Maybe It's the Power Line

Have you wondered how The Family Garden is doing? Well, it's hard to say. Nearly everything is growing like crazy, and we're getting a bit of a harvest here and there. But most of it is just... weird. Like the cantaloupes we've been so eagerly anticipating. They're huge! But they're orange instead of green. They smell like cantaloupes, but they almost look like pumpkins.

Here's one that fell off the vine while we were away on vacation:

See the deep ridges and the orange tint?

It grew so fat that it split at the bottom, so we were a bit afraid to eat it. Bill and I each took only a dainty bite, but Allyson gobbled her usual portion and said, "More please!" She's still quite healthy, so I guess we should cut up the other one that's hogging fridge space.

The cantaloupe vine is still trying to take over the garden, or maybe the whole backyard. If you look closely at the center of the next picture, you'll see a little green cantaloupe nestled inside the tomatoes' cage:

Speaking of tomatoes, guess what? We finally have some! The tomato vines had grown so bushy on our vacation that they were dragging the ground, so Bill went over to cut them down. But then he saw a good number of fairly normal looking tomatoes like this one:

We might even have enough to make some tomato sauce, if I can figure out when to pick them. Even though they're still small and green, I found beak holes in one of them. Stupid birds! We probably need a scarecrow. You'd think Lola would chase them away, but she's probably too busy barking at the birds on the neighbor's roof to notice the birds plundering the garden.

The potatoes were a big disappointment--make that potato:

The big white bucket was overflowing with lovely green leaves, but when Bill dug it up, there was only this one shriveled potato in all that musty, wormy dirt. I knew we should have followed the complicated instructions I found on the Internet, but Bill assured me all that work wasn't really necessary.

The butternut squash seem to be dying out, though I did harvest enough (five, I think) to make a delicious pureed casserole for Mom's birthday on Sunday. Most of them were small and oddly shaped, but there was one nice fat one. It was so gratifying to say, "Oh, I'm glad you liked the squash. Did I mention it was from our own garden?"

I had thought the squash vine was climbing our photinia hedge, but turns out it's actually the cucumbers. We have one perfect cucumber...

Can You See it in the Middle?

...and then this weird thing that we'll definitely be afraid to eat:

I just don't know what to make of our produce, but Bill has a rather scary theory. There's a giant electric transformer box--or whatever you call it--in the corner of our garden. He says maybe the voltage in there is zapping our veggies and causing mutations. He may be onto something: do you see the red splotches in the picture above? That's where utility workers marked a power line in preparation for digging the pool. Come to think of it, we really have seen several odd vegetables growing in that one spot.

I have a theory of my own. Maybe the pumpkins crossed with the cantaloupe, and the squash crossed with the cucumbers. Is that even possible? Maybe it is if you throw in a strong electric current. 

I was none too pleased when one of the men tromped all through the garden. I don't see why they had to be in there anyway when the pool is at the other end of the yard.

Bill finished his preparations for the excavation yesterday. I could have cried.

Ethan and Tin helped out again, but they weren't nearly so enthusiastic as the last time. When I informed Ethan that Bill needed his help with carrying the limbs to the truck, he whined piteously. "But Mom, it's ho-ot!"

"Exactly. That's why we need to get a pool. And if you don't help, we won't be ready for them to dig the hole."

"But I'm not really the working type."

I burst into laughter. "I'm not the working type either, Ethan." I waved my mop at him. "But when there's work to be done, we just have to do it."

He stalked back into the near 100 degree sun (38 Celsius), grumbling all the way. I did catch him and Tin smiling when it was time to fell one of my last three big trees, but by the time I grabbed my camera, he wore a studied scowl.

I scowled, too, when I saw the end result of their labors:

Look Closely and You Might Spot FIVE Trunks

While I was busy moaning and complaining, Bill was digging ditches, rerouting the sprinkler lines:

In the Background Was My Second-Favorite Tree (After the Departed Cypress)

It better be worth it all. I'll keep you posted.

I Was Surprised, Too

Have you missed me? We were away in Vancouver for a week, and as you might imagine, I'm just bursting with stories. I'll try to let the pictures do most of the talking, but you know me....

On the first day of vacation, my sister-in-law Sheryl gave me the best birthday present I've ever received: my first facial. And when I say she gave me a facial, I don't mean she paid for it. I mean she did it herself, at the spa where she works. She gave me a hand, arm, and shoulder massage, and then applied various combinations of warm towels, cleansers, and moisturizers to my face. By this point, I was pretty close to unconscious, but as I recall, she also did a scalp massage. Oh, somewhere in there she waxed my eyebrows, which wasn't quite so relaxing. But my brows look great! 

On the second day of vacation, my other sister-in-law Lisa drove me into Washington to meet an old friend from high school who found me on Facebook a couple of weeks ago. Melissa still has the same curly dark hair and the same laugh; I hadn't talked to her in over 20 years, but it was surprising how familiar her voice was and especially her laugh.We both fondly recalled the years when we corresponded, after she moved to Washington in our junior year. I've just finished a nice, fat letter to her today, and I hope we'll be pen pals again. There's something so satisfying about writing a letter on real paper, and getting ink on your fingers. If you haven't done it in awhile, you should try it!

On Saturday, we took a five-hour drive through the most gorgeous terrain I've ever seen, into the northern interior of British Columbia. Our destination was a cabin on Greenlake, the same one I told you about last year when Ethan learned to wakeboard. The view was as breathtaking as I remembered:

 The Heavens Declare His Glory!

