My Son My Teacher

Mike and Heather came last week. I was in on it but it was a surprise for my husband who didn’t know he was going to be treated to a Conestoga steak for his birthday.

We really didn’t plan for day following. It was just a day to visit and enjoy company and do “whatever”.

For Mike and I “whatever” came in the form of a trek down to the pond to adjust the sights on my rifle. I wasn’t really comfortable doing it myself and he welcomed the opportunity to become acquainted with one of the loves of my father’s life.

So we grabbed paper, a box, tape, shells, an ink pen and the gun, and headed down the hill. Our pond is a great place to shoot because of a steep bank on one side. When you place your target there whatever you hit, or even miss, becomes a permanent part of the ground. With livestock, a road and neighbors, that’s important.

I was impressed. He turned the rowboat up to steady his aim and sort of sit/laid, sniper style to shoot. It didn’t take too many rounds.

Then it was my turn. I grudgingly got down in the dirt and dutifully held the gun as a drill instructor had taught me so I could utilize my dominant eye. It was a good technique, but according to Mike, it was wrong for me.

Teaching, i.e, retraining me came as natural to him as breathing . . . it wasn’t planned – it just happened. He showed me how to hold the gun on the other shoulder and look down the scope with both eyes open. His goal was my success and we went through several rounds, with him coaching to fine tune my skill through each one.

Halfway through all this it hit me that the roles were now reversed. For so many years I taught him and tried to coach him in successful life skills. We both took some lumps and bruises in the process. Now it was his turn, and he was doing the same for me. Line upon line, precept upon precept, he helped me learn something I thought was impossible. I stood in awe of his knowledge, and even more of his teaching skills. He didn’t learn any of that from me.

I kept the last target. It’s folded up in the case as a memento of the day. It’s not that I hit it five times in succession, which I quickly admit I’m proud of, but as a reminder that God makes boys into fine men, and that we’re never too old to learn from our children.

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Of Wine and Ice And Boys and Men

We recently started the New Testament in our study of women in the Bible at the jail. Naturally, Mary, the birth mother of Jesus, is the first one and I have to admit that studying her life has been somewhat of a challenge. I find it easier to relate to wounded or imperfect women than those who seemed to get it right.

So this week I've studied John 2: 1-11, the passage about Jesus's first miracle where he turned the water to wine. It's a very familiar story but for me I just never quite "got it." Sure, it was all there, the wedding, the guests, the water, the pots, Mary, Jesus and the other characters. But what happened between them . . . that's the part that always troubled me. The way Jesus addressed his earthly mother never seemed right. (Without getting too theological here I know it was right, after all He is God. ) One commentator offers this viewpoint, another commentator says that, it seems they're just as confused as I am. Then there's this whole holy mystery of Mary and Jesus shrouded in this theological cloud of mumbo jumbo anyway. Yeah, troubling.

There were a few new revelations. It seems Mary may have been more than an invited guest. As with many weddings friends and family work together to pull off festivities for a new couple. Mary's having the authority to tell the servants what to do give the impression that she's in charge somehow. Else why would the servants obey Jesus?

So I prayed through the passage. It's not something I do often, and admittedly should do more, And this time, boy did I ever get it. When I got to verse four I heard my own son's voice from deep somewhere in my memory.

It was a hot day, a bunch of people were on their way to our house, and we were out of ice. I couldn't leave because I had to greet people and eagerly asked the first person to arrive, my Mike, to run to the store for a couple of bags.

Big Sigh . . "Woman, what am I gonna to do with you?" And he took charge of the situation and saved the day. Nobody knew we had even been out and everyone had a great visit.

Jesus . . . Mike - what an interesting and delightful comparison. Both needs were real, both requests were made by mom's trying to pull off a social event and thinking about the needs of others, and both needs were met by a man/child in process of becoming an independent adult. Mike got the ice. Jesus turned water to wine.

