"Our creator knows just what we need. God who made food for our provision and pleasure made the table for our souls." Joanne Thompson, Table Life

  Once upon a time, I thought of the perfect gift idea . . . a cookbook journal. Treasured recipes laced with family stories. I have made one for one of my new daughters, Ashley. I'm working on more for the other kids. It does require a bit of time.They hold such entries as this . . .

"Scotty's Aunt Shirley made this wonderful frozen fruit salad. She was one of the most beautiful women I ever knew. She had a way of caring that was warm and lovely. Her kind and gentle ways made you feel loved when she was in the room. I wish you could have known her, you would have loved her." 
  
I didn't just fill the book with recipes, I wove tales between cup and teaspoon portions.

"This is my Aunt Dottie's Cover the Mountain Carrot Cake, it made me famous in the little town in Kansas that I still call home. She has a love for the cooking arts. I have learned a great deal from her, in the kitchen and beyond."

"This recipe originated in the kitchen of my Grandma Terry. You would have loved her to the moon and back. She always had a tune in mind and a project on the back burner. Banana pancakes with homemade syrup was her specialty. I cannot think of her home without thinking of breakfast at her tiny kitchen table. She always had orange juice in a little juice pitcher and served it in little juice glasses to match. She would read the Bible to us before breakfast and Grandpa would pray. It was my home away from home when I was growing up."

A journal of family and foodstuffs, with purpose of passing tradition. 

"This recipe belongs to my mom. It is one of the best recipes in the world. You will love! My mom and dad always tended a large vegetable garden when I was growing up. Mom would can into the wee hours of the night. I do not know how she did it all! We lived on her canning through the winter. It was some of the best food I've ever had in my life." 

"This recipe of Bread Pudding is from Grandma Bunch. She and I make a great team in the kitchen. I busy myself with the stirring and the mixing,and she comes right behind with a tea towel in hand for the cleaning up, or vice versa. We enjoy each other in our work. She knows how to find a great recipe and tweak it to perfection."

When writing the Bread Pudding recipe in Ashley's cookbook, I forgot to list an ingredient . . . the eggs. Since it is a custard style dish, it was a tragic mistake, one we've since remedied. I do recommend double checking your entries. Perhaps you are more precise than I. 

 "Both of Caleb's grandmas are really good cooks. You will find that a lot of my best recipes come from them. I learned so much from their years of experience." 

 Heritage. 

So much of our family time was spent with us seated around a table. "What was your favorite thing that happened today?" I would ask our children. "What is your favorite color?" or "Did you notice the rainbow at the edge of the garden today, so vibrant,wondrous?" Scotty would always end the meal by saying,"Good supper, momma!"  We treasure the memory of it, our family at table, and I want to help my children remember, too. Aroma, taste, and fellowship. Home.

I thought you might enjoy one of the recipes. This is Aunt Shirley Windler's amazing frozen fruit salad.  I suppose it would be better served in the heat of summer, but I love it any time. I hope you enjoy!

Frozen Waldorf Salad by Shirley Windler

2 eggs, slightly beaten
1/2 cup sugar
pinch of salt
1/2 cup pineapple juice

Combine above ingredients, cook stirring until thick - cool.

Add:
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup drained crushed pineapple
1/2 cup chopped nuts
2 unpeeled apples - chopped

Fold in 1 cup whipped cream and freeze. Thaw in refrigerator several hours before serving.

I hear it is supposed to get really cold again. Perhaps it is not the time for this frozen fancy. Perhaps you can put it on your calendar to make for your July 4th celebration. We all need something delicious to look forward to. 

Have you ever made a cookbook journal? I would love to hear your ideas? 

Happy eating and living! With blessings! 

Oft a tale is repeated, the ones that are powerful and true, where awe and wonder tango. This is one of those stories.

I was inspired by the Lord to write a journal for my daughter and give it to her before she went on a mission trip to India. It was absolutely, positively one of those times when I knew that I had been given an assignment from the Lord. She would be gone for 90 days plus a few, so I would write ninety or so entries. It was one of the easiest missions my hands have ever been upon. His grace to do was upon me.

Prayers, scriptures, family funnies, thoughts about her, messages about home, this and that of life with us. A few pages were written by her dad, her grandparents, her brothers. Her little brother, who was only eight at the time repeated his thoughts every single time, "Ashli, come home right now!" She was already at the missionary school being trained for the trip and he was missing her so! Two or three pages had Family Circus cartoons on them. "Who does this remind you of," I would say.

