Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Tuesday's Tale
Who Says They Have To Be Red?
In some parts of the country, volunteer fire departments are the rule rather than the exception. These firefighters are highly trained, and they take great pride in their commitment to their communities.
But competition among them is serious, and it's best depicted in the engines bearing their insignias.
In some ways, I think we could learn a lesson from their pride. While the outside appearance of their engines distinguish them among their peers, what CAN'T be seen, all the 'stuff' that makes that piece of apparatus work from the inside is basically the same. And the men making it work all have the same goal~rescue what is in danger, save all they can and the bottom line~put out the d*** fire. And when the smoke is to heavy to see through, and the heat becomes unbearable, it no longer matters what color the the quint, or pumper, or ladder, or rescue—the men charging the lines, setting the pressures, handling the hoses or working the nozzle all work together and are willing to risk their lives for one another.
In some parts of the country, volunteer fire departments are the rule rather than the exception. These firefighters are highly trained, and they take great pride in their commitment to their communities.
But competition among them is serious, and it's best depicted in the engines bearing their insignias.
In some ways, I think we could learn a lesson from their pride. While the outside appearance of their engines distinguish them among their peers, what CAN'T be seen, all the 'stuff' that makes that piece of apparatus work from the inside is basically the same. And the men making it work all have the same goal~rescue what is in danger, save all they can and the bottom line~put out the d*** fire. And when the smoke is to heavy to see through, and the heat becomes unbearable, it no longer matters what color the the quint, or pumper, or ladder, or rescue—the men charging the lines, setting the pressures, handling the hoses or working the nozzle all work together and are willing to risk their lives for one another.
All colors represented, and all work together for the good of their communities, and if you look closely you will see a flag represented~~no matter the color.
AMERICA~~WAKE UP
Monday, February 23, 2015
Mundane Matters
It was certainly not a large gathering—13 kids and 9 adults, to be exact.
And the lunch was not all that exciting—hotdogs, mac 'n cheese, chips and dip and dessert.
But by what means do you measure hope?
How many warm bodies does it take to represent encouragement?
Numbers are fickle. Rarely do they tell the …rest of the story.
Thirteen kiddos represent numbers. But—
Catherine, Jenna, Hunter, Josh, Charity, Eden, Abby, Scarlett, Rosalie, Jillian, Courtney, Gabby and Ethan are NOT mere numbers.
They are each individual. And they each have a story.
And they EACH represent a God-planned future.
Mundane lunch after church?
Not mundane at all.
Truth is—
It mattered.
And the lunch was not all that exciting—hotdogs, mac 'n cheese, chips and dip and dessert.
But by what means do you measure hope?
How many warm bodies does it take to represent encouragement?
Numbers are fickle. Rarely do they tell the …rest of the story.
Thirteen kiddos represent numbers. But—
Catherine, Jenna, Hunter, Josh, Charity, Eden, Abby, Scarlett, Rosalie, Jillian, Courtney, Gabby and Ethan are NOT mere numbers.
They are each individual. And they each have a story.
And they EACH represent a God-planned future.
Mundane lunch after church?
Not mundane at all.
Truth is—
It mattered.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Tuesday's Tale
The Power of Siren
In the tiny town of my childhood, the fire siren blew every day.
We called it the noon whistle.
And if it sounded at any other time it was a really big deal. People stopped whatever they were doing, came out of the stores, or homes, stood in small groups in the middle of the street or gathered around fences to determine what was happening. And if all else failed, someone would call 'central', and the high school girl working the switchboard would know who, what and where.
It was small-town curiosity. But it was also a call to arms. A neighbor needed help. And whether it was a fire, or some other type of alarm, the community was there to help: provide meals, take care of children, do chores, etc..
Recently I was in a small town that still had that familiar call to lunch.
Just one crescendo.
Time to eat.
All's well.
If it were only so.
In the tiny town of my childhood, the fire siren blew every day.
We called it the noon whistle.
