I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
When we weren’t looking
Jack Frost crept around
Painting our windows.
What intricate brushwork!
Applause! Applause!
(With a little help from PS Express photo editing.)
Ah yes, I’ll be scraping this frosty post from the internet windowpane in the morning.
Procrastination has been vanquished – at least for this project. The reflections are ferocious, aren’t they? See last Wednesday’s post for the story behind these.
Onward. It’s time to get reacquainted with my sewing machine. Or maybe try some watercolors again.
I’ll be saying “ta ta!” to this post in the morning.
Happy sigh.
I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought;
and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.
G.K. Chesterton
I’ll probably forget about deleting this while I gaze in wonder on another sunset tomorrow.
I’ve now been initiated into the world of Dungeons and Dragons (D&D). Our newest daughter-in-law (DIL) crafted a short introductory game for my husband and I to play while they were here for Christmas. She was the Dungeon Master (DM), and there were four of us playing the game, so five total.
First impressions: confusing but intriguing. Our DIL patiently helped us work on filling out the character sheets ahead of time. This involved picking a race (I chose to be a dwarf) and class (Hexblade warlock for me) and then throwing many dice to determine numbers for strength, dexterity, constitution, intelligence, wisdom and charisma. While she was helping Kris, I doodled an illustration of my character, Herda, in which she looks vaguely like she might have a beard, but I want to state for the record that she does not.
I wrote down what I was supposed to on my character sheet involving weapons and ammunition, attack ranges, my character’s dark vision range, walking speed, languages spoken (common, dwarfish, elvish) and the equipment I’d be bringing along.
As DM, our DIL did a great job of creating a short quest for our merry little band to accomplish: we were to try and find a red gem that had been stolen from a halfling who worked for the wizard to whom the gem belonged. Each of the players could contribute suggestions for action depending on the scene set for us by the DM. I was feeling very unsure of myself and didn’t contribute much as Herda, but enjoyed seeing how things played out as we went along. I took some notes and decided to tell Herda’s story in fiction form on this blog, so keep an eye out for that.
Would I play it again? Maybe. It’s more complicated than I thought it would be and if you really want to delve into it, there’s a lot of studying to do to get up to speed. One of our sons has about 6-7 fairly large books of reference materials for D&D. In other words, you can’t just show up for a game without any preparation. The role of DM is especially intriguing because the DM has to be prepared for all sorts of scenarios and outcomes depending on the suggestions of the players and the roll of the dice.
When we successfully completed our quest, I was a bit relieved to be done – it felt a little stressful for me trying to keep up with what was going on. Poor little Herda.
I Am Herda Part 1
I Am Herda Part 2
I’ll probably use Herda’s hex-blade to destroy this in the morning.
What do you do when you’ve accumulated some “art” pieces that no one really wants? Asking for a friend…
I spent a fair amount of time coloring some pages in a book I bought back in 2009 or so. The phrase “adult coloring book” hadn’t been invented yet, but the concept was already alive and kicking. It seemed a shame to leave them in the book, so I cut them out, mounted them on black paper and put them in cheap frames. And there they sat, in my craft room collecting dust for years.
Well, this is why walls were created, right? The Time of the Art Gallery has arrived. My daughter is home visiting so she and I have been working on possible arrangements.
An article I read suggested making paper cutouts the size of each frame to try out on the wall.
That’s as far as we’ve gotten. It would be a very sad commentary on my propensity to procrastinate if my make-shift sketches stay on the wall for longer than a day or so. There are still two illustrations that I haven’t colored in, so we left room for those on the wall as well, which is amazingly optimistic, considering the fact that I haven’t worked on them in probably five years.
Feel free to jump in with opinions about the art placement.
To be continued…
I’ll probably delete this make-shift post in the morning.
Happy new year, friends! Having had a festive respite, it seems meet, right and salutary to begin the blog anew. The title for this post doesn’t actually mean anything – I just liked the sound of it. But looking at it now, I think it would make a good book title, obviously some sort of mystery having to do with the murder of a popular blogger who stumbled into a scandal of some sort. His last post didn’t appear to reference anything out of the ordinary, but a text message to a friend indicated that the post would reveal something important. Now he’s dead and the game is afoot!
Or maybe it could be a fantastical story about a Blogwheel that generates stories that can come true under certain circumstances. The one who holds the cog holds the key to entering the world of the Blogwheel, able to guide and direct the narrative that it creates. When the cog is stolen, the Cog Master must find and secure it before untold mayhem and chaos results.
Or could it be the memoirs of the daughter of a world-renowned blogger? She reflects on what it was like to be a mere cog in the great blog machinery generated by her mother. Longing for the warmth of motherly affection, she had to learn to live as a character in her mother’s blog posts without any real life connection. But one day, the blogwheel stopped turning and things long dormant came to life.
Possibilities abound! Which story would you rather read?
I’m looking forward to another year of writing and I hope you continue to join me. It’s no fun without you.
A random post like this deserves a random photo to go with it, so I give you the very first photo taken on my Nikon in 2023.
Maybe I can work it into my murder mystery.
As the saying goes, I’ll most probably delete this in the morning unless I find a cog in the blogwheel.
One of my favorite advent/Christmas hymns.
Delete, delete, ye my blog post.
I was going to be starting a dietetic internship at the end of the summer. The closer it got, the more it loomed ominously over my head. Nervous? Yes. Shortly before leaving home, I had an unusual experience that was probably about as close to a “vision” of Christ as I ever had or would have. I was praying, “If I am lost, and you are truly looking for me, what is missing?” I wrote down the strong impression I had that “He picked me up and held me as a child and my cheek felt the roughness of his robe and I could smell the earth in those folds. All of my doubts and fears lifted…” There were very strong sensory aspects to this impression that stayed with me for a long time; if I think back, I can still feel that sensation of being held by Him, cherished and safe in those arms. Was it all in my imagination? Perhaps. Was I in Christ at this time? Again, perhaps, but I had made no public proclamation and would not have called myself a Christian.
