Withdrawal from Wthdrawal

Remember that time when you took the challenge to not eat sugar for 3 weeks, and not just sugar, but gluten and milk?

What kind of self torture is that?

Remember how sad you were... and a little bored?

But you did it, thinking you would be back to sugar in no time...until the 3 weeks were up and then you were so scared to even think about eating sugar again because now you know for sure how much you depended on it to entertain you, to keep you company, to distract you from the hard things, and what if you can't just have it occasionally without eating all of it?

Yep.

And not only that, remember how it made you wonder if there were other things in your life that you could give up; other things that are a waste of time and talents?

You know...

those things that you tell yourself you deserve to do....or eat, because you've worked so hard all day and you've earned it?

How does that even make sense?

Here, you've worked incredibly hard, now go do something that is going to negate at least half of the work you've done...you deserve it.

What kind of self-hate talk is that?

Remember that?

Please, remember that.

Irrigation Illustration

I was asked to speak on how we can receive personal revelation through the scriptures. 

What ever our questions are, what ever trials or joys we are experiencing, we can receive personal revelation through the scriptures, that is just that, personal. In 2 Nephi 31:3  it says: “For the Lord God giveth light unto the understanding; for he speaketh unto men according to their language, unto their understanding.” God knows us and loves us and only wants the best for us. He never speaks just to hear the words come out of his mouth, he speaks directly to each of us, through the power of the Holy Ghost, in a way we can understand and act.

To illustrate how this principle can work in our lives, I’d like to share an illustration…we’ll call it an Irrigation illustration. Now, just to clarify, for all of you Indianaian’s, irrigation is an activity that is required to grow crops when your total annual rainfall is less than what Indiana sees in a week. Such was the life on the farm where I grew up in Southern Idaho. I was introduced to the joy of moving irrigation pipe at a young age and though I always seemed to be the smallest on the crew, I was determined to never be last in finishing my lines, so I worked my tail off  lifting the pipes which were often full of water, letting them drain, then racing 60 feet down the field to and reconnect the section of pipe in a straight line then running back to get the next one. It turned into a game of sorts with some interesting competitions and prizes….but I digress…The point here today is that the irrigation pipes provided a “simple” means by which the entire field could receive water. This was my job for over 8 years and by the time I graduated from high school and headed out into the big wide world, we joked that I already had my pipe moving degree, and indeed, from the work, fun and lessons learned moving pipe, I felt like I could conquer anything.

Fast forward 14 years and I found myself standing in the middle of my own field. Just a small 4 acre field in the middle of Colorado, but I was excited to get back to my farming roots and I needed some serious irrigation to make this happen. Irrigation…I totally got this. But. In this particular part of  Colorado, there were no shiny irrigation pipes to move neatly across the field, evenly sprinkling water to all parts of the field. Here, irrigation came only 3 times a year and for me, lasted a mear 28 hours. Flood irrigation was the only option and a totally new experience for me. When it was my turn at the ditch, the water ran down a large pipe at the top of my field, and it was up to me to open up a series of small gates in that pipe to let the water flow into different sections of my field. So, on day one, I opened the gates, waited to make sure the pressure was right and everything was working correctly, then went back inside to attend to my house work. A few hours later I went back out to the field to see how things were progressing. As I walked up through my field the first thing I noticed was that it was still dry. Where was my water? Looking up my field, I could clearly see the water still flowing into my field…where was it all going? It took a little investigating, but I soon discovered that my field was not the gentle slop that I originally saw, but was full of dips and slants that I hadn’t first noticed. Much of my water was following a zig zag pattern, flowing aimlessly across my field. Then I looked across the fence into my neighbors property and saw a couple random wet spots….where in the world was that water coming from? I solved the mystery by following the flow of the water to where it suddenly disappeared…. down a gopher hole, only to reappear in the middle of my neighbors horse corral. I was in trouble and I knew it.  I went to work, trying to fill in gopher holes, and creating small ditches for water to reach different parts of my field. By the time my 28 hours were up, I was completely exhausted and a solid 2/3rds of my field remained dry. I had all the water a girl could need, but I had not provided a place for it to go.

Brothers and sisters, I believe we have a loving father in Heaven who speaks to us often, with  words of guidance, warning and comfort, and yet many of us continue to walk through a lonely dessert, parched for personal revelation. 

