Field of Daisies

I've spent a considerable amount of time tonight looking at some of most disturbing images I've seen in a while. It all started with the May 8th edition of WORLD Magazine and reading their report of the "March for Women's Lives" that occurred in Washington, D.C. on April 25th. Hundreds of thousands of people -- mostly women -- turned out to protest our President's recent pro-life measures. Apparently they don't like the idea that Mr. Bush values life -- all life -- and that he is working to protect the unborn.

The most disturbing thing was not the mass-produced "Keep Abortion Legal" signs or even the large turnout. The most troubling aspects of it were the scores of young people that were there, some of which were small children, holding up signs supporting abortion -- some even stooping to vulgarity to make their point. Anarchists were there protesting, as well as gays and lesbians, and the celebrities showed up en masse. Big name starts like Jennifer Aniston, Ashley Judd and Whoopi Goldberg. One photo showed Cybill Shepherd holding a sign that read "Too bad John Ashecroft's mother didn't believe in abortion." (And the Left says the Right uses hate language...?) Of course that photo was never seen in the mainstream media.... Further proof of the overwhelming bias of the mainstream media towards the liberal agenda in this country. [This photo (above) was particularly disturbing....]

Apparently, from the reports I read and the photos I saw, it got pretty ugly at times. Pro-lifers were jeered at, cursed at, and generally railed on. In fact, many of the photos I saw were too crude and vulgar to post here.

For a time tonight I was completely overwhelmed with feelings of despair -- for these women who have been so deceived, for the next generation of women and men who will be tomorrow's leaders and have likewise bought the lie that abortion actually helps women, and for this country in general. But it didn't take long for me to remember the Truth: my hope does not rest in these people or events. (Thankfully!) My hope rests in the God of the Universe; the One Who created this world and everyone in it -- even those tiny individuals who are living and growing in their mother's wombs. The ending of this story has already been written, though some of the most awful chapters have yet to be fulfilled. No matter how desperate the signs of the times may be, my God knows all things and all of creation is subject to Him. And He has promised that Good will triumph over evil in the end. Truth will be revealed for all to see, and the enemies of God will be defeated. And yes, there will come a time when there will be no more abortions to hurt women and to destroy their children.

I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I know Who holds tomorrow, and it is in Him I continually put my trust. In the meantime, those of us who belong to Him need to be praying that the enemy will be held back and that Truth will be revealed in the hearts of those who have been deceived and seek to deceive others. (I wonder how many of these listed below have had abortions themselves, and how many have buried the pain of that loss under the banner of protecting women's rights? How many of them have, instead, found solice in the numbers of their peers who have likewise justified their abortions?) And I think we could begin with some of the celebrities that attended this rally....*

Melissa Etheridge Julianne Moore Christina Aguilera Morgan Fairchild Jennifer Aniston Kathy Najimy Frances Fisher Calista Flockhart Joe Pantoliano Bea Arthur Jane Fonda Mary-Louise Parker Ed Asner Bonnie Franklin Kevin Bacon Janeane Garofalo Pink Alec Baldwin Martha Plimpton William Baldwin Indigo Girls Meredith Baxter Annabeth Gish Paul Rudd Shari Belafonte Whoopi Goldberg Susan Sarandon Polly Bergen Kyra Sedgwick Cybill Shepherd Betty Buckley Ed Harris Jessica Capshaw Salma Hayek Fisher Stevens Lynda Carter Marg Helgenberger Gloria Steinem Stockard Channing Julia Stiles Jill Clayburgh Helen Hunt Sharon Stone Glenn Close Cindy Crawford Ashley Judd Sheryl Crow Charlize Theron Carole King Uma Thurman Tyne Daly Swoosie Kurtz Blythe Danner Christine Lahti Stanley Tucci Kristin Davis Kathleen Turner Ossie Davis Ted Turner Dana Delany Laura Dern Amy Madigan Bradley Whitford Natalie Maines Alfre Woodard Fran Drescher Camryn Manheim Kirsten Dunst Frances McDormand Ewan McGregor Hector Elizondo Diancarlo Esposito Demi Moore

Just think, if a few of these influential people could find Truth and healing in Jesus Christ, what impact might that have on our society? Just look what God has done through Mel Gibson....

Posted by at 11:12 PM | Permalink

I stumbled across another of my favorite "ramblings" from a few years ago. Perhaps there is a kindred spirit out there somewhere that can relate...? :-)
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Okay. I confess. I am the world's most sentimental person. It has not yet become a crippling disorder, but it does present its share of problems.

For example, just last week I took my two children to the Cracker Barrel restaurant for lunch. It is one of my favorite places to eat, not only because the food is outstanding, but because it overflows with nostalgia. I love anything that reminds me of simpler times past; of Victorian ladies and simple country living.

But the reason I remember this particular day last week is this: As we waited to be seated, my daughter noticed the cola machine nearby filled with ice cold bottles of grape and orange soda. It was a replica of one of the old time Coke machines, so instantly I became reminiscent. I remembered going to my grandfather's old country store when I was a child. Every visit guaranteed an icy cold Grape Nehi on the house. It's a little thing, but in our world of recyclable aluminum cans and plastic bottles, it doesn't take much to make me misty.

Anyway, my daughter Jenna wanted a grape soda so I grabbed one for her. As we were seated for lunch, I opened the bottle and watched intently as my five year old took her first swig of grape soda from a chilled bottle. From the expression on her face, you would've thought she had just learned to ride a bike without training wheels!

Instantly I thought of a way to remember this precious moment. I would keep the bottle cap. The significance of which is two-fold: first (and obviously) it is a keepsake representing my daughter's first grape soda from a bottle. Second, and not so obvious to those who don't know Jenna, it is a reminder of her long-living passion for the color purple.

The problem this extreme sentimentality creates is this: what does one do with all those reminders? Those keepsakes of sweet moments that only come once? My husband and children and I live in a nice home with what most would consider plenty of square footage. But to the truly sentimental, no square footage is enough! I have boxes and boxes of mementos and keepsakes. In the closets. In the garage. In the attic.

I have spent a considerable amount of time over the years trying to discover what it is that makes me so sentimental. Perhaps it goes back to the fact that I have very little to remind me of my own childhood. My family never 'went without' when I was growing up--not without the important things anyway. Things like food, shelter, clothing, etc. But when it came to toys and games and material possessions, we never had very much. And I suppose, because I was the youngest of four children, my mother was probably much too busy to expend her energy collecting memorabilia and locating a place in our very small home to store it.

