If Life Hands You Ice, Go Skating...

The home bodies are settling; the old house creaks and groans itself against the insidious frigidity of first days of the year. In the bowels of the house, it is as if a discordant organ has been set upon by the picks of the seven dwarves; pipes shake and rattle. Upstairs, the fire hisses; it is so still I believe I hear the needles fall off the crispy Christmas tree.

That's the way of it.  Before Christmas, the house swells like a sponge, taking on heat from warm ovens of baked goodies; light from candles, from every room in the house and a motley kaleidoscope of colored strands; and sound, of Christmas music of various vintage and that most cacophonous and welcome noise of all, the crashing tidal wave of a big family celebrating.  

But now it is January.  The merry days together  are enshrined in attachments to email. The nonpareils and edible glitter have been sucked into the sweeper and the majestic tree is fish habitat. We've sworn off eggnog.  The sun goes down early, comes up late, providing but cold comfort.  The W-2s have to be done and the politicians are insufferable. The need to cut calories removes even the consolation of chocolate and cookies. Gloom prevails.

Lord, I hope this day is good

I'm feelin' empty and misunderstood

I should be thankful Lord, I know I should 

But Lord, I hope this day is good

Lord, have you forgotten me

I've been prayin' to you faithfully

I'm not sayin' I'm a righteous man

But Lord, I hope you understand

I don't need fortune and I don't need fame

Send down the thunder Lord, send down the rain

But when you're planning just how it will be

Plan a good day for me

You've been the king since the dawn of time

All that I'm asking is a little less crying

It might be hard for the devil to do 

But it would be easy for you...... Don Williams

Isn't this a great set of lyrics?  How many days have I climbed out on my side of the bed with this kind of prayer muttered under my breath?  When I stumble down the stairs with a plastic tub of decorations, I say this prayer soundlessly, 'Lord, make this year a good one. Lord , help us make it through this year. Lord, keep me hopeful; help me face this year without worry, without dread.'

In our hearts, we don't intend to be so self centered.  We are praying for our loved ones as much as ourselves.  We don't mind struggle, but we want to know the ending will be a happy one: the game will be worth the candle.*

Hey, folks, its not heaven, it is Iowa.  The hymn reminds us to count our blessings; we are never promised prayer will be answered as easily as sitting on Santa Claus' knee.   I can testify that the most heartfelt, desperate, and wrenching prayer of the past year received a merciful answer, if not one without cost. Never forget, loving friends, that "Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above"(James 1:17).  As our New Year commences, we would do well to be humble in our expectations, but hopeful, neither quibbling nor querulous in our requests.  

   
fer·vent  [fur-vuh nt]  
adjective
1.
having or showing great warmth or intensity of spirit, feeling, enthusiasm, etc.; ardent: a fervent admirer; a fervent plea.
2.
hot; burning; glowing.

Think fireplace; think hot tea in a mug; think hugs and high fives by a winning team.  Put on your warmest socks, your favorite fleece, and an in-your-face-winter stocking hat. Then carry the warmth of December with you and deal fervently with January and the uncertainty of the New Year.   

*This expression, which began as a translation of a term used by the French essayist Michel de Montaigne in 1580, alludes to gambling by candlelight, which involved the expense of illumination. If the winnings were not sufficient, they did not warrant the expense. Used figuratively, it was a proverb within a century. 

Risen with Healing in His Wings

When you can't fix it......


Be silent, sit back and wait for prayer to come.


Give God a chance to show His mercy.


Meditate on James 1:2-4....Trials and Temptations
2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. 4 Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

Arm your faith with perseverance, trusting that God will not let you alone, will not send you down an unmarked trail without provision, without guidance, without map.

Daniel 3:16-18
New International Version (NIV)
16 Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to him, “King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. 17 If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us[a] from Your Majesty’s hand. 18 But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”

If everything were easy, if every request were granted, if every wish were fulfilled, if every endeavor succeeded, we would not be grateful.  We would accept happiness as our due and not as grace granted and unearned.  Real thankfulness is achieved through what we name as adversity and God calls testing of our faith.

"We don't appreciate how good we have it" is not a truism, it is an inseparable part of being human. Like Mt. McKinley, our true happiness is glimpsed but briefly if we are separated from our Guide.

Close your eyes and wait for God's answer.

Matthew 11:28-30
New International Version (NIV)
28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

'Lean on me, When you're not strong, I'll take your hand, I'll help you carry on.' says the song.  Says our Lord.  We cannot succeed on our own; we cannot bear even our own burdens, much less those of our loved ones.  We are dishonest and misguided if we believe we can.  We are strongest when we lean on our Brother's stick or arm or shoulder....we can only be a lifeline if He holds the rope.


'For Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.

Malachi 4:2
'"But for you who fear my name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings. And you will go free, leaping with joy like calves let out to pasture.

Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out

There's a book up on the shelf about the dust bowl days

And there's a little bit of you and a little bit of me

In the photos on every page.....nancy griffith

To say that Care and Concern have been constant companions would not be an overstatement.   We all talk a good game, keeping the proverbial stiff upper lip, Are we not the psychological godchildren of American Gothic?  In an ordinary year, we  are the repressive thin lipped spirits of an eleventh commandment beloved of second grade teachers: 'thou shalt have no fun"...before me or after I leave or while my back is turned.   In a voting year, we are caricatures for the media and opinion makers.We take the future seriously; we answer the phones for pollsters. We are likely voters.

But in a drought year, a disaster year, that back bone, that set chin, that 'knuckle down, buckle down, do it, do it, do it' spirit is sum and substance heroic.  American Gothic small town small mindedness morphs magically into the fortitude of our forefathers. All our faults are in our favor. Without the innate recognition that 'man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward,' we couldn't ruefully, humorously sport bumper stickers that proclaim S*** Happens....with a smiley face.  

Have you seen the folks in line downtown at the station
They're all buying their ticket out and talking the great depression
Our parents had their hard times fifty years ago
When they stood out in these empty fields in dust as deep as snow....nancy griffith

   

That Dust Bowl generation is passing on; those tough, yearning thin faces of survival, famously photographed on roadsides and door steps, refugees, but not quitters, who took the hard step of leaving homes,land. and livelihood, who left even hope behind, but persevered finally to tell the tale and plant their roots so their children could have children and tell the tales and plant the signs for their Century Farms.   

Now our children live in the city and they rest upon our shoulders

They never want the rain to fall or the weather to get colder...

No doubt we farmers have lost much of the sympathy vote from our neighbors in the city.  Climate controlled machinery and the latest in electronics; auto pilot, technologically manipulated seed and the insistence that we are intelligent businessmen, JUST LIKE THEY ARE, have pushed the ancestral fear of famine and shortages back into the caves from which we emerged.  Heaping glories of juicy fruits, crisp and peppery greens, mouth watering meats and fragrant breads line aisles of  giant food emporiums.......or farmers' markets for those with the smaller is better predilection.  They are always there; the shelves are always full.  Who sits down and ponders the past while they choose which coffee they will grind and brew for their morning cup?  Farmers do.  Believe me, in years of drought, our morning commute is Chinese water torture in reverse; watching the color drain from the landscape until the ground, the sky, the leaves, the grass, and the crops are the self same washed out hue of 80 year old photographs.  People food may be abundant in the stores, but when the fields are bare and the ponds dry, life is a struggle for livestock.  Modern day agriculture can mitigate but cannot abolish shortages of hay, grain, water.  

And all this trouble in our fields
If this rain can fall, these wounds can heal
They'll never take our native soil......nanci griffith

Our native soil has been cracked since May.  The corn manned up and stood tall through more of July than we could have imagined.  No more.  No healthy gold of stalks that matured in season; the rows are battered brown or even more devastating blackened stubs more reminiscent of burned over forest than amber waves of grain.  Indeed, this season of wildfires out West is well matched to the wavering heat waves hovering over our barren fields.  But our soil is at home, bound by ties of last year's roots, ready and waiting to absorb the saving rain.  Our dust bowl is reduced to the rime of lime from our gravel road. Try as it might, the wind can suck the moisture from man and beast...but our irreplaceable soil, our dowry, our retirement, our annuity, our true Social Security, stays put. 

When the rains finally fall....and they will......the fields will heal. 

And we will commit this dreadful season to memory....and our own Dust Bin of History.

The Letters P & H

Today's episode is brought to you by the letter  P and the letter H.   Why do we need the letters P and H?  H is a real easy one: easy to spell, easy to guess, but Hard to  endure.  H is for HEAT,  the watchword and defining element of this long difficult season.  HOT says Josh, pointing to my coffee cup or a saucepan on the gas range.  HOT is more than a feeling this summer; its a palpable substance that meets you through the door, batters you on the breeze and drains both energy and optimism from the sweat of your brow.

Great works are performed not by strength but by perseverance............Samuel Johnson

That's why we celebrate the letter P.  P today is for Perseverance.  A long involved word of  multiple vowels with all the positives of persistence without the opprobrium of obstinacy.  A word with armor, shielded and immovable like a tortoise.  The kind of word one needs this summer, when each day is like its brother: bright, hard, shiny, brittle.  Fight fire with fire....102?  104?  Add a southwest wind?  I'll show you my perseverance, pull my hat brim down and pour a bigger glass of tea.  When all else fails, show bravado.

OK.  Maybe bravado isn't the most admirable of traits.  But if it raise the spirits, there are worse ones.

Don Quixote: A knight must not complain of his wounds, though his bowels be dropping out.