So far north, the sunsets last for hours; it was after 10:00 by the time the sun set each evening. Most nights, Mom took the three boys out for a bedtime swim. When Ethan and Travis hesitated on the dock, Dad threw them in. Meanwhile, I stayed in the house where it was safe.

Allyson's favorite evening pastime was roasting marshmallows for s'mores. Yum!

My favorite evening pastime was playing a card game called Sequence. We played guys against girls, and the ladies got our butts kicked the first night. The next day, we whispered strategies whenever we were alone together. At game time, I threw away my disposable contacts and got out my glasses so I could see the board better. "You know how in the movies the librarian takes off her glasses and turns into a sexy woman?" I asked. Mom nodded. "Well, this is the opposite," I said, putting on the glasses with a flourish. "I'm now transforming into a crazy-smart lady." It must have worked, because we beat the guys three to one that night. They were still up by one game in all, but we went to bed happy (and exhausted since it was after midnight).

If the view was as gorgeous as I remembered, the water was even colder. Allyson and Katie didn't seem to feel the cold at all, but played at the water's edge for hours. Ethan complained, but still swam. I flatly refused to get in. Even out of the water, it was a bit cold for me. When the sun went behind a cloud and the breeze blew off the water, it was downright cold. The only long pants and jacket I'd brought (pictured above) reeked of woodsmoke, but Mom and Dad came to the rescue. I went out on the boat in Mom's cream and aqua fleece pullover and Dad's navy and white track pants. I didn't care how ridiculous I looked:

Allyson looked so adorable, maybe nobody noticed me anyway:

Allyson (age 4) and Katie (age 6) were two peas in a pod, and for once they made it past the 48-hour mark without fighting over Nana's attention.

They enjoyed tubing, kayaking, jet-skiing, and kneeboarding, but that that's a whole other story.

On our last full day there, the wind finally died down enough to go wakeboarding. The three boys went first, and all of them got right up on the first or second try.

Travis, age 9

Kurtis, age 11

Ethan, age 13

After all his struggles last year, Ethan looked like a pro this time. He even learned to jump the wake. Bill and Lisa went out next. Bill looked so good on the board that my heart pitter-pattered.

 Lisa didn't look half bad either:

The whole time they were boarding, I was quietly debating over whether to give it a try myself. Seeing Travis huddled at my feet, shivering violently under two towels, almost dissuaded me. But I'd come so close to success last year, and I didn't want to wait another year to see whether I could really do it. I said a silent prayer. "Lord, please help me to have fun, no matter what happens. But I'd really like to get up on the wakeboard AND turn it toward the boat. Oh, and please help me not to get hurt!"

When they started to put away the wakeboard, I said timidly, "I think I want to try."

Bill raised his eyebrows. "You're not even in your bathing suit."

"Yes I am." I peeled off my fleece layers, and immediately goosebumps appeared on my bare arms. I shivered in dreadful anticipation, then dipped both size-ten feet into the icy water so I could force them into the rubber boots. When I finally slipped off the dock, the cold took my breath away, which was actually good since it took my mind off being nervous. I pressed my bent knees to my chest and peered over the board at the boat. "Ready!"

I waited, waited, and let the boat pull me to my feet. Remembering Lisa's instructions, I tightened my abs, put most of my weight on my (soon-to-be) back foot, and twisted my hips. And the board turned toward the boat!

"Woo-hoo!" I yelled. And then I tripped over the wake and did a face plant. I got right back up on my second try, but then fell so hard that both feet were ripped from the impossibly tight boots, the board flying over my head and landing several yards behind me.

"I think I'm done," I hollered. "Lisa, did you get a picture?"

"No, I'm sorry!"

Oh, no! I couldn't write a blog story without a picture. "I'll give it one more try," I said, my teeth clashing together audibly as I wrestled my nearly lifeless limbs back into the tiny boots. On the third try, I forgot to wait for the boat to pull me up, and I fell as soon as I tried to stand.

"One more time!" I hollered.

On the fourth try, I got up and stayed up! I forgot about the cold and actually enjoyed myself on my victory lap. Lisa pantomimed instructions from the back of the boat: straighten your legs more... put your shoulders back... bend your elbows. I tried to follow her instructions, but I'm sure I still looked ridiculous, the way I always look when I snow ski. This was the most flattering picture I could find:

I let go of the rope and glided to a smooth stop at the dock, where Ethan was waiting for me. "Isn't it hard to swim in the cold?" he asked as I paddled the board toward him.

"Takes all my energy just to b-breathe," I answered. He and Bill hauled me up onto the dock, where I shrugged off my cold life jacket and rubbed myself down with a damp towel. I didn't stop shivering until long after I'd put my fleece back on and drunk the hot cocoa Mom made for me. But at bedtime I realized it had been worth it all. When I hugged Ethan goodnight, I told him how proud I was of his wakeboarding.

"Me, too," he said, a sheepish grin lighting his face.

It took me a moment to realize what he meant. "You mean you're proud of me, too?"

"Yes," he called out over his shoulder.

"Were you surprised your 40-year-old mama could wakeboard?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Me, too."

In the few moments before sleep claimed me, I whispered, "Oh, Lord, this was a good day!" And I basked in the warmth.

The Word That Dwells In Us

You're not going to believe this, but I've been attending a Beth Moore Bible study for four weeks and haven't posted anything about it! Actually, it's a collaboration between Priscilla Shirer, Beth Moore, and Kay Arthur called Anointed, Transformed, Redeemed, and it's a study on the life of David. It's been amazing so far, but for some reason I didn't feel the incredible urge to blog about it until yesterday. Now I'm wondering how on earth I'll be able to explain what the Holy Spirit revealed to me. It seems hopeless, but I have to try.

