BAG LADY

We are completely out of cat food. How is it that I've been to town half a dozen times in the past week without realizing that we were running low on cat food? Am I really going to have to leave the house on Black Friday just for cat food?! Maybe Kitty would be willing to try to make it through the weekend eating left over turkey and dressing.

On the other hand, I doubt that our tiny town of Troy will be too crazy today anyway - picking up a bag of cat food at Dollar General should be a quick in-&-out affair.

I am not a very good shopper. Haven't had much practice, I guess, shopping for anything besides groceries. Thankfully, God has kept my family clothed and shod in spite of my lack of skills.

"Where'd you get that sweater? I like it," my husband asked a couple of weeks ago when I donned a "new" brown turtleneck before church Sunday morning.

"Out of a bag," I replied. I'm right at 50 years old and I still get most of my clothes out of a bag. Yep, I'm a genuine bag lady.

Several years ago, an older lady at the church we attended used to give me her cast offs whenever she cleaned out her closets. Not particularly my choice of style or color, but these were really nice clothes. One Sunday, I showed up at church in an emerald green sweater given to me by someone else. "Wow! I love that color on you," Pat exclaimed. "You should wear bright colors more often. Why is it that you almost always wear black?"

"Um, because the clothes you give me are almost always black, Pat," I replied.

I have found that having long legs can be a disadvantage if you're a bag lady. Having long legs gives one the illusion of being thinner than she really is. It's so disappointing to open a bag of hand-me-overs that a friend was certain you'd love, only to discover that everything is a size 8 or 10 or 12. Really? I haven't been a size 8 since elementary school! Yes, I have long-ish legs, but I also have a thick-ish girth.

I guess I should be pleased that folks think I'm so much trimmer than I really am.

If you're a bag lady, "shopping" for some items can be particularly difficult. I've had new bras on my shopping list for a year now. Over. A. Year. Yeah, you could say I was feeling a little droopy about the situation. Ba-da-bing!

Yesterday, after Kendall family Thanksgiving, Grammy handed me a bag as I headed out the back door. "These are some things Jettie thought maybe you or one of your girls could use." Some of my very favorite shirts hanging in the closet right now came from Grammy's friend Jettie - I like her taste, and, although she is much shorter that I am, we are the same size. "She bought these but then didn't like the underwire."

Oh, I thought. Well, that's a little weird. I've never inherited underwear from someone before. Imagine my surprise - and elation - when I got home and discovered that the bag from Jettie contained three brand new, high quality bras, just my size!

So, if you see me at Dollar General later this morning, braving Black Friday for a bag of cat food, I won't be complaining about the check-out lines or how long it took to find a parking place. Nope. I feel positively perky this morning, and not even Black Friday can make my spirits sag.

Amazing how a little bit of new elastic can be such a mood lifter, isn't it?

ONE PINK NOTEBOOK

"If you had an entire day to yourself to do whatever you wanted, what would you do?"

That question almost made me cry. I didn't know the answer. And, try as I may, I couldn't remember what it was that I used to enjoy doing way back in the days before babies and sleep deprivation and too much work and too little money. If I could do whatever I wanted, I'd probably just sleep!

The question made me sad, and it made me angry. Why even ask such a question, if a day to do "whatever I wanted" was an impossibility? Why stir up thoughts of neglected hobbies and forgotten dreams if they could not be acted on? Better to leave such thoughts dormant.

Then, many years after that first question, another friend asked, "What energizes you? What is that, when you're doing it, you feel completely alive? Like you wish you could just do this forever?" I could not remember. But, this time, I resolved to think - think hard. To try to dredge up some memory of a time when I felt awake and vigorous, instead of like I was clinging wearily to the edge of a narrow precipice above a dark and bottomless pit of exhaustion.

My friend prayed.

I thought hard.

And I remembered.

One large pink spiral-bound notebook after that second conversation, I want to report: I have enjoyed increasing opportunities to minister to and study God's Word with a growing circle of women. Growing in grace with my sisters in Christ is indeed an exhilarating journey! And I have finished Book #1 - makes me feel like a kid on Christmas morning.

So today, I want to say THANK YOU to Katherine, for pulling me back from the precipice, for asking the question, for listening, and for praying. Thank you for the big pink notebook. Thank you for the encouragement to look up, to dare to dream again. It is not an overstatement, my friend, to say that you saved my life.

And I want to say THANK YOU to Lisa, for brightening my world like a ray of brilliant sunshine. For repeatedly affirming and encouraging me as I've begun the challenge of learning how to dance on this side of the valley. For showing me anew how beautiful this life is.

RANDOM THOUGHTS

The holiday season is upon us. I ran to town early this morning to finish my grocery shopping before the crowds were out. Already, folks were setting up pallets of Black Friday specials in the aisles at Wal-Mart - I'm so thankful I don't have to be there in the midst of the craziness on Thanksgiving Day or the Friday after!