President Spencer W. Kimball made this observation, “I find that when I get causal in my relationships with divinity and when it seems that no divine ear is listening, and no divine voice is speaking, that I am far, far away. If I immerse my self in the scriptures, the distance narrows and the spirituality returns and I find myself loving more intensely.”

If you want hear that divine voice in your life, if you want to grow spiritually, if you want to love more intensely, the scriptures provide the means to make that happen, but if you want that living water to reach all parts of your spiritual field, you must create a place for it to go. 

After my first irrigation disaster, I noticed my neighbors fields that had set furrows running the length of their field. So I went to work and with some help from a neighbor, I created furrows that stretched from my water gates all the way to the opposite end of the field. I worked tirelessly with my dog and some local snakes to eradicate the gophers and was ever vigilant against the destructive prairie dog. I created a place for the water to go, and that is where it went. We have a literal flood of knowledge and revelation waiting for us inside the scriptures, but we must provide a place for it to go. 

President Benson taught this about the Book of Mormon: 

“We learn that as we covenant with Christ and structure our lives with keeping his commandments his peace flows into all areas of our lives.” 

 Commandments are blessings that allow the spirit of God to flow into our lives. In psalms 119 it says, “Let thy tender mercies come unto me, that I may live: for thy law is my delight.” (psalm 119:77)  This law is found in the scriptures and they are meant to be a delight.  Building solid scripture study habits provides a place for the living water of Christ to enter our lives and the lives of our family. But it’s hard work. Here’s how our family scripture reading sometimes goes. 

Hey kids, time for scriptures.., please, yes, you need to come now, no, we can’t skip it tonight. Take a break from your homework that you just conveniently started as I called scripture study…stop yelling please, refrain from cussing while your holding your scriptures….hurry, just read, read a verse…maybe two….do you have your scriptures? Here, share with me, read a verse? Alma is not found on Instagram….can you please open your scriptures? shhhh, read a verse…that’s stripling warriors, not stripping…there’s an important difference….just read…

and then the chapter is over, kids are off to bed and the water disappears down the gopher hole. 

But sometimes…sometimes, things align and and sometimes we make a little more time, and sometimes questions are asked and prayers are answered and sometimes….something soaks in. But you can’t just leave it up to chance, there is a pattern to follow in irrigation and receiving personal revelation. First Act in faith. It truly takes a lot of faith to continue the practice of family scripture study, but as we do, our children will come to expect it and learn from experience that the guidance found in the scriptures can be a deep source of inspiration. As we actively apply the scripture truths in our lives, they will learn that of the many good books and sources of information out there, this is the best book. They will come to learn that in these stories, verse by verse, patterns of eternal truth are taught. As we act in faith and develop a habit for our own personal study as well, the living water of the gospel has the ability to reach the far corners of our lives.

President Benson made this promise: 

It is not just that the Book of Mormon teaches us truth, though it indeed does that. It is not just that the Book of Mormon bears testimony of Christ, though it indeed does that, too. But there is something more. There is a power in the book which will begin to flow into your lives the moment you begin a serious study of the book. You will find greater power to resist temptation. You will find the power to avoid deception. You will find the power to stay on the strait and narrow path. The scriptures are called “the words of life” (D&C 84:85), and nowhere is that more true than it is of the Book of Mormon. When you begin to hunger and thirst after those words, you will find life in greater and greater abundance.” end quote

After I had prepared a place for my water to go, I discovered another problem. Yes, the water would go where I wanted it to, in fact, it went there very quickly, and taking me by surprise, even ran wasted into the street or my basement.  Sure my entire field was wet, but it all happened so quickly there wasn’t time for the water to soak deep and a lot was wasted. Over time, I learned to alternate the parts of the field I was watering, to let the water run over it once, give it a rest and then cover it again. I even alternated with a neighbor, allowing every last drop time to soak in. 

I remember vividly the first time I really took the time to let the word of God soak into my life. As part of the seminary council in high school I had been asked to travel around our stake and speak in the different wards about seminary. I had given talks before, but it had always been about just getting it done. I felt that this should be different. I wanted to share the truth I knew in my heart, but I didn’t know how to explain it. I followed the example of my parents and went to my scriptures.  I prayed and studied. I was lead to Alma 32 and the topic of faith. I was familiar with this passage, but as I read it this time, seeking for personal witness, I was indeed taught deeper meaning and application on how faith worked in my life. Still today, I will return to this chapter and find guidance and peace in it’s comfortable cadence. 

