I got an email from my friend Rebecca Perkins after I wrote that I couldn't think of an appropriate verse to attach to Friday's blog about moving furniture.  She said, look at Philippians 4:13.  Which vilifies me.  "I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me."  She's right.

But I've always said that particular verse is somewhat misquoted--to say that you can do anything through Christ.  It doesn't say that at all.  It needs to be rearranged to read accurately--as do many verses in the Bible--so that we can decipher the King James English and be able to understand it.

You can't do anything and everything.  And you and I know it.  What the verse actually says is, "I can do all things which strengthen me through Christ.   Note the word "which."  It doesn't say ...through Christ "who."  Thus properly,  it says "things-which."  (And moving furniture qualifies.)

Christ will give us strength to do the things he asks us to do. The verse also covers emotional stuff as well.  Christ will be there to help you through it.  You will be stronger because of the trials and difficulties you go through, and Christ is there with you every step of the way.  He also suffered.

We are the conglomerate of our experiences.  The good and the bad.  That's what it means to be a "Grown-up."  Look at where you were thirty years ago, and look at yourself today.  You are stronger.  Christ got you through it.  You lean, you depend on His strength.

I like my "Janie" version of 1 Corinthians 5:13 which says, "Nothing has happened to tempt you and cause you to stumble, that has not happened to others.  But God is faithful who will not let you encounter anything beyond your strength to handle.  But will, with the problem, make a way to escape so that you will be able to withstand the pressure."

In all fairness to King James, it says, "There has no temptation taken you but such as is common to man.  But God is faithful who will not suffer you to be tempted above that which ye are able.  But will with the temptation provide a way of escape that you may be able to bear it."

I like my version better.

So, I bought the recumbent bike.  That was step one.  (Because the spine specialist told me I had to.)  But step two was terrible.  I had to give up a piece of furniture to get the bike into my living room where I could watch TV while I am peddling.  (I had dozens of people tell me to put it in another room.  To buy a second TV.  Bottom line--I didn't want to put it in another room.)

Which meant--step three--that every piece of furniture in my living room had to be moved, rearranged, tried out for at least 24 hours--then moved again.  It took me three days of rearranging.  I can't push with my arms, so it meant sitting on the floor and pushing with my feet.

More than once I got stuck behind something and didn't know if I was going to be able to get up and out.  It was comical.  I couldn't get hold of anything to pull myself up, so had to wriggle around to get on my knees and back out butt first.  You would think I would finally give up and wait until I had some help.  But no.  No.  I wanted it done.  Now.  I would go to bed and not be able to go to sleep trying to figure it all out in my mind.  I even dreamed about moving furniture.

I am sometimes my own worst enemy.  I am so, so sore today.  Every muscle in my body aches.  The point of getting the bike was because I needed exercise.  Well, I got exercise moving furniture during the last three days.  In addition to riding the bike.

Which brings me to step four, which is flat out irritating.  I have to get longer wires for the wall TV, rehang pictures, and replace lamps and move doodads around.  That will take another week.  But all the furniture is where it is going to stay.  I have to give up one of the pair of matched recliners--which is relatively pain free.  I can only sit in one recliner at a time anyway.

I started at 3 minutes on the bike and have worked myself--one minute at a time--up to 16.

Surely there is some Bible verse I could quote to justify all of that effort?  I just can't think of one.  One thing is for sure, if either of my daughters read today's blog, I'm in trouble.

People find it difficult to defend their a beliefs--beliefs that are inspired by the Word of God.  Beliefs that are different from the present climate of tolerance, politically correct speech and "group thought."  Belief that God, not us, knows what is best for mankind in the long run.

The "concept" of equality and tolerance--of anything and everything--has reached insane levels.  We are not equal.  There is no way we can be.  I agree that all people are created equal--are born equal--but the concept ends there.  We strive for equal opportunity.  But equal outcome doesn't happen.

The rest of your life is predicated upon certain facts.  What country were you born it?  Who were your parents?  Were they married to each other, or were you born to a single mother.  Did your parents have proper finances to support you.  Were you encouraged to get an education.  Were you born into ethnic minority such as Mexican, Indian, or Black?  Did you have a physical disability?

