This week has been a bit hectic.  Instead of not writing a blog, I went back to the first year I posted blogs.  This one from November 24, 2006.  Hope your Thanksgiving was blessed and that you are now looking forward to the time we celebrate the birth of Jesus.

Mary

SLOW DOWN -- SEE THE WONDERS

When I saw the calendar page for November 23, the saying made me think. ---- “Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving. -- W.T. Purkiser ---- I hope that today, you remember the blessing you have received and that you use those blessings wisely.

TODAY’S SCRIPTURE
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love endures forever.
Give thanks to the God of gods. His love endures forever.
Give thanks to the Lord of lords: His love endures forever.
to him who alone does great wonders, His love endures forever.
who by his understand made the heavens, His love endures forever.
who spread out the earth upon the waters, His love endures forever.
who made the great lights -- His love endures forever.
the sun to govern the day, His love endures forever.
the moon and stars to govern the night; His love endures forever.
Psalm 136:1-9

SLOW DOWN -- SEE THE WONDERS

Oh, how time flies, except for the drive home from Rochester one night. On that drive, the time was just perfect. Grandson Nathan, who was four at the time, rode with me to attend a pre-school graduation. We heard the songs and saw Joshua, a five-year-old grandson, move his tassel. At least he could find his. Some had flipped their tassel from side to side so often that it had ended up on the back of the cap. We continued the celebration with cake. Then we headed home – on the back roads.

The ride over had been fun. We talked about rivers and about corn being planted. We talked about how to behave at the church. Yes, the ride over was fun, but the ride home was one wonder after another.

Around one corner, we saw a large lake and talked about water lilies. Then we saw wild geese and their babies. Since no one was behind us, we stopped and watched. What fun to see new life. All fluffy and going in all directions with mom trying to keep up. If that was not enough excitement for one drive, we saw some horses and their colts. Again, we stopped and watched. One colt came over to the fence to check us out. Maybe we were the ones being watched. The talk here involved how the colts were fed and how each was marked differently. We moved on, but again had to stop. This time to watch the deer. They just stood at the side of the road for us to admire. The conversation here? None. I had put the window down so Nathan could see better and he informed me that we needed to be quiet so as not to scare them. Finally, we had to move on. The wonders had not ended though. The sky was on fire. The sun was setting and Nathan kept looking over his shoulder saying, “Look now grandma.”

On this journey, I learned this four year old is never quiet. This is not a new revelation and he has a three-year-old cousin that is the same way. But confined in the car, I listened to him better. What did I hear? I heard the joy of seeing something new. I heard the excitement of watching a colt. I heard the quiet of nature. I learned that time does not have to fly by.

QUESTIONS OF THE DAY

It is Thanksgiving. What are you thankful for? If you are reading this in the evening, did you find any wonders today? Was the sky on fire as the sun rose or set? Did you see a very bright star? Or a new colt? If you are reading this in the morning, where will you look for wonders to appear? Keep your eyes and mind open.

LET US PRAY

Dear God, I do know you have put many amazing wonders in this world for me to find. I want to see them. I want to feel the sun on my face and feel the breeze cool me. I want to wiggle my toes in the mud and watch a butterfly. Today I saw ………………………………… Amen

 THAT’S FUNNY

I am going on vacation next week so I decided to get my blog written early, have it scheduled to post, and off I could go.  There is only one problem with that --- I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO WRITE! 

When this happens, I can usually look at my future blog ideas and an idea will spin around and around and end up on the paper.  Not today!  I looked in the backup if all else fails folder.  Still drawing a blank. 

Then I saw it.  Why not?  It is snowing (on November 12) and this is about winter boots.  My second thought was, “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”  My next thought was, “Go for it.  Everyone needs a laugh.”

WINTER BOOTS

A Teacher’s Nightmare

He asked for help and she could see why.  Even with her pulling and him pushing, the little boots still didn’t want to go on.  By the time they got the second boot on, she had worked up a sweat.

She almost cried when the little boy said, “Teacher, they’re on the wrong feet.”

She looked and sure enough, they were.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t any easier pulling the boots off than it was putting them on.  She managed to keep her cool as, together; they worked to get the boots back on, this time on the correct feet.

He then announced, “These aren’t my boots.”

She bit her tongue, rather than get right in his face and scream, “Why didn’t you say so?”  Once again, she struggled to help him pull the ill-fitting boots off his little feet.

No sooner had they got the boots off, he said, “They’re my brother’s boots.  But my mom made me wear ‘em today.” 

