It shouldn’t come as a big surprise to any of you that I love to read. I usually have a book by my bedside that I turn to at bedtime and it’s not uncommon for me to be reading several books concurrently. You’d think that would get confusing, but somehow it doesn’t.

I read a poem by Emily Dickinson this morning in which she referred to books as her “kinsmen of the shelf.” I sense a kindred spirit there. She says, “Unto my books – so good to turn – far ends of tired days…” Yep, she’s got a book or two on her bedside table as well.

In 2019 I decided to join the Goodreads Book Reading Challenge and set a goal of 100 books for the year, which I accomplished. I did the same in 2020 and 2021, but by the end of 2021 I realized that having such an insanely high goal was turning reading into a chore, plus I was adding in a private goal of writing a short review for each one. When I asked myself, “Why am I doing this?” I didn’t have a good answer. I set a goal of 36 books in 2022, thinking that 3 books per month was reasonable and would keep reading enjoyable. Why even join the Book Reading Challenge in the first place? It’s a valid question. There’s something satisfying about setting a goal and meeting it – that’s all I’ve got. Plus when you get to the end, there’s quite a bit of exciting hoo-ha that goes on: confetti and cheers, that sort of thing.

Got a book you want to recommend adding to my list in 2022? Now’s your chance!

I might just delete this in the morning. I might not. It’ll be a game-day decision.

Every child instinctively likes to dance. Put on some music and watch your toddlers start to move with their funny little ways of bobbing up and down, interspersed with interesting jerks and twists. I was no exception. Here I am at around 2 years of age, obviously having found the perfect dance partner.

But the urge to dance didn’t die out as I got older. When I was in my teens, I used to wait until everyone was gone from the house so I could try out my impromptu dance routines. This didn’t happen as often as I’d like since there were eight souls living in our house, but occasionally the coast was clear. I’d close the curtains, turn on the music (LOUD) and dance from one side of the room to the other doing fancy moves, leaps and turns, etc. I really thought I was something else. Part of me wanted to open up those curtains in case someone should go by – why should I hide my talent under a bushel? But the other part of me, the sane part, knew that I might not get the acclaim that I conjured up in my delusions of grandeur. What if someone guffawed, or worse, threw some rotten tomatoes at my efforts? No, better to keep this a solo act without an audience.

I don’t get many opportunities to dance these days, but recently saw an ad for an app that has short, uncomplicated dance moves as a way of exercise. I hate exercise, but I love to dance. I also hate spending money on something I can do myself, so I decided to give it a try in the privacy of our living room, just like the old days.

I quickly found out that I’m not a teenager anymore. After about 60 seconds I was out of breath. Then my knees began to hiss and jeer, threatening to shut the whole operation down. There was no leaping and jumping, that’s for sure. The dance playlist that I’d randomly chosen sounded vaguely obscene – oops, I should have chosen one from an earlier, more innocent era. Oh, and I left the curtains open, having realized somewhere along the line that people are not, in fact, just roaming around hoping to see somebody in their house dancing. Still, if I’d spotted anyone, I would have quit instantly, just in case. No use taking any chances.

Would I do it again? Absolutely! Will I tell any of you when I’m about to commence this madness? Absolutely not! Better keep this a solo act without an audience.

I’ll probably close the curtains and delete this in the morning. Don’t look.

Sometimes the simplest prayer is the most eloquent. I went out to get our mail today and had to fight through the cold winds and blowing snow to get it.

These kinds of days always bring back to my mind very vividly the day that I was on my way home from an airport run over 10 years ago. As I neared the exit for my home, I began to muse about making pancakes for the kids for breakfast since it was still early. I made a lane change and just like that, my car hit black ice and began going off the road, swiveling around as it went. “Lord, help me!” I cried aloud in my distress – three words I barely had time the time to say before the car came to a rest off the side of the road. I had clobbered my head on the rear view mirror and bent my glasses up pretty well, but it could have been a lot worse. There were no other cars in my way as I went careening across the road. And as I sat there waiting for the tow truck watching the oncoming traffic going over that same black ice, no one else slid off and into my car as I feared would happen. As I looked around, I realized that I was very close to an opening in the embankment that would have sent my car downward and could have resulted in much worse injuries – maybe even death.

I was shaken, very shaken. My neighbor called the tow truck for me and came to pick me up, since my husband was out of town. Our car was totaled and got deposited in our driveway as a visible reminder of the accident. A few days later, I had to get into our van and drive up to the airport to pick up Kris and I almost couldn’t do it. Post-traumatic stress is a real thing, I discovered as I replayed the accident again and again in my mind.

