Claire from Bisou Bisou Beads is the winner! She posted a very kind comment and now gets to pick out a dog collar for her pup.
http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=20783967
I also have red dot and black check....
Thanks for playing.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Do This Today
Go visit my friend Kristin's blog. She is a beautiful woman with beautiful insight.
Halfway to Normal. Go.
Get. Right now. Get over there.
Halfway to Normal. Go.
Get. Right now. Get over there.
Friday, March 6, 2009
A Little Friday Morning Bible Study
Our small group is studying the book of John. I'm fascinated by this guy, whom many think was Jesus' favorite. In combing through the first chapter this morning, I found some interesting tidbits.
This is one of the most quoted, and I think most complex, passages in Scripture. I am no Bible Scholar so just take this as one woman's eyes and ears and heart and mind. Just that first verse is so full of metaphor and meaning.
According to Strong's Concordance, the word beginning refers to the origin, the active cause, the first person or thing in a series. If we take that to be true, then when John starts his book "In the beginning," he is calling to mind the origins not just our faith but of the world we live in. The other gospels tend to be narrative while John's starts with a reflective look at this history of faith. In one phrase.
What was in the beginning? The Word. Huh? How can the Word be in the beginning? What is the Word and why is it important? And what's with the capital letter? Again, with Strong's as my source, word is that which is uttered by a living voice, or "the essential Word of God."
Wait. What?
Is John saying words existed in the beginning? John is referring here to Jesus, the Word of God, who was called into life the way the rest of the world was called into being: by his uttered breath. Anyone else think that's cool? And let us not miss the point that as it was "in the beginning" and essentially of God, then it (the Word) carries with it the same authority and holiness as the breath that uttered it into life.
I will spare you my own application of this verse, but thought you might like chewing on that for a while.
Another interesting part of this early part of this chapter is the contrast between light and dark. And while we think we know the difference between dark and light, a look to the concordance elucidates (you heard me) this point. Light is the literal emission of light from a light giving object, but Strong's also says that it is used of God as "delicate, subtle, pure, brilliant." (Sidenote here: I do not usually think of light as delicate, neither do I think of God that way, so there's that.) Light can refer to truth and knowledge and also spiritual purity, and finally the power of understanding.
So, if one is in the light, then one is exposed to understanding, purity, brilliance, and power. It begs the obvious question about its opposite.
Darkness is defined as lack of light. I love definitions like that. Duh. But it's more than that. It refers to ignorance of divine things, and also those things which are related to "wickedness." Oooohh. Sounds bad, right?
Parsing it out, it paints a vibrant picture. Live in the light and be granted access to all those things Christians are pursuing. And you know, even a tiny pinprick of light is still light.
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning." John 1:1
This is one of the most quoted, and I think most complex, passages in Scripture. I am no Bible Scholar so just take this as one woman's eyes and ears and heart and mind. Just that first verse is so full of metaphor and meaning.
According to Strong's Concordance, the word beginning refers to the origin, the active cause, the first person or thing in a series. If we take that to be true, then when John starts his book "In the beginning," he is calling to mind the origins not just our faith but of the world we live in. The other gospels tend to be narrative while John's starts with a reflective look at this history of faith. In one phrase.
What was in the beginning? The Word. Huh? How can the Word be in the beginning? What is the Word and why is it important? And what's with the capital letter? Again, with Strong's as my source, word is that which is uttered by a living voice, or "the essential Word of God."
Wait. What?
Is John saying words existed in the beginning? John is referring here to Jesus, the Word of God, who was called into life the way the rest of the world was called into being: by his uttered breath. Anyone else think that's cool? And let us not miss the point that as it was "in the beginning" and essentially of God, then it (the Word) carries with it the same authority and holiness as the breath that uttered it into life.
I will spare you my own application of this verse, but thought you might like chewing on that for a while.
Another interesting part of this early part of this chapter is the contrast between light and dark. And while we think we know the difference between dark and light, a look to the concordance elucidates (you heard me) this point. Light is the literal emission of light from a light giving object, but Strong's also says that it is used of God as "delicate, subtle, pure, brilliant." (Sidenote here: I do not usually think of light as delicate, neither do I think of God that way, so there's that.) Light can refer to truth and knowledge and also spiritual purity, and finally the power of understanding.
