This is absolutely, hands-down, 100% my favorite time of year. It feels like summer throughout the day and fall in the early mornings and late evenings. We are at the farm. Went to bed to the sounds of coyotes howling and woke up to a breeze coming through the trees that brings that most delightful smell of earth, and grass and trees and sun. It doesn't get any better than this.
It's funny. We call our place "the farm". But there's actually no farming of any kind that takes place out here. It was a farm - years ago, when my Uncle Earl owned it. And we'd love for it to be a farm again someday. We have really big dreams for this place. We'd love to live here full time. If only we were independently wealthy! Sigh.
Ken would grow a crop of blueberries or some other hard-to-obtain item. We'd have a big kitchen garden with tomatoes and corn and potatoes, herbs and other vegetables. I'd write for a living and have time to bake bread and make wonderful fresh organic meals. We'd both throw pottery for fun and we'd raise a whole herd of St. Bernards. (Do St. Bernards in multiples become a herd? A pack just sounds so aggressive and strong. And St. Bernards are lazy and goofy and fun loving. But mostly lazy. So I think a herd sounds about right.)
Anyway, I digress. I was thinking this morning about "the farm" and the fact that it's a farm in the same way that I am a Christian. I know what I was created to be. And I know what I am to become. But the getting there sure seems to be taking a lot of time. And this time being independently wealthy wouldn't help at all.
We are made in His likeness. I Corinthians 15:49 "And just as we have borne the likeness of the earthly man, so shall we bear the likeness of the man from heaven." Of course, this is in the context of talking about the resurrection from the dead. It comes with a promise, "If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body."
I can't wait for the day that the farm is a real farm. But it doesn't begin to compare to my eagerness for the day when I "shall see Him as He is" and I "shall be like Him." Marantha! Come Lord Jesus!
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Surrounded By Incontinence
Yes, I mean incontinence. I had a friend who used to constantly exclaim, "I'm surrounded by incompetents!" when she got frustrated with the people in her office.
Today I found myself shouting out just like she did, but with a twist. I'm surrounded by incontinence! It's bad enough that I work in a Retirement Community. What is it about people over the age of 70? They suddenly become obsessed with the workings of their bowel and bladder. And they like to discuss it. With you. Frequently. I can deal with that. I'll probably do the same thing one of these days.
What I can't deal with is my elderly dog. Sampson is fifteen years old. He'll be sixteen at Thanksgiving if he makes it that long. He has been a great dog! In fact, if I start talking about it, I'll start crying. And that is a tribute for another day. Today, I love him, but I'm REALLY frustrated with him.
He's fine when he's awake. Happy to see me when I come in the door...let's me know when he wants to go outside. The problem is when he is asleep. Due to age, he's' become incontinent when he's asleep. He will be laying on the floor, sound asleep, and all of a sudden he will just start peeing! That doesn't sound so bad until you consider this: he sleeps nearly 20 hours a day! So this happens a lot!
I've tried putting diapers on him. Even invented my own version combining baby diapers, ribbon, and adult undergarments. He looks like a border collie/sumo wrestler most of the time. They absorb a lot, but they can't handle what this dog does in his sleep. So here's how my day typically goes:
Sound asleep, just before the alarm is about to go off, and my beloved whispers to me, "Ginger, wake up. I smell your dog. I crawl out of my nice warm bed and, if I'm lucky, go in search of the morning's first puddle. If I'm unlucky I don't have to search because I've stepped in it barefoot on the bedroom tile. Many papertowels, plastic bags, wet mop and bottles of various disinfectants and air fresheners later, (I'll spare you the gory details) I bundle up the mess and take it out to the garbage. I put leashes on both dogs and take them outside.
Our apartment is on the front of the building, right next to the office. If I can get out prior to six o'clock I can go out in my pajamas and no one will be the wiser. This morning it was about 5:40. It's raining and I pad to the end of the sidewalk in my barefeet - kind of hanging back behind the corner of the building and letting the dogs run out to the front on their expandable leashes. No one is around, so I decide to step out on the stepping stones between our sidewalk and the main sidewalk that runs in front of the building. We added the stepping stones because when it rains that particular section of the yard becomes a mud pit.
Here's what happened next: I hear a car coming and decide that whoever it is doesn't need to see me in my pajamas. I turn to go back behind the building, but I miss the first stepping stone and my foot slides off into the mud pit. At the same time, Gracie (our St. Bernard) is startled by a bird or a frog or her own shadow. Who knows! But she takes off the opposite direction. When my foot hits the mud I go down, face down. Straight into the mud! And poor Sampson who can't really see anymore and who doesn't hear well gets all excited. He doesn't know what he's excited about, but he knows that something's going on! So of course, he does the only thing he really can do anymore when he's excited - he lifts his leg - aimed right at me!
