repost - cuz i got nothin'

I'm kidding.

Not kidding that this is a repost, but I am kidding that I got nothin'. While I haven't been posting as lately, it's not because I have nothing to say (that would be a miracle!). In fact, if it's possible to have so much to say that you don't know what to say ... then that's where I'm at.

So, until I figure out how to say it, or at least post a lame but readable post, I'll simply repost. This will, in fact, be my first repost ever - and this blog just had its 4th anniversary on December 21st.

All that to say ... I don't feel guilty for reposting. ;)

I chose this particular post because I'm hungry for baseball to start up. Yep, every year after Christmas and New Years have passed, I'm eager for the cold and snow to fizzle, the sunshine to make its way out, and baseball to reappear on my tv and in my backyard. I want to see Tulowitzky scoop up a grounder and toss it to Helton. And I want to see Andrew pitch the much coveted no hitter!!

Until then .... we'll reflect back on an experience I had in the bleachers last season. Sigh ...

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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. Later, I 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

pooh bear

Today I'm joining MamaKat at Mama's Losin' It. Each week, she sends out writing prompts, and we get to choose which one we'd like to participate in.

I chose writing prompt #1:  In what way were you labeled as a child and how did it affect you?

My Dad had a real knack for doling out nicknames. I swear (but not really) that he's the best I've ever seen at renaming people. Not that the people ever ask for it, mind you. But nevertheless, his talent far outweighs any other.


For example, I have two older brothers. Bob and Larry are their real names (and no, they are not a tomato and cucumber). But according to Dad, they're Mort (short for rigor mortis), and Leapin' Larry Lizzard (or just Lizzard), respectively.


And our friend who stuck a rock up his nose and had to be rushed to the doctor? Twenty years later, he's still not referred to as Michael. He's Rock Beak.

And me? Well, I'm Brenda Pooh. Or Pooh Bear, Pooey, Pooey Looey Fooey, or any other funky combinations.

How did that label affect me as a child? Hmm. Well, I was also known (by my teachers) as being "drifty," a daydreamer, one who would forget her head if it weren't screwed on .. and even stupid. (To this day, I hope the teacher who told me I was dumb either got fired or retired. She truly had no business being a teacher.)

Maybe if the label Pooh Bear was my one and only label, I wouldn't have thought much of it. But group that label with the other labels, and I think it somewhat made an impact on my ability to believe I was intelligent. I mean, let's face it. Pooh Bear's dumber than a rock. A "bear of very little brain."


I do confess that I am a daydreamer. To this day, I find myself in a group conversation, but thinking about something completely different. Or watching tv, but not hearing or seeing anything I'm looking at. Not constantly ... but it is definitely a battle.


Does that mean I'm stupid?

No, it does not.

But it took me a couple of decades to overcome believing that I was. You don't have to hear something over and over for it to make an impact. Sometimes, if words are hurtful enough, you only need to hear them once before the damage is done.

Where does one turn when their "self-esteem" is ripped away or severely damaged?

All I know is that eventually, you have to turn to someone other than the flawed people whom we live with on this planet. And I eventually came to the conclusion that it only matters what my Creator thinks. Scripture has taught me that "I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps. 139:14)" and that I am "loved with an everlasting love (Jer. 31:3)". Not only that, but I am "precious in His sight (Is. 43:4)."


Does realizing these truths mean I don't have challenges?

No.

Does it excuse me from trying my hardest, and learning to concentrate better?

Nope.

But it does validate me as a person who is loved by my God, with an everlasting love. He created me, and I am precious in His sight.


If that doesn't boost a gal's feeling of self-worth, I don't know what will.

I'm reminded of the old sing-song "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

That's the biggest lie I've ever heard. Words do hurt. Words have incredible impact. So please ... think before you speak, especially when you're speaking to a child.

I asked my Dad a while back whether I was nicknamed Pooh Bear because I was a "kid of very little brain." His answer made me smile. He said, "Noooooo!! It was because Pooh Bear was so cute, and so were you!"

Fortunately, I never realized Pooh was referred to as a bear of very little brain until I was older.

And fortunately, Dad still calls me Brenda Pooh. 

be still my soul

I'm currently reading Be Still My Soul, by Elisabeth Elliot. Her spiritual wisdom and grace have blessed me beyond measure. This is my second time reading it, and I'm learning new things as if I've never read it before.

Instead of trying to explain, I'll simply show you an example. 

And I quote ... 


