Sometimes I open up the blog and stare at the screen, willing the words to appear. I like words. I’m what you might call a “wordy” person. If you ask me a simple “yes” or “no” question, I might just go the distance and give you all the reasons behind that simple “yes” or “no.”
But this is a “nada” day. Please tell me that you have days like that.
Well, since the words are hiding, I’ll just share a little montage of photos I took the other day from our kitchen window.
“This is too public. Let’s find somewhere private to chat.” “How about that discarded Christmas tree?”“Ah, much better. How kind of these people to put this tree out here for us.”The best kind of recycling.
Synopsis of the story thus far: Our frog hero, Fig Newton, met a little girl on the river named Lucy, who knitted him a scarf, made him a sailor’s hat, made him a little boat and reluctantly said goodbye to him so he could go see the world. Along the way, Fig was thinking through his trip when he ran across a bear carrying another girl. The bear was Grimpus Leatherfoot and the girl, Miss Agra Glendalough. They decided to travel along with him, walking by the riverside since his boat was too small for them. He spent some time thinking about what he’d want to do and see before returning home. While Agra and Grimpus were out exploring, Fig was singing in the boat by himself and was accosted by a fox named Phineas who stole his boat, leaving Figgy sitting on the riverbank, bereft. When Grimpus and Agra returned, Fig indulged in some self-pity, receiving a much needed rebuke from Miss Agra. Suitably chastened and in better spirits, he told them of the theft. Grimpus recognized the thief as Phineas Fox and recommended that they give chase immediately. They ran off in the direction of the river, but Grimpus ran so fast that all the bumping up and down made Agra sick, so they took a break. As they were taking stock of their situation, they were joined by Colonel Purslane, a hedgehog of some renown in the forest. (See Parts 1-7 if you want to know more).
“Let me learn your names, first. I already know Mr. Grimpus Leatherfoot,” said the Colonel. Once satisfied on that score, he bade Miss Agra to tell him what had them all in such distress. Figgy felt that it was really his story to tell, but kept quiet, not wanting to waste more time. Agra summed up their plight quickly and efficiently. The colonel nodded along as she spoke and when she was done, he said, “So, Phineas Fox is up to his old tricks again! Give me a moment to think this through.” He got out of the sleigh and paced around slowly while thinking out loud.
“What we need is to consult with the one creature in this forest that always knows what is going on with everyone. As a source of information, he is unparalleled. Now, the only question is, how do we find him without delay?”
He stopped pacing and looked around, realizing that this small group of travelers were depending on his plan of action. Grimpus said, “Colonel, we are ready to look for this helpful fellow. Who is he?” “We are looking for Clive, the snail,” the Colonel answered. This was really too much for Fig.
“A snail?!? We’re going to be depending on a SNAIL, when time is of the essence to catch Phineas Fox and retrieve the Lucky Lucy?” Poor Figgy. He really hadn’t learned his lesson yet.
“Tell me, Mr. Frog,” Colonel Purslane said frostily, “Do you know anything at all about Phineas Fox? Do you know where he lives? Do you have any idea why he needed your boat? Do you think you can figure out where he’s headed? If you want to continue running blindly without any information or strategy, I will not stop you!”
There was a moment’s awkward silence. Fig Newton was impulsive and impatient, but he was not, in the end, a complete fool. “I beg your pardon, Colonel. Just ignore me. Please do not abandon our quest because of my big mouth.” And just like that, Fig Newton remembered a song that his mother used to sing:
When words are many, Sin is not lacking Set a guard, O Figgy Over your mouth.
‘Tis well to be silent Instead of yakking Think first, O Figgy Before opening your mouth.
Colonel Purslane clapped his paws together and said, “I know just where Clive will be right now. At this time of day, he has finished his rounds and will be taking a rest at his home, The Last Mailbox. Agra, you come into my sleigh and I’ll lead the way!” To Fig’s relief, it appeared his indiscretion was already forgotten.
