This is Love

It all started when our missions minded full of love daughter had a layover in Amsterdam, on her return trip from Uganda. She brought me a bag of tulip bulbs from the airport gift shop.  One wondering glance at that bag of bulbs and the huge empty flower beds turned into the hubby ordering more tulip bulbs along with a few daffodils. 200 more bulbs. The back breaking bulb planting day was the day the Christmas lights came down. Then on the official first day of spring the flower beds were full of blooms.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but delights in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails." (1 Corinthians 13:4-8)

And love is tulips. And love is daffodils. 

So, if you pass by my house today, enjoy the love.

Merging and Purging at the Poor Farm

We've been back in Texas for a year trying to merge kitchens, closets, medicine cabinets, garages, and offices from a house in Texas, two houses in North Dakota, a creekside cabin, and an RV. Without a doubt, we have too much stuff. 

We played a game with coffee mugs. Which is your favorite? Put it in the coffee cup cupboard. Cupboard. That's a nice word I learned to use up north. Which is your least favorite? Put it in the thrift store box. How in the world did we get so many?

When I got to the kitchen drawers that wouldn't open without sticking my hand inside to rearrange, I just dumped them. What I found was shocking: Shocking.

138 toothpicks, 

114 bamboo skewers, 

36 corn holders,

17 bottle stoppers, 

13 metal skewers,

7 lid grippers,

5 bar-b-q lighters,

4 pair of kitchen shears,

4 temperature guages,

4 rubber spatulas,

3 can openers,

3 jalapeno seeders,

3 biscuit cutters,

2 melon scoops,

2 bar-b-q brushes,

2 pizza cutters,

2 garlic presses,

2 pair of Pei Wei chop sticks,

and not one of anything.

But while I was sorting staples, scissors, pens, pencils, and note pads - I had a serious flashback to a day in another life time. I was keeping a close eye on my paper clip at the bank's drive-thru window. I just didn't have many precious paper clips to spare or money to buy another box. That teller had better not keep my paper clip, I thought. 

Was I poor? Did I think I was poor? Today, I think poor is relative.

Proverbs 13:41 says, "When you are kind to the poor, you honor God."

"The rich and the poor shake hands as equals - God made them both!" Proverbs 22:2

Poor is defined as lacking sufficient money to live at a standard considered comfortable or normal in a society. Maybe it depends on which society. 

1.2 billion people worldwide live on under $2 per day, according to Wikipedia. Two Dollars.  Most of us waste that much every single day. A medium size Dr. Pepper will cost you two dollars and five cents at Dairy Queen.

Today, I can buy a box of paperclips for $2.00 or less or a lot less. Or maybe four boxes or maybe ten.

Ed and Rosa Salo, Mama and Papa to children at the Lily of the Valley Orphanage in Aldama, Chichuahua, Mexico (click here to visit their website) spoke at church about compassion, connections, and rewards. Samuela, who who was the Salos driver on their journey north, was, according to Ed, a bruised, battered, bleeding nine year old, when he came to Lily. He now works along side Ed and Rosa to bind up the wounded hearts of the children.  Our church has supported them for at least 10 years and several years ago, I joined a group from church, to visit Lily. We freely crossed the border with food, clothes, and bedding. Today, no one is allowed to cross with these items. There are so many needs there. The children seldom eat meat. Their buses are broken and they have only one van to shuttle the children to their schools and doctor appointments, and we, as in the church, have purchased a van for them. These children came from the poorest of the poor, and are richly loved and cared for in the safe haven of Ed and Rosa's care.

Mexico, according to a 2013 report, has a 21.3% poverty rate. 21.3% of Mexico's population live on less than two U.S. dollars per day. My friend and neighbor went to Mexico recently. She took my bags of closet cleanouts in suitcases to her family in Mexico. She can cross with them, because the cases are viewed as vacation clothes. She says, "When you are poor, everything fits." Sometimes, she walks across the border and meets her sister on the bridge to exchange suitcases.

Guatemala, Mexico's neighbor to the south, has a 62.4 poverty rate, according to the same report. We have helped His Appointed Time Ministries (click here) a little and seen the needs in person.

Uganda's poverty rate is 88.2%. Do the math: only 11.8% of the population does not live in poverty. Houses are mud and grass. Floors are dirt. Food is very little and medicine is almost nonexistent. We have sent sewing machines, blankets, and schoolchildren sponsorships to Uganda via, His Joy Ministries. Click here to view.

The poverty rate here in the United States is 13.5% according to the 2015 census. I have a suspicion that the poorest of the poor here in the US might seem wealthy in Uganda.

And if wealth were judged by the number of loose paper clips on my desk or coffee cups in my cupboard, then I am truly a wealthy woman. Even without counting those things I am wealthy. I am thankful and blessed beyond measure. Count your blessings.

Rooted and Grounded

Us native-born "Texians" have a love-hate relationship with this scrubby, scrappy, throny tree called - The Mesquite. We love it in barbeque pits for the smoky flavor it gives our ribs and briskets. We love it for the knarly rustic furniture, bowls and even dominoes that craftsmen create with it.