What will I be doing instead of running a cash register at MegaMart? Cooking, eating dinner with my family, washing lots of dishes, and probably taking a nap. If the weather's nice and my feet are feeling happy, maybe I'll even manage a walk on the farm - bet I could even wrangle some of the kids into joining me.

And hopefully I'll get to write. Book #1 is ready to load on Kindle - woohoo! I'm in the middle of the first re-write of Book #2. A third story is already percolating in my brain and is pressing to get out of my head and typed into the computer - if I don't get started on that pretty quickly, my kitchen will soon look like it's been wall-papered in sticky notes. And there is also this poor, neglected blog. I've been having some glitches with the blog the past couple of days and haven't had a solid chunk of time to sit down and try to figure out what I need to do to get it back up to speed.

On the menu for Thursday: turkey and dressing, kale, baked sweet potatoes (I like them plain, with a little salt and lots of butter), cooked apples, fresh cranberry sauce, pickles, yeast rolls, and Polly's pumpkin pie with whipped cream. Afterwards, a good loll in front of the fire, while everything digests. What's your family's traditional Thanksgiving fare?

A few random closing thoughts...

If I feed and water and tend 12 chickens every day, then why did I have to buy 3 dozen eggs at Wal-Mart this morning?

I'm thankful for those of my children who can be here for the holidays, and I reallyreallyreally miss those who can't be home. Love you!

My house is a mess and my floors need to be mopped, but, for some reason, cleaning hasn't made it on my To Do list. And I'm fine with that. :) If you stop by during the weekend, I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about the floors or the bathrooms. Thank you.

I love listening to Helen play the piano or banjo while I'm working in the kitchen or busy at my computer.

It is very difficult to think about what to have for dinner tonight and what to fix for lunch tomorrow when all I want to think about is cooking Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday.

It is also very difficult to do schoolwork when all I want to think about is cooking Thanksgiving dinner - right, Helen?

What's on YOUR mind as you head into the holiday season?

TOUCH ME

You've heard of the "church" hug, right? You know, leave enough room between you and the person you're hugging for the Holy Spirit. Or for a pulpit Bible. Or for Jesus.

Several years ago, a friend who had recently gone through a divorce said to me with a very heavy sigh, "No one touches me any more." She no longer received any kind of physical affection from her husband - he had gone off after something better. Her kids were grown and living in other states. Her friends at church, who no longer seemed to know how to relate to her, avoided any kind of physical contact. This woman was starving to be hugged.

Another friend - a Christian brother - shared the same frustration when his wife left him. "It's like people are scared of me now, like they think I have the plague or something. They won't get anywhere close to me."

More recently, I was talking with a young single woman who is living on her own. Although she would like very much to be married and have a family, God has not yet brought a special, godly man into her life. Sure, she has friends at work and at church, but these friends are married and head home at the end of each day to their families. Sally, on the other hand, heads home to an empty apartment. "Is it not hard, living all alone?" I asked. Sally replied, "I am absolutely starving for companionship." Nobody touches her.

I've heard the same kind of comments from widows and widowers. "Nobody touches me."

These people are NOT saying that they want some kind of groper coming up and grinding into them. What they are saying is: they need to be hugged. To have a sympathetic arm laid across their shoulders. To be touched in ways that lovingly acknowledge their presence and their value.

But it's almost as if many of us in the church are so concerned about propriety that, in order to avoid even the appearance of evil, we keep these lonely, starving people at arm's length. Better safe than sorry! If I hug Mike or Susie, folks might start talking, you know, and I sure don't want to give occasion for gossip.

And so we relate to one another based on fear. Or based on legalism - keep at least twelve inches, or the width of a Bible, or  a cubit, between you and the other person. We fumble awkwardly as we encounter one another on Sunday morning - should we offer a hand shake? a pat on the arm? a "church" hug? Instead of children joyfully reunited at a family reunion, we behave more like a bunch of self-conscious, puerile adolescents at a high school dance.

I absolutely love this passage from Matthew 8: And behold, a leper came to him (Jesus) and knelt before him, saying, "Lord, if you will, you can make me clean." And Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, saying, "I will; be clean." (Matthew 8:2-3a)

Jesus could have given all sorts of valid reasons for keeping a little distance between himself and this man. But He didn't. Jesus reached out his hand and closed the gap.

Brothers and sisters, shouldn't we be doing the same?

IN THE DARK VALLEY

Tasked with preparing a devotional for a meeting later this week, I have been praying that God would direct my thoughts and show me how to best minister to these ladies when we gather. Several of these women have been suffering greatly in recent months - scary health problems, relationship issues, financial struggles. Not just the ordinary "yes, life is tough" muckety-muck, but heart-breaking, security-shaking trials.