So, if one is in the light, then one is exposed to understanding, purity, brilliance, and power. It begs the obvious question about its opposite.
Darkness is defined as lack of light. I love definitions like that. Duh. But it's more than that. It refers to ignorance of divine things, and also those things which are related to "wickedness." Oooohh. Sounds bad, right?
Parsing it out, it paints a vibrant picture. Live in the light and be granted access to all those things Christians are pursuing. And you know, even a tiny pinprick of light is still light.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Prairie Girl
Living in Oklahoma, all students study this history of the state. For our kids, this is in third grade and it is by far my favorite unit. When our eldest was in 3rd, they visited the Harn Homestead and took their lunches in tin pails. Before she went, we made a loaf of whole wheat bread and wrapped it in fabric to share with the class.
I may do this again for middle girl, and this time we want to include a jar of cream the students can shake on the bus to turn to butter.
I also love sewing their "Little House on the Prairie" dresses. The bonnets alone are enough to make me smile.
I did two others for classmates this year. Here is Syd's.
I'm not sure why I love this unit so. Maybe because I didn't grow up in this state, finally learning what Boomer Sooner meant was a relief. I am not a pioneer kind of girl, but there is something sort of tactile and intriguing about how early settlers lived their lives and furnished their homes that fascinates me.
Props
Wanted to give a shout out to MK Edwards who designed my lovely new logo. I believe she did a fantastic job. What say the peeps?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Ode to Chewy
We were not raised with animals as pets, my brother, sister and I. This is my mother's doing; she has an aversion to animals of the extreme variety. She was unendingly patient with my dad, who twice (to my memory) brought home dogs. I don't much remember the first dog; I think his name was Wolf and I'm not sure where he went. The second dog, Rusty, well, he cured us forever of dogs.
Rusty was his own undoing. A gorgeous Irish Setter, Rusty was large, and loud and rather dumb. He ran on a dog run in the back of our house that ended either in a shallow ravine or at the garage door. Many were the times we would watch Rusty chasing butterflies and run headlong into the garage door, feeling the house tremor under impact. Also, Rusty had a habit of absentmindedly flinging himself over the ravine. This is unquestionably bad as he would therefore be dangling from his collar, from his neck.
I remember my mother when Rusty came to live with us. "Charlie!" spitting out my father's name, accusing, flustered, angry, and ultimately resigned. It was as if she knew the dog would be short lived for our home. And of course, as mothers always are, she was right.
To be honest, I was ambivalent about Rusty and most animals for that fact. You hear those stories that people who are afraid of animals (as my mother is) raise children who adopt this fear. None of her children got that fear. In fact, two of three have animals now. At the time, I really didn't care if he was there or not.
But this isn't really about Rusty; it's about another dog that entered my life decades later; in fact when I was well into my 30s. Chewy is also a large, loud dog. But he also acts a little like a cat and he is old, in that bone weary sense. Chewy lives with us now and I am so glad. He unwittingly made me if not a dog lover than a dog sympathizer.
Chewy is a Rottweiler. He came into our extended family as a pup when my sister in law, a girl at the time, adopted him. She trained him well; as she lived with my in laws, so did Chewy. When my sister in law flew the coop, Chewy stayed behind. Chewy turned into my in law's dog. He was loyal and doting; he slept near or on the bed, he brought the mail, chased the squirrels and solicitors and other annoyances from the yard. He sits, shakes, high fives, lied down and loves. Oh, how he loves. (I still cannot believe I feel that way.)
Chewy was at her side when my mother in law passed away suddenly at their lake house, one of her favorite places. Chewy was at my father in law's side as he called family members to share the awful news. He was there when we gathered at the house to mourn and celebrate her. He was a stoic presence standing sentry next to my father in law who was otherwise surrounded by confusion, chaos and loss of meaning. I love Chewy for this and this alone.
But I love him for more reasons. Chewy stood by while my father in law met a fabulous woman and started a new phase of his life, married to her. And this is where he comes to live with us. As fantastic as she is, there was one thing she couldn't get over; it wasn't his size, or his bark (which is ever so rare), or even his toots which are immeasurably disgusting. It was her allergy to him.
