Silent Sermon...

Jon's cockatiel hit the open airwaves when he accidentally left his door open.

Is it true a bird in the hand.....

...is better than one on the head?

We were having a hard time catching the bird, after it flew off my head and back to its perch on my curtains.

Then, it began to get lonely for its mate and made pathetic bird noises.

Cockatiels bond for life.

After the death of a mate, some go through such great grief, they may never bond to another bird.

We brought the mate into the room, then it was easy to get them back in the cage together.

They love to be together.

They sit together. They live in a big huge cage, and they are almost always cuddled up together in a corner.

They eat together.

If you hold one for too long, the other one fusses at you, because they've been apart too long.

People say you should have pets because they are a good way to learn responsibility and caregiving.

I never imagined the greatest benefit to my teenage son would be a daily silent sermon on marriage.

sCrAbBlEd WeLcOmE

I was preparing the final touches for company to arrive to spend a weekend in our home.

Making my home welcoming is important to me.

It should be clean.

If that isn't completely possible, it should at least look clean -

 with messy things hidden in my bedroom and in the garage.

My home should smell clean - candles, potpourri, whatever it takes.

I make sure basic needs can be met easily, that guests have access to snacks, tissue, water, towels, etc.

This time I wanted that extra touch.

I wanted them to read my warm welcome as soon as they entered the living room

after a three hour drive through Friday rush- hour traffic.

I spent 15 minutes I should have been cleaning and spelled out a  greeting for our special guests with the  Scrabble tiles I keep in a bowl my husband made in his high school shop class.

As soon as I walked away to hide something else in my bedroom,

 I heard the smooth wood tiles sliding off their holders and back into the bowl.

This is the greeting ONE of my children wanted to use instead.

I won't tell you his name to protect the guilty.

I was slightly annoyed, and made him change it back.

 

 A few days later, a new-improved greeting welcomed me.

Ah, peace in the valley again.

MM Meditation - The God Who Never Sleeps

Psalm 121:1-5

 I will lift up my eyes to the hills—

From whence comes my help?

 My help comes from the LORD,

Who made heaven and earth.

 He will not allow your foot to be moved;

He who keeps you will not slumber.

 Behold, He who keeps Israel

Shall neither slumber nor sleep.

Years ago, I was listening to a dear friend and sister in the Lord, Bonnie, talk about her struggle with  cancer.  Since the disease had spread to several areas, she suffered much physically for many years.

This time, she was telling me about how the pain kept her awake at night after one of her surgeries. You can well imagine the loneliness, the sterile smell, the noises that keep you from truly resting and the diagnosis and prognosis floating in and out and all around the barren room. 

But, as she spoke, there was no bitterness, no anger, no frustration - only joy.

Joy, because the Lord had whispered His presence through this verse while she was laying in that hospital bed, overwhelmed with pain, but overcome with His presence.

 Reminded that He also was awake, she began pouring out her heart in prayer, then in praise, then peace came.

Little did Bonnie know how that conversation, in which she gave the Lord glory and honor and testified to His comforting presence during her greatest hour of need, would minister to my heart, mind and even my own cancer ridden body, many, many times.

When I have lost sleep over troubled relationships, the God who never sleeps hears my pleas.

When I have lost sleep over my dear children, the God who never sleeps comforts my heart.

When I have lost sleep over physical suffering, the God who never sleeps has given me peace with His presence.

Hebrews 4

14 Seeing then that we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our profession.


15 For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.

16 Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.



When your heart is so troubled you can't sleep, remember---

--- He isn't sleeping either.


 

A Thanksgiving To Be Thankful For

This was a Thanksgiving of many firsts.

 Grace asked to be in charge of the entire meal.

Totally in charge. Not a bad goal for being only Sweet 16.

From menu planning, to list making, to recipe planning, cooking and serving,

our AMAZING GRACE handled it all.

