Single Sentence Saturday

I'm convinced that every boy, in his heart, would rather steal second base than an automobile. ~Tom Clark

off to boot camp

In case you're wondering why Jessie was feeling akin to Eeyore this last Monday .....

It's because Peter (on the left) was sworn in .....

To the Marine Corps ....

While we watched ....

.....ever so proudly. And while we're sad that we will not see him for four months (boot camp plus school), we are proud and thankful that he has chosen to serve his country. I, personally, am thankful for his newfound friend, Drew, whom he met the morning he shipped off. Within minutes of meeting Drew, I could tell that he was an exceptionally good kid. He'll be a good friend to Peter and vice versa. I don't know about Peter ... but that makes me feel better about sending him away. I thought it was kind of ironic how they looked like brothers, dressed the same, and had so much in common.

Is God good, or what?

We love you, Peter. I am praying for you and Drew both, that God would strengthen you physically, mentally, and spiritually. And that you would rely on Him to do just that ... and not on yourselves.

Please hurry home. There's someone here I'm taking care of for you while you're gone, but something tells me I'm a poor substitute.

today is the day

It's time to pack up my office and leave. I've been fired.

Just kidding.

But today really is the day that I pack up my home office, where I've been the secretary for our church plant the last three years, and hand it over to someone else.

Sometimes, when  I make a decision, I'm not very sure about whether it's the right one. I don't like that hindsight is 20/20. Why can't foresight be 20/20?

Probably because God wants us to pray and then trust. And talk to our husbands to see what they think. ;) I did all three of those, and came to the conclusion that God was nudging me to hand the secretarial position to someone else.

There was so much that I liked about it. But if I was honest with myself, it was a stretch to be able to put in the hours that our church is needing at this point in it's growth process. I needed more time for family and homeschooling, more time for God, and more time to work on my writing. They needed more time put into secretarial work, and more time to come into the office a few days a week.

I digress.

I'm thankful for new doors that open, and that God hasn't put me on a shelf to collect dust bunnies. I'm still usable, because I'm still here. And if I'm still here, God has a plan for me.

For that, I am inexpressibly grateful.

Here's to new beginnings. To renewed commitments. And to exciting and wide open opportunities to glorify God, and make Him look as big and as good as He really is.

Leave me a "here! here!" if you are with me!!

a coffee for mr. coffey

Congratulations to Billy Coffey, who has won the Starbucks gift card giveaway. Billy, if you'll send me your contact info (email me at PrairieTales@hotmail.com), I'll get the card right out to you.

I did use random.org to determine the winner, because nobody guessed correctly who cut the middle of the brownies out of the pan. So I thought pooling all of you into one and randomly choosing would be the best way to determine a winner.

What's that? Who did bake those brownies and cut the middle out?

Well, not me. Because, contrary to Billy's belief, I do not eat brownies - not even gluten free brownies, because I don't eat any grains. Or sugar.

Boring, I know.

It was not Jessie either. Because Jessie doesn't like to cook.

It was not Shaun, because Shaun doesn't cook very much, and he likes the crunchy edge pieces.

It was not Ashlee, because Ashlee lives in Georgia with her new husband. :)

Peter is as innocent as he looks. Peter eats anything and everything, no matter how it's cut. But he was innocent. This time.

It was Andrew. My pitcher loves to play chef, and he likes what he likes when it comes to brownies. He'll not hesitate to eat edge pieces, but apparently, given a choice, he prefers the middle!!

So congratulations to Billy Coffey for winning some coffee!!!! Sorry, I couldn't resist. If you haven't visited Billy's website, please hop on over there by clicking here. Billy is an incredible writer with his own book, Snow Day, coming out this year. I'm personally twiddling my thumbs, waiting for day it hits the shelves. I'm going to gobble Snow Day up like Andrew gobbles brownie middles.

