She exuded friendliness when I finally was able to speak to her on the phone. And last Wednesday, My Sweetheart, Dear Son and I were finally in the car, on the road, and on our way to meet her. Our appointed meeting time was at 1:00 pm and the appointed meeting place was just inside the main doors, in front of the information kiosk.
We walked up the steps, pulled open the heavy oak doors at the main entrance, went inside and looked around. "Maybe she said we were supposed to go into the main doors and turn left," I said to My Sweetheart and DS as we didn't see an information kiosk right there. "Maybe we're supposed to go left and down this hallway..."
"Maybe we're supposed to go right by the main doors instead of left.."
"Let's go back left" DS said to My Sweetheart and I when both directions proved futile. "The finance office is there- maybe they know where we should go."
I pushed open the door, stuck my head inside and waited for someone to come to my rescue.
"Who are you supposed to meet?" the friendly lady asked, sensing our lostness.
"Marlene," I replied.
"Oh, Marlene!! Ha ha! Oh, you're in the wrong area! Go back outside, down to the main doors, and she'll be there!"
So, the main looking doors weren't the main doors. We finally made our way to the right place and Marlene, the friendly person I had talked to a few weeks prior, was waiting for us. She took us past the reception area, into her office, and proceeded to tell us everything we would need to know. She put me at ease. Marlene was going to take DS, My Sweetheart and myself on a tour of where DS will be studying Civil Engineering in the fall. A private tour. Bonus.
She took us upstairs, down corriders - "we don't call them hallways here," she said. "And so you don't get lost, just look at the lockers in the corrider - each corrider has a different number and that number corresponds with the lockers."
Good thing she was leading this entourage. Down corriders, up stairs, down stairs, more corriders, more stairs, inside classrooms, labs, cafes, gyms, corriders. We saw instructors, students, classrooms. We went inside labs where students were working. We went down towards the corridor where the coop program was run. "Oh, that's him!" Marlene exclaimed as a man breezed by with a smile and a wave. "Him" was the man who would be looking after DS's work placement after his first 2 semesters.
After the tour we ended back at her office where our stuff had been safely locked away. The tour was over. We said our goodbyes and headed home. Two and a half hours away.
In a little over 5 months we will be heading back on the same highway. We'll be taking stuff in one vehicle, while DS takes stuff in his own vehicle. We've secured a suite for him a block from the back door of his school. And then , after we have him safely settled, we'll begin the drive back home - two and a half hours away.
Lady and the Cats
bonding on the farm!
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
Seasons
I think that we are probably experiencing day 155 of winter. That's just a guess. Honestly though, this winter season is dragging on; and it looks like, according to the weather network, our little community will be in for more snow before the week is done. I think this is the most snow we've had since 1974.
Even I, a self-proclaimed winter lover, is ready for spring. I, the one who hates spring, am ready for a change. I am tired of boots and winter coats, icy highways and hibernating indoors, long sleeved sweaters and nights in front of the fire. I am tired of cancelled meetings and rescheduling appointments because of the bad weather.
I'm ready for a new season.
This past winter I've been experiencing a seasonal slump. Perhaps a little depression. Maybe not. I just haven't felt like writing, among other things. Who, after all, is interested in what I have to write about?
Time for a new season. A season of melting and planting, mud and tulips, cedar waxwings and robins. Time to shake off the doldrums and embrace spring.
I WILL embrace spring this year. The mud and the mayhem. The busy-ness of the seeding season will soon descend, and like it or not, I must be ready. I must be ready for the early morning alarm going off so that long days can be put in while the weather is nice. I must be ready to think about my garden and flowers. I will need to clean up the yard. Once I get outdoors doing that I will be fine. I will enjoy the season before the flies and mosquitoes and heat and thunderstorms.
And I will start to write again. I will write about my faith, my family, our farm- the everydayness that makes me who I am. I will write to encourage you I hope. I pray that my words will be used to lift you up, make you smile, prompt a laugh. More than anything I hope that my words will point you to the God who loves you so much that He sent Jesus to show the depth of His love.
