Gratitude or Grabitude

I volunteered to write a little devotional for an online prayer group that I've been part of for over three years.  I would like to get back into my blogging, but it's been a little crazy, so I thought I would jump in again by sharing what I wrote for the devotional.

Thanksgiving is done.  The malls along “over the river and through the woods” were already crowded with cars and shoppers as we traveled across two state lines.  Facebook posts warned friends of places not to go as fights broke out in lines at some store.  How quickly we can shift from gratitude to grabitude. 

This Thanksgiving, the verse that stood out to me as I made my mental lists of things for which I was thankful was Habakkuk 3: 17-19. 

     Though the fig tree should not blossom,

nor fruit be on the vines, 

the produce of the olive fail 

and  fields yield no food, 

the flock be cut off the fold 

and there be no herd in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the Lord; 

I will take joy in the God of my salvation. 

God, the Lord, is my strength; 

he makes my feet like the deer's;  

he makes me tread on my high places. 

When we recognize whom we thank, we realize that we truly can give thanks in all things. 

As Henri J.M. Nouwen said,  “Gratitude ... goes beyond the "mine" and "thine" and claims the truth that all of life is a pure gift. In the past I always thought of gratitude as a spontaneous response to the awareness of gifts received, but now I realize that gratitude can also be lived as a discipline. The discipline of gratitude is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.”

On this day of frenzied shopping and commercialism run rampant, let’s stop and extend our season of gratitude, celebrating all God’s gifts to us – the ones we easily see and the ones for which we must discipline ourselves to say thanks.     

Painting - Apartment Complex Style

               During my first days here in my Georgia apartment, the weather was pleasant, especially in the early morning, so I began to take my breakfast out on the small patio and enjoy the sounds of birds and the breeze in the trees.  Soon it began to get warmer earlier in the day, so I chose my times a little more carefully and with an eye to the thermometer and humidity.  Thus when the edict came down to clear our porches because the entire exterior of the complex was going to be painted, I cheered and happily removed everything, even the begonias, coleus, and potted herbs,  Challenging as it was to get the few pieces of furniture into the already stuffed storage area, I remained resolute,  filled it to overflowing, and hauled what didn’t fit inside, including the plants. 

                The patio remained empty except for pine needles used for mulch in the yard, creepy crawlers, and the occasional wandering cat.  It continued vacant for days and then weeks.  The indoor environment proved not conducive to healthy green plant life, with the coleus and parsley first fading, then drooping and finally dying.  In the meantime, the railings on the stairs and the doors received a couple of coats of beautiful shiny black paint, though there were a few little slips over onto the cream or beige or white.  Whenever I went on the patio, I made my contribution to the beautiful end by peeling more paint pieces off the wooden  railing.

                Apparently  they were painting somewhere on the , because there was a little construction area set up and fenced off for equipment and supplies.  One early morning, well at 8:30, the sounds of hammers outside my window indicated something was happening.  The crew was checking around windows and removing any trim or other wood that had any kind of rot and replacing it.  Hopeful , I watched daily for someone to be outside painting, but then a group came through a scraped.  By now the exterior of many buildings began to look a little forlorn with bare wood showing.  Building 19 just sat there.  Finally, one day all the bare spots were painted – no they were primed white, so now all was splotchy with off white and white creating a ragged polka dot pattern.

                Buildings across the street got painted; buildings in the front began to look crisp and neat with their fresh coats of subtly contrasting hues.  Work started on building 21, then 20, and then it all appeared to stop.  Last week I saw signs of work on building 18.  Yesterday, in addition to hopping birds and green grass, the lawn sprouted a roll of blue painter’s tape (They know the right stuff here.) and two five gallon buckets.  It’s not done, but finally the multiple processes, run though in order around the complex, will culminate with my porch rail and trim painted, and it will look charming once again – just in time for cool fall mornings on the porch.

Concert and Car

                The alarm shattered a deep sleep at 5:15 on Saturday morning.  Due at the Blakely’s by 6:45 for the drive to Marietta for the Celebrate Freedom day long concert, I gathered cool clothes, sunscreen, some reading material for a break, grabbed breakfast, and headed out just in time.  Excitement levels varied.  Katie was subdued after feeling a little under the weather Friday afternoon.  Kjersten eagerly looked forward to Amy Grant and the concert experience but also had her IPOD touch and a book to read.  Beth’s main desire was to see Amy, her all time favorite artist, and check out several others performing.  Bill came graciously to provide support and spend the day with us.  I was looking forward to hearing several groups and artists that I enjoy on the radio.

                We took my car because there was more room for lawn chairs, five people, and all the other paraphernalia that goes with attending an outdoor concert.  The early drive was pleasant with little traffic.  As we turned off the Interstate onto the state roads to , “smoke” and strange sounds came from the right rear wheel well.  When the smoke dissipated, we relaxed until the heat gauge indicated the car was overheating.  Limping into a station, Bill checked the radiator reservoir finding it totally empty.  Bill added some coolant, and we headed for the concert grounds.  By the time, we arrived the air conditioning quit, but we got into the parking place just in time. 

                Admittedly, I was a mess – worried about the car, anxious about ruining the day, and wondering how we would get home in this stupid car at midnight.  However, here we were at the North Georgia Fairgrounds with the strains of the first band floating across the parking lot.  With chairs, blankets and assorted time wasters gathered, we trudged across the grass lot into the park area filled with a tent city of advertisers, promotions, and activities for the kids.  Our ears led us toward the pavilion where, thankfully, space remained for us to open our chairs and throw our blankets down on the dirt floor.  Last week, the pavilion hosted a horse show.

                The concert continued with each set separated by words from the sponsors. By the end of the day, many in attendance could speak the words of the commercials more readily than those of the featured artists, many of whom decided to introduce songs from upcoming releases rather than sing the songs for which they are known.  To me, this was disappointing, not only because I was looking forward to singing along with words I knew, but also because the volume of the band and the seeming  for the singers to scream meant that discerning  lyrics proved challenging, especially to older ears.  I’d forgotten that about live concerts. 

                As the decibels rose so did the temperature inside and outside the pavilion.  Someone mentioned it was 95° on the grounds.  The rare breeze that would occasionally filter into the pavilion provided little respite.  Pity the poor people who arrived later and were left out in the sun.  At one point one of the announcers suggested only partially in jest, that  perhaps people shouldn’t raise their hands as the heat, dust, and perspiring bodies were likely to make it quite “aromatic”.  Katie, who doesn’t deal well with heat wilted more with each set and by the time Amy came on for her set, she was pretty much in melt down – literally.

