Category Archives: Uncategorized

      Late last night, the family who moved yesterday, Calvin and Kathy Sharp, suffered a fire in the supply room and sales area of their greenhouses.  The damage was limited, thankfully, mostly to those areas, and the greenhouses were not significantly damaged.  The greatest financial loss involved the supply room with the necessary fertilizers and supplies so integral to this large operation.  The sales room is pretty much a total loss.  The cause of the fire is not known at this time, but it would appear that it had to do with the wood stove that is used to heat the greenhouses.  Menno and Lydia came down to do what they can to help, but there will probably be opportunity for the community to help out with clean up and such.  Please pray for Calvin and Kathy and their family.  As you can imagine, this is a most difficult set-back. 

     What a perfect day!  A family from church was moving today, and what a great day to move!  Just sunshine and perfect temperatures and many wonderful helping hands to make the things move smoothly. 
     Riding down the road beside niece Maria, on the way to the new house and lunch, Maria says, “I wonder what people do when they have to move and don’t have a church family.”
     “They hire a moving company.” says I, “and look what they miss!”
     It was such a nice day.  I am so tired tonight, but I keep thinking about the faces of the people who were helping, straining to move furniture, gathering to eat soup and sandwiches in the noontime sunshine, the boxes that were emptied and stuff that was put away.  I remember Young Emily, helping with all her might and main to do anything that her hands could find to do.  She unwrapped kitchen stuff, put away spices, and trundled load after load of trash.  She carted the huge, flattened cardboard boxes to her Aunt Hilda’s van for recycling, and just was the greatest help.  The teenagers were busy setting up bedrooms and getting the beds together so the family could sleep tonight.  What a great thing to belong to a group of people that love to help each other.  And it wasn’t just our little church, but many others joined to make the day a great success.
      And then, tonight Certain Man planted his early vegetable garden.  He has been itchy these past few days, thinking it is warm enough to get in there and plant.  He worked up the patch a few weeks ago, and has kept running the tiller over and over it.  So today, he sent Middle Daughter to the feed store while the rest of us were helping with the move (she was taking care of Blind Linda, working on school and trying to get over this upper respiratory bug that has been going around) and carefully instructed her as to what to purchase.  So tonight he planted his red potatoes, his radishes, onions and even a row of peas.  It looks wonderful now, and he will plant other things later.  Funny how Spring always makes us both so optimistic about the garden. 
      He also put the Purple Martin pole up.  We are trying the gourds for the first time this year, and he is moving the location of the pole.  We have never had a bit of success with Martins, and he hopes to change that.  When I was a little girl, my Sweet Mama wanted Martins so badly.  She would get Daddy to put the houses up and she would stand out there and call, “Come, Martins, Come Martins!”  And it seemed to work, because she always got lots of Martins.  (I may need to try that!)
     And now it is after 6:30 and I have oodles to do to get ready for tomorrow.  Have a blessed, restful Sunday, all of you.  And remember — the best way to spend Sunday Morning is with God’s people in God’s House.  If you at all can, go to Church!

       Did I hear someone knocking???
       Well, yes, I have been up since 5:30.  I find that if I don’t get up and get my morning’s work done before going downstairs it just doesn’t get done.  And I HATE going to my room at night and finding the bed unmade.  Certain Man laughs at me because I will make it before I get into it because those rumpled covers just BOTHER me.  Yes, well, we all have our idiosyncrasies.  Another one I have is that the closet door must be SHUT before I can really sleep.  I started that early in our marriage because I thought it bothered Certain Man.  Found out later that he shut it because he thought it bothered me. Now we are both crazy together and have to have it closed before we can really sleep.  It must be TRADITION, I guess.  (I’m pretty sure that it has nothing with obsessive/compulsive disorder.)
       But the real question of the hour — Did the change in the bed covers aid the sleep process?  Absolutely!   I slept like a rock.  (Of course, the fact that my tooth did not hurt, that I had a day when I hardly had time to think, and a later than anticipated bedtime probably figured into it.)  However, I had a much better feeling inside whenever I thought of those familiar blankets and the good rest that awaited me.  So there you have it, gals.  Half the sleep problems in the world would be fixed if people would just haul out their old blankets and bedspreads and be content.
      And on that note, I leave you to get on with a day that promises to be beautiful.  I heard on NPR this morning that they expect Delaware to hit the 60’s today, temp wise.  What was that old saying about March “In like a lamb, out like a lion?”  We may have some reckoning to do yet. 
       Blessings for a wonderful day!