Her menu -

Tangerine Glazed Turkey

Herb Encrusted Duck

Maple Ginger Carrots

Cheddar Yukon Gold Mashed Potatoes

Green Bean Casserole

Rolls

Relish Trays

Another first was homemade stuffing.

Scott had to call my mom several times for coaching,

even though it is just bread chunks, gizzards, celery, onions and some seasoning.

It tasted amazing.

Sorry Stove Top, you may never be welcome in our home again.

Another first, I bought Scott an electric knife.

He was so happy, I probably won't have to buy him a Christmas present.

The first disaster for the day.

We changed the name of the potatoes  to "Pepper Cheddar Yukon Gold Mashed Potatoes"

 when the entire content of the pepper shaker and the lid were added to the potatoes.

Of course, when we asked who left the lid unscrewed....

"NOT ME!"

Grace let me set the table.

That's my favorite part, anyway.

Scott included our guests in the family tradition of going around the table and expressing one thing you are thankful for. We acknowledged we all have MUCH to be thankful for.

friendship

the Lord Jesus Christ

good health

fellowship

neighbors

football

Grace cooking the meal

family

remission

Scott shared the verses the Lord put on his heart for the day:

 Psalm 95:1-2

 Oh come, let us sing to the LORD!

Let us shout joyfully to the Rock of our salvation.

 Let us come before His presence with thanksgiving;

Let us shout joyfully to Him with psalms.

Since I did all the dishes as she was cooking,  after dinner

we only had to clean up what was on the table.

 I mean, the men only had to clean up the table.

 Since three of the men in the house were guests, this was a daring call, but well received.

Guest Grandpa Pat was the first one in the kitchen and took care of the bulk of the dishes.

 Dave finished loading the dishwasher.

Keith dried.

I told him I would make sure his Mommy saw this picture.

She'll be so proud of him.

Not sure if my son Jon actually helped, or if he was so fast, I just didn't get his picture.

The women and children reclined downstairs to watch the classic "Charlie Brown Thanksgiving."

The men stayed upstairs and talked.  No football.  We don't have TV reception or cable.

Thanksgiving without football is wonderful, sorry to rub it in to those of you who didn't experience that.

Another first, thanks to the influence of our athletic guest, Keith - a Thanksgiving evening run.

Yes, Scott's headband is pink.

Yes, we teased him.

No, he didn't care.

He's also wearing Snoopy Christmas socks.

Jon wants to cook next year.

I thought he was excited about all the new recipes Grace tried and wanted to rise to the occasion as she did.

No, he just loves the rule,

"If you cook,

you don't clean up."

Fall Foliage...

Our fall is still lingering.

The last brilliant leaves are unwilling to give up their grip on the almost bare trees. 

Even our several severe windstorms weren't able to knock them all down.

The leaves have the tenacity writer O. Henry described in the short story  "The Last Leaf."

When I see the leaves decorating sidewalks, porches and cars,

 I  decide  that the Lord decorates much nicer than Martha Stewart.

Scott and I enjoyed a fall drive a few weeks back, getting out to enjoy

the fall colors,

 the fall smell,

 the fall feel.

Fall is a season you feel with all your senses.

"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower."  Albert Camus

But, the statement that leaves speak into my soul is from a fall display created by my daughter Jana's kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Benson.  She cut out an elaborate tree with brilliant red, green and gold leaves and displayed it on her door with a seasonal, spiritual play on words.

Her message that still encourages my heart with each falling leaf?

Fall in Love with Jesus

Speaking of Teaching....

What I don't do well, I teach well.

What I do well, I don't teach well.


All my kids know how to cook and cook well.   In fact, I often have volunteers for meals and snacks. Not a lot of volunteers for the dishes, but a lot of volunteers for the cooking.

I don't consider myself a good cook, nor do I consider myself someone who loves cooking.  Ironically, I love inviting people over for dinner.  Then, I get those panicked thoughts, "Oh, that's right, they're coming for dinner, I have to FEED them."  Until I can come up with something I can cook, I am a  little frantic in my mind.  I love  setting the table and welcoming people into my home, I am just not that confident in preparing their food.

