALNKmZ6fZZFChs3yBGg55GP854V49-wyJtARp_NqDRPuiBc5gybo6F2sA0-CNgona7kuTOG0l9E0abV8bIXycMNiCopvCBE/s320/100_0870.jpg" border="0" /></a> Ann wrote back. Good words. Words I needed to hear.</div><div></div><div>Leslie...</div><div>Can I grab you and give you a hug too??!!! :) </div><div>Yes. Your husband is entirely right. Caleb (14) folds *all* of our laundry. (I wash, dry, and put away --but I would be LOST without Caleb.)Joshua (12) washes *all* our pots and pans. Every meal.Hope (10) vacuums after every meal. The three youngers (8, 6, 4) clean off the table, dry dishes, take out the compost. When we clean the house, there are four very diligent workers... I don't do any of my work alone, Leslie... well... except the cooking -- for better or worse, that's all me :)</div><div>My sister has 4 beautiful little girls, aged 1-6. I remember that season: diapers and potties and no one big enough to tie their shoes or zip up their coat. We talk nearly everyday on the phone --- the season of all littles is challenging and I empathize. I deeply miss it -- and *ache* for it. I whisper for her to revel in it, even when she's so tired she can hardly move. In a blink, it's gone. </div><div>Dear Leslie... please know: when I bake bread, it's with a mixer, and one of the children will help me put together all the ingredients.My applesauce came already processed in large pails from the Mennonites for $8 a pail. Our 12 and 14 are homeschooled with Veritas Scholars Academy -- I'm no longer their primary teacher, but focus on the littles. Our children bicker. I yell. We cry. Sometimes I write about these things. I take photos even when my toilets need scrubbing. I will write in the dark, way too late, long after children are in bed, even if there is more laundry to put away. Because seeking glimpses of the God-glory in my daily mess is important for my soul to *see*. My Farmer Husband nudges me to go write because in the words, I see things I miss when I don't slow down and chronicle -- I miss *God*. Please know I'm in the trenches with you... a few years ahead, maybe, but in the trenches too. Days I am tired and discouraged and I blew it again, sinned, missed praying the last two hours, and things rather fizzled. And I look at the photos and see beauty I missed when I was feeling all frazzled, see all the graces jotted down on a journal... on a counter that needs to be cleaned off. :) Here is holy because God is here. Even here. Right now there are pumpkin parts and innards all over my kitchen floor. Best go. But I really needed, even in the midst, to grab you, smile, laugh, and say: "Yep! These are all seasons. And these seasons are all beauty because God is here too. Always." You've married a very fine man.*You* are a blessed woman, Leslie. ~warm smile~</div><div>Humbly... lovingly... gratefully.... </div><div>All's grace...</div><div>Ann </div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-size:78%;">All that happens becomes bread to nourish, soap to cleanse, fire to purify, a chisel to carve heavenly features. Everything is a channel of His Grace.<br /></span></em><br /></div><div>Lord, thank you for this season, for this family to love, for this home to share our lives in, for the encouragement You send...just when I need it.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-60519894199840158932009-10-17T20:12:00.000-05:002009-10-17T20:53:27.990-05:00Sunday Benediction<span style="color:#666600;"></span><p align="center">"The LORD bless you and keep you;</p><p align="center">The LORD make His face shine upon you,</p><p align="center">And be gracious to you;<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInYVbg6dsd6-ss9MYi2y0LR9cYX2-Q6kNhQwJ-JGRAUuwU9sRvApgCBSFyxRfAAaPWhwouqBdGeF0viCF44ds7U2NjHNVYaq_eF34nXcwb2hoIK_7V1Ujpu3LSMsuMBzxNCuaWQTmQz0/s1600-h/100_0758.jpg"><span style="color:#666600;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393743494328094946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInYVbg6dsd6-ss9MYi2y0LR9cYX2-Q6kNhQwJ-JGRAUuwU9sRvApgCBSFyxRfAAaPWhwouqBdGeF0viCF44ds7U2NjHNVYaq_eF34nXcwb2hoIK_7V1Ujpu3LSMsuMBzxNCuaWQTmQz0/s320/100_0758.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></span></a><span style="color:#666600;">The LORD lift up His countenance upon you,</span></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#666600;"> </span><span style="color:#666600;">and give you peace."</span><span style="color:#666600;"> </span></p><div align="center"><span style="color:#666600;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#666600;"></span></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:78%;color:#666600;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:78%;color:#666600;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:78%;color:#666600;">Numbers 6:24-26</span></em></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:78%;color:#666600;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#666600;"><em></em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#666600;"><em>Picture : Two trees along the back fence have joined their lives to each other.