Pray for us

Hey, I'm posting this quick before going to bed, 'cause I know I won't have time tomorrow.

My older sister, Heather, is having hip surgery tomorrow in another city. She'll be having metal plates and screws removed from both hips. (She's had previous surgeries...obviously.)

I'm staying here with my four younger siblings. Mom and Dad will be in the waiting room of the hospital.

Please pray for all of us. I don't have time to list all the requests; successful surgery, witnessing opportunities, a peaceful home, ...but you can think of them on your own.

Thank y'all in advance.

Rejoice! God is good!

I've got cabin fever

And it's still November.

I've been outside so much this summer that staying indoors now is really hard.

I guess I could just bundle up well and go out in the bare yard - and I might if things get desperate - but what would be the point?

In the garden, there's only lettuce to pick - and that's only every few days. [I think the frost will get our late-planted peas before they start producing. :(]

Hanging clothes on the line would be rather useless.

Going for a walk on the road would be cold on the upward stretch, going away from the wind, and freezing on the downward stretch, going into the wind.

Shooting baskets with the basketball is hard with frozen fingers.

I can't rake leaves without coming down with a fever for two days (though don't think I haven't been tempted to do it anyways!).

I've already done the fall trimming on the hedge.

The grass doesn't need to be mowed.

So I haven't been outside much.

Now, please don't think I have nothing to do indoors! I have plenty; dishes to wash, sewing projects to work on, emails to write, a blog to update, clothes to wash, dry and fold, music to practice...

...But nothing extremely active. Not the kind of active you get outdoors. And absolutely no lovely fresh outdoor air is floating around in my sewing room.

And I miss the abundance of green peppers, onions, squash, and tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes that were in our diet some weeks ago.

Yes, I think I've diagnosed myself with cabin fever.

I have to make it at least five more months. That's one month short of half a year!

Please - any suggestions for what I can do indoors that will give me that exhausted, full-of-fresh-air, boy-that-was-a-worthy-cause, feeling of being useful?

Yeeeesss....I could clean the bathtub. Definitely a profitable, useful job. I might even be panting by the time I'm done. (But - ugh - didn't I just clean that?)

And....I could make supper for Mom tomorrow. I think I would like that.

Hmmm...what else? I'm drawing a blank. I would sure appreciate any and all ideas y'all have!

I'm a little lonely...

I'm wondering how all y'all are. Are all my blog friends doing well?

Ya know, I'm thankful the Lord has made it possible for me to have friends from all over the world, through technology. Some of you, ladies, I know in "real" life, but many of you I would not know if it weren't for the blog world. I'm so glad we've met.

I guess I just want to say hello, and thanks.

Well!

I have a full day ahead of me, and I feel ready to meet it. I had a whole hour to spend reading my Bible this morning, which felt soooo wonderful. I don't always make enough time to do that before breakfast.

By the way, ever since Saturday I've kept asking myself, "who in their right mind could read Hosea and not understand God's heart?" It's all there - judgment for sin, warning of wrath to come, pleas for repentance, and promises of enumerable blessings for those who walk in righteousness. The last two chapters, especially, just bleed with emotion. Who can read those words and doubt that God longs for His people to love and obey Him?

I guess you can tell that I finished reading Hosea on Saturday. :)

I can't get over how amazing God's Book is. How can paper and ink be so alive?

It's strange that such a beautiful book should be so often put aside for lesser things. When I have my Bible open on my lap in church, for instance, I feel as though I could eat it up. I don't just read the text for that sermon, but many of the surrounding verses. Sometimes I flip to other portions on the same theme and read them. I feel as if I can't shut the covers. But of course I'm in public, and can't just sit there and read the whole book from cover to cover. I promise myself to sit down and have a good long read when I get home.

And then I get home.

And then other things come up, and I end up never sitting down to have that good long read. I just wait until my reading time the next morning.

And, of course, in the morning I turn to my bookmarked page and read my planned chapters for the day, then pray and go off to my work. That ravenous hunger is pushed to a back burner in my mind.

Why do I feel as though I should feel guilty for taking the time to satisfy a hunger like that? If it were a fluffy novel, now, and I was neglecting my chores to pursue its pages, I ought to feel guilty. But God's Word?

If I were still in school, and I had a reading assignment, I wouldn't feel guilty about setting aside several hours to cozy up in a chair and engulf myself in history. Those hours would be considered well-spent.

So I tell myself that, if I could do it with a history book, surely it's right to do it with the Bible.

But then there's the sad fact that I'm no longer in school, and I have more responsibilities. I don't have several hours every day to spend reading anything. I just don't.

...Right?

I guess I'm just thinking on paper - uh, screen - this morning. I'm wondering if I could make time, and just don't, or if it's true that I have less time in my life. I'm wondering how life will be when I become a wife and mother, and have even less time in the morning.

I'm wondering where the balance is between being practical and giving in to every whim of desire. I'm wondering if it's possible to do good things at the wrong time. I'm wondering if all of this is just an excuse for a lazy me.

I don't know.

...Wait. I do know one thing.

I know that I waste many minutes every day. Every day I "give in" in some area, and spend precious time doing something frivolous.

What if I were to use that time for reading?

Silly Amber. How can you complain about not enough time, when you are wasting time in other areas of your day? Get the horse before the cart, Girl, and live like you talk. You'll make time if it's important enough to you.

Okay, folks, I'm signing off now, because talking to myself on world wide web is a little too personal for my tastes.

A Realization

You know, I was thinking lately about friendships with girls younger than myself.

I've mentioned that topic a few times before here, but the idea was brought to my mind in a new way this week.

