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Could my Xanga Friends please pray for family members in the town of Wenchuan in the province of China that was hard hit by the earthquake?

Youngest Son had a birthday this week.  He turned 22 on Cinco de Mayo.  What a ride these years with him have been.  And I am eternally grateful for God’s incredible grace in our lives as a family, and in his life in particular.

This Momma’s heart has had its pensive moments in these last few days — we’ve been dealing with an especially vicious bug.  Youngest Daughter has been sporting a fever of over 103 the last two mornings.  I took her to Dr. Lehman’s office yesterday, and they tested for strep and said she didn’t have it.  They started her on a five day antibiotic.  “Somethings wrong,” they said, comfortingly.  “She will be better soon.  Probably won’t even have fever by morning.”  She really isn’t too much improved yet today, but it has only been 24 hours since she started the medicine.  She had hoped for a full recovery by this morning and when the thermometer read 103.2, the tears were insistent in their attack.  This girlie feels everything entirely too intensely.  I guess it is part of being 17.

Blind Linda’s cough was turning into a bark by yesterday morning, so I trucked her in to Dr. Wilson’s yesterday afternoon, and after checking her over, and diagnosing her with acute sinusitis, he trucked his little wheeley chair over and listened to my lungs and checked out my ears and throat and nose.  The result:  A prescription for both Certain Man and me to try to stamp out this thing that has been hanging around over a week.  The cough is the worst of all.  I get a tickle that just won’t stop, and it feels like I’m going to throw up before I finally get it stopped.

It occurs to me that we are on our final approach to life as we have known it for the nine years since Eldest Daughter got married.  I am happy for our sons, and I am looking forward to having two sweet daughters in love.  I am amazed, though, at how quickly these years have suddenly come to an end.  I am not resentful of the new homes being established, and I have every confidence that these are homes where Jesus will be honored, and that is a good thing in this old sin-crazed world.

But it is both of my sons.  Leaving in the space of eight weeks.  They are so optimistic, so happy, so eager to get on with their lives, and I look at their eyes and see their Daddy’s eyes and remember a young husband who was full of dreams and plans and who worked so hard to bring those dreams to pass.  He has exceeded my wildest expectations.  I’m so thankful for Certain Man and the way he has sacrificed for our lives together as a family.  I pray these sons of ours have learned their lessons well.  They won’t go wrong if they follow his example.  How very much I pray that they will be husbands who lead their families with a sacrificial love.  I pray that they will be the kinds of leaders who will inspire confidence and respect in their wives and families, and that they will never forget the important things about being a family.  That they will work hard, laugh much, love intensely.

And it occurs to me that if they don’t know it by now, a crash course won’t do much good.  Some things just aren’t gotten by emergency education.  So, as I make my way through these last few weeks, planting flowers, making pie crusts, doing normal household things, I keep remembering that my best hope is what has already been taught, and my lifeline to my Heavenly Father who holds the Master Plan for families, and, in fact, already has one in place for them.  I can trust Him for that — He is still the best teacher.  And I need to let go of these young men.  They will make mistakes.  They already have, and they will make some more.  But their hearts are to do this right, and with that, my heart can be at peace.

It’s a new week and this Monday Morning brings opportunity for Grateful Praise.

Friday, Eldest Son’s Ohio Heart Throb made another safe trip to our fair state.  The weekend went well, and plans continue to be made.  This mother’s heart is grateful for quiet conversations and youthful laughter and young love.  She traveled safely home again last night, even though Eldest Son implored me to “Make her stay!  It’s a matter of National Security!”  (Yes, well.  There’s no logic to love.  Besides, even though there was a time when I could fix almost anything for him, that time is LONG GONE!)

On Saturday, the youth group of our little church got together for a work day.  They redid the nursery at our church.  (There is new carpet, new blinds, new accessories.  They painted the old cribs white, bought new mattresses and crib sheets.   It looks so sweet!)  They pulled weeds and planted flowers and mulched.  Domino’s Pizza has a wonderful special right now — Three or more 10″ pizzas with one topping (besides cheese) for $4.00 each.  The whole group ate pizza for lunch on 32 bucks!  That was pretty amazing!