So Jesus's words, "Woman, what have I do do with thee?" no longer read as a rude "get out of my face" remark. I hear Mike. Everything will be ok.

And I hear Jesus lovingly saying, "Roslyn, what am I going to do with you?" And I know he's got it all under control. He's God. He can do that.

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More Weeds to Love

Well, if I keel over before anyone reads this from alkaloid poisoning, this post will have to serve as my last communication.

I don't think I'm any danger though. Yes, I know the photo is downright frightening, but in a way it's super cool as well.

I attempted to have this tree identified some years ago. I don't know if my photo wasn't that good or what, but the tree expert extension agent in the next county missed it completely. I learned it's true identity a few days ago.

It was a rainy day and I had some business to handle with my former neighbor who is now my insurance agent. Like friends do, we caught up on everything under the sun, including a story about how my fire ant cream helped one of his kids. Then out of the blue he reminisces about something that happened to him before that last kid was even born.

An old fellow took him out riding in his old pickup truck down a dirt road up near Evergreen. He showed him a tree, peeled off a piece of bark and had him hold the underside against his gum. In a few moments he didn't feel a thing. . . . the gum was numb. It was an old Indian remedy for toothaches.

It was a fascinating story, and out of the blue Roy had his friend on the phone. I was even able to talk to him and here's the rest of the story. The tree is a Prickly Ash, aka Southern Prickly Ash, aka Toothache Tree. It's not common and is most often found on, you guessed it, fence lines. And there's more to it than numbing gums. Turns out it's good for arthritis and will, in his words, "clean your arteries." It's supposed to "reduce bad cholesterol and raise good cholesterol"

I found out earlier this year that I have high cholesterol, so I figure there's not a lot to lose by giving it a shot. I already know it won't kill me because I positively identified my trees by putting the underside of a piece of bark on my gum. It actually numbed the whole left side of my face.

So I'm going easy on the stuff. Bark is soaking in a mason jar with apple cider vinegar and I'm told it tastes really bad, but thats no biggie . . . a spoonful of sugar, I mean honey, will help it go down. And isn't ACV and honey supposed to be some kind of miracle cure for a lot of stuff anyway? So what if it's got a few alkaloids in it.

But just in case, you've got a photo of the molecule for the autopsy.

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Facing Fall

Well, I've got 18 more minutes of Sept. 1, 2009 and I'm still wondering what happened to August. Most years I dread August. Here in the southeast corner of AL it's a miserable month with miserable heat and humidity. I've dealt with it mentally for many years by quietly counting the weeks till the temperatures let up.

I've not had to do that this year. We left early in the month and headed north. Brian had a long anticipated meniscal transplant and we went up to be with them. It was our first trip to Raleigh since he and Bonnie got married. While it was still hot there, except for walking Lucy, our grand-dog, we didn't feel it too much since helping them through those first few rough days after surgery was priority - which meant staying inside. Bonnie has some great shots if anyone wants to venture over to their blog . . . and yes, I was sewing during the surgery. It relieved the frustration of endless CNN newscast repeats and I secretly wished the bags I was stitching were voodoo dolls of certain persons whose leftist lies we had to endure in the waiting room. Making family members endure health reform brainwashing tactics during a stressful time is not the way to win them over.

Coming home was better than anticipated - Norman stopped at Ikea in Charlotte and gave me the tour. At home we were greeted by a tropical storm! I love those things. They don't do nearly as much damage as hurricanes and tornadoes, but do bring blessed rain and cooler temperatures. We even dipped below (gasp!) 70 several nights.

Of course we had an overgrown yard, overgrown garden, piles of mail and projects and bills to deal with on return . . . all expected, and still not all dealt with yet. But we're home and trying to slog through it all. There have been a lot of joys - seeing Beck back to college by the skin of her teeth, reuniting with old friends, Bible study with my peeps . . . and there have been some devistations too. I take comfort that God's got that under control.