Why do my kids love to cook?  I'm pretty sure it is because I adopted my Mom's open kitchen policy.  We were welcome to cook anything and use anything in her kitchen, we just had to clean up.  She worked full time, so summers were filled with scouring the Betty Crocker cookbook for recipes we thought we could accomplish.  When we craved candy, we learned to make hard candy by boiling sugar, water and Karo syrup, according to the recipe. 

When we craved cake, we used the  two-egg cake.  We loved throwing in a package of Kool-aid for flavoring and color. I remember making a cake for my Mother's Day that was so hideous, we had to fill the hole in the middle with marshmellows.

After teaching my kids basic kitchen skills like reading a recipe, properly measuring ingredients, using the oven and mixer,  they were given open season on the kitchen.  I have cleaned up batter from every wall, light fixture and ceiling, but they all can run the mixer.  I have had enough potholders and dish towels start on fire that I am guaranteed to be getting them for the next ten Christmases, but they all can use the oven.  I count on one hour of cleanup for every 15 minutes a kid is in the kitchen, and about one glass thing broken each week.

However, I've noticed that some of my friends who cook really well, have kids that don't cook.  Maybe because the moms love cooking and don't want to share the kitchen.  Maybe the moms don't want to eat sub-par cooking. Maybe they just know they can do everything better and faster.   Maybe their kids don't want to try, knowing their accomplishments will never add up to their mom's.  They say skills skip a generation, but I am not sure I understand why.

I love to write and consider myself a writer.  My high school job wasn't working at a restaurant, like my kids my age, I was writing for the local newspaper.  My senior year of high school, I was given  my own newspaper column.  It really wasn't that big of a deal, it was for a weekly paper in the upper corner of North Dakota.  I probably had only about 100 readers. But, this job created a passion for putting my thoughts into logical, printed sentences and I  dream about the day when I am published again.

However, I have to be honest - I don't teach writing well.  I am too critical, too unrealistic about their accomplishments, too slow to compliment because I am too busy editing. I've purchased many writing curriculums, but haven't found they work for me.  It is hard to teach something that comes natural.  I'm blessed, though, that all my kids seem to have a natural bend towards writing, but I am still working on improving my skills in teaching writing.

Anybody else find this true in their life - that it is hard to teach things they do well? I would love to hear your thoughts.

The Skill of Teaching a Skill

Today was the long-awaited day for Rebekah.  She learned to sew.  I set my old sewing machine on her table, had her take out the thread and practice seams on paper.

Like all the women from my Mom's side of the family, Beka was a natural sewer.  She also naturally followed the family tradition of improving your skills by leaving your tongue hanging out of your mouth and pursing your lips in time to the hum of the machine.

When she easily mastered the straight lines, we went on to turning a corner with the needle down.  I made other worksheets to teach her to follow a curve, follow more complicated patterns and to backtack, stitching backwards to keep your seam from unraveling.  (I know how to do this, but I didn't know the term, I had to Bing it.)

When we finally began using real fabric and my new sewing machine, Beka  sewed and ironed a flat felled seam.

She was clever enough to figure out how to reach the presser foot.

Her final endeavor was to sew a doll pillow.  I couldn't find the stuffing, so we put our project away.  However, occasionally during the evening, she would sit at the old sewing machine and sew elaborate patterns onto paper.  Her "quilts" were so intricate, the corners so perfectly angled, that her Daddy was amazed with her ability.

As we chatted and sewed and spent a nice morning together, Beka was so happy, and so was I. Once she came over for a hug and said, "We have SO much fun together, don't we Mom?"

I couldn't help but reflect on how much better teaching my sixth child to sew was going than teaching my first child.  I taught Jana to sew and after the traditional doll blankets and pillows, we decided  to sew a piece of clothing.  I remember getting frustrated with her because she couldn't grasp my instructions on things like the facing and setting in the sleeves.

