Autumn Memories

The crickets are singing as I sit at the computer and compose my thoughts. In China or Japan the cricket is considered good luck. For whatever reason they think that, I have no idea. Nonetheless, I find their company rather soothing. A cricket's chirping brings back memories of other years and experiences that are now a part of who I've become.

My mother-in-law was driven to distraction by a cricket serenading her from the basement. She would instantly leap to her feet to go on a search and destroy mission. However, the cricket would usually elude her and continue to lead her forward, farther and farther from the original sound - rather like a minute pied piper. Perhaps that's why the Asian people consider the cricket to be good luck - they can evade destruction by going silent, only to erupt again into blazing song when the hunter has passed them by.

Bernie and I arrived back home last night after returning to Iowa to celebrate my Dad's 81st birthday. The fact that he is still with us means that he is rather like the cricket. He, too, has eluded the hunter for many years and he continues to sing. He was singing this weekend.

When I was a child, he and I would sit in the living room, late at night, and sing to the songs on "Hit Parade" or we would follow the "bouncing ball" and sing along with Mitch. We would sing in the car on our travels. We encouraged the harvest moon to shine on. We pretended we were cajuns and sang about jambalaya and crawfish pie. He would croon to me that I was his sunshine. For many years he did not sing and I missed it.

The Bible makes great importance about music. David sang songs to the Lord when he was in the fields learning about God and about shepherding. Paul and Silas sang praises to the Lord while they were imprisoned and the walls of their imprisonment collapsed. They and everyone in prison with them were released when they sang.

My Dad, the cricket, is learning to sing again so that he is not bound by the walls around him. The ways of God are antithetical to the natural ways which we think. Dad has struggled with depression in his life, but as long as he sings, the walls of his now shrinking world will continue to expand. His life is a miracle. He shares a birthday with a sister who died while she was in her childhood. He had his first heart attack when he was 45 and yet he has outlived his first beloved wife by 20 years. It has not been easy, but then, miracles are never easy. We just think they are easy because we rejoice in the end results. However, miracles come about through great cost. My Dad always told me, "Vicky, there are no free lunches." And he is right.

My quest continues to be: finding joy in the small things of life. It is in that quest that true happiness lies. And that, to me, is the mark of a successful life.

Housework

Click on picture for enlarged view.

I come from a distinguished line of women who are "random housekeepers". In an effort to maintain lineage purity and family integrity, I am following in the footsteps of my feminine predecessors while passing along helpful hints to my children. Peg Bracken, in her opening paragraph in chapter one of I Hate To Housekeep Book defines "random housekeepers": "There are three kinds of housekeepers. There is the spotless housekeeper, who won't stop, and there is the spotful housekeeper, who won't start. Then there is the occasional or random housekeeper, whose book this is."

At the present moment, my husband and I are smitten with Reese Sticks. I discovered them first but he had to horn in on the treat which requires me to now carefully guard my stash or they'll be inhaled so fast that the created vacuum will leave me breathless. Therefore, we are allowed one Reese Stick per person per night. They are hard to find, which makes them even more delicious.

This week we are devoted to Reese Sticks. Several weeks ago we couldn't get enough of watching "LOST" on DVD and sat through an all night marathon. This spring I was in to knitting so completely that I made 8 pair of socks for Christmas presents in about 3 months, which was astounding for me because I hardly finish anything let alone PAIRS of socks. Next week, most likely, we will find something else that catches our eye. Like crows, we'll flock around it, pick it up and carry it back to our nest. We are not consistent individuals. We are random, we function quite well that way and we are merrily passing along the DNA. But I find that I actually resent it. I would rather be uniform, consistent, and comfortably pragmatic. I don't want to be dogmatically pragmatic mind you, but yikes! That comment shows that my randomness is leaking out again.

My mother had this book and I found it on my bookshelf today when I was chastising myself, yet again, that I really need to clean house. Since I need a strong charge of desire to clean when I'm not motivated by the terror that company is arriving in 2 hours, I sashayed over to a bookshelf to see if I could find a resource on "getting organized." I've collected a number of helpful volumes through the years. On the bottom shelf, I found little Peg! I blew the dust off her, admired the quirky illustrations by Hilary Knight (who always cracks me up) and began to look through the yellowed pages. I couldn't believe that I'd had that book all these years and I'd never read it! I scanned the first page and knew this book was for me! It is about me! It appeals to my Germanic sense of being sensible and practical, yet it is witty and full of fun - like we Germanic people are....

Chapter 10 of her book "How to Remember and How to Remember to Remember" is a hoot. It is especially relevant to me right now because I forget what it was I left the bathroom to go to the kitchen to get. It wasn't a Reese Stick because I would have remembered that. Oh yes, it was the Awesome cleaner. Now, where did I put that cleaner the last time I finished using it?? I think her flagpole remembering list on page 116 may really help me. You must read that chapter yourself because I could get into big trouble from the copyright cops if I cut and paste too much information from the book into this blog. My blog readership is such that Crest Books would know by this afternoon.

What is the point of all this, you may ask. Well, the point is this. Peg Bracken just gave me credibility to accept that I am random and that I have talent in that direction. I am going to attempt to not obsess about the fact that I'm not spotless but I'm clean enough and life is too short to obsess about being perfect.

I'll talk to you later. It's time for a Reese Stick before my husband comes home.

Freedom Flyers

A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him Who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.

Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He Whom I most love to please
Doth listen to my song;
He caught and bound my wandering wing;
But still He bends to hear me sing.

Thou hast an ear to hear,
A heart to love and bless;
And though my notes were e'er so rude,
Thou wouldst not hear the less;
Because Thou knowest as they fall,
That love, sweet love, inspires them all.

My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty;
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of the soul.

Oh, it is good to soar
These bolts and bars above,
To Him Whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love;
And in Thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom of the mind.

Madame Jeanne Guyon (1648-1717)
"A Prisoner's Song"

Madame Guyon was imprisoned in the Bastille for 15 years for her beliefs, yet this poem conveys the beauty and the freedom of a clear conscience, which is what the Lord Jesus Christ gives us. The circumstances of life may rise up and strip away from us wealth, security, health, or family, but if we have a clean conscience before God through our faith in Jesus Christ, we can continue to soar in freedom. This is a gift which no one can take away from us no matter what our circumstances may be!

The quotation on the picture is from the 4th stanza of Richard Lovelace's poem "To Althea, From Prison". He speaks of the same kind of freedom. I find the courage of these people and the beauty of this poetry to be strengthening in an age which would have us take the easy way out, find easy solutions or place the blame for our problems on someone else.

There is no blame placed in these poems. There is only the security of resting in their relationship with the Lord and the knowledge that He is in control of all their circumstances. This is true victory!