I do have a few priceless treasures from my childhood though. A couple of dolls and a child-size apron my grandmother made me; a sock monkey made from a pair of my grandfather’s socks; a scrapbook of art projects from the 4th grade; my flutaphone and my first sewing project: a triangular head-scarf made of pink gingham. There's also a stuffed dog made out of quilt squares that my mother made me for Christmas one year and a really ugly pink stuffed cat with a hard plastic head. Priceless!

Oh, I've got a few more items, but you get the picture.

I suppose that's why I love to go antiquing so much. I love seeing things that remind me of my childhood. One time I spent five dollars for a cigar box that was just like one my grandfather had given me when I was a child. It was just an old box, but the smell of cigars always reminds me of his gentleness and his quiet way. I don't have many memories of Grandpa--he died when I was only nine--but the memories I do have are good ones, and that cigar box always makes me nine again. I don't know what happened to the original... I suppose it got thrown out with other "junk" I outgrew. I just wish I had known then how much I would miss that silly old box.…

For my children, they will have more memorabilia than they will ever know what to do with. But hopefully, along with every crayon colored picture and every note scribbled with backward letters they will be reminded of happy moments from their childhood.

To some I may be a pack rat, but I prefer to call myself hopelessly sentimental--and proud of it! If they ever come up with a 12-step program for those who are obsessively sentimental, don't sign me up. I'm content just the way I am.

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Copyright 2000 Mary Comm

Click here for an interesting timeline of the history of soda pop.

Posted by at 02:22 PM | Permalink

Everywhere I look these days there are billboards, signs, and bumper stickers calling on God to bless America. While these signs and symbols of our country, our patriotism and our faith are encouraging, we have most certainly gotten it backwards.

For decades some Americans have worked tirelessly to remove God, His 10 Commandments and prayer (in any and every form) from our schools and our society. And we have allowed them to succeed to a great degree. We have stood by while those same Americans redefined tolerance, even attempting to shame us into embracing it as well. However, it’s not merely a tolerance of those who are of a different race or creed or religion from ourselves, but a tolerance of things God Himself has deemed detestable in His sight—such as the right of a mother to end the life of her unborn child, the right of doctors to end the life of their patients, and the right of those in same-sex relationships to obtain equal status with God-ordained male/female relationships under the laws of marriage. (Has anyone really read the true story of Sodom and Gomorrah?)

And just look at what we have done to the institution of marriage! What God ordained as a lifelong commitment, we have made into a mockery, hopping from one marriage to another, even undermining the sanctity of marriage by embracing “extramarital affairs” and insisting that sex outside of marriage is as acceptable as breathing.

Have we even noticed all the nice, socially acceptable words we have acquired for what God calls sin? …Abortion, euthanasia, sexual orientation, extramarital affairs, promiscuity… Likewise—to our shame—the term “sin” has been rejected by our society. Yet in our arrogance, when the going gets tough, Who do we call on to bless us?

Our public school system has taken it upon itself to teach the theory of evolution as fact, even scoffing at anyone who dares to believe in Creationism. It has so re-written the history books as to have successfully erased the faith of our founding fathers — a faith in the God of the Holy Bible. As though that is not enough, we as a society have decided that the God of our forefathers was too narrowly defined. So we have taken it upon ourselves to redefine “God,” watering down the One True God, making Him small and accessible and comfortable. We have, in our “brilliance,” determined that “God” should be whoever we want Him to be—or worse yet, that we ourselves are gods. So what we have truly done is to turn our focus from the Creator to the created—worshiping trees and forests and ourselves, or some namby-pamby all-illusive “higher power” that is neither just, nor righteous, nor vengeful….

Someone told me Paul Harvey was the first to say that we, as Americans, have gotten it backwards, and I couldn’t agree with him more. We should not be calling on God to bless us! How can He bless a country that has so blatantly turned its back on Him? No, instead, we need to turn our hearts back to Him—the One True God—and seek to bless Him. As we do that, we won’t even have to ask Him to bless us…. For He joyfully blesses those who seek Him and fear Him. But God said it best in His own words:

…if My people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land. 2 Chronicles. 7:14 (NIV)

So as the birthday of this great country approaches, I pray that we will once and for all set the record straight. I pray that we who are called by God’s name will stop whining and pleading for Him to bless us, and begin to do that which blesses Him. Shout it from the mountaintops! Put it on your car bumper. Hang it from the sign in front of your business or in your shop window. Post it on your front lawn. From every corner of this country, from sea to shining sea, let the sound of freedom ring – and let the voices of God’s people join in harmony calling for America to Bless God!

[Psssst…. Pass it on….]

Other Resources: AmericaBlessGod.com ;
America Bless God - Evangelism Store

[Please pardon my rant....] ;-)

Posted by at 01:43 PM | Permalink

Since today is Fathers Day, I would like to talk a little about my own father. My dad and I have not always had the best relationship. In fact, for many years I didn't like my dad very much. But in all honesty, that is one of the areas of my life in which God has really done a lot of work. I would even go so far as to say the change (in me -- not him) has been miraculous!

Because God has changed me, I can now say with all sincerity that I love my dad with all my heart. But even more significant, I like him and I respect him. Where once all I could see were his shortcomings, now I see so much more. And I see how he has made a positive difference in my life in so many ways.

For example, my dad has always been a hard worker. He always gave 110% to his job, but not because it was a career he loved. He gave his all because that's the only way he knew how to do it. His strong work ethic is one of those things I respect so much about him, and I am truly grateful that he passed that on to me merely by modeling it.

My dad is a do-it-yourself kind of guy. Whenever anything shuts down, stops up, or quits working the way it's supposed to, he will try to repair it himself before calling a professional. And most of the time he is quite successful.

My dad has an enduring, positive outlook on life --which is truly one of the most fascinating things about him. He has been hit with some of the most horrendous difficulties of anyone I know, but you'd never know it to talk to him. He's almost always got a smile on his face and a story to tell. He's not a complainer, like so many of us these days. When he is faced with a challenge, he meets it head-on. Never waivering. Never faltering. Never throwing up his hands in despair. I don't remember ever seeing him despair, though he has certainly had plenty of opportunities to do so.

The old saying about "water running off a duck's back" was made for my dad. That's the way he handles life. He takes things in stride. Whatever "life" hands him, he makes the best out of it, then moves on.

My dad is also an affable people person. He loves to socialize. At 75 he has many friends. He is active at his church and is a volunteer with the Disaster Relief Group of Oklahoma. He still takes care of the house and the vehicles, plants a huge vegetable garden every summer, and keeps his five acres of land beautifully groomed. In his spare time he builds things out of barn wood, using his own designs, of course.

