For parents who have compliant children, parenting is easy.  But all kids don't come that way.  Jon was easy.  Scott was a handful.  Ken left for Viet Nam when Scott was three years old, Becky was seven and Pat was nine.  I have always been grateful that I had the girls first.  One of them could keep an eye on Scott for me.  While Ken was gone, one of us girls tailed Scott almost all the time.  But even at home, he found his way into trouble.

One day, I kept hearing the garage door going up and down.  Over and over again.  So I went to check and see what was the matter.  Scott was pushing the garage door opener switch, grabbing the handle and riding it up to the ceiling as it opened--then dropping to the floor and doing it all over again.  I hadn't told him not to do that.  Another one of those things I didn't tell him not to do.  An inventive mind in an energetic body is a bad combination.

Jonathan, on the other hand was a quiet child.  He never got into trouble.  He never did stupid stuff.  If I had only had the girls and Jon--and never had Scott, I probably would have thought I was an excellent mother.  But as it was, I was always behind the curve.  Scott was always ahead of me and I never did catch up.

Everyone should have a child like that to raise.  It cures you of smugness.  They are smarter than you.  Quicker, more inventive. It wasn't that he was bad, just that he wanted to live his life like he was the star in an action movie.  Always on the go.  Always in motion.  Always planning the next adventure.

One day, when he had just turned sixteen, his granddad gave him their old car.  I laid down the rules--which were easy.  Nothing stupid.  But you know how it is, there was a hill in the city park that if you were going fast enough when you topped it, you were airborne.  Yes, he tried it.  It was only a few blocks from our house,  and when he walked in the back door, there I was, with my hand out.  "Whacha want, Mom," he said.   I told him.  "Your keys."  The lady that lived by the hill had called me and told me what he had done almost before his car hit the pavement.  Scott's reaction:  "I can't get away with anything in this town.  Everybody knows me."  That was true.  You can see why.  I think I should get a star in my crown when I get to heaven for "Supreme mother."  He wore me out.

One night about two in the morning, long after Ken and I were asleep, I was awakened by a noise at our bedroom window.  At first I thought it was the wind pushing the forsythia bush limbs against the screen.  But It scared me, so I woke Ken up.  He told me it was nothing--go back to sleep.  But I heard it again, so he gave up on me letting him get back to sleep and got up to check.  When Ken finally came back to bed, I asked what it was.  "It was nothing.  Go back to sleep. I'll tell you in the morning," he said.

Scott had spent the night with his best "buds" at a friend's house--at a sleep-over--six or seven blocks from our house.  They were all nine or ten years old.  It was the year that the song "The Streak" was out, and of course, being nine years old, that was what they decided to do at two in the morning.  Go streaking through the neighborhood.  Thinking that everyone in the neighborhood would be asleep by then.  But Sue Wayne Pierson, who was hosting the sleep-over party, got up to check on them just as they went flying through her back yard.  Buck naked.  Busted.

Ken shared the story with me the next morning.  All the boys had been in real trouble with Sue.  She gave them a lecture and sent them back to bed--dressed in pajamas of course.  But Scott had such a guilty conscience, that he came home in the middle of the night to "Confess" and get his dad to forgive him before Sue told us what the boys had done.  He was scratching on our bedroom window, trying to wake his dad up, in the middle of the night.  "I confessed that I was sorry to God, but it didn't do any good,  I knew I would have to confess to you before God would forgive me.  I'm sorry and I won't do that again." (Ken and Scott were new to the parent/son game.  Ken had been gone off and on for almost all of Scott's early years, and Scott didn't want to disappoint him.  I did most of the parenting, and after two girls, Scott was a new experience.)

He was fairly obedient--with things I told him not to do.  Problem was, I could never think up all the things there were to tell him not to do.  Like going streaking.  He was always in trouble, doing things I hadn't told him not to do.  I told him not to point his BB gun at anyone, or windows, or houses.  He blew out the street lights on our block.  I hadn't told him not to do that.  I took him down to the mayor's office, had him stand there and tell them what he had done.  It took him forever to pay for the lights with his allowance.   When God was looking for a mother to place Scott with on earth, I guess he chose me because he knew I wouldn't kill him.  I admit that I sure did think about it.

This birthday thing keeps going on.  My neighbors next door (Dean and Jeaninne Bryce) had a celebration birthday dinner for me.  Neighbors came.  It was lovely.  Mexican food.  So delicious.  One of the neighbors (Linda) brought strawberry short cake with whipped cream and chocolate over the top.  Decadent.  Mine had a candle.  My wish was:  that they would do the same thing--with the same food--for my 90th.

I am so blessed to have made such wonderful friends in Edmond.  I didn't think I would be able to do that.  Because it is hard to do in a new place.  But like I have said before, God plopped me down in the middle of neighborhood heaven.