                At five o’clock, an announcer told a group in the front sitting on folding chairs that they had to remove the chairs before the evening concert.  Later he came back and told everyone that all chairs had to be removed for safety reasons, and if they were not removed, he would personally come and get them down.  Grumbling and complaining about these particular directions, we took the chairs down and Bill hauled them all out to the car.  It gave him a chance to check the car once again, only to discover that the latest sealant and radiator coolant had seeped out the back of the car again.  Between the precarious state of the car and Katie, we decided to leave after Amy Grant’s performance, skipping Jeremy Camp and Switchfoot. 

            Honestly, we were also a little frustrated that no more mention  was made of chairs although many remained and others came in with chairs which they set up in the spaces the rule followers had opened.

Having no chairs proved a non-event once Amy came on , as we were on our feet for the whole performance.  The smiles on Beth and Kjersten’s faces as they sang along with every song Amy did made the day worth it. Katie ended up piggy back on Beth, and Bill carried water to the car.  I, too, knew the words and sang along.  The more mellow sound levels and balance between singers and musicians made it the most enjoyable performance of the day, though Jamie Grace and Jars of Clay also performed wonderfully as well.  

          Leaving early was OK;  by then my ears were filled with noises whether or not a band played, and I was pretty uptight about the drive home.  We stopped and replaced the fluids, but as we were driving along a freeway, the engine shut down; we just couldn’t make it to the next station.  Bill dumped in more water, but the engine would turn over but not start.  After 25 minutes with no appreciable reduction in engine temperature, I called AAA who promised we would get priority service.  Another 25 minutes went by with no call from AAA, but with the engine temperature dropping, the car started, and we headed up the next ramp to a gas station for a safer location and added more water.  Bill decided we could make it back to their place and plotted a Quik Trip to Quik Trip itinerary.  We cancelled AAA and headed out, successfully arriving back at their place after refilling the system at least five or six times.  Numerous cars blinked lights or tooted horns as the steam poured from the tire well following each addition.

             I drove one of their cars home for the evening, and today they took me to AVIS where I rented a car while I look for alternate transportation.  This really does appear to be the handwriting on the wall.  The problem is that some metal tubing to a rear heater has rusted out.  It turns out this is a “known” problem with 2000 and 2001 Mazda MPVs;  it seems these uninsulated tubes easily corroded in the salty conditions of northern states’ roads.  Unfortunately, the expiration of the fix was 2011.  Thus with exhaust system problems and this $600 repair, it is time to say a sad farewell to my work horse car.

           Problems laced the day, but it was fun to be with family and weather the difficulties together.  All of us enjoyed some part of the concert, Bill was a trooper and such a helper, and in the end we are all fine and richer for the experience.  We were protected on the roadside, and we all slept well in our own beds.  I do think I will be selective about concert venues in the future, but every experience is worth at least a good story.  

          Praise the Lord.

Where Oh Where has my Passport Gone

                Those of you who know me well are aware that I do occasionally lose things. I have been working on this since coming to Georgia with a modicum of success.  That was all blown apart this morning when the identification items required to complete the process of becoming a sub in Gwinnett county disappeared totally.  The items needed would be my Passport, birth certificate and Social Security Card.  My Driver’s License was in my purse.

                It’s a good thing I got up early because at least an hour was consumed in a futile search.  I waited until this morning because I have a specific file in which those items have a special place.  So, even before I made my bed, I decided to get them out and put them on top of the 1 inch stack of completed paper work.  (I cannot tell you how many times I had to write my address, my phone number, my social security number,  my height and weight -that was only once-,  and date everything.)

                Pulling the drawer open,  finding the right green folder and opening it took mere seconds.  But the pocket in the back of the folder was empty.  No!!!  Wait, maybe it was another green folder, but no passport in any of them.  Maybe I was in a hurry and put it in another folder.  Panicked searching.  It was a good thing I took my blood pressure medication this morning, because it was climbing.

                Then there’s that moment when you pray, Lord, calm me down and help me think, but , the mind continues to contemplate the consequences of not finding them documents.  What if they are lost completely?  What if my identity has been stolen because I left them somewhere.  Now I can’t complete the sub process.  Should I even go?  Oh, but wait, I had to show them to get my Georgia Driver’s license so maybe that would be enough.  No way, bureaucracy doesn’t work like that .

                The clock ticked on while I looked through all my files in two cabinets, rummaged through everything on the top of the desk, searched through every bag and even checked the kitchen counter.  I had them when I got my Driver’s License so I knew they had been here.  But, I needed to get in the shower, because the search wasn’t getting me anywhere. Figuring at least the interview could get done only  completing paperwork would be left seemed to be the right option.  While in the shower, I remembered that I had opened up my Credit Union account and thought maybe they were in the folder from Delta Community Credit Union.  Excitedly,  I found that folder and looked inside.  No passport, birth certificate or social security card.  I had been certain. I could remember taking them to Delta and having copies made.

                Finally, the brain clicked into gear – I had used those documents last week, taking them to have an I-9 employment eligibility form notarized for the online job.  Mental pictures reminded me that I took everything in a plastic envelope that had to be near the top of something.  Walking into the dining area I saw it sitting on one of the chairs.  With heart pounding, I opened the envelope and there they were. Now that spells R-E-L-I-E-F  better than Rolaids.  I copied each one twice as required and also copied my Driver’s license as required, gathered everything and headed out for the interview and document review.

                Everything was in order and all was well, until I had to put my Driver’s License number on a fingerprinting/background check form.  I opened my wallet and no Driver’s License.  But remember I had colored copies of it, so that could be done.

                I am now duly fingerprinted and awaiting the letter that says I can sub in the county, providing of course the background check comes back OK.

                I drove home very carefully and found my Driver’s License on my multippurpose printer.  The passport, birth certificate and social security card are already back in the right place.  I’ll tell you, I may never travel out of the country, but that passport has proved extremely valuable here in Georgia.

My Cup Overflows

     Isn’t it amazing how God works?  This weekend, if I am honest, I was feeling a little lonesome – a tad blue.  My family was gone and I was on Ginger care duty, nothing exciting was on the agenda, I finished a depressing book, and I was tired.  That’s a formula for feeling sorry for yourself.  I officially joined the church where I’ve been attending, but the pastor preached too long and so people had to hurry to their Sunday School classes and get out of the way for the class meeting in the sanctuary, so I really didn’t get to meet anyone new.  Talk about a pity party.

