Super Fix-it Woman a.k.a. Mom

It might be a slight exaggeration to say that I achieved Superhero status this week.

Spring has sprung, mud season has nearly ended and bikes have been unpacked from the Blue Shed.

Everyone was amazed to discover that his or her bikes had shrunk during the Winter.  Fortunately, we have bikes to spare.  All bikes lined up.  Everybody finds one that fits and off they go, one after another, flying in the wind down the driveway and dirt road.  Jumping off small dirt ramps as if it were a motocross exhibition.  Mud puddles parting and causing small tidal waves of splashes and splatter that will put Oxyclean to the test.  Passage to distant corners of our local universe suddenly available to all.

Well, not quite all.

There was one problem.  Jonathan, who at three-and-a-half has moved up in rank to full amigo companion to the other two amigos and accustomed to joining in the adventures of any of the older siblings (he's not your average 3-year-old!), is unable to ride a bike.  Left in the dust near the house, or dangerously hitching rides on other bikes - something needed to be done.

I knew just the thing.  Training wheels.  Now.

Out came the wheels, which I was surprisingly able to find in a bag in the back of a laundry room cabinet on my first try.  Next, the only open-ended wrench I saw in the tool box was the right size, which I consider a minor miracle.  Standing on the front porch with training wheels and wrench in hand, I called for the boys to bring me the smallest bike, currently riderless and abandoned in the shed.

There was skepticism, but the boys delivered the bike.  I proceeded to take the rear-wheel-assembly apart while Ben wondered out loud if it might be better to wait for Dad, and Sam crouched next to me watching closely to make sure I didn't lose any parts while offering commentary on the best way to approach the project.  I proceeded to reassemble the wheel, this time with perfectly placed training wheels out to the side.

Mission accomplished!  Cheering actually erupted among the crowd. They were quite impressed.

I became aware that a suspicion was forming in their minds that I might actually be a Superhero.  Some recent evidence of Super Fix-it powers.

Putting training wheels on the bike without losing a single nut or washer.

Getting the Lego piece out of the vacuum cleaner tubing–– a deep and mysterious task.

Painting not one, but two bedrooms while Dad was out of town (Ok this was mostly due to Grandma's hard work, but I got some credit, too...)

Fixing the plaster on an old crumbling wall in the staircase.

Fixing the loose baseboards in my bedroom.

Figuring out how to move the giant circa 1960's deep freeze when half a dozen eggs fell and smashed behind it (this event was worthy of an "I Love Lucy" episode... and I may yet write about it)

Unplugging a bathroom sink with nothing but ingredients from the kitchen and a plunger.  Bonus!  Vinegar and baking soda provide exciting chemistry lessons while the sink gets clean.

I vividly remember the day I thought my Dad had acquired true magical powers - having secretly installed an automatic garage door opener and with remote in his windbreaker pocket, he amazed my 6-year-old me with commanding the door to open and close by saying the magic word "abracadabra!"    When he showed me how the remote worked, I was no less amazed.

These days, wireless and remote technology of any kind is taken for granted by my kids.  Of course we can get email while sitting in the parking lot.  Who ever heard of a phone with a cord?  Even one of our air conditioners has a remote.   I'm not sure some of the kids are aware that the TV channels can be changed by buttons on the machine itself, leading to small panics when the remote control is no where to be found and the Olympics are about to begin.

But observable Fix-it Skill with actual tools, multiple parts, and preferably some grease, paint or other substance to leave small smears of evidence on jeans and cheeks and Mom's frizzy hair is still quite impressive.

At least to boys between the ages of 3 and 7.  If you're looking for a bit of an ego boost, I recommend keeping a few around.

     ~Sara~

Light and joy keep poking in...