Becky Bacon is here.  Came last night and stayed for her eye appointment today.  Results weren't good.  Bad news is that she has to have more surgery.  Good news is that she will be coming back to spend a week with me.  She is the most calming person I have ever known.  Just totally peaceful.  Nothing rattles her.  We just sit here and don't talk or do anything most of the time.  It's perfect.  She's one of those people that if I have dirty dishes in the sink, I don't have to clean them up or load them in the dishwasher--until I feel like it.  She knows where everything is.  She leaves her stuff in a drawer in the guest bathroom.  I love it.

When I go to bed at night and say my prayers, I seem to fall asleep in the middle of the "Thank You part."  I am the world's most thankful person.  The list goes on and on.

My daughter Becky missed my party.  She just spent ten days in Japan with her youngest son, David, and his wife.  She is now hooked on Sumo wrestling.

One of my "thankfuls" is that I thank all of you out there for reading what I write.  It gives me a purpose.  I am humbled that you stay with me.  Tomorrow, I am going to tell you a funny story about Scott.  He will probably kill me.  Or sue me for defamation of character.  However, everything I tell about Scott is the truth.   There's no defamation involved!!

Saturday, Pat gave a birthday party for me.  It was a first for me.  I had never had a birthday party before.  When I was growing up, when someone had a birthday, we just ate dinner together with the same crew of family members that we ate with every Sunday.  The only thing that marked the day was a cake for desert instead of pie.  We didn't have parties.  Nobody could afford banners, balloons, ice cream, and such folderol.  The idea of such excess would never have occurred to anyone.

So having a party in my honor was a new experience for me.  My first real birthday party.  I had a lot of fun.  There were 28 people who came, and three who couldn't make it came the next day.  There was so much conversation going on that the house hummed with a subtle roar.  I think I missed most of it.  I would wander around trying to take it all in, but I never got to visit with some of the people at all.  You could tell that everyone had a wonderful time.  Pat outdid herself.  Food, food, and more food.  And deserts.  Chocolate pound cake--my favorite--German chocolate icing, whipping cream, lemon tarts.  Everything I love to eat.

My next door neighbors are having me over for dinner tonight, and inviting the couple from across the street.  Both of my neighbors bring me a plate when they cook--which is almost every night--but tonight is a dinner to celebrate my 80 years.  I feel like Royalty.  Everyone is happy for me!!  I guess it is a milestone.  Not everyone lives this long.  God willing, I'm not done yet.

Today, I am planting tomatoes.  Perfect.  Scott brought me an entire flat of Jet Stars.  Ann took a few, she wants to try them.  Scott got me started on Jet Stars--they do really well here.  This week I'll plant okra.  It's too early, but I can't wait.  Spring.  It is wonderful to have another spring.  In honor of my birthday, as usual, the redbuds are blooming.  (You will have to read the story about the redbuds in a former post.) The daffodils are nodding, the Bradford pear trees look like vanilla snow cones, and the phlox is starting to bloom.  Tulips are tuliping--in every imaginable color.

I think that this is what heaven is going to look like.  Green.  In full bloom.  All year around.  Except there won't be years.  Scott says that everyone will be permanently thirty-three years old.  I like that.  Thirty three was a good year.  But then, so was thirty four, and thirty five, and........they have all been good years.  Even the bad ones.

I was born on March 26, 1938.   America was still crawling out of the great depression.  And two weeks before I was born, on March 12, German troops marched into Austria and annexed it for the Third Reich.   Within a year and six months, they would invade Poland. That's the world I was born into.  Upside down.  America entered the war when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.  The government built a German POW camp in Pryor--in the middle America--so that if one of the  German POW's escaped, there would be nowhere for them to go and no way to get there.  I was not yet four years old when my father went to work at the Pryor powder plant in 1942 making explosives and ammunition for the war.  All of my first memories have to do with something about the war, or the conditions that it caused in America.

My dad would bring me bracelets that some of the men would fashion out of scrap copper bits and pieces, or steel slag that were tossed out at the ammunition plant.  The men would lay the trash metal on the train tracks for the trains to flatten.  Then they would  braid the scraps and fashion bracelets.  I wish I had kept mine.  It was the one bright spot that I remember.  Nobody had things like that.   Ration books for food, tires, gasoline and everything else a family needed were the norm.  I grew up on rations.  We would trade food coupons for gas coupons if we had to go somewhere.

Schools were crowded.  Teachers weren't paid money.  They were paid in script--promissory notes, which they couldn't always cash.  People who had cash would buy the teacher's script for pennies on the dollar.  Most teacher's cashed their script for almost nothing--to buy food.

Phones hung on walls and had to be wound up to use.  It was years before my family had a phone. You didn't call a number, you picked up and an operator would take your request.  My family's number had three digits.  TV didn't exist.  All news was by radio--in the evening as a rule.  I can still see my grandfather sitting on a stool with his ear up against the mesh on the front of the huge radio trying to listen.  Everyone had to be silent during the news.  News was news.  Real events.  No opinions.  Visual news was at the movies.  On Saturday.  For a dime--if you had a dime.