And if it sounded at any other time it was a really big deal. People stopped whatever they were doing, came out of the stores, or homes, stood in small groups in the middle of the street or gathered around fences to determine what was happening. And if all else failed, someone would call 'central', and the high school girl working the switchboard would know who, what and where.
It was small-town curiosity. But it was also a call to arms. A neighbor needed help. And whether it was a fire, or some other type of alarm, the community was there to help: provide meals, take care of children, do chores, etc..
Recently I was in a small town that still had that familiar call to lunch.
Just one crescendo.
Time to eat.
All's well.
If it were only so.
Monday, February 16, 2015
Mundane Matters
Hi! My name is…
September 1956: First day of school for my junior year in high school.
New school.
And I hated it.
Until this year, I'd attended school with the children of my parents' friends. Small town. Very small town. But everyone knew everyone. And it was safe.
Now, I was definitely the new kid. I wasn't alone. I just didn't know the difference between the new ones and the others who'd known one another since kindergarten.
Then I met Bonita. Her locker was next to mine. She was new. And our miserableness (that must be a word, there's no red squiggly line under it) was evident. We latched to one another like velcro.
It would take a larger word-count than my editor would allow to pen our relationship since that day. We made new friends in our new school. We met and married guys who were also best friends. We raised kids together. We've laughed and cried. Miles have distanced us. Life has taken us down different paths. But through it all we've stayed in touch.
Yesterday hubby and I joined a myriad of other friends to celebrate Bonita's birthday. The joy of hugging her kids again brought tears. To visit with friends we've shared—friends we'd never known had our parents not made the move we thought was the end of our lives—added another chapter to our saga; a chapter I will read over and over again in my heart.
It was Bonita who, when I was pregnant with our third child, led me to the assurance of my salvation.
It was Bonita who would encourage me to "practice the presence of God."
It IS Bonita who always has a sweet smile and word of encouragement.
The term 'old friends' has no real correlation with age. Well, maybe age does come in there somewhere. But it's also a reflection of life experiences that no matter what—can't pull the velcro apart.
And the sweetest part?
Not even the grave will separate us.
And that matters!!
September 1956: First day of school for my junior year in high school.
New school.
And I hated it.
Until this year, I'd attended school with the children of my parents' friends. Small town. Very small town. But everyone knew everyone. And it was safe.
Now, I was definitely the new kid. I wasn't alone. I just didn't know the difference between the new ones and the others who'd known one another since kindergarten.
Then I met Bonita. Her locker was next to mine. She was new. And our miserableness (that must be a word, there's no red squiggly line under it) was evident. We latched to one another like velcro.
It would take a larger word-count than my editor would allow to pen our relationship since that day. We made new friends in our new school. We met and married guys who were also best friends. We raised kids together. We've laughed and cried. Miles have distanced us. Life has taken us down different paths. But through it all we've stayed in touch.
Yesterday hubby and I joined a myriad of other friends to celebrate Bonita's birthday. The joy of hugging her kids again brought tears. To visit with friends we've shared—friends we'd never known had our parents not made the move we thought was the end of our lives—added another chapter to our saga; a chapter I will read over and over again in my heart.
It was Bonita who, when I was pregnant with our third child, led me to the assurance of my salvation.
It was Bonita who would encourage me to "practice the presence of God."
It IS Bonita who always has a sweet smile and word of encouragement.
The term 'old friends' has no real correlation with age. Well, maybe age does come in there somewhere. But it's also a reflection of life experiences that no matter what—can't pull the velcro apart.
And the sweetest part?
Not even the grave will separate us.
And that matters!!
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Be My...What?
I don't normally post on Saturday. But today is Valentine's Day. When I announced that fact to hubby this morning his response was: VALENTINE'S DAY ON SATURDAY?
If you read the title of this post, I hope you raised your voice to a high-pitched squeal as you said "my what?" Feel it slide up there. WHAAATTTT?
That was how he said Saturday? Like how could a loving God ever allow February 14 to fall on a Saturday (slide upward again, please)
Yep. I married a true romantic. And the picture accompanying this post proves it.
