FISH TALE

As a young girl, I spent every possible weekend at my Granddaddy and Grandmother Stricklin's farm. I'd walk or ride my bike the mile and a half to Mer and Pap's house Friday afternoon after school, and stay until Mom and Dad took me back home after church on Sunday.

I can't remember anything I enjoyed more as a child than fishing with Pap. Saturday afternoons, Pap would take a quick nap in his recliner while I sat on the floor at his feet and completed the tedious assignment of turning every single page in a ginormous Bible dictionary. Flip. Flip. Flip. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time. Crawled. Past. Sometimes, I thought I'd NEVER reach the back cover of that book. Finally, Smack!, I'd slap the book shut and return it to the shelf. "I'm done! Let's go fishing!"

Just down the hill from their white frame house was a small pond stocked with bass and bream. Grabbing cane poles and a bucket of worms, Pap and I headed down the road and through the gap to the pond. My favorite spot to fish was under a willow tree that hung out over the edge of the pond. Confident that record-breaking fish lurked in the dark shadows beneath the tree, I passed countless Saturdays sprawled on the bank beside Pap, listening to the hum of dragonflies and the gurgle of red-wing blackbirds. Sweet, sweet memories.

One summer, my family traveled to North Carolina for vacation. I don't remember much about that trip except The Fish. While in North Carolina, Dad took us to a trout farm - one of those places where you watch fat trout swimming lazily around stocked ponds, hoping they'll nibble at your golden kernel of corn. We had several kids in tow, so my siblings and I took turns fishing with the few poles available.

Pole-less, I plopped belly down on a broad, sun-warmed boulder that curved out into the pond and waited my turn to fish. I dangled my arms in the cool water, kicking my bare feet in the air behind me. Suddenly, the biggest fish I'd ever seen swam up just below the surface of the water, nibbling at stray pieces of corn that drifted in the shallow ripples along the edge of the pond. My heart skipped a beat. Would it be possible....? I froze. Sure enough, that monster fish swam right up between my outstretched hands. Giving a whoop, I clamped down and then flung him over my head!

I jumped up, screaming and flailing my arms. Mom and Dad came running, afraid I'd somehow injured myself. "I caught a fish! I caught a fish! I caught it with my bare hands!"

Dad took a picture of me holding the prize fish before we cleaned it for supper that night. I wanted documentation. I couldn't wait to tell Pap my Fish Story! He was going to have a hard time believing this one!

Before we returned home from North Carolina, however, Pap went to the hospital in Union City to have some tests run. He'd been having a lot of pain in his lower back and the doctor wanted to find out what was the problem. Turned out he had pancreatic cancer. Pap never came back home, and I never saw him again. Riding from the church to the cemetery the day of Pap's funeral, I looked out the car window and prayed, "Lord, please don't tell Pap my fish story. Please, wait and let me tell him when I get there."

It's been many, many years since my Pap died, and I wonder sometimes if he knows yet, knows my fish story. And, by the time I get there, my silly fish tale may not seem very significant in the glory of heaven. But maybe, just maybe, there will be fish stories, even in heaven.

A QUIET PLACE ON THE BATTLEFIELD

In a recent post - STAND - I wrote about the battlefield of life and relationships. God fights. We stand. But if I'm honest, sometimes just standing is more than I can do.

The battle around me has at times been a bloody gore-fest. The battle in my mind, even more gruesome. For a person who can't stomach a PG-13 action movie, where I know the carnage on the screen is fiction, real life threatens to absolutely overwhelm me. And if the intensity of the struggle on the field around me lets up for a moment, the battle in my mind escalates, grows into an exhausting cranial shout-down match between the old man and the new. Even as I read the command to stand, I feel my knees buckle.

