I never did get a exact count of how many people were at Becky's house for Thanksgiving dinner.  On top of all the family, there were a couple of guys from a group home, and a couple of Asian exchange students.  Around thirty-three of us. I'm sure I missed someone.

We didn't run out of dressing or gravy which was my responsibility.  Or pie.  Becky does the pies.  Two or three pumpkin.  Three pecan.  Mincemeat. Coconut cream, berry cobbler.  I don't know how she gets all of those made, but every year, she does.  And whips real cream thick for topping off the pie.

Scott kept us laughing.  He has more hilarious stories--and a comic ability to tell them.

You never get to talk to all the people you want to talk to.  It's a mad house.  There were twelve members of the family that didn't make it.  I don't know that we've ever gotten everyone there at the same time.

We always do Thanksgiving as our time to get together in the year.  It's an agreement that seems to work for our family.  Everyone scatters for Christmas to the outlaw sides of their families and smaller groups.

Of course, I'm the oldest person in the room and can't help but think of all the Thanksgivings I'v been to in the past when there was an entirely different group of my family who gathered for turkey and blessings.  They are all gone to heaven now, and a new group has been born and gathers as a family.

I remember when I was little, my grandmother had all the family to her farm in Wilburton.  Then my mom took over doing it for years.  Then me.  And now Becky.  Everyone has a food "assignment" and somehow the table is covered with every favorite dish imaginable.  And everyone eats too much.  Ahhhh...

Lately, every time I turn the television on, especially the news, there is a new phrase that is being used that is really stupid because the news people don't know the word they are using. They just heard someone else use it.

It is the phrase, "The calculus is..."   Have you heard it?

The news person will be talking about something and say, "Well the calculus of the situation is..."  Or, "That will involve the calculus of what they find out..." or some other stupid use of the word calculus.

Does it makes them feel important?   I'm no engineer, but calculus is one of the easier courses that engineers took.  And the field of engineering is for brains.  Most people don't try that field of study because it is way beyond difficult.  Excruciatingly difficult.    You don't have to have calculus to be a news anchor.  I bet none of them ever took calculus and don't even know what calculus is. 

Calculus is the study of limits.  So I guess if the newsperson is talking about the fact that the American public has reached the limit of their endurance with the government not getting anything done, they may be using the word calculus correctly.

Government has become dysfunctional. (dis-functional)  And functions are important distinctions in calculus.  They are stated as f(x).  And in calculus, you derive something from f(x)= ?.  They aren't deriving anything in Washington.  They've quit functioning.  So maybe the news is right--the calculus of the situation with the government is stagnant?  We should pray for them all.

Last year I promised myself it was my last year to make giblet gravy.  I like to never got it into the car to transport last year, much less make it.  But Scott called and asked if I was making giblet gravy.  Nothing else--just that.  So I buckled down yesterday, went to the store and bought two hens, gizzards, and livers and put them on to boil.

You can't make decent gravy with store bought chicken broth.  You have to make your own.  When everything was cooked--till it fell off the bone--I boned both chickens, separated the white and brown meat and put it all in the refrigerator.  I was whipped.  

Now I remember the other reason I decided not to make it.  Exhaustion.  And of course I always make the dressing.  So there were the onions and celery to chop up and cook.  And corn bread to bake.   By the time I got through with all of that it was 6 PM and there were dishes to hand wash (too big for the DW). 

Then I read for an hour or so.  Jeanette has me reading a second book to her that I've finished.  I can only do that for a little while before I get hoarse and my throat gets scratchy or my phone has to be recharged. 

Today, I'm going to mix up the dressing and cook it.  I've got everything ready to mix together.  Tomorrow I'll do the gravy.  I still have to boil the eggs for that.  I swear, I'm never going to do giblet gravy again.

Last night I told my sister Lisa, that I think I'm done and over the hill and she said that if I'd teach her, she would learn to make giblet gravy. (She's 21 years younger than me).  She reminded me that our mom hated to bone a chicken and that she had to do that growing up.  So did I!! I told her.  So she's halfway to doing it.  Next year I'll do the dressing and let her do the gravy.  It's time to pass it on to someone else.  Nobody knows how I do it.  It's Butter.  