 I didn't know anyone who had seen or flown in an airplane until I was in high school.  Most roads were dirt.  There were no interstates until I was out of high school and Eisenhower was president.   I am 80 years old and my world has changed.  But God hasn't.  He is the same.  Faithful.

Tomorrow, my daughter Pat is hosting a birthday party for me--come and go from 1 to 4.  Everyone is invited.  All of you, too.  She wanted to do it at her house but she lives thirty miles from here in the country--so I said do it here.  I will be eighty years young.  I thank God that I am in good shape and able to do almost everything for myself.  I certainly don't feel like I am eighty.  I have no idea what that should feel like anyway.

Pat is making chocolate pound cake--which is my favorite.  With whipped cream, or German Chocolate icing on the side--if you want it.  I like it plain.  And punch.

It is a blessing to have begun a new project--this late in life--by writing something everyday.  Who knew that you could reinvent yourself at seventy-five and start something completely new.  I had never written much, and yet here I am five years later still writing every day with almost 2000 postings.

The thing I like the best about this time of life is that I get to get up everyday with nothing to do and go to bed with it only half done.  Doing half of nothing takes a lot of time.

One of the best things is that I don't have to make anyone else do anything they don't want to do anymore.  There's no pressure.  Raising four children, with Ken gone so much, involved enforcing a lot of "house rules."  I don't have to enforce anything ever again.  Hallelujah!!

I'm playing my marimba for the choir on a regular basis--when we go to different places to sing.  I keeps my fingers, hands, wrists, and arms agile.  Everyone seems to like to hear me play, and that is rewarding.  I feel like I'm doing something useful.

My mom and her sister (Ann's mother) both had Alzheimer's disease.  It was tragic to see them so helpless in their later years.  I thank God everyday for my mind and my ability to communicate.  I pray that He lets me continue to write for years to come.  To be able to reason and think is God's second greatest gift to us.

Jesus didn't have an "I'm God," and I have a free ticket to pass "Go" when he came to earth.

Hebrews 1:17-18  "Wherefore in all things it behooved him to be made like unto his brothers, (us) That he might be a merciful and faithful high priest...to make reconciliation (to God) for the sins of the people (us).  For in that (because)...he himself has suffered being tempted, he is able to comfort those who are tempted."  He didn't get a free ticket for anything.

Some people say, "Well, Jesus was God, so he wasn't tempted by the things that I am tempted to do.  He didn't have the same problems that normal people have."  Not so.  In 1 Corinthians 15:45, Christ is called the "Second Adam," because He was born without original sin.  But He had the capacity to sin.  He just resisted temptation.

In Philippians 2:5-8, we find that Jesus was made just like us: "Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who being in the form of God didn't think it was robbery to be equal with God.  But made himself of no reputation and was made in the likeness of men."  In every single way.

Once you hold the Holy Spirit within you, you have what He had.  The presence of God within you guiding your behavior.  No, you aren't God, but you have the capacity of God within you.

You can do it.  Stop doing wrong things.  Start doing right things.  Scripture declares that we can overcome our nature since Christ now lives inside of us.  That's what He came to do.  To put the Spirit of God back into us.

"Christ in you, the hope of glory."  Colossians 1:27

Hope of glory.  I'm working on it.  You can, too.

The next passage in Hebrews that caught my eye is in 2:1.  The verse begins with the word: "Therefore."  Any time the word "therefore" appears in a Biblical letter, you should pay attention.  The writer is going to say something important.  Hebrews 2:1, "Therefore, we ought to give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard, lest at any time we should let them slip."

Paying attention.  Listening.  Asking questions.  But then, subsequently, storing what we have learned--for our future benefit, or the benefit of others.  We are what we learn.  We are what we remember.  We store up knowledge for the future.  A child that touches a hot stove won't do that again.  A child that has his first ice cream cone will want another one.  And a child who has someone that will read books to them will become a reader--and subsequently be full of knowledge.  

We are the sum of our experiences.  We are the sum of those who have gone before us.  I watched a documentary today on the evacuation at Dunkirk, France during World War Two.  The horrible conditions that befell the English troops as they tried to flee across the English Channel away from German forces.  They evacuated 335,000 men on life boats trying to get them back to England before they were overrun and killed.  Thousands upon thousands died in that effort.

Every fisherman in England who had a fishing boat set sail to help the battleships in their effort.  To save the few they could also carry.  The people of England will always remember being part of something bigger than themselves.  They saved lives.  They risked their own lives to do it.  The documentary was about patriotism.  The rescue effort they made will tug at your heart.

The book of Hebrews is about Jesus and the sacrificial effort that he made to save us.  Coming from Heaven to Earth to rescue us.  To save our lives so that we could have a future.  It should tug at our hearts.   Lest we forget, or fail to pass the story along to those who haven't heard it.  Jesus died.  He gave up his life for yours.  He took your penalty on Himself.  It was a gift.  You get a free ride Home to live forever on Heavenly soil.  "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13.

