I went out to dinner last night with a really good looking 25 year old man.  Black curly hair.  Looked like one of those models in GQ.  He was so nice.  He said: "Let's do this every time you are in town.  We'll have a date night."  What more could a grandmother ask for than to be loved by her grandson.   As I have gotten older, he still wants to know what I think about things.  His brother is just as kind.

I wouldn't want to leave out any of the others.  There are 9 of them.  One granddaughter goes for groceries.  Another just stops by to see how I am doing, or what I need her to do for me.  The youngest of the nine is two years old.  I hope I am around for him to take me out on a "date night" someday.

I can't help but think that this is one of those "I will bless you to the seventh generation" things that God promised to give us.  That because my great-grandmother Sarah suffered so much and stayed faithful to God, the generations after her are also blessed.  Her husband died young and left her with four children.  And a cow.  Thank God for the cow or they wouldn't have made it in the mid 1800s.  In Arkansas, with no other family to help.

Sarah's youngest, my grandmother, had five children.  She was a really good woman and raised her children in the church.  She only had an eighth grade education, but she saw that all of her children went to college, got degrees and raised their children pretty much like she had raised them.

I guess my point is:  Someone has to start doing the right things if we want it to trickle down to the seventh generation.  God says he bless our lives and the lives of those who come after us if we do his will.  Think of all the people you will bless.

I have a new favorite recipe.  I eat it every morning.  I ground up a ham (smoked in cherry wood) and then fried the bits till they were crunchy.  I mixed a couple of tablespoons with an egg, fried it and then rolled it up in a burrito with half an avocado.  Once I get started on something like that, I will eat it every day for months.

Habits are like that.  Once you get started, it gets easier every time you do it.  I remember back in l963 when we got seat belts, I just couldn't remember to buckle up.  I finally threw my hands up in disgust.

I wanted to buckle up.  I just couldn't remember.  Then one day I got the bright idea that instead of making it my problem, I would make it God's problem.  I told him, "You remind me when I get in the car, and I'll buckle up.   I never forgot again.  I have been buckling up for 50 years.

Sometimes, we forget that God is there in the little problems as well as the big ones.  Or we just think that we would be bothering him if we called on him about the small things in life.  Or we just don't think of God as being interested in little things--that we should handle the small stuff ourselves.

Psalms 46: 1  "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in times of trouble."

A present help.  He is not far away.  He wants to hear from us.  I guess if we need help, all we need to do is ask for it.  Talk to Him.  Sometimes I mumble.  But God hears our hearts.

I have spent more time in the post office in the last month than I have spent in all of the rest of my life put together.  I have been drowning in paper work.  I had no idea how difficult dealing with the federal government was.  I don't think I had ever had to deal with the government before.  Ken did all that.

I have been trying to get witnesses to my signature, notarization, and certification of paper after paper.  And that is on top of the fact that all our affairs were in order.  It is truly unbelievable.  But God be praised, I can say there is light at the end of the tunnel.  My kitchen counter is still covered with stacks of paper, but the stacks are shorter.

For those of you who have asked, my four children and I will bury Ken at Arlington National Cemetery this spring.  That has been an entire stack of paper in itself.  Believe it or not, you have to wait your turn!!  Our daughter is buried there, so he will be next to her, directly across the street from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  I am now trying to decide what to put on the stone, and I need Ken to be here so I can ask him what he would want.  The entire process has given me something to take my mind off of things occasionally.

I have been reading each night for an hour or so from Ken's Bible, which is falling apart from his use of it.  It has been interesting to read the notes that he has written in the margins.  I have truly enjoyed doing this.  It is so comforting.

He underlined Psalms 40: 1, 3  "I waited patiently for God to help me; then he listened and heard my cry.  He has given me a new song to sing, of praises to our God.  Now many will hear of the glorious things he did for me, and stand in awe before the Lord, and put their trust in him."

I usually write my blog the night before, edit it and then edit it again the next day before I post it.  Obviously, I am not an editor.  I keep missing things.  Sorry.

I have two dogs.  The older one (12 yrs.) was a homeless dog that my daughter found on the streets of Houston.    He was so distraught that even though he was starving, he wanted to be loved first.  He was filthy.  Covered in mud.  Four baths later, she called me and said, "I think I have found you a dog."

I was the mother that wouldn't let a dog in the house.  Four kids was enough mess for me.  However...

Ken and I drove to Houston, picked "Beau" up and realized that his name was Bo.  He was much too dignified to be a "Beau."