As a part of a good-size homeschooling family, I have been raised very close to my siblings, and been in fellowship with other families that do the same thing. In social interactions, the world around me has always said "segregate by age," but that concept wasn't adopted by my parents, and thus I never thought much about it myself.

Sure, I went to Sunday School classes that were separated according to age, and I was puzzled every once in a while by a mother who inquired to my age and grade, as if that determined whether I was a fit playmate for her daughter. I even learned to ask girls how old they were, first thing, as if they had to say the magic age or I wouldn't associate with them.

But I don't remember ever turning down a friend because she said an age that was younger than my own. I was too busy trying to understand why "the older girls" didn't want me around.

I remember that feeling very well. That feeling of being invisible. Those "older girls" were never once mean to me. They never said cruel words, that I can remember. I can remember them walking away from me, but I don't believe that even that was done on purpose. The reason it was done was the reason I felt hurt; to them, I wasn't there. They really, honestly didn't notice me. Some magic of social law said I was not worth recognizing if I wasn't their age, and they had unconsciously acted upon what they had been taught.

"Something isn't fair!" Though I didn't understand what caused this heartache in me, I sorta declared war on whatever it was that made folks act like that. I purposed in my heart that, when I reached that elusive age, I would give my utmost effort to spotting the younger girls and talking to them.

Looking back on that decision now, I think that it was a good one. Though I am aware of the times I threw caution to the wind, stuck my pug nose in the air, and tried to act like one of the "older girls" I remembered, those times were short-lived and much regretted afterward. In general, I saw younger girls as just as much potential friendship material as girls my own age.

After all, I have sisters! One is close to my age, and there are two little ones. I will admit, there is a difference between my friendships with my older sister and younger sisters. I can't have the same relationship with a person eleven years younger than me as I can have with one two years older than me. Our friendships are different, but they are all very good. I loved being friends with my little sisters! So why shouldn't I want to be friends with other young girls?

Sadly, I've never learned to look at older girls and automatically see friendship possibilities. The idea that "older girls" are looking down their noses at me was almost branded into me at a young age. I need to pray about my preconceived bias, because it hinders me a little bit. You see, not all older girls are like that. I've been pleasantly surprised several times by older girls who are very opening and loving towards me, and each time it happens I nearly melt.

I've seen that look in a younger girl's eyes when I offer friendship to her. She can't believe it, either. Everything in our society has taught her to expect the opposite. Sometimes she refuses my offer. She can hardly believe I'm in earnest.

And you know what?

Sometimes I'm not.

This is the new angle of thought that hit me this past week. I've become so caught up in being the "lady on a white horse," if you will, that I have almost stopped considering my motives.

Is it really fair for me to offer companionship and friendship to a timid young girl out of pity or feelings of "well, it's the right thing to do,"...and then let her think I did it because I really saw something in her that made me want her to like me? Is it fair to enter into a friendship feeling as if I'm being a benefactor? Isn't true friendship more... equal ....than that?

I know it is. Jonathan was likely older than David, as well as richer, higher in the social strata, and held more power, but I challenge anyone to find anything condescending about the way he related to David. They were equals. When Jonathan gave David those princely gifts, I guarantee you there was nothing patronizing or false about it. I don't believe for one minute that Jonathan was just trying to "do the right thing." First Samuel eighteen one says, "...the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul."

I would call that genuine, equal, from-the-heart friendship, given by an older youth to a younger youth. And that was what I was failing to start out with when I was offering friendship to those girls.

I know I can't be close, knit-to-the-heart friends with every young Christian girl on the planet. But if I'm going to offer even a light friendship, it ought to be sincere. It isn't fair to offer anything else.

And those were the thoughts going through my head this week. I felt so ashamed of myself.

Why did I think about that this week? Because I was suddenly slammed with all sorts of memories. ...Memories of the ways my "young" friends have blessed me through the years. They've been true friends to me. They've been loyal to me in a way that even other "my-age" friends haven't been. Because I felt secure, more like an older sister, I had been more of myself with them. There was no flattery, no playing the game of keep-the-friend. They saw some of my nasty self at times.

And they loved me anyway. I am so amazed. They love me anyway.

And I discovered that I love them, too. I know I started some of those friendships with totally the wrong motives, but it was a wonderful feeling to suddenly realize that I had been blessed; God had not allowed me to stay in that same state of mind, but instead had changed my heart without my noticing it.

I love the friends I don't deserve to have! Girls who started out as "mission work" for me have become dear sisters in Christ. When did that happen?

I don't know.

But I sure am thankful for all those dear girls who have given me so much more than I have given them. They gave me true friendship, without asking for anything in return.

I was never the benefactor. I was the one who received. I was the one who was blessed.

Thank you, sisters.

Confession is good for the soul

Just for the record, I do NOT like hanging out in my pajamas all morning. I'm one of those people who can't stand going to the breakfast table until I've gotten all dressed and ready for the day. (Well...maybe except for my hair.)

But every so often I'll get a little lazy or rushed, and end up eating breakfast in my pajamas and slippers. (PLEASE tell me I'm not the only one who has days like that!!!)

...So, now that you know I don't make a habit out of it, here are....

Thirteen Great Reasons to Always, Always, ALWAYS Get Dressed Before Breakfast:

#1 - Because you tend to feel lazy and sluggish if you don't.

#2 - Because it is more pleasant for your family to look at you.

#3 - Because a relative might unexpectedly knock on the front door just as you are getting up from the table.

#4 - Because your mother might answer the door before you have a chance to run to your room.

#5 - Because the front door just might lay between the kitchen and your bedroom.

#6 - Because you might have to hide in the corner behind the stove for fear of being seen in your rumpled state.

#7 - Because that certain relative might like to stay and talk for a loooooong time, and squatting down behind stoves is uncomfortable.