In other news, Cindy has taken it upon herself to continually bless us all with her wry humor. I have to be the #1 fan of FriendADay. Those 100 visitors yesterday . . . I love Facebook posts!

The days around the fourth weekend were interesting. Mike, Heather and a friend drove to the west coast to be in a wedding only to be rear ended in southern CA and miss the rehersal after getting lost. Then the minister, our much loved BroJo, came up missing Sunday morning. Our cat, Lucky, (and yes, we heard the crass jokes about her getting lucky) had four sweet kittens under the guest bed while hoards of frantic friends and family, ourselves included, tried to find Joel across three thousand miles. My reward for helping find him finally, and then finding the kittens, was being hissed at by a newborn kitty. I thought I was imagining it at first, but it pretty much hisses at me every day. Ok, so maybe they're not all so sweet - the jury is still out on that one.

I also got to the jail late because of all of the above, only to be turned me away because they were under quarantine.

Then last weekend we doubled our apiary when another beekeeper threw in the towel and we obtained their bees and equipment. God bless my dear husband for his support and help, and for enduring multiple stings after his first encounter with a hot hive.

So now it's, whoops, two minutes into September 2 and my calendar is already bulging. I worked at the computer so long today I thought my eyeballs were going to melt out of my head, and after making a cute repurposed purse, well, here I am again. At least this is somewhat more pleasurable.

So if you see me sometime this month, you can be sure I probably need a hug, a big one even. Between the bees, upcoming classes to teach, upcoming projects to complete, upcoming trips, another farmer's market starting and trying to hold down the fort at home, yeah. . . . it's good to be home.

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Loving the Insanity

I have a new favorite blog - besides my own, and Brian and Bonnies, and my girls Facebook posts, and my pastor's . . . . ok I have a lot of favorites. But this is my first favorite PICTURE blog. Enjoy!

Friend A Day

About Friend A Day

We exist to bring friendship to a lonely, busy world. It’s tough making new friends, so we’re here to bring new friends to you. In fact, we’ll bring a friend a day to you.

Doesn't that just touch your heart????? One question . . . Who is the sexy handsome bearded man with the chickens???

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Touching History

I am so tired I could drop - and I plan to very soon. This has been an eventful day and I wanted to get a few things out of my heart and shot into cyberspace while it was still fresh.

Norman and I celebrated "part two" of our thirty year anniversary this weekend. We drove to Americus, GA late yesterday, spent the night at a cheesy Day's Inn, and hunted down a church in a small town about twelve miles from there this morning.

I'll tell it to you the way I told it to my Mom.

"We visited a different church today."

"Really? How'd it go?"

"Well, Sunday School was really good. The teacher gave a great lesson with a very clear presentation of the gospel. The pastor was a nice guy, really great with children. His style of worship was somewhat more formal than what we are used to but it was good."

"Where did you go?"

"Georgia."

I could hear the bewilderment in her voice by now but wasn't quite ready to spill the beans. "Why in the world did you go to church in Georgia?"

"We wanted to hear the Sunday School teacher."

Then she dropped the million dollar question . . . "Why? Who was it?"

I think she was still puzzled when I told her it was former President Jimmy Carter. It took a bit of explaining before she realized that he had taught Sunday School since he was 18 years old (he's 84 now) and despite political opinion, is a genuine Christian with a heart for God.

And that's how we spent today. We went to church, then hung around Plains most of the afternoon visiting historic sites.

The former president is an excellent teacher. I thought it was neat that his lesson meshed very nicely with the Beth Moore series our ladies group is doing now. I about bust a seam when the pastor used the same scripture passage from II Samuel 7 we've been studying as well.

It was a different kind of church experience. The crowd was greeted by Mrs. Jan - Amy's 4th grade teacher, apparently a very old and trusted friend/co-laborer and church member. She guided the group through Secret Service security, proper presidential Sunday School etiquette, potty breaks and photography procedures. She knew her job well, and while she handled the job with diplomacy and humor, you sure didn't want to get on her bad side! When she started playing the piano for worship service - the room dropped to a dead hush!

