Awakening

They said You were a loving God

Beyond all myth and measure

Your grace and mercy freely given

Was man kinds greatest treasure

I’d known of You since just a child

I’d often heard the story

Of how You suffered and You died

Then rose again in glory

I was not at the cross or tomb

I never heard You speak

How could I really know you Lord

And feel Your love for me

My faith had been obedience

To rules and regulations

Traditions and security

Without hope or expectation

I longed for the reality

of being close to You

To hear Your voice amidst the noise

And know that it was really You

To ask the questions of my heart

To run to You in pain

To see You move within my life

And hear You call my name

I prayed for help to know Your grace

And through it to believe

To find the truth beyond the stories

That would truly set me free

And as I spoke that prayer to You

My eyes welled up with tears

Because I knew You’d been their Lord

Waiting all those years

You paved the way and shined a light

Through the darkness of my life

That led me to this place and time

Drawn by Your love and not your might

Family Travels or How I Learned To Be More Specific

Family vacations in a Suburban packed with kids, suitcases, camping gear, and dogs were challenging to say the least.   My husband was in charge of the dogs, making the sure the house was secure and fitting everything in the Suburban.  I was in charge of food, and helping everyone pack.

We were trying for an early start on one memorable trip but the kids were sleepy and unenthusiastic. Trying to speed them up I went into each child’s room to make sure they packed everything they needed. I handed them their suitcases and told them to take them out to be loaded into the truck.  They couldn’t wait to get into the Suburban and go back to sleep so they didn't argue.

We were on the road and making record time with kids and dogs asleep for the first few peaceful hours. The normal travel complaints about pit stops, dead batteries in the Gameboy and the classic, "she touched me", began when they woke up and increased the hungrier they got.  I dreaded lunch stops because the strategically placed people and gear somehow always managed to get rearranged in a less efficient manner.  This lunch break proved to be worse than normal as a cry went up from our youngest that his suitcase was not in the truck.  I was about to go and help him find it when the next oldest child announced that hers was not there either.  We all stood staring into the back of the Suburban as every inch was searched, only to find that the suitcases were indeed missing.  There was a strange moment of silence as we all realized we were past the point of no return, then the tears and panic began.

                I pulled lunch from the coolers to help calm everyone and stepped aside with my husband to discuss our options.  The trip budget could not replace everything but we decided to pack up and go to the nearest town to purchase underwear, socks and one outfit per child.  We were praying for a discount store with a clearance sale but were blessed to find a thrift store first and managed to get what we needed for much less than we feared.

                The trip was amazing and the suitcases soon forgotten until we arrived home and found them sitting neatly in the kitchen.  The kids explained that they thought  if they put them there someone else would take them out to the truck.  We chalked it up to sleepy logic and I vowed to give more specific instructions for the next trip.

Viva La Difference or Ode to a Staycation

Going nowhere sounds depressing

When looking for a time refreshing

My attitude may need adjusting

Before I realize the blessings

All I see is procrastination

Things I should, could, would have done

Screaming they should come before

Threatening things that might occur

The sight of things undone around me

Reminding me my time is not free

May bring it to a woeful end

Of being more tired than when I began

That thought train will lead to failure

If optimism I don’t secure

So determination sends regrets

For the invitation to more stress

I will let go, and take a break

And responsibility forsake

To take a hike and fish a stream

Sleep till noon and chase a dream

Escaping the box routine creates

Just enjoying the change of pace

For disappointment, not a chance

Viva La Difference

Double Vision

                Living in rural area meant long bus rides to school and back.  I was one of the first ones on in the morning and the last off at night.  I had my pick of seats but usually sat alone because none of my friends rode the same bus. Sitting in the back was a disaster because the cool kids would tease me to try and intimidate me into giving them the seat.  Even in the middle seats I felt like I was breaking up a group so I ended up in the front just behind the driver.

                  I rode the same bus for 11 years and had the same bus driver for most of them. I had discovered that the front seat had a great view not just from my window but over the drivers shoulder through the large front window.  Over time I knew every house, farm, and field on the route including the horses, cows and dogs that lived there.  I noticed what kind of flowers grew along the road during what season and anticipated them each year as well as new generations of livestock each spring.