Also, on Saturday, a batch of bread got made that met my expectations. 
(It is good for a “seasoned” baker to sometimes have glitches in her automatic results. And I think we have a place for the last four loaves of bread that won’t hurt my conscience.  I will tell you about that “after the fact — if I remember.)

Late Saturday night, my Sweet Mama called from Pennsylvania, where my Eldest Brother took her to visit Middle Brother.  I am a Great Auntie again.  Nephew Myron and his lovely wife, Abigail, are celebrating the safe arrival of Sophia Rose.  This is daughter #2 for them.  They have a precocious Isabella Ruth who turned two earlier this month.  This brings the total of great-grands to 14 with one more expected this summer.  When the weddings get over, and the babies get born, by the end of the summer, the Mark Yoder clan will number 70, Lord Willing.  (and if that  www.xanga.com/farmerboy9300 gets on with things, it just might be 71.  Do you hear me, Joe???)

On Sunday, my class of ladies again inspired and blessed me.  I look at their faces, think of the diversity of their lives, am amazed at their strength, often laugh with them at the funny, funny turns the lives of Christian women sometimes take.  And I weep for their heartaches, so close to my own sometimes that I don’t know if I’m crying for them or for me — and sometimes I weep for them and wonder what I would ever do in similar circumstances.  Our Sunday School lesson was on the prayer of Daniel, and the insights offered by the class made me ponder anew the grace available to us to live Godly in a society gone so wrong..

On Sunday Evening, the Greenwood Mennonite School’s High School Chorus gave a program at (what us oldster’s lovingly call) “The Brick Church.”  Acoustics in that place have always been phenomenal, but last night it was not only the acoustics, but The Spirit.  I am partial to one of their singers, not so much because of her musical ability, but because of her heart.  I loved looking at the faces of the people that Youngest Daughter runs around with almost every day, and I thought of how intensely she loves some of them.  I hated it that I couldn’t put a name on every young person in that Chorus, but I appreciated so much the music, how it spoke to my heart of worship and praise and the Hope of Heaven.  It was Holy Ground.  I hear it in my very soul today.

This morning, I got up with that obnoxious cold that I have been able to escape for most of the winter putting a band around my lungs and setting me straight into the bass section of any choir (if I were tempted to join — I’m NOT!).  There were the usual morning things of showers and lunches and laundry and phone calls and morning’s work.  Things are stirring merrily along.  Eldest and Middle Daughter are going to go to Dover to pick up some flowers for my containers and deck boxes and gardens.  I got to see my precious Middle Sister briefly on her way to the dentist.  A beloved Uncle is stopping around with information for a Yoder Family book that is getting updated, and even though I am feeling rather ragged around the edges, my heart is so full of hope and joy that it is hard to feel discouraged.

And this is for you, where ever you are and whatever you are called to do today:

“The eternal God is thy refuge . . .  and underneath are the everlasting arms.”  Deut. 33:27

We’ve been gone.  I guess that is probably pretty obvious, isn’t it?  Certain
Man and I made quite a trip over the weekend.  I just love going away with him
all by ourselves and it was a really special weekend.

First, we left on
Thursday morning, and went to Holmes County, Ohio, to meet the parents of Oldest
Son’s Ohio Heart Throb.  That was a really special time, and we had a great
supper, and it was relaxed and happy and just plain fun.  We got to see Regina
in the setting of her home, and it was a blessing to us.

Yet that night,
we went down to Plain City.  Certain Man has a cousin who lives just a few
streets over from his parents on a quiet little cul de sac, and they had said we
could stay at their house for the nights whilst a ” Family Maintenance Weekend”
was happening.  Certain Man’s sister, Lena, and his sister, Rachel, and her
husband, Ivan Zehr, came to pitch in and take care of some things there.  They
got lots and lots done, too.  I did some things, but mostly, I cooked and ran
errands.  The weekend wasn’t long enough, and my heart aches for this family. 
It is obvious that these two old people won’t be able to stay alone much longer,
but I honestly don’t know what to do.  And you know what, it isn’t really my
problem.  However, the others don’t know what to do either.

