Do you think you’d ever find a raccoon and a gecko living in the same area? I asked Mr. Google that question and it turns out that Mr. Google doesn’t know everything. Or maybe that question has never come up. But since I’ve been painting them in my watercolor class and had been thinking poetic thoughts about them, I wanted to know.
I personally think the raccoon on the top looks more like a dead pig with strange markings.
The raccoon took a nap on a stump. What a pleasingly plump little lump! It dreamed of strange calls and echos, Of little green lizards called geckos.
He awakened and suddenly froze, For a gecko was perched on his nose. “Get up, my fine masked fellow – The moon is full and yellow!
We’ve got an assignment to do Before this night is through – With your mask and my light feet We can get ourselves something to eat!”
The raccoon opened his mouth wide And tucked the gecko inside. He swallowed it whole and burped, Saying “Thank you, now what’s for dessert?”
Mr. Google should have warned me about what happens when raccoons and geckos meet in the night under a full moon. Now look what happened!
I’ll probably delete this in the morning…or maybe during the night under a full moon.
I thought I had a negative view of Christianity before starting college, but in looking back through my journals I realize that it was much worse than that. I treated it as a harmless and optional belief system that hardly had any sort of thing to do with me. In seeking to share the gospel, I would much rather meet someone who agitates against Christianity than someone who is indifferent, as I was. The one who agitates against it has some idea of what it’s all about and they don’t like it one bit. There has perhaps been some work going on in the soul already. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” as Shakespeare wrote. The indifferent person is just drifting along not caring much one way or another and you can talk yourself blue in the face to them and they’ll just mildly agree or defer comment all the way to hell.
Well, that was a spicy way to start this third part of my story! So, yes, I was fairly neutral and indifferent to the gospel at that time in my life. My mother was directing a church choir at a United Methodist Church and twisted my arm into joining, so there I was, attending church again. The pastor’s name was Reverend Ramstad. Remember that name – he’s a small but important character later in my long journey to Christ.
Reverend Ramstad had a cherubic round face and was a cheerful, sweetly shy man. I mentioned him before when I wrote about my joining the choir late in my high school years. Sometimes I commented in my journals about his sermons and usually in a positive way. He was very real and accessible. I still didn’t have any concept of what the gospel was or how it applied to me, but I was listening, which is more than I used to do in church.
One Sunday, Reverend Ramstad decided to try out an experiment in sermon application. The sermon must have been about loving one another, for at the end of the service he exhorted us all to find someone in the church and tell them “I love you.” What was he thinking?!? My older sister Leslie was in the choir as well. We had a quick whispered consultation and decided that this whole business was to be avoided at all costs. We spotted a small alcove by the side of the church and devised a plan to make our way swiftly over there and wait inside the alcove until it was safe. It was a perfect plan…until we got into the alcove and found Reverend Ramstad in there too. He smiled at us and said, “I love you.” Leslie and I were stunned into silence at this turn of events. I was the one who eventually broke, replying awkwardly, “Me, too.” At that, the good Reverend ambled out of the alcove and then we laughed until we were gasping for breath.
Leslie and Me
Ahhh…good times. But my soul was untouched as far as coming to terms with sin and its consequences. As I started at the University of Minnesota, I had no particular convictions at all. By this time I had started dating an interesting young man who shared the Desiderata with me and spoke about obtaining what he called the “Ideal State of Being.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but assumed he knew something that I didn’t. Fortunately, I didn’t get trapped into going down that particular rabbit hole – sometimes ignorance really is bliss.
The Desiderata, by the way, is a very nice essay which presents what you might call a “Christ-less Gospel.” It’s a beautifully worded paragraph about how to live, and includes the phrase, “Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.” I loved the Desiderata, really loved it. And although I didn’t know it at the time, that phrase planted deep seeds in my psyche about the necessity of each person being allowed to define God in a way that made sense to or pleased oneself. “That way lies madness.”
I’ll probably delete this in the morning unless thou dost protest too much.
Today would have been my dad’s 95th birthday. In honor of his birthday, I’ll share one of his favorite jokes: The pastor of a church one Sunday saw three other pastors from his denomination come into the back of the church after the service had started, visiting for some local convention. The church was already full and there were no places for them to sit, so he signaled one of the deacons to come over and whispered to him, “Three chairs for the ministers.” The deacon asked him to repeat it to make sure he’d understood correctly. “Okay,” he whispered back. Then the deacon stood up in front of the congregation and called out, “Three cheers for the ministers! Hip, hip – Hooray! Hip , hip – hooray! Hip, hip – hooray!” I’d love to hear him tell one of his corny jokes again. My mom has soldiered on without him now for 9 years. They little knew everything in store for them when they said their “I do’s,” but they went through it all together, loyal and faithful to the end.
