A Season to...Encourage

Being married to a farmer gives one an entirely new perspective on seasons. I've learned about seasonal eating, the first and last killing frost of the season, and in what season you plant garlic. But I've also discovered that the season of winter is like three months of Sundays after a really long week. In the summer only an emergency can take us off the farm, but the winter is time to catch up on all the visiting and projects we didn't get done in the summer. The spring isn't just about all the little flowers growing around us--the spring is for planting all the produce we will reap later in the year. Autumn is one big sigh of relief that the seasons are changing. And of course, there's a reason James uses the example of the farmer when he's talking about patience. But that's another subject.

It's been a while since I've sat down specifically to write a post for ylcf.org. That probably has something to do with being in the "new mommy" season of life, the season of spring in more ways than one! And now our calendar tells me summer is here, and the strawberries we picked yesterday tasted like summer. Another season is upon us.

The YLCF has been part of a lot of different seasons of my life. When I look at the amazing articles on the website now, it's hard to believe it all started as a little "girls-only club" 16 years ago, with a hand-written newsletter I photocopied on my grandma's copy machine. In a lot of ways, the YLCF has grown up with me, or we've grown up with it. As I faced questions about purity and love, I wrote about what I was learning. When I was immersed in politics, my blog posts read like an op-ed for a newspaper. As I was falling in love, my writing couldn't help sounding like it.

The seasons of my life kept changing. And as I prepared to marry my farmer, I handed over the YLCF's reins, as it were, to my best girlfriend Natalie. She brought new life and a standard of stellar writing to ylcf.org. She brought variety and depth, discussing the serious issues along with the light. I've been so grateful for her help in keeping up the YLCF over the past two and a half years.

Now Natalie is finding herself in a new season of life, and handing me back those reins. I'm in a different season of life, and busier than ever as a wife and mom, but I still crave the encouragement and edification I've always found in the fellowship with those of the YLCF. And I think a lot of you share that feeling. Yes, like me, the YLCF is in a different season, but I couldn't bear to think of bringing ylcf.org to a premature winter.

So we're brainstorming about a new look, coming up with ideas to simplify the site and layout, and focusing on bringing you at least three posts each week--sometimes more, sometimes less. I'm hoping to bring on another full-time YLCF team member. And continue to streamline the site so this busy farmer's wife can sort of keep up with it. I'd welcome your ideas (what's your favorite part of the site? what should we keep, what could be eliminated? how could we make it more organized, easier to navigate?) and I covet your prayers. You probably won't notice too many changes at first, but please be patient with the speed of comment moderation and any post problems--I still have a "fast" internet connection, remember.

As I transition back into my role of "editor in chief", I want you to know that your posts and topic ideas are welcome. The YLCF has always been by young women, for young women--and that means you! So please keep those articles coming. I can't respond to every email, nor comment on every submission. But know each one is read!

And as you write and comment, keep in mind that the YLCF has always been about encouragement and edification. It is for that reason that we moderate the comments on ylcf.org. There is a time and place for healthy debate, but it's not here. Nor do private questions need to be asked in public places. And while the YLCF Team Members share glimpses into their hearts and lives with us here in their posts, it does not entitle every blog reader to know every detail of their personal lives. The team who moderates comments are actively protective of each other, so the inflammatory, rude, and/or anonymous comments are deleted before they can be seen by those they might hurt. But your uplifting comments are rays of sunshine in our day!

If I could choose one perpetual season for ylcf.org, it would always be the time for encouragement--"a time to build up," Solomon calls it in Ecclesiastes. There is enough of the negative out there, let us seek out the beauty! With that in mind, please respect Natalie's wish for a season of rest and refreshment. I know she will be back someday to share with you the seasons this journey is taking her through. Meanwhile, let's keep focused here at ylcf.org on spurring each other on towards love and good deeds. I'm looking forward to seeing what God has in store for us...

Summer Days and Living Wisely

Clouds float by like mountains of cotton in a deep blue sky. Summer days stretch out, long and inviting and yet to be lived. An easy schedule of part time work means plenty of free time. Time to sip coffee or cold drinks and lounge on the garden swing. Long walks, days at the beach. Lying in the sun with a stack of old magazines and easy reads. Leisure, ease, relaxation. Ah, the life…

But wait. Should this really be a complete picture of my summer? Do I want to look back once it’s over and think about all of the things I might have accomplished of more eternal significance?

Not to say that any of the activities I described are somehow wrong, but too much of them can be, especially if they take the place of more important things.

In thinking about how I want to make good use of this summer, Ephesians chapter five verses fifteen and sixteen gives wise counsel: Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil.

Moses prays, in Psalm 90:12, “So teach us to number our days, that we may present to You a heart of wisdom”.

Living more purposefully, while realizing the brevity of life, is a worthy goal.

The details of what this includes could be different for each of us, of course, as our lives and callings are unique.

Most importantly, we are all called to pursue a closer relationship with God and mine the treasures of His word. It’s often through these practices that our hearts are opened to the individual things that God would have us do. That’s number one on my priority list this summer – to get to know the Lord better. To be a student of His word. To make time for prayer and Bible study.

Other goals on my list center on relationships – making time to nurture friendships, old and new. Spending time with family. Looking for ways to deny self and serve others.

So that’s my goal this summer – the purposeful pursuit of living my days in a God honouring fashion. Of course, perfect plan plus absolute sinner is sure to equal failure some of the time, but that’s okay. By God’s grace, I can get up after a fall and keep going!

