God Supplies My Needs

That is a basic tenet that I rely heavily upon. The Lord asks things of me, frequently things I am not excited about doing because I am tired, lazy, selfish, busy, hard-hearted or just plain rebellious, but I usually kick myself into action knowing that I am His to command and remembering that He will supply my needs.

Of late I have been blessed by the amazing generosity of the Lord in response to some simple obedience on my part. After some small willingness, there has immediately been a result that I didn't anticipate. I have been made humble and joyful by:

• The satisfaction of a powerful time of prayer for a family in need of divine intervention.
• The pleasure of playing a softball game after a 14 year hiatus. (So. Much. Fun.)
• An unexpected pizza party with most every young person I get to associate with.
• The relief of being not just secure in a treasured friendship, but loved perhaps more, after communicating hard but needed things.
• Being witness to the overflowing joy and passion of a couple newly walking with Christ.
• Recuperation in the Spring and Summer not only to do what needed to be done, but also to do what I REALLY enjoyed and finally seeing my home come together (after 6 years).
• Recent realization after 3 months of said enjoyment that I am ready to do something more meaningful than work around my house.
• The nudges of God to move forward and the potential to see a dream fulfilled while dragging as many people as possible through the unexpected provisions and joys with me.
• Admiring the sweetness of two who are now one, meeting a new friend, and eating Strawberry Pie at the reception of dear newlywed friends.

Like Strawberry Pie in lieu of bread, is how the Lord has supplied me lately. I have expected the basics, the austere satisfaction of knowing I did what He asked or what I should, but then in a breathtaking flow He lavished me with riches.

My God will supply all your needs...

... according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus. 

Philippians 4:19

Why do I think that the One who stripped Heaven of its greatest treasure, willing to abundantly suffer and die to secure my salvation, would be any less generous with His day to day provisions? Why does it surprise me to realize that He is equally blessed to bestow complex joys as well as simple satisfaction? His are all the riches in the heavenly places and He takes joy in sharing, especially with those who will recognize His kindnesses. I am so blessed to be His.

I know enough about life to realize that the sense of this season of abundance will not likely last. It is not to be arrogantly demanded, but humbly enjoyed; it is sweetest that way. In life, it is His table and He serves up what is best. Sometimes it is bread, but sometimes it is Strawberry Pie.

After

I don't know how this wall color looks on your monitor, but on mine it's close. Should be a dark teal.

I like it.

And here is that fabric C found for me. It will be valances in the breakfast room and stripes on the bathroom towels.

Before

I have never been satisfied with the caramel color I used to paint the downstairs bathroom. Around here though, once a room gets a coat of paint that means it's time to move on to the next To Do.
(And we have our share of To do's being the creative, broke, DIYers we are.)
So like a man behind a steering wheel, there was no turning around, going back or asking for directions, it was simply time to MOVE ON.
A few years have passed now, and last week my son C and I were in Hobby Lobby and he found this piece of fabric and called me to it. He said I had to have it. And he was right, it just made me...happy. (Maybe even a little giddy.)
I adore it.
And it was the perfect excuse to change out that nasty caramel color.
Oh, did I change it.
I'll put it up tomorrow.
:)

Forward Progress?

Sometimes I feel like the caterpillar on the rim of this bowl: I know I'm moving forward, and I feel like I'm making significant progress, but then when I look around I realize I'm really just going around and around and around.
As a wife and a mom, certain tasks bring on this feeling more than others.
Dishes.
Laundry.
Dusting.
Vacuuming.
Dishes.
Laundry.
(Did I mention dishes and laundry?)
I find myself reflecting--"Wasn't I just here yesterday? Boy this seems familiar. Wait! I just had this clean!"
Sometimes I wonder if I'm really getting anywhere at all.
And I can be sure that when those thoughts overwhelm me, like the caterpillar, I am being very, very short-sighted. Because unlike the caterpillar, my life consists of more than eating, avoiding predators, reproducing and dying. And it holds much more than my least enjoyed tasks.
Thank You, God!
In addition to my laps around the household track, I have a life that is full of created wonders, interesting and loving people, divine appointments, eternal value and through the intercession of Jesus, a permanent relationship to the One who created and sustains it all.
(And in addition, I do realize that if I didn't do those jobs listed above my personal habitat would be much less pleasant, too.)

Crunchy Dinner

Red Lettuce, roasted chicken, finely grated parmesan cheese.

Chef Hunky

Hunky is the best husband.
The guys were away at camp this week and the first day of our 'empty nest practice run' I said, "Honey, I would really like to not prepare very many meals this week if that's ok with you."
He responded by making the most amazing Baby Swiss, Bacon and Mushroom omelette in the history of the world.