The geese have been coming through our town. We saw crowds of them honking their way overhead a couple days ago. My husband checked a reference for our area and sure enough, the geese are known to come back north around mid-March. If you listen closely to their honking, you’ll realize that they’re actually blowing on party favors as a festive way to signal the return of spring. Here’s a quieter sign of spring right in our back yard:
We suspect this lovely little green shoot might be an onion sprout, a volunteer from last year’s failed crop. Hope springs anew.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning unless there’s a “here comes spring” party going on overhead.
“The great authors are able to show us nature in microcosm a few pages at a time. You can live life richly and prepare yourself to live it actually by reading great books.”
This was the opening statement in an online course my husband and I are taking through Hillsdale online called “Great Literature 101.” It’s a grand statement, encapsulating the value of well-written fiction, stories that are replete with significant themes and types, yet never coming across as a stuffy academic treatises – “nature in microcosm a few pages at a time.” Great literature, in order to be great, must engage the reader in a character or characters that speak to you, that tell you something about yourself and all within the confines of a cracking good story with language that elevates and edifies – that’s the Lynniebee requirement anyway.
My reading habits are fairly eclectic. I’m not often found with my nose in a book that could be classified as “great literature.” I enjoy mystery novels, some romance novels, biographies and autobiographies, children’s classics, historical fiction, theological books, devotional books, poetry, science fiction and fantasy, real-life dramas and probably more that I’m not remembering right now. But in the last 15 years or so, I have been challenging myself to read more of what might be considered “literature,” or even “great literature.” I read with pencil in hand, prepared to underline those parts that speak to my soul, that inspire me, that comfort me, that bring joy or even weeping.
But how does reading great books prepare you to live life? Think about a book you’ve read in which the main character makes a decision to sacrifice his wants and desires, maybe even his life, in order to save others or in order to achieve the highest good for others under his care. (And please, just go ahead and assume that when I say “his” I am referring to men and women. It’s just clumsy and awkward to have to say “his/her” all the time.) Will you ever be asked to deny yourself something in order to benefit someone else? Unless you live in isolation, you most assuredly will be. As you read about a character like that, you are rehearsing for real life. The character’s example, either positive or negative, will prompt you to ask yourself what you would do in a similar situation.
Or perhaps you will read about a character facing a temptation of some sort. How does the character meet it? Does he resist? Does he give in? If so, what are the consequences? The next time a temptation sweeps over you with its siren call, you may well be prepared to meet it by thinking about how Odysseus tied himself to a mast and stopped up his ears, or by thinking about Frodo resisting the power of the Ring – or even by remember the wreckage of Gollum, who did not resist that same power.
The Bible is the ultimate book. It holds the distinction of being great literature at that same time as being true. It is not a book of fiction, though within its pages you will find stories called parables, and poetry with rich metaphors. But you also find in it plenty of real-life stories of men and women who lived large lives, committed great sins and met with a great Savior who sacrificed all so that those sins (and ours) might be forgiven and to begin the work of making us more like Him. It’s a cracking good story that also happens to be true. So if I could only retain one book on my bookshelf, it would be the Bible. No matter what else I’m reading, I’m always reading through that Great Book concurrently.
But I hope I’ll never be asked to give up other books that have been my teachers, my companions, my source of both good and bad examples, my inspiration, and such books that have been a joy and solace to my soul. Those books have indeed enabled me to “live life richly.”
Although I suspect that many of them may not make it into a syllabus entitled “Great Literature.” 😊
I wish I’d taken this photo, but alas, it’s a stock photo.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning, but only if I have first read a great book in which the main character struggles against great odds and realizes that in order to makes things right, the blog post must go. Then I’ll do it.
Time seems to go by more swiftly the older I get. “I’ve got plenty of time to write a blog post,” I said to myself earlier today. And now it’s 4:00 p.m. and the hour draws nigh for going to church for soup supper, Lenten service and choir practice.
Where did the day go? I don’t necessarily feel like my life is very productive, but yet it still seems busy, even if that “busy-ness” isn’t jam-packed with significant and meaningful activities. Want to know what I did today? Here goes:
6:30 – 9:00: got up, did some stretches, reviewed some Bible verses, read 6 chapters of the Bible, prayed with hubby, read World magazine, read a section of Mere Christianity, read a few Emily Dickinson poems, read a section of “Every Moment Holy” by Douglas MacKelvey. Oh, and breakfast happened somewhere in there, too. And some kitchen clean-up.