- by Stephanie Andrews
Artwork by William Bouguereau

Our Mother's Day lunch

Mom requested our favorite summer dessert for Mother's Day, so I whipped up an Angel Lush cake and garnished it with some of the largest, most delectable strawberries I've ever seen. It is a fast, easy, low-fat recipe and tastes amazing. During a walk right after church I found the most luscious wildflowers blooming along our road: white irises tinged with lavender and little purple and yellow clusters which I don't know the name of but made into a nice bouquet for the dinner table.

Now a small vase of the flowers graces my desk. Every night as I am falling asleep I can smell the irises and, if I wanted to be dramatic and romantic like Anne, I would imagine I was sleeping in a garden, or a tree graced with cherry blossoms.

Musings on the New Year

This piece was written by a dear friend of mine, "in the wee-smalls of December 31st, 2006", as she put it. I will always remember her reading it aloud at our 12th Night Revel (here, too) last January, the firelight playing over her face, and the faces of so many loved ones gathered around...

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord,

...Plans to give you a future, and a hope. - Jeremiah 29:11

It's Time to move;

Out of an old year,

into a new one.

It's time to pack --

It's time to square away our lives,

Pack up old baggage,

Move forward, or continue onward.

Time to clean the cobwebs

out of the attics & closets of out souls:

to bury the dead, the hatchet -

hate, old hurts,

old sins, dead sins,

dead works, dead self.

Time to make a bonfire for the old year --

To pile on the wood, hay, & stubble from out lives,

To relegate to the ash heap the chaff,

The broken shards,

the unworthy priorities --

the business of life that stirs us like leaves in the wind.

Time to prepare to give away our lives, our souls, our selves.

Time to pick up what's good, cherish it,

pack it carefully into memory:

Days with friends and family,

Blessings,

triumphs,

Halcyon days,

Those days when God inexplicably reached down

into our lives and souls,

New Faith, tested faith, joy,

Character-changing trials,

Hope, dreams,

And Love.

Time to plan a prominent place in the New Year

For more of the same:

More time with family and friends,

More love for others,

More opportunities,

More worthy pursuits.

More Faith, more Hope, more Love.

More joy, more peace

-- more peace in waiting.

More kindness, & rejoicing with others,

More humility, grace, & selflessness,

Patience & forgiveness,

More truth, more strength,

More sensitive hearts,

Endurance for the race.

More ways to serve,

More awareness of His Spirit.

More room for God in our relationship with Him,

More of Him in our relationship with others,

More of our dreams in our own life -

for that too is His.

Time for a New Year --

not filled with resolutions,

but full of less -- and more --

and Life.

J. Arrendale, Dec 31, 2006

New Year's Reflections

I am sitting at my desk, watching the sky glow for one last time before the day is over. It has such a feel of finality. Such a sense of closure-- one day is gone, and another will come, but today is gone forever.

It's been a long year, a busy year. A year in which I have learned perhaps in a deeper and a different way than ever before, some of the lessons God has been teaching me for some time now. It has not been an easy year, by any means, but if I could say one thing about this year, it is that God is faithful, so very faithful.

His way is perfect. I had my dreams. I had plans for how I thought life would go for me. They were good plans and good dreams and I held them close to my heart. They were even things that God loves to bless us with at times. But God in His wisdom allowed all the dreams and plans I had to fail. They all came shattering into a million pieces, or so it seemed, late one night, and I felt as if I had nothing left. Nothing to hope for, nothing to dream for, no direction as to where to from here. All I had was the promise that "His way is perfect", and I clung to that promise... and He was faithful to me.

I don't understand it all, even yet, but I do know that His way is perfect. It is the better way, and I would rather be following His way than have all my cherished dreams back. As time passed, I could look back and see just a little more clearly, His purpose in allowing my hopes and dreams to fail- He has something better for me in mind.

Then I read this quote, and with tears in my eyes, once again, I could thank Him for the shattering of my dreams: "Our devised plans often fail that God's plans for us might be a complete success. Oh, it is in the future life we shall see the tangles and mysteries of life, that have so annoyed and disappointed our fond hopes, explained. We will see that hte prayers and hopes for certain things which have been withheld have been among our greatest blessings."

Be Still My Soul. In moments of uncertainty, of which there have been many this past year, when I agonized with God as to what I should do or not do, in the times when there seemed to be no answers, only the bitterness of a broken heart and my tears to break the silence, that is when I learned to be still. To bear patiently whatever He had allowed to come my way. To know that He was in control, and that this too, was for my good. In that stillness, I began to learn in a whole new way two things- a deeper beauty in waiting, and a deeper level of trust.

Trust Him More. Did I trust Him? Yes. I did. Or at least I thought I did. But I didn't trust Him as I do now, or as I am learning to do each new day, for during a time when it seemed as if all the "earthly supports" that I once had relied on, crumbled, and I realized how little I really did trust Him with the very depths of my soul in all situations, and in those moments, I learned what I should have learned before... Trust is not trust, unless you can rest your whole life upon it.

Wait On Him. Life is full of waiting for so many different things and reasons. Often the future is hid from our eyes, and often in answer to our prayers, God simply and gently tells us to "Wait". As this new year comes around, and I look at the great extent of them as holding a whole lot of 'unknowns', I am starting to realize that though He tells us to wait, though it may seem like He will never give us any other answer, that this answer of "Wait" is full of a whole new kind of lessons- lessons that , by His grace, as I continue to learn, I will find as some of the greatest treasures of these past few years' journey.

