It appears as though my grandchildren associate cardinals with me, or (eek) me with cardinals. What word comes to mind when you think of one of your grandparents?

Here’s what comes to mind when I think of my own grandparents.

Sadly, my father’s father died before I was born, but when I think of him the word preacher comes to mind. Grandpa Neddy followed in his own father’s footsteps and was a poor pastor/preacher in a couple of Missouri hamlets back in the 1920s and 30s. One of the places was called Sudheimer.

When I think of my father’s mother, the word letters comes to mind. Grandma Julia lived her whole life in Missouri and I only saw her three times, but she wrote to me in Southern California about twice a year. Each time she would send a five dollar bill with her letter. Her shaky handwriting conveyed how fragile she had become in her eighties, and even though she wrote about people and daily events I didn’t know much about, I liked getting letters from Grandma. I remember that she would occasionally make an attempt at humor in her letters, which was suggested from her use of the word “ho” at the end of the funny sentence. Sort of like we use “ha.”

When I think of my mother’s father, the word Pledge comes to mind. Not the kind of pledge that means promise or oath, but Pledge furniture polish. Yes. Grandpa Bud was so fastidious, and believed so fiercely in taking care of the things he had (and worked hard for and paid cash for, never owing a penny to anyone) that perhaps he took it just a leetle too far sometimes. He used to go out into his garage each morning and wipe down his car with Pledge furniture polish and a soft rag. His garage was neater than most houses. I remember seeing his 1960 black Cadillac, and later his 1970 brown Buick Electra in the rain, and they had been polished with Pledge so often that rain would bead up on the cars in large, nickel-sized drops.

When I think of my mother’s mother, the word cook comes to mind. Grandma Oma loved to cook, and put every Midwestern favorite on the table frequently, and invited us over. Cream gravy and biscuits (which I never liked), bubbling fruit cobblers (which I never liked), pot roasts and potatoes (which I never liked), pies, green beans cooked in bacon grease, and fried chicken, all of which as a child I would not eat.

Apparently, when I am just a memory to my grandchildren, one of the words they’ll think of when I come to their remembrance, is cardinal. And that’s okay with me, as long as they remember the cardinal story and why these gorgeous red songbirds are so meaningful to me.

We have two sets of Magformers that we keep here at the house that all the grandchildren love to play with. Invariably, one of the grands will grab the Magformer basket when they come over, plop down on the living room carpet and begin building, sometimes for hours.

Last week my daughter Carolyn came over and brought her two youngest children with her — Vivienne (age 5) and Audrey (age 3). I love watching them play because they’re creative and lively and on this day were kind to each other and shared toys cheerfully.

Before it was time for them to go, Vivie brought me to one of the living room lamps, which has a metal base that looks like a swirl of leaves on a vine. She had built a cardinal out of the strongly magnetic Magformers, and a hanging birdhouse to go with it, and stuck them on the lamp.

Vivie is on the left and Audrey is on the right, and aren’t the cardinal and birdhouse so sweet?

You might be able to see a cardinal or two elsewhere in the photo. I’m beginning to think that when my grandchildren are grown and perhaps telling their own children about their Grandma Julie, the words they remember about me might be Jesus and cardinal. (Which would be just fine with me, because Jesus and cardinal would be so much more desirable than big butt and dithering and/or controlling and crying.)

I’m hoping they might say something like this: “My grandma believed in two things with all her heart. She believed in Jesus, and she believed you could never have too many cardinals in your house.”  🙂

What are some words that come to mind when you remember your own grandparents?

I had my first full day of being out of bed yesterday. My voice is barely there, but I do think I’m slowly on the mend, and I’m going to assume that I talk too much anyway, and my voice going on a little vacation is just another sign pointing to a change or two that needs to happen in my life.  🙂

Yesterday I went to Community Bible Study for the first time in a few weeks too — it was so good to be back. At the opening, my friend Sue shared something that went straight to the core of me and I knew I needed to respond. Sue shared about a personal experiment the late author Catherine Marshall (she wrote Christy and A Man Called Peter, among many others) conducted years ago, about giving up speaking any criticisms for one day.