After he returned from the war in Vietnam, Ken told me, "God willing, I will never leave America again." And he didn't.  And we will never have to leave Heaven.  It's forever. 

Two books in the Bible are entirely about women--and what happened in their lives.  Ruth, and Esther.  Some time ago, I was writing about women in the Bible.  Many women weren't named, but played an important role in history.  Someday, when I am so inspired, I'll pick that up again where I left off.

Since I mentioned that perhaps Priscilla wrote Hebrews, I'll hit some of the highlights of that book.  The first verse, "God who at different times, and in different manners, spoke unto the fathers by the prophets, has in these last days spoken to us by his Son..."  The verse refers to Old Testament history.

The Old Testament is separated into sections. The first five books are called the "Pentateuch."  All Jewish males had to memorize these by the time they were twelve.  You remember the story about Jesus as a young boy going to the Temple with his parents and amazing the Pharisees with his knowledge of the Bible.  Even after he was thirty years old, Jesus quoted scripture that he had learned in his early years--using scripture that all Jewish men were familiar with.  (To point out where they were guilty of breaking God's laws.)

We should all try to memorize passages in God's Word.  I use an organization called the Navigators to help me memorize, but more than that, to recall.  Scripture will pop into my head because I have memorized it under a topical heading. Topics like: peace, hope, prayer, thanksgiving, etc.)

The next twelve books are History.  Followed by five books of Poetry.  The last books are Major and Minor Prophets.  All pointing to the coming of the Messiah.  "God...spoke...to the prophets."  It is through those writings that we know about both the first appearance of the Messiah, and the second coming.  Jesus is validated by prophecy.  It is statistically impossible for Him not to have been the Messiah--due to fulfilled prophecies.  I did the math.  There have not been enough people born in history for the one in a zillion chances it wasn't Him.  He fulfilled every prophecy.  He is the Christ.

Even if you commit only one scripture to memory, the Bible says: "My Word will not return unto Me void.  It will accomplish that which I have purposed it."  I memorize when I am driving on long stretches of road.  Or stopped at a red light--which irritates me.  I don't like waiting.

The book of Hebrews is not like the other books in the New Testament. The style is very different.  Authorship has been sometimes attributed to a woman--Priscilla, Aquila's wife.  They were tent makers with Paul, who stayed with them from time to time, and were followers of his teaching.

They also took the great scholar Apollos aside (after hearing him preach) and instructed him in the Good News.  Apollo had been preaching "John's baptism."  He didn't know that Jesus was the Christ and had risen from the dead.  Priscilla was noted in the book of Acts as having invited Apollos home after hearing him preach so that she and Aquila could acquaint Apollos with the facts concerning the events that had happened in Jerusalem concerning Jesus, the Messiah.

As I reviewed Hebrews this week, I was struck that in the eleventh chapter, which is called the "faith" chapter, the writer mentioned two women of great faith.  Sarah--the mother of the Israelite nation, and Rahab--a prostitute who hid two Israeli spies, and helped them escape.  I doubt a male writer would have given Rahab a place in the faith chapter.  Because of that, and a number of other feminine expressions in the book of Hebrews, I have become enamored with the feeling that Priscilla wrote it.

No one knows who wrote it.  The names mentioned are Paul--but it sounds nothing at all like the other letters Paul wrote; Apollos--it doesn't have the type of rhetoric that he would have written;  Barnabas--perhaps.  He had a kind and forgiving spirit.   But actually, it reads like women think.

And at the end, the writer mentions that Timothy has been released from prison and is coming to see the readers.  And it says that the writer is in Italy.  The book of Acts puts Aquila and Priscilla in Rome at that time.  So:  did she write it?  Who knows.  But I like the idea presented by scholars who attribute it to her.  I like the idea that God would give us a part of His Word through the letter of a woman.  Read the  'Factual Fiction' book "A Conspiracy of Breath" by Latayne Scott.  It was really good; I just finished it.  A real life augmented story of Paul, Timothy, Aquila and Priscilla.

But then, being a woman, I might be biased since Jesus said there would be neither male nor female from His time forward.  Women think different than men do as a rule.  And they express themselves differently.  The Bible is for all of us.  So...the idea of a woman writer intrigues me.

Spent the morning digging, raking, blowing and vacuuming leaves--my neighbor vacuumed the leaves.  I watched.  Dandelions think they are going to get me down.  Nope.  They are coming out roots and all.

The asparagus I planted last year is coming up.  I can pick it next year.  This is all so exciting.  How do all you non-gardners stand not getting your hands in the dirt.

I'm headed to Lowes to get mulch and tomatoes.  The gardner is coming Monday.  I can't wait to start bossing him around.

The bachelor button seeds I won at the drawing a couple of weeks ago are getting planted.  The only thing I have left to do is pray for rain.

Please, God, let it rain.