Recently, I was thinking about the meaning of communion and the symbolism of His body broken for me, and His blood poured out for me, and unexpectedly I had an upwelling of love for our Lord Jesus and His sacrifice for us. It was wonderful for affections for Him to break through the mundane superficiality of my life and the experience was received as a gift. I knew there was nothing in me that had changed. He had opened my heart and I was grateful. Heading into Holy Week and Easter weekend I was hoping that by my own observance of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and then the joyful Resurrection Sunday that I could somehow recapture those feelings I had a few weeks ago, and also, somehow think deeply and dig deeply into my heart to get the whole picture of what He has done for us, for me. Instead–I've been sleep deprived, busy, irritable and distracted and I'm flying up to Easter with only surface attention to the passing days. How like God to give me a gift when it is obviously not of my own work and then to let me see what happens when I try to "make" my own experience!

When I was in the middle of my deeper affections a few weeks ago, I found myself reading through the Passion Week scriptures and really noticing the experience of the women who were closest to Jesus. Oh, what love! What darkness they experienced to the core of their being! And finally, what joy! They followed Him to the cross; they watched the horror unfold; they clung together; they watched their last hope fade; they watched Him suffer on the cross; they stayed until He died from crucifixion; they watched as His death was confirmed with a spear thrust to the side; they stayed to see Him taken down; they followed to see Him laid in the tomb; they left to prepare spices and ointment as darkness fell; they observed the Sabbath and left the tomb alone for agonizing hours as He lay alone, His body unprepared; they came again to anoint His body as soon as they could possibly call it dawn; they arrived to find an empty tomb; they were greatly distressed; they received the good news and explanation of the resurrection from angels; one stayed and heard the Lord Himself speak her name; they returned to the disciples to share the news of the angels and with the report of seeing Him alive... only to be received as women speaking idle talk.

But–their story was confirmed–He appeared again, and again, and again.

They loved, they feared, they followed, they watched, they were devastated, they were confused, they grieved, they cared, they waited, they went to care for his body–all dark, dark days. I try to imagine the darkness of their grief, but it is well beyond my experience. Then they were the first to hear the good news from angels, to find the empty tomb on the third day . . . just as He promised. Mary, lingering and thinking that her grief had been compounded by enemies stealing her Lord's body, is instead called by name by the resurrected Jesus. Her joy is well beyond what I can imagine.

Thinking through my impossible plan to try to feel my way through the weekend really experiencing the dark leading up to Easter, and then the joy–I find that I'm never able to get to that place of grief because the joy and light keep poking in. I'm too tired to concentrate on keeping them out and feel the darkness. I know He is alive! I can't forget the Good News because it is the strength and joy of my life. I don't feel separated from my Lord during Good Friday. I am, at times, overwhelmed with what He has done to atone for sin, once for all. But death could not keep Him in the grave. His sacrifice is perfect and He conquered death for Love and His Glory. At the same time He is here with me on my superficial, tired days, leading me and carrying me and taking me where I need to be step-by-step and giving me the gifts of feeling His presence and feeling deep affection for Him when it is best for me.

Let us remember His suffering.  Let us believe in Him and receive His salvation. Let us be transformed into His bride. And if in our weakness, poor affections and pale imagination we can't grieve properly on this Good Friday for our Lord's dark day or for our sins, let us rejoice that we live on this side of Easter and that what He has accomplished is not dependent on what we do at all.

Yes, let us rejoice this Easter and every day, for the Lord is Risen, Indeed!

                                                                               ~Sara~

The rock craze

The rock craze was started, innocently enough, by 10-year-old Nat.  

This week, he found a handful of interesting small rocks and brought them inside for cleaning and examination. He asked if it was possible to find diamonds or gold in our yard. Although I responded with a distracted, "quite doubtful," he proceeded with some optimism to see if he had managed to find at least some semi-precious stones in the mud. After discovering that the kitchen sink was not my first choice for rock bathing, he went outside into the sunshine on the deck with a bucket of water and started cleaning. This activity caught the attention of three younger brothers who had been outside playing together. It's been a long time since any event related to water has been seen outside the bathtub. With an innate attraction to messes of any kind, Ben, Sam, and Jon (aged 7, 5, and 3) were soon at work collecting rocks of their own and crowding around the bucket–excited to see that clean, wet rocks do indeed look different than mud-covered rocks and plain, dry rocks.  

