My granddaughter Kennie came over this afternoon with my great-grandson Maverick.  He is the sweetest baby.  He never cries, or fusses.  He just looks at everything that is happening, is very calm, and takes it all in.  I didn't have any babies like that.  Mine were all easily bored and making sure that I knew it.

She brought me a Christmas present from her sister Megan, that my son Scott was supposed to get to me.  Along with the sweetest letter from Chrissy Phillips.  I was supposed to get both of those things four months ago.  I guess "later" is better than not at all??? Thanks, Chrissy for your kind words. Also Amy Smith.

I've been cooking supper for Becky and a friend, Josh, that works for her.  She says he is the first person she has ever known that works as hard and as steady as Craig does.  Josh is thin and eats everything I put in front of him.  It's nice to cook for someone who likes to eat.  All three of them, as well as my gardener, John, that used to do yard work for me, are working on a place that is so big that it will take an entire crew a year to get everything cleaned and set up.

My publisher is coming over Friday evening.  We are comparing notes, and doing the final editing.  I'm probably going to get my copies before the end of May.  I am sooooo....anxious.   

My sweet friend Carolyn just had her fifth surgery on her foot.  It's been a year of misery for her.  It just won't heal.

This is a disjointed, catch up kind of blog.  Today is "Teacher's Meeting" at the church.  We will review what is coming up next Sunday.  It is interesting to be in a group that has so many smart Bible students--all of them teachers, former pastors and even an FBI retiree.    I always learn something new.  You would think that after teaching so many years I would know most of it!  But it doesn't work that way.  They call the Bible the Living Word, because it is always fresh.

  

I am hooked on the TV show "My 600 pound life."  I know.  It's a stupid fascination.  People are eating themselves to death, and they say that they don't know what to do about it.  I just don't see how anyone with access to media doesn't know what makes them fat.  They consistently say, "I don't know how to stop," or "I can't stop." Some of them have been emotionally broken in childhood and eat for comfort.  Many of them were molested and felt it was their fault, and they are punishing themselves.  It's sad that they feel so helpless.

It's almost like there is a disconnect between what they put in their mouth and what they think that means.  Some of them don't even know what a calorie is.   I keep thinking the show is all "made up" but they show these people lying in a bed who haven't been up for years because they weigh 600-700 pounds.  They can't walk because their legs won't hold them up.  People wait on them.

To keep gaining weight, they have to have somebody bring them the food.  Why would you bring junk food to help kill someone and say it's because you love them.  If you want to lose weight, stop eating fried food, bread, (Pasta) and sweets.  That's it.  That's where the calories are.  It's simple.  High protein, low carbs.  There isn't a plan B.   But you can have anything you want--occasionally.

I went to one of those church buffets where everyone brings their favorite food. I ate all of it.  Fried chicken, mac and cheese, lime jello pecan salad, baked beans (with molasses) potato salad and huckleberry pie. Among other things. I love to taste different foods that I don't normally cook.   I gained 1.8 pounds in one day. That's how you gain. (But, then I lose it in a week because I cut my calories.  It's my once a month indulgence.  Once.)

Some people eat like that every day and wonder why they gain weight. It's actually simple.  It isn't how much you eat, it's what you eat.  I've never joined Weight Watchers, but they have an easy to use point system that is effective. 

Americans are notorious for not granting the government authority.  They riot.  Break laws, run stop signs, cheat on their taxes, drive over the speed limit, steal, and on and on and on...Americans are notorious lawbreakers.  They want to decide which laws they will obey and which ones they won't.  The laws don't apply to them if they decide they don't.  Americans want to be in charge of their lives with no regard to others.  We are notoriously independent.

But to live in a safe and secure place, we have to make a decision to obey the laws of the land, and recognize (or hope) that they are for the common good.

But we also know that some of the laws are stupid.  Which drives us nuts.  The government has drifted closer and closer to trying to legislate morality because we have become a nation of immoral people.  We now have hate crimes.  School rules on bullying.  Inclusiveness.  Things that used to be part of a social differences, we now try to legally enforce as behaviors of tolerance.

