Willow was known to enjoy a good wander, so she became known as Willow Wanderer, a pleasing name to the ear and especially to her big rabbit ears. But she could just as well have been called Willow Murmurer for her habit of murmuring to herself as she meandered along.

On this beautiful day, Willow was ambling through the woods searching for what she called “treasures of the earth.” You and I might think she was looking for silver and gold, but we would be mistaken. All treasures to Willow were strictly culinary ones, things she could pick, nibble, and put in soups and stews and other such delights. She was a connoisseur of the hidden and overlooked victuals in the ground. Anyone who received an invitation to a meal at Willow’s home could count on having something deeply satisfying, the kind of food that makes you rub your belly appreciatively when the meal is over, just for the sheer joy of remembering what you just put into it.

And so, Willow ambled and murmured, only running when her ears told her to, which wasn’t often in these silent woods.
“Oh look, some buttercups,” went Willow. Nibble, nibble.
“Do I see raspberry leaves?” murmured Willow. Those went in her bag.
“Ah, that must be a snippet of kale,” said she. Nibble, nibble.
“Is that a carrot? Hmmm, no, it’s a parsnip. I’ll take one for my soup tonight.”

All of a sudden she realized she’d been hearing the chattering of the river for awhile and it was getting louder. “How did I get so close? And what’s that floating out there in the middle?”

Something was indeed floating in the river, gently moving with the current. Before she had a chance to see what it was, a small boat came around the bend and she quickly hid behind the bushes. As the boat started to go by, Willow received a shock upon seeing none other than Phineas Fox in it. How glad she was that she had hidden, for foxes and rabbits are no more friendly in her world than they are in ours. “Phineas Fox!” she whispered to herself. “What is he doing in a boat? There’s mischief involved if Phineas is in it, there’s mischief all over!”

As Phineas Fox went by, she heard him calling out, “Wait up! Can’t you get caught on a tree limb in the water or something? Help a fellow out!” The boat was a little too small for him and Willow giggled to herself to see him trying to steady himself in it while he rocked back and forth with the waves. He had an oar in his hands, but his flailing around with it wasn’t helping him at all.

She watched him until the boat went out of sight around the next bend in the river and then gave a sigh of relief. “Oh my, that was a close call. Willow, you wool-headed wanderer, pay attention!” But then she chuckled again at the memory of Phineas trying to row the boat.

Willow tucked her bag under her arm and began running for home, wanting to be somewhere safe. Catching sight of a glimpse of something yellow, she hid again, but came out upon seeing it was only Clive delivering the mail. He was slow but you could always count on him.

“Clive, you’ll never believe what I just saw!” Passing on news was almost as enjoyable as finding a good tidbit to eat and Willow relished the opportunity to tell Clive what she’d seen. She described Phineas’s wobbly plight in the small boat so well that both of them were alight with amusement.

Clive was a curious snail and peppered Willow with questions about which arm of the river she’d seen him on, where was the sun in the sky at the time, and could she describe the object she’d seen him chasing after. On that last subject, Willow had to stop and think. “It looked like a basket of some sort, but I couldn’t see what was in it,” she told him. “And now, I must get home. My nerves are a little frazzled. Yes, I’m feeling a little frazzled.”

She left Clive and continued on her way, and he went on his way looking thoughtful. As a deliverer of mail, he was also a collector of information. He tucked it all away just in case. He had finished his rounds and was heading home himself.

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

If you don’t give a fig about this post, I’ll delete it in the morning.

To start at the beginning of this story, follow this link:
Fig Newton Part 1
Next episode: Fig Newton Part 10

Willow in her wanderings has plucked a parsnip out of the ground and placed it carefully in her bag. I suspect it will make its way into a hearty soup later. Willow wanders far afield in search of her victuals, but always returns to the place she calls home. I’m not sure (she hasn’t told me) why she needs to wear the knitted wristbands. Perhaps to keep her sleeves clean as she goes to and fro. As soon as I knit the second one, she’ll be all set.

On the topic of parsnips, I cede all the world’s parsnips to Willow and her ilk. I made something with parsnips once and decided not to repeat the performance.

I’ll probably toss this post in the compost pile, along with the parsnip peels.

My dad became a private in the United States Army in June of 1945, having been drafted when he turned 18 earlier that year. When he was in his 50’s, he decided to create a memoir of his army experiences. His parents and brother had saved all of his letters home (a good rule of thumb: always save letters) and he interspersed those with his own memories of his time in the Army. He included his original comic illustrations from those letters.

I was reading Part One of these memoirs to my mother recently and came across the following story which took place shortly after he arrived at Fort Lewis in Washington state. He and another guy had some free time, so they hitchhiked into Tacoma.