But probably the best thing about my dad is his faith in God. One of my favorite memories of my dad happened just a few years ago. Following a mild heart attack we learned, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, that he needed a triple bypass. As he was waiting to be wheeled into surgery, I asked him if he was scared. His answer was confident and sincere. He told me, "No," that he knew his life was in God's hands. His faith at that frightening and uncertain moment put my heart at ease. But that's just my dad... Never one to talk openly about his faith, or to force his faith on anyone else, he has just always worn it as comfortably as those plaid cotton shirts he wears around the house every day. That's the kind of faith he's always lived. That's the kind of faith I grew up with.

So yeah, my dad is a pretty great guy. I regret that I missed all the great things about him for so many years, but I'm all the more thankful now for the love and appreciation I have for him. I hope I have many more years of enjoying him in this lifetime.

So Happy Fathers Day, Daddy... I love you....

Posted by at 10:13 PM | Permalink

Dads have it pretty rough these days. I mean, look at how different things are for them now as opposed to, say, a hundred years ago....

A hundred years ago, a man proposed and got married in someone's living room or the tiny church in town with a few family members and his closest friends. Now, when a man proposes, he gets hit with a full-fledged wedding that would rival any three-ring circus, complete with a wedding coordinator, a videographer, a caterer, an entertainer, and 500 guests -- most of whom he's never met.

A hundred years ago, when his wife delivered the babies, the expectant father paced back and forth on the front porch, waiting for the doctor to bring him the happy news of the blessed event. These days he not only gets to watch every gruesome detail, he gets to videotape it so it can be viewed over and over again, and he can even cut the cord if he wants to. (The effects of which have actually helped with that six-week waiting period after the baby is born before resuming "intimate relations.")

A hundred years ago, men "worked" and their wives took care of the kids and the cooking and the cleaning.... A woman would never dream of asking her husband to change a diaper or get up in the middle of the night to feed the baby. Now, he's considered a barbarian if he doesn't automatically change the diapers -- even the poopie ones -- or volunteer for a nighttime feeding once in a while.

Husbands these days not only know how to work the dishwasher, they can load it and put the clean dishes away. And most of them can actually do the laundry as well.

A hundred years ago, the most sophisticated baby devices were -- oh, wait, there weren't any baby "devices." They didn't have monitors for the baby's room, baby carriers that morphed into carseats, strollers named after Cadillacs (and with almost as many features!), Diaper Genies, or diaper bags with fifteen compartments.

A father living a hundred years ago, would get up early in the morning and sit down to a hot breakfast before going off to work. He would put in his 8 or 10 hours at the job, then come home to another hot meal, read the newspaper, and spend some time throwing the ball around with his sons while his wife washed the dishes and located his slippers. Now, he gets up when he feels like it. He may or may not go in to the office, or he may just work at home on his computer. If he eats breakfast, he prepares it himself, usually a Pop Tart or cold leftover pizza from the night before. He works a few hours, goes to lunch with a friend, and arrives back home in time to drive the kids to karate before taking the family out to eat--again. Hot, home-cooked meals are a rarity, as is playing ball outside with the kids. They would rather play mind-numbing video games or watch mindless television. He drifts back to his computer the first chance he gets to check on his business, tucks the kids in bed a couple of hours later, then collapses in the big chair where he spends a couple of hours with his wife whose worn-out feet always need a nighttime rub.

Yes, much has changed in the last 100 years.... Husbands and fathers have had to learn to do a lot of things they would rather not even know about. They have seen things that make the movie "Alien" hard to watch. And amazingly they probably get a lot less respect than their predecessors.

But just for the record, I want the father of my children to know that on this Fathers Day, after 15 years of marriage, after the births of our two children, too many illnesses to count, major surgery, etc., I happen to think you're a pretty good husband and dad. Of course, all that was the easy stuff.... Next come the teenage years, college tuition, middle and old-age maladies, our daughter's wedding, counseling fees, grandchildren and all the new and improved baby devices, ....

Posted by at 12:12 AM | Permalink

These photos still send a shockwave through me....

My prayers go out for those who continue to mourn the loss of loved ones and for those who are working to keep our country safe.

I can't help feeling that this is a time we should be pulling together, locking arms across this nation against those who would commit such atrocities. Sadly, I think we have already forgotten too much, and our priorities have been overshadowed by election year politics. How sad indeed....

Posted by at 11:27 PM | Permalink

Below is yet another article from the archives.... After stumbling upon this one recently, I just had to dust it off for my blog. Let me know if you can relate...!
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Did Darwin Ever Study Parents?

They’re odd; quirky. When we were younger they embarrassed us in front of our friends. They have strange behaviors. They seem to be intelligent creatures, but sometimes do the stupidest things. Following is a mini-study designed to help us understand some of the quirkier characteristics of those humans known as parents.

There are four key characteristics consistent with all parents. They’re easy to spot if you know what to look for. The first is parental denial. A condition looked upon with great fondness by those of us who are parents, and quickly condemned by those who are not. The second is sporadic or spontaneous deafness. A condition which has mystified those in the scientific community for centuries. It can be especially irritating to others--even other parents. The third is parental pride, the competitive realm of parenthood, and the fourth is a unique classification of communication skills. It is characterized by the uncanny ability to carry on a complete conversation with unlimited interruptions.

See No Evil

Parental denial begins early. For most of us it begins with that first whimsical thought of having a baby. We fantasize about that baby smell. The perfect, soft skin. The happy little baby sounds. First smiles, first teeth, first steps. What many of us don’t allow ourselves to consider (enter denial) are the nights of endless crying, the spit-up, the poopie diapers, the continual childhood illnesses.

By the time the child enters the toddling stages, we realize what we’ve gotten our-selves into--just in time for the terrible two’s: the temper tantrums, the crying binges, and a condition my husband and I fondly nicknamed “meltdown.” There are those who say the two’s are the most wonderful time--it’s all in how you look at it. They refer to this period as the terrific two’s and usually sport a graying hairstyle, keep lollipops in their purse and believe candy is the widely-accepted fifth food group. (Enter grandma.)

The denial that irritates me most--and that which I can most relate to--is that which rears it’s ugly head when illness enters the picture. How many times have you heard a parent who’s dropping their child off in the church nursery say, “She’s got a runny nose, but it’s not contagious. It’s just allergies.”? I for one have seen more cases of contagious “allergies” than I’d care to count. The trouble is, I understand this denial. I’m afraid I’m guilty of it myself.