And all of those questions--and multitudes of others--don't even consider the fact that you may have been born attractive.  Women who are slim and beautiful, and men who are handsome, tall and well built, without question have advantages.  Those are statistical facts.  If you have a natural talent, or a propensity to high intelligence--those are gifts that give you an advantage.  (You didn't earn them.)

Having been shaped by all of those things, and many others, the defining factor of equality is education.  What you have learned.  What you know by experience.  And how extensively you have been thought to think.  "Thinking" is a critical ability that can learned.  Freedom to think, and learn, and achieve, and grow into a productive and respected adult are the greatest freedoms of all.

Many people sputter out.  Quit.  And don't arrive at the same capacity for thinking as others do.  And as we look at our world, it is easy to recognize stupidity.  False perceptions.  When it comes time to vote, I want someone who can think.  I don't want someone who can't.  The difference is visible to people.  Some of it self imposed.  Some of it circumstantial.  But it is a fact.  We live in a country where everyone has the same opportunities.  But not everyone takes advantage of them.  People who can think reject things that are contrary to the health of a people and the health of a nation.   Equality is not earned by protest.  It is earned through the process of education.  Give me a thinker.

Some people seem to think that government can cure our morals.  (I'm not even sure who the evangelical petrol is.)  I'm just a plain old Christian who believes that only Jesus can cure our morals.  God is the one who is in control.  And teaching children to be moral adults begins when they are small.  Sunday School is your best helper in doing that.  

I taught Bible School last year--I was terrible at it. (I've always taught teens and adults.)  There were over fifty adults working with the children who also teach them on Sundays--and some of them have done it for their entire adult life.  I was amazed at their dedication.  They were awesome.  I know I depended on the church--back when I was raising children--to fill in the gaps for me.  You need all the help you can get.

I was watching television yesterday and was shocked to learn that a huge percentage of school age children need care for depression.  I don't doubt it.  Teen suicide is at an all time high.  When you raise children with no concept of a God who is in charge of the world, kids find it hard to find meaning in their lives.  Or purpose.

And this "anything goes" society that we live in gives a child no moral boundaries.  If you don't have a moral authority, it really doesn't matter what you think about social issues.  But if you know that there is a God who loves you and wants what is best for you, it is a foundation to live by.  Living under God's authority gives you peace.  You don't have to accept immoral social beliefs--that go against God.  And you don't have to apologize for what you believe. You have set your faith on God's principles.  What a comfort that is.   People with  different principles aren't arguing with you anyway.  They are arguing with God.  All you have done is come under His authority, not the world's.  Just go about living like he wants you to.  Don't argue with people.  They aren't listening.

In Joshua  24:15, Joshua put it this way when he said, "But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve...but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord."  You can't have two masters.  There is a choice to be made.  God.  Or not.  I've chosen God and His word.  It makes all of my thoughts and decisions and beliefs in agreement with  Him.  I don't have to argue with anyone about anything.  I've come under a higher authority.

Becky invited her guide from Budapest to come to America and stay for a couple of weeks.  I met her today.  Lovely.  I can't wait to sit down and listen to her life.  I hope she will share it.  Her country was controlled by the Communists, then the Nazis during WW2.  Her parents and grandparents lived through all that.

Scott called yesterday all excited.  Seems he got his raised beds built at the new house they just moved into. One of those first things first for a gardener.  Scott is the only other person in my family that likes to garden.  The rest of them don't know what they are missing.

He explained to me that my dad, his grandfather, told him how to know when to plant.  I hadn't heard my dad tell this, so I was interested.  He said that "Poppie" told him not to plant anything before the first full moon in April.  He said it had something to do with atmospheric pressure.  Makes sense to me.  I'm sure it also has something to do with the fact that the temperature in Oklahoma is erratic.

That's what has been wrong with my planting stuff.  Wrong time.  So today, I put more tomatoes in the ground.  Tomorrow I'll plant kale and okra.  I've got to quit jumping the gun on planting stuff.  It certainly hasn't worked very well so far.

I got the shovel out and rooted up some bermuda grass and expanded my tomato bed.  Surely the tomatoes will grow.  I even bought some special soil.  Guaranteed to grow vegetables.  I'm a sucker for gardening guarantees.

But even with all that, it depends on God.  If we don't get rain it's all over.  Or if it's too hot.  Or too cold.  Or too windy.  Or it hails.  Or we have a tornado.

Gardening in Oklahoma is not for the faint of heart.