Nat asked me for help in figuring out if some of his small rocks were granite, so I found a website with a Rock Identification Key. There was also a good Introduction-to-Rocks article on this site, which I found quite interesting. When I first showed it to him, he was dismayed. "I don't want to read all that!" He just wanted some good pictures for comparison with what he was holding in his hand. Turns out that, yes, he had several little pieces of granite. By this time, 12-year-old Lydia and nearly-9-year-old Essie had gotten roped into the rock craze as well. They were interested in reading the articles and seeing how the charts could zero in on the type of rock so easily. Our own First Field Guide for Rocks was suddenly in high demand. Several trips to the big rock pile next to the farm field were planned and executed.

Nat moved on to preparing a box for his collection, marking off a grid inside on a paper towel cushion and grouping them by type. He got out the hot glue gun to hold them in place. He has a very neat and tidy collection of uniformly sized specimens. Today he figured out a way to display more rocks on the inside lid of his box and said it would be nice if we could look for rocks on the shore of Lake Superior sometime.

Ben and Sam wanted boxes, too, and fortunately for them, getting rid of old boxes is not my strong point.

Ben went for a big box with tiny rocks inside (he made a grid on paper towels, too, but wasn't allowed near the hot glue gun).


Sam prepared a medium box with medium rocks inside (no glue gun for him either, he settled for tape inside and decorated his box with crayons).

Jon decided on his own that the kindling box would be a terrific spot for his display. He dumped my kindling sticks outside in the yard and replaced them with three large rocks.

Essie had been sitting quietly by herself while planning her box.  Suddenly she went into action. She managed to find a sturdy box with an attached, hinged lid.  She bent over the table cutting and gluing little rings made out of strips of cereal boxes – one inch tall, and one to two inches in diameter.  She hot-glued these rings upright on the bottom of her box so that from the top there were circular compartments for each individual rock.  This had the advantage of holding the rocks in place, but the rocks could still be picked up - unlike her siblings who chose either to glue the rocks in place, or to leave them free to roll around - needing to be set up over and over again.

Lydia concentrated on scientific collection methods. She found a canvas bag and filled it with things to make a good record of what she found. Ruler, notebook, Ziplock bag, pens and water bottle included. She came back from the rock pile with some beautiful rocks, which she had smashed open, sketched, and labeled. She had a pretty good idea of what types of rocks she had in her collection because she had learned a lot by reading on-line: granite, quartz, slate, basalt, and something really hard to smash that had streaks of rusted iron in it. Another with flecks that looked like gold. 

By this time everyone was pretty impressed that there was so much to learn about the rocks just in our own neck of the woods, let alone all the rocks in the world. We wished we had a specific field guide for Minnesota rocks. Nat asked if there were a thousand types of rocks in the world. Making a wild guess based on the earth being a pretty big place, basically made of rocks, I quickly answered, "Oh, yes, I'm sure . . . "  followed quickly by my realizing that there aren't nearly that many elements on the periodic element chart; followed quickly by my realizing that rocks are of course made of more than one element creating various compounds under various conditions;  followed up by my realizing that I know next to nothing about rocks and that in reality I didn't know if there were fifty or ten-thousand types of rocks. Now we know that there are more than 700 varieties of igneous rocks, not to mention sedimentary rocks and metamorphic rocks.  One website said that over 3500 distinct minerals have been described worldwide.

We are suddenly on a quest to really see rocks–similar to my personal quest to really see trees–which leads to my ever increasing wonder that I have never thought much about any of these things before, even while "enjoying Nature."  It's like I've been seeing it without glasses on. There is so much more to see than I have been seeing.  

