O Come Let Us Adore Him

He is the long-awaited Messiah, who would come to save his people, Israel. Many remembered the prophesies and recognized him.

The evil powers of the time saw him as a threat and tried to kill him early on, but his parents were warned in a dream and escaped.

Other powerful and wise men followed a sign in the sky and came to worship this child they believed to be a king.

The shepherds came to a stable, which was perhaps more like a cave in the hillside, to see this sight. What did they see? Why did they worship?

The angels said to the shepherds,"Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in strips of cloth and lying in a manger."

This baby is Immanuel, meaning God with us. He came to " give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God, to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace."

O come let us adore Him. He is Christ the Lord.

Tis the Season...to Repent

The season of advent is not a time for rejoicing. It is a time for looking inward, examining yourself, getting ready for the coming of the Lord. It is a time of reflection, of reading the scriptures, of prayer, of fasting. When will the Lord come again? Only God knows and He is not willing that any of us should perish, but that we should all come to Him.

Collision

As our discussions usually develop, we wandered through various topics in a most engaging manner. We began with witches and how society's views have changed towards these creatures that supposedly wear pointed hats and ride broom sticks. From the biblical view in which witchcraft is an abomination, we moved to the witch-hunting hysteria of times past, and finally to our postmodern view of witches typified most recently in Harry Potter. Then, of course, there are the real witches of Wicca. Another discussion.

Truth and lie are almost always mixed in the movies we see and the books we read. A common lie in the Harry Potter movie is that God is just...nowhere...absent. The witches and wizards are like people we know, not strange, really. This could be any boarding school story, minus the magic. Titillating but empty, in my view.

Magic is a well-used subject for books and movies in our culture. We seem to be attracted by power. What if we could fly? Or how would it feel to be able make something happen by the use of words/spells? This happens in video games all the time. By maneuvering buttons you can make things happen. Realistic graphics increase the feeling of real power. There are gamers that live their lives in their favorite role-playing scenario, preferring the feeling of power and adventure it gives them to connection with real people. They are living a lie. What happens when that lie collides with reality?

Rococo

Culture Wars

In the coming days, it will be very hard as a Christian to stand against the tide of the coming cultural takeover. It will be confusing, difficult to discern good from evil. Just as the voice of the witch in The Silver Chair lulled the children to sleep, telling them that there is no overworld, no sun, no Aslan, so it will be for the young believers of God's word and His Son. "There is truth in other religions," says the witch." Jesus was a good man and there are many other good prophets as well." she says." Yes, we begin to agree. God speaks to us in many ways.....zzzzzzzzzz" Puddleglum! Where are you?

Beginnings

One childhood ends while another begins.

One mother realizes her age and the end of busy days with children.

The other is just beginning her life with a child of her own.

To hold my daughter's baby will be an incredible experience, one that I wouldn't want to miss.

A new phase of life, this grandparenting, the beginning of watching and praying.

The Electric Connection

WeSandmen came home from Thanksgiving vacation to a cold house. We were thankful to make it home before the blizzard hit full force and snapped the power lines. For a night and a day we were without electricity, which for country living also means no water. We had filled all our vessels full of water at the first signs of the storm, knowing from experience that our power might go.

Losing our power makes us realize how really helpless we are without stoves, refrigerators, computers, lights, television, and running water. We did not quite know what to do with ourselves. I had a pile of laundry from the weekend that I had to leave in a pile. My husband could not get to work or get on the computer which made him grumpy. He wandered around the house in survival mode gathering candles and lanterns, filling the tub with water, and making little messes for me to clean up! I took a long nap. We waited anxiously for the return of our power.

Even as I write this, I am seeing spiritual analogies. We wait in this world, darkened by sin, for the return of Christ. When He returns, the lights come back on and all is well again. We have our lives back as they were meant to be. Without Christ, we are dead in our sin, helpless to save ourselves, although we scurry around trying to fix things, trying to survive. We feel helpless in the face of death, our last great enemy.

Technology has solved many of our problems and made our lives easier. (Imagine going outside in a blizzard to use the bathroom!) It has also made us weak in some ways. We are dependent upon machines to a very large extent. It is sobering to remember that if one little wire snaps, our lives are put on hold. It would be wise to develop interests and abilities that do not rely upon the electric connection. Wiser still to put our trust in an all-powerful and merciful God.

In the Autumn Air

It was a crisp, clear, Thanksgiving Day. The meal was over and everyone had gone their separate ways, to study, visit on the phone with friends, or sleep in front of the football game. The pie had been delicious this year and the dressing supreme, but, as usual, something was missing. It was anti-climactic. It had taken her mother hours to make this wonderful feast and although they tried to stretch out the conversation around the table, it was over in 30 minutes or less. Everyone was stuffed and sleepy, seemingly content to do very little.

It was excitement she wanted, something wildly fun, perhaps even dangerous! She needed to get out of the stuffy, sleepy house into the cold air and do something exhilarating. "I"m going for a ride, Mom," she said. Dressed warmly, she got in her car and took off. She knew what she wanted to do, but didn't know if she had the courage.

When she arrived at the barn, there was Kitty, waiting for her. The mare nickered and was rewarded with a lump of sugar. A former race horse, Sheza Kitty, still had hot blood in her and she longed to run. Today, she might get her chance. Never before had the teenager allowed Kitty to run her fastest. "I don't even know if I can stay on!" she thought.

Saddled and bridled, the beautiful sorrel with four white stockings stepped out into the blue and gold autumn air. The girl mounted and they were on their way. "If I let her go, I don't know if I can get her stopped. What if she runs into something? What if she trips and falls? What if I fall? " They found a dirt road that stretched for miles, flat and empty. "She's a quarter horse. She'll only run a quarter of a mile before she gets tired." she reminded herself. "Courage!"