That is not hyperbole. We topped it with Greek yogurt and enjoyed culinary bliss in a very quiet house.

Crunchy Lunch

A Praying Mantis is FAST. I saw this one munching on a spider. The spider still had 6 legs as I ran in the house and grabbed my camera. By the time I got back, the spider was down to 2!
When my oldest children were quite young, and I didn't know much about mantids, we sent two of the insects together in a jar for my daughter to show her young preschool friends. When I returned to collect her, there was only one mantid left, unless you count the head rolling around in the bottom of the jar...oops.

The Thinker

My Fault. God's Faithfulness.

I suppose because of my own faithlessness to God, I am often surprised by His ongoing faithfulness to me. Yes, I am aware of how very egocentric that is, and if I thought myself to be alone in that kind of thinking I might worry more, but the scriptures and life itself are full of reminders that I am in like-minded company everywhere I go. It is a condition of my fallen humanity. When I take the time to think on it I know full well to expect His ongoing presence, guidance and support; it's just that I just don't take the time to think on it enough.
Last night was fairly miserable in the sleep department, much because of the injury I sustained to my back recently. And I am more than a little annoyed by this ominous pain in my spine. Someone might wonder how I did it. Moving too many huge rocks? No. That last load of gravel. Uh-uh. Tossing 40lb bags of goat and chicken feed? Child's play.
No, I tried to jump a ditch from the uphill side to the downhill side--the same ditch that I have jumped that way many times, but this time the weeds obscured the edge, I ignored the still small voice that said "Wait." and I then missed, falling an extra two feet into the ditch. And while trying to keep my balance I threw out my arms and arched my back which was the position I was in when I landed hard, and bolt upright, in the bottom of said ditch like a steel rod being slammed into the ground by a pile-driver, with the exception of the sound, which went crunch instead of clang.
Annoyed, yes. And irritated. And mildly anxious. Grumpy, too, and less than happy with my own stupidity and its result.
Enter the sovereign hand and encouraging character of God, via the writings of Elisabeth Elliot Gren, and today's devotional in my email inbox.
The Lord is good and knows precisely what is needed and when. My back may be injured because of my own foolishness, but I still have the Lord's love and ready help. Since I did not stop this morning to read God's wisdom and writings He reminded me of it by the wisdom and writings of my older sister in the faith.
And I was surprised by the obvious application to my current problem, but then again, not really.

Elisabeth Elliot, from A Lamp For My Feet

My Own Fault

Someone who is suffering as a result of his own foolishness or failure may read these words. These griefs are hard indeed to bear, for we feel we might easily have avoided them. We have no one to blame but ourselves, and there isn't much consolation there. Sometimes we imagine that we must bear this kind of trouble alone, but that is a mistake. The Lamb of God, slain for us, has borne all of our griefs and carried all of our sorrows, no matter what their origin. All grief and sorrow is the result of sin somewhere along the line, but Christ received them willingly. It is nothing but pride that keeps me from asking Him to help me to bear the troubles which are my own fault.

Beans

We had a lot of mouths to feed Taco bar to,

so I cooked my own beans.

Loved how they looked in the pot and it reminded me a bit

of the picture I took while going

through the underwater tunnel

in Norfolk VA when we went to Williamsburg.

(Looks like there are only a couple of beans

 in that pot, though.)

While on the subject of things that are cooking. I am finding that when I am working hard around the house or yard each day, and really moving, that the brain does the slow cooker routine. I'm expecting a quieter week starting Sunday and I think some of those 'back burner thoughts' will have the opportunity to be served up.

By the way, the consensus is that canned refried beans will from now on be for emergencies only.

Lil' Miss Sunshine

I love Lil. She is awesome.

She's both a good watchdog and a good welcome committee. 

She follows me everywhere when I'm outside,
and sometimes gets to lay on the floor of the kitchen when I'm inside.

When I'm watering the garden, if she's too warm she'll bug me until I soak her with the hose.

Then she runs around like a wild idiot and rubs her back into the grass as she scoot/slides down the front lawn.

She even does a few tricks. Clearly fetch is not ever going to be one of them.

Saturday Special

It was a productive day out front.
Finished the rock steps and the chinking.
Added a new, small water feature, thanks to Hunky who dug and leveled the hole and provided moral support. :)

Hosted my good friend J and her family.
It's been probably 15 years since our last visit.
SO GOOD to reconnect.

ET your Watermelon

OK, so yeah, playing with our food is not an altogether alien pastime.

C--your creativity is showing. 

I think.

Rootbound

I've had a water lily for three years.

To my surprise it has survived each winter at the bottom of my little pond and come back bigger and better.

Until this year.

This year has been different. 

