Just the other morning
While reading from a book
Michael pointed at our bed
So I would take a look

At first I just saw pillows
I then began to peer
And there behind the cardinal
Was a little Schnauzer ear

When Mildred heard us chuckle
Up popped her silky head
From the comfy den of pillows
She’d made on our big bed

When she saw we wouldn’t move her
She lowered her brown eyes
And then she plopped her head right down
And heaved her doggy sighs

Encircled by nine pillows
To ward away her fear
You’d never know she’s snoozing
But for that telltale ear.

Addendum: this final verse was offered in the comments by my friend Kay in England, and it was so apt and delightfully written, I asked her permission to include it here:

So Mildred returned to her snoozing
Dreaming fondly of rabbits to chase
But always keeping an ear on alert
Whilst concealing the rest of her face!

I hope that makes you smile today….it made me grin from “ear to ear.”

That’s my motto for the month, and it applies to families.

A big and crazy family who loves each other even though they’re sometimes a little nuts, is so much better than a small family who seems to be more outwardly composed (and perhaps “normal”) but hasn’t spoken to each other in years.

Profound, isn’t it?

My husband has a large extended family. His mother Bernadine (Bernie) was the oldest of seven children, and each of those seven had their own children. And now all those children have had their own little ones, so there are probably close to a hundred just on this one side of Michael’s family.

Bernie’s parents (Michael’s maternal grandparents) owned a small cabin on a lovely, tranquil lake, and that cabin became a family gathering place over the next several decades, especially on the 4th of July. Now out of the seven children, only three remain: Rosemary, Donna and Yvonne, who are in their sixties and seventies. Bernadine, Bertine “Dude,” Dick and Keith have all gone home to be with the Lord.

After Bernie’s parents died, Rosemary’s family bought the cabin, and the family get-together on July 4th continued. We drove out to the cabin this year and did what the family always does: sat and chatted, hugged, laughed, ate good food, rejoiced in the beauty and privilege of such a gorgeous setting, and marveled at how quickly the years pass.

Pictured from left, Michael’s sister Pat, his Uncle Frank, his Aunt Yvonne, our Foster Betsy, and Michael:

The day was a little cooler than the 90-degree weather we’ve been having, and a little overcast. Sara took a long swim in the lake, and if Michael’s family had all been blind, I would have joined her.

Sara…

Michael’s only sibling Pat, on the left. She and her husband Joe just sold their house in the Twin Cities area, moved back north, and are building their retirement home on some beautiful land in Knife River, MN.

We have a cabin culture in Minnesota. In other parts of the country, when people gain some financial margin and can afford to purchase something extra, some buy fancy cars and others begin to travel extensively. I remember my last trip to Southern California, where I grew up. I had never seen so many BMWs, Mercedes Benzes, Porsches and Corvettes on the roads in my life. It was like the whole culture had changed to an expensive car culture. You won’t see that in northern Minnesota, even if people do have money. Here, if people have extra, they buy a cabin on a lake.

I wish I had taken more pictures of Michael’s big and wacky family. I say wacky because they laugh and joke and boss each other around good-naturedly. Like any family, they have disagreements and frustrations between members. But they never let it sever their relationships. They keep on loving, keep on getting together, keep on hugging and praying for each other. If there are hurt feelings, they forgive and get over it. The family bond of love is never cut.

Below, Pat, Michael, and Sara.

I, on the other hand, come from a composed, accomplished and highly regarded family. (Ha.) If any craziness surfaced in us, the unspoken rule of steel was that it was to be squashed, because we didn’t want people to know we had problems.

When I was fourteen years old, that composure cracked and our family of five blew apart. Then the anger and pride and bitterness that had been undealt with all those years, took root and has had its pervasive, decaying way for the last forty years.

There have been no 4th of July family gatherings on my side of the family. No disagreements that end in hugs and stronger bonds. No goofy laughter and compassionate conversations. No humility. When I think of going to a family gathering at a cabin for my side of the family, I can’t figure out whether to laugh hysterically at the idea, or to flee. It would be tense, surfacey, “religious” and sad. It might even end with anger and accusations and more bitterness than before.

I don’t know how my extended family’s situation will ever change, except that the God we all believe in is a resurrecting God. He knows how to bring life where there has been death. And He’s been known to shine brilliant light where there has been suffocating darkness. I don’t know what to do except to ask Him again to have His way with our small, needy and estranged family.

And to please make us more like Michael’s big and crazy family.

I would not be a blessed member of Michael’s big and crazy family if not for this beautiful woman:

Her name is Yvonne, and she’s Michael’s youngest aunt. Do you see how loving, accepting and nurturing she looks? She’s all those things, and more.

