You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.
Psalm 18:28  NIV

In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
John 1:4-5  ESV

When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”
John 8:12  NIV

Jesus once again addressed them: “I am the world’s Light. No one who follows me stumbles around in the darkness. I provide plenty of light to live in.”
John 8:12   The Message

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I’ve reached the 3ooos in my gratitude journal and I can’t ever imagine not keeping one for the rest of my life. It has grown to be a help, a delight, a refocuser, a praise inspirer, a hope builder, and a regular part of most mornings.

I write down tiny things and huge things; they are all gifts from God to me. I have thanked Him for Millie’s silky ear poking up from the nest of pillows she’s sunk herself into, for the slight taste of honey in my tea, for the coppery color of Mrs. Nisky’s eyelashes, for a funny text from a loved one afar, for the absence of icicles on our roof, for a card or letter in the mail from a beloved friend, for my children all living nearby.

I have thanked Him for being the glue of our 31 year marriage, the light and hope for our family, for salvation, for new mercies every morning, for His Word and how it speaks and transforms, for how the sun rises after a dark night, for the love and faithfulness of my Savior Jesus. I have thanked Him again and again for being the kind of Father who just keeps on working with me, and with my family. And most of you probably already know this, but He’s the kind of Father who will keep on working with you too.

If you’re reading this and that seems a little too far-fetched for you to believe, might you just quietly whisper, “Jesus, if you’re real, and if you love me and want to work with me, will you let me know somehow?”
He will do it.

For all He has done, for all He is doing, for all He will do, I thank Him today.

Happy Thursday to you! Before I show you a few pictures and share some of our happenings of late, I would just like to say that I have never in my life used the word geegaw. Until now, that is. It’s amazing what some people will do to make a little alliteration work! I had to find a G-word that could represent doodads or decorations, and lo, the Thesaurus handed me the word geegaw. 

We have most of our Christmas decorations up/out, but there are still a couple of boxes in the basement that I’ll bring up this weekend to complete the festive touches in our home. Is your decorating all done?

When in doubt, I fill a cardinal bowl up with gold ornaments and put it on the dining room table. The grandchildren think it’s beautiful.

I haven’t done any Christmas baking in years, mainly because when I do any Christmas baking, I eat the Christmas baking, and my knees really would prefer that I not do that anymore. But this year, Carolyn suggested that my three daughters and I do a cookie exchange just between the four of us. Always game for anything that binds mother’s and daughters’ hearts together, I agreed, and we each picked two recipes. We gave one dozen of each recipe we made to each person, so we all came away with eight dozen cookies/bars.

I knew I would make my much loved Spicy Molasses cookies, but I wanted to try something different this year too. I found this recipe called Rosemary Scented Evergreen Cookies and since I love rosemary, these were my second choice.

Here’s a pan of them all ready to go in the oven:

Those little dark bits are finely chopped rosemary needles.

I have a friend named Carlene who bakes a lot. She effortlessly cleans up her kitchen and bowls as she goes along, and by the time her bread or cookies are in the oven, the kitchen is spotless and you’d never know she had baked a thing, except for the marvelous aroma wafting through her house.

Clearly, I am not Carlene.

I thought I would give her clean-as-you-go method a try, and then gave up after the first batch of cookie dough was mixed. Sara and I made all our cookies in the same day, and it looked like a flour bomb had gone off in the kitchen by the time we were done!

Sara’s two offerings were Spicy Gingerbread Twigs and Mounds Balls. I helped her roll out the coconut balls before she rolled them in melted chocolate, and instead of making them a more manageable size, I got carried away and made them as big as golf balls. This means that when you eat one, you feel the need to immediately consult an endocrinologist about incorporating an insulin pump into your life. Or you just have to go lie down until the coma passes.

Sharon made Peanut Butter Fudge — so yummy. And she made scrumptious Toffee Cookies that are both chewy and crispy.

Carolyn made rich Chocolate Gingerbread Cookies, and classic, chewy Peanut Blossoms, the latter of which lasted less than two days in this house.

Here’s a dozen of my completed Rosemary Scented Evergreen Cookies. I didn’t make them as large as the recipe called for because I didn’t want to triple the recipe, so I just used a regular tree-shaped cookie cutter.

Part of what made them special was the lemon glaze on top of the sprigs of rosemary, and the gold sugar glitter. In my opinion they may not have been the best tasting, but they were pretty to look at!