The details of my year may help to make these four paragraphs more clear, but perhaps they are non-essentials after all. But I know I was not alone in heart struggles, this year. I know many of you- all around the world- faced similar or greater heartache, pain, disappointments, and trials. I want to encourage you to hold on. Hold on to Him.. who makes all things beautiful in His time. It won't be our time, no... but His way, His time, are always perfect.

2007 is nearing the end of it's chapter. 2008 is a whole new one. I don't know what lies ahead, only that I want to be found faithfully, trustfully, waiting and leaning on Him, no matter what the days may bring. Won't you join me?

- by Chantel Harding

What Makes Your Rising Sun So New?

I've never enjoyed autumn like I have this year. Normally, October and November are months I skid through in a blur, desperately hanging on to the last wisps of summer wind and freedom. Autumn is a threat to me, a change. So I spend the season in denial, wearing cotton blouses and flip-flops to rewind the clock to a warmer time.

This year, though, autumn has cut me to my utter core with its beauty. Its wind has shaken me. Its Maker broods in the cooling air, and His music whirles with the leaves.

I was walking to my car the other day, thinking about all the things I had to do, and wondering how on earth I would have time to do them. I'm having quite a busy quarter, really, and it's hard to fit everything in without letting my perfectionist side make me miserable. But as I was strolling through the grass, stepping on the crunchiest leaves I could find and listening to Vivaldi on my earbuds, it hit me that--despite all the stresses and annoyances of everyday life--I feel more alive and real now than I have in a long time. I dance awake in the mornings. I run outside and sing, just to hear my voice dissolve in the sky.

I have no reason to feel this way. The past few months have brought a lot of changes, many of which I didn't want and most of which I'd postponed like crazy. I don't like change. I've had to sit still, and let my Father carve courage into me, because I haven't had much to spare. I've had to touch my own fear, and let the promises of God make my fingers strong enough to let go of what I'd been holding onto. I've had to admit to myself that I don't truly know who I am. So many of the monuments I'd built have crumbled, many of them without warning. The wind changes so quickly.

But there is such joy here. There is joy in hearing the waters rage, and letting the mighty undertow pull you into the deeps. There is joy in opening your hands, seeing the ashes you'd been holding dissolve into the air, and knowing that--although you may not be the one to see it--God will resurrect them into beauty. There is even joy in pain, because the tender cut of pain is what brings the beauty of the truest and simplest things into stark relief. The lines of the earth are clearer, its hurts deeper, its colors more true. New things blow in. The life and death of Jesus Christ throb in the flesh.

And so, this year, I know autumn, and it recognizes me. We both stand in the wind, watch the summer's beauty blow away, feel ourselves stripped of the weight of old things. We submit to the coming death of winter, from which we may not awake. We hold onto hope.

We wait for the resurrection.

- by Nellie
photo by Chantel Harding

A year of God's favor

It hardly seems possible that on the writing of this Thanksgiving is only one week away. My heart is already in full holiday mode—Philip has had to stop me a couple of times from breaking my own ‘no Christmas music till after Thanksgiving’ rule, but I’m counting the days till I can open my new Anonymous 4 album and fill my home with the haunting melodies of a Celtic Yule…

But I have been enjoying this autumn to the hilt. As I write, the solemn beauty of a November twilight is descending upon my little world. The sun has just dipped below the rim of the pasture in a breathtaking tide of amber light and the hickories are standing out with a gold that seems alive against the gathering purple shadows. Despite our drought here in the South, we’ve had a brave display of autumn color, blood red dogwoods and bright banners of crimson sassafras and rainbow-hued fruit trees that can’t seem to decide which color suits them best. (And, God be thanked, we did have a good steady rain in the night—it woke me up! I’ve begun to forget what rain sounds like falling on the roof and dripping off the gables. Y’all keep praying for us!!)

Autumn is such a nostalgic time. I find myself looking back at God’s past faithfulnesses more this time of year than perhaps any other. September and October seemed bursting at the seams with good things this year, but November has been much more contemplative, much more conducive to quietness and reflection which are, truth be told, the real marrow of life for me. I am learning more and more what a quiet life really is, and what it isn’t, and just how precious is this burden for simplicity I’ve carried since I was a teenager. That’s the real news in my life at present, that and the everyday bliss of candlelight and firelight, wet dog noses and the scent of gingercake baking in the oven and cabbages and collards in the garden. And, always, the sweet joy of Philip coming home at the end of a long day…

But that doesn’t really account for my long silence around here, I know! 2007 has been a rich, full year—truly, as I’ve thought to myself again and again, a year of God’s favor. They all are, I know that. But this year I’ve seen Him do some really neat things, answer some very heartfelt prayers and grant some long-standing dreams.

In early spring we had the glorious news that a family member's cancer was gone. We all just felt the Lord wrap His arms around us in that season—there was a peace that passed understanding both before and after the good tidings came to us. And then in May, Philip and I were able to take our yearned-for pilgrimage to England. I am still processing all that the Lord did and gave during that enchanted time. To say it was a dream come true seems mild and trite. We still look at one another and wonder if it all really happened…

In the summer I had a scheduled surgery which was the Lord’s doing, as well. Though I spent pretty much all of July and August recovering, it was a sweet time of peace and healing and I really look back on it fondly—though I would have laughed if you told me that in June! To say I was not looking forward to it is putting it mildly! ;)

As soon as September hit there were weekend trips and weddings and lots of fun times already lined up. You all know what took me to Omaha in early October ;), and what a precious, precious time that was! It was a privilege and a joy to stand beside our Natalie on her wedding day and to share in all the celebrations. I will always cherish the memories of that time with beloved kindred spirits. (We parted with Merritt and Gretchen feeling like they were old friends…) Later in the month we had another one of our madcap trips to New York to visit my sister and her husband. It was yet another gift: great weather, lots and lots of time to talk and laugh with them on a blanket in Central Park, a fabulous French restaurant in SoHo, wandering among the masterpieces of the Frick. We came home exhausted but happy, and eager to settle back into our little farm-in-the-city life here.