In 1976 I was married to my first husband and living on Beale AFB in Northern California. I met Yvonne there when I was 19 and she was 32, because her sweet daughters Celeste and Kathleen (then 9 and 7) came to my back door and we got to know each other. Yvonne took me under her wing and became a patient friend and example to me. It was at this time and because of Yvonne that I first heard about and desired the Baptism of the Holy Spirit.

As military families do, we each eventually moved on. My husband, little daughter and I moved to Germany, and I believe Yvonne’s husband Frank got orders to North Dakota. But we continued to exchange letters and call once in a while. Little did I know in 1976 that in a few short years my marriage would suddenly end, and that Yvonne was one of the friends I would turn to for prayer.

It’s a long story, and if you’re interested you can read the poem I wrote about it by clicking here.

Now Yvonne and I are in the same family. Three days ago on July 4th, I looked into her lovely eyes and it hit me afresh. I am married to her nephew and have been for 31 years. I live in Minnesota because of her.

I have experienced life with a small, composed and ultimately estranged family, and life with a big, crazy and loving family. I love them both so much.

But only one has made me feel like I can breathe, be myself, and experience unconditional acceptance and love. God surely knew that I would need a place to heal and grow, and I thank Him for planting me here. When I reach the end of my earthly life, if I could be half as kind and loving as so many in Michael’s extended family are, I would die a happy woman. I’m not there yet, but spending time with folks like these keeps me moving in the right direction.

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.

Over the past few years I’ve published a few posts asking you all how you feel about certain months, what those months elicit in your memories, feelings and expectations. I think I’ve asked you to tell me what September means to you, along with October, November, December and January. I’ve never asked about July.

July is one of those months that just seems very ho-hummish to me. One of my daughters even teases me a bit about it. Sharon usually asks at the end of each June, “So what are you going to do for the 4th, seeing as it’s your favorite holiday?” NOT! And she knows it’s not, so she mocks me. Can you believe a grown daughter who owes her very life to me, making fun of me about my least favorite holiday? The nerve.  🙂

I have no idea why the month of July doesn’t make my heart go pitter patter. I don’t have any bad memories from this particular month. Growing up in Southern California we always had fireworks and as I child I supposed I liked them well enough. I liked to write cursive words in the dark night sky with a sparkler, I remember hearing Piccolo Petes scream way past midnight back then, and we went to Disneyland a time or two to see their 4th of July fireworks show.

When my girls were little, I thought I was making a gigantic sacrifice to stay up late enough (10:00 p.m.) on the 4th of July to see our city’s fairly nice fireworks display. A few times over the years, we bundled and trundled and rumbled and mumbled and stumbled. We bundled the girls into their jammies and brought blankets in case the night air turned cool. We trundled them out to the car, which was always a station wagon. We rumbled off to a high place in the city for optimal viewing, then parked, and turned on the radio to the local station that played John Phillips Sousa music just for this occasion. I mumbled about how tired I was and wanted to go home. And then after the grand booming finale, we drove home and stumbled into our beds so we could get up the next day and talk about how beautiful the fireworks were.

One of those last sentences is false. I hope you can guess which one.

July seems to be a picnic month too. And I like the idea of picnics, but I’m not sure I appreciate actually planning and carrying out a picnic. The thought of languishing on a soft blanket under a huge, spreading tree on the banks of a beautiful river while a cool breeze ruffles the leaves, with the air full of birdsong, paired with really good food in a basket that I don’t have to tote or prepare? Throw in a good book and a season where all the spiders in that vicinity have mysteriously died, and that would be a nice picnic. Those are my conditions, and if a July picnic isn’t going to be just like that, I’m uninterested.

I guess everyone knows that Independence Day is a federal holiday commemorating my country’s adoption of the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776, declaring independence from the Kingdom of Great Britain. People in the U.S. usually celebrate with fireworks, barbecues, parades, family gatherings, carnivals and picnics.

When I think of 4th of July food fare, I think of potato salad, watermelon, any kind of barbecued meat, but especially hot dogs and hamburgers, baked beans, fresh-squeezed lemonade, and some kind of red, white and blue dessert. Like this. Or this.

But mostly what I think about in July is that I want August to hurry up and arrive. Isn’t that the silliest thing? I have the same thoughts about January. January and July are my least favorite months and I cannot explain it. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect that years ago during the months of January and July I was kidnapped, drugged and taken into slavery, and forced to dig mines by hand deep into the earth, and finally released both times in February and August. And I’ve repressed these memories all these years, and what’s left over is that I consistently feel ambivalent (at best) about the months of January and July.

