The green heron stalks, Wading at marsh water’s edge To ambush a fish.
Karl has done his part in the “Reforming the Lazy Artist” initiative. If you’d like to do likewise, just comment on this post and I’ll fire up a watercolor painting for you, small enough to put in the mail. This is mostly for my subscribers who know me, but I could be persuaded to do one for a stranger. Maybe.
I’ll be stalking the blog marsh in the morning to ambush this post.
I’m about to embark on the final project in the book “Little Travellers” by Simone Gooding. I made the first one in May of 2020 and had no idea that I’d not only go on to make the rest, but also would write a story about them along the way. It’s been fun. Let me introduce you to a squirrel named Twig.
As always, I’m open to other names. Twig has a stepping stone picnic blanket and a basket of acorns as well.
I’ve got everything cut out and ready to go – it’s quite labor intensive cutting out all these little pieces of felt and fabric.
I’ve already got some ideas about how Twig will fit into Fig Newton’s story, but I’m not sure yet if Twig is Mr. or Mrs. Twig. Still pondering that one.
There’s always a question of whether or not I’ll really delete this in the morning. Answers may vary.
If you want to start at the beginning of this series, here you go: Adventures Part 1
I became a regular attender at the local Evangelical Free Church while still going through the dietetic internship. I told my older sister that name of the church and she remarked, “I hope it’s more free than evangelical.” Well, if you had pinned me down, I’m not sure I could have explained what either of those words meant in the context of the church name. A group of singles (college/career) formed at the church and I began rubbing shoulders more with Christians than I ever had. One fellow, Bruce, played the guitar and wrote songs. When I inquired what kinds of songs he was writing, he told me he only wrote songs about the Christian life and faith in Christ. This was truly mystifying to me. “Why restrict yourself just to that?” I asked. He smiled and said faith in Christ was the only thing worth writing about. I was dubious, but remained silent, needing to think about it.
Another fellow, Pete, was a handsome, outgoing and cheerful man who was so friendly to all of us girls that I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who thought he was giving attentions that went beyond brother to sister. Ha! In fact, the issue of the guys being so friendly and the girls misinterpreting the cues got to be such a problem that the associate pastor called us all together for a meeting to straighten us out. “Now, guys, it’s good for you to be friendly, but don’t overdo it; don’t spend time alone with any of the girls and don’t single any of them out unless you have intentions that you are willing to make clear. Flirting might feel like fun, but girls take these things seriously. Be careful.” We girls nodded our heads in agreement with this kind of talk. We felt like we were being led on. But then he turned to us. “Ladies, you really need to keep more of a tight rein on your emotions and your imaginations. When a guy says hello to you more than once, it’s not time to start thinking about the wedding and what kind of curtains you’ll have in your kitchen after you’re married. Don’t blow things up in your mind that have no basis in reality. Be careful.” He had a point there. We did a lot of things together as a group and even though eventually some of the people paired off, it was a good exercise in restraint for all of us to be more careful about how we treated one another and about what went on in our thought lives.
The whole controversy highlighted another change that I’d begun to think about: I could no longer entertain the idea of a relationship with someone who didn’t share my faith in Christ. When I was still in college I had a roommate that had talked to me about the importance of not being “unequally yoked,” but it didn’t mean much to me then. I’m not even sure why she mentioned it to me. But now, I was beginning to understand the concept. I had developed an interest in a guy I had known for a few years and spent a little too much time thinking about him and writing about him in my journal – and I was pretty sure the attraction was mutual. It would take only the barest encouragement from me to get this relationship going. The facts had to be faced, however; he was definitely not a Christian. This was probably one of the first times that I felt I was being asked to give something up for Christ, something that I really wanted. I vacillated so much in my mind over this man that I finally realized that I had to surrender my will and give him up, as it were. I said those words out loud “I surrender,” and instead of a sense of sadness, I felt an immediate release and joy, a complete sense of peace. It was settled and the temptation was completely gone. Not too long after that, I wrote a letter to “My husband,” a letter I hoped to be able to give some day to the man I would marry, even though I did not yet know who that would be. But I knew he would belong to Christ and that was the most important thing.
I’ll probably put a kerchief on this post in the morning to cover it up.
If you look it up, birding books will tell you that one of the robin’s songs sounds like “cheerily, cheerily…” Pay no attention to those false interpretations – I’ve got the real scoop on it. By listening very carefully, I’ve divined that the robin actually has a very different message for us:
This one is for my friend Julie, who probably gets tired of hearing me sing that song to her. If you’re of a certain age, you’ll know that song, too.
If you want to contribute to the “Reforming the Lazy Artist” initiative, just ask and I will send you a small watercolor painting (that one is 4” x 5”). I’ll choose the subject. You can expect art of the same quality as above, i.e. fair to middling. But it’s free, so you can’t really complain.
If I don’t delete this post, I’ll be reforming the lazy blog post writer one post at a time…in the morning.
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.
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…
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.
The Dietetic Internship pose
I’ll probably wash this post right outta my hair in the morning.
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.
