Zoey Rae Mitchell

[(written on 12-30-09, edited on 12-31-09)

Zoey Rae was born today,

She decided to not wait another day.

Mother and baby are doing great.

She made her appearance right past eight.

Just over seven pounds,

Which made Mom's tummy oh, so round.

Nineteen and a half inch long,

Sends her Daddy's heart into song.

Her big sister is in awe

At the bundle of joy she just saw.

One, two, three, four, and five toes

And one cute little button nose.

Eyes of wonder

Cause one to ponder

The mystery of life and yonder.

Rest in Mommy's arms at ease.

Rest, sweet Zoey, in heavenly peace.

Christmas Eve

[(written 12-23-09) I stand at the kitchen window, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, preparing for an elaborate dinner. Outside everything looks so bleak and dreary; the colors of summer have long faded to grays and browns. Doubtful thoughts ring through my mind. "Will we even have a white Christmas?" The sky is a flat blue and spotted with dirty white clouds; however, there is not a slight sign of fluffy flakes. I continue washing some cherry tomatoes. The radio plays holiday music that we all enjoy. But it's hard to be in a real Christmas spirit when no winter wonderful exists. The sun sets early in December, but some daylight still lingers. I glance out the window again, trying to imagine a sparkling blanket covering the yard. But something floats by on the breeze and catches my eye. I pause and stare closer. Could it be? "No, don't get your hopes up," I say to myself. Then faintly specks of snow begin to fall through the air, pulled gently by gravity. "No way! It's snowing! This cannot be!" A dream come true! Now it is really beginning to look a lot like Christmas. I finish kitchen duties and retreat to the sofa with a hot mug of cocoa, a blazing hearth, a brightly decorated and illuminated evergreen, and a joyful heart that is bursting at the seams!]

The Incident

Who knew that a kid's desire to be noticed would cause such a ruckus?
It was a chilly morning in late November. My cousin, Nathan, and I were looking out the window, anticipating the start of the benefit race. Finally, as participants began to pass by, we offered encouraging words, such as "Good job," "keep it up," and an occasional "Happy Turkey Day!" People seemed to appreciate our enthusiasm; however, we soon became bored and our language careless.
Our words took on a different spirit when we began to shout, "Ah, come on... You can do better than that." Less attention was returned out way, so we changed our strategy.
This time my cousin and I pulled out the cap guns and innocently "shot" them off, imitating the start of a race. Nobody seemed to give us heed, until we brought attention to ourselves by proclaiming, "Bang, BANG!" A police-woman, who had been standing on the corner, turned toward us with a displeased look. We made light of it and grinned at her. This did little to save us. The officer gently smiled and then sternly rebuked us, stating she'd be over to "visit" once her duty was complete. We anxiously scuttled down the stairs, hoping she would forget.
But not long afterward there was a knock at the door. My aunt called us over and we "fessed" up. The lady was nice enough to calmly explain why guns, real or fake, are dangerous and not to be messed around with.
Today, we are thankful that this incident didn't mar our records. We are even more grateful for the priceless lesson we learned that Thanksgiving morning: never point a gun, real or fake, at anybody. We have remembered this ever since.

Tunes of Christmas Delight

[(written on 12-4-09) The coldest morning of the season and all is still. Today the clouds have lifted and as the sky lights up I catch my first glimpse of the snow covered peaks, my heart warmed. The sun rises higher. By 8:00 AM they sky is a clear, crisp, bright blue and the snow sparkles like a crystal. But even thought it looks so cheery outside, the temperature still remains at -5.9F The branches are bowed down under the weight of the flakes. I'll remain indoors today, snuggled up on the sofa with a warm shawl, a crackling hearth, a purring kitten, with a steamy cup of tea. I pull out my basket of yarn and begin to crochet a cozy afghan. The old record player expels tunes of Christmas delight and the lights that deck the tree shine their joy. What a wonderful holiday season!]