Even I, a self-proclaimed winter lover, is ready for spring. I, the one who hates spring, am ready for a change. I am tired of boots and winter coats, icy highways and hibernating indoors, long sleeved sweaters and nights in front of the fire. I am tired of cancelled meetings and rescheduling appointments because of the bad weather.
I'm ready for a new season.
This past winter I've been experiencing a seasonal slump. Perhaps a little depression. Maybe not. I just haven't felt like writing, among other things. Who, after all, is interested in what I have to write about?
Time for a new season. A season of melting and planting, mud and tulips, cedar waxwings and robins. Time to shake off the doldrums and embrace spring.
I WILL embrace spring this year. The mud and the mayhem. The busy-ness of the seeding season will soon descend, and like it or not, I must be ready. I must be ready for the early morning alarm going off so that long days can be put in while the weather is nice. I must be ready to think about my garden and flowers. I will need to clean up the yard. Once I get outdoors doing that I will be fine. I will enjoy the season before the flies and mosquitoes and heat and thunderstorms.
And I will start to write again. I will write about my faith, my family, our farm- the everydayness that makes me who I am. I will write to encourage you I hope. I pray that my words will be used to lift you up, make you smile, prompt a laugh. More than anything I hope that my words will point you to the God who loves you so much that He sent Jesus to show the depth of His love.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
December '73
My Sweetheart drove me to the big city yesterday for somewhat of a medical appointment. As we drove into the city I noticed the beautiful Christmas decorations on the light posts. It was snowing. And my mind recalled another time, 35 years ago, when as a young 9 year old girl wearing a very fashionable maxi coat that had been bought at the Salvation Army in the same big city, I was riding in the car with My Mom and Dad and brothers on my way to my Aunt's for Christmas; my aunt who was the twin sister of 'Uncle Hairy Monkey.' It was snowing that day. The Christmas decorations, although different, were also hanging on the street lights.
I was excited to be going to Aunt Louise's. Excited to see cousins whom I rarely saw. Excited to be with aunts and uncles that I hardly knew. Excited because Grandma was going to be there. We were going to celebrate Christmas with My Mom's side of the family. We had always celebrated this special day with my Dad's sisters and their families up to this point. And every year since, while growing up, Christmas was always with Dad's side. So this Christmas was going to be very special.
I remember Grandma sitting on the couch. I remember thinking she seemed awfully old. She was 68 after all, and I was only 9.
My cousin Bev was at Auntie Louise's that year. Cousin Bev and I are the same age, and being the only girls that age at Auntie Louise's, we played together. I remember receiving a Dawn Doll for Christmas that year from Cousin Bev. It was a great time!
I don't remember too much about Christmas day, other than playing with my new Dawn Doll from Cousin Bev, and sitting beside Grandma on the couch. I remember thinking that Grandma Maggie Kalis must be very tired because she was still in her housecoat. I remember sitting beside her and having her hold my hand for a few minutes while we talked. I don't remember what we talked about, but I remember her holding my hand.
We probably headed home the day after Christmas. We had a long drive ahead of us and probably left right after breakfast so we could be home early afternoon.
2 days after we arrived back home I remember seeing My Mom cry after talking on the phone. I had only seen My Mom cry once before and that was when my cousin Tammy, my cousin on my Dad's side of the family, had been hit by a car and was in a coma. It was very rare to see My Mom cry and I knew something bad must have happened.
My Grandma, Maggie Kalis, the special lady wearing the housecoat, holding my hand while having a conversation on the couch on Christmas day, had died.
I am so glad we had went to the big city that year for Christmas. I am glad to have had the opportunity to hold my Grandma's hand 3 days before she died. Looking back, I know that was even a better gift than my Dawn Doll.
I was excited to be going to Aunt Louise's. Excited to see cousins whom I rarely saw. Excited to be with aunts and uncles that I hardly knew. Excited because Grandma was going to be there. We were going to celebrate Christmas with My Mom's side of the family. We had always celebrated this special day with my Dad's sisters and their families up to this point. And every year since, while growing up, Christmas was always with Dad's side. So this Christmas was going to be very special.