It was no coincidence that this first big drink of mine was accompanied by prayer and questions. In seminary we are taught not to just ask questions, but to frame them in an eternal perspective. Questions like, Why was this included in the scriptures?  Why is it repeated so often? Who am I in this story? What is the eternal truth being taught, and how can I apply this to my life? If we are really bold, we can follow Pres Uchdorf’s advice  and ask, Lord is it I? And I quote:

May I suggest that the holy scriptures are an effective mirror we can hold up for self-examination.

As you hear or read the words of the ancient and modern prophets, refrain from thinking about how the words apply to someone else and ask the simple question: “Lord, is it I?”

We must approach our Eternal Father with broken hearts and teachable minds. We must be willing to learn and to change. And, oh, how much we gain by committing to live the life our Heavenly Father intends for us.

Those who do not wish to learn and change probably will not and most likely will begin to wonder whether the Church has anything to offer them.

But those who want to improve and progress, those who learn of the Savior and desire to be like Him, those who humble themselves… and seek to bring their thoughts and actions into harmony with our Father in Heaven—they will experience the miracle of the Savior’s Atonement.” 

 When we approach our scriptures this way, when we “ask and expect to be given” when we  “seek knowing we will find” when we knock believing that he is waiting to fling open the door;  Not only will our questions be answered, but we will get answers to questions we don’t know how to ask, “for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered,” (Romans 8:26). This takes us from a study session to worship and communion with our Father in Heaven. Take the time to let it soak in.

 As we learn to hearken to the personal revelation that is offered, more will follow. After a little practice at this new form of irrigation, I got better at it and was able to use all I was given. As this happened, I found that the ditch rider would sometimes call me when he had a little water to spare and ask if I could take more….ummmm YES! If my field was already saturated, I had a huge underground cistern at the bottom of my field. I learned to channel extra water into this cistern for use around the yard, and in my garden.  This pattern and blessing of caring for what we are given is set forth in 2 Ne 28:30

“I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; and blessed are those who hearken unto my precepts, and lend an ear unto my counsel, for they shall learn wisdom; for unto him that receiveth I will give more; and from them that shall say, We have enough, from them shall be taken away even that which they have.”  

Care for the spiritual revelation you receive and you will be given more. Record it, ponder it, treat it like the sacred gift that it is. Let it lead you deeper into the scriptures. There is always more God wants to tell you….when you are ready. I had a stake president say once, that we should be writing our own scriptures as we receive guidance and inspiration for our lives and our families.  Another way to care for and store up what we receive is to memorize the passages that speak truth to you and then these simple verses will continue to change you. Memorizing will allow you to keep them with you like a good friend. Faster than you can tap a foot note in your digital scriptures, these memorized phrases will pop into your head when you need them the most, lighting your path and comforting your heart and when led by the Spirit, inspiring others.   In Peter 3 it says, “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you, a reason of the hope that is in you” (Peter 3:15)

I want to close today with the reason of hope which is in me and my specific testimony of the Book of Mormon. I have had the opportunity to get more up close and personal with this book this year than I ever have. It is truth. It is peace. It is hope. And I hear my Heavenly Father’s voice in it’s pages.  

Smells good anyway

Today in church a girl shared her testimony of the power and strength she receives through studying the scriptures. My heart easily agreed. This is a truth I know well, but her next words pricked a little.

"If you don't have time to read your scriptures, you need to make time."

... my denial became my reality.

Last year at this time I had a busy, crazy life. So much to do and so many places to be, but there was time for what was most important. "I know who I am, and I know God's plan," was my motto and it all fit.

For the last couple months with a new job, a new role and even a new me; everything is still spinning and I just can't make it fit.

What does a Christ centered life look like when I am constantly surrounded by evil.  Maybe the word evil sounds harsh considering I'm just speaking about kids... kids only a few years older than my own, but there is strength in calling something by it's name. Not the kids, but all they bring with them, everything they shoulder with their backpacks and sagging pants.  Can I really still be all I should while I'm knee deep in the mud, slipping and sliding, white knuckling any piece of iron rod I can keep hold of?  Don't misunderstand, I'm not tempted to join in, use their language or attend their parties.  I still know who I am and without a doubt I know His plan, but where I used to have my scriptures out all day, feasting and snacking at will, there is a faint wiff  of spiritual aroma I catch as I clear them off the table to make room for dinner. When I can't seem to fit enough time in to sustain my own hunger, how can I keep up with the demands around me.