     But today, I was back at school, continuing my volunteer stint in Kindergarten.  The children were glad I was there and Amy (the teacher) was glad I was there to help get ready for Open House and Curriculum night.  Several  people expressed appreciation that some of us would keep coming after our two week commitment was over.  Even the principal stopped in with thanks.  Amy invited me to stay for the Open House and I was glad to do it, because I’ve invested in those children, too, and I wanted to see their parents and loved feeling like a part of the classroom.  Amy had to take her own kids home and feed them so I stuck around and washed some tables and organized a few more things and did a little planning for working with some of the children who are struggling with letters and sounds. The Kindergarten teachers who stayed graciously invited me to join them for pizza.

     I checked my cool new Smart phone for messages and found one from the Gwinnett County Substitute Coordinator saying that I should come for an orientation, class, document gathering and fingerprinting on Wednesday.

     Then the parents came, and they had heard all about Ms. Beaver.  It was humbling to be reminded of the impact we have on children.  Amy went through her presentation and came to the volunteer section.  Then she blew me away as she introduced me and brought out a bouquet of flowers and started to cry.  Well, needless to say, I cried, too.  It brought home again how important the job of teaching is and how hard it is to do it well.  No good teacher wants to do anything less than the best they can for every child, even if there are 28 children in a class.  Amy made me feel like I had really made a difference and few things could give me more joy than feeling like I made a difference for learners and for their teacher. 

It only got better when several parents made it a point to come up to me to talk about their child and how they kept talking about Ms. Beaver.  Truly, I am honored that God through Beth and her church provided me with the opportunity to continue to yse the gift He has so graciously instilled in my heart.  It’s quite likely that this volunteer gig will give me opportunities to sub in this school if all works out on that front. 

     Indeed, I am tired, but my cup is overflowing tonight.

Church Home

     I started writing a Facebook post to a few friends this morning, and it ended up saying things I am feeling strongly right now.  I hope all of you know how important my faith is to me and how much I rely on being part of a church body where I can worship, learn, and serve.  Several of you have prayed for me to find that church.  Thank you so much for your prayers.  After attending Gwinnett Community Church for several weeks, I wanted to either commit or move on. 

     Since there are no perfect churches, I approached this decision not seeking perfection or even total  comfort, but the place where God could work with, me and I could feel right about being there.  This is definitely the south and a good evangelical church stands on every corner.  I exaggerate, but not a lot.  Being a product of my own specific faith journey means there are certain things I hope for in a church and from the people who are there.  Much of it is common sense – friendly, Biblical, loving, good teaching - but some are rather intangible and more about feeling connected. 

     Website searches found a few churches for the final check-it -out list even before I arrived.  Because we had family plans on my first Sunday here, I chose the church that had an early service, so we could do our brunch.  (That’s the same way I got to Shalom the first Sunday and never left.) That church was Gwinnett Community Church (GCC).  Friendly greetings awaited me at the door, the worship was God centered using music that blesses me and leads me to worship.  The pastor used a Bible version that just happened to match the new Bible I had purchased specifically for carrying purposes.  Before he began his message on a challenging scripture passage, the pastor quoted a saying from long ago in the church that has been part of our Women’s Bible Study covenant at Shalom: In the essentials – unity; in the non-essentials – liberty; in all things – charity.  He shared his insights into the passage at hand, and did so with grace for those who might have a different view, and yet with clarity and the challenge to consider the passage carefully.  His words provided clarity for me.

     I decided to return and to jump into a women’s event later in the week.  After two more women’s events and full participation in a summer Bible study, it seemed right  to consider whether this was the place to start establish roots or to move on.  The time to evaluate arrived, and that would involve a visit with the pastor, who had actually been gone quite a few weeks on a missions trip and a short vacation.

    GCC seemed to be the right church, at least for now, but I had a couple of little things niggling me.  Praying about those and asking the Lord to erase those concerns or make it very clear if they were significant certainly led to anticipation for what the day would hold.  In the course of the Bible study and separate from any question or prompting , the leader directly spoke to my concern about rigidity or too great a list of essentials.  More and more it feels like neither I nor even Biblical scholars have all the answers.  God is simply bigger, greater, more powerful, more knowing, than that.  He has revealed much in His Word and we can know God by knowing Jesus, but I really think that we will just never know it all, not even in heaven because He will still be that same God and we will be worshiping Him because He is GREAT! 

     I love all the traditional favorite verses in the Bible, but where I am right now puts Isaiah 55:8-9 firmly in my list and in the current top spot for favorites. It's the verse that says "For my ways and not your ways,” says the Lord, “neither are my thoughts your thoughts.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth so are my thoughts higher than your thoughts and my ways higher than your ways.”  I also love the quickness (aliveness) of the scriptures.  They really are new every morning, because we come to them as a different person, and thus they speak to us differently.  Don’t get me wrong, there are bottom line truths where I stand,  but my essentials list is pretty small compared to how I was raised.

In any case, I scheduled an appointment with the pastor for right after Tuesday Bible Study.  In addition to flexibility in the study, that morning the interaction and heartfelt  sharing  addressed another niggle that perhaps  studies were taught more than shared.  Learning that there was plenty of room for sharing here, and for differences of opinion, was a direct and hopeful sign.

     The meeting with the pastor went well.  He is a genuine person with a love for the Lord and for his congregation.  He holds them in esteem and wants to see people of all ages grow in their faith walk.  Three years ago the church was dying.  Today, with this pastor and strong leadership,  it is vibrant and growing.  I may be among the newest, but most of the people have been there less than three years.  It is a church that is finding its way and place in the community.  So, I have decided to join GCC and see what God has for me there.  I will wait for His call to serve.  I am excited for what might be in store.  In any case it will be good, because God is good, even if I don’t always “get it.”

Lamps and Lights

Apparently, I am supposed to learn something about lamps, lights, and myself.  . 

       As the apartment came together, one significant thing was missing – lamps.  Oh, the overhead lights provided light, the ambience was nonexistent.  An old office light on a TV table provided sufficient illumination for bedtime reading, but that look was not in the decorating scheme.   When the new nightstand arrived, the light looked…ridiculous.  The lamp from my old bedroom worked, but it got lost on the rather large nightstand purchased with the idea of additional storage as well as its primary function.   The living room gradually acquired sofa and chairs, entertainment center, end table and a bookcase but no light other than with the ceiling fan.  The situation became desperate.  The search for the perfect lamps was not going well.  Oh, not that beautiful lamps were unavailable, but at some point, cost does become a factor. Thoughts of using old lamps surfaced, but their size, shape, color and style just didn’t cut it.  Thus, the day came when something had to happen to bring light.  The answer, not high class, but sufficient, was Target and Costco. 