Speaking of farm life, we had a bit of a surprise last spring. After seven years of raising chickens, five broods in all, we had something happen that’s never happened before. One of our Araucanas started getting bigger than all her sisters. Then her comb and wattle grew larger—and then—she started to crow. So we now have a rooster named Margot, who’s already gained legendary stature by chasing me across the back yard at full tilt! And she—I mean he—doesn’t just crow at dawn. Try all hours of the day and night. But we’ve grown to love it. There’s nothing like being greeted on your return home with such a pastoral sound. I only hope our neighbors can say the same…

Oh, and did I mention Oliver, the orphan kitty that came begging at our door on the eve of our first hard frost of the season? Oh yes—sick and hungry and utterly destitute, as pitiful and scrawny as his namesake. Needless to say he found himself lapping milk in a warm house with a fleece bed and all the food he could want before he knew what happened to him. I told my mother that we’re praying we’d find a good home for him. She laughed, of course, and told me she thought we already had. ;) But I just know God sent him our way…and, yes, if anyone’s counting, that makes five cats. One dog. Fifteen hens and a rooster. And two humans. I told Philip one morning last week after my daily feeding routine had begun “Well, five down, nineteen to go!”

There’s so much more, of course. A thousand thousand details of all the ways God has showered our path with His light and goodness in 2007. I stand on the cusp of the holiday season awed and grateful and full of anticipation. Truly, the Lord has done great things for all of us, hasn’t He? I’d love to hear of some of His kindnesses in your lives…

Summer Rain

We woke up this morning to a light rain. What a refreshing reprieve from the heat of these long summer days. The nip of fall in the air is a sign that our busiest season on the farm is drawing to a close. And never does one anticipate and thank God for the seasons as much as on the farm.

It has been a very busy year for us. Never have we had so much traffic at the store. Or come so close to selling out of zucchini! (Of course, despite our nearly 300 tomato plants, our tomatoes are sold out nearly every day--but it's hard to get tomatoes in this country without a greenhouse.) While I was out there planting each day this spring as we gingerly put each little plant in the ground, praying it would grow, I have hardly been in the garden since the store opened. I miss being able to see all our work grow. But now I get to be on the other end, selling the end result to our customers. And I really enjoy that part. Especially on the busy days when I get to work with my husband. (I just can't do it all, and keep my house semi-clean and my husband fed.) We will see where I fit in to the farm operation next year, with a little one in tow...

Yes, the little person inside me is growing rapidly. We're 26 weeks along, and Baby (we want to be surprised about "him" or "her") is due to arrive on (or before) December 7th. And I think I've figured out where to fit the crib between the bookshelves...

In addition to the new arrival of the baby, we have a new kitty. "Oofy" Prosser of Wodehouse tales was very much necessary to keep Wooster company after Jeeves met his demise. (Picture Bertie Wooster without Jeeves and that's what our cat was like without company!) We also added 17 chickens and 2 ducks to our little place. We wanted to have chickens someday, but when someone offered us their flock for free, someday became now. Living in the middle of an alfalfa field meant we had to build them a home, and my talented husband made not just a chicken house, but a "Chick Inn." The birds love it, and we've sure enjoyed watching their antics. Now if I could just convince my 12 laying hens that I need a dozen eggs a day, not just 7...

As things slow down a bit, I look forward to spending more time cooking, and maybe even catch up on a little correspondence and writing (not to mention reading)... Someone asked me if I was playing classical music for the baby, and such, and I said honestly, I was trying to get as much
sleep as I could for the baby--and there is little enough time for that. But that's summer on the farm. Merritt's baled two cuttings of hay that have all sold, and there's one cutting left. He is looking forward to being done changing irrigation pipe twice a day, and I am looking forward to seeing a bit more of my husband.

Yes, I'm thankful for the changing of seasons. In the winter, we cling to the promise of spring. In the spring, we anticipate the warmth of summer. In the midst of our busy summer, we long for the reprieve of fall. And then we yearn for those long winter evenings, reading by the fire, the faces of those we love outlined in the flickering candlelight... Thank You, Lord, for seasons.

The Furnace

We’ve had quite a spell of hot weather recently. For those of you in southern climes, 96 degrees for a week might not sound too bad, but it’s pretty tough on us Northerners without air conditioning (especially three days that got to 102 degrees!). My family used many words to describe the heat: “smothering,” “scorching,” “blistering.” We said we were “baking,” “roasting,” and “melting.” We compared the temperature to a sauna, an oven, and a furnace.

It was the reference to the furnace that got me thinking. The Bible talks about God “trying” and refining us in a furnace, “as silver is tried (Psalm 66:10).” I’ve noticed a few parallels between hot weather and spiritual trials – maybe you can identify.

