Recipe for a Good Cook Book

Flipping through a new cook book, just glancing at the pictures can make your mouth start to water. But before you pay for it based on salivary appeal alone, take a second look, and see if you can actually make the recipes included. Is it so gourmet that it calls for ingredients that aren't in your cupboard, let alone in your food budget? Or is it so modernized that it calls for boxes and cans and packages, instead of from-scratch ingredients?

Here's a recipe for a good old-fashioned cook book you'll reference the rest of your life...

Turn to the index, and find a recipe for spaghetti. If it calls for a 16-ounce jar of spaghetti sauce, don't even give it a second look. If it tells you how to simmer your own spaghetti sauce, the cook book may have some promise.

Next, look up minestrone soup. If it calls for a 15-ounce can of red kidney beans, drained and rinsed, forget it. If it tells you the proper dried measurements for soaking, rinsing, and cooking your own kidney beans and chickpeas, you're onto something.

Finally, sniff your way through the pages to pumpkin pie. If it calls for a can of pumpkin, it still fails the test. If it tells you how many cups of pureed pumpkin to use, it's a good cook book. If it mentions substituting winter squash as well, you've really got a winner.

Anyone can open a can of beans in the interest of speed, or follow the recipe off the can of storebought pumpkin. But only a good cook can substitute the perfect from-scratch with-plenty-of-garlic spaghetti sauce when the recipe just calls for a 16-ounce jar. And every gardener knows that squash pie is better than pumpkin any day.

Coming soon: Gretchen's favorite cook books... Stay tuned!

HeartThoughts offering "Waiting for Her Isaac"

As many of you know, we've carried Team Member Jeannie Castleberry's novel Journey of the Heart ever since its publication. Because fiction of this sort is a rarity in today's market, I recently added another of the books in the courtship series to our bookstore: Waiting for Her Isaac. This book is the first Castleberry book I read and I immediately bonded with the main character, Beth. In addition to being the same age, the story takes place not far from where I was living at the time, and much of Beth's experiences and challenges through a move and courtship were ones I had also encountered. It is a sweet book and I look forward to getting it into more girls' hands.

Into My Heart

I help teach in the AWANA club at my little country church. [For those of you who aren’t familiar with the program, it’s a club to help children memorize Bible verses.] Each Wednesday evening I have the privilege of listening to kids from the ages of six to twelve recite the verses they have learned in the previous week. The different personalities and abilities are fascinating (and sometimes challenging!), and it’s such a joy to see these precious kids hiding God’s Word in their hearts.

Some of the children are from Christian homes, and their parents help them learn verses. These kids generally have at least some understanding of the meaning of what they are learning. But many of the children are not so blessed. Probably half (if not more) of these kids are not exposed to Christianity anywhere besides AWANAs. Many are from broken homes – most have never heard the plan of salvation explained. It’s hard for me to comprehend the utter lack of a foundation of truth in their hearts. And it’s hard to explain the meaning of the verses they are learning when there’s no context for them to put it in.

One girl defined sin for me: “It’s doing things like hanging up the phone on people.” A boy told me his dad was a great example of a sinner since “he bought a new 4-wheeler when my mom didn’t want him to.” Imagine, then, trying to explain concepts like justification and atonement!

Several of us leaders were becoming frustrated, and we decided to show the children’s version of The Jesus Film (highly recommended!). We wanted them to have a clear understanding of Jesus’ life and death, and especially to understand the meaning of Easter. Again, to my amazement, some of these children had never heard the story of Jesus’ death on the cross!

We showed the film in two parts. The first night all the kids were completely absorbed in the film. The sanctuary was perfectly silent. The children watched in wonder as Jesus fed the five thousand, raised Jarius’ daughter, and calmed the sea.

They came back this week ready to see more of the story about this wonderful Man. But soon it became apparent that this part would be quite different. The children cringed as Jesus was whipped, mocked, and forced to carry His cross. Some hid their eyes as nails were driven into His hands and the cross was raised. And when Jesus gasped, “Into thy hands I commit my spirit,” six year old Ryan cried and asked, “Did He die?”

At the end of the film, two of the child-actors made an appeal for viewers to trust Jesus as their Savior. As they prayed the sinner’s prayer, Ryan prayed along. He came to me a few minutes later, eyes sparkling – “I have Jesus in my heart now!”

