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19th of July

That Dang Dog!


How many lessons CAN one learn from a dog?  Well, since DOG is GOD spelled backwards and I happen to LOVE dogs (especially MY dogs), I find myself always asking GOD to speak to me through my DOG.  Sure enough, GOD does!  Not the same as speaking through a donkey, I suppose, but pretty dang awesome, if you ask me!  So here’s the story of the week from the farm dog.  Pretty funny looking back,


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13th of July

Make Hay While The Sun Shines


They say, “Make hay while the sun shines” and this is true. Those of us around here with horses need hay cut at just the right time. We watch the weather, hoping for three, back-to-back sunny days for hay harvesting because horse hay must be dry. Otherwise, hay molds and can’t be fed to horses.   Last week was our first three-day stretch of dry since the hay was ready for harvest. I watched as


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5th of July

Abundance from Dependence


What do you do when your dreams aren’t coming true? What do you do when your heart breaks from the ache of wanting something so much and it looks like that one dream may never be yours?  Like Hannah who wanted a child.  Desperately. So what did Hannah do?  Instead of lashing out at her tormenter Peninnah, Hannah went straight to God with her lament and her request.  (1 Samuel 1:1-20) In short, Hannah poured


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30th of June

Sicker Than A Dog


I was sicker than a dog last week.  That is, until my dog got sick the day after. I think I poisoned myself with some bad beef.  Not pretty.  Next morning, I read the directions on the package . . . Eat within 5 days after opening. I did the math, in the aftermath of my porcelain thrown-hugging purging.  If my calculations were correct, I ate that beef on Day 21 instead of on Day


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21st of June

Fear Not—An Invitation to the Freedom of Dependence


The men in my life are laying out clothes, filling up containers, packing enough for five days of their ten away in two cities where terror has struck again—London and Paris.  And they’ll be standing on the beaches where some other mother’s boys landed and turned the waters red at the same ages as our sons—19 and 23.  They’re going to witness history and pay their respects. Will my husband and sons return? Our daughter


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16th of June

Weathering the Storms


I stand on the balcony of our west-facing library and see the young pumpkin vines beginning to flower yellow.  My eyes scan the rows of tender tomatoes and marigolds two weeks old, crying for relief from the oppressive heat and hard winds that can turn soil to dust and parch leaves crisp.  Their vulnerable stems bend low as if begging their Creator. How long, oh God?  How long? Where’s relief in the desiccated days that


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7th of June

Foreign Affairs and What’s Right With the World


Terrorist attacks.  My two sons and my husband are heading to London and Paris in two weeks for a WWII trip . . . I pray.  I reflect . . . I put a poster board together for him Saturday, the day before he walked the aisle.  The day before he took his seat among the others whose last name begins with a “J”. I slipped a photograph out of a plastic sleeve—the first of


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31st of May

The Worth of Work and Pain


I cleared fall’s dead from the winding perennial borders—the purple coneflower stems, the sedum stalks.  I removed the invasive honeysuckle and hemlock planted by birds in places they don’t belong.  I cut down clumps of Karl Foerster grass, making way for new growth.  I dug up and divided overgrown hostas, giving some away to those in need and filling bare spots. My husband and I worked together spraying Round Up on the quack grass that


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11th of May

When Mother’s Day Reminds You of Death—The Way to Find Life


Mother’s Day, 2002 I called my mother to make sure she received the dozen red carnations I sent as a surprise. “They’re gorgeous!  But you said you weren’t sending me flowers for Mother’s Day this year because of the bench.” “I know.  But you’ve always told me flowers should be given to the living, not the dead.” She laughed. I hadn’t planned on sending flowers.  I had bought her a bench.  A pale yellow, wood-slatted


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27th of April

Encouragement for the Broken and Stigmatized


I stepped out of the shadows and declared—on Facebook—during Holy Week—that I was suffering with clinical depression. I had hit the hard floor of desperation on Wednesday before Maundy Thursday in the midst of a medication change, one of several I’d been through over the past twenty years. So why did I dare post and ask for help?  Because too many don’t.  People are suffering and dying all over the world from depression.  Consider the


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12th of April

What Happens When the Hurting Seek Help


He comes up to me and leans in close to my ear. Will you pray for me? Of course, I say as I look into his eyes starting to well with tears. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, dabs both his eyes, and with trembling voice tells me straight . . . I don’t feel God’s love.   Instinctively, I reach out and wrap my arms around this silver-haired man in


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6th of April

Dust to Dust And The Peace that Comes with Letting Go


They carried her to the altar, their mother.  They carried her, all ash in a small wooden box. They covered her with a white cloth, embroidered with a cross.   A cross.   Where Christ paid for our ultimate reconciliation—restored relation between holy God and sinner.  Between sinners and sinners . . . All watched as the two brothers carried her, their mother, the one who once carried them in her womb, knit together by


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Come stroll the trails with me on our 44 acre Midwest horse farm where I seek God in the ordinary and always find Him--the Extraordinary--wooing, teaching, wowing me with Himself. Thanks for visiting. I hope you will be blessed!

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