I went to UPS and picked up the bound, revised paper copy of "The Letter."  I don't believe it.  I had asked for something I could touch and mark to finish my end of final editing with a pencil in my hand.  The publishing company paid for it, and shipped it, so maybe they are as invested in it as I am.

It was like a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders.  This is the rendition that the editor and I have been working on for months and months.  We did it by phone, reading every word together, arguing over changing wording and passages.  Hours and hours and hours on the phone.  Reading, listening, arguing. Sometimes I won the point, sometimes her suggestions were helpful.

I've had a headache the entire time.  Total tension.  And my ear hurts from holding the phone to my ear.  I should have used the speaker phone button but I would forget.

Like I said once, getting a book to be picked up by a publisher is almost impossible.  But the rest of getting it to market is agonizing.  I've learned a lot.  That's why people self publish--it's easier.  But with a publisher you get into every library, and bookstore, and mega-advertising.  So I will do it again.  But next time I'll have a zillion boundaries, due dates, etc. in the contract when I sign it.  I've learned what I can't deal with.

Jeanette and Carolyn have been invaluable listening to what I write.  Carolyn just finished the second book I've written: "The Jersey Cow" and has declared it a nine and a half or a ten!  She was supposed to read fifty pages and edit, but she said "sorry," she couldn't stop, she had to find out what happened next.  She made changes that were very helpful.  Jeanette is also in the process of going through it, but she wants me to read it to her rather than read it herself.  She had the same reaction.  She helped me make changes as well.  Pointed out things that weren't clear.  Didn't want to stop.  So maybe it's okay.  Hope so.  

If I ever knew this story, I had forgotten it.  How I can forget things like this, I don't know, except I had major heart surgery and was out of commission from the time Scott was ten years old until he was a couple of years older.  I think I missed a lot of dumb stuff he did.

He had to have braces--and of course they hurt every time the orthodontist tightened them.  He had knocked his front teeth out doing some stupid thing or another and the dentist was trying to repair, replace and align what was necessary.

 He hated the braces.  So one day, he took a pair of pliers and peeled them off his teeth and threw them in the trash.  Scott says I was furious.  I'm sure I was.  Scott said Ken was as mad at him as I was.  He had to take him to Muskogee to the orthodontist for repairs.  You can imagine what that cost.  It was always something with Scott.  In his favor, he never did the same thing twice.

He said the maddest I got was when he was supposed to play in an All Star baseball game, but his arm had been broken and he was in a plaster cast.  He wanted the cast off so he could play.  So he soaked the cast in water and peeled it off.  And let the residue of the plaster run down the drain which stopped up the plumbing.  Scott said his sister Pat drove him to the game.  Pat and Becky always took mercy on him.  How he played ball with a broken arm, I don't know.

I don't remember that one either.  I do remember when Dr. Collins put the cast on him the doctor said, "If you and Ken ever have to leave town, let me know so I can put Scott in a full body cast before you go--to keep him from breaking something while you are gone.  That hadn't been the first cast Scott had.

His problem was that he had no fear.  I wish I could say he got better as he got older, but that wouldn't be true.  He joined the Marines because it was fun.

Christmas is a month away.  There will be much decorating everywhere.  Perhaps if we keep the sweet baby in the manger we won't have to deal with the grown man on the cross?   Everybody loves a baby.

I was reading Hebrews 5 and 6 last night and was struck by this thought: We need to move forward in the faith and quit going over the same things over and over again:  5:12-13 "...you ought to be teachers, but you need for someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God; you've become one who needs milk and not strong meat...everyone that uses milk is unskilful in the word...for he is a baby."  We need to have "Biblical Meat."  We need to be weaned from the bottle so we can grow.

And then the writer admonishes them to move on.  Get going.  Grow.  Mature.

He (or she) says, "Leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on to perfection..." not going over and over "..the foundation of repentance from dead works, and faith toward God...baptisms, laying on of hands, resurrection of the dead, and eternal judgment."