In yesterday's homework, Beth Moore led us to 2 Samuel 7, in which God reveals through the prophet Nathan that He is going to build an everlasting family line through David:

" 'The LORD declares to you that the LORD himself will establish a house for you: ¹² When your days are over and you rest with your fathers, I will raise up your offspring to succeed you, who will come from your own body, and I will establish his kingdom. ¹³ He is the one who will build a house for my Name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. ¹⁴ I will be his father, and he will be my son....¹⁶ Your house and your kingdom will endure forever before me ; your throne will be established forever.' " 

Here is David's response: 

 ¹⁸ Then King David went in and sat before the LORD, and he said:
       "Who am I, O Sovereign LORD, and what is my family, that you have brought me this far? ¹⁹ And as if this were not enough in your sight, O Sovereign LORD, you have also spoken about the future of the house of your servant. Is this your usual way of dealing with man, O Sovereign LORD?...

25 "And now, LORD God, keep forever the promise you have made concerning your servant and his house. Do as you promised, ²⁶ so that your name will be great forever....

 ²⁷ "O LORD Almighty, God of Israel, you have revealed this to your servant, saying, 'I will build a house for you.' So your servant has found courage to offer you this prayer. ²⁸ O Sovereign LORD, you are God! Your words are trustworthy, and you have promised these good things to your servant. ²⁹ Now be pleased to bless the house of your servant, that it may continue forever in your sight; for you, O Sovereign LORD, have spoken, and with your blessing the house of your servant will be blessed forever."

Notice the way David's prayer repeated back God's promises, and how David was bold to claim the promises for himself and for his family--not just his children, but his family line. Now we know that the family line God referred to would include Jesus, and that through faith in Him, we are a part of David's line.  According to Romans 11:17, as believers we have been grafted as branches into David's family line. That means we are entitled to all the blessings God promised him!

Beth encourages us to pray the same kind of prayers for our own family, claiming all the promises the Bible holds for our children, our grandchildren, and all our offspring down the line until Jesus returns.

But wait, it gets better.... John 1:14-16 tells us, "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.... From the fullness of his grace we have all received one blessing after another." 

Now I've read and heard those verses many times, but yesterday morning around 8:00 A.M., I actually grasped the enormity of this truth, and the Holy Spirit inside me rose up with overwhelming joy and awe. I'm going to try to put it in words....  God promised to bless David's family line--us--through His son Jesus. Jesus was the very Word made flesh, the same creative Word that created the universe: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made." (John 1:1-3)

Here's the revelation: Jesus and the Word are the same. There are no words to describe how powerful God's Word is; it created the entire universe! That same power dwells in us through the Spirit of Jesus. The way to access that power is by using the Word, by repeating back to God the promises He has given us in the Bible. In John 15:7-8, Jesus promises, "If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples." 

Do you see it? God is just WAITING to pour out blessings on us! Why? Because blessing us brings Him glory. For a long time, I've been wondering why my faith isn't strong enough to believe for miracles. Sure, I know that God has answered many of my prayers, but why haven't I had the courage to ask for something big, to claim all God's promises for myself and for my family? When I read all these verses, and the Holy Spirit helped me understand how it all fit together, I literally broke out into rejoicing in my kitchen. 

I got out my stack of scripture memory cards and began quoting them in a new way, as praises and prayers to my Father. I had to keep stopping every two or three verses to worship Him for his goodness and power. My heart thrilled with each promise--all sins forgiven, all diseases healed (Psalm 103), blessings poured out on my offspring (Isaiah 43), peace that transcends understanding (Philippians 4), a crown of beauty instead of ashes (Isaiah 61), all my family's needs supplied (Matthew 6), etc. When I hit Philippians 2:11, I literally fell to my knees with a thud: "... that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth." And my mouth trembled as I quoted the next verse: "and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." 

There it was again, the glory of God through the grace of Jesus. That glory stayed with me through most of the day, and it came back to me when we discussed the homework at Bible study. I grew more and more animated as I tried to explain these revelations to my dear friends. I might have even pounded the table at one point. (I hope I didn't scare them!) 

I don't ever remember feeling this excited about the Word of God. I know I've told you this so many times, but I have to say it again. The Word is powerful. It's alive! Meditate on it. Memorize it. Pray it over yourself and your family. It is the power of Jesus himself, and God wants to use it to transform you. Taste and see that the Lord is good!

The Least Of These... Part 2

When I read my friend Victor's post about the Good Samaritan in modern times--and especially the comments about it--it brought to mind one of my earlier posts about a time when I failed to help someone. I always meant to tell you the rest of that story, but I never did...

The first time I conversed with a homeless person, I was waiting in a Chicago subway station with my friend Angela. My entire body was tense with anxiety despite the soothing melody from a cross-legged young man playing guitar at our feet. Cringing at the harsh squeal of wheels on the opposite track, I willed our train to arrive.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man approaching on my right. His clothes were shabby and dirty, and his long hair was unkempt. I wanted to run back up to the street, but instead I edged closer to Angela, who edged closer to the guitar player.

When the man spoke, I was caught off guard by his genteel manner and quiet voice. He explained that he’d fallen on hard times and had been living in the subway for a few weeks. “I know I look dirty and I probably smell,” he said, “but I haven't had a way to take a shower down here. I don't want you to feel threatened, so I'll stand back here. If there's any way you could help me, I'd be really grateful.”

