When God Says Retreat...

You retreat. 

That's exactly where I've been for the past several days. 

It couldn't have come at a better time, too.  As the rest of the country was focused on current events, I was focused on the Word of God, preparing for a ladies' retreat in a remote camp about 3 1/2 hours away.

 A Season ~ A Purpose

I've taught this topic before, but I have to say that I have never seen a group of woman put together a better weekend. Really, every detail was just amazing! I only wish the shiny red Kodak had been more cooperative.

Apparently, it was her foggy season. My shots kept turning out so blurry that I finally gave up. I'm hoping that someone will email some photos to me. Wish mine did it justice.

It was far more than just a time for me to speak

It was a time for me to laugh.   

The activity leader was a creative hoot.

She planned something different for each season. 

 Here's Farmer Pat during candy corn harvest.

And here she is again for some spring cleaning. 

 

Maybe it's because of my years in the classroom,
but I just love it when a theme is carried out well. 

Folks, these ladies did it up right.

Season themed goody bags

And  season themed door prizes.

The praise and worship was led 

  by an amazing singer named Cheri

I'd share her photo, but she got lost in the Kodak fog 

along with Pat the Christmas elf and Pat the beach babe. 

Sigh...

All in all, it was a wonderful weekend,
and I truly appreciate the planning that went into it.


Mostly, though, I stand amazed at the work of  the
Master Planner.
The One whose timing is always perfect.
The One who knows that to everything there is a season...

And a time for every purpose under Heaven.
A time to speak...
And a time to laugh...
And a time to weep...
And a time to dance...
A time to embrace...

A time to retreat. 

*****
How about you?
Do you enjoy retreats?
When was the last time you went on one?

Remember Your First Election?

OK now, admit it. 

Isn't that the cutest little poll watcher ever? 

It's The Practical One, from a twenty year old newspaper photo.

It graced the front page of the local paper. 

Do you see the line running across the middle?

That's the crease from the fold. 

And do you see the wide load hanging over said fold?

Yeah, well, that' the reason I'm filing this under stuff I should be ashamed to yak about. That's my wide load, of course, and just in case you haven't figured it out, that's Sir Boney Butt on the other side.  

My fifteen minutes of shame. 

Just thought I would share it on this election day. Aftet all, once your patriotic patootie has graced the front page of the local newspaper, you might as well put it on the world wide web.

(Old pictures from a 2010 post) 

Have I mentioned how much I love election day? Well, I do. I've loved it ever since I was a little girl. I honestly can't remember a time when my family didn't make a big old deal about it. Dad and the Duchess always had a horse in the race. They had their yard signs and bumper stickers, and the Duchess would volunteer in the local campaign headquarters.

On election night, we had a family party. They would let us stay up later than usual to watch the results, even though back then you usually didn't know a thing until morning.

Once the results were in, they taught us how to be

 humble winners or gracious losers. 

My first presidential election was in 1980. Since I was away at school, I had to vote by absentee ballot.  I was a little bummed about that, but back then it was absentee or nothing.

My how times have changed.

Now, most states have election month instead of election day. I'm still not sure how I feel about that, but I go with the flow.

As for us? We still wait to vote until that magic Tuesday in November. Tonight, we'll stay up late and watch the results in our pajamas, just like we did as kids.  

And just like then, we probably won't know a thing until morning anyway, probably longer. All signs point to this being a close one, after all. Those race horses are neck and neck. Someone is going to win by a nose.

That being the case, I hope you all get your own patriotic patooties down to the polls and cast your vote.

 Just one word of caution, though...

Beware of hidden cameras.  

So what about you?  

What do you remember about election day growing up?

Do you remember your first Presidential election?

Inquiring minds want to know. 

Keeping Peace

It's rough out there. 

Has anyone else noticed? 

There's violence in the Middle East, murder in Benghazi. crippling gas prices, and an economy that would rather mark time than march forward.  Just when you think things can't get worse, some Frankenstorm comes out of the sea, destroying homes and  ripping little children out of the arms of their mother.

I can hardly stand it.

I would turn off the TV and pretend it didn't exist if I were the kind of person who could do that, but I'm not.  Pretending never has worked for me.  I don't need pretense; I need peace. 

I don't need a regular portion of peace, either. I need a double portion. I need the kind promised in Isaiah 26:3.