She arrived in India and within days she contracted typhoid. Death seemed nearly around the bend. For days and days and days threat of it lingered. She was terribly far away.  How we ached for her! It was one of the most difficult times of our entire lives. I cannot think or write of it without many tears. It is always that way when our children suffer, when they endure life and death battles, no?

A friend on the mission team sat with her, wiped her brow, fed her, ministered to her day and night. Every day she read Ashli an entry from the little journal that we made.

She remembers it as something that helped her to hang onto life, every day, little thoughts of home breathing endurance into her.

She looked like a concentration camp victim. Death was fighting for her soul. The journal kept reminding her that she had so much to live for.

"My mission trip to India did not seem very effective . . . what could I do? Typhoid depleted my strength, left me with nothing to give."

"We all learned to pray in new ways, Ash. We celebrate your life! Our gratefulness has reached new heights. Our trust in the Lord has been stretched deep and wide. Your mission was appointed, and we, the ones on this side of the world are the ones who needed changing," I say,with the heartbeat of the Lord still echoing in my ear. He was my comfort, the One who whispered "it is well" in my soul, and got me through. I am one who knows Him better now.

A ninety day journal written with someone else in mind. I have written a couple of similar ones a few times since, but this one was the first and probably one of the most important assignments I will ever have in my life. Thank you, Lord, for so many things, thank you! Thank you!

I hope this entry does not leave you sad. She did return home to us, she is healthy now, "and they lived happily ever after" can be written here.

Have a wonderful day, my friends. Be aware of little nudges to do little things . . . it might not be such a little thing after all. 

Blessings!

Sharing a bit of our ancient history today. We were in the car on our way to Branson, MO, our honeymoon destination. Scotty turned to me and shared a brilliant idea, "You should write about this. Do we have a notebook in the car?"

I thought he was the most romantic man on the earth . . . I hadn't noticed a lot of romance before this moment, but maybe, just maybe he could be romantic. 

I scrounged until I found a little notepad and pencil and I began to write "we are so in love" kind of things.

"You should record the prices of everything, because by the time we've lived in wedded bliss for fifty years or so, the prices will be so different. It will be interesting to compare."

hmmmmm . . . okay, maybe not so romantic.

That was our very first travel journal. I've kept several little journals about our travels through the years. Some have survived. I made little journals for each of our kids after some of our trips. The one that comes to mind is a trip we made to New York City one year . . . long before Caleb or Ashli ever lived there. I made little scrapbooks and put pictures and postcards, ticket stubs and such on the pages. It was very much cartoon style. I individualized them for the kids, according to what was most special to each one of them. One of my favorite pictures was of Scotty kissing Cruella Deville (she was made of plastic) in the Disney store. So romantic, that guy! That picture went in all of the journals! He got in trouble for that. We had so much fun in that store! They were too happy when we left!

Scotty and I took a trip a few years ago. We went to fourteen states in fifteen days. Every night I would ask him what his favorite moment of the day was. I wrote our memories down. 

Can I share one of my favorite things we did on that trip? The big news of the day that there was supposed to be a spectacular meteor shower that would begin around three a.m. We were in Colorado in the Rocky Mountains at the time. We set an alarm, dressed in all of our winter clothing (it was August but we were Rocky Mountain high) we went out and parked in a field, put the top down on the convertible and watched the sky perform. Okay, that WAS romantic. There was a woman killed by a bear the day before and I was a little squirmy at times, especially when I noticed two cows lying on the ground behind the car (I was sure they were bears). An unforgettable night!

Travel journals are fun to revisit. You can relive your adventure over and over again. It can be very factual . . .  jotting down the price of things, or it can be dreamy and poetic . . .Whatever you decide, it helps you remember and relive very special times. Keep in mind meteor showers happen all over the world, you could enjoy one in your backyard tonight and write about it in your journal tomorrow.

Just a few ideas for a travel journal. There are so many creative ways to record a journey. The most important thing is to have a wonderful day even if your journey is only to the grocery store. You might meet someone from Paris while you are there, and that is the next best thing to visiting sometimes. 

Do you believe I have a few more ideas to share? The babies are here to play so I will go for now. Have a wonderful weekend!

Blessings!

I started writing to her before she was born. "I feel you, life within me. The way you are moving, I can tell that you are ready to explore the world," I say. Today is her birthday and I am thinking about her so much!

I kept a journal for all of my children. Josh was about one when I was inspired, but I started shopping for a journal as soon as I knew I was pregnant with the other four.