I hesitated for a moment. Even though I knew he might waste the money, I had a strong desire to help him. My fear of being mugged proved stronger, though, and I replied that I’d just given my last dollar bill to the musician. This was technically true, but I also had a five and a twenty, either of which I could have spared. Another train rolled up just then, and I looked over my shoulder as we rushed to board. The man’s head hung low and his shoulders were slumped.

By the time we reached the airport, I’d forgotten the encounter, but it came back to me at Bible study two days later when we studied Matthew 25. Jesus’ words in verse 45 pierced my conscience: “I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.” I longed to go back and respond differently, but all I could do was ask God to help me share His love the next time I had an opportunity.

That opportunity came within a few months, when my Bible study group served dinner at a downtown mission. I’d been looking forward to the experience for weeks, yet my fear that evening was nearly as strong as it had been in the subway. How could I relate to these people? Was I capable of loving them?

When the first group of mission residents settled into the molded plastic chairs, it was my ineptitude as a waitress that dominated my thoughts. I struggled to keep up with the rhythm of filling trays, distributing meals, and cleaning tables. I’d hoped to share loving words with someone who needed encouragement, but instead I felt awkward and shy amid the easy conversation and laughter at each round table.

By the time the last group filed in, I was feeling a bit more confident in my duties, but I still felt anxious. Unlike the first two groups, these men and women were homeless, and I knew some of them might be mentally or emotionally disturbed.

Actually, they weren’t all that different from the people I see every day. Most of them were neatly dressed, and all of them were polite. They talked and laughed, and they really seemed to enjoy their meal. I wanted to join in their conversations, but I had no idea what to say. 

As I scraped a plate into the garbage, I paused to say a silent prayer. “I know I came here to serve, God. Thank you for the opportunity to do that. But I also wanted to… talk to someone. Please help me find the words.” I dropped a handful of dirty silverware into the gray, soapy water and headed resolutely back to clear the last few tables.

Before I picked up the next tray from a rather rough-looking man, I looked into his brown eyes and murmured, “Have a good evening.” I almost laughed at myself. Gee, that was hard.

Due to the twitch at the corner of his mouth, I suspected the man was a little amused at my discomfort, but I appreciated the way he left my dignity intact. “Thank you so much, ma’am,” he said, clasping my hand firmly.

I grinned as I shook his hand. My heart was light, my aching back and sore feet forgotten. I can’t explain what passed between us, but somehow I knew that we’d recognized each other, accepted each other in that one moment when I realized that we were both “the least of these.”

Maybe I'm Not the Dog Whisperer

In one instant yesterday morning, Lola wiped out all the tenuous goodwill we'd been building over the last several weeks. As you know, Lola and I have a somewhat rocky history, but thanks to Cesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer, we'd been making a bit of progress.

What I learned from Cesar is that I have to show Lola that I'm the pack leader. One of the best ways to do this is taking her for walks and making her match her pace to mine. Before I tried it, the idea seemed laughable. When I tried to walk her in the past, she almost pulled my arm out of socket, and she even pulled me over a couple of times. But as I watched Cesar transform the most unruly dogs into docile followers, I started to believe there might be hope for even Lola.

"It's all about body language," I explained to Bill, even though he watches the show right alongside me. "We have to somehow commune with Lola, convey our intentions through touch and calming thoughts."

"Nnnhh," he replied.

"No, really," I persisted, determined to overcome his skepticism. "It's like the girl and her owl in that book I read recently. It took weeks, but she somehow convinced him to let her trim his talons. She just talked to him in a quiet voice and told him what she was going to do, and she focused on calm, soothing thoughts as she pictured what she wanted him to do."

"Yeah. So you're the Dog Whisperer now. Then why don't you tell Lola to stop running along the fence and destroying the hedges? Or better yet, tell her to stop barking at the wind."

"Okay," I said, heading for the back door. Lola raced up to meet me, resting her front paws on the dirty rug just inside the door and letting her long spotted tongue loll out. I knelt down to her level and gingerly rested a palm against the side of her head. "Now, Lola, we need you to stop barking so much. We hear you, and we appreciate it that you're trying to protect our house, but this is really too much. You don't need to bark at the birds. Or the motorcycles. Or the wind. Understand?"

 One of Allyson's Pictures of Lola

Lola stared earnestly into my eyes and then lunged forward to plant a sloppy kiss on my chin.

"Eww!!" I wiped my chin forcefully and pressed my lips together to keep from joining in Bill's hearty laughter.

"So what's she saying?" he asked between snickers. "I'll tell you. She says, 'It's almost bedtime. When are you gonna feed me?'"

Undeterred, I took Lola for a walk a few days later. I breathed deeply, allowing my shoulders to sink back and down, willing the tension to drain from my neck. "Now, Lola, you're going to walk right beside me, okay? Right beside me. And you're not going to pull on this leash."

Lola surged forward, jerking my right arm violently. "Wait," I said firmly, tightening her choke collar and forcing her to stand next to me. She kept trying to move forward, but I calmly held my grip and refused to move until there was no tension on the leash. At last we moved on, only to stop again after two feet.

This went on for three sides of the block, and the muscles up my arm and shoulder were beginning to throb. Lola was surprisingly patient, if a little bemused, and so was I. As we walked, I kept my knee pressed to her left flank. "You're going to walk right beside me," I repeated over and over, "and you're not going to pull the leash."