To walk with Him is to walk the Way of the Cross. If the cross we are asked to take up is not presented to us in the for of martyrdom, heroic action of some kind, dragons or labyrinths or even "ministry" -- at least something that looks spiritual -- are we to conclude that we have missed the Way? Not at all. Sometimes the humblest life, such as that of "Mom" Cunningham (mentioned in Chapter 5) is the clearest example of obedience. 

And get this ...

The Way of the Cross is an ordinary street in an ordinary city. It is an ordinary life lived in the grace of God. There is a pot of gold, there is a king's reward, but it comes at the end of the journey. (p. 94-95)

This gives me hope, meaning, and focus. It's so easy for me (little, insignificant me) to believe in my heart that what I do day in and day out makes little or no difference. What is so heroic about washing underwear and teaching long division? I ask myself.

Ah, but that's the Way of the Cross. Those ordinary, every day tasks that seem so menial, so blah, are my ministries. My God-given assignments for the day. 

The older I get, the more I am able to say that I want to live an ordinary, servant oriented life, but I still have a long way to go. I do find comfort, purpose, and ministry in the ordinary. And if nobody else on earth sees ... if nobody takes notice ... that's ok. Because God notices.

I can rest assured that at the end of my journey, I'll find my my pot of gold.

And so will you, my friends.

So will you.

Just be faithful. Keep serving. Keep loving.

Most of all, keep praying.

Your king's reward awaits you.

dancing in the minefield, sailin' through the storms

To Shaun, my most faithful reader, and loyal husband,




Thank you for dancing in the minefields and sailin' in the storms with me for the past 21 years. It has been harder than we dreamed, ... but that's what the promise is for. I hope you'll walk with me in the shadowlands for another 21 years ... until the shadows disappear ...

I love you.

~Brenda-Nay

something to be thankful for

I'm thankful for people who come along and encourage when I'm having a rough week. Last weekend, and this entire past week has been challenging to say the least.

Sometimes God puts a friend in our path to lift us up, and sometimes He uses our own kids. Of course, He is not past using multiple methods to accomplish His will for us, whether it be people or Scripture, or .... fill in the blank. But my point is that for me, this past week, He placed just the right people at just the right times in my path.


Just like a good Daddy would do ... 

Sunday evening, a friend approached me at church to ask me how a certain situation in my life was going, and she assured me she had been praying, especially the last two weeks. I think I may know Who burdened her heart to do so.

Then on my 21st wedding anniversary, my daughter (Ashlee) wrote this on my facebook wall:
  
So. My parents have been married for 21 years today. And since I'm married now, I'm beginning to respect that more and more...and more. :) Thank you God, for giving my parents the strength to persevere, no matter how hard it got, and thank you Mom and Dad for being willing to defy all odds and still love each other deeply after 21 years. I love you two! :)

And since I serve a gracious God, I also received this pleasant surprise on our dry erase board when I went into the schoolroom to fetch my cell phone:

 

And my response was:

Good timing, indeed.

Thank you, Lord.

believe it or not

Sharing a post with you today that I wrote on my writing blog. I struggle with knowing how much content from over there to share with you here. It's because I'm crazy and I don't know what I'm doing. Anyway, here's the post. Hope you enjoy it.
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Courtesty of Photobucket

Do you ever feel like Christianity isn’t working for you? Do others seem to flourish spiritually, while you sit idly by, struggling and not feeling the love and security they are obviously in tune to?

I’ve been there for long periods of time in my life. It’s like seeing people sing … without the ability to hear the joyous melody or the soul quenching lyrics. Like watching people eat, while sitting by and only dreaming of how a warm brownie and ice cold vanilla ice cream melt in their mouths. Or being on a ride at the fair. The ride tech does everything in his power to make the little spinny teacup ride as enjoyable as possible, but as I spin around and around, the laughter never spills over. Because I’m so void of joy that the simple pleasures of life are no longer pleasures. They’re annoyances. And it seems as though spiritual life becomes a joy and satisfaction meant for others only.

That’s not how God wants it, of course. He wants us to “taste and see that the Lord is good.” Has he not given us all things richly to enjoy?

In my soul searching, and studying, I’ve come to realize that the missing ingredient to joy is usually belief. Or you might say faith. It’s one thing to read God’ Word and agree with it. It’s another to believe the promises that are clearly laid out.

Does having a double dose of faith mean that all of my life’s circumstances will turn out for the better? Does it mean I’ll never lose a child? Never get sick? That my kids will always make good decisions?

Of course not. But expecting those things (wittingly or unwittingly) will wreak some serious spiritual havoc.