My next door neighbor's granddaughters have adopted me as their second grandmother.  We spent the last couple of days putting a 500 hundred piece puzzle together.  I have one of those large round coffee tables that rotates on a swivel, so it made a perfect place to dump the pieces out.  Problem was, I had to sit on the floor--and although they would rotate the table for me--when I was looking for a piece--every now and then I had to get up and get something to drink.  And my getter upper doesn't work like it used to.  We probably should have used a card table.

They helped me plant azaleas last year.  Three out of four of them died.  So we are going to plant some more.  "Hope springs eternal in the human breast."  I blame the loss on the horrible lack of rain we had this year.  Our area went months without noticeable rain.

I never let dying plants stop me from trying again.

I'm really excited that it is halfway through March.  Time for me to get my work gloves on, get a shovel and do some digging.  Tomatoes and parsley and green peppers.  I bought over 25 asparagus plants to get in the ground.  It takes three years for  them to be mature enough to pick.  Optimism.  I plan on being around to pick it.  I don't eat it very often, I just give it away.

The tulip tree I planted last year is budding and getting ready to bloom.  I am really excited.  I have always wanted one, so last year I tried again, bought it and put it in the ground.  In this area, having something live is exciting.  The ground is clay and you have to augment it.

Since my birthday is in 11 days, I know the redbud trees will start to bloom soon.  They always bloom on my birthday.

Spring.  I just love it.  It is God's birthday gift to me year after year.

I drove five hours round trip yesterday today to get my hair cut.  I can't tell you how well spent that time was.  I look like me again.  I had given up on ever finding a person in Edmond who could cut it like I wanted it.  The more I explained what I wanted, the more hair they would cut off.  But when I got to my former stylist in Pryor (Barbara),  I said, "Do what you do.  You are my guru."  She did.  I'm a new woman.  Amazing how your hair can make you feel good or feel ugly.  I feel awesome.

No woman in the world wants to feel ugly.  It doesn't matter how young or how old you are, you want to feel pretty--even if you aren't.  Someone recently asked me why I use face powder. "Because my mom told me that you shouldn't leave the house with a shiny nose."  Now, if my nose shines, I feel incomplete.  It doesn't matter if it's true or not, it's true in my head.  I have to powder my nose whether it needs it or not before I leave the house.  I've internalized my mom's rule.

Same thing with lipstick.  I want the kind that looks frosted.  Frosted lips.  That makes me happy..

So I guess I have to say, "Beauty may only be skin deep, but bring it on."

Feelings are real, but they shouldn't be what controls our actions.  Doing the right thing is sometimes uncomfortable.  We feel hesitant, or feel scared, or feel unsure of ourselves.  But if we live by our feelings, we will--in the long run--get into trouble.  Feelings can't be trusted.  A person needs a guideline on which to base their actions.  And their reactions.

For instance, I am not going to lie.  That's my rule.  I may really want to be honest, because a situation is super uncomfortable.  But because I have that guideline, I don't lie.  I've learned to say things like, "That's an interesting observation." Or, "What do you think about that?"  Or, "Why do you ask?"  I have a zillion answers to questions I don't want to answer.  But if pressed, I will say something like, "I'm sorry I can't agree with you,"  Sometimes the question is so outlandish I just disagree at the git-go.

I just hope that I never do anything that a person would want to lie about.  I want what I do to be in line with God's outlines.  I have an inner desire to please Him.  It's called Love.

I am going all the way to Pryor this week sometime to get my hair cut.  I have tried five different hair dressers here and nobody can cut it right.  I hate to drive two and a half hours to get a hair cut, but I've given up on finding anyone here.  It will be fun, however, to see my Pryor friends.  And Scott and Stacy have built a new house that I've never seen.  They moved in last month.

Sunday the lesson was on sex.  Imagine trying to teach a lesson that was relevant to a group of women over sixty.  The only new information I could give them was that they were in the age group of a newly emerging statistic--of people who weren't married moving in together.  Young people move in together for sex.  Old people move in together to keep the government from taking their retirement in Social Security.  Either way, God says don't do it.  Get a license and get married.

Up until the early fifties, everyone thought that homosexuality was a choice you made.  But "Dear Abby" answered a letter she got in the mail on the subject, and declared that people couldn't help themselves--that they were born that way.  Ta-dah.  Now it became a fact.  Dear Abby said so--it must be true. Whether it is true or not.  It caught on.  Deviant behavior was no longer sin.

I used to sit in Ken's office waiting on him to go home at the end of the day.  The only reading material was a zillion books on social behavior.  (That's what he taught.  Marriage and Family, followed by Deviant Behavior.  I'm sure they have made up a new name for that course?  It wouldn't be politically correct to call homosexuality "deviant" anymore?)  Study after study recorded statistics on behavior.  None supported the "born that way--Dear Abby" theory.  All of them supported the statistics of some encounter that directed a person's sex drive which occurred at a young age.

