Snowballs!

January, the first month in any new year, stretches long in front of us ~ a harbinger of hopes, a dangler of dreams, a blank book of accomplishments. It is the landscape of new fallen snow, pock-free, pristine, pure. I am tempted to keep my hands off so as not to mar the illusion of fresh starts and sinless beginnings it offers. I am tempted to hang January on the wall and gaze on its beauty from afar rather than dive in and mess up the scenery. But...(yes, there is always a but)...

We are not called to merely sit in the bleachers of life to watch others play, watch others tackle, watch others score, watch others make snow angels. We are called to pull on our boots, grab our gloves, and dash headlong into the white stuff, to work up a sweat underneath our woolens, and to make our marks.

January, the first month in any new year, stretches long in front of us. Time to make some snowballs!

Kitchen Sink

Never underestimate
the power of the
kitchen sink.

It's where
the Lord hears
all the dirty secrets
hidden in my heart,
the stuff
too shameful to share
anyplace else,
too painful to bear
alone.

The Lord
hears them all,
heals them all,
immerses me
in the fountain
of forgiveness.

At the kitchen sink
I scrub dishes,
He scrubs me.

I am stained
by unrighteousness,
I am soiled
by unholiness ~
What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

Turn on the tap
and let it flow.

Homemade Applesauce

I am not an applesauce lover. I do enjoy an occasional crispy, juicy apple or a serving of hot apple crisp, but I've never evolved into an applesauce lover. Unless it's homemade. And a tad warm. And a tad tart. Then I morph into a most ardent fan! Herewith is the recipe my mother handed down, and boy howdy, it's both simple and delicious.

Ingredients:

15 or so medium-sized Granny Smith apples
1 cup of granulated white sugar
4 teaspoons of lemon juice

Directions:

*Wash and quarter all the apples and place in a large pot with 1.5 cups of water.
*Bring water to a boil.
*Cover the pot and reduce to simmer for 45 minutes or so (until all apples are soft).
*Remove from heat and stir in the sugar and lemon juice.
*Put mixture through a strainer to deal with skins and seeds.

Yield:

Approximately 15 to 16 cups of creamy, sweet-tart heaven!

Fiddler's Green

Yesterday I finished reading a book that moved me to tears by the time I turned the last page. That rarely happens to me, so when it does, I feel the need to tell the world.

Fiddler's Green, by A. S. Peterson, is the sequel to his first magnificent novel, The Fiddler's Gun. It is the continuing saga of a young woman named Phinea Button who abandons her small-town existence in colonial Georgia for the travels and tumults of the open sea. She sheds the clothing of an orphan and dons the sailor's garb out of necessity, not out of desire. Leaving behind her life and her loves to pursue freedom, not just for herself, but for her friends and her country, Fin (her nickname) is plunged into a variety of escapades and battles that eventually bring her full circle.

If The Fiddler's Gun introduced us to Fin and her compatriots and laid the groundwork for this enchanting tale, then Fiddler's Green immerses us in the story in spades. Peterson wields words and weaves images as skillfully as Michaelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel. His beautiful ability to develop characters who inspire love or hate as they deal with matters of life and death left this reader yearning for a continuation. I was not ready to bid farewell to all those I had come to cherish and who had captured my heart.

Well done, Mr. Peterson. You are a gifted writer and a soulful tale-teller, and I am pleased to have made your acquaintance.

The Truth

Doubter (the skeptic) says, "Convince me, so I can believe the truth."

Digger (the seeker) says, "Show me, so I can discover the truth."

Disciple (the student) says, "Instruct me, so I can practice the truth."

Dreamer (the prophet) says, "Visit me, so I can preach the truth."

Dancer (the worshiper) says, "Inspire me, so I can celebrate the truth."

Jesus Christ (the Messiah) says, "I am the truth."

The Wonders of His Love

If I only catch a sunrise
awash in yellow pink,
If I only wash the dishes
in a white ceramic sink,
If I only smell the coffee
steaming, frothy, in a mug,
I'll sing an Alleluia!
to the wonders of His love.

If I only hear the mewing
of a newborn baby's cry,
If I only bathe the kitten
and towel-fluff it dry,
If I only mop the kitchen
and sweep the braided rug,
I'll sing an Alleluia!
to the wonders of His love.

If I only spot a redbird
beneath the evergreen,
If I only scrub the bathroom
to a sparkly, shiny clean,
If I only fold the laundry
in a faded plastic tub,
I'll sing an Alleluia!
to the wonders of His love.

If I can find the holy
in my ordinary day,
If I can drink some heaven
from this earthen pot of clay,
If I can sacrifice my praise
to the One who dwells above,
I'll sing an Alleluia!
to the wonders of His love.

Mary Jane

Sorrow wraps around us
like a fleece blanket
on a summer day ~
not wanted,
not needed,
out of season,

heavy.

It covers the promise
we know to be true,
that we haven't really lost

you.

We cast it off,
this heaviness,
choosing instead
to lay bare
the lightness,
the sweetness,
the gladness
of our memories

of you.

Only a moment
separates us,
a whisper of time.
Sorrow will give way,
yielding its temporary sway
to the joy of eternity
and reunion

with you.



Psalm 73: 25,26 ~ Whom have I in heaven but Thee? And besides Thee, I desire nothing on earth. My flesh and my heart may fail; but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.