It happens this way. You’ve been locked up, homebound for days (for whatever reason). Then the night before your weekly bible study, your weekend retreat, or that seminar you’ve been looking forward to for months, your precious little bundle starts sneezing. Then her nose starts running. By the time you’re ready to walk out the door she feels a little warm. You grimace. You fret. Then you consider: Hey, it’s not a cold. It’s just aller-gies! Everyone gets allergy attacks this time of year. You know, my nose has been a little runny and I feel fine. So off you go. This time you’re the one dropping her off in the nursery saying, “Don’t worry--that green stuff is just allergies” fully convinced by now that she’s fine.

This pattern continues through their school years--varying only slightly. She didn’t kick that little boy. Her foot slipped. And, Sure he’s a safe driver. The night he hit that mailbox it was especially dark. I’m a little night-blind myself.

I’ve come to the conclusion that parental denial is not a condition to be rectified. It is a God-given right. It is what helps us to cope with the insurmountable responsibilities of raising children. (Of course I’m not sure this is biblical. And if you ever quote me, I’ll deny every word of it….)

Hear No Evil

Parental deafness is a malady of another color, although it too is necessary for survival. It is not a happenstance of parenthood, but a skill we hone to perfection. You’ve been there; your 18 month-old has spotted a ball in the grocery store and simply must have it. Of course that is one word he knows well. You hear “ball, ball, I wan’ dat ball” fifty times in less than 5 minutes. Any sane person would go crazy if they hadn’t learned to skillfully tune out those repeated pleas. And it only gets worse with the more words they learn.

The uniqueness of this skill is exemplified in the manner in which a parent can continue to carry on a conversation with their child without actually hearing anything they say. You will recognize a parent who has excelled in this skill; she will be saying, “Uh-huh, that’s nice, Dear.” Or "Oh, yeah? That’s great, Honey." The master of this skill will even go so far as to say, "Sure, Sweetie, tell me all about it." Now that’s masterful!

The problem with this particular skill comes when your child gets a little older and begins telling you things you really need to hear. Many parents have become so adept at tuning out that they never re-learn the skill of tuning back in. What we as parents must remember though, is if we don’t listen to them, they’ll start talking to someone who will--and that may be someone we don’t want them talking to.

Speak No Evil

On to the third characteristic: parental pride. Unlike the other two, this mannerism is totally uncontrollable. It is not a self-protective reflex. It is not a skill to be mastered. It is purely the expression of face-beaming, chest-puffing, swagger-walking pride for those feats your child accomplishes--whatever their age.

For example, our first child walked at nine months. He knew the alphabet by the time he was 18 months. He was reading at two-and-a-half. By the time he was four he was reading on a third grade level. (Beaming.) Parental pride occurs when you say to yourself, I’m not going to brag--and then you look for every opportunity to tell others about the proud behavior or skill, whatever it may be. It’s something you know you shouldn’t do. You don’t want to do it--you don’t want people to walk the other way when they see you coming. But you can’t help yourself. There you are. In line at the grocery store. Your prodigy starts read-ing magazine covers. The woman in front of you has noticed his reading. Suddenly you blurt out “Amazing, isn’t he?” (You know you shouldn’t have even opened your mouth, but you continue anyway...) “He knew his alphabet at a year-and-a-half.” (You think to yourself, Oh, well. It’s too late now. I may as well finish...) “Learned it all on his own, too.” (Aw, what the heck. I’ll never see her again anyway...) “We never even tried to teach him. He just picked it up all by himself!”

Parental pride is one of those things you just learn to accept of yourself, and hopefully of others. The skill is learning to keep your pride under control and just smiling and nodding. Beaming and puffing up and swaggering are all more easily tolerated if the bragging is absent.

Survival of the Fittest

Finally, perhaps the most enviable of all skills is the ability of two parents to carry on a complete, detailed, adult conversation in the presence of a baby, toddler or preschooler. It is worth noting that while fathers accomplish this adequately, it is mothers that seem to excel at it. We have to, otherwise we would never have any conversations with other adults.

When my first child was born little frus-trated me more than trying to carry on a much-needed conversation with another adult. There seemed to be days when the only multi-syllable words I heard were from the televi-sion or the radio. While this helped keep me sane, it didn’t fill the baser need for human contact. I longed for it. I craved it. And when I was fortunate enough to obtain it, my son would have an immediate need which demanded my full attention. The adjustment period was lengthy, but now that I’ve sharpened this skill, I can carry on the most intricate of conversations without missing even one detail.

While my husband has learned this particular skill, the constant interruptions of our 4-year-old son and 20-month-old daughter still irritate him. With each month that passes he gets a little less frustrated. By the time he really gets the hang of it they probably won’t be speaking to us anymore--unless we’ve re-learned that listening skill….

Coming Full Circle: The Benefit of Understanding

God has truly equipped us parents with some amazing abilities and some quirky characteristics, of which these are just a few. But I have to admit that, in exploring these quirks of my parental nature, I am a little less critical of my parents. With each year that passes since I became a parent I am more forgiving of them. More forgiving, more sympathetic, more appreciative. Yeah, they weren’t so bad after all.

Posted by at 10:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

...And yet another article...dusted off just for you. (Although the dust wasn't nearly as thick on this one!) ;-)

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When I was 38 years old, if anyone asked I told them I was 38. The following year as my birthday came and went, I went from being 38 to "almost 40." For some reason, this entire year has been the year of "almost 40." Thirty-nine has completely vanished from my vocabulary.

I've heard all my life that "life begins at 40," so I've actually been looking forward to 40 -- until recently when my 42-year-old friend told me life actually begins at 50. Instantly I cried "Foul!" How unfair to move the bar when I was so close!

"Almost 40" hasn't been so bad. So I've got a few more wiry gray hairs. So my metabolism has slowed drastically. So I've developed a few more lines and wrinkles in my face. What's the big deal? Aren't we only as old as we feel?

Of course that can be even scarier than "40." Some mornings when I crawl out of bed my back is aching, my feet are throbbing, and every muscle is stiff. On mornings like that I feel closer to 80 than almost 40. Two things happen at that point. First, I instantly feel compassion for those who really are 80. And second, a wave of panic comes over me as I think, If this is how I feel at almost forty, how bad will I feel at almost 80?

Life is full of challenges. Even at almost 40 my children are just elementary age. One would think that having young children in the house would keep one young. Sometimes that's the case, but often I find their boundless energy is flaunted in the face of my lack of energy. I can't help but wonder how it will be to be in my 50's when they pass through their teen years... It is this very thought that has served to heighten my prayer life!

My husband reassures me often that even though I'm almost 40 I don't look it. He is always asking people how old they think I am. That has been a beautiful affirmation to me with the exception of the time he asked his grandmother how old she thought I was. Her answer was, "I don't know... 50-something?" Oh well, can't blame him for trying.