       Of course, when you buy at those establishments, the lamp comes in a box and needs to be assembled.  The torchiere style with reading lamp from Target was first.  Cautiously removing all parts from the well engineered packaging, I carefully and tightly screwed all the sections together, adding the glass pieces with great care.  After sliding the sofa away from the wall, I plugged it in and turned the switch.  Nothing.  Moving the plug to the other outlet accomplished – nothing .  One of the switches in the living room appears to have no purpose, but I thought perhaps it controlled the outlet, but trying every combination resulted in – nothing.   The next series of possible solutions involved light bulbs and testing them in other lamps in the outlets, and once again the outcome was – nothing.  Clearly the light was defective, and I was not happy.  Less than charitable thoughts led me to the conclusion that Target would get the assembled light back.  Packing all of it back in the foam and cardboard just was not going to happen, but since it was well past Target’s closing time, that would wait until the next morning.

       Desiring some kind of success in the lighting department, I decided to see how complicated the assembly of the table lamp for the bedroom would be.  Thankfully, it was just adding the harp and shade.  Even the light bulb was included.  As I set the lamp on the nightstand, plugged it in and turned the switch – light.  One out of two is still only 50, but I could read and then rest.

       Before heading out to Target the next morning, I just walked over and turned the switch on the lamp in the corner.  First the reading light came on, then with another twist the upper lamp alone, and the third click brought both to light..  My mind jumped to “a miracle”, and it was sort of one – though the lamp did not get changed.  The miracle was that I turned the switch in the right direction.  Undoubtedly, multiple lessons could be learned from this, but in the same week a different kind of lamp/light lesson hit home.

       In the Bible study I am doing here in Georgia, we are studying  Psalm 119.  Verse 105 is pretty famous, “Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”  Between a sermon reference to the passage earlier in the summer, and the deeper study we are doing, some new insights are coming.  In the past, people have pointed out that the kind of lamps, lanterns or torches a nighttime traveler in that era would have had to light a path would have been small.  Probably those lights would have shined only far enough to see the next step.  But the Psalmist says, it is also a light to the path, which seems to imply more than just one step.  This Psalm is all about God’s word, the commandments, precepts, laws, and ordinances God gave to the Israelites and the writer’s love for them.  As I reflected on this, it seemed to me that the more the Psalmist immersed himself in the Words Moses wrote and the ones he himself heard from God, the more light was shed on his path.  It was encouraging.  And perhaps I can tie this in with my own experience by noting that  the light will shine on your feet, your path or you living room, only if you actually turn it on by examining how you interact with it.

May your light shine today.

The Varsity

                The boxes of books in the closet are among the impediments to actually getting settled.  Thus, a trip to IKEA was in again in order.  Their bookcases range in price from truly cheap to those that cost quite a bit more, but look like real furniture.  One of each will have to do.  The books that don’t fit will simply disappear.  Should that happen, the day will be sad, as I like books. 

                Friday’s trip to IKEA was indeed successful, and it led to a little downtown Atlanta adventure.  The holy grail of fast food and the world’s largest drive-in is The Varsity, a “greasy spoon” diner serving the Georgia Tech campus, and apparently the rest of Atlanta, Georgia and the southeast US not to mention visitors from around the country and around the world.  When we decided the IKEA’s meatballs just aren’t as good as they used to be, I asked to go to The Varsity to see what all the hype was about.

                As we shuffled our way through downtown traffic, Beth said, “Before we go, I should tell you that they yell at you there.” I think she was a little nervous about my reaction to the rather chaotic scene that was coming.  After one wrong turn and a little more traffic dodging, Beth exclaimed, “There it is!”  All that I could see was a sizeable two level parking ramp, and said so.  With a chuckle, Beth responded, “Yeah, that’s it.”  The bottom level was full so we headed to the second level which lead us by the actual drive-in portion of the restaurant.  We had already opted for the air-conditioned dine-in option.  As we drove past the cars lined up and the car-hops delivering burgers or dogs to the cars, I noted that these were not sweet young gals or cute guys.  The car hops in their red uniforms with paper hats piled high on their heads were probably grandpas.  They stepped to their routine and really moved rapidly and efficiently.

                After parking, we entered the crowded building – full to capacity at 2:00 in the afternoon. In fact the 10-15 station ordering area was completely jam-packed.  Parties were five and six deep at every counter.  Customers must plan out their complete order before arriving at the register to order.  No changing your mind is allowed. In fact, it is indecision or slow ordering that brings on the yelling. Most of the lines move quickly, although as per usual, we picked a line where we waited and waited.  Finally, we divided and thus conquered as Beth moved to another line and actually got through before the lady ahead of us was served.  The menu was pretty basic. Most people either hot dogs or burgers, though a couple of chicken items were available.  But if you are going for an experience, why would you order chicken salad?

                The burgers were fairly small, but with really fresh ingredients; the cool limp fries wouldn’t bear comparison with your favorite fast food restaurant; but the thick, hot, crispy onion rings tasted wonderful.  Obviously, they came directly from a sufficiently hot fryer so the oil did not soak into the batter.  Delicious and worth another order to share.

                But the Varsity is less about the food and more about the experience.  The diners’ faces reflected the world.  The rainbow of color came in people’s skin, hair, and clothing.  Different languages  slipped by as patrons headed for their tables.  This variety accurately reflects the city itself.

                The Varsity is indeed a unique experience, one shared at some time by a host of the rich and famous including a number of past presidents and rulers of the world, actors, musicians, athletes, and even Elvis.  The brochure claims that on average “two miles of hot dogs, a ton of onions, 2,500 pounds of potatoes, 5,000 fried pies and 300 gallons of chili are made from scratch daily.  They opened in 1928, and of course, Coca Cola has always been the beverage of choice. 

Plantation Visit

                Yesterday marked the beginning of exploring the sights of northern Georgia.  My new home area is filled with significant history from the early days of our country through the Civil War (aka The War of Northern Aggression) to Martin Luther King to Jimmy Carter to Newt Gingrich. 

                To digress a bit, those of you who live back in Minnesota may smile, but I witnessed some of the strong feelings about the Civil War first hand when a man giving a devotional  remembrance for the Fourth of July.  He was reading a list of quotes from presidents and famous people in American history related to our country giving God His due and honoring God as a nation.  All were thought provoking and affirmed a strong sense of leaders who recognized that their success would come from a blessing of God on their efforts.  After a number of quotes, the gentleman pulled off his glasses and spoke of finding it difficult for a Confederate like him to read the next quote.  Replacing the glasses and taking a deep breath, he quoted Abraham Lincoln.