My class went to lunch Saturday.  For fun, everyone told something about themselves that nobody there had ever heard.  When it was my turn, I told about my first kiss.  I was in the eight grade, it was lunch time in the cafeteria on Friday, when one of my friends, Jerry, said, "I've got a big problem!  I'm taking Suzie (name changed) to the Saturday matinee movie tomorrow, and I think I might want to kiss her.  But I haven't ever kissed a girl before."  And then he asked for my help, "Could you show me how to kiss someone--I don't want to look stupid."

Of course, I had never kissed anyone either!  I was totally untrained in the art of kissing anything but my dog--but I for sure didn't want to look ignorant.  I had seen a few Roy Rogers and Gene Autry movies--where the boy kissed the girl.  So I acted like I knew what I was doing, and kissed him.  No, I didn't tell anyone.  My mom would have killed me.

Flash forward fifty some years later at my high school's reunion.  We were all telling stories about our escapades from when we were young.  All my girlfriends from school were at the table swapping stories, so I told the story about Jerry wanting me to show him how to kiss a girl--that he didn't know how.  Judy squealed, "That's what he told me, too."  Then Ginger, then Sue, then Mary Ann, and on and on.  Seems like we all had taught Jerry how to kiss a girl.  Fourteen year old girls are pretty dumb.  At last count there were a bunch of us.

Jerry ended up being a preacher.  Baptist.  He was already trained from the scriptures in, "Greet one another with a holy kiss."  Romans 16:16

I don't know how holy those eighth grade kisses were.  He had a racket going on.

From the beginning of the Bible (when God gives Adam four trees) to the end in Revelation when it talks about the trees that will line the river in heaven--trees that will bear 12 kinds of fruit-- the metaphor of fruit is compared to any number of things.

In Genesis 2:9, we read, "And out of the ground the Lord God made every tree to grow that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life...and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.  Four kinds of trees.  Pretty, tasty, life giving, and the one that was forbidden, the knowledge of good and evil.

In Revelation, the tree of life will bear 12 kinds of fruit for the healing of the nations.  So we see the analogy of the tree bearing fruit found in the Bible from the  beginning to the end.  But the fruit "concept" is also found all through out the Word of God.  Over and over again.

Galatians 5:22-23, "The fruit of the (indwelling) Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and self control..."  Also: Jesus said, "...by their fruit shall you know them..." in Matthew 7:16.  In other words, if you have God's spirit within you, it will show in your behavior.  The word "fruit" meaning behaviors.  And they identify you as a Christian.

One of my favorites is Psalm 1:3, "And he (God's child) shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth fruit in their season; their leaf shall not wither, and whatsoever they do shall prosper."

You don't have to grunt and groan to produce fruit.  It is a natural occurrence of being God's tree--that is, you are a follower of Christ.  You just need to be planted in the right place.  Somewhere that you are regularly fed and watered.  Preferably by a river of water--which would be a place that God's word is discussed and taught.  The writer of Hebrews put it this way in 10:25: "Do not forsake the assembling of yourselves together as the manner of some is...but exhort one another..."

We need each other.  That's how we grow.  We help one another.  That's called a church.  And it is not relegated to a being a denomination.

God has taken mercy on my gardening failures.  The local store where I buy my plants has put their tomatoes on for a one day special--for less than half price.  I feel a lot better about going to buy new plants.  I feel a lot better about losing all my plants to the freeze.  ( Three Freezes.)  This will reduce the price of the tomatoes that I ultimately grow to $35 apiece.  Win-win.

I don't have any other vices that I know of.  I don't quilt or crochet.  I don't paint.  I don't golf, bowl, or hunt deer.  I don't go to ball games.  I don't eat pop-corn at the movies.  So maybe growing tomatoes is an inexpensive hobby?

My asparagus survived the three freezes.  The tops froze, but the roots are underground and survived. I'm waiting for it to pup up again.  It seems counterintuitive that the only thing that survived is something that I don't eat.  I grow it to give it away.  It is the easiest vegetable of all to grow, and the hardest to kill.  I think it is a weed.

All of the rhododendrons that I planted died.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

The yellow peony survived.   The phlox was spectacular.  The violas are peeking up.  And the Iris is getting ready to bloom.

That's why.