Now, we've been married 56 years, and I'm sure that I've forgotten a LOT of fine details. You know—love doesn't keep track of wrong doings! You do realize that is a biblical statement, don't you?
SO, that being said, I must share one of the most tender moments--the Valentine's Day that needed no prompting. No subtle reminder at all. Nope. This was indeed a surprise.
The gift box was HUGE.
And HEAVY.
VERY, VERY, heavy.
Anticipation nearing the squealing stage, I tried to guess what it might be. I mean, it was definitely heavier than the usual spatula I got for Christmas. And he already gave me the last two Laura Ingalls Wilder books—that we needed to round out our set—when our boys were born.
I carefully—don't ask me why—removed the duck tape bow, and tore away the newspaper wrapping. And what that box revealed brought tears to my eyes. Of course, I was laughing.
There was the biggest cast iron skillet I had ever seen (although, since then I have seen bigger ones at Silver Dollar City). We could have put a whole side of bacon in the thing. Well, at least I think we could have. We first had to get a crane to lift the lid before I could actually witness the width, and height, and depth of this man's love.
"For camping," he said.
I'm not sure if we were supposed to sleep in the thing, or pull it behind us. However, even after all these years I can still count on one hand—actually, with one finger—the times we've gone camping.
But you know what? It was one of those times when you knew that no matter what the years would bring, that skillet would be there. We've had oh-so-may laughs with the retelling of this story.
As I write this, hubby is building a fire in the fire pit down in our timber. During the day he will keep it going by feeding it deadfall branches. Around that fire pit he's made benches from logs, and there are a couple of old metal lawn chairs. Even a silly little table he's rigged up so he'd have a place to set his every-present stainless steel coffee cup.
I'll not get flowers, or candy or a card. And I probably won't get taken out for supper.
But I know, just as surely as Valentines Day is on Saturday this year, that every time he comes into the house he'll be singing "will you be my valentine".
And I'll offer to take HIM out. And afterward he'll tell me I fixed him a right nice little Valentines supper.
How do I know? Because even when he fixes his own bologna sandwich to give me more time to write, he'll tell me I fixed him a right-nice little meal.
He's romantic, like that.
And that's perfectly perfect for me.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Tailboard Tales + Wordless Wednesday
Many of you know Vince Garcia. Many of you don't, but I wish you could.
Vince is a Newton, Kansas firefighter. I say IS, because once you're a FF, you're always a FF. And though he is no longer able to check in, he is still very much a part of that brotherhood that defines a firehouse.
Vince has ALS. There's no easy way to say it, and there's not a day that goes by that his brothers don't think of him, pray for him, wish there were some way they could all wake up from this very bad dream and things would be all better.
Recently the department acquired a new fire truck. And a new engine is like a brand new toy.
Yesterday, some of his brothers made sure he got to play with this new rig. And I'm not sure who had the most fun—Vince or his playmates.
Vince is a Newton, Kansas firefighter. I say IS, because once you're a FF, you're always a FF. And though he is no longer able to check in, he is still very much a part of that brotherhood that defines a firehouse.
Vince has ALS. There's no easy way to say it, and there's not a day that goes by that his brothers don't think of him, pray for him, wish there were some way they could all wake up from this very bad dream and things would be all better.
Recently the department acquired a new fire truck. And a new engine is like a brand new toy.
Yesterday, some of his brothers made sure he got to play with this new rig. And I'm not sure who had the most fun—Vince or his playmates.
P.S. PLEASE click on these pics so you can get the full picture. Look at the faces of each of those men. And please pray for Vince and his family, and his brothers at the firehouse.
The hardest thing a FF ever has to do…is leave one behind.
Vince Garcia…You Are Loved
Monday, February 9, 2015
Mundane Matters
It DOES matter, folks~~
John 13:35 By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, that ye ALSO LOVE ONE ANOTHER. KJV
In a world that is already so divided, why do we—who call ourselves Christian—split ourselves into such factions?