#8 - Because it is unpleasant for your siblings to die slowly from choking on swallowed laughter.

#9 - Because that certain relative might ask where you are, and your mother may call for you, and your little sisters may have to whisper the truth in her ear.

#10 - Because your siblings will have to block that relative's view so that you can duck into the room that contains your proper clothing.

#11 - Because you will have to rush really fast to get dressed.

#12 - Because that relative might greet you with a pleasant "so, have you been asleep all morning?" and your family will all choke in concert.

#13 - Because when that relative leaves, the house will be a rather warm place for you.


Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I think it will be a long time before I feel like eating breakfast in my pajamas again!

A Way to Stop Unwanted Phone Calls

My older sister, Heather, thought of this. You have to give her credit; it's really ingenious.

This past Sunday afternoon, she and I were practicing a piano-violin offertory together. It was going fairly well - she always plays great anyway, and I was starting to get the hang of the very simple violin part.

(My younger sister Tiffany had been playing with us, too, until I broke two of her violin strings, trying to tune them. Bad me. Ugh. I hate breaking things. ...But I might as well get used to it, because I seem to be one of those people who is always breaking things. By the way, please congratulate Tiffany; she has just received her first instrument of her own; a violin! She's learning fast - 'specially considering that she only has me to help her.)

Anyway. Back to the topic at hand; phone calls.

Solicitors can be very annoying. But "unknowns" are even worse. If you have an ID on your phone, you probably know what I'm talking about; the ID says "unknown," and when you say "hello," no one answers.

Or there are those calls that have a number and name, and there's still no answer. We have several companies like that; they seem to love our house, because they call us at least every other day, if not more often, yet they never say hello to us. There's only silence on their end of the line. We've finally figured out that it's not worth answering the phone when we see those numbers on the ID.

During the week, the shrill ring of a call that no one wants to answer is bothersome. But on a Sunday afternoon? Come on, folks - don't you ever take a break? Heather and I both sorta groaned when that call came in on Sunday afternoon, but then Heather got a certain sparkle in her eye that I recognized.

She had an idea.

"Here - let them listen to you!"

Giggling, I came close to the phone with my violin, and nodded for Heather to push the "talk" button.

I gave the person on the other line a rousing edition of the song we had been practicing. After I was done, Heather listened to the silent phone for a moment, then hung up.

Okay; maybe that wasn't a very wonderful thing to do....but you know what? We haven't had a soliciting call, an unknown call, or any other unwanted call since then!

I told you I don't play well.

I can hardly believe it

Well, this morning I did have a bunch of pictures to share; I was even going to try uploading a video of that music-making we did with the missionary family a while back.

But try telling my computer that.

Yes, ma'am, my computer has decided to take a holiday from uploading pictures, until further notice. Ugh.

Oh well. I suppose I'd better write about more pleasant things.

I hope y'all had a lovely Lord's Day. We did, though it was a busy one. Last night we had more music at our church. Squire Parsons, and the Squire Parsons Trio blessed our church with a visit. Listening to the singing was wonderful. Those men sure have some talent! The harmony was great - 'specially the bass singer. :) What's more, after the singing, Squire Parsons even preached for us!

Well, our little country church was packed to the bursting point last night. For the first time ever, Dad had to search for a place in the church parking lot to park our red 15 passenger van. We all got a kick out of that.

Two of the visitors last night were special friends of ours; you might call them our adopted Aunt and Uncle. They live in town, but we are only able to get together once in awhile. It was so good to see them! After the service was over, we got a chance to talk for a time.

After what we had just heard, of course the topic was music. Knowing they liked to hear my siblings and I play (they ask for songs nearly every time we're together), I told them about the group we young folks at church had formed; The King's Strings. I asked if they'd like to hear a song or two. They said yes with smiles.

Off we went into an out-of-the-way back room, after collecting everyone in the group. We sat around on the couch, chairs, and table, and started playing. We were just hanging out and having fun, playing for Aunt Jan and Uncle Phil. I could tell they were loving every minute of it, and I was glad. Our music didn't compare to the fancy stuff we had heard from up front that night, but we didn't care about that. We were having fun!

Well....out in the foyer of the church, Dad was well aware of what we were doing. He also loves to hear us play.

And he also likes to find audiences for us.

Well, it just so happens that Mom has a friend who is a personal friend of Squire Parsons. This lady also sings, and she is in charge of concerts and things...I'm not sure of all the details. I just know she sings, and she knows Mom.

This lady, with her mother (another singer, I believe), was at church last night; she had come to hear Squire Parsons and say hello to him, I guess.

And this is the lady Dad found, and asked to come back and listen to us.

And she did.

And she said that her mom had to hear us, so she went and got her.

Her mother said that one of the men who sang with Squire Parsons (his son), had to hear us, so she went and got him.

All of this was going on rather behind our backs. We could see people coming in the door and hanging around, but we were kinda focused on our playing.

Well, Squire Parsons' son came in and said (so we've been told) "Dad has to hear this," and then he....yes, you guessed it...went and got his dad.

So, the long and the short of it is, our little group got to play for Squire Parsons. I thought that was really neat.

Of course, by the time he got to that little back room, we had become wise as to what was going on, and knew very well that we were playing for an audience. An audience with a lot of talent, at that.

I don't know about the rest of the group, but I was so jittery, I could hardly play my fiddle. I don't think I did very well at all.

But Squire Parsons said he liked it. He was very kind to us.

Oh - I forgot something else. This lady - the one in the very beginning - is in charge of a concert that will take place some time in February. After hearing us play for awhile, she asked "Can you guys come up with 30-minutes-worth of music?"

We all just stood or sat where we were and looked at her.