As I vented this frustration to a dear friend, Roxy, who is the same age, but older in wisdom, our conversation changed my life.

Meekly, she reminded me that these were very hard tasks, especially for a 9 year old, and that something like a simple skirt would have been a better place to start, because they could master it easily, wear it, and have that satisfaction of finishing a project.  It would also make them more eager to tackle another project.

She also gently encouraged me to not be such a perfectionist in judging Jana's sewing.  She pointed out that a seam had to really be off before it really affected the outcome of the garment.  If a seam needed to be ripped out, she did it for her children, to lessen the frustration.

Her advice turned my Type A Sewing Instruction into more of  the comfortable, fun, mother/daughter rite of passage it should be.

Using Roxy's advice, I taught the rest of my kids to sew, even the boys.  All our children are required to learn the basics and sew at least one item, just so they have that skill available for the rest of their lives.

My regret over my failed first lessons was appeased when Jana sewed adorable hot pink curtains with green polka-dotted trim for her daughter's room in their first apartment.

Sure, I teach my children how to sew, but my dear friend Roxy taught me how to teach. 

mAkInG fUn oF mOmMy - again

This fall, I was standing in the mirror, bemoaning the fact that the roll around my middle is now evident when I stand up, not just when I sit down. In two weeks this summer, I gained ten pounds, and it all decided to congregate just above the waistline.

Rebekah, ever my cheerleader said, "Ah, Mom, you're not fat. People that walk by you think you look beautiful.

They don't even notice that you are ….fff…fffa...fffaa....fffaaa.....ummm….that way...

….they probably won't even notice because they'll think it's your belt."

Any other mommy out there wearing a 10 pound belt?




Read here to find out all the other wonderful things my family has said about me.

MM Meditation - Belly Rivers

John 7:37  In the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink.



38 He that believes on me, as the scripture said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water.


Have you thirsted and drunk of the living waters that bring eternal life and cleansing to the soul? Is the joy of your salvation  so great that out of your belly a river of living water is flowing?

In the older Bible translation, the word belly means the innermost part of man,
your soul,
your heart,
your thoughts,
your feelings
and your choices.

In the newer translation, they use the word heart. I like belly.  It just grabbed my attention.

Great adventurers in the past have marveled at discovering sparkling, glorious rivers and traveled through great natural adversities in a quest to find the source. Is your belly river flowing so freely that everyone knows that you are a source of living water?

Illustrious marketers and advertisers offer natural waters for refreshment and for health. Cool waters are drunk and the body nourished. Warm waters, like natural hot springs, are for relaxation and healing. Tepid, or lukewarm water, isn't useful. A bottle of Dasani that has been left in the car on a 90 degree day isn't going to be as refreshing as the one that has been refrigerated and has luscious drops of cold condensation traipsing down the familiar blue label.

A hot-tub that has the heater shut off and the chemicals not added is no longer a hot-tub, it would be a big fiberglass container filled with rank, cold water, absolutely useless. Are you keeping your living waters useful and available to refresh and bring health to those around?

Cascading waterfalls are a sight too glorious to put into words and can hardly be captured in still photography in such a way to really commemorate the experience. Is your belly river so awe-inspiring that people marvel at the glorious works of the Lord in your life? Do they stand, with jaw-dropping marvel, as what He has created in you?

May people be able to say about all of us, "out of her belly shall flow rivers of living water."  Not for our benefit, our glory, but that we might be a healing source of the living water to all around.

Sunbreaks are for Gardening

We've had some windstorms.  We've had some serious downpours.  We've  had some power outages in the area and some rivers are near flood stage.  We are in the throes of winter.

For someone who loves the sun, who loves the warmth of the sun, who loves the light from the sun, winter can be challenging.

To help coax myself through the winter gloom, I planted these colorful succulents on my deck after I pulled the veggies out of my planter. They don't need a lot of sun, and they can tolerate a lot of water.  I want to look out the sliding glass door, peering between the nose smudges and fingerprints, and see something beautiful growing.

