Meandering Moments by Elsi

Our worship activity in house church this evening was to write words or phrases that started with the letters in Thanksgiving. This is what I put together:

Thank You, Lord, for
Helping me,
And also
Never leaving—
King of my life,
Shepherd of my wandering heart.
Grace and mercy flow from You.
I stand in awe of Your glory. My
Voice sings Your praise.
In all things I try to give thanks.
Now is when I depend on You, and I’m
Going to live with You forever!

That’s what the Lord asked Moses in Exodus 4. Moses had been fretting about what would happen when he confronted Pharoah, and God asked him, “What is in your hand?” “My staff,” Moses answered. “Throw it down,” the Lord said. Moses did, and it became a serpent. This was the first of the miraculous signs God gave Moses to get His people out of Egypt.

I’ve always understood “what is in your hand” to mean that God can use whatever I have to His glory. I’ve read devotionals and commentaries that explain this. What is in my hand? My keyboard—then I can use my writing for the Lord. What is in my hand? My steering wheel, and I can use my RV travels for Him. It’s a good lesson.

But yesterday, something dawned on me (an epiphany, no doubt—definitely from God, for sure!): God told Moses, “What is in your hand? Throw it down!”

Oh, my! Yes, I can use anything for God’s glory. But God is asking me to let go, to release my grip on what I can control, what I enjoy, what I’m afraid of, even. “Throw it down!” And then my hands are free to take His, free to accept what He offers, free to reach out in His name.

Oh, my …

That was our family rule: You couldn’t start anything to do with Christmas until after dessert on Thanksgiving. I remember rushing up the stairs to the attic as the door closed behind the last dinner guests, stumbling back down with my arms full of boxes, and setting up the creche (nativity scene). Meanwhile Daddy would be putting Christmas records on the turntable. And Mother would be washing dishes.

But I’m thoroughly breaking that rule this year. It’s partly the fault of Christmas choir, because my ears, mind, and heart are filled with “ding dong ding dong, that is their song!” and “oh, come! let us adore Him!” and “the hallowed manger ground.”

It’s partly that I have a booksigning Saturday, November 28 (Mardel in Littleton, 10-1), so I’m working on Christmas bookmarks to hand out. Not to mention what to talk about on KPOF when I’m interviewed November 24 (AM 910, 7-8 a.m., MST). Both involve the new Cup of Comfort Book of Christmas Prayer from Adams Media.

I’ve taken the photo for my Christmas letter (Sallie in a snowflake dress, and Dolphin in a spangled collar and an elf hat, complete with pointed ears). I’m working on what to write for it. I’m getting ready to put my Christmas display in the yard, and planning where to put the tree this year.

It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas, everything I do:
Planning when we can celebrate, filling in every date,
My dressed-up cat who’s hissing, I hate you!
It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas, soon the rush will start!
Celebrating the new-born King—every word of the songs I sing—
Christ lives in my heart!

The eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh minute of 1911—Veterans’ Day, here in the States. Armistice Day, I believe, elsewhere (correct me if I’m wrong, please).

Public schools were closed today, and no mail was delivered. I ran a few errands. And I flew my flag (which always upsets Sallie, as it flaps around outside “her” window).

Daddy was a soldier in World War II, though he wasn’t overseas. He taught the newfangled science called radar. Mother was a secretary for the railroad—which made her a war worker, which seems rather odd.

Many wars since then … no nuclear wars, thank You, Lord! We need Your peace!

The last few days, the sunrise has been utterly glorious! Multi-hued clouds all over, and enough colorful brightness to spill onto the western foothills!

And then, when I’ve looked out later in the morning, it’s been overcast, shades of gray, dull, bleak.

Today, also—and the question is whether I’ll follow that pattern personally. Because today, for the first time in quite awhile, I’ve taken a shower, blown my hair dry, and put clothes on. I am bright and ready for the day. I’m going to the grocery store, and then to church.

Maybe I’ll go home after church, have lunch, nap, and move on with life (choir this evening, teaching tomorrow …). Maybe I’ll have worn myself out and will retreat to my bed for the foreseeable future. I’m not sure. But I’ll let you know when I find out!