In truth, being almost 40 isn't that bad. As I take stock of my life I realize I am blessed beyond what I ever could have asked or imagined. I have a loving husband, two adorable children, wonderful siblings, and my precious parents are still with me. My life is full of warmth, love, and promise. Hey, if life is this good at almost 40, just think how great it will be when life really begins at 50!

Posted by at 10:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Here's a continuation of yesterday's ramblings...from a couple of years ago.

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I love going to movies--even if the movie isn't very good....

I love laughing with friends and talking about the goodness of our God. I love encouraging others with the encouragement I've gained through my walk with my Savior.

I love riding horses with Jenna, listening as she talks incessantly to our guide about anything that comes into her head.

I love working word searches with Zach and talking about the things closest to his heart.

I love talking with Joel in the dark before we drift off to sleep on those rare occasions when he goes to bed with me....

I love writing letters and sending cards to people--the old-fashioned way--through the U.S. mail.

I love music and movies that stir my soul or lift my spirits or challenge me.

I love the color purple. Every shade reminds me of my sweet little girl.

I love Zachary's dimples. His smile still melts my heart and makes me grateful to my God.

I love things that smell good: potpourri, candles, perfume, air freshners, flowers, fresh-baked homemade bread, banana bread still warm in the oven.

I love lace. It is feminine and sophisticated, delicate and dainty, nostalgic and beautiful and pure....

I love photographs that capture special moments or reveal hidden thoughts or inspire reflection or meditation or awe.

I love photo albums and scrapbooks that record the happy moments of our lives.

I love the sights and sounds and smells of Christmas.

I love sweet hugs and kisses from little people with messy faces and sticky hands.

I love our fluffy, fat kitty cat that nuzzles me when he's hungry, and plops down on my favorite rug with all fours in the air when he wants his tummy scratched. I love our fetching, moaning, leg-warming kitty cat that sleeps next to my pillow at night and walks through the house, meowing sorrowfully with her woobie in her mouth until she finds someone to whom she can deliver it...

I love foot rubs and back scratches.

I love when Jenna "fixes" my hair--as only a six-year-old can....

I love tea parties and giving gifts to people I love.

I love old hats and white gloves and hard-sided suitcases without wheels.

I love clocks and wine corks and bookmarks and quilts, old and new.

I love fancy ink pens and pretty stationery. I love blank journals that I can fill up with my thoughts and prayers, and on whose pages I can work out the tougher issues of my life. I can always find a true Friend there, one that hangs on my every word and understands the deepest longings of my heart....

I love to learn new things and to question old rituals, habits and beliefs.

I love caramel apples in the fall, frosted sugar cookies at Christmas, and powdered sugar doughnettes with chocolate milk from the carton early in the morning--especially on road trips! I love my mom's homemade bread at Christmas, and her special "hand-me-down" cinnamon rolls anytime!

I love fishing when the fish are biting. I love breakfast on camping trips--the smell of bacon sizzling on a kerosene stove, eating scrambled eggs and buttered camp toast smothered with jelly, and drinking hot coffee made the old-fashioned way.... I love the sound of dishes being washed in a RubberMaid tub after breakfast... Something about that familiar rumble and clunk makes me happy....

I love the sound of a tent zipper unzipping and zipping again in the early morning hours. It too is a happy sound to me.

I love my tiny little mama with her soft, wrinkled skin and pale blue eyes beneath graying blondish-brownish hair. I love her smile, her quiet manner, her gentle laughter, and that ornery twinkle she gets in her eyes on rare occasions when she's feeling playful. She's never loud or haughty or rude. She always thinks of others before herself.

I love that my dad takes so much of life in stride. I love that he knows Who holds his future and his present and that he trusts Him so completely. I love the way he lets things roll off him like water off a duck's back so much of the time. I love the fearless way he faced his bypass surgery a couple of years ago... His faith put my heart at ease....

I love talking on the phone with my sister for hours, sharing my life with her, listening as she shares hers with me. I love that we are able to encourage, challenge and support one another through the difficult and trying times of our lives. I love that she prays for me. I love that I am close enough to her to know how to pray for her. I love that she is one of my very closest friends.

I love that Zach and Jenna love their aunts and uncles and grandparents so much. I love that they are so special to them and vice versa.

I love that my brother is the type of man that people speak well of and think highly of.

I love that beauty makes me cry.

-------------------------
Yes, I'm horribly flawed, desperately sinful...and hopelessly romantic. Sure, I have my problems and my quirks and my perfectionistic tendencies. As much as I adore my children I sometimes yell at them. Sometimes I can be critical and unforgiving toward my husband. And even at the age of 40 I recognize there's still a hurt little girl inside me that needs to be loved and accepted and protected--a little girl that still loves teddy bears and paper dolls. But when all is said and done, I am a special, loving, compassionate, sensitive, sentimental person. And I like who I am!

And it is to Him I owe all my praise, all my adoration, all my gratitude--all the days of my life.... Whether my life continues for one more minute or 60 more years, my hope is that I will spend that time in service and praise and honor to Him....

Posted by at 03:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

A couple of years ago I sat down with my laptop and asked myself a few questions, like, "Who am I?" and "What's important to me?" Following is the result of that introspection. It's a bit lengthy, but perhaps there is some value in it...?

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I call butterflies "flutterbies." (They have nothing to do with "butter"; they "flutter by"....) I like to drink orange juice from a fancy crystal wine glass. I like Belgian waffles for breakfast, topped with fresh bananas and strawberries (and syrup, of course!) served on pretty dishes with a cloth napkin. I enjoy coffee in the morning and sometimes at night with something sweet.

I love springtime, but fall is my favorite. I love crisp autumn mornings when I can see the steam rising off my cup of coffee--when I need that cup of coffee as much to warm my hands as to get me going. When the leaves are still clinging to the trees in clumps of yellow and orange and red. I love walking through brown, crispy leaves strewn about everywhere; leaves that make their own unique melody orchestrated by a playful breeze or a pair of children making the most of a noisy opportunity.

I'd rather be cold than hot.

I love Colorado! Cooler temperatures without humidity! (I hate humidity.) Huge, rocky, tree-covered, snow-capped mountains... A sky so blue it looks like a touched-up photograph. Waterfalls cascading down the mountains, spilling over rocks, gurgling and laughing and creating rapids when they reach more level ground. God's fingerprints everywhere.... I love the way it causes me to be in awe of Him--appreciating the beauty He created there--while at the same time causing me to fear Him a little bit more....