Ryan has a tough road ahead of him. His parents are divorced – his mom is in jail – and he lives with his grandparents, who aren’t Christians as far as I know. He doesn’t go to church or Sunday school. He’s only six years old, so he can’t read the Bible on his own. But there’s AWANAs. And every Wednesday we’ll be there, trying to help and encourage him. Knowing Ryan’s story makes it worth every hectic minute.

- by Jeannie Castleberry
March 7, 2008

Swaddling Clothes

Becoming a parent turns the topics of burps and messy diapers into everyday conversation. It also makes you a connoisseur of baby products. Don't get Merritt and me started on collapsible baby gyms, one-piece potty chairs, or folding baby swings. Things have changed a lot since our youngest siblings were born 10 and 16 years ago! They have gelled baby oil. Tagless clothes. They even have SmartWool socks for toddlers. Ruth wears hers as socks and gloves. Yes, we could go on for hours about all the great toys they make these days! (How did we grow up to be normal adults without them?) There's one I just have to share with you, however...

By far our favorite baby product has been the SwaddleMe. My mom was sitting next to a young mom on an airplane, and couldn't help commenting on her baby and sharing the news that she would be a grandma soon. This girl said, "Oh, your daughter would just love the SwaddleMe." It sounded so good that Ruth had her very own green gingham flannel SwaddleMe waiting for her when she came home from the hospital.

A concept as old as the prophecy of the Babe in the manger, swaddling refers to the practice of wrapping a baby up snugly, imitating the close confines of the womb, and its mother's arms. We've all seen our grandmothers or the nurses at the hospital expertly wrap a baby, tucking the corners of the blanket in just the right place to keep them there. But few of us can duplicate the method. Ruth's arms find their way out of every blanket I wrap around her--even when I thought I did it just right.

The SwaddleMe, however, has something Jesus' mother Mary had never seen: Velcro. It keeps even the most determined little one snugly wrapped.

Besides the obvious benefit of keeping the baby warm without the danger of suffocation from blankets, swaddling also helps babies sleep better. You've seen babies startle themselves awake, their arms raising quickly? It's called the startle reflex. They usually grow out of it between four to six months, but until then, swaddling can help keep babies from waking themselves up.

It took me a few days to decide to try the SwaddleMe with Ruth. But it wasn't long before we wouldn't leave home without it. Whether sleeping on the couch at Papa and Nanna's, in the bassinet at Grandpa and Grandma's, in the playpen at her uncle and aunts', or in the cradle at home, Ruth always knew it was naptime when we swaddled her up. Once I left Ruth with her Aunt Jessica, and was gone longer than I had planned. I came back to a very tired little girl, who was quite fussy and past ready for her nap. I swaddled her up, and she instantly let out a big sigh, closed her eyes, and went to sleep. If we'd only had a video, it would have been the perfect advertisement for SwaddleMe!

We've since discovered there are multiple brands of swaddles and wearable blankets. I would have tried the Halo Sleep Sack when Ruth grew out of her first Kiddopotamus SwaddleMe, but the Sleep Sack only has the optional Swaddle in the first size. At 6 pounds 10 ounces, Ruth was almost too small for the size small SwaddleMe, though (they had a preemie size, but I hadn't bought it, expecting to have a bigger baby!). With the SwaddleMe brand, it's important to have the right size so the baby doesn't wriggle down inside the blanket. It has the advantage over the Wearable Blanket, however, of not having to fit their arms through sleeves at bedtime. Ruth quickly grew too tall for the size small (I think it shrunk, even though I hung it out to dry every time), kicking the feet pocket open and waking herself up with one foot in, one foot out. We chose the fleece fabric in the size large SwaddleMe, and the stretchy fleece seemed to give her a little more room to squirm without bursting the Velcro open--plus it has a bit more give as I wrap her up.

I know our little girl will soon be past the startle reflex stage, but I think we will keep swaddling her until she becomes strong enough to "Houdini" her way out. It keeps her warm and cozy at night, and I don't have to worry about her working her way under blankets.

Yes, everyone laughs at our little green "glow worm" daughter, teasing us about putting our child in a straight jacket. But they don't laugh at the fact that she's slept through the night since she was almost three months old (for which I credit not only the SwaddleMe, but having her on a routine).

We like the BundleMe from the J.J. Cole Collection, too... But didn't I tell you not to get me started?

