by jphilo | Jul 17, 2014 | Three Thoughts for Thursday
- Contentment = A morning walk with my husband, hanging sheets on the line, and admiring the blooms on the ivy geranium hanging outside the kitchen door.
- Who but Terry Pratchett would describe an elderly woman’s face as “a playground for wrinkles.” When I grow up, I want to be able to write descriptions with that kind of creativity.
- Someday, if my grandchildren or great-grandchildren are at the mercy of adults in a country much richer and more powerful than ours, I hope no citizens shout obscenities at them and hold signs saying they’re not welcome.
by jphilo | Oct 25, 2013 | Daily Life
A sneaky, snarky fall funk is doing its best to worm its way into my heart.
Maybe the cause is the conclusion of two fun trips in the past couple of months. No more looking forward to a visit with a high school bestie to see covered bridges near Grand Rapids, Michigan. No more presenting workshops at writers’ conferences where beginning writers think the information being passed on to them is the greatest thing since sliced bread. No more looking forward to visiting old friends out west where the deer and the antelope roam.
This week life is back to usual with clothes to wash, meals to cook, a house to clean, and writing to be done. I want to blame the funk on those mundane household tasks and the fear of the blank screen. When those excuses don’t work, I want to blame the time of year.
You know what I mean?
Less daylight.
Cold nights.
Funk bait for sure.
But in all honesty, those things aren’t the cause of this fall funk. I am the cause. Or to be more specific, a lack of contentment with life is the real cause.
People aren’t flocking to my blogs these days.
They aren’t flocking to by my books.
They aren’t flocking to like my Facebook author page.
Or Twitter.
Or Pinterest.
Or Google +.
In truth, box elder bugs are the only thing flocking anywhere near me. So many of them are flocking to the south side of our house that I sprayed the foundation with insecticide, and now the whole house stinks.
But I digress.
The fall funk, however, does not.
It’s perched on my shoulder.
Waiting for this crack of discontentment to break wide open.
So it can suck out my joy.
It could happen. It will happen, unless my eyes quit looking for the gifts and start seeking their Giver. Unless I consider the presence of the Giver of greater value than the presents He gives. Unless I trust His timing above my own and His wise provision over my foolish desires.
O Lord, grant me contentment in you today. Amen.
by jphilo | Mar 22, 2013 | Daily Life
Modern consumers pay good money for cold stuff.
Think Wells Blue Bunny ice cream
Think hockey tickets:
Photo Source
Think ice fishing:
Photo Source
Think Disney on Ice:
Photo Source
And yet this year, we’ve had an entire bonus month of cold stuff absolutely free of charge, thanks to the generosity of Mother Nature.
Think Spring on Ice
Photo Source: The rain bucket beside our garage on March 22, 2013 at 1:15 PM
by jphilo | Mar 19, 2013 | Top Ten Tuesday
Once March arrived, winter in these parts decided to dig in its white heels and stick around. Since the strategy is proving highly effective, this week’s top ten list extols the reasons to be happy for a late spring and make hay even when the sun don’t shine.
10. Extra winter makes northerners appreciate spring more when it finally does arrive.
9. We get more wear out of winter clothes.
8. A late, cold spring gives female rabbits headaches, and therefore has a dampening effect on the rabbit population.
7. The cold weather makes midwesterners more sympathetic toward Canadians.
6. Shivering gives spring sport athletes an Iron Man or Iron Woman aura.
5. Less time in the sun = less chance of skin cancer.
4. When the weather’s cold, teachers have an easier time keeping their students’ noses to the grindstone.
3. That first grilled meal of spring tastes better when it’s a long time coming.
2. The apple trees bloom later, so there’s less chance of a late frost nipping their buds.
1. A cold spring makes spring break trips to points south seem like a good investment.
What’s good about a late spring in your book? Leave a comment!
by jphilo | Apr 2, 2012 | Church Newsletter Columns
For who has despised the day of small things?
Zechariah 4:10a
As a young child, I day dreamed about becoming big things kind of girl. I had big plans for a career as either a television star or a princess. Therefore, I focused on the big things like dramatic poses and tiaras rather than little things like learning to tie my shoes. Or telling time. Or making letters like b and d point the right way. Or memorizing math facts. Eventually, my parents and teachers made life miserable until I learned convinced me to pay attention to little things.
But I remained a big things kind of girl at heart for many years. Even after I became a Christian and started reading the Bible. I preferred the big, showy stories – Moses parting the Red Sea, Daniel in the lion’s den, and Jesus feeding the five thousand – to hidden, quiet events like Moses in the bull rushes, Ruth gleaning grain, or the long drudgery of rebuilding the temple in Zechariah’s day.
I remained a sucker for bright lights and big things until two babies entered our home six years apart. When they arrived, life became a river of small things. Tiny fingernails to clip. Itty bitty diapers. Minuscule onesies. Little bodies asleep in my arms. The first tiny hints of toothless smiles.
Slowly, my attitude about material things began to change. The arrivals of these little people made the sacrifices – buying a minivan, sleepless nights, spit up stains ruining expensive clothes, fun money diverted for college savings accounts and day care providers – worthwhile.
My spiritual attitude began changing, too. When I bathed our babies, I imagined Mary bathing her son. Wiping his nose. Drying his tears. Hugging his small body, holding him close, caring for her little boy. I imagined Jesus, God’s Son, beginning his life as the smallest and most inconsequential of small things. A baby born in a barn. Yet that baby grew up to do big things. He lived a perfect life. He healed hurting people. He fed the five thousand. He died on a cross, rose from the dead, and ascended into heaven. All to reconcile small and petty sinners to the eternal, omnipotent God.
My children are grown. I haven’t bathed a baby in years. But as the shadow of the cross grows large in the days before Easter, my thoughts turn to the babe in the manger. The hope of a fallen world contained in a small package. The baby who guides sinners to the foot of the cross.
My God works through small things. He uses the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong. He uses small things like us to demonstrate our need for the great gift of His Son. At the foot of the cross, kneeling before the manger, I am finally content with small things.