A Special Place in My Heart

The scrumptious aroma of warm peach cobbler, gingersnaps, cinnamon apple cider, and pine needles fills the kitchen. But it's the scent of a crisp and toasty pumpkin pie that evokes the thought of my favorite holiday! Thanksgiving holds a special place in my heart: from the delicious dinner my aunts always prepare to window-shopping in Old Town. I love when snow falls outside and we are left to the indoors. I love watching the Thanksgiving Day Macy's parade, decorating gingerbread houses, cheering on the runners of the benefit turkey race, and giggling at something silly. But when it is reasonably warm enough outside, I love bundling up and strolling down the lane on a chilly evening, mittens on and bellies stuffed. I love throwing snowballs at my cousins and sledding down the slopes. But it is ever so nice to retreat to a warm home where a mug of hot cocoa awaits. There we can be found singing Christmas carols, baking holiday treats, and savoring the flavor of juicy pomegranates. But most of all, I love just spending time together as a family. All these things put together are what make Thanksgiving the most enjoyable week of the year and cause me to long for that fourth Thursday in November. I canNOT wait!

Up Bunco Road

[(.W.O.29.09) Up Bunco Rd. That's where they'll go. Up Bunco, to the mountains, along the winding roads. Some corners are sharp, but Alan carefully guides his '93 grey Nissan pick-up around the curves. He has a priceless treasure beside him, his sweet and beautiful girlfriend, Ella. The road branches off. They take the path that is narrow. Soon it becomes a one lane trail. On a normal day they'd be holding hands, unless he had to shift gears. And the radio would be tuned in, quietly playing a sweet country song. But on this tense road, all of Alan's attention must be on the navigation. That's not to say that his mind isn't thinking about the most amazing girl next to him. The road weaves along the side of the mountain, towering pines on either side and huckleberry bushes from the previous season are shriveled up. The air is cool and crisp. Rain clouds are scattered on the horizon and hang all above, clouding an direct sunlight. The trees are changing colors and the leaves are falling from their branches. They finally reach their destination. It is Alan's "secret" place where he likes to dirt bike on summer days. He's been wanting to bring the girl of his dreams here from quite a while. They get out of the truck. They walk, hand-in-hand, down a short trail that leads to a ledge. The golden autumn leaves crinkle beneath each footstep. At the edge is a breath-taking panorama. Below is Lake Shining Pond, named by the French Indians. A mist hovers just above the water's surface. The colors are so calming. It causes one to ponder deep thoughts. All Ella can think about is how wonderful and caring her boyfriend is. How perfect this moment is. How romantic. Her brown locks of glossy curls are softly blown by a chilly breeze. She stands there, enjoying the scenery and being held in Alan's arms. She is left unusually speechless. The whole moment is indescribable. All is silent, except for the howling wind and the beating of their hearts. Alan tenderly kisses her head, they take one last view, and turn to go build a fire to warm their hands by. (written on 11-1-09)]

Gift of the Moment

[(.W.10.28.9.) It's a snowy evening in late December. Father has finished reading the glorious Christmas story from the book of Matthew. What good tidings of One who came to redeem us from our sins. Everyone else has retreated to their warm beds. I am left, sitting on the sofa with a fading fire in the hearth. My new kitten is curled up on my lap, purring with contentment. All is quiet and still, except for the hum of the Christmas lights, an occasional crackle from the fire, and the faint voices of carolers down the lane. I hold a steamy cup of cocoa between my hands. A light shawl is wrapped my shoulders to block out the cold that is beginning to set in for the night. The house is dark, the classic white Christmas lights create a calm glow and soft shadows across the room. The front curtains are drawn to display our humble tree. As I look out the window, the amber street lights illuminate the sparkling flakes as they gently fall from the sky and gather in clusters on the pavement. It has been a wonderful day and a truly white Christmas. I remind there, deep in thought. Little do I know how much this simple memory will mean when the stress and busy days of yonder Christmases loose their specialness. I thank God for this beautiful gift of the moment and climb the creaky stairs to my loft.]