I was always pointing out the wonders of the world when they were little, pointing forward. There were so many things that I wanted my children to notice in life; beautiful sunsets, buttercups and roses, rainbows and country roads. I wanted them to be alert, fully aware when there was something worthy of their attention on their path, so I was continually pointing out the beautiful things. I wanted them to pause, enjoy, breathe in the glory of it. "Do you see . . ." I was constantly saying, in between, "Don't hit your brother!"or "Come to dinner!"

Their journals, little books where I kept notes, tiny snippets of their growing up days, with my finger pointing behind to our once upon a time. Reflections of their youth, how I remember it. I didn't write every day. I would try to remember the cutest of their conversations and jot them down so they could remember them one day. It was for them, but I gained much joy through the years rereading the pages.

It was a secret mission. They never suspected that I was collecting fodder for their little journals. They were surprised when they reached their 20th year or so and I handed them the story of their life, as seen through momma's eyes. They treasure them now, but someday they will treasure them more. 

Long after I began my quest to write to my children, to make a record of their journey, I was at the funeral dinner of my beloved grandmother. On the table with the one million, nine hundred and fifty-nine pictures she took over the course of her lifetime, there was a little date book that she had used as a journal. "The babies came over today. Chris and Cheri, the dears." She didn't write every day, but every day that she did is a treasure that I will forever hold dear. 

Do you have babies in your house? This is one way to journal. You will probably do much better than I, be more consistent capturing your little one's beautiful jargon, but even if you scribble or misspell a word, your children will treasure your effort. One time I wrote "Dear Caleb" in Josiah's journal. I hate to say it, but it happened more than once in one journal or another. I am the mother of five, that should explain. I was often bone weary when I wrote. 

I really would love to hear about the creative ways you have kept journals. Do share! 

Blessings for a wonderful day, friends!  

 I love to browse antique stores and wonder about the fingerprints left upon the wares. Untold stories tease, their silence foreboding. Family dinners of old come to mind. Sweet memories of sweet aromas, chopped apple cake and homemade crescent rolls.Happy family. Happy times.

 So many things remind me of my grandmother's kitchen. I picture her here and remember familiar stories, my story with her. I ponder my gratitude that she was in my life when I remember her home and her special ways.

 I'm drawn to the vintage linens. I sort through, my fingers running over the starched, crisp fabric. I say to myself, "eenie, meenie, miney, moe," The sales clerk stirs at my pause, "I will take this one," I say. She replies with happy sigh. "I will take this one, and this one, and this one, too." I picture tea parties laced with flower petals, porcelain and pearls on little square tables adorned in vintage. I imagine chatter and giggles, accompanied by the chiming of spoons. I linger awhile at the linen corner of the mercantile. My mind creates future moments that will one day be stories. "Don't part with the vintage linens, momma," my daughter shares my weakness for the romantic. So they are here, with me, waiting for the moment when breath revives the vision.

The most incredible find was a set of journals, seven of them all written by one man. Each journal was a five year journal with very small spaces for the day. The pages were written in here and there style. A little of this and some of that. "The weather is . . ." 
"The cows . . ." 
"The chickens . . ."
"My lady . . . " 
"We went to church . . . "
"Hotel over in . . . burned last night. So and so died. We tried to save him."

I bought all seven of the identical blue bound books, rich with biography. I brought them home and pored over them until long after sunset. Then I placed the tiny library, the bits and pieces of someone's life in a little blue vintage case for safekeeping. 

When Scotty and I were deciding what we would keep, what we would store, and what we would give away, I found it hard to part with this miniature. I love it. It inspires me. I stored it away back home. Memory stirs a pining for it.

The proprietor who reluctantly placed the treasure into my hands on the day of purchase also gave me letters from the author of the journals. A whole stack of line upon line, "this is how I am" letters. Gap fillers. Perhaps  I could create a story from this humble man's life, or maybe this is the story. Time will tell.

I was going to talk about various kinds of journals when I sat down to write this post this morning. However, I opened this post with a visit to an antique store. That always has the tendency to change the course of my journey. I would love to share creative journal ideas with you that I have used throughout the years. Would you like to hear? Or perhaps you have some that you would like to share with me. I would love it if you would tell me your creative secrets.

Whatever you do today, may it be special to you and to those whose lives you touch. I hope you enjoy the weather, notice the cows and chickens, hug those you love, and since its only Thursday, take a minute to pray about Sunday church. If you have an extra minute, maybe you could write bits and pieces of it down. Leave a legacy. It doesn't have to be about the big things. All the little things we do, they matter to somebody. 

Love and blessings.   

"Beautiful things are seldom easy."