Don and I were in Tacoma one Saturday evening looking for something to do when we were stopped on the street by two well dressed gentlemen.
“Hello there,” the first one greeted us with a smile, “we’re having a party for servicemen at our church this evening. There’ll be cake and ice cream and some girls for you to meet. How about driving over there with us?”
Meeting the girls sounded interesting, but it was the cake and ice cream that got us into the car for a short trip across town to the church. I had assumed that the party would be in the basement, but we were led up the front steps to the main entrance of the church. When the doors were opened, I saw a whole church full of servicemen and realized that we’d been tricked into attending an evening church service.
After we were seated, the minister gave his sermon and then invited everyone to come down to the altar to accept Jesus as their personal savior. That was something we had never done in our church back home in Duluth.
While the organ played in the background, ushers came up the aisles and asked everyone they could reach to come down to the altar. I was getting nervous because Don and I were second and third from the aisle and were sure to be asked. When the usher reached our row, he asked a young sailor on the aisle if he would like to come down to the altar.
“Oh, no,” said the sailor, “I can’t do that, I’m Jewish.”
“I understand,” said the usher and turned to Don. “What about you?” he asked.
“Ahhh, I’m Jewish too,” replied Don, thinking fast.
“And your friend?” asked the usher, pointing to me.
“Oh, he’s Jewish, too,” said Don, while I nodded my head in agreement.
After the service there was a party downstairs with lots of ice cream and cake. The girls were there as promised and several came over to chat with us before we left. Although we had the answer for an invitation to come up to the altar, Don and I decided not to attend any more church parties in Tacoma.

I found this story both amusing and sad. It was funny to read about their creative way of escaping the invitation to the altar, but sad to think that the people at the church thought deceiving people was an acceptable way to get them in the door of the church. The net effect on my dad was clearly a negative one.

When I was still a young Christian I invited a friend of mine to see a movie with me which I was told had a Christian message. A couple days before the movie I found out that there would be an altar call at the movie theater after the movie had ended and I was somewhat horrified at the thought. I didn’t want my friend to think that I’d entrapped her into this, so I told her ahead of time and gave her the option to back out. At the very least she would know what she was getting into. She appreciated the heads up and decided to come anyway. Too bad the movie wasn’t that great. I’m not a big fan of altar calls, but this one was low pressure, unlike what happened with my dad. If I’d seen ushers coming up the aisle to nab people, I would have grabbed my friend and run for the exit.

I’ll probably delete this…wait a minute. Did you say cake and ice cream? Gotta go!

I have such a hard time making myself do these things, but I always enjoy the process. I haven’t done any watercolors for months and months, so to kickstart myself, I told a friend of mine that I’d paint one to send her in the mail. Apparently this is the only way I will ever get my paints out, since after several weeks of stalling, I finally did it. Is there anyone else out there that belongs in the Lazy Artist Club? You can be a founding member of the club with me.

Let me know if you’d like me to send one to you and I’ll do it. This one was for Sue H.

I’ll probably procrastinate on deleting this in the morning.

Willow is emerging from the felt, much like a sculpture emerges from the stone. I think she is lovely.

All that’s left is to make her dress, jacket, knitted wrist bands and satchel. Oh, and the parsnip she carries around. Then we shall see what part she has to play in Fig Newton’s story.

I still haven’t chosen a button for the satchel, so if you have a strong opinion (you can see the three candidates in the photo), bring it on. A weak opinion is also acceptable.

You may have recognized that the title for this post is a reworking of the phrase “will o’ the wisp.” I’ve never really known what that was, so I had one of my many minions look it up for me. Oh, don’t be so scandalized – you use the same minions that I do; it’s called “browsing the internet.” It turns out that will o’ the wisp doesn’t have so much of a definition as it does a story. Gather ‘round.

The first known use of the phrase will-o’-the-wisp was way back in 1661, arising from the swamps. Yes, that’s true! It’s a flame-like phosphorescence that’s caused by gases from decaying plants in swamps and marshes (and who can tell the difference between a swamp and a marsh? Is there one? Have they ever been seen in the same room? I rest my case.). Anyway, these eerie lights from the marsh were personified as “Will (short for William) with the wisp,” little sprites who carried these wisps to lead travelers astray into the murky depths. Very creepy, which just goes to show you just how dangerous the imagination can be. If somebody uses the phrase nowadays, though, it means an impractical or unattainable goal, like trying to follow a flickering light in the darkness. Watch out for that swamp!