I am writing again--a second book.  I wish the publisher would finish editing the first one.  I intensely dislike waiting on anything.  Anything.  Red lights, the microwave to finish zapping, water on the stove to boil.  It is a huge waste of my time that I could be spending doing absolutely nothing at all.

I read an article this week that discussed spacing in what you type.  It said that if you put two spaces at the end of a sentence--after the period--that you were raised on a manual typewriter.  You automatically spaced twice.  A polite way of saying that you are ancient.

I started on a manual.  In the eleventh grade.  Sixty-five words a minute.  You had to hit the sling bar to start another line.  Then like magic, they invented electric typewriters with automatic return.  We all thought that was the final edition of typing.  Electric.  You even had correction tape.  Slide the tape under the hammer, hit the wrong letter again, and Ta-dah!  The wrong letter disappeared. What more could you want.

You could want a lap top computer.  That's what you could want.  With spell check.  And backup erasure, and whole line, whole paragraph, whole page erasure.  And a million other devices you never dreamed about.  I would like to say that we've gone as far as we can go.  But I know from experience that it is not true.  Somewhere, out there, a ten year old is dreaming up something new.  Something better.  Something that the rest of us can't imagine.

In my lifetime, everything is new.  I was taught to take care of the things I bought so that they would last.  This generation doesn't plan on anything lasting.  They discard stuff after a year, a month, a day, because something better has come along.  Because the thing they have is obsolete.  Like manual typewriters.  Throw it out.  It's sad to me, but I certainly don't want to go back to a manual.

Even phones have numbers for their next edition.  1, 2, 3...8...10 and so on.  I think mine is an 8.  I'm keeping it.  Unless it becomes obsolete.  Which I can't imagine happening.

But someone can.  And will.

Every single tomato froze.  I covered them to no avail.  If I were a lesser person, I'd give up about now.  But no!!  I will persevere.  I will grow tomatoes.  (God willing.)

I know how the Egyptians must have felt when they got their crops eaten up by locusts.  Pharaoh should have just let the Israelites go when Moses told Pharaoh to, "Let my people go.".

Everything in Oklahoma is burning.  Hundred of thousands of acres.  And the Oklahoma wind just turns the burn into a fiery frenzy.  Forty mile an hour winds.  You can't get ahead of a fire with wind like that.  And add to that, the fact that rain has been nonexistent.  The land is so dry it crackles.

I don't know what the ranchers are going to feed their cows.  They will probably have to take them to slaughter--which will drive down the price of beef since the market will be flooded.  Just another year in Oklahoma.  Fire, tornados, drouth or floods, freezing ice storms, and wind.  The eternal Oklahoma wind.  Feast, or famine.

The only reason to stay is the people.  They are the cream of the American crop.  The reason there are so many great country-western singers from Oklahoma is because there is so much to misery here to sing about.  Reba, Garth, Toby, Brooks and Dunn, Carrie, Blake, etc. etc.  They know about real life and how Okies endure it.

Three of my grandchildren are pregnant.  More great-grandchildren on the way.  More little Okies.  It is a lot of fun watching this generation figure life out.  I can't help but remember how ignorant Ken and I were about what was ahead of us.  With children, grand-children, great-grandchildren, and their spouses, there will be 32 of us before the year is out.   My quiver is full of arrows.

After I wrote that last sentence, I wondered if you were familiar with that passage from the Bible.  It's not as well known as some of the other passages.  It just means that you have enough people on your side to go to war.  I have an entire tribe.

I thought I knew what "Chicken Fried" was all about.  I've been cooking chicken fried steak, chicken, mushrooms, etc. all my life.  But a few weeks ago, I went to Fish City Grill and ate chicken fried catfish.  I've eaten a lot of fried catfish in my life, but nothing like this.  To chicken fry something you have to dip it in buttermilk, then flour (with cornstarch baking powder and soda), then buttermilk and flour a second time.  Yum.

So like I said, I thought I had seen it all.  But Saturday morning, Becky and Craig took me to "The Hatch," for breakfast, and I ate Chicken-fried eggs.  They were delicious.  The eggs must have been parboiled, peeled and then dipped in the buttermilk batter before they were fried.  With Bearnaise sauce on the side. They were cooked to perfection.  I can't tell you how good they were.