9:00-10:30. We did our Hillsdale online class: Great Literature 101, Lecture #6 out of 11. We watched the lecture, taking notes, took the quiz, and then watched the Q&A session afterward.
10:30 – 11:30. Did some mending and a little watercolor painting. Worked on an email concerning a board meeting next week.
11:30 – 12:00. Worked on a puzzle.
12:00 – 1:00. Lunch and Perry Mason. More kitchen clean-up occurred.
1:00 – 2:30. Worked on the family history photographs, finishing up the section on my grandfather and his college years.
2:30 – 3:15. More work on the puzzle. It’s somewhat addicting.
3:15-4:00. Emails. Sent a friend some book recommendations. May have gotten carried away. Other emails got written, too.
So now you know! This rather laid-back schedule is a far cry from the days of homeschooling six children, but I had more energy then, too. Some days are busier than others – I haven’t even stepped outside yet today! I’m looking forward to warmer weather.
If you’ve read this far, you’re a better blog reader than I deserve. Thanks!
I’ll probably delete this in the morning if I can fit it into my extremely busy schedule…
We raised six children, five boys and one girl, an adventure that is almost unparalleled. When I was growing up (in a family also of six children), my parents occasionally had what they called “family council,” where we’d gather to discuss items of family interest. At some point, my husband and I decided to do the same. He was president in perpetuity of this council and I was the secretary, dutifully taking notes.
The first meeting was on June 8th, 1997 when our oldest was 9 years old and our youngest wasn’t yet born. The last meeting was on December 30, 2016 when our oldest was 28 and our youngest was 18. Sometimes the meetings were weekly; sometimes months (or even years) would go by between meetings. Sometimes we held votes on things, other times the parents used their power of “divine fiat.” (So it is written, so it shall be done!)
Here’s how the meetings went. Hubby opened with prayer and then went around the table asking the various participants if they wanted any topics on the agenda. Typical topics in those early years coming from the kids would be things like what desserts to have in the next week, the desire to get a dog for a pet (this came up often over the years), grievances with a sibling, summer vacation plans, requests for computer games, reports on their activities, etc.
Typical issues from the parents were the generally fun-wrecking topics of obedience training, chores, setting down of family rules, reports on the progress made when we were trying to work on some family issue, setting forth computer and TV watching schedules, etc. But we also brought up prayer requests, special privileges granted, commendations to the children on things well done, fun events in the future, and movie night plans.
Looking over the minutes from these meetings is a hoot. Here’s a sample from our first meeting: Item #7. Breakfast topics: There will be a 2-bowl limit on cold cereal – anyone still hungry can have a piece of toast. If there is any fighting over cereal boxes, they’ll be removed. No breakfast after 8:30 a.m.
Yes, these are the types of things that we wrangled over as part of a large family.
At that first meeting, we also established a family program that endured for many years: the Boy Of The Week (BOTW), which had to be amended to Child of the Week when Ruth got old enough to participate. From my minutes, “Privileges include having the seat next to Ruthie in the car, being Cook’s Helper all week, being chosen to pray at the table (unless Mom or Dad are praying), helping make a special treat during the week, going on errands alone with Mom or Dad, and helping set and clear the table. We established seating rotation for the van and for the dining room table.”
Sounds like a well-oiled machine, doesn’t it? Well, as any of our kids will tell you, our household wasn’t so much of a well-oiled machine as it was a rollicking ride in a bumpy jalopy. Oh, the many arguments, fights and tears over the years. But oh, what joy we had along the way. Those wonderful Family Council Minutes are a snapshot of a family that was not perfect by a long shot, but which toiled together regularly to pray, work through problems, tell our stories, and create treasured traditions.
I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Meeting adjourned.
The actual gavel we used at all our meetings. It used to be my Dad’s.
Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb is a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one’s youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them; They shall not be ashamed, But shall speak with their enemies in the gate. Psalm 127 3-5
I’ll probably take a motion to delete this post in the morning. Seconded?
Part 1: The snake sighed. Another snake enthusiast had come to peer into his aquarium, watching his every move. Was nothing sacred? Was there to be no privacy? Time for slithering, sliding and hiding.
Part 2: Maybe he could get the hapless curator to put up a sign: “Stop Staring at the Snake. It Makes Him Nervous.” The snake knew that this would make SOME people just press their faces closer to the glass, especially with their fancy black boxes with clicking noises.
Part 3. The snake wondered if there was still a Snake Stakeout going on. Really, these people are relentlesssssss, he hissed to himself. “I’ll just poke my head out a tiny bit to see…”. Click. Click.
Sigh…
So, the old aphorism about there being no privacy for snakes in glass houses is true. Never heard that one? It might not be that old. Okay, I just made it up. Sigh…
I’ll probably slither away and hide this blog post in the morning.