I’ll probably drop this in the blog swamp in the morning…

To start at the beginning of this series:
Adventures Part 1

I was already really good at guilt as a non-believer and therefore was rather irked that this new life in Christ should somehow seemed to have resulted in more guilt. Guilt upon guilt upon guilt. I’m one of those people you’ve read about that has an exceedingly sensitive conscience. The phrase “morbid introspection” was crafted for me. How do I get rid of all of this GUILT? Good grief – you’d think I’d never heard the gospel, the good news. I was continually dragging myself before the Lord, moping about my various inconsistencies, my lack of self-discipline, my ever-present sins. I had read Romans 7 a couple weeks before my conversion and it was like word salad to me at that time. What on earth is Paul gassing on about? “For what I will to do, that I do not practice; but what I hate, that I do…for the good that I will to do, I do not do; but the evil I will not to do, that I practice. Now if I do what I will not to do, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells in me.” Now it was making sense.

Ironically, my journals were starting to read the same way. I was confessing sin, but not getting any relief. There was an uncomfortable logjam of sins clogging the river of my soul. I needed some dynamite and found it one day in 1 John 1:9: “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” Somehow I had gotten stuck at the first part of the verse and hadn’t fully appreciated the promise at the end. The Lord was forgiving and cleansing me and I was acting like He wasn’t doing a very good job of it. I decided to take Him at His word. I wrote down a list of all of the things that were on my conscience, confessed them all, and threw the paper away. Confessed, forgiven, cleansed. What a light heart I had after that! It reminds me of a Peanuts cartoon in which Lucy was fretting to Linus about all the rain they were getting, worried that it would flood the whole world. Linus reassured her that according to Genesis 9, God promised Noah that He would never flood the whole world again, the sign of that promise being the rainbow. “You’ve taken a great load off my mind,” Lucy says happily, and Linus responds, “Sound theology has a way of doing that!” Yes, give me some more of that sound theology!!

I was very earnest and zealous for the faith and decided that I should start an evangelistic Bible study as an outreach to the other dietetic interns in the dorm. I made up some invitations and went door to door with them. At each door, I stopped before knocking to acknowledge the little war going on in my head. I shouldn’t do this, they’ll think I’m a kook. But if you don’t tell them, who will? But this seems so intrusive! They might be headed straight to hell – shouldn’t you be more concerned about that? Okay, okay. At each door I prayed and found the courage to knock on that door and hand out the invitation.

The day of the first Bible study arrived and nobody came. Well, actually one person came – it was one of the nursing students that I’d been avoiding. She was a sweet Catholic girl, always talking about the Virgin Mary, whom she referred to only as “The Virgin.” I wasn’t ready to take on that discussion and hadn’t even invited her, but somehow she found out about it and showed up. In addition, she had a strong Hispanic accent and I had a very hard time understanding her, which embarrassed me. Well, I had prayed that the Lord would bring people and since she was the only one who came, it was time to face facts: He invited her and I’d better not send her away. But I’m sorry to tell you that I wanted to. I stalled for a few minutes, but finally resigned myself to the fact that no one else was coming. I was suddenly aware of how ill equipped I was, armed with mostly good intentions. We spent about 10-15 minutes looking at a few Bible verses and that was that. The difference between my idealistic imaginings and God’s plan was a lesson I had to learn the hard way many times over. I’d had a vision of who was coming and how it was going to go and that girl hadn’t been a part of it. But the Holy Spirit imparted some well-deserved shame to my soul for my close-mindedness. Confession, forgiveness, cleansing. Lather, rinse and repeat.

I’ll probably wash this post right outta my hair in the morning.

Next up:
Adventures Part 6

I took up lap swimming again a couple weeks ago after a 10-year hiatus. It’s been somewhat brutal to realize just how out of shape I’ve become. The words of the apostle Paul about buffeting his own body come to mind. Good old-fashioned self-discipline is what it is and there are times when it feels quite a bit like you’re punching yourself.

When I was in the locker room the other day, two women were talking about their exercise habits and one of them said, “I’m addicted to cardio…” Those are a set of words I would never dream of stringing together in that order (possibly not in any order, but definitely not in that one). Exercise doesn’t grant the kind of reward to me that you’d think an addiction would. It’s work. It’s good work, but it’s still work.

I had a friend tell me once that she didn’t feel good if a day went by without her being able to go jogging. Dear friends, any day without having to go jogging sounds like a remarkably GOOD day to me. And I’m not saying that just because I’m old and my knees are going bad, although that certainly has cemented the issue for me.

No, this is definitely about buffeting the body, one lap at a time. And I praise God that I can still do it, even with the huffing and puffing.

I’ll probably buffet this blog in the morning.

Mental meanderings ahead.