                   I was thrilled when I saw wildlife along the way and one day after seeing a large buck I glanced up into the driver’s rear view mirror. He nodded and smiled directly at me and I knew that he had seen it too.  We never had a conversation but I knew that he and I shared a special knowledge of the route.  We began to automatically exchange glances whenever there was something special or new along the way. During the winter it was harder to see through the slush coated windows.  One day when I got on the bus I found that the slush on my window, and only my window, had been cleared off in a neat circle.  I looked up and saw the driver grinning but he didn’t make eye contact.  From that day forward I always had a clear view and I never even thought about being alone or unpopular again. 

Diving In

I don’t remember how old I was or why my father suddenly decided to teach us all to dive off of the pier that day.  I do remember being terrified.  I loved the water and wasn’t afraid to swim but something about jumping off the pier head first into the deep water scared me to death.  I was never even allowed to go on the pier by myself and now, there I was out on the very end being encouraged to jump.

My sisters went first.  Older and more experienced swimmers they showed very little fear and did well on their first try. My dad reminded me to keep my head down and just fall forward.  He assured me that he would be right there and there was nothing to worry about.  I stared at the water listening to my sisters and my dad telling me that I could do it.  Putting my hands over my head I closed my eyes and fell forward forgetting to put my head down.

 I remember wondering when I hit the water if it was supposed to hurt. After the stinging sensation came the cold and dark.  It felt like I would never stop going down but suddenly as if a rubber band had reached the end of its stretch I was propelled upward without ever touching the bottom.  I burst out of the water and into my father’s arms. He held me tight against his chest with one arm and used the other to swim toward the ladder on the pier.  He didn’t say a word as he helped me up and wrapped me in a towel.  The truth was that I had just performed the most magnificent belly flop he had ever seen.   He didn’t ask me to try again that day I think we both knew that I was not ready. 

Of all the memories of my father that is the one that is the most vivid to me.  Remembering how he was right there when I needed him and how he held me, understanding my pain and not laughing at or scolding me for my failure.  My father is no longer with us but now I have a Heavenly Father.  Even when I fail and it hurts and I feel as though I will never come out of the darkness.  He is there to lift me up, comfort me and set my feet on solid ground.  If your world is dark and cold and you are still feeling the pain of failure or the bottom has fallen out of your life, reach for Him and He will lift you up and into His loving arms.

A Ride To Remember

A family vacation to South Dakota included horseback riding in the Badlands.  We arrived at the barn just in time for the last guided ride. They tried to assign the horses according to skill level but most of my family and the two women campers joining us had never ridden.  We were instructed to keep the horses focused on the one in front of us and to stay on the trail.

                The ride was amazing, through a beautiful canyon with the sun setting over the badlands. Suddenly one of the women lost control of her horse and it galloped off with her screaming and holding on to the saddle horn.  Her friend tried to help and ended up in the same situation.  Our son thought it looked like fun and galloped off across the countryside having the time of his life.  My oldest daughter’s horse decided to take a short cut down the side of a steep ravine.  My husband followed and found himself in an almost rear end collision with her because she fearfully pulled back and stopped in the middle of the descent.  She told me later that she didn’t know horses could go downhill.  Our other daughter’s horse just wandered around in a circle.  The most I could manage was to keep my horse at a dead stop while watching the ensuing chaos. 

                Our guide turned around and scanned the horizon trying to account for all his riders.  He rode up beside me and with a slow cowboy twang said, “I seem to have lost control of my ride”.  I agreed whole heartedly and asked him what he intended to do about it.  He began to walk his horse slowly along the trail back toward the barn.  My daughter’s horses immediately fell in line behind him. My husband and son followed and the two women soon joined us as their horses refused to be left behind. We arrived at the barn with no evidence of what had taken place.  Although, the other wrangler did mention that it must have been hotter than he thought because the horses seemed a little lathered up.

Just a Big Blow Hard or Oh Lucy II

Everyone should have at least one opportunity to work in a factory during their lifetime.  It makes you appreciate the work that goes in to even the smallest things.  Machines do much of the work but there are still many jobs that require human dexterity, and an eye for detail.