Agra was much happier riding in the sleigh, while Fig Newton and Grimpus loped along behind them. It wasn’t long before they came to a small clearing and saw a mailbox on the ground with the door flap down. The sign next to it said in big letters “CLIVE CAN DELIVER!” Seated on the door flap was a handsome snail wearing glasses and reading a book. As they came to a stop in front of him, he set the book down and seeing Colonel Purslane, he called out cheerfully, “Good day, Purslane! What can I do for you and your companions, my fine fellow?”
Fig Newton looked him over and was filled with admiration. He was obviously a learned creature, and everything about him cried out, “Can do!” They had come to the right place.
Stayed tuned for the next chapter. Good old Fig Newton – he’s a lovable froggie. Fig Newton Part 9
If you can tell me what book Clive had been reading, this post will be saved from destruction.
Here’s the latest project – adding some color to our kitchen. I did a couple sample stencils on some extra tiles (we didn’t have any extra 4”x4” tiles around) and am starting to realize how long this is going to take. I have four different stencils and am trying to decide whether or not to use all the different colors for each one (like above) or to do one color per stencil and vary them by color throughout the kitchen. Or should I just pick one color and use only that one? I’m not doing every tile – just select ones. I can’t imagine building a house and having to make decisions about every single thing in every single room. Anyway, opinions are welcome!
We’re in the midst of a good old-fashioned Minnesota blizzard right now. “Snow on snow on snow…” Thoughts of hot chocolate, a lap blanket and a good book are swirling around in my head as the snow swirls around outside. I’m done here.
I’ll probably…(do you hear the hot chocolate calling?)
I was in the midst of doing a dietetic internship during most of that first year after coming to Christ. It was an intense time of study and work, with a lot of expectations attached. Only 8 students from all over the country had been chosen to be part of this internship in the city which boasted of being the home of the Mayo Clinic. I lived in a dorm attached to St. Mary’s Hospital (SMH), which housed both the dietetic interns and nursing students. At that time, St. Mary’s was still very much a Catholic institution, run by nuns. Perhaps it still is. At the beginning of the internship, we were all gathered into an auditorium and given a speech by Sister Gennerose, who was at that time in a position of leadership there. She told us, among other things, that SMH would remain staunchly pro-life even when other medical institutions were willing to do abortions. This impressed and irked me at the same time, as my convictions on abortion were decidedly on the other side. In spite of my own stance on the issue, I could not help but be stirred in some way by her commitment that the hospital should do the right thing, or at least what she perceived as doing the right thing, amid pressures from the outside world.
It wasn’t long before my convictions about abortion would be challenged, however. My spiritual mentor, Jodie, had asked me to join a Bible study with some of the other nursing students. I was a little intimidated by this as a newbie in the Christian world, but had been gobbling the Bible up in my free time and wanted to be with others who were reading it, too. I had so much to learn! I don’t remember anything about that Bible study, but at the end of the first meeting, Jodie mentioned to the group that we had an opportunity to babysit for some of the women at church who wanted to go up to the capitol for the pro-life march. She passed a sign-up sheet around, asking us to sign up if we were willing and able. Uh oh…I squirmed uncomfortably. There was NO WAY I was going to sign that sheet. Not too long ago, I’d been doing volunteer work for the other side. And let’s not forget that I’d had an abortion several years previously. But now I was a Christian. Did that mean I had to become pro-life? My conscience was pricked and you can be sure the Holy Spirit was involved.
I spoke to Jodie privately after the study. “Jodie, I think you should know that I’m not pro-life. I’m really more in the pro-choice camp. Does a Christian have to be pro-life? I’m not sure if I can take that stance, but I want to be open to what God would tell me about this issue.” She listened thoughtfully, and instead of judging me or lecturing me, she suggested that I read some materials about abortion from a couple Last Days newsletters and passed them on to me. I took them back to my dorm room. This was a big deal for me. When I told the Lord I would surrender everything to Him, did I mean it? I prayed before reading those newsletters, simply asking the Lord to show me the truth, no matter the cost, but behind the words, I was still holding back.
I didn’t think the Bible had much to say on this topic, but I was wrong. I had never looked at photos of aborted babies either. When you read about Jesus healing blind people in the New Testament, they all have something in common: they knew they were blind. Until that moment, I hadn’t known just how blind I was, but that evening, the Holy Spirit applied the clay of truth to my spiritual eyes and bade me wash it off so that I might see. I wept for what I had done. I confessed my sin before the Lord and received His forgiveness.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see.