But the main thing I loved seeing this week is the way that collecting, displaying, and learning about rocks reveals such unique and interesting things about each child's personality, interests, learning-style and approach to life.  They each have their own way of finding rocks, deciding which rocks are good for collecting, displaying their rocks and sharing what they have found with others.  Ben even got to take his to church for his Wednesday night class to fulfill a requirement for a Nature Collection, which helps the kids see how God reveals His glory through His creation.  His teachers and friends Ooh'd and Ahhh'd over his Big-Box of nicely displayed Very-Small-Rocks and he got to add a new pin to his ribbon. Nat found himself wishing they still did Show-and-Tell in Fourth Grade. He took his box along in the van, just in case he got a chance to show one of his friends.  Lydia followed me around with her carefully selected and washed collection until I had the time to really sit and look at each one and comment on both the rock and her journal entries related to each one. And everyone wanted to show Dad everything.

The rock craze turned out to be a wonderful surprise.

Lord, once again I plead for new eyes to see . . . trees, rocks, my own children, and everything you have to show me.

                                                                                      ~Sara~

Joyful hope of Spring

Fragrant breezes swirl old leaves in corners of the yard.

Tiny buds give certain hope of bursting life inside.

Brown grass dancing encores
     as last year’s life seeps out
          to mix with earth and new scents
               on the wind.

Mud itself a reassuring sign.

Bright, warm sun to mix it all
     in joyful hope of Spring.

                         ~Sara~

* * *

Hidden in plain sight.

Though it happens frequently, I'm always surprised when I realize I haven't been seeing something that is right before my eyes.

A few weeks ago, before the rain started, when the snow was deep and crisp and even...I decided to head outside for a walk and drag the big rolling trash can back from the end of the long driveway by hand.  The trash can sits just at the corner where I first looked closely at the January trees, so I thought I'd go back and stand right in the same spot and look at them again before they begin to put on their emerald garments for the new season.  While I was looking up at them, I was thinking that for five years I have been trying to learn how to identify trees by looking at their leaves with very little success, and now, in the leafless Wintertime I have discovered there are a lot of distinct features of each type of tree that have nothing to do with the leaves.  This has been helpful to me in finally making some small headway in really being able to see the trees and recognize them. In particular, I have become an expert at spotting the wild elm trees that all died during one season three or four years ago.  The reason I am interested in these is that they are standing, dry, easy to harvest, ready-to-burn firewood for our fireplace.  These trees have become important to me in a way that no other trees have been important.  I can now spot these medium-sized trees everywhere and am amazed that we weren't all full of grief at their demise, which at the time we barely noticed.

All Winter as I have taken walks, I have been looking at the same stretch of woods along the same driveway taking notice of the same dead firewood trees, which we have slowly been harvesting for firewood.  On this day, I was wondering if I could also tell what the other trees were, by this time sure I had found all the firewood trees in the woods along that well-walked driveway.   I decided to really look at all the oaks along there to try to see what is oakish about an oak.  And halfway back, I looked up at the branches way up at the tips and stopped stunned.  Right in the middle of the silhouette of branches against the sky - way up high, not too far into the woods, I saw the tell tale signs of an old dead tree.  Small finger branches missing, just the medium and larger branches pointing up like spears to the sky.  It was a dead oak, a big dead oak, and it had been dead for several years.  Looking lower, some bark was peeling off - but it stood strong and tall and I didn't see any rot.  A perfect firewood tree of the best type of hard wood, and most likely already seasoned and ready to burn!  I had walked that walk dozens of times, looking for firewood, praying for firewood, being thankful for firewood and had totally, completely missed this huge tree.

I had not lifted my eyes high enough to see it.

Ever since, I've been thinking.