Here in farming country there has been remarkably little whining this dry season.  We've found our stiff upper lips,  if not our senses of humor.  Misery may love company, but we  look back to our parents and grandparents and find our strength in their character.  Those tales resonate; we have the photographs, the statistics, and even some of the storytellers still around to stiffen our backbones and lift our chins.  These are the days of which legends are made and ties are bound.  We are FAMILY; we have common cause; we survived, if not thrived, in the summer of 2012.


Romans 5:3-4   Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope




And that brings me back to the letter H.  H is not just for Hotter that H***.  St. Paul tells us hope is the natural harvest of our character.  As sure as the seasons, hope ripens from our character after perseverance follows suffering, a reassuring organic progression.  Just as lovely is Emily Dickinson's verse, one nurtured and polished in my memory like a gleaming gem.  Hope flutters, it shrugs off trouble like an unpleasant dream; it gathers itself and greets adversity with wordless song. When we are burdened  beyond bearing with no recourse in sight, we listen inside for the song of hope planted there by our Creator.   

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -.........Emily Dickinson

Tonight we looked to the sky where clouds blossomed and thunder rolled.  Tonight we listened and watched as rain drove the yellowed leaves from the sycamores and cars splashed through new puddles.  It wasn't a drought buster; it wasn't relief; it wasn't enough to unfurl leaves or green grass.

But it was the personification of Hope.






















This post is dedicated to family and loved ones who demonstrate to us the best of perseverance and hope.  

It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times

Perhaps one thing only is more exciting than the birth of a child, and that is learning a new baby is on the way.  We were lucky parents; there was never great drama involved with our pregnancies and births.  That never stopped the prospective grandparents from figuratively jumping up and down, clapping their hands, even if these actions were never performed literally.  Our children have been more imaginative, presenting us with a box of 'Uncle Ben's Rice' for grandson number one and a improbably magnificent May trifecta in 2007. Josh honored his great grandpa by appearing on Grandpa Charlie's birthday.


But this type of glad tidings cannot be passe' and never gets old.  Meeting Ben late one Friday at Reagan National was cause enough to celebrate, but we thought it might have been just a little late to have a nightcap that evening when he carried a bottle upstairs in the Hampton Inn.  Ben had picked up a bottle of nice Barboursville wine en route from Charlottesville and carefully wrapped three gimme wine glasses in dish towels from home.  There was method to his madness.  Here, Mom, let me show you what we got for Kenzie's birthday?, he suggested, holding out his phone with a picture of a nice roomy rocking chair.  That's very nice, and a good idea, I say, knowing a new chair has been on their short list of home improvements.  You see, he adds, a bit slyly, people in our situation might be needing a rocking chair....trailing off with a monster grin beginning with the hairs on his head and reverberating clear down to his tennis shoes as his slightly slow, but now overjoyed mother shrieks and envelops him in a hug.  Such stealthy children~ saving up this banner headline of good news until each set of prospective grandparents can hear it in person.  Two time zones away, Kenzie is getting the chance to tell her folks they will be grandma and grandpa for the first time.  Glory be and thanks, indeed! A toast to us all, mommy and dad to be, aunties, uncles, cousins, great grandparents, and a grandma and grandpa overjoyed to share the excitement of a young couple that had been waiting patiently for their family.


But just two days later, I was headed home because little Josh's smashed thumb had not healed properly; surgery was necessary. Mommy, Daddy and Josh were at Community Hospital while Lizzie and Aaron stayed with Aunt Leo and Uncle Ryan.  It was time to turn worry into action, to pray while working.  Fear, regret, nagging sadness battled with hope and a faith that this too was a obstacle to get through, not give in to.  Josh wanted to walk around; if we picked him up, he'd wave ' bye', willing us to take him away from the room, the iv, the poking around.  A ride in the wheel chair was better than nothing.  Annie and Matt were grateful to everyone for their kindness, but showed the strain and helplessness we all feel when our little ones hurt.


Years and years ago, Jerry Jeff Walker recorded a song about his little boy.  The lyrics resonated with a new mom of a new baby boy.....at least this is how I remember them:


'They say a man in his time affects all mankind if he does what he sees must be done...
 So I humbly ask of all reasonable men, make a world that is safe for my son..'




This is the unspoken desire of every parent peeking in on their child at night, checking for chilly toes or just the reassurance of a cool brow or quiet breathing.  It is the prayer every morning of mothers and fathers with children miles away.  It is one way we can touch the finger of God, knowing His Son was left in harm's way, a sacrifice of Father and Son to redeem the whole wayward human race.  If this choice were ours to make, how could we?  'Now we see in a glass darkly...'  Even as fallen humanity, we can scarcely bear the thought.



With Easter morning upon us, with full knowledge that there is no bona fide iron clad bubble wrap to protect them,  I too humbly ask in my prayers at work, at sleep, watching my children and grandchildren and waiting eagerly for this new little person to appear 'for a world that is safe'......