We left there
early yesterday morning, and traveled to Denver, PA where Certain Man was taking
the suit for our son’s weddings to have it altered.  Then we stopped to visit
some dear, dear friends who live out in the boonies of Denver, PA.  What a great
time that was, too.  Bev Martin and her family are old friends of ours from
before we moved to Delaware.  So it was really, really sweet to spend some time
with her.  Her mother fed us some delicious homemade vegetable beef stew that
really hit the spot, but along about five thirty, when we were starting to
leave, I developed a really sharp pain in the upper right part of my abdomen,
and it gave me fits until after I got home.  I took some strong pain medicine,
and then went to sleep.  Thjis morning it felt wonderful, and I was really
tickled to have it gone.  This afternoon, Certain Man grilled me a very small,
but perfect Filet Mignon steak, seasoned perfectly, and just perfect in every
way.  Within an hour, I was feeling so bad that I wondered if I didn’t need to
go to the emergency room.  I kept thinking, “Well, I need to finish this yet,”
or that it just wasn’t the right time to leave.  Thbis evening, it was really
hurting, so I looked it up in one of my medical books, and I am pretty sure that
it is a gall bladder attack of some sort or other.  I took a very strong pain
pill tonight, and it is much, much better.  Of course, I am so sleepy I hardly
know what end is up, and I keep making stupid mistakes on here, but I guess I
need to schedule some sort of upper G.I.series and see what is going on before I
get myself into a real quandary and an emergency.

I came home to a wonderful surprise.  Eldest Daughter and Middle Daughter, in a conspiracy with Certain Man, arranged to have my downstairs bathroom redone.  They took out the wall paper that was there when we moved here 19 years ago, and had a painter come in and paint it all.  Including the ceiling!  WOW!!!  What a difference!!!  They even got one of the new handicapped toilets and had it installed, and that is really a blessing.  They painted the whole thing white, so it will need some decorative touches, but not too much.  Stop by and see it if you get a chance. I am so pleased with it.

Oh, yes!  I took my bread along
to Ohio.  By the time I got it there, it hardly smelled bad at all.  Of course, they
all ate it happily.  However, that isn’t too much comfort, as Daniel’s Mom
cannot really smell, and neither does his oldest sister.  However, while I was
out there, I talked to Middle Daughter.  She had cooked a chicken, and decided
that she was going to buy some bread at the grocery store.
    Said Eldest
Son, “Will You PLEASE use the store bought bread for my lunch tomorrow?  This
bread of Mom’s is so bad that I cannot ever taste what is in my sandwich when it
is made from that bread.”  So they have eaten most of that loaf of store bread,
and there are still the four or five loaves of the “donut bread” in the freezer.  I’m thinking seasoned
bread crumbs or croutons or something similar.  I know that I cannot
conscientiously throw it away, and everyone keeps telling me that it isn’t that
bad — but when I opened the loaf here on the counter tonight, I could still
tell it as bad as ever, at least to my nostrils. 

But it is time to
speak of other things.  I have some gorgeous old pictures from several years ago
of the yard in Spring at Shady Acres, and things are very bit as pretty.now as
they were then.  I actually did plant my “arc” of Geraniums tonight, and I am
hoping they don’t freeze.  I am really anxious to get my flowers
planted.

One other thing.  Some of you know that I have been on Weight
Watchers since the end of January,   I came home with my “losses” pretty much
intact.  The last weigh-in that I had at Weight Watchers was a week ago and at
that time, I was .4 (Four tenths) of a pound nigh unto losing 30 pounds.  I feel
such a difference, and I enjoy their program very much.  I know it is not for
everyone, but things seem to have changed drastically since the late ’70’s when
I was looking for something similar to this program, and the changes are things
that make it a whole lot easier to learn.  I have some really great
“cheerleaders,” too, and that helps me so much.