I recently realized that the drainage holes Jon drilled in the bottom were sufficient for the summer, but not for the winter.  Not for the torrential downpours. During a sunbreak this week, I decided to deal with the deck gardening.

Ask a teenage boy to do dishes, it might not go over so well. 

Ask him to do something with a power tool, and he's all over it.

 Like stink on a skunk.  Jon's my tool guy.

Now it's looking like it should.

The golden rocks are from our Ocean Shores vacation with Jana and company. 

They add the warmth of precious memories.  The solar light in the middle adds a beacon of hope during the gloom - only if there was enough sun to charge it up.

This gorgeous tub was my souvenir from a trip to Leavenworth, WA.

 I'm not the back-scratcher kinda' person.

 I wanted to start my own succulents during the winter, going on a tip I received from the woman who sold me the beauties in my feed trough.

I found this starter set at a garage sale for $2

I found these in a free box at a garage sale. 

Can you believe nobody else wanted them? 

They brought back great memories of my young flesh sticking to the ice cube tray while wrestling with the handle, sometimes cutting myself, while prying out a few ice-cubes for my red Kool-aid.

A few weeks ago, Jon drilled a hole in the bottom of each of the compartments.

I put the disks in one tray, then, the whole mess sat outside in the rain while I looked out daily and was reminded that I had yet another unfinished project on my hands.

 I  went out determined to make amends for my negligence, but realized my negligence worked to my benefit.  Each little disk had plumped perfectly to fill a compartment. I pinched off  pieces of my smaller succulents and just set them in the soil.   By spring, they'll be ready to pot.

Plus, they look cool, these vintage mini gardens.

During the wet and gray rains, though I miss the sun, I always have the Son.  Though I miss the warmth of the sun, I always have the warmth of the Son's love.  And though I miss the light from the sun, I always have the Son, who is the Light of the world.

Maybe winter ain't so challenging after all.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

This year I've had the privilege of teaching my sixth child to read.  Watching that lightbulb go on when they translate the phonics lessons into reading is an amazing experience. 

Reading is so exciting because if you can read,

you can travel anywhere you want,

you can meet anyone you want, dead or alive,

you can learn anything you want to learn,

you can experience anything you want to experience.

Even greater than the privilege  of teaching my children to read, is the privilege of teaching my children about the Lord Jesus Christ and the Bible.

As I teach them simple truths from the Bible--

The Lord loves us,

He hears our prayers,

He speaks to us through the Bible,

His Son died for our sins--

These truths blossom in their hearts and their childish worship brings glory and honor to the Lord.

And when these two great teaching privileges entwine you have a glorious result:

Beka's First Poem

3 John 1:4

I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

Psalm 8:2

Out of the mouth of babes...

You have ordained praise,

Matthew 18:2-4
Then Jesus called a little child to Him...and said, “unless you are converted and become as little children, you won't enter the kingdom of heaven.  Whoever humbles himself as this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."


Isn't that the end result we ALL want -- to be in Heaven with the God "who is very, very good and He is love?"

SEW Happy to Sew for a Baby

Today, I wash SEW happy to be able to use my new sewing machine to create a gift for a baby.  I had previously purchased a set of four receiving blankets, knowing the coordinating fabrics in light flannel would be perfect to remake. 

I left two of the blankets as they came.  You never had too many blankets, with those little adorable bundles spewing  icky stuff from every bodily orifice  from head to toe.

I used two of the blankets to make three reversible burp cloths.  I love the flannel, it is so snuggly against their little faces.  Plus, patterned ones look better thrown across your shoulder than the gauzy cloth diapers of my day. For little girls I like to edge them with a small ruffle of eyelet.

Burp cloths also keep your clothes clean from what my husband likes to call "momma goobies."  Ya' know, those icky things that get wiped or spit on all a momma's clothes?