After we rounded the last corner, she finally seemed to get it. She still pulled the leash a bit, but she walked right next to me. "Good dog!" I exclaimed as I removed her collar and fed her a Milkbone biscuit back at the house. I gave her a little pat on the head, and I swear she smiled at me.

 Lola's Smile

I took her out a few more times over the next few weeks, and each time she caught on a little more quickly and put a little less pressure on the leash. When we walked sedately past the dreaded yard with all the barking dogs, I knew I really was becoming the pack leader. And just as Cesar had promised, we were starting to build a rapport. Even Bill had to admit that there might be something to this Dog Whisperer stuff.

Back to Reality
And then came yesterday morning. I was up on the computer, editing some audio for an e-Learning course I'm developing, when I heard Bill say something about "the dog." Though I couldn't hear his words, his tone alarmed me, and I yanked off my headphones. "The dog what?"

"I said, 'The dog just picked a squash.'"

I tore down the stairs. He was holding a six-inch, green striped squash with teeth marks all over it.

"You mean she jumped over the fence and stole a squash?" I asked incredulously.

"No, it was one of the ones growing on the outside of the fence."

"I didn't even see that one! Oh, man! That's a big one, too," I wailed.

Lola poked her head through the open door. "Bad dog!" I scolded. She padded inside and sat at my feet, leaving clumps of dog down in her path. "Bad, bad dog!" I repeated, but my ire was tempered by the laughter that threatened to bubble up to the surface. Lola was staring up at me with rapt admiration, her tail thumping audibly against the floor.

I could almost hear her saying, "Yep, I picked a squash! Isn't that great?" But probably she was really saying, "Oh boy, oh boy! The lady's talking to me!"

I guess I'm not the Dog Whisperer after all.

See How Our Garden Grows

You won't believe how much our garden has grown since my last update. We've harvested green beans a few times since then, picking as many as 17 at a time! But the green beans perished a few weeks ago. Their bright green leaves took on a mottled appearance, and then they shriveled up and died. I suspect they were choked out by the butternut squash vine, which is determined to take over the entire plot.

Here's a picture from about a month ago, when the green beans (against the front fence) were still vibrant and fruitful, and the squash vine was neatly confined in the center row:

And here's a picture from last night. See how the squash has entwined itself all around the fence and grown over the top of the green beans:

Here's a close-up of the biggest squash, one of about five:

The other big player is the cantaloupe vine, which is wrapping its tendrils around the other end of the fence. Pretty soon there might be a showdown between the two vines. I wonder which will win? I'm betting the squash, but it's hard to say....

Did you notice the tomato plants behind the squash? All three of them are producing yellow flowers, but not one tomato has developed. Does anyone have any idea why that would be? We thought it was the lack of bees to pollinate the flowers, so we planted several varieties of flowers in and around the garden. Allyson and I also prayed for God to send us bees, but I guess I didn't really think that through. The other morning, I saw three bees hovering around the cantaloupe flowers. "Thank you Jee...zus!" I prayed, recoiling violently when one of the bees meandered too close. So now we have the bees, but still no tomatoes.

Here's the biggest cantaloupe, which was thimble-sized just a week or so ago. Doesn't it look tasty?

I can't wait until it's ready. Allyson will be so excited because cantaloupes, which she calls watermelons, are her favorite fruit--with the possible exception of avocados.

Those Shriveled Up Banana Trees
Remember the pathetic, wilted banana trees Bill planted just before my birthday in April? They turned browner and browner with each passing day, but our friend Mike assured us that they really would survive. And he was right. Look at them now:

And remember the wisteria vine that Bill gave me for my birthday? It has clambered up over the top of the pergola.

When spring comes back around, maybe it will be covered in a profusion of fragrant, purple flowers that look like grape clusters; I guess that would be a passable replacement for my beloved cypress. Only then there would be so many bees that I'd be afraid to come out on the back porch to enjoy it.

It's Cow Sa-moor
Oh, I just remembered one more garden story I've been meaning to share. One evening last month, I was out weeding the garden while Allyson played on the swing set. Suddenly the breeze shifted, and I wrinkled my nose in distaste. "What's that smell?" I asked.

"It's sa-moor," Allyson answered.

"It's what??"

"You know!" she giggled, covering her mouth with one hand. "It's cow sa-moor--that means poop! Me 'n Daddy bought a big bag of cow poop at Home Depot. Remember? It makes the plants grow."

"Ah," I said, turning my back to hide my snicker. "Well it sure does stink. I hope it's worth it."

Based on the way our garden's taking off, I guess it was. 

Whispers In Her Ear

If you've been reading my blog very long, you've heard me talking about my dear friend Gentle. Well, something wonderful has happened to her, and I want you to know about it. Even though I already knew the story, I had tears streaming down my cheeks this morning as I read about it on her blog.

Her story just might make your Sunday:

Whispers In My Ear

If this story moves you, please pass it on to others. I believe Gentle has experienced a real-live miracle, and I'm so excited for her.

Have a blessed Sunday.

Pedal-Pedal-Pedal!

When our girl turned four, it was like flipping a switch. Suddenly, she's a grownup. She sleeps in her own bed all night (almost every night). She buckles her own seat belt, though I have to check it for tightness and position. And... last week she decided it was time for her training wheels to come off.

I secretly figured there would be a few days of whining and skinned knees, and then the training wheels would go back on. But apparently I didn't know my little Allyson. She was determined to ride that bike, and she never got discouraged. Instead, she celebrated every milestone, no matter how tiny: when Daddy ran with her for 100 yards, and she pedaled by herself for three feet, she cheered, "I did it!"