I found an account of this online and quote it here:

A Fasting on Criticalness

by Catherine Marshall (1914-1983)

“The Lord continues to deal with me about my critical spirit, convicting me that I have been wrong to judge any person or situation: “Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” (Matt. 7:1-2; NIV)

One morning last week He gave me an assignment: for one day I was to go on a “fast” from criticism. I was not to criticize anybody about anything.

Into my mind crowded all the usual objections. “But then what happens to value judgments? You Yourself, Lord, spoke of ‘righteous judgment.’ How could society operate without standards and limits?”

All such resistance was brushed aside. “Just obey Me without questioning: an absolute fast on any critical statements for this day.”

As I pondered this assignment, I realized there was an even humorous side to this kind of fast. What did the Lord want to show me?

The Experiment

For the first half of the day, I simply felt a void, almost as if I had been wiped out as a person. This was especially true at lunch with my husband, Len, my mother, son Jeff, and my secretary Jeanne Sevigny, present. Several topics came up (school prayer, abortion, the ERA amendment) about which I had definite opinions. I listened to the others and kept silent. Barbed comments on the tip of my tongue about certain world leaders were suppressed. In our talkative family no one seemed to notice.

Bemused, I noticed that my comments were not missed. The federal government, the judicial system, and the institutional church could apparently get along fine without my penetrating observations. But still I didn’t see what this fast on criticism was accomplishing—until mid-afternoon.

For several years I had been praying for one talented young man whose life had gotten sidetracked. Perhaps my prayers for him had been too negative. That afternoon, a specific, positive vision for this life was dropped into my mind with God’s unmistakable hallmark on it—joy.

Ideas began to flow in a way I had not experienced in years. Now it was apparent what the Lord wanted me to see. My critical nature had not corrected a single one of the multitudinous things I found fault with. What it had done was to stifle my own creativity—in prayer, in relationships, perhaps even in writing—ideas that He wanted to give me.

Last Sunday night in a Bible study group, I told of my Day’s Fast experiment. The response was startling. Many admitted that criticalness was the chief problem in their offices, or in their marriages, or with their teenage children.

The Result

My own character flaw here is not going to be corrected overnight. But in thinking this problem through the past few days, I find the most solid Scriptural basis possible for dealing with it. (The Greek word translated “judge” in King James, becomes “criticize” in Moffat.) All through the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus sets Himself squarely against our seeing other people and life situations through this negative lens. What He is showing me so far can be summed up as follows:

1.  A critical spirit focuses us on ourselves and makes us unhappy. We lose perspective and humor.

2.  A critical spirit blocks the positive creative thoughts God longs to give us.

3.  A critical spirit can prevent good relationships between individuals and often produces retaliatory criticalness.

4.  Criticalness blocks the work of the Spirit of God: love, good will, mercy.

5.  Whenever we see something genuinely wrong in another person’s behavior, rather than criticize him or her directly, or – far worse – gripe about him behind his back, we should ask the Spirit of God to do the correction needed.

Convicted of the true destructiveness of a critical mind-set, on my knees I am repeating this prayer: “Lord, I repent of this sin of judgment. I am deeply sorry for having committed so gross an offense against You and against myself so continually. I claim Your promise of forgiveness and seek a new beginning.”

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *

As I sat there yesterday morning listening to Sue share about Catherine Marshall’s experiment, I was thinking that today, Wednesday, March 9th, begins the season of Lent. I didn’t grow up in a church that observed Lent, and because it has never been part of my faith observance, I’ve never given it a lot of thought until recent years.

I know a woman close to my age that radiates joy and unshakable peace and happiness. She’s a follower of Jesus, and she has her share of life’s struggles and sorrows just like anyone else. But she is always shot through with a beam of true joy that sometimes nearly takes my breath away. It’s not phony, it’s not showy, but it’s really noticeable, because people are lacking joy these days and hers seems in abundant supply. Anyway, this woman observes Lent each year to prepare her heart for Easter. She knows Easter is the most wonderful celebration for Christians and should be experienced as such. Egg hunts and spring dresses and hats are wonderful, but how many of us have ever celebrated Easter and after the day passed, just knew that its import hadn’t sunk in like we wished? Easter is why we have hope. Easter gives us reason to get up in the morning. Easter puts an eternal set of lenses on our eyes, if we will but participate. I have many times wished that my observance of Easter were more special and meaningful, and less anemic. When the woman I’ve mentioned spoke of observing Lent in order to prepare her heart for the coming of Easter, I took note.