(Of course, what hasn't been different this year?)

The leaves are small. 

They don't last long and they yellow quickly. 

It has not bloomed once and barely shades the pond.

I couldn't figure it out.

But then today I had an idea: perhaps it was rootbound.

It was not just rootbound. 

It was packed more tightly than any plant I have ever seen.

The original lily was so healthy and grew so successfully that it was killing itself with productivity.

Sounds a little like someone I used to know.

The roots were packed so tightly that I could not remove the plants from the pot, and it had to be cut apart with great difficulty.

I had equal difficulty separating the entangled plants which had gone from one to 12 in only the three years. It was major, messy surgery.

I did finally get them apart and repotted most of them into a large underwater basket where they can grow without competition.

In the meantime the entire pond is one gigantic mud puddle since the huge resident frog or the too numerous goldfish wallowed in the newly exposed clay until it all dissolved into the water.

This was one of those jobs that like many in life needed, but didn't want, to be done.

It was difficult.

It took time.

It was messy.

It will require patience before I see any results.

But it was the right thing to do; the best thing to do.

And in the end, it will result in healthier, more productive lilies and a more beautiful pond, but at present there is no visible evidence whatsoever that my efforts have been good or fruitful. 

On the contrary it appears that I've made a mess of everything, and what I haven't messed up somebody else has.

Which is the nature sometimes of doing what needs to be done in life as well. 

We do it because it's right and we know we should, so we leave the results to God. 

 May all your lilies thrive and bless your pond with shade and beauty.

Losing His Cookies

Once upon a time there was a woman who lived in Indiana and sold cheese.

Her parents lived far away and it was almost her father's birthday.

The chef

So knowing that her father loved gingerbread cookies, she had his grandson make a big delicious batch and she packed them very securely into a box with some other gifts and a card.

At 4 o'clock she left for the post office knowing that the parcels would not leave on their journey from the town until about 4:40.

Arriving at the post office at 4:10, she brought her empty cheese boxes that needed to be sent back to the cheese house.

Putting those on the counter first, she asked the postal clerk, whom we shall call Milton, to ship them the cheapest way possible, which was parcel post.

After the postage was placed on the last cheese box, Milton discovered that the machine which dispensed the postage labels had just run out of labels.

By now there were a couple of customers behind her.

Uncharacteristically, Milton, who was pushing 80 if he was a day, swore as he left the room to get labels.

Meanwhile, the daughter and her young friend who had helped her at the house that day waited patiently.

When Milton returned he was very agitated.
He tried over and over again to thread the roll of labels properly through the machine, making trips back and forth between the machine at his window and the one at the other station, the closed window.

But it was clear that he was unsure of how it worked.
In addition, his hands shook so violently that he simply could not place the tape where he thought it needed to go. 

It was now 4:25 and there were four people in line.

More time passed and although Milton had seemingly threaded the labels through, the machine refused to work for him.
So the daughter suggested that she could buy stamps, which she had wanted to do anyway as they just released a beautiful new series, and then he could just tell her the postage and she would simply apply the necessary number of stamps.

(Plus she thought that covering her father's birthday box in botanical 'love' stamps would be fun.)

Milton was greatly relieved and said that would be helpful under the circumstances.

The big doors in the back of the post office opened and another postal worker started loading the carts with outgoing parcels into a truck.

Unfortunately, when Milton pulled out the book that held stamps he was unable to find the ones she wanted.

There were now six people in line behind the daughter and she said any stamps would do.

He handed her a 20-count book of brown liberty bell stamps and ran her credit card.

The big doors closed and the truck with the outgoing parcels drove away.

It was now 4:40.

When Milton tried to weigh the birthday box, the computer system would not allow him to proceed since the label machine had been opened and not reloaded properly nor closed.

He tried other options, to no avail.

Stress and frustration having set in ages before, Milton said he would have to move to the next window and see if he could weigh the birthday box on the machine there.

However, when he tried it would not allow him to log in because he apparently had not logged out of the other window's system.

After numerous trips between the stations he was finally able to get into the second system by slamming the cash drawer a few times.

Relief washed over him and he processed the order in only moments declaring, "That will be $15, parcel post. Your credit card, please?"

Sadly for the daughter, Milton had forgotten that she was going to use the stamps.

More sadly for the father, Milton had forgotten to ask how she wanted to send the box, which was first class, not parcel post.

So the daughter stammered a bit and handed him her card, asking if perhaps--since the stamps were not to be used after all-- she could return them.
And even more sadly for the daughter, the ugly brown bell stamps could not be returned because, as Milton explained, "I'm sorry, but all sales are final."