Those things are necessary from the pulpit, but in our lives, we already know about those things.  We need to be reading the Word, asking ourselves, "What's next?  What does God want from me.  What am I supposed to be learning now that I am a grown up believer."

You can't stop reading the Word.  You can't just say, "I got saved so I'm going to heaven," and think that's all of it.  You have to get off the bottle of milk and dig into the meat of God's word.  The writer says, "...you ought to be teachers..."

Teach somebody.  But remember, you can't teach what you don't know.  We are to be "..ever  learning..." for the purpose of helping babes in Christ grow, too.

I've been once again reading through the New Testament.  I'm in Hebrews now.  Every time I read any of it, I find something new.

But recently, I picked up a Bible that I hadn't used in awhile, and flipped through the Old Testament pages.  I got amused at myself.

I had underlined every verse in every Old Testament book that I wanted to refer back to someday.  But at the beginning of a few of the minor prophets, I had written myself a note.  "Done.  You don't have to read this again."

I think I was saying that: other than the verses I underlined, the rest of that part wasn't interesting?  Or repetitive?  Or instructional?

Probably I was saying to myself that there were only so many hours in a year and that I should spend my time on the other parts of the Bible?

So...I read those "done" parts again.  And in the end, I agreed with my first analysis.  I didn't need to read those again.  And, I didn't underline any new verses.  So I'm going to give myself a pass.  I'll read them again I'm sure because I won't really believe you are ever "done" with a part of the Bible. 

But some of the pages in my Bible's Old Testament are worn out from reading them over and over.  Some of those OT books have multiple parts underlined and notes in the margins.  Genesis is tattered and tea stained.

I think some of the parts of the Bible are more important to us than others.  Otherwise, why would we memorize some verses and not others.  Everybody knows John 3:16.  Do I think you should skip parts?  Of course not.  But if you are one of those who read the whole thing every year just to say that you did it, I give you a hall pass.  Read Hebrews, Luke, 1 John and Romans twice. 

Squig is fine.  Vet doesn't know what the problem was, but said whatever it was, it wasn't anything bad.  That's all I cared about.  Just wanted to be sure.  Today he's back to his old self.  Which means I am, too.

I called Scott the other day to find out the difference between F9 Panthers, and F9 Cougars.  I knew Ken (and his friend Pete) flew the Panther in Korea--it's debut was 1947 and the was one of the first combat jets.  Ken had been chosen to go to the first ever Naval class of jet training, so he was prepped to fly it.  Corsairs for his first 25 or so missions, F9--Panthers after that.

The Panther had straight wings, and the upgrade Cougar had swept wings which (as I understand) allowed it to fly much faster and break the sound barrier.  Ken had told me that the Panther rotated around the fuselage, and the faster Cougar rotated around the wing tip.

You all aren't interested in all of that I know, but I was--because Ken's best friend Pete Olsen killed himself by rotating a Cougar into the ground while practicing low rolls off the beach in Corpus with the Blues--flying solo.

Ken always thought Pete thought for a split second he was back in Korea in the Panther, rotating around the fuselage--and when the plane rotated around the wingtip, it hit the ground upside down.  There were so many of Ken's close friends that got killed in those early days of jet aviation. Ken always said that he figured he'd end up in an airplane in a hole in the ground (prematurely).  Every close friend he had was killed in an airplane.

I told you a few weeks ago that the book I'm working on right now covers a span of years during Korea, and when I wrote about Pete, I went to the Blue's site and there was no record of Pete.  Scott is rectifying that error through a Navy Captain he knows.

I'm taking Squig to the Vet this morning.  He just isn't acting like himself.  I think raising four kids qualifies me to know when something is "off."  He's lethargic and has had pancreatitis before--which makes me uneasy.  it's a common malady for Schnauzers.  I'm probably just overly cautious.

Sunday we discussed (in my connection group) how different writers of the books in the New Testament began their gospels, or letters.

Matthew started with the genealogy of Jesus to prove that He was of the linage of David, and a rightful heir to the throne as the Messiah of the Jews.