When I was little I always thought Lent meant you just abstained from something and God would like it. I have known people who gave up chocolate for Lent, or television, or other things they considered bad habits or vices. This year, I do feel the Lord put on my heart something to set aside for the 46 days of Lent (books), and I will obey. But in addition to not reading any books except my Bible these next few weeks, I’m going to take Catherine Marshall’s lead and fast from criticism.

For me, being critical doesn’t just encompass the words I say. It would also deal with the looks on my face, whether or not I sigh in exasperation or roll my eyes (which effectively tells a person how utterly inept I think they are), and it is also about my body language. These are all things I want the Lord to change in my life. A critical spirit is deeply rooted in pride, and I want to approach the end of my life in humility, not in pride.

Sue shared yesterday that while she may not be an outwardly critical person, she still finds herself dealing with critical thoughts. And the best and shortest answer to dealing with those kinds of thoughts? Immediately pray about them, rather than letting the criticisms spin around in your head. Even a short unspoken prayer “Lord, please help that person with their ______,” could be a better choice than verbalizing a criticism.

I realize that there are times when we need to address things…corrections need to be made…feelings need to be expressed. I still think I have a lot to learn about doing these things with gentleness and in a building way, rather than in a destructive way. I need lots of help. It’s a good thing God’s resources and patience never run low!

We probably all know people who have a tendency toward criticism. They’re not usually fun to be around. You guard yourself around critical people — they don’t feel like a safe, comforting place to land. I grew up in a family where some of our members had criticism worked out to the finest detail, and I’ve seen the fruit of this in my own life. I would like to lay the axe to that root of that tree.

“Set a guard over my mouth O LORD;
keep watch over the door of my lips.”  Psalm 141:3.

I am in the autumn of my life. There is still time to be who I’m supposed to be, with God’s help and love. I know I was not created to be a critical person. That is not the legacy I want to leave. I want my Lenten offering to the Lord to mean something. “I will not offer to the Lord that which costs me nothing.” I want it to do a work in me.

Will any of you join me in Catherine Marshall’s experiment? Will you, for one day, go on a criticism fast? Or do you think you could try it for one week? Or are you feeling the nudge to give up criticism for all of Lent? I think any offering is significant. If you will take part in any small way, will you leave a comment here and share? Later, I think it would be encouraging to know what happens in our lives as a result. As you read above, Catherine Marshall experienced tremendous changes. I am looking forward to being changed as well.

God bless you!

Dearest friends,

My body has sent me a memo. It arrived by special delivery twelve days ago.

The memo was written in capital letters and the words were heavily underlined. It was a rather demanding, slightly unfriendly, terse message, with words like rest and strep and uh-oh and pay attention on it.

So I’m going to heed the message and take a little rest. From blogging, from anything extra, from anything unneeded, until my body gives me the thumbs up sign again.

Thank you for reading….I so appreciate everyone who does.

“Mind the moments, and life will take care of itself.”

Ann Voskamp

*        *        *        *        *        *        *

A few days ago I published a fascinating post about being in bed for days on end with the nastiest virus I’ve ever had. In fifty-three years, I’ve never been this sick. I had the mumps and the measles when I was a kid. I’ve had some pretty horrible intestinal flu bugs. But I’ve never been out of commission for eight days before, even after surgery. Anyway, I wrote that I could tell the worst was over, and in celebration I took a few photos to share.

That recovery lasted for less than half a day, and back to bed I went with the most excruciating sore throat I’ve ever had. Nothing helped. I took Manuka honey constantly – no relief. Vitamin C, Airborne, hot tea, cool drinks, ice, Ibuprofen, salt water, salt crystals, and more. The forest fire in my throat raged on.

Each morning I would think, surely a virus can’t last this long without a tiny bit of improvement, and then the Mack truck would hurtle toward me head on, and back to bed I would trudge, in tears and weariness, and with a deeper compassion for those who suffer unbearable pain all the time, with no hope of relief.