              I learned a little more of that when we were searching for a short day trip since Beth didn’t have her little summer “day care” charge for a couple of days.  I thought a plantation visit would be fun, and with the typical arrogance of one who does not know, assumed there would be something quite close by.  That notion was quickly dispelled when one of the search results talked about all the lack of plantation houses and other artifacts of pre-Civil War Atlanta.  Though Georgia was one of the 13 original colonies, Atlanta was not founded until 1836 and not incorporated as a city until 1847. Though no major rivers or waterways that typically mark great cities are present in the area, Atlanta grew to become a major city because it served as the central hub for four southern railroads.  And for this reason, Sherman marched to Atlanta, the commercial and transportation center of the south, to burn and destroy it and thus disable the Confederacy.  Though hospitals and churches were spared, the rest of the city was burned to the ground. 

                The closest plantation house was in Jonesboro, southeast of Atlanta, so we headed to Stately Oaks, one of three plantation style houses which served as inspiration for Tara of Gone with the Wind fame.  The home was actually dismantled from its original location and moved to an area that is being developed as a museum by Clayton County.  The site currently houses an old store from the late 1800s, a fireplace from Margaret Mitchell’s home, a small Cree Indian village, and the Greek Revival house with several accompanying outbuildings, like the kitchen, laundry, and outhouses.

                The young gentleman who was out tour guide shared many interesting facts about the home and its owners, the movie, and the culture of the times through which the house stood.  As we went through the rooms, and he described how that room and its contents were used, he connected many of their cultural actions to quotes we throw around like “marking time” or “it’s snowing down south.”  I’ll have to go back with pencil and pad to get them all, though a few might have been stretched a little.  While the site was about what you’d expect from a little county museum depending primarily of donations for their work, it was a nice introduction to the area and awakening of the desire to learn more about this beautiful place I am coming to call home.

                When we finished the tour at 2:30, our stomachs were in revolt, so we hastened to a little store front cafe called Gina’s Bistro.  The extensive menu of sandwiches, soups, salads, and meals  was printed on several blackboards above the ordering counter.   The myriad of choices available in the little bistro boggled the mind, but hunger called for quick decisions.   Beth and Katie chose sandwiches, which were full of good fresh ingredients.  They obviously didn’t carefully pull apart exactly three pieces of ham to make Katie’s sandwich.  I chose a soup and sandwich combination with homemade vegetable beef soup that was among the best I’ve ever had, perhaps at the top. Oh, it was good, even on a warm Georgia day. 

Of Progress and Peaches

The problem with progress is that we don’t define it properly.  Or perhaps that is just a personal failing.  Too often my mind thinks that if it isn’t DONE, progress is nonexistent.  That’s not true; progress implies movement, an ongoing journey, if you will.  So, I am not completely settled, but my new home is evolving.  Certainly, it is fully functional: I can cook, eat, sleep, wash sheets, watch TV in high definition (very cool by the way), surf the net, come and go, sweep, vacuum, read, shower, study, and find most things. Only a few boxes and bins await a permanent placement. Some clutter is even beginning to accumulate, which is certainly counterproductive. Friends’ prayers and encouragement certainly helped.

            Lamps and window coverings are the main projects left.  Today, Beth and Bill hauled in my new nightstand, the one new piece that is REAL furniture, i.e. not from IKEA or Kohl's.  On the other hand, Beth told me that indeed I did have something to bequeath to her – the new sofa, even if it was falling apart in 30 years.  Now that’s a delightful thought – she really enjoys the sofa and could put up with me for 30 years.  I should be so blessed – actually, I think I am.

            On an entirely different note, Georgia is the Peach State. Since arriving, I’ve been waiting for real Georgia peaches.  A couple of weeks ago, the sign said it was so, and I selected a few peaches. Perhaps they came from the Georgia that was part of the former Soviet Union, because clearly they were picked well before they were ripe. Peeling them was rather like scraping a knife against wood. Each slice of the knife was audible and raspy.  Barely a drip fell to the counter.  Chewing them could perhaps be compared to munching celery.  But this week, the peaches were finger kissing good.  The knife slipped easily between the skin and the flesh of the peach.  The juice covered my hands as the sweet fragrance drew me into the experience.  Each bite almost melted in my mouth.    The taste was worth the wait.  Hopefully, more will come.  Perhaps that fruit of Eden was not an apple, but a peach - a real sweet Georgia peach.

Why I Don't Play the Lottery

First of all, I don't play the lottery because I think it is a big waste and not a God honoring use of money.


However, my luck at Kohl's last night would be another reason. I needed a pair of khaki pants because you can't live through a summer without them. You cannot pretend you work at Target without them. Mine no longer fit, so, since Kohl's always has things on sale ;-) we decided to check it out. Katie enjoyed trying on clothes for school, which is only a month away for her. I found my quasi khaki pants. I'm not sure if they would be Target qualified or not, but they'll do.


While Katie tried on all sorts of cure things, I prowled and discovered Kohl's new little furniture section. My eye fell on a narrow end table that would be perfect next to my sofa and would actually fit. The Zoe looked perfect for color, size and generic style. My design consultant also approved so we grabbed a Zoe box and headed to the check out with our purchases.


While adjusting the contents of the car so we could drive to the fireworks in one vehicle, we noticed that the box had two different tables pictured on the two big sides, the Zoe and the Sierra, but the smaller sides and top pictured the Zoe, so we were pretty confident that we had the right table. When putting together the table rose to the top of the list, I opened the box and got nervous that the color was ... not ... right; so I pulled enough out of the box to see that the drawer pull, color and design matched the single picture of the Sierra not the five different pictures of the Zoe. 


With the contents all back in the box, though not so neatly, I headed off for Kohl's to return the table. The lady at the return counter was so apologetic and as befuddled at the packaging as I. Of course, with the sales flyer that starts today in hand, I thought maybe I should check out some navy pants as there were none of those in my closet either. After finding a pair, I decided to check out this crazy box phenomenon. Every other box had one picture on all the sides - every box. We had picked out the only misprinted and incorrectly packaged box. 


Nor ready to be fooled twice, I opened it enough to insure that it was the right one and hauled it to the front. Might as well try and try again. Of course, tonight I got 15% off and Kohl's bucks.


I guess I may not be lucky, but I am blessed.

Driver's License Debacle

    

     30 days – that's the legal time limit for getting your Georgia Driver's License after moving in from out of state. My technical arrival date in the state was June 1 making July 1 the supposed drop dead date. Undeniably, the renewal could have happened before the last day, but extenuating circumstances conspired to make procrastination appear the right thing to do. Certainly searching for and finding of necessities for the apartment assumed a higher priority immediately after arrival. Emptying boxes and bins also seemed more important. A check of the Department of Driver Service website indicated that several documents would be required, so those had to be found in the boxes and bins. I had to wait for bills to arrive as they were the requisite proof of residence.