One of my first jobs was in a factory that made plastic toys.  My first day there I was assigned to the assembly line that made inflatable kites.  I was given the easiest position on the line.  All I had to do was inflate every tenth kite with an air hose to make sure the seams did not leak.  I couldn’t believe how simple it was.  I forgot my nerves and imagined myself earning the quickest promotion in the history of the company. 

The line began to move and the kites began to fall into the box in front of me.  I watched carefully and pulled out the 10^th kite.  I had to keep count as I inflated the kite so I pushed the air hose in and kept my eyes on the line.  Luckily the kites came down rather slowly because there was some glue on the label that had to dry before they continued.

Bam! The noise was deafening and I was sure that I had lost at least one finger as I felt the sting of the plastic against my hand.  I heard a few soft giggles but the line never stopped.  I pulled myself together and tried to figure out how many kites I had missed during the explosion.

I took a guess and pulled out another kite.  Bam! I couldn’t believe I did it again.  This time the giggles were louder and I saw the supervisor heading my way.  She asked if there was problem and I said I thought I just needed a lighter touch on the air hose.  Apparently, I didn’t know my own strength because the explosions continued throughout the day.  They were fewer and farther between but still too many to keep the giggles from turning into icy stares.  I would like to say the day 2 was better but there wasn’t one by mutual agreement. 

Stairway to Terror

Growing up in a rural area, one of the only summer jobs available was babysitting.  I sometimes watched kids on local farms which meant the nearest neighbor could be a mile away.  I wasn’t the nervous type and I didn’t even mind staying late.  All that changed one night as I was putting the kids to bed on a remote farm.

                It was only 8:00 but already bedtime for the 4 year old girl and 2 year old boy I was watching.  The little girl ran up the stairs before me to find a book for me to read as I carried the little boy in my arms.  As I reached the first landing, the boy, who was facing behind me and looking over my shoulder, suddenly said, “Who’s that?”  I could feel his arm reaching out pointing at something or someone.

                I froze in mid step and quickly weighed my options.  At 14 years old they consisted of: stand and die or scream and run. I blame horror movies for the fact that they did not include turn around and look.  My split second decision was scream and run but it is hard to scream when you are taking stairs 3 and four at a time with a 2 year old in your arms.  I reached the little girls bedroom slamming and locking the door behind us.  I asked the kids to be very quiet and pressed my ear against the door to try and hear if we had been followed up the stairs.  There were no cell phones in those days and no land line in the kid’s room.  We were trapped.

                Suddenly, I heard the sound of a car in the driveway and the voices of their parents.  I listened as they unlocked the door and walked across the kitchen toward the stairs.  Relief flooded over me as I realized that they had not encountered any evil on the way in.  They were laughing and calling my name.  I came out of the bedroom holding the two year old, who suddenly burst into tears and reached for his mother.  As she took him from my arms he cried, “Who’s that? Who’s that?” and pointed toward the next room.  She calmly walked into the living room and picked up a children’s book.  The book had a familiar title that I remembered my mom reading to me, Are You My Mother.   “It’s his favorite” she said, he won’t go to sleep until he hears it.  Every time I turn the page he asks “Who’s that?”

                 

How

How can I write of Love so pure
the story of a hope that's sure
To find the words, the rhyme, the story
that speak the wonder of Your glory

How can I paint with strokes so fine
The greatest beauty of all time
No eyes have seen the source of light
that shines through all created life

How can I sing with voice so clear
a melody the soul can hear
To play the notes that sound so sweet
the steadfast rhythm of Your heartbeat

How can I reach a heart like mine
broken and longing for hope or a sign
And lead the way to saving grace
where healing and forgiveness wait

How can I spend each day in time
knowing the promise that is mine
And not try boldly to impart
The truth, the light, How Great Thou Art!

For The Birds or Oh Lucy 1

 

A memorable moment while building our quail egg business was hatching our first batch of 500 eggs.  Right on schedule tiny chirps were heard from our brand new incubator which we kept inside the house during the winter.  I opened the door and pulled out the screen covered hatching tray which held what looked like a living carpet of downy feathers.   Without thinking I lifted the cover and in a few seconds the living carpet became down covered popcorn as the overcrowded hatchlings began to propel themselves out of the tray and onto the floor. 