Every year I try to add one or two ornaments to our collection, and this year a dear friend at CBS gave me this lovely cardinal ornament:

Aside from the swags of glass beads we hang on the tree, we wind and twist some wired, gold-colored French ribbon around the branches too.

I love this baby bird sculpture that usually sits on our coffee table in the living room. Sara put a festive ribbon around his neck and now his open cheeping mouth makes him look pathetically like he’s being choked.  🙁

 Sara’s Spicy Gingerbread Twigs:

Do you have some Christmas decorations (I can’t bring myself to say geegaws again) from your childhood? These green letters that spell out the word NOEL are from my growing up years. My mother owned these long before I was born, so I’m guessing they’re about 60-65 years old. I remember placing these letters carefully in a windowsill each December in our Southern California home.

A couple of days ago Sara was feeling like her Daddy needed some pampering, and knowing how much he loves breakfast, she made him a bit of a feast. French toast with real whipped cream and Minnesota blueberries, eggs fried over-easy, thinly sliced ham and a California orange. That’s a lot of food there, and Michael had no trouble eating every bite.

Later that evening we decided to watch a Tim Hawkins DVD, since our grandson Elijah was spending the night and he loves Tim’s comedy. Here’s a short video of Tim performing our national anthem as he envisions Bob Marley, Neil Young, Dave Mathews and Bob Dylan would sing them. Michael laughed out loud at the Dylan version.  🙂

This was a view of two things at my feet which bring me much warmth and comfort in life — Edith the Schnauzer and my Acorn slippers:

Mildred was looking at me as if to say, “And may I ask why you’re disturbing me with that camera? I’m busy resting here on your couch.”

Elijah loves to build with Lincoln Logs. Look at that smile:

And he found Tim Hawkins so hilarious he rolled on the floor in laughter!

Be careful when you buy artificial fruit for your transferware bowls! They could look so real one of your grandchildren might boldly take a bite of one and find the styrofoam inside!

Last weekend my oldest daughter Sharon, her three Irish girls and I went out to dinner, and then to the Minnesota Ballet’s annual production of The Nutcracker. I realize that I have taken pictures of goodies and grands, but did not take one of my daughters. I guess I thought there would be more time and then I forgot.  🙁

I did get a picture of Sharon’s hands, however. She and I both had tasty Cobb Salads that neither of us could quite finish. Below you can see five month-old Louisa, engrossed in her first book, and five year-old Lil’ Gleegirl enjoying her homemade macaroni and cheese.

Eight year-old Mrs. Nisky loves salad and pasta! She has the most beautiful auburn hair and a heart full of love for her new baby sister.

As we sat together in the balcony later and watched the wonderful ballet, I thought to myself, “I need Cliff Notes for The Nutcracker! What exactly is going on here? Mean dancing mice? Asian dancers? Fairies in the snowy Forest? Clara and Fritz and their parents’ party and her beloved Nutcracker? How does all this fit together?” I came home and looked up the story online and still had a blank look on my face. But I would watch a Minnesota Vikings game with my grandchildren if it meant being with them.

Mr. McBoy also came to spend the night with Grandpa and Grandma recently. I picked him up after school and he and I sat in the car talking for a while. He is such a great conversationalist for a ten year-old boy, and so loving. I wish my parents were still alive to see how much this boy looks like my side of the family. My father would also be so proud of Mr. McBoy’s basketball aspirations. 😉

What you see below is the door to the sauna in our basement. There is no light in the sauna, just this old-fashioned porch light on the left of the door that makes things sort of visible inside.

The photo below is not blurry — it was taken through a thick cloud of steam in the sauna. If you look carefully you can see a ten year-old boy and a sixty-three year-old grandpa smiling and sweating and bonding together:

And this picture was in our newspaper recently and I had to share. Apparently Snowy Owls like to stay mostly in Canada, Greenland and Iceland, and are not commonly seen as far south as Minnesota, if you can actually call Minnesota “south.” This beautiful bird was resting on the roof of a local business last week. (Photo credit: Daniel Oyinloye.)

In other news, our furnace stopped heating the other night and I was up past midnight while the repairman tried to fix it. “Confusing” and “complicated” are not words one wants to hear from the person working on your furnace when it’s eighteen degrees (minus eight Celsius) outside. He was able to get it to heat by doing something temporary to it, and then told me to call someone who specializes in furnace zones. The company I called is sending out their repairman today and I’m praying that “confusing” and “complicated” are not words I hear him utter. “No problem” and “all fixed for free” would be good, don’t you think?