And now, Certain Man has
climbed the “mountain” to bed, and I need to go, too.

Thanks for all
your comments.  My Xanga friends are an incredible blessing to me.

    Saturday Morning, 5:30 AM. 
    The rain was dripping off the eaves, and Certain
Man’s Wife, snuggled under the covers to catch a few extra winks of sleep. 
There would be no wood cutting for the few brave men of Laws Mennonite Church,
so Certain Man wouldn’t be down the road for most of the day, working himself
half to death.  In fact, this was the day that Certain Man and Certain Man’s
Wife were to go out hunting for the great Wedding Suit that would be suitable
for the “father of the groom” for not only one son’s wedding, but actually,
two!
    “I refuse to buy separate suits for weddings that will be only eight weeks
apart!” he stated, rather emphatically.  And so, since Youngest Son and Girl With a Beautiful Heart suggested that he wear a black suit for their wedding, and the Eldest Son and His Ohio Heart Throb didn’t really care what he wore as long as he was dressed, the decision was made to go looking for a black suit that would serve a dual purpose.  (Now if only Certain Man’s Wife could do the same with “mother of the groom” dresses.  Ha, Ha!)
    Certain Man had proclaimed that he really didn’t have time to go shopping.  His chickens were going out early Monday morning, there were things to do in the chicken house, and there was a dinner and a play at Youngest Daughter’s school at 5:30 in the evening that Youngest Daughter was a part of.  It was imperative that they attend.      Certain Man decided that, if they got off early, they should be back early, and that would leave plenty of time to do everything at home that he wanted to do.  So the time was set to leave soon after nine o’clock Saturday morning.  CMW thought briefly that the Mall wouldn’t even open until ten, but reasoned that CM is quite often not ready when he thinks he will be, so thought that it would be fine.
    As she lay sleepily listening to the rain and thinking about the day ahead, it suddenly dawned on her fur brain that she was almost out of bread.  And tomorrow, the families of their small group were coming for lunch, as this particular small group are the designated hosts for the first Sunday of every month, and the food had been taken care of except the bread.  Usually there is plenty of bread at the house of Certain Man and Certain Man’s Wife because CMW bakes ten loaves at a time whenever the supply gets low. 
    This actually is not the job that it might appear to be.  Certain Man put a second cookstove in a little alcove in CMW’s laundry room, and it is usual for her to be able to bake those ten loaves from the beginning mixing to finished baking in about three hours.
    Of course, CMW calculated the time between her head on the pillow and 9:00 AM (well, actually, 9:30 or 10:00) and realized that there was enough time to bake bread before she left for the shopping mall.  That way, she wouldn’t get into any complications after she got home, and there would be bread for lunch the next day.  So before she (or Certain Man) could change her mind, she leaped out of bed and started rummaging for day clothes.
    “Where are you going?” questioned Great Sleeping Bear.  I mean, Certain Man.
    “If I get busy right now, I can bake bread before we head out for Dover.  I think I will be glad later tonight that it is done.”  He made some mild objections, but didn’t actually tell her she couldn’t, so she descended down to the kitchen to commence to start.
    Three cups of dry milk powder went into her big Pyrex mixing bowl, then she filled it until it was ready to overflow with hot water.  Ten cups of reconstituted milk.  It went in to her gigantic metal bowl.  Three more cups of warm water went into the same Pyrex mixing bowl, and she added a half cup of active dry yeast.  She measured two cups of sugar, poured a small amount over the yeast and stirred that mixture, then added the rest of the sugar to the hot milk.  Then she added 1/3 cup of salt to the milk and sugar, and went to get 2 cups of Crisco to melt in the microwave.  After the yeast has risen, and she pours it into the milk, salt and sugar mixture, she adds a five pound bag of flour before adding any of the melted shortening.  (It has something to do with the yeast binding to the flour before the shortening is added that makes for a better consistency.)   