One Final Goodbye

"Oh it was glorious! :) Our Pathfinders had been scheduled to speak at the Taos Church. We got up early and met at our local church to drive the 2 1/2 hours up north. Grandma was able to make it too, which was an added blessing! :) I set up all my equipment - still and video cameras - and enjoyed recording their message. They did such a superb job! After a meager lunch and saying 'goodbye' to Grandma, the seven PFs plus myself piled into the van. Destination: Tres Piedras. My parents stayed behind to spend time with Grandma.
We took a minor lengthy detour when we reached the Taos Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. A steep 652' to the “raging” rapids below. We had lots of fun and overcame our fears of heights. Ned found a wood chip in the road and when he threw it we were able to follow it all the way till it splashed into the river. That was cool! :)
When we got to Tres Piedras, where Ned grew up, we eagerly exited the stuffy car and the six of us girls went on a hike. On Ned's parents' property there are three ponds. Now, if you're from anywhere else you'd call them ponds or maybe even puddles. But since I've grown up in New Mexico and to stick with context I will call them lakes. Natural lakes of this size are hard to come by in the desert! It's up in the mountains, so though it may be summer in the city, up there spring has just arrived. The trees are a fresh green, the grass vibrant, the tadpoles just morphed, crickets hatched, and the water cool. It was so beautiful! I'm almost at a loss for words, knowing I could never truly describe it for how it really is. We enjoyed our time out in nature, skipping along the shore, careful not to brush up against any 'StingWeed,' which has similar repercussions as poison ivy. Dodging barbed-wire, exploring an abandoned campsite and old ruins, climbing on the rocks over the lake, and spending a moment of silence at the family cemetery filled our afternoon. When our stomachs began to growl we knew it was time for dinner. We walked back through the green field of oats.
We reached the house and found there was company. Some of their relatives with a new baby girl had stopped by for a visit. :) How cute! Shania is such a doll and so precious! We enjoyed visiting and when they left we went out to the lovely yard for a photo shoot.
The girls all laid out on the grass, creating a wagon wheel effect. Next the limbs of the aspen trees within the yard called their names! What merriment to swing upside down from sturdy white branches of wood. It was totally pleasurable! What I would give to return to such a jovial scene!
For dinner we ate burgers and watermelon; food perfect for summer picnic weather. We savored each bite as we sat out on the back deck, watching storm clouds roll in. My parents drove up just in time to eat and afterwards the men-folk and the six of us girls went out for another hike.
The sun was dipping lower into the sky and the reflections on the lake became so pronounced; each detail perfectly copied in the water, only disrupted when a pebble splashed its surface. I managed to snag my sister's camera (I forgetfully left mine in the car) and took tons of pictures, not being able to capture enough of the simple beauty of the woods. I can't even explain how happy I was! But the time kept ticking away and the storm moved in closer so we had to return back to the house. Not only that, but we had a long three hour drive ahead of us and it was already past 8:00 P.M. We ended up getting home a little before midnight. Though it was a terribly long day it was so pleasant, so peaceful, so perfect! I really had a grand ol' time!"]
[(added September 22, 2009) “Looking back now I can totally see more of what made the day so perfect.
Who knew it would be the last time I'd see my Grandma? And her doing so well on top of that?
Who knew it would be her last "best" good day here on earth?
Who knew how much it would mean to me to kiss my Grandma one last goodbye?
Who knew that perfect afternoon in the woods, ended with a marvelous setting reflection on the lake would be a beautiful memory for more than one reason?
God knew.
Yes, He knew.
He planned that happy day.
He painted the picturesque scenery that special day in Tres Piedras.
He knew just how to touch my heart.
He knew.”

