I'm Listening, Finally!

I'm in good company. Samuel heard his name and it took 3 times to say, "I'm listening, Lord". Baalam had to hear it from the donkey's mouth. Moses had to have a burning bush (no big deal it burned, but it was not consumed nor did the fire spread to other brush). Even then, Moses argued rather than obeyed.

Until a recent Bible study "Discerning the Voice of God" by Priscilla Shirer I would have said I had heard God directing me but rarely. Page after page of her book and her videos brought to mind how often God had spoken and . . . well, I mistook His Voice for my very good ideas. Yeah . . . like serving a wonderful turkey dinner and telling people I created the turkey that was killed, frozen, stuffed and roasted.

The fact that this study was timed precisely during this year's Community Bible Study (CBS) on Job was no coincidence. I am listening, Lord. During the last chapters when God lays out just Who He is and Job gets an idea of just who he is I also got a pretty clear picture of just who I am. This has been startling, it is exciting, and God is doing a new thing in me at the ripe old age of 72 and 5/6 years of age!

Well, why not? Moses was 80 before he took on Pharaoh, and then he lived beyond that to make it through all 40 years of desert circling. Abraham was 100 and Sarah was 90 when they became parents for the very first time and lived to raise their son to adulthood (she laughed, don't know that I would). Jacob lived a long and tumultuous life, raised 12 strapping boys, and saw his 11th and favorite son restored to him and could bless his grandsons.

I'm hoping that obeying comes easier with clearer recognition of the Voice. I don't usually sign on for adventure. I am chicken through and through. I have to pluck tail feathers so I can get my jeans on in the mornings. While God is clearly saying this is a newer, closer relationship, there is peace in knowing new things will be pointed out, directions given, and obedience to be given. That is a new twist on reacting to what He is saying.

So I have to end this here because I have to go find all my Armor of God and get everything on and adjusted just right -- so I can step out when my marching orders come. I think . . . well some of it may be a little dusty or tarnished so I gotta polish it up a bit and then I'll be ready. What? OK. Quit writing and go find it NOW.

He's My Valentine All Year

49 years and counting! My hubby and I have gone up and down the slippery slopes of long marriages, enjoyed the view from the high points and endured through the low points. I can get mad at him; you cannot!

We met and wrote letters for a month, then dated for another two months and then married just before Christmas. Romantic? Yes, very! Would we recommend it? There are saner ways to begin a marriage. Was it passionate? You betcha! Are we glad we did it. Yes! Have we ever had second thoughts? Yes, but fortunately we have not both had those thoughts at the same time. One of us has always been actively pursuing the relationship even when the other was coasting.

I am an easy laugher (crier too). Dave not so much. He teases to distraction, I sometimes play jokes. We have laughed at the fact that while I am a romantic, he is the one who remembers birthdays, anniversaries, and valentines. We once heard a marriage homily which directed the partners to remember why they married each other not only on their anniversary but monthly on their anniversary date.

He was to bring home something nice -- not just roadside market flowers because he saw them, but something that he put time and thought in because he was glad he married her. It did not have to be expensive but it had to contain his gratefulness. She was to do something nice for him outside the routine of what a woman does to keep meals, clothing, and cleaning in order. It did not have to be extravagant, but it needed her time and attention and thought about why she was glad she married him.

On the 23rd of a given month, not our anniversary month, I arrived home from work and found a beautiful rose in my chair. I was delighted but asked why it was there. That happened 2 more months and I didn't catch on. At midnight on special days, it is often Dave who wakes to wish me Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, or Happy Anniversary. When I get it right, it is grand.

I on the other hand will bring him wood violets in the spring. I will tell him about things I've seen. I will serve him by making sure something is within arms reach by his favorite chair, make his "puffy omelet", never give him underwear or socks for Christmas.

We are an odd pair with very little in common as far as books, movies, music, entertainment, etc. But we have our crazy-quilt life that when looked back on is pretty amazing. Sure there are worn spots, there are also some stitches missing (you know, one stitch short of a seam!). But there is a beautiful design. Someday when we are looking down from Heaven, we will see the entire quilt. Love you, Dave.