This hundred-year-old tree has been a happy surprise providing enough good hardwood to stretch this season and start next year's wood pile.  It is an encouragement to me of the Lord as Provider–that He can be trusted to know of our needs and provide for them at just the right time and to reveal it to us when we will be most blessed by it. I'm reminded that He is my Abba Father and I am his child and I can rest in Him. I'm reminded that I'm more precious than a sparrow and the lilies of the field and I do not need to be anxious about my needs.  I think of Peter and the temple tax and Jesus directing him to go and take the first fish out of the sea and take the coin out of the fish's mouth for the payment of the tax. This is not some slight-of-hand magic trick like an old uncle pulling a coin out from behind an ear.  The fish had a real life, which included the mysterious acquisition of a coin, which in turn, eventually, in God's perfect timing, became the provision for Peter and Jesus.  Likewise our old tree had a life of its own, day after day for a hundred years, serving many purposes before finally providing wood for us.  God's designs are intricate and are fulfilled in the fullness of time, His sovereignty infinite and perfect.

Before we call, He is answering.   He is answering before I have eyes to see it.

I'm reminded that my prayers are often small and hesitating, and even then I look for small answers.  But with a new appreciation for big trees hiding in plain sight, and with encouragement from Andrée Seu, I am now feeling urges to make outlandish requests.

O Lord, give me new eyes to see!

                                                                      ~Sara~

Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking, I will hear. ~Isaiah 65:24

He said to them, “Because of your little faith. For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.” ~ Matthew 17:20

“Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father. Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask me anything in my name, I will do it." ~ John 14:12-13 

"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows." ~ Matthew 10:29-31 

When they came to Capernaum, the collectors of the two-drachma tax went up to Peter and said, “Does your teacher not pay the tax?” He said, “Yes.” And when he came into the house, Jesus spoke to him first, saying, “What do you think, Simon? From whom do kings of the earth take toll or tax? From their sons or from others?” And when he said, “From others,” Jesus said to him, “Then the sons are free. However, not to give offense to them, go to the sea and cast a hook and take the first fish that comes up, and when you open its mouth you will find a shekel. Take that and give it to them for me and for yourself.” ~Matthew 17:24-27

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you."~Matthew 6:25-33

*It's possible that I got the idea about the coin in the fish's mouth not being a slight-of-hand trick from a John Piper sermon...I have just the vaguest memory of him describing the life of that fish... 

When chores aren't a chore.

We started heating our home with wood three years ago and I have a secret.

Firewood chores are my favorite chores.

I'm sure a big part of that is because they aren't actually chores I have to do. They aren't anywhere on the rotating list I hold in my brain of all the things that I consider myself responsible for. Depending on the weather or my mood I can walk outside (and away from my less favorite things like cleaning closets or digging Legos out of the couch) and over to wherever they are working–cutting and hauling, splitting and stacking.  My arrival is always met with smiles and appreciation that I would come out and help. And I do help with whatever they are doing, admire my husband's masterful handling of the chainsaw, direct the older kids who are helping in the best way to balance a load or steer the sled, play with the younger boys who are mostly there just for fun, and sit for a while and just look at the scenery. They are just impressed with me being there. Wow! A mom who hauls wood! I lend a hand for as long as it's fun, and then head back indoors under the guise of making cookies, coffee and hot chocolate whenever I want.

The daily chores of bringing in firewood to stack a day or two's worth in the mudroom, and armloads to stack by the fireplace are always done by the kids now.  And the best part is that we have discovered that I have an unlikely talent for building and keeping the fires going.   That means I get to do the part of heating with wood that everyone at our house actually wants to do.  Tend the fire.  Kevin has started calling me Firegirl, which makes me smile, and I'm not going to complain about that in our 21st year of marriage.

But, I was thinking recently there must be something more that makes me love heating with wood despite the constant mess-trail of the wood coming right into the heart of our house to the high-efficiency fireplace in our living room, the extra dust everywhere and all of the attention the fire needs to keep it burning 24-hours-a-day for six months or more each year. Yes, it's cozy and my favorite spot to sit is right next to the fire. Yes, the light is just right and makes everything look better in its golden glow. Yes, it's great the kids have meaningful work among their daily responsibilities. They feel big and strong knowing they are really helping out. Those things are nice, but what I realized is that every time I pick up a piece of wood to put it in the fire I am thankful. Thankful that we can heat our home for free with wood that Mr. Friend generously allows us to take from his land.   Thankful that we have been able to keep on top of our need to find, cut, move, split and store enough dry wood for the winter. Living where nighttime temperatures are often 80 degrees colder outside than inside, I'm thankful for the provision of the warmth itself. Because we have a stack of wood sitting there, I'm mindful of how much wood we are using and naturally want to conserve it by loading and tending the fire as best as I can. Since by my own choice I most often am the one who loads the fireplace, it is as if the Lord's provision for our family is literally passing through my hand in a way that is obvious to me. Every time I pick up a piece of wood, my heart recognizes it as a gift and says . . . Thanks.