1. The furnace is no picnic. It’s miserable! Whether physical or spiritual, the heat has a way of becoming the overriding fact of my life, and I find it difficult to enjoy anything, or even think about anything pleasant! Refinement is a very focused process.

2. The “dross” is what you see first. I tend to be irritable when it’s really hot. The littlest things set me off! It’s the same way when God is refining me spiritually – those traits that He wants to remove are the very ones I display. That just shows that yes, I do need more refining.

3. Realizing our weakness lets us see His strength. There’s nothing I can do to “stop” the heat. No matter how much I wish it was cooler, the thermometer stays the same. I can’t stop the spiritual trials, either. Even if I’m tired of dealing with the issue. Even if I can’t see any change. The realization that God is completely in charge is humbling. I tend to think, “I can handle it on my own,” and need to be put in my place, reminded that I’m a weak and sinful creature.

4. We’re not alone. My mom feels the heat as much as my siblings and I do, but (since she is more mature than I am) she handles it better. The heat makes her sympathetic to the “suffering” of her children. She knows how we feel and is sorry for us, and tries to help us bear it. How much more does our Heavenly Father see His suffering children and have pity on them? We can be assured that His loving eyes never leave us, and we are not forgotten.

5. All things come to an end. Maybe (probably!) not as soon as I’d like, but certainly at the time God has planned. He sits “as a refiner” (Malachi 3:2-3), watching. As soon as His purpose is accomplished, that’s it – we’re done. Until the next trial.

Dost Thou love me so?
Not only would Thou send Thine only Son
To take away my sins and set me free,
But in the furnace Thou wouldst purge my dross.

So deep is Thy love
That Thou seest my sufferings in the flames
And in Thy mercy Thou leavest me there,
Not content ‘til I be pure.

I think only of the pain to me,
Forgetting the cost to Thee.
Thine eyes behold the sufferings of Thy child
And yet, Thou failest me not.

Thy love will not relent –
With steady hand Thou holdest me in the fire,
Not having pity on my fainting flesh
But proving Thy mercy to my soul.

Oh Lord, refine.

- by Jeannie Castleberry, summer 2006

Thankful for our mothers

Without internet access over the weekend, I neglected to wish all of the mothers among our readers a happy Mother's Day. Though I remain whole-heartedly convinced my mom is the best in the world I know many of you absolutely treasure your moms. And some of you--it seems like more everyday--are becoming first-time mommies this year!

An especial thanks and appreciative hugs must go to Elizabeth and Ashleigh--both busy mommies who make time to write for the YLCF. With the other married/soon-to-be-wed team members, I am guessing that the general demographic of the YLCF Team (not necessarily the readers as a whole) will be continuing its shift from primarily single girls to wives and moms. Though the majority of our readers are young ladies in their late teens/early twenties in North America, there are also girls as young as ten and twelve, as well as women in their sixties reading--from places like Malaysia, China, Israel, Finland, South Africa, and Russia, to name a few of the most common.

However, even as we explore new topics and adventure into new paths, we'll not forget our purpose of encouraging young women and their families and promoting character and purity. While there will be more articles on marriage and motherhood, they will be in addition to the topics we've always held...and remember, YLCF is written by its readers so if you would like to submit an article, you know what to do.

Hallelujah!

For I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, "This is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me." In the same way also he took the cup, after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me." For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes (1 Cor. 11:23-26).

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared. And they found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus.

While they were perplexed about this, behold, two men stood by them in dazzling apparel. And as they were frightened and bowed their faces to the ground, the men said to them, "Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and on the third day rise" (Luke 22:1-7).

Read "Holy Week" by Lanier at her website.

- photo courtesy of Elizabeth Jackson

Spring Fever

I spent the morning cleaning our antique store with my sister-in-law. Reorganizing, adding new items, getting ready to open. After lunch, I came home--what a sweet word, ‘tis his home, and mine, ah the bliss!--and cleaned our bathroom, then vacuumed and mopped our floor.

Spring cleaning. Living on the farm, the phrase has a new meaning. In former years, I did spring cleaning when I had spring fever. This year, I’m doing spring cleaning because I know it will be the last chance I have before fall comes. As a farmer's wife, spring cleaning has become getting ready for a busy summer; trying to make my house clean enough that I can just touch it up here and there between laundry and errands on Mondays.

Even so, with the windows wide open, letting the freshly-mopped floors dry, I get spring fever in the worst way. My little packets of zinnia and sunflower seeds make me wish I had somewhere to plant them. But carving a yard out of the alfalfa field we live in will have to wait for another season. We're already planting lettuce and spinach starts in little blocks of soil. Come the first of April, we'll be transplanting baby plants into the greenhouse. And the antique store will be open again on weekends.

Maybe next year, I'll be able to get dirt under my fingernails for more than just vegetable plants. Someday, I'll have daffodils, marigolds, and lilacs bringing color to our yard. But for now, I'll throw my spring fever energy into finding the color under the dust in our house. And watch for the first little leaf to pop out on our maple tree.

Written March 12, 2007

Oh, it is?

I did not remember it was St. Patrick's Day (or John Deere Day, as Gretchen calls it) until I arrived at my piano students' home and saw them decked out in green outfits with shamrock stickers. Oh yes...and I'm Irish too. How could I forget? We were even listening to Celtic worship music last night.

Gretchen has posted every year since the blog began, so I had to continue the tradition, even if I don't have much to say on the subject. :smile: You can read Gretchen's thoughts from 2004, 2005, and 2006.

