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Showing posts from July, 2018

That Old Black Magic

Look at your life. Pretty fabulous isn't it? I know one flick of a finger and I have light and heat (or cool air), the twist of a wrist provides a torrent of water, at any  temperature I choose. It might be icy cold for drinking or near scalding for a shower. I have magic boxes in my home. There is one that keeps food cool and slows spoilage. Another whirls my clothes around and around in soapy water to clean them and another twirls them around in a heated box until they are dry and fluffy. Several of these boxes provide entertainment, news and music. I have another small box that lets me speak to my children no matter where they are in the world. If I run out of food, or just don't like what is at my house, I have another magic box on wheels that rolls me out to a food gathering source, called a grocery store. If I want someone else to cook it for me the same magic box will take me to a place called a restaurant. I have this other really large magic box that provides a

Rainbow Garden

 I attended two churches growing up - depending on which set of grandparents had me for the weekend.  This went on from birth through all of elementary school. I had a lot of friends and acquaintances spread throughout our smallish town. Mabel Holcomb was my pre-school Sunday School teacher at one church. Trena and Timmy were two classmates I can remember. In the 4th grade our teacher was the young newlywed Anita. She was the church pianist and had recently eloped with Stanley, the church organist. Anita decided to have a Bible verse reading contest probably in an effort to get a bunch of 10 year old children interested in reading the Bible. Timmy and I were neck and neck every week.  If he reported reading 4 verses, I had read 5. If I reported reading 6 verses, he read 7.  It has been many years, I don't know how many weeks the contest went on, but in the end our competitiveness ended in earning both of us a winning prize. My prize was a book called Rainbow Garden by Patrici

Death of an Ant

Actually it is death of an Aunt. Aunt Phyllis actually. But where I am from we have Ants, even if it is spelled aunts. My Aunt Phyllis died. She was my dad's oldest sister. Since my parents were divorced when I was young (and they were too) I never really knew her. Those occasions they came down on summer vacation I was focused on playing with the cousins. I didn't really interact with the grownups. We were busy playing hide and seek and freeze tag, running and screaming around my grandparents mini-farm. Phyllis was a sweet woman, I never remember her yelling at us kids. Just smiling and filling dinner plates. She didn't talk much, she just smiled a lot. A few years ago I went to visit one of the "baby" cousins, that group that is much younger than the first lot of us.  She was a late in life baby and Phyllis' youngest. She was living with her, in mid-to late stage Alzheimers. I realized how little I knew about her.  What was her favorite hymn? Did she

Murca, Does it Have a Future?

I am neither a History major nor a Theology major.  I prefer bones, muscles, bloody wounds, spurting infectious materials. Hey, everybody is different, some of us are just more different. I haven't written for a day or two, cause I was waiting around to see if God had anything in particular for me to talk about.  Of course I can spend a lot of time talking about nothing also. I quit watching the news, other than local, or any political shows during the first Obama Administration. It is all just too distressing. I started stockpiling food. Which expired - OK, that is a different story. I started wondering, how have our past leaders felt about God, Christianity, its connection to our country and so on? Of course the early leaders, were into it. I'll just give you a couple of quotes real quick here. George Washington "It is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of the Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implo

Hamsters of the Brain

 Sometimes I get a bug up, uh in my ear. A topic that causes the hamster wheel that is my brain to whirl around relentlessly.  The problem is when I have so many ideas and thoughts that all the hamster wheels are going and not in the same direction.  I usually have many projects going at once, but my follow through is not always (as in never) very good. Currently I run a money losing business, I am building a doll house, I am writing this blog, and I stick in a round of dishes, laundry and toilet cleaning in between as the mood strikes me. Then occasionally my husband makes a bid for my attention so I spend a day motorcycling with him. So today, which spinning wheel will I try to grab the hamster out of and address? During my Bible studies, which like my brain are often random, I started wondering what is the difference between a Disciple and an Apostle. Raise your hand if you know. I had some ideas, but felt like maybe I needed to be clearer on it.  First I went to the Merriam

Being Called to the Witness Stand

I can happily say I have never been called for jury duty. I have never been a victim of a major crime or a witness to one. However, I have been worried about being a witness since the 7th grade. What a silly thing to worry about, you probably think. I was immature - of course I was, I was just out of elementary school, but probably more immature than many my own age. I had a fantasy that I would marry a missionary and do great things. It never occurred to me that I myself might be a missionary. I was a female in a time that many career doors were shut to us. The thing was, I could not go to school and share this wonderful thing that happened to me. I still remember that night so vividly. The night I accepted Jesus. But social circles were strictly enforced by all the insecurities of youth. I could not speak outside of my own clique, that is the same kids I attended church with. They already knew Jesus. As life continued and I grew physically and mentally (although not necessa

Who is That Old Woman in My Mirror?