So, what are your favorite Christmas goodies? Do you have any very old decorations? How is your furnace working? What kinds of birds are in your neighborhood these days?

And what is The Nutcracker all about anyway?

I have the house to myself for about three hours, and it’s a little bit of heaven. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I’m puttering around, getting a few things ready. I thought I’d show you what I’m up to! First, I’m going to give you a little music to listen to while you read. A couple of my favorite blogs always do this, and I love it! Click here and you can hear some of what we’re listening to today.

I’ve got our 20 pound turkey defrosting in the kitchen sink, in cold water. I’ll change out the water a few times, and then when it’s thawed, I’ll stick it in the fridge overnight. I’ll bet a few million households are doing the same thing today!

Everyone’s bringing something tomorrow, so it won’t be too much for any one person. I love that. Sharon is bringing the pies and a relish tray, and Nisky’s Biscuits, the latter mostly made by Eleanor Julia. Carolyn will make mashed potatoes and gravy, and will bring a sweet potato dish. Sara will make the most beautiful centerpiece for us, and will help me wherever needed. I’m doing the turkey, the stuffing, the roasted asparagus, the cranberry sauce, and I’m trying a new dish this year, Broccoli Rice Casserole. It’s Beth Moore’s retro recipe on her website, and I just finished cooking the rice for it.

It will have broccoli, cheese, mushrooms, onions and water chestnuts in it, then will bake in a casserole pan.

Our new kitchen is much smaller now, so I had to traipse down to the basement to carry up a few things from our storage shelves. One thing is this turkey roaster, which only gets used once or twice a year. It belonged to my mama.

I carried up the leaf for the table and inserted it, then angled the table so we’d have more room for seating tomorrow. I brought up our four folding chairs too. And there will be two children at the deacon’s bench in the corner, with a folding table for their meal. And there are three counter stools as well. We’ll fit everyone in!

See the suitcase over by the fireplace? Our Fosters will be going home tonight to stay with their families for Thanksgiving. We’ll be driving them as soon as they’re both home from their jobs, and they’re excited to be with their clans.

I get all their medications ready so things will be just a bit easier for their families.

Remember how I love plaid? You can see the plaid table runner if you look carefully (and these photos will enlarge if you click them.) Well, I have two new black and white plaid kitchen rugs. I have no idea why plaid makes me happy, but it does.

This morning when Michael and I shopped early for groceries, his eyes locked onto this, and he put it in our cart with a grin. My husband LOVES birds.

For now we just hung the Suet and Seed Ball on an empty planter on our front deck, but guess what? Within five minutes the chickadees had lined up to start tasting the suet and pick for the seeds. We were so happy to see them.

And this feeder above hangs right outside our kitchen window. This is a squirrel-proof feeder, and Michael and I filled it to the brim about two weeks ago. The sparrows, juncos and chickadees love it. I’ve been saying for a while that our house is now known as Chickadee Grand Central.

We also put this little feeder up recently, and we watch the birds eat their dinner while we’re eating ours.

Most exciting of all in the bird department was the arrival yesterday of two cardinal pairs to our feeders. I had missed seeing any (rare) cardinals in our new neighborhood, and kept asking the Lord to help some redbirds find our house. Yesterday morning it happened, and I called Michael to come and watch with me from our bedroom window. Two males and two females, singing their beautiful (“wi-cheer wi-cheer!” songs) and partaking from the black seeds we bought just for them. I said out loud over and over, “Thank you Lord! I see them! You answered! Thank you!” Most of you know why cardinals are so meaningful to me.

Speaking of cardinals, my grandchildren know how much I love them too. Vivienne Irene drew this beautiful bird last time she was here, so I had to put it on the backsplash with a little cardinal magnet!

Isn’t she a fantastic artist for a little girl who just turned seven last week?

Next, I decided it was time to take Glenn Miller and Celtic Woman off our stereo, and break out the Christmas music today. We have dozens of Christmas CDs, and it’s a tradition to buy one or two new ones each year to add to the joy. Here’s what I took out today, so I can have them at hand:

And here are the four I chose to put on first. I can hear them playing as I sit here and type this.