On any given day, on social media that ranges the gamut, we condemn the actions of those who are not Christ followers—yet band into groups to pump and pomp our own agendas: homeschool versus public school; praise music versus the old hymns; vaccinations versus non-vaccine; King James version of the Bible versus any other; what vitamins to take, or food to eat; etc., etc., etc.
We believe in grace, but act under the law (our own law) and are ready to fight to prove our stand. But are we willing to go to battle so that we might be united? Are we as ready to fight to show the world our love, Christ's love, as we are to sway people to think as we think on other issues? Are we willing to DIE to self, to DIE to our own agendas so that others might see Christ in us?
How many sheep have we lost for the Shepherd because we argue over the RIGHT rescue procedure. The shepherds staff was not used to beat the sheep—it was a way to protect against the enemy, and to bring to safety those who had fallen over the edge or become entangled in the briars.
The Word of God is sharper than a two-edged sword—and we use it as such. Not to defeat the enemy, but to cut and divide our sisters and brothers in Christ into camps of right or wrong.
We do not clothe ourselves in grace OR righteousness because our agendas once again divide us as to how righteousness looks, acts, says; we are more ready to write dissertations on issues than to give to every man an answer for what GOD says; the words we utter are not cloaked in our love, nor HIS.
I've watched mothers grieve over children who no longer speak to one another, who refuse to sit at the same table or be in the same room because of something petty that may or may not even be remembered. Only the anger remains. Only the "I'm right and you're wrong" matters now.
How we must grieve our Heavenly Father.
John 13:35 By this shall ALL MEN KNOW…
Our LOVE FOR ON ANOTHER matters.
Divided we FALL—divided we FAIL.
It really does matter.
John 13:35 By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, that ye ALSO LOVE ONE ANOTHER. KJV
In a world that is already so divided, why do we—who call ourselves Christian—split ourselves into such factions?
On any given day, on social media that ranges the gamut, we condemn the actions of those who are not Christ followers—yet band into groups to pump and pomp our own agendas: homeschool versus public school; praise music versus the old hymns; vaccinations versus non-vaccine; King James version of the Bible versus any other; what vitamins to take, or food to eat; etc., etc., etc.
We believe in grace, but act under the law (our own law) and are ready to fight to prove our stand. But are we willing to go to battle so that we might be united? Are we as ready to fight to show the world our love, Christ's love, as we are to sway people to think as we think on other issues? Are we willing to DIE to self, to DIE to our own agendas so that others might see Christ in us?
How many sheep have we lost for the Shepherd because we argue over the RIGHT rescue procedure. The shepherds staff was not used to beat the sheep—it was a way to protect against the enemy, and to bring to safety those who had fallen over the edge or become entangled in the briars.
The Word of God is sharper than a two-edged sword—and we use it as such. Not to defeat the enemy, but to cut and divide our sisters and brothers in Christ into camps of right or wrong.
We do not clothe ourselves in grace OR righteousness because our agendas once again divide us as to how righteousness looks, acts, says; we are more ready to write dissertations on issues than to give to every man an answer for what GOD says; the words we utter are not cloaked in our love, nor HIS.
I've watched mothers grieve over children who no longer speak to one another, who refuse to sit at the same table or be in the same room because of something petty that may or may not even be remembered. Only the anger remains. Only the "I'm right and you're wrong" matters now.
How we must grieve our Heavenly Father.
John 13:35 By this shall ALL MEN KNOW…
Our LOVE FOR ON ANOTHER matters.
Divided we FALL—divided we FAIL.
It really does matter.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Tuesday's Tale From The Tailboard
Some days I could very well be billed as the world's worst granny. Such was the case last week, when I forgot our oldest grandson's birthday.
I didn't actually forget. I KNEW we were celebrating Saturday night so wasn't thinking that Wednesday was his actual birthday.
Poor kid had to remind me with a text!!
So to make up for it. I'm posting a picture of his daddy, and also one of him. The picture of his dad was taken 20 years ago. The picture of Seth is his school picture from this year.
I didn't actually forget. I KNEW we were celebrating Saturday night so wasn't thinking that Wednesday was his actual birthday.