At that same moment our two bird dogs came careening down the hallway following the sound of the chirping. I couldn't close the door without sweeping the tiny quail to their deaths but I had to form some kind of barrier between them and the dogs. I sat down, slammed my feet against one side of the doorway and braced my back against the other forming a human fence with my legs.  I shouted whoa which should have stopped the dogs in their tracks but whoa, they did not.  They slowed to an aggressive forward creep until they were straining against my legs wild eyed and licking their chops at the sight of the scattering birds.

With one hand I managed to get the lid back on the tray between bird launches while adding a rail to my human fence with the other arm.  Then in one swift motion I grabbed the dogs by their collars, struggled to my feet and dragged them  to  the bathroom shutting the door.  I ran back, fell to my knees and started stuffing baby quail into my pockets and using the front of my shirt as a makeshift bag.  Thinking I had found them all, I moved  them to the garage grow out pens along with the remaining birds from the hatching tray. 

When I returned the dogs had calmed down and the house was quiet. Then I heard it: one tiny chirp. I tried to follow the sound but every time I moved it stopped.  I knew the baby bird would die quickly without heat and water so in desperation I released the dogs with the command “Find the birds”.  They ran to the incubator and half-heartedly pointed, looking at me as if to say, “Really?! You don’t know where the birds are?” Suddenly there was another tiny chirp.  It only took them a few seconds of recalculation before they were on full point staring at an old boot.  I rescued the bird from the toe of the boot and gave the dogs some treats just as my husband arrived home.  He asked how everything went and I just smiled and said “great!” To this day I believe the dogs were smirking as they walked away.

Curiosity

Curiosity killed the cat

But satisfaction brought him back

You never hear that second part

For if you did you might just start

To wonder, question and inquire

The need to know a burning fire

Leading to obsessiveness

That gets you into quite a mess

Since 9 lives aren’t ours to spend

We best remember curiosity’s end

To find our satisfaction, face it

It’s safer on a need to know basis

Auntie Helen's Dresser Drawers

 The older couple that lived next door were like grandparents to us.  They were retired and their children were grown and out of the house.  Uncle Lou spent his days in his garden always keeping an eye on us as we played outside. He fixed our bikes and showed us how to tell a weed from a flower.  Auntie Helen stayed indoors most of the time so we didn’t see her as often.  When she did come outside I always held my breath waiting for her to ask us in for a visit.

  A visit meant sitting with her on the sun porch eating homemade cookies from an old metal tin and Kool-Aid out of paper cups.  It also meant being able to open our own special drawers in the large sideboard in the dining room that l called a dresser.  Inside our drawers we each had a special coloring book, a box of crayons, a paint book, watercolors and a set of paper dolls. No hand me downs or leftovers but chosen especially for us according to our age and favorite characters or themes. We used our best coloring skills and treated everything carefully putting it away neatly for the next visit when we were done.  She hung our artwork on her refrigerator just as she had done with her own children.

 At home, out of necessity, we learned to share; at times a room, most of our toys and even a bed. During Auntie Helen’s visit we were unique individuals. My parents treated us as individuals amongst the chaos of a large family, but it was those quiet times away from home that helped me be me. I know that my grandchildren may have to share the guest room and take turns on the computer but they will each have a drawer with their own brand new things so they always know they are special and unique.

The Swim

     As rights’ of passage go, it was unique. Even though we never called it that, my brother, sisters and I couldn’t have anticipated it more. We lived on the Fox River so swimming was a common pass time, but when Dad finally pointed and said “Let’s go” to one of us, then started to swim out across the Fox, we knew our time had come. 

      Without inner tube or life jacket we swam out past the longest piers where only the boats traveled and the bottom was unreachable.  It was a true test of our swimming stamina and as I soon discovered, our confidence, when I looked back and saw our shoreline from a new and distant perspective.

    

     The reward was not just the pride of reaching the other side but the treasure that would be found there.  Our home side of the river was deep and the bottom covered in rocks and sand.  The opposite shore was undeveloped and only reachable through thigh deep, leg sucking mud.  Finding our treasure there would be another test of courage and determination. 