I’m not going to claim that I understand why one person has trials and not another. Or why the jerks of this world seem to get much further than the godly. It truly does not make any sense to me, and it seems as though the evil flourish while the righteous perish at times. But am I going to believe that God is in control, and that all things work together to those that love Him? Will I choose to believe Psalm 1 when it says, “For the LORD knows the way of the righteous, but the way of the ungodly shall perish”?

It’s evident to me that true joy and happiness are determined in which belief I choose.

I can believe all things work together for my good. Or not.

I can believe He loves me with an everlasting love. Or not.

I can believe He loves my children more than I do. Or not.

I can believe every hardship placed in my life has a purpose, and He is working. And pruning. And refining my heart. Or not.

I can either be tossed to and fro, like a ship on a stormy sea. Or I can be rooted, grounded, and peaceful …

like a tree

Planted by the rivers of water,

That brings forth its fruit in its season,

Whose leaf also shall not wither;

And whatever he does shall prosper. (Ps. 1:3)

It all depends on what I believe.

Or not.

“Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!” Mark 9:24

the pitcher

The Titans and the Rattlers were in the top of the third inning. Rattlers were up to bat, with two outs, and the pitcher was working hard to make it a third. The score was one to nothing, Titans on top.

It was the first game of a single elimination tournament. Schedules were tight and time was limited. As a result, the pitcher’s warm up time was cut short. After the first inning, his arm felt a tad strained, but not bad enough to be voluntarily benched. Besides – he knew the team needed him. By the top of the third, he had thrown a few wild pitches as a result of the strain - two of which made contact with the batters.

The batter took a few practice swings while the pitcher readied himself to throw once more. The pitcher raised the glove and ball above his head to begin his windup. His left foot stepped backwards. Then the glove came forward, and rested on his chest for a moment. His left knee came up, he stepped towards home, reached back, and threw hard.

At first, it looked like it would be a strike, but it quickly veered inside, and SMACK! It hit the batter.

The third batter of the game.

The umpire told the batter to take his base, and the Rattler’s coach began making his way out to the field. He approached the ump, and said “That’s the third time he’s hit someone this game. They need to take him out.”

The Titans fans were unsure whether the request was a rule or a preference. They watched as the umpire walked toward the Titans coach. Then the coach and ump made their way to the mound, removing all doubt from the spectator’s minds.

The Titan’s best pitcher . . . the one the team counted on . . . would have to step off the mound.

The pitcher slowly handed the ball to the umpire. With his shoulders and head hung low, he headed towards his alternative position of third base, receiving a few pats of understanding and forgiveness from his teammates along the way.

But the pats were little comfort. He had let his team down in the most important game of the season. Nevermind that the the ump made a bad call on the second batter he supposedly hit. That batter had swung on that pitch. The ball had hit the bat, not his hands. Although the Titans coach tried to reason with the ump about that call, and convince him to not count it, there was really no use arguing about it. It was what it was.

The next batter was on his way up to bat. The game would go on, regardless of the pitcher’s feelings or the coach’s lobbying.

And that’s when it happened.

All time stood still, as that pitcher made the long walk from third base to first base, where the batter he had struck stood with one foot on the base, one on the field. You could almost hear a pin drop, in spite of the park being crowded.

Nobody heard the exact words of the pitcher. But his body language told them that he was offering a sincere apology.

Silence hung in the air.

When the apology was accepted with grace and forgiveness, the Rattler’s fan club broke the silence with a round of applause, showing their appreciation of the pitcher’s good sportsmanship.

The pitcher simply jogged back to third base, put his glove back on, slapped it, and positioned himself to play ball.

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As that pitcher’s mother, I can honestly say that I’ve never been more touched, more thankful for, or more humbled by my own son. My eyes had welled up with tears when the umpire took the ball from him. My heart ached because I knew how bad his ached.

But when he treaded that seemingly long, humble road from third to first, my heart flip flopped. My thirteen year old son was making one of the best decisions he would ever make. He was choosing to be humble in a world that incessantly tells him to be proud, to stick up for himself. My heart pounded louder and harder, and more tears came to my eyes as I realized he had made this apology on his own accord, with no prompting from anyone but the Holy Spirit.

As it turned out, the Titans lost the game.

But somehow, it didn’t matter. Because ultimately, my son had won bigger than he had ever won in his life.

I love you, Andrew. Thanks for making this Father’s Day one that your dad and I will never forget. For doing what’s right. For setting an example to your teammates. And for honoring and glorifying the name of your Heavenly Father.

service with a smile

I have a little wooden chair. It's blue, with a blue and yellow pad on it. It looks a little .... beat up. But I bought it at a yard sale, hoping to fix it up and use it for a photo shoot for Gracelyn, my niece (see photos below).