So, I was wondering why I don't feel that same way about the other things that I hold in my hand every day.  Does my heart well up with thanksgiving for all the work of my hands?  The laundry that I wash and dry and fold that comfortably and warmly clothes our children better than royalty in other times and places?  The abundant, convenient and varied food that I prepare for our large and never-truly-hungry family?  The beds that I make where comfortable toddlers sleep under thick and soft blankets?  The hot water during baths?  Books to put back on shelves and pieces of art to be dusted? How about harder things like dirt tracked in from fields where the kids can play in childhood freedom? The paper scraps and sparkles all over the floor after the kids make beautiful Christmas ornaments? Maybe even those Legos that can be found in every nook and cranny, dropped by little engineers?

As a mother, all these things pass through my hands each day – great provision for all of our needs – and often my heart completely misses it.

Yes, I need help with this.

O Lord, give me new eyes to see the blessings in my life, and a heart that recognizes each gift that passes through my hands, so that my work is transformed by thanksgiving.

                                     ~Sara~

A wildly exciting event.

I know lots of people think we lead a wildly exciting life . . . and I just thought I'd take the time to share some of our excitement today.  This event is so exciting that it has captured the attention of three little boys for a couple of hours (and the occasional attention of the rest of us for the same amount of time).  Good thing we have 4 windows with good vantage points from that side of the house.

OK, get ready...and no, this is not about the chickens coming outside into the sunshine again–although their presence in the yard did add to the overall atmosphere of excitement when the following exciting event occurred.

The big brown UPS truck broke down in our driveway!

Yep, he pulled in, setting off wild warning barks from our helpful watchdog Tipper, which is exciting enough.  Small feet pounded to see who was coming to the door.  Mr. Brown delivered our very small package, which turned out NOT to be the anticipated birthday box for Lydia, but only vitamins for Dad.  Then Mr. Brown returned to his truck, gave the little boys a wave and hopped into the truck while they all watched and . . . nothing happened.   The boys watched as nothing continued to happen.  A totally dead truck!  The cheerful man got out and looked under the huge hood, but apparently could see nothing more in there than I could.  He made a phone call.  From the windows, this generated a lot of excitement and some speculation about whether Mom would have to go outside and help the man fix the truck, or perhaps give him a jump-start.  I found this idea quite amusing.  I convinced the boys to just keep watching.

It got more exciting as a second big brown UPS truck had to come and pick up the packages so that all those people checking on-line for their delivery times would not be disappointed.   Even more exciting, a supervisor so important that only part of his outfit was brown came to look under the hood personally - and then Mr. Supervisor Brown came to the door to reassure us that a tow-truck was on the way.  Oh my.  A tow truck big enough to move the big brown UPS truck.   We couldn't wait.  Well, it turns out we DID have to wait, but it was worth it because a gigantic bright red tow-truck finally arrived and did tow that big brown truck right out of the driveway.

Oh, we love Brown.  Bye-Bye Brown!

Whew!  It's a good thing we all slept through the propane delivery this morning or I don't think we could have stood it.

                                                                         ~Sara~



(Promo pic for UPS)

Hundred-year-old Tree.

Hundred-year-old Tree.

So loud as you tumble, rumble to the floor of the woods, the muffling blanket of snow doesn’t keep little hands from pressing against little ears. And little and big hearts to beat so fast as cracking, snapping, crunching, thundering proudly you fall and make your snowy bed just where the woodsman planned.