Blustery Day (2 of 2)

Amazingly, the three little girls slept peacefully in the middle of the floor while the wind whipped our tent high over our heads. Dad and Joel were outside with a flashlight trying to re-tie the temporary ropes that had snapped. The Indians had a clever way to secure the canvas that was effective but time consuming. They would wrap a section of canvas over a small stone, then tie sinew around the bulge and anchor it to a stake at the base of each pole. As his fingers grew cold and then numb, Dad fiddled with the lengths of string and marbles we had prepared yet hadn't had a chance to install yet. Joel held the flashlight and tried to keep the canvas still for Dad. The task was made doubly hard by the wind, which continually ripped the edge of the canvas out of their stiff hands.

Inside, Mom had begun to sing praise songs and Jordan and I joined in, trying to keep up our spirits. It was hard to sing with my teeth clenched to keep from shivering from fright and cold. I could just imagine the canvas breaking free from the remaining bits of twine and flying up over the tree tops like a conical parachute. I had squeezed my fistfuls of canvas tighter at the thought, and my knuckles grew white.

I don't know how long it took to get the canvas to quit its wild dance, nor how many praise choruses we half sang, half cried as we struggled against the elements. The memories of that night are among my worst, and reliving them has been sobering. Neither Mom nor I wrote many details in our journals, probably trying to forget it as soon as possible. I do remember that we eventually got back to bed, Dad having done his best with the tie-down effort, and we slept, though fitfully.

We found out later that the wind had reached gusts of 60 miles an hour that night. We hoped that was the worst weather we would encounter, and that it would never happen again. But the very next morning as Dad was frying pancakes - a special treat to cheer us up - the wind picked up again. Plates and forks were dropped and we jumped to our stations.

Once again Dad went out in the cold wind and sleet. This time he had day light working for him. He and Joel got it tied down and this time it held. Eventually the sun came out but the wind continued all day, chasing huge puffy clouds across the bright spring sky. I did not go outside. All day I sat in the rocker, my ears plugged to block the sound of the wind roaring around us, praying - pleading with God to make it stop. Mom believes I was in shock, and both of us had a holy terror of windy days from then on. Even after we were cozily settled inside solid log walls in the cabin, whenever the wind picked up, Mom and I would often get sick to the stomach. It was years before I could enjoy thunderstorms again, having felt so helpless and exposed during those months in the tipi on top of that windy hill.

- by Trina Holden

Virtuous Maid

Addressed to a Young Lady

Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade,
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid -
Silent and chaste she steals along,
Far from the world's gay busy throng;
With gentle, yet prevailing force
Intent upon her destined course;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and bless'd where'ere she goes,
Pure-bosom'd as that wat'ry glass,
And Heav'n reflected in her face.

- Cowper
Painting by John William Waterhouse

Go see Ben Stein's "Expelled"

I knew nothing of Ben Stein or this new documentary until yesterday, and now I am telling everyone I know to go see Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed. At first I said no. Not only do I not usually enjoy seeing movies, but there's the expense and I know my reaction on seeing the website was not exactly interest or enthusiasm. But when my brother and I were invited to go with my dad and the Norm Geisler, we could not pass up the opportunity!

Don't let the high-school playground aura fool you. Expelled truly is a masterfully drawn case for Intelligent Design. I was thinking--hard!--the entire two hours. Ben Stein interviews experts on both sides and the content is deep while the pace is brisk enough and spiced with plenty of humor to keep even a skeptic interested. My brother's favorite part was seeing Richard Dawkins stammer and stutter when Stein tried to nail him down on a few key points. And yet the blatant blasphemy is chilling. The reality of this battle is chilling. From a press release:

Stein, who is also a lawyer, an economist, a former presidential speechwriter, author and social commentator, is stunned by what he finds on his journey. He discovers an elitist scientific establishment that has traded in its skepticism for dogma. But even worse, along the way, Stein uncovers a long line of biologists, astronomers, chemists and philosophers who have had their reputations destroyed and their careers ruined by a scientific establishment that allows absolutely no dissent from Charles Darwin’s theory of random mutation and natural selection.

For example, Stein meets Richard Sternberg, a double PhD biologist who allowed a peer-reviewed research paper describing the evidence for intelligence in the universe to be published in the scientific journal Proceedings. Not long after publication, officials from the National Center for Science Education and the Smithsonian Institution where Sternberg was a research fellow began a coordinated smear and intimidation campaign to get the promising young scientist expelled from his position. This attack on scientific freedom was so egregious that it prompted a congressional investigation.