Rick Steves’ “European Christmas” (thank you Shari!), “Carols on Guitar” by Wendy Francisco, “Happy Holidays” by Jo Stafford (who has a voice like hers anymore? No one!), and “A Charlie Brown Christmas” by Vince Guaraldi. Michael loves the jazzy sound of that one. Do you have any Christmas music playing around your house yet? What are you listening to?

I received one Thanksgiving card this year and it made me laugh. My friend Su and I have shared a few laughs together over the years. And a few tears. And like all good friends do, we talk about our butts. But never in person, only through cards, like the one below. Ha. Right.

And of course I always include Edith and Mildred as I’m getting our Thanksgiving preparations underway. They love to help. Edith helps by messing up all the pillows on the couch. She thinks it looks more comfy, more lived-in, this way:

And Millie helps by, uh, by, well, she helps by showing me her obsequious Schnauzer Smirk when I get out the camera to take her picture.

See that little black lower lip? See how guilty she looks? That’s because she is guilty. She has a guilty conscience and it shows in her little black Schnauzer Smirk.

Well, in a little while I’ll try to finish the Broccoli Rice dish so it can go in the fridge, then I’ll bake it tomorrow when the turkey is finished roasting and is ready to be carved. Next, I’ll go and pick up Michael who is bowling for a few hours today, which he loves. Then I’ll drive our Fosters to their family’s houses and wish them all a Happy Thanksgiving. Then I’ll come home and make sure the bird is thawed before I put it in the fridge. (I’ll be up at the crack of dawn to stuff it and get it in the oven.) Then, Michael and I (and Sara, if she can stand our company) will finish this DVD on TV before bed tonight…something so transporting for me I could almost cry.

I am so happy and excited that my daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren will be coming over tomorrow to feast with us, and give thanks with us. We have so many blessings to count.

What kinds of things are you doing to prepare for Thanksgiving?

What do you have planned this weekend, friends?

Michael will be going out on Saturday morning with our son-in-law Jeremy because the first weekend of every November is deer hunting opener. Michael says yay and I say bleh.

I think I could shoot a deer if it were the only thing I had to feed my family, but it would make me very sad, I would cry when I gutted it, and then I would get all Indian-like and gravely thank the deer for giving its life to provide for our family. I would probably eat each venison meal very thoughtfully and intentionally. Coming from Southern California, I have never quite understood the deer-hunting culture we have in Minnesota, but I know being able to go out walking in the woods means a lot to Michael. He has done it every November since he was 12 years old. That means 51 years. I’m glad Jeremy is going with him, because he can’t be in the woods alone anymore, and I know it makes him sad and mad. Just this morning he was having an extremely difficult time getting a sentence out in an understandable way, and he muttered under his breath how much it s___s to have this disease. 🙁

While Michael and Jeremy are gone tomorrow, I will prepare for a granddaughter sleepover! Mrs. Nisky and Li’l Gleegirl are coming over, and we will play Farkle, draw pictures, perhaps make cookies, and read. Maybe we’ll even watch a movie. They will take a tubby in our fancy bath, and then sleep on pallets on Grandpa and Grandma’s bedroom floor.

If you read this post about my experience with Wart Warfare, you might understand what I’m feeling right now when I share that my recent surgery spread the virus. I have a new wart emerging on the bottom of my foot, right next to the old, slowly filling crater. Sigh. I have another appointment to have it frozen, next week.

I’m reading a book called Down the Common by Ann Baer, recommended by my Cornish friend Kay. I’ve finished two chapters and I’m already moaning and rocking (well, almost) with sympathy for the way the main character has to live, in medeivel times. What are you reading right now? Enquiring minds (and blog readers) want to know.

This morning I was getting ready to pay some bills, and I pulled out the next box of checks that had come in the mail recently. I’ve been ordering our checks from this company since 1984, and have had some issues with them the last two orders. Anyway, it’s a good thing I looked, because as I was getting ready to write a check to Minnesota Power for our monthly electric bill, I noticed that the account number at the bottom of the check was wrong. So of course I leafed through every single check pack and they’re all wrong. Hundreds of newly printed checks. I called the company and they’re reprinting them with the correct account, hopefully, and said they’d send them out with a rush on the order. It was irritating, but how thankful I was to have noticed before I started writing out a half dozen checks!