These verses from Psalm 119 came to mind this morning: "It is good for me that I was afflicted, that I might learn your statutes...Those who fear you shall see me and rejoice, because I have hoped in your word. I know, O Lord, that your rules are righteous, and that in faithfulness you have afflicted me. Let your steadfast love comfort me according to your promise to your servant" (verses 71, 74-76).

Maybe like me, you have cried out with Job - "Though he slay me, I will hope in him!" - not because you had great faith in the midst of your suffering, but because your faith was shaken and all you could do was speak defiantly against the doubts and fears that shadowed the goodness and faithfulness of God.

There are false prophets today who would tell you that faith in Jesus is a free pass to escape suffering, hardship, depression, pain. They are liars. Pain and suffering are realities for every single human living in this fallen, sinful world. The question for us is not if we will suffer, but how. And, will we honor and praise our good and sovereign God in the midst of suffering?

Which brings to mind a post from a couple of years ago, about praying in the dark valleys:

PRAYING HYMNS
-originally posted April 14, 2010

A friend asked me once if there was any point in continuing piano lessons for her daughter if the child showed no potential of being a stellar pianist nor any desire to "do something" with her piano playing. Would her daughter derive any lasting benefit from piano lessons? My answer: Absolutely!

I, too, am a mediocre pianist - I play just well enough to be dangerous, not well enough for my "talent" to be any real blessing to others. In fact, I strongly dislike playing when others are listening. But the lessons my Mom drug me to week after week when I was a child have paid enormous dividends.

I explained to my friend, "There have been times in my life when I was so discouraged or so broken that I simply did not have the strength or the heart to pray. But playing the piano (even badly!) has pulled me through hopelessly dark seasons."

When I cannot even begin to pray, I play the piano. I play hymns. I read the words, which become silent prayers squeezed from the depths of a weary, broken heart. The words of these hymns remind me of the truths of Scripture - that God loves me, that He is sovereign over everything in my life, that even difficult places are ordained for my good and His glory. Consider these excerpts from a few of my favorite hymns:

Come, my soul, thy suit prepare: Jesus loves to answer prayer; he himself has bid thee pray, therefore will not say thee nay....Lord, I come to thee for rest, take possession of my breast; there thy blood-bought right maintain, and without a rival reign....Show me what I have to do, ev'ry hour my strength renew: let me live a life of faith... - Come, My Soul, Thy Suit Prepare (John Newton)

Whate'er my God ordains is right: his holy will abideth; I will be still whate'er he doth, and follow where he guideth. He is my God; though dark my road, he holds me that I shall not fall: wherefore to him I leave it all....Whate'er my God ordains is right: though now this cup, in drinking, may bitter seem to my faint heart, I take it, all unshrinking....Whate'er my God ordains is right: here shall my stand be taken; though sorrow, need, or death be mine, yet am I not forsaken. My Father's care is round me there; he holds me that I shall not fall: and so to him I leave it all. - Whate'er My God Ordains Is Right (Samuel Rodigast)

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; the clouds ye so much dread are big with mercy, and shall break in blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust him for his grace; behind a frowning providence he hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, unfolding ev'ry hour; the bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flow'r. - God Moves in a Mysterious Way (William Cowper)

My oldest son explained to me recently the music "philosophy" of the campus ministry he attends. They do not sing contemporary praise songs or repetitive worship choruses. As Reuben put it, "A person who is truly struggling or even mildly depressed couldn't sing those songs. They are so clap-happy that you really have to be in a party mood to participate in singing them." Instead, this ministry has taken the rich, old hymns and set them to more contemporary music. This provides for a greater breadth of expression and emotion - everything from exuberant praise to gut-wrenching grief to crippling guilt. What this ministry may not realize is that by singing the old hymns (in a new way!), they are giving these college students a resource they will draw on their entire lives.

Steve has commented before that he can tell when I'm feeling especially discouraged or depressed....he finds me often at the piano. It's the place I pray when praying is impossible. Where I can wordlessly praise my Savior as an act of defiance against an enemy who presses me to denounce the beauty and sufficiency of Christ. Where the old hymnwriters, seasoned in this journey, walk with me through shadowed valleys and back to the light of the cross.

Behold the throne of grace! The promise draws me near: there Jesus shows a smiling face, and waits to answer prayer.

- John Newton

THE DEVIL

A devil's advocate is someone who, presented with a particular argument or idea, takes an opposing view for the sake of debate. His task is to test the original argument in an attempt to expose weaknesses or holes. The devil's advocate may or may not agree with the original argument:  the point isn't whether or not he agrees; the point is to test the soundness of the argument or idea.