She told us about the concert, and said, "I hadn't found any pre-concert music yet, and now I know why. The Lord wanted me to come here tonight and hear you guys. Will you play for me? You'd entertain the audience while everything was getting set up. Like a prelude. How many songs can you play?"

"Well, uh, we all play by ear, so we could basically play any song..."

"...But we have trouble of thinking of what songs to play..."

"...If we made up a list..."

Suddenly, we were all looking at each other with identical expressions. I still can't figure out if it was thrill, shock, or fright.

Us? Play for a concert? Little old us?

This wasn't the first person to ask us about something like this. On the way home from church, Curtis reminded us that a lady we know had asked for his phone number, wanting to know about our group, and if we'd play for an event. And I reminded everybody about a lady had I met several months ago who had wanted our group to come play for her church.

But we were still sitting in that dark van in shock. We had sorta purposely forgotten about the other requests; after all, those folks hadn't heard us play! If they had, of course they would have changed their minds, right?

But this lady had heard us play.

...Had we really said yes? And why in the world had that lady thought we could play well enough to do pre-concert music?

We are not that good of musicians! I can say that about all of us without being unkind, because we all tell each other that and we agree.

Well...except about our two lead players; my brother Curtis, and one of the other boys. They really have some talent (though they claim they don't). ...But the rest of us are just amateurs.

This is really going to cause us to depend upon the Lord. All seven of us are scared. We know that most of us aren't talented enough to do this.

I'm not one of those folks who spends hours everyday practicing music. And you can tell when you listen to my playing. I love to play, but I haven't devoted the time I should to become better at it. Perhaps this is God's way of motivating us. Maybe He has plans to use us.

I don't know. I do know God can use music, and I do know that in the past He has chosen to use vessels for His work that are weak, filthy, and despised by the world.

Well...weak and pitiful would describe us pretty well. Maybe we're in His plan. I'm praying that whatever the case, He'll give us all the ability to do what He'd have us do. Also the strength of character to do what He wants us to do - even if it happens to be something we're terrified of doing.

There are times in my life when I can see God working so clearly that I get really...well, not scared exactly,...but awed and trembly, with a knot in my stomach. Usually I feel that way when things start happening that have no logical explanation.

Things like someone liking music that isn't professional.

Things like several people in a row asking about the same thing.

Things like "coincidences" that aren't coincidences.

Things like people listening to mistakes and hearing music.

Right about now, I'm getting that feeling in my stomach.

I'm Finished!

All except for the floor and walls ...and sink. I'll mop and wipe those on Monday, I guess.

Whew, does that cabinet look better!

Update

Wow. I wish I dared post a picture of the bathroom right now. I've been working on it basically non-stop since I wrote that last post and, even after three hours, I still have quite a ways to go.

So far, I've cleaned the tub (got that out of the way first thing!), cleaned the toilet, gotten the cobwebs out of the ceiling corners, and begun the organizing process on the shelves, linen cabinet, and the under-the-sink cabinet. To start with, I pulled everything off the shelves and out of the cabinets.

I once saw a movie clip of Mary Poppins pulling things out of a "magic" bag. The bag itself was small, but she pulled lots and lots of large things from it; a wall mirror, a hat stand, etc. I believe our bathroom cabinets and shelves must have taken lessons from her. Stuff just kept coming and coming and coming.

There were things in the back recesses of that cabinet that must have been there since Mom and Dad got married. Never mind that they didn't move into this house until later, and the cabinet has been sorted through numerous times since then. I'm sure that has nothing to do with it. ...Well, actually....perhaps it's been cleaned a few times. :)

Okay. In all seriousness, there was a LOT of stuff in there. I think I must have uncovered 25 bars of soap, five toothbrushes still in the packages, four bottles of expired iodine, an unlabeled jar of something that smelled terrible, lots of other expired stuff, bedsheets I hadn't seen in months, duplicate bottles of things...

And then there's the under-the-sink cabinet. The one a bottle of liquid soap somehow managed to spill in, and escape unnoticed. ...Until today. Did anyone ever tell you that using wet paper towels to clean up soap makes suds, and spreads the soap further? :)

It all makes me wonder what why we humans collect things as if there's no tomorrow, and then let 75% of that stuff go unused and unnoticed. We're strange. Our basic physical needs are so simple, ...aren't they? I suppose it depends on your definition of simple.

I hope the bathroom will have an air of simplicity by the time I'm finished with it. Right now, the stuff that was in the cabinets is all over the bathroom floor and hallway floor. It seems like a momentous task to tame those heaps of clutter, and I'm feeling tired. It's a good mood to be in, 'cause I'm more than ready to throw stuff away; and that's unusual for me. Usually, I don't even like to send glass jars to the recycling center; I'd rather keep them in the basement so I can look at my collection. :)

I've taken a quick lunch break, and I suppose I ought to get back to work. I think the first thing I'll do is collect all the cleaning supplies into tidy little red containers and put them neatly under the sink. Then I'll put the TP and paper towels on a shelf of their own. ...Then perhaps I'll feel ambitious enough to attack those millions of bottles and tubes of whatever it is that collects in bathrooms.

You know something? Right now, cleaning the tub doesn't sound bad at all.

I'm off to clean the bathroom...

...and I mean REALLY clean the bathroom.

Clean the toilet, clean the sink, clean the (yikes) tub [I don't like that one!],organize the cabinet, clean the floor, wipe down shelves, clean the mirror, empty the trash...

Have I missed anything? Let me know if I have.

I used to hate cleaning the bathroom. I would even do dishes to get out of it - and dishes used to be that chore we children would toss back and forth; "it's your turn!" "No it's not!" "Mommy, I have more dish turns than she does!"