I do love to eat.  And being around Becky (daughter) means that I will usually end up eating something I've never tasted before.  Her world travels have exposed her to every imaginable kind of food. (She just got back from Japan.)  Next week her Budapest guide, Erica, is coming to spend a week with Becky in Oklahoma.  I'm anxious to meet her.  I wonder what she will think about American food.  Probably that a lot of it is fried.

I hope we will get to eat when we get to heaven.  I'm thinking that we will because the Bible tells us that in heaven, "...the angel showed me the river of the water of live...also on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month.  The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations."

That is a lot of fruit.  And I think we are going to get to eat it.

I hope so.  The nations need to be healed.

I just want to be sure I've told you:  "Don't get a Koi pond."  They are a money pit.  You have to drain them and clean them to the tune of $350 every year.  And that doesn't count the occasional breakdown in the system--which creates additional expenses.

Yes.  Mine is pretty, with a surround of stone and a cascading waterfall.  But it came with the house when I bought it--I didn't put it in.  The Koi themselves are expensive, and I have lost three of them so far.  If it wasn't for my grandsons loving to feed the fish, I'd fill it with concrete in it and call it a patio.

The man who redid my master bath--Tony--came today to work on the pond.  He brought his twin sons who are in the seventh grade to help him.  They were the most polite young men I have ever met.  "Yes ma'am, Thank you, and Can I help you with that," were repeated by the two of them over and over.  It gives me hope for the human race.  They were here for over six hours without bickering, complaining or anything that could be remotely considered negative.  They were a joy.

I had a frozen phone that had put me into a fizz.  I couldn't use it and was looking at a trip to the Apple store.  The boys said, "May we help you with that?"  And they did.  Setting up new passwords, cleaning the system and whatever else my phone needed--explaining what they were doing as they went along.  Which I didn't understand at all.  But which fixed all my problems.

I told Tony that if he and his wife wanted to go out for a night on the town, to send the boys over to babysit me and fix all my electronic stuff.

Becky Bacon is still here.  She is better, but still not up to snuff.  I love having my friends stay with me.  We have done absolutely nothing and enjoyed doing it immensely.

The subject at teacher's meeting this evening was 1 Corrinthians 12th chapter.  This chapter discusses gifts that people in the church are given--by God.  The point of the lesson is that all gifts are for the common good.  Gifts are compared to the parts of the body: toes, eyes, elbows, etc. that make up the whole.  We need each part to make the body of the church.  All parts are important.

Someone in the group said that you ought to know what your gift is.  But many people don't know how they are gifted.  They seem to think it has to be music, or teaching, preaching, or something public along those lines.  Truth is, the most important gifts are those like:  Being an encourager.  Or a listener.  Or an organizer.  Or a cook, or visitor to the homebound.  The gifts of service are the most valuable of all--or so it seems to me.  Where the rubber meets the road.  Where people are helped by a Christian servant in the most basic ways.

I made the point that I really don't like the concept of a person having "a" gift.  Because you might get stuck with the idea that you have "One" gift.  I don't think that is necessarily true.  Over my lifetime, I have been able to do a number of things that were beneficial for the "Common Good" that I did for awhile, and then didn't continue to do as I grew older.

For instance, I could sew.  So I helped others learn how to do that.  It was certainly a benefit to those who didn't know how.  Then I went as a helper to Church camp for years.  Dirty work.  Tiring.  Emotionally draining.  Then I didn't do either of those things any more.  I did a different thing, I advised young people how to make a four year college plan of study.  I taught Bible at church.  And in my home.  And when the pianist at Church quit, they asked if I would do that.  I said OK.  But here I am writing every day.  Is my gift writing?  Or sewing?  Or teaching?  Or being a youth camp helper?  Or....or...or, is it just being who I am by the grace of God?  

I think of gifts as being things we can do, and are willing to do, when those things need to be done.  Some of them we are really good at.  But there are some things we aren't good at at all.  For me, it's organizing people to so something.  Actually organizing people period.  I like to be told what to do--to help--by someone who knows what they are doing.  I much prefer to follow a leader rather than lead.  And working with small children makes me nuts.  Some people have a "gift" for that!!  Good.

Becky Bacon's surgery is over.  She's miserable, but all seems to be going as well as can be expected.  So far all she has done is sleep.  I've hidden her keys, because, since she is an RN, she tends to think she is invincible.  I'll give them back when I "good and well" feel like it.  And that won't be tomorrow.  We'll see.  So far, she is glad I'm waiting on her.  Three meals a day and a soft pillow.  Squig is helping.  He has abandoned me and taken up residence in the crook of Becky's knees--where she is sleeping on the sofa.