Do you think that a blind man after receiving his sight would ask to be made blind again? After all, there are a lot of things in this world that are traumatizing to see, and once seen, impossible to un-see. There are some who might say that I was better off blind, but they would be wrong. What a wonderful mercy it is to know the truth, to know the Man who is Truth. “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” I would not return to those chains of self-deception for anything.
My husband and I do a short exercise routine most mornings guided by videos from Bloom Young. They’re very doable and I recommend them to anyone who needs to get off the couch and do some low-impact exercising. I think they’re geared toward older people, but anyone could sign up. In fact, I’m fully expecting our 3-year-old granddaughter to do these along with us the next time we see her. You can purchase on a subscription basis, or you can do what we did, which is just to buy the basic package, a one-time purchase which is a lot cheaper, but you only have a limited number of workouts available. We don’t mind doing the same ones over and over again.
Anyway, the reason I bring that up is that the young man who leads the exercise routines tells us all the time what an excellent job we are doing. I counted the number of times he said “Excellent work!” or “Excellent job!” or just “Excellent!” during a routine we did recently and it was 22 times. This is remarkable in light of the fact that he can’t see us and has no idea what sort of bumbling around we might be doing in the privacy of our living room. So, it’s phony feedback, but I’ve become accustomed to it nevertheless. I’ve gotten to the point where I expect to hear it and feel affronted when the praise is not forthcoming, even when there’s no basis for it.
Such is the danger of the whole self-esteem movement of the 70’s. (Didn’t see that coming, did you?) A whole generation of children (probably two generations now) became accustomed to hearing how awesome and excellent they were without actually earning the praise. It’s just as Dash said in the movie “The Incredibles.” “When everyone is special, nobody is.” When everything is excellent, nothing is.
Monday meanderings for you.
I’ll probably delete this excellent post in an excellent way in the excellent morning. See what I mean?
When you’ve got some mail To put in the box, Clive can deliver!
To send to Fig Newton or that dastardly fox Clive can deliver!
If you don’t mind That the mail is slow, Clive can deliver!
To send to friend Or send to foe, Clive can deliver!
I proudly present to you, Clive the Snail Mailman. Or should that be Clive the Snail Mail-slug? He’s intelligent, he’s friendly, he knows the neighborhood, he’ll never let you down. Clive can deliver!
I discovered something important while working on this project. I bought some wool blend gray felt for the mailbox instead of the usual cheap felt made from plastics because I needed a bigger piece. I think I’m ruined now for working with the cheap stuff. The wool was so soft and easy to work with. You get what you pay for. You can quote me on that.
I’ll probably turn this post over to a competent slug in the morning.
If you want to start at the beginning of this series: Adventures Part 1
Recently I saw a new Christian in his 60’s talking about his experience. He was a somewhat well-known podcaster, but unknown to me. His enthusiasm and zeal for this new-found faith was endearing, which made it easier to overlook the bad theology that sometimes emerged in the conversation. This is they way of it when you come to Christ as an adult carrying lots of pre-conversion baggage. And so it was with me.
I read something very early on that said that life is eternal, for the saved and for the unsaved – all will go to either heaven or hell. There is no other option. What? I had somehow missed that memo on my way in. I was appalled at the thought! Could people like my parents go to hell? Surely not! They’re such GOOD people. I had this idea that everyone is born good and the potential for good in them is never destroyed, no matter how they may have strayed. The fact that I was setting myself up as someone more just than God never crossed my mind.
The reality was that I knew I had been saved but I really hadn’t thought about what salvation meant. I wrote: “It’s like taking a child off the train tracks where sooner or later he would have been killed and then telling him that you saved him and shouldn’t he just jump and down for joy. No – that child is not going to know the full meaning of what happened, but someday when the child grows up, he will go back and look at those train tracks and see the inevitable passing of the train, and he will thank God that he was saved from that fate.” I was the child. I had never really understood the danger. “I did not reach for His hand to save me from being hit by a train…I reached for His hand because I was hungry for His love, His blessed unconditional love. I reached for His hand because I needed Him and He was there.”