Unlike some other documentary films, Expelled doesn’t just talk to people representing one side of the story. The film confronts scientists such as Richard Dawkins, author of The God Delusion, influential biologist and atheist blogger PZ Myers and Eugenie Scott, head of the National Center for Science Education. The creators of Expelled crossed the globe over a two-year period, interviewing scores of scientists, doctors, philosophers and public leaders.

Seeing it is a crash course in history, science, apologetics, and rhetoric. You may even cry; I came close. Masterful. Now if only we can get more people to see it....

Spending an evening with Dr. Geisler was not so bad either! He is the one under whom great minds like Ravi Zacharias and J.P. Moreland studied apologetics. The author of over 70 books--8 new ones coming out this year alone--it was truly an honor for me to hear his thoughts on the issues of the film as well as touching on subjects like his writing, education, and discovering he has a great sense of humor.

All in all, it was a Friday evening very well spent!

A Blustery Day (1 of 2)

The key to fitting a family of 8 and all their gear, plus kitchen and pantry essentials in a 20 foot tipi was to follow the old adage, "A place for everything, and everything in it's place." Mom had been extremely organized in preparing for our summer of camping. It was her way of coping with the uncertainties we were facing - knowing where everyone's toothbrush was at any given time gave her peace of mind.

The tipi was mainly our sleeping quarters, with cots and sleeping mats using up most of the floor space, but there was also a large old workbench and a couple shelves for food storage, one book case crammed with curriculum for homeschooling, and a rocker for Mom to nurse the baby in. Under the large, army issue cots someone had given us we stored our clothes - one bushel-sized apple box for each of us. Three changes of clothes and a week's worth of underwear and socks. At night Dad and Mom would blow up their air mattress and after they got settled you'd better hope you didn't have to get up again 'cause you'd have to step on people's beds to get anywhere.

By the third night in the tipi we were getting into a night time routine. We unrolled sleeping bags, brushed teeth, and took turns making trips to the latrine with the flashlight. The Coleman lamp Dad always lit at sunset made the tipi glow like a giant paper lantern, welcoming us back from our business in the woods. We still had to tie down a few things, but as it stood, it was the most home-like thing on the landscape.

Dad was filling the wood stove and banking it for the night, while the boys were braving the elements to bring a few arm-loads of wood under the canvas in readiness for morning. The wind had picked up, and it was getting hard to ignore the unsettling noise of the canvas flapping against the poles over our heads. I stared up into the shadows between the poles at the top of the tipi to the star-shape black hole that revealed the sky. No stars tonight. I tried to remember how exactly the canvas was supposed to stay connected to the frame of poles. I had been busy gathering kindling to start fires when Dad and the boys had been working on that. I slithered into my sleeping bag, hoping the wind wouldn't get any stronger, or the noise would definitely keep me awake.

"We didn't quite finish staking the canvas down," I heard Dad explaining to Mom as she was putting Anneke to bed in her port-a-crib, "-but it should hold until morning. We'll work on that first thing - should be able to pull it taught enough so it won't flap like -"

Suddenly his voice was overwhelmed by the strongest gust of wind yet, and we saw the canvas lift, ghostlike, up and out from the poles, until we saw night over the top of the inner lining. The wind's breath spent, the canvas flopped down again, only to snap taught again and flap anxiously.

All this in seconds, but already the atmosphere in the tipi had been transformed from bedtime calm to emergency mode. Dad bounced off his mattress and began giving orders. Mom and I were to hold the canvas from the inside while he and Joel went out to re-tie the ropes that had snapped. Before he got his boots, the wind had gusted again, and again the canvas lifted up higher than our head, and Mom wailed "Hurry, Hon!"

Jordan, only 10 and short for his age, stood on top of his cot and tried to grip the canvas above his head. Mom and I were climbing up on the work bench to reach the section of canvas that seemed to be loosest. It flapped over our heads, out of reach. When it settled down again, it was to0 taught to get a hold of. The next time it flapped up, we felt cold pricks of ice on our faces - it was sleeting. We scratched at the canvas, trying desperately to get a handhold. Jordan began whimpering, giving voice to the terror rising in my own throat. The wind seemed to be at war with us, and if it won, the closest thing we had to a home would be carried off into the tree tops!