When I served supper yesterday, she asked "Who cooked this?  Was it Jeanine next door, or Linda across the street?"   She was on track--she knew it wasn't me.  Last time s.he was here she couldn't get over my neighbors--the way they brought food to me.   (It was from Linda.  Spaghetti.  And Jeanine brought us lemon cake and homemade granola for breakfast.)   These two women are the kindest, most thoughtful neighbors anyone has ever had.  They have the hearts of a servant.   They exemplify the caring nature of Christ himself.  They bring me food all the time.  (I try to reciprocate, but there is no way I can keep up.)

All because I live alone.  Because I am rather elderly.  Because I am a widow.  (I hate that word.)  And their husbands are just as helpful.  Jeanine's husband always takes my garbage to the curb.  I can't get it out there ahead of him.  He has it done before I even think about it.  Linda's husband regularly asks if I need anything.  How can he help.  Delivers my mail to my door.

I feel like Julia Andrews in "The Sound of Music."  Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good?  I certainly am not deserving of such a degree of kindness.

People like my neighbors make me want to be a better person.  There are so many things we can do to help those around us.  We just have to be aware.

Next week sometimes I will cook roast, carrots and mashed potatoes for all of them.  I don't cook very often because it's hard to cook for one.  But I can do a roast.  And share.  These neighbors deserve a night out every now and then.

I am taking Becky Bacon to the hospital this morning at 5:30AM to have eye surgery again.  It failed last month, and the surgeon is going to try a new procedure.  Hopefully this procedure will work.  Prayer on the part of friends is needed.  We don't want her to go blind--and that is a real possibility.

I have been teasing her for the last few months (when we thought the last surgery was going well) that as long as she has problems, she has to leave Pryor and come to stay a week with me--and I love that.  (Her doctor is in Okla. City.)  At the time, everyone thought that what was being done was working.  But this is no longer a teasing matter.  She needs all of your prayers.

God hears the prayers of his people.

Most people are waiting on someone to notice them.  It doesn't seem to be in the human genome to be the one to extend themselves and make "outsiders" welcome.  I shared a "for instance" with my class Sunday morning.  I told them that it is easy to "settle in" with a group and get comfortable--and shared what happened to me once, when I joined a class of over thirty-five people that had been together for years.

I had just moved to Edmond and was visiting this group to see if it was a fit for me.  I was welcomed, and that was the end of that.  When I came back the second time, nobody paid any attention.  They had been together long enough that they knew each other, separated into small groups--a normal breakdown was around five or six--that's how many people a table would hold.  People gravitated to the same table week after week.  Nobody invited me to sit at their table.  I've been a member of a lot of churches and know that they truly don't know how unwelcoming they are.  They just haven't been trained to be friendly.  To take individual, personal responsibility for an atmosphere of inclusion.

So I did an experiment.  I spent the next two weeks learning everybody's name.  All thirty five of them.  And the next week, and the next, I walked up to each person, called them by name and asked about their week.  By the third week, I was somebody who was important--becauseI knew their name.

What I knew "going in" was--that many of them didn't even know each other's names.  Crowd dynamics.  You settle into your small group.  Once settled, there is no need to extend yourself out of that group. Because everyone is looking for acceptance, they don't look upon themselves as the "Acceptor."  Very few people will extend themselves in that way.  Shyness?  Feelings of inadequacy?  Indifference?  Lack of awareness?  Lack of responsibility?  And we are Christians!!!

I grew up with a mom that stressed responsibility for including people.  She said, "Smile.  Say hello.  YOU must be the one to do that.  People are lonely and insecure."  That's how I grew up.  Smiling and saying hello when I encountered people I didn't know.  Now, I can see how valuable that is.  And that most people don't how to do that.  They are waiting to be included.  They don't see themselves as the "Includer."  So, look around you.  Somebody is hoping you will learn their name.

I'm not a whiner, or a complainer.  So I apologize for yesterday's blog.  I just lost my cool for a minute.  My reaction to something going wrong with me is defiance.