Irish dancing might be the only subject related to this day that I can speak on with much confidence. I first learned Irish step dancing (the type in the photo above) seven years ago while dancing with a Folk Dance Troupe in Iowa. Ceili dancing is even more enjoyable, especially in a large group of experienced dancers. The more complicated the footwork, the better I liked it. Before the end of every dance I'd be gasping for breath but it was far too much fun to slow down or stop for even a minute.

So, whether you dance an Irish reel, wear green, or ignore the holiday altogether, live today with your sight on eternity. "In whatever you do..."

Valentine's Day in my house

My name is Sarah and I am 15 years old. I am the oldest of nine children. I live in Illinois.

Five years ago, in the days leading up to Valentine's, my sister, Anna and I decided to make dinner for our parents for Valentine's day. We had a rather simple menu that year (I was only 10, my sister was 9, and my next sister was 7): Fried Chicken from the store, Fruit Salad, Toss Salad and Heart Rice Crispy Cookies.

For the past five years we have continued to do these dinners and us kids look forward to spending Valentine's day in the kitchen together cooking. I usually plan the menu, with my sisters' help. We don't tell Mom or Dad what we are making and consult Grandma if we have questions. Sometimes we decorate the dining room.

In past years we have served our parents, but in these last years, we all prefer to eat together.
My parents start reminding us in November that Valentine's day is coming up. Some years we have also made a short video (with us kids as the cast) to be after-dinner entertainment.

Here is a sample menu from last year-

Appetizers
Relish Salad
Parmesan Bread Sticks

Salad
Toss Salad

Entree
Chicken Cordon Bleu

Side Dishes
Roasted Potatoes and Onions
Portabella Mushrooms (stuffed)

Dessert
Tiramisu Toffee Torte

Beverages
Fruit tea
Viennese Coffee

Unfortunately, this year's dinner was postponed a week because we had a big snow and couldn't get to the grocery store in time. So, I can't tell you what the menu was, it's still a secret!

Since we started doing these dinners before I was thinking about marriage and singleness, they take up my day and I don't have a lot of extra time to ponder that I didn't get a bouquet of roses. I have known I will never date since I was 8 or younger. I am blessed with parents that saw the damage it does and realized early on that that it was not for their children. As I grow older, I see more and more the wisdom in that decision. I am glad that my love will be saved for my one and only.

My caution to other single young women is to not spend their single years waiting for Prince Charming; but to use them in service to the Lord. Mr. Right will come, but we must be patient and wisely use these years. Once we are married, the opportunities that were open to us previously are gone forever. Use your youth wisely, don't flit it away, for you only have this chance once.

And, on Valentine's day, don't think about what you don't have, but thank Him for what you have. "Someday your prince will come," but for now, use your energies to bless someone else.

From inside a snow globe

You know the little houses inside snow globes? You turn the snow globe upside down, shake it a bit, and watch the snow fall down on that little house and everything around it. I think I live in one of those houses.

Snow has fallen nearly every waking hour, and some while I was asleep, these past few days. We’ve had snow on the ground since Christmas, but God sent us a fresh coverlet of the fluffy white powdered sugar frosting that makes fir trees look good enough to eat.

I love to sit by the fire, curled up under a wool blanket, wearing the cozy slippers my husband gave me for my birthday, and just look out the window at the snow falling down. The more snow there is, the more likely that my husband will have to bundle up and use the tractor to plow the snow from the driveway. But with more snow in the forecast, I’ll convince him to wait until tomorrow. And we’ll just sit back and watch the snow fall down.

January has always felt to me like the month in which to begin anew, to be prepared for the coming year. Having our computer hard drive crash and getting a new computer wasn’t exactly the way in which I planned to do that, but it helped. Neither did I want to find out I had to wear glasses all the time. But as soon as I get my prescribed lenses, I shall be looking at the world through new eyes.

I brought all my scrapbooking supplies home last time we went to visit my parents. So my goal is to spend the next week working on our honeymoon pictures. And sorting and printing all the other photos that have accumulated since we got married. (Lest the 2/17/2004 Family Circus comic ring true, “My daddy doesn’t put pictures in albums any more: now he hides them in the computer.”)

I want to write more. I got out two new blank journals the first week of the new year. One to be my new prayer journal. One to write little notes to my husband. And I want to read more. I’ve been making good use of our local library during these winter months, as well as reading random selections off our own ever-widening bookshelves.

Now January is more than half over. Time to think about taxes. And helping my mother-in-law start all those seeds we just ordered for the garden. Summer will be here before we know it. But I’ll curl up in my chair by the fire for just one afternoon more, and enjoy the view from inside the snow globe.

Christmas hath made an end, Part Two

It was certainly all magical enough, and only more so when all our friends began arriving with shouts of ‘Happy New Year!’ and the bonfire began leaping heavenward and the children started running to and fro in the darkness, heaping my withered holly branches and dried pine garlands onto the blaze. When we gathered for the blessing, I couldn’t help subjecting our guests to a brief—and, to me, at least—an undeniably fitting little reading:

Christmas hath made an end,
Well-a-day! well-a-day!
Which was my dearest friend,
More is the pity!
For with an heavy heart
Must I from thee depart,
To follow plow and cart
All the year after!

It grieves me to the heart,
Well-a-day! well-a-day!
From my friend to depart,
More is the pity!
Christmas, I fear 'tis thee
That thus forsaketh me:
Yet for one hour, I see,
Will I be merry.