Never mind keep up, can I even make a difference?

So much of what I know how to offer has no reference point for them. How do I have the conversations that aren't really allowed but are really the only ones they need to have. It seems so silly to be working so hard to teach congruance and linear equations when they need eternal truth confidence in who they really are.

They are drowning and I throw them a drink of water.

The Real Joy of Summer

I love summer.

I know, I know, who doesn't? The  lengthened daylight hours seem to attest to summer as a preference for even the Divine. Big trips and family reunions, sprinklers and half naked babies tinted brown, green growth and the intense first bite of tomato.

Oh, and lets not forget....

the weeding and watering, the packing and unpacking, the cleaning, the canning, the cutting the lawn.

Yep, summer is a lot of work too, but I still stand by my first statement. Although work is....well....work, it can also be a lot of fun. I remember as a kid having all sorts of competitions as we worked. Memories of my sister and I beating our "city boy" cousins moving irrigation pipe is a favorite. Or sitting and talking in the shade of our big tree podding a mountain of peas until our fingers were permanently etched in green.

There were other times too. Pulling rye from our field and having my eyes get so itchy and sore I thought I'd go blind. (I guess I should remember that one next time my kids play their own version of that drama card) Or driving tractor alone hour after boring hour. That was not so fun, but I also remember my mom (who can still out work me, by the way) coming in from the garden, weeding done, just as I was pulling my sorry tail out of bed. And my dad coming in from hours longer than mine on the tractor, with only his eyes and teeth showing through the layer of dirt. Not doing what needed done was never an option.

Work is one of the most sincere forms of gratitude. Taking care of what you have been given speaks louder than a million thank yous. When I was in high school, my uncle passed away. I remember a lot of tender moments during the day of his funeral, but the one that I can never forget happened at the very end. After the burial service I was waiting in the car for my parents to finish up and come take me home. I was tired and probably hungry, and had been in a dress all day; summed up, I was being pretty selfish, and wanted to go. Just about then, two of my uncles walked by and one of them mentioned some shovels he had in the back of his truck. What? And then I saw one by one as more shovels appeared and I watched, humbly, as my aunts and uncles shoveled dirt onto the casket and completed this last task for their brother.

Gratitude....stewardship....love...and yes, fun. Work is an essential part of all things good, including true and lasting happiness.

For more thoughts on the value of work: Wordfull Wednesday at Chocolateonmycranium

Here are some pictures from this year's family reunion; which of course included a work project.

A mountain of dead branches from a heavy spring storm, reduced to a pile of chips and fire wood.

No doubt my nephew worked hard...tough kid that one.

Just because they weren't allowed near the heavy machinery doesn't mean they didn't work hard too!

This one's for you, Grandma...and to all the flowers fallen in your absence :)

Story Time

One of the major reasons I blog is to keep a record. I'm never the same person two days in a row, yet morphing by such small degrees I would hardly notice unless I had a written record of my previous self.

This blog is probably the closest to a journal I have ever come, but I have always thought that there are several different ways to leave a record of your life.

We live in an old house...not just an old house but an old house with character; keep in mind here, not all character is good. Many people have lived on this property before us and they have all left little stories about themselves built into this house, piled in the dirt, and even a few...a very few, planted in the soil. Mostly tales about horses, cattle, and chickens. Little narratives of how to make do with what you have are nailed in the barns and strung on the fence posts. Written in the fenced front yard with lawn, (a rarity it these parts) is the possibility of childhood adventures. The one lone lilac in the back, though weak and unpruned when we found it, is a small chapter of someone, at sometime that desired more than livestock.

This week my fingers have been distant from my computer keys and etched with dirt, but I have left little blog posts all over. These are some of my favorites.

A new row of lilacs from a neighbor who had too many.

Three tomato patches...with 5 different kinds of tomatoes, most from seed. No doubt these are a short story, but sometimes those are the best kind.

Day lilies....for free.

Nine grape vines, eight for only the price of digging the holes.

Honeylocust tree, so pretty and NOT an elm, and I had better mention...for free.

So even if my posts are far and few between this summer, I continue to tell my stories. Maybe this winter I will actually get some in print.