There are three main types of behavior.  1. Reflexes you can't control such as hic-cups, knee jerk reaction, sneezing, etc.  2. Controlled behavior.  Choices you make.  Get a degree, take a vacation, etc. 3. Drives.  Behavior that can be controlled to some degree but will react to a stimulus and are necessary for the continuation of the species.  Hunger, sleep, thirst, sex.  Once the reaction to a sex stimulus occurs, it sets a pattern for continuance in that direction.  The Bible has a lot to say about deviant sex, even sex with other species.  God made man.  He gets to decide what is deviant, not Dear Abby.  We don't want to offend anyone by being politically incorrect.  God doesn't have that problem.

Pat called to say she is giving me a birthday reception on the 31st.  My BDay is the 26th.  If a person is lucky, they get four score and ten years.  I've almost done the four score, still doing good and am planning on another score rather than only ten.  God has really blessed me with years.  And hopefully I can continue to keep my sanity.  Or maybe I've already lost it and don't know it????

Staying active and involved is the key.  Of course, I don't smoke, I don't drink, and I watch my weight.  On the other hand, I've had open heart surgery 45 years ago and on my third pacemaker.  But I never think about that.  The cardiologist says I have a perfect, strong heart.  It just doesn't beat--because they took the walls out forty five years ago, along with the timing mechanism. (AV node.)  Other than that,  I'm good.  All I need is a battery.  Wind me up and I'm good to go.

I worked David and Lindsey's estate sale Friday and Saturday.  It is amazing the things people do.  Lindsey had put a lot of pieces of jewelry in quart fruit jars--literally packed them with really nice stuff and screwed the lid on.  I was watching the shelves that the jars were on, and when people asked what was in them, I told them it was like a grab bag in a jar--but that everything in the jar was undamaged and useable.  If you buy the jar, you get everything--whatever--is in it.

However, this one woman proceeded to pour everything in one of the jars out on the tufted carpet!!  Blocking traffic.  What a mess.  Then she decided she didn't want the whole jar, just a few pieces.  Hundreds and hundreds of earrings, rings, bracelets, etc.  There was a sign on the wall which she ignored.  I explained to her that the price was for the entire jar, that you were not supposed to pour the contents out.  And that you couldn't cherry pick through it.  She wasn't happy.  I wasn't either, since it all had to picked up and a zillion pierced earrings were stuck in the carpet.  She didn't buy the jar.  By that time, I didn't want to sell it to her anyway.  I was nice.  I decided she probably couldn't read???

People are funny.  Some are really polite.  Some are rude.  I guess it takes all kinds.  I love to talk to the veterans.  They usually have a cap on with their service emblem.  I appreciate the fact that they served--and like to have an opportunity to tell them so.  Ken always wore a USMC cap when we went to breakfast, and inevitably some other jarhead would stop and they would visit.  Band of Brothers.  I'm always proud to say, "My husband was a Marine."

I work at estate sales for Becky and Lisa.  And now Becky's son David and Lisa's daughter Lindsey have caught the bug.  They are doing one this week that has a Chevy Caprice, 65K miles. One owner.  It still has the plastic over the seats and has been kept in a garage since the day they bought it.  I've never seen a car so pristine.

I don't work at the sales all day.  I can't last that long usually.  But my wage demands are competitive:  I'm free.  I just like to help, and meet people.  It's a lot of fun.  I had never gone to estate sales until I came to Edmond.  They are very different from garage sales.

I love garage sales.  I think it is fascinating to see what people have bought, never used and put in a sale for pennies on the dollar.  And in Edmond, there is so much money floating around, that clothes go to the garage sale with the original tags on them.  Someone purchases something, hangs it in the closet and never wears it.

Impulse spending is rampant in this town.  Women redecorate constantly.  I read somewhere that the per-capita income in Edmond is the highest in the state.  I am sure that is true.  Million dollar houses are common.  (Not mine.  I help keep the house price average down just by living here.)

But it is a great town.  Everything I could want--every outlet, or franchise store--is within three miles of my house.  I used to have to drive 50 miles to Tulsa for almost everything.  Three miles is better.  A tank of gas lasts me a month.  Medical specialists by the dozens are within 15 minutes.  And the roads, streetlights, sidewalks, etc., etc. are really well done and maintained.  But there is a price.  Taxes are higher.

I wish I could say I have completely adjusted.  But to be honest, that will never happen.  Nothing can take the place of your old friends and the familiarity of your home town.  When Ken was struggling near the end of his life, he would say, "Let's drag main."  I'd get him in the car and drive him up and down all five blocks of main street Pryor.  And he would always say, "I love this town."  And he did.  So did I.  Life is short.  Enjoy the days God has given you.

Once I get off on Evolution Theory versus Natural Selection within a kind of animal, it's hard to stop.  Different kinds of animals have different traits--which, since 1998, we now know for sure are passed through DNA. I could go on all day about this.

But I won't.  Suffice to say, God is unbelievable--beyond my ability to comprehend.  He is so smart.

Mankind is so utterly pompous to think that something so incredibly complex could have happened on its own.  Cells dividing, creating new DNA (which doesn't happen) and aways getting better and better.  When all around us everything gets worse and worse, or vanishes.  Enough!!!