Now, in my old age [grin], dishes don't seem so bad, and neither does the bathroom...with the exception of the tub. I actually LIKE cleaning the toilet. I think it has something to do with the fact that I've got it down to a science. I've done it so often, all the steps are memorized, and I can almost do it in my sleep.

The tub, now...well, that's the one chore I'm still good at getting out of.

It used to be cleaning the toilet that I ran from, but then Mom gave me the sole responsibility to clean it. When no one else is cleaning that little gadget, you quickly decide that a few minutes of cleaning is better than having a clothespin stuck on your nose every time you enter the bathroom.

So I learned to like it.

I guess that proves what my parents say; you can learn to like a lot of things, if you just get to doing it. My Dad taught me to like green peppers by making me eat them every time they were served, instead of hiding them in my napkin. I'm glad he made me do what I didn't want to do. Now I can enjoy his omelets so much more!

...But I'm not quite ready to start liking to clean the tub.

...So, please, don't remind Mom of that.

A Strange Friendship

After several weeks of doing little but work on sewing projects for others, it felt great to be working on one of my many projects today. I don't mean to sound selfish, but that big stack in my sewing room does have to be attacked at some time or another. Today I worked on a brown corduroy jacket. It will be lined with a pretty red floral.

I also made bread for the first time in ages! I made up a new recipe that uses molasses, olive oil, and flax seed. May sound strange, but it turned out really tasty. I also made Tizza for lunch.

Oh - I suppose I ought to explain what Tizza (tease-ah) is. Well...It's our own family name for my creation of "tuna pizza." I make the crust like for regular pizza, top it with a sauce of cheddar cheese, mayo, butter, and anything else that sounds good, and then add canned tuna and onions on top. Baked until the crust is crispy, it makes a great lunch.

Anyway...it felt good to be back in the kitchen after an absence of several weeks. I had made a few dishes during that time, but not really done real cooking.

I also stepped out to visit the garden, which I'd neglected to do for several days. I discovered that frost has finally gotten my hardy marigold plants. Remember this?
This was what my marigolds looked like back in May. They were the first things I've successfully started from seeds. What a feeling - to nurse life out of tiny specks! Out of fifty seeds, about ten survived to be transplanted to the garden, and only two plants survived the drought of this summer. They were small and scraggly.

Several weeks ago - maybe a month - Dad removed the tomato plants from the garden. The marigolds had been planted at the shady bases of the tomato plants. When the shade was removed, I was thrilled and surprise to see my two plants abound forth in new growth. (I think there's a lesson in there somewhere, don't you?)

Before they 'passed away' this week, the two plants were each about a foot across, and had 50 or so blooms between the two of them. Brilliant orange and deep green lit up that little corner of the garden. They were absolutely gorgeous.

Those marigolds taught me something this summer. They were out there every day, and I could see them growing and changing before my eyes sometimes, ...or suffering and dying at other times. They were beautiful. They were hardy. They started small. They depended on me for water.

I can't quite put my finger on what it was they taught me, but I know I'll not soon forget my first experience with seedlings that I grew myself. I kinda developed a special feeling for those little plants. They were mine. ...Yet not mine. They were gifts...from Someone I know.

All in all, I'm gonna miss them.

I don't understand

I've just heard of the death of a baby girl our church was praying for. She was only 2 and a half months old.

How heartbroken her parents must be! Death is never pleasant, but when it visits the young, there is something even more awful about it.

God is just and good; I know He knows exactly why it was best for that little girl to remain on earth for such a short time. But even so, my heart bleeds for her parents.

Thinking about the way her parents must feel at this time makes me think all sorts of thoughts.

About abortion, for instance. How can people think it's a tragedy for a 2 and a half month old baby to die, but think nothing of killing a baby in the womb? There are hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of little ones killed all the time, and it's done legally. How? Why?

That kind of tragedy defies my mind to think logically. I can't understand it. I don't want to understand it.

Today is election day.

Who knows what this world will be like one year from now? Things could be very different. I would like to say they will certainly be different for the better, but I don't know. I don't know what the outcome of today will be.

I do know God is on His throne, and His man is already picked out. I do know God is good, and righteous and just and holy...and plentious in mercy. I can trust Him with what happens to this nation.

All I can do is pray, and obey. Obey in big things, and in little things. And speak when I can.

The Real Fruit

Remember this quilt?

I heard from the mother who received it for her baby. Well, not really from her, but from the person who bought the quilt from me and gave it to her.

I don't know all the details, but apparently this mother was touched and blessed by the scripture verse I embroidered on the back of the quilt. (You can see where I did it if you look for the white square on the back.) I guess God used His Word to do something in her life.

Telling you something like this is what this blog is really about.

The Fruit of Her Hands.

The tales about everything else should only fill in the gaps. I would love to be able to tell you something new every day about how God has used something I made with my hands; a quilt, a meal, a clean room, a letter...anything.

The days when I can are wonderful for me.

A Red-Vanned Day

I drove our red 15-passenger van on the road for the first time today!

A Handmaiden of the Lord, Post #4

A Handmaiden of the Lord is...

... industrious

I've been sewing for almost two days straight.

Really.

On Tuesday morning, I was at my machine by 7:30. After a little while, I took a 30 minute break for breakfast, and was back at my machine again as soon as I was done. Several hours later, I took a 30 minute break for lunch, and then was back to my machine.

An hour or two before supper time, I finished all the machine work on my project, and was ready to start on the extensive handwork that needed to be done before the project was finished.

I was tired of being indoors on a beautiful fall day. The sky was clear blue, and the leaves were like glowing gems littering the ground. I took about an hour to go outside and trim a hedge that has needed to be cut for several weeks. It felt so good to finally get that job done. Even nicer was the break from being indoors.

Right after that, Mom and I had to run out on a brief errand. We got back right before supper.

