Category: Parenting

"We Carry On..." Song for a Sunday, and every other day!

7/2/2017

For my friends and their friends...

who are carrying heavy loads that they didn't necessarily choose,
who can't see the end from here,
who can't imagine a good outcome to their present situation,
who have exhausted their resources for this day, this month, this season of their lives but still have miles to go before they sleep,
who don't know what's next,
who are waiting for the dawn...

We Carry On
(group - For a Season)
Faith wasn't meant, meant for the faint of heart
This road that we walk will take us through canyons so dark,
Haunted by fear and the shadows that wait up ahead.
We don't know what's next,
Still we take that step -

We carry on,
though the night it feels so long,
this is the hope that keeps us strong-
We know the One who breaks the dawn.
We carry on.

There will come days, days we feel paralyzed.
And the lies are so loud, stealing our will to try.
But there's peace in our hearts, knowing You're faithful and true.
Don't know what else to do - we fix our eyes on You.

We carry on,
though the night it feels so long,
this is the hope that keeps us strong-
We know the One who breaks the dawn.

We carry on,
when we feel our strength is gone,
Out of darkness comes a song,
We know the One who breaks the dawn.

We carry on.

In Your handsYou hold all that we still call unknown,
Through the highs and the lows,
Lord we know we're not alone.

We carry on,
though the night it feels so long,
this is the hope that keeps us strong-
We know the One who breaks the dawn.

We carry on,
when we feel our strength is gone,
Out of darkness comes a song,
We know the One who breaks the dawn.

We carry on,
We carry on,
We carry on.

Out of darkness comes a song - we know the One who breaks the dawn...we carry on.

HumminB

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September 3 Soul Stretch - On the verge of a miracle

9/4/2016

1 Comment

You're on the verge of a miracle, standing there;
Oh you're on the verge of a miracle,
Just waiting to be believed in.
Open your eyes and see-
You're on the verge of a miracle.
-Rich Mullins

According to the Cambridge Dictionary, If you are on the verge of something or come to the verge of something, you are very close to experiencing it.

I have a long distant but very vivid memory of traveling down the road singing along to Rich Mullins' Verge of a Miracle with a very very small person behind me in his backward facing carseat. Nothing about his future was clear that day as we headed to the County Courthouse for another hearing or meeting or visit, but I had never wanted so much for a song to be true for this little fellow, and for me. We hadn't started foster parenting with the goal of adoption, but this tiny human changed all that.

I was praying for a miracle.

As it turned out, he eventually joined our forever family nearly four years later, and that was only the beginning of the work that God was doing in his life and mine.

So, fast forward (or, inch slowly forward through some very challenging years and diagnoses and interventions and prayers and...yes, I think I could say miracles...) to yesterday.

I spent the better part of six hours at a soccer tournament; red, white, and black uniformed soccer players and the greenest grass filled my view. It was nothing out of the ordinary as soccer tournaments go, but at one point I walked down to the far end of the field and my perspective expanded across the valley and across the nearly fifteen years that have passed since that day when I wanted to be “on the verge of a miracle.”

I guess God's timing is different than mine- He's never late, but He misses a lot of chances to be early-

but I believe my prayer has been answered a dozen times in the intervening years,

because that goalie way down there in the florescent jersey is my son, a freshman in high school living out his soccer dreams, and I'm his soccer mom.

I thank God for His faithfulness in both of our lives since that day when I prayed for a miracle.

Today's soul stretch...brought to me by the faithfulness of God.

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Fledgling Launch - The Season of Goodbye

9/10/2014

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It's that time of year again, the Season of Goodbye. I thought about calling this post "Goodbye Grief" but that doesn't quite say what I mean. It's more like, "Goodbye child(hood). Hello Grief."