     As half sinking, half walking; I searched alongside my father, I was thrilled when I finally felt something round and hard touch my foot.  I didn’t need instructions. I clamped it between both feet and virtually sitting in the mud pulled it up to meet my hands.  The perfect specimen, it was whole and heavy with life.  I hardly remember the swim back home, only the thrill of watching my Dad afterwards as he opened, cleaned and revealed the mother of pearl shell.  “That’s a nice one.” He said, and no words could have expressed his pride more.

Wrangling Potatoes

    

 As a young girl from Illinois I could only imagine what it was like to be a cowgirl.  I loved horses and spent hours in front of TV westerns and reading every book about horses and riding that I could find. I thought that even though I didn’t live out west that wrangling horses must surely be in my blood.  Those daydreams were eventually replaced by new and more complicated teenage fantasies.  My worn copies of National Velvet and My Friend Flicka ended up on the shelf in my closet along with my horse statues and the framed picture of my first pony ride.

     My adolescent dreams were suddenly reawakened when after High School graduation I landed a summer job on a Colorado dude ranch.  I pictured myself once again on horseback leading trail rides and dressed from hat to boots in western wear.  When I arrived at the ranch, it was everything I had imagined and more. There was a huge barn, log cabin lodge and out buildings that were designed to look like an old western town.  Cowboys, cowgirls and horses were everywhere and I couldn’t wait to step into my fantasy role and ride off into the sunset.

     When the jobs were assigned the most experienced with horses became wranglers and much to my disappointment the rest of us became housekeepers, kitchen staff and store clerks. There was no fast track, on the job training for trail guides.  I told myself that wrangling potatoes in the mountains was still better than most summer jobs and if I couldn’t be a cowgirl at least I could live in my imaginary world for a little while.

     When the summer ended I had to let go of my adolescent dreams and the more mature wisdom of a high school graduate took over. I realized that it was foolish of me to want to be a cowgirl.  I would just marry a cowboy.

A Question of Praise

A man asked God how to praise Him in humble adoration and God asked Him these questions:

How would you praise me if you had no voice?
The man answered, I would lift my hands Lord.

How would you praise me if you had no arms?
The man answered, I would fall on my knees Lord.

How would you praise me if you had no legs?
The man answered, I would fall on my face Lord.

Finally, the Lord asked:

How would you praise me if your life was ending?
The man answered, With all my heart and mind and strength Lord.

Begin there, said the Lord and you will praise me with humble adoration.

The Creeper

My breath is held

My Body Stiffens

My Flesh begins to crawl

From the edge of dreams

I saw

A figure move along the wall

I search the dark

In silent horror

I pray that I’m mistaken

My heart is pounding

Through my chest

My common sense is shaken

As sleep bows to reality

My eyes regain some clarity

Suddenly my fears forsaken

I know for sure I have awakened

As horrors go there were none at all

Just Cat shadows on the wall

She Had It Coming or I Guess I Showed Her

No one hated PE more than I did. By senior year I had survived gymnastics, rope climbing and field hockey humiliations of epic proportion. I was chosen last when the teams were picked and was usually the first one on the bench.  The only thing that kept me going was knowing that all I had to do was make it through 4 more semesters and I would never have to suit up and suffer again.

 I would have made it too, if it hadn’t been for her. Petite and popular she was a solid mass of competitive muscle with an arrogant attitude. Time and time again I found myself the first to fall at her feet. Reaching my breaking point I decided that if it was the last thing I did I would find a way to beat her at something.

The opportunity came when my long stride advanced me to the finals of the hundred yard dash.  Bursting off the line with 3 1/2 years of pent up humiliation fueling my feet; I put my head down and ran as though my life depended on it.  The sound of my cheering classmates drowned out the coach shouting at me to pick up my head and breath. The next thing I remember she was bending over me asking if I thought I could make it to the nurse’s office. I had blacked out and literally fallen over the finish line. It wasn’t technically a victory because my feet never made it over the line but not even my opponent had  the heart to say so.  The cinders still embedded in my knees are a reminder of the price I paid for vengeance. I remain to this day a very non-competitive person.  What happened to my archrival?  She became a PE teacher.