Now she didn’t know if she should laugh or cry.  But she mustered up what grace and courage she had left to wrestle the boots BACK onto his feet again. 

Helping him into his coat, she asked, “Now, where are your mittens?”

He said, “I stuffed ‘em in the toes of my boots….”

She’ll be eligible to come back into the classroom in three years.

I can picture this and sympathize with the teacher.  Every parent knows the fun of getting a child into a snowsuit, stocking cap, gloves (How can three fingers fit in the thumb spot?), and boots.  Of course, as the last item of winter garb goes on, every parent’s worst nightmare is to hear, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“I know exactly how the teacher felt.  The boots were to protect the child’s feet against the snow and cold.  She struggled to get them on the child.”

Hi God.  You put boots on kids?

“No.  I try to get my children to wear protection against the devil’s schemes.  Instead, you try to handle everything yourself.”

What are you talking about?  I try not to bother you with the little things.  Surely I can do that without bothering you.  And the big things … I thought all I had to do was ask you and you would pop right in there between me and that ole devil.

“Have you heard of the Armor of God?”

Sorta…

“Please read Ephesians 6:10-20.  I’ll wait.”

Be strong in the Lord … full armor of God … against the devil’s schemes, rulers, authorities, powers of this dark world, spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.  WHAT?  There are evil forces in the heavenly realms? 

“Keep reading.”

Stand your ground … belt of truth … breastplate of righteousness … gospel of peace … shield of faith …helmet of salvation … sword of the Spirit … Pray.

That’s a lot of important stuff in those eleven verses.  Why can’t I just do the prayer part?

“Think about the boy and his boots.  His mother wanted his feet to be dry so she gave him boots.  She prepared her son for what was in front of him.  I am doing the same for my children.  I am preparing you.”

You are preparing me to keep my feet dry?

“There is more at stake than wet feet.  I am preparing you to save your soul!  The devil is powerful and will try to trick you.  You must be ready to stand strong.  You must use truth, righteousness, the gospel of peace, faith, salvation, and the word of God.”

And prayer!  Don’t forget prayer.

“By the way, I liked the story of the teacher, the boy, and the boots.  Thanks for making me smile.”

You’re welcome. 

---------------------------------------------

The moral of this week’s blog:  First, be prepared with the full armor of God.  Second, when putting snow boots on children, be sure there are no mittens in the toe and start with the left.  No, the other left.

 VETERANS DAY

My dad had burnt his feet when he was young and he was a mechanic/truck driver when he was drafted.  So where did the Army place him?  In the infantry of course.

My dad, PFC John H. Pittman, served in WW II.  He was in Bravo Company, 115th Infantry Regiment, 29th Infantry Division, American 9th Army.  There was a change at one point to Company 16th Infantry, Company B 115th Infantry, Hq Company, 1st Bn. 115th Infantry.

Dad did his basic training at Camp Wheeler, Georgia.  In a letter dated October 12, 1944, we know he was somewhere in the southern part of England.  They were training and trying to get used to the weather.  After October 29, 1944, he was in France, then Belgium, and then Paris. 

I always thought his division was a “clean up” division.  I thought they went in after the main battle was over and found any strong holds or soldiers hiding in small towns.  I thought his job was pretty safe.  Or as safe as any soldier can be in a war.  Then I read the letters he had written to my mother.  The letters that had been in a closet for a very long time.  Sitting there unread.  Until….

As I read those letters, I realized his job was anything but safe.  Often he was in the middle of heavy fighting.  And those soldiers, hiding in those small towns, still had ammunition.  I didn’t want to know that.  I wanted to picture him safe, but reality is often something we don’t want to know.

Dad never talked about the war.  He never told us stories.  He never explained the pictures in the photo album.  There were not many pictures anyway.  He told mom a few things

• there was a young boy he helped but the young boy was killed
• he had some souvenirs, but when they told them to pitch anything they didn’t want, he threw one duffle bag on the pile forgetting about the items he meant to bring home
• he wanted to get home

And there was a book beside his bed.  On the cover was an emblem of The Blue and Gray.  I don’t ever remember him looking at that book. 

The only time he talked about the war was when his friend and fellow soldier came to visit.  The kids would all go out to play.  The two wives would go to the living room.  And dad and Gene would sit at the kitchen table… smoking one cigarette after another… heads bowed… voices low… and sharing stories they would not share with their families.  They wanted to protect their families from the true horror of war.  And that horror could only be understood by someone who had been there.