...to be continued

- by Trina Holden

Love

Love is suffers long. Love is Kind. Love doesn't envy, Love doesn't seek to advance itself, it is not proud. It does not react in a wrong way to any situation, Love doesn't seek it's own good. Love is not provoked easily, and does not assume evil of another. Love doesn't rejoice when another falls into sin, but Love rejoices in what is true. Love bears all things- even when it's not fair. Love believes the best. Love hopes- always hopes. Love endures all things. Love, true love, does not fail, in spite of all of this.

Love is a gift of God. True love is not something we find in ourselves, and without Him, we are completely void of love that will endure the most severe trials.

It is not hard to love someone who loves us, but when we face total rejection, when we have been wounded, to love the one who broke us is a task that we cannot handle, but God give us the strength, the grace and the gift of True Love in our hearts.

True love. It's a perfect picture of who God is, and what He desires us to be. It's one of the hardest things we will ever meet- to have and to live this true love, because it's deeply painful. It asks us to die- and that is hard.. so very hard. But to have this Love, is to have something that's worth the pain... any pain, that it might cost us.

Lord... let me die, so you can live. Let me suffer any pain, only let my life be a reflection... of your love.

- by Chantel Harding

The Other Answer

Sometimes
in the very middle of the howling winds of my wants
I remember
how short a distance I can see
and Who knows what truly brings me joy.
And so I ask
the One who sees
to choose my inheritance for me.

And then
my Abba
says "No."

I am cut
and bleed
and weep
and die
(silently)
(inside)
and discover, with some surprise,
that heartache
is literal.

Suddenly, I remember
that I asked Him
to say that "No"
if it would bring me joy --
and I begin shading my eyes
to see it coming.

- by Elisabeth Adams

On Tenterhooks

Hope

is such an inconvenient
and painful and
inconclusive thing
that I can't help wishing I didn't have it.
But He says,
"I am the God
of all flesh.
Is anything
too difficult for Me?"
Well, no!
So, Lord --
in whose hand
are our hearts
like water-courses --
have Your sovereign,
impossible,
impeccable,
wholly loving,
possibly painful,
always glorious will
DONE!

- by Elisabeth Adams

Just call me Shepherdess

I love how Catherine Marshall put it:

Dreams carried around in one's heart for years, if they are dreams that have God's approval, have a way of suddenly materializing.

And I can definitely say that this has been a Spring of ‘sudden materialization’. So sudden I feel I’ve hardly had a chance to catch my breath before one beautiful change follows on the heels of another. Spring itself is a season of change, of course: new things stirring to life; old, spent growth disappearing under the inexorable greening of bud and leaf and blade. Here in the South our Spring flirts for a while, courting us with balmy days in mid-February and then turning a diffident shoulder of frost and gloom again till one hardly knows whether to trust in the promise of April or not. But there can be no doubt on this gentle afternoon, soft with the sweet pale haze of awakening trees and scented with apple blossoms: Spring has really arrived. And with it, a fine crop of heart’s desires.

Ever since Philip and I set up housekeeping here on our farm-in-the-city we have dreamed about the animals we’d love to welcome and raise. That is, in addition to our five cats, fourteen hens, rooster and best-Australian-Shepherd-in-the-whole-wide-world. We’d entertained the notion of cows because Philip’s grandfather had been a cattleman and we wouldn’t be so completely in the dark. Highland Cattle received more than a passing consideration, owing to the fact that one of the shining points of our vision is promoting historical or endangered breeds. We installed good, sturdy fencing and sketched out a plan for our barn, an original structure and sorely in need of renovation. We started scrutinizing the Market Bulletin for animals and supplies. We entertained our Aussie with glowing descriptions of his life as a real farm dog. And then everything began to slow to a halt. For a couple of years, something always seemed to waylay the plan: trips and travels, droughts, sprained ankles, surgeries, unexpected expenses. I really began to wonder at times if it wasn’t just a pipe dream after all.

Since Christmas, however, my heart has been stirring on this theme more ardently than ever, and towards the end of January I determinedly ordered a whole box of books on farming and livestock. And thus it was that Philip came home one day and found a lovely volume lying on the kitchen table: Living with Sheep.

I came upon him after he’d been reading it for a while, leaning against the counter, completely engrossed in the engaging text and gorgeous photographs, very much as I had been not a few hours before. He looked up at me with shining eyes.