Now I'm off to start my day with Jessie, who is feeling akin to Eeyore today. And for very good reason. Stay tuned to find out why!

the gift of goosebumps

Last night, I sat in my purple, frayed lawn chair as I watched Andrew pitch a seven inning game. The sun was out, the mountains in the background were unbelievably beautiful, and my son was having an awesome game. I didn't think it could get any better.

It was the first warm game of the season. But if you've ever experienced Colorado weather, you know it can change in a flash.

The weather remained calm, the wind kept its distance, and it seemed everyone was having the time of their lives. But then the sun went behind the mountains. It was still pleasant enough, and to most folks, it was a relief from the glaring sunshine.

But I shivered and slipped my fleece jacket on, and wondered if I'd eventually need the other three jackets or the wool blanket that I faithfully bring to each game. If the wind picked up, or clouds began to roll over the top of the mountains, I would eventually don each and every winter good I brought, and wish for more.

I continued watching the game.

"Who would have ever thought I should have brought a jacket?" I heard a shaky voice behind me say.

I turned to see an old lady sitting four bleachers up. I'd never seen her before. I later came to realize that she was likely our catcher's grandmother. She was quite thin, with stark white hair. Even though it was warm when she arrived, she wore a long sleeve sweat suit and tennis shoes.

I knew then that we possessed a common trait - the inability to stay warm.

I stole another glance at her. Her body was arched over, arms and legs crossed to keep the warmth in. Her smile was broad, revealing a road map of wrinkles as she watched her grandson catch my son's pitches.

I smiled too. But my smile quickly turned upside down and I felt a pang of guilt. After all, I was sitting comfortably with my jacket butttoned up to my neck, two jackets resting on the back of my chair, and a wool blanket under my toosh. Not to mention my husbands jacket lying on the ground next to me.

I'm too shy, I thought.

Chicken!

I ignored the accusation and went on watching the game. The wind picked up a bit. I shivered, and again I remembered the lady behind me.

I stole another glance at her.

Still hunched over. Still cold. Still smiling.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I hate being cold, and I knew it happened just as easily to her as it does to me. Everyone else seemed warm and comfortable. I was the only one who knew how she felt. And I was the only one who could help her.

I pryed my sorry, shy tooshy off the purple, tattered lawn chair, and grabbed a jacket that I was sure would completely cover her. I slowly made my way up the bleachers, trying to stay out of people's view of the game. I wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, and said, "I can't stand to see you over here shivering when I have all those jackets just sitting there waiting to be used."

I made sure the jacket was snug.

She smiled at me, and the lines in the map grew deeper.

"Thank you so much. I should have thought to bring something for myself."

"Well, you're new here," I assured her. "I've learned to come prepared, even when the weather is beautiful."

She seemed happy with that response, and even happier that she could sit and watch the game, goosebump free.

I, however, was not goosebump free - a gift given to me not by the weather, but by her pricelss look of gratefulness.

How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these. ~George Washington Carver

You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

food, family, and a fun giveaway

My family, we like what we like. Some of us like our food to stay completely untouched by other foods. For instance, no corn touching the chicken. Or the potatoes touching the stuffing. Some of us don't like frosting on our cake. Some of us will eat anything and everything, as long as it'll make a ... well, you know. Some of us eat ranch dressing on everything. And some of us can't stand anything that hops in the grass to be deeply imbedded into our deli chicken.

Like this.

When I found this pan of brownies on the counter yesterday, I knew exactly who had taken a bite out of crime the middle.

Question is .... can you tell me who took a bite out of the middle?

Why would you want to waste your time doing that?

Because you, or someone you love, is a Starbucks gulper sipper. And whoever guesses correctly first, will receive a five dollar foot long Starbucks gift card.

If a latte people guess correctly, I will use a random generator to determine the weiner winner.

So, my thirsty readers, who would go and do an out of the box thing like cut a huge piece of brownie from the middle?

Hint: The same person that cut the brownies, made the brownies.

Other Hint: "Family" includes anyone on the right sidebar. Son-in-law (Daniel) and future son-in-law (Peter) included.