I finally went to have a strep test done on my throat and it was negative. I was grateful for that, but perplexed as to why this virus was hanging on so long and my body wasn’t doing what I thought it should do, mainly, send the virus packing after a day or three.

In the meantime, my dear friend Pat brought us a huge pot of her homemade chicken noodle soup and a big rustic loaf of bread. Pat makes her own noodles when she makes this soup, and they’re thick and flavorful and sublime. It was so exquisite I had to take a couple of pictures and share with my blog friends.

Go ahead and click on the image above to see these homemade noodles Pat makes.

Everyone who came to the table for steaming bowls of soup also tore into this fresh homemade bread for sopping. 🙂

Now here’s a picture of my friend Pat. Somehow I didn’t think Pat would want me putting an enormous photo of her on the blog…she’s modest like that. So I made it slightly smaller, although Pat is really the star of this blog post, not the soup. 

When Pat called to tell me she was bringing homemade soup over because she knows I’m the chief cook and bottle washer and have been feeling poorly, she wouldn’t let me take no for an answer. She said she had already made a pot of it for her mom recently and that her family was sick of chicken noodle soup. She also totally disregarded my protests based on the fact that she herself has been quite sick and even broke a rib from coughing so hard during her illness.

Pat borrowed a car because her own vehicle was in the shop. She loaded up on painkillers because she has a fractured rib and simple breathing is agonizing. She drove from another state to my state (I am not making this up, but it’s not like it was several hours’ drive), she brought us enough hearty and comforting food to see us through three meals, and she did it cheerfully and acted like I had done her a big favor to allow her such an incredible opportunity.

Almost anyone could make a pot of soup to provide a meal for a person in need. But it takes a special kind of friend to make a pot of soup that nourishes the soul as well.

Pat is that kind of friend. Her words, her actions, the way she listens, her laugh, her prayers, and her chicken noodle soup…..they nourish my soul.

“But ask the animals, and they will teach you,
or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you;
or speak to the earth, and it will teach you,
or let the fish in the sea inform you.

Which of all these does not know
that the hand of the LORD has done this?
In his hand is the life of every creature
and the breath of all mankind.”

Job 12:7-10

*        *       *        *        *       *        *

Each bird, each breath, a gift!

What if it’s true? What if the very breath we draw before we inwardly curse someone is a breath He has given us from His very hand? What if the breath we take before we tear someone down with our words is a breath that God Himself gave us as a gift of His mercy and love?

Lord, teach me to draw each breath with awe and thanks. Show me how to use that precious breath to build and encourage. I thank you for my very breath this morning.

And I thank you for the birds…

I can tell the worst is over. This morning when I woke up right before 5:00 a.m., my throat was no longer flaming. It felt like the Throat Elves had ceased with the blow torches and switched over to just a little harmless sandpaper. I coughed and it didn’t feel like I was attempting to break cement loose in my lungs. My skin didn’t feel feverishly sore. The virus that put me in bed for three days is weakening and whimpering instead of galloping and raging. I’m so thankful to feel a little better!

I’m not a napper (although sometimes I wish I could be), and to have to stay in bed because of illness can be boring. We don’t have a television in our bedroom, on purpose. So for the hours I couldn’t sleep while I was sick (which were basically the hours from 5:30 a.m. until 9:00 p.m. every day), I did the same thing over and over. Read, knitted, listened to soft, soothing music, curled up in a fetal position and counted my blessings, and prayed. None of those were boring at all, it was just the in-between times that were a little ho-hummish.

For three days I looked at the same things in our bedroom. I had the same views. I thought I would share them with you. (Now that I’m feeling better I can tell how sick I really was by the fact that I felt certain that varying views of my bedroom would constitute a fascinating blog post.)

Here’s a view of the nightstand to my left, and all the needed accoutrements for a short illness:

Books to read (two recommended by my friend Jeannie in Australia), one a gift from my friend Ember in England, another book already read and moaned over, ready to absorb again. House telephone handset, because the old-fashioned black phone in our bedroom doesn’t ring. Remote control to the little CD player across the room. Cell phone. Eye drops for chronically dry eyes. Water bottle, probably teeming with replicating flu viruses. A cup of hot Lipton tea, just made in the bathroom with an electric water kettle. Hand lotion. Pens. A Q-tip. And wadded up, used Kleenex. What? You don’t have gross used Kleenex laying around?