Kitty immediately sensed something different about this ride. She gathered her legs under her and took off. The girl urged her on with yells and encouragement. Kitty broke into a run - not a canter, not a gallop, but a run. No... this was more like flying! For the first time, the teenager felt like all the other heroines in the horse stories she so avidly read. She and Kitty were as one. The ride was smooth and soooo fast. It took all her strength, but she knew she could stay on, she could finish the ride. And indeed, Kitty showed her breeding by slowing after a quarter of a mile. They finished the ride in companionable silence, horse and girl satisfied with their performance. The horse felt relaxed and content. The girl knew that she and her horse had, for a moment or two, actually flown in the autumn air! Her joy in this ride, her sense of freedom, speed, and exhilaration was made all the sweeter by her prison-like experience of wearing a body brace for the last three years of her young life. Indeed, this was thanksgiving!

Rococo
photo: www.mooseyscountrygarden.com

"I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me."
Jesus

Riding the Red Monster

He was going to ride the combine with his Dad for the first time! Dad lifted him up into the cab of the big red machine and climbed in himself. They drove out to the field. The tow-headed three year old was wide-eyed and silent. He watched and rode, very patiently observing everything in silence. They were harvesting milo, a reddish-colored grain used for feed. The young child had seen this crop planted in the spring, cultivated and growing over the summer, nurtured along by his Dad, who was now cutting it down. The heads of the milo were cut and the grain went into the mysterious depths of the monster machine, where it appeared to be ground up and spit out the back. Milo dust filled the air and made the boy and his father cough and itch. Not wanting to appear less than intelligent about this seemingly brutal process, the boy turned to his father and asked, "Dad, is this good for the milo?"
Rococo

There's Some Good in This World and It's Worth Fighting For!

"Do you remember the old stories, Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were and sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened? But in the end, its only a passing thing. The shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come and when the sun shines, it will shine the clearer. Those are the stories that stayed with you, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand! I know now! Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something."

"What are we holding on to, Sam?"

"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for!"

Sir Colin
Photo: www.arwen-udomiel.com/images/Sam_4jpg
quote: LOTR The Two Towers

Dad's Narnia Character

To find out yours, go to

Just Like Mom's

She was young. She meant well. And it was not really her fault because the recipe didn't specify. You have to take into consideration her inexperience and also her good will towards all the members of the household and towards the whole world really. It was the thanksgiving season you see. Not quite here yet, but the leaves had all changed color and the air was crisp and fresh. Pumpkins had begun to appear on doorsteps in the neighborhood. All of this contributed to her feeling of goodwill and love toward all of mankind. It was her favorite time of the year. She was looking forward to the upcoming holidays, with all the good food. Food! "I'll make a pumpkin pie! she thought. "Just like my mom's ...mmmm."

"Let's see here." She found the recipe and began gathering ingredients. Sugar, flour, spices, pumpkin...She needed 2 cups of pumpkin. They had some pumpkins sitting around so she got one and began wrestling with it. First, to get it open. The knife sliced through the middle of the pumpkin with some difficulty but she persevered and got the thing open. Ok, now to scoop out the insides. There didn't seem to be stuff in there that was soft enough to make a pie but she scooped out the stringy stuff and began picking out the seeds. Man! This was a lot of work. She didn't know that her mom worked that hard on her pumpkin pies. The crust turned out great and the stringy stuff from the middle (minus all the seeds) combined with the other ingredients tasted flavorful. The baked pie didn't look quite like her mother's. A little disappointed, but anxious to serve her friends her first pumpkin pie, she brought it out after supper.

"A pumpkin pie!" they exclaimed with surprise. "Did you make this yourself?"
"Yes, I did". she proudly answered.

Everyone began to taste the pie. She waited for their compliments and saw surprise on their faces instead of the looks of ecstasy she had imagined as she had performed surgery on the troublesome pumpkin.

"It tastes really good, but why are there strings in it?" her best friend tactfully questioned.

"I couldn't get them to soften when I mixed them with the other ingredients after I picked the seeds out." she explained. My face...I mean, her face... began to heat. " Sorry."

What was everyone laughing about? With good will and more laughter her friends kindly... and laughingly... told her how to make a real pumpkin pie. One just like her mom's.

Rococo
(Yeah, It was me.)

Adventure Awaits!

One of the most exciting events for a reader is to learn that a new book is out in a series that he or she has been reading. There is a feeling of exhilaration that comes in that moment of hearing the news of a long-awaited arrival of a say... Terry Brooks fantasy.

Those who do not read for pleasure and escape from the hum-drum of ordinary life, cannot understand how an avid reader of stories feels about these books. It means hours of adventure and a reconnecting with characters you have come to admire and enjoy. It means the solving of a mystery, the resolution of a character's problem, a relationship healed, or a final battle where good triumphs over evil.

I have yet to tell my son that a book he has been waiting for has just arrived. I can't wait to see his reaction!

Rococo

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God-not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Ephesians 2:8-9

What could be more helpless and in need of God's grace than a newly born baby?

Guinea Pigs Are Nice

I guess I don't mind being a guinea pig. They are cute, lovable, and worry free. The new meds. are greatly helping my pain level. I rode my bike today and walked a mile with energy to spare. If medicine helps you live a normal life it is a good thing.
This particular guinea pig is the world's largest. He looks very cuddly and affectionate.
Rococo
www.outsideconnection.com/gallant/ggp/wuzzy/Big.jpg

Do I Look Like a Guinea Pig?

After my doctor's appointment yesterday, I returned home with a sack full of brand new medicine I am supposed to try for my fibromyalgia. These medicines are the most recent discoveries, currently being used to experiment with patients that have lots of pain.

Pain makes one rather desperate, willing to try anything. They all come with a list of side effects that you may or may not experience. The last medicine I tried caused indigestion, sinus headache, itching, chest pain, and some other stuff I'd rather not discuss. But as I said, pain causes desperate loss of reason and I agreed to try another medicine.

Do I look like a guinea pig? ...I guess maybe I do, a little bit. Cute round face, big brown eyes, reddish hair, large ears, and a shapeless body... which reminds me of the other part of my treatment for fibromyalgia - exercise. Twenty minutes of moderate exercise a day. Yeah, just like a guinea pig, or maybe a hamster, I get on my wheels and go spinning to the sounds of Marvin Gaye.