Ah, such sweet, childish love I had for the Savior. There’s nothing wrong with baby Christians that time in the Word and in worship and in fellowship with more mature Christians can’t cure. It’s the same thing we need no matter where we are in our walk with Christ. I would eventually learn that no one is born good. There is no nature versus nurture debate when it comes to the sinfulness of man. We sin because we are sinners – that is our nature from the very beginning.
I had a lot of zeal, but still worried about turning into something or someone that I wouldn’t recognize as being me. I feared becoming “a smiling hollow robot with no mind whatsoever.” I was somewhat hesitant to tell my family about this new faith, especially since I had kept the whole journey to myself. They’d think I’d gone off the deep end, for sure. But on the other hand, the Lord gave me a huge desire to see the rest of my family come to faith in Christ – I not only had to tell them, I was already praying for them.
One thing I knew for sure – I needed to be baptized and make my faith a public thing. I don’t think I even remembered that I’d been baptized as an infant and really didn’t need to do it again. I hardly knew what baptism was, to be honest. I went to a church that did full immersion baptisms and I invited three close friends down to Rochester for the Big Event. Maybe it was unnecessary in the larger scheme of things, but I cannot regret that I went through with it. That was a great day.
I didn’t have much interest in keeping my room clean when I was growing up. When we were young, Saturdays were the day we had to clean our rooms and I will admit that I gave as little effort to this as possible. If I could stuff it under the bed, hide it in a closet, cram it into a drawer or in other creative ways hide my mess, that’s what I did. When I finally got my own room down the basement, the rules had become much more relaxed (i.e. we wore our parents down) and I could could neglect cleanliness to my heart’s content. You could say my parents gave me over to my slovenly tendencies. I used to have a photo of my room from this period of time, which demonstrates the point, but I couldn’t find it, so I’ll have to use one of the top of my desk. Just multiply the disarray on the desk and you’ll have a good idea of what my room looked like.
I threw my dirty clothes on a heap in the corner on the tiled floor and occasionally put some of them in the washing machine. One day, I decided I should pick all of them up to put them in the wash and found that at the bottom of the pile, some bugs had been happily eating away at my underwear. This had an amazingly motivating effect on me. Suddenly I had a reason to care about where I put my clothes. This was exactly what Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle might have ordered for me, if she’d been consulted on my case. My habits improved a little. The next transformation occurred when I moved into an apartment during my college years. During the interview for the apartment (currently inhabited by two other college students), my prospective roommates asked me about my general attitude toward cleanliness – it turned out that this was an important factor in the decision. I assured them that I was quite neat (oh, the deceit of it all) and when they chose me to live there, I felt bound to keep up my end of the bargain. Somewhere along the line, I realized that it was much more pleasant to live in a clean apartment, in spite of the draconian rules about cleaning out the tub after every use and wiping down the kitchen counter after making a meal. My own room stayed rather rumpled, but I was in earnest about making sure my roommates had no reason to regret picking me.
And so it has continued over the years, small moments of graceful transformation. I will never be fastidiously neat, but I can no longer enjoy living in a mess. The work involved in sanctifying my home has become less of a burden and more of a blessing.
How very like what God does in our lives when He begins to sanctify our souls. There’s no hiding our mess from Him. First, He illuminates our sin for us by allowing us to wallow in it; He gives us over to it and in His grace lets us truly taste the bitterness of our choices. In a series of small graces, He transforms us over time, giving us hearts that long for righteousness and despise sin. He is at work in us giving us the will to please Him and the ability to do the work that pleases Him. He starts with messy souls, declares us clean in Christ, and then sets about making us clean indeed, teaching us how to keep our spiritual house clean and giving us joy in the process.
For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6
Full disclosure: I originally published this on my previous blog (Further Up and Further In). I was headed up to bed and realized I’d forgotten to post today. Desperate times call for desperate measures…like copying and pasting.
I’ll probably…I’m tired now, just let me go to bed.