I made an angelfood cake recently and realized how very set I am in my ways. In 2014 (or so) I started using a lovely blue wine bottle to set my angelfood cake on upside down when it was done baking. This has become THE bottle, the only bottle I’ll use for this exalted purpose. I could at any time get rid of that one and use the next empty wine bottle that comes around or use one of the two or three others I have kept for no other purpose except that I liked them. (Mini-hoarding – no judging please.) But no, it has to be that one. We are all such creatures of habit, aren’t we? There’s nothing really wrong with that – we wear our habits like comfortable bathrobes. The danger is in having these habits set like concrete in our lives. My favorite story about that is what happened to my mom when she joined the University of Minnesota chorus in the 1970’s. She came to the first rehearsal on a Tuesday night and, as was her custom, arrived plenty early and was the first one there with a sea of empty seats to choose from. It was in a huge lecture hall with seating for over 300 people, so she found out where the alto section was and picked a random seat. A few minutes later, a second lady came to the alto section and told Mom that she was in her seat. Ha ha! That’s probably a little too set in your ways. It’s sort of like what happens when you get overly attached to the pew you sit in at church. Mom got up and moved for her and they later became good friends.

Next topic, pipe cleaners. I need a couple pipe cleaners for the little rabbit I’m going to be making and mentioned offhand to my husband that I wished I didn’t have to buy a whole package of them. He inquired, “You only need two?” Yes, just two. He disappeared for a moment and returned with two pipe cleaners. What? Somehow it had never dawned on me that pipe cleaners have any purpose other than for use in crafts. He had some for cleaning out his tobacco smoking pipe. Yes, pipe cleaners are for cleaning out pipes, fancy that. I bet you all knew that already though.

I’ll probably be deleting this in the morning as is my habit.

This is today:

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Brought to you by March in Minnesota.

This Lynnieebeemuseoday Blog Post is overcast and rainy and will be deleted in the morning. In the meantime, get your umbrella out.

To give you relief from my often wordy posts, I’ll just share photos of some things going on in my workshop. Words will be used to describe them, but I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.

This unattractive cardboard box is the current repository for all the Little Travelers. I think they deserve better, but haven’t come up with anything. Should I commission hubby to make a nice wooden box? Should I use the toy box from his childhood? (photo below). Buy a nice plastic see-through bin? I think you can tell from the look on Colonel Purslane’s face that he is pleading for better quarters.

This blog post will expire in 24 hours.

If you want to start at the beginning of this series:
Adventures Part 1

What’s one thing that children do constantly? They ask questions. Questions, questions and more questions. It’s a wonderful stage of life, even though it sometimes proves wearying for the parents.

Similarly, as a “newborn” Christian, I had questions, so many questions. Here’s a sampling of some questions and concerns that I wrote down to ask my friend Jodie about when I was less than two months into this adventure:

What does “God’s love is perfected in us” mean?

Why do I have a difficult time with Pastor Erickson’s statement “we are here solely to glorify God? What exactly does he mean? What are ways I glorify God?

Does God intend for us to feel so guilty for all our daily imperfections? What part do guilt feelings play in the life of a Christian?

Is my holding back and hesitancy a normal thing to be experiencing still? I find myself with doubts and worrying what others (non-Christians) will think of my behavior. If I have doubts, I cannot be sincere. I don’t want to indulge in trite Christian phrases as of yet that don’t carry full meaning for me.

I am afraid to be sure. Being sure means pressure to me, pressure to be the perfect Christian, to save everyone I meet. Being sure means being unable to be sensitive to the unsureness of non-Christians. Yet, if I am unsure, what am I communicating to non-Christians about Christianity? I guess I am still afraid to be a fanatic. I am afraid that I am drawn more to the “romantic” ideal of true and fervent dedication to something (anything!) than I am drawn to glorify God.

I am expecting myself to teach a new language to other people when I am still learning the alphabet.

I don’t really understand the Holy Spirit at all.

Does praying in front of people ever get easier? Can you learn how to do this better? I lose my concentration on God and begin to concentrate on sounding good in front of the person I am with.

Do we pray to Christ ever? What exactly is our relationship to Christ, to God the Father, to the Holy Spirit? Do other people have these relationships straight in their minds or are we all confused?

I have a hard time being humble about any gifts I have. Yet wouldn’t God want me to feel good about the gifts he’s given me? How do you reconcile basking in praise of your gifts with trying to be an example of humility and giving God all the credit? I like to feel good about the things I do well – is this feeling wrong?

What does the Bible say about pre-marital sex?

What about discrepancies between Old and New Testament?

What about people for whom the Bible is just “propaganda”?

What about casual dating (dating without intent to commit)?

I was definitely giving Jodie a run for her money. I don’t remember all the answers to these questions, but I do remember her patience and her continual reliance on the Scriptures to seek out the answers. She encouraged me to start memorizing Bible verses and I was off and running. She prayed with me and for me. I can’t imagine what my early life as a Christian would have been like without having someone right there to go to for questions and encouragement, a true God-send.

Jodie and I are still friends, although we don’t see each other very much now. She just turned 60, so I’m offering up a slightly belated “Happy Birthday, dear friend and mentor. I thank God for you!”

Will I delete this in the morning? So many questions!

Next up:
Adventures Part 5