The last 'Cry Baby'

She thought it over and decided not to ask Milton to correct these mistakes as the line was now actually out the double doors, and they had been trying to mail one box for nearly 45 minutes.

In addition, while she and her young friend had divine resources to help them endure the ordeal with grace, it was fairly clear that Milton did not (although he did use the Lord's name strongly at least once, so she could be mistaken).

In short, she was most concerned that any further dealings might do him in, and if they did not, the other customers in line just might.

So the moral of this story is:

"Life's a ----- and then you…." 

WAIT! That’s not it.

It is:

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

Dear Dad, I’m really hoping you get your cookies by the weekend, but it could be the week after that. I think this is his best batch ever.
Love you!  :/ 

My Offering

S has been practicing for weeks to play piano during the offering at church today. But by yesterday it was clear that certain parts of his piece simply would not come together. Throughout the day as I ran errands, I thought long about the things we bring to and do for the Lord. How we want them to be glorious and perfect and worthy--all the things that we are not. I felt compelled to write this last night. I read it during the offering today.

My Offering

• 
  I want to honor Christ the King
  I want to bring
  an offering that’s worthy
  A treasure chest
  A song to sing
  A dance with lyre
  And tambourine
  
  Gifts of gold
  A prized possession
  Wealth untold
  A grand profession of faith
  or hope
  of praise
  or growth
  or joy
  
  A noble action
  thought
  or deed
  A lofty manifesto
  creed
  or declaration
  
  Or a disposition quiet like
  a gentle spotless lamb
  A humble life of sacrifice
  presented to the great I AM
  
  But no
  
  For all I have
  is nothing
  My works are filthy rags
  My words reek of hypocrisy
  My fickle fervor lags
  behind my good intentions
  
  My talents they run shallow
  My wellsprings mostly dry
  My heart too often heavy
  My lack of faith decries
  that I have nothing
  fit to give My King
  

• 
  But mindful of my dust-filled frame
  He bids me come to Him
  to kneel in His presence
  to offer every sin
  and heavy burden
  and heartfelt pain
  Give up my prized possessions
  worldly gain
  my hopes
  fears
  joys
  tears
  My all
  To this world die
  
  That I might live
  in Him
  And in this life
  that I might bring Him
  everything
  that He has given me
  
  For every good and perfect gift
  is from his hand above
  His Word declares
  His glory
  His sacrifice
  His love
  His worthy offering
  in place of mine
  
  For everything is from Him
  and everything returns
  that He has given
  
  And so my heart that yearns
  to bring an offering
  is satisfied
  in Him
  
  
  mjv
  

The Essentials Kit

a

Brian Regan fans everywhere can rest easy now.

Available at your local Wmart.

The Farmer and his Road Sign

I used to buy mulch from a farmer up on rt. 350. He had a sign, of sorts, that advertised his mulch.

Like a good farmer he had used up what was available. Said he mixed together a bunch of half empty paint buckets and got mauve so that was the color he painted the sign.

The farmer had had a stroke and couldn't use his left side so well anymore. By the Spring of 2009, the sign became hard to read, harder to bring in during the winter, and it started rotting on all the edges pretty badly.

I used to be a painter. When I was growing up I spent a lot of time with my grandparents and my grandpa was a painter. I loved my Grandpa. He was an old guy who had seen a lot, told it like it was and kept it real. He was crusty and grouchy and I was his soft spot right along with candy bars. I worked with him for many years before he passed away. We painted houses, businesses, churches, university buildings (Oregon State Univ, to be exact--Go Beavs!) and apartment buildings. That experience opened some doors, and later I also painted rooms in the Ambassador to Russia's mansion in downtown Moscow, USSR as preparations were made for President Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachevs' famous summit talks.

I am a gardener and  landscaper and I like Mr. W's mulch and his price. Furthermore, I like Mr. W. He's an old guy who has seen a lot,  tells it like it is and keeps it real. So I suggested a deal. I would paint him a new sign and he could give me free mulch. Neither one of us knew what the deal was worth and we still haven't pinned that down exactly. 

The farmer had a piece of plywood in the barn, and he sent it home with me. He didn't know what color or style he wanted the sign to be, so he let me make the decisions. It was a lot more work than I expected and twice as much fun. It was a lot more sign than he expected and I think he liked it. We both thought it was a decent deal. I got to do something nice for somebody in exchange for mulch, and he got a new sign and $5 more per scoop.

So it's been two years. During the winter I saw that the sign was laying face down in the snow. This Spring when I drove by I noticed it needed some touching up so I called and renewed our arrangement. When I went and got two scoops I discovered just how much the sign needs work and at first I was a little disappointed.

But then I remembered just how much I need mulch and decided that working on that sign every couple of years is probably just about right.