Powdery White Flakes

I'm on a ski-lift, ascending to a higher altitude, up the mountainside.  Snow banks of powdery white flakes lie beneath my dangling feet and more gently falls from the sky above.  Tall uniform pine trees tower above the horizon and distant blue skies and the sun's glowing beams of light send sparkling diamonds across the reflecting ground.  At the end of the lift, I brace myself.  I turn and being to descend down the pure slopes.  It is so picturesque, I think to myself.  So beautiful that words can't describe it.  As my skis plow a path, a dust of snow sprays up on either side of me as I weave around the trees and follow the trail.  :)  The rush of adrenaline and the overwhelming scenery fills my soul and all too soon I've reached the bottom, ready to conquer all.

Imagination Run Wild

My friends and I lay on our backs out on the trampoline, watching clouds float across a bright blue, clear sky.  One looks like Snoopy, then reshapes to appear as a pig, and eventually becomes a fluffy sheep.  We lay outside, loosing all sense of time.  Oh to have time, sweet time to enjoy the simple things in life.  To kick back on the grass, barefoot, sunglasses, and pick dandelions, letting your imagination run wild.

An Eternal Promise

As I drive down the road through a rainstorm, I see a full rainbow up ahead.  Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, all stretched out across the sky in a giant arch.  When I look closely, I can see a faint double rainbow that goes from one side of my window shield to the opposite.  It's amazing how light can hit water-droplets in the air just so that white rays of light fragment into beautiful shining stripes of colors.  I remember the story of the flood, how God placed the very first rainbow in the sky.  A sign of His enduring love.  An eternal promise.  Through He may lead you through a storm, refining us, He will always be there by your side, every step of the way.  And at the end He reveals a glorious rainbow.  Though there isn't a pot of gold on the other side, His love and the promise of eternal life is worth way beyond worldly riches; it's incomprehensible.  Let us follow His golden brick road to Heaven!

A Bid Farewell

A cowboy herding his longhorn rides off to the west, into the setting sun.  His cattle are grown and it's market time.  He has left behind his shanty and the few friends he has.  The town consists of a sheriff's office, a hotel, a half-dozen hand built shacks, and a stage coach station, the post office, and a mercantile all rolled into one.  There also was a white-washed church that served as a school when a teacher could be found.  Not many people passed through.  On the outskirts of the town sat a fancy home which used to belong to a wealthy family.  It used to be a jolly place.  But ever since the man of that house, the mayor, died of a rattlesnake bite it began to dwindle and dust began to settle on the shingles.  His family returned to the big city, typical for the likes of them.  Now the house remained empty, possibly to never see inhabitants again.  The stage only made its rounds every few months if you were lucky.  Moisture is non-existent and crops dutifully failed.  Another story of the great American West returned to the dust.  A coyote howls, a sign of desolation.  The cowboy turns, tipping the brim of his hat in a bid farewell.

Rustling Leaves

I sit quietly in the middle of a classroom.  The big test day has arrived and I'm nervous and excited all at once.  Once I finish answering questions and filling in the bubble sheet with time to spare, I gently place my pencil on the desk before me and look up from my paper.  In front of me is a large window, which covers the entire width of the room. Autumn is upon the world outside.  A long field is stretched out, with a row of cottonwoods looming on either side.  Their leaves are changing colors, ranging from summer green, to faded yellow, to shimmering gold, to sunset orange, to a deep crimson.  My mind wanders away and I imagine a deep breeze that comes along and the leaves rustle in the cool morning air.  A drying brook rushes past.  I picture myself skipping down the corridor, the grove on my left and my right.  The fallen leaves crinkle beneath my feet.  I hear a bird chirp sweetly, but then awake to realize it's only the alarm, dismissing our class.  But that picture of fall never fades from my memory.

An Unfinished Story from my Childhood

I am lying on a throw blanket in a grassy field. Cottonwood trunks rise up all around me.