Bill worked tirelessly with her for two evenings, during which she seemingly made little progress. Each time he let go of the bike, she immediately put her feet down or rolled up against the edge of the grass. After all that hunched-over running, he complained that his back wasn't cut out for this. Meanwhile, I was happy to just watch and clap from the front porch.

My Turn
On Wednesday the 16th, however, I got my turn whether I wanted it or not. Allyson and I were meeting my friend Laura and her son Samuel at the park, and Laura phoned to see whether we were bringing her bike.

I answered without thinking, despite the fact that it was already over 90 degrees (32 Celsius) at 10:00 in the morning. "Sure! That's a great idea."

It wasn't until I was wrestling the bike into the trunk that I remembered there were no training wheels. "This will be a disaster," I thought gloomily. "There's no way I'm getting her up on this bike, and she'll be bawling when she sees Samuel zipping along on his training wheels."

At the park, we wheeled the bike between us. I had my purse over my right shoulder and two cheap water bottles clutched under my left armpit, their condensation providing a bit of relief from the sweltering heat. But with the awkwardness of our height difference, I kept getting whacked in the thigh by the handlebars.

We were the first ones there, so that gave us a chance to practice without an audience. I held onto the back of her tiny pink seat and clomped along behind her, waiting for her to gain her balance so I could let go. At that millisecond when the bike stopped swaying, I quietly released my hold... and Allyson immediately put her feet down. "I did it!" she proclaimed, though the wheels had made only a couple revolutions.

This went on for about 15 minutes, as rivulets of sweat coursed down my legs and into my eyes. An elderly man passed by on his walk and smiled at me in sympathy. When I turned to call out a greeting, the bike lurched off the sidewalk and into the grass, nearly throwing Allyson off. "You're not doing it right, Mama!" she complained, and I agreed heartily. "Daddy's much better at this stuff," I whined.

Just then, Laura arrived with her mother and Samuel. Naturally, the first thing Samuel wanted to do was ride bikes. "My bike is super fast!" he said, and tore off down the sidewalk to prove it.

"Help me, Mama. Quick!" Allyson cried, throwing her leg back over the seat. I sighed and gave her a little push. She pushed those pedals with all her might, and I had to let go or be pulled over.

"You're doing it!!" I shouted. She turned back to look at me and then veered into the grass. Laura and I both clapped our hands."You went far!" we exulted.

Allyson muscled the bike back around to face Samuel, who was barreling back down the sidewalk. "Let's try again, Mama!"

I helped her push the bike back onto the sidewalk, and she was off. I didn't even have to run with her. Her back contorted to the left and then the right as she fought to keep her balance. After about 30 feet, she rolled off into the grass--and kept going! She put her feet down just as she was about to collide with a tree.

"You should let her try it in the grass," Laura suggested. "Then she won't be afraid of falling."

She rode around in the grass for a few minutes, careening wherever the bike chose to take her. But she soon discovered that she could go much faster on the pavement. She chased Samuel back and forth, back and forth, cheerful even though she never could catch him. Laura snapped a few photos.




Meanwhile, the elderly man came back around. "Look at you!" he exclaimed. "You're riding."

"I can ride without training wheels," Allyson replied.

"I can ride, too," Samuel interjected. "My bike has extra wheels."

"Why yes, it does," the man answered. "That looks like a very fast bike."

"Yes, see?" Samuel raced down the sidewalk again, with Allyson in distant pursuit.

The kids could have ridden all day, but the adults were ready to get out of the heat after about an hour. We headed over to Chik-Fil-A to enjoy the air conditioning and a few waffle fries.

After dinner that night, Allyson couldn't wait to show her daddy what she could do. I was glad to let Bill help her out while I filmed some video. Because the battery was dead as a doornail, I was tethered to the porch, and my field of vision was pretty limited. Still, hopefully you can get an idea of how cute she looked. This was her fourth run out of about 20....





Since then, Allyson hasn't missed a single night of practicing. After two days of riding, she began to work on starting herself out. It took about two more nights, but she did master it. Now she's fine-tuning her steering--she still terrifies me when she rounds the corner--and stopping.

Tonight I remarked that I couldn't believe how quickly Allyson has learned to ride a bike, and at such a young age. "I was seven when I learned to ride," I said, "and then it was only because Dad threatened to spank me if I didn't ride my new bike."

Bill smirked at me. "She may LOOK just like you, but she does have a little of me in her," he gloated. "I guess she got her athletic abilities from me."

"Yes, she did," I agreed. I'm so glad!

There's Dog Poop in the Pool

Yesterday while Allyson played in her new waterfall pool from Nana, Bill gathered bits of lumber and laid them out in a rough oval on the ground. Then he dragged a patio chair over to the near edge and sat down, deep in thought.

Allyson at the Lake Last Summer

Allyson paused in her splashing and ran up beside him. "What are you doin', Daddy?"

"I'm imagining that I'm sitting in front of the pool," he replied.

For the last few weeks, we've been trying to decide on a design and a builder for our new pool. Bill's been very scientific about it. Last weekend he chalked out his favorite design, using a pretty accurate scale, so that he could envision the finished pool and see the clearance on both ends. The main thing that I noticed was the three trees encompassed within the perimeter. It would seem Bill has it in for ALL my trees.

This week he was focusing on the deck, trying to determine whether there would really be room for lounge chairs between the pool and the iron fence that will separate the pool from the rest of the yard.