This is where I find myself this morning, pleading for internal quiet, for rest, for peace. And this is what I read this morning: Come, behold the works of the LORD, how he has brought desolations on the earth. He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire. "Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!" The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah. -Psalm 46:8-11

I heard a pastor once explain that the expression be still could be better translated - Sit down and shut up! It carries with it a forcefulness that cannot be ignored. It leaves no pause for contemplation or discussion. Being still is not a passive act, but a deliberate, forceful act of obedience to an emphatic command from a powerful Lord.

Today, I am too weak to stand. But God is gracious. He addresses the warring forces within me. He orders them both: "Sit down and shut up." And to me, He says, "Be still...be still and know that I am God."

TITUS 2-S DAY - SPRING CLEANING

We are beginning to wind down schoolwork at our house. Three students have completed all their math for the year; one will check off science and grammar in another week. With the lighter school load, I can finally shift into spring cleaning gear.

Yesterday, with the help of a couple of fabulous teenagers, I began working on the kitchen. The refrigerator is sparkling now, and the floor beneath it has been swept and scrubbed. Plastic storage containers have been sorted and purged ...where do those odd lids and bowls disappear to? We've emptied and washed several of the lower cabinets and will hopefully finish cleaning cabinets and drawers today.

The yuckiest part of cleaning the kitchen each spring is definitely washing the tops of the upper cabinets. I don't clean up there every week or even every month. Out of sight, out of mind, right? That's a job we tackle only a couple of times a year. Over the winter months, a thin film of grease builds up and traps dust into a grimey sludge that is almost impossible to remove. Last year, I discovered a secret that makes this odious job a snap....

Skip the general-purpose household cleaners. Instead, mix up a solution of hot water and a small amount of laundry detergent such as Tide. (We use the powdered kind. I've never tried this with liquid laundry detergent, but would be interested in hearing from someone if that also works.) For a gallon bucket of water, we use a heaping tablespoon of detergent. This solution cuts through the greasy, sticky goo like magic. Wash, wipe with a clean damp cloth, and dry...what used to take half of one day is now the quickest part of spring cleaning in the kitchen.

There's lots more to do after the kitchen - I'd love to read your cleaning tips, Dear Readers!

FLAVORED CUSTARD

My sister's recent comment "Did Claytus spike your custard again?" brought back a favorite funny memory from my childhood.

My very proper, genteel Granddaddy married the electric and unorthodox Claytus after his retirement from the ministry. Their first Thanksgiving together as a married couple, Granddaddy and Claytus invited my mom and dad and us kids to join them and a few other guests for the traditional holiday feast.

The grownups gathered around the long, highly-polished table in the dining room. China, silver, crystal, linen napkins - everything sparkled and glistened. We kids sat at the kitchen table, decorated just for us with orange and red placemats and a funny pinecone turkey centerpiece.

Claytus's philosophy of food was: if it's not rich enough to potentially cause a heart attack, it's not worth eating. Potates smothered in sour cream, sweetened cream cheese squeezed between layers of sugary jello, rolls glistening with butter...every dish crowded on the table that day oozed fat and calories. She had outdone herself to impress her new family.

For dessert, Claytus offered pumpkin and pecan pies, fruit cake, and the traditional boiled custard. Following dinner, she served everyone their dessert of choice and supplied each of us with a small glass of custard. Buzzing about the kitchen, Claytus pulled a small flask of whiskey from the cupboard.

She paused at our table, spoon in hand, flask poised. "Does anybody want flavoring in their custard?" Recognizing the "flavoring" as whiskey, we kids declined the offer. At our house, whiskey was medicine for sore throats and sinus congestion and sick calves - we knew it tasted nasty and none of us wanted an unnecessary dose.

As we youngsters eavesdropped from the kitchen, Claytus repeated her offer to the adults. My tee-totalling Granddaddy choked on a bite of fruitcake and began coughing violently. He struggled to regain composure. "Claytus! I don't think offering your 'flavoring' to our guests is appropriate!"

Claytus didn't miss a beat. "Charles, I've already offered flavoring to all the children. It would be rude not to offer some to the adults as well."