Rococo

Photo: http://members.tripod.com/MichelleGpigs/CUTIE.JPG

Paradoxically

My paradoxical daughter told me the other day that she has both extreme exhaustion and a fair amount of more energy. The dictionary definition of paradox is: 1. A seemingly contradictory statement that may nonetheless be true. 2. A person, situation, or action exhibiting inexplicable or contradictory aspects. 3. An assertion that is essentially self-contradictory, although based on a valid deduction from acceptable premises.
I'm sure, therefore, that there is some sense and meaning in her statements that I am just not able to grasp. After all, God's kingdom is paradoxical in that the greatest are the least. Jesus said that he did not come to bring peace to the earth, but a sword, and paradoxically that He will give His followers peace. The sense of it comes in understanding what He meant, which was that His peace is not of this world, but of His father's kingdom where those who think they are great, will be humbled and those who are of seemingly little value in this world, but trust in God's grace, inherit His kingdom. Paradoxically.

Rococo
picture from www.smashingames.com

Just My Imagination... Running Away With Me

I have been told that I make lots of assumptions. I know that! But at my age, I have the right. So I don't care, ok?? Besides, everyone makes assumptions.

So, assuming that God exists, and that God created man, why did He give man an imagination? Why do we think up stories and songs and works of art? Why don't we just eat, sleep, and work. Why do we imagine other worlds and creatures we've never seen?

Rococo
image: www.kid-at-art.com

The Test

The "Mid-life Crisis" sometimes results in a search for what you perhaps could have been, or might still become, if you are granted more time. With this thought in our minds, my husband and I decided to take aptitude tests. We went to our friendly family counselor for answers to our yearnings. We talked over our dreams, researched possibilities, and took the test. These tests are designed to help one discover the ideal career for his or her personality and abilities.

Now, I have never been a career woman. I am a stay-at-home mom. I worked at several jobs before marriage and actually have a teaching degree, but my dream was always to be a wife and mom. I am also the creative type. I enjoy decorating and writing, art, music, etc. I enjoy a slow pace of life and I stay away from math and numbers as much as I can (which is difficult when you have an algebra student to help). There are a few things I would have liked to try as a career. These include hairdressing, floral arrangement, interior design, and counseling.

So, my spouse and I took the test. I think my husband ended up having an aptitude for some type of administrative job. I figured up my score and to my absolute shock, came up with" accountant in business" for my career suggestion!! Perplexed and disappointed, I showed this to my husband, who was also very surprised. "This can't be right!" he said. "Let me see this." He took the test from me and re-figured my score.

" Honey? You figured your test score wrong." He snickered. Then he laughed - loudly.

Actually, the test showed that I would be good at counseling, which was not a surprise. The test provided a good laugh for my husband which greatly aided him in getting through his mid-life crisis. I'm still working on mine.

Rococo
Image: www.cartoonstock.com

The Lonely Bull

We've had many interesting pets on our farm. It's always a challenge to come up with an original name for a cat. Some of ours have been: Dark Clark, Lovely Lois, Spitzbergen, Frog Hair, Little Bear, Cruiser, Yellow Cat, Toulouse (my favorite), and many more. Our dogs have been less original but I like the puppies we named Mac n' Tosh. My son had a frog (I forget his name) that came to a tragic end at the hands of his sister who accidently gave him a bath in a bucket of fertilizer. My poor little boy brought that pet to me in tears, with horror written all over his face. With a broken heart, he said, "But he was such an interesting pet."

Our lonely bull was unique. He was a small bucket calf. My son wanted to raise him by bottle-feeding him. The color of his coat named him Rusty. He was adorable and lovable and strong. From the beginning it was a challenge for a small boy to feed this calf. I didn't realize that calves actually butt their mothers in the belly while they are nursing. Rusty grew bigger and stronger quickly. One day my son came in from the feeding, gasping for breath, with tears in his eyes. He fell on the floor, writhing from lack of air and pain. I watched him anxiously. Finally, after several minutes of this, he looked up at me and stated, "Being a mother is a pain." I burst out laughing. Leave it to this boy to say the unpredictable!

Anyway, Rusty grew and grew,... and grew lonely. He was a lonely bull, looking for female companionship. He constantly got out of his pen and wandered around looking for... he didn't really know what! He would come up to the house and lick the windows. He ravaged our picnic table in the middle of the night, thinking it was a cow ( hey, it was almost the same color as he! ) . This resulted in my husband chasing Rusty with first a mop handle, then a pipe, and finally a pitchfork, all three of which broke during the heated battle. My husband was hampered by the fact that it was the middle of the night and he was dressed in only a robe and cowboy boots. In one hand was a flashlight and in the other his weapon of choice. Victory came in the wee hours of the morning and Rusty was returned to his pen.

A decision had to be made concerning this pet. Unfortunately, he was too small to be used as a bull. The only other choice was to take him to the sale barn. My husband and son loaded Rusty in the trailer and took him to the nearest town to sell. They tried not to think about what would happen to Rusty after that. Rusty made the trip even more painful by bawling all the way to town. When they finally arrived, he loudly made his presence known to all the cowboys, farmers, and other animals. One amused fellow said to my son, " He hasn't been to town much, has he." Rusty hadn't been to town at all or seen any other creatures like himself. We jokingly called him The Lonely Bull, but we loved him like all our other pets and it was hard to see him go.

Mustang Sally

As she drove down the street, she got interested looks from college guys. Trouble was, she didn't know at whom they were looking. She drove a Mustang, you see, a 1967 red hard-top Mustang.

Anyways, she was cruising down the street one day and she came to the corner where she was supposed to make a left turn. About that time, she met another car coming from the opposite direction. It was a car-load of guys and they were waving at her, or...her car anyway. She got kind of flustered because she was actually making her turn at the same time, but she managed to wave back.

