Vacation Bible School in Babylon

I hope you can see by these pictures that we had a wonderful Vacation Bible School again this year. Of course it's always wonderful, but it seems like every year is better than the one before. So far we've been to Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Galilee, Philippi, Rome, Jerusalem again, Nazareth, and--this year--Babylon. That's eight years, and nobody is tired of it yet.

We had 49 children this year--including Zaya and Mim, who came all the way from Missouri--and they were an exceptionally well-behaved group. Entering with enthusiasm into every activity and lesson, they were simply a delight!

This little girl is decorating her boxes to make a hanging garden--Babylon, remember?

The carpenters this year taught stamping with leather dies and staining. We actually used coffee for a light brown stain.

At the metal shop, they made name plates.

Every night more and more children came early--so we had to do extra singing to give the family leaders time to arrive and set their rooms in order.

The name tags didn't all survive the week, but they did endure long enough for the leaders to learn names.

Every year we have a bakery. It's everybody's favorite shop.  All evening we smell the baking bread. Then, after the singing, stories, and marketplace, each "family" gathers at "home". They light the candle, say their verse, bless the food. They eat freshly baked, whole wheat rolls and drink cool water (from the "well"). Not once--in eight years--has anybody asked for cookies and kool-aide.

Our bakers explained and demonstrated how bread was made--even grinding the wheat in a remolino. (This year, they inadvertently left the impression with the children that they had hand-ground all the flour for the bread.)

In the "families" older children took responsibility for the younger ones.

And the shop keepers stayed kindly-disposed all week, ignoring the marketplace noise and bustle.

Lights!

Singing! Dancing!

Cheers! Stories about Daniel and Nebuchadnezzar!

Clay beads.

Claye ran the Pottery booth again this year and Carina was one of the "Mater Familias".










The children made necklaces in the bead shop, screeching flutes in the music shop, and ink stamping cylinders in the House of Scribes.

They poured seeds and dirt into their own little "Hanging Gardens."
And so...by the waters of Babylon, we sat down and sang. Well, that's better than weeping.

The Problem With Summers

As far as blogging goes, summers should be the best time for me to write. I get up at the crack of dawn, drink coffee, check my e-mail and facebook, play a couple of computer games, do a little yardwork, clean a little or vacuum a little, exercise on the wii, go waterwalking with the old ladies down at the pool, or maybe rush through a delightfully empty grocery store. I have time to read, to pay bills, to dust rarely-seen corners of cabinets. I have time to write and write and blog all afternoon. So why don't I?
I don't know. Maybe laziness leads to more laziness so, in that case, it's good that I have a job for nine months of the year.

Notwithstanding all the ordinariness of my summer life, I'm going to force myself to blog about it. So.
Get ready for lots of chatter about nothing dramatic.

The Summer Bum

Thunder and Rain

 I can think of several advantages to not caring in the least who wins a basketball game. For instance, this morning is still a lovely morning around my house, but, as I took a quiet walk I saw signs of a  subdued village. There are hopeful banners in store windows, demanding that some team make mincemeat of another team. Someone must have spent hours decorating for this desired victory. Now someone will spend the same amount of time solemnly scraping off the paint.





Thousands bought  T-shirts they won't want to wear anymore. . . and multitudes of Oklahomans will recover from stress brought on by suspense, indignation, and outrage. A myriad of enemies in far away Florida will name their infants Le-Bron or Jamey....

Ah well. It's still a beautiful moisty morