Posts Categorized: Peace

Come, Ye Thankful People, Come. Or, Shelter, Ye Weary People, Shelter

| Love, Patience, Peace

From all the childhood photos I have, this one on the left is the only Thanksgiving photo I can find. The across-the-street neighbors have come to celebrate with us. On Christmas Day, we went to their house for our holiday meal.

When we were first married, friends invited us to their home for Thanksgiving Dinner. The next year, I cooked and baked for the two of us.

 

 

A few years later, we went to David’s grandmother’s house, in Tennessee. We arrived a couple of days before the rest of David’s large family got there. When we walked into the house, Nanny (David’s grandmother) put me to work. I made pie crusts and filled them, I peeled potatoes, I baked yams, I never left the kitchen for the next three days.

In this charming photo of Nanny and her great-grandchildren, no one wants to have their picture taken. Except Kevin, who is smiling charmingly at the camera.

 

 

And a few years after that, we convinced David’s mother to come to Texas for Thanksgiving, because there were some great-grandchildren that she hadn’t met. Those two nieces (from those photos above) came with their husbands and their babies to Waco. It was a wonderful visit.

 

 

 

The holiday will be different for lots of folks this year. Often, coaches and sports teams will say, after a less that perfect season, “Just wait until next year. Things will be better.” I think most of us are counting on things being better. Much better.

 

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

Psalm 30:5,b (New Revised Standard Version)

 

 

 

Let it be so.

 

 

 

 

Fall: The Good Parts

| Joy, Peace

I don’t want to believe in Global Warming, but some days make it rather difficult to deny. Friday and Saturday this weekend have projected temperatures of 79. Thanksgiving Day is predicted to be 75. I don’t want it to be freezing, but a little crisp in the air seems more appropriate. Or, rather, it used to be appropriate.

Many years ago, when I was a teen-ager, we’d made a summertime visit to my Dad’s family, who lived in northern Ohio, quite close to the Michigan border. I was trying to explain Texas weather to a couple of cousins.

“Well,”  I said, trying to find a comparable example, “what clothes do you wear on Thanksgiving Day? We’d wear slacks and a shirt and a sweater.”

“That’s what we’d wear,” they said, as though I’d made some sort of ridiculous comparison.

“Outside?” I asked.

“Well, no,” they replied, a little taken aback. “Outside, we’d wear a heavy jacket and probably a hat and scarf.”

“That’s the difference,” I said.

(I’ve checked the Wauseon, Ohio, forecast, and Thanksgiving Day has a predicted high of 52 (low-39). However, on the Sunday and Tuesday before Thanksgiving, snow is predicted. So, sounds like jacket, hat, and scarf weather for those folks.

Last Saturday, the weather was just right. I was going to read for a while, and when I stepped out to get the mail, before settling down, the weather seemed perfect. I could read outside. Well, I did get a sweater. And then I sat down, with my enormous book, on the pew that’s on the porch.

I’ve watched the musical Hamilton several times, being a fan of Mr. Hamilton, and I do realize that Mr. Manuel-Miranda took some creative liberties with the story. Also, I’ve read a couple of novels, recently, about parts of Mr. Hamilton’s life, which contain scenes that I know aren’t exactly accurate. So, I thought I really must read Ron Chernow’s exhaustive biography of Alexander Hamilton that inspired Lin Manuel-Miranda to create the musical.

The day was fabulous, the breeze gentle, the temperature just right. Sometimes there was sun; sometimes, the sky was overcast. Every now and then, a small gust of wind would blow by, scattering the fall leaves along the street. Some of my across-the-street neighbor’s leaves would skitter over into my yard. A few minutes later, a gust would come from the other direction, tossing my leaves over to her yard.

At one point, I heard an amazingly loud ruckus from behind the house, either in our back yard or from the house behind us. Then, suddenly, a group of crows swooped over the house, in a formation that the Air Force Thunderbirds would find impressive. And they were just about as loud as the Thunderbirds. They raced across the street and over those houses, and off to who-knows-where, searching for who-knows-what. And then, several seconds later, one last, late, crow zipped over, too. I bet he got into trouble, late like that.