Disclaimer: My family is not allowed to participate, and that includes extended family. That wouldn't be fair, and I'm all about fair.

Winner will be announced sometime.

first shave

I remember my first shave.

No, I do not have a mustache. Although, I know women who do.

I mean my first leg shave. I was young (but hairy). My father's nickname is Hair Bag, and well ... you draw the conclusion.

The day was a scorcher (yes, we have those in Colorado). My brother's and I went to the pool for an afternoon swim. They were decked out in their manly trousers, with uber hairy legs and arms. I was decked out my turquoise one-piece - with uber hairy legs and arms. It was straight. It was black. And it was long.


Still, I was just a little girl, at the age of eleven. What did I care about shaving legs?


None at all, until that day.


Peer pressure and relentless teasing will do strange things to pubescent kids. Some go so far as to get wild piercings or not eat, putting their health and the sanity of their parents at risk. Fortunately, the only thing at risk here was some wiry leg hair, and my pride.


Later that day, I asked my mom if I could shave. I didn't have a razor, and even if I did, I'd be afraid I'd cut myself and then she'd be mad at me when I bled all over the carpet and didn't ask for permission. Mom liked us to ask permission for everything. Even if we wanted to eat a few snack crackers.


Still, Mom was pretty observant. She knew my father was half monkey and that I had inadvertently inherited the trait, even though my chromosomes cried for different circumstances. She agreed to let me shave, if I promised I'd be careful, clean the razor, and keep up the shaving once I started.


"It's gross when people have already started shaving their legs and don't keep up with the task," she scolded me like I had already committed the offense.


No problem, Mom. I think the man jokes were enough to keep me shaving every day until the day I die.


My first shave consisted of opening a pack of new razor blades, and inserting it into the old fashioned razor. With fear and trepidation, I ran the new razor across my scrawny, hair infested legs.


Oooouuuuuchhhh!!!


With more fear and trepidation (and wisdom), I lathered up my scrawny, less hair infested legs and proceeded. One hot water heater of water later, I began to look like a model (or so I hoped). Silky, smooth, white skin came shining through. Afterwards, I dabbed some of Mom's Johnson & Johnson baby lotion on.


I was a new creature.


One that couldn't be laughed at and referred to as an ape. One that was just like her peers, which so often becomes an adolescent's goal.


I guess for men, it's different. Having ugly, wiry hair is cool.

Studly.

Bursting with testosterone.

It  means you've reached the pinnacle of manhood. In womanhood, it means that you've reached the pinnacle of cooeyness.


I'll be the first to say that Andrew does indeed have a (slight) need to shave. And he didn't shave because of any teasing, or peer pressure. No, he shaved out of a pure desire to be a studly man. Like his dad, his new brother-in-law, and his brother-in-law to be.


You may have gathered that from the sparkle in his eyes.




Even so ... whatever you do, son, don't care too much about what other people think. Care what God thinks about you. Be a God pleaser, not a man pleaser. The kids at the pool, they only care about making you look small so that they can look big. God cares about what's best for you.


Perhaps the hard school of knocks is the only way a kid can learn these things. But if you can at all learn a thing or two from your mom, let this be one of them.

Colossians 1:-9-14


For this reason we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to ask that you may be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding; that you may walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing Him, being fruitful in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, for all patience and longsuffering with joy; giving thanks to the Father who has qualified us to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in the light. He has delivered us from the power of darkness and conveyed us into the kingdom of the Son of His love, in whom we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins.


~Brenda, the clean shaven mama on the Prairie

Single Sentence Saturday

If you'll notice on my left sidebar, under "Labels," there's a section entitled Single Sentence Saturday. It's a little tradition I did for a while, and at the request of my daughter, I think I'll start it up again.

What is Single Sentence Saturday?

Glad you asked.

See, I love quotes. So on some Saturday's, you'll see a single sentence quote that, though it is not penned by yours truly, is a great quote. Or maybe it's not a great quote, but it'll really tick you off. Anything to get a response, ya' know.