The next thing the college sophomore new, she was sitting pretty in her pretty car, on top of an island, on top of a sign. Yikes! What to do? She sat and thought, her face as red as her hair. Many other drivers turned that corner without making any mistakes and several of them rolled down their windows and told her to just drive off the island." But", she thought, "wouldn't that be against the law?" She had experienced a similar incident in high school when she turned a corner too sharply ( she was waving at a boy again ) and side-swiped a traffic light pole. She had been driving her Dad's good car and the chrome on the side was curled up like a spring! She drove home that time and her Dad told her that she broke the law by leaving the scene of an accident.

"You know",she thought, "this waving to boys just isn't worth it." Last year, she was walking through the commons area at her college and waved to a hunk and the next thing she knew she was on the floor with stars circling her head. That marble column was really solid and why did they put it right in the middle of the commons anyway?

After the fifth person driving by told the redhead to just drive away, she was about to take their advice when a police car drove up. " Oh great!" she thought.

"May I see your driver's license, miss?" the handsome young cop asked.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, with an innocent but distressed look on her face. "Here's my license, officer. I really am sorry, I didn't mean...." He walked away.

He came back a few minutes later with a smile on his face. "Nice car", he noted , "but your inspection sticker has run out. Better get that done soon. Drive her off." he said with a smile.

Incredulous, she thought, "I can't believe I'm getting out of this scrape without a ticket! I flattened a public sign! He must have thought I looked cute and innocent. Or....maybe he just liked my red mustang."

The Tale of the Missing Automobile or More Adventures with Grandpa

To you grandchildren, lest you think your grandpa a complete no-mind, just remember, ADD is hereditary.

This story begins when your grandpa, then a student at the university, drove his car to work one day. He worked at a book store, one of his favorite places to hang out. He had many important things on his mind that day which explains why, when the work day was over, he walked home, only a few blocks away, forgetting completely that he had driven to work. This is very understandable, as the student often walked to work and classes. His apartment was right downtown, close to all the important places and events. And as I explained, he had many things on his mind. He was a busy guy, both with social activities and in his vibrant thought-life. (The thought-life of a philosophy major with an undiagnosed case of ADD is, I am very sure, interesting, perhaps beyond belief.)

The next day, caught up in his many thoughts, he walked past his car without noticing and arrived at work, breathless from his brisk morning walk. He had a busy day, with deadlines to meet, people to talk to, thoughts to think, and he again walked past the lonely car which now had a few parking tickets on the windshield. This neglect of his car ( affectionately known as Bee-Bop, from the song, "Bee-Bop-a Lula She's My Baby" , which your Grandpa can sing, by the way) continued for three days. Poor Bee-Bop was plastered with parking tickets when the student finally began to miss her.

On the third day, Bee-Bop was resurrected in the philosopher's mind. He went to get his car for a trip across town. It was gone! What had happened to his car? He thought and thought, but he could not remember when he had last seen his car! Deciding that perhaps his landlords, The Knights of Pythias, might have towed it away, he called them. They had not seen his car so he called the police, who assured him that a 1966 Pymouth Belvedere was not the kind of car that thieves try to steal! Trying not to panic, he finally called his sister. "I think my car has been stolen." he stated.

"Who would steal that thing?" she asked.

"I don't know, but it's gone. I haven't seen it for days!" he said, beginning to panic.

"Ok, let's call all the towing businesses in town. Maybe it got towed away." she suggested. After many unfruitful phone calls, they gave up. The young student was perplexed and bewildered.

"Calm down and let's try to retrace your steps for the last few days." she said soothingly.

Together they went through his week and finally he remembered driving to work and parking his car. He rushed to the spot that he remembered and there was Bee-Bop inundated with parking tickets( 12 to be exact ). As far as I know, Grandpa has never again forgotten his car and Bee-Bop now resides in a certain old, wooden garage way out in the country. She is rather neglected but no longer lonely, for the pack rats keep her company!

Grandma
(for Skid)

The Ambitious Procrastinator and/or The Student Strikes Again

It was the day before his paper was due. He desperately needed a quiet place to work without all these distractions! He looked around at the mess in his room and listened to the sounds of the dorm. "I can't get any work done here, he thought, but I know the perfect place."

He managed to hide in the library that evening when it closed. He secreted himself on the top floor in a little-known vault in the ceiling, typewriter and all. Then making sure the night watchman was no where in sight, he set his typewriter up in the women's lounge, a quiet, relaxing place to create. He worked diligently for a few hours."This was a great idea!" he thought jubilantly. Words were flowing from his caffeine-stimulated brain and the typewriter was clicking busily. He could already see the A+ he would receive for his valiant efforts.

Footsteps? The night watchman was coming! He rapidly hid all the evidence of his studious presence and ran into the ladies bathroom. The lights! Quickly he doused the lights, picked a stall and hid, standing on the toilet. He waited for the footsteps to pass by so he could return to work. But, they were getting louder which meant they were also getting nearer. He heard the door to the women's lounge open. Huh? Why was the guy coming in here? This was his safe haven! Closer the watchman came and as he stood on the toilet in the dark, the student tried not to panic. The door to the bathroom opened. Oh, no. But, remembering the doors on the stalls and the fact that the watchman probably used the men's bathroom, he thought, " I'm saved, the stalls have doors, thankfully, as befits a ladies bathroom."

The door to his very stall, his inner sanctum, opened, and an old man stood there, grasping his chest in shock. "It's ok!" the student reassured him. It was not ok and the ambitious student received his due punishment in the form of working at the library, which was fine with him. It was the perfect place.