I'm sort of passed this stage…for the moment, having launched Eldest Engineer and Barefoot Wanderer some years back; Youngest Mystery just turned 13, so we've got some time yet (although there are days when launching would feel like a "best practices" decision….But no. Not yet.) Here on Hickory Lane we are still knee deep in sports equipment and shoes, transitioning from home school to part time traditional school, and floundering in the free-fall of the arrival of adolescence. But I watch what is happening around me every autumn, as parents send their nearly grown kids off to college or someother great adventure. Annually, I watch friends and acquaintances faltering in the wash of grief, many of them looking shell shocked and more than a little bewildered, and my heart returns to memories of grief unspoken. I remember.

The year prior to my personal walk through the swamp of Goodbye Grief, I questioned someone about it. She was right in the middle of her first launch, and I will never forget her response: "It's like open heart surgery. Without anesthesia." And I remember my (inner) response: "Well, that's a little dramatic." But her words caused me to pause, for she was not a woman given to overstatement. She was low key, level headed…actually one of the least dramatic people I knew. So, hmmm. I filed away her words, and wondered. Soon, so soon, it was my turn. Her words resurfaced in my mind, and I knew she was absolutely correct. I found solace in our shared sorrow. Her honest words gave me permission to embrace the grief and know I would survive as she had. But I wanted to remember.

Years have passed, years and years. I watch the pattern unfold around me, year after year. The senior year of high school begins and there are glimpses of what's ahead –
-the last first-day-of-school,
-the senior pictures
-the last ______ game (you fill in the sport,)
-the last Christmas concert.

Still,it is easy in the generally hectic pace of life to sidestep the inevitable, to ignore the camel's nose in the corner of the tent until suddenly it's graduation. Most students have plans to move on from home to somewhere, and parents find it hard to comprehend/accept/absorb the anticipation oozing from their "child." Abruptly, the camel of the coming separation can be disregarded no longer. It's a big messy beast standing in the middle of every moment, every interaction. The tension around home often goes up (way up, in some cases!!) and most parents secretly waver between two thoughts: "Do you have to go?" and "Can I help you pack?!!"

It is time.
Time for launch.
Time for the fledgling to embark on the next adventure.

And suddenly, the deed is done.
The accumulated pile of "stuff" has been loaded,
hauled,
moved in,
unpacked.

And it is time to say goodbye.

There are stories among honest parents of long drives home in silence and sobs.
Of moments of staring at the phone, waiting for it to ring already.
Of quiet visits to an empty room.
Of pulling the remaining clothes from the closet and inhaling the memory of a lost era.

For that is what we grieve, the end of an era. And I think it is time that we give one another time and permission to cook the Tear Soup of goodbye grief. I have been deeply moved this year, again, to be present with people in the grief of this goodbye, and to realize that it is often brushed aside as unimportant, temporary, not all that serious, or even silly. "Thank you," they whisper tearfully, when perhaps all I did was say that I remember those awful days. In fact, sometimes my own tears still well up as I remember what we grieve, for we grieve what is gone, never to return.

It seems that only last week they were very small and very helpless and very much in need of us 24-7.

And now all we have left are the memories - that little boy clumping around in someone's shoes, the pony-tail girl twirling in her new skirt, the sound of that truck pulling in at too-late o'clock, the mad morning rush.

Yes, we know this was our destination all along, our goal – an independent adult who can function in the world, make a contribution, have a life. We get that. But goodbye always precedes the next hello, and that youngster who sat on the kitchen counter to talk over the day won't really be back. Yes we know she will be home next weekend, maybe all next summer. (oh dear?!) We know we'll make new memories. But it might take awhile to forge a relationship with the adult she is becoming, and that unknown-ness feels foreign next to the familiar scattering of stray barrettes in the bathroom closet. (True, she hasn't used them for years, but here they still are, and here are these tears again…)

We can't expect our kids to "get" this. Mostly, they are clueless – as clueless as we were when we blithely left our parents behind so many years ago... yesterday. We must not look to our eager-to-move on offspring for support or understanding. Newly fledged robins, pedal-flying for high places shouldn't be pulled earthward with our wet feathered tears.