Mark began by reminding us that the prophets said that God would send a messenger before Jesus came--and John the Baptist was it.

Luke was writing to a friend, (Theophilus) and started his gospel by saying he wanted to put in writing the order of things that he had learned about Jesus and authenticate the record of the eyewitness that Luke knew.

John started before the world began to establish that Jesus was there at the creation, and in fact was the Creator.

Acts was written again to Theophilus, and was Luke's account of things after Jesus died.  It is considered the only book of history in the New Testament.

Then we have the letters from Paul, who starts most of his letters authenticating that he is an apostle.  That he had met Jesus on the road to Damascus, and had been ordained as the apostle to the Gentiles.

And after that, the book of Hebrews--no one is sure who wrote it.  If you look at the introductions of all the other books, maybe it could have been a group who composed it.  Maybe they sat with Paul in prison while someone recorded their thoughts?  Or maybe, as Latayne Scott posited in her book, "A Conspiracy of Breath" it was Priscilla.  I loved that book. I also love the book of Hebrews.

Yesterday was a stellar day.  I got something done that has been on my list of things to do for over thirteen months.  Ever since the day I moved last year.

I had a wall over there that I called my Wedding Wall.  Pictures of Ken and me, my children's, and their children's wedding pictures were hung there.  

But when I moved here, I didn't have a wall where I could put them.  For some reason, this house has fewer blank walls and more windows.  So I stacked them on a bed in a bedroom I didn't use--to do later.  And they have stayed there all this time--along with all the other pictures I didn't know what to do with.

My solution was to close the door to the room when I had visitors.  And procrastinate.  But my friend Jeanette said she would help me.  She couldn't make any decisions--I had to do that--but she said she would keep me company while I worked.

Now that is a true friend.  It took the better time of the day, but I got all the pictures in boxes and stored away.  I had thought that having to look at the mess would motivate me to do something about it.  It didn't.  But with the pictures in boxes where I can deal with them one box at a time, I might, (might) get them sorted to give to the people who need to have them or throw them away. (?)  Everyone keeps their photos on their phones nowadays.

Then tomorrow, I am going to have a party at my house for my connection group--and leave the bedroom door open.  The room looks great.  No pictures on the bed.  No mess.

Amazing what an offer from a friend--to help you--can do for your attitude.  I just didn't want to do it by myself.  Too boring.  I needed someone to talk to me while I worked.   My friend Jeanette came to my rescue.

Most everyone who knows me knows that Paul is my favorite writer.  He is thoughtful, smart, knows Jewish history and law, and is straightforward and says tells the truth.  He doesn't water it down to keep from offending you.

He loves the people he is writing to.  He scolds them, praises them, encourages them and blesses them.  He challenges them to be better.  To grow. To change the way they are living.  To follow Christ's example.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think he would be one of my best friends.  I couldn't stay focused enough for him.  My mind wanders.  Paul's mind didn't.  He was always on point.  Always sharing the Gospel.

The person I wish I could know more about is Luke.  He didn't know Jesus personally.  But he was someone who helped the ones who did.  We know when he wrote the Gospel of Luke that he went to the people involved.  Like Mary the mother of Jesus--Luke gives us her personal story of the birth of Jesus. 

We know he was a physician, and he tried to make what he wrote "first hand" if possible.  In Luke 1:1-4 he starts his Gospel by saying, "For...many have taken in hand to set forth...a declaration...even as they delivered them unto us, which...(those who) were eyewitnesses...It seemed good to me also...to write unto you in order...that you might know the certainty of those things..."

He wanted everyone to hear what the eyewitnesses had to say.  That's what he documented.  He was the only Gospel writer who added one exact word to a quote from Jesus.  Being a physician, he wanted to get the prescription exact. In Luke 9:23 he tells us, "...if any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me."  He is the only writer that includes the word "daily."  He is saying that every day, every single day without exception we have to keep on keeping on.  

Squig got me up at 2:30 in the morning.  He wanted to go outside.  I could have strangled him.  But then, for the first time ever, he let me sleep until 7:00.