After supper, I was able to sew for an hour or two on my bed before turning in.

Wednesday morning. I slept late, because of the time I had gone to sleep, but right after breakfast I sat on my bed and sewed. My hope chest, which sits right beside my bed, quickly became covered with loose threads, a pincushion, ribbon, pattern pieces, elastic, scissors, spools of thread, and everything else that goes along with a sewing project.

Except for a lunch break, I sewed straight through the day. Oh how cramped my legs became! I only stopped in time to eat supper at 5:30. Right after supper, we went to prayer meeting at our church. When we got home, around 9:30, I picked up my sewing again.

I finished the project before I fell asleep last night.

Now...why have a told y'all this story?

Well, for several reasons. First, to explain why I haven't posted on here since Monday. Second, I thought the example went well with the next topic in our "Handmaiden of the Lord" series.

Not because I was industrious. Actually, although I've known I had a deadline for this project for almost a month, I waited to get really serious about sewing it until the middle of the week before last. The pressure of the past two days was entirely my fault. I didn't plan ahead enough to know how long the project would take me.

I suppose I just wanted y'all to know why the topic of sewing is in the forepart of my mind. Now, to the topic of industry.

When I speak of industry in the context of being a handmaiden of the Lord, I am thinking about the way a woman furthers the productivity of her home. I am thinking about being entrepreneurial. That is really my topic today. Industriousness is just the character quality that can cause a woman to be entrepreneurial.

You can all guess what verses I found to go along with this post: Proverbs 31.

13 She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. 14 She is like the merchants' ships; she bringeth her food from afar. 15 She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens. 16 She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard.

17 She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms. 18 She perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by night. 19 She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff. 20 She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy. 21 She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet. 22 She maketh herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is silk and purple. 23 Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land. 24 She maketh fine linen, and selleth it; and delivereth girdles unto the merchant. 25 Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. 26 She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. 27 She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.

These verses (pardon the awkward layout) just overflow with the spirit of industry. This woman is busy, busy, busy. She uses what she has to create more of what she needs. She does so many different things! And she's so generous with what she earns!

A woman should not be a drain on the household. That is a phrase that is my head quite often. Because I am a stay-at-home daughter, I have to deal with folks who think I am being a drain on my home. Thankfully, many people we know are very understanding, but there are also those who...well, I guess they think a girl must be at college or working in an office (or library or fast food place, or store) to truly be grown up or profitable. I think they honestly can't imagine what I find to do all day at home, now that I'm not in school.

Well, first things first; I'm not at home all day every day. In fact, I'm out quite a bit, I think. But that's beside the point. I could live 40 miles from the nearest city and still have a worthwhile life, because there IS a lot for me to do at home.

Let's forget about the basic upkeep of a home; cooking, cleaning, laundry, childcare, etc. I can't handle two big topics at once. They point today is about being entrepreneurial. The woman in Proverbs 31 was contributing to her home in a very real way.

First, though, what is the point in being entrepreneurial? Is is to prepare us to be breadwinners? Hardly. I am not learning business skills so that I can provide for myself in case I never marry. I am learning business skills because I want to help my future husband in whatever calling he has, and because I want to help my father right now. My entrepreneurial efforts are quite profitable now, in the present. They are not a forlorn effort to prepare for the dreaded possibility of being left alone in the world.

This is a very important point. My work should be a sort of background work, branching off the desires of the head of the household. The talents and skills God has given me are to be used, and used creatively.

Secondly, being entrepreneurial is basically "having a home business," but I don't believe every woman needs to have one of those to qualify as a good woman of God. That's why I listed "industrious" as the topic of this post, not "entrepreneurial." A woman can contribute to her home in a variety of ways.

A penny saved is truly a penny earned. My mother doesn't have a home business, but she can make a grocery bill come out so low my mouth hits the floor by the checkout counter. If my father didn't have her frugal ways backing him up, he would probably have to be earning a third more money to be providing for his family. This is a skill I so want to inherit from my Mom!
Trading services for items, or visa-versa also keeps the household expenses down. Being careful not to waste does the same thing.

The whole point of keeping costs down, of course, is not to make our families rich. It's to make them more profitable. It's to make it possible for the head of the house to dream big, to give big, and obey big.

All that being said, however, the fact remains that the Proverbs 31 woman did have a home business of sorts, and it is evidently smiled upon.

So what can you do? I have just recently started sewing for a profit. I also teach sewing lessons. I used to tutor for a homeschooling mother. I occasionally do childcare.

The money I earn makes it possible for me to tithe and give, to purchase gifts for others, save money for the future, help missionaries, buy Bibles for other countries, and to buy most of my own clothing, shoes, hair stuff, etc. I'm not taking over Dad's job as provider, and I'm not trying to "strike out on my own." Dad knows that. I'm just trying to help the household, and further God's kingdom.

Money is a tool, and being able to earn it is wonderful, because of all that can be accomplished with it. I dream of the day I'll be able to give a LOT of money to mission work. That would make Dad and Mom so happy. It would make me so happy, because I love the One whose work I would be giving to.

In a practical sense, I'm not sure I could give much advice on earning money. You must earn from your angle, using your particular talents. You must make sure everything you are doing is right and biblical, and is being done with the right motive. You must retain the desire to be a woman, not a man. You must strive for excellence in what you do, so that the people you interact with will see that a Christian is honest and industrious.

You must go with the flow of your family. I love the fact that both of my parents were involved in the starting of my sewing business. Mom gave me the tools I needed to complete the setting up my sewing room, and kept encouraging me to start a business until I listened to her. Dad talks about me all over his workplace, and therefore got me my one of my first customers. He loves to "advertise" for one of his children. Knowing that he is proud of me, and is actively encouraging people to give me business give such solidity to me. I know that he approves of what I'm doing. I just couldn't run a business my parents disapproved of.