Here is a view also to my left, out of the window to the street in front of our house. See the bare trees? The snow left on the ground after last week’s considerable thaw? It’s now below zero again as I type this. Minnesota enjoys playing cruel tricks like that on its trapped devoted residents.

Still looking to the left, but now to the floor, here’s another view of a sick person’s room:

I can explain. You can see stacks of more books to read. A trash can next to those, lined with a Super One Foods grocery bag. My multi-colored purse in front of that. And then, sticking out of a brown tote, some knitting I’m doing with purple yarn my daughter dyed. In front of that, you have a nice view of a gray wool sock, part of a pair my friend Su brought back from Ireland for me years ago. The book in front of that I finished yesterday: Notes From A Small Island by Bill Bryson, whose writing made me laugh every couple of pages and burst into paroxysms of violent coughing that almost turned my fingernails blue from the gasping. The leather book in front of that is my gratitude journal. Thank you Ann Voskamp, that I could truly find things to exult over while I was laying there with walrus-tusks of twisted Kleenex stuffed up my nose. Then, lastly, you have a view of my Sorel house slippers that I wear in the winter, to uh, slip around the house in. You may notice the pink towels pressed against the wall under the heater? When you live in a house that is 85 years old in a place that is bitterly cold in the winter, you quickly learn which parts of the house (which was built long before the terms “r-factor” and “energy crisis” were even thought of) are vulnerable to seeping cold. This is a spot in the room where the icy claws of cold creep into the room and grab you by the ankles when it’s 20 below outside. Unless of course you take some ugly pink towels and place them carefully over the uninsulated spot. Then the claws of cold can’t gain entry into your bedroom quite as easily.

On to a new view. We are still looking to my left (from the bed, remember), but now we’ve moved on in the room a bit, to the fireplace. The fireplace that has never seen a fire since we moved into this house three years ago. Because the fireplace sucks all the warm air out of the room during intensely cold weather. The fireplace that looks nice, but has had its outside chimney capped, to prevent the warm air from escaping. Those of you from extremely cold climates will know what I’m talking about. Those of you from more temperate climes who love a crackling fire on a coolish night will wonder what the heck I’m talking about. Oh well, we need to move on.

Let’s pan our view slightly to the right a little more. Next you’ll see what I see as I’m looking out over my feet bumps under the comforter at the end of our bed. You see a magazine rack on the left, full of more reading and study materials. There’s a big, comfortable overstuffed chair with an ottoman, and it has a dark green towel on it. This is where our oldest Schnauzer, Edith, sleeps at night. The dogs are relatively clean, but I have a thing about a teeny bit of dog dirt added to a teeny bit of dog dirt multiplied by a TEENY bit of dog dirt over an extended period of time, eventually equaling an enormous amount of dog dirt on furniture in the end. So the dogs can come up on the bed and the chairs, they just have to lay on a towel or something.

You might be able to see between the two chairs a small antique table and a French lamp that my friend Lana gave to me. On the floor is a CD player with a CD in it that I’ve been playing over and over again since the beginning of time. It has delightful, background birdsong on it, and some Celtic-sounding music that’s soothing and hypnotic.

Now look to the right a little further and zoom in a bit. Normally things are a little neater in our bedroom, but no one cares about things like that when illness strikes. On this chair you can see a red throw that is so heavy it’s startling  when you lift it — when I cover our grandchildren with it they say, “That raspberry blanket is really warm Grandma!” And you can see my beautiful prayer shawl that Sharon made for me as a Christmas gift. And my CBS notebook (we’re studying the book of Acts this year), and another book I’m exploring.

I include the next photo to draw your attention to the small radiator, over in the corner by one of the closets. On top of this radiator sits a tray of tea things. There are various tea bags, a few sugar cubes in a small Tupperware container with a dark red lid (to match the red accents in the room), there are normally two cups, a tea bag squeezer, and an electric tea kettle. The tea kettle isn’t on the tray in this particular picture, because it’s plugged in and heating water in the bathroom for another cup of tea.