Tolerance is not achievable without people giving up principles, regardless of whether those principles are right or wrong. Principles are the bedrock of our differences.  As an example: There are dozens of Christian denominations that differ on the subject of baptism.  Some immerse, some sprinkle, some think baptism saves you, some strongly disagree, some require immersion for joining their church, some regard it as optional.  But all agree on the resurrection of Jesus Christ.  These denominations don't tolerate, they agree to disagree.

Every institution, every organization, every race, every group has its beliefs.  To tolerate, you have to agree to give up your principles.  And if that happens, we will no longer be individuals, we will be an amalgamated blob.  Differences define us.  What we really want is for people to quit fighting over small differences and come together on large principles.  What we really want is to go back to the moral laws the Bible defines.  We want a Godly nation.

Authority.  Who has it?  There are a number of ways to gain authority.

1.  Appointed.  Like a federal judge, or by being granted authority over a specific situation by your boss or someone else who is in charge.

2.  Elected.  Voted on as the class president, governor, senator, president, etc.

3.  Conquered.  There has been in a war and someone is victorious.  That leader, or country has won the authority to rule by force.

4.  Granted.  You follow someone because you choose to do so.   

Ken taught Sociology after he retired from the Marine Corps.  It is the study of the way people interact with each other, and why, and how. The Marine Corps has a unique system of authority over its members.  And every member at every rank accepts that authority.

Ken taught that authority is always granted from the bottom up, and never from the top down.  No one has any authority over you if you don't grant it.  They may torture you, or kill you, or throw you in the brig, but ultimately you are the one who decides who you will obey.  And who you will follow.

People followed Jesus by choice.  Throngs, crowds, and disciples.  Which drove the Pharisees and Sadducees mad.  They sought a way to kill him.  They had been "appointed" by the Romans to rule the Jews, but the people wouldn't follow them; they followed Jesus. People chose Jesus over the religious rulers.

 I have "granted" God authority over my entire life because I decided to do so .  And it is life changing.  It also changes eternity for those who follow Him.  

There was a pattern in the 1930's and 40's of depression glass called Waterford.  Sometimes called Waffle.  It came in three or four different colors.  I started collecting it over fifty years ago in pink, and it was fun.  Kind of like an Easter Egg hunt.

Through the years, Ken and I would stop on our way to somewhere else, run in an antique store and make a quick pass through to see what we could find.  He wasn't particularly interested, but was a good sport about it.  

Once on the way to Tulsa, we stopped at a hole in the wall junk store in Inola, and Ken came back to where I was looking around.  He was holding four salad plates and asked, "Isn't this what you are looking for?"  It was.  I was so excited.  I had never found a salad plate before.

It got harder and harder to find through the years for a price I was willing to pay.  But I finally had a full set--except for the round butter dish lid.  I found the bottom but no lid.  So it was the only thing I didn't have.  I quit looking because the butter dish on e-bay came up only a couple of times and was $250.  Which is outrageous.  I was thinking five or ten dollars at the most.  And never in all those years did a lid come up for sale by itself.

So last week I was looking for something else, and a notice for the lid popped up.  Valued at over $150.  Which is also ridiculous.  That's not an Easter egg hunt, that's just buying over the counter.  But the temptation was too much.  I bid on it at a price so low I thought e-bay wouldn't accept the bid.  And then forgot about it.  I just got a notice that I bought it.  For almost nothing.  What that says is that nobody is buying it anymore.  We buy what our grandmother used and Depression glass is out of date.  Tupperware is in.  Save some money because none of your kids will want any of it when you are gone, anyway.

I got a note from a lady who lived in my Pryor neighborhood--which was small--during the late 60's.  She said she didn't know how she discovered my blog, but she was reading and enjoying it.  I thought that it was interesting that someone from the past found, and is reading what I am writing.  It was a pleasant feeling to know that. 