You will keep in perfect peace, him whose mind is fixed on You

 because he trusts in You.

  Perfect peace.

In the Hebrew, that's Shalom, Shalom. 

If I'm going to have any kind of peace at all, I'd like the perfect kind, thank you very much.  I've tried the imperfect kind, and it just doesn't have any stay power. It's hard enough to keep that kind of peace in the easy times. I certainly can't keep it in the hard ones.

That's why God doesn't tell us to try to keep it. Read the promise again.  Perfect peace isn't the kind of peace you keep. It's the kind of peace that keeps you. 

It's a keeping peace.   

Lest you think this is some sort of warm and fuzzy verse that pious Christians toss your way when they really  just don't want to hear to your problems, it isn't.  Oh, it's warm and fuzzy, but it's actually a very practical verse as well.  Isaiah not only tells us that there is such thing as a keeping peace, he tells us exactly how to get it.  According to Isaiah, it's a matter of fixing the mind. 

I know it seems trite, but stick with me here.

The front line in the battle for peace isn't the heart. It's the head. Fix the mind, he says.   The Hebrew word covers the entire intellectual framework. It includes by definition, our thoughts, our meditations, and our imaginations.

Now maybe I'm alone, but around here it's that third one that generally disturbs the peace.

Let's face it. As wonderful as an imagination can be, it can also be the worst enemy of the chronically creative. Oh, the thinks I can think... I can imagine up just about anything if I have a mind to, and I definitely have a mind to.

Folks, if it's peace we seek, we're going to have to learn to rein in our imaginations.

That may be easy for some, but for those of us with imaginations set on autopilot, it takes self-control. It does absolutely no good to tell us to put something out of our minds.  It takes a decisive plan to fix our minds on something else.

Someone else.

Fix our thoughts on Him, he says. Think about Him. Read about Him. Talk about Him. Meditate on Him. Pray, not just to Him but about Him. 

That's probably the most important one of all.

Have you ever listened to yourself pray during those peace-stealing seasons? Have you ever noticed, as I have, that you are praying as if God needs a constant reminder of the situation?

Here's a newsflash: He doesn't.

No, really. He knows. Sometimes I think we forget that. Sometimes, our minds are so consumed with "it" that "it" even consumes our prayer life.  We think the call to pray without ceasing means to pray about it without ceasing.

And we wonder why we have no peace.

Wouldn't it be infinitely more productive (and certainly more peaceful) to make an all- powerful God the focus of our prayers instead?

Yeah, I think so too.

That's because something supernatural happens when God is the focus of our prayers: He becomes the the main character in our imaginations.

And do you know what happens when God becomes the main character in our imaginations?

He changes the story.

... and the peace of God which passes all understanding will guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.  

*****

Comments off for Sunday

Great Scarecrow Adventure of 2012

For the past two years, I've given you a tour of the stuffed shirts in my hometown.   

While some of the previous scarecrows have made a reappearance, some of them have a different look this year. This year, folks were given another option for inspiration. 

They could choose to decorate with their personal heroes. 

You've already seen Susan B. Scarecrow,

 the female voter.

Here are a few more new ones that you haven't seen. 

It wasn't difficult for the newlywed niece to choose the hero for the bank. 

She just looked across the breakfast table. 

It's Lt. McNephew, her favorite American soldier. 

The bank next door had a different idea. 

 They decided to go with a little school spirit.

And speaking of school spirit, here's a teacher.  

Is it just me, or does anyone else feel like sitting up straight and paying attention? 

This one's kind of tongue in cheek since it's for a local timber buyer. 

It's a tree hugger. 

A reader from the local library. 

And one of my favorite ones of all.

A survivor. 

And that's about all I've got this morning.
 I'll just end with this little gal in front of a local florist.  

I'm not exactly sure what hero she represents.

So I have chosen to name her Debbie,

the meandering motormouth. 

 

Scarecrow  on Wheels

*****
Sharing with  Seasonal Sunday

How Luncheon Ladies Break the Fast

If you want to hear God chuckle, tell him your plans. 

You may recall that I made that grand statement last week, just after yakking abroad my plans to get my groove back. I had barely begun to shake the groove thing, when it hit me.

I'm still not sure exactly what it was, actually. I was fine one minute, and then the next I was lying on the sofa with a acute case of the pathetics.   