I remember Grandma sitting on the couch. I remember thinking she seemed awfully old. She was 68 after all, and I was only 9.
My cousin Bev was at Auntie Louise's that year. Cousin Bev and I are the same age, and being the only girls that age at Auntie Louise's, we played together. I remember receiving a Dawn Doll for Christmas that year from Cousin Bev. It was a great time!
I don't remember too much about Christmas day, other than playing with my new Dawn Doll from Cousin Bev, and sitting beside Grandma on the couch. I remember thinking that Grandma Maggie Kalis must be very tired because she was still in her housecoat. I remember sitting beside her and having her hold my hand for a few minutes while we talked. I don't remember what we talked about, but I remember her holding my hand.
We probably headed home the day after Christmas. We had a long drive ahead of us and probably left right after breakfast so we could be home early afternoon.
2 days after we arrived back home I remember seeing My Mom cry after talking on the phone. I had only seen My Mom cry once before and that was when my cousin Tammy, my cousin on my Dad's side of the family, had been hit by a car and was in a coma. It was very rare to see My Mom cry and I knew something bad must have happened.
My Grandma, Maggie Kalis, the special lady wearing the housecoat, holding my hand while having a conversation on the couch on Christmas day, had died.
I am so glad we had went to the big city that year for Christmas. I am glad to have had the opportunity to hold my Grandma's hand 3 days before she died. Looking back, I know that was even a better gift than my Dawn Doll.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Telling Stories
"Wouldn't it be fun," My Sweetheart ruminated last night as we were laying in bed, "to tell stories, with the kids, like we used to?"
Fun? Perhaps. Likely? Not a chance.
When DD and DS were much younger, when they would crawl into bed with us for bedtime stories, we would make up stories. One of us would begin with an opening line. Then someone else would make up the second sentence of the story. A third person would add the next, and so on and so on, until the story was completed. We would never know how the story would end up. It might start off with a family of pirates swashbuckling on stormy seas and end with a family of puppies doing their Christmas shopping at the local Coop. Although the ending of the story was always going to be a surprise, the journey getting there was so much fun.
My family loves stories. When DS was very young I started reading him the classics. By the time he was in grade 1 we had explored Narnia, went on Magic Tree House adventures, travelled in the days of Dickens, built treehouses like the Swiss Family Robinson. Every classic book in this house had been read and enjoyed.
As well as stories from the pages of beloved books, my family loves true stories of family adventures. DD and DS love hearing about My Sweetheart's and my past. I enjoy hearing My Mom weave stories of her growing up days. My Sweetheart wishes that he would have listened more and asked more questions of his Grandpa who immigrated to Canada from Norway in the 1800's. How did he travel? What port city did he arrive at? What mode or modes of transportation carried him from his home in Norway to the land he homesteaded? What was his story?
Mostly the stories of our growing up, and our ancestors growing up years, are funny. My Mom tells hilarious stories of her younger brother, Les. His story telling was even more funny. He was, I'm convinced, a master story teller. He would open his mouth and we would laugh as crazy story after crazy story would emerge.
DD and DS remember my Uncle Les as 'Uncle Hairy Monkey.' They dubbed him so when, after meeting him for the first time, he enamored them with his crazy antics. We were in Home Hardware in the big city, when all of a sudden Uncle Les, at Dear Son's and Darling Daughter's urging, took off his shirt in the middle of the store, and proceeded to swing around like a monkey. Uncle Les was a very hairy man- thus Uncle Hairy Monkey. That episode has now become a treasured story.
On our recent family trip to Disneyland, we were delighted to have my Sweetheart's sister join us. We could hardly wait until meal time, when the audience was captive, to hear her stories of her life. What adventures she had!
When I started writing this blog a couple years ago, I wondered what I would write about. What possibly could be interesting enough to tell others? But then I decided to write about what I know. In my case, that is my family, our farm, my life, my faith. Every person has a story. Sometimes I have to look deeply to figure out what part of my story will be told. But I do have a story. I hope you're enjoying it.
