My good friend Carole Seid texted me from Chicago recently with these words: read Same Kind of Different As Me before the day is over…you’ll thank me for it.

Her friendly “command” made me smile, but because she never steers me wrong and some of the best books I’ve read have been Carole’s referrals, it made me want to see what I could learn about it.

I went online and read the reviews and knew I wanted to read it as soon as possible. So rather than wait on a long list at my city library, I downloaded it on my Kindle and had it within 30 seconds.

Oh, this book….it’s heartwarming, it’s heartbreaking, it’s encouraging, it’s incredible, it’s inspiring, and it’s something you would probably want to own. If you’re looking for a book to read that is fabulously written and one you’ll never forget, you’ll want this.

It’s a true story about “a modern-day slave, an international art dealer, and the woman who bound them together,” and is the kind of book I’d like to buy ten copies of to give as gifts.

I asked Michael if he would like me to read it out loud to him and he said yes, so I’m happy for a chance to go through it again.

If you’ve already read Same Kind of Different As Me by Ron Hall and Denver Moore, what did you think?

It all started in 1980 with this mug. I was newly divorced, had two sweet little girls, a job in a large private investigating firm, and an apartment in Orange County, California. I needed a mug to take to the office. So I went to my local Alpha Beta grocery store and bought this blue and white plaid mug. I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker and it was usually too warm outside to drink hot tea, so mostly I drank water from this blue and white plaid mug.

Then in 1981 I married a man I had only met once and moved from sunny SoCal to American Siberia. We bought our first home together in 1984, and early the next year a dear friend gave me this white mug with the blueberries on it as a hostess gift.

Then in 1986 a friend gave me a dark blue speckled mug with a goose on it. Remember in the eighties when people decorated in country blue and dusty rose and had ducks and geese on everything in their houses? I wasn’t doing the pink and blue thing but I certainly had my share of ducks and geese strewn around.

It was with the gift of this third cup that I began to see the pattern. Blue and white. So instead of keeping these mugs in the cupboard, I put them out on the kitchen counter one after another, sort of like little ducks in a row. I have always aspired to have all my ducks in a row. Aspiration is much different than reality, however.

Soon, I received another blue and white cup for a gift. Then another. My daughters saw the beginning of a small collection and they would give me blue and white mugs for Christmas, for birthdays. Michael made three shelves to hang on the kitchen wall and I started keeping my collection out in the open for everyone to enjoy its simple and classic blue and white beauty.

Before too many years had passed, generous friends started giving me pieces of Delft, a lovely blue and white pottery from Holland. I now had darling Delft creamers, windmills, pig salt and pepper shakers, and teacups.

My SAGgy friend Lorna went to Israel and brought back a wonderful tiny cup and matching serving bowl. My daughter Sharon added to the collection with gorgeous blue and white candlesticks. Carolyn brought back a tiny teapot from the Czech Republic. Sara went to Europe and brought back cups from Italy and Spain. They all went up on the shelves on the kitchen wall. And people who came to visit always noticed the blue and white collection and commented on how unique and pretty it was.

My blue and white collection now has pricey Flow Blue items and inexpensive gift shop finds. It has hand crafted mugs from local artisans in northern Minnesota and souvenir-type mugs from underground cave attractions, Scandinavian pancake restaurants and North Shore bistros. There are mugs from Target and TJ Maxx, Poland and Pier One, England and Mexico, Japan and even British Airways. There are egg holders, tiny lamp bases, Dutch shoes and butter pats.

And several years ago a friend gave me a wedding gift she and her husband had received and never been able to fit into their decor, a wonderful blue and white plate made into a clock. That went on the wall as well.

Now we are in a different house, and the collection has grown. We had to add shelving space to display all the blue and white.

The collection takes up a huge space on the largest wall of our kitchen, and it pleases me every day. I decorated my entire kitchen around my blue and whites. I chose the deep red paint color for the walls, the medium blue for the counter tops, the blue and white accents everywhere else, all because of this odd collection that started in 1980 with a simple blue and white mug purchased from the grocery store.

When people come over for a visit and I serve tea or coffee, they know to choose their mug or cup from the collection on the wall. I know what most of my friends gravitate to now, and it’s funny how I’ll think to myself when I’m washing them, “This is Ginny’s cup, this one is the one Diane likes to drink from, Susan always prefers this one.”