I have no idea who reads this unless you let me know.  There is a "Send Feedback" button, and every now and again someone uses it.  Thank you.

I finally got the book contract like I wanted it.  And today, I signed it.  Jeanette came over and we went over it for one last time.  It has been a lengthy process because I didn't want to sign my rights away.  I could have signed it three months ago, but couldn't bring myself to do it until I was completely satisfied with it.  I didn't want anyone adapting it or adding to it.  

It shouldn't delay printing.  There is some editing to do. But I've finished that.  All that needs to be done is for the publisher to correct her copy.

I feel like a weight has been lifted.  There is not much else I can do.  I've done everything I know to do.  All that is left is for people to buy it and read it.  In September.  I think the name of it will be "The Letter."  Unless that name has already been copyrighted.

This has been a strange thing to accomplish at my age.  But I am encouraged.

Maybe God isn't finished with me yet??

I thought there would be thirteen people.  There were eleven.  It was Jon's birthday and I think the last time Easter was on the 21st of April was in 1957.  It doesn't happen very often.  Not in Jon's lifetime.  He was born in 1972.  

I know there is some algorithm for figuring out when Easter is, but I always forget what it is.  

Dinner was a free-for-all as usual when any of my clan get together.  Three dogs knocking over the water bowl.  People sloshing through the water with others mopping it up with their feet on a towel.  Craig slicing ham, Becky stirring the gravy, people sticking their fingers in everything to get a bite.

My friend Jeanette brought a huckleberry pie.  That was unexpected and delicious.  My family is nuts about huckleberries.  Everybody brought something, and everyone ate too much, so it was a successful gathering.

Brady checked the potatoes that he planted last time he was here, and was delighted that they were coming up.  He also told me that my tomatoes looked good.  Declaring himself to be the judge of gardening.  He's seven.

Tate scattered the puzzle pieces all over the floor--laughing at the mess.  He's four and his mother was ready to thrash him.

All in all, a wonderful day.

Christ is risen and lives in our hearts. 

Today is Good Friday.  I have always wondered why they call it Good?  There was a huge influx of people coming for a celebration of a Jewish holiday; there was Pilot washing his hands of the entire mess; there was a three-ring-circus with people yelling "Crucify Him"; There was a mass of bodies pressing to get a good look at what was going on.

There were officials of the church yelling, "You saved others, why can't you save yourself!"  There were "lookie-loos" trying to get close enough to see what just happened-was there any blood!!  There were Roman soldiers nailing three men to wooden crosses.  There were people crying.  There were church officials yelling "Take down that sign over his head!!! He's not the King of the Jews."

It was a Free-For-All of mass proportions.  The followers of Jesus were weeping and broken hearted.  The Roman soldiers were rolling dice to see who was going to get his robe.  His followers thought that the end of all of their hopes for overtaking the Roman government had just vanished.  This wasn't how it was supposed to turn out. Why didn't Jesus perform a miracle? 

And there was Jesus.  Bloody, broken, hanging on a cross.  "Forgive them, for they know not what they do."  That's what He said.  In other words, "They don't know they are murdering the Messiah.  Give them another chance."

He came.  He lived a sinless life. He was an innocent man.  And in the hours that he suffered physical pain, the most horrible part was that all of my sin, all of your sin, all of the sin through the ages was laid on Him.  And God, who cannot look on sin turned His back.  Jesus cried, "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken me."

That is the loneliest moment ever endured by anyone.  Ever.  For you.  For me. 

I tell this story every Easter.  I have new readers, so I'll tell it again. After your children are grown, when they get together, you find out all kinds of things that you never knew before.  I thought I had them under control when they were growing up. But obviously I didn't.

We had moved to California for five months, waiting on Ken to retire.  We were living on base at El Toro in officer's housing.  Which wasn't much.  Two bedrooms, one bath.  Adequate, but nothing luxurious.  Pat was in the fifth grade.  Becky in the third.  Scott had just turned five years old.