I wrote about January awhile back and how dangerous it feels to me. Don’t click on the above link if you’re afraid of icicles.

What are your thoughts about July? Do you love the month? Do you have lots of family get-togethers and food and fireworks? Is it when you celebrate your birthday? Do you revel in the hot weather? Do you work in your garden? Do you swim? Fish? If you celebrate the 4th, what kinds of things do you do?

What does July mean to you?

I always like it when a friend recommends a favorite blog, and I end up loving it as much as she does.

Recently my friend Kay in Cornwall, England told me about Susan Branch’s blog, and I’ve now bookmarked it and will make it one of my regulars. I remember Susan Branch’s cookbooks and calendars from years ago but had forgotten about her, and visiting her blog is almost like taking a vacation. She recently returned from a trip to England, and I couldn’t get enough of her pictures and posts.

I love the blogs in the sidebar directly to the left of these words, and recommend those to you, of course. I also love my friend Helen’s blog. She lives in Switzerland and the week wouldn’t be complete without my checking in to see what quilt or knitting project she’s working on.

What are two or three of your favorite blogs? I would love to know which ones you visit over and over again, and why.

Are there blogs you visit because of the beautiful pictures? Or for girl talk? Or to learn more about God’s love for you? Or to feel connected with other people who share similar interests? Do you like decorating blogs? Blogs that are like reading another person’s diary? Cooking blogs? Funny blogs?

I look forward to reading what you share, and I wish you a wonderful weekend, dear friends and family!

The first few days at our new house, Edith and Mildred, our two Miniature German Schnauzers, acted like they were on amphetamines. They paced and panted and looked at us wild-eyed. They followed us from room to room. They acted like their new front yard was a dangerous place, hurrying to do their business and then bounding up the deck steps to get back in the house as fast as possible.

They caught on to things quickly, though. They know this house well now and act like they’ve always been here. They trot boldly into the master bedroom, leap up on the new king-sized bed and throw themselves down with heavy canine sighs for their mid-morning, mid-afternoon and mid-evening naps.

Millie is the dog we always say might have some developmental disabilities. She is opposite from Edith in so many ways, it’s an enigma to us. If you’ve never read about their differences, you can click here for enlightenment.

This morning as I was doing a few things in our bedroom, Millie opened her eyes and watched me. When Edith watches her humans, she just watches. When Millie watches, she seems as if she’s a little bipolar and is on the verge of a manic episode. Older Edith, in the background, knows how to fully rest, and has an adorable schnauzer snore. Millie is on alert. Her ears are up, her eyes are open very wide with the whites showing, and her front legs are a little stiff. The picture below actually makes her look calmer than she really seemed.

Someone in our family calls Millie “Dreadifer.” I think its an apt nickname.

Tomorrow, June 28th, Michael and I will celebrate our 31st wedding anniversary. We will be staying home this year, not venturing out for a weekend away. I’m sure we’ll probably go out to dinner, and without even asking Michael where he’d like to go, my bet is he’ll choose here.  That man sure loves a good steak.

Well, I’m off to make tacos for dinner. There’s nothing like frying your own corn tortillas when it’s taco time.

What’s for dinner at your house?

I thought I would post a few more pictures of our new house. As I’ve mentioned before, the previous owner must have loved blue, because the living room, main floor bathroom, one bedroom, master bathroom, and the family room in the basement are all blue, or a form of blue, like light aqua, turquoise, or periwinkle.

I love blue as well, but probably would not have chosen as much blue if I were painting the inside of the house myself. But I made a decision before we moved in – to be fine with it. It’s okay. No worries. No prob. And it feels wonderful not to be thinking about how to make things exactly fit my own preferences.

Lest anyone think I’ve suddenly transformed into this easy going, c’est la vie type person, I will say that if the living room walls had been bright orange or electric purple, I would have had to paint them.

When we purchased this home and I saw that our living room furniture, which is very traditional, with dark woods, deep colors and bold patterns, was going to have to settle in a room with walls the color of robins’ eggs, it made me pause. Hmmmm, I said. Deep jewel tones, a neutral, taupe colored couch, and a black console table, all arranged in a smallish, light and airy room with turquoise walls? Okay! I answered myself. And so even if everything doesn’t “go,” it goes enough for me.

Every single day I thank the Lord for bringing us here.

Each morning I walk down three (not eighteen) stairs and look out at the largest freshwater lake in the world, and feel a deep contentment.

See the water color print in the photo below? I’ve loved it for years and it has usually hung above our fireplace mantel. It’s by an artist named Cheng-Khee Chee, and it’s a winter scene of the Cathedral of St. Paul in St. Paul, MN, our capital. Click here to see a lovely photo of the cathedral.

