Friday, August 26, 2011
I went outside after taking a shower and lay in the sun on the picnic table for 30 minutes and waited for my hair to dry.
While I was there, Tickles, our dusty old kitty cat, at first made himself comfortable on my stomach then, after I petted him too much, moved next to me where he purred and fisticuffed my earphones.
Frankie cried and whined at the back door the entire time because he wasn't allowed outside. Lucy carried on too, but she didn't know why. She was just following brother's lead. That's what Lucy does: follows brother's lead. Brother loves being the leader. When I got inside I gave them both a biscuit for pretending to be overwhelmed with happiness at seeing me.
On the way to work I took the scenic route and drove past Springcreek. Last time we were there, my older daughter Ashley, found little grey frogs by the bazillions. I didn't have time to look for any today.
Tomorrow I will go by to see him and remind him about those paints and tell him about what old Tickles did and how Frankie and Lucy acted and about the little frogs at Springcreek.
God's blessings on my family.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Do you suppose that when we're goners and get up to Heaven God will give us a real for goodness-sake crown?
You know, the Bible says we get one so I'm betting on it. And I am very intrigued by this crown.
A year or two ago I started fiddling with the idea of this promised crown and wondering what exactly our crowns will look like. What will they tell about us? What will they mean? Will we be embarrassed if ours is just some litty-bitty gold loop thing like a hair band and everyone else has a big fine mighty one?
My thinking is, that while I want one that is ludicrusly humongous and diamondy and intricate, I don't want to get too set on a design because I'm pretty sure God will have an idea for a crown for me that's ten-millions better than any dumb idea I can think of. I don't want some lame preconceived notion to cheat me out of the dilly-whopping crown God would have thought up for me, if I should have earned one.
Along these lines of thinking, however, in the last year or two I whipped together about 15 or 20 mixed media crown pieces and I still have several of them. Each tells a different story but it must be deciphered. Some are lively and chaotic and others are simple and sweet. Some tell stories that are bold and strong and some tell stories that are meek and small. A few are showy and a few are understated. There are party hats and crowns designed for big strong proud aggressive lives.
Jesus wore a crown of thorns.
Maybe I've been on the wrong track with my crowns.
Maybe I need to think about these projects some more... My silly little mixed-media pieces, sure; but mostly the crown God will choose for me when I'm up in Heaven.
So, just what exactly does a crown of righteousness look like, anyway?
Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. 2 Timothy 4:8
Love to all, d.
P.S. I'm also hoping we get to wear shoes with pointy-up ends that curl around like my Hot Snots wear. But, PLEASE! I do not want pointy-up toes that curl around.
Another P.S. If you're not standing aside and allowing God to design your crown, time's a wasting. If you don't get with it, mine might end up all bigger and fancier than yours and won't you feel so stupid then? Seek, grasshopper, seek!
Monday, June 27, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
After coming home late this evening from my mother's where we celebrated my sister's birthday, I hurriedly brought in three loads of laundry from the line. Almost everything had dried stiff and scratchy and full of sunshine and wind and the prayers of thanksgiving I had uttered while I hung each towel and sheet.
I had told my sister I had to leave her little party early because I was afraid of seeing a 'possum when I went to the clothes line. Although Frankie, my wiener dog, raises his hackles routinely as he guards the yard, nothing is afraid of him except a silly pit-bull-faced-bushy-tailed neighbor dog that my younger daughter thinks looks ferocious. Frankie runs all over the field and into the weeds barking at rabbits and gathering ticks. Lucy, my other wiener dog, is deaf with old age. She doesn't wander as far but spends most of her time sniffing the clothes as they come off the line or wallowing into the wild onions that are everywhere on that side of the yard. If I pay too little attention to her, she licks my toes until I acknowledge her.
Even with companions like these, who isn't scared of 'possums that are bold enough to come up to you at the clothes line in the gathering darkness?
I'm scared of a lot more things now than I was as a kid. I'm scared of the darkness that envelopes the yard after dusk. The skies will still be blue and clear, but not the yard. It's full of shadows that could harbor anything at all. My grandmother told me that's where the Booger Man is. Who's to say she wasn't right.
I'm scared of twilight and the mosquitoes and not being able to make out what a noise is. It's a perfectly wonderful and delicious shivery unease that I remember as a little girl as I willed my feet to fly home on the dirt road from my cousins'... surely something pursued but never quite caught me....
Then night comes and the mystery is completed. The dusk-to-dawn lights speckled across the 30-or-so miles we can see from the back of our house become our neighborhood and someone is home. The frogs sing. Whippoorwills call to one another. Crickets chirp. Sometimes I hear owls. Oftentimes I hear the coyotes as they meet up for the evening.
During the summer, my sister and I, along with our mother, gather ourselves into blankets and watch the stars. It's cold out at night no matter the time of year and you always need a blanket.
And you lie there and feel important. The same God that made all of these made each of us.