There certainly was great merry-making around the fire that night. Sparklers for the children and bottle rockets and Roman candles for the boys and men. Old English games like ‘Christmas Candle’ and ‘Snapdragon’ that Philip and I dug out of an old book. Mirth and good cheer as Christmas trees were added to the blaze sending the flames a good forty feet into the air. After seconds and thirds of dinner had been dispensed with, my friend Rachel and I gathered all of the little girls for a special procession of the wassail and the Twelfth Night cake—which had been duly prepared with the traditional bean, pea and clove planted somewhere in its spiced depths, the discovery of which would determine the king, queen and knave, respectively, for the evening. We rehearsed our wassailing song quietly in the shadows of the great walnut tree and lit green sparklers on the cake before making our solemn way across the backyard down to the fire.

Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green!
And here we come a-wand’ring so fair to be seen!
Love and joy come to you and to you your wassail too,
And God bless you and send you a happy new year!
And God send you a happy new year!

The cake was presented amid a spontaneous burst of applause and was duly sliced and distributed by the girls to the eager guests, each desirous of their status in the hierarchy of the night. My mother’s dear friend, Wendy, was the knave, I plucked the pea from my piece of cake with an air of queenly triumph, and the king obviously swallowed his bean unnoticed and will henceforth go uncrowned. (We’ll just say it was Philip…)

There were Twelfth Night carols and Epiphany songs after that, and the inevitable Twelve Days of Christmas. And we closed on the rousing note of The Gloucestershire Wassail, each time I thought we were done another guest calling out another verse:

“The butler verse!”
“The maid verse!”
“Verse one, again!”

When all but a set’s worth (and those acquainted with Scottish or English country dancing will know what that implies) had taken their leave with many a hopeful word for ‘next year’, Philip and his brother polished off the bottle rockets while my sister-in-law and I looked on from a safe distance and savored the fun we’d already had and the enchantments abroad in earth and sky. A clear golden moon had risen early upon our festivities, out of a vaporous fog that cloaked the trees and made its light a mysterious thing. There was the closeness of the dew and the bewitchery of woodsmoke in the air. We looked up through the moonlit trees overhead and commented on how the drops that still clung to their bare limbs looked like stars all tangled in the branches. But only fitting on a night so fraught with faeirie…

Coffee and wassail and cookies in the house after that for the hearty and hale that had stayed for the dancing. Postie’s Jig and Corn Rigs and Frost and Snow were executed with commendable good spirit, despite—or, perhaps, because of—the fact that for the first time ever we had more gentlemen than ladies and a couple of un-named guys had to cross the set and dance as girls! ;) The candles wavered in their sconces as we romped by and the crepe paper fluttered overhead. And when we were all too tired to dance anymore, we flopped on the floor, the stairs, the remaining seats, and smiled sleepily at one another.

But despite my weariness, when we said goodbye and closed the door for the last time, I turned to Philip with a look of elation. My Christmas was complete; my holiday wrapped up like a present from God in one last lovely memory. We had said a worthy farewell to the dearest season of the year, toasted its memory with our laughter and songs.

And it’s only forty-six more weeks till I can start decking my halls again!

Christmas hath made an end, Part One

January 6, 2007

Last night was a chapter out of fairyland; a sojourn into a vanished realm that exists only in stories and songs—and in the very lively imagination of people like Philip and me. J I’m sitting here in my den this January afternoon with a pot of fragrant Winter Garden tea and an even more fragrant clementine, my Advent wreath lighted for the last time against the deepening sunset outside and a Mozart quintet on the record player, trying to convince myself that this sweet Christmas holiday was more than a dream. And no part of it seemed more dream-like than the Twelfth Night Revel we held here last night…

I don’t think I’ve ever been so blue about the holidays drawing to close as I was this year. Every moment was so precious that I literally watched them pass with a sigh and even a few tears. And when Philip went back to work on Tuesday and I was confronted with a quiet house and a mountain of laundry and a good-sized hill of dead greenery, it was all I could not to crawl back in bed and pull the covers over my head. It’s the price I pay for all my Christmas sentiment, I am well aware, and worth all its sweet pain. But something had to be done. And to my melancholy mind there appeared but one option: we had to throw a party.

So we invited our friends to a Twelfth Night Revel. It’s something we’ve wanted to do for ages, but with it falling on Friday this year—coupled with the desperate need I had for festivity—it seemed the very moment in time for such a frolic. So Philip got the bonfire ready and put out the chairs in a wide arc around it, and I decorated our big copper lanterns with wired-on greenery and doled out food assignments with each RSVP. I set up tables for the pots of chili and the platters of cornbread and the bowls of salad that were coming and spread them with branches of pine and big, ferny sprigs of cedar, interjected by tall glass hurricanes with white tapers. The front hall was cleared for dancing, and the chandelier was woven with a wreath of ivy and strung with bright crepe paper, red and green, that extended in winding ribbons to the four corners of the room. I made an enormous pan of Mexican cornbread and a pot of my favorite ‘White Christmas chili’ and took the remaining cookies I had made out of the freezer.

And all through the preparations the day of the party I listened to the thunder rumble and watched the rain falling outside—a veritable monsoon—and fielded phone calls from anxious friends.