I spent several hours reading, out there on the porch. I read and read and read. I must admit that I skimmed over, quite a bit, the Federalist Papers part. Mr. Chernow described the contents of every single one of them; there are 85. If you’re interested, you can read all 85 of them here. Or, you can check out, from your local library, a copy of Mr. Chernow’s book, and get his synopsis of each one.

I’ve still got quite a ways to go. Library books are checked out for three weeks. I can renew a book twice, as long as no one has put in a request for it. The library has a few copies. So, I can have as much as nine weeks to finish a book. I believe, this time, I’ll have to turn it in, and then check it out again, later, for another round.

This is what my front yard looks like, now. Several homes on our street use the same lawn service. I told them, last week, that I thought I was done with them until next spring. The first year I said that, they said, “But you’ll have leaves that the mowers will shred up for you each week.” And I said, “I like to rake.” Which is true. Plus, I use those leaves for compost. But, also, I’m a senior adult woman who needs to stay active, and raking is perfect.

So, the across-the-street neighbor’s yard is all nice and neat, because the yard guys have come. Last Saturday, my yard was a carpet of leaves from the red oak tree. I raked up a couple of trash bags worth of leaves, much of which will go into our green bins, which get recycled with other yard waste. And, though you can’t see it, this tree still has lots of green leaves left on it. I’ll be raking for many more weeks.

 

 

Let everything alive give praises to the Lord! You praise him! Hallelujah!

Psalm 150:6 (The Living Bible)

 

Maybe that’s what those crows were cawing about.

 

The bookmark in the book is my favorite one. It has a Groucho Marx quote:

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”

 

Apparently, I’m Trendy

| Joy, Peace

As a senior adult lady, I’m not exactly trendy. My clothing is pretty dull and unexciting, and I shop for comfort and durability. I used to love shoes. Now, I have old lady feet and have to wear old lady shoes.

I don’t buy lots of new clothes, but, what I do buy, I often get at Target. I don’t get lots of stuff. I’m not wearing out or outgrowing my clothing.  I do, however, keep my eyes peeled for overalls. I find them in the clothing department for teens. Those teen-agers are buying them to be cool. I am buying them to work in the yard. They often have rips and tears in them, as a fashion statement (which I am unable to translate). I buy those ripped denim overalls anyway, because I’m going to be working outside in the dirt and with tools, and rips and tears are pretty much inevitable, anyway. I do always check the pockets. The overalls that are in Target right now have pockets that are just for show. They’re about 2 inches deep. I’m not interested in those. I need pockets that will hold my phone, my glasses, my gardening gloves, and, often, a hand tool or two. I need two ample rear pockets, two ample side pockets, and a large front pocket.

I’ve talked before about my first pair of real overalls. They lasted quite a while. The next pair weren’t quite as roomy, and the pockets weren’t quite as great. I got them in the spring of 2013. Since then, I’ve bought more overalls, which must mean that that second pair wasn’t exactly great. I’ve purchased two pairs of short overalls and two pairs of long overalls. One long pair is okay, has no rips, but lacks that roomy front pocket. The other pair is FULL of rips, but has better pockets and is roomier. I’ve not worn them, yet, but I may need to make some attractive patches for the ripped portions, because the wind from cooler weather is going to whip right through them, I’m afraid.

All that to say, I do sometimes wander through Target and into the clothing department meant, primarily, for young ladies quite a bit younger than I am.

The pink dress

A few months ago, I saw a dress that seemed perfect for me. It’s actually a sun dress, with straps. It buttoned up the front, was an attractive pink and cranberry and white plaid, and was long enough for me to feel comfortable. And, the deal-breaker, it had pockets that were deep enough to hold my phone. I went over (quickly) found my size and put it in my cart. At home, I put on a white t-shirt and then the jumper and was delighted. I loved it. I think I stayed wearing it for the rest of the day.

And I thought about Target.com. I don’t do much shopping on the Target web site, mostly because I find what I need in the store. I don’t do much clothing shopping online at any site. But, I so liked the dress that I wondered if there were other colors available. I did go, did scroll through the dresses, and did, absolutely, find that dress in a variety of colors. I most certainly did not need to purchase one of each color, but I looked over all ones they had, chose a pretty green and white stripe, and ordered it. I’ve enjoyed wearing both of them.