New subject.  My Koi pond broke again.  The pump froze over the winter.  After I had paid  someone to winterize it.  I am down to one Koi and two pitiful goldfish.  They survived.  They are the most expensively decked out fish in Edmond by now.  A Koi pond is a money pit.  If you don't have one, count yourself lucky.  I would remove this one but it has something to do with drainage in the back yard.  What?  I don't know.  If the itch to get a Koi pond hits you, take a trip to the Zoo.

Dogs are so much more entertaining.  Squig is perfect.  No flaws at all.  I'm not biased.  The only thing a fish does is come to the edge of the pond when you start scattering food.

One thing I've learned about since I write every day.  People want to hear stories.  Stories hold our attention.  Especially the ones that turn out happy, triumphant, or the good guy wins.  Every time I write stories about Ken, I get notes telling me how much you enjoy them.

I wish I had paid more attention when Ken told a story.  But you know how things go, you always think that there will be another day to write that down.  I wish I had written down all the stories my mom, and especially my dad, told.

Men like to tell the stupid stuff they did.  Women try to make the story more presentable.  Maybe that's why Dad's stories and Ken's stories are more interesting.  They didn't clean their stories up.

I went to a seminar Tuesday on Genesis.  I felt like I was back in college.  The discussion was on DNA and replication.  Transcription to RNA.  And the impossible chance of adding traits to the genome.  Fascinating.  The general conclusion was that traits are lost (extinction) but not added.  And mutations are always digressive, never progressive.

I find that so interesting.  But of course, that's why I took all that junk in college and got a Zoology/PreMed degree.  People think I'm interested in animals.  No, just Squig.  I'm interested in biological processes.   I was looking for the truth.

My conclusion.  No way we could have evolved from mutation.  And science has come around to that way of thinking.  Things don't get more complex, they digress.  Natural Selection is the key to change, but within kind.  Kinds don't change.  That's where evolution theorists hit the wall.

The difference between the two ways of thinking, is that evolutionists start with one cell, (from some magical process) that divides into two cells (this takes DNA and a sophisticated replication process).  And the thing just gets better and better, growing new DNA chain arrangements until you have a human.  That just doesn't happen within DNA replication.

Microbiologists know this doesn't happen.

Nobody in one field cares much about what has been learned in other fields.  They are too busy expounding their own theories.

I haven't had to change anything I believe in the 60 years I have been studying this.  Not because I'm stupid, but because I started with the right theory.  And year after year, science has validated that theory.  There is an intelligent designer somewhere.

The only thing we disagree on is where that somewhere is, and Who or What that someone is.

In the sixties, the fad chant was, "God is dead."  Obviously, they were wrong.  And He didn't mutate.

People don't go to church to be religious.  They go because you ask them.  They want to make a Christian connection.  They don't call them Sunday School classes anymore.  They're called Connection Groups.  You learn more about God because you find a group you like.  That may sound harsh, but if you don't find a group you connect with, you will most probably move somewhere else, or quit.  And if you are a Christian, you will experience a loss and so will we----because we are one body.  It's kinda like losing a finger or knee or ear.  You can do with out those parts, but not as well.

If you have quit, we hope you will come back again.   We want you.  We need you.  All your expertise and knowledge need to be shared with us.  So the class that I teach on Sunday morning has decided that this year, we are going to "Each One, Reach One."  And it will take an effort.  Because we are in a nice little rut.  We are all content.

People do that.  They find a group, get satisfied with the friends they have made and don't think to include anyone else.  It's not mean hearted.  It's inertia.  You already have someone you know that you can call at the last minute and say, "You wanna go to lunch?"  It takes an effort to call someone new.  They might say "No," and then you don't know if you are being rejected, or they just can't go.  You have to put yourself out there.  So here is what I am suggesting to my group.  Doing these things must be real.  You have to sincerely care about someone.  You don't reach people you don't know.  Preachers can do that, but you and I don't.  Getting to know new people is difficult.

1.  Join something.  Meet some new people.  Make a new friend.
2.  Reconnect with someone who has dropped beside the way.  Make the effort to reengage.
3.  Go to lunch, a movie, event, craft group....something.  Sincerely care about someone.
4.  God is going to give you the opportunity to ask them about church.   Plan on what you'll say.
5. Tell them about your connection group and how you support each other.  Ask if they would go with you sometime.  Offer to pick them up.  Nobody likes to walk into a strange place by themselves.

It may sound contrived, but it's not.  It is a change in your life style that leads to new friends.  It helps others over the hump of rejoining the people of God.  People can miss that connection.  Reaching others is the job Christ gave us to do.  "As you are going, tell others..."

Everyone in my family has thick, gorgeous, beautiful hair.  Becky, Pat, Lisa and Ann.  Even my in-laws have beautiful hair, as well as my granddaughters, and my grandson's wives.  Luscious hair.