I wasn't chuckling. 

I wasn't up chuckling either, although it would have probably  made me feel better.  Instead, I just had a really pitiful case of fever, chills, and general, all around, Mack truck disease. For three days, I existed on weak tea and dry toast because nothing, absolutely nothing was appetizing.

That's how I know I was sick, you see.

You know that whole debate over whether it's starve a cold and feed a fever... or feed a cold and starve a fever?  Yeah, well, I don't engage in that debate. Around here, it's feed a cold and feed a fever.

Feed a headache and feed a heartache. 
If I can make it mushy enough, I'll feed a toothache, too.

I like to eat.

You can imagine how relieved I was when the Mack truck finally pulled out of town and took the train that hit me with it. Thankfully, I was ready to resume eating on Saturday.

Thankfully... because we had a gathering of our Luncheon Club on Saturday,

 hosted by the Farm Sister.   

Instead of her trademark blue table decor, 

she wanted to go completely autumnal.

She decided to borrow this china from her daugther, the newlywed niece.

Pearl Platinum, by Lenox

While she was at it, she borrowed her flatware.

Melon Bud, by Gorham. 

And the table runner? That belongs to the niece as well.  

I think I need a married daughter...

 if for no other reason than the tablescaping...

The centerpiece was her own idea, though, 

as was the rustic iron pumpkin that she filled with fall flowers.  

But now, the actual arranging was compliments of  her daughter as well.  

Pretty, huh?

 Everything else actually does belong to the hostess.

 We've used this Cambria stemware before. 

Napkin rings were a recent find at Pier One. 

I forgot to ask where she got the leafy place card holders.

And there you have it,

 how this luncheon lady broke the fast. 

Luncheon Club won't meet again until our yearly Progressive Nibbling in December. Those are the plans anyway.

Of course, far be it from me to make any plans. 

*****

I'm glad to be (finally) rejoining the creative ladies at 

Cuisine Kathleen's Let's Dish! party.
Also linking to Tablescape Thursday if all goes as planned. 

Susan B. Scarecrow and the Little Pink Box

No, this isn't my yearly tour of the straw folks in my home town. I do plan to give that tour later in the week, but this morning, I'm just going to give you one little peek.

Then, I'm going to yak about it. 

You see, the tour is a little different this year. Usually, the scarecrows represent the individual businesses or their owners. This year, however, they represent their personal heroes.

This one sits outside the bakery of a friend of mine. 

Can you tell what it is? 

It's Susan B. Scarecrow, 

the female voter. 

I thought it was a clever idea, especially coming from a small business owner who just happens to be female herself.

Just in case you haven't noticed, we're in the homestretch of another election cycle here in America. In a little over a week, those of us who haven't done so already (and maybe some who have) will head to the polls to choose the next leader of the free world. Daunting task, when you think about it.

And just in case you haven't noticed, there's one voting block that  is more coveted than any other one this year.  It's the woman's vote. It's true, ladies. They want us. They really, really want us.  We are woman. Hear us roar.

I'd love to take that as a compliment, but I can share just a bit of my heart with you?

I wish they wouldn't. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad they both want my vote. I'm glad they think it's valuable.  I just wish they wouldn't consider me to be part of a block. 

You see, when  I look at that picture  up there, I can't help but wonder if that's exactly what the political world sees when they look at me -- a brainless prop all schtuffed with fluff -- a female, with no individual thoughts or personal passions outside that little pink box.  

Maybe I'm the cheese who stands alone here, but I just don't find that flattering.  I don't think it's empowering either.  

It probably wouldn't bother me so much if that little pink box weren't so, well... little. It seems to hold about three issues, and there isn't  even room for those issues to stretch out a bit.  As I said, it's a very small box.

I'm not saying that I don't care about those issues. I do. I actually have an opinion about all of them.  No big surprise there... I have an opinion about everything. It's just that I don't care about them to the exclusion of others.

Unless there's a mouse in the house, I consider myself to be a pretty strong woman.  I was raised by a strong woman, and I worked hard to raise two strong women as well. We pay attention to what's going on around us. We watch the news and read the editorials.  We have opinions about things like energy and the environment; education and national defense. We know what's going on in the Middle East.

We also pay the bills.  We care about the economy and the national debt.

If those things don't fit inside the little pink box, maybe we need a bigger box.