The green dress

Now, the amazing part. I was watching something on the television a few days ago, and there was a commercial for the Latuda medication, which is described on the website as a “prescription medicine for bipolar depression.” There are a variety of television ads for the medication. Recently, there’s an ad using art that people with bipolar depression have created. Towards the end of that ad, there’s a woman, who looks like she’s relaxed and enjoying herself, at an outdoor cookout. She’s wearing a green dress.  Yes, the same one I have. I imagine that some wardrobe tech did the choosing, instead of the actress. Still, some wardrobe supervisor said, “This is the dress we want.” I understand exactly how they felt. I want that dress, too.

 

 

 

And why do you worry about clothes? Observe how the wildflowers of the field grow: They don’t labor or spin thread.  Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these.

Matthew 6:28-29 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)

 “An da clotheses, how come you worry bout dat? Tink! Da flowers dat grow in da field, how dey can grow? Dey no work o make dea own clotheses.  But I telling you, even King Solomon, wit all his awesome stuffs, neva get awesome clotheses like da flowers.

Matthew 6:28-29 (Hawai’i Pidgin)

 

I am grateful, particularly these days, that I don’t have to worry about things that so many other people do have to worry about. I’m able to pay my bills and purchase things we need. I can buy masks for the elementary school near my church. I can talk with my family whenever I want to. I can donate money and food. And, I can buy a new dress. We are so fortunate.

I Think I Might Have a Stalker

| Gentleness, Kindness, Patience, Peace

I like to work outside. The weather’s nice right now, and there are fall-ish things to do, and I think that working in the yard is good for me, from a physical standpoint and a mental standpoint, too.

I enjoy the flora.

 

I like the fauna.

Last week, I was working in the back yard, trimming some lower hanging limbs in a space where I have a garden bench.

This is a nice shady spot and is particularly pleasant this time of year, when the temperatures are lower (much less sweatier) and I can sit and read. As I was trimming and neatening up the area, a bird flew by me and landed on that larger limb that’s running across the top of the photograph. Yes, right there in front of me. I took a step toward that limb and the bird just sat there, as if challenging me to bother him. I was amazed. I took another step forward. He cocked his head and turned and flew . . . to that next limb, as if to imply that, yes, he saw me, but he wasn’t at all bothered that I was right there!

He wasn’t somebody’s pet parakeet. He was a wild bird. He should have, I thought, been much more reluctant to be anywhere near me. Maybe someone else in the neighborhood feeds birds, and he just assumed that all of those big folks are regularly handing out treats.

I lopped off a couple more limbs, then gathered up my tools and walked up to the patio at the back of the house. And then, and I am not making this up, he followed me.

 

 

Apparently, he’s gotten bored with it all. I’ve been outside a couple of days this week, and I haven’t seen him. Maybe he’s marshaling his forces and planning to return at some point, with reinforcements. I’ll send updates if he shows up again.

 

How lovely is your dwelling place, Lord Almighty!

My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.
Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young—
a place near your altar, Lord Almighty, my King and my God.

Psalm 84:1-3 (New International Version)

Hmmm. I’ve been saying “him,” but it might be “her.” Maybe I should be more charitable, and remember that having a home, a nest, a safe place, is universally important.

The Cinderella Bags

| Peace

Several months after my mother passed away, my dad moved to a retirement residence. My sister, JoAnne, came and we started the work of getting ready for an estate sale. As we pulled items from cabinets, we’d look at a thing from our growing up years and one of us would say: “Do you want that?” And, as often as not, the other would say, “No, I don’t want it, but I want you to want it.” Getting rid of so many items that had our histories attached was difficult. But, neither of us had space in our homes to bring in, say, two more sets of dishes, the pots and pans that we grew up using as we learned to cook and bake, and a whole house full of furniture. Daddy had taken some things to the retirement residence, but nowhere near what we found ourselves left with.

We certainly did keep some things, and we used the proceeds from the estate sale to rent a U-Haul to take things that JoAnne did want. She did take some furniture, as did I. She took some of the dishes, for her son who was living in an apartment and actually needed some dishes. But much of the U-Haul’s space was cluttered with the Cinderella bags.