Then at other times, you'll see a sentence that I did pen. Because sometiems, I itch like I've just fed a million mosquitoes to simply rattle off just one sentence and be done.
 
One.
 
It's like shooting at the hip for writers. There's just something fun, wild, and dangerous about it.
 
Now before I bore you to death, here is the revival of Single Sentence Saturday.
 
Enjoy!!
 
~Brenda
 
 

 

(photo courtesy of photobucket) 

 

“Women have the right to work wherever they want, as long as they have the dinner ready when you get home”

~John Wayne

the fall of a sparrow

Matthew 10:29-31 

Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.

As Andrew and I took a walk around the block today, I was doing what I normally do - my head hung low, oblivious to everything going on around me. It's a bad habit I've formed. A wise person would walk with their head high, enjoying the weather, the trees, the beautiful mountainous scenery that I've been blessed to have outside my front door. But alas, I choose to hone in on my dingy tennis shoes.

I was chatting to Andrew about the next school year, discussing which classes he would like to take outside of homeschooling when I noticed an odd looking form lying on the sidewalk. At first I thought it was a child's toy. But the closer I got, I realized it was a bird. A baby bird, too small and young to have grown any feathers ... and lifeless. His gray, limp body, topped with a bright yellow beak lay sprawled out before me in a pathetic, twisted manner. It was then that I lifted my head, in search of the mama.

No sign of her.

I'm sure the bird was snuggled safely in its nest in the nearby tree, along with siblings, their mother hovering over them ... and then BAM! Spring Prairie wind, and snow (yes, I said snow!), and freezing temperatures out of nowhere came rushing in, catching the mama off guard.

While there was nothing I could do for the bird, I contemplated scooping it up, and giving it a proper burial. Instead, I continued walking, and rounded the next corner. As I put one foot in front of the other, I thought, God knows about that bird. Not one sparrow falls without Him knowing about it, and that sparrow is no exception.  

It dawned on me at that moment that, although I cared about that bird and especially its mama, God cared more. I think that bird was a pretty special bird. But God loved that sparrow more than I could. He created it!

He also created me ... and His word tells me that I am of more value than that sparrow. In fact, I am of more value than many sparrows. If that bird had any feathers, I'm sure God knows exactly how many. Just as He knows how many hairs are on my head. This is no small feat, folks. The hairs on my head are constantly changing in number. I find them everywhere in the house, the car, my purse. I shed like a chemo patient. But God knows exactly how many are still attached. At all times. Simply because He cares even about the little details of my life. Including whether I stumble across a fallen bird that reaffirms His love for me.

If that won't make a person hold their head high, I don't know what will.

~Brenda

prairie dog

I'm not sure why I have never thought of this before, but it occurred to me the other day that you have never met our pet. No, we do not have a prairie dog for a pet. But we do have a dog. And we live on the prairie. Besides, it was a catchy title.

Ahem!

So here's our little prairie dog. I think her cuteness deserves a permanent spot on the sidebar, so that you can enjoy her perky ears, M&M eyes, and button nose anytime you want.

So without further ado, here's Annie. Our praire dog.

Ok, so she's not a big, burly, bird catcher, hunter, or even a guard dog. But she's my Annie. She will greet me everytime I come home just like she hasn't seen me in about 7.6 years. She's loyal, friendly, loves people (except for toddlers who step on her), and she doesn't eat or shed much. What else could I ask for?

And I take that back about not being a guard dog. It's not that she could do any real damage if an intruder came through my doors, but, I would at least know someone was in fact intruding. This would allow me to grab my baseball bat Uzi and do some serious protecting of my loved ones. She's a small dog with a big dog attitude, and if someone comes in that she's not familiar with, I'll know it.

So as you can see, Annie the prairie dog is just what we need. Maybe someday, I'll also own a German Shepherd, but for now, Annie floats my boat!