Allyson climbed onto the closest piece of wood, balanced for a moment, and jumped off.

"I'm imaginin' that I'm jumpin' in the pool," she explained. She splashed around in the imaginary water for a moment and then drug herself back out. Then she jumped back in, landing precariously close to a pile of doggy doo that Bill had missed on daily poop duty.

"Watch out for that-"

"Hey, why does the pool have dog poop in it?" Allyson demanded indignantly.

"Well, it's only a pretend pool," Bill laughed.

At that, Allyson went back over to her inflatable (poop-free) pool, and Bill resumed sunning himself in front of his imaginary pool.

Lola (The Culprit) Running Through the Deep End

Courage

I'm going to try to explain why I needed to take a break from blogging, and how God spoke to me during that time....

To say I've always loved to write would be an understatement. I believe I was made to write. There's this word I learned recently that says it all: funktionslust. It means finding delight in doing what you do best, what you were made to do. For cheetahs, it's running. For eagles, it's flying. For beavers, it's building a dam. Funktionslust goes beyond achieving a goal like catching the prey; it's about reveling in the doing, because you're doing what you do best. That's how I've always felt about my writing.

Up until I started blogging, writing was something I did for myself, and very few people ever read what I wrote. But my blog changed all that. I was surprised to learn how many people were interested in what I had to say, and how many people enjoyed my stories. Over the last couple of years, maybe ten blog readers have told me, "You should get paid for this" or "You should write a book."

Writing a book had always been a dream for me, but it was a dream almost on the same level with winning the lottery; I never thought I would actually do it--until I heard other people telling me I should. There was only one problem: I didn't have any story ideas. I prayed about that and gave that desire to God. "I'd love to write a book," I said, "if you'll give me the story."

In January, I had a terrible bout of insomnia due to a nasty cold, and I while I was wallowing in misery and self pity, something amazing happened. A story idea literally dropped into my head out of nowhere. I thought and thought, and soon I was too excited to sleep. This went on for days and days, and I was utterly exhausted. For the next several weeks, I constructed the entire plot in my head without ever putting it to paper.

I finally started the manuscript in March, and I've written six chapters so far. I'll tell you more about the story later, but for now I'm just going to say that it's a story about sisters. Working on the book has been a roller coaster ride. I love the writing part, but I find myself thinking way too far ahead: What if I can't find a publisher? What if no one reads it? What if they read it and they don't like it?

Or... what would it be like to be famous? Wouldn't it be awesome to write the next Great American Novel? 

When I have those ambitious thoughts, my conscience pricks me. I don't want to be motivated by pride, or seek my own glory. That's why I needed to take a break from blogging and spend some time praying about God's plans for my writing.

Making the decision to be obedient to God's leading gave me such peace. Sometimes I did worry about when I'd be able to write again and whether I would lose all my readers, but every time I worried I prayed about it. I knew that God had given me a gift and that His plans for me were so much better than my own. For a couple of weeks, I really didn't hear anything at all, but I was able to keep the peace I'd felt at the start. I made up my mind that I wasn't going to make any decisions about my writing until I felt an assurance about what I should do.

Back in March and April, different friends had given me two devotional books. Melissa gave me Whispers of Hope, by Beth Moore, and my prayer group gave me New Day New You by Joyce Meyer. On two occasions, both books had the same message, and the message seemed personally directed to me! It boggled my mind to know that God would lay it on different people's hearts to give me books that would speak to me, and that I would somehow be on the right pages at just the right times for Him to give me the same message twice. The Meyer book has dated devotionals, but the Moore book does not, and I just read it on the days when I have more time. I really don't know how God does that!

Here were some of the verses and commentaries that spoke to me:

• Galatians 1:10 "Now am I trying to win favor of men, or of God? Do I seek to please men? If I were still seeking popularity with men, I should not be a bond servant of Christ." Meyer admonishes, "Stop trying to build your own reputation, and let God do it for you." 
• 1 Cor 10:31: "Whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." 
• Psalm 40:6: Sacrifice and offering you do not desire, nor have You delight in them; You have given me the capacity to hear and obey." 
• Philippians 4:13: "I have strength for all things in Christ who empowers me." Meyer says, "We do not need confidence in ourselves--we need confidence in Jesus!... When the devil lies and says, 'You can't do anything right,' your response to him can be, 'Perhaps not, but Jesus in me can, and He will, because I am relying on Him and not on myself. He will cause me to succeed in everything that I put my hand to.'" (Joshua 1:7)
• Psalm 27:8: Meyer's commentary: "I have found that when I seek God's face to get to know my wonderful, loving heavenly Father better, His hand is always open to me." 
• Psalm 37:4: "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart." Moore says, "As we make ourselves available to delight in God, He slowly revolutionizes our approach to finding fulfillment. Those who seek to delight in the Lord will ultimately develop a delightful relationship with Him.... Anyone who truly delights in the Lord will one day realize that God has become the desire of her heart. When He is our delight, we begin to want what He wants.... When we struggle with self-seeking desires, we hit our knees in prayer."
• Here's one that was perfectly timed for what I was feeling that day (5/24/10). Moore says, "If our heart's desire is the will of God, we will wait for His timing even when the pause is long and uncomfortable.... Do we truly believe God knows what is best for us? Then we can also believe God knows when is best for for us.... Use every second of the wait to allow the Father to increase your faith and deepen your trust.