I wonder if dad and Gene realized their wives were also telling stories.  Stories that could only be shared with someone who also had taken care of the home and the finances and the children and the struggles. 

Playing catch or croquet or just looking at clouds, we were oblivious to the stories being told inside our home.  Stories that could only be shared and understood by those that were there. 

I was going to put a picture of my dad in his uniform.  I decided not to.  I want you to see my dad – at peace.  Sitting in our yard.  Wearing a shirt my mom made him.  And I can guarantee there is a Camel cigarette in the hand you cannot see.

Thank you dad for serving.

 HOME

Pastor Larry Wade, of Urbana Yoke Parish, also writes a blog.   Although it might be fun to try, we never know what the other person is writing and we never try to write on the same subject.  Until now.  Last week Pastor Larry wrote on moving and where home is.  His October 30th blog can be found here:  http://larry-fromthepastorsdesk.blogspot.com/

I really liked the blog and sent him an email.  The following is an expanded version of the email he received.

HOME AND THE NEXT HOME AND THE NEXT HOME

I know how Pastor Larry feels.  I grew up in town.  Moved to a farm.  A FARM --with smells and strange hours and moving hogs that did not want to cooperate.  We were home.  Then we moved to another state and a few hours away from my parents and family.  We unpacked, in a small town in Michigan, where I knew no one.  This meant going to a new church and finding out which pew I could sit in.  Moving meant putting our son in a school where I did not know the teachers.  I trusted them to teach my little boy.  It was hard to find a sitter who could not only watch our kids but also my mother-in-law.  We seldom went out but we were home.

One door closed and another one opened.  Off we went to Wabash, Indiana.  We were home.

We lived one year in Wabash and then moved to North Manchester.  I love reading and being on the Friends of the Library board was a perfect fit.  I led a Brownie Troop for a few years and then turned the troop over to the next level because the next level involved actually sleeping in a tent.  Not for me!!  I found the local Methodist Church and became active.  I helped start a Kid’s Club and discovered I like to teach Sunday School.  A bowling team allowed me to join even though I was only a fair bowler.  During this time I was working for Bill, working auctions, making many trips to Purdue, and being the little lady of the house. We were home. 

An opportunity presented itself and we moved to a farm outside of North Manchester.  The move to the farm was a whole new level of learning.  I helped pull calves, put ear tags in, and helped repair a fence in the middle of the night using the lights from the tractor and flashlights.  That is one adventure that was not going to be repeated and a new fence was put in.  We were home.  Or were we? 

As much as we loved the old farm house, after 22 years I was ready for some conveniences like having my bedroom and bathroom on the same floor and an attached garage.  To be honest, the only move that I did not want to make was to where we live now.  I wanted to move!  You know, like to Cody, Wyoming or at least to the hills and hollows of southern Indiana.  I miss them.  Or to a beach.  Or to the mountains.  But that was not to be.  So I began house hunting and our lives changed again.  Bill retired and that meant I was fired.  Yup, we packed up and moved to a house in town.  We are home. 

What I have discovered through all these moves is that home is where your heart is.  Home is where you feel safe and loved.  Home is where you can pray and cry and not feel like your prayers have to be silent and your tears hidden.  Home can be a family of six (my family growing up), a family of four (our home when the kids were growing up), a family that includes adult children and grandchildren (our home now) or a family of one (a home most of us do not choose).

I am a strange person, because I like to move.  Why?  Each move came with the adventure of discovery.  Each move came with challenges.  Each move gave me the opportunity to find a new passion.

I believe the adventure of moving out of your comfort zone (See note below.) should be experienced by everyone.  Moving forces a person to reach out to strangers so they become friends.  Moving means you learn to join groups that have already been formed and finding your place within that group.  Moving means discovering life stories and learning from others.  

Moving means God will use you in a new way.  And He did.  I heard a voice say, “Is that the church you want to go to?”  And my answer was no.  Bill had been invited to give Urbana Yoke Parish a try.  We did.  And from the first time we walked in the door, I knew something.  Home is walking into a church and having people smile at you and give you hugs.  I was home!

And an email reply to Pastor Larry became this week’s blog.

Have a blessed week.

Mary

Note:  Moving out of your comfort zone does not mean you have to move around like we did.  It might mean you join a book club or start a coffee group or go to a different worship time or volunteer at the senior citizen center or help with those Brownie Scouts.  Moving out of your comfort zone simply means you try something new.