Snow Party

Sometimes, here at the end of the road, it seems that we are a long way from anywhere and anyone. But this past weekend, we held our ‘try for yearly, but it depends on the conditions’ Snow Party. The snow was still here, the weather was perfect, and about 30 people came to help us celebrate.

I have always loved tobogganing. It was one of my favourite activities when I was young. I remember rushing in from the school bus, dropping off our books, grabbing the toboggan and heading for the coulee. I’m glad our neighbours’ kids love it as much as I did.

Of course now it’s a little different than it was back then. Now, it’s all a ‘ride’ – both up and down the hill! The kids slid down on all types of sleds, sliders, and toboggans; the adults pulled them back up to the top with snowmobiles. The moms enjoyed hot chocolate as they stood on the deck and watched; and I caught some of the happenings on video…

Lots of thrills, some spills, but mostly laughter and fun. When it was over, we went back to the house for supper and more visiting.

I went to bed that night with the sound of the laughter still ringing in my head. I thought about the fun, but I also thought about the beauty of that coulee. In an area which is mostly flat prairie, these hills offer a beautiful change of scenery, and they don't change over time.

The author of Psalm 102 credited God for the creation when he wrote in verse 25, "In the beginning, You laid the foundations of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands."

I imagine a century ago, others enjoyed 'our' coulee. Today, we have the priviledge of spending time there, and sometime in the future, I hope others find its beauty, as well. Indeed, I hope the tradition of Snow Parties continues. These hills should ring with laughter…as kids of all ages enjoy the wonder of God's creation.

Patching

It was six years ago, that I pieced my first quilt (pictured above). It was for my niece’s new little baby daughter, Morgan. I remember giving her specific instructions: “Please use this quilt – don’t put it away in a closet – I made it for her to use. And when it falls apart, ship it back to me, and I’ll fix it.”

Now, these six years later, my niece, Marcie, came for a visit. She brought the quilt, because "the dog snagged it, and it needs a couple of patches."

I could hardly believe how shabby and worn the quilt had become.

The once-vibrant colours had faded. The once-plush blanket had settled into a paper-thin rag. The back was filled with holes of all sizes, and the binding should have been redone. But there would be little sense in doing the back and the binding, because the front was in almost the same condition.

It was so bad, that I told Marcie to put it in the burning barrel, and I’d make another one. But, you know how some kids are about their blankets -- Morgan wouldn’t part with it.

I found some leftover fabric in my stash, and I began to patch.

I patched. And I patched. And I patched.

It doesn’t look very pretty, but I did the best I could.

Morgan's quilt has been returned to her, and she probably cares far more about having it back than how it looks. I guess it's a good thing that it didn't go to the burning barrel (at least for now).

This patching process made me think about how everything wears out. When I looked for a picture of that quilt when it was new, I found about 35 years of pictures showing all kinds of ‘stuff’ we gathered along the way -- stuff that has long since found its way to the Thrift Shop or the burning barrel. All of our possessions get old and wear out. And we are left with only pictures and memories.

Did you know that Revelation 18 tells us that all things will burn at the end of time?

Father, thank you for supplying my needs while I am here. Thank you for the reminder that I need to hold loosely the 'things' and 'stuff' in my life, and tightly to what really matters.

Shoo Fly!

Shoo fly don’t bother me
Shoo fly don’t bother me
Shoo fly don’t bother me
For I belong to somebody.

I can’t get it out of my head!

Our little granddaughter was here today, and as she was being tucked into her car seat, I heard that peppy tune (sung by children, of course) playing in her vehicle. And now it’s going ‘round and ‘round in my head.

I walked up the road after they left, and those words kept bouncing around with my every step. I checked on the cats’ food and shoveled the sidewalk --- moving in time to that crazy song.

I was so desperate to lose this melody, that I put on some Christmas music when I came back into the house, but whenever there was a break between songs, back it came:

Shoo fly don’t bother me
Shoo fly don’t bother me
Shoo fly don’t bother me
For I belong to somebody.

The worst of this is that I can only blame myself – I gave her the CD!