Fun? Perhaps. Likely? Not a chance.
When DD and DS were much younger, when they would crawl into bed with us for bedtime stories, we would make up stories. One of us would begin with an opening line. Then someone else would make up the second sentence of the story. A third person would add the next, and so on and so on, until the story was completed. We would never know how the story would end up. It might start off with a family of pirates swashbuckling on stormy seas and end with a family of puppies doing their Christmas shopping at the local Coop. Although the ending of the story was always going to be a surprise, the journey getting there was so much fun.
My family loves stories. When DS was very young I started reading him the classics. By the time he was in grade 1 we had explored Narnia, went on Magic Tree House adventures, travelled in the days of Dickens, built treehouses like the Swiss Family Robinson. Every classic book in this house had been read and enjoyed.
As well as stories from the pages of beloved books, my family loves true stories of family adventures. DD and DS love hearing about My Sweetheart's and my past. I enjoy hearing My Mom weave stories of her growing up days. My Sweetheart wishes that he would have listened more and asked more questions of his Grandpa who immigrated to Canada from Norway in the 1800's. How did he travel? What port city did he arrive at? What mode or modes of transportation carried him from his home in Norway to the land he homesteaded? What was his story?
Mostly the stories of our growing up, and our ancestors growing up years, are funny. My Mom tells hilarious stories of her younger brother, Les. His story telling was even more funny. He was, I'm convinced, a master story teller. He would open his mouth and we would laugh as crazy story after crazy story would emerge.
DD and DS remember my Uncle Les as 'Uncle Hairy Monkey.' They dubbed him so when, after meeting him for the first time, he enamored them with his crazy antics. We were in Home Hardware in the big city, when all of a sudden Uncle Les, at Dear Son's and Darling Daughter's urging, took off his shirt in the middle of the store, and proceeded to swing around like a monkey. Uncle Les was a very hairy man- thus Uncle Hairy Monkey. That episode has now become a treasured story.
On our recent family trip to Disneyland, we were delighted to have my Sweetheart's sister join us. We could hardly wait until meal time, when the audience was captive, to hear her stories of her life. What adventures she had!
When I started writing this blog a couple years ago, I wondered what I would write about. What possibly could be interesting enough to tell others? But then I decided to write about what I know. In my case, that is my family, our farm, my life, my faith. Every person has a story. Sometimes I have to look deeply to figure out what part of my story will be told. But I do have a story. I hope you're enjoying it.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Emmanuel
I cried, on the Thursday before Thanksgiving this year, when we were listening to the radio. The weather guy said there was a huge storm system pushing up from the States into southern Manitoba in to Northern Ontario. Northern Ontario, where my blue suede brother and his family lives, was where we had planned on heading that day for the long weekend. We hadn't been to my brother's for 8 years and we were all so excited to be going there.
What we had anticipated for months became somewhat devastating. After watching the weather network, reading the weather advisories on the 'net, after texting back and forth, we made the painful decision to stay home. Then what? Our plans had changed. Someone said, 'maybe, if you would have went, you would have been in an accident.' I thought, 'maybe not.'
So with the change of plans I decided to make the best of it. Yes, we were so discouraged and disappointed, but we have family at home- my cousin and uncle and Mom and My Sweetheart's Dad. I would have Thanksgiving at home. I would be with family after all and the weekend would be good.
That day My Mom and I went to the city so I could buy all the groceries needed for the weekend. Fortunately everthing was still on sale. That would give me all day Friday to clean and all day Saturday to start with the Thanksgiving meal- the salads, the make ahead mashed potatoes, the buns and dessert.
On Saturday morning I was going to go to my neighbor's to buy some eggs. Before heading there I was going to go to the south farm to take some pictures. Dear Son and My Sweetheart were at the south farm tending to a controlled burn. And Dear Son wanted me to take some pictures.
When I left there I was going to go straight to my neigbor's for the eggs. I phoned her, just before leaving the south farm, to let her know I was on my way.