Winter Get-away Up North

Dave and I went away. No phones, e-mail, news, TV, Radio - nothin'! Naniboujou Lodge 17 miles from the Canadian Border. Judge Magney State Park and the Gunflint Trail are within stone throwing distance! Lake Superior is within falling-in distance.

We've been there just about all times of the year, but winter is kinda best. It's a long drive for us but others come from all over the US and Canada to spend a winter weekend there. Check in is Friday afternoon. Once you relieve the kinks from the long drive, you can wander about the place, sit in the solarium or nap in your own room. Dinner is at 6:30 pm and worth the wait!

We typically go for 3 days looking packed for 8 weeks or more. Once there, a peek in our suitcases shows few clothes but books, Soduko and Crossword puzzles, knitting, sketchbooks, writing materials, and in my case a lap top to capture my thoughts even though there is no wireless. Usually there are casual conversations with others around the enormous fireplace in the dining area.

We have pictures from a past year of 3 wolves trotting across the property near the solarium windows. We have never seen a moose. But we have seen eagles and a couple times a bear or two during the drive up. We don't do a great deal as far as hiking any more. Dave's back issues keep him from walking too far and my natural clumsiness keeps me from going anywhere too far from help. With no cell phone service, how would I let anyone know I had become wolf bait on the rocky shore?

This year, we were witness to a gorgeous Friday with temperatures nearing 40 degrees after a February of mainly below zero temperatures. The day was sunny and we were coatless! Saturday was not so sunny but just as warm. Sunday was partly sunny, very warm and we spent a night at Comfort Suites in Canal Park at Duluth.

Memorable this year, was the fact that our bed seemed higher than we remember from years past. Sleeping in a strange bed is always a challenge, but this year I found it difficult to just get into bed. Now this may not be a picture you want in your mind, but my attempts to retire meant I took sort of a senior Fosbury Flop onto the bed. Then before I could slide off onto the floor again, I went through a series of caterpillar/bouncing-ball moves to gain enough bed space to keep me there. Once in bed part of my nighttime prayer consisted of a request to not have to go to the bathroom. Unfortunately that was not answered. So around 3:00 AM I fell out of bed, made my trip to the bathroom and then repeated the odd acrobatic performance mentioned above. I got my night's sleep and my exercise all in one!

Also memorable was talking about the difference between writing and story telling. A woman asked at breakfast on Sunday how I could "tell a story out of my mouth" which is what our kids and granddaughters call it. I asked her if she would like me to tell her a story. She nodded and I did. The next morning at our breakfast in Duluth, one of the couples from the weekend (who also stayed in Duluth overnight) came up behind us and said, "If you tell me a story, I'll buy your breakfast." We laughed. Breakfast was free so that was no big offer.

We are back home and the warm weather came back home with us but Lake Superior as a view did not. Sigh.

Winter has been odd this year. In Minnesota, known as the state that causes remarks: "How do you live in that kind of cold?", "Where do you put all that snow?", and "Only ONE person has ever walked on water!", has had little snow (that was busy falling all along the Eastern Seaboard), a lot of really cold and so many grey days in a row I even got tired of the low light of winter. Being a mole-person, my tastes for lighting runs to fall and winter. All spring and summer I hibernate in opposition to that bright stuff.

We have had bare grass patches all winter except for Thanksgiving which technically falls in the period known as "Autumn" winter not arriving until just before Christmas. The chirps of "The days are getting longer!" rival Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah etc. Ooops, I side track myself!

While snow fell at a good rate in November, we came close to having a brown Christmas. Then the first of the year brought little snow to us and much to everyone else including people who never see it, don't know what it is, and barely can operate a vehicle in it. We have had a miserably cold February and then the long awaited and promised snow that was supposed to come on Tuesday . . . well, it didn't! It went north of us. We had enough to whiten, brighten, and sparkle the lawns with prognostication of soon melting! What's up with that?

This morning, my chosen mate for life, looked at me and said, "I am looking forward to warmer temps and sunny warmth." I was surprised to find myself agreeing. More like shocked, run to the mirror and check to see if it is really me, amazed! I laughed and told him I have sometimes on the first 50 degree day, bundled up really warm, taken a lawn chair to our front deck, and sat in the sun to read even though there were piles of snow still on the ground. This year may be a repeat of that performance and if so should be recorded for posterity. It only happens about once every 20 years or so.