There was a line I printed yesterday from 2 Tim. 4:10 "...Demas has forsaken me, having loved this present world, and is departed..."  Paul is in a hole in the ground awaiting trial by Nero for the second time and someone that he counted on has let him down.

People let us down.  We think we are in agreement, we think we are going in the same direction--especially in the church--and someone we counted on veers off to the pull of something else in their world that they want to do.

And people with power do the strangest things sometimes.  Recently a function that I have been faithful to attend (along with 30 others) was permanently cancelled.  With no input from the people who attend. The reason it was canceled was because people in their fifties didn't want to go to a function with people in their parents age group--people in their seventies and eighties.

What made it strange was that they didn't come anyway.  I never did figure out why they didn't design a function for their age group instead of deep-sixing the older groups function.  But they had the power to do it and they did.  They weren't being mean, they just didn't ask for input from those who were affected.  People in power, as I said, do strange things.

I always liked to go to church business meetings where ideas were discussed before they were decided.  Everyone got to point out pros and cons.  And you found out that there were a lot of people who thought like you did, but were too shy to rock the boat.  Every now and then, you need to rock the boat.  The function I attended will be restored, because I'm getting ready to rock the boat. And I've found that once I make a legitimate protest, others agree and assist.

This is blog 1783.  Somedays I think, "That's it.  I have nothing to say."  But then, something happens and I write another six inches.

I talked to my brother yesterday and asked him if he had visited the Roman jail where they imprisoned the apostle Paul.  He hadn't, so I described it.  The Romans dug a cistern, (where you can store water--and it can't leak out) a huge sphere in solid rock (I think it was granite) with a hole at the top just large enough for a ladder to lower you to to the bottom.  Once in it, the ladder was withdrawn.  The cistern walls were curved.  No way to get a grip and climb out.

Cold.  Damp.  They put Paul down there.  Which makes the verses in the fourth chapter of 2 Timothy so poignant.  He's in this hole and writes, "...come shortly unto me...Demas has forsaken me, having loved this present world...bring Mark with you..."  Paul is lonely. He wants the comfort of fellow believers: "Mark is profitable to me for the ministry." Paul is still thinking about how to spread the gospel; even though he is locked up in a dark hole in the ground--no way out.

But one of the rare times his misery comes through is in verse 13 he says, (my paraphrase) "When you come bring the cloak that I left at Troas with Carpus..." Paul was cold.  He needed his cloak to wrap up in.  He was most probably damp.  I'm sure he was miserable.  But he continues to write letters of encouragement to churches and other believers.

My daughter took a group to Rome and let each person the choose one thing they wanted to see.  My choice was to see where Paul was imprisoned.  I'll never again think about suffering in the same way.  Even though some friends had abandoned him, even though he was wet, cold, and alone, his purpose for living never faltered.  He had been called to tell others about Jesus' death and resurrection and intercession for sin. That's the same thing we are called to do.  In our warm, dry, lives.  Surrounded by friends.  We have no excuse. 

The Book!!  I have to rewrite one chapter, but there are only two pages left to edit.  I had to stop before the publisher and I did the last two pages, because my head was killing me.  Tension headache on steroids.  When you give up with only two pages to go, you know you have a killer headache.

Tomorrow we will go over a few problems that have been highlighted, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I thought the editor and I would never get to the end of this.

Think twice before you decide to write a book.  If you give it to a publisher, Every word is subject to change.  Every sentence is subject to review.

I had to fight for my words.  The words I wrote were the words I wanted to use.  But editors think they have better words.  They don't.  They are just different words.  Most of the words I had written were worth fighting for.  

Not much changed.  Which is good.  But it was a fight and it wore me out.

It has been agonizing. 

If I had known at the beginning what I know know, I don't think I could have proceeded.

However, since it is almost over, I am glad I stuck with it. 

I wonder what it will feel like to see my book for sale at Barnes and Noble.  I can't imagine what that will feel like.  It seems strange to think of something like that.  It makes me nervous.

Of course, there's still--still--the possibility that won't happen.

Yesterday was jus one of those days.  You know what I mean.  Nothing turned out like I planned for it to turn out.