     Now it came to pass that Certain Man and Certain Man’s Wife have been married for nearly 33 years.  And in that time, there have been relatively few squabbles over small things like blankets and who got their fair share.  There has been peaceable agreement over such things as room temperature, how many blankets and even the firmness and size of the mattress and pillows. 
    Several years ago (nearly ten, to be exact) a Hispanic friend who worked in a local stitching factory gave CMW a large flowery bedspread that has been the covering of choice and that, coupled with a sheet in the summer and a very large fuzzy blanket in the winter, has been all that was needed for warmth most of these years.
     However, within the last year there have been several things that have marred the peace at the Church of the Inner Spring.  Mental Pause with its heat flashes and irritability and sleep disturbances has made some minor inroads into the established patterns. Aching joints and changing schedules and adult children have also made for some differences in sleep habits. And then something else came along that further upset the balance.  The QUILT.
     CMW is not a quilter.  In fact, in her cedar chest there resides a very old quilt top that was given to her by an old friend, Mary Belle Hostetler, for a wedding gift that has never been quilted.  Once upon a time, CM and CMW were given a beautiful friendship quilt by the church they were leaving when they moved from Ohio to Delaware, but it was loved and used into great disarray and finally put on the shelf.  Other than that, not one solitary homemade quilt has ever been in CMW’s possession. 
      The interest in quilts and the desirability of quilts has not been lost on CMW.  She was not consumed by a longing for one, but thought it might be nice to own just one.  So when she was visiting her friend, Bev, a few years ago, and Friend Bev’s Mother had numerous quilt tops that she was working on, it was arranged to purchase a very nice looking non-descript sort of quilt and Friend Bev’s Mother agreed to quilt it for CMW.  Nearly two years ago, this project was finished, and the quilt duly sent and it resided in the closet for about a year until CMW had the urge to put it on her bed one day, and it looked very nice there, indeed.  It actually was perfect in color and size for the summer months, and when winter finally came, the weather was so mild that an occasional blanket thrown over all was enough to keep CM and CMW in comfort.
       Then Certain Man took it upon himself to lose a few pounds.  This always is accompanied by a shift in body temperature for him.  He feels like he is freezing alot of the time.  So, CMW took it upon herself to find a velux blanket that was adequate to cover the bed, but did not stick out below the quilt.  This did not lend itself well to one of the parties wrapping it all around themselves in an attempt to keep warm, but usually it did not matter too much as the other party was usually affected by the aforementioned “mental pause” and had no interest in wrapping up in a thick velux blanket. 
      However, in the mornings, there was evidence of struggle with quilt and blanket on one side of the bed and sheet gathered morosely on the other.  When CMW made the bed in the morning, she pondered about whether two people with such disarray of blankets and sheets could have slept well.  She had a vague, disquieted feeling that maybe neither party was getting enough rest.
     Then CMW developed an abscess on a molar that she had been trying to get her dentist to do something about for several months.  No longer could it be a “wait and see” proposition.  This thing was hurting with a vengeance, causing much nocturnal pain and wakefulness, and making CMW tearful over many things.  And it came to pass that one of the things that was troubling her very much was that there were great snatchings going on over the blankets at night.  And it was being done under the great cover (excuse the pun) of sleep, and she was as guilty as the second party of being disruptive.  Certain Man would turn over in his sleep and hitch the quilt and blanket around his strong shoulder and it would conveniently leave Certain Man’s Wife and snuggle onto his back while she lay out in the cold, clutching the sheet.  Now if she had been sleeping in her usual deep way, she would never have even noticed, but most of the time, she was half way between sleep and misery and thinking that she was almost asleep when the covers would whoosh off of her that would only make her more miserable.  So she got to holding onto the edge of the blanket and quilt with a firm grasp and in her half-sleep, would hang on for dear life when the covers started to move and that would actually pull her over sideways when her bed partner would decide it was time to turn over.  Now CMW did not BLAME him, as it is no fun to turn over and have cold air blasting down your back, but these narrow blankets were obviously causing a problem between two usually agreeable bed partners.  It was making them tired and irritable and the tooth and medication and freezing man and blanket grabbing woman were all being aggravated beyond what was necessary.
     This morning, Certain Woman looked at her bleary image in the mirror and pondered the options.  Suddenly, it looked very simple.  Where were the big old fuzzy blanket and the big flowery bedspread?  Right there in the closet.  It was time for a change.  In a great burst of inspiration, she took the offending blanket and quilt off  and replaced it with the familiar generous coverings of last winter.  It looked so familiar that Certain Man, in from the chicken house and dressing for the office never even noticed.  Certain Man’s Wife looks forward to a good night’s rest and behold, peace hath returned to the Church of the Inner Spring.