Love them, launch them, let them go.
But go ahead and cry.
Grieve.
Smile and wave, then turn and sob.
It's okay to do that.

Yes, we'll get through it. Everyone does. But we don't have to be ashamed of the journey, and we can't rush it.

We can acknowledge the hurt, the loss, the grief.

We can take time together, to care, to commiserate.

We can pray for each other, and for our children in new ways, trusting God to be at work in their lives with or without our assistance and suggestions!

We can bless them as they move forward on their own journey.

We can bless each other as we sniffle our way forward on our own journey.

Goodbye Grief.

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Thursday are for thankfulness...a half dozen oddments of gratitude.

1/19/2012

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Thursdays are for thankfulness. Sometimes I forget to give thanks for a glass half full instead of half empty when it got that way by being sloshed all over everything. By me. It was yogurt in the making, and I was alone, with no one else present to whom I could give credit for the mess all over the countertop/floor/cabinet door/inside-the-cabinet (it was, of course, the one door that doesn't quite close…) I looked down at my happy shoes, sweet baby blue crocs, right in the middle of everything...(no picture of this.)

Being where my feet are gets very messy some days.

Just in case you read this blog regularly and think, "Now there's a woman who has it together and keeps it that way," here's your notice to think again. And even if I could somehow manage to have it all together and keep it that way, I'm sure I would forget where I'd put it. Lately, I'm having (a lot of!) trouble keeping track of my belongings. As a mom, it's always been my "job" to keep track of other people's stuff. You know the drill: "MOM, where are my_______???" - you fill in the blank. It just goes with the territory. But lately, I've been looking for my own stuff.a.lot. Glasses, to-do list, keys, mug of coffee, phone, shoes…and my gratitude perspective.

Oh that. A perspective of gratitude.

Hard to get it, harder not to lose it. Fortunately, God's persistence knows no bounds. He is forever creatively pulling me back toward the center, toward gratitude, and ultimately, toward Himself. On a recent walk, I thought back through a rather bizarre list of oddments (yes, this is truly a word, I looked it up), and God persistently turned my mumbling grumblings into something much better, oddments of gratitude. So for what it's worth, here's one day's odd little list.

1. I'm thankful for the band aid plastered onto the bottom of my sock. Again. Bandaids adorn our driveway, stair steps, lawn, and, frequently, my socks. I've lost track of the places I've found them, but maybe I have also lost track of why I keep finding these discards: the boy's body has healed and the bandaid is no longer needed. That long scratch he got "trying out" the (very thin) board he was nailing onto his latest hideout is now just a three inch scar, soft pink reminder that no internal organs were punctured, the tetanus shot was up to date and he didn't even need stitches. Just bandaids. Lots of bandaids. Over and over, healing comes, for that is how his body, my body, every body is created.
I'm grateful for bandaids no longer needed.

Yep, there he is.

2. I'm thankful for the tiny frozen corn snake in my freezer. I had kind of forgotten he was in there until, scrounging around to see what I could creatively include in the supper prep, I suddenly (OH!!) remembered. Shiver. He's such a narrow fellow in the bag, his lovely colors still visible, though not as bright as the day we brought him home.

It took me longer to get to thankfulness for this one. Sure, home school moms are notorious for swapping one-up tales (tails?!) about bizarre science projects in the fridge. The cow's eye was a big deal 15 years ago – a popular curriculum included this item for reasons I do not recall/cannot imagine... (not the curriculum I selected!!!)