The Student

As he stood languidly looking out the window, he stroked his beard, his thoughts on many things. His jean-clad, long legs crossed, the student was deeply into his philosophical ideas. He wore wire-framed silver glasses beneath bushy brown eyebrows that were presently formed into a frown. His green eyes, gazing vacantly as his thought processes predominated, suddenly came into sharp focus. "Was that a...yes, it appeared to be a flame in the house across the street." As he watched, the flames grew bigger and his relaxed and thoughtful state of mind flew into action along with his tall, thin body. He ran across the room to the phone where he quickly dialed the fire department. "Come quickly, the fire is growing!" He gave them the address then swiftly ran down the stairs and across the street to the house where the fire was raging. He pounded on the door urgently. The lady of the house answered the door. She saw a young man, with shaggy brown hair, a beard, and wild eyes, gesturing excitedly. " It's a fire! " he shouted and then looked past the lady into her home, clear into the living room where there was a roaring fire... in the... well, fireplace. The lady picked up his excitement and rushed to the fireplace to put out her fire. About that time the fire trucks pulled up with sirens blaring. The fire fighters jumped off the trucks and before the now mortified young student could say anything, began rolling out the hoses. " It's ok, everything's ok. It's uh.. in the fireplace." He casually walked back to his apartment across the street, his fiery countenance contradicting his otherwise calm demeanor.

I Do Believe in Fairies...I do... I do...

Strange things happen in the middle of the night. I was sleeping peacefully. I felt something brush my arm, felt air on my face. I woke up and looked into the white face of a vampire reaching for my neck. I screamed, a shrill, horror-filled scream. The white vampire grabbed me and surprised me by screaming also. By that time, I had recognized my sister, with the cream on her face, but I thought, "Vampires are always people you don't expect!" I kept screaming.

My father rushed into the room saying, "Here, here, what's all this?" I kept screaming. My sister stopped and began explaining what had happened, but not until my dad shook me could I stop. My head began to clear. Apparently, sis had been reaching over me quietly to get my uh... tape recorder on the bookcase behind my head. She was not and had never been bitten by a vampire which sort of proved that uh....but the white face, you have to remember the white face, which... was apparently medicine for her complexion. Vampires have white faces you see, so naturally I thought...and you never know who really is one, so ...OK no more late night vampire movies for me! Ever! I'm watching Peter Pan!

Rococo
image: http://www.faeriebelievers.com

The Love of a Mother

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands:" Isaiah 49: 15

The love of a mother for her child is perhaps the purest, truest love we can experience here on earth. The maternal bond is a bond stronger than death, yet a mother may forget her child. Her love may not be true. Mothers do abandon their children, sometimes before the child even takes a breath.

God says that he will not forget Israel, His people. He has graciously extended this promise to the Gentiles. He says that He has engraved us upon the palms of His hands. I could not help but think of the nails in Jesus's hands. God has not forgotten us or left us in our sin with no way to be reconciled to Him. His love for us is so strong that He offers His only Son as a propitiation for our sins, so that we might have a way to come home to our Father.

"Thank you, Heavenly Father, for your steadfast love. Help us, dear Father to have true love for our children, the kind of love that always makes a way for our children to come home." Amen

Art by Andre Salvador
www.treklens.com/.../photo53351.htm

Reconciled

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him, and kissed him!" Luke 15:20

Endowed or Fit?

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Unalienable rights. Endowed by our creator. Shouldn't the unborn person whose heart beats within the womb be allowed to pursue happiness? Who are we to say that a severely handicapped individual cannot be happy? The old and infirm are now at risk because they have outlived their "usefulness".

Our society worships youth, beauty, brains, and money. We are not all endowed by our creator with these things. Still we are all created equal and endowed by our creator with certain unalienable rights. Are we created in the womb? Do we lose that quality of having been created when we become brain-damaged or old? Our founders believed that these rights were self-evident and that we are endowed with them. Perhaps the problem is that a great many people no longer believe in a creator.

If we no longer believe in a creator, then we either have no rights or we have the right to do anything we want. The more fit we are, the better able we are to secure rights for ourselves. Sound familiar?

Rococo
imag: www.london2012.org

Early Childhood Education

Bulletin boards are the bane of early childhood teachers! They are required to make their rooms bright, exciting, eye-catching, creative, and stimulating! Don't forget stimulating! As if 4 and 5 year olds are not stimulated enough! Sorry for all the exclamation points, but education is such an exciting subject! Just watch Sesame Street and you will learn... you will learn... well... how to jump quickly from one thing to another, I guess, which is something young children do well anyway.

How about selecting one excellent work of art to hang in the classroom as a focal point for the children. The rest of the room would be done in calm, cool colors, soft greens and blues perhaps. Comfortable seating instead of hard, stiff desks and chairs. Carpet, color-coordinated with the walls and furnishings would make it quiet and peaceful. We are trying to calm down hyper-active children here, you see. ADHD is a growing problem in our schools today.

Add to the above, unwavering but kind discipline and excellent, systematic teaching. This recipe would result in happiness and learning for students and teacher alike, in my opinion.

Rococo
Trust me. I've been there.

Free Minds

Free speech is a basic right in our nation and I am not advocating the squelching of the news media. However, perhaps they should identify themselves more honestly. Pretending to be objective, they are, for the most part, the voice of the left. Their influence on the average American citizen is great. Only those who dig for the other view will get a more balanced view of what is really happening in politics, government, Irag, Katrina, etc. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I would guess that most people get their daily news from television. What they see and hear is not an objective view. It is censored. Topics are chosen that promote the views of the media. If they want to make a political candidate look bad they have the power to do it ( although it sometimes backfires on them).

What I am proposing is that the news organizations simply tell us where they are coming from honestly. Network names like LNM or CRM would be helpful. (You figure it out) Then you could tune in to your favorite program to get the view you want. If you want to hear the other side, you know where to go. This already exists to a certain extent. However, there are lots of people who think that ABC news is telling them God's honest truth every night. No organization in a free country should have this kind of power over its citizens. Perhaps the public school system is the problem. teaching children to regurgitate the secular humanism of the day, rather than thinking for themselves. It has become more important to feel good about oneself than to actually be able to perform well. Children that are taught to think critically will not automatically accept what they hear on the news. Their minds will be free as well as their speech.
Rococo
Image: www.cerritos.edu

Young at Heart

My dad was young at heart until the day he died. He had enthusiasm and hope for the future. Mom and Dad were always up for games. The grandkids had a ball with them. I remember a hilarious tickle contest they had when they were in their sixties. They still had that spirit of adventure. They loved to travel and see new sights, try new food, and learn new things about people and places.