“Are we still on for tonight?”
“Who would have thought we’d have such weather in January?”
“Well, we could always eat in the house…”

I laughed and soothed and projected the weather as best I could. But not, I confess, with an untroubled heart. It just seemed like our whole beautiful holiday would end on a flat note if our bonfire was rained out. Not to mention the fact that I had no back-up plan for seating the hungry hordes that would soon be descending upon us. And so I prayed roughly a dozen or so of those desperate little pleading requests: “Oh, Lord! I know that there are a million-and-one other things tremendously more important in the scheme of the world than whether it rains on our party or not—but oh, please, please let it clear up!”

There was nothing else to be done but continue with the preparations and hope for the best. The forecast was quite dour; the heavy-laden clouds that kept rolling in from the west were too disheartening to look at. It poured on Philip all the way home from the office. But at five-thirty a miracle occurred. I don’t hesitate in the least to call it a miracle, albeit a small one, for in it I heard the Lord say ‘I love you’ just as clearly as if it had been an audible voice. (And is it not those little personal miracles that show us—perhaps best of all—His great and lovely tenderness?) A glint of gold appeared in the west, piercing the leaden mantle with arrows of light. In a matter of moments the whole sky was suffused with a glory of saffron and apricot, crowning the tops of the trees in splendor and brimming the pasture below with a light-filled mist. I dropped my dishcloth and stood at the window, perfectly transfixed. My heart was filled with praise, for not only had God allowed the weather to clear up, He had done it in the most beautiful way imaginable. Every drop on every branch was a living gem, sparkling and flashing as if for joy. Birdsongs sweetened the already vernal air and Philip and I wandered about in the yard, laughing at how gorgeous it suddenly all was. I thought of the words to a song we’ve sung much this Christmas, All hayle to the days:

December is seene appareled in greene, and January fresh as May
Comes dancing along with a cup and a song to drive the cold winter away.

As twilight fell the world only became more glamorous: the mist rolled up along the terraces in the pasture and crept over the lawn, and stars winked out in the velvet overhead.

“I feel like we’re in Merry Olde England!” I cried to Philip.
“Or Ireland!” he supplied.
“Or Scotland!” I exulted.

to be continued...

How is it with your soul?

January is an excellent time to reaffirm our priorities and desires for the kind of life that we want to live. In this yearly assessment of past projects and future hopes it is of great value to ask ourselves the striking question that Wesley’s Methodists were wont to probe one another with: How is it with your soul?

What is the tenor of your heart, your very being, from which spring all of the other issues of life? Is it resting in God? Or is it weighted with the burden of suppressed tension? As Christians, it is our privilege to pass through this world in the serenity of a quiet faith in God, but all too often the rest we should be experiencing is shattered by the strife and hurry of the world. This is nothing that God did not anticipate, however.

The Bible is full of exhortations to quiet our souls before Him, to silence the urgent wail of the outside world and drink in the strengthening tonic of stillness. We can be still, as Brother Lawrence learned, in the midst of loved duties, as well as in the round of tasks that are our lot but which lack outward dignity: “I am more united to God in my outward employments than when I leave them for devotion and retirement.”

Strife is the great enemy of rest. Resting in God means that we have accepted the claims of all of his promises as they apply to our daily lives, and that we have allowed the peace of Christ to literally rule in our hearts. Strife takes God’s responsibilities upon our own frail shoulders, even in the imagination. But there is one type of striving that God commends, the untiring persistence for godliness that Paul speaks of in Philippians 3: “…I follow after, so that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus laid hold of me…”

The Christian life is a valiant struggle to apprehend all that is already ours. And one of the most precious things we are called to strive for is this great ‘repose of Christianity’, the rest that God promises to those who believe Him. “Let us labour therefore to enter into that rest, lest any man fall after the same example of unbelief.”

A poem for a new year

New Year 1945

With every power for good to stay and guide me,
comforted and inspired beyond all fear,
I'll live these days with you in thought beside me,
and pass, with you, into the coming year.

The old year still torments our hearts, unhastening:
the long days of our sorrow still endure.
Father, grant to the soul Thou hast been chastening
that Thou hast promised the healing and the cure.

Should it be ours to drain the cup of grieving
even to the dregs of pain, at Thy command,
we will not falter, thankfully receiving
all that is given by Thy loving hand.

But, should it be Thy will once more to release us
to life's enjoyment and its good sunshine,
that we've learned from sorrow shall increase us
and all our life be dedicate as Thine.

Today, let candles shed their radiant greeting:
lo, on our darkness are they not Thy light,
leading us haply to our longed-for meeting?
Thou canst illumine e'en our darkest night.

When now the silence deepens for our harkening,
grant we may hear Thy children's voices raise
from all the unseen world around us darkening
their universal paean, in Thy praise.

While all the powers of good aid and attend us,
boldly we'll face the future, be it what may.
At even, and at morn, God will befriend us,
and oh, most surely on each new year's day

- written in the Gestapo prison, Berlin, by Rev. Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Resolutions

"I know all about the despair of overcoming chronic temptations. It is not serious, provided self-offended petulance, annoyance at breaking records, impatience, etc. don’t get the upper hand. No amount of falls will really undo us if we keep on picking ourselves up each time. We shall of course be very muddy and tattered children by the time we reach home. But the bathrooms are all ready, the towels put out, and the clean clothes in the airing cupboard. The only fatal thing is to lose one’s temper and give it up. It is when we notice the dirt that God is most present in us: it is the very sign of His presence."

C.S. Lewis, Letters

“Let this New Year be the beginning of a new life wherein “old things are passed away”. Let all blessed old things stay, but let the clutter of our heads and hearts be removed, that new inspirations and new affections may come in to gladden our lives.”

Chester B. Emerson