Sun is ok in it's proper place which is not in my eyes, beating down on my unprotected head, nor streaming in my bedroom window before 8:00 am! I know I will not welcome the sun and warmth for long. The first 70 degree day will see me wandering around mumbling. Dave will point to our bedroom where there is a corner nice and dim with a recliner, small table, books and an afghan. Like a scolded puppy I will retreat there until the nerves are less agitated and I have had a chance to calm down after realizing that 70 degree weather is soon followed by 80's and 90's and sometimes 100's. That first 80 degree day sends me to the tree looking for fall colors in the leaves. They won't be there but I'll keep whining about it until the first 50 degree day with rain and clouds. While others are scurrying for cover, I will once again be the one playing outside, relishing the colors, smells, and chills of fall. Then the dance of snow will begin (not a pretty sight) and that will be followed by grousing over the days getting shorter. There is a cycle here.

Family Is So Amazing

So, it has been a while - years, since I posted. I got a little puffed up about writing. I joined a writers group. Wonderful people, and seriously good writing. They were serious. I discovered I was not. As soon as I had to write to accomplish so much on a page by such and such a date, I lost interest. Life continued to happen and I thought I had spoiled my interest in writing.

Not so. I just needed to let God steer me into writing for His glory, for my pleasure, and your laughter.

I am thoroughly wrapped up in my family: one husband, two children with spouses, and two grandchildren. Both Dave and I went through a period of time where our birth families seemed not too interested in being close so we went our own way. While there were times we felt like orphans, there were also times when life went on like a slow stream with no rapids and all was OK.

Recently, we have made reconnection with Dave's sister and I have tried to be better about staying in touch with my sister. Then, one day, a phone message: Aunt Judy, Uncle Dave . . . and voila! reconnection with my sister's husband and children in New York.

Fast exchanges of Facebook (hereafter to be known only as FB) and we are learning who we are in a connection broken after the death of my sister. The old days may have been slower, but think of the treasures of round-robin letters where A wrote to B, B added his/her news and posted to C, C then added more and so it went until eventually it returned to A who started all over again. Even in my day and my day is 72-1/2 years and counting, letters were important. Words were important. Stringing words together to be fully understood in word, shading, and meaning in written and spoken form. We had the telephone and telegraph (old-days form of texting). Our telephone was tethered to the wall and we were tethered to a radius of maybe 100 miles since travel took time and money.

Now we send countless messages in FB something with a birdie icon, and phone. It is like an automatic weapon the way messages fly back and forth in short bursts of letters strung together as understandable as petroglyphs, cave paintings, and hieroglyphics. If you are not "in" you cannot decipher the message nor can you send an intelligible answer.

I've used many words here to prepare family: I'm baaaaaaaack! I will bombard you with real words, real thoughts, and if you can't answer in real words and real thoughts, I will not understand you! To those of you who will bother to read my words, know that I love you, I cherish all my memories of you, and I look forward to knowing you. I never stopped loving you -- I just somehow distanced myself without knowing you might miss me.

Shepherd's Harvest

Dave and I recently did some demonstrating for the friends who organize and oversee Shepherd's Harvest Fiber Festival at the Washington County Fair Grounds every May. Dave was knitting and I was spinning. The weather was grand, sunny but not too warm. Excellent day for seeing sheep, looking at products for knitting, spinning, crochet, weaving, felting and getting hands on a multitude of fun playthings.

We set out some of Dave's finest projects to be seen and touched and he was sitting at the table knitting. I was at my spinning wheel working on some dyed emerald merino wool. People stop, watch, ask a few questions. One little girl stopped because her mother wanted her to see what I was doing, but the little charmer was more interested in telling me about her sparkly tiara perched atop her shiny hair. She told me it hurts her head and we discussed the pain involved in being a princess.