I'll never forget a pantomime my dad performed for us while playing charades. It was of his wife putting on pantyhoes. He looked just like her. He had it down to perfection. I know because I would sit in her room sometimes in a conversation while she put on her pantyhoes. Wow! The contortions she went through! ( I will never let anyone see me put on my pantyhose.)

So, how to stay young at heart? Never lose your playfulness. Don't become so burdened down with financial worries or other problems in your world that you cease to laugh. Laughing is therapeutic. My parents playfulness and enthusiasm for life and their family ministered to all of us. My mom, alone now, still loves to play games. She is sadder without my dad, but she is always up for having fun with the family. Her faith in Christ gives her hope for a future that includes my dad.

Anyone have any humorous memories to share?

Rococo
image: www.windycityhitman.com

Mom's Radar

My son comes to me.
"Mom, I can't find my calculator!"

I go through all the questions.
"Where have you looked?"
"Did you look in your room? etc...."

"Yes! I looked in all those places!"

I then go to all the places we have talked about.
Lo and behold! I find the missing calculator.
It was in the closet under some papers.

" Mom, I thought I looked there."

This happens repeatedly . No one, even my husband can find anything without my help. And I was the same way when I was a kid. I would look and look, finally ask my mom and she would find it! Moms must have special radar for tracking down missing items. God gives us this gift with the birth of our first child, along with eyes in back of our heads.

Rococo
image:http://atelier.mangazoo.jp

The Trouble With Math

Understanding the concepts is the easy part. If you make one teeny-tiny arithmetic error it messes up the whole algebra thing! Even if you get the right formula and know how do to the problems, carelessness will kill you on a test.

There is no mercy, no grace, or forgiveness. Now, art allows for "happy accidents". You can take a mistake and make it a beautiful thing. Math is cold, hard, and cruel.

Who can be that exact? My brain just doesn't work that way and my kids all seem to take after me in this aspect. Why are literary types generally not so good at math?

Rococo
www.joshstaiger.org

My Hero

This devoted individual has put his life on the line literally hundreds of times for me, for our whole family. While I sleep peacefully in my bed, he works hard. He is a humble creature and in the light of day you would never know the peril he endures for my sake. His engaging and friendly manner efficiently hides the seriousness of his occupation. He willingly puts aside the life and death matters of his job to spend time with the family, taking walks and just sitting in companionable silence together.

I really don't know what we would do without him. We live in a dangerous area and need protection on a nightly basis. You see, that is when the marauders come. They come sneaking on our place seeking to kill and rob. Never once do I fear. Our ever vigilant guard is stronger and smarter than the bad guys. Although it costs him his sleep, and sometimes his voice, he never lets a stinkin' coyote on the place. Mac is my Labrador hero.

Rococo

Never In My Wildest Dreams

I was sitting at the kitchen table one morning when I heard rustling noises behind the refrigerator. Then I heard chewing noises. Have I mentioned that I hate mice? As I headed toward the area, several mice came out. It was an alarming number of mice and they were large! I was getting the broom and aiming it toward the lot of them when one of them spoke. This was a surprise. Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have imagined a talking mouse.... actually chinchilla, because, as I looked more closely, it appeared to be a soft, gray chinchilla.

He said," Excuse me. Can we have some food?" With mouth gaping, I put the broom down, and peered at the group. The rest of them were mice, definitely mice...or rats. Some of them looked big enough to be rats! I was looking around for the broom again when the chinchilla said,"Please don't kill us. We are just hungry." I tried to calm down. Then I saw the mess they had made back by the refrigerator. They had chewed and chewed and there was sawdust all over. I took the broom and started sweeping while I thought.

"Maybe if I feed them just once, they'll go away." All their beady little eyes were upon me as I swept up their messes. "Ok. I'll feed you." I got out the Cheerios and the mice moved up to the table. I fed them. When they were finished I looked them all straight in their beady little eyes (the chinchilla's eyes were big, soft, and brown) and I said,"Now get back behind that refrigerator and don't come out till noon! And don't chew on anything!"

"I don't know if we can make it that long," said the soft chinchilla." We have fast metabolisms."

"You'll make it," I replied with determination. If you want to stay here, you'll have to make it. There will be no eating between meals."

About that time, my husband came into the kitchen, did a double-take, and grabbed the broom. He raised it over his head and I caught it on the way down.

" It's ok. I'm feeding them." I said.

When I awoke, I thought, "Another mouse dream. We have GOT to plug up those holes in the foundation!" The chinchilla was a new twist, though. Really cute. And soft. Those big brown eyes. hmmm.....

Rococo
image: www.whitewoodschins.com

Hatching Plots

These two mischievious young fellows, full of tall tales and plans for conquering the playground, were a delight (or terror) to behold in action. Boy howdy, could they think of things to do! The worst was having a "mud" fight in the feedlot, with green mud! And then there was the occasion of exploring the river and ignoring Grandpa when he called them to come out. That one got their behinds blistered! They would run happily from playing tractors, to jumping on the tramp, and end up wrestling on the grass. They were fiercely competitive, and best friends. I'm sure in their active young minds they were hunting giant tigers and conquering vast armies, not to mention ridding the world of bullies on the playground.Their visions of greatness didn't matter a bit to us, we just loved their fresh enthusiasm for life.
Rococo
click on photo to enlarge

Wrapped in Rain

I am going to recommend a book. It is by far the best novel I have read in a long while. It's called "Wrapped in Rain", by Charles Martin. I don't even want to say anything about it for fear of doing it an injustice. So, you will have to read it. Don't miss this book. Curious? Good!