Anyway, I don't need anything fancy. Just something yellow, and something that would cover the wood and dark blue paint. So I headed to WalMart. I scanned the paint aisle looking for just the right product, but I had questions. The brand of paint I wanted didn't exactly just come out and say whether it was flat, semi-gloss, or something else.

I've learned to loathe customer service, or the lack thereof. It seems like you either get unresponsive "help", or you get a bunch of sales pitches that you're not interested in. Salespeople are either too eager and pushy, or simply uncaring.

But not Mr. I-Care-About-Your-Yellow-Passion-Paint Guy. Nooo. After I told him my concerns about the paint I had chosen, he took the can from me, and said "May I please see your paint sample?"

I handed it to him.

"I want the Yellow Passion color."

He nodded his approval, and began studying the paint can along with the color swatch.

"Well," he said with shaking fingers, "Looks like you'll need a little different can if you want the semi-gloss."

"Okay," I said. "Which one would I need? And where would I find it?"

He smiled, and said, "Oh, you don't need to worry about that. I have your color swatch. I'll get the paint. You just come back in about five minutes and it'll all be ready for ya'."

There was no condemnation for being less than a paint expert. No unwillingness to help me. No sighing. No attempt to sell me a bigger, more expensive can. Just servanthood. A desire to help me get the exact color and shine that I wanted out of that little can of paint. And he was willing to put one foot in front of the other and do the work for me, while I finished the rest of my shopping.

The two amazing things about this experience?

1. I was at WalMart. Need I say more?

2.  He was old. His gait was slow, his eyes were failing, and his hands shook. But he took the time to let me know  that I was the only person in that store at that moment. I was the one that mattered, who was in need.

I found myself wanting to follow him around instead of finish my shopping, but thought that might make him feel a little awkward. So I wheeled my cart around, gathered the rest of my items, then came back just as the paint was done in the paint stirrer.

He took it out of the machine, opened the can, and dipped a piece of paper in the paint. Then he swiped it across the top of the can, took out a purple blow dryer (*Snort!), and blow dried it so that none of it would get on my blue tanktop.

He set it on the counter, and slid it towards me. Then he handed me a paint stick to stir it with once I got home, smiled at me, and said, "There you are, little lady. Have a great day."

"Thank you," I replied, thinking that I could indeed mark this day in my journal as "great."

Not only did I get my yellow passion, semi-gloss paint. But I got it with a smile.

God bless that old man at the WalMart paint counter, and all that follow his example across America.

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

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

Wedding Memories

Wow! Not sure exactly where to start on this post, because it was such a full day. Actually, it was a full two weeks! Ashlee came home a couple weeks before the wedding (from Georgia), and we rushed around for getting all the final prep done and getting my place ready for company (lots of company!). I believe we had (at one point) 15 or 16 people residing at my house.

In that two weeks, we:

• Had a wedding shower
• Met with all sorts of people at the church we rented
• Sent out a bajillion emails to the wonderful folks from church and family members that were helping with the details
• Made a power point slide show for the reception (no small feat!)
• Made pew decorations, decorative baskets, etc.
• Tied one million one hundred and fifty little tiny red bows
• Cleaned this, cleaned that, hung curtains, etc.

Those are just a few activities that went on, but you get the point. If you've ever had a daughter that got married, you'll know exactly the type of hustle and bustle that I'm speaking of.

Our Pastor officiated the ceremony, and I will be forever grateful. He and his family have been the chiefest of friends throughout Ashlee's teenage years. Once the official pictures come in, perhaps I'll be able to share a shot or two of them.

As far as ceremonies go, everything went as smoothly as a wedding can go. No flower girl nervous breakdowns. No bridezilla. No tripping down stairs. No cold feet. No ring bearer screaming. No mother-in-law hatin' of the groom. Love you, Dan'l!!!! :))

There was one little part in the ceremony where the flower girls forgot to escort the ring bearer out of the chapel, but if you didn't know it was supposed to happen, you wouldn't know anything was amiss.

There were also only four honor guard cadets, because one cadet forgot a certain part of his uniform (and there will be no discragin' the Air Force uniform!). But that turned out to be for the better, since there was truly only room for four at the front of the chapel. As it was, I nearly got beheaded by a sword as I was sitting in the front row.

Not really.

But I like to be dramatic like that.