Granddaddy again erupted into coughing, while everyone else seated at the table struggled to suppress laughter. Poor Granddaddy! He had a lot to learn about his new wife!

Over their years together, Granddaddy did learn a lot, both about and from his new wife. Claytus added a generous dose of spice, danger, and adventure to his rather quiet, retiring way of life. She encouraged Granddaddy to learn to play billiards, although he always emphasized that it wasn't the same as playing pool, like the local ruffians did at disreputable establishments. No, billiards was a gentleman's game. She joined him on road trips to explore new and interesting destinations. She convinced him to become active in a social club for seniors, where he eventually dared to participate in a womanless beauty review, winning the title of First Maid.

When Claytus died, Granddaddy kind of slowly withered up and faded away. All the ooomph disappeared out of him. She had brought enough life and energy into their marriage for the both of them - and she took with her his will to press on in this world when she left. But she left the rest of us a treasure chest full of memories, family stories that bring smiles and laughter with every re-telling.

SMELLS LIKE....

Our sense of smell has such powerful influence over us. The faintest scent can suddenly transport us to another place and time.

My Grandmother Stricklin kept a small pink perfume decanter on the dresser in her guest bedroom. I don't remember there ever being any perfume in the pretty glass bottle, but when I dusted my Grandmother's furniture every Saturday, I always paused to lift the stopper and sniff the hint of fragrance that lingered inside. That bottle had once contained an entire rose garden.

Many years after my Grandmother had died and all her things had been distributed among relatives, I received a tiny clear vial in the mail. My sister was working then for a cosmetics company, and the glass tube contained a single drop of perfume, a store sample for interested customers. I opened the tube and sniffed. My heart skipped a beat. I closed my eyes and breathed as deeply from that tiny tube as I possibly could. Instantly, I was back at my Grandmother's, standing in the guest bedroom, the one with the blue satin comforter, holding a pale pink decanter in my hand as I paused from my dusting. Inhaling the sweet, faint scent of roses, I could almost hear my Grandmother calling from the other room.

A very different smell from my childhood....bologna. My parents housed an assortment of lost souls over the years, and one of them was a young man named Johnny. While he was living with us, Johnny worked at the local meat packing plant. His job was slinging bologna. All day long, he took long, heavy socks of bologna and hung them on hooks mounted to a conveyor overhead. Every evening, Johnny came home exhausted from a long day of lifting bologna and collapsed into the rocking chair at one end of Mom's kitchen. I would climb into Johnny's lap, and he would rock me and chat with Mom while she cooked dinner. He smelled exactly like a giant sock of spicy bologna. Forty-something years later, the smell of bologna reminds me of the comfort of a warm embrace, a creaking rocker, and Mom busy in the kitchen.

Last week, I wrangled use of the car and made a trip to Jackson. Morning chores checked off, I climbed into the car and hit the road. Ummmm, this car sure smells good, I thought as I pulled out onto the highway, kind of like molasses. A couple of miles later it hit me. Sweet feed! I had picked up sweet feed for the horses at the Co-op the day before, then forgotten to tell the boys to unload it from the trunk. I turned the car around and headed back to the house to empty my cargo.

Back on the road, I drove through the Obion River bottoms. Farmers were making the most of the sunshine. Tractors as big as mountains pulled disks as wide as valleys, turning up acre after acre of rich dark soil. Windows down, I inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of freshly-turned earth. It smelled like spring. It smelled like home.

What about you, Dear Reader? Any favorite "smell" memories?

STAND

Christian warfare. The whole armor of God. What images do these expressions bring to your mind?

Used to, when I heard references to "putting on the armor of God," I envisioned a rugged, muscular Roman soldier, arming himself before charging into battle against an enemy doomed to crumble before the ranks of Rome's mighty legions. Or William Wallace, painted blue and shrieking like a banshee as he ran toward the conflict - F-R-E-E-D-O-M!