It is an old saying that I have clung to for decades. I remember the day that I first picked it up, held it in my heart and decided never to let it escape my grasp. Clueless was I to the depth of its meaning. 

Have you ever been to an art museum and sat before a giant wall covered with only one painting? I love to go and muse at the strokes of the artist. 

Sitting before an enormous crucifixion scene, some so real that you feel you are part of the witnesses. Sitting before such darkness, sometimes that is all you behold, the darkness of it. Death. I often get caught up in the sorrow, suffering and sadness of the scene. Beauty is before me, but I can be unaware of it. 

Life can be brutal. There is pain that wrenches heart in two.

Beauty is not always apparent when the soles of your feet are on the path of struggle. Keep walking. You often cannot see it until you glance back, retrospect. We often wonder how we missed it.

Often there will be glimpses of it on the path of trial, but the full glory is delayed. It will come. Understanding will come. You will realize what the Lord had in mind. Someday.

When gazing upon an artist's masterpiece, flaws are invisible. They are before us, covered by another stroke of hand. I studied art for a small season of time, and it has occurred to me that every work of genius I've ever seen in my life has had unrevealed blunders hidden beneath perfection. Covered, hidden, unrevealed. They were obvious, there in plain sight when the master was working. Well hidden before presentation and judgement.

Amazing!

The beauty of the crucifixion is love and grace. It depicts a God who cares so much that He gave His best so that we might be covered when judgement comes. Flawless before Him. Oh, the flaws are there, but who will see? No one, for they are beautifully hidden. Glory!

My friend, beautiful things are seldom easy. Are you walking through a hard time? I understand, I've had a few. Hang on, keep walking. Someday you will look behind and see reflections of rainbows that somehow you missed along the long path. 

How do you view a painting of the crucifixion? Close your eyes and think on it now. Is it dark? Do you feel the suffering of that day? Do you share the agony of some of the witnesses, the ones who cared about Him? Do you know the faith of the thief who believed in Him that day? 

The imprisoned one threatened with no release . . . with the sentence of death upon his head. Demise turned to promise. Hope! The one who would share paradise with Jesus that day. Forgiven. Right with God. Saved in a heartbeat, just in time. It could have been me, it could have been you in his place. For we have all been hopeless without Him. In reality, he, the thief, has a most desirable epitaph. "You will be with Me in paradise." The hope of the ages.

Beautiful masterpiece. 









  

Sometimes you need help to love someone. They are the difficult ones, those whom time has squeezed all happiness out of. Once upon a time, we had such a one that we were called upon to serve. 

Her name was Mrs. K.  

K  for Kontankerous!

She would growl into the phone, "I need someone from your office there to bring me some vitamins! Two bottles!!! Today!"  She couldn't hear well, so we would have to yell back that we were on the way.

"Let me go!" I would almost always jump at the chance to go. 

"I'm going to make her smile today," I would say. 

She always thought I was the doctor's daughter. Heehee! Happy face!

" You look gorgeous today, Mrs. K! What a lovely dress you are wearing," I wasn't pretending. She always dressed for company. Me. 

She had been abused by a first husband years and years before. Her terribly harsh responses were a symptom of the scars upon her heart. If she looked back too far, she found intolerable pain, so she kept her face forward, her upper lip stiff. Her eyes were trained for bitterness and scowl.

She invited me in her house one day. She opened her cabinet where her vitamins were kept. It was then I began to wonder if she was calling me to come for reasons other than her need for vitamins. The cupboard was full of bottles identical to the ones that I held in my hand. She gave me an impish glance. Where would she put the vitamins that I'd just brought? The overflow? Awkward moment, indeed.

I became aware of her birthday and sent her cards. Someone was making it easy to love her.  One year I thought, "I'll send her flowers, too." He was showing me ways to soften her . . . the helper.

She had the reaction of one who had not been given a gift for years when I took her a homemade, fresh out of the oven bread pudding for Christmas last year. I took my camera with me and I took her picture. I would post it here, but that would not be good (hippa). She hugged me when I left her that day.

I took to her, Mrs. K. I cared very deeply. I wonder about her now. Who is taking vitamins to her? Is she still in that little white house with the red brick chimney on the north side? She was getting so confused when I left. Perhaps she no longer remembers she took vitamins. 

I miss her. If she remembers, I bet she misses us too, that "good old doctor and his marvelous daughter."

I can't take pride in the love I felt for her . . . I feel it was a gift for both of us. I got to love her, and finally, with a bit of time she loved me back.

Lord, please bless Mrs. K today. Thank you for her. Amen