There was a big tree in our front yard and the street was pretty busy.  Easter was coming up, and Pat asked Scott, "Hey, you want to be Jesus?"  Whatever Pat and Becky thought up, Scott did; and unbeknownst to me, the girls got ropes and tied Scott to the tree with his arms out, fastened to a couple of branches like a cross.   "You're gonna be Jesus in our Easter pagent," they told him--and topped him off with a crown of thorns.  Probably from a rose bush.  But after a while,  the girls got tired, went in the house and left him there.   Tied to a tree.  Naked as a blue jay except for a tea towel wrapped around him in an appropriate position. The only bad thing was, after awhile, he lost his loin cloth. Their intentions were Christian.  It just didn't turn out that way.

 I don't know who cut him down.   I also don't know why I never heard about it until after they were grown.  You would have thought one of the neighbors would have told me.

At least the girls knew the true crucifixion story.  They didn't disobey.  I never told the girls not to crucify their brother.  If I had, I would have told them not to crucify him in the front yard on a main street.  "We finally remembered that he was still hanging out there and cut him down and gave him his clothes," Pat said.

     "They crucified me!  Scott said,  There I was, my arms tied to a tree, and my...."  (Unprintable.  You can fill in the blanks.) " Pat said:  "He was no worse for wear, and nobody reported a naked kid tied to  a tree."   Becky said: "I had nothing to do with it."  Knowing Becky, she probably thought it up.

They say the pipe organ survived.  Watching the fire, I find that almost impossible to believe.  But it is a blessing, because even if you are not Catholic, which I am not, music is the universal sound of praise.

Becky brought a young man over who helps her with clean up and set up for estate sales.  She called first and asked if I was up for a performance.  I fixed him a sandwich and played the marimba for him.  "Amazing Grace, Leaning on the Everlasting Arms, and Victory in Jesus."  I usually play Amazing Grace for people because the whole world recognizes it even if they are not Christians.

I'll be playing for a retirement community tomorrow.  Our senior choir does that once a month somewhere.  I keep a marimba in the trunk of my car and never take it out except to play somewhere.  My big one is here in the family room with me.  It has an extra octave below "C" that has a beautiful sound.  It can also be broken down and transported, but it is a mess to do it. 

I played for all the civic groups in Pryor growing up.  As well as churches.  I was a much better marimbist back then.  Youth has advantages.  But I thank God that I don't have arthritis in my fingers or hands so that I can still play.  

My mom was a stickler for seeing that I didn't just end up as a blob of humanity on earth.  Everything unusual that I do is a result of her insistence that my brother and I "Do Something Worthwhile."  (He was a missionary to China for 37 years and is a Doctor.)  Without her prodding, I would have wasted time with trivia because, as I have told you before, I have perfected the art of procrastination.  She was the disciplined one.

Now, I reap the joy of service, while she is in heaven and gets the glory.  I had a wonderful mother.  

The Notre Dame.  How many times I have walked through it and been amazed at the beauty of the building.  Of the stained glass windows.  Of the paintings.  It is a loss for the world.  A  building that stands as one of the greatest architectural landmarks that was remaining from an era.

Once, I was there when the church was hosting an organ recital by a renowned organist. The pipe organ was unequaled in the world.  8,000 pipes is what the press said. I can't begin to explain the sound of it.  Echoing through the massive walls.  Gone.  You can't replace something like that.

I am thankful that I heard that organ.   I am thankful that I saw the stories captured in the Notre Dame stained glass.  Gorgeous stained glass.  There is no way you can go back and recreate or recapture what has been lost. 

Things are lost through history.  And left to our memories alone.  The first time I went to Paris, Becky and Craig were living there, Steven was 18 months old and Becky was pregnant with David.  That was at least thirty years ago.  Later, I went back with Becky, and other friends, a number of times.  

We think we have antiques here in America.  We don't.  Paris is in itself an antique.  A monument to hand work in walnut, granite, marble and on and on.  Beautiful things done before mechanization, back when men did their work with their hand tools. 