But through it all, I could see over and over again how the Lord had protected me, delivered me, and helped me. Three words? That’s all I needed.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, especially if the wind is howling and the snow is creeping across the road.

There are days when living in a cold, wintry world is like living in a land of enchantment. It’s tempting to think that I could be happy going south for the winter. I wouldn’t miss the days of below zero wind chill. But I’d miss the sun dogs that only come out to play on those days.

I wouldn’t miss the slippery ice beneath my feet. But I’d miss the delicate beauty of hoarfrost.

I wouldn’t miss wearing all those extra layers of clothing, but I’d miss the pleasure of a hot cup of tea.

What would you miss?

I’ll probably send this blog post south for the winter in the morning.

Hello, friends! I took a writing hiatus while our children were home for Christmas and a happy hiatus it was. Why doesn’t Hallmark make cards for that kind of event? Happy Hiatus! I’d buy one.

Thus begins a new writing year on this blog. As each new year comes along, I like to set writing goals, which is a weird thing that writers do. Last year I decided to do a different type of writing each day of the week, but this year I’m saying “bah, humbug” to that goal. I’m kicking it out and sending it to the dungeon where it will sit in damp obscurity collecting mold, and where its pitiful mewling cries will not be heard. I shall call it the “Bah Humbug Dungeon,” a place I may have need of in the future. Without knowing it I think I have used this dungeon in the past and its cells are full of old goals like “Lose Weight,” “Exercise Daily” and “Do Artwork Every Day.” Bah Humbug!!

So this year, my blog entries will be more free form. I’ll still take photos and write thoughtful or nonsensical commentary about them with the occasional poem breaking through. I’ll also put forth a short fiction piece now and then. I’m particularly interested in finishing my Tales of Fig Newton. I had fun with True Stories last year, so I’ll continue to crank some of those out, but this year I want to tell my own True Story, the best True Story I have, which is how I came to faith in Christ. I’ll tell it in serial form, hopefully leaving you on the edge of your seats with each entry. I may add book reviews and quotes. I’m open to suggestions on other content.

If you enjoy my blog, feel free to recommend it to someone else that you think would also enjoy my style of writing. Also, I absolutely LOVE getting feedback from you, so don’t hold back. Unless your feedback is negative and mean, in which case permission to hold back is freely given. But I can’t imagine any of you needing that kind of permission.

Happy New Year!

I’ll probably throw this blog post into the Bah Humbug Dungeon in the morning.

But may it never be that I would boast
except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ,
through which the world has been crucified to me,
and I to the world.
Galatians 6:14

The LORD bless you and keep you.

What a squirrel wants, a squirrel eats
Its teeth gnaw away ‘til it’s done
What a squirrel starts, it always completes

Acorns and pine nuts are tasty treats,
Black walnuts are second to none
What a squirrel wants, a squirrel eats

The squirrel is clever, its feet are like cleats,
The race once begun is won
What a squirrel starts, it always completes.

The birds have a feeder with nuts and seeds
The pole is but a fun run,
What a squirrel wants, a squirrel eats.

Its vast stores of energy it never depletes
No matter the quarry’s a ton,
What a squirrel starts, it always completes.

It sees something fiery from the streets,
A gourd as bright as the sun,
What a squirrel wants, a squirrel eats,
What a squirrel starts, it always completes.

If you’ve been reading my blog for awhile you might recognize that poem form as a villanelle. If you haven’t, now you know. This is the third one I’ve written and although the rules are simple, it doesn’t leave a lot of wiggle room. Anyway, aren’t those charming photos? I took them from my kitchen while the squirrel was outside chomping away, oblivious to my intrusive presence.

This has been Thursday Verse Day with Lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably delete when it’s complete with all the right beats and without cheat sheets. Now I wish I’d used the word “cheats” in my poem…

As I write this, we are expecting a strange winter storm for this time of year, mostly consisting of freaky high winds, dense fog, and then plunging temperatures overnight to produce icy roads with continued high winds. I took a walk a little earlier with the sky just starting to darken and rain coming down lightly. Everything looked photo worthy as I walked through the cemetery and since I was alone, I sang a few Christmas carols out loud. Yes, I am that weird.