A Simple Stroll Around the Lake

I get off work and hurriedly rush to my cabin to cabin into a more casual attire, eager to meet my friends for our last evening walk together.  It's 9:00 P.M.; the sun long set.  The spring night air is cool, but comfortable.  Six close friends of mine, plus myself, set out for a brisk walk.  As we journey down the road, we are beneath a grove of freshly budding, spring green branches, though the darkness hides this from our view.  A nearly full moon illuminates the path before us.  Through the leaves above, we can occasionally catch a glimpse of the milky way.  We are so blessed to be in the country, away from the distractions of city life.  A simple stroll around the lake is very relaxing, soothing to the soul.  I've attended a spiritually refreshing conference all week, and now that it has come to a close, this seems to be a perfect ending.  We continue walking through the woods for a long time and then detour to the lake's shore.  We come across an old seriously rusty International truck, sunken into the mud.  The tires are no longer in pace, but the original wipers can be seen, paused in motion.  We turn back, wanting to save time for a ride out on the lake.  Canoe time!  We daring fit into two canoes, hoping a leak doesn't spring.  The only sound we hear is the paddle stroking through the water.  Out on the water is is ever so peaceful.  Its calming effect becomes even more present when a small rain cloud passes over, spewing small raindrops pitter pattering beside us.  The sound is indescribable, the serenity so unique.  God's creativity is sweetly revealed to us in the moment.  Once back on dry land, it's just about time to head back to camp, but we take a few minutes to sit out on the dock.  It must be getting very late by this time.  As we all sit, floating on the water, we all silence our voices to hear a serenade.  A serenade of deep voiced bullfrogs croaking to their heart's content.  There must be hundreds of them, singing harmoniously in unison with a handle of crickets.  The stars are twinkling on the still lake and the moon reflects off one corner.  Unfortunately all good things must come to an end and we climb the hill to our cabin, but in my mind this night will forever be labeled as one of the best!

Make Me a Master Piece!

Browsing through a modern art gallery, I'm amazed at what people categorize as abstract "act;" what I would call an explosion of colors.  And just as I've had enough and turn to leave the exhibit, a painting catches my eye.  Amidst an array of repulsive splatters, is a relatively mild piece of art.  It contains soft, calm colors that subdue and relax the mind, causing one to stop and ponder.  Moving closer, my attention is captured.  Inside a conservative frame, I see a gloomy valley, but just above a row of grey dark stratus clouds is a steep mountain covered in a springy green grass.  The sun is shining brightly near the top, just beyond a rugged cliff.  A train of woolly white sheep are in the valley, trudging along a stream of chilly water.  They seem to be following something, Someone.  Above the clouds I faintly see a Man.  He's dressed in humble clothes, such as you would imagine a shepherd.  He is carefully guiding His clock to a safer, higher ground.  Their footsteps must each be accurately and wisely calculated, for the narrow trail carved into the mountain's side is daunting.  A precipice falls deathly straight to their right; an intimidating sight.  The Shepherd is so meek, so compassionate toward each and every sheep.  When a lamb seems unsteady, He gently lifts it up and places it upon His strong shoulders to carry it through.  The lamb knows his Master and trusts Him to safely lead them , for He knows best.  This scene reminds me of my Christian walk.  How God takes us through the valley of trials, but if we are faithful, He will surely protect us and show us the way to be holy and righteous.  He is the lamp to my feet and the light to my path.  We must always follow His calling, His bidding, for our future is at stake.  We should be a worthy example for those who are watching, those who are following behind us, or with us.  Be an encouragement, uplifting one another.  It is my desire to constantly be obedient to my Shepherd, as the sheep in the painting are so ever willing.  My mind is filled with wonder at such a master piece. It strengthens my commitment to be faithful.  Lord, make me Your master piece, according to the Master.  I just want to be a sheep. 