I enjoy my collection because to me it’s visually striking, very practical, and represents the love of family and friendship in my life. I like how all the pieces are so different and interesting, yet all go together to make something of beauty.

Do you have a collection? If so, did you start collecting intentionally, or did it begin with one random gift? If you have a photo of your collection, send it to me and tell a little about it, and I’ll post it here on the blog.

And finally….let me know if you’d like to come over soon for a warm homemade scone and a cup of something hot. You could even choose your own cup.

This Youtube production has been out there for a while now, but if you haven’t had a chance to view it yet, I hope you are as moved by it as I have been many times. My daughter reminded me about it yesterday, and when I watched it again I decided to share.

As I watched today, I asked myself, Who else in the whole of history can be described like this? Who else can do what He can do? And if all these claims are true, what should my life look like as a result?

Maybe you can think of someone today who might need to see this…

I’ve mentioned before that most people who have a blog are able to look at a part of their dashboard and see what different Google searches have been conducted that brought people to their blog. Obviously, if someone does a Google search on the words, “Just Julie B,” they’ll eventually happen upon my blog.

Once in a while I like to see what searches people have done that caused them to accidentally visit my blog. They are anonymous; there is no personal information about who the visitors are, of course. Some of the search words I can understand and they bring a smile. Others I’m perplexed by. But they’re all chuckleworthy and I thought I’d share.

Here are some verbatim phrases people recently googled that linked them to my site:

Why does my schnauzer vibrate? I don’t know why your Schnauzer vibrates, friend, but my Schnauzers vibrate because they see deer and rabbits and squirrels and raccoons and chipmunks and people outside at least a dozen times a day, and want to run outside and join the party.

Very old woman – Someone went to Google, typed in Very old woman, and was immediately referred to my blog. I think I should be offended. But I’m not. My knees tell me I’m a very old woman. How did Google know about my knees?

Underground hornet – I don’t particularly care for above-ground hornets, now I’m wondering about underground hornets. And why did Google think I would have insight on this one?

Wallpaper woman – This one is obvious. I love wallpaper and have it in four rooms in our house.

Twall dog bed – I have seen this one more than once – people know that the French word toile is pronounced “twall,” but many don’t yet know that the word toile is spelled toile. I don’t have a toile dog bed either, but I recently posted about our dogs sleeping on our bed in our toile-decorated bedroom.

What is the weakest antibiotic? – You’ll have to check with your doctor on this, but I don’t think Vaseline or Tic-tacs are very strong antibiotics. And I’m pretty sure that Snickers bars aren’t very effective either.

Dangerous to breathe in zero weather – We in northern Minnesota know what it’s like to breathe when it’s twenty degrees below zero out – it can be a little risky. But we can also attest to the fact that it’s absolutely lethal not to breathe in zero weather.

Out of this furnace character of Julie description – This sounds like something spiritually profound.

Flamenco outfits – Michael and I reluctantly got rid of our flamenco outfits last year – too bad it was too late to help this person.

Alcoholic Just Julie – Thank God, no.

Anticipating winter for parking – Not around here – “dreading winter for parking” is more like it. Huge snow drifts and hidden painted parking lines make for challenging winter parking.

Where can I ride my minibike in Southern California? – I would try the running tracks at Covina High School and Traweek Junior High School, and the quiet street near both of these called Eckerman Avenue.

The quest for the perfect body – Nobody here by that name.

Chinese tiger clothespin – What in the world? I had no idea that anyone even manufactured Chinese tiger clothespins. I wonder what makes them stand out from other clothespins?

I decided to just perm only my bangs – And many of us, too, have the photos from the 1980s to prove it. In 2020 this will probably be a trend again.

Sinus infection dirty sock smell – My heartfelt condolences to this person.

You can tell I’m scraping the bottom of the bloggy barrel today. 🙂

Please stop by next week when I will have an invitation and a potentially life-changing challenge for all of you, and I’m hoping you’ll be ready to pass it on to anyone you think might benefit.