But gratitude for this snake, now? Frankly, 15 years ago it was easier. All of it. My students were more typical, my energy level was higher, my fascination with home school possibilities was fresh, my life was less complicated. Now I've been doing this awhile, say 20 (twenty!) years, and the novelty has, shall we say, worn off. I still believe it's the right choice, the absolute best option for Youngest Mystery, but now I am compelled primarily by faithfulness. So, being thankful for the corn snake in my freezer meansgratitude for the opportunity to do what is best even when it comes at high personal cost, when I find myself wishing to find only frozen food in my freezer (how boring?!). It means adjusting my perspective to remember and give thanks for the look of hesitant wonder on his face when Youngest Mystery gingerly brought me the tiny perfect, dead reptile. He who avoids odd textures and unpredictable creatures brought me a snake. Sometimes gratitude is a matter of being attentive to and giving thanks for small amazements. So, tonight...
I'm grateful for a certain fleeting look of wonder and a (very small) dead snake.

3. I'm thankful for sheep tail bands (unused!) in the laundry. Little green bands rain quietly from the work clothes, skittering across the floor like silent hail. It's hard to remember to be thankful as I'm scrambling around, gathering the errant supplies. And sighing. I might still be sighing as I head out for my walk, dodging sheep "stuff" on the driveway. The critters have been wandering again. But these oddments are simple realities in the life of the shepherd to whom I am married. And I love him, so I love his sheep. His shepherding reaches way beyond Hickory Lane, and some days it seems like we're stepping over sheep stuff, so to speak, at every turn. Ask any pastor, if he's honest he'll tell you. (If he won't, his wife will!) There's a lot of sheep stuff out there, and someone has to deal with it. I sigh, then remember how grim life would be with a shepherd who had no sheep, or sheep who had no shepherd. I'm grateful for misplaced sheep stuff.

4. I'm thankful for bb's in the potpourri. I did a double take as I was un-Christmasing my house, putting away, rearranging. The candle on the table nestled in festive potpourri would stay. And suddenly, I saw it, a shiny clear reminder that my world is a testosterone laden, fire powered, ammo-omnipresent place. A bb in the potpourri?!? I have no idea how it got there, and I'm not going to try to find out. It's not all that unusual, and that's the part I was mumble-grumbling about to God.

I often feel like the journey toward entropy is accelerating on Hickory Lane, aided and abetted by my housemates, ever and always male for more than thirty years now. It's enough to make me burp or something. Ammo any/every where, sock balls in the laundry, dirty shoes trying to "tiptoe" into the kitchen, tanned rabbit hides draped on the rocking chair, tools and sheep poop in unexpected places… an amateur tracker could "read sign" in my house and know which gender has the highest head count. But I don't give up. I light candles and decorate seasonally and use "the good plates" regularly. And now I am being joined by daughters-in-law and they are girls!! I know, I'm stating the obvious, but it is so astonishingly delightful, I can't help myself! Consider this a shout out to the girls...oops, women...in the lives of my sons. Even from an ocean away, M. adds joy to my life with her love for my son, her artistic style, and her wonderful laugh via skype. The cider-pomegranate table candle came to me from A. who shares my love of all things glowing and scented, and I am grateful for what she adds to my life. Without her lovely Yankee candle gift(s), that bb might have been all alone on the table. So, maybe it's a stretch to give thanks for bb's in the potpourri, but I know this-
I'm grateful for the girls who love my sons, for candlelight and for potpourri in which a bb can hide!

5. I'm thankful for duct tape on the afghan.( I know this sounds a lot like #1, but stay with me, it ends up somewhere else.) Duct tape is ubiquitous in this household, and I'm an equal opportunity contributor. "Can't you fix this with duct tape?" "Where's the duct tape?" But last evening when I wrapped myself in the afghan, an errant scrap from a recent project caught my sleeve and my attention. Like a combination of a bandaid on my sock and a bb in the potpourri, duct tape on the afghan made me sigh/groan/mumble.

I thought wistfully about the goofy, unifying roll/role of duct tape in our home. For nearly two decades, the Christmas stockings always bulged with a roll for each eager repair-son. And even though the stockings were put away when the fixer guys became men, somehow the duct tape tradition has continued. (We even carried a roll to South Africa this year, stashed in the gifts to be opened by Barefoot Wanderer on Christmas morning.)