Reflections on the Lake

We're walking through the woods, me, you, and my Yorkshire Terrier, Mandi.  The trail winds to the left and to the right with towering aspens on either side.  Down the path a ways it becomes brighter.  When we finally reach that point, the trees give way to a majestic view.  Magnificent mountains and rolling hills, covered in wild blue grass and patches of vibrant wildflowers.  We hike just a little farther and around the bend is revealed a clear blue lake, so crystal like that the surrounding peaks are reflected perfectly.  If you peer straight down, you can see all the way to the bottom.  So clean and pure.  Nothing but smooth river rocks rest on the floor of the lake.  A school of fresh water trout speed by just under the surface, slightly disturbing the calm waters.  A dragonfly buzzes past our ears and glides to skim across the lake, joining a water bug.  A graceful doe, with her two fawn, appears on the far perimeter, from behind the rushes.  Papa buck can be seen beyond them, on guard to protect his young family.  Higher up the mountain, a grizzly bear romps through a row of pines trees, startling a humble squirrel on its limbs.  He quickly darts into hiding, hoarding his precious stash of acorns.  We take off our sneakers, eager to wade into the cool, inviting water which is lapping at the shore's edge.  Oh, it feels so peaceful.  It doesn't take long before we start in deeper and begin splashing each other. Soon we're near thoroughly soaked and enjoying ourselves immensely.  :)  But hunger calls our names and we must strike up a fire.  Hot dogs, baked beans, corn, and an apple pie is on the menu.  Smoke sifts through the air, up past a cardinal on a tree branch, and up higher still, where a woodpecker drills his beak into the bark.  Before the day light fades anymore, we reluctantly begin our trek back through the woods.  By the time we reach the vehicle, the sun has set below the horizon and a starry galaxy makes its appearance.  Oh, how we imagine the stars twinkling in a reflection on the lake.  What a beautiful sight that would be.  If only we hadn't had to leave that scenic retreat.  On our way back down the mountainous, winding road eventually merges onto a multi-lane express way.  Street lights dot the way and a car zooms past us.  Oh, to be back, splashing playfully in the lake, away from the fast-paced life of the city.  Oh, to see God's shooting stars and not on-coming headlights.  Oh, to never ever depart from nature.  How I long for that day!

An Irish Dewdrop

We are driving through a dark forest, just you and me. There before us is a lovely valley. Pulling over, we step out and at the meadow's entrance is a mockingbird, sweetly whistling his many songs from a strand of barbed-wire. The sun is just beginning to awake life. A hazy mist slowly begins to lift. A sparkling dew remains, illuminating the uniquely brilliant green countryside of Ireland. A herd of snowy ponies gallivant across the inlet. The jagged coast can be seen in the distance, a vivid blue ocean shining as a jewel in the early morning. An old stone lighthouse sits on a cliff, armed to save a stranded ship. Waves bash against a rugged fishing boat with its warped oars that is tethered in the cove below. We soon see a little Irish lass. Red hair, freckled, and always a bright white smile. Her yellow sun dress fans out as she spins in circles, so happy with life. So carefree. She joyously runs barefoot through the dewdrops on clover petals. A young lad joins the scene, gently picking a bouquet of white daisies. He continues on, meeting up with the girl, presenting her with the aromatic flowers. They grasp hands, and contently skip away into the salty breeze. Oh to be young, to be carefree. To see things through an Irish dewdrop. To see things as simple as they really are. For its the simple things in life that count!