*I have a great friend who is redoing her yard...resulting in a lot of  free transplants and a lot of happy work for me :)

It’s all about the soil

I watched the plow turn up the dark rich earth that had been undisturbed during months of cold. I didn't really like being dragged out of my lazy routine to help in the fields, but once I was there...I couldn't imagine a better place to be. Being a part of working the land, my young mind didn't understand it then, but I was unable to deny how it worked something up inside myself. Even the smell of the freshly turned dirt was amazing, and I told Dad as much. He just chuckled, and then in seriousness corrected my error. "It's not dirt, it's soil. A living breathing organism that we depend on to produce our livelihood.”

Years later, and with my own patch of soil to work, I know the importance of those words. A seed sown in soil that is weak, worn out from hot sun and dry wind will never reach it’s potential. The soil must be worked, gently turned over, cleared of nutrient sucking weeds, and most importantly supplemented with life…life that comes from heat and decay.

Jesus may have been a carpenter’s son, but showed his experience as the Creator in the parable of the sower. Not only is it an applicable story, Jesus exemplified the sower by sharing only the parable with those who were not prepared, and to those were, he offered “the mystery of the kingdom of God”.

Soil needs to be constantly worked…and work it is…to accommodate the deep roots required to survive the long hot summer. Start first by recognizing your soil as a living breathing organism…the dependence of your livelihood.  Clear out the weeds…you know what they are. Add life; apply heat to the waste by trusting in Him and the light of His word. Gently turn things over, ponder in your heart to reach the deeper soil….

…and then plant the seed.

 

Worm Bin

I have a few new pets.

Make that 1000 new pets.

Plus a few more.

It all started a few years ago when I finally got the garden of my dreams. OK, maybe not THE garden, because that would involve a longer growing season, less wind and violent storms and, well...water, but really...it's pretty dreamy just the way it is. Now, I'm always looking for ways to improve my soil and I couldn't resist the suggestion in one of my very favorite books, "Organic Farming, Everything you Need to Know" by Peter V. Fossel. He suggests starting a worm bin.

Start by drilling holes in the top and bottom of  a plastic 10 gallon tub, and covering it with a screen attached with adhesive calk. The holes in the top are for aeration, the screen is to keep the flys out. The holes in the bottom are for drainage, so you just want a few on one end, and the screen is used to keep the worms in

Next fill it with rotten hay, soaked shredded cardboard, straw...basic compost material, and add about 500 red wigglers. Set it on a shelf about 12" off the ground (in a shed or barn or something). Set it up so that the drainage holes are all over a funnel leading down to an old milk jug. I found an old board with holes in it almost the exact size as my funnels. Every so often add some more kitchen scraps, keep it damp, and the result should be worm tea. It's supposed to work wonders for new transplants.

So, I ordered my red wigglers, and drilled some holes and set it up in the barn. I already have some lovely dark liquid leaking out into my milk jugs, and just today when I went to feed my pets, I noticed a tiny little baby worm; they should double in number every three months and so you can expand your operation or just add the extra worms to your compost pile, lawn, or garden. They don't like to be too crowded, so you do need to do something with the offspring.

Orange Yogurt Cake

Well, it’s that time of year again. Dishes sit unwashed, laundry wrinkles, forgotten in the dryer,  kids run around half dressed while I get lost in the yard and garden. I feel like just signing off for the next few months, but in an effort to find balance and maintain some sort of house hold structure I thought I would share this yummy cake we made for Easter.

I like to make cakes, but they rarely come together as planned, but this one did…so it’s a keeper. I first saw the recipe in a Greek cookbook my daughter brought home from the library. Before I had a chance to make it, the book was returned and I lost the copy I’d made. So I looked around on the internet and found this one that looked really similar. Only problem was that it was on Martha Stewart. com, and really, as much as I struggle with baking cakes, what makes me think I could make something of Martha’s. But, it did look really easy, so  I just made a few changes and doubled it (come on Martha, if your going to make cake….make some cake). But if you trust Martha more than me, click on over…I’ll never know :)

Orange Yogurt Cake
2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted (I never sift)
1 1/4  cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup plain whole-milk yogurt (none of that low fat stuff)
1/2 cup vegetable oil
zest from one orange (try to find organic…lots more flavor and no hidden nastys)
juice from one orange (hint, hint…use the same one you zested)
2-3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
powdered sugar for dusting

Preheat oven to 350. Butter 2 8-inch round cake pans.  Add everything in order stirring a little after each addition. When all is added, stir just until well mixed. Easy to do by hand, and doesn’t  take long.
Bake until toothpick comes out clean, about 25 min. Let them cool for 5-10 min, then carefully dump out on wire rack. Dust with powdered sugar. It’s good warm or cool. Martha adds a little orange garnish that looks tasty, but I didn’t have time for.

