I was rocking my grandson last night and saying to him, "you is kind, you is smart, you is important".....
He went back home to Washington today and my sister sent me a message saying that he was playing all by himself and she heard him say, "you is kind, you is smart, you is important".
Oh the impact of words we can have in each others lives.
Death and life are in the power of the tongue
Proverbs 18:21
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.....
Well... not really on my head, but on my rooftop. I am laying in bed in the quiet of the evening listening to the rain.
It brings back such memories from growing up on the homestead. I remember laying in my little bunk, with its one pink sheet and pink blanket, listening to the rain pounding away outside, through my clear plastic poly window.
It was such a soothing feeling. Knowing I was safely tucked inside, warm and dry while the rain pounded the roof at times like pellets.
Rain reminds me of many things:
Moose season was in August. It always rained. I remember one particular season. The year was 1967. I was left home to babysit my 7 sibling while my parents went out to catch the meat for the family for the year. I was missing my parents so much that I wrote them a letter and our neighbors (Engebretsens) who were going out moose hunting took the letter from me and stuck it on a branch of a tree in a path that my parents would cross during their one week stay out in the woods for the hunt. My parents brought the letter home and I still have it all intact, even with the envelope with the two holes in it that were made to hold the envelope on the branch. It sits in one of my memory boxes.
Rolling Hills Bible Camp: A camp for kids that our church sponsored. It always rained. But, somehow it made it more enjoyable for the kids. Especially if they got to ride the four wheeler in the MUD! I don't think we as adults enjoyed it as much, but hey, it was camp time!
MUD: I lived all around mud. It rained and the paths and dirt roads were muddy. My dad would get stuck so many times in our vehicle. We would have to wait for our dear neighbors to pull us out with their swamp buggy, or all climb out and put boards under the tires and push. Needless to say, we always had a few chucks of mud on us on many different occasions.
Mom: She would lay boards down the hill for us so we could walk on them to the school bus and not get our shoes or clothes all muddy. Oh the things my mom did for us when we were growing up.
Besides the special memories that rain resurrects in my heart, there is something about the freshness and cleanness it brings. The smell after rain is one of my favorites.
As the wind howls tonight and the rain pelts down, I am as snug as a bug, safely tucked inside my home, reminiscing about my childhood.
Thankful that I have so many memories and it doesn't take much to bring them to the forefront of my heart.
It brings back such memories from growing up on the homestead. I remember laying in my little bunk, with its one pink sheet and pink blanket, listening to the rain pounding away outside, through my clear plastic poly window.
It was such a soothing feeling. Knowing I was safely tucked inside, warm and dry while the rain pounded the roof at times like pellets.
Rain reminds me of many things:
Moose season was in August. It always rained. I remember one particular season. The year was 1967. I was left home to babysit my 7 sibling while my parents went out to catch the meat for the family for the year. I was missing my parents so much that I wrote them a letter and our neighbors (Engebretsens) who were going out moose hunting took the letter from me and stuck it on a branch of a tree in a path that my parents would cross during their one week stay out in the woods for the hunt. My parents brought the letter home and I still have it all intact, even with the envelope with the two holes in it that were made to hold the envelope on the branch. It sits in one of my memory boxes.
Rolling Hills Bible Camp: A camp for kids that our church sponsored. It always rained. But, somehow it made it more enjoyable for the kids. Especially if they got to ride the four wheeler in the MUD! I don't think we as adults enjoyed it as much, but hey, it was camp time!
MUD: I lived all around mud. It rained and the paths and dirt roads were muddy. My dad would get stuck so many times in our vehicle. We would have to wait for our dear neighbors to pull us out with their swamp buggy, or all climb out and put boards under the tires and push. Needless to say, we always had a few chucks of mud on us on many different occasions.
Mom: She would lay boards down the hill for us so we could walk on them to the school bus and not get our shoes or clothes all muddy. Oh the things my mom did for us when we were growing up.
Besides the special memories that rain resurrects in my heart, there is something about the freshness and cleanness it brings. The smell after rain is one of my favorites.
As the wind howls tonight and the rain pelts down, I am as snug as a bug, safely tucked inside my home, reminiscing about my childhood.
Thankful that I have so many memories and it doesn't take much to bring them to the forefront of my heart.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
The Broken, Tear Soaked Path....
I've been down this familiar path before.... the well worn, tear soaked muddy path. The former footprints are still faintly visible, encased in some dry patches of dirt.
Some paths are full of joy and some of sorrow. We each walk many of them every day. Today, I find one of mine is full of much tears. It isn't a path of my own choosing, but I path I have been place on never the less. In time, I will be able to share more.
The Lord sees, the Lord hears. He is our Rock! I am so thankful I have Him to cry out to, and hold on to during this "muddy path" season. He will see each of us through to the other side. He has always been, will be, and continue to be faithful.
Although the footprints I will leave on this path will not be without tears and sorrow, may they leave a testimony of His GRACE.
Some paths are full of joy and some of sorrow. We each walk many of them every day. Today, I find one of mine is full of much tears. It isn't a path of my own choosing, but I path I have been place on never the less. In time, I will be able to share more.
The Lord sees, the Lord hears. He is our Rock! I am so thankful I have Him to cry out to, and hold on to during this "muddy path" season. He will see each of us through to the other side. He has always been, will be, and continue to be faithful.
Although the footprints I will leave on this path will not be without tears and sorrow, may they leave a testimony of His GRACE.
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