Years ago when I was in my youthful 40’s I knew a woman who was probably about the age I am now. Every time we spoke to each other, her eyes would fill up with tears about something. I made a little vow to myself not to become like that. What a fool I was. What is it about aging that reduces some of us (you know who you are) to fragile bags of emotion? All this is to say that as I walked around taking photos, I found myself becoming verklempt (best word ever) at the ordinary beauty that surrounds us all the time. Why does it take looking through a camera lens to make me see it?

That color in the sky, the poignant sharpness of the ducks’ beaks, the wrinkles in the pond water, the cross lit up from behind… If you had been with me, you might have felt a little catch at your throat, too.

“Ah, Lord GOD!
Behold you have made the heavens and the earth
by Your great power and outstretched arm.
There is nothing too hard for you.”
Jeremiah 32:17

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, choking back a tear or two.

I have recently written about my experience with working at the State 4-H Office when I was in college. One of the stories I didn’t tell was about the time I did a copy job using color paper and forgot to put the white paper back in the copier. One of the secretaries, Lee, went to go do a copy job and came out fuming about people leaving color paper in the copier, ruining her work and wasting her time. Lee was a very intimidating older woman and I went all hot and cold with the realization that I was the culprit. In spite of fearing her response, I went over to her desk, admitted that I was the one who left the wrong paper in the machine, apologized, and volunteered to re-do the copy job. “Well,” she said coldly, “I guess that will have to do.” I finished the copy work for her and went to sit back down at my desk. One of the other extension agents, Stan, came over to my desk and said quietly, “I heard the whole thing between you and Lee and I came over to tell you how impressed I am with your maturity and sense of responsibility. It would have been so easy for you to let it go by without admitting that it was your fault. I commend your for your character. If you ever need a job anywhere, let me know and I will give you the highest recommendation.”

I don’t think Stan ever knew how much those words meant to me. I was still smarting from the sting of Lee’s scorn and feeling rather incompetent. It was a small thing for him to do, but it loomed large in my life – I have never forgotten it. The right words at just the right time.

When I was a young mother, I was in church one Sunday with one of our sons who was being rather squirmy and difficult, and my husband wasn’t with us (perhaps out of town). I struggled with him throughout the whole service and felt like a complete failure as a mother. I was near tears by the end and could hardly wait to leave. But as we were leaving the sanctuary, Mac L., one of the deacons, handed me a note that he’d written. It said, “I watched you with your son during the service and thought what a wonderful mother you are. I would have been so happy to have a mother like you and if you were my daughter, I’d be so proud.” Mac had grown up in the foster system, so he had never experienced any sort of stable home life.

I treasured that note. I don’t know if Mac knew how discouraged I was that Sunday, but God knew that I needed a word of encouragement. The right words at just the right time.

“Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only such word as is good for edification, according the need of the moment, that it may give grace to those who hear.”
Ephesians 4:29

“A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.”
Proverbs 25:11

This has been True Stories with Lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…unless you found these words to be fitly spoken.

Has the pumpkin become passé? In these days of white snow and crimson decorations on greenery, we have cast aside the colors of autumn, thrown into the dump heap of yesterday’s decor.

But I like these two flames in the midst of winter. They stand like beacons proclaiming the end of one season, making way for the next one. Do you need light in these ever-darkening days of December?

Perhaps these blazing lights on improvised lampposts foretell the coming of a brighter Light, one that is ablaze for all eternity, a Light that vanquishes the dark forever and forever more. But the blackest darkness doesn’t reside in a remote field after sunset on a winter’s day, it resides in our hearts. Don’t deny it – you know it’s true. There’s only one kind of cure for that; Someone had to die. It’s not a pretty story, but it has the best kind of ending: His life for yours, His light penetrating your darkness, His righteous garments covering your shameful rags.

Now do you understand our joy at Advent?

Break forth, o beauteous heav’nly light,
And usher in the morning.
Ye shepherds shrink not with affright,
The day of grace is dawning.
This child though weak in infancy,
Our confidence and joy shall be,
The pow’r of Satan breaking,
Our peace with God now making.
Johann Rist

Joy to the world, the Lord is come
Let earth receive her King!
Isaac Watts

This has been Monday Musings with Lynniebeemuseoday. It takes a mighty bit of musing to go from pumpkins to the Advent of Jesus Christ.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning while singing a joyful hymn. Join me! (In the hymn singing, not the deleting.)

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross, where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross
‘Til my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
George Bernnard 1913

The Lord bless you and keep you.