Sometimes I play a CD or a song over and over because it just hits me in the song-gut and I need to hear it again and again. I have no idea why that happens, but this is the song I’ve been listening to on repeat these past few days — quite the oldie. Michael and I took our two sweet foster gals out to dinner last night, and we had this playing loudly in the car on the way. Michael and I both sang the “doodle doodle doodle doo” part with all our hearts. Yes, we really did.

My country goes to the polls in four days to vote for the next President of the United States, and it can’t come too soon for me. I’m a political cynic if there ever was one. I think I would label myself as a conservative liberal or a liberal conservative. I just don’t fit squarely into either side. But I do cherish my voting privilege, and I will prayerfully cast my vote and then watch the results on television with the rest of America, since the polls promise a very close race.

I just had a handful of these chips and a small bowl of cottage cheese as the dip. I am not really someone who craves chips or salty things; but a flash back to my childhood brought this snack to mind and I thought I’d try it. As I munched I could see the blue and green flowered couch, the marble coffee table and the avocado colored sculpted carpet in the den of my house on Eckerman Avenue when I was a little girl. How can potato chips and cottage cheese be so powerfully transporting? Wow. Do you like any unusual snacks?

I’m looking forward to a quiet weekend at home with two-eights of my grandchildren. What does your weekend look like?

Thank you for making time to stop by here.

Doodle doodle doodle-doo,

As you can see by the logo, my daughter Sharon took this sweet picture of her four children, four-eighths of my grandchild treasure chest.

I loved the picture so much I stole it from her. I didn’t even ask permission…payback for all the times she didn’t ask for my permission when she was growing up!  🙂

Mr. McBoy is 10 1/2, Mrs. Nisky is 8, Li’l Gleegirl is 5 1/2, and Louisa (yes, her real name) is 10 weeks.

Intentionally giving thanks, and taking pictures — these two things seem to slow down the passage of time for me.

Recently I told Mr. McBoy that in just a few blinks of an eye he would be 6′ 8″ tall, but that I would still want him to sit on my lap when he’s all grown. He looked at me funny and said, “But Grandma, I might crush you.” I assured him I could withstand it and he seemed to believe me.

Little does he know I’m already being crushed, in a sense, just to know the love of these grandbabies.

I still carry around baby pictures in my wallet of my daughters. I have most of their school pictures in there too. I have Michael’s old Minnesota driver’s licenses, my first California driver’s license from when I was sixteen years old, and photos of friends’ children given to me decades ago.

As I joined Ember this year in tossing or donating 365 things to help simplify our house, I threw out many pictures. Pictures of blurry landscapes and duplicate photos went in the trash, and there were hundreds.

I’m also not posting my weekly photo of This Week’s Seven Things anymore, because in the process of moving, we far surpassed donating or disposing of more than 365 things. The number of books, pieces of clothing, tools, pictures, doodads, mugs, toys, and other miscellany that went out from our old house totaled over 500, I am certain. And what a difference that made when we moved on May 31st into this smaller house!

But I don’t think I’ll ever part with the photos in my wallet. I may take them out someday and store them in another place, but the thick pile of little pictures will always be with me, Lordwilling.

Here are two old photos from my wallet. The one on the left is of me and my little girls when I was 23 years old. Sharon, on the right in the same picture, was almost four years old, and Carolyn was just over two years. I’ve been teased many times about this photograph, because I chose a dress for Sharon and a turtleneck for Carolyn. I can honestly say that at the time I was just going through our closets looking for color combinations that would match for the picture, and settled on red, white and blue because we all had something that would go. I never thought that I was causing my littlest daughter to look like a boy. Bad mom.  🙁

The picture on the right is of Sharon when she had only two children, several years ago. On the left is Mr. McBoy, who I think looks remarkably like his mama in the other photo when she was a similar age. On the right is Mrs. Nisky, who people have said looks like my Carolyn in the other photo.

Probably in no time at all, Mrs. Nisky will have her picture taken with her two children on her lap, and she’ll be pulling photos from her wallet and showing someone how much they resemble the picture of her and her family when she was very little.

I know I say this a lot, but I can’t help it. All of this happens so quickly. We get to the autumns or the winters of our lives and we think, “Agh! What happened? Where did all those years go?”

It’s the way it’s supposed to be, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

The passage of time is not my cup of tea.

For the last eleven years, save one, I’ve held a summer Bible study in my home. This year we’re studying the book of James, and we’re also learning about the man who wrote the epistle that bears his name, James, the half-brother of Jesus.