When we were first going through the house, after Daddy moved, we opened up a couple of large, lidded, rattan containers in the master bedroom. They held plastic bags. Not the grocery store kind, but, for example, dry cleaning bags. I supposed Mother meant to (and maybe did) cover other clothing items, like rarely used heavy coats or nicer dresses that she wanted to protect. There were also bags from department stores where she shopped. Some had handles, which would have been useful for toting things for an overnight trip or back and forth to church; that sort of thing.

Cinderella was a very nice ladies store in downtown Waco. They carried clothes, lingerie, probably hats, and . . . shoes. For most of my growing up years, we didn’t shop at Cinderella. Too expensive. But later, in my late teens, we did go there. I remember, clearly, the first pair of shoes I got at Cinderella. They were white, with a rather chunky heel, and the leather in the toe area had been woven. I loved those shoes. When you purchased something at Cinderella, you got a good, sturdy, pink-and-white striped drawstring bag, for carrying your purchase(s) home. My mother, who even saved dry cleaning bags, was most certainly not going to get rid of a Cinderella bag.

In addition to all the other stuff we had to go through in my parents’ home, there were the documents, paper stuff, memorabilia, photos, et al. And we just didn’t have time to make careful decisions. So, when we found things that looked important, we took them with us. In the U-Haul, in sturdy plastic bags. Many of them were genuine Cinderella bags.

As we traveled, at every gas stop, JoAnne would say to me and her daughter, Natalie: “Get some Cinderella bags from the back.” We’d put them up in the cab and go through the papers/documents/stuff, and decide if we could get rid of them or should they be kept. Then, at the next gas stop, we’d dump the rejected papers in the trash bin by the pumps. And we’d put the “saved” papers back in the truck’s rear space and retrieve a few more bags. And the bags, all of them, no matter what sort of bag they were, began to be referred to as “Cinderella” bags.

All the way from Waco, Texas, to Seattle, Washington, we went through the Cinderella bags. In one bag, we found Daddy’s speeches. For many years, he was a very active member of a Toastmaster’s group. There were lots of speeches. Natalie and I pulled out a couple of them to read aloud. One was about how he always liked suits with vests. He talked about the suits he’d had and how he wanted to be sure to be buried in a vested suit. We put the speech folders in a “keep” bag.

In Seattle, JoAnne’s family helped move all the furniture, saved items, and the Cinderella bags into the house. I stayed to visit for a few days and then flew home. Over the next few years, JoAnne and Jim made a few moves. At some point, she mailed me two Medium Flat Rate boxes, which were full  of documents and photos and stuff from the Cinderella bags. Then, when she was living in Texas, she brought me a couple of large bags, also full of documents and photos and stuff.

Last week, I opened up those boxes and went through those bags. And I tried to put all sentimentality aside. We have a significant amount of papers, photos, documents, etc., in our house. I don’t have room for another whole set of papers, photos, documents, and stuff. There was shredding.

I’m not quite done. There were three large folders with information from Daddy’s family: civil war records, family trees. When I looked over all those legal-size papers with long lists of folks, my eyes got blurry. But all this looking at papers and invitations and gobs of photos makes me realize that I need to be culling out stuff that I’ve kept that will just be stuff that my own sons will have to deal with. So, it’s made me think more carefully about stuff and is all of it really important to me? Hmmm. Maybe. And maybe not.

 

Then he said to the crowd, “Don’t be greedy! Owning a lot of things won’t make your life safe.”

Luke 12:15 (Contemporary English Version)

 

When Daddy moved into the retirement residence, we didn’t realize he was ill. He seemed tired, but, he was in his 80’s, and Mother had passed away a few months earlier, so it didn’t seemed too alarming that he would still feel weary. Eventually, he was hospitalized. When he wasn’t interested in the Detroit Tigers’ (a baseball team that he had supported for most of his life) being in the World Series, JoAnne knew things were amiss and came to see him. He went into a nursing home on a Monday. She arrived on Wednesday evening and spent all day Thursday with him. She and I went on Friday morning to have breakfast with him, and then went to run a few errands. We went back to be with him at lunch, and, when we entered the foyer, a nurse came to stop us and said he’d quietly passed away. We began the process of funeral arrangements, and went to his apartment in the retirement residence to get his suit for the funeral home. As we pulled it from the closet, we said, “the vest!” We needed his speech about his vests. JoAnne called home and talked Natalie through where to find the storage tote that had Daddy’s speeches. Natalie found it for us and read the first few paragraphs for us to write down to give to his pastor for the funeral. So I guess it’s maybe okay and useful to keep some things, after all. Some things. Not everything!