Have a great weekend…

On my mother’s side of the family there was a long history of champion worriers. My mom could have displayed blue ribbons, trophies and gold medals for her noteworthy accomplishments in the Hand Wringing Olympics. Sometimes I think she worried about things just for the relief it would bring when what she had worried about didn’t come to pass. She would worry that a snowstorm would make the snow pile up in her driveway. Then she would cry with relief when volunteers would come and shovel the snow for her. She worried about getting her taxes done at least two months before tax season began. Then we would mail in the forms each year like we always did, and she was almost giddy from that burden being lifted.

I remember trying to comfort my mom and reminding her that worry didn’t help anything. I told her that it was only robbing her of today’s joy, and that God would take care of her and she could trust Him with her money and her snow. She knew in her head this was true, but somehow it never traveled down the highway to her heart. Worry seemed to be as much a part of my mom’s daily existence as dipping her buttered toast into her Taster’s Choice and Coffee-mate.

I also recall thinking to myself that I would never be a worrier like my mom, and while I don’t fret like she did, I have been a little disturbed to see some things pan out in my life just as they did in hers. At times I have thought that The Road To Becoming My Mother is a slippery slope indeed.

I have my mother’s forehead and the bunion on her right foot. I pluck at my coat with the same hand gesture she did, and I have a dormant artistic gene in me. I have her voice and her long femurs and ample hips, but I will not carry the worry torch that she unknowingly held so high.

I do think I’m predisposed to worry, partly due to seeing it modeled and mastered by my dear mom all my life. But for me, worrying isn’t a just an unproductive little side trip that leads to a detour through some back roads to nowhere. Worry can be a hellish hurtling into the darkest, foulest cave of doom. When I have given in to worry it has always been ruinous. So I have resisted worrying as much as is humanly possible, but have sometimes found that human strength just isn’t enough.

Last year I read in a book called Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World that the author had struggled with worry for many years. She decided to break the worry habit by replacing each worry with a short prayer. Wow, I thought. Is it as simple as that?

In Community Bible Study last week I read and heard several times how effective it is to replace worry with prayer. It seems so obvious, so straightforward, especially for a believer, that prayer would be the better choice than fears and tears and sleepless nights.

So this is what I’m doing when little fears come knocking. I have decided to pray instead of worry. And it’s a good thing that one of God’s rules isn’t that prayers have to be perfect, or none of us would ever pray.

Here’s an example I’ve made up.

Your feet start hurting you a little bit every day and you wonder if arthritis is developing. Then you worry if you’ll have to give up that daily run and will start gaining weight because you’ll be getting less exercise, and then with less exercise you’ll get stiff and gain more weight and your feet will hurt more, and you won’t be able to sleep as well at night, and you’ll get crabby and alienate your friends and family, and your life won’t be worth living and you’ll sit in your house with the curtains closed and Days of Our Lives on, and you won’t answer the phone or trim your toenails anymore.

Or you could pray, “Lord my feet hurt! Will you touch me with your healing hand today? Help me keep going, and I give you thanks today that I can walk. I trust you with my life…Amen.”

I like the image of me bringing whatever it is that’s bothering me right to Jesus, and leaving it with Him. He has invited me to do that countless times, and I like the way things feel, the way things turn out, when I do that. As many of you know, sometimes we take things to the Lord only to find ourselves picking them up again. I may have to practice this relinquishment many times a day before trust completely replaces worry, but I’d rather practice something that brings peace than practice something that brings despair.

I am also aware that sometimes God chooses to answer our prayers in ways we don’t expect. Saying a prayer doesn’t automatically mean that everything we pray for will come to pass. But worry doesn’t get anything done either, and it doesn’t build faith or bring comfort or peace.

I like this saying: “Every tomorrow has two handles. We can take hold of it with the handle of anxiety, or with the handle of faith.”

Shall I worry or shall I pray?

Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Matthew 6:27

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. Philippians 4:6

I think I’ll pray.

I have enjoyed the music of Sara Groves for years now. If you’d like to hear one of her recent releases that spoke to my heart, you can click here.

I like how transparent she is about her life, about her struggles and triumphs in marriage and motherhood. I also like how open she is about her unanswered questions even though she’s a follower of Jesus. I recently found this quote about marital growth and struggle from her and thought I’d share it here on the blog.