      Just about the time those were all collected , I ordered my new glasses. Of course, wanting the license to have the most current picture, I decided to wait until the glasses came in. The five to seven day wait came and went necessitating a follow up call. That was the day my phone died, so I couldn't call them, nor could they call me. An email to Beth enlisted her to call to check on the glasses, which she did, posing as me. The receptionist couldn't find the records and the optician was in with a patient, so eventually she hung up and emailed me that something was wrong. I drove the mile to the store to find that there was a delay, but that they would be in on Friday or Saturday. By Friday afternoon, I had a new phone and thus a Georgia number, and I could wear my new glasses.

      With the deadline for renewal looming, I checked the website again on Sunday for a final review of the required documents and hours of service. In addition to the information that the office was open on Saturdays and not Mondays, emblazoned on the site was the new Georgia law effective July 1 that all driver's licenses issued from that day forward would be secure. Everyone had to provide the same proofs that I did, and all renewals had to be done in person. Thus, I was technically illegal when I drove to the office on Tuesday, July 3, with Passport, birth certificate, rental agreement, and two utility bills, but not my Nook.

      The line of cars turning into the parking lot should have alerted me, but by that time it didn't seem like much of a choice. After ten minutes of circling the lot, a parking place opened, and I headed for the building. Once inside, the clerk provided a form, a clip board and a ticket with the code E347 and the 10:02 time stamp. Every seat was filled, and people sat on all the counters and on every flat surface, so the my form was not completed in the best Zaner-Bloser print. Fifteen stations lined the far end of the room, each with cameras, computers, card readers and many of them had clerks behind the counter, but never all and sometimes as few as seven. That it was their first day with the new system was patently obvious.

      The system assigned different sorts of requests different letters, renewals were A and my E represented licensed drivers new to the state. B,C,D, F and G represented other situations. A gentle female voice would call out “Now serving A056 at window 13.” If A056 did not move quickly enough, the same voice would repeat it over and over until someone showed up or the clerk forced it to the next client. The numbers also appeared on screens at the side of the room and above each work station. Searching for E proved futile for the first half hour. Finally one appeared, E285. It took 20 minutes before the voice called out E286.

Eventually, I found a seat and decided my choices were to leave and fight the same battle another day while I drove illegally, to fidget, steam, gripe, and complain, or to decide people watching and practicing patience would rule the day. I chose the latter, though commiserating with people seated next to me did provide some opportunity for at least a little griping. Sarah, who kept me company for a couple of hours, finally concluded that it was completely un-American to require citizens to prove their citizenship. She eventually left perhaps figuring that she had time for lunch before she would ever get called.

      At the four hour mark, I did go up to the question line and learn that it was a totally first come first served process, and if I was the 670^th person in the door, I would be the 670^th served. I did see one exception, a sweet old couple who got served by the question answering clerk after they had been there two hours. That was OK by me. Things began to speed up a little when the voice would move from A096 to A097 to AO98 within a minute. Clearly, many chose not to wait.

At 3:45, the voice called E347 at window 14. I practically ran. The clerk looked over the documents, filled out her forms, took my payment, and then told me to stand on the line for my picture – without my glasses. Within moments, I had a paper copy of my license in hand. I do have to wear my glasses when I drive, even if my picture plain faced. Facial recognition, you know. 

     Procrastination didn't pay off so well this time, but I am now legal on the roads and registered to vote.

Hot Invitations

It’s been a couple of days. Perhaps life is falling into a routine or perhaps it’s just too hot to think.  Both statements represent a part of the truth, unfortunately.  The unpacking process stalled out  waiting for one or the other little thing.  Inspiration dropped off, and while the clutter is slowly being replaced with furniture, it’s still pretty close to the surface.  I need some significant boosts in motivation and commitment, in other words a swift kick. Surely, some will oblige.  

                Remember all the temperature records set last winter and spring in Minnesota  with the warmest March and April on record.  Apparently record setting follows me, as Atlanta hit an all time high of 106° degrees on Saturday.  Never before in recorded meteorology had  the mercury climbed to the 106 mark.  The relatively low dew point was the only relief. But, did you know that the hottest day in Minneapolis was 108° in July of 1936?  I did not know, nor would I have guessed or bet money that the Minneapolis record would exceed the Atlanta one. So is it Hotlanta or is it Minnehotapolis?

                Though the new entertainment center remained empty for a week, Tuesday will mark a new experience for me –  HDTV.  My new Toshiba 46 inch LCD comes from Best Buy then.  A pan of lasagna, a salad and some garlic bread buy me a great set up and test crew.  Hopefully, the draw of the big screen will pull me away from the seduction of the small screen.  Maybe I can even get some knitting or needlework accomplished.

                Thursday, I got an invitation to a late September wedding in England.  Well, it was combined with the more likely invitation to a reception in River Falls two weeks after the wedding.  While I would love an excuse to visit Great Britain, that option doesn’t seem viable. However, I am pondering the possibility of attending the reception and making a little visit to Minnesota while it is still nice there.

                Following that lovely invitation, Friday’s mail included a large square envelope graced with a beautifully scripted current Lawrenceville address. Surely it had to be a letter or invitation from someone who knows me, but there was no return address on the front.  Flipping it over, the return address was Golden Valley, MN.  Though that did not sound familiar, I opened the envelope and indeed pulled out an invitation - to my choice of a luncheon or supper in Glencoe (MN) to hear the latest information about the best hearing aids for me. Those of you who have not hit SC (Senior Citizen) status, be prepared.  The hearing aid companies know you  turned up your music too loud and attended thunderous concerts, so you will need their services.  Now let me assure you, they will also follow you to the ends of the earth or at least to Georgia.

What's hot?

What’s hot?

                The weather is, that’s for sure. Forecasters in Georgia call for over 100° for the next three days and in the 90s for the  upcoming week. Friends in Minnesota are only looking at the upper 80s and 90s. It’s all too hot, and the electricity grids are likely to be overtaxed. When it gets that hot, it’s just hot, and it’s not going to be a dry heat.

                Hopefully, the new Word phone now sitting next to me on the desk is "hot". With all the bells and whistles, this new Smart phone is as hot as I can handle. With it comes a new number. If you want that number, message me through email or Facebook and I will gladly give it to you. The phone's display of the phone is supposedly a preview of Windows 8. A little experience can only help with the transition when the new operating system comes out. The keyboard's key arrangement make typing a little easier because the keys are slightly offset like a regular keyboard. Facebook and email are possible, if I can ever figure out which password goes with which account.