Many people pull up a chair and just sit and chat about what is happening with the wheel and men want to know why it works (fortunately my mind works that way as well; and I can tell them). Boys want to know where Sleeping Beauty pricked her finger. One youngster confided in me he was keeping his sister safe so he wouldn't have to kiss her! We just chat while I spin. No fancy presentation boards or long lectures -- just people neighboring on about a craft from the past.

Sometimes, I am very aware of the people around me and sometimes I am intent on the fiber so don't fully realize someone has come up to watch. I did notice there was a dog nearby, but no one was asking questions at the moment so I didn't raise my eyes from the wheel. A voice at my side said, "Tell me what you are doing. I want to know how the wheel works."

She was blind. I now realized the dog at her side was a companion dog. There was also a friend with her. I asked how technical she wanted me to be. The friend finger spelled into the woman's hand my question, while she told me the young woman had limited sight and limited hearing. The young woman's face lit up and she said, "Tell me everything!"

I asked the friend to hold the dog lead and the young woman to put her hand on my shoulder so she was close and yet had a way to balance and identify her space. Then we began. With her other hand resting on the back of my right hand, we went over the wheel itself. Drive wheel, drive band, flier, maiden uprights, brake, brake spring, bobbin, orifice. She was catching on faster than some sighted people. She knew immediately that the drive wheel made the flier turn fast to spin the fiber. She asked great questions. She asked for permission to get down and touch the treadle.

I gave her some fiber and told her to "twiddle" it like she might do with her long hair if she was nervous. She laughed and started twisting the fiber in her hands. I said, "You are spinning! But, it would take a long time to get any product that way!" She laughed. I told her she could keep the piece of fiber. Then, I put both of her hands on mine so she was touching both my hands and the fiber I was holding. Together, we began to spin so she could feel it running through her fingers. She was thrilled.

Both women thanked me for taking so much time. I assured them that's what a demonstrator does -- I have no agenda, no product to sell, just information to give. She had one more question.

"Does spinning require much sight? I had a friend who's wheel I had hoped to buy, but she sold it before I could buy it. Could I learn to spin?"

I had to take some time to think. Her understanding and gentle touch were certainly sound. I told her I thought if she could find an interpreter who understood something about spinning and a patient instructor, she could spin. I suggested they keep moving through the buildings until they found someone selling or demonstrating drop spindles. I told them to ask to be able to try one or two. It's a good place to start sensing the fiber and the action. I didn't get a name nor a way to contact them. I certainly pray they found a way for her to experience what she was so enjoying.

Change of Season

Spring is not my favorite time of the year albeit the season does bring some of my favorite things: Lilacs, Lilly of the Valley, Sand Cherry Blossoms, Crab Apple Blossoms, Red Wing Blackbirds, Mourning Doves, and Dandelion greens (new, tender, and better than spinach). While I like new grass, Daffodils, Tulips, and Hydrangea, they don’t sooth the fact spring also brings thunder storms, hot weather, too bright days, and gardening/yard work.

Often in spring, I have watched our weather go from 30 degrees overnight to 80 degrees the next day. I do not rush out to worship the return of spring as others do. In my opinion, Persephone should remain in Hades with her abductor. I sit in the house and mumble to myself and God about the too great switch in temperatures, the glaring sun that is causing the heat and my general reluctance to see summer with all its humidity and extreme temperatures just around the corner. I don’t sun bathe – never when I was young and svelte and certainly not now when I am “hands full of svelte”! Daylight Saving Time is another diatribe better left to another story. In other words, don’t get me started!

Spring means dirt! Dirt is tracked into the house in the form of mud, winter sand/salt mix, moldy leaves, dust flying in the air, and other stuff too gross to inspect too closely. I vacuum, dust, and vacuum dust, and vacuum, dust and . . . . Holy Minerva! Stop me. Along with the vacuuming and dusting, we have a tree near the front entrance that is of the Locust family. It is the last to lose its leaves in November, and the last to grow new ones in June. It has the tiniest of leaves that get into everywhere: hair, clothing, cracks and crannies in the windows and doors, the car. They don’t rake up nor blow properly with the leaf blower. The tree has another endearing quality: it drops seeds for nearly a full month! I literally, no exaggeration this time, take a push broom and shovel and clean the deck and steps only to repeat the process two hours later. If you don’t keep at it, the seeds track in and leave stains everywhere. I do love that little tree for its shelter of birds and the shade it eventually provides; it is a part of the property we rent so we do not have the privilege of taking it down and replacing it with a “nice” tree.