My hard heart melted.  He slept with Ken and me from then on.  I was so smitten that I asked Becky to find us another Schnauzer.  We named him Squig.

I love my dogs.  They are such a comfort to me.  I have to lift Bo into the bed now.  He can't jump up on it anymore.   He is going blind.  He limps.  I don't want to think about all that right now.

And Squig is a chicken.  He is afraid of everything.  We had sleet in the middle of the night last week. It made a strange pinging sound on the windows.  Squig jumped straight up, ran to the head of the bed and nosed his way under the covers--where he spent the night.

Psalms 33 6, 9  "By the word of the Lord were the heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth.  For he spoke, and it was done; he commanded, and it stood fast."  I think that  "the host of them" included dogs.  They are such good friends.

I told  you that I had read the Psalms twice.  Well, then I read Acts, Romans, I Corinthians and am currently finishing II Corinthians.  So I am way behind on sharing what I am learning.  Losing my DSL for 16 days was irritating.

I encourage you to read the Bible.  It is always new.  Always fresh.  Always personal.  God speaks to us through his Word.  He has a conversation with your heart.

Psalms 40: 7-8  "Then I said, Lo, I come: in the volume of the book.  It is written of me.  I delight to do your will, O my God: yes, your law is within my heart."

Psalms 119: 11 "Your word have I hid in my heart that I may not sin against you."

Anything you hear from a pulpit, preacher, friend, (or me) etc. is an opinion.  You need, no, must read God's word for yourself.  Otherwise you are at the mercy of the ideas that the world would sell you.

The most important thing about reading the Bible for yourself is that God himself promises to speak to you personally.  It's a habit.  You just have to resolve to do it.  Then do it.  Get an easy translation.

Isaiah 55: 11  "So shall my word be that goes forth out of my mouth: it will not return unto me void, but it will accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I have purposed it."

God's mouth to your ear.  Think about what a privilege it is to have a personal message from God himself.

Read.  For yourself.

Psalms 41:1  "Blessed is he that considers the poor: The Lord will deliver him in time of trouble."

Also Proverbs 19:17  "He that has pity upon the poor, lends to the Lord;  and that which he has given (to the poor) he (God) will pay him again."  Giving to the poor is a loan that God will repay.

My problem is that I don't cross paths with poor people.  Or at least I didn't think that I did.  My town is a middle class small town.  I don't know but one poor person in my church.  I'm sure there must be more people out there who are poor, but people are proud and sometimes it's hard to find out where they are hurting.

Sometimes you have to be more sensitive than was my habit.

I a couple of months ago, I found a poor person by accident.  And now I am accountable to God.  I can't help but wonder if we avoid poor people so that we aren't responsible for them.  Or we excuse our responsibility by judging them and noting that they wouldn't be in the mess they are in if they had made better choices.  But God doesn't make that differentiation.  He just says pity them.  And help them.

This poor person works full time, overtime, and nights if she can get the work.  But even if she worked all day and all night, I doubt she could make it.  Her job requires a car.  And car insurance.  She lives in a trailer, and her heat and electric bills higher than mine are.

God is the one who puts people in our paths.  He will--in turn--deliver us if we get into trouble.

Pity doesn't judge.  With pity, our help for the poor is a loan to God.  Help the poor person you know.  And if you are afraid you will get snared, do things in secret.  Works better that way anyhow.

You are probably thinking, "It's time she got over it.  It's been a month."  Good grief!  This is going to go on for a while.  You can't undo 57 years in a month.

The day Ken died, I had gone to Tulsa to have cataract surgery.  It had been scheduled for a month.  Who knew?  I left him with my eldest daughter Pat and my youngest daughter Becky drove me.  I fretted.  I stewed.  I wanted to be home.  It all turned out ok, but I was a mess.

But in the middle of the day, right before I got home, God gave us all a laugh.

Pat told us:  "Daddy reached up and held my face in his hands and said, Pat, I have a confession to make to you."  Pat said that she had no idea what was coming next.

"You know how you always found stray kittens and drug them home?" he said.  "You were always bringing cats home.  We always had kittens in the house."

"That's true, I did," Pat told him.

"Well, I hate cats."

That was the confession.  Ken always kept short accounts with God.  I guess that was the only thing that was troubling him at the end.

Psalms 37: 37 "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man is peace."  He was very much at peace.  He just needed to let Pat know his position on cats.