I didn't make it though. Before crossing the highway, I had checked at the intersection to make sure no cars were coming. It's an intersection that I have always dreaded because of the blind spot. When you are stopped, looking east, there is a dip in the highway where a vehicle might be. If there is, that vehicle is not visible because of the dip and the curve. So, I crossed the highway and my car hit something and I was spinning out of control. I came to a stop, in the ditch, and didn't have a clue what had happened. I thought that perhaps I hit a moose, or some other big animal. Maybe there was a big post in the middle of the highway that had never been there. I was clueless. When I decided that maybe I was okay enough to get out and check to see what I had hit I was shocked to see the other vehicle in the ditch. Sickened to see the other driver slumped over his steering wheel. His wife, at least I think it was his wife, was standing outside their vehicle screaming at me. Swearing at me. Up one side of me and down the other. Her husband eventually made it out of his vehicle, walked around, didn't say anything, just nodded when I asked him if he was ok. But SHE was relentless. I was in shock.I started to shake and cry uncontrollably. I went back to my banged up car, crawled in the driver's door, called 911, phoned My Sweetheart and waitied.
I couldn't sleep for 3 nights. I relived that over and over and over. On the 3rd night of no sleep, I remember praying and asking God "WHY?" "Where were YOU?" "Why couldn't I have stayed at the south farm for 2 extra seconds?" Why? why? why?
And then, as soon as I poured at my heart, the Lord showed me something quite miraculous. As my car was spinning around, I saw Jesus in the passenger seat-as clearly as anything I had seen before. The inside of my vehicle was enveloped in white. The white of an angels' wings? I think so. I could have been hurt, but there was not a scratch on me. The air bags didn't go off. I was spared.
Jesus, Emmanuel, was with me. He never left me. When I thought I was alone, I wasn't. He was always with me.
I still had a few weeks of horrible sleeps and flashbacks. My neck bothers me on occasion. But I was spared.
On the 4th day after the accident I wrote a song that, perhaps out of all the songs I have written, is the one that speaks the most to me. It comforts me in a way that no other song has ever comforted me. I sing it at least once a day, sometime more, when I need to be reminded that my God is always with me.
What we had anticipated for months became somewhat devastating. After watching the weather network, reading the weather advisories on the 'net, after texting back and forth, we made the painful decision to stay home. Then what? Our plans had changed. Someone said, 'maybe, if you would have went, you would have been in an accident.' I thought, 'maybe not.'
So with the change of plans I decided to make the best of it. Yes, we were so discouraged and disappointed, but we have family at home- my cousin and uncle and Mom and My Sweetheart's Dad. I would have Thanksgiving at home. I would be with family after all and the weekend would be good.
That day My Mom and I went to the city so I could buy all the groceries needed for the weekend. Fortunately everthing was still on sale. That would give me all day Friday to clean and all day Saturday to start with the Thanksgiving meal- the salads, the make ahead mashed potatoes, the buns and dessert.
On Saturday morning I was going to go to my neighbor's to buy some eggs. Before heading there I was going to go to the south farm to take some pictures. Dear Son and My Sweetheart were at the south farm tending to a controlled burn. And Dear Son wanted me to take some pictures.
When I left there I was going to go straight to my neigbor's for the eggs. I phoned her, just before leaving the south farm, to let her know I was on my way.
I didn't make it though. Before crossing the highway, I had checked at the intersection to make sure no cars were coming. It's an intersection that I have always dreaded because of the blind spot. When you are stopped, looking east, there is a dip in the highway where a vehicle might be. If there is, that vehicle is not visible because of the dip and the curve. So, I crossed the highway and my car hit something and I was spinning out of control. I came to a stop, in the ditch, and didn't have a clue what had happened. I thought that perhaps I hit a moose, or some other big animal. Maybe there was a big post in the middle of the highway that had never been there. I was clueless. When I decided that maybe I was okay enough to get out and check to see what I had hit I was shocked to see the other vehicle in the ditch. Sickened to see the other driver slumped over his steering wheel. His wife, at least I think it was his wife, was standing outside their vehicle screaming at me. Swearing at me. Up one side of me and down the other. Her husband eventually made it out of his vehicle, walked around, didn't say anything, just nodded when I asked him if he was ok. But SHE was relentless. I was in shock.I started to shake and cry uncontrollably. I went back to my banged up car, crawled in the driver's door, called 911, phoned My Sweetheart and waitied.