What’s that you say? You don’t think an electric appliance should sit on the side of the bathtub in one’s bathroom? Yes, I agree. This tea kettle is never in the bathroom when there’s water in the tub. It will be moved back to its red tray on top of the radiator as soon as it’s done boiling water for my tea. And the teabag squeezer doesn’t usually share space with the peperomia plant in the bathroom either. This all happens for just a few minutes now and then when a cup of tea is called for, because an easily accessible outlet is right there.

Before we return to the bedroom for more exhilarating views, let’s take a peek out the bathroom window at the back of the house to see if there are any visiting deer. We’re in luck — there are! If you click to enlarge the photo below, you will see some of these graceful animals across the creek in our patch of woods. Find the hanging bird feeder in the photo and look right above that to see them. I believe you can even click one more time for more magnified views.

Well, now that we’re getting weak and shaky and need to get back to bed and blow our nose, let’s leave the deer behind and continue our tour.

When I couldn’t sleep and was too tired to read or knit, I contemplated this huge dresser and thought of my Grandpa Bud and Grandma Oma McInteer. They owned this mahogany Drexel bedroom set and I used to look at it when I was a young girl and was told not to touch or I would leave fingerprints. My mother owned it after my grandparents died, and when my mom died eighteen years ago this week, I inherited it. It’s not so shiny new-looking anymore, but it brings memories I’m thankful for.

Michael brought up the mail one afternoon and wonderful things were delivered. A beautiful photo of a dear granddaughter who lives in Red Wing, MN, bills, that if paid, will keep us in warmth and water for another month, and a new book from my friend Ember, with a nice note. Notice the ubiquitous used Kleenex…a view of real life when the flu is running rampant in your body. You can also see my Kindle, where I read this book in two days, alternately exclaiming, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” and “This is incredible!” and “No no no no no!” and “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” and “This just cannot be happening!” and “Praise the Lord!” because the book should be read by every human on the planet and is something I hope to never, ever forget.

Here are a couple of photos of what I was able to ponder while laying flat on my back: the too-large light fixture over our bed…

…and the dessicated remains of a mosquito on the ceiling that I swatted last summer and forgot to swipe away.

My photography skills are impressive, no?

Well, I think it’s time we bring our tour to a close. This room has afforded us many views. Perhaps this post should have been called Room With A Few Views instead of Room With A View. I thought the latter sounded a little more succinct.

Here’s the last view in the room — one that I couldn’t see (thank you God) but one that Michael saw when he came upstairs to check on me, or to lay down beside me to keep me company, risking contagion and virus replication in his mucus membranes.

I think I’ll head back upstairs to rest a while now. I’ll throw away the Kleenex, turn on my birdsong CD, and later I believe I might actually get dressed in real clothes for the first time in a long while.

This now concludes our tour. Please use the handrails and watch your step on the way out.

Have a blessed, virus-free weekend!

Bob Bennett is one of my favorite Christian artists of all time. Even though his music may have been most popular in the 1990s, I still play his CDs today. These are the ones I keep going back to:

I found a simple youtube video of a compelling song of Bob’s, called “Man of the Tombs.” It still give me chills even though I’ve heard it a hundred times or more.

I have the flu today so am headed back to bed, but I thought I’d share this song. It might not be much to watch because it’s so simple, but the words can penetrate all the way to the bone.

They sailed to the region of the Gerasenes, which is across the lake from Galilee.  When Jesus stepped ashore, he was met by a demon-possessed man from the town. For a long time this man had not worn clothes or lived in a house, but had lived in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he cried out and fell at his feet, shouting at the top of his voice, “What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, don’t torture me!” For Jesus had commanded the impure spirit to come out of the man. Many times it had seized him, and though he was chained hand and foot and kept under guard, he had broken his chains and had been driven by the demon into solitary places.

Jesus asked him, “What is your name?”

“Legion,” he replied, because many demons had gone into him. And they begged Jesus repeatedly not to order them to go into the Abyss.