How can a day as golden as this one be so full of tears?
With little boys that laugh and play and dance upon the floor.
Beloved Eldest Daughter to share morning hours with.
Crocus flowers pushing bravely through the cold soil,
Making splashes of color against the grey landscape.
And hope. (I wonder how the tulips are doing, hidden as they are.)
Good friends to share conversation with, and answered prayer.
So, then, why the tears?
Lord Jesus, would it help to say the things that spill from my heart
In saltwater down my cheeks and drip off my chin?
Would it help?  I think not. 
So let me now, as here indulged,
Be stronger, and more free to let it go.
Some days will be like this, I’ve come to know.
And tomorrow, brighter, washed clean by this day’s tears.

      Yesterday was quite a day, indeed.
       There was morning Bible Study with some of my most favorite people. Robin, Waneta, Christina, and April.
       “Our” new baby, Victoria, was here for the very first time.  Such a pretty, pretty baby!
       Along with the Moms were all the children, friends and comrades together with our most capable babysitters, Ivy and Aubrey, and they behaved so well.  Riding the trikes, traipsing over the farm, climbing on the hay, watching videos, playing with Legos, getting fruit snacks, animal crackers and apple juice..  It was wonderful to see them all again.  Carson, Nevin, Sarah, Daniel, Malinda, Justin, Jerron, Bethany, D.W., Faith.  We were missing Destiny and Kaylin along with their sweet Momma, Becky, for the third week in a row.  Hurry and get well, girlies, PLEASE!
       I cooked up two chickens and made a big pot of chicken corn noodle soup.  I almost could not function because of this troublesome tooth.  I had lost the crown the other morning, and the dentist said to come in to get it reglued.  I think the dentist sighs whenever she hears that I am coming, and I sigh, too.  But after thinking that maybe it was going to be okay, it went into a torque yesterday, and gave me all sorts of trouble.  I am to see about a root canal on Monday, but this was too much pain.  So I finally called to see if they could give me a prescription for an antibiotic (I know that this is the pain of an abscess), and the dentist agreed, and said that she would call it right in.  I don’t think she wanted to see me.  Anyhow, that got started, and hopefully, the infection will be gone by the time I see the specialist on Monday.   
       Raph’s Sweet Karen Girl comes today, Lord Willing.  Our family has looked forward to this weekend with much anticipation.  We pray for traveling mercies for her as she drives alone from Columbus, Ohio, to Delaware.  I am amazed at the abilities and courage of young people today, though perhaps the trip here won’t be as challenging as meeting this exuberant family of Raph’s. 
       My heart and hands are busy with many things on this sunshiney day.

This is a song for a tooth that is dying.

For a dentist whose prowess I am about to question.

For an insurance company whose mix-up may mean that they won’t pay.

For an appointment I don’t want to keep, but am afraid not to.

These are the tears from a heart that is selfish,

Wanting faces and smiles and prayers that seem so long gone.

Wanting miracles for ridiculous things like teeth and pay checks.

Wanting a house that is clean and a schedule that’s predictable.

This is a prayer for a world that is hurting.

For families torn, for children adrift.

For hearts that are hard, for heads turned from Truth.

For all of the broken things that cannot be fixed.

This is a hope, a choice to look upward.

To think of the good things, the blessings we’ve got.

For memories warm, for homes that are comfortable,

And Heaven that’s waiting when all this is done.