And that evening, after I had done a load of wash, when I put the wash in the dryer, the dryer didn't work.

And it was so bitterly cold, I certainly wasn't going to go shopping for a new dryer. 

This morning when I got up the dryer was working again, so something did turn out right.  Of course, I won't leave the house with the dryer running ever again for fear something is really wrong with it.

I'm taking a friend to the hospital for a surgical procedure today, so I am taking my sudoku book with me for something to do.

When I have a day that is frustrating like that, I eat.  It's counter-productive.

So I spent the day watching episodes of Dr. Pol that I had recorded on TV.  Pull calves, sew up goats, and a lot of other things that were disgusting.

I ended up not going to the singing church choir performance.  It was icy cold and I'm not supposed to get in crowds until the flu season is over anyway.  

I kept thinking, "In everything give thanks," and being glad the Bible didn't say, "For everything give thanks," because I was grumpy with everything that had happened during the day.

I'm not usually grumpy.  Today is going to be better. I'm smiling already.

The Singing Church Women are coming to Edmond.  There are a number of Pryor people coming that are friends of mine.  That will be a treat--to see people I haven't seen in a while.

My Choir got canceled today because the groups are using the choir rooms to practice.  Just as well, it's ice cold and raining outside anyway.

I was going to go to teacher's meeting last night even though it was pouring down rain--but Squig was having a meltdown--the rain.  I just couldn't leave him in that condition.  He was shaking so hard I thought he was going to pass out.  I gave him a pill smushed up in peanut butter.

Then, I wrapped him up in a blanket--when he can't hear the rain it helps sometimes. But not last night.  I usually give him medication before the rain gets here if I think of it.  Otherwise, when I give him a pill, it takes him awhile to calm down and go to sleep.  

It's a terrible thing to be frightened by something you don't understand, can't get away from, and don't know what to do.  He usually finds something to crawl under.  I have a piece of furniture next to my chair that is up on legs.  He usually crawls under it to shiver.  

I dreamed last night that I went to a writer's conference and when it was over, everyone left before I could gather my things up to leave; they turned the lights off and I couldn't find my way out in the dark and was stuck there.  That's how I feel about the book I wrote.  I can't get my editor to stay with it and get it done.  We lack 20 pages out of 300.  It's going to drive me nuts.  Carolyn and Jeanette keep me calmed down most of the time. Sometimes it works.

It was supposed to be published in September.  That didn't happen.

  

Yesterday was a good day.  I got my hair cut.  It's amazing how much difference a haircut makes in how you feel.  I had given up on finding someone here to cut it and occasionally gone back to Pryor to get my hair cut.

When you move, especially at my age, there are so many people that you have to find to replace your tried and true people from your old home.

Someone to do your hair, a dentist, general practitioner, handy-man, electrician you trust, plumber, heat and air, etc. etc., the list is endless.

And for someone like me, you have to find a zillion specialists for all the parts of your body that are falling apart.  

I've found replacements, but some people can never be replaced.  However, God sent me Tony--who can do absolutely everything.  He came last week and put can lights in my utility room so I can see to do the wash.  

I have a two car garage, and getting two Town cars into it isn't easy.  The first week I lived here I misjudged the new width, (I had a three car garage across the street) and scraped the garage entry.  Tony came and painted it.  It wasn't bad, but things like that drive me nuts.  I've since adjusted to the new narrow width of the door.  I don't like it, but it is what it is.

My son in law said that I need to sell one of the cars and get one that isn't so big.  But the oldest one is twenty years old and worth nothing.  I like having it when the other one needs work--which almost never happens.  

The garage is the only thing I gave up when I moved.  It's hard to open the car door when two cars are inside it.  But I've adjusted.  I love the flat driveway--that's why I moved across the street anyway.  I can make it to the mailbox!!  

The young man I wrote about yesterday, Jeremiah, who played the cello for my connection group Sunday, also helped his grandmother stage our connection group's trunk or treat display Thursday night.