If you are trying to clearly articulate a particular biblical doctrine, having a devil's advocate can be a valuable asset. His questions will challenge your thinking and require you to address issues you may have overlooked. If you are proposing a certain course of action, a devil's advocate can help identify weak areas in your plan. He may even propose alternative plans by which you can achieve your specified goal. If you are trying to choose between several options - Do I want to accept the job offer in Utah, or would it be wiser to take the position in Idaho? - a devil's advocate can help you find the benefits and liabilities associated with each option.

Yes, it is beneficial to have a devil's advocate on your team. Someone to ask questions from a different angle. Someone to help you see problem areas that you may have completely overlooked. Someone to help you anticipate opposition to your plan or challenges to implementing it.

You see, the point of the devil's advocate is not to belittle or demotivate you. No, his purpose is to make you stronger, wiser, and more effective.

Then there are those who simply "play the devil." Rather than strengthening and sharpening you, they drain you of energy and dull your enthusiasm for life. They don't argue or present opposing viewpoints for the sake of benefiting someone else; rather, they seem intent on simply wallowing in their own negativity and pointless criticism, while splashing their muck and discontent on the people around them.

Here is my attempt at illustrating the difference between playing the devil's advocate, and playing the devil:

Mary: I am going to try to initiate a relationship with Sarah. I think I'll invite her to meet me for coffee next week.
Lou (the devil's advocate): Sarah is very shy and introverted. She probably won't answer her phone if you call her.
Mary: You're right. Okay, Sarah will be at church Sunday morning. I'll wait and ask her then, in person.
Lou: What will you do if she says "No"?
Mary:  Hmmm, I guess I'll just keep trying. Then she'll see that I really do want to get to know her better. Maybe she'll eventually give in and say "Yes"!
Lou:  Sarah doesn't like coffee, by the way.
Mary:  Well, maybe we could meet somewhere for lunch then.
Lou:  What if Sarah can't afford to eat out?
Mary:  Good question. I'll offer to treat.
Lou:  Or, you could invite her to come over to your house for lunch one Sunday after church.
Mary:  Do you think she'd find that intimidating?
Lou:  Probably. How could you make an invitation to lunch something that she wouldn't be intimidated by?

You get the idea. The point of the devil's advocate is to help Mary develop a plan, to anticipate problems, and to look for ways to address those problems. The point is: getting to know Sarah might not be as easy as planning a coffee date for next week, so Mary needs to be prepared to persevere!

Now, Scenario 2:

Mary:  I am going to try to initiate a relationship with Sarah. I think I'll invite her to meet me for coffee next week.
Lou (the devil):  Sarah is weird. She never talks to anyone at church. She acts like she thinks she's better than everyone else. If you try to call her, she probably won't even answer her phone.
Mary:  Then I'll talk to her at church next Sunday, in person.
Lou:  Humph! Well, don't be surprised if she hasn't got time for you. I think you're nuts, wasting your efforts on that stuck-up recluse.
Mary:  Then I'll just have to work harder to show her that I really do want to get to know her better. Maybe I could treat her to lunch.
Lou:  You've never taken ME out to lunch. Harumph!
Mary:  Lou, we're eating lunch together right now! (sigh)
Lou:  Yeah, but we're just at your house, eating grilled cheese. I don't even like American cheese. Blech!

Can you just feel Mary's enthusiasm draining away?!

Sometimes at my house, negative and unhelpful comments start rolling off our tongues. It truly feels like there is an evil spirit hovering in the air. "That's stupid." "He's so messed up." "We're having soup for supper? Ugh." "You're wasting your time." Wicked, careless barbs - not intended to help or instruct, serving only to pollute the air and quench joy.

You want to play the devil's advocate? Let's sit down and talk.

You want to play the devil? Let me show you to the door.

RUSH HOUR

"Estimated driving time:  56 minutes under current conditions."

That sentence at the top of my MapQuest driving directions totally cracked me up.The only town we would be driving through on this particular trip deeper into the boonies was Kenton. Kenton is sort of like my hometown of Troy - a one-horse town with one blinking red light and more grain bins than places to shop.

As I turned off Polk Station Road onto Highway 45 - you know, down there in the river bottoms, half way between nowhere and nowhere else - I wondered aloud how variable the driving conditions in the tiny town of Kenton, TN, could possibly be. "Think we might get caught in rush-hour traffic?" I laughed to my passengers.

This lonely ribbon of Highway 45 is a notorious speed trap. No wonder - it's just miles and miles of cotton fields and bean fields and river bottoms and more cotton fields, as far as the eye can see, with just about zero traffic. I think we passed two vehicles headed north before we reached Kenton.

This particular evening, I kept my eye on the speedometer as I drove south, joking that I sure hoped we wouldn't get caught in any traffic back-ups.

Then we reached the Kenton city limits.

Right behind two monster combines.