Every week has been a blessing. Every day of study a welcome challenge. My life needs confronting, and I would rather be confronted by the velvet hammer of scripture than by the wreckage of a rebellious or selfish life gone unchecked.

A few weeks ago, part of the day’s assignment in our workbooks was to presently consider “What are you going to do with all you’re going through?” 

The passage in James we were studying that week was at the very beginning of the book, where he commands,

Count it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.  (James 1:2-4)

And here’s how The Message Bible gives us the words of James 1:2-4:

Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.

We were to honestly record something difficult we’re going through in our lives right now. (Guess what? Every woman in my living room could think of something; I don’t know anyone who isn’t going through a hard situation, do you?) Then, we were asked to write down three ways we could respond to that difficulty. One of the responses we were encouraged to seriously consider is James’ admonition above, to count it all joy when we face our trials, knowing that this kind of attitude would always bring good fruit in our lives even in the midst of our struggles.

I have more than a few difficulties in my life. They may not be World Class Difficulties, like paralysis, bankruptcy, drug addiction — heart breakers like that. But they are still my own troubles, and some days they seem a tad much. I know you can relate. You may be wondering how you’re going to pay your mortgage in September, what is going to happen with your health, or if your husband is being completely faithful. Your mind might wander into the quicksand of thoughts like this: is this all I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?…how in the world are we going to pay for this?…will my heart ever heal from that horrible betrayal?…and just fill in your own toxic blank in your mind. If we play these words in our head over and over and over, these kinds of thoughts never help. Never.

The challenge in my life I chose to ponder is my husband Michael’s Parkinson’s disease, and the way it increasingly affects our everyday lives. The way it has slowly robbed him of pieces of his personality, his physical strength, his ability to do things automatically, to figure out simple things like the TV remote or a cell phone, or to make decisions. The way it has stolen his clear speech and our ability to communicate well as a couple.

“So, what are you going to do with all you’re going through?” 

We were asked to consider three possible responses, even if they’re choices we know we’d never make.  I wrote:

1. Walk away.

2. Stay, and be selfish and crabby.

3. Consider it all joy as I walk out this life, knowing God is developing perseverance in me, and eventually, maturity.

Next, we were asked to consider the fruit of these three choices, what we believed would be the five-year ramifications for each of these courses of action.

I sat on my bed as I quietly looked ahead in my mind, five years down the road. In five years I will be almost sixty years old. I know that our lives hold no guarantees and that I might not live another five years, but for the sake of this part of the study, we were asked to look at what kind of fruit would come from the three different kinds of seeds we could potentially sow each day.

And to say that a light bulb came on over my head would be too much of an understatement. It was more like the large window near my bed suddenly flew open and the sun streamed in and a fresh wind blew over me, and I could see.

Here’s what I wrote that the fruit of my possible choices could be, five years down the road:

1. Devastation for my husband, alienation from my family, no peace for me. (If you know me, you know that this choice would never be my choice. I love my husband and made a vow to him and to God. Not in a million years would I choose this kind of destructive path. But I wanted to look at it, because it is a viable choice, and many people make it. If I decided things were just too hard and I wanted to leave to do things I wanted to do, it’s clear to me that many people would be crushed, not to mention what this would do to my own soul.) This choice would bring rotten, maggot-infested fruit that would nourish no one.

2. Wasted years with many regrets. If I choose #2 above, staying where I am and being selfish and crabby, at the end of five years, what do I have? A desert of waste and regret. A barren, squandered life. That’s the kind of landscape I saw ahead of me as I sat and pondered all of this.

If you asked my family, I don’t think they would say that I’m frequently selfish and crabby. But a woman knows her own heart, and there are some days when my clipped responses and my quiet sighs and my stares that silently say seriously? are we going to go through this again today? you’re kidding me, right? are fueled by selfishness and crabbiness. And I’m pretty sure that pride is at the bottom of all of it. Because it would be pride that would make me think I shouldn’t have to do this day in and day out. It would be pride that would help me choose impatient sighs instead of loving affirmations. It would be pride that would even introduce the niggling thought that whispers, this isn’t making me happy.

But so what? So it’s hard, so each day doesn’t find me skipping down a lovely garden path tra-la-la-ing? I still have a choice, and the choices I make each hour end up forming a day. And the days end up forming a lifetime. And at the end of my lifetime, much less at the end of five years, I don’t want to be filled with regret. Do you?