We love that it is the last tree to sprout leaves in the spring, and a sure sign that winter is over.

Folks who are firmly rooted in this great state, but have to  move out of state have been known to carry seeds to their new homes in an effort to have a little Texas in their new landscape. It is not our officail state tree, but it covers over one third of the state - mostly in West and South Texas.

Ranchers battle the long roots that tap as far as needed ( some resources say as far as 25 feet) to find water and keep the tree drought resistant. Water needed for grass that feeds cattle. Longtime farmer friend Max, says that we may win the battle, but we will never win the war.  We burn it, spray it, cut it down, and pull it up. And it grows back with a vengence. It's thorny armor grows longer and stronger. Its roots grow deeper.

Now that we are back in Texas, my Inspector Handyman Hubby is wearing his Farmboy hat and has waged war with the mighty mesquite. The mesquites that have had a mostly peaceful life without us for the past eight or ten years while we followed the job.

He says he can tell the trees that have been shredded, or plowed over, or chopped down, by the size of their roots. The more they have been cut down, the longer and stronger and deeper the roots. And I said, "Oh, Papa. That'll PREACH!"  He kind of rolls his eyes when I say that!

But think about it. Sometimes, we feel like life has burned us out, chopped us down, and dug us up. We feel discarded and useless. BUT - if our roots are firmly established in His Word, in His Truth, in HIM - we will be like the trees spoken of in Psalm 1:1-3 and Jeremiah 17:7-8. We will be like trees whose leaves do not wither, who do not fear the heat, have no worries in years of drought, trees that bear fruit and prosper. PROSPER.

2 Corinthians 4:9, written by Paul (who as a former persecutor of Christians, was himself persecuted and imprisioned) says that we are "hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." Let's be those kind of believers. Let's put our roots down deep so that nothing can destroy us. Let's bear fruit and prosper.

With so much worldwide attention on persecuted Christians, we can only pray that those sitting in prison for preaching Jesus, have roots that keep growing deeper and stronger. Some experts believe that persecution actually makes the church (as in the body of Christ) grow stronger.

"You're blessed when your committment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom." (Matthew 5:10 The Message)

"Let your roots grow down into HIM, and let your lives be built on HIM. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness. (Colossians 2:7 The Message)

"No one is established by wickedness,

 but the root of the righteous will never be moved."

(Proverbs 12:3)

Transitions

Transition

Transition is the word of the day, the week, the month, the last three months. 

Dictionary.com defines "transition" as:

1. change or passage from one state or stage to another

2. the period of time during which something changes from one state or stage to another

3. (music) a movement from one key to another: modulation by linking passage between two divisions in a composition; bridge

Some change comes almost instantly, as when hubby says, "I got a call. The company is over budget, out of money, and sending the contractor home. The next inspection job starts next year. Can I retire?" Forrest Gump was tired and ready to go home. And just like that, without transition or that musical bridge, the music of our lives changed.  

Some transition is relatively short, like driving from one state (North Dakota) to another state (Texas) with two loaded trucks and a trailer. It was a three day transition on two lane state highways driving across our great United States, almost border to border. It was our sixth and final bittersweet drive on those roads. Then we were Texicans again.

Other transitions go on and on and on. And on. For example, when people have not really lived in a house for eight or nine years, and those same people bring in  boxes of treasures from the northland, only to find that every closet, cupboard, and corner in the south is already occupied over the maximum allowed limit.

Now, three months later, we have had a few side trips, gone to a premier vintage junk market, had our own non-premier vintage market (aka garage sale), and packed the dumpster weekly. We have donated a pickup load to the local thrift store and given another to a neighbor who will meet her sister on the Rio Grande River bridge to hand off a couple of suitcases of clothes for her Mexico family.

Change (or cleaning out a closet) can cause momentary chaos. You drag all that junk out, organize it on the bedroom floor, and make those three recommended piles - throw away, give away, keep. And put it back with a little new junk from a land faraway. Then....repeat.

Psalm 51:10 says, "Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a right spirit in me". Someone has said that repentance creates room for Jesus. Repentance cleans out what is hidden in our closed heart's closets and drawers. But, as much as my kitchen utensil drawer wanted to be clean, organized, untangled, and easy to open, she had to give up some stuff. She had to be emptied, laid out, and counted. Purged. It was all good stuff, but after a good cleaning, her heart held only the best stuff. 

Then, if you, my friend, visit me, you will likely think, "she needs to clean up this messy house." But you can't see my orderly linen closet or the coffee cups I purged, because this house in is transition. You can't see that I started with the inside and someday, you can see the change on the outside. You might think that about me and my temple, too. Sometimes it takes a while for my temple to reflect the cleanliness of my heart.

We are reconnecting, and transitioning into whatever our lives will look like back here in the sometimes harsh land of things that of sting, prick, and bite. We are dining with people friends and critter-friends while we ponder who we are back in Texas. We are missing our northern friends, too.