You have never seen a fifty year old fat girl move so fast!
I limp back to the apartment covered from head to toe in mud. All except for my left foot which is mud-less due to Sampson's unfortunate timing, if you get my drift. A shower has restored my dignity, but my patience is still wearing a little thin. I have a bump on my knee and I think I sprained my big toe. And in the amount of time that it took me to shower, Sampson took a nap. Guess what I got to do for the second time this morning and it's not even 7:00 yet.
Old people . . . old dogs. Every morning it seems like I have to get up and decide again if it's worth it. It is. Not that the two are anywhere near the same level of importance. Working with seniors is not for the faint of heart, but it sure does wonderful things for the heart.
And as to old dogs. As long as that tail continues to wave every time I walk into a room or speak his name, I guess I'll keep making designer doggie diapers and putting up with whatever it takes, because he still has a huge place in my heart.
The day can only get better . . . right?
Today I found myself shouting out just like she did, but with a twist. I'm surrounded by incontinence! It's bad enough that I work in a Retirement Community. What is it about people over the age of 70? They suddenly become obsessed with the workings of their bowel and bladder. And they like to discuss it. With you. Frequently. I can deal with that. I'll probably do the same thing one of these days.
What I can't deal with is my elderly dog. Sampson is fifteen years old. He'll be sixteen at Thanksgiving if he makes it that long. He has been a great dog! In fact, if I start talking about it, I'll start crying. And that is a tribute for another day. Today, I love him, but I'm REALLY frustrated with him.
He's fine when he's awake. Happy to see me when I come in the door...let's me know when he wants to go outside. The problem is when he is asleep. Due to age, he's' become incontinent when he's asleep. He will be laying on the floor, sound asleep, and all of a sudden he will just start peeing! That doesn't sound so bad until you consider this: he sleeps nearly 20 hours a day! So this happens a lot!
I've tried putting diapers on him. Even invented my own version combining baby diapers, ribbon, and adult undergarments. He looks like a border collie/sumo wrestler most of the time. They absorb a lot, but they can't handle what this dog does in his sleep. So here's how my day typically goes:
Sound asleep, just before the alarm is about to go off, and my beloved whispers to me, "Ginger, wake up. I smell your dog. I crawl out of my nice warm bed and, if I'm lucky, go in search of the morning's first puddle. If I'm unlucky I don't have to search because I've stepped in it barefoot on the bedroom tile. Many papertowels, plastic bags, wet mop and bottles of various disinfectants and air fresheners later, (I'll spare you the gory details) I bundle up the mess and take it out to the garbage. I put leashes on both dogs and take them outside.
Our apartment is on the front of the building, right next to the office. If I can get out prior to six o'clock I can go out in my pajamas and no one will be the wiser. This morning it was about 5:40. It's raining and I pad to the end of the sidewalk in my barefeet - kind of hanging back behind the corner of the building and letting the dogs run out to the front on their expandable leashes. No one is around, so I decide to step out on the stepping stones between our sidewalk and the main sidewalk that runs in front of the building. We added the stepping stones because when it rains that particular section of the yard becomes a mud pit.
Here's what happened next: I hear a car coming and decide that whoever it is doesn't need to see me in my pajamas. I turn to go back behind the building, but I miss the first stepping stone and my foot slides off into the mud pit. At the same time, Gracie (our St. Bernard) is startled by a bird or a frog or her own shadow. Who knows! But she takes off the opposite direction. When my foot hits the mud I go down, face down. Straight into the mud! And poor Sampson who can't really see anymore and who doesn't hear well gets all excited. He doesn't know what he's excited about, but he knows that something's going on! So of course, he does the only thing he really can do anymore when he's excited - he lifts his leg - aimed right at me!
You have never seen a fifty year old fat girl move so fast!
I limp back to the apartment covered from head to toe in mud. All except for my left foot which is mud-less due to Sampson's unfortunate timing, if you get my drift. A shower has restored my dignity, but my patience is still wearing a little thin. I have a bump on my knee and I think I sprained my big toe. And in the amount of time that it took me to shower, Sampson took a nap. Guess what I got to do for the second time this morning and it's not even 7:00 yet.
Old people . . . old dogs. Every morning it seems like I have to get up and decide again if it's worth it. It is. Not that the two are anywhere near the same level of importance. Working with seniors is not for the faint of heart, but it sure does wonderful things for the heart.
And as to old dogs. As long as that tail continues to wave every time I walk into a room or speak his name, I guess I'll keep making designer doggie diapers and putting up with whatever it takes, because he still has a huge place in my heart.
The day can only get better . . . right?
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Compliments
I got the best compliment of my life today. It went like this: "Grandma, your sermon was awesome! It really made me think!"