The amazing part of the day was that there was peace. The only way you could understand that statement is if you knew our extended families. My parents are divorced and both were present. Daniel's parents are divorced and both were present. Many other family dynamics were a factor, but we had been praying that peace would be imparted.

Some things are just too big for us to handle in our human frailty. And ensuring that everyone behaved themselves was simply too big of a task. So - we prayed. For weeks and months we prayed. And God answered us in a very mighty, gracious way. Yes, there were a few verbal jabs here and there. There were some sour attitudes. Some close relatives of the groom's did not attend. But overall, it came down to it being Ashlee and Daniel's day. The Lord was glorified through them and their gracious attitudes, and peace hovered over us like a soft, puffy, beautiful cloud on a warm, spring day.

Aaaahhhhh!! Refreshing!!!

As you can imagine, giving a daughter away and accepting a new family member isn't exactly easy. I can't say I had full assurance and peace about that until a few days before the wedding. What can I say, other than God is good! I'm not sure it was anything anyone said or did. I believe it was simply a God-given peace that surpassed all understanding.

Most of all, I am hoping and praying that the conduct of my immediate family was and will continue to be a testimony of God's grace to those who are struggling. Because if He can do amazing things within my family ... He can do them within yours.

Blessings and Peace to all of my wonderful, loyal readers!

~Brenda

Mr. and Mrs. W.

There's so much I could say about Ashlee and Daniel's wedding day. And I will, soon. But for now, I think I just want to let the pictures speak for themselves. These are the pics that I took as a photographer. The pics I'll post later are pics that were just for fun and are not as staged. I love their expressions in the pictures of just the two of them. But again .... I'll let the pics speak for themselves.

Enjoy!!

Thoughts Of A Mother-In-Law To Be

Ahem!! Remember this couple? Yeah, the ones getting married in 18 days? Yeah, them. Ashlee will be home on Saturday!!! Sister Jessie is out in Georgia as I "speak" having a week long party with Daniel, Ashlee, and Peter before driving back with Ashlee, Peter, and Daniel's best man, Eric.

Clear as mud? Good!

It's been challenging to plan a wedding so far apart, but I think we've done fairly well. Having said that, the you know what might hit the fan when Ashlee gets here and it dawns on us what we've forgotten. However, if that happens, I'm sure I will be cool, calm, and collected. Because Prairie Girls .... they're always dignified like that, mmmhmmm.

All dresses are bought (but not all have not come to the house yet - including mine), flowers are ordered, cake is ordered, church is reserved, reception is planned. Now if we can get all the decorations made and in order, ready to take to the chapel, I think we'll be doing good.

At least I'd like to think so.

I woke up Monday in a panic that was bigger than Texas, and I determined that it was absolutely necessary for me to put an end to it. The hymn "Moment by Moment" immediately came to my mind, and I've chosen to focus on the lyrics (even though I loathe the tune), and at the same time, asking for grace in time of need. God is faithful, and He has helped me to literally live moment by moment. Granted, that does not mean that I don't do any planning. I still make my lists and check them twice. But I want, nay need, to operate on a moment by moment basis. Any operation that requires keeping track of a lot of details has the potential to make me suffer near panic attacks. Definitely not my forte, and therefore, I am in need of an extra dose of grace and help in my time of need.

Honest and true - I am looking forward to the 24th!! I will see lots of family, friends, take lots of pictures (which is becoming more and more a love of mine) and I get to wear a pretty dress (vain, I know). In a lot of ways, it will be sad, simply because my daughter is moving away - really far away. My husband will "give her away", although if anything ever happened to Daniel, she knows we would be right here to catch her. But the "giving away" is not for the faint. She's been in our care her entire life of nineteen years.  Perhaps this is where Corrie ten Boom's advice to "hold all things loosely, so God will not have to pry them out of my hands" should be heeded. It's not that I am unwilling to let go of her. It's just that, in the letting go, I look down to see rose colored imprints on my palms and fingers. But I know that with time, this too shall pass ...

So come April24th, as I look on, Shaun will take one last walk with Ashlee as his very own, down the petal laced aisle, to meet her bridegroom in holy matrimony. Our little arrow that we have hopefully taken from our quiver of three, shot into this world to make it a better place, and to further His gospel. From that day forward, she will still be our daughter, but she will primarily be Daniel's helpmeet, his confidant, his lover ... and so much more. Such potential to be an arrow that will go far, make an impact, and hit whatever target the Lord gives her to hit. This is my sincere hope and prayer for her. And although it will not happen because of our excellent markmanship skills, I trust it will happen because God has the power to direct our precious little arrow in whatever direction He wishes. I trust Him fully with my little arrow ... in spite of my frail aim.