Poor kid had to remind me with a text!!
So to make up for it. I'm posting a picture of his daddy, and also one of him. The picture of his dad was taken 20 years ago. The picture of Seth is his school picture from this year.
ROB
SETH
UH--THINK ROB COULD EVER DENY THIS KID?
HAPPY late 15TH BIRTHDAY, SETH
HAPPY late 15TH BIRTHDAY, SETH
Monday, February 2, 2015
Mundane Matters
Women's Ministory--To Have, or To Be
I could start a firestorm, I suppose. But that's never the intention of this blog.
However !! In the past several days I've read numerous articles on the good, the bad and the ugly of women's ministry. Each have made a well studied observation. Each have pointed out the pros and cons. Most have decided they are all fluff, and dangerous, and something our husbands may not like.
This is my take. And I'll take full responsibility for any fallout.
Women need one another. Period.
And if that is best accomplished, for YOUR individual church, locale, culture, whether by teas or deep Bible studies then go for it. (and who's to say it can't be both?)
And who is to judge the depth or width or height of the spiritual impact it makes. Is a girl/single woman/single mom/ wife/grandmother, etc. who comes to know Jesus, and crave to follow him, less His child if that knowledge comes with a cup of tea in her hand and an arm around her shoulders, than the sister who is made aware of her need through a verse-by-verse exposition of the book of John?
Do I believe in husband-bashing? NO. Do I believe in women encouraging other women to step aside from their roles? NO. Do I believe we should not have deep Bible studies as women? NO, NO. NO.
Not every woman in my church is a mother, or a wife. But they are all daughters. And regardless of what role their own mothers might have had in their life, MY role as another woman in the congregation, is to reach out, affirm them, love them, cry with them, laugh with them and yes--if necessary--put a doily on the table and serve them tea. And whether I'm pouring tea, or leading a Bible study, Jesus MUST be seen in me.
It's not WHAT we do nearly so much as FOR WHOM it is done.
Colossians 3:17 And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him.
Colossians: 3:23-24 And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.
Perhaps I'm wrong, and I'll stand corrected if that is the case. But my personal interpretation of these verses comes down to this: If I serve, in Jesus' name, it is NEVER mundane.
Indeed,
It matters!!
I could start a firestorm, I suppose. But that's never the intention of this blog.
However !! In the past several days I've read numerous articles on the good, the bad and the ugly of women's ministry. Each have made a well studied observation. Each have pointed out the pros and cons. Most have decided they are all fluff, and dangerous, and something our husbands may not like.
This is my take. And I'll take full responsibility for any fallout.
Women need one another. Period.
And if that is best accomplished, for YOUR individual church, locale, culture, whether by teas or deep Bible studies then go for it. (and who's to say it can't be both?)
And who is to judge the depth or width or height of the spiritual impact it makes. Is a girl/single woman/single mom/ wife/grandmother, etc. who comes to know Jesus, and crave to follow him, less His child if that knowledge comes with a cup of tea in her hand and an arm around her shoulders, than the sister who is made aware of her need through a verse-by-verse exposition of the book of John?
Do I believe in husband-bashing? NO. Do I believe in women encouraging other women to step aside from their roles? NO. Do I believe we should not have deep Bible studies as women? NO, NO. NO.
Not every woman in my church is a mother, or a wife. But they are all daughters. And regardless of what role their own mothers might have had in their life, MY role as another woman in the congregation, is to reach out, affirm them, love them, cry with them, laugh with them and yes--if necessary--put a doily on the table and serve them tea. And whether I'm pouring tea, or leading a Bible study, Jesus MUST be seen in me.
It's not WHAT we do nearly so much as FOR WHOM it is done.
Colossians 3:17 And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him.
Colossians: 3:23-24 And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.
Perhaps I'm wrong, and I'll stand corrected if that is the case. But my personal interpretation of these verses comes down to this: If I serve, in Jesus' name, it is NEVER mundane.
Indeed,
It matters!!
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