Who Touched My Clothes?

| Kindness, Patience, Peace

To my contemporaries: Remember when we used to really dress up when we went to church? We had Sunday clothes and Sunday shoes and almost all the men wore suits and ties, and the women wore stockings and high heeled shoes. And hats!!

Thank goodness we’ve moved on.

Maybe in some churches, things are still rather formal. At our church (and in most churches I’ve been in over the past few years), we are a place where church folk can be comfortable and feel at home in more casual clothes. Clothes that are comfortable. Clothes that might cost less than dressy outfits and shoes. Clothes that do not have to be dry-cleaned. I can’t recall the last time I saw a man with a tie.

And, if I wore clothes that had to go to the dry-cleaners regularly, I would not be able to be a Sunday School teacher. A preschool Sunday School room is ‘way too messy for the wearing of silks and woolens.
Over the years, I’ve had the experience of looking down at my skirt, moments before walking up to the platform to read Scripture, and noticing a swath of purple paint across the hem.

I have sat in a pew and reached up to straighten my collar and felt the crusty, dried, results of a runny nose, wiped across my shoulder, deposited by a weeping child who felt left behind when her Mom and Dad went on to their own Sunday School room.

I have held, in my lap, a kid who seemed to be feeling a little poorly, and then felt the warmth of that “feeling poorly” run down my back.

I have, in a pale yellow dress, backed up to our drying rack, which held a painting that, in Early Childhood terms, is called Preschool Brown (the result of painting with great exuberance, using all the colors of paint available).
What’s happened to my clothes?!?

Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse.  She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak,  for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.”  Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?”  And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’”

Mark 5:25-31 (New Revised Standard Version)

 

Getting close to folks means that we make a difference in their lives. These days, getting “close” can be more difficult. I feel frustrated by not really being able to smile at people. I’m nodding to people, and sometimes even saying, “I’m smiling at you,” to someone who holds a door for me or nods as we pass.
I was hurrying into Walgreens this morning, wanting to pick up a photo I needed. As I walked from my car, I saw a woman coming out of the store. With her mask on. MASK! I’d rushed out of the car and had forgotten mine. I turned around and went back for it. She’d had several bags to put in the car and was just getting in as I passed her car on my way back. I stopped a second to say, “I’m so glad I saw you coming out. I’d forgotten my mask!” She laughed and said, “Yeah. It’s different now.”
“Who touched my clothes?” “Who touched me?” Those questions seem harder to respond to right now. We’re not supposed to get quite so physically close as we might have a few months ago. No shaking hands. No hugs. Six feet apart seems like quite a distance. We’re being challenged to find ways for contact that are different from the usual. And aren’t we looking forward to the time when we can look back and say, “Wow. That was something, wasn’t it! But we made it through.”

 

Not Helpful/Helpful

| Kindness, Patience, Peace

I needed a new phone. I liked my phone, but it was becoming more and more erratic. I’d plug it in to recharge overnight, when it might be at 17% power, or so. Then, when I got up in the morning, it might be at 20% power. Or, 15% power. I’d assume that I’d just not pushed the charger end in adequately, and I’d try again, even though I’d been counting on its being fully charged, as I was headed outside to do some yard work and wanted to listen to a book. Some days, it would charge completely, and other days, not much at all.

Kevin and April and Peter came for Father’s Day (and a few days early, to work on that garage storage stuff). I talked to Kevin about the problem, and he said it sounded like I needed a new phone. And, his idea was that, when I brought Peter (who was staying with us for several days after Kevin and April went back to Fort Worth) back home, we could go to the Apple store.

April said why didn’t we just go to the AT&T store, right here in Waco. Kevin said that the Apple store was so wonderful and had so many interesting, exciting things to see, and, as long as I was coming up anyway, we might as well go there. That’s the plan we made.