And now I’m off to dig a 3X3 foot hole for a new tree…

Waking Up

I built something. 

It’s not perfect, but that was never the point. It wasn’t really cheap, but that wasn’t really the point either. So why did I shell out $200 for lumber and hardware only to neglect my house, kids and spouse for a whole week and only end up with an OK piece of furniture?

It was fun.

It seriously awoke this part of me that has been hibernating for years…neglected as I juggled babies, toddlers and relocating …and babies, toddlers and relocating. In fact, as I was bending down to hammer in an odd nail, I had a little flash back, of the last time I had attempted such a thing...last time when I bent down it was a strain to reach over my growing stomach and I only had a hand saw, and two year old Rose as a helper. The closet I built then wasn’t perfect either, but every time I looked at it I couldn’t help but smile.

This time all the kids got to help. Sunshine bravely held boards while I cut, Hup did a lot of the hammering and even showed Laser Boy some tricks of the trade. Rose helped paint exactly the way I asked her to, except for not leaving a little of the under color visible; she said it was just sloppy painting and she wouldn’t do it.

The hinges were a little tricky…I’ll know better next time, and the paint needs some touch up, but overall I’m giddy. And now, even two weeks after I finished my book shelf, I can’t walk by it (crooked doors and all) without a little smile.





Plans and loads of more ideas @ Knock Off Wood

Power Tools

He hit the nail square and hard, three swings and it was in. I was amazed. He moved on to the next nail as I stared with mouth open.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that I first handed him a hammer, sacrificing my own fingers to hold his nails straight? Didn’t I just wipe the tears of frustration and help pull out crooked nails? All that I was told said he was too young; too young for real tools…they have some nice pretend sets you know…but we were both desperate for more.
And now I watched with pride that was instantly humbled.

This was his deal, I merely gave him the tools. How many nails had he hammered on his own…and missed and pulled out and straightened…and hammered again?  How many sore thumbs and slivers? All this shaping him beyond what I could keep up with…

…and now he was holding nails for his little brother; sacrificing his own fingers to hold nails straight, and helping his little sister put her ideas together.

Showing how, quiet and kind; with just a hammer and a nail.

Hands like the Ones that Raised Me

She stamped her foot hard in protest on the kitchen floor, but it was clear she had lost the battle...or had she?

She could never stop him when his mind was set, but that was never her role. Honor, cherish, care for and even submit; never to control. Her soft, quiet, sure ways smoothed the rough edge off his stubbornness. Even with this simple disagreement over her concern of his shaking, weathered hands lifting the 5 gallon bucket of honey to pour some into the kitchen container...for her, they were an example to their newly engaged granddaughter sitting there at the table...suppressing giggles.

Grandma & Grandpa Campbell

"Marriage, the coming together of two very different individuals.." can result in complimentary beauty or a blinding clash; most likely, a combination of both. Hubs and I, we're not the beauties we once were...so says my 10 year old...but I'm proud of who we are now; not what I had imagined 14 years ago, a little worse and a little better, but we own every minute of this joy work that carries us day to day. Here's three tips from the trenches.

1. Take care of yourself. Not in a pampering, ditch the kids kind of way, but in a praying, studying, asking for forgiveness kind of way. At my wedding shower, an "experience wife" warned me that if you can't change your husband in the first two weeks, it will never happen. I remember crying as I sat down on a wet toilet seat on day 15....that wasn't the last time I've had to clean myself up and move on, but alas, I have a few messy habits of my own. My Mother-in-law has a saying scrawled across a scratch paper hanging in her kitchen, it says, "Sweep your own step before your worry about your neighbor's." I believe Jesus had something to say along the same lines....something about beams and motes, and how best to remove both.

2. Work hard, stay soft. Things can run smooth and efficient when I tuck emotions neatly away inside, but that is not how it was meant to be. Live every moment.

3. It's not just about me. Happily ever after as two separate beings is not what I want. A long, lasting marriage will just be a consultation prize if we haven't grown together, evolved into one. Here's a note from my mom's kitchen: "The secret in a successful marriage is not in two people finding each other...it is in two people finding Christ together. He makes you one." There is more at stake than the here and now, "'til death do us part" will never do.