Much love to both Ashlee and Daniel as they embark on this crazy, exciting, wonderful, and (at times) painful thing called marriage. Always know that you are loved, prayed for, and cherished.

Much love,

Your Mama on the Prairie

Love

What do you think of when you hear that word? Do images of blushing brides, red roses, and butterflies in your tummy come to mind?

I suppose all of those are sometimes the result of love. But it's so much more complicated than that, and I've been trying to get a grasp on what love really is. I know for sure it isn't simply a feeling, like the world often tells me.

I Corinthians 13 has much to say about love, of course. And according to the Word, love is very often a choice ... not a feeling. It's awesome when the feelings do accompany the act of love. But they are not necessary in order to truly love someone. Love, to me, seems much more of a choice than a feeling. Why? Because it would be impossible for me to love someone else if that were the case. I simply do not have the love in my heart to give consistently. And yet, the Bible tells me to love. So I know that it is possible. But I also know that I cannot do it on my own.

Love has to be placed in my heart from an outside source.

Divinely placed.

I want so badly to be enabled to love. God puts great emphasis on loving others, and I simply want to impart His love to other people. So I've been acknowledging my own weaknesses in this area, and asking for His help in giving me the strength to love others as He does. I know He will answer. And my hope is that I can be used in a greater capacity through Him enabling me to show that love to others.

A few thoughts on love:

“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.” ~Mother Theresa

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.
~ 1 Corinthians 13: 4:8a

Where there is love, there is God also.  ~ Leo Tolstoy

 People need love even when they don't deserve it. ~ Nikki Ledbetter

“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”  ~Robert A. Heinlein

And here is a song I've been listening to that helps me remember some important truths about love:



May God enable all of us to love our spouses, children, extended family, friends, neighbors, co-workers, fellow-believers and even complete strangers.

~Brenda

How Sweet The Sound

I realized this morning that I never did share this video with you!

It's just a little something that meant a lot to me on my trip to Georgia a month or so ago. We were walking along the River Walk in Savannah, and I was kind of stressed because we were in a hurry. I had limited time to see everything, and to purchase gifts for loved ones. And I had just spent the day site seeing by the seat of my pants - if you know what I mean.  Then out of the blue, I heard this angelic voice singing Amazing Grace. And it struck me as from God because it refocused my attention on the things that truly matter. It also made me very thankful that even with all the rotten politics going on in our country right now, a humble servant can still stand on the street and proclaim the grace of God.

For everyone to hear.

Maybe I'm being over dramatic about this. But out here in the west, you don't hear people singing on the streets, let alone multiple stanzas of it.

Just. Doesn't. Happen.

And if it did, I'm sure the song choice would not be anything that glorified God. I realize I was right smack in the center of the Bible Belt, and perhaps that's why it seemed normal to everyone around me. But it was truly a blessing to me in my moment of stress and weariness.

And isn't that just like God? To help us in our time of need?

Of course, time did not move along any quicker simply because of the resounding Amazing Grace. My external storm raged on. But my internal storm was calmed.

The quality of the video isn't superb (I was a little shy about walking up and sticking my camera in his face). Nevertheless, I hope the words will help calm whatever storm is raging within you today. May God bless you with His amazing grace!

~Brenda

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things (Revised)

I wrote this to be sung to the tune of These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things. I think it'll give you a glimpse of what's been going on around these Prairie hills. ;)

Ahem! *clears throat*

Nose rings in noses, and more rings in navels,
Lil' barking doggies, and making you hoagies,
Baseball and sunshine, coming up this spring,
These are a few of my "favorite" things.

Math, Science, English, and Spelling and Vocab,
More Math, more Reading, more History, more Cursive,
I homeschool you, and I make all the rules.
How 'bout a snack and a nice little snooze?

Bridesmaid's and groomsmen, and flower girls, and candles,
Cakes vs. cupcakes, invitations where are you!?
You're getting married, he's yours and you're his,
You sure you can say without doubt that you do?

When the math's wrong, when decisions haunt,
When I'm feeling gaunt,
I simply remember it's not all 'bout me,
And then I don't feel so bad!

Changed hearts, new focus, with Christ at the center,
Friendships, and courtships, and challenging relationships,
All work together for our own good,
Yes these are a few of my favorite things!

Editing, and power points, and emails, and travel plans,
Vacuums, and dishsoap, and working with my hands,
Monday thru Friday, and sometimes weekends,
These fill my schedule, boy ain't it so grand?