My mama is a silly girl! She’s decided to stay home all day, but she won’t play or take me for walks. She just lies in bed, coughing and snorfling. I’ve suggested she’d be a lot happier if she’d put in some quality beagle time, but she just moans and rolls over again.

She seems to feel she’s been attacked by something she calls germs, and she’s fighting them off with little white pills she calls antibiotics.

I’m not sure what she means by that. But I’m doing the best I can, moving from window to window, baying wildly at anything that looks dangerous. Sometimes she tells me to hush, and her voice sounds funny. But I will continue to defend the ramparts against these evil germs (whatever they may be) until she’s back to her usual self again.

Gotta go check the perimeter now. Ah-whoo!

I grew up in the days of sending letters in the mail, or making a phone call to a friend. Much more recent than the Little House on the Prairie days, when they exchanged letters at the rate of about one a year, but still fairly primitive by today’s standards.

My blog’s been down for a couple of weeks now, and I’ve felt out-of-touch with the world. Isn’t that silly? At any point I could have sent an email, or a snail mail; I could have picked up the phone. But no, I’ve sat around and worried because I was unable to reach people!

In any event, my web guru, Ken Murray, has gotten the blog fixed, and I’m back in my nice, familiar rut again.

So, greetings, you all! I’ve missed you! Glad I’m back? ;-D

When I moved to this house in 2001, the extra bedroom (in addition to my room and the guest room, you understand) was my tutoring room. In it I put all my children’s books, a work table (the one that was Daddy’s in WWII), and various office-type supples, in addition to all my teaching materials.

When I stopped tutoring, the room became a clutter place—I’ll shove this in here till later. Only later never came …

This summer I decided I wanted a safe haven, a refuge, a place I could curl up and feel comforted and cared for. So I bought an aspen-log bed, and got a mattress from Vicki. Friends helped me clear all the junk out of the tutoring room, and I sorted through some of the books. I set the bed up in a corner.

And then I set about making it northwoods-ish. The bed has moose/cabin sheets and pillows. It’s covered with several moose throws and blankets, plus my Paul Bunyan/lumberman blanket from the Bemidji Woolen Mills in Minnesota. Several of my stuffed moose have migrated there also.

Dolphin finds it a lovely refuge, perfect for a tiger to curl up in. Sallie loves having access to that window; it gives her a new vantage point to watch for terrorists and danger. And I take a book and snack in there and read, or nap, or just curl up and be.

Very nice! Maybe my mansion in heaven will be rustic and moose-filled?

It’s been so cold lately, and the dog came barking out from under the covers early this morning, stealing half an hour from my sleep. We’re moving into winter, so there’s no hint of dawn at 6 a.m. I haven’t been to the grocery store yet, so I’ll have to scramble for breakfast. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

I gather the trash and exit through the garage, leaving Sallie baying wildly behind me. The house is warm, I’m still half asleep, and the frigid morning jars me as I scuff through frost-covered brown leaves in the driveway. The porch light across the street reflects off the newspapers’ plastic bags, and I bend painfully down to pick them up.

As I stand, back protesting, eyes still at half-mast, the Lord suddenly gets my attention. The sky is thick with glowing stars. Orion strides across the mountains to the west. And there’s the big dipper, and Cassiopeia’s crooked W, and … When I consider the heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and stars You have ordained … (Psalm 8).

Lord, what glory! What beauty! What majesty! I stand in awe, ignoring the cold, reflecting Your love. Thank You!

Happy Columbus Day. Which means it’s October 12. Which definitely means it’s past the 1st, which was Jo Marsh’s birthday. I missed it. Shame on me!

Sometimes the calendar escapes
And leaves me feeling less than clever.
I ought to stay on top of dates
Instead of “better late than never!”

It’s not for lack of caring! No,
I’m sure I’ll master this endeavor.
And yet, your birthday slips on past
And taunts me: “Better late than never!”

Some ancient Greek could shift the world
With foot-space and a simple lever.
I blow my friend’s own birthday, sobbing,
“Surely, better late than never!”

Which leaves me circling back to God,
Whose friendship-bonds He will not sever.
Next year I’ll try again … but please
Forgive me! Better late than never!