Kevin called me a couple of days before I was bringing Peter home and said that the Apple store requires making an appointment to come in, and would that be all right, and I said “sure,” so he said he’d make the appointment. Then, when I took Peter back, Kevin said that, well, you can’t actually go into an Apple store unless you have a problem or need a repair, and, yes, we were going to have to go to the Fort Worth AT&T store to get the phone. And, yes, indeed, April was right. We did go to the Fort Worth AT&T store, where I got a new phone.

They didn’t have much of a variety of phone cases for my phone, so I didn’t get one there. When I got back to Waco, I stopped at Target, where I’d gotten the case for my previous phone, which was a lovely pink, and the case was clear on the back, so the lovely back showed. At Target, there was only one case labeled for my phone, and it was really unattractive. The next morning, I headed out to look other places. April had said that she’d sometimes gotten phone cases at Best Buy, so I tried there. They had lots and lots of phone cases, but I couldn’t find a single one that was labeled for my phone. I walked around, all bent over, because nothing was at my eye level, and, while there were several staff people there, no one seemed available to help me find what I needed. And, there was a guy doing some repairs, or maybe changing lightbulbs, on a scissor lift, and every time he had to move the lift, he was (I suppose) required to sound a warning beep, to let nearby folks know he was moving. It was a LOUD warning beep. And it was going off every three or four minutes. And I finally had to leave. Too much noise. Not enough employees to be able to help. No cases for my phone.

I left and went next door to an Office Depot store. It was much quieter there, and the employees were just as helpful as the ones at Best Buy. And, I couldn’t find any cases that were labeled for my phone. As I left the store, I thought that I should just go over to the Waco AT&T store, where I thought there were would at least be the same couple of cases that had been available at the Fort Worth store.

But, first, I needed to go to Wal-Mart, which was on the way. I had a variety of items on my list, and, before I headed to the grocery area, I walked past the electronics area at the back of the store and thought, maybe they have phone cases. And, of course they did. I went to one of the cases labeled “iPhone” and bent over to start looking. Before I had read the label of a single case, an employee was at my side. “Can I help,” she said. I said I needed a case for my phone, but I’d not been able to find one identified as being for my phone. And she said, “Oh, these cases here will work with your phone,” and she pointed to a whole row of cases that, while labeled for one kind of phone, would also work with mine. “Which one do you like?” I chose one of the several cases there.

I said, “Great, I like this one.” And she said, “Are you comfortable checking out back here (in that department)?” And I said, “Sure.” And in about three minutes we were done. I guess I’ve been selling Wal-Mart short when it comes to customer service.

 

She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night.
She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

Proverbs 31: 18, 26 (New International Version)

 

Standing on your feet all day, trying to help a wide clientele of shoppers, knowing all the characteristics of all the products, staying happy, engaged, and informative, well, it just cannot be all that easy. I certainly hope it’s fulfilling.

Hoardette

| Joy, Peace, Self-Control

I do keep things. And, just possibly, there are spaces in my home where there are things that I don’t necessarily need, but that I think I should hang onto. For a while. Maybe.

And, while all this staying at home, and not going out unless you absolutely must, and staying away from people, is important, it’s also not much different from the normal and usual for me. I’m not as likely to browse in stores any more, and, while we rarely went out to eat, now that’s pretty much become never. But my life has been much less restricted than most folks, simply because I wasn’t out and about that much.

I have noticed how full the parking lots at Lowe’s and Home Depot have been, as I shopped there for plants and gardening supplies. It seems that people have been using their stay-at-home time for projects that might have been put off and delayed for various reasons. And I’ve thought hmmm, maybe I should be thinking about some home improvement pursuits, myself.

I started with the linen closet, tossing out old towel sets (that were too embarrassingly worn to even be used as rags), rearranging some things, and trying to make it easier to find those things that guests might need when they’re staying over. Stuff went to Goodwill, stuff went to the trash, stuff got moved to different locations. The flashlights that were stored there were nonfunctional and got replaced. I occasionally open the linen closet door, just to see how nice and neat it looks.

I got my own closet better organized.