And a long snake of cars and trucks toodling along at an exhilarating 12 miles per hour.

There wasn't going to be any passing on that stretch of asphalt. The enormous heads of the combines reached from the white line on the right side of the road all the way over to the white line on the left.

Beats me how on-coming vehicles dealt with the traffic situation. All I know is: I was caught in rush-hour traffic in Kenton.

Looked like it was going to be a long commute!

ORDINARY

When the temperature drops outside, the mama bear in me comes out: I want to eat everything in sight, then curl up and sleep all day.

When I am conscious - as opposed to wandering around in a frigid state of semi-hibernation - my more rational side says that I should eat less, exercise more.

Yes, I'd like to lose some of the insulation around my middle. But, if my bank of blubber is to be whittled away, I'm going to have to practice consistent moderation, "habitual temperance" (a phrase I learned last Wednesday night at church).

Instead, I want to find the latest miracle diet pill, blame my genetics, and complain about limited access to the gym. Maybe if I tried that herbal supplement my friend recommended...or if I played motivational CD's at night while I'm sleeping...or if I won a free holiday at The Biggest Loser health spa.

Losing weight is not rocket science: eat less and move more. That sounds so simple, so ordinary, doesn't it? Funny how sometimes it's the simplest things that are the hardest to do. We just want a plan that sounds more sensational, more exciting. Wouldn't we get better results if we wrapped ourselves in cellophane and stood outside on a moonless night waving lit sparklers?!

This reminds me of Naaman, the Syrian army commander mentioned in 2 Kings 5. Naaman was a leper. He wanted very much to be cured of his leprosy. A maidservant of Naaman's wife told her mistress about the prophet Elisha, confident that Elisha could indeed cure Naaman.

But when Naaman was instructed by Elisha to go bathe in the Jordan River seven times, he was furious. Insulted. Stormed off in a rage. Had he traveled all this way with his servants and with loads of treasure to be told to do something as ridiculous as bathe in a dirty brown river? Were there not better rivers back in Naaman's homeland? Naaman wanted a sensational cure. He wanted Elisha to wave his hands and say a magic chant. Naaman wanted a bona fide miracle!

Naaman was only healed when he relinquished his desire for an exciting remedy and submitted instead to the very ordinary means Elisha prescribed for his healing. Naaman had to humble himself. In essence, he had to confess: "Not my will, but Thy will be done."

At the NW Tennessee Reformation Conference in Dyersburg a couple of weeks ago, David Strain spoke on the topic of revival. True spiritual revival is solely the work of the Spirit of God, and it is always accomplished on His terms. And God's way of accomplishing revival...well, it just doesn't seem very exciting.

We long for the abundant outpouring of God's Spirit on his people, but we want God to accomplish revival our way, on our terms. We want to have to do something exciting, sensational, extraordinary. Call in a famous evangelist. Revamp our worship music. Work ourselves into an emotional frenzy, like the prophets of Baal atop Mt. Carmel. We reprogram our entire corporate worship to be all about excitement and fun and Zing! Sadly, as Mr. Strain commented, this type of "revival" produces no real revival at all. Our methods produce no true conversions, and over time lead only to a church body that is starved and anemic.

God, on the other hand, calls us to do something very simple if we truly desire revival. God tells us to pray. From the Old Testament kingdom of Israel, to Pentecost, to the Great Awakening, to Charles Haddon Spurgeon's ministry at the Metropolitan Tabernacle in London, the great mark of preparation for revival has always been persistent, urgent prayer for God's Spirit to bless. Why? Because prayer expresses our complete dependence upon the only One who can affect true revival.

As Mr. Strain stated, "When God intends great mercies for his people, the first thing he does is set them a-praying."

God ordains very ordinary means to accomplish the very extraordinary work of true, spiritual revival: prayer, the faithful preaching of the Word, the faithful administration of the sacraments.

But that's so simple, we protest. So boring! Wouldn't something more exciting be more effective? Like bringing in pro-wrestlers? Or hiring someone to parachute into the church parking lot?

Like Naaman when told to bathe in the Jordan, we are offended by the simplicity of God's commands to pray and to preach. We do not want to have to admit our utter dependence on God by submitting to his ordained means of kindling revival. Lord, we believe - help our unbelief!

Do you indeed desire revival in your own heart? In your local church? In your county? In our nation? Then hang up the phone - you do not need to book a gig with Bikers for Jesus. No, you must do something very ordinary instead.

Get on your knees and pray.

All these with one accord were devoting themselves to prayer... - Acts 1:14a

HOLIDAY SHOPPING

When I was shopping at Wal-Mart last Thursday, I reached the front of the store with my cart full of groceries to find only four registers open and about a bajillion customers waiting to check out. I looked for the shortest line and queued up. When only one customer remained between me and my goal of checking out, I noticed that the cashier's light was off, indicating that she was trying to close down her register. Silly me! I backed out of that check-out line and started the waiting game over in a different line.