So sweet is their love that neither knew what to do. She took weekly allergy injections; he wiped up hair and found supplements to put on Chewy's food to help with shedding. They tried every solution. She was miserable. And my daughter, the nine year old walking persuader cajoled us into taking him in.
Truth be told, we thought his tenure at our house would be short. He is 12 after all. His joints ache, he can't run as long as he used to, he tolerates our youngest wild kid. Chewy is as loyal to us as he was to them. He sleeps at the foot of the 5 year old's bed, he obeys the 9 year old as she gets the mail, he helps me corral them out the door for school, he barks at solicitors and squirrels alike.
I'm still not an animal lover; I rarely pet him (don't worry, he gets lots of love from others), I don't want him on my bed and I can't stand his breath. But I'm glad he came to us. He shows me things about my kids I didn't know were there. He demonstrates loyalty and love in a way many people have trouble comprehending. I know its sappy but I'm happy to know him.
Rusty was his own undoing. A gorgeous Irish Setter, Rusty was large, and loud and rather dumb. He ran on a dog run in the back of our house that ended either in a shallow ravine or at the garage door. Many were the times we would watch Rusty chasing butterflies and run headlong into the garage door, feeling the house tremor under impact. Also, Rusty had a habit of absentmindedly flinging himself over the ravine. This is unquestionably bad as he would therefore be dangling from his collar, from his neck.
I remember my mother when Rusty came to live with us. "Charlie!" spitting out my father's name, accusing, flustered, angry, and ultimately resigned. It was as if she knew the dog would be short lived for our home. And of course, as mothers always are, she was right.
To be honest, I was ambivalent about Rusty and most animals for that fact. You hear those stories that people who are afraid of animals (as my mother is) raise children who adopt this fear. None of her children got that fear. In fact, two of three have animals now. At the time, I really didn't care if he was there or not.
But this isn't really about Rusty; it's about another dog that entered my life decades later; in fact when I was well into my 30s. Chewy is also a large, loud dog. But he also acts a little like a cat and he is old, in that bone weary sense. Chewy lives with us now and I am so glad. He unwittingly made me if not a dog lover than a dog sympathizer.
Chewy is a Rottweiler. He came into our extended family as a pup when my sister in law, a girl at the time, adopted him. She trained him well; as she lived with my in laws, so did Chewy. When my sister in law flew the coop, Chewy stayed behind. Chewy turned into my in law's dog. He was loyal and doting; he slept near or on the bed, he brought the mail, chased the squirrels and solicitors and other annoyances from the yard. He sits, shakes, high fives, lied down and loves. Oh, how he loves. (I still cannot believe I feel that way.)
Chewy was at her side when my mother in law passed away suddenly at their lake house, one of her favorite places. Chewy was at my father in law's side as he called family members to share the awful news. He was there when we gathered at the house to mourn and celebrate her. He was a stoic presence standing sentry next to my father in law who was otherwise surrounded by confusion, chaos and loss of meaning. I love Chewy for this and this alone.
But I love him for more reasons. Chewy stood by while my father in law met a fabulous woman and started a new phase of his life, married to her. And this is where he comes to live with us. As fantastic as she is, there was one thing she couldn't get over; it wasn't his size, or his bark (which is ever so rare), or even his toots which are immeasurably disgusting. It was her allergy to him.
So sweet is their love that neither knew what to do. She took weekly allergy injections; he wiped up hair and found supplements to put on Chewy's food to help with shedding. They tried every solution. She was miserable. And my daughter, the nine year old walking persuader cajoled us into taking him in.
Truth be told, we thought his tenure at our house would be short. He is 12 after all. His joints ache, he can't run as long as he used to, he tolerates our youngest wild kid. Chewy is as loyal to us as he was to them. He sleeps at the foot of the 5 year old's bed, he obeys the 9 year old as she gets the mail, he helps me corral them out the door for school, he barks at solicitors and squirrels alike.
I'm still not an animal lover; I rarely pet him (don't worry, he gets lots of love from others), I don't want him on my bed and I can't stand his breath. But I'm glad he came to us. He shows me things about my kids I didn't know were there. He demonstrates loyalty and love in a way many people have trouble comprehending. I know its sappy but I'm happy to know him.
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