Red and Yellow and Blue coats press in close together, waiting for a nod and trusted voice to say OK, come close and see.

Brave boots make trails through powder to look at dry and fragile branches that waved a thousand green and yellow flags to sun and stars until a year or two ago. But snapping off today they make a sword for cheerful pirates standing on the grand old trunk until they leap back off again, transformed Supers flying, and then bulldozers plowing through the snow. 

A call to come and see the stump and here’s the wedge to show the less adventuresome at home.   Now try to count the rings, each year lays down a story to be told on wooden platter.  They count it once and then again with help, a century of rings are found from heartwood out to crumbling bark.

Old Tree, a patient sentry for a hundred years. A quiet place to wait and see what comes your way. What did you see?

I’ve seen your strength from upper windows where I stand safe and dry.  And always I’m amazed that trees so tall can sway together like a dance, and bow and turn to one another wildly, but end the night with quiet nods before sleeping upright unperturbed.

And with your strength, the beauty.  I don't know the names of enough colors to do justice to rain drenched leaves in Autumn when the sun comes out and everything’s a brilliant glow with spot of fire in every drop on every leaf.

Arms reaching high for forty-thousand days. Hosanna! Elohim!

The days of praise have passed, and yet you still have gifts to give;  warmth and light for many weeks to come. 

And so we shake off wonder at your untold stories, and gather you up in arms and sleds, to stack and store with care at home.

Jehovah Jireh!

                                                        ~Sara~
***
Hosanna is a cry of thanksgiving for salvation and at the same time a declaration of praise.
Elohim: Lord, Strong Creator.
Jehovah Jireh: The Lord who Provides (lit."sees" our need).

Worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness;
     tremble before him, all the earth;
          yes, the world is established; it shall never be moved.
Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice,
     and let them say among the nations, “The Lord reigns!”
Let the sea roar, and all that fills it;
     let the field exult, and everything in it!
Then shall the trees of the forest sing for joy
     before the Lord, for he comes to judge the earth.
Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
     for his steadfast love endures forever!
                                              ~I Chronicles 16:29b-34~

***

An unexpected sign of Spring.

Today we had a glorious, unexpected sign of Spring.

I know some of you out there are having to settle for green tulip tips appearing in your garden, a crocus pushing through the snow, or the sweet smell of fresh, moist, life-giving soil on a 50 degree day.  I heard from a friend that she had even seen some flowering tree buds in her neighborhood.  Well, none of that for us here in the rural Northern tundra. Instead, we've got . . . get ready . . .

Chickens.

That's right. Chickens. Chickens venturing outside of their coop this morning and spending the day basking in the sun on a small patch of land that appeared at the edge of the snow by their South facing door.  There was even some open water that appeared on top of the ice.

These chickens were joyful. I know that chickens don't have a reputation for a wide range of emotions, but I could tell that although they appeared to be aimlessly strutting and pecking about the mud for non-existent bugs, they were actually exuding joy from the bottom of their gizzards at their release from being, literally, cooped up all winter.

The rooster, Mr. Incredible, gave first one victorious crow and then another, which translated roughly into English means, "I have conquered Winter!"

Well, whatever their feelings on the subject–I, for one, was happy to look out the window and see them out in the yard again. I was needing some encouragement that the rule of Winter is breaking. Sure, snow is predicted for tomorrow–but the tide has turned.

The Chickens have spoken, Spring is on its way.

                                                                        ~Sara~
                                                                      

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So teach us to number our days

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So Teach Us To Number Our Days was included in the Summer 2011 edition of The Old Schoolhouse ® Magazine. 
 
So Teach Us to Number Our Days was included in the Chapel column of The Old Schoolhouse ® Magazine, Summer 2011. My writing agreement stipulated that I had to remove this article from my blog until six months after publication. I'm happy to be able to share it here again with friends and family. 



                                                                              ~Sara~