Let's just savor those words for a minute . . . "Grandma". Never thought I'd be a grandma. Went a long time hoping for family, then a lot of years assuming my chances were done. God knew differently.
"Grandma, your sermon was awesome!"
Of course, it wasn't really a "sermon". It was a "talk" at a Ladies Retreat. I can see why she might have called it a sermon. It was at the same time as the normal worship service. There was a song service, and a prayer time, and I "talked" during the time we would normally have preaching.
I've always felt called to preach. I love to teach about the Word. I enjoy standing in front of people and directing their thoughts toward God. I'm actually more comfortable in front of a crowd than I am carrying on an intimate one-to-one conversation with an individual. But in "our" church women don't preach. They talk. So I talk. A lot. Any time someone asks. Sometimes even when they'd rather I'd stay quiet.
I don't feel like I'm anything special or that I even have any new or real deep insights into scripture or the Christian life. But I have the ability to learn and absorb the teachings of others - to really understand their thoughts - and to communicate them to others. I would love to preach - all the time. But for now God has called me to talk. And I will do what He wants.
"It really made me think."
Coming from a fourteen year old, this is really good stuff. My oldest granddaughter was three when I married her grandpa. Petite, with long golden hair, she bounced on her tiptoes everywhere she went. She was precocious and a little spoiled and I wanted to smother her with love the minute I saw her.
But I was cautious, wanting to feel my way into this new family without upsetting everybody's apple-cart. We became close. She liked to sit by me or ride in the car with me. She talked and I listened and acted interested. And as she grew she developed an intelligent mind and a sweetness of spirit that had me wanting to listen when she talked . . . kept me interested and wanting to have an impact on her heart and mind for God.
Two months ago, she turned fourteen and she is beautiful. Sweet and smart and looking so much more like a woman than a child that it makes my heart skip a beat when I look at her.
So when she says to me "Grandma, your sermon was awesome. It made me think", I know that I've achieved the highest award given to any woman. To impart something of His spirit to the spirit of my Granddaughter . . . to leave a legacy of eternal consequence, is all I can ask for and more than I deserve. I can die happy now. But I hope that I don't. There are seven more coming behind her, four girls and three boys. If I keep seeking Him, maybe God will use my talk (whether in front of a crowd or just around the kitchen table) to cause them to think. That would be awesome!
So, thanks for the compliment, Micha. You made your Grandma's day.
Let's just savor those words for a minute . . . "Grandma". Never thought I'd be a grandma. Went a long time hoping for family, then a lot of years assuming my chances were done. God knew differently.
"Grandma, your sermon was awesome!"
Of course, it wasn't really a "sermon". It was a "talk" at a Ladies Retreat. I can see why she might have called it a sermon. It was at the same time as the normal worship service. There was a song service, and a prayer time, and I "talked" during the time we would normally have preaching.
I've always felt called to preach. I love to teach about the Word. I enjoy standing in front of people and directing their thoughts toward God. I'm actually more comfortable in front of a crowd than I am carrying on an intimate one-to-one conversation with an individual. But in "our" church women don't preach. They talk. So I talk. A lot. Any time someone asks. Sometimes even when they'd rather I'd stay quiet.
I don't feel like I'm anything special or that I even have any new or real deep insights into scripture or the Christian life. But I have the ability to learn and absorb the teachings of others - to really understand their thoughts - and to communicate them to others. I would love to preach - all the time. But for now God has called me to talk. And I will do what He wants.
"It really made me think."
Coming from a fourteen year old, this is really good stuff. My oldest granddaughter was three when I married her grandpa. Petite, with long golden hair, she bounced on her tiptoes everywhere she went. She was precocious and a little spoiled and I wanted to smother her with love the minute I saw her.
But I was cautious, wanting to feel my way into this new family without upsetting everybody's apple-cart. We became close. She liked to sit by me or ride in the car with me. She talked and I listened and acted interested. And as she grew she developed an intelligent mind and a sweetness of spirit that had me wanting to listen when she talked . . . kept me interested and wanting to have an impact on her heart and mind for God.
Two months ago, she turned fourteen and she is beautiful. Sweet and smart and looking so much more like a woman than a child that it makes my heart skip a beat when I look at her.
So when she says to me "Grandma, your sermon was awesome. It made me think", I know that I've achieved the highest award given to any woman. To impart something of His spirit to the spirit of my Granddaughter . . . to leave a legacy of eternal consequence, is all I can ask for and more than I deserve. I can die happy now. But I hope that I don't. There are seven more coming behind her, four girls and three boys. If I keep seeking Him, maybe God will use my talk (whether in front of a crowd or just around the kitchen table) to cause them to think. That would be awesome!
So, thanks for the compliment, Micha. You made your Grandma's day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)