“Let’s get sheep!”

I blinked back at him as if it were the first time it had occurred to either one of us. As if we hadn’t started dreaming about it on the first day of our Scottish honeymoon. As if we hadn’t longed for it as an unattainable wish all throughout our sojourn in England. Truth is, we’d been scared off by our own ignorance, not to mention the simple fact that we didn’t know of a single other person in Georgia that raised sheep. And for a super-cautious, obsessive-compulsive little soul like me, that spelled terrifying, no matter how much I wanted it.

But suddenly, standing there in the kitchen, grinning back at my husband, I knew that we could do this. That old familiar flame of aspiration began to glow and spark within me; Philip’s eager enthusiasm sealed the deal. God’s timing on this dream seemed to materialize right there between us. And so I devoted much of the month that followed to reading and educating myself, talking to shepherds on the phone, emailing like mad—basically scratching up all the information I possibly could. And literally, within the span of a few short weeks, we went from the germ of a dream to the cusp of fulfillment. Through an intensely exciting series of events—interesting only to me, I am sure—I made the discovery of a marvelous breed of sheep native to our area, historically important from a heritage point of view and remarkably hardy and tolerant of our climate due to hundreds of years of ranging feral in the Southern fields and forests. A flurry of emails, a frenzy of waiting—and, suddenly, six lambs, yet unborn, had my name on them. Quite an honor when you consider that there are only around 2000 registered such animals in existence!

It’s in the details that I know my God is in this, and blessing this dear, crazy undertaking. I’ve seen Him guide and provide in countless ways—I could fill several posts with the recounting but I’ll spare you!—and I know that He’s working out some purpose of His, even if it’s only the stretching of my own faith. I’ve been forced to trust Him at every turn—the path we’ve set our feet to is uncharted territory, and there’s a very scared little girl deep down inside of me that shrinks from change of any sort, even that for which I’ve longed and prayed. But it has been so endearing to see how He cares about these dreams of ours; how He plants such lovely and challenging goals in our hearts and then provides all we need to attain them. Even when we’re cowering in the folds of His garments like frightened lambs ourselves.

This time last year I was becoming an expert on punting options in Oxford and driving distances to obscure literary places of pilgrimage preparatory to our journey abroad. This Spring I am a connoisseur of pasture grasses and organic fertilizer options, having our soil tested and discussing the results at length with our extension agent, and basically betraying my ignorance to every clerk at every Feed and Seed north of Savannah. It’s been very humbling, and I can’t tell you all how many times I’ve had to swallow my pride and say, “I have a really dumb question…”. But my prayer this April is the same as it was a year ago: The Lord grant you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed.

My lambs come home in May; the two little bottle baby Nubian goats that Philip promised me are sleeping out in the barn with their tummies full of warm milk; the lovely, majestic Great Pyrenees dog we brought home to be a livestock guardian is patrolling her barnyard and lingering by the fence for loving words and ear scratches. Down in the basement a host of newly-potted starts are dreaming of a whole garden to grow in, and out in the yard roses and grapevines and brambles are sending forth tender, tentative growth in prelude to an absolute explosion of fruit and flower. Even the hens are clucking among themselves of the new quarters we’ve promised them in the barnyard…

Change is sweeping, and it’s good, for the Lord is good. There will be a lot to adapt to in the coming weeks and months, but soon these changes will seem as if they have always been and new changes will be looming. Through every change He faithful will remain…

I wish you all the most blessed of Springtimes!

A Sense of the Greatest

But one of the things I, at least, think most people should do in the time that they spend on this planet, is have a sense of the greatest that’s been given to us. A life itself is the greatest gift, to have an immortal soul is extraordinary, but in beginning to understand what that means, I think you’ve got to turn to the greatest writers who can give you some sense of what it’s all been about, why you’re here, what it means and where you’re going. And that means you’ve got to delve into the great writers.

-David Allen White, cross-posted from HeartThoughts

Farm Girls at Heart

"I need say nothing of household economy, in which the mothers of our country are generally skilled, and generally careful to instruct their daughters.
We all know its value, and that diligence and dexterity in all its processes are inestimable treasures.
The order and economy of a house are as honorable to the mistress as those of the farm to the master, and if either be neglected, ruin follows, and children destitute of the means of living."
-Thomas Jefferson, in a letter to Nathaniel Burwell, March 14, 1818

I found a book Lanier would like. I think a lot of you farm girls (and farm girls at heart) would like it too. It just comes with a disclaimer.

