Little Rules To Live By

~Little rules to live by~

Love your neighbor as yourself.

Treat each other with respect.

Crayons go back in the box.

Pray each day and change your socks.

Never swallow chewing gum.

Popsicles will numb your tongue.

Take care for surely you may be

the only Bible some may read.

Little rules to live by.

I found this little poem tucked away...not in a keepsake box, or an old book, or even in a drawer under a pile of owner's manuals...but in the hidden safety of my 2010 facebook timeline status updates. 

I know there are lots of ideas running wild in those busy brains out there in www land, home of the texters and the clickers and the scrollers and the flying fingers...ideas that involve more little rules to live by...

Send them in. Show us the insides of your minds. Submit the sweetness of your hearts. We want to read them...all your little rules to live by. 

Don't cry over spilled milk

It did not softly whisper. It didn't gently brush my cheek with little drops of sunshine. It didn't softly lay my robe across my shoulders and place a rose in my hand. No, after a week of vacation, Monday morning was cruel. It was bright.  It was blaring.  It was unrelenting.


And then I crawled out of bed.


And the pattern for my day was laid. 


At breakfast, after burned toast, spilled milk, which I almost cried over, and our dog, Nutmeg, stealing my sausage, the pattern for my day was indeed cut. No turning back now.


Spelling woes and a stuffy nose...annoying calls and lost baby dolls
careless math and mama's wrath...
tongue-burning noodle soup, cleaning icky dog poop
laundry piled high, oh me, oh my...


And then suddenly, in the midst of all my misfortunes, I just stopped. Except for the half-hearted request of blessings on the sausage right before it became dog-snatched and devoured, and except for that one time I called his name when the milk was heading for the floor, I hadn't even talked to God today. What could I say now? Thank You for this mess?


And that's exactly what I did. Outside. On my swing. Alone. Well, if I could ignore the pouty face of a bad doggy ogling me through the window. So, almost alone. And in the quiet stillness of a place so deep in my heart, this is what I heard.


They prevented me in the day of my calamity, but the Lord was my stay. 


Psalm 18:18. 


How beautiful are the words. How fitting and timely. I don't know who they were for David. Saul...other enemies...
But for me, they became everything about this day. 
What a calamity.
What a day.
What a they.
But....
What a Stay!!


And I did thank Him for the mess...for the children, for the dog leering at the window, for the constant ringing of the phone, for the milk, and for everything and everyone else that helped make it.


I'd be lying if I said that from that moment on my day was perfect, with roses and Prince Charming and happily ever afters. But my little girl did pick flowers for me from the backyard.  And my prince did come home and take his shoes off outside so as not to dirty my mopped floors. And at bedtime, with clean floors, school work finished, laundry done, and Nutmeg in her crate, I'd be truthful in saying my day of calamity ended happily...with the Lord as my stay.

Beyond My Thoughts

My brother Ben won the guitar competition at Renofest last month. It was a great accomplishment, and we were all very proud of him.  One of the songs he played was the Irish folk tune, "Danny Boy."  Or to some,"Londonderry Air." And still to others, "He Looked Beyond My Fault and Saw My Need," by Dottie Rambo. Lots of information there. You're very welcome.


And so the last couple times that we were in concert, my dad wanted Ben to relive the moment and perform the song. And, might I add, his playing it brings tears to my eyes every time. Simply beautiful.  My dad announced that Ben would be playing the song we all know, "He Looked Beyond My Thoughts and Saw My Needs."


The first time we all giggled. As a father's children (regardless of age) occasionally do.  The second time we all began to loud whisper down the stage, as bluegrass musicians occasionally do, "It's faauultsss, nnot thooouuuughtssss!".....


But then I started thinking, as I occasionally do...


He did look beyond my thoughts. 

When my children are sick, and the temps are climbing, and the dishes are piling, and the uncertainty is rising, and I'm thinking, I can do this on my own...He saw that I'd need comfort and peace, and He gave me His Word. 

When I'm being hard to get along with, and I'm not on the best-of-friend terms with any of my best of friends, and the silence is deafening, and I'm thinking that it's everybody's problem but my own...He saw that I'd need something to sooth my soul, and He gave me music.


When the night is long and dark and scary, and I've spent it tossing and turning, and thinking that I need an answer right now, He saw that I'd need to see the beauty in patience, and He lit up the sky with a breathtaking sunrise. 


My thinking of a great God in heaven, far away, but requiring my worship. And He came near, and showed me Himself.


My thinking of black or white, wrong or right, live the law.  And He came near, and showed me Grace.


Now don't get me wrong. I have a few faults that I wouldn't mind Him looking beyond. Really? 
This chocolate worshiping, 

Monday-morning slothful, 

mad-at-her-neighbor's-dog, 

all-you-can-eat-chinese-buffet glutton?  

Yes, yes, it's true. 