Another customer, undoubtedly frustrated by the long lines, commented to me, "Well, you'd think she'd at least finish checking out the customers already in her line!"

Which leads to today's post -

I used to work as a cashier at a mega-discount store, and I learned a few things every customer needs to know, especially during the busy holiday season:

That cashier who was trying to shut down her register last Thursday? If she would "at least finish checking out the customers already in her line," she would never leave her register. Never, ever, ever. Got that? As long as she stands there and scans groceries, someone else will be queuing up way down the line of customers. The line doesn't end, people, when you pay your bill and walk out of the store: there will always be another somebody behind you. Got that?

Registers at our local Wal-Mart - and I suspect at most larger chains - are connected to a main computer system that automatically locks the register if a cashier has been working a certain length of time without a break. Why? Because cashiers do feel pressured to take just one more customer - indefinitely - until they've worked way over their scheduled number of hours. Or until they've been standing in the same spot for four and a half hours without a bathroom break. As a cashier, if my register locks up and shuts down, I don't care how much you want me to check you out or if you've only got two items:  there's nothing I can do to help you, even if I stand there and press buttons until I'm blue in the face.

The scene I encountered Thursday afternoon is nothing unusual. Admit it: we have all asked the question, "If they have twenty-three registers, why are only two of them open?" The person checking out your groceries serves an endless stream of customers, most of whom are at least mildly frustrated by the time they reach her because they've been standing in line for 15+ minutes and they're in a hurry.

However, that cashier has zero influence over how many registers are kept open. She has absolutely no control over how long you're going to have to wait in line to check out. She does not choose when she will take a break or close her register. But, when customers reach that cashier, they invariably complain to her that more registers need to be opened, that the lines are too long, that service isn't fast enough, blah, blah, blah. Can you just imagine how edifying it is to stand at a register for five or six or eight hours and listen to this same negative litany over and over and over? You think your cashier is less cheerful than she ought to be? Have you ever thought that maybe there's a reason? (An aside here: if you want to express your frustration over the long lines and a shortage of cashiers, call the store's management department to voice your opinion, instead of griping to the cashier.)

One more note: the cashier checking out your groceries is a human being, created in the image of God. Don't forget that. Instead of standing in line thinking about how irritated you are because you're tired and things are moving so slowly, try to get outside of your own little head and see the situation from a different perspective. Try to imagine what it's like standing on the other side of the register.

In closing, when you go grocery shopping this week, or when you run by Wally World on the way home from work to pick up deodorant and cat litter, or when you finally tackle your Christmas gift list - treat your cashier with courtesy, even if you think you've been standing in line too long. Put away your cell phone. Make eye contact and say "Hello." Try to make pleasant, upbeat small talk. Ask your cashier how her day is going. When she hands you your receipt, tell her "thank you" or that you hope the rest of her shift goes well.

In short, treat your cashier the way you would like to be treated yourself.

You'll both be glad you did!

THANKFUL TREE

My family has a long-standing tradition called the Thankful Tree. November 1st, we make a construction paper tree trunk that we tape to the kitchen wall, and we cut out a bazillion brightly-colored construction paper leaves. Each day, we write on the leaves things for which we are thankful, and then we attach the leaves to the tree. Here is what this year's Thankful Tree looks like, on Day 8 of November.

By the end of the month, the tree will be completely covered with "thankful leaves." There will even be leaves all over the adjacent door and wrapping around the corner into the living area.

A couple of things about this tree: the overwhelming majority of the leaves have written on them the names of people we love. I find it interesting that when we pause to think, "Hmmm, what am I thankful for today?" - what most often comes to mind are the people we have been blessed to know.

Yes, there are some pretty silly things written on leaves, too:  "indoor plumbing," "my washer and dryer," "fire." If Tom were home, there would definitely be a "pizza" leaf, and probably another that said "explosions" or "toilets." It is a good thing to pause and say "thank you" for even the relatively small blessings that we enjoy and often take for granted! At the end of each day, I love looking over the tree to see what new "thankful leaves" members of the family have added.

We have some pretty amazing fall color out on the farm this year, too.

the lane to the back of the farm

I especially love the graceful limbs of the sassafras trees behind the house:

This morning, I am thankful for sunshine. I already have two loads of sheets out on the clothesline - they are going to smell and feel so amazing on freshly-made beds tonight!

I am thankful for the Women's Ministry Team at Grace. It is such a privilege and a blessing to work with Laura and Kerri, two extraordinary young women who encourage and challenge me in my own faith walk.

I am thankful I didn't suffer any serious harm when I took an impressive prat fall down the back steps this morning. (Judith Stormbrook would've been proud of my form - woo-eee!) Thankfully, I bounced down the slippery steps on some rather, ahem, substantial padding.

