We’re going camping this weekend. We are voluntarily giving up our comfortable bed, convenient bathroom (complete with delightfully hot shower), and custom-designed kitchen for a leaky air mattress in a small tent, a pit toilet down the path, a sponge bath, and a two-burner Coleman stove. Afternoon thunderstorms are likely, but at least they’ll settle the dust and bring some relief from the heat. There will probably be mosquitoes, and maybe even bears. We’ll spend a day getting ready to go, and another day putting everything away again, all for two nights in the mountains. We must be crazy. Continue reading
Today is our wedding anniversary. Pete and I made our vows, trusting God to help us keep them. Thirty-eight years later I can honestly say that Pete is still my best friend. I love spending time with him. We’ve been through good times, hard times, and some very exciting times. If asked, we’d say that we have a good marriage. Not perfect, but definitely good.
Today, Pete is in Missouri attending the International Conference on Computing and Mission. I’m home in Colorado, missing him. This is not how we’d plan to celebrate our special day, but we didn’t pick the conference dates. Such is life.
You’d never know it now, but when I first met Pete, almost 40 years ago, he was a shy, introverted nerd. Really. Oh, he was sweet and kind, and smart and fun, but he seemed unsure of himself, and a tad socially awkward. Much later I happened to see a bumper sticker that summed him up quite nicely:
(He was an engineering major, but you get the idea.)
I love the last week of December. There’s a sense of closure. Whether it was a great year or a horrible one (or, as usually happens, a mixture of both), January 1 gives us a new start. When I was in school, I always rejoiced at the end of a semester. I was finished with finals and had new classes to look forward to. In the meantime, I could truly rest, knowing that I had a respite from responsibility.
A New Year’s resolution is something that goes in one year and out the other.
For some reason, this year is much like those long-ago years in high school and college. After a packed fall and crazy December, I suddenly have a break. The health issue I mentioned a few weeks ago has been resolved with a series of good reports and I’m rapidly recovering. Even more amazing, to my mind, were the multiple comments on my positive attitude from all the doctors, nurses, etc. who were involved—clearly an answer to prayer! Continue reading
(I decided to post something a day early, because I wanted to share this in time for Thanksgiving Day.)
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. It’s not about the feast, although I adore turkey, stuffing, and all the accompaniments. It’s not about the football, even though I enjoy a good game every so often.It’s not even about getting together with loved ones, although I treasure any time I spend with our daughters and their families.
If you’ve paid much attention to advertising, you’re familiar with the old “bait and switch” tactic. You know the scheme—the ad in the paper features a hot used car for a ridiculous price, but when you show up to buy it, you learn that it was “just sold”—but here’s another one, only a bit beat up and for a lot more money than you’d planned to spend. Would you like to go for a test drive?
I love to plant seeds. It’s my favorite part of gardening, and I love to garden. I’m constantly amazed that such a small, seemingly lifeless bit of matter can grow into broccoli, marigolds, or zinnias. A quick trip to the garden center would give me instant gratification. I can buy seedlings already well on their way to maturity. I prefer to exercise faith that the seeds will germinate and grow, and eventually produce a crop. And it takes a lot of faith to garden in Colorado.
I’m also a seed planter when it comes to sharing my faith. It’s not as glamorous as harvesting—I can’t name a single person I’ve actually prayed with to receive Jesus. But I can name a number of those who eventually believed, after I was privileged to plant some seeds of faith in the soil of their lives.