My pace slows and I sigh again, swallowing a lump in my throat. With our family scattered across ideological and actual oceans some days I wonder what, if anything, holds us together. I'm often not sure what a mother's love should look like in this season; I don't get it right. I make messes and I wish for relational duct tape to hold us all together. Our family feels fragmented. But on this day's walk, God points me in another direction; kindly, gently he redirects my thoughts. Perspective shift...oh, there it is. God's unfailing love for each one of us, wrapping around us, pulling us toward each other, patching our errors, repairing our mistakes, holding us together. He is both afghan and duct tape in our lives. "Love covers over a multitude of sins." Even mine. I'm grateful for duct tape on the afghan.

6. I'm thankful for walks late in the day. My life used to include a brisk morning jaunt, but that hasn't been happening lately for a whole list of (undisclosed) reasons. Maybe someday I'll be back in the steadiness of that routine, but for now I am slipping away quite late in the afternoon. Some days I barely beat nightfall, other days the window of opportunity quietly closes while I'm still hunting my gloves/phone/camera.(pick one.)

I miss my morning walk. I miss bird chatter and the way the sunlight slants across the woodlands, gilding every common twig. I miss starting my day with the feeling of accomplishment that awaits me at the mailbox upon my return. But for now, my reality is late walks or none at all. And I'm making peace with that. I hold my breath and hear the owls calling. I breathe deeply and see the wonder in the hushed dusky world around me. On this walk, it was as if God smiled at my feeble efforts at thankfulness, and said, "Here, you'll never see this on a morning walk." I'm grateful for walks late in the day.

Thursdays are for thankfulness. Hummin' B

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Of summer and sun and screens.

6/12/2011

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It's impossible to avoid the warnings related to the importance of applying sunscreen this time of year. "For on-the-go UVA/UVB protection, grab Brand Name SPF 45+ Sunscreen. Our improved Brand Name sunscreen formula helps protect skin against signs of premature aging and environmental damage for 80 water-resistant minutes…"

Or how about this one: "We believe a sunscreen should do more than shield you from sunburn. That's why we created at totally new kind of sunscreen: sun protection + age protection. Introducing NEW Brand Name Blah Blah SPF 30." And on it goes.

It's not that I'm against sunscreen or skin cancer prevention, but I've been thinking about another kind caution that seems to be oddly overlooked in a culture obsessed with keeping kids safe. (The same could be said for adults, but I'm writing with a parent-focus just now.) I think it's time to think about applying a screen screen to our lives. No, I didn't accidentally type that word twice (try telling that to my spell check…) I think it's time for parents to get serious about screening screens. Right now, at the beginning of summer.

The kids are (finally!) out of school, and all that snow is a faint memory. Here in central PA the soggiest spring in decades has dried out nicely into golden green days and lightning bug spangled evenings. All the summer birds have migrated back to the pastures and woodlands – tree swallows and hummingbirds, meadowlarks and redwing blackbirds.

And where are the kids? If parents aren't careful, diligent, and sometimes downright annoyingly persistent, the kids have migrated to the screen(s) – tv, videos, DVDs, ipads, online games, playStation3, Xbox 360, and Nintentdo Wii offer hours of easy entertainment. But at what cost? I used to find screens offensive because of the garbage they offered. You know - desensitization to sex, drug/alcohol use, violence, and profanity… all still true, and probably more than ever. But I think screens are equally menacing because of what they prevent, because of what they keep kids from experiencing. So, this is my modest proposal: disconnect the cable or move the TV into a closet or out of the family room or at least get it out of the kids' bedroom or negotiate screen time for book time or set aside screen time for weekends only or something, ANYTHING that helps your kids and you cut back on screen time. And here's why:

A Dozen Reasons to Screen the Screens this Summer

1. No big screen is big enough to hold the sky.

2.No room for TV in the tent.