Merritt and I have spent hours pouring over the photos and ideas in MaryJane's Ideabook, Cookbook, Lifebook: For the Farmgirl at Heart. He said, "You probably can't recommend a book like this on your website, though, can you?" But I told him that was the beauty of disclaimers. Because really, what book can we recommend without one? Every book excepting the Bible has been written by a fallen human being. Not that any book is okay to recommend--but one should not have to agree with every sentence to suggest that someone else read a book.

This book is written by a feminist Mormon, who is as close to being an environmentalist as a deer hunter and reformed vegetarian can be. She talks a lot about the Mormon clan she grew up in, but that part is no different than if I always referenced growing up in a Baptist church. It comes through more in her brief references to toasts to goddesses, and her major emphasis on female entreprenuerism. I'm all for girls finding a way to earn something extra for the family--that's what "egg money" was all about 100 years ago.

But one should not just "include" the husband one is married to--he is the head of the household, and shouldn't be shoved out of the way for any venture of the wife's, whether it's selling soap at farmer's market or planting a garden. Maybe he can't be an active part of your project, but he better be behind it, or you're destined for failure before you start. If you read the book remembering that every farmgirl's first priority is to her God and her man, knowing it is more important to be one with the God of creation than the creation itself, then you'll have the right lens through which to filter what's said between the lines.

That being said, look for MaryJane Butters' book at your library (or snatch up a copy if you find it at a bargain). It's filled with recipes for sourdough bread, one-skillet meals, and lots of chilled gelatin recipes I know my husband would enjoy. There are chapters on everything from gardening and weeds to laundry and sewing (with an explanation of more stitches than I ever knew existed). She tells you how to dry fruit and grind hamburger. There's even a section on how to play all the old-fashioned games you read about in books like Little House on the Prairie.

It's everything your mother would have taught you--if you'd been born a couple hundred years ago. When we stopped passing the baton of thrifty, grow-your-own or make-it-from-scratch home-making from generation to generation, I don't know. Maybe it had something to do with the advent of modern "conveniences". Maybe it came when women started working outside the home. Whenever it happened, it was a great tragedy. Let's re-learn the old-fashioned ways of making and keeping a home, and pass them on to our daughters, shall we?

Photo: Overalls are a pregnant farm girl's best friend!
Gretchen last summer, with a bucketful of fresh-picked cilantro for drying.
Pop quiz: What kind of seed do you plant to get cilantro?

Quest for the High Places - Updated Edition

Spring is here! With it comes the release of an exciting project for HeartThoughts. Several talented friends lent their energy and creativity to help me in a complete overhaul and update to Quest for the High Places. Though you will recognize the theme and contributors, the book's entire layout and design is new, and every line of the text has been edited and considered to ensure that the message is clear and true.

This 350 page book is now carefully tied to and laying the foundation for a sequel which is currently in the works. We will announce a release date as soon as possible; for now you can read more here and pre-order a copy to be shipped the day of the release.

Some things will stay the same

In some ways it feels like my year is just beginning. Significant changes and transitions in the past months leave me at a completely different place in life than I could have imagined at the beginning of 2008. There is a wind of change sweeping through my family's life and it is bringing goodness and beauty in its wake.

My brother will be marrying his sweetheart in just a few weeks. My dad is traveling all over the world. Another brother graduates from high school. I am working on several book projects that have been in the works for some years. Good things. Blessings from our Father.

Seasons come and go with reassuring punctuality and our goal is that some things remain the same as they have been for some years. It is the desire of the YLCF Team that this online magazine and fellowship of believers continue on even as we enter new parts of life. This is possible only because of the talented, loving writers who invest themselves into ministering to our readers. They share their hearts and lives and we are all blessed. Thank you to all who submit your work with us.

Some of you may have noticed that we recently transitioned into a new publishing schedule. We plan on posting a new article, devotional, or letter around three times per week, with occasional links, tidbits, and recipes on the off days. This change is to both ensure that what we publish is quality material, and also to guard against becoming just one of dozens of blogs skimmed by multi-tasking readers.