The domed roof of this beautiful cathedral is copper, and over the decades has turned a beautiful turquoise. So our Chee print speaks to our turquoisey/pale aqua walls. (That’s decorating lingo for “our Chee print matches the walls.”) Ha.

Don’t the kennels in the corner add a nice, homey touch?  🙂 Our schnauzers Edith and Mildred have always loved their kennels. Sometimes during the day they just curl up in their little “dens” of their own accord and take puppy naps. I’m not sure we’ll keep the kennels here, but for now, sleeping under the Chee works for them.

Someday soon I’ll post photos of our master bathroom, which still feels like it belongs to someone else.

Tomorrow, the living room you see above will be filled with women. Ranging in ages from early forties to mid-sixties, almost a dozen of us will be gathering each Tuesday morning for the rest of the summer to study the book of James, and its author.

I feel such an expectancy about this study. I desperately need a fresh word and a fresh work in my life.

I look at our peaceful, robins’ egg blue living room and picture the dear women who will gather here this summer. Today I am praying for Deb, Carey, Lana, Kristi, Kay, Dawn, Su, Laurel, Fiona, Sharla, Sue and myself. I’m asking the Lord to change our lives for His good pleasure as we open His Word together these coming weeks.

Lord, this is the main gathering place in our new home, this delightful house you have provided for us. I ask your blessing on every person who ever sets foot in this room of robins’ egg blue. I ask that your peace and hope always abide in this room. I ask that your truth and love will be lived out in this room. I ask that mercy will triumph in this room.

With a very grateful, but very needy heart,

Today is a beautiful sunny day with just a few puffy clouds in the sky. Normally sapphire blue Lake Superior is a shocking muddy brown right now, because our area had a record-breaking storm the night before last, and our dozens of rivers overflowed their banks and poured into our Great Lake, bringing uprooted trees, debris and tons of mud.

Here’s an amazing aerial photo of the lift bridge in our harbor, and the huge lake beyond, taken by my good friend Bob King for our local News Tribune.

Parts of our city are underwater, and I feel soooo sorry for people whose homes have flooded. Our mayor has declared a state of emergency, and it will take months to do the repairs; streets were lifted up and carried away, huge sinkholes opened up and swallowed cars, entire shopping centers were flooded. 

This next photo by MinnPics is of a street less than a mile from our home.

We had a few rivulets in our basement and a drip or twelve from the ceiling in our entry way, but if you could have seen the sheer volume of water that just poured from the sky, you’d understand why we aren’t upset about our dampness at all.

Our area received between 8-10 inches of rain in 24 hours. I’ve never seen anything like it. Here’s a link with some other photos, if you’re interested.

And this is a photo taken from space by satellite of our huge lake – the mud can be clearly seen.

Thankfully, no lives were lost even though so many homes and businesses have been flooded.

It often takes some kind of shakeup to get us to see more clearly the blessings we take for granted. As I type this I’m sitting in a dark theater with four of my eight grandchildren. They’re watching Madagascar 3 and I’m not. 🙂

We have more than we need. We have hugs and kisses. We have family. We have a relatively dry home. We have food in the cupboards. We have hope. We have Christ. We have hope because we have Christ.

If someday my home is flooded and my street floats away, I may need you all to remind me that blessings still abound. I pray that I’ll always be able to rest in whatever He pours out, even if I think it’s too much rain…

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”

G.K. Chesterton

*         *         *         *         *         *

As I’ve mentioned before, we don’t plan on changing very much about our new house. Been there, done that.

We’re old, and not in the mood.

The two things I think we will change are the office walls (I’m still thinking about red and white toile wallpaper!) and the lime green fireplace.

There’s a neat little fireplace in our dining area, which is in between the living room and the kitchen. This fall, we’ll have a gas insert installed in the fireplace (we’re not in the mood to haul wood either) and I know how much we’ll appreciate a cheery fire during snowy winter mornings, or having a comforting little blaze at dinner time.

We also plan to change out the light fixtures in the kitchen.

Good morning Michael!

I’m not sure what color to paint the brick of the fireplace. The things we have for our kitchen are Delft colored — lots of dark blue and white. Our new kitchen is on the modern side, with cherry cabinets and sleek pulls. I’m not sure the two styles can actually meld, but that’s okay.

I’d like to have your opinion on what to paint the bricks of the fireplace. A friend suggested metallic copper, another friend suggested caramelly light brown. Someone else thinks a neutral taupe would do, and another person suggested darkish periwinkle blue to help us use all our blue stuff in the space.

What do you think? I’d love to know…