In the kitchen, my Christmas dishes take up quite a bit of room. We use them for a few days a year. But, they’re my CHRISTMAS dishes. So, no culling for that kitchen cabinet. Just this evening, we were looking at a chunk of chocolate that was the result of a recipe that Peter and I tried that went really wrong. Peter was thinking that, if we had a grater, we could at least turn it into smaller pieces. “Do you have a grater, Mimi?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I was thinking about a lemon grater.”

“Nope, sorry.”

Peter opened several drawers and searched through them. No luck. I looked in cabinets. Aha.

I have a small food processor.

“This might work,” I said, and put it together and plugged it in. After cutting the chunk of chocolate into pieces that would fit into the little processor, I attached the lid and turned the thing on. It worked well. So, I’m thinking that I don’t actually need a grater.

The place I’ve been putting the most energy on right now is my office, which is also a guest room, with a twin bed and trundle, and also the place where my treadmill is. And it’s the smallest bedroom in the house. The closet has a large filing cabinet in it. There are two long shelves across the top, and on the side opposite the filing cabinet, there are a couple of short shelves. Under those shelves is a small chest of drawers, which, at this time, holds a drawer full of clear and patterned Contact paper and two drawers of picture frames.

I found the grade book from when I taught at the local community college.  I glanced over the pages and then shredded them all. I also found folders with copies of student evaluations. I looked at a few of them. They’re mostly quite positive. Maybe I’ll keep a few of them. There are folders with handouts that I’ve used, and folders with colored paper that I use mostly for Bible-related games at church. There are folders with copies of periodicals that contain things I’ve written. Lots of things can go. Lots of things can stay.

 

On the floor-things to use up, things to give away, things to keep, maybe, things to throw away

There’s that old adage that says, “As soon as you throw something away, you apt to discover that you needed it after all.” Maybe, for some things, but not for most things. I’m trying to make good decisions. I do toss old pens that don’t work and wooden pencils that are too short to hold on to. I get rid of clothes that I don’t wear any more (the trash if they’re tattered, a helping agency if they’re wearable). I toss the newspaper out every day and don’t keep magazines I’ve read. (But there can be a problem if I’ve not gotten around to reading those magazines. Sounds like I shouldn’t subscribe to them, huh?) And I do have every painting that Peter has made at our house. But, one step at a time, right? I’m trying to discern between “Oh, I really like this,” and “Oh, I really (yes, really, honestly, completely) need and use this.” One closet at a time.

 

 

 

 

For it was only through this wonderful grace that we believed in him. Nothing we did could ever earn this salvation, for it was the gracious gift from God that brought us to Christ! So no one will ever be able to boast, for salvation is never a reward for good works or human striving. We have become his poetry, a re-created people that will fulfill the destiny he has given each of us, for we are joined to Jesus, the Anointed One. Even before we were born, God planned in advance our destiny and the good works we would do to fulfill it!

Ephesians 2:8-10 (The Passion Translation)

 

I love this passage, and I love this translation of the passage. Our lives are sometimes extraordinary and sometimes mundane. But we have become his poetry! Even when I’m ironing, or cleaning the bathrooms, or going with Peter to purchase food items for the Family Pantry, I’m God’s poetry. Even when I’m just cleaning out a closet.

Before and After

| Patience, Peace

Oh, those compelling photos of the “Before” and “After” scenarios …

You know the ones:

The skinny guy who started working out and now is a buff, body-builder type.

The plain Jane lady who gets a make-over and is now lovely and confident.

The dilapidated house that is now a showplace.

The yard that was an overgrown jungle that is now beautifully landscaped.

And so on.

My photos are not quite as spectacular, but they’re making me smile.

I’ve mentioned the Caladiums, and how I planted the tubers too early and guys at a nursery (when I said I’d put them in the ground in mid-March) told me that they were most likely dead. But, then a couple of weeks later, one came up. Then, a week or so later, another one came up. I knew I had planted 15 tubers, so when there were 15 Caladiums, I thought that was it. That was not it. Apparently, one tuber can make quite a few Caladiums. I’ve been amazed and delighted and overwhelmed. When I counted this morning, there were almost 50 Caladiums. And, there are more little shoots.