We started out from the tavern, following the directions that Arbin Goodbarrel had given us. It wasn’t long before we saw the area where he described being accosted by the bandits. Arbin had told us from which direction they had come, so we went that way, hoping we could at least find a trail of some sort. We found much better than that. As we came out of a woodsy area, we were on low terrain and looking ahead, we could see a small tower upon a nearby hill with two guards dressed in red at the door. It looked like a lonely little outpost.
We took cover immediately and held consultation. Radagast suggested that one of us do some secret reconnaissance to see if we could learn anything before approaching the tower. Finbul volunteered, being small and fast. There was enough tree and bush coverage along the way for him to make the approach without being seen. He came back in about 10 minutes and said he’d gotten close enough to hear the guards talking, but they said nothing of importance. They spoke only of a dog named Flint that had given birth to puppies. Finbul stole around to the back of the tower and took note of a window that was too high to climb up to without help of some sort.
It seemed clear that these guards dressed in red were from the same group that had stolen the gem, so there was nothing else to do but make direct contact with them and see what we could learn. Finbul and Sir Kelsier volunteered to go, suggesting that Radagast and I stay back to offer support if the contact somehow went awry and violence broke out. I was quietly relieved to stay behind. What I would do if the need for support arose I did not know. Kelsier told us that if they were allowed in the tower, that we should make our way to that back window and they’d send down a rope for us to climb up.
From our vantage point, we could see Finbul and Kelsier having animated discussion with the guards. One of the guards disappeared into the tower for a few minutes and upon returning, our two men went in. That was our cue to go around to the window. I found out that it is possible to be excited and sick with apprehension at the same time, a new experience for dull little Herda.
Once in the tower, we found ourselves in a cozy little room with two tables, upon one of which was a small chest with inlaid gemstones on the lid. A dog was lying on a rug in the middle of the room with two puppies. Ah, so this was Flint.. Finbul and Kelsier told us that they’d told the guards that they had business to discuss with their master and found out that the guards were in the service of a woman named Calamity. At first the guards were reluctant to let them in at all, but Kelsier apparently told them of his credentials as a nobleman and they were intimidated into sending one of the guards to check with Calamity. When he returned, he told Finbul and Kelsier that Calamity gave them permission to enter the tower, but they could only talk to her if they could find her.
Finbul went to open the chest on the table and found a circlet of some sort that looked as if it was meant to be worn on the head. He stuffed it into his bag and at this point we realized that there was no exit from the room other than to go back out of the tower the way Finbul and Kelsier had come in. Finbul suddenly shooed the dog and puppies off the rug and then lifted the rug up to reveal a hidden door in the floor. If I had been by myself, I’m not sure I would ever have thought of it. He pulled up the small door and we peered into the opening to see a ladder leading down, but it was dark and hard to see what was at the bottom.
Down we went, me bringing up the rear as usual. There was no discussion between us, just huffing and puffing as we made our way down the somewhat unstable ladder. When I came down, I could see we were in a stone hallway that sloped down., but it was still dark and hard to see what was at the end of it. What now? Radagast asked Finbul for that circlet and then upon taking it into his hands, it began giving off light, so he put it on his head to light the way for us. This must have been some sort of spell that he cast, reminding me that I’d been told that I had certain spells available to me, too, things that were written down and wallowing somewhere in my pack. I’d had two days to study them, but had neglected this small duty and was filled with regret.
This time Radagast and Kelsier led the way, proceeding cautiously. And where was little Herda? You know by now. Suddenly the hallway itself burst into flames ahead of us, causing us all to shout in dismay and run back. Kelsier had been in front and had taken the most damage, with Radagast also suffering from some minor burns. This was our first major defeat and I am ashamed to say that I was ready to turn back. At the very least, we’d have to regroup and come up with a strategy for going forward.
I heard a voice: “Herda, what are you doing here?” It was me, talking to myself. No one else paid any attention to my muttering.
Well, I’m not sure how much farther I can take this story. My notes got pretty vague at this point, although I could probably get us to the end of the mission. I’d have to know that someone out there was interested enough to find out what happens, though. And no offense will be taken if there are no takers. I might be relieved to stop right here. I’m wishing there was more dialogue in this part, but was rushing to get the basic narrative down.
Lynniebeemuseoday 