3. Beauty, peace, exhaustion, joy. This is what I saw as I surveyed my life ahead, if I take James seriously and count it all joy. If I remind myself thirty-seven times a day that this all means something, that a good hidden work is being done, and I can trust God in this. If I thank Him for all these things, and write them down in my gratitude journal. If I take it seriously that Jesus wants me to treat everyone kindly and show His love. Counting it all joy doesn’t mean there won’t be exhaustion and really hard and disappointing times. But as clearly as I can see the words on this computer screen, I could see that this choice would bring beauty. Peace. Joy. And possibly some other good fruits. 🙂

So that means that if we know what we should do, we just do it, right? I wish it were that easy. So did the apostle Paul. Some of you very good-natured, easy-going and patient people are already consistently choosing Five Year Plan #3. And the gorgeous fruits are already weighing down the branches of your life. But some of us have been born into families where pride and selfishness seem to be produced in the marrow of our bones. It’s so much a part of us we can’t get free of it. I know of no other solution for people like me than to put my face down before God (the floor is good, but a pillow or even the arm of a chair will do) and tell Him I know. I agree. I need your help. I need your power, your perspective, your mercy, your everything. And then submit myself to Him and walk out the next few minutes trusting that He has answered, whether lightning flashed when I prayed or not.

I think Anne Lamott’s prayer advice applies beautifully here. As I go through my day and cry out to God “Help me help me!” or “Thank you thank you!” somehow He does, and I can be grateful. And how wonderful it is when night falls and I can see that He has kept me on the #3 Five-Year Plan today. I might stumble back onto the #2 plan tomorrow, but God has a way of setting us on the right path again when we humbly ask Him to do this, even several times a day.

I’m off now, to get dressed, to clean the kitchen, and to pick up my sweet granddaughter Mrs. Nisky. She and I have a special day planned, to celebrate her recent 8th birthday. We’re going out to lunch, to a movie, and on The Timber Twister, and I can’t wait to spend time with her.

Thank you for stopping by today, friends. As I close, I hope you don’t mind that I’ll repeat the question our James study asked the twelve women in our group to consider (and perhaps some friends from our James study might want to comment about this too?):

So, what are you going to do with all you’re going through?

May Jesus give us all the grace and strength to choose the most fruitful, beautiful, live-giving paths…

My new granddaughter Louisa has been a big hit with her three older siblings. They all ask, constantly, if it’s their turn to hold her yet. The other night at bedtime, ten year-old Mr. McBoy asked his parents if Louisa could pleeease sleep with him? Eight year-old Mrs. Nisky has learned to help Mama bathe Louisa, and has been rewarded with smiles from her new little sister. Lil’ Gleegirl, age five, also wants to hold Louisa all the time, and Sharon captured an adorable picture of the two of them snuggling together last week.

Right after Louisa was born I took the three older children to the hospital to meet her and to see their mama, and it was so beautiful to watch them be amazed with their little sister, and to see love take root in their hearts so quickly.

I am so happy when love takes root quickly, in any situation.

The children watched as Sharon changed Louisa’s diaper, and Lil’ Gleegirl saw the clamped umbilical cord and asked with wide eyes, “What is that?”

Of course Sharon perfectly explained how Louisa was fed inside of her by that umbilical cord, and that every person had an umbilical cord at one time, and the proof that we did is our belly buttons.

Lil’ Gleegirl was taking this all in; it was a lot of information to process for a five year-old. We told her that when she came home after she was born, she had an umbilical cord with a clamp on it too, and that in a few days it dried up and fell off. Even as I’m typing this I can certainly understand why this made an impression on Lil’ Gleegirl. The words dried up and fell off set the wheels turning in her mind, I’m sure.

We knew she was still thinking about this neonatal information when she kept mentioning it each day for several days after Louisa was born. Except that Lil’ Gleegirl wanted to make sure that Louisa’s embillican was okay.

She wasn’t sure when or how or why Louisa’s embillican was going to fall off and disappear, but maybe saying the word embillican several times a day just helped Lil’ Gleegirl, a verbal processor if I’ve ever seen one, wrap her mind around the idea.

I was telling a friend this morning that I don’t like it when children grow up and leave all their sweet, childish vocabulary behind. This is my way of keeping it around just a little bit longer. Chances are when Lil’ Gleegirl graduates from college she won’t be saying the word embillican anymore.

But guess what?

I will.