“That is so real for Troy and me,” says the Minneapolis resident and mother of three. “At one moment, you’re looking at each other with thoughts like, I can’t believe I married you — what was I thinking? And you go from that place where there’s no common ground to complete tenderness and the complete knowing of each other. Troy and I are learning how to resolve conflict better. Keeping that tenderness in the equation has been the greater victory of our marriage.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

I occasionally read a blog of a woman in Texas who I think is very funny. Today I looked at her blog and she has a link to another blogger who gives a tutorial on how to properly and easily fold a fitted sheet. I realized after watching this video that I have never correctly folded a fitted sheet, and it’s so much easier than I thought it was.

To learn A) if you have been folding your fitted sheets correctly, B) if you have been folding your fitted sheets incorrectly, or C) if you’re slightly curious how others fold their fitted sheets, please click right here.

Some of us (as the funny Texas blogger says) have always folded sheets by another popular method – by rolling them up into a ball and stuffing them at the back of the closet. That works too.

But I think you might be surprised how easy this is, and how flat the sheet lays after she folds it. This would definitely create space in a linen closet.

After I put up this post I might tune in to the live Den Cam of Lily the Bear to see if I can hear her little cub making its heart-wrenching little bear cub sounds as the snow falls on her mama’s behind.

After that I might take a nap.

I wish.

So now I would like to ask you two questions.

1. How have you always folded your fitted sheets?
2. Did this little video demonstration change the way you’ll be folding your fitted sheets?

My answers are:

1. I tried but it never turned out well – always a little messy.
2. Yes.

I’m compiling a study and need your answers.

Thank you,

1.  Last night I couldn’t find my recipe for Lebanese Chicken with Couscous, so I threw together a Chicken Curry dish in the crockpot that was so yummy everyone raved and said it was a keeper. It had ginger, carrots, tomatoes, cumin, curry, raisins and peanuts in it. I’ll definitely make it again. (I later found the other recipe online and it’s delicious and unique – you can find it here.)

2.  I’ve been watching Lily the black bear in her den in Ely, MN on a live Bear Den Cam. She gave birth to one little cub a couple of days ago and if you catch them at the right time, you can hear its little high-pitched cries of hunger, and see Lily moving around trying to nurse. Check out www.bear.org if you have huge chunks of time with nothing to do.

3.  I have taken to wearing the same clothes over and over again and I’m not in the least bit worried that it might be a mental health issue. I wear a navy blue turtleneck covered by a lightweight grey sweater, dark blue jeans, navy SmartWool socks and Acorn slippers. Unless I’m going out, then I put on some weather-appropriate shoes. I do wash this outfit regularly, so it’s not like I wear it day after day and it never gets clean. But it is like I wear it day after day, day after day, and am thinking I might just do this for a long time.

4.  The song “Rabbit and the Bear” by Josh Garrels is getting a lot of playtime in our car these days. His music sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I am convinced that the lyrics of this song brilliantly describe what has happened, is happening, and will happen, in the spiritual realm which we cannot yet see. If you want to hear the song you can go to his site and click on the forward arrow of his player until you see that song’s title appear.

5.  Michael and I have been talking about going to the Passion Play in Oberammargau, Germany this year. It’s staged once every ten years, and if we’re going to do it, this would be the year. In 2020 Michael will be 71 and I’ll be 62 so we are thinking sooner rather than later.

6.  I have really wonderful children and grandchildren who occupy my thoughts a lot.

7.  This is how I know I’m getting old: a pileated woodpecker at least 15-16 inches tall flew to a maple tree right outside my kitchen window last week and I was so excited I almost cried.

8.  I have been house hunting lately and I can’t say why yet.  🙂

9.  I didn’t eat an egg until I was in my early twenties. Or broccoli. Or ketchup or mayonnaise. Or cabbage or soup or gravy or cucumbers or tomatoes. I made a concerted effort to eat and enjoy all these things when I moved to Minnesota, and did!

10. I have not been successful at becoming a fan of tuna or lima beans.

11.  I plan to start baking big crusty, round loaves of whole wheat bread again. It’s been too long, and our wintry weather makes me want to start mixing, kneading and baking. And eating it warm from the oven with some butter.

What are your eleven things today? Or your nine things? Or perhaps your three things?