I couldn't sleep for 3 nights. I relived that over and over and over. On the 3rd night of no sleep, I remember praying and asking God "WHY?" "Where were YOU?" "Why couldn't I have stayed at the south farm for 2 extra seconds?" Why? why? why?
And then, as soon as I poured at my heart, the Lord showed me something quite miraculous. As my car was spinning around, I saw Jesus in the passenger seat-as clearly as anything I had seen before. The inside of my vehicle was enveloped in white. The white of an angels' wings? I think so. I could have been hurt, but there was not a scratch on me. The air bags didn't go off. I was spared.
Jesus, Emmanuel, was with me. He never left me. When I thought I was alone, I wasn't. He was always with me.
I still had a few weeks of horrible sleeps and flashbacks. My neck bothers me on occasion. But I was spared.
On the 4th day after the accident I wrote a song that, perhaps out of all the songs I have written, is the one that speaks the most to me. It comforts me in a way that no other song has ever comforted me. I sing it at least once a day, sometime more, when I need to be reminded that my God is always with me.
Emmanuel
As you hurry through your life,
maybe thinking 'come what may'
when things go your way
and then one day
your world crashes in.
Take Jesus at His Word
when He says, 'come unto Me,
My yoke is strong
so come along
and rest in Me.'
He has always been.
will always be Emmanuel.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God with us. Revealed to us.
All is well
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God is near.
Christ is here.
Emmanuel.
When the doctor calls you back,
says,'there's nothing we can do.'
thought you had the flu,
you never knew you'd hear those words from him.
when your love walks out that door,
they don't love you anymore.
Jesus' yoke is strong,
so come along
and rest in Him..
He has always been.
Will always be Emmanuel.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God with us. Revealed to us.
All is well.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God is near. Christ is here.
Emmanuel.
God with us. Before us. Behind us.
Beside us.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God with us. Revealed to us.
All is well.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God is near. Christ is here.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God is near. Christ is here.
Emmanuel.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Light
When I was in grade 1, my brothers and I were the first ones to be picked up on the school bus. In 1970, Saskatchewan would change the clocks in the fall and in the spring. So, back then, in the winter when it was cold, we would get on the school bus in the dark, and we would be dropped off after school in the dark.
I remember looking back at our farm house on those cold, dark winter mornings, as the bus would leave the yard, and see a light on. That bright yellow light against the cold bitter dark would comfort me. Home was a haven, and when the bright light was shining forth on those winter mornings I felt safe and secure. Returning home after a long bus ride after a long day of school was the highlight of my school years. It would be dark outside, or turning dark, and the light emanating from the house would welcome me home.
Usually, when we arrived home, Mom would already be in the kitchen preparing supper. We always ate supper around 5:00 pm. The bus would pull in the yard close to that time. The sight of the light shining from the window along with the delicious aroma of supper cooking was comfort at its best. I was safe and secure in my farmhouse.
This morning, the alarm went of at 6:45. I could hardly wait to get out of bed, turn the thermostat up, and turn the lights on on the Christmas tree. For a few peaceful minutes the lights from the tree were the only lights on in the house. It was cold and dark outside, but inside- the house was warm and inviting and bright from a few simple lights. Comforting and welcoming.
Jesus said, to His followers, "you are the light of the world. Let your light so shine that others may see you and glorify Your Father in Heaven.." (Matthew 5:16) In a dark, gloomy world, HIS light shines through His followers and provides warmth and comfort to a world that so desperately needs Him- THE LIGHT of the world.
This Christmas season, every time I turn the lights of our Christmas tree on, I am reminded of that. Jesus, the Light of the World (John 1:4) shines His light through me, of all people, to bear witness of that. How comforting Jesus is. How welcoming He is. How brightly His light is still shining.