After having lived in this new house for one month now, we rearranged our living room furniture. Just a few little changes make everything work so much better, and it seems like a larger space too.

There were a few extra chairs set out this morning, because I was expecting guests. Or fellow studiers. Definitely friends.

What I really see when I look at these pictures, aside from the living room, is expectancy. A hopeful, quiet waiting.

Eleven empty seats, set out in anticipation of eleven hopeful, expectant women.

The DVD for Session 2 from this study was cued up, ready to play.

My sweet granddaughter Mrs. Nisky, who will be eight years old this month, helped me get things ready.

She spent the night in our closet last night.

That might not sound right to some of you, but try not to gasp in judgment and just wait a few days, and I’ll post a picture of our closet. The grandkids want  to sleep in there. Heck, with our super-comfortable queen-sized air mattress, I wouldn’t mind sleeping in there. Except we have a heavenly new king-sized mattress, so I think I’m supposed to sleep by my husband in our bedroom, not in our closet.

This morning eleven women (one was missing and also dearly missed) gathered together, and we brought our hopes, needs and our expectancy with us. There wasn’t one who doesn’t have a thing or eight she’s asking the Lord to do.

I think we were all awed by how timely this study on James, Jesus’ half-brother, and on the book he penned, already seems to be.

We don’t really know yet what God plans to do in our hearts and lives. But I believe each one of us is expectant.

We are waiting on Him. Hoping. Trusting.

Edwin Louis Coles said,

“Expectancy is the atmosphere for miracles.”

When He walked this earth, Jesus opened blind eyes, caused paralyzed people to walk, and set bound people free. Those were miracles.

Today I ask Him to open my eyes, to help me walk closer to Him, and that I would be a slave to no one but Him.

Those would be miracles too.

Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. She left this earth and moved to heaven nineteen years ago.

I need my mom these days. I need her more than I ever thought I needed her when I was young and oh-so-smart and independent.  

I want her to know my grandbabies.

I want her to see Clara’s drawings and her trusting, tender heart. I want her to feel Mr. McBoy’s strong hugs and see how Sooterish he looks. I want her to see what a blend Elijah is of his parents, and how funny he is. I want her to see Mrs. Nisky’s beautiful coppery hair and eyes, and watch how intent she is when she does her art. I want her to see how unique and delightful Vivienne is, and hear her sing in that silvery little voice. I want her to see Li’l Gleegirl and marvel at her cheerfulness and smile, and how truly heartening her four year-old presence can be. I want her to see Audrey, and laugh at her antics and energy and contagious smile.

I need to talk to my mom about Michael. She loved my husband so much, and he loved her; it was quite the mutual admiration society. I want to cry on my mama’s shoulder a little bit about the death of a few dreams.

And oh, how I would like to see her reaction to how my daughters are doing these days! Could she ever have guessed that her own boundless creativity would skip a generation and flow so strongly through their veins?

I want to take my mom to Sharon’s yarn studio and watch as Sharon gives her a tour. I want her to feel and see the amazing yarn her granddaughter creates. I’d like to watch my knitter mom as she watches my knitter daughter. I want to sit in the front row of our local community theater with my mama, and watch Carolyn perform in a play. I want to see my mother get all teary when she hears her granddaughter sing and act, and I want to reminisce with her about how even as a little girl Carolyn was so entranced by musicals and old movies. I want to take my mom to the flower shop where Sara works and show her the incredible gift she has with floral design, how the owner of the shop calls Sara’s skills “white-hot” and hear my mom oooh and aaah over her granddaughter’s craft. I want to watch my mom observe Sara’s energy and organizational skills, which would be so dear to her heart.

I want to tell my mama about the traits I love in my daughters, how they’ve grown up, who they are inside. She would revel with me as I told her about the many things I love about their personalities.

I want my mom to meet my sons-in-law and see what kind of fathers they are, and how blessed we are to be able to know and love them. My mom would hug and kiss them both and comment about their heights, because if she had lived to see her granddaughters to adulthood, she would have worried about them marrying men taller than they are. That their husbands are taller would have pleased my quirky mom. It would have been something that caused her to exhale and say with much relief, “Thank you Jesus!”  🙂

Sometimes a girl doesn’t know how much she needs her mom. A girl can love her mom a lot, and still not know what a treasure her mother is. Sometimes a girl has to be a mom and a grandma herself, to fully realize the value of  her own good mother.

Nineteen years is a long time for a girl to be without her mama.