There are many more details, but here are some important things currently in the front of my very tired brain:

1. I know America scoffs at "the Carter years" like they are an embarrassment. Thus the Carters themselves aren't held in as high esteem as say, the Reagan's were. This is unfortunate. The Carters are the kind of people that made America great. America needs more people with the values and work ethic these people continue to live.

2. They've probably done more for humanity since the White House than any other president, ever. Good grief - he got the Nobel Prize in 2002. While the Carter Center is not a religious organization, per se, the humanitarian efforts to third world countries generates tremendous goodwill towards the US. Goodwill means those countries keep their doors open to the US. This means missionaries go IN many of those countries. I have a sneaking suspicion that heaven will reveal many a soul saved because his work helped keep the door open. Can you say, "For such a time as this!?"

3. He cares about souls for heaven. Not only did he give a very clear presentation of the gospel, incorporated very effortlessly into the lesson, he challenged everyone present to share it with others.

4. He has made an eternal impact on the community. Norman visited a while with a very nice young black man who works at one of the parks. He's a college student presently writing a book about how his faith has transformed from one of religion to one of relationship. (I'm getting holy goosebumps again!)

With that I bid you goodnight.

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My First Ever Farmer’s Market

I’ve managed to get a few varied events under my belt the last several years with my little bitty bee and honey business. Each one is a new learning experience and I’ve slowly figured out what type events are worthwhile and which ones aren’t. This year, 2009, I’ve actually participated in two new venues. The first one was an art festival where I did a childrens activity. While sales were so-so, the fact that it was in my backyard and the fun with the children made the effort worthwhile.

The second was today – a brand new Farmer’s Market! I have to hand it to the Downtown Group, and Julie Bishop in particular, this was a well prepared event! We were met by a small army of volunteers from First Baptist Church who anticipated our needs before we recognized them. Our spaces were well organized and clearly marked. Vendors had access to nice restroom facilities (though I must admit having difficulty finding them!) and parking for both vendors and guests was more than adequate.

I did not take any honey. (1. I don’t have any yet and 2. If I did I only sell in Dale County anyway), but I did take Cinnamon Creamed Honey of which I sold about 2/3 of what I brought. My partner in crime and fellow beekeeper Bill Miller sold completely out of honey, even down to his sample jars. I think he was pretty pleased.

I’m obviously not an experienced farmer’s market vendor, at least not yet, but based on today’s experience here’s what I’ve gleaned so far:

1. I like my tent better than EZ-Up. It’s easier to set up, at least that’s my opinion for now. Mr. E. Herman of FL is loaning us his brand spanking new one and today we had to put the cover on and various other new tent things. I don’t know, I may change my mind before the month is over.

2. Farmer’s market customers are NICE. They aren’t in a hurry and are at the market because they are genuinely interested in eating natural and wholesome foods. I found that most refreshing.

3. Lord, Please deliver me from loud radio station speakers. It’s too soon to predict a pattern, but I suspect W***Fm to be involved with the massive headache I left with.

4. COOLERS AND ICED DRINKS are life savers. Friends who bring coolers with iced drinks are the best kind of friends. I want to be that kind of friend!!

5. Girls with that special “something” still draw a lot of attention. My girls were in bee costumes, and while they were adorable, loveliness radiated because what’s on the inside radiated out.

6. Ok, maybe the EZ-Up had an advantage; we did put a cover on one side to keep the sun out. That was a tremendous help, especially for the bees.

7. TAKE A CAMERA. There was this one little guy who tried on a bee veil . . . talk about a Kodak moment!

8. Lots of $1 and $5 bills.

9. Plan to crash afterwards.

10. Four hours of intense PR can feel like 2 days without sleep.

That being said . . . it’s time for this girl to crash.

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