Or maybe... just maybe... we don't need the little pink box at all.

And speaking of boxes. Time to step down off of this soapy one and get back to cleaning toilets.

I am woman. Hear me roar.

*****

So what about you? Are the traditional women's issues the most important ones to you? Or do you like to expand the little pink box.?

Of Blog Apparitions and Stuffed Shirts

So it looks like I'm turning into a blog apparition.

I disappeared... and then I reappeared... and then I disappeared yet again, making only random flower cart hauntings here and there in blog land.

Sorry about that. 

I honestly didn't mean to skip another week.  It's just that I had two major distractions in the home place. They were good distractions, though, since they were close encounters of the daughter kind. Not only did Miss Whimsy come home for her fall college break, but The Practical One flew in from DC for a week as well.

Yes indeed, my blog space may have been empty, but my cup was full.

My days were full too, but believe it or not, I don't have a single picture to show for it. I seriously need to get my groove back. 

So instead of pictures from the Great Daughter Adventure, I decided to jump start my blog engines (yet again...) by joining the Note Card Party at A Haven for Vee.  That's where we dust off four pictures from the archives which could be made into note cards.

They don't have to have a theme, but I'm a themey little blog apparition so mine generally do. In celebration of the season, I chose scarecrows. For the past two years, I've given a tour of the scarecrows decorating the business district of my home town. It was difficult to choose four favorites, but I gave it a whirl.

You might recognize this one from my header. 

He guarded the local gift shop.  

This one sat out in front of a book store

A starving artist at the art gallery

And even a Scare Mayor at City Hall

And that's all I have this morning. Thanks once again to those of you who have stuck with me through my unexpected little life detour the past few months. I plan to get back in the blog swing now.

Of course, you know what "they" say, 

If you want to hear God chuckle, tell Him your plans...   . 

Finishing What I Started

So here's something that you might not have noticed about me.

But then again, maybe you have... 

I'm the world's worst finisher. 

It's true. It seems that no matter what I do, I have the tendency to leave some little detail unfinished. I like to call it my signature style. My family just calls it my annoying little habit.

Take this closet for example.

This is the closet that I was painting the day I got the terrible horrible very bad no good news. If you look closely, you will note that the wall color is blue.

The wall color of the adjacent (master) bedroom, however?   It's green.  It. has been green since the turn of the century. The other closets in the room were painted white, but this little space was never given a paint job.  

It was never given a purpose either.

I have come to realize in my vintage years that closets are a lot like people. If they don't have a purpose, they can become a hot mess. Oh, it might look like an orderly mess, but it's a mess nonetheless.

This little nook was taking on jobs that it just wasn't called to handle. For one thing, it was housing dishes. Now folks, this closet is off a bedroom on the second story of the house. Does that sound like a logical place to store dishes? Why no, it doesn't. Yet there they are.

No matter how much a little bedroom nook might want to be a dish cupboard, that's just not what it was designed to be.

So I pulled every single thing out of that confused little closet and  either purged it or moved it. Then, I gave it a clean shade of Heirloom white. 

Better already...

Then, I painted every thing I was bringing into the space the same clean white.  I just think it looks less junky that way.

Then, I gave it a purpose much better suited to it.

You see, my ironing board hangs from the back of that door.  Sorry  Donna Reed, but I like to iron as needed, and I like to do so in the bedroom where the clothes are.  I also like to mend in the bedroom. Unfortunately, my sewing supplies have always lived downstairs.

Near the kitchen. 

You know, where the dishes are supposed to be. 

Isn't this a much better set up?  

No, it's not a whole sewing room, but I'm not a whole seamstress, either. It works for me. I wish I had done it years ago.

Drawers for supplies and fabric. 

A space for everything

Some hooks for mending.

And just for fun, some framed pages of Sew Beautiful magazine.
Miss Whimsy happened to be a model in that issue when she was a baby.

I have a few more finishing touches to go but as you might expect, 

I'm still not finished.

*****

And that's all for me. I have some Baby Cheeks and Sugar Lips to attend to before the day is done.  You see, a certain Man of the House is coming home today. He's been out of town all week enjoying the blessing of  work.  That's right folks, the recent chapter in the Life of Sir Lotsa Hair did indeed end with a new job as many of you suspected. I guess you could say that He has found a whole new purpose too, one perfectly suited to his design.