I have two wall sconces that are hand carved walnut.  They came from an ancient Parisian church building that was lost to time.  Becky brought them to me from France.  I have a piece of Paris to remember.  The church is gone.  But God is alive.  He is not contained by walls or buildings.  We go to buildings to worship Him together, and remember.  Easter is this week.  He lives.   

One of my daughters tells me I live in the past.  Of course I do.  That's where everything happened to me.  That's how I got to where I am now.

It would be ridiculous to think that I have as many years ahead of me as there are years behind me.  There aren't.  But the years I have now are lived with the wisdom I acquired through my journey.  "Get wisdom, my child..."  

I wish I knew more young people who would like to have some of that wisdom--but in our world today, the young don't listen to the old.  They live in the moment with not much thought for tomorrow.  Old people are just old to them.

Sometimes, I wish I could go back to Beaufort.  I wish I could live those years over again and recognize how precious they were. They were awesome years--but at the time, I didn't recognize that.  I wish, but, they are behind me--not ahead of me. A wonderful memory, but You can't go back to Beaufort.  You can't go back anywhere.  Period.  You have to keep moving forward.  

So what is ahead of me?  I will keep writing.  I will keep telling stories.  And hope someone, somewhere out there is listening.

If you are young, and would like to know how to live a happy life and reach an old age with the satisfaction of a life well lived, I would give you one piece of advice after watching many, many people crash and burn.  Give your days to God.  Give your days to others.  Give.  Don't be a taker. 

Don't be stupid by following people who lead you down the road to disaster.  Find friends who are on the path of kindness.  As Ken always said when he taught Sociology:  "You become who you run with."  

Unless they are seeking God, you don't want to go there.  It isn't pretty.

Of course, since my azalea bloomed, I was tricked into thinking that spring was here.  But it is going to freeze tonight.  It's Oklahoma.  What else can you expect.  Except this time, I really thought the winter was behind us.  They said on the news that it could even snow on Sunday.  Go figure.

April 13, 2019.  Freezing weather.  

And we've already had a tornado scare week before last.  Hail the size of tennis balls.  All we need is an ice storm and we'll have every weather possibility covered except a flood or a dust storm.  

I planted the tomatoes.  I took all my potted succulents outside.  This time, the plants are all just going to tough it out.  I don't have the energy to get them all back inside.

I wore out a bottom sheet on my king size bed last winter and couldn't bring myself to throw it out because they are so expensive.  What in the world was I thinking!  You can't sleep on a sheet with holes in it.  Ta-dah!!  I found a purpose for it.  I covered up my plants with it to keep them from freezing. 

Now, as soon as it warms up again, I can throw the sheet out.  It found its intended second life.  

Ken's mom would patch the fitted sheet when it was worn.  Women in the thirties and forties  patched everything, darned socks, turned the collars and cuffs on shirts to get double wear.  People today toss everything and think things doing things like that are nuts.  They haven't been poor.  Everybody in those times were in the same boat.  They didn't think they were poor.  People today don't have a clue what you can do without.

First the daffodils, then the forsythia, Bradford pears, redbuds and now the bright pink creeping phlox.  God is waking up Oklahoma with flowers.  Dogwoods are next.  My azaleas are about to burst into bloom.  Which makes me very happy.

Azaleas are nostalgic.  I spent my first six months--after Ken and I got married in 1956--in Pensacola, Florida.  I had never seen an azalea before that.  Down south, in Florida, Alabama, Louisiana and Georgia, they grow like weeds.   Blooms are everywhere.  The bushes are humongous.  Flowers bank the walls of almost all the houses.  

In Oklahoma, you have to work at it to get that kind of blooms from azaleas.  But in the last sixty years, they have perfected cultivars of azaleas for Oklahoma that can make it through the winter.

At NEO, where I taught math for twenty years, the building South of the cafeteria had a wall of ten foot tall lavender azaleas that bloomed every spring.  Just gorgeous   I've never seen that anywhere else in Oklahoma.  They may exist, but I don't remember seeing lavender azaleas at all. 