I love jacket weather... Snuggly warm sweaters, thick socks, and boots of all kinds... I love wrapping up in a quilt on the patio or front porch, breathing in the cool air that signals the end of a long hot summer. It creates an excitement in me the same way it did when I was a child... Anticipation of autumn...!

I love getting up before sunrise early in autumn and watching the wispy, thin clouds of morning change from dark purple to blue to orange to pink before plumping up and turning white against a pale sky.... I love sunsets, as the sun sinks low in the sky and the pastel-colored clouds of early morning return to tuck in the sun at bedtime after a long and productive day.

I love when it begins to snow; those huge silent snowflakes that float effortlessly down from who-knows-where. If I listen closely enough, I can hear the faintest sound of the flakes landing safely on the trees and bushes. So quiet. So peaceful. There's no wind, just a gentle breeze at most, helping those snowflakes along their way. There is something holy, something awe-inspiring in that.

I love fresh fallen snow that hasn't been trampled upon. A fluffy white blanket that snuggles up close to the earth and anything that will stay still on a cold, wintry day; snow that sparkles magically in the winter sunshine without melting away, promising hours of fun for anyone who will don their hats and coats and boots and mittens, accepting the invitation to come and play.

I love watching my children play in the snow--building a snowman, throwing snowballs, or sledding down long, steep hills, shrieking and giggling the whole way. I love sledding down those hills with them--shrieking and giggling the whole way!

I love making steaming hot cocoa with marshmallows melting on top, to defrost the red, runny noses of those who have been playing out in the snow.

I love thunderstorms. They remind me of the awesome power of our God as the lightning reaches out its hand and snaps its brilliant bony fingers against a black night. And the booming, rumbling, tumbling thunder reminds me that God's voice is not to be ignored, but heeded.

I love rainy days. I love the sound of driving rain against the windowpane, or the softer, subtler pitter-patter of a slow, soaking rain. Rainy days affect me in a special way... I can sympathize with creation on those days... There have been many days in my own life when my tears have spilled over in torrents of hurt and anger and pain, and other days when they have fallen quietly in deep, lingering sorrow....

I love antiques. Rusty, worn, frayed treasures of the past... Hand-painted Bavarian plates, rose-covered teapots, delicate china tea cups and saucers, dainty hankies and high-top lace-up boots worn by those brave women of the Victorian era... They were women of tradition and style even in the face of daunting adversities--like childbirth without anesthetics, and steamy summers in corsets and layers of clothes without air conditioning! Living in a time when women were second-class citizens without a voice or a vote, without rights of their own apart from their husbands'; when simple diseases stole the lives of their children and cruel wars stole the lives of their men... A time when children and respect were natural bedfellows. When a boy's greatest hero was his father, and a girl's closest friend her mother.

I love things that remind me how far we have come and in such a short time. Things that were commonplace in my parents' lives when they were children, but that are obsolete, even archaic now. Things that represent a simpler time... Simpler, but so much harder in so many ways.... When a man made his own tools and butchered his own livestock. When a woman baked fresh bread every day and canned fresh vegetables from her own garden. When dusty jars of home-canned peaches and green beans lined the rough-hewn hand-made shelves in the cool, damp cavern beneath the house--the primitive basement dug out of the ground by the same calloused hands that folded in reverence to Almighty God at the dinner table to say "grace."

I love musty-smelling books with yellowed pages and ornate bindings. Books whose pages have been dog-eared and written on by those interested or entertained or inspired by their words and thoughts and revelations. I love opening an old book and seeing someone's name written in flawless cursive inside the front cover. I love wondering about that person, what they were like, when they lived, if they're living still...and how that particular book affected their life....

I love romantic things.

I love hardwood floors and floral wallpaper; stripes and plaids and flowers that coordinate and compliment one another. I love lots of windows and natural light, wood shutters and canopy beds that you have to climb up to get into.... I love wrap-around porches decorated with wooden rockers and trellises and railings covered with climbing roses or sweet-smelling honeysuckle. I love swinging in our porch swing.

I love to write. I love to read a good book. I love the Bible. It is my source for strength and courage, and a viable connection with my Father in heaven. I love singing praises to God. I love worshiping Him both alone and with others. I love those times when I tangibly sense His presence....

I love the sweet giggles of my children. I love snuggle times with Jenna in the morning in her bed, and with Zach in the big chair or in his bed at night. I love connecting with them. I love watching from a distance when Joel is being "exceptional" with the kids... When he is connecting with them in a loving way....

I love staying in bed-and-breakfasts. I love traveling and experiencing new places.

I love when the house is quiet and everyone is asleep--or out for a few hours....

----------------------------

There is more to this story, but you'll have to come back tomorrow to read it!

Posted by at 03:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In honor of and respect for our 40th President, Ronald Wilson Reagan and his family, this blog will observe a day of silence.

May you rest in peace, Mr. Reagan. I look forward to meeting you one day.

[photo: AP via Yahoo!News]

Posted by at 09:33 AM | Permalink

Our twelve-year-old son Zach is gone to church camp this week with over 200 other kids from our church, plus an unknown number from another church from Arkansas.... It's his first full week away from home. He's been to camp a few times before, but the longest he's been gone is three nights. He will be gone four nights this week...and I sure am missing him!

Zach is a great kid; fun to be with; easy to talk to. And he's a big help around the house. He picks up the dog toys for me without having to be asked. He empties the dishwasher and entertains his sister much of the time. (I think she has really missed him this week too!) He loves to play games and he still likes being with his mom and dad... Now that's something!

I miss his hugs too...and his laugh. (He has a great laugh!)

This photo is kind of dark, but perhaps you can still
catch a glimpse of a smiling, happy kid.... That's
our Zach!

We were planning to drive down to Camp WOW tonight for Parent Night, but I don't know if Joel is up to it. (He's been fighting a nasty upper respiratory condition this past week.) But Zach is scheduled to be home tomorrow, so even if we don't drive down there, I'll see him soon.

I'm hoping this week has been good for him. I hope he's making new friends and deepening his relationships with existing friends. I hope he's trying new things, venturing out a bit, and I hope he's laughing a lot. But most of all I hope and pray this week will be a spiritual marker in his walk with God. Zach has a wonderful heart and he knows a lot about spiritual things. My desire is to see him invest more of himself in his relationship with God; draw closer to God; for God to become more real to him.

The world we live in today is pretty brutal. Our children need to be firmly grounded in their relationship with the Lord. That is the only thing that will see them through all the difficulties and temptations that lay ahead. As for Zach, I think God has big plans for him, so truly I'm not worried about him. I just want the very best for him--just as God does. I know He loves him even more than I do. I guess my part is just to watch and pray and wait--and pray some more.... I have a feeling I'm going to have lots of opportunities to practice that particular parenting skill in the coming years....