O Happy Day

Upon reflection, the title, "Happiness is a Choice" is underwhelming. Happiness is not simple, depending upon many things, including heredity. Many people, much as they would like, cannot choose to be happy. Their brain chemistry will not allow this "choice". Medication may help. Certainly faith in Christ helps. Circumstances can sometimes be changed. But we are left with what we are. I cannot believe that a well-known Christian psychologist would title his book with something so guilt producing. But then, many of my guilty feelings have come from "Christian" books designed to help me improve myself. I finally got smart and stopped reading them. I feel much better!
Rococo
www.photogalaxy.co.uk

Kids in Cages

Due to popular demand,( you know who you are), we are back. We have been busy with algebra, writing, grammar, physical science, history, and basketball.

There was a disturbing article in the news about a family with eleven children who slept in cages at night. At first I was horrified, but after reading more, I wondered about their reasons and motivations. The children had conditions such as autism and fetal alcohol syndrome. The parents said a psychiatrist recommended this treatment. I wonder if they were kept in cages at night for their own safety. Perhaps social services and the press have been too quick to judge. If the parents are at fault, perhaps it is in overestimating their ability to handle these kinds of problems. Eleven adopted children with handicaps would be an overwhelming job for anyone. Judging from the physical well-being of the children, who appeared to be healthy and happy, perhaps the parents were motivated by love. Now the children are separated in different foster families. Surely they miss their familiar home and family. I hope the courts are able to get to the truth of the matter. Often, it seems that good parents using strong measures are misjudged and truly abusive parents escape punishment.

Rococo

Of Men and Lions

On a summer day, two toddlers are sitting at a picnic table eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Above them, unseen by the two, a mother listens at the kitchen window. A cool breeze blows into the kitchen along with their words to each other. " It was a weallwy big wion Sarwah!" remarked David, gesturing wildly.

"No, David." said Sarah patronizingly. She was after all a few months older than him. "It's not a weallwy big wion! It's a weallwy big wion!" The mom chuckled softly by the window.

"You go, Sarah girl! That's how to tell him!" she thought. Teach these men while they're still young and flexible."

Rococo
oseb79.free.fr.../lions%2001.jpg

The Government"s Responsibilities

How quick the news media is to blame the government in general and President Bush in particular for everything that goes wrong in our country. Katrina was a natural disaster. It is not the government's job to make sure that no natural disasters occur, or even to try to take care of all its citizens. The government is not mother, father, sister, brother, family, or church. It cannot provide for all our needs. The welfare programs have handicapped millions of people, making them utterly dependent on the federal government. The news media's cameras are focused on the individuals complaining the loudest.

The federal government should be responsible for defending our country and enforcing its laws. In times of natural disaster we can expect the government to send troops in to try to keep order, but private citizens and organizations should rally to the aid of the victims. This will make our people stronger as they see that private individuals, families, churches have the power to take care of people. It is not a healthy or safe relationship when the government becomes the sole support of its people. Stop blaming the government and try doing something about helping people through your church, the Red Cross, or in your own home. There will be orphans to adopt and thousands of poor homeless people. The government will not be able to care for them all. In blaming the government for not acting to meet people's needs, are we taking the heat off ourselves?

image: www.reference.net/encyclopedias/wikip...

Disaster at Home and Help from Germany

We don't have to go to a third world country to find people in extremity of need. They are here in our country, down south, in a place called New Orleans. This city and surrounding areas contain a multitude of poor, sick, homeless, grief-stricken, and fearful people. Now, I have not watched all the news reports or read all the accounts concerning this disaster, but my feeling is that it has been a great leveler in how one views the world. It doesn't matter where you live, whether rich or poor, democratic country or socialist state, tragedy can and does strike.

One thing I have noticed through all this so far, is that help does not seem to be coming from our friends around the world. Maybe I'm wrong about this or maybe the rest of the world figures we are the greatest nation on earth and we can afford to handle this ourselves. Probably there have been expressions of sympathy from countries like Great Britain and Canada, but I haven't heard them yet. The Islamic terrorists are rejoicing, I'm sure. They didn't even have to fly planes into buildings or set off suicide bombs in this death count. There will be expressions of self-righteousness from them, no doubt. (After all, our evil country deserves this punishment from God, right?)

The United States gets so much heat concerning actions in the Middle East, but our country is always represented by volunteers in any disaster that happens in our world. We have a president that does truly care about this country and it's people. He has made mistakes, as would anyone in that office, but he is sincere and honest.

I've also noticed that the vigil being kept at the entrance to Bush's ranch is not such a big news item now. The war protesters would do well to ease up a little in light of the loss of life in our own country. For any of us that are prone to complain about life in the United States, perhaps we should just shut up and find out how to help the survivors of this disaster. President Bush has recommended that everyone give money to the Red Cross. There will be lots of homeless people in need of a helping hand. We should all try to find a way to help, no matter how small. People are people whether they are starving and dying in Africa or the United States of America.

P.S. I just learned that Germany has offered to help the United States with water treatment facilities and mobile shelters. The U.S. helped them rebuild their country after World War II and now they are returning the favor! Maybe other countries will follow their example. Thank you, Germany.

Heavy Heart

There are so many things about this world I just do not understand. When God looks at HIs world, what does He see? How does He feel? My heart feels heavy, even despairing when I see man's evil behaviors, and the results of that behavior in the world. I don't need to list all our sins. They are easily found everyday in the news and sadly in our own homes and hearts.

Rococo
image: www.4design.tv/gallery/sadness.htm

Logic

I love this cartoon. Our dog, Mac, and our cat, Fuzzbuster, have their identities all mixed up. The cat really thinks he is a dog, while the dog, thinks he is part of the family, a human, I guess. To truly be human, Mac would have to stop rolling in dead animals and get over his claustrophobia in buildings. Fuzzbuster needs to learn to bark more realistically and wag his tail a little faster. On the other hand, we human members of the family would definitely benefit from learning to use logic more effectively. I'm sure. Problem is, see, our emotions tend to get in our way. Once upon a time, (long ago and far away), I thought that the male of the human species was more logical and less emotional than the female. However, after being married for 25 years and raising two sons, I have changed my mind. Men are just as emotional as women. They have conveniently learned to disguise their emotional decisions with faulty logic much like the kind found in this cartoon.

