Days passed. The contractors appeared busy but had little to show for their activities. Measuring, surveying, leveling, digging and pouring cement consumed their time. They were laying a foundation, and the cement piers had to be deep and secure before the floors, walls, and ceiling went up.
I accomplished the impossible. I devised a raccoon proof bird feeder! I just might post this victory message on a nature loving website since everything I’ve read states it can’t be done! True, these are deep-in-the-woods raccoons, not the city or state park variety who sift through trash cans. These do, though, love to raid our feeders using every acrobatic instinct known to these furry friends. What foiled their perseverance? Something new!
The battle never ends. I despise them—prickly thistles and the vicious thorns of the Locust tree that thrive in East Texas pastures. Both sprout and spread without need of fertilizer or rain. Removing them requires fortitude along with lots of sweat and personal protection. Realizing they resulted from Adam’s sin frees me to vent my frustration and out-right anger. They just don’t belong here!
Paychecks, health and relationships represent just a few things I’ve placed too much trust in. I can continue the list with government and educational systems. Each one, at some time, has disappointed me. Each one tempts me with my trust.
I looked forward to youth group every week. My mom dropped me off at the back door of the church and I darted through the hall, heading up the stairs to the unfinished “attic” where we met on Wednesday nights. I couldn’t wait to see my friends and hear the music and message to grow my faith.
Why do our furniture purchases occur when we’re on vacation?
My husband had a valid point. It did seem we’d done our share of hauling tables in our SUV. Our current kitchen table had caught our eye while on our first Christmas vacation. We loaded it in the back of our car, drove for two days, and waited for my parents to bring the chairs a few months later.
The front door slammed and there in the entryway stood my little brother, tear-streaks lining his muddy face. He was holding one tennis shoe, standing in saggy tube socks.
How about cleaning out some of those bins full of journals?My husband had a legitimate point. He had moved the bins of Bible studies and notebooks from attic to attic during the last fifteen years we’d been married. I lifted the lid and memories flooded my mind. Journaling in my childhood bedroom. Scribbling away under a lush Magnolia tree at Baylor. Pouring out my heart on lonely nights in my small apartment. That bubbly handwriting of my youth eventually gave way to chicken scratch that makes my children cringe today.
I still remember that sweltering sunny day. As a child, picking strawberries was one of my favorite summer outings. I loved walking the aisles, eyeing the perfect berry and plucking it off the bush. As we began, I distinctly remember my mother’s instructions.No tasting the berries before we pay. That’s stealing.
I watched my friend, Virginia, as she greeted friends at Sid’s funeral. He had suffered a stroke and fought a futile battle for life for several months. How difficult it was for a wife to watch as her husband suffered. Now he was gone.
“I can’t find anything after I put it away. I know I need to organize, but I just don’t know where to start. I want to invite friends over, but my house is such a mess. I want less clutter, but I just can’t figure out how to get started.” Sound familiar?
“Lucas, get your soccer shoes from the utility room. Katie, the half-time snack is in the refrigerator. Sean, come here so Mom can button your jacket.”
I noticed a For Sale sign in a yard yesterday. Written at the bottom of the sign in bold red letters were the words TOO LATE. I remarked to Jerry that life is full of those signs. I think we all experience them.
My water aerobics buddy shared a family tradition with me. She has allowed me to share this clever idea with you.
As a teenager, we used to yell a cheer at sporting events, “Action, action, we want action! A-C-T (clap,clap,clap) I-O-N!”
I cannot even begin to guess how many times I have read this scripture. “But what about you?” he asked, “Who do you say I am?” This time, however, when I read it something hit me like a ton of bricks. Something that made it much more real.
I promised myself that I would not get on social media in the morning before I had opened my Bible and read it. One morning though as I struggled to get out of bed I grabbed my phone to answer a text message instead of grabbing my Bible.
Judith Viorst wrote a poem called, The Good Daughter. It describes a daughter who follows rules and does her chores. On the other hand, her pesky brother rarely does and usually involves himself in some kind of shenanigan. In the end the sister declares that she really believes her parents always liked her brother better.
How many times have I fallen for the “buy one get one free” sales gimmick? I love getting something for “free.”
I enjoy going shopping with my oldest daughter. She has a fun sense of style, and she encourages me to bring color into my wardrobe which gives me a “new look.” Without her encouragement, and sometimes honesty, my closet would be a color range of grays and blacks.