If any of my readers have more practical tips on the topic of earning money from home, I would sure love to hear them. Oh - I also would like to share this website, which sells business cards. Business cards are a valuable home-business tool, and this price is right!



(To read more "A Handmaiden of the Lord" posts, click here.)

Rules for Participation:

Each of you ladies - old and young - who read this blog have insight that you can contribute for the edification of the rest of us. Particularly those of you who are older in the faith...but even younger sisters can have words of wisdom. I would like to humbly request your active involvement in this series.

In the comment section of each post, I would like each of you to do one of two things;

~ 1: If you do not have a blog, please leave your thoughts directly in the comment section.

~ 2: If you have a blog, please go there and write a small post containing your thoughts on whatever quality is under discussion here. Make it Biblical; share verses the Lord has used in your heart. The world is full of opinions - we don't need more of that. We need more of the Lord.

Then come back here and leave a link to your post in the comment section. (To make it easier for us to find the right post, please link directly to the post, not your front page.) If you would like to, please direct your blog readers here so that they can find more discussion, from other readers.

This is only a small corner of Blog Land, and I know that I don't reach many ladies - at least not as many as I would like. But this topic - becoming a better Handmaiden of the Lord - is so important that I wish we could talk to thousands. If we start linking to one another, perhaps the word will get out, and we can reach more and more women who care about the Lord.

We just got great news!

Remember this?


For those of you who have been readers here for more than a few weeks, you might remember the tale of my family's vacation to North Carolina this summer. One of the highlights I mentioned in the recount was the time we spent labeling this mountain of packages. (The photos don't do it justice; there were 9,185 envelopes.)

Inside these packages were bundles of selected books and other literature. They were being sent to pastors in several states in the lower portion of America.

Tonight, a lady from the church that sent these packages out contacted my sister Heather. The lady said that a pastor from Alabama had called her husband and talked for 20 minutes straight about how much the books had blessed him. He said he had just preached the best revival meeting he had ever had.

"I just thought you would like to know, since you helped label the packages," our friend wrote to Heather.

When Heather read the note aloud to all of us, we couldn't help but smile. Imagine! God can use even menial (but fun!) tasks to bless folks. ...Folks that we'll probably never see...until we get to Heaven. Praise Him!

Malawi and Music

Last night, a missionary family visited our church. They are raising support to go to Malawi, Africa.

I learned quite a bit about Malawi that I didn't know before. For example, I believe there are 13 million people in that country, and the geographical size of it is about equivalent to Tennessee. The people of Malawi are well known for their kindness and warmth; Malawi is known as "the warm heart of Africa."

The country of Malawi is amazingly poor. Though only 20% of the land is fit for farming, that is the way 90% of the people make a living. Our Pastor was a missionary for 25 years, and has been many times to the country of Romania. He says that the Romanians are very poor, but they are sending missionaries to Malawi, and the Romanians are amazed at the poverty there.

David Livingston opened the country of Malawi through his explorations. Because of his work, the slave trade in Malawi was eradicated. From that time, the country had been open to the gospel, but it has also been a sowing place for the seeds of deception. Numerous cults, as well as the Islam religion in recent years, have been established there. True Christianity is rare.

Despite this, the people there (in general) are very open to witnessing. Even the Islamic circles have not yet developed the hatred for Christianity that is found in other Islamic countries. It is said that the Malawi people are quick to believe when the gospel is explained to them. They just haven't heard before.

To see a field THIS white unto harvest makes my breath come quickly. What an opportunity! I am so glad this family is going there. And I'm glad I've had the blessing of meeting them, and getting to know them.

This family has seven girls, ranging in age from 12 to 22. They all sing, and six of them play instruments.

I don't remember if I've mentioned this before on my blog, but three of my siblings and I have joined together with three siblings from another family in our church to make a music group. The seven of us get together and practice almost every week, and whenever we can we do specials for church, visit nursing home-type places, or go out anywhere else we have an opening to play.

At the request of folks at our church, we've given our group a name; The King's Strings. Between the seven of us, we have two guitars (but three guitar players!), one banjo, one banjatar (a cross between a banjo and a guitar. Both of my brothers can play this), one violin, one flute, two mandolins, and three possible harmonicas (they don't all play at the same time). We also have a couple piano players amongst us, though that's not a very portable instrument. :)

The family visiting us had...oh, let's see...I think they had three guitars, one banjo, two violins, and four mandolins. Oh yes - the father can play the trumpet, and several of the girls can play piano.

...Can you guess where this is heading?

Yup; we had a deliriously fun time after the service was over. FIFTEEN instruments going at once! (One of my brothers was playing two at the same time, and one sibling who doesn't usually join in with The King's Strings decided to play the piano.)

One piano. One flute. One harmonica. One banjatar. Two banjos. Two violins. Four guitars. Three mandolins. (...or was it three guitars and four mandolins?)

Wow.

Talk about loud. Talk about complex! Talk about fun. We just played, and played, and played.

Close your eyes, and imagine...

The cold metallic taste of pinheads is between my lips. The taste is as familiar as homemade bread. My tongue presses hard against the pins and the roof of my mouth as I concentrate.

A 60" white-and-black tape measure is draped around my neck, like a smooth and harmless snake. It feels as natural draped on me as a favorite sweater would be. The ends dangle in the air every time I lean forward across the table.

Orange scissors fit into my hand as if they were intentionally made the exact shape of my palm. They snip - sometimes sharply, severing thin thread. Sometimes they make the even zzzzt zzzt sound of scissors cutting stiff fabric.