       Today I feel like I’m eighty years old.  Yesterday, I realized that if the 100 tulip bulbs that were beginning to sprout in my garage were going to get planted, I needed to do it.  So Middle Daughter picked up this nifty bulb-planting thing from Wal-mart for $2.97, and I lost all my excuses.  I planted my two long boxes, and my barrel and then looked at the bag that looked almost undiminished by my efforts.  “Full sun” said the instructions.  “6” deep, 6″ apart.”  (It also said that in my zone they should be planted in October, but that wasn’t possible, and they were beginning to grow in that mesh bag, so I thought I had better get them into the ground.)
         I looked out at the long, long row where the grapes that we planted two years ago are bravely trying to get big, and looked at the long, ungraped spaces between each plant.  This, I decided would be a great place to plant my tulips.  So I went out there with my nifty bulb-planting thing and began to plant my bulbs.  I have this bum knee that will not bend very much, so it was a bit unhandy to put the oomph behind the nb-pt that was needed to get through the crab grass and the cold ground.  Part of the time, I was bent over, working from a distance.  But that didn’t work so well, so part of the time, I knelt down, and part of the time I just sat down on the ground and did the best I could.  I thought that I was pretty determined, and if I just tried hard enough, I could do it, so I kept at it though maybe five or seven bulbs, and then there was something that came into the line of vision.  Certain Man, on his way to the chicken house saw me over there, sitting on the ground and trying valiantly to plant the bulbs.  He came across the yard and looked on with amusement.
       “What do you think you are doing?”  He asked.
       “I’m planting these bulbs,” I said, quite unnecessarily, “If they are going to get planted in time, I need to do it today.  Do you think you could help me?  My hands just aren’t strong enough to do this with any great advantage.”
        He took the nb-pt and went to work.  He was soon on a roll, punching the holes, I would throw in the bulb, and together, we would replace the plug and then go on to the next one.  Suddenly he said, “I need to go check chickens.  I’m supposed to be a part of a conference call at 6:00, and that doesn’t give me much time.”   And away he went, with the bag still about half full, and a long, long row ahead of me.  I decided that I would keep plugging (excuse the pun) away.  It was getting colder, and the row seemed to be getting longer. 
        And then I thought about a gift I had that was given to me for such a time as this.  It was called Youngest Daughter.  She was languishing in the house, unoccupied by labor.  So, the gift that had been given was asked very sweetly if she would please help, and she cheerfully said that she would be glad to.  So she arrayed herself in shoes and sweat pants and came out to the long, long row. 
       There is something about her strength and her youth that makes me feel even older, but she grabbed the nb-pt with a vigor that outdid even Certain Man, and while her old Mama rolled about on the ground, putting in the bulbs, she punched holes with a vengeance, and before we quite knew what was happening, all the bulbs were planted.
       “Whew!  That was a job well done!” I said.  And Youngest Daughter and I went into the house to clean up.  This morning, there is a strange pain in my left hip that wasn’t there before.  The bum knee belongs to the right leg, so when there is walking to do, especially after sitting in church for a spell, I feel like I have to take a few steps before either leg catches up!  This does not make for smooth, feminine movement, I tell you!  And it is the reason that I feel eighty years old today.  It is truly the fault of those 100 tulip bulbs.
       But now, Eldest Daughter and Beloved Son in Law are here to play a game of Shang-hai.  One advantage of being elderly is that the younger generation ought to give you a break when it comes time to count points. 

       Today was the day that I was going to have at home, to myself, and I was GOING TO CLEAN GERTRUDE’S ROOM.  I have been trying to do that for a long, long time.  I get in there, stir about a bit, feel really, really sad, and then go and do something else.  Like hang a picture, or do a load of laundry, or balance my checkbook.  Just “busy” stuff to put off the really important stuff.
       Yesterday, I looked at this day and said, “Aha!  Finally a day to clean the room, and nothing shall distract me.”  Famous last words.
       Along about Midnight last night, I became aware that there was much distressing noise coming over the monitor from the downstairs bedroom.  And so I paid attention, and realized that the noise was coughing and coughing and coughing.  It sounded deep.  Blind Linda does coughing for behavior reasons, but this didn’t sound like behavior.  It sounded like bronchitis.  I administered Robitussin DM as per Standing Medical Orders, and thought dismal thoughts about MY DAY.
       So, on this day, I didn’t get the room cleaned.  I kept Blind Linda home from Center.  I canceled the transportation.  I faxed the doctor’s office who called back to say that I needed to have her there at 10:30.  Everything takes longer when I need to transport Linda, black book, purse and important papers, but I got her there in the nick of time, and yepper, she does have bronchitis.
       One of the indications that Linda is sick is that she is irritable and rude.  She is both of these in some proportions most of the time, but it is even worse when she is sick.  So patience was needed in great quantities while the doctor’s office and the pharmacy was navigated.  Lunch was obtained at the place of the Golden Arches, and then it was home to get started on the notorious room.  Except that Certain Man came home at that point and there was lunch to make.  And after that, finally, it was time to get on the ROOM.  Certain Man’s Wife found many interesting things that she forgot she had.  She found things that needed to be thrown away or given to Salvation Army.  She found dust and cobwebs in unbelievable quantities.  And just when things were going good, Youngest Daughter called.
       “Um, Mom,”  she said cheerfully, “I just thought I tell you we are on our way home.”
       “That’s nice, honey,” said Certain Man’s Wife.  “Did you have a good day?”
       “Yeah, pretty good.  I’m pretty hungry.”
       “That’s fine.  There’s stuff here to eat.”
       “Yeah, well, I just thought I’d tell you we’re on our way home, and we are all pretty hungry, I think.”
       We.  All.  Wait a minute.  What was this?  We.  All.  What was this day, anyhow?  Oh, right.  That inconvenient, most troublesome Science Fair Project.  Youngest Daughter was bringing her two partners home tonight to work on that.  Certain Man’s Wife needed to rethink the outcome of this day.  There would be some work done on that room, but the end of all things was not yet at hand.  More important things were needing attending to.  Like pizza in the oven, and tables cleared off to facilitate some experiments.  And conversation to be had with three delightful freshman girlies.
       And a weblog needed updating.  So.  Some of the above is now completed and it is:
                                         BACK TO THAT NOTORIOUS ROOM.  UGH!!! 