A large herd of pigs was feeding there on the hillside. The demons begged Jesus to let them go into the pigs, and he gave them permission. When the demons came out of the man, they went into the pigs, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

When those tending the pigs saw what had happened, they ran off and reported this in the town and countryside, and the people went out to see what had happened. When they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone out, sitting at Jesus’ feet, dressed and in his right mind; and they were afraid. Those who had seen it told the people how the demon-possessed man had been cured. Then all the people of the region of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them, because they were overcome with fear. So he got into the boat and left.

The man from whom the demons had gone out begged to go with him, but Jesus sent him away, saying, “Return home and tell how much God has done for you.” So the man went away and told all over town how much Jesus had done for him.

Luke 8:26-38

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *

“The best thing is neither to seek nor avoid troubles but to follow Christ and take the bitter with the sweet as it may come. Whether we are happy or unhappy at any given time is not important. That we be in the will of God is all that matters. We may safely leave with him the incident of heartache or happiness. He will know how much we need of either or both.”

A.W. Tozer

*        *        *        *        *        *        *

Sometimes I wonder what brings people here.

There’s a feature on most blogs that allows a blogger to see which google searches people have conducted in order to arrive at their site. It doesn’t give away personal information. Once in a while when I should be doing paperwork, I remember to check to see what brings people to Just Julie, and am reminded that most of the folks who stumble upon my blog do so accidentally, and probably don’t find what they were googling for.

Below is a list of exact words and phrases folks have used in google searches within the past six months, that brought them to this blog, and my answers:

Things that are almost thirty — my marriage, my youngest daughter, a couple of items in my closet, the box of cornmeal in my baking drawer.

List of alliteration to describe yourself — Christian, curious, controlling, capable, chocolate-lover

Jerry West — this is the third most common search term that brings people to this blog. He played for the Los Angeles Lakers and wore the number 44 on his jersey.

Get her out car stuck mud — it’s so interesting that he came inside for a google rather than a shovel  🙂

Don’t pull a Julie — I wholeheartedly agree with this advice. Whatever you do, don’t pull a Julie.

Julie failed out of university July 2010 — I am very sorry to hear this. Could she try again and apply herself a little more?

“Oh Lord, take me to heaven” — Someone has bugged our house!

What happened to Cappuccino Coolers? — I have them, all of them, in my refrigerator.

Pooch and sweetheart scripture — I would also like to know of any scriptures for pooches and sweeties.

Do muskrats live in garage — Not to my knowledge, but they do get caught in our fence.

Schnauzers in stealth mode — Every day. Day in and day out, day in and day out.

Women longer femurs — Yes, all the women in our family seem to be members of the LFW club.

Cookie sheet pallet at Fedex — For once, I’m at a loss for words.

How is mac n cheese made before you put it into a box — I would recommend putting leftover macaroni and cheese in a Tupperware container, not in a box. Whatever works for you, though.

Can heating pipes make a skittering noise — It depends on your plumber, but I actually think mousetraps might be in order.

Amy Grant sideburns — People have a lot of extra time on their hands these days, don’t they?

Scriptures to help people be encouraged during dog days — I need these scriptures.

Spiders native to Smartville, CA — Arachnismarticusvillicus — I’m glad I don’t live there anymore.

Flamenco outfit nudibranch — Nudibranchs are the second most common search term that bring people to this blog!

Big gums small teeth help — Oh dear. I’m terribly sorry.

Penelope Wilcock bread recipe — I asked Pen for her recipe and she said a handful of this and a handful of that. Does that help?

Swamp living — Never recommended for any reason whatsoever.

How to fall back asleep — The number one search result for this blog — there are a lot of people having trouble sleeping these days. Check out my remedy.

Out of this furnace Julie — Yes, I’m trying, I really am.

$$ Just Julie $$ — Were they looking for financial advice or what? Here’s the best I can do: pay your bills, live within your means, be generous, stay out of debt.

Don’t leave your window down, zucchini will be found in your car — I had no idea — I will take this advice from this day forward.

I have muskrats in my basement — This would freak me out. Those long, shiny, thick tails, the yellow teeth, the lightning-quick movements. (Jessica, just a heads up – don’t read this.)

So, dear reader, I have a question. What brings you to this blog?