~Brenda

Disclaimer: I do not own an Uzi.  ;)

big, but not too big to blow bubbles

Andrew is getting rather ... shall we say ... large. At five foot, eight inches tall (at age 13), he not only towers over me (at five foot three), but he shows no signs of slowing down. I've threatened to stop feeding him if he doesn't put a stop to it, but as teenagers tend to be, it goes in one ear and out the other.

However, five foot eight and thirteen does not automatically mean that you are too big for a little bubble blowing. And really ... who is? I love to blow bubbles like these:

And so does Andrew ... but please notice that this is a mega bubble tank. Because he's too big to be blowing bubbles out of those little baby bubble bottles.

Of course, it always turns into a game of combat with teenage boys. It's very important that we attack those killer bubbles!

I'm glad I was not a bubble on this day.

~Brenda, the bubble buster's mama on the prairie

Wedding Rehearsal

Sometimes ... when things aren't working out ... ya' just gotta pout. Like when your baloons don't behave.

Decorating the tables ....

My sister-in-law and her hubby. The two older girls were Ashlee's flower girls. And they did a darn good job of it!

Point the camera at Jessie, and you're never sure what face you'll get. I don't know where she comes up with all of them...

The pew decorations. I think they were my favorite part of the decor in the chapel. So simple, and yet so pretty!

The very talented bridesmaid, Dennae.

Father of the bride (left), and father of the groom (right).

I totally dig this picture of the groom and best man. Shows their personalities and goofiness.

This makes me smile every time I see it. I love Eric (best man) smiling, Jessie trying to pay attention, and Ashlee in the background making sure that everyone is hopping to. ;)

Ian, the ring bearer. He took his job very seriously, as you can see.

And so did the best man and groomsman!

Andrew, Peter, and Jessie at rehearsal dinner. Andrew is behaving himself, as usual.

The happy couple.

Love the look of enjoyment on each of their faces. Makes me happy, happy, happy!

I was able to send a lot of the wedding gifts off to Ashlee and Daniel today. I will say that it was hard to let go of the quilt that Daniel's Aunt Myrna made them. Oh, and the KitchenAid that the best man's parents gave. But Jessie and Peter eventually pryed each item from my snow white knuckles and snuck them out the door and off to the Post Office.

They're uber helpful like that.

That's it! Well, for now anyway. I still have the reception and sending off pics to show. So stay tuned!

~Brenda

Mixed Feelings

I've been the secretary for our dear little church plant on a hill in a rented school gym for about the past three years.
For various reason, that's coming to a close.

When I began this work, I didn't have a clue what I was doing (typical for volunteers). But I learned to do so many things! How to operate Microsoft Word, make Power Points, book lots of flights, construct fancy smancy emails, and I generally got better at being able to communicate with others (definitely not a strong point of mine). I can write til the cows come home, but put me on a telephone and I tend to crumble like a stale cookie dropped on a hardwood floor.

When I began this secretarial opportunity, I viewed it as a ministry. Not only to our church, but also to our Pastor, whose desire was to be more free to preach and pray. I loved having a specific ministry in the church, and as this one comes to a close, I find myself a bit "lost" - not knowing where my place is, or when and where I should minister. But I know God will reveal to me what the next step is, in time. I am not in a huge hurry, nor am I terribly concerned about it.

Outside of church, one thing I will put more time and effort into is this blog. Most of what I write here is largely unedited, unplanned, and written in a mad dash.

Perhaps you could tell ...

But as I hand off all of the secretarial duties next month, I anticipate a less cluttered mind and schedule, which will hopefully make it possible to write better, mommy better, wifey better, and just plain be better!

So while I'm sad to leave my current ministry, I am excited to have new beginnings. I normally loathe change, but I have come to understand that change is not all together evil. Even change that hurts can be for the better.

I trust that it will be so in this situation. As always, God has a plan. My job is to follow in that plan the best way I know how. To do what He has called me to do. And to glorify Him in the process.

I hope you'll stick around, and come along with me in the process.

Love,

~Brenda