Then something in the Ephesians 6:10-20 passage jumped out at me. Stand. Four times in this passage, we are told to stand. And then, finally, we are told to pray, to keep alert and pray.

Well, an armed soldier standing (and praying) presents an entirely different image from that of an armed soldier charging (and perhaps screaming!) So this passage is NOT telling us to charge the enemy? To storm the gates of hell? To throw everything we have into pursuing and destroying the forces of evil? No, Ephesians is telling us to stand. Brings to mind the situation in Exodus 14, where Israel is fleeing the pursuing Egytians.

Moses said to the people, "Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the LORD, which he will work for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The LORD will fight for you, and you have only to be silent." - Exodus 14:13-14

Who's on the offensive in that passage? The enemies of the children of God. And who does the fighting, who defends? God himself. So what are God's children supposed to do during this melee? They are commanded to stand.

Another thing that struck me recently about the Ephesians passage is that the battle is not "out there" - you know, out there where Satan has his strongholds. Rather, the battle is "in here" - the battle is for my mind and my heart. It is a battle of schemes and authorities. My armor is constructed of things like truth and righteousness, peace and faith, Scripture and prayer.

It's almost as if God, fighting the battle for us, realizes that a lot of mess and a lot of dangerous debris are going to be flying around. He tells us to stand, to watch Him fight for us - and He arms us to protect us from the shrapnel of battle. There is a battle, a very real battle, and we are in the middle of the battlefield, a very dangerous place. But we are not allowed to flee. Instead, we are commanded to put on armor, stand, and watch the Lord's salvation.

One more thing about this battle. Have you ever noticed where this passage about the armor of God is placed in Scripture? It comes right after a series of exhortations on how we are to glorify God in our most intimate relationships - brothers and sisters in Christ, husbands and wives, children and parents, bosses and workers. Where will Satan's attacks come? The attacks will occur in our relationships at church, in our marriages, in our families, in relationships with people we work beside every day.

That's where life gets messiest, though, isn't it? At home, in our marriages and families. At church with other Christians. At work. That's where we are most tempted, when things get splattered with the blood and gore of battle, to run to another spouse or lover, another church, another job, anywhere that these crazy kids are not! And that, dear sisters and brothers, is exactly where we are called - commanded - to stand.

TITUS 2-SDAY - BEST TOYS FOR CHILDREN

Okay, I admit it. I like making lists. So, time for another! With the help of my staff of professional advisors, here is my list of....

BEST TOYS FOR CHILDREN

1. Blocks. Legos are good, because they snap together and allow for building more structurally-sound creations. My favorites, though, are the plain wooden blocks that come in a variety of shapes and sizes. Blocks are fun for babies and toddlers, and also for teenagers and their parents. Ageless. Timeless.

2. Dress Up. Go for the classics - capes, shawls, hats, vests, scarves, Grandma's cast-off high heels, cheap costume jewelry, etc. Thrift stores and Goodwill are great places to shop if you're stocking a dress-up box. With a Disney "Cinderella" dress, a kid can only be one thing - a Disney Cinderella. With a box of scarves, she can be a princess, or a gypsy, or a ballet dancer, or a haute couture fashion designer. (One of the funny stories in our family is how little Emily used Indian pants to make "long hair" for her younger brother, then proceeded to "style" it with bows and ribbons. Amazing what you can do with a few basic items and a good imagination!)

3. Sand - or - Dirt. In a box. In the back yard. (You'll need a screen to cover the box with when it's not in use because neighborhood cats will rank this toy top on their list, too.) You don't have to spend money on manufactured sandbox toys - recycled yogurt cartons, ice cream buckets, laundry scoops, etc., work just fine.