But I'm so glad He looked beyond my faults...and my thoughts...and saw my needs.






Isaiah 55:8-9

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

Overcoming some pretty tough dirt

Flowers are springing up everywhere here in the Cockman neighborhood. 

Some that we don't even remember planting were hiding under the bitter ground all winter, and now have broken through some pretty tough dirt and are joyfully drinking up the rain and dancing in the sunlight.

That's quite a persistent little seed down in that cold earth. To endure the chill. To withstand the months of darkness. To press against the hindrance 

above it. To finally break through the barriers and reach for the sun with all its might.

If that flower were a preacher

I'll bet that he would say

Press on to the high calling

Letting nothing in your way

If that flower were a singer

I'll bet she'd almost blush

When grateful gusts of melodies

At once began to gush

If that flower were a teacher

I'll bet he'd count the ways

He'd patiently kept prodding,

Nudging, toward more hopeful days

If that flower were a girl like me

Who'd overcome some gloom

I'll bet she'd soak up all the sun

And let her testimony bloom!

                ~C

Have you thought there was no hope, but something just wouldn't let you give up? And against the odds, you endured. Have you been under some pretty tough dirt? Have burdens weighed down on you, but something gave you strength to press against them? And you pushed right on through to daylight. To happiness. To bliss. To drinking up the rain and dancing in the sunlight.

~Song of Solomon 2:10~13

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.~

Grandpa

Grandpa. 

One word defines him.

But a million words couldn't describe him.

I'm thankful for my grandpa. 

For the joy that is his, for the hero that he is, I am thankful. 

And I'm thankful that this first day of spring can only mean one thing.  

Somewhere, someday, somehow, someway...another spring awaits us all.

~He sits in the sunshine.  He breathes in its rays. 

He tells me a story of his younger days.

Bright yellow blossoms bend down to hear.

A butterfly flutters by, then hovers near.

He smiles at the children. He laughs as they come.

He holds out his arms to envelop each one.

The smell of wild onions and freshly tilled dirt

Set a spark in his eyes that is lively and pert.

He walks by the garden. He rests on the swing.

He soaks up the joy of this first day of spring.

Little blue flowers dance in the breeze,

Memories are molded by moments like these.~

                 ~C

If Your Doorknobs Were All Diamonds....

If Your Doorknobs Were All Diamonds....


If your doorknobs were all diamonds, 
Would you shine them all day long?
If your voice was never scratchy,
Would you always have a song?
If every morn were Christmas,
Would you wake more eagerly?
If your house was made of gold,
would you keep it sparkling clean?
If your ice machine made quarters,
Would you give to those in need?
If your Bible was a movie
Would you take the time to read?
If your husband....or your lovely wife...
were the king or queen,
would you take the trash out,
or keep the bathroom clean?


If.... If.... If....
Would you?....

Or do you take each day to love
And care for what you're given?
Happy is Today for those
Who know for Whom they're living.
                                                ~C

He loves us as He made us

This morning I decided to make bacon and pancakes for my children, before they woke up.  The scrumptious smells of breakfast, and the comfort of knowing that someone who loves them is just down the hall, would be a pleasant welcome to their morning.


Bacon~two pieces undercooked, two pieces charred.  Just the way they like them.
Pancakes~four plain silver dollar pancakes. Mix a smashed banana into the rest of the batter for three big banana pancakes.  Just the way they like them.
Milk~one pink cup with hearts, filled to the brim. One coffee mug, chilled and half-filled.  Just the way they like it.


As I was preparing for them, it dawned on me how different they really are. Yet I don't love my daughter more because she likes to eat bacon ashes, and I don't love my son more because he's fruity about his pancakes, but I love them both the same...with all my heart and soul.  I want to oblige them;  I enjoy it, actually, and I appreciate their colorfulness in an otherwise brown and blah world.


And then it hit me:


God is a God of variety.  And He loves us as He made us.


With our big smiles and our loud laughs.  With our big tears and our loud sighs.  With our black hair and our blond hair, our blue eyes and our green eyes, our skinny legs and our...not so skinny legs, our dark skin and our light skin...


In fact, He loved us so much that He made a whole world to accommodate...even to pamper...us.  That's right.  The unobservant, undeserving, ungrateful...us.


He made the majestic mountains for His hikers, His climbers, His I-want-to-see-the-world-around-me children.  He made the shining seas for His fishermen, His sun-lovers, His I-need-to-taste-the-salt-and-feel-the-sand children. He made the rain for His parched ones. He made the rainbows for His grateful ones. He made the spring for His hopeful ones. He made the fall for his sentimental ones.


I stood at the skillet, a fuzzy-robed, frizzy-haired mom, fumbling spoons and spatulas... and I cried.  I was just frying bacon and flipping flapjacks.  But if I would perform this little act of love for the unconscious ones down the hall, how much more must my God love me. 
And you. 
And all of His children...
His colorful, incomparable creations.