The most exciting thing that happened during my time of waiting is that God revealed my next memory passage! The text from a sermon at church really spoke to me, and I felt a tug in my spirit. "Is this for me, God?" I asked. That same day, my friend Kristi commented on my "Last Post For Awhile" blog entry and quoted the same passage! She said she'd thought of me when she heard the passage at her church that morning (a different church). I was so excited that God would give me a passage and a confirmation in the same day, and even though the passage focuses on attitude correction--no, because it focuses on attitude correction--it made me realize how very much the Father loves me. He isn't going to just let me sail along doing my own thing and following my own desires, but he's going to discipline me. And this isn't just a momentary rebuke, but a weapon I can use every time I am tempted by pride. Here's the passage:

³Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. ⁴Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.
 ⁵Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
 ⁶Who, being in very nature God,
      did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
 ⁷but made himself nothing,
      taking the very nature of a servant,
      being made in human likeness.
 ⁸And being found in appearance as a man,
      he humbled himself
      and became obedient to death—
         even death on a cross!
 ⁹Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
      and gave him the name that is above every name,
 ¹⁰that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
      in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
 ¹¹and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
      to the glory of God the Father.

I learned the first verse immediately, and I've quoted it to myself more times than I can count--every time I've have a prideful thought about anything. 

After a couple of weeks of working on the memory passage and feeling that I had laid my desires on the altar, I started wondering when God would give me the green light to start blogging again. I was anxious to share what I'd learned, as well as many fun stories (like Allyson's first ballet recital!). I kept watching for a sign, but I didn't know how to recognize it. During that time, I received many messages from friends and family to let me know that they were praying for me and that they hoped I'd start writing soon. Many of them gave me journals (nearly ten in all!). Some of them told me how my blog entries had inspired and encouraged them in their faith, and this brought tears to my eyes. 

While I was talking this over with my friend Gentle one afternoon, I had an epiphany. The key to overcoming my pride and ambition was to focus on ministering to others. On my next quiet time, I knelt and prayed for all of my readers, present and future. I fervently asked God to speak through me and use me to draw others close to Him. As tears dropped onto the stained carpet on my stairway landing, all traces of pride melted away. I was so humbled, and so ready to serve. 

Send Me an Angel

Still, I didn't feel the urge to write; I wanted to, but I didn't feel the time was right yet. Following Beth Moore's advice, I settled in and relaxed as I trusted in God's perfect timing. And I kept watching for my sign. 

And it finally came in the most wonderful way! When Bill's mom came down for Allyson's birthday, she brought all the birthday gifts that had been accumulating for me, Ethan, Bill, and Allyson. One of the gifts was from Bill's sister Lisa. She gave me a Willow angel to add to my collection, most of which were earlier gifts from her:

The latest angel had her arms raised in triumph. I loved her right away, but I wondered what she meant. All the other ones had been easy: a mother with a baby, a father embracing his family, etc. I wondered if this angel might have something to do with turning 40. Did this mean I could now let go of fear and accomplish every goal I set my mind to? I decided that's what she would mean to me. Of course, I thought of my writing, and it made me smile. 

Turns out, I wasn't far off in my interpretation. Lisa called and asked what I thought of the angel; she wondered if I'd noticed the title of the piece. While I was on the line with her, I trotted down the stairs and turned over the figurine. "It says Courage," I panted. 

When Lisa told me she'd thought of my writing when she saw that angel, my heart quickened with excitement, and tears gathered in my eyes. Could this be my sign? 

I prayed about it the next day, and all of the scriptures I'd been studying over the past weeks came together for me in a whole new way. I realized that my battle wasn't just with pride, but it was just as much with fear--I was wavering between those two extremes. Pride says, "I can do this--all by myself." Fear says, "I'm afraid I can't do this. I'm afraid I'll try and fail." But courage says, "Through Jesus, I know I can do this."

I realize now that even my fear was a form of pride because I was relying on my own strength to overcome the obstacles instead of trusting God to show me the way. Since that time, I've still had fearful thoughts, but I'm choosing to keep my eyes on God. I am making myself available to Him, and I know whatever plans He has for me are good.

Thank you to everyone who commented, emailed, called, or spoke to me with words of support and encouragement. Thank you so much to everyone who has prayed with me and for me about my writing. Please keep praying! I love you guys.

On a Plastic Horse I Ride

Hello again! It's been only three weeks since I decided to take a break, but it feels much longer to me. I have so much to tell you, but I'll start by sharing just one of the many stories I've been saving up...

Tuesday was the last night of Bill's mom's visit from Canada, and my parents had come by to spend a bit of time with her. All of us sat on the back porch enjoying the relative cool of the evening while Ethan and Allyson clowned around in the backyard.

 My Dad

Allyson and Mom

Ethan rocked on Allyson's old horse, its tired springs creaking in protest. In his twangiest southern accent, he sang his own version of a Bon Jovi song that he knows from Guitar Hero: "I'm a cowboy... on a plastic horse I ride. I'm wanted, (want-e-e-ed) dead or alive!"

He looked so ridiculous in his green Hawaiian swim trunks, gray Spider Man T-shirt, and tiny cowboy hat that I leaped up from the table. "I've got to find my camera."

"I'll take his picture, Mama," Allyson offered, bounding over with her favorite birthday present, an indestructible [we hope] Fisher Price kid's digital camera. She knelt on the grass and clicked shot after shot, from numerous angles. She reminded me of Ray, a friend and  professional photographer who took pictures at her birthday party on Sunday.

Here are a few of the shots she took (along with the two pictures above)...

Bill looked on with a forced scowl.

What is that boy doing? 

Ethan and Allyson's laughter echoed on the night air. This is the life!