My husband and I continue to take walks, more or less daily, and I was planning today to share some winter photos accompanied by vaguely poetic thoughts. If that’s something you’d just as soon skip, you have been spared.
I’ve always been fascinated by my dreams and often spend the first part of waking up trying to remember them, going over the details in my mind. Many times, this is like trying to grasp a wisp of smoke as it dissipates. On good days, I remember fragments of them; on the best days, whole stories emerge from the dream ether.
My kind and patient husband is usually the recipient of my dream tellings, but out of the generosity of my heart, I’m going to share the strange doings in my mind from last night.
There was a man that I knew who was sad and it seemed important that I find out the cause of his sadness. Suddenly, his sadness turned to anger and he got hold of a steamroller so he could steamroll over the red Ferrari of someone whom he blamed for his troubles. This caused quite a kerfuffle in my dream, since the poor fellow was actually in the Ferrari. You’ll be glad to know that the Ferrari owner escaped the awful fate of being flattened.
So that was weird enough, but it gets weirder.
I found out that the sad man was taking care of a baby girl named “Rhombadot.” And he was pronouncing it “RAHM-ba-DOT.” I became fixated with the idea that it was might be a French word and should therefore be pronounced “Rhom-ba-doh,” (long ‘o’). “Are you sure, it’s not pronounced Rhombadoh?” I asked him helpfully. “It’s Rhombadot,” he insisted. So I found the woman who’d actually given birth to the child. She confirmed that the name was “Rhombadot.” “Are you sure it’s not “Rhombadoh?” She got irritated with me and said, “I don’t know!”
I told my husband this dream while we were out walking and I was laughing so hard I almost couldn’t talk. Where does my mind come up with this stuff? Rhombadot? Steamrollers? Red Ferraris?
The watercolor lessons continue (ha ha – originally mistyped that as watercolor lesions, which is an appalling gathering of words). I started with leaves, went boldly on to jellyfish (with a pit stop for some speed poetry) and then climbed out of the water to paint some smiling turtles.
I could fill a paragraph with the things I did wrong on that assignment, but why ruin it for you? It’s a happy turtle and in the end, that’s the most important part.
After that, the ocean called to me and I dove in to paint some seahorses.
I should mention that this is a watercolor course on Udemy taught by Broderick Wong. I’m really enjoying the class. I like the projects, the pacing and the (trying desperately to think of another ‘p’ word so I can have a nice bit of alliteration)…prowess of the teacher. Proficiency of the teacher?
The Seahorse Unsaddled, unbridled, untamable beast The sea monster Hippocampus has been released It’s a knight in sea armor with a prehensile tail It’s an underwater ship with a curvy sail It’s a camouflaging critter just waiting for prey Unsuspecting crustaceans are the menu today. They keep a dark secret – I really shouldn’t tell, But these water-dwelling beasties don’t swim very well. When it’s time for babies, the mare is no slouch, She puts all the eggs in Dad’s handy brood pouch. It’s a wonder, a marvel, an ingenious design – The Creator is pleased with his Seahorse Line.
That’s a wrap!
I’ll probably delete this in the morning, pursuing the elusive Horse O’ the Sea.
Elisabeth Elliot has often commented on how formative it was for her spiritually to be in contact with missionaries while she was growing up. If you listen to her podcast like I do (speeches and talks delivered while she was still living), various themes emerge on a regular basis, one of which is her recommendation that Christians read biographies of missionaries. I heard her say it again today and decided that it’s time for me to re-visit some of the biographies we have in our home that I read many years ago.
It’s been so long since I’ve read these that I have only the barest glimmers of specific memories of them. The one about C.T. Studd looked like it would be a yawner, but I remember enjoying it quite a lot. I haven’t read most of the set in white on the right – just the one about George Muller. I think we bought that set to read to the kids – might be a little too late, now.
We also have on our shelf a biography of Dawson Trotman, the man who started The Navigators, which became a campus Christian group. I might read it again, but recall the section in his book in which he felt he couldn’t start his day without three hours of prayer (starting at some hour of the morning before the sun had even thought about rising). It’s hard not to feel a little deflated upon reading that sort of example. And then there’s our book about Martin Luther by Roland Bainton. Teeny tiny print in a very old, dilapidated paperback. Probably not going to tackle that one again either, since I’m at an age when the size of the letters has become very important.
Please give me your recommendations for biographies to read – either of missionaries or of any great men and women of the faith.
Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us. Hebrews 12:1
I’ll probably delete this in the morning if I’m not too busy reading.
Lynniebeemuseoday 