Posted by at 10:22 PM | Permalink

I wrote about our new church facility a few weeks ago, but at that time there were no photos available. They've *finally* gotten the photos up on the church web site, so I thought I'd share one with you....
You wouldn't think a church this large could feel warm and homey, but this one does! It's a wonderful combination of brilliant architectual design and the body of Christ functioning together.

If you're ever in the area, stop by and take a look. If you're like many of us, you won't want to leave. :-)

Posted by at 11:13 PM | Permalink

"At the last moment, when his breathing told us this was it, he opened his eyes and looked straight at my mother."

"Eyes that hadn't opened for days did, and they weren't chalky or vague. They were clear and blue and full of love. If a death can be lovely, his was," Davis wrote.

Apparently, from all reports, the Reagan's enjoyed a sweet and tender love affair characterized by enduring devotion over the span of their 52 year marriage.

Love stories like theirs are far too rare today....

Patty Davis quote from Yahoo!News; Photo of Reagan's burial site from Reuters

Posted by at 10:50 PM | Permalink

Here is another of my jewels from the vault. It's the one piece I've written that I probably felt the most reluctant to publish, yet it is the one about which I have received the most response. So here it is again. I pray it will hold some significance for you.

Splinters from the Cross

Prologue:

Following is an allegory describing what finally brought me to a point of healing and a place of peace in my life. After years of searching for the answers, this is what I found.
---------------------------------------------------

There I sat once again, trying to sort out the truth. That nagging feeling had been chewing away at me, little by little, piece by piece, until nothing was left but raw, irritated nerves.

As always, I cried out to my Savior, my Lord, my God, tired, with desperation in my voice: "Jesus, I can't take this lonely road again . . . . I've walked it so many times before yet it leads me nowhere . . . ." I swallowed the words but the thoughts numbed my brain as they drudged on unharnessed. . . . . nowhere but to the end of my emotions--to the void; that immense gulf of painfully cold blackness.

"Mary," He called softly.

"Yes, Lord . . . ?"

"How is it that you still don't trust Me?" His voice was warm and deep. "Lift your eyes to Mine." And with that He gently placed His hand beneath my chin and brought my face opposite His.

Looking into His eyes I saw something I'd never seen before. There, a single tear swelled and spilled over His dark lashes and down His smooth olive skin. First one, then another.

His heart was breaking for me.

I lifted my hand to wipe the tears from His cheek, pausing to caress the precious face of my Jesus.

Then He took my hand gently into His own. I winced as my fingers touched the scar. He cupped His other hand over mine and with a pat of reassurance, in that same soothing voice, said, "Follow Me. There is nothing to fear." With that He let go of my hand and turned and walked away.

There before Him I saw that road--just as I'd always seen it before. But this time, Jesus walked ahead of me. I knew I had to follow.

The road was long and winding. It was narrow and rocky. The incline sharp and steady. My feet were heavy and each step became harder to take. I slowed to a crawl, but Jesus kept His pace and soon was far ahead of me, out of sight.

It seemed as though hours had passed as I neared the end of the road. But my heart was full of anticipation. I knew my Lord would be waiting for me, arms opened wide, just around the next corner. I wouldn't have to face the void alone this time.

Filthy, exhausted and out of breath I finally reached the end. As I rounded the last corner I couldn't believe my eyes. Shocked and horrified a cry of agony filled my lungs as I fell to my knees . . . .

"Nooooooooooooooo!"

There before me hung my precious Jesus, once again nailed upon the tree. His skin hung in ribbons. Blood flowed freely down that smooth olive face as the thorns dug deep into His skull.

There at the foot of the cross I wept, and once again I looked into His face.

"Why?" I asked Him pleadingly. "Why did You do this for me?"

He pushed Himself up on the nail in His feet and gasped a reply I didn't expect.

"The question, --My child, --is not why?,--but what now? What --will you --do with --Me now?"

"I don't know what You mean," I sobbed. "What choices do I have?"

Then there appeared next to me a large bucket, filled with a lifetime of atrocities. The stench was sickening, more hideous than anything I'd ever experienced before. It was all I could do not to wretch at the sight of it.

I looked again to the mutilated figure on the cross and, shaking my head, I pleaded, "I just don't understand."

Again He put all His weight on His feet and spoke in painful gasps. "Throw--it--on--Me."

"No!" I screamed. "I can't! I don't understand, my Lord . . . please help me understand!" I continued frantically. "You've already taken my sins, why must You do it again?"

"These aren't--your sins--, My child, --but --the sins--of the--one you seek."

"You mean, the one who hurt me . . . ," I said quietly. It was more of a statement than a question.

"But You've already taken his sins too; why must You do this again?"

"My precious--child," He spoke lovingly. "Each time--you seek him out--you drive the nails--into Me--all over again. Until you--let go--of the past,--until you--forgive him, --I will hang here--suspended in agony."

With that I grabbed the bucket and flung it as hard as I could away from my Savior into the void beyond the cross. Then I threw myself at the foot of that tree. There I clung with all my might, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I forgive him," I cried. "I forgive him."

An angel came at that moment and released my sweet Jesus and the two of them soon disappeared from view.

I released my painful grip of the cross and pulled myself to my feet. I looked at my own hands and forearms, and again I gazed in astonishment. There, deeply embedded in my hands and arms, were splinters from the cross. As I pulled each of the shards from my own soft white flesh, the wounds immediately began to heal.

Then, in a moment, the blackness of the void was overtaken by the glorious light of the Son of God.

I was free.

Posted by at 09:39 AM | Permalink

Betcha couldn't tell that daisies are one of my favorite flowers.... They're such friendly flowers, don'tcha think? ;-)

Here are some fun facts about the Marguerite Daisy:

"With the sweetness of a child, the creamy white petals of the Marguerite daisy gaze upward toward the heavens as if to remind us of the innocence of our youth. The name of the Marguerite daisy may have been born from the Greek word for the pearl (margaretes) hue of its bloom, or for Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI, who used daisies on her personal banner. In arrangements, it lasts up to 7 days."

Image at top from AcclaimImages
Lower image from NM Essences

Posted by at 09:32 AM | Permalink

As long as we're on the subject of Ronald Reagan and abortion...(?)...oh well, we might as well have been... ;-) Take a look at one of the former President's finest moments. With his usual eloquence and clearly stated common sense reasoning Mr. Reagan makes the normally complex issue of abortion quite simple, while revealing the potential this practice has upon our future. This speech is both moving and troubling, especially in light of the way things have continued on the downward spiral in this country since this speech was originally given in 1983.