Let's Take a Walk

Let's take a walk through the garden.   A garden so elaborate, so beautiful and sweet.  In the middle stands a massive cottonwood tree.  The trunk must be fifteen feet in circumference.  Green ivy vines cling to the thick bark, covering almost every lateral square inch.  There is a ring of rocks around its base, and beyond those rocks is a lush green carpet of plush grass  Let's take off our shoes and our socks.  Hold my hand and let's run.  Oh how nice and cool to feel each blade between our toes.  At the end of the field is a white picket fence.  We follow the fence, placing our feet gently on one frog stepping-stone and then on a turtle.  Clusters of day lilies, tulips, daffodils, cosmos, larkspurs, flox, red hot pokers, and other assorted flowers fill-in the flower beds.  In the midst is a flag pole with Old Glory proudly flying high.  Bird feeders attract all varieties of wild feathered-friends.  A road runner swiftly crosses the grassy yard, darting down the walkway and then vanishing from sight.  If you listen closely a rustling can be heard beneath the brush.  A slow turtle with beady eyes pops into view and then retreats into his shell.  A scent of lilac blows in the breeze from a nearby bush.  A robin sings his melodious tune and then leaves the nest to bathe, revealing a bright blue egg, just waiting to hatch.  Humming birds buzz by, eager to find a nectar-filled flower.  A monarch butterfly patters his weightless wings, softly landing on a golden black-eyed Susan.  Knowing that more wondrous beauty awaits us, we turn around to follow the path back to the grass.  The white picket fence gives way to a chainlink fence with grape vines interwoven into it.  We reach a gate and step through to the other side.  Behold, an orchard is before us.  Dozens of trees of nearly every imaginable fruit.  Cherries, apricots, peaches, pears, apples, plums, pecans, almonds, hazelnuts, and black walnut.  Oh, the blossoms look so delicate, so precious.  When picking time arrives, oh what fun it will be.  Oh, to enjoy the scrumptious fruit that is yielded.  :)  Yum!  Back along the field of grass there is a row of roses, which release their fragrance.  Our noses are overwhelmed with a sweet scent of buds.  Buds of every color - pink, white, yellow, red, orange, and a hybrid.  Then we discover a swing beside the old cottonwood and soar high, high into the sky.  After we've had our fill of fresh air, we run barefoot back across the grass to an old picnic table, where we resume studying and sipping icy pink lemonade.

Anticipating Autumn

With anticipation of cooler days, I await autumn, my favorite season. As I glance out of my window, I dream of leaves just beginning to change to colors of auburn, sage, gold, and crimson. I think of what it would be like to walk along a path covered with these dried, crinkly leaves once they've fluttered free from the branches. The thought of a toasty pumpkin pie exiting the oven, accompanied by the escaping, luxurious scent of steamy cinnamon and apple cider from the tea kettle, warms my heart! In my mind, I see a picturesque scene of an apple orchard filled with a large, boisterous farm family, loading the fruit into bushels. Nearby, jolly youth are in the vegetable garden, up-rooting squash, potatoes, and carrots for the winter's stash. A humid breeze of summer's warmth brings me back to reality, reminding me how I truly can't wait for fall!

(c. May 2, 2008)

A Quaint Farmyard

Reliving the memories of centuries past, I imagine a quaint farmyard and a small log cabin, nestled in the back woods of Vermont. Peering through the little glass window panes, I see a family snuggled up in the living quarters, reading the family Bible, and warming themselves by the smokey, blazing hearth. In a days work I can picture the Father tending to the fields of corn, barley, wheat, and oats and the Mother feeding an indoor fire for boiling the water necessary to launder their few clothes with, hauled from the rushing creek. Children fly about as airplanes, eager to help weed up healthy vegetables and clobber the clucking chickens. Strong and helpful, a couple of older youth are mucking out the stalls and administering to the livestock. In the evening, as the sun sets low in the sky, accompanied by a darkening hue of azure, the family gathers together to partake of chunky vegetable stew and warm, toasty cornbread that Mother has made; all from their own land and vigorous, untiring effort. I contemplate what it would be like to join in on such rustic festivities and my mind wanders off yet again. (rough draft)

(c. May 2, 2008)

An Exquisite French Salad

When I walk into a room that smells of warm, roasting vegetables, I smile, knowing Ratatouille is for supper. Colorful and savory, this French entree delights my taste buds to watering. The vibrant mixture of red bell peppers, zucchini, eggplant, and garlic tempts my eyes, but know I must not spoil my dinner. Anxiously I sit down, as my tummy growls, dreaming of taking that first scrumptious bite of chewy pasta and crunchy veggies. I patiently wait, tapping my feet and twiddling my thumbs, waiting for that moment when the round tomatoes come flying out of the oven. Suddenly a timer beeps and I instantly jump to my feet to help serve our exquisite, steamy French salad.