I suffer from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). Most people suffer from too little sunlight and become depressed during the long winter months. There are a little known few of us who are exact opposites. The shorter days and autumn’s softer day light, bring peace and tranquility and the long winter nights are a comfort. During spring and summer, the extra long days and brighter light mean anxiety, nervous fidgets, and irritability. I was fifty-some years of age before I met another person like me – after growing up thinking I was unique! Several years ago, a doctor actually spoke on a TV special about there being more like me. Gadzooks! If there were more of us the ozone layer would have been perfectly safe as we would have increased it to provide more filters from the sun.

So what does all this have to do with birds? Birds make the earlier mornings bearable! Robins have such a soft yet cheery chirp. Red Wing Blackbirds have a thrilling call and sing clearest with cloudy skies and rain falling. Mourning Doves have such a velvety, mellow tone heard best at evening when the light is fading and dew is beginning to form. After bright spring days, I steal out to our patio to the swing. Perhaps it is cool enough to use a shawl, hold some knitting, or have a fire in the chiminea.  All is still. The neighborhood is settling down; even the children have reached a point of slow and quiet. There, with just the slight creek of the swing, a gentle breeze, and mood lighting created by God, softly comes the first “coo” of a Mourning Dove. If I am very still, there will be an answer from another direction followed by yet another. Sometimes, one will fly and the soft warbling of their wings in flight adds to the serenity. With very little effort, I am lulled into a rest far better than sleep. Just before the last rays of the sun disappear, the Mourning Doves are joined by crickets, frogs, and maybe a loon call or an owl. Bliss!

I am most blessed if such an evening is followed next morning by a chance to sip my coffee while listening to the Mourning Doves herald a new day along with Red Wing Blackbirds calling that it will be misty and cool all day. Such times are to be treasured, valued, tucked away in memory and thought about during those more hectic times of summer activities and heat. Times when the cares and worries of the world strive to push aside God’s promise He is in control and nothing can remove me from His saving mercy. He gives to us those beauties of His creation to salt away as tokens of the Heaven we will one day see.

The spring in 2010 after a trying time of watching Helen battle cancer, Dave become disillusioned about his workplace, and Marc and his family struggle with their own economy became a special challenge to put all the change grave illness brings in perspective. I was weary in bone and body, in mind and spirit, in heart and soul. I didn’t want to do what my dad did. As he suffered the trauma of watching many in his family die before the age of forty five, he succumbed to depression. He basically went to sleep for almost fifteen years. He rose early, went to work every day, came home every evening, napped until the rest of us went to bed, then prowled the house alone and sad until he fell asleep before starting the cycle again. His Rip Van Winkle escape caused him to miss much of what might have been a comfort to him had he stayed awake to participate.

There are days when I just want to go to sleep and stay asleep and not think and not try to give to God what energy I have left. My father did not recognize depression for what it was. He was actually trying to protect us from the sadness of losing him at age forty five. If we didn’t know him too well, we wouldn’t miss him so strongly. I was born when Dad was forty four years of age. He lived to be sixty nine years old. In retrospect, I see what he was doing; I pray God will help me not be like him in that way. Instead, I have long conversations with God, write letters to Him, and dedicate memories to Him. It’s a better way to fight depression and fear, I believe. I hope some of Dad’s prowling was spent the same way.

So, the other day I stepped out our door and saw Mourning Doves. They were just arriving in the area so had not started the process of nesting calls as yet. But I saw them! My heart lightened. I began to watch carefully. More arrived and finally I was able to hear a call. I remarked to Dave that they were back but that I had not yet seen nor heard Red Wing Blackbirds. Great day in the morning! They too are back! What a lovely cacophony.