If you are reading this from North Dakota, you need to know that all these photographs, except the cotton field, are from my inheritance - the family farm/ranch. You have seen my daddy's junk yard, prickly pear cactus, ripe mesquite beans, my happy place - the pasture, my back yard, a jack rabbit, quail, dove, and a scissor tail with her scissors closed.

Most evenings will find us in front row sunset theater seats in our back yard. This transition hasn't been easy or smooth, but it all dims in the evening light show.

"It is the goodness of God that leads you to repentance."

Romans 2:4

Taco Crisis

There has been a lot of news coverage lately about identity conflict.

I have decided that if loving tacos is any indication, 

then I have a serious identity conflict.

 In North Dakota, 

I almost had up the nerve to defy my husbands orders to not stop at the taco bus

 (yes, a big yellow school bus with a hand painted "TACO" sign),

 when it caught fire and burned. 

The locals recommend the Mexican Food Restaurant in Williston, 

but I usually say that Texans don't eat Mexican food north of Amarillo.

 However, one day we saw a hand painted sign from down the street. 

It just said,

"TACOS"

I stuck my head in the door, did the sniff test, then surveyed the non-gringo clientele.

 The owner said he was from Mexico and that he makes street tacos.

I love tacos -

corn tortilla, shredded beef, chicken, pork, or fish 

with guacamole, lettuce, fresh salsa, cilantro, and a little lime.

I luuuuuv tacos

and I speak enough Spanglish to get me in trouble.

My earliest memories of tacos were from Carlos' Little Mexico

 in my hometown Texas.

Then my mama's homemade tacos were next.

 Her recipe was delish:

one pound of browned ground beef

one can of Wolf Brand Chili

served in 

corn tortillas dipped in hot Crisco.

The blazing orange grease dripped off our elbows when we ate them.

Oh, they were good.

Of course there's not enough Rolaids in the state of Texas to get me to eat one now.

My next memory was hanging out in the chinaberry tree

 with Jimmy, the neighbor kid.  

The tree was right beside our farm workers' temporary hacienda behind my Daddy's shop. 

 I can almost still smell the frijoles, lard, tortillas, and kerosene cook stove.  

They came from Mexico legally to move irrigation pipe, hoe weeds, and pick cotton. 

This is Shorty, who was our trusted favorite playing with me. 

I have curlers in my hair - that means it was Saturday. 

We always washed and curled our hair on Saturday.

I wish I still had that car.

Years later, Shorty tried to come back to us,

 but was turned away at the border because he had T.B. (tuberculosis). 

My how things have changed at the border.

On our little 19 day trip through the Pacific Northwest, 

we came through a little town in Idaho that had a taco wagon on every corner.

 Really. 

Almost.

We imagined and theorized for an hour about how they all got there. 

We decided they must have come to work in the potato fields,

 but found tacos to be more lucrative.

Who knows?

Somehow menus written in Spanish give taco wagons the most credibility.

I have tried to perfect my own Mexican food cooking skills during my stay in North Dakota

 and have come up with the best 

Taco Seasoning recipe:

1 Tablespoon Chili Powder

1 Tablespoon Ground Cumin

1 Tablespoon Garlic Powder

1 Tablespoon Onion Powder

1/4 Tablespoon Crushed Red Pepper

Of course, I make it by the quart.

I love tacos.

If I have an identity conflict, 

then I must identify as 

a 

TACO.

~~~

Si!

Me encantan los tacos!

Miracle Rain

The news headlines said that the

Lake Sees Miracle in May

This lake that provides water to 350,000 thirsty folks in

 West Texas has received a Miracle.

Four years ago we were meeting on the court house lawn

 for corporate prayer.

We carried umbrellas as an act of faith.

We acknowledged our sin before God.

We humbly asked Him to open he skies.

We sang rain songs and read rain scriptures.

We acknowledged that He is the one in charge.

The prayers have continued.

Water rationing began.

Thirsty non-native trees and lush lawns turned brown and died.

Some homeowners drilled water wells in their back yards.

Others replaced the dead turf with artificial turf,

and rocks, and cactus.

A few weeks ago, these homesick grandparents went back to Texas just in time to witness some spring rain, water running into the lake, and blooming wildflowers whose seeds had long been dormant in the hard packed dirt.

   

Four walls couldn't keep us and we drove 

the country-side 

to witness this great green rejoicing of nature.

When the mud dried a little, 

we ventured to our own back yard 

- our pasture, 

my happy place.

How long has it been 

since we've seen these yellow flowers?

In April 2011, we were praying for rain.

In April 2014 this lake held less than 1% capacity.

In April 2015 this lake held 44% capacity.

Today

May 9, 2015

This murky watered lake

that provides life for so many, is 

73% Full

Yes, 

we have seen a miracle.

HE gives rain on the earth

and sends water on the fields.

(Job 5:10)

May HE come down like rain on mown grass.

Like showers on the earth.

(Psalm 72:6)

Drip down O heavens from above, 

and let the clouds pour down righteousness;

Let the earth open up 

and salvation bear fruit,

and righteousness spring up with it.

I the LORD have created it.

(Isaiah 45:8)