Dinner with loved ones, and dinner with good friends,
Dinner 'round the table, devotions, then prayer time,
All make this poem indeed oh so grand,
Yes, these make my journey much sweeter than pie.

When life seems void, challenging with fright,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember it's all about Christ,
And then I don't feel so bad!

Everything mentioned in this poem/song has been part of my life this week, in one way or another.

Except the pie.

~Brenda

Loving the Unlovely

I love to love lovely people. 

But we as Christians are called not only to love the lovely, but to love the unlovely. This is no small feat, and for me, it requires outside help. Divine help.

A few observations about lovely and unlovely folk:

• Jesus' ministry was full of compassion and love for unlovely people. And aren't we all, in our sinful state, unlovely?

• Lovely people don't require a whole lot from us. They're pleasant to be around. The don't quarrel. They are not prideful. They even do their best to minister to you. What's not to love?

• Ahh, but unlovely people. They're needy, sometimes brash, many times prideful, arrogant, self-seeking, self-promoting, and often playing immature games that I don't want any part of.  

"WWJD?" comes the haunting question.

Jesus would love them, in spite of their unloveliness. Just as He does with me, when I am unlovely. Am I not prideful to be thinking that I never mirror any of those unlovely traits listed above? I do, in fact at times have the same sinful patterns.

And who am I to deny others in need of  Christ's love, whether it be in a lovely or unlovely state?

I Corinthians 13 says that if I have faith enough to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. Can I, in my own strength, have love for annoying, rude, impatient, self-seekers? If not, I am nothing.

Insert Diving help here

How do we receive Diving help? By not being too prideful to ask for it, being willing to do as He asks, and remembering that with God, all things are possible.

Do you have someone unlovely you need to be loving? I pray today that I will have the know-how and the strength to love the unlovely around me. I pray the same for you my friend, and I have prayed that God would bring  just the people He wants to this very infamous Prairie Tales blog today. After all, if He's powerful enough to help us love the unlovely, He's powerful enough to direct our mice to the right blogs. ;)

Love to all my Lovely (and unlovely) Lurkers,

~Brenda

Catching Up

A few facts about my (at times) seemingly insignificant life:

What I'm reading:

• Going Rogue, by Sarah Palin
• Psalm 30
• Baptist Chatecisms

Projects:

• Getting my basement in order, and a guest bedroom set up for when company comes.
• Helping organize a wedding, to be held on April 24th, for Ashlee and Daniel (engagement pics coming soon).
• Painting my bedroom. I got a new comforter set last night, and I'll go buy the paint shortly. I might even take before and after pictures, just for YOU! ;)
• Writing a book. I've actually started the writing process. Meaning, words are on paper screen. Writing time will be sporatic until April 25th, but I plan to hit it harder than ever after that.

I actually have more projects going, but those are the ones that take precedence. If the Lord so leads, pray for me. I'm not exactly pro at knowing how to juggle what and when. And of course, these are all projects that I've added to my daily routine of homeschooling and a volunteer job as secretary that sometimes takes a lot of my time. I love everything I do (except cleaning toilets). But organizing when to do what is not really my forte. Perhaps I need a secretary of my own. ;-)

I am reminded of a quote by Mark Twain that says:

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the things you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

So I pray that I keep my focus on the tasks that are really, truly important. And at the same time, explore, dream, and discover.

It's a balancing act that this off balance ballerina could use some help at.

~Brenda

Time. And A Bottle.

Shaun's parents came over for lunch after church last Sunday. Jeanine was asking me how I was doing, and if I needed any help before my upcoming trip this Thursday (which is now tomorrow, holy cow!).

I said, "I'm doing okay. But if you have any time in a bottle, I'd appreciate a loan."

She said, "Did you say time in a bottle, or time and a bottle?"

:-))

She knows when I'm stressed and have too much on my plate, bless her heart. Nice of her to lighten my load by way of a little humor, if only for a few minutes.

I have to admit that it is sometimes tempting to turn to something in a bottle. And I'm not talkin' about time. No, I'm speaking of something a little more heavy duty. A little more comforting than time would be.

Post-surgery comforting, if you know what I mean.

But I know that's the wrong source to rely on. See, when my schedule gets busy (too busy!), I tend to crowd out God and my time with Him, rather than hover closer.

Why do I do that!!?? **beating myself over the head

Because I'm human, and frail, and but dust.

But still!! You would think I would learn my lesson. It hasn't been that long since the last upheaval of my schedule. And I learned this lesson last time. Stay close to God during times of stress. Stay close to God during times of stress. Stay. Close. To. God. During. Times. Of. Stress.