Mourning Doves are tied to people I love. Helen enjoys the evening cool and the sounds that come from the quiet time before sunset. My mother hated them. She connected them with too many mornings prior to funerals. She would throw rocks at them. I am sad to relate she had a good arm and unerring aim. When she learned how much I loved their sound, she did not come to appreciate them but did refrain from throwing more rocks. Even though he never knew my mother, Marc also does not like Mourning Doves and would gladly throw rocks if his daughter Bett would let him. When Bett was an infant, we would sit in the evening or morning cool and I would call the Mourning Doves for her. Later she learned to call them as well. I also cawed like a crow one time so she could see which bird was making that noise. As a crow landed on an electric wire nearby, she frowned and said she didn’t like that bird. As a murder of crows grew on the wires and trees nearby, Bett glared into my eyes and chided, “Just look what you did! I’m going in!” Dave and Isabelle cannot hear them. The tone is just soft enough to escape their hearing. Jenny has never said anything about the birds – nor has Kevin. They are tolerant of the attitude of those pro and con.

February 12 of this year, we received news that Helen has passed the three-year mark of her cancer as being cancer free and having great numbers in her blood work recently checked. Marc and family are not completely back at par after some of the financial changes in the economy, but they keep on trucking. Bett and Belle have their good and bad days at school, but they are growing into fine young ladies. While I wish I were still best because, as Bett put it “You are four like me!”, I know that friends, cute teen guys, and activities aren’t quite as exciting as baking cookies and pies with Grammy. Dang! I miss that.

We basically sidetracked winter this year. Autumn had its beauty and stayed long. Christmas neared and we had just enough snow to be able to call it a “White Christmas”. Then Winter gathered up her velvety cloak and skits and traipsed on out of here, leaving moderate temperatures, dirt and dust and decayed leaves, road salt to blow freely through the air, and no snow in which to frolic. (Yes, at almost seventy years of age, I DO still frolic in snow.) It is March which is supposedly one of our snowiest months in Minnesota. A few weeks ago, we had slop! Rain, snow, rain, sleet, snow, slush fell by the bucket load, stayed a few days and caused driving and walking problems. It is gone! Ice is supposed to be out of the ground sometime in the next week or so (usually an occurrence celebrated in May or early June). We are having record high temperatures for March. Those who think they can manage time, save time, build time, add time, and recapture time have inflicted daylight saving time earlier than ever. Someone should break their little hearts and let them know nothing changed but their stupid clocks!

My seasonal affective disorder has kicked into full swing. I am jittery, anxious, tend to be crabby over small irritations, and weep easily. I have already found ways to stay out of the sun and in shadier, darker rooms of the house. I have instituted my search in the Bible for comforting passages and I have begun seeking those things that help me make it through spring. I’ll worry about summer when it gets here.

Yesterday, when the temperature was already in the mid seventies, I stood quietly while all my favorite birds called and chirped at our bird feeder. I enjoyed the memory that on Monday of this week Dave and I saw our first Sandhill Crane and a Bald Eagle in the same errand trip. I pulled the gas grill onto the patio and prepared to cook our first meal on the grill. I repeated my mantra, “God created seasons for man to enjoy. He meant for me to find pleasure in each one even if I have favorites, He will bring me cloudy days to break the heat and brightness of the summer. He cares that I don’t deal well with weather that is too warm. He cares. He cares.” In the midst of my chanting the birds were calling; I noticed buds on the neighbor’s tree. I got out a broom and cleaned up the grit which protected us from the ice that had been on the steps of both of our entrances. I attached the hose to the faucet and used it to wash away some winter dirt on the patio. I checked the peony bushes for early signs of sprouting and then fired up the grill.

¹ There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven: ² a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, ³ a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, ⁴ a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, ⁵ a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, ⁶ a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, ⁷ a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, ⁸ a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes Chapter 3:1-8. Yup, God cares. He has arranged the seasons. I will listen to the birds; I will watch for the lilacs, lily of the valley, peonies, hydrangea, and I will find pleasure in the season. If the summer is hot, I will hide from it the way some of you hide from the cold winter. When the first blessed day of Autumn brings cool temperatures and color in the vegetation to excite and charm, I will come out of hiding. I will lift my head and wave goodbye to the flocking birds heading for warmer, brighter climates. I will watch the sky and sniff the breeze for the fresh scent of the first snowfall. I will not be discouraged nor dismayed for my God is in charge!