In a week or two, it will be time to go to Muskogee and see the Azalea Gardens. It isn't Florida or Alabama, but it certainly is a testament to the Oklahoma spirit to keep trying.  Check to see when they will be in full bloom this year.  It's definitely worth the drive.  My neighbors, Jean and Dean went last year and brought me back a red azalea.  It's going to burst open today or tomorrow.

Spring is God's way of saying, "I haven't given up on you yet."  Shelley said, O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?

Finally.  I planted the tomatoes.  Even though they say we will have frost this week.  I'll cover them with something if that happens.  Scott sent me a dozen "Jet Stars."  They don't have the taste of a Big Boy, or Better Boy, but they will produce ten to twenty times the tomatoes.  Don't get me wrong, they are good tasting tomatoes, I just wish heritage tomatoes didn't have so many problems.

I'm splitting the dozen with Ann.  She's the only other gardener around here besides me.  She got me to plant potatoes which I had never done.  They are popping through the ground and I am covering them with more dirt as they come through.  That way I'll have potatoes all the way down the stem.

It seems to me that every flower, plant and tree are for the good of mankind.  I think God knew what he was doing.  He made the world for us.  Then put us here.  Designed the oxygen we breathe.  The water we drink.  The sun that makes it all grow along with the rain.  All of it for our good.

I wonder how long it is going to take us to finish ruining it.  The oceans are the key to life.  And plastic is showing up in the stomachs of whales and other sea life.  Tons of plastic.  There are entire islands of trash and plastic in the oceans now.  I wonder when we will finally get a clue about saving our planet.  We need biodegradable plastic along with biodegradable everything else.  It costs money, and nobody wants to spend a nickel more than they have to.

We used to think that none of that mattered because the world was so big it would absorb it all.  The world isn't that big.  And it becomes smaller every time we add a million more people.  We are smothering the earth with our trash.

I wonder what God is thinking?

Yesterday I drove to Tulsa.  I don't think I was ever on the Turner Turnpike between Oklahoma City and Tulsa at this time of year before.  I sure don't remember it.  And I think anyone would remember it. 

The redbuds are in full bloom, and every mile between here and Tulsa was filled with pink.  Literally hundreds and hundreds of redbud trees--mile after mile after mile--were blooming in clusters and rows that took your breath away.

You can really see why it is our state tree.  It was awesome.  Really beautiful.  It made the long boring drive bearable.

I had lunch with an old acquaintance   We went to high school together and had dozens of friends in common.  It's always nice to reminisce about "The Good Old Days."  He kept me laughing at his high school shenanigans.  I finally heard which guys put the yellow ocean marker dye from WW2 in the Claremore pool.  He admitted his culpability, and said he and the other two culprits had to scrub the walls of the pool--after the city drained it--to remove the dye.  At least they didn't end up in jail.  Claremore and Pryor athletes were enemies.

I went to the dermatologist in Tulsa.  It was the only reason I drove.  By the time I got home, I was beat.  I don't think I'm the girl I used to be.  Driving west at the end of the day is never fun in the Oklahoma sun.  I sat down in my chair and fell asleep.  I've heard we old critters do that sometimes.

I'm going to spend today doing nothing.  And as Ken used to say, "I'm going to go to bed tonight with it half done."

Jesus could heal people.  He didn't have to touch them.  He didn't even have to be in the same place that they were.  They could be miles away.  This week in Connection group we talked about the Gentile woman who came to Jesus and asked for Him to heal her daughter.  Mark 7:25

She had three strikes against her to begin with.  First, she was a woman.  Women didn't come up and speak to men the way she spoke to Jesus.  Second, she was a Gentile.  Jewish men were not to have anything to do with Gentiles.  And third, she had left her sick daughter at home where Jesus couldn't touch her.  

Jesus fame--for healing--had spread.  Even to the Gentile world.  Jesus had taken refuge in a predominately Gentile community by the sea, to try and give him and his disciples time to rest.  They had been besieged by people wanting to be healed.  Jesus didn't come for that purpose--although he did heal people.  He came to tell us about the Kingdom of God.  