    This is where everything went wrong.  There was no plain white Crisco in the entire house.  CMW looked.  And looked.  And looked!  Here and there, up and down, under and over.  And then did it all again.  She was sure there was some white Crisco shortening somewhere in the house, but it was nowhere to be seen.  She finally found a can of Butter flavored Crisco that she looked at dubiously. She just didn’t think it would be okay, but after the third time through the kitchen, she talked herself into using that butter flavored Crisco, even though she was afraid that it wasn’t a good idea.
    Thus begins the saga of another, “I can’t believe I really did that!”  But it is in retrospect.  Nothing would have prepared CMW for the real problem.
    As most yeast bakers know, there is nothing like baking bread on a rainy day.  The atmospheric pressure does something special with the dough, and the bread is often much better than CMW really deserves.  And Saturday looked like it would be no exception.  The bread went together beautifully.  She added the melted yellow Crisco to the original mixture, and worked most of another 5 lb. bag of flower into it.  The dough whistled while CMW kneaded it, ( a sure sign of a good dough)  and it felt and looked like some of the better bread that CMW has made in her time.  It rose beautifully and was perfect in so many ways.  It was a little more yellow than usual, and CMW thought that there just might be a little different smell.  But it looked so nice, she brushed off her anxieties.  She’s been often told that she is like her Lauver ancestors when it comes to cooking.  Something is just never quite right, somehow..
    Certain Man’s wife set the ten beautiful loaves to cool and  got ready in plenty of time to go to Dover, and left everything in the care of others.  It was a perfect day for suit shopping, as JCPenney had 50% off their suits on a six hour sale and CM and CMW were there at the exact right time.  A nice suit was procured in anticipation of the upcoming weddings, and CMW came home early, and looked at her good bread.  It made her feel really good to think she had discovered that, in a pinch, bread made with butter flavored Crisco was just as good as bread made with regular flavored Crisco.
    Until CMW tasted it. Oh, no!  You could taste that butter flavored Crisco, and believe you me, it didn’t make the bread taste buttery.  It had a very strange taste to it.  CMW held her peace.  Maybe no one would notice it.
    The first loaf got sliced and half eaten before it was cool.  Certain Man, the official bread slicer, cut the rest, put eight in the freezer for later use, and left the loaf and a half out for Small Group lunch the next day. 
    The Small Group families came, and everyone that took bread ate it, and nary a complaint was made, but CMW just couldn’t quite put her finger on what there was about it that was just so wrong.  So she took a loaf to the gathering at her Sweet Mama’s house on Sunday night.  Again, though it was discussed at great length in company of all those good cooks, the smell and the flavor were something elusive.  Familiar, but elusive.
    “Hey, Mom,” said Youngest Daughter on Monday (having been absent from the other discussions), “this bread has a funny taste, somehow.  It actually smells like homemade doughnuts!”
    Maybe that was it.   CMW came over to take a sniff, and sure enough, it did smell like a homemade doughnut.  And it did not set right with her.  She still had seven loaves that she needed to get rid of somehow. 
    So she has faithfully packed Eldest Son’s lunch all week with it.  He doesn’t like it much, but since he is on a diet, he says that pretty much anything tastes good to him once he gets used to it.
     CMW cannot “get used to it.”  It actually turns her stomach when she smells it. 
    Middle Daughter optimistically says that it is okay as peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 
    Certain Man says to just get rid of it. 
    Eldest Daughter says to take it in to a local “recovery house.”  “They won’t know the difference, ” she says cheerfully.  “And besides, it will be gone by the time they figure it out, so it won’t matter.”
    CMW thinks of those loaves of bread in her freezer and wishes they would disappear.  She doesn’t want to give them away because it might damage her reputation.  (!) Uh-huh.  She especially doesn’t want to give it away to people who “won’t know the difference.”  That is against the way she has been taught.  It seems a little like giving used tea bags to the missionaries.  But neither does she want to give it to someone who would know the difference.  They would probably wish they hadn’t received it.  And even though it is nice that she isn’t tempted to eat that bread, it doesn’t seem fair for it to expect her family to eat it. 
    So.  Is there any advice for this dilemma? 
    What would you do if you were Certain Man’s Wife?