I made a huge mistake planting things before April 15.  I knew better.  But the weather was warm.  Balmy and wonderful--and I forgot that I live in Oklahoma.  One week after I planted stuff, it was 31 degrees.  And it is supposed to be 29 tonight.  I've got my buckets out to cover the tomatoes up, but I doubt anything will make it.  This is why the average cost of my tomatoes is $60 apiece.  I keep buying new plants and starting over.  I just don't seem to learn.

One of my Coral Bell azaleas made it.  Out of four.  They tell me that you can't kill Coral Bells in Oklahoma.  I probably hold some kind of record for azalea murder.  I'll buy more of them.  Like I said.  Defiance.

I made a mistake in Teacher's meeting last week.  I asked the question:  "When, exactly, do we get our glorified bodies?"  My stars, you would have thought I had predicted the day of the "Second Coming."  I poured gasoline on the fire when I followed that question with another one:  "Did all those people who were resurrected after Jesus was, and walked around Jerusalem greeting  their neighbors, did they have glorified bodies."

I should have stopped.  But I just had to ask, "What does a glorified body look like anyway?"

I don't think some of the teachers know just how to take me.  Nobody else asks questions.  But I figured that a room full of adult Bible teachers could maybe answer some of my questions.  Paul said he was sick of giving milk to people when they should be ready for meat.   I was just exploring meaty questions I didn't know the answer to.  I didn't get any answers.

There were pre-millenniumists, and post-millenniumists in the room.  I told them that a pastor I once had  was a pan-millenniumist.  He felt that every thing was going to pan out just fine.  I don't think they thought that I was funny??  Actually it's a great group of people.  Everyone is there by choice.  So the discussions are interesting.

I went swimming twice last week.  Today I went again.  No more.  I'm done.  If I do any more wet stuff, I'm going to do it in the bathtub.  Soaking in steaming hot water.

I guess if I want to exercise, I'm going to have to get a recumbent bike.  One that leans backward.  I went to the orthopedist a week ago and he took a look at my CT scan, turned around and looked at me and said, "Your back is shot."   No lie, Dick Tracy.  "I've been telling you that Physical Therapy wasn't helping for me--for the last six months."  I can't walk any distance anymore.

Nice part is, that it feels fine when I am sitting.   No problem with my back at all.   I'm not any older than I ever was.  It's my body that's out to get me.  I feel betrayed.  

I hate to exercise.  I always have.  And now that I am supposed to exercise, I like it even less.  I'm the kid who got a note from her mother every day so that I didn't have to go out for recess.

It's a blessing that I have a high metabolism.  I burn calories just sitting and "thinking."  I've always been thin.  And I have small bones.   Otherwise I would weigh 900 pounds, because I eat all the time. Three meals doesn't do it.  Four, or sometimes five is normal for me.  And snacks all day long.

So the way I figure it, I get enough exercise getting up and down to go get something to eat.  And chewing.  Chewing counts.  I drink eight to ten cups of tea each day.  Swallowing counts.

But in spite of all that, I know that I've been too sedentary. So, I'm going to buy a recumbent bike and plop it in front of the TV.  And I don't even like TV.  (Except Designated Surviver.)

If it sounds like I am whining, well, I am.  I'm irritated.  And so, knowing the solution, I will give thanks, "In everything give thanks."  Not "for" everything.

 God didn't say I had to like it.

The first step in being an effective servant of Jesus is to get used to opening your mouth and saying something.  It doesn't have to be much.  You don't need to dump the Bible on people.

Start with saying "God Bless You."  To people who serve you.  At McDonald's, Starbucks, the grocery check out, when you go to the bank.  You will be amazed at how many people smile and say "Thank You."  It may be the only time that day that they hear God's name in a positive light--that isn't a curse.  If you go back to the same place regularly, they start expecting you.  And they smile.

It will soon become a habit.  And what a great habit it is!  Blessing people and smiling when you do it.  It will become a natural part of your life after awhile.  And every now and then someone will say, "You too."  That feels good.  You are continually scattering "God seed."

Today, the plumber came to my house and he got blessed.  "Thanks for coming to help me.  And God bless you," with a wave as he left.  It's an easy "no stress" way to become comfortable with being who you are.  A Christian!  We should be joyful people.  Always ready to bless someone for God.  It's what we do.   Bless others.  You can't be a blessing to people you don't meet.  Try to be a blessing to those you do!

I like the old adage that says, "If you went on trial for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?"