I prayed that the Lord would give me a committed knowledgeable Christian friend among the interns, someone from whom I could learn. I discovered early on that one of the interns, Tamie, was the answer to this prayer. I had been thinking about what church I should go to. There was a large United Methodist Church just up the street, but I knew instinctively that this would be a church in which I could easily be anonymous and unchallenged. Tamie invited me to the church she’d started going to, an Evangelical Free Church. I accepted the invitation, but told her I wasn’t yet a Christian, thinking it would be best to put all the cards out on the table. She seemed to take that in stride and decided to give me some Last Days Newsletters (written by Keith Green before he died) as some edifying reading material. Unfortunately, she had given me an issue all about modesty. I was still very much in feminist mode (hear me roar!) and was thoroughly enraged by the thoughts expressed in that newsletter and fumed privately about how much I did NOT want to be a Christian -what a bunch of busy-bodies they were! Tamie took me to church the next day and as we sat in a pew waiting for Sunday school to start, she asked innocently, “So, did you get a chance to look over any of those newsletters?” “Yes,” I said, working up a good self-righteous lather, “and I was really offended by the one about modesty! Women ought to be able to come to church STARK NAKED if they want to!” At this, poor Tamie looked around nervously to see if anyone else was close enough to hear my outburst. We didn’t get a chance to continue this interesting discussion since Sunday school started, no doubt much to Tamie’s relief.
I struggled with what it meant to be saved. I didn’t like the humility of needing to be saved, or of acknowledging that there was no hope without Christ. I didn’t understand what the point was of becoming aware of my sins, knowing that my sinful nature wouldn’t change by claiming salvation in Christ. I read through Ephesians and copied many verses in my journal that answered a lot of my questions. I was becoming increasingly aware that I didn’t fit in anywhere – I was straddling two worlds.
On Labor Day I went to a church picnic with Tamie and others. We ate good food, played outside games and eventually sang some praise songs together. I didn’t know any of them, but these were the types of songs that after the first pass through, you got the general idea. “They’ll know we are Christians by our love,” “It only takes a spark,” “Our God reigns,” and so forth. The Holy Spirit was calling, that sweet irresistible call – I was feeling a stirring of conviction in my heart that I could no longer deny. I went back to my dorm room that night, laid down on the bed and said, “Okay, Lord, I am all yours from this moment on. I know I’m a sinner, I know I need a Savior. Lord Jesus, thank you for saving me, for loving me and for making a way for me to be forgiven. I give myself to you.” I felt absolutely giddy with relief. I felt joyful, peaceful, happy, excited and just HAD to tell someone, even though it was after 10:30 p.m. I called my friend Sara, woke her up out of a sound sleep and told her the good news. “That’s great, Lynnie – wow!” Wow, indeed.
It seemed appropriate to have my spiritual birth happen on Labor Day. What a long and torturous labor and delivery that was! As a newborn Christian, I still had a lot to learn and twice as many things to unlearn, but oh, what a difference it made being on the other side.
Is the Hound of Heaven pursuing you? I rejoice to hear it! He will by no means give up, even when you believe you have closed the door on Him. Does it frighten you to think that He will not hesitate to do surgery on your soul and remove your cherished idols? I can think of nothing that He took from me that I would want back at the expense of knowing Him. The horror story of being chased by a hound becomes the love story of being ardently pursued by the One who knows every bit of the blackness in your soul and still wants you to be His. Do you look around at the messy group of people in His family and recoil at being related by faith to them? The joke is on you, my friend. Look in the mirror – you’re no great prize either.
I started this story in January of this year, not realizing that it would take me the whole year to finish it up. I’m a wordy person – perhaps you noticed that. And I took some lengthy breaks. But here we are in Advent season, on the cusp of celebrating the birth of our Lord. What better time to finish the best and truest story I have to tell! Thank you for joining me.
P.S. If you are interested in what happened next, start here:
Adventures of a Young Christian
My Story Part 1
My Story Part 2
My Story Part 3
My Story Part 4
My Story Part 5
My Story Part 6
My Story Part 7
My Story Part 8
My Story Part 9
My Story Part 10
I’ll probably delete this in the morning and start all over again. NOT.
I saw this bent-over wreath at the cemetery today and it made me think of a verse from “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.”
And ye, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow,
Look now! For glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing:
O rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.
I always liked that verse and its acknowledgement that sometimes people enter the Christmas season carrying a crushing load. How wonderful to think of resting beside the weary road where you can hear the angels singing “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”
“Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”
Rest beside the weary road, friend. Let the Savior carry that burden for you.
I’ll probably delete this in the glad and golden hours of morning.
He called me from across the back yard
As I stood staring up into the snow-laden sky
Snow everywhere from secret vaults
Spilling, shaking, falling, spinning.
But as I said, he called me,
Not so much called, as barked
And jolted me out of my snowy reverie.
The little trespasser gave his challenge…
I answered with a friendly hello.
Hello! said I, and went to shake his hand.
Never! said he (Bark! Bark! Bark!)
And ran across the street
Where he turned to face me, boldly
Before disappearing into the falling snow.
I hope he comes again.
I’ll probably send this post into the snowy mist in the morning.
It’s a legitimate question.
I’ll probably be detoxing this post in the morning.