I remember looking back at our farm house on those cold, dark winter mornings, as the bus would leave the yard, and see a light on. That bright yellow light against the cold bitter dark would comfort me. Home was a haven, and when the bright light was shining forth on those winter mornings I felt safe and secure. Returning home after a long bus ride after a long day of school was the highlight of my school years. It would be dark outside, or turning dark, and the light emanating from the house would welcome me home.
Usually, when we arrived home, Mom would already be in the kitchen preparing supper. We always ate supper around 5:00 pm. The bus would pull in the yard close to that time. The sight of the light shining from the window along with the delicious aroma of supper cooking was comfort at its best. I was safe and secure in my farmhouse.
This morning, the alarm went of at 6:45. I could hardly wait to get out of bed, turn the thermostat up, and turn the lights on on the Christmas tree. For a few peaceful minutes the lights from the tree were the only lights on in the house. It was cold and dark outside, but inside- the house was warm and inviting and bright from a few simple lights. Comforting and welcoming.
Jesus said, to His followers, "you are the light of the world. Let your light so shine that others may see you and glorify Your Father in Heaven.." (Matthew 5:16) In a dark, gloomy world, HIS light shines through His followers and provides warmth and comfort to a world that so desperately needs Him- THE LIGHT of the world.
This Christmas season, every time I turn the lights of our Christmas tree on, I am reminded of that. Jesus, the Light of the World (John 1:4) shines His light through me, of all people, to bear witness of that. How comforting Jesus is. How welcoming He is. How brightly His light is still shining.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Let The Games Begin
October is my second favorite month. Fall is my favorite season. December is my favorite month. I enjoy everything that leads up to Christmas. This year I feel a little more organized than usual. Tonight, after supper, I cooked another batch of potatoes so that tomorrow I can whip up my 3rd batch of lefse. Yesterday I made flatbread for the first time in my life. And so the freezer is slowly filling up: krumkakke, butter tarts, cookies. I feel prepared.
Tonight when I was cooking the potatoes Dear Son drove into town to bring My Mom out. The potatoes were boiling when My Sweetheart was preparing the table for the main event. The games were soon to begin. As soon as the potatoes were riced and mixed with cream, as soon as DS and Grandma arrived, as soon as I sat down the games would commence.
Tonight when I was cooking the potatoes Dear Son drove into town to bring My Mom out. The potatoes were boiling when My Sweetheart was preparing the table for the main event. The games were soon to begin. As soon as the potatoes were riced and mixed with cream, as soon as DS and Grandma arrived, as soon as I sat down the games would commence.
Games and December seem to go hand in hand. Even when I was growing up there was never an end to the game playing. Actually, game playing was a common occurence all year round for me. I grew up in a game playing family. Cribbage, Bridge, Whist, Yahtzee, Monopoly, Rummoli, Mousetrap, Rummy- there was always someone in my house on the farm, who was ready for a game.
My Sweetheart never played cribbage until about a month ago. His parents didn't play cribbage. I found that very hard to believe when I questioned him about it the other night when he was suffering through a game 'because he loves me'.
He's come a long way since marrying me. When we were first married we enjoyed playing 'tens' with My Mom and Dad. It was similar to whist with a few different twists. We haven't played it since Dad died. I'm not even sure I'd remember how to play it. Not that it matters now- what mattered was being together enjoying time spent together with people we love.
Tonight, when My Sweetheart phoned My Mom to see if she'd like to come out and play a game, she didn't hesitate. My Mom loves playing games. On Thursday she came out in the morning and stayed all day. She watched TV while I was finishing up that day's batch of lefse. After lunch she watched TV and napped while I was making meatballs for supper. In the afternoon, after the naps, after the supper was slowly cooking in the oven, the cards came out. Buy Rummy has always been one of My Mom's favorite 2 person games. Cribbage is my favorite. And all afternoon, while the meatballs were simmering, we played games.
Tonight we played 'Sequence'. Not that it matters what we played. What mattered was being together enjoying time spent with people I love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)