Any way, he healed her daughter.  Without seeing or touching her.  And then, he healed a deaf man whose tongue was defective and he couldn't talk.  But with this healing, Jesus put his fingers in the man's ears, and his spit on His finger to touch the man's mouth.  Sound's gross, but one of my members commented that Jesus shared Spiritual DNA.  Interesting thought.  Did Jesus have to do that?  Of course not.

He could have just spoken and said, "Okay, you are healed.  You can hear and you can speak."  

Why did he do it that way?  I don't always understand why Jesus did things the way He did.   I just know that He heals people today.  In different ways. 

Some people never learn.  They do the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.  That is the definition of insanity.

Well, yesterday, I saw a sad thing that is going to end up in disaster.  The robin came back to the ledge above the transom and began to rebuild her nest.  It was so sad to watch.  There was no wind to speak of, so I guess she thought the "No Wind" situation was going to be permanent.

She didn't learn from her mistake.  After losing her entire day's work the day before--when the wind blew her nest away, she waited for the wind to stop blowing--instead of looking for a better place to build her home.  All day yesterday, she carried straw to the ledge and built a perfect nest.  

And now that she is finished building it, she is going to lay her eggs.  It will be a miracle if the nest and eggs survive.  There is nothing to anchor it to the ledge. and the ledge is only four inches wide.  The first gust of Oklahoma wind is going to once again take it airborne.  

I feel like I am watching a train wreck.  I want to get a ladder and climb up there and give her some advice.  Or pick the nest up and put it in a tree.  But situations like this one can only be rectified if the robin would listen to me.  

I have seen many train wrecks in my life.  They usually begin in the young years of a teen who makes a bad choice, and continues down the same path over and over again.  Once on the track, they are going to eventually crash.  So many people live in the moment with no thought about the train's destination.

Adults are no wiser. They destroy their lives and marriages with no thought of where their train is headed.  Or how they should build a secure nest.

Today I needed something from days gone by.  Something nobody has anymore.  I needed a clothesline and clothespins.  Those tablecloths came out of soaking overnight in fairly good shape, but not good enough to put them in the dryer.  The dryer would permanently set the remaining stains.

So I carried them outside and laid them over bushes in the yard so the sun and wind could dry them.  Problem was, in Oklahoma, the wind also makes a wind sail out of a linen tablecloth.  The wind came rushing down the plain.  So that didn't work too well.

But it did dry them sufficiently. I just had to watch them to keep them from blowing away.  And the aroma of sun and wind dried linen was awesome.  It stirred a forgotten memory from my past.

Ken was in Okinawa for thirteen months, and I had gone back to Oklahoma to live with my folks.  There were three babies in the house.  Pat, who was not yet two, and Becky--four months old.  And mom had given birth to my sister Lisa 7 days before Becky was born.  (An unexpected bonus child--21 years younger than me.)  All three in diapers.

This was back in the days before disposable diapers.  We took the cloth diapers and folded them to fit.  Yes, they had to be washed. And hung on the line outside in the sun and Oklahoma wind.  During that 13 months, the washer, dryer, clothes-line and stack to be folded were a continuous cycle.  All of us were doing one or the other. 

Those tablecloths that I laid outside over the bushes, had that sun and wind's Oklahoma fresh aroma I remembered from long ago when I brought the clothes in from the line.  I haven't hung clothes out in a million years.  But the lovely fresh scent of clothes on the line is imbedded in my mind.

I am trying to get stains out of a couple of dozen tablecloths.  They are all brand new, never used.  They are gorgeous cut work, embroidered linen from the Orient.  They lady who had them lived in the Orient, and bought them there in every size imaginable including round ones in different diameters.   But she never used any of them.  Perhaps they were going to be presents for members of her family?  Dozens of napkins as well.  She died, and they can't be sold in her estate in the condition that they are in.  They are badly stained.