Quite a few years ago, I was asked to show my ID at a register. When I pulled it out I became confused. How in the world did my mothers's drivers license get in my billfold? She was right behind me in line. Did she have mine? Shockingly, it WAS my ID. When had I got so old? I had a nose ring/stud for many years. My boyfriend, who was older than me, in his sixties, did not like it very much. We were at a buffet restaurant and as he paid the young girl at the counter she said, "Wow, I have never seen an old person with a nose ring."  He had a good laugh. I did not. It is now a decade (at least) later. I look in the mirror and feel shock. That person has some chin hairs, a saggy neck, age spots, (I prefer the term freckles), thinning hair. It can't be me. And where is my strength, my agility, and what is with these aches and pains that get called things like Arthritis of the spine? The temperature is never right, it is always too hot or too cold. I look at my c

Never Winning an Argument

In my younger days, as a toddler Christian (a stage that lasted for decades I am afraid) I would argue with God. Maybe it is just part of my argumentative nature. I would argue with him about a great many issues. Living in the Midwest requires a lot of driving. The nearest Walmart is 79 miles from my house. I had a lot of time alone in the car to talk out loud to God. And talk I did. One of my biggest arguments was my excuse for being sinful. I felt then, and sometimes still do, that I can top most people in the amount of sin I have had in my life. Not that this is a good thing, or some kind of contest. I am just saying that many times I did not live the life I knew I should be. I didn't want to take the blame for that, so as God is pointing these things out to me, I feel MAD at him (maybe that is due to guilt, huh?) So I childishly point out that when he points the finger at me, three are pointing back at him. So nanny nanny boo boo. Seriously, I would question Him. If He

Steve Martin and the Special Purpose

So, All my life I have been looking for that Special Purpose. I am not referring to the one in the movie The Jerk with Steve Martin. I have been looking for that talent or gift that gives to others and glorifies God. I have been searching most of my life. In grade school I wrote stories and poems, sure that I would be a writer. As I got older that changed to journalist. As I got older still, I realized, all the stories have been told. I didn't have anything unique or interesting to say that would cause a person to purchase my writing and sit enthralled for hours. I have hundreds of hours of college credits. I never declared a major. I have an almost biology degree, an almost psychology degree, an almost sociology degree, an almost advertising/marketing degree. I almost thought I had a calling... I have ideas, but God seems to slam the doors shut. There have been quite a few over the years. SLAM. Sometimes maybe I quit trying because of the Joysuckers. Maybe I wanted to do t

Joysuckers

Two blogs in one day. A bit much isn't it? I was laying in bed last night thinking about this quite a bit. You know how nights are, your mind can go to dark places, old hurts. When I was a preschooler the show American Bandstand was on TV on Saturday mornings. I would emulate my teenage aunts and dance those dances with the strange names Frug? A relative laughed at me and said I couldn't dance. It wounded me. I never danced again. Junior High dances were an agony and by High School I never went again. And the age of Disco? Well I was hot in my red Disco dress, but it never went to the dance floor. I love to sing. Loudly if I know all the words. I think that might be why Dawn moved to a different pew, behind me instead of right in front. My first husband asked me not to sing with the radio. He said it sounded like cats in heat. I quit singing. Everytime I wanted to sing, I remembered that remark. Joy was sucked from me. The happiness of dancing, of singing were ripped

My first blog

One of the first things I thought of, is how much do you say on a blog? Does the world need to know your innermost thoughts? Maybe they do. Especially since your dad is probably the only one that is going to read them. I am reading a book. For those who have known me for years you probably think I am always reading a book. But the last few years I started living life, and experiencing it instead of living vicariously through the lives of imaginary people. The book I am reading now is the kind to be sipped in small drinks. To savor and ponder.  Perhaps some of you are familiar with the works of C.H. Spurgeon. I am not. Our minister Leanna quotes him frequently which spurred me to look over his works and order a book from Amazon Prime. The book is called Spurgeon on the Holy Spirit. I thought it would answer questions. It does but it also brings new questions to me. I won't list them, because if you are not a Christian it would be like reading Greek, and if you are a Christian