</em></span></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:78%;color:#666600;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-44366027987148631232009-10-15T20:51:00.000-05:002009-10-15T22:00:31.348-05:00Bare Feet<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnDXsnj71Ch8EcDx3ftJU9ffXtX9j0SR2HnNvt641ETEIDWd16S9Hjf20ICtx9R71awk7kl-fFVsfHu_WRpVYo8L3ASP04FsOfSpjrYHAr1967Wpjz7ceEelCNQVOwYbri_z3XcjE5Hc/s1600-h/100_0772.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393011726855592002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnDXsnj71Ch8EcDx3ftJU9ffXtX9j0SR2HnNvt641ETEIDWd16S9Hjf20ICtx9R71awk7kl-fFVsfHu_WRpVYo8L3ASP04FsOfSpjrYHAr1967Wpjz7ceEelCNQVOwYbri_z3XcjE5Hc/s320/100_0772.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div align="center">"It's my turn now, isn't it Mom?" Firstborn inquires,</div><div align="center">with <em><strong>hope</strong></em> in his voice.<br /></div><div align="center">I look his way, semi-smile, knowing that <strong><em>waiting</em></strong> </div><div align="center">is a hard lesson. "In a minute." </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">His eyes. </div><div align="center">That look. </div><div align="center">I know it all too well. </div><div align="center">I've felt it come over my own countenance many times. </div><div align="center"> And so he takes to the grass nearby. </div><div align="center">Knees bent, head down.</div><div align="center">I watch.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393015968663628498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2hXEfb57ttqXE4HYky0uYyjGmmeQg1og5FdsE1CrJRsO4Uj14lLJ64uune42Oz7hM5-rplRMadxquHEBpDBJqAeZ3VP1MkQrALAvCvHGUq8ZfeCbnaac31e8D4Gqon0skMLTN2YpsEo/s320/100_0784.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">He bears the disappointment, the coveteous thoughts,</p><p align="center"> the <strong><em>ache of waiting and hoping.</em></strong><strong><em></p></em></strong><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393015975774392722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxkC46uoT5J2ZJ0p3i1X0SaKEgYA8SSStAQbUj_uoLJVhsqyxXN4kggeWMisos7bOc6qvB8uQtd0qE6gHFuHbhK53QyhkHmsLcgiZibeEQSZcbMIUTOGfZz9k-KDILZWOaZ6RvFNcxcyk/s320/100_0783.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center"> It takes him a moment (or two), but he finds it- <strong><em>contentment- </em></strong>so that resentment does not ruin his brother's present joy. </p><p align="center">Finally, his time has come. </p><p align="center">He grabs grass rope with growing hands.</p><p align="center">His turn is made better by the wait.</p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nSy_6Ywms_jIfb-a1VfBWgup8xFo1nndVJLytQMbr7B7FqHi-ocYQXLbCeiMkaArJQZeFxXotQ6TLxMjiVG_Z89_t4mGy96e1phuX_cRv66xO6u3tDVVGxauzELjDHm70Rmxj8xN9gQ/s1600-h/100_0791.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393011716390235170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nSy_6Ywms_jIfb-a1VfBWgup8xFo1nndVJLytQMbr7B7FqHi-ocYQXLbCeiMkaArJQZeFxXotQ6TLxMjiVG_Z89_t4mGy96e1phuX_cRv66xO6u3tDVVGxauzELjDHm70Rmxj8xN9gQ/s320/100_0791.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Take your shoes off. </p><p align="center">This kind of living requires bare feet.</p><p align="center">This is <strong><em>holy ground</em></strong>.<br /></p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLxeTiRths2qMgpVYFCO1YvtzFQaehJiUtKmhKLs_pjHazoUbrdI50B5_Z0BqrONErstD04kWUAi_sRzgdbldPX82I4FDztAIu4uK5THtJzLFuLXJfHdjrldNHwaLcn73XibxyF3LIe9U/s1600-h/100_0790.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393011709039316914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLxeTiRths2qMgpVYFCO1YvtzFQaehJiUtKmhKLs_pjHazoUbrdI50B5_Z0BqrONErstD04kWUAi_sRzgdbldPX82I4FDztAIu4uK5THtJzLFuLXJfHdjrldNHwaLcn73XibxyF3LIe9U/s320/100_0790.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6767143959397126753.post-58108308449196543922009-10-13T15:19:00.000-05:002009-10-14T21:11:02.517-05:00Porch Swing<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8DIsXIFZz-fkQiM-NvWOrOG1183K1DxalcSzVYHe0_ne9orkiV0oJsaoEsOlnkfmRMws-LaUhy2d3Vgy39ijh7LBazlM017_oxa0iILgT-MYD0mQYxRWMnfFW7JmBFY-gWUHd7Q7nKdU/s1600-h/100_0701.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392184192520685026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8DIsXIFZz-fkQiM-NvWOrOG1183K1DxalcSzVYHe0_ne9orkiV0oJsaoEsOlnkfmRMws-LaUhy2d3Vgy39ijh7LBazlM017_oxa0iILgT-MYD0mQYxRWMnfFW7JmBFY-gWUHd7Q7nKdU/s320/100_0701.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Porch swing in the morning.</div><div align="center">Porch swing in the evening.</div><br /><div align="center">For as long as I have known Andy, this has been his pattern. </div><div align="center">A few minutes to drink his coffee, </div><div align="center">to gather his thoughts, </div><div align="center">to look over the farm </div><div align="center">and to hold the little ones on his lap.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com