But me.  No.  All my life I bemoaned my hair.  It was thin, baby fine, no body, and grew so slow that a bad haircut lasted me a year.  I wish I had that hair back.  I would never be unhappy with it again.

Chemotherapy took care of it.  It kills some cells in your body permanently.  Fast growing cells such as hair follicles, nerves, fingernails and cancer.  Which sometimes cures you of the cancer, but you'll never get your hair back like it used to be.  But, given a choice, I'll take life over hair.

After I started Chemo, when my hair began to fall out, rather than face the inevitable, I went to the beauty shop and told them, "Shave my head.  I can't stand this slow patchy, pitiful loss.  Just shave it."  So they did.  Come to find out, I have a pretty head!  Who knew.  I kinda liked the bald look. And for the first time ever, I learned where the crown of my head is.  I could never find it before.  It is not on top of my head.  It is up on the back, on the right side.  Weird.

It's been ten years since I had breast cancer, I have been declared as well as any one can be.   My chances for it returning are no worse now than the general population.  I am eternally grateful for my life.  And I am grateful for the hair that grew back.  It much thinner.  It is even stringier and limper than it was before.  But the oddest thing, it never turned gray.  Before, or after.  It's still brown.  Go figure.

Pat gave me a permanent.  I hadn't had one in years.  It is a miracle.  The thin stringy hair looks fluffy.  Not very curly, just thicker.  It looks great.  I will never complain about my hair again.

I feel like God has given me a second "hair chance."  "In everything give thanks.  For this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you."   1 Thessalonians 5:18

I'm thankful I lived.  Praise God.  Many women didn't--and don't.  I love my fluffy hair.

Even though the Jews were on the wrong side of history as far as Jesus and Paul, and the beginning of the Gospel, the Jews are the people of God.  Ken's father, who was a preacher, used to say the Jews were God's time clock.  We can measure the future by the Jewish nation.

Over two thousand years ago it was predicted in the Bible that they would get their country back.  In the 40's, after the Holocaust, they were given back their homeland, Israel, and have been besieged by the countries that surround them ever since.  The Bible says that ultimately, all countries will be against them.  Seems like it could happen any day.  I hate to think that the USA will turn against Israel.

I will never understand war.  I will never understand Russia, Syria, North Korea, etc.  I will never understand the need for power that causes despots and countries to destroy another nation.  Money.  I guess if you have money, you have power?  There is evil in the world.

Sometimes it feels like evil will prevail.  America seems to be slip-sliding down the tubes of addiction, sexual depravity, pleasure seeking and Godlessness.  I'm homesick for the good old days when families went to church and ate chicken dinner on Sunday.  The good old days when people didn't use filthy language with every other word.

I am an idealist.  I want people to be good.  I want them to be kind to each other.  I want them to help each other.  I want them to think of ways they can lift people up.

I guess I am dreaming?  I want a better world.

I am afraid that it might be heaven.  It doesn't look like it is going to be heaven on earth.

I miss Ken.  Somedays, I long for goodness.  And peace.  And tranquility.  Sorry, I sound like I'm down.  I'm not.  There is hope.  Christ is going to come get us.  I've read the end of the book.

I loved teaching the book of Acts.  I learned so much.  When you look at all the territory that Paul covered 2000 years ago, it's amazing.  When you discover how many times he was ridiculed, beaten, jailed, and run out of town you can't help but realize that we own him a debt of gratitude that is immense.  And those that traveled with him as well.  They wrote.  They recorded.  And we have their words to read.

Paul took the facts of Jesus' life and spread the good news as far away as Rome.  Although he was a Jew, although he was a theological genius, although he was a Pharisee, he humbled himself to the will of God and took the message to everyone.  Not just the Jews.  Most of the Jews hated Jesus.  And they detested Paul.  The message of Christ was a threat to their power.

Rome had granted the Jews the power to run their country for the purpose of keeping the peace.  But they had to have permission from Rome to have someone put to death.  That's why Paul appealed to Caesar.  There were no grounds for the Jews accusations.  But that didn't keep them from continuing to try.  Much like what happened to Jesus.

Peter and James had a hard time accepting the truth that the Christ came for everyone.  They finally came around, as did the others.  However, there were those who received the message but wouldn't give up the law.  They wanted converts to become Jews before they became Christians.  Thanks to Paul, this didn't happen. But there are still Christian people and denominations today that want to impose rules and laws on their members.  It's all about power.

Some churches want to add something to belief in the death and resurrection and sacrifice Jesus made.  But Jesus paid it all.  There is nothing more for us to do.  He is our gift from God.

Luke wrote the book of Acts.  He wasn't an apostle, but he was a disciple and companion of Paul.  Luke wrote one of the gospels as well.  His two books make up over one fourth of the New Testament.  Both are historical.  The history of Jesus' time on earth, and the history of what happened next.  Read them.  I suggest using the Living Bible.  It isn't a translation, it is a transliteration--that is, it is in current English phrases.  But whatever, read it.  God touches you through His Word.