3. No networks carry the fern and sunshine show.

4. No calories are burned while channel surfing.

5. No Viewers Guide can tell you when the poppies will pop.

(I call this one "Pappa and the Poppies!")

6. No reception on the River.

7. No point in watching Little House on the Prairie reruns when you can create your own Little House by the Woodpile.

8. No Food Network chef shows you where to pick wild raspberries.

Promise of sweetness to come...

9. No way to get this close to the water (or the sky?) on MyOutdoorTV.

10. No real muscles can be developed pushing the remote, the keyboard or the game controller.

(Don't worry, this slice is wedged!)

11. No lamb whiskers or whispers in the ear on Animal Planet.

12. And again, no big screen is big enough....

to reveal the ripple effect of screening your screens. (But you might start by buying some extra sunscreen...)

-Hummin' B.

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Observations on mothering (or parenting if you prefer a gender neutral term!) from an old mom and some friends

5/10/2011

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I spent a thoughtful afternoon on Mothers' Day with some amazing local moms and I've compiled some observations about our daunting, glorious task. Being an older mom has it's advantages; more energy is probably not one of them! However, I have been around the block a few times, and I often take my camera with me on the journey. I hope you find these observations about mothering (parenting!) to be amusing and thought provoking. And possibly helpful! (The setting for all but one of the pictures is Hickory Lane, and many of them were taken on Mother's Day 2011.)

1. Never forget, every little one is....well, one. Even unhatched, I know these will one day be robins. If I crush them, they will never sing outside my window. (Sometimes it seems important to state the obvious.)

2. Mothering can be intense; some days it's hard to tell which end is up...or out! That's when a good sense of smell will save the day. (This does/does not smell like my child...)

3. Location isn't everything. Love is everything. Or, to put it another way, forget about the house and build the home! (You don't want to end up with a house and no home to put in it!) -robin nest on hanging weed eater

4. What you end up with may not resemble what you started out with...fortunately. (Do give thanks, do not give up!)

5. There will be holy moments. However, you may need to stand in ...ummm... dung to experience them. (This might be about being where your feet are. Again.)

6. Parenting requires risk taking if you are ever going to catch a glimpse of the potential of your children. (And you might see a reflection of yourself in the process!) -dove on third story window ledge

7. You may need to look odd in order to defend and preserve your family from the Enemy. (People might stare...)-killdeer attempting to distract me from her rockpile nest

8. The two best responses when people stare at your children/your parenting are ignoring or staring back. Staring back is by far the most fun. (Ignoring might be the more adult response. sigh.)

9. When it's nearly time for the fledglings to leave the crowded nest, life can get very messy. Feeding becomes a fulltime job, but don't stop now, those meals may be your last, best gift. (Along with helping them deal with the poop!)

10. Never forget, your goal is an empty nest! You don't want to be finding worms and hauling poop forever; help your fledglings find their wings and soar! And as the Light has held and carried them, now they will bear the Light into their worlds! Launch them them with joy! (Charlie Brown was right all along. Good grief.)

11. Ten observations would have been more logical, but here is number 11 for those of you between the first picture and the last, between the earliest years and the empty nest... There will be storms; wild wind and dark clouds may flood your world, your home with a downpour of difficulties. In those times, I have found my best response is to sit tight and rest in the hand of the Storm Giver. I trust you to His unfailing care. -robin nest between two trees, flood water swirling all around their base.

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Grace every day. For this day. Even (especially) on hard days.

2/14/2011

3 Comments

Be where your feet are... somehow this has become a framework for my life, this bit of wisdom that came to me from somewhere I can no longer remember. I notice how acquaintances grasp this thought like a life line. Busy, frantic people, scurrying through their lives like lemmings off a cliff, clutch at this thought as though it were a hand brake for the madness they've come to know as normal. And I do not discount the validity of this thought to help people regain perspective, to give them permission and a way to breathe deeply and adjust their pace and focus and worldview to this day.