                Last night was a hot date with my granddaughter, Katie.  She is really attached to her mom, so making the decision about where we go for supper was almost more than she could handle. However, one Olive Garden and their breadsticks became the choice it was onward and upward. Katie, the whiz, actually got my old phone running so I can at least get the contacts from it. She’ll be my little navigation helper as I learn the phone. She watches and listens and gets it. No matter how smart and intuitive she is, she’s still nine and the end of our evening was spent with me giving her strange and silly directions for her starting pose as she went backwards into the pool. Coming up with 75 different poses represented the most difficult brain work of the day. The silliness and laughter will continue to bring a piece of joy with each remembrance.

Purses

                Purses, cavernous or petit, most women carry some kind of handbag or at least a wallet.  Of course, now the “man purse” parades the streets as well. We don’t call my bag a “woman purse” so I think purses still really belong to women.  We can’t live without them and it’s a struggle to live with them. They fill so fast. We buy a bigger purse for all the stuff we carry, only to realize the weight is giving us literal pain. So we purchase a smaller purse and put less in, but the day always comes when too much purse detritus creates a disaster like lost keys or receipts. Or like what happened today.

                My  trip to Home Depot was eminently successful. Lakee, the lumber area man, made my small dream come true. The cabinet Beth and I built was lovely, but it had no countertop. All I needed was one 30 x 25 inch piece of something simple to be the crowning glory of our work. Online searches yielded beautiful granite pieces for $300 or more. Websites for local cabinet shops indicated even a laminate piece cut to size would cost at least $100.  I even went to Re-Store, the Habitat for Humanity outlet, but no one actually cuts 30 inch pieces, so all that was the right size were sink tops. Home Depot had countertop pieces, but none 30 inches and they don’t cut that. One Home Depot gentleman reminded me that they carry a laminate coated particle board in the lumber area. And the lumber area saws things.

                Late yesterday afternoon, I headed for Home Depot, which is just about half a mile away. I had decided I would go cheap and just have them cut a 30 inch piece off from the 2 x 4 foot piece. That would exactly cover the top and I would just deal with the little space between the cabinet and the wall. However, it turned out that the actual size of the piece was 23 5/8 x 47 5/8 inches. A section  cut from that would not cover the cabinet top. So the next choice was to do a 4 x 8 foot piece and get some additional shelving. That panel was actually 49 x 97 inches. Go figure, and that is exactly what I did. Among  the multitude of paper scraps and receipts in my purse, I found one that was big enough to start drawing and calculating. I pondered how I could get my countertop and the maximum number of shelves  to assist in finding a place for all the stuff,  which still does not have a home in my home.

                Lakee hauled the heavy piece up to the vertical saw and did my bidding, cutting eight additional shelves beside the countertop. He was so patient when I changed dimensions after looking at the initial cuts. I found some prepainted trim and some nails and headed out the door with my $40 countertop and at least that much more value in shelving, but with no additional cost. I tucked the nails in my purse and drove home, realizing that time was short and I needed to be quick about supper and changing for my meeting.

                However, I just had to see if the countertop piece fit and if it would look OK, so I grabbed it out of the back of the car, trying to balance and carry it one handed in spite of its weight. My purse was over the arm and I had the keys ready to open the door. The board started to slip and in the muddle of trying to keeping it from chipping, my purse,  heavy with the box of nails, flipped upside down. Papers, loose coins, and my phone floated or crashed to the sidewalk. The phone lay with the back and battery scattered, the coins tucked themselves into the pine mulch and the papers started to float away. Grabbing the floating papers first, I then bent for the phone pieces and they seemed to go back together well, so I collected the coins, hopefully not leaving too many for the birds. Then I opened the phone. Nothing – black screen. I put it on the charger, and it lit up to show me that it was charging. Encouraged, I decided to rush to my meeting and let it charge fully.

                My meeting was a church women’s gathering. The director of the local domestic violence organization spoke to us about the group’s purpose and function and how we could help. The statistics were alarming. Last year in Gwinnett County 13 women died at the hands of their abuser. She also worked to disabuse us of some of the myths. The one I remember the most was the myth surrounding the question, “Why doesn’t she just leave?” There are many reasons, but one that stays in my mind is that she’d rather be an abused mom than a dead mom.

                After she left, we gathered donated purses and toiletries from the women of the church. We packed an assortment of toiletries into each purse. The purses will go to the shelter and as a woman comes in, she will be given a purse with a few personal treasures inside. Even if she leaves her home with nothing, she will start again with a purse.

                So at the end of the day, my countertop looks lovely, but if the cost of a new phone ends up being added, it would have been cheaper to just order the countertop.  And that all is petty compared to the struggles of too many women in our world.

                

Women

               Yesterday’s activities seemed random until reflecting on them made me realize it was all about women – strong, courageous, loving, hurting, passionate, lonely, intelligent, caring, discouraged, smiling, laughing, happy, sad.  Moms, grandmas, aunts, wives, married, single, divorced. Women who met together in person, over the Internet, or in fiction.

                The first women attended my new Bible study in Georgia. The one who led the study presented her insights about Psalm 119 and encouraged all to share and learn in her sweet, twangy, Texas transplanted to Georgia accent. As the women focused on God’s word, they also talked about their lives and their hopes, dreams and struggles. Before the study, one woman noticed that two nametags laid out on the table shared the same unusual last name. “These two must be related,” she called out. Later the answer was provided by prayer requests from the two women with the same name. Pray for my son; he has walked away from his faith. Pray for me for me; my marriage has fallen apart; I am exhausted and panicked. If you are one who prays, please lift up this mother and her daughter-in-law who came together to seek solace and hope.

                My old Minnesota Bible study met yesterday, too. With them, the sharing was less immediate but no less personal.  Internet provided the connection, not proximity. The study of Mary who sat at Jesus feet opened up wounds for some, creating a vulnerability we don’t always want to have. Yet it opened the door for others to minister to their sisters in Christ. Discussion focused on how we are valuable to God. Too often we think it is in what we do, or how often we say yes and get busy again for the Lord.  Mary’s story reminds us that our value to God is not in what we do, but in the fact that He wants us to sit at His feet and learn, not just keep ourselves busy doing or making ourselves somehow more acceptable to Him. He accepts us and loves us as we are.

                Women Who Read is my Minnesota book club. The book assigned for July is historical fiction set in New York City in 1984. (Yes, friends born before 1975 or so, fiction set in 1984 is historical and not contemporary realistic fiction.) Philippe Petit’s dance on the high-wire stretched across the 200 feet  between the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, more than a quarter of a mile above the city streets,  provides the focal point for the story.  The account chronicles vignettes of separate groups of people and significant events in their lives that day. I just finished the second section of the book about a diverse group of women whose one point of connection was the death of their sons in Vietnam.  They struggled with their pain and frustration, yet they laughed together, too. They came from two ends of the city literally and figuratively, yet they connected and found hope and help together.