We are starting a new thing in my Sunday class.  We are all going to join something we haven't ever done before.  That way we will meet new people.  It's easy to get stuck in a rut with the same old crowd.  One of the women came back the next Sunday and said, "I've lived in my house for 30 years and never gone to a home owner's association meeting.  I joined.  I'm going to get to know some of my neighbors that I've never met.

Try it.  Just start with making a habit of saying, "God Bless You."  There are a lot of lonely people out there that need you to bless them.  Join something.  I went to the OSU Master Gardening classes for four weeks.  This week I am going to start swimming again.  Who knows who I will meet.

When I got up this morning, the weather was lovely.  I put on my work clothes to go spread mulch on my flower beds, but by the time I got myself together, the temperature had dropped to the low 40's and the wind was 35 miles an hours.  This is Oklahoma.  If you don't like the weather, wait a minute.  I can tolerate everything but the wind.  When Rodgers and Hammersteine wrote the musical "Oklahoma,"  the words, "...where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain..." were very accurate.  Any kind of wind you can imagine--we have it in Oklahoma.

Scott reports that he is getting a lot of flack about the "Streaking" story I wrote.  People think it is funny.  I say, he shouldn't have gone streaking.  Pryor is small, and if you do something notable--like streaking through the neighborhood--everybody in town knows about it anyway.

If you do something you probably shouldn't have done, your mom will hear about it before the sun sets.  She'll get a phone call.  I got a phone call from the Claremore Police one evening, and Claremore is 17 miles away.  "Are you Jon Jacks mom?"  I told him I was.  "Well, you need to come get him and his friends.  I'm holding them until you get here to pick them up."

Seems that Jon and his buddies were roasting hot dogs on Claremore's "Eternal Flame."  Claremore and Pryor had (have) a fierce rivalry in football.  Jon's football team thought it would be funny to "dis" Claremore by using their flame to roast their hot dogs.  It was funny.  However, Claremore's team was getting ready to try and trash Jon and his friends when the Police showed up.  The Police were just trying to delay the fight--until the game on Friday.  Nothing illegal.  Just another one of those things I didn't tell Jon not to do.  If you raised girls, and not boys--it's a whole new ball game raising boys.  I had two girls before I had the two boys.  It didn't prepare me.

Jon was easier to raise, but that really doesn't mean anything.  Kids are kids.  They'll wear you out.

By the grace of God, you'll get the job done.  Scott and Jon grew up to be responsible citizens, hard workers and good, loving family men.  I take all the credit.

Once a year, for about a week, if there has been the right amount of rain and the temperature is perfect, the morel mushrooms peek through the leaves and toppled trees.  Last year, Pat found two.  You never know if the conditions will be prefect or not.  Whether there will be any--or not.

But this week, Easter week, they made their appearance and they were abundant.  Pat and Tom foraged through the undergrowth on the back of their twenty acres this afternoon, and found 20 of them.  It is going to freeze tonight, so they picked them all.  And brought them into town so that I could enjoy them as well.  We fried them in butter and feasted on morel mushrooms.  So delicious.  It's been two years since I had last tasted one.  And I'm now hooked.

There are entire Oklahoma websites for every county--posting when they show up.  It is such a tiny window for them to be harvested that everyone celebrates the first ones they find.  They are gone by the end of the week.  If you have never eaten one, you don't know what you are missing.  Few people have ever tasted them because they are so rare.  And nobody is going to share them!!  There aren't enough of them to market.

You have to have uncleared land with trees that have fallen, and decomposed, to have a chance to find one.  And since the majority of us live in town, chances are you will never see one.  Pat has twenty acres, and only about five of them are cleared--so the conditions are perfect to find them--on the other fifteen acres.  Some years.  When the stars are aligned???  So today, Easter Sunday, I ate morels.  I will remember it.  I can't believe that Pat and Tom drove thirty miles into town to share them with me.  At eight o'clock in the evening.  That is love.

Today we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus.  Thousands witnessed this event.  But if someone mocks you for believing, think of this.  Eleven men parted their ways, went in different directions spreading the word of what had happened, and never faltered in their steadfast witness of his resurrection.  They saw him crucified, and they saw him resurrected.  They were killed for their belief.  They died alone.  Why would twelve men allow themselves to be tortured and die, each alone, for a lie?

He is risen.  He is risen indeed.