My machine talks to me; "Um-in, Um-in, Um-in," the needle goes up and down, up and down. Just as I'm beginning to wonder if it will never take a breath, I reach the end of my seam and lift my foot off the pedal. Before I begin the next seam, I slip my foot out of my shoe, and enjoy the feeling of contact between my warm bare foot and the hard plastic foot of my machine.

My fingers automatically slide around to the metal lever that snaps the presser foot into place atop the fabric. Another seam is begun.

It is all so natural. Like eating. Or sleeping.

Until something goes wrong, of course. But even that seems natural, because it happens so often.

* * * * *

Can you tell I've been sewing today?

Can you also tell that I messed up?

And it's an order - an item for someone else. Oops. Don't tell; I'll be able to fix it. Really. It'll only take a couple of...gulp...hours.

But I do like thinking about how natural sewing feels. I'm glad I've grown up doing it. Most of the time, it's a little stressful - if I'm looking for therapeutic, I'll go find my crochet hook, not my sewing machine - but at the same time...

...I like sewing.

I like what goes on in my mind as I sew. It's a wonderful time to pray. And talk to myself.

Sometimes, ya know, yourself is hard to know. But if I don't know myself, who can I know? I need to know what I really think about certain issues. I need to know what I'd do in certain situations. I need to know what sins are bubbling in my heart, ready to come to the surface when I'm tempted and don't flee to Christ.

It's easy to assume I'm the person I want me to be. I know - in a general way - what I want to be like. And I know all my thoughts; when I snap at that little sibling, I know that I did it because I have a headache. Inside, I'm really a patient person.

But she doesn't know. Neither does anyone else.

When I mean to do something, and don't do it, I can tell myself that it's the thought that counted...and then count myself as kind and nice and sweet, because I meant to do that thing.

Every so often, it's good to stop and face the fact that me isn't what I want me to be, me is what I am. The person I desire to be is just that; the person I desire to be. It isn't me.

This thought is intricately tied up with the thought "God." He is the only other person who knows what I think I am, inside. He also sees how I live, and speak, look,...how I really am. When I cry because I don't live up to what I think I should be, His Word is there, reminding me that "only by pride cometh contention." Only my pride set me up to fall.

When I sing because the "real" me came out and lived for a few moments, He is the One who can share my joy, because only He knows how wonderful it feels.

When I weep with confusion, not knowing who I really am, He is there. He is the only one who knows the secret of who I really am. Oh yes, I know a little about who I am: I am a sinner. A saved sinner...but a sinner. That condemning , hopeless name, "sinner," has been seared into me since birth.

I also know I've been adopted. I'm a child of the very One whose law once doomed me. That makes me marvel. It makes my heart ache. It makes me topple over with astonishment. It makes me want to kiss His blessed feet. O, if only I could have been Mary! To wet His feet with my tears, and wipe them with my hair! To actually touch Him! It is the first thing I want to do when I get home; I want to kiss His feet.

But I really don't know much else about me. What I want to be and what I actually am are so tangled up somehow...

I'm so glad I don't have to know. I don't really have to know me. "If I don't know myself who can I know?" Why, the answer is so simple:

God.

Why bother knowing me, anyway? What's so special about that?

"But let him that glorieth glory in this, that he understandeth and KNOWETH me, that I am the LORD which exercise lovingkindness, judgment, and righteousness, in the earth: for in these things I delight, saith the LORD." (Jeremiah 9:24)

I love how God's Word makes complex things so simple.

Keeping Track of the Time

Whew! What a Tuesday this has been!

I feel as if I've been busy all day. ...Well, I guess I have a good reason to feel that way; I have been busy all day. :)

I spent all morning doing childcare for a group of mothers, and one little guy in particular was really fussy, so I held and walked him for about two hours straight.

Then home for a quick lunch, and to hang clothes out on the line.

Then out to do some shopping with my sister Heather. We've both needed to get some things for quite awhile, but haven't had the time to go out. Today we made time, and I'm glad we did. I think we're both pretty satisfied with the deals we got. Shopping with a sister is always fun.

Then home again - first to do some garden-watering and lettuce-picking with Dad, then to do some sewing on a order I need to complete within a few days. I'm a bit daunted by all I have left to accomplish on that project, but I'm pleased with the progress I made.

A few moments ago, I headed here, to the computer, to see if I can cut open button holes and do computer work at the same time. In just a little while I will need to go help Mom in the kitchen.

All together, though it may not look like much on paper, I feel like I've done a lot today. And that's a good feeling.

But I guess that's beside the point. The real point of this post is supposed to be a kitchen tip I wanted to share with y'all.

I hope I'm not the only person in the world who used to loose my watch constantly. The reason I kept loosing it was because I kept taking it off to wash dishes. I'd leave it on sometimes, but water would splash on it, leak inside, then evaporate up onto the inside of the glass, and I couldn't see the face of the watch.

So then I'd set it on a kitchen shelf, and forget to put it back on...or I'd stick it in a pocket, and then it would end up going to the laundry room...or I'd do something else with it, and forget that "safe" place where I'd stuck it.

It seemed to be a choice between wearing a watch, or being a helping hand in the kitchen. That's an easy choice - I knew I had to wash dishes. But surely there was a way to both have a watch, and a clean kitchen. ...?

Then I started wearing aprons.

...But even then the solution didn't click right away. But one day it did...



Tada! I clip the band around my apron tie, and let it stay there until I'm done fussing in the water.

There's no way I can forget to put my watch back on, because my fingertips always find it as I reach around to untie my apron.

Of course, if you adopt this course, be prepared to have every member of the family ask at least once, "what is your watch doing back there...upside down?"

Just smile sweetly, and say, "oh, it's there so I don't loose it."