Our two Miniature German Schnauzers, Edith and Millie, have their favorite places in the house to hang out. The place they prefer the most is the back of the couch in the den, so they can perch there and look out the window to the houses and street beyond. Sometimes we just can’t take their alerting us to minor movement outside one more second and we close the den shades, which, by the looks they give us, robs them of all their zest for living.

Their second favorite place is our bed. And since our bedroom is decorated in a lot of black and white toile, we always comment when they’re both laying on the bed that people probably think we decorated the bedroom to match our dogs. Toile Dogs, we say, and we laugh and think to ourselves how stinking funny we are.

Here’s a photo of part of our bedroom, followed by a shot of Millie and Edith on the bed. See how nicely they blend in with our color scheme? (A few years ago I read in Better Homes and Gardens that you can never really have too many plates on your walls. I might have carried this decorating advice a little too far…)

Toile (pronounced twall) Dogs. Schnauzers have hair instead of fur, so this means they don’t shed and they always smell pretty good. For dogs. But notice that when they lay on our bed, I put a cotton blanket down just to keep things lasting fresher longer.

So now we’ve noticed that Edith and Millie are trying to find a place to be comfortable in the living room. I moved the couch recently and this has unsettled them. It’s in the middle of the room, centered in front of the fireplace, with a couple of chairs around it – sort of a conversation area. So if you need an area in which to have some conversation, please call or e-mail and I can set you up pretty quickly.

The two Schnauzers (the blacker one is Edith and she’s almost eight, and the silvery one is Millie and she’s almost four) keep jumping up on the back of the rearranged couch in the living room and looking at us from under those schnauzery eyebrows, perplexed. They seem to wonder why they’re suddenly sitting way up there in the middle of the room, not near the window where they can keep vigil for all the potentially perilous things going on outside. It’s much harder to see the sinister squirrels and the dangerous deer from their new vantage point.

I took this photo of them the other day and I thought they looked like a Schnauzer Train. Millie, the insecure and needy one, has to be out in front all the time. And Edith, the long-suffering and weary one, bringing up the rear as the canine caboose.

Don’t they look like they’re Dogs Adrift? Clinging to a rickety raft on an ocean of carpet, far from the window land they love?

A Schnauzer Train. Dogs adrift on a rickety raft. Toile Dogs.

Clearly, I need to make an appointment.

We have some friends who told us about a place they visit a few times a year for rest and renewal. It’s called Pacem in Terris (Latin for Peace on Earth) and is a silent retreat center about two hours south of where we live.

As I heard more about the acres of beautiful woods, the small private hermitages, and the quiet, I knew I wanted to go.

Late last fall I got everything squared away at home and drove south to Pacem (I had to get used to the way it’s pronounced – POTCH-em in TER-ees). I stayed for two nights in the middle of the week, so out of the sixteen hermitages available, only four were occupied. They are spaced so carefully and far apart that it’s possible to feel like you’re alone in the woods. My hermitage was about a quarter mile out and was named after the patron saint, St. Clare of Assisi.

Pacem is a Catholic/Franciscan retreat center; I was told that about half the people who visit are Catholic, about forty percent are Protestant (that’s me), and the rest are people who claim no faith but are interested seekers.

From the Pacem in Terris literature, I read this:

Why Make a Hermitage Retreat?

To be alone with God is vital to spirituality. Nevertheless, most of us tend to neglect or push aside opportunities to move deeper into intimacy with Him.

With fast-paced, noisy, hectic and over-scheduled lives, we struggle daily to meet our personal needs and to balance relationships. Listening to others (truly listening) seems almost impossible – and it is even more difficult to hear one’s inner voice or the voice of God.

Sometimes, we need to step away from the struggles and influences of a secular society into a simple “desert-like” environment of silence and solitude. The dedicated silence and simplicity of a hermitage makes it possible for each hermit guest to seek and enter into an intimate union with God. In that intimacy, God’s love heals, nourishes, guides and transforms lives. He delights as we offer Him our praise and thanksgiving, and intercede for the needs of His people.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I visited, but I knew I needed to be alone with God. My life is blessed, but I don’t have many opportunities to be completely by myself, in total quiet, and the older I get the more I seem to need this.