That's where I come in.  When Becky can't put something in a sale because of the condition of the item--there are strict guidelines--she tries to correct the problem so that the estate gets the benefit.  And since I work for free, that works all the way around for everyone.  The problem is solved with no cost.

So, for the past three days I have used every product known to man trying to remove the stains.  I am working on only three tablecloths, no point in trying to fix the others until I find a product that works.  I am on my fifth bottle of stuff that is advertised to absolutely take stains out.  Each product claims it will remove every kind of stain know to man.  Every stain in the universe.

So far, no luck.  The stains are smaller and are not as obvious as they were,  but they are still there.  I am using my last bottle of cleaning stuff soaking in the washer overnight.  If this doesn't work, then I'm giving up.

Which brings me to this:  There is a song that we sang in Church when I was a child that had a line in it about stains.  It went like this:  "Sin had left a crimson stain...He washed it white as snow.

You don't need Oxy-clean, Clorox, Bix, Nature's Miracle, or any other product when your life is stained.  You just need forgiveness.  And Jesus paid it all.  You can be clean.  You can start over fresh again.  Praise God.  And it's free.

Yesterday started at 3AM.  Sleep wouldn't return.  I was bummed.  I did everything that I usually do when I get up around 6:30 or 7, (the newspaper comes at 4) but by 5:30 I was almost three hours ahead of schedule.

I measure my day by doing small tasks that fill up time.  When you are older, you will understand.  I have a routine.  Anyway, when the sun came up in the East, I saw movement over the double doors to the back yard--because I was just sitting in my chair, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing.  Movement was on the shelf of the transom window above the double doors.

It was a robin.  And she studied the ledge for quite awhile, then flew off and returned with straw in her beak.  I watched her as she struggled to build her nest.  I don't know why she chose that place because there wasn't anything to hold it in place.  She must have been a new mother with no experience at building a nest.  I'm sure it seemed safe, it was high up, but it wasn't secure.

At the first wind gust, all her work was for nought.  Straw flew everywhere and the nest fell apart.  I felt so sorry for her.  All that work gone, right when she is ready to lay her eggs.  I hope she has time to build another nest in a secure tree somewhere--hopefully in the back yard where I can watch her.

It doesn't matter how hard you work.  It doesn't matter if you do the job right.  If you do the right thing at the wrong time, or in the wrong place, things won't turn out like you plan.  Information and preparation are everything.

Bless her heart!  She had a plan.  She was sincere.  She wanted her babies to have a good place to grow up.  She just didn't know what she was doing.

It's better to learn from other people's mistakes than to make them all on your own.  Don't build your nest in the wrong place.  Get your babies in church.

In the sixth chapter of Mark, Mark tells us about Jesus going to his home town and how he was completely rejected there.  Even his mother, brothers and sisters didn't exactly know what to think of Him.

All the men his age had probably played marbles, hop scotch, hide and seek and other games when they were children.  How had this kid grown up to be such a phenom?  Everybody was wondering.

Jesus said that a prophet is not received in his own hometown.  And then He took his twelve disciples and left.  Mark recorded dozens of miracles in Chapter one through six that Jesus had done.  His disciples had been there for that.  They had seen what Jesus could do, and how he could teach.

So He gathered them together and sent them out two by two to preach the gospel. They hadn't done that before.  I bet they were uneasy.  Like we are?  Jesus told them that if they weren't received, that they were to dust the dust from their feet and go on to the next town.  He empowered them to heal the sick and cast out demons.  Which they did. But after the dust off their feet settled, they came back to him, and told Jesus everything that had happened.

The point is this.  You don't have to have Jesus standing there with you to do what He sends you to do.  God has given you the power to share the story of Christ.  Tell what God has done in your life.  How you have been changed.

Jesus wanted the twelve to know all of this, because the day was coming when He wouldn't be physically present with them, but they had everything they needed whether he was physically present or not.  So do we.

They got it.  They changed the world with the story of Christ's resurrection.  You and I can change our world as well.  But you have to speak up.