The Tallest Girl in Class or Nadia I'm Not

It wasn’t bad enough that I was the tallest girl in class, I was also clumsy.  A fact that quickly put an end to any basketball aspirations I might have had.  To survive humiliation in gym I was determined to find a sport that would teach me grace and coordination.  I naively chose gymnastics because I was fascinated by the gymnast’s graceful motions and seemingly effortless command of their bodies.  I spent hours in front of televised competitions imagining myself in complete control of my long, ungainly limbs. Somehow I never noticed their petite size.  

 As hard as I tried I failed at even the most basic elements of trampoline, balance beam and tumbling.  My long limbs seem to have a mind of their own.  Still determined I was convinced that my length would be an asset on the uneven bars. I stood on the low bar and threw my long body over the top of the high bar ready to swing back up in one graceful motion.  The loud slap could be heard across the gym as I found myself standing flat on my feet with my hands still gripping the bar.  The PE teacher apologetically explained that she could not adjust the bars for just one student and the height was sufficient for everyone else.  Somehow that didn’t help.

 Vaulting was my last chance.  Surely long legs would not be a problem for jumping, I told myself.  They still talk about the tangled mess of legs and arms they found that day on the far side of the vaulting horse.  The minute I was upright again I ran for the door as fast as I could.  I would love to say that I discovered my track and field ability at that moment but the track cinders that are still embedded in my knees are evidence to the contrary.

Night Watch

            Summer days on the Fox River where I grew up were filled with swimming, boating, and barbeques. Three of my Uncles also had homes in our small subdivision creating a steady flow of relatives and visitors.

            The frantic activity of the day was eventually subdued by darkness, as boats and visitors disappeared and the river became quiet. Fishing poles lined the banks in makeshift holders and bobbers rolled softly over ripples of water that just hours before had been the large waves of the boat wakes. The low voices of the brothers playing poker on Uncle Paul’s screen porch drifted out into the night air.  If it wasn’t too cold, the aunts’ voices could be heard from our own screen porch as they chatted or played pinochle. The kids were the watchers.  We sat on the grass a safe distance from the bank and stared at the black water waiting for that little bit of movement that would bring the night to life. 

Watching the bobbers we had learned to tell the difference between the tug of a choppy wave and the real thing. On first sight we raced to see who could get to the screen porch first to let the pole’s owner know they had a bite. The cards were left in mid hand as they ran down to the bank to watch the catch.  Congratulations given, the poles were checked and re-baited and card games resumed as we all took our places again. In time the night would grow damp as a low hanging fog rolled out over the water, the fish would stop biting and we would be summoned for bed. Even now, on warm summer nights when I close my eyes, I can almost hear the soft lapping of the water and the drifting voices of the night watch.

A Toast

Here's to all my hairbrained schemes
that fed my thirsty soul.
With thoughts of freedom,
wealth and fame
when days were long and cold.

Each one the final, perfect plan
for all to fall in place.
Determination led the way.
Reality set the pace.

And after all my sweat and tears
as master of my fate.
I weigh the cost of all my dreams
against my present state.

The price I paid for being me
time wasted and time spent.
Now I have His perfect plan,
a child of God, I am content

Welcome to Naphtali's Land

      Deciding what to post on my blog was much easier than deciding what to call it. For every positively unique name I came up with there were at least 5 or 6 other blogs with the same title. A blow to my creative ego, I looked for inspiration elsewhere and came across a quote by the 19^th-century Scottish historian, Thomas Carlyle, “The merit of originality is not novelty; it is sincerity.” The truth behind this blog is that I love to write and to imagine that my words will entertain or inspire others. I found my title in a story about a father’s blessing and gift to his son. A gift because he understood who he was and what he had to give, which was a gift that my own father gave to me.
       In the Bible’s book of Genesis chapter 49 Jacob was giving a last prophetic blessing to each of his 12 sons. In verse 21 he blessed his son Naphtali, "Naphtali is a hind let loose: he giveth goodly words". (KJV) or “Naphtali is a doe set free; he utters beautiful words.” (NIV translation II)  I researched further and found that the portion of the Promised Land allotted to Naphtali was bordered by the Jordan River, and that the only brother with which he shared both mother and father was named Dan.  I grew up on the Fox River and my only brother’s name is Dan so I felt right at home in Naphtali’s land.  Sharing the stories and poems inspired by my life’s journey I only hope that what I write here will be "goodly words" that make you feel at home too.