(my folks)

My wedding ring is a simple golden band, just like the symbol I have always seen my parents wear; yes, money was tight in the beginning, but that's not why. He even gave me an engagement diamond...but all I wanted were hands like the ones that raised me. Simple and sure, sometimes shaking, ready for...even desiring...the work that will bind for eternity.

What is important in your marriage? Wordfull Wednesday @Chocolateonmycranium

Go to Work

Weeks into new year
new ideas
white chill swirling
white knuckles clinging to desire to change.

I want to do this
be that
inward self looking
inner focus on improving own vessel.

Efforts to clean inside
dark corners
lead to empty
frustrated dirt, swept back and forth.

Until eyes opening
we see
and share possessions
stepping over fear, out of focused flaws.

Loving like Him
Spirit led
service changes self
white knuckles warmed, stretching open to give.

"Forget yourself and go to work" ~Gorden B. Hinckley, advice from a father.

Put Up or Shut Up

Seriously.

Times are tough. Like everyone else we've been looking for ways to trim costs, save more and live well within our means. So when the garden produces more than expected, peaches arrive by the box load, neighbors offer trees of bounty, and friends unload ripening fruit you say thank you and get busy.

First, it was peppers. These I chop and freeze, dry or can. If canning you should use a pressure cooker since they have low acidity. I don't have one and I have just used a water bath, but it's not recommended.

Next there were peaches. What we didn't eat I simply cut up into slices, added a little sugar and froze in quart freezer bags. Growing up, Mom would always can LOADS of peaches....rows and rows of the peachy fruit lined our storage room shelves. It was pretty, but my kids don't really care for canned peaches; they do love peach smoothies, so I froze most of them with just a little sugar to keep them pretty. I also made peach jam, that turned out quite tasty, by following my apricot jam recipe.

Before I was even half way through the peaches, my neighbor offered her apple and plum trees. So we (and by we, I mean me and Laser Boy) made applesauce, plum applesauce, apple pie filling and plum jelly; still too many apples left on the tree....with such cute help, I'm sure I'll just have to make more.

In the middle of all this, another neighbor calls offering three large boxes of pears that are going rotten faster than she could get to them. Hmmm, let's see, wasn't that me just praying for solutions to lower the ol'e grocery bill.....

k, I'll take 'em.

Turns out they went rotten faster than I could get them to my house (Hubs said they smelled like hooch), not sure what my well intentioned neighbor had in mind, but they did make an excellent addition to my compost pile, and with all my extra time I was able to freeze my corn before it went too mushy.

Now, I think the rush is over and I'm just dilly dallying with more peppers, green beans, basil and tomatoes; hoping it doesn't freeze until I can stock up on canned tomatoes and tomato sauce.

To be honest, I'm surprised by it all. Not that I am well taken care of, that I have come to trust, but the fact that I can.....um, can. All those Labor Day weekends spent in hard labor, helping my mom can everything you could imagine and in amounts that are now unimaginable, must have paid off.

Food on Fridays with Ann Kroeker

Deflated

I squat, digging out the morning glory, trying to get as much of the white stringy root as I can without morphing into a gopher. It's a temporary fix but chemicals are a no-go for my garden. I notice the buzzing has stopped and I look down and swat as I see the blood thirsty squito on my knee. Kids wail, reminding me that they need weeded too; neglected, lost in the twisted roots of the day, choked for nourishment.

I look up from the blood on my knee and see the van sitting in our yard, hobbled, helpless on the jack. The air still clings to the heat of the day and I stink like a man. A full sand box, piles of rock, stacked hay, and the remaining clothesline post lying on the ground are testament that my masculine scent didn't just come from doing dishes. My sisters and I used to make fun of women who didn't know how to work, or to back up farm equipment; this memory had blown through my thoughts a few hours ago, and now my stench refreshed the recollection.

Again there is quiet, this time it pulls me from my garden and into the seceret plans of my kiddos. I suprise them in their scheme and find them......cleaning; cleaning before they "party big time." We break out the icecream sandwiches instead, and they run back outside to the trampoline. I follow, but stop at the prostate clothesline post, it's bolts sticking up into the air. I can still here the whoosh from the tire as my husband observes, "Guess you didn't see the post," and I wonder if I could still back up a trailer.