(This from the Gardening Know How website: Blooming on caladium plants isn’t common, but tubers planted in favorable locations tend to produce small flowers. These inflorescences aren’t as impactful as a rose or dahlia but have their own charm and, sometimes, a strong pleasant scent. There are several schools of thought on what to do with caladium flowers. While some growers believe pinching them off helps force energy to the tubers, others leave the small blooms with no ill effect on the plant.)

They certainly don’t detract from the lovely leaves.

The whole Caladium experience has been worth the effort on that drizzly March day when I was slogging in that muddy space, trying to get those tubers in the ground in a sensible, well-planned effort that ended up with my strewing the things around and trying to get them covered with dirt (more like mud).

It’s turned out so much better than I thought it might (especially after the nursery guy told me they were all probably dead!

 

Meanwhile, there was the issue of that log I ran over a few weeks ago. Here’s a recap of the photos:

 

My friend came by one day last week, for a six-feet-away visit on my front porch. And she brought me …

this beautiful candle holder. Yes, indeed, that is the log–the log in the photo above.

And the woodworker included, on the base of the candle holder, something to remind us of its provenance. (The log was a piece of hackberry, in case you’re confused.)

 

 

 

 

 

I looked for a descriptive word for my experiences. “Catastrophe” is how I felt about them, but, really, that’s too strong. I went to “Thesaurus.com” and found the word “debacle,” which I like, but again, seems wrong. I’m going with the phrase “bad luck,” because it seems more reasonable. Not a catastrophe, or even a debacle. They were small things, in contrast to the larger, more egregious things that happen to other folks.

 

 

Let the sunrise of your love end our dark night. Break through our clouded dawn again! Only you can satisfy our hearts, filling us with songs of joy to the end of our days.

Psalm 90:14 (The Passion Translation)

 

And . . . I Got in Trouble at the Grocery Store

| Patience, Peace, Self-Control

Plenty of eggs at this visit, compared to last time, when there wasn’t an egg to be had.

We needed milk. Also, I’d found a recipe for dinner that I thought I could easily make. I included those ingredients, along with milk, on a short list of things, picked up my recycle bags, and headed off to HEB. I did go at 8:30 a.m., thinking that the shelves wouldn’t be quite as depleted as they’d been when I went in the late afternoon a few days earlier.

The raw eggs are gone, but here, just to the left of the sign, are packages of hard-cooked eggs. Yay! And, quite obviously, is the sign that says, “Limit 2.

Things have really settled down, compared to a few days ago, and there was plenty of parking, close and near the door. The store was busy but not crowded, and I quickly made my way to the aisles where I needed to shop. I put carrots and sugar snap peas in my cart. The canned things I needed were there. The ground beef was there. The milk was there.

When I’d gotten eggs (yes! there were eggs) a couple of days earlier, I’d looked for the packages of hard-cooked eggs that are usually in the egg area. Nope. But, since I was now at the store ‘way earlier than before, I went to look. And, yes. TA-DAH! There were packages of them. I got a couple, and, while I was there, I went ahead and got another carton of the eggs I like to buy.

I stopped in an empty aisle to check how many items I’d gotten. I like to use the self check-out (there’s usually less waiting time), and, there’s a limit of 10 items. Exactly what I had in my cart.

There was absolutely no waiting time; most folks had fully-loaded carts and were in lines at the regular check-outs. I pushed my cart over to a self-checkout slot, put my recycle bag on the shelf, and started scanning my groceries.

After a few items, things stalled, and an HEB employee came over to see what the problem was. (There’s always an employee there to straighten out various self-check snafus.) She looked at my groceries and pointed out that I’d tried to purchase too many eggs.

I’d missed the sign. And, really, even if I’d seen the sign,  I’d have assumed that raw eggs and bagged cooked eggs were different products. FYI-they are not two different products. She let me choose which egg product had to be removed. And I apologized and apologized and apologized some more as I gave her the carton of eggs. I’m not generally a rule-breaker, and I really didn’t know, and I was really sorry. She was not at all angry; I suppose she’d had to confront, gently, other shoppers about too many total items, or too little cash, or too many eggs.

 

 

Keep your temper under control; it is foolish to harbor a grudge.

Ecclesiastes 7:9 (Good News Translation)

 

And there you go.