Personally, there are only a few blogs I read--and I am sure I am missing out on many good ones but I am easily waterlogged with too much information. I prefer to enjoy really reading and digesting the few I watch instead of skimming more but not getting much from the experience. Plus our goal has never been to build a big readership or have so many hits per day. This is one reason we have never posted advertisements on our site. But now I am getting into what is going to be another article--why the YLCF is different.

For now we want to thank all of you young ladies who comment, who email, who bless us with your thoughts and friendship. Consider yourself hugged. :-)

Through the Bible in 60 days!

February 1 - March 31. Those dates did not begin as my Bible reading schedule but as I finished up Revelation Monday morning I thanked God for the tremendous blessing of my first (of many!) journey of reading through the entire Bible in 60 days.

Only God knew the unbelievably perfect timing for this venture. Only He knew the trials and fire which would fill those two months. I could not have planned to begin reading Job just minutes before a heart-breaking phone call; I did not realize at the beginning I would get to read through Matthew, Mark, Luke and John during the celebration of His Resurrection. God blessed me. His provision and love are abundant and beautiful to me!

Originally my goal was 90 days. A couple weeks ago I began playing with the idea of pushing myself to finish by March 31. My goal of reading through all the Gospels by Easter gave me the extra impetus needed to harness my so often-distracted mind and focus.

Have you ever read through Romans, or 1 & 2 Corinthians in one sitting? Paul's arguments are masterfully built. Reading his letters as a whole instead of in chapter or verse bits makes that clear. The opportunity for a broad overview of Scripture combined with the speed which was set gave me some deeper understanding of portions of the Prophets as well as the almost continuous OT allusions in the New Testament. Instead of only knowing that a given verse was a quote from the Old Testament because of a footnote, I found myself remembering which book, even which chapter the quotation came from. Isaiah 54. Genesis 21. Daniel 11. Ezekiel 28. After all, I had read the Old Testament only a few days ago!

Today I finished Revelation 21 and closed my new-three-months-ago but now-very-worn Bible with a mixture of wistfulness and triumph. Now I am free to dive into some serious study that has been put on hold. That part makes me glad. But I so enjoyed this that I know I am going to be doing it again at least once a year. Perhaps after a few months off I will start again and see if I can do another read-through in 2008. Believe me, it is addicting!

I wonder if we do not often intimidate ourselves too much over the thought of reading “the whole Bible.” Speaking as a voracious reader, it is not that long. Shorter than a Hugo or Tolstoy novel. Much more valuable for our spirits and minds. We’ve been given a precious treasure in God’s Word–let’s remember that and revel in it with every opportunity we are given.

- Written March 31

A Spinster Looks at Proverbs 31 (2 of 2)

Read Part One here...

She is not afraid of the snow for her household; for all her household are clothed with scarlet. She maketh for herself carpets of tapestry; her clothing is fine linen and purple.

Sounds like a pretty classy lady to me. I'm certain that it pleases God when I put out the effort to show that knowing Him makes His daughters more beautiful. I'm certain it blesses others when my dress is neither too dull nor too bold, but refreshing, sunshiny, and restful to the eye.

Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land.

Staying in the background and helping to make my boss look good is pretty easy, but consistently honoring him in my attitude is something that only comes from Jesus.

She maketh linen garments and selleth them, and delivereth girdles unto the merchant.

This lady is a real entrepreneur...something I've never dreamed of being. I wonder what God will teach me about this one?

Strength and dignity are her clothing; and she laugheth at the time to come.

Ah yes. I can stand tall because I'm His.

She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and the law of kindness is on her tongue.

I think the Holy Spirit wants to remind me that as a woman, I've got influence I can use for good, if I'll work with Him on it. And there's no need to use sarcasm to defend myself from teasing. If I stick to gentleness, He'll look out for me.

She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.

This is becoming a joy to do, but it takes a choice. As a naturally dreamy person, I could tune out needs and resent the interruptions of everyday life...or I can enjoy keeping a beautiful, well-stocked apartment.

Her children rise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her, saying: Many daughters have done worthily, but thou excellest them all. Grace is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.

Did you know that this is a promise? If you fear Him, you'll be praised. Period. I've discovered (to my surprise) that you don't need a husband and children to receive appreciation and love and recognition for the things that Jesus is doing in you. He knows how to get the message through to you, and sometimes He'll use the most unexpected people.

Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her works praise her in the gates.

And even if no person notices what you do, for every secret sacrifice, every obedient action, and every beautiful attitude, oh how real is His approval and love!

- by Elisabeth Adams