Am I really that frail and prone to wander?

Apparently ... I am.

So I hereby turn away from my own reliance. My own strength. My own ability to do anything without the help of my Savior.

I don't need time in a bottle. Or time and a bottle.

I need focus.

Now, please. Whatever your challenge is today, don't turn to time. Don't turn to a bottle. Turn to the Lord. Therein lies your true help, your true comfort, and your true peace.

In God let us strengthen ourselves. The gracious presence of God, his power, his promise, his readiness to hear prayer, the witness of his Spirit in the hearts of his people; these are the secret of his tabernacle, and in these the saints find cause for that holy security and peace of mind in which they dwell at ease.

The psalmist prays for constant communion with God in holy ordinances. All God's children desire to dwell in their Father's house. Not to sojourn there as a wayfaring man, to tarry but for a night; or to dwell there for a time only, as the servant that abides not in the house for ever; but to dwell there all the days of their life, as children with a father. Do we hope that the praising of God will be the blessedness of our eternity? Surely then we ought to make it the business of our time.

This he had at heart more than any thing. Whatever the Christian is as to this life, he considers the favour and service of God as the one thing needful. This he desires, prays for and seeks after, and in it he rejoices. (Ps 27:7-14)

~Matthew Henry Commentary, emphasis mine

My New Year's Resolution

If you're a regular reader here, you'll know that I have determined in my very own little heart to write a book this year. I've wanted to do this for quite some time. But frankly, I've been intimidated, and the self-doubts that arise in me are most overwhelming at times.

While I'm not a fan of New Year's Resolutions, I'm making an exception this year. I'm taking the plunge, putting myself out there, taking risks, trusting in my Lord and Savior, and ... writing a book.

I have many ideas and plans for the books (plural!) I want to write. But I quickly narrowed it down to three:

1. A devotional book, with a theme on suffering.
2. A devotional book, with no particular theme (other than Christ centered, obviously).
3. A novel.

I love devotionals, and I seem to have a knack for writing them, and blessing others in the process. So I really leaned towards this idea. The book I would like to write on suffering, would, in my opinion, take a huge amount of planning, prayer, and studying. All of which I am not sure I am prepared for.

The second book would certainly be easier for me to write, but after consulting my best friend (who also happens to be my husband), I could see how I would possibly have trouble getting that type of project published. After all, I am not well-known.

Heck, I'm not known at all!!

I also struggled with the idea of writing a novel. Not because I wouldn't love the process, but because I want what I do to have an eternal effect. Not just for me, in the form of pleasing the Lord and living a life that is not wasted. But in other's lives as well. I wasn't sure that a novel could accomplish all of that, and I've struggled the last couple of months with whether novel writing is a futile undertaking.

I asked myself if writing a novel could lead others to desire a closer relationship with God. Could a fictional story truly glorify God? My fictional story?

Again, after consulting with my best friend, I am convinced that it can. Ok, maybe convinced is too strong. I am hopeful it can and trusting it will.

I am reminded of my sister-in-law, who came to know Christ by reading some Christian fiction that I had loaned her. It was a story about a young lady that was nearly as stubborn as herself, who had to ultimately learn to lean on Christ after an accident that left her blind.

I am also reminded of the many fictional pieces I have read, and the resolve that I have walked away with to live my life for the better, because of what my favorite (or not so favorite) character had shown me.

What better way to encourage my readers to live a life for the glory of God than to give them an example to follow? Or to learn how to heal from past hurts? Or to learn how to deal with difficult people? The list goes on and on.

If you haven't guessed by now ... you're dense!

With God's help, I'm going to write a novel this year!!!!

If that's not the most difficult, wild and crazy resolution I've ever made, I don't know what is! I personally think I'm nuts! But I suppose Noah was deemed nuts also when he started building a monstrous boat in a world that had never seen or felt a drop of rain. And David? What kind of small-statured nut case goes out and fight's a giant with a piddly little sling shot and a few stones?

The kind of nut case who is God fearing, obedient when the task seems impossible (ridiculous even!), and the kind who realizes that it will not be his own strength that wins the battle, that's what kind. Noah and David had what seemed to be impossible tasks. And now so do I.

I can't do it without God's help. But I will do it regardless of who tells me that I can't (this includes myself). I'll do it because God wants me to. I'll do it because with God, all things are possible.

I'm trusting in that truth. I'm trusting in Him to enable me. And I'm trusting that He will be glorified thought it all.

May He increase, while I decrease.

~Brenda