Many of us missed the significance of this speech the first time around. Perhaps we won't miss it this time.

Posted by at 06:40 PM | Permalink

Ronald Reagan, the cheerful crusader who devoted his presidency to winning the Cold War, trying to scale back government and making people believe it was "morning again in America,'' died Saturday, June 5, 2004, after a long twilight struggle with Alzheimer's disease. (As reported by Associated Press via Yahoo!News, June 5, 2004)

When Mr. Reagan took office in 1981, I was not really a fan. But during his second term this descendant of lifelong Democrats began to rally behind this gentle, highly charismatic, proudly patriotic, profoundly faith-filled man. At first I think I listened to his speeches looking for flaws and holes in his theories and philosophy, but before I realized it he had won me over. And I was not alone. After two terms in office, and even in light of slanderous allegations of misconduct, Ronald Reagan left the office of the President of the United States of America as the most popular President of modern times.

He was indeed an incredible man, an inspiring speaker, and a courageous leader, and he will be missed.

Many heartfelt condolences to Mrs. Reagan and the Reagan family.

Posted by at 06:23 PM | Permalink

Here's another story from the vault. This one was written when our son was four-and-a-half and our daughter was nearly two. My how times have changed already!

Pressure Cooker Living

When I was a child my mother often canned fresh fruits and vegetables. I remember her always shooing me out of the kitchen for fear that something would offset the delicate balance of the pressure cooker causing the lid to blow. That's how I feel today.

"Pardon me, do you have Nuclear Calgon?"

I realized recently that I'm always being pressured by outside forces. Either I'm in a rush to take my four year old son to preschool or I'm hurrying to pick him up. I'm either frantically throwing food on a plate for my one year old before she explodes into a million pieces, or I'm frantically trying to load the dishwasher before she can get a sharp utensil or a breakable plate out of it. Whatever the case may be it seems I'm always frantic.

Usually the scenario is like this: Jenna is crawling around the floor grabbing onto my pants leg whining as loudly as she is able. Zachary, hearing the noise, decides this is the perfect time to ask for or demand something---repeatedly. Or, he feels if someone else is making noise, he too should be scaling some decibels. About this time the microwave timer goes off. Then the oven timer goes off. The phone rings. The UPS man knocks on the door. My head is pounding, my nerves are raw. The delicate balance is teetering. This pressure cooker is about to blow.

It's usually at times like these that I hear those words from the old TV commercial: Calgon take me away! But Calgon isn't big enough for this job. It's going to take more than a bubble bath to keep this cooker from blowing!

Needy Times Three--Plus One

It's not that my life is any harder than anyone else's. My life is good. Most of the time I'd even say it's great. I have a sweetheart of a husband and two beautiful children. We own our home. We live in a quiet neighborhood in the suburbs of a posh southwestern metropolis. The problem is that I'm always rushing to meet someone else's deadline, whether it be the preschool bell or my daughter's hungry cry. When finally the rush is over and the house is quiet after the kids' bedtime, that's when the other timer goes off: this time it's my husband's expectations that pull me from my thoughts or activities. I love spending time with him, so that's not the issue. What I'm talking about here is the unseen pull; the silent alarm if you will. They can't be seen or heard with the naked senses, but the effects are real within me. It's time to meet someone else's needs.

Not only are there outside forces that act upon me causing me stress, but I have my own inner timetable complete with deadlines and expectations. The electric company expects to be paid on time. If I'm late with the payment, I have to pay a fine. I have made commitments to my MOMs group, there are phone calls to make, coupons to clip, birthdays and anniversaries to keep up with, insurance problems to straighten out, a weekly Bible study for which to prepare. Not to mention the more mundane things like dirty laundry to be washed, dried, and put away, beds to be made, house to be cleaned, groceries to be bought.

So where do I fit in?

On top of all this, I must find time for personal hygiene. Yes, I'd like to shower or bathe at least once a day. I'd like to brush my teeth and get dressed before noon. I'd like to sit down in the morning and have a cup of coffee in peace. I'd like to have time to exercise daily without having to get up before dawn to do it.

I've got projects I'd like to complete. Things that are just for me. But there aren't enough hours in the day to meet everyone else's needs and mine.

I know this time is temporary. Soon the kids will be grown and I'll be wishing for a little of that whining and demanding that drives me crazy now. I'll have all the time I want for myself and my activities and I'll probably spend it looking through pictures of when the kids were little. . . .

Life is ironic isn't it? We want what we want when we want it, and when we get it, we want what we had before. It helps to focus on the way time passes. To look ahead to the day when I'll be looking longingly back to this time . . . . Or maybe not! Perhaps I'll be so relieved to be a grandmother I won't miss having two small children that need constant care and attention. Right now, grandparenthood is looking awfully appealing!

Three P's and a Shoo

For now the pressure cooker has cooled. We made it through another day when the lid didn't blow. Of course there are no guarantees that it won't blow tomorrow. But with a little preparation and planning and prayer, and a lot of shooing the kids out of the kitchen, we might just make it through another day.

Come to think of it, I wonder if it was really because of the pressure cooker that my mother shooed me out of the kitchen all those years ago. I'll have to ask her about that now that she's a grandmother.

Posted by at 11:37 AM | Permalink

I can't even begin to imagine how difficult it must be to be George W. Bush right now. But one thing I know for certain: we need to keep him in our prayers.

Father God, I lift Your servant to You, asking that Your plans and purposes in and through him would be accomplished. I pray You will give him godly wisdom in every situation; that You will guard his heart and mind in Christ Jesus; and that You will protect him (as well as his family, and his Cabinet) from the schemes and attacks of the enemy whatever form or method he may use, and that no weapon formed against him or against our country would prosper. Above all I pray that You would be glorified through President Bush and through America, and that the hearts of Americans would be turned back to You. Lord, send revival to our land! In Jesus' Name, and for His sake...Amen.

Photo: Associated Press

Posted by at 05:17 PM | Permalink

From Yahoo!News.com

Posted by at 04:28 PM | Permalink

I ran across the results from a new political poll yesterday, showing a marked favoritism for Bush over Kerry. (I don't like to get "too" political, but I thought this poll was very interesting....) Take a look at this link under yesterday's date. Perhaps you will find it interesting as well. :-)

Note: (This poll seems to carry as much authenticity as many in the mainstream media these days....)

Clipart from: Coolclips.com

Posted by at 09:55 AM | Permalink