                Women at a Mary Kay Party may evoke thoughts of vanity or self-indulgence, but this Mary Kay party had a very different focus. Indeed, while this Pampering with a Purpose party provided the skin care ideas and the makeup suggestions, the real purpose was to support moms who deal with children who are severely physically and/or mentally disabled.  Pampering with a Purpose is a regional Mary Kay focus to provide specifically targeted care to moms who often put themselves last. The consultant, who is featured in the linked video, told the story of her own daughter, Jordan, who died in her sleep at age 13 from complications of multiple conditions. Six of us sat around the table, and I was the only one who did not have a disabled child. Beth’s oldest bonus son has cerebral palsy, but each of the other ladies is a mom of a child with very severe problems that require constant care and supervision. Some of their conditions don’t even have a diagnosis because they are so complicated or rare. They have probably already outlived their original life expectancy. Overwhelmed by their stories, I saw that they loved those children unconditionally. They were tired, stressed, unsure, coping most of the time, and struggling to find ways to help their child. Mama Bears don’t fight harder for their cub than these moms fight for hope for their child. Compassionately, the women listened to each other’s stories and provided ideas for the newest mom.  Pampering for them came in the fact that a husband or someone made it possible for them to gather together for some laughter, some beautifying, and a break.

                One more strong woman is on my list today, my Minnesota friend and co-worker Deb. Her husband died yesterday after several years of a courageous battle with cancer. Deb was beside him for every step of that journey. She and their family and friends prayed for a miracle, but his healing didn’t come in the way she hoped.  She has been a strong and private woman doing everything she could to help him and her family, but she will need more strength and support in the days ahead. I wish I could be there to help, but I know God has provided a few really special friends who will be in her life.

                I raise my hands in a salute to these women even as I fall to my knees to pray for them all.

Red Tape

     When the government, a rehab center billed by the hospital in spite of the treatment being a medical recommendation, and an insurance plan that is perceived by Medicare as unusual come together to pay a claim - the claim doesn't get paid. Creating more confusion, Medicare insisted their records showed I was still an insured employee of my old school district. The rest of the details are boring and can be summarized by the combined hour plus on the phone yesterday. With the help of the school district insurance gal, the billing person at the hospital and my insurance agent, it should all resolve itself in 10 or 12 or 14 days. Then I can pay the deductible that I tried to pay when I got the service.
       The good news for the day came from connecting with a good friend from the school district business office and finding out she's going to be a Grandma for the third time. Preparing for the Tuesday Bible Study also challenged my brain and prodded my thinking about the value of God's Word. Psalm 199, tho focus of our study, has a bit to say about that.
       Georgia weather can apparently come from any direction, north, south, east or west or any combination thereof. Hurricane Debbie is playing havoc with Florida and keeps teasing Georgia forecasters with the possibility of much needed rain. Most late afternoons cloud over and look like rain, but not much has fallen and that little bit of spotty rain that's fallen was not produced by Debbie. The heat is rising, though the breezes today make it a bit more tolerable. By Friday though the forecast is for 102. I guess Friday will be an indoor day.

Artifacts for the Museum - Sunday

What a wonderful day to remember! The artifacts represent some different areas of the mind's museum, and each memory is a special treasure from the joyous journey. 

For the faith section of the museum -

     I returned once again to Gwinnet Community church which continues to intrigue and draw me. Running just a little late, I grabbed a cup of really delicious coffee and slipped in just as the tech team brought up a video for the opening of the service. If you have any interest in the stars of the heavens, the singing of whales, or the awesomeness of God, you need to go to You Tube and find the Louie Gigglio video, Louie Gigglio Mashup of Stars and Whales. 

     The sermon for the day at GCC was from a bi-vocational pastor who works with two others in a church plant with an interesting goal. Their desire is to have a church where 100% of the donations go to support missions at the local, regional and world level. Phoenix Community Coffee Company became their choice for developing the means for that goal to be reached. They buy coffee from missionary coffee growers in Central America. These bi-vocational missionaries grow quality coffee and pay their workers as much as four times the typical wage, seeking to meet physical and spiritual needs in these Central American areas. The local company roasts it and private label packages it to help churches and para-church organizations support their own mission projects. In sharing the story, this once burned out pastor made his point - for those walking with God there is no such thing as coincidence - abundantly clear. The story of their dream and start up is not mine to tell, but it was impressive, and I was blessed. The coffee is great, too! Check it out:  Phoenix Community Coffee

     One great sermon deserves another, so I headed to the Blakely's church, because Katie and John were singing Bible School songs for the congregation. And now Mimi can actually go to these activities. With time between the two services, I headed into Kroger to pick up items so I could fix supper for my furniture construction crew. I cut the time a little short and arrived just as the preschoolers that Beth taught were singing, but I was there to observe my two stars act completely like 9 & 10 year olds while the younger ones sang. However, they were quite angelic when they sang and signed several songs. After the singing, the pastor preached a great sermon, reminding his congregations to follow through themselves on the VBS challenge to "Dare to go Deeper with God." I could just about have been sitting back at Shalom Baptist. He clearly reminded them that being a Christian was not about going to church or being baptized or confirmed or doing good - it was about a growing relationship with Jesus Christ. When I was going to camp and Bible School as a kid, they taught us faith was as simple as ABC - ask Jesus into your heart, believe in Him and confess your sin. I like how Pastor Tom did the ABCs - admit your sin and need of a savior, believe that Jesus is that Savior, and commit yourself to a relationship with Him.

For the family section of the museum

     After three really pleasant gentlemen delivered the IKEA boxes containing my sofa, chair, entertainment center and dining room table, Beth, Bill and Katie came over for the construction party. Beth and Bill started with the sofa while I finished putting together a Curry Chicken Pasta Salad. I joined in putting the covers on, which turned out to be relatively easy. They then turned to the 14 piece entertainment center with scores of pegs to hold it together. Chosen because it would fill the alcove so exactly, but built on the floor, the raising of the completed structure prompted held breath. At one point, upward progress stopped and it appeared stuck. Fortunately, one little connection needed to be tightened, and the complicated piece slipped into the space looking like a built in.

     With that completed, the pool with the waterfall beckoned. We gathered up all the cardboard and wrappings so I could haul them down to the trash area, and they headed off to the pool. I chose the deck chair and enjoyed watching them interact in the pool. Supper was on the old  make-do table, but while I cleaned up, Bill and Beth finished the dining table. It was christened with strawberry shortcake and a really great cup of coffee.

Building up a weekend of blessing creates a reserve of joy, which may be needed today.