But it is not enough, not for some of the people in my world. And some days, not enough for me. For there is a prior question that must be raised, a silent camel in the tent of my life, nosing around unaddressed (no that word is not undressed...read it again!) Some days the reason that it is hard for me to be where my feet are is this: I don't want to be here. Not in this situation, not facing this struggle, not dealing with this, not dangling here. Not now. Not again, and certainly not forever. I don't mean to complain. I have a good life, in so many ways. Measured by the standards of much of the world, I have a good, good life. But if you look closely, if you take time to ask a few questions, you will understand that for me, some days, life is hard. Good, but hard.
And then I look around. Here is one facing the internal, ongoing nightmare of childhood sexual abuse. Another friend is watching a beloved spouse die by inches, by hours. That family lives with the unchanging upheaval of a child's mental illness. There is a mom whose heart has been crushed by the choices of a daughter whose heart she can no longer find. These people cannot simply "be where their feet are" because, like me, they don't want to be there. Some feet are mired ankle deep in the mud of grief, others are slipping and stumbling on loveless, icy patches of life. Some feet are hanging in midair, uncertain which step to take next. What then? Is it inevitable that we limp through our days, marking time until our feet find themselves on a better path?

Or , dare we look for something more? Can we make requests, like David the psalmist, and expect a response? May we be so bold, we who long for something beyond the reality of our present days? Today, I read these words in the psalms, added a few words of my own, took a deep breathe and dared to pray -

"Satisfy us (me!)
in the morning (this morning!)
with your steadfast love,
that we (I!)
may rejoice and be glad
all our (my) days....(including this one?!)
Psalm 90:14

Can I do that? May I be so bold?? I want to propose that not only may I be so bold, I must be, if I want to do more than mark time until life takes a turn for the better. (Let me know how that works out for you!) When we cannot bear the place where we find our feet, our tired, muddy, bruised, aching feet, we go to our knees. (And when life is good, we have the privilege of going to our knees for those for whom it isn't.) And we find grace. Every day. For this day. Trusting not that we will find our life situation suddenly, miraculously transformed (although that does happen!), but that we will be given strength to walk or grace that carries us.

"Every day we, are to come to God in simple obedience and faith,
asking help to keep us, and aid us through that day's work;
and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
through years of long tomorrows, it will be but the same thing to do,
leaving the future always in God's hands, sure that He can care for it better than we.
Blessed trust that can thus say, 'This hour is mine with its present duty;
the next is God's, and when it comes, His presence will come with it.'"
-W.R. Huntingdon, 1838-1909

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"We Carry On..." Song for a Sunday, and every other day!

September 3 Soul Stretch - On the verge of a miracle

Fledgling Launch - The Season of Goodbye

Thursday are for thankfulness...a half dozen oddments of gratitude.

Of summer and sun and screens.

A Dozen Reasons to Screen the Screens this Summer

1. No big screen is big enough to hold the sky.

2.No room for TV in the tent.

3. No networks carry the fern and sunshine show.

4. No calories are burned while channel surfing.

5. No Viewers Guide can tell you when the poppies will pop.

6. No reception on the River.

7. No point in watching Little House on the Prairie reruns when you can create your own Little House by the Woodpile.

8. No Food Network chef shows you where to pick wild raspberries.

9. No way to get this close to the water (or the sky?) on MyOutdoorTV.

10. No real muscles can be developed pushing the remote, the keyboard or the game controller.

11. No lamb whiskers or whispers in the ear on Animal Planet.

12. And again, no big screen is big enough....

to reveal the ripple effect of screening your screens. (But you might start by buying some extra sunscreen...)

-Hummin' B.

Observations on mothering (or parenting if you prefer a gender neutral term!) from an old mom and some friends

Grace every day. For this day. Even (especially) on hard days.

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