(c. May 2, 2008)

How Quaint a Scene

In a rustic, back-country area of hilly Virginia rests a long-forgotten family farm. How days have progressed and moved on in this twenty-first century. 

A golden corn field is left standing, ready to be harvested many moons ago. A sharp breeze rustles the whithered husks, sending a chill down your spine. 

The old barn's red pain is peeling, chipping away with age. Inside are harnesses and tools, neatly hung on a row of nails. Everything left right where it needs to be. Empty barrels of what should be filled with corn and bran are stacked in a corner and nearby rests a floppy sack labeled 'Oats.' 

An old cabin with a large front porch lies not too far off the dusty road. Maybe the family, who once lived here, sat out in their rocking chairs together and plucked corn or shelled peas during harvest time. Maybe they liked to host barn-dancing parties. Maybe the kids used to sleep out on the deck at night and watch for shooting stars. 

A Conestoga wagon sits parked beside the barn. 

A chicken-less coop lies empty, waiting for eggs to be laid once more. 

A pen of dried mud could almost guarantee hogs had been on the list of livestock. 

Down a short, winding trail a small stream gurgles; the only sign of life. A grove of oak trees line the creek, a ragged rope with a rusty swing creaks beneath it. In years past you can imagine this was a favorite place to cool down on those humid Virginian summer days. 

The brook just seems yearning to bubble over with the stories of lives that once lived here in such a quaint setting. 

How quaint a scene!

A Beautiful Sight to Behold

There is a solitary island, surrounded on all sides by calm Pacific waters. Towering palm trees rise higher than a small skyscrapers, their leaves and branches providing an inviting relief from the blazing sun. Coconuts swing from the top in the humid breeze off the ocean; a set echo as their hollow shells clatter to the sand beneath. An abandoned hut rests quietly near the shore, patiently awaiting an arrival of visitors. A bamboo welcome mat with a pair of flip flops rests of the porch steps. A hammock is stretched taught between two bowing palm limbs, salty waves rolling in just below.  The sky is a crystal blue, which seems to be reflected in the glassy, sparkling calm ocean.  Only a short walking distance away, the coast becomes rocky and creates a natural cove. The boulders are beat by strong, torrential waves at high tide.  Birds twitter and take off in flight to scoop up a fish from a white-capped wave. Little ghost crabs scatter as a wave whips softly across the sand, gently brushing away silt to reveal a shiny sand dollar. A pod of clicking dolphins gleefully speed across the horizon. A sweet aroma floats by. As you turn you back to the sea, you notice a bush of assorted hibiscuses. What bliss! To think, some people believe in evolution. A place of such paradise could never just gradually appear over millions of years. No, God hand-crafted each wispy cloud in the sky and colored-in each brilliant shade and hue. Only a master Artist could blend up such an amazing and beautiful sight. Indeed, a beautiful sight to behold!

At Times Like These

It's at times like these that I am inspired. When the air is cool, crisp, and so clean. When the skies darken, and the clouds roll in. The lightning strikes wonder in my eyes, and seconds following, my ears are filled with a display of Your majesty. Rolling claps of thunder. I feel like a grain of sand - minute and so weak. 

It's at times like these when I realize Your power and my need for a Saviour. One who creates the thunder, and knows everything. That blinding bolt of light, how pure and strong. Rain begins to patter on the ground, puffs of dust arise off the stepping stones. The drops fall with higher frequency, humidity rises, and a fresh scent wafts through my open bay window where I sit, imagining.

Imagining how people could think God a figment in times like these.

Because it's in times like these when I know, without a doubt, that You exist. You exist out of love for my well being. In times like these.