I was blessed, because just as I started sewing, my neighbor Kelly dropped in to ask Rebekah to play.  I invited them to stay, but Kelly jumped in and started helping.  As I sewed, she turned and ironed.  We were done very quickly and had a great time yelling above the highest-speed whir of my machine (it almost goes as fast as I want it to go) and the happy yells of our children. 

We didn't use our inside voices the whole time because our kids didn't.  I'm from a big family, I didn't immediately  notice that my decibels were rising and rising as I talked to Kelly.  Occasionally, Kelly would remind her son to use his "inside voice." I learn things all the time from younger moms.  Growing up, I never knew there was anything called an "inside voice." I'm sure my Mom tried telling us, but it never stuck, we six kids just knew who yelled the loudest was heard the bestest.

Later,  our home was blessed with another set of company, friend Naomi and her precious firstborn son, Aaron. He was happy and smelled good and we kinda' fought over who got to hold him, because we all love babies.

All I can think about when I see his adorable face is the line from Anne of Avonlea, "Oh, and cousin has the most delicious little baby."

And when I reflect on my day I think of all the blessings that were in my home today -

Psalm 127:3  "Children are a blessing from the Lord."

And, yes, I am counting my children in with that blessing, I am very thankful for them.

I was also blessed to have two good, encouraging MOMMY talks today.  That can be rare, but needed fuel to keep on another day, as a joyful mother of children.

And, that makes me SEW happy.

Why I Sometimes Don't Like to Cook

It was going to be a simple plan.   I would make 2-3 batches of quick bread for the freezer, something I used to do in about two hours time. I thought I would be done by lunch. We have a busy weekend coming up with company and  a special one day Bible conference on the Tabernacle at our fellowship, and I needed to start the week by attacking my To-Do List.

I think I got attacked.

Starting with my traditional Kirsti's Cranberry Bread recipe, the first ingredient caused trouble.  Not only was my newly filled flour container almost empty, (it holds 20 pounds), flour was spilled all over my cupboard.  I vacuumed it up.

My sifter wasn't working very well.  Someone was trying to be helpful and washed it.  To add insult to injury, they put it back in the flour bin slightly wet - wet enough to form a hard residue along the edges.  I pried out as much as I could and got the sifter to work slightly better.

I had to fill the sugar cannister and wash the outside.  Someone had grabbed it with cookie dough all over their hands and it had hardened into tiny mountain ridges.

I managed to quarter and rinse the cranberries and add the rest of the ingredients. I was humming along at a clumsy pace, until I realized I could only find two of my four mini muffin pans.  Of course, none of the kids knew where they were. 

This little nagging thing razzled my brain until I pulled the bottom drawer of the stove out all the way.

There they were!  I wasn't sure if I wanted to retrieve them. 

Do I still believe the kids use a dust pan?

Had to vaccuum out the drawer while I was down there.

When I tried to grab the muffin papers, this is what I found.  Another mess to clean up.

When I was done with that and went to empty the hand vacuum, I realized someone had vacuumed up something ooey, gooey and white....

like bird poop?

butter?

do I want to know?

I had to soak the vacuum and go back to bake my muffins. 

By the time I got them in the pan it was already past 1pm.

By 2pm I was almost defeated, but determined to start and finish Whole Wheat Banana Bread.

I pulled the last loaf out around 5pm.

I used to think it was because I have been sick

and I am tired

and out of practice

and my brain is fuzzy around the edges

and I am aging

and I am forgetful

that it is so hard to function in the kitchen.

Sometimes, I just plain ol' forget there are six people in this house cooking.

Six people using supplies.

Six people using all the utinsels.

Six people messing up the stove and fridge and counters and cupboards.

Six people makes twelve hands.

That's a whole lotta mess-making, I kept grumbling to myself today.  It was a challenging day. It was like peddling your bike when the chain has fallen off.  A lot of motion, but you just don't get anywhere.

But, that's also five other people creating and cooking and tasting and giggling

-usually for me-

-so I don't have to-

-to surprise me-

-to encourage me-

-to help me-

So, why didn't I remember that today, instead of just now when I am blogging about my frustrating day?