Thankful for beautiful weather, good health, gorgeous trees, and the wonderful people I am blessed to know.

What about you? What are you thankful for today?

SUCH GOOD GIFTS

Okay, today's post is unabashed Mom soppiness...

This morning as two of my college men were shouldering enormous backpacks, getting ready to head out the door and hit the highway to Martin, they laughed and chatted with their dad and me. These two young men are so very dissimilar. One tallish and bean-pole thin, the other shortish and barrel chested. One, a little quieter and more introspective, the other a bit bullish and quick to express an opinion. They were laughing and talking about a message from their brother and about their upcoming drive. During their commute this week, they've been listening to a series of CD's by Sinclair Ferguson on the topic of biblical manhood.

Anyway, amidst the rush of getting books and coffee for the road and the laughter and banter and scuff of boots, I was very aware of just how much I enjoy these two young men. How much delight they give me. How very grateful I am for both of them, with all their differences.

I have seven children. Yes, they have some traits in common, yet each is very, very different from all the others. Hard to believe that with seven, we don't have any "repeats" - no Xerox copies. And every single one of the seven (now eight! now nine! ...) is such a tremendous blessing and joy to their mother. The two who headed out the door laughing and talking this morning, and the cool dude who says "I love you" by trash talking. The old soul whose eyes flash with an other-worldly fire. The fairy bird, her heart pumping beauty through her veins like blood. The shield maiden/warrior princess. The snugga-bunny. The sure and steady. The brand new eyes with which to see.

Such different souls. Each one wonderful and beautiful and a gift from God.

There was a day not too long ago when, contemplating my great herd of children, about all that I could think was, "I can't wait until bedtime!" They were so small and so needy, and I was so very tired and inadequate.

Today, thinking about these remarkable people, I think "Wow!" I am amazed at God's goodness to me, to give me such gifts, such treasures. I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Thank You, Father, for these children. Thank you, Steve, for parenting them with me. Thank you, E and D and G, R and N and T, B and M and H, and you other sweet "children," too - you know who you are! - for being you.

Yes, I am blessed.

OUR HOME/SCHOOL AWAY FROM HOME

Six of my seven children have attended or are attending the University of Tennessee at Martin. Our family feels truly blessed to have this excellent university practically in our back yard.

Over the years, several UTM faculty have become a type of extended family for us Kendalls - these are not just talented professors, but caring individuals who have invested in my children beyond the classroom. These men and women have shared their expertise in their particular fields, and they have also generously shared their time, counsel, and friendship. Teachers like John Glass, Chris Hill, Steve Elliott, John Bush, Phillip Davis, Chris and Merry Brown, Charles and Kyoko Hammand, Jason Stout, Diane Shaw, Elaine Harriss...extraordinary people who have fueled my kids' hunger to learn and who have challenged them to see further, think more deeply, and reach higher. To all of these teachers:  Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Most of my kids began their UTMartin experience by enrolling in dual-enrollment classes as high school juniors or seniors. In the November/December issue of The Old Schoolhouse® Magazine (www.TOSMagazine.com), you can read more about how my family has benefited and learned from dual-enrollment classes at UTMartin over the years.

You can link to the article "Dual-Enrollment: Hello, Higher Education!" here. Or, you can read the entire magazine on your mobile device (Kindle, Android, Apple and Nook HD) by downloading the free apps at www.TOSApps.com.







I want to say a big "Thank you!" to Dr. John Glass, Casey Scarborough and Carrie Arant for their help in producing this article. My hope is that our efforts will encourage other homeschoolers in our area to take advantage of the wonderful opportunities - both academic and relational - that are available at our local university.

Also, a MONDO "Thank you!" goes out to my awesome kids, for sharing your educational journeys with me, both at home and beyond. It's been a pleasure!

GLIMPSES OF THE CREATOR

At this moment, there are five guitars and a banjo dominating one end of the living room. Scrolls of artwork lining the bookshelves. Piano music stacked around the piano. Colored paper and markers on the kitchen table.

Reuben is working on a series of paintings themed, "What's In Your Cupboard?" If you are in Martin, TN, and have an opportunity to run by The Looking Glass on Lindell Street, you might want to check out Reuben's prints from The Enchantress's Cabinet series - awesome.

Half-bottle of Infant Leviathans

I am SO THANKFUL for the talented, "messy," beautiful children who have so enriched my life! A conversation this weekend reminded me of this post from a few years ago...