       

      There is a cemetery in Southern Delaware that is at the end of a dirt road.  It is well kept, and the gravestones there are uniform, with simplicity being the thing they all have in common.  Row after row in perfect symmetry, nearly all are unmarked by flowers or mementos of any kind.  I have not often been there, but the thing that strikes me every time I go is the the names I recognize from the last 20 years.  Rosa Lozana, Virginia Frey, Dorothy Marvel, John Finnegan, Martha Pierce. . . and many that I recognize only by their first names.  This is the graveyard of the indigent, handicapped people, wards of the state, whose families either could not, or chose not to fund a burial in another cemetery.  Though not actually on the grounds of Delaware’s infamous “Stockley Center” it is maintained by the administration and is very near by.  As I said, at the end of a dirt road.
      This is where we laid Old Gertrude to rest last November on a sunny day.  I remember standing in the cemetery, friends all around, and flowers from our church being placed, one by one on her casket and around her open grave.  My Daddy was there.  He had the opening prayer in the memorial service in the little chapel, and he was strong and participant and thoughtful.  I remember him standing there in the cemetery that day, the sun on his white hair, his skin tanned.  He was dressed up, like for church.  He looked so good.
      I haven’t been to Stockley since Old Gertrude was buried.  I had such a longing to go to her grave in the few weeks before Daddy died, but had gotten sidetracked when everything happened so swiftly.  Old Gertrude loved Christmas, and our daughters had wanted to take her favorite Christmas toy and leave it on her grave, but none of us had gotten there.
      There was a class at Stockley Center today.  Once a year, “they” make foster care providers take a medication class so that we can “assist” with the numerous meds that our handicapped individuals are on.  Since I find myself in that position, it was mandatory.  This morning I looked at the schedule and thought that if there was time, I would like to go out to the grave.  I had some silk daffodils that I wanted to put there, and I wanted to think.  When the morning session ended a half an hour early, I knew that my wish was being granted.  
      It seemed like the cemetery was further away than I remembered, and I found it a lonely trek to the end of the blacktop and then down the dirt road.  There is a fence all around, and an arched entrance into the cemetery.  I left my van down by the entrance, and walked across to where there was some bare ground rising above the grass.  Old Gertrude’s stone is not yet in place, but there was a little marker there, and barely legible in ball point pen I could just make out “Gertrude Finnegan.”   The ground was soft, and the flowers went in easily.  It was a beautiful day, and I sang her a song and talked to her about where she is and what it is like there.  I remembered those last difficult, pain-filled months, and thought about her being whole and healthy and free.  There were tears shed, and they were selfish tears as I thought about what the losses of this last year have been, and about how much I miss her steady devotion and sense of humor and easy conversation.  
      There is going to be someone out there who will not understand what I am going to say next.  But I was suddenly aware that first she, and then Daddy, have given me a wonderful gift.  I know that they are not treasure that I stored up in Heaven, but they are part of my treasure, and they are in Heaven, and that has made me more aware of Heaven and what waits there than I have ever had cause to ponder before.  And I like it.  I like to think about the reality of a place that is so full of light and all that is good, so free of tears and pain and sickness and death and loss and grief and heartache.  A place where Old Gertrude and I will be equals and all that I loved about her will be even more real than this life here is to me now.  
      I like to think about what it will be like to see my Savior first of all, and look on the face of a Holy God and know that I am forgiven, not that I “made it through, somehow” or was “good enough,” but that, just like Old Gertrude and Daddy and every other saint who came safely home, I was brought home through what Jesus did for me.
      And that, my dear friends, really is a tiny glimpse of a much bigger picture!
      What a hope!