Rococo
www.math.union.edu/harris.jpg

NO MORE MATH

"I'm finished with math forever!" exclaimed the junior in highschool. It was the final day of geometry. "No more numbers for me!" She managed to make her way through college without another math class, believe it or not. Sure, she did math without thinking about it, probably on a daily basis. But she managed to get a husband that liked to do all the financial business of the family, plus the grocery shopping! Wow! What a guy! Anyways, all that to say, this woman, with an absolute aversion to numbers, is now taking ALGEBRA I. Reason? She is a mother. I am convinced that mothers will do anything for love. They will fight tigers, walk on nails, give birth, and... take math with their 16 year old homeschooled sons!

Rococo
Image: voyager2.dvc.edu/faculty/doraoavessu/faqs.htm

Taming Men

I've been hard on men in my recent blogs. Perhaps I've given the impression that our current cultural situation is, purely and simply, caused by the male sex. This is, of course, erroneous. I am happily married with two wonderful sons and a lovely daughter. I agree with the comments made by the lone ranger that women should act like ladies if they want to be treated as such. It is just as hard for a young man to find a chaste woman these days as it is for a girl to find a faithful man.

So how are women to blame for their plight? Women are not satisfied with the place God has given them in life and relationships. He created them to be helpmates for their husbands. Feminists want to be like men. They want power. To be like men, they have to have everything that men have. Thus we have the sexual revolution. Women now have equal pay for equal jobs, the right to vote, and sex without commitment to husband or children. True, many women "get stuck" with kids in spite of birth control and abortion, but they do have the comfort of their children in their old age. They may have to raise their children alone, but this responsibility tends to assuage their guilt over a promiscuous life.

Believe it or not, men have guilt as well. What does an unattached male do with his guilt over not taking care of his children and the mother of his children? There are all kinds of ways of temporarily dulling guilty feelings, but long term, perhaps women are better off than men in this society. A 'free-lovin" man usually ends up cold, old, and alone.

When raised correctly, young men are not animals. They, too, have minds as well as bodies. They long for companionship with a woman they can respect and to whom they can commit their lives. But our society has turned, has bent, toward a perverted way of viewing the sexual relationship between a man and woman. Only women, happy to be women as God intended them to be, can tame men, who often don't even realize what they are missing.

Rococo and Sir Colin

image: nightofartists.com/vicki/artwork/liontamers.jpg

Male Conspiracy

My most recent foray into a video store left me feeling like I needed a bath. As I walked down the isles looking for an interesting or funny movie to watch on vacation, I alternated between feeling grossed out, curious, embarrassed, drawn, intrigued, shocked, tempted, horrified... I felt like I was in the wrong store. Surely this was more like a pornography shop, or a gift shop for some violent fringe group, not a good ole American movie lovers store. I know I live a sheltered life, away from most of current American culture, but it saddens me to see where our culture has gone and is going. Do we worship what is represented in the video stores?

NEWS FLASH

Real women do not look or act like the sex goddesses of the screen! Popular culture tells them they should, so they will be wanted. Women want to be valued and desired for who they really are, not for some fantasy idea. They come in all shapes and sizes and they have brains as well as bodies. Their brains went missing during and after the sexual revolution of the sixties. Reproductive freedom? Ha! Women pay for abortion with their bodies and their minds. Men have it better than ever. Now they can get sex without commitment. What do women get from the deal? Equal pay for equal work? Single moms raising kids single-handedly and working full-time to support them! It almost seems like...but, no it couldn't be... a male conspiracy.

Rococo

Choice or Chosen?

Wesandmen blogspot has a resident theologian "on staff". The theologian is also a walking dictionary and encyclopedia. He excels at Trivial Pursuit, however, trivial he is not. Family pursuits are his specialty. He has made the choice to be a good family man. He has also made the choice to be a Christian, or was he chosen? What do you think, Baroque? You are the theologian. As Christians, have we chosen our own destinies, or did God choose for us? If we are sinners, how can we make the right choice? Perhaps God has to choose us, we merely responding to Him in faith. How does our will fit into this picture? Baroque? Theologian? Are you there? Waiting for your words of knowledge and wisdom!

Rococo
Image: www.debanae.net/clipart

Different Music

There has been a request that the wesandmen bloggers sign their screen names to individual posts. So you know what to look for, our screen names are: Rococo, Baroque, Bachman, and Sir Colin. As you can see, the majority of the posts are from Rococo. If" different music" so to speak is desired, perhaps you could make a special request such as, "We want Baroque!"... repeating this request over and over until the blogger feels so admired and needed that he overcomes his shyness at putting his "music" out there for the whole world to hear.

Rococo
image: www.hcc.cc.il.us/online/acsm163/Music.jpg

Annual Mud Day

One of the wesandmen bloggers has entered soil as an interest in our profile. Because of the location of our abode, we do have lots of soil around us. It has been used for various purposes, including farming. My understanding of soil in that context is rather limited but I do have experience with the substance in various other veins, perhaps the most spectacular of which has been Annual Mud Day. This is a day in which the younger members of wesandmen are encouraged to wallow in the mud to their hearts' content. A hole is dug and water poured in until we have thick, dark mud, which is a variety of soil, by the way. The consistency depends, I suppose upon how much clay is in the soil. Clay is good for wallowing because it causes the mud to cling most becomingly to one's skin. We do have a champion wallower on Mud Day. Bachman's intensity for getting covered has not yet been beaten. Indeed, in other places he has been known as Mr. Intensity.
Cleaning off the soil from the Mud Day contestants usually falls to me and requires my favorite weapon, the HOSE. The old clothes have to be trashed and I have seen traces of soil remain in ears for weeks after a particularly competitive contest. It takes perseverance to hose down these brave contestants but I gladly take on the job. This is because I do not want the soil in my house, my primary domain and area of responsibility. Indeed, I have fought the good fight against soil in the house for many years. Sadly, when the battle is over and I am laid to rest, they will probably bury me in the stuff.

Rococo