4. Dolls. For the girls, baby dolls are best, but fashion dolls are fun, too. For the boys, the larger GI Joe dolls. You can go lay down a cool grand at American Girl Dolls/Pleasant Company and outfit Baby Me with furniture, toys, pets, and an enviable wardrobe - but DON'T DO IT. And don't waste your money on Barbie clothes - there's nothing available on store shelves for her to wear, anyway, that wasn't designed for a professional hooker. You don't have to buy GI Joe the battery-powered, high-tech, mobile command unit complete with radio-controlled vehicle, either. Instead, buy an assortment of fabric swatches, thread, needles, and trim. Even very young children enjoy creating new dresses and uniforms for their dolls. And my boys have spent countless hours sawing, hammering, drilling, sanding, and painting, building an impressive arsenal of tanks, jeeps, and artillery pieces for their GI Joe army.

5. Craft stuff. We really like Sculpey clay at our house, but Pla-dough is great for younger kids. Paint - watercolor, acryllic, fingerpaint, fabric paint, leftover exterior latex from painting the shed, black and green spray paint (great for camouflage schemes!). I would NOT recommend oil-based paints, at least not until you officially have a master artist in the house - cleanup is a monster. Crayons. Good quality colored pencils. Good quality drawing pens. Markers - fine tip, broad tip, washable, permanent, primary colors, flourescents....more is better. Glue, tape, staples, string. Boxes. Cloth, buttons, lace. PAPER. Granddaddy brings whole boxes of paper from Office Max when he comes to visit, and it's one of my kids' very favorite gifts ever.

6. Rope. Most hardware stores sell a 3/4 inch cotton rope (used for working with horses, I believe) that is absolutely fabulous for climbing because it is soft and doesn't burn your hands. We try to keep a length of rope hanging from one of the trees out back. The boys use it for climbing, to build upper-body strength; the girls will tie a board on the end of it for a temporary swing. Also, long lengths of smaller, nylon rope are fantastic. My kids have used rope to build tents, wilderness shelters, rafts, and swinging bridges. In fact, rope has frequently been a request at our house come Christmas or birthday time.

7. As Thomas puts it, JUNK. I'll admit that I'm prone to throw away anything that I don't see an immediate use for, but plain old JUNK makes a terrific "toy" and ranks at the top of the list at my house. The boys have recycled old lawnmower wheels, barn tin, and wood scraps for their GI Joe vehicles. The girls have used empty thread spools, plastic food cartons, and scraps of upholstery fabric to create furniture for their Barbie dolls. A long afternoon, a vivid imagination, a nice supply of "junk" - no telling what amazing things your kids will invent!

8. Last on today's list, but first in importance - Books. Lots of books. If I could only give my children one thing with which to entertain themselves, it would be books. But that is such a serious thing that I don't really consider it a "toy" - no, it is a necessity. Again, skip Disney books and the Junior Illustrated Classics. And the stupid books based on the latest inane kids' movies. Don't buy a picture book that isn't truly beautiful or delightfully whimsical - otherwise, what's the point? Read-a-loud books - the old fairy tales (one illustrated by Anastasia Archipowa is our favorite), A. A. Milne (the real Pooh Bear), E. B. White, Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House" books, C.S. Lewis...so many delicious stories! First "chapter books" for kids - we really liked Frog and Toad, Little Bear, Henry and Mudge, Nate the Great. I could go on for pages about books.....

In conclusion, don't purchase any toy that limits itself to one type of play. My girls received a Fairy Kingdom Playset one year as a gift. Really cute, I thought - colorful plastic flowers, which were houses for tiny little winged fairies. But that's all that it could ever be - a fairy playset. After a few weeks, it disappeared into the girls' closet and hasn't been seen since. But the plain old baby dolls, Shea and Alice? They have had tea parties, wardrobe sessions, been hiking around the farm in backpacks, performed ballets, held church services, completed math lessons for school, written stories, sung operas, planted geraniums, and shared cookies out on the porch swing. Don't choose toys based on the glam marketing of companies riding the latest fad wave. Give your children the limitless possibilities that spring from the fertile and creative imagination that is already theirs.

What's on your list of favorite toys?