IT'S NOT A MESSY HOUSE - IT'S AN ART STUDIO
-originally posted February 8, 2010

I am a closet "cleanie", but you would never guess that by looking around my house right now. In the years B.C. (before children), I actually polished the fixtures in my bathroom regularly...no messy water spots there, just shine, shine, shine! My closets were neat and organized. I liked to make even strokes in the carpet with the vacuum cleaner, tiptoeing backward out of a freshly cleaned room so that it's pristine state lasted as long as possible. Okay, I know this all sounds very weird. Still, in my secret heart of hearts, I genuinely do prefer order and cleanliness.

But now on any given day, you can walk into my house and find...carving tools and wood shavings scattered on the kitchen table. An ongoing paper mache project taking up most of one end of the living room floor. Knitting needles and balls of yarn piled on the couch or the coffee table. Bowls of cloudy water and messy paint trays cluttering the computer room, a blanket of watercolor paintings spread across the bed beneath the window. Scraps of wax and homemade pots piled on the hearth, ready for the next session of candle making. Random pieces of clothing, "costumes" for an upcoming play production. Sometimes, all this MESS threatens to drive me crazy! What happened to my house?!

Well, what happened was...my house turned into an art studio. Creativity is messy business. And it's a drawn out, ongoing process. It is squelched when someone is always coming around straightening up or packing away the tools necessary for working on a new masterpiece. I am not an artist and I don't quite understand why creativity requires so much mess - but I do know that Thomas is more likely to play the banjo if it stays out of its case. That paint boxes stored neatly away in the closet get used much less than paint boxes out on the table. That fabric scraps scattered over the couch this week means all the Barbies will have new outfits next week. That a seemingly infinite clutter of papers covered with ink scrawls and doodles will magically transform into poetry that breaks my heart.

Maybe someday I'll have a clean house again. Funny thing is, I think that by then I'll miss the mess more than I ever missed the order. I've learned the mess brings with it rich, rich compensation...a spontaneous bluegrass jam session, a short verse that speaks powerful benediction to the calling of motherhood, a vision of trees dancing across a page...worth infinitely more than vacuum cleaner brushstrokes on carpet.

P.S. - Looking over this again before posting, it occurred to me that life in many ways is really an "art studio" of sorts. God is creating something exquisite - people who reflect His beauty and holiness, people who truly delight in and joyfully proclaim the Artist's glory. It's a messy process. Life is an art studio...and it is very messy. If we could put away all the yuck, if we could keep the paint boxes in the closet and the carving tools in the case, life might look neater, feel more comfortable, appear saner. But we'd be left with vacuum-cleaner strokes in the carpet, instead of the glorious, radiant saints God is creating. I am so thankful God isn't an obsessive housewife who shrinks from messiness - grateful for the vision of Glory He gives us in the midst of this wild and wonderful creative process!

BONFIRE!

We're getting ready today for a bonfire later this weekend.

For me, that means lots and lots of cooking. I'll wipe down the bathrooms, and maybe I'll clean my floors...if I can find them.

For others in the family, it means hauling tables and chairs over from the church and clearing the yard of miscellaneous debris that folks could trip over in the dark.

What is the difference between a campfire and a bonfire?

Well, a campfire is a small fire built out of doors (as opposed to inside, in the fireplace). It quickly burns down into a nice bed of coals so that you can cook your dinner over the fire. Folks can pull up a seat, prop their feet on the fire ring, and toast their chilly toes around a campfire.

A bonfire, on the other hand, is a conflagration used to signal astronauts on the International Space Station. At least that's what a bonfire is at our house. You are not going to roast any weenies over a bonfire, because you'd need a 20-foot roasting stick just to keep from singeing your eyebrows off. You can, however, toast your toes. In fact, you can toast your entire body:  stand at a safe distance and rotate slowly, kinda like a human rotisserie.

Is it because we have so many boys that our annual bonfire is such a huge inferno? My boys have always loved fire. On camping trips, they relished the challenge of keeping the campfire going for an entire weekend, bedding it down each night to be resurrected in time to cook breakfast the next morning. Could the first fire of the weekend be started with only one match? Oooooh, could the first fire of the weekend be started from the cold sooty remains left by previous campers?! Double bonus points!! And they don't cheat - forget using any kind of starter fuel.

Yes, these annual bonfires kinda scare me. I'm not the adventurous, risk-taking type, remember? Thankfully, I have a manly husband to complement my mother-hen personality. (This is why children need both a mother and a father, folks. They need a mom to say, "Be careful!" - and a dad to say, "Let's set this baby off!") Thanks to Dad, my sons know how to build and safely manage a bonfire, how to use a chainsaw, how to replace roof shingles, how to handle a firearm. They would have never learned any of those things from me.

Perfect weather this weekend for a bonfire:  chilly, clear skies, low winds, and we've just had a good heavy rain to soak the surrounding field. Hot dogs and baked beans, cider and hot cocoa, a little banjo pickin' and singing with friends and neighbors. Yep, time for a bonfire!