Next time, I’ll be a little more choosy about the tunes I buy for her. Maybe a little Bluegrass? Bet her parents would like that!

As I share this story with you, I remember Psalm 37:31 “The law of his God is in his heart; his feet do not slip.” and Psalm 119:11 that talks about the value of knowing and treasuring God’s word in our hearts. “Your word I have treasured in my heart, that I may not sin against You.”

I’m grateful now for the scripture verses I committed to memory as a child as well as those I learned as our son worked on his Kids Club memory badges. How many times has a scripture verse I memorized years ago, come back to me just when I needed the reminder! I’m glad those verses are tucked away in my heart.

Now if I could just get rid of Shoo Fly!

No -- that's not the answer! It would be more fun if you sang along! Just click on this link:

http://www.geocities.com/EnchantedForest/Cottage/3192/Shoofly.html

The War to End All Wars

Many years ago, I visited my great aunt (the little girl shown above standing in front of her mother) for what was to be the last time. She had cancer and died later that year. It was a week of sharing and getting to know each other, she a widow in her seventies and I, a young married mom in my twenties. Because I shared her name, she was very special to me. And I certainly felt special to her.
One of the many stories that Aunt Johan shared, took place in her childhood on the windswept prairie near Three Hills, Alberta. Two brothers, William and Alex had neighbouring homesteads. One day, Johan’s father, William, called to her in an urgent voice. “Johan, I can see John coming. He’s running. Something is wrong. Go now, and learn the matter.” With that, Johan, just a child herself, began to run up the road toward her cousin.
These 90 years later, I picture the scene. I know that road; we still own that land. Young John winded but continuing to run; Johan, a small girl, running with all her might to learn the reason for the urgency. When at last they met, John’s message was not one of trouble, or concern, but rather one of joy. John’s family had just returned from town where they learned the wonderful news, “The war is over!”
I can still see my aunt’s eyes filling with tears as she ended the story, “and that was the First World War – the war to end all wars.”
No one celebrating that day would have considered that two short decades later, the world would once again be at war. And then another, and another…
This morning as I pause to remember those who died for our freedom, I also want to remember that we are promised a time when “Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore” (Isaiah 2:4). Imagine it!

I Know Whose Daughter You Are

I grew up on an Alberta farm in the 60’s. While it doesn’t seem that long ago, in some ways it was a very different world. For instance: my mother always had a large meal at noon, and anyone working at the farm for the day, came in and ate ‘dinner’ with us. No one would have packed a lunch; my parents would insist that they join us for our noon meal. It was a given. I can still hear Dad’s booming voice, “Come on in,” at noontime. My mom was a great cook, and sometimes I think people planned their work around those meal times – just to get a piece of her terrific apple pie!
A few years ago, we had some work done on our house – new flooring, to be exact. Shortly after the workers arrived in the morning, I started to think about what I would make for dinner. By the time, noon arrived, I had a ‘worker-styled’ meal on the table, and I called, “Lunchtime!” One young man replied that they had brought their lunch and they’d just eat it. Of course, I insisted that when they were working at my home, they would be fed, and that they should just save their lunch for another day. He replied, “I should have guessed that we wouldn’t need to pack a lunch, because I know whose daughter you are.” He went on to explain that he knew my parents and their reputation for feeding everyone who happened to stop by. I have to admit, I was pleased. It was great to be linked with such hospitable people.
Those words, “I know whose daughter you are,” still ring in my head. My parents have gone on to be with the Lord, and I miss them every day. But I am thankful for the heritage they left, and whenever someone stops by at mealtime, I remember that line, “I know whose daughter you are.” Often times, I'm embarrassed that it’s just leftovers or a sandwich, but I offer them with the sense of hospitality that my parents taught me.
Recently, I was remembering that line, “I know whose daughter you are,” and I thought about my heavenly Father. John 1:12 says, “Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.” Do people know that besides being Bill and Betty's daughter, I’m also a daughter of the King of Kings? Are my words and actions evidence of that family relationship? Too often, people wouldn’t know that, for my actions are far from His teaching. This verse is a good reminder that I’m a child of the King, and if I want others to know whose daughter I am, I need to live His way.