Here’s a photo of my little hermitage, St. Clare, although when I visited it was in the autumn and most of the leaves had changed, dried and fallen by then:

Above, you can see the little screen porch to the right. It was pretty cold when I was there, but I did bundle up and go out to sit in the porch one evening. The wildlife, the birdsong and the wind in the trees were the only sounds to be heard on these beautiful 240 acres of woods. There’s also a small prairie and a lake on the property.

Inside each hermitage is a comfortable twin bed, a large rocking chair, a wall heater that kept things toasty, and a gas burner for making tea. No electricity, no running water, no bathroom. There are extra clean outhouses scattered throughout the woods near the hermitages, and I was not as inconvenienced by them as I had anticipated I would be.

The closet has everything you need – extra blankets, a pillow, a first aid kit, tea, and so much more. Several jugs of fresh water are provided, and if you need more, the caretakers at “the big house” at the front of the property will bring it to you. Because you keep silence while you’re at Pacem, if you need something you leave a note on your outside box with a clothespin. At 1:00 p.m. each day they come to check your note and then bring back to you whatever you need. They don’t even knock on your door – they just hang it on the box and do not disturb anyone.

There’s also an altar and a Bible in each hermitage. I brought my own Bible and a journal in which to write.

If you’re a first-time visitor to Pacem, you get a chance to chat with someone before they drive you out to your hermitage and show you where everything is. The woman I met with told me that many people who come for retreat are utterly exhausted, and it’s not unheard of for some to sleep forty-eight hours at first. Our culture is so harried and loud and demanding, it seems our bodies don’t know how to thrive with the stress. She said that if I felt like sleeping a lot I shouldn’t feel guilty and that sleep is a gift from God too.

I don’t think I’m sleep-deprived so that wasn’t an issue for me, but it took me most of the first day to just get used to the quiet. No phones, no music, no chores to do, no other voices – it made me realize how noisy and busy our lives have become, and how unaccustomed to quiet most of us truly are. It was unsettling at first, and that fact alone made me a little sad.

The walking trails through the beautiful woods at Pacem are peaceful and well-groomed. Even in the woods, if passing a fellow “hermit,” you keep silence.

Anyone staying there is invited for dinner at “the big house,” and the first night I didn’t go. I wanted to rest and enjoy the solitude, and to pray and read. I did walk up to the house the second evening, and it was quite nice to meet two other people who were there on retreat. At dinner silence is broken, so we shared where we were from and why we were there.

I saw so many deer walking and even bounding and leaping through the woods outside my hermitage window as I sat and rocked in my chair. There were birds and squirrels everywhere too.

At dinner we learned about the Pacem fox who’s fairly tame and roams the property. I hoped I’d have a chance to see him and was so delighted when I did. I was walking up to the big house to take a shower (wonderful, clean facilities for this) one morning and the fox trotted across the path about twenty yards in front of me. I didn’t take this photo, but this is the Pacem fox, taken by the folks who care for the center.

All the hermitages are the same, and this is the view from the bed, near the entry. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to sit in this chair, watch the woods and animals outside, close my eyes and pray, read my Bible and ponder, knowing I had nowhere to go and no one to talk to but Jesus. At night I wrapped myself in a blanket, lit a candle and just sat and rocked, praying for my family and praising God for His goodness to me.

Each hermitage is thoughtfully stocked with a basket of food for each visitor. There are two small rounds of whole wheat bread they bake in their house kitchen, and a block of cheddar cheese, several pieces of fruit and a large, nutty bran muffin. If you want more you can put a note out in your box and they’ll bring more for you. I was content with what they provided, and the chicken dinner at the big house was delicious.

It was strange to go to bed with the setting sun and not have anything else to do. No nightstand light to read by, no calls to answer. A friend of mine said, “Oh, Julie, I don’t know if I could do it. I think I would have a hard time with all that quiet.” I understood what she meant, and it is strange to step into all that silence, but oh, it was sublime!

I would like to return to Pacem in Terris again someday. Our friends who told us about the place go there regularly, to keep sane in a crazy world, to renew, rest and refresh, and to listen to what God wants to speak to them.

Psalm 46:10 is such an appropriate verse for a silent retreat, and I was so aware of this invitation while I was there:

Be still, and know that I am God.