It was so cold outside for trunk or treat, the church moved the games and decorations inside.  Jeremiah's grandmother Carolyn, had designed a really cute cartoon character--a pink octupus with arms going in all directions.  She then turned it into a game.  She is our group's creative genius.

 Each of the octopus' arms had a cup attached to it, and Jeremiah took charge of explaining the game to each child as they came to the display.  He gave them a number of ping-pong balls, told them they would get their candy when they got a ball in one of the cups and gave them their treats when they succeeded.

He is such a good kid.  He was dressed as Jack Sparrow.  His long brown hair made his costume even more believable.  He also looks like Johnny Depp, which didn't hurt.  Hard to imagine a fifteen year old boy helping us on a Friday night.

But the biggest challenge of the evening was chasing down the ping-pong balls that missed the cups.

My friend Jeanette said that was what she did most of the evening with Jeremiah's help.  Chase ping-pong balls as they bounced all over the fellowship hall floors.  

She has been on a Weight Watchers point count thing where you count your steps, and said chasing ping-pong balls probably put her over her steps for a year or two.  She's only a couple of pounds from her goal anyway.  Linda and Cindy helped at well.  They let me stay home so I didn't have to get out in the weather and drive at night--which I don't like to do.  Thank you all.

The most wonderful thing happened Sunday in my class.  One of my members' grandson came and stayed for the entire hour while I taught.  His grandmother has raised him. 

This young man has had an extremely challenging life.  I don't know how he has emotionally survived.  But with each adversity, he has emerged and risen above the difficult circumstances he has faced.

Last year, he found a cello teacher to further his study of the instrument.  A teacher that appreciated his talent and inspired him.  The right person at the right time can make such a difference in a young person's life.

He played the cello for us.  It was awesome.  Even more awesome was the way he presented himself.  Most fifteen year olds wouldn't have come into a room full of older women and performed.  Much less with the aplomb and confidence he exhibited.

When he finished playing a very difficult piece by Bach, he spoke to us of what an eighth grade teacher in science (who was a Christian) had taught him and how it changed the way he looked at science theories.  He took a magic marker and explained the double helix on the board.  He participated in the class from time to time with interesting and relevant comments.

He spoke to us with direct eye contact, and no hesitation, but with polite reservation.  He had a quality that I call "Draw."  You are "drawn" to his face due to his ability to capture your attention with his eyes and mannerisms.

I asked him why he wasn't nervous playing for us.  He said, "I am very nervous."  You couldn't tell it.  He was calm.  He simply drew the bow across the strings and made beautiful music for us and lifted our spirits.  

I got through the night with nobody ringing my door.  Turning all of the lights off did the trick.  I don't mind giving them the candy and treats, I just can't do the hopping up and down when the bell rings. Answering the door is kinda like  answering my phone.  It takes me forever to get to it.  I usually carry it around with me.  I have learned to take my time so I don't trip myself.  I don't know why they call these the Golden Years!!  You do everything slower, so you don't get much done.

Which is okay.  I don't have much to do anyway.  I'm just blessed that at this time of life I have found something to do that gives me joy.  I've started writing and I like to do it.  All the junk floating around in my brain gets put on paper.  

Just watched Nova: The rise of the mammals.  In the last couple of years, they are saying what I have been saying for the last fifty years.  They've found that there was darkness on the earth 66 million years ago because the sun was blocked out (by atmospheric fire and smoke) and the dinosaurs died.  They finally caught up with the Bible. "...there was darkness on the face of the deep..."Gen.1:2

They have had to radically revise their time line. Now they are saying evolution after that didn't take much time at all. That once life began to take hold again, all the animals we have today exploded into diversity. Which, of course, makes no sense.  One problem is that we have zillions of bones of dinosaurs in strata from 66 million years ago, and nothing to speak of in strata after that.  Where is the evidence of all this evolution that was supposed to have happened since then?  Where are the bones of all this evolving diversity?  There is almost nothing.  Certainly no significant layers of strata showing this "evolution."

I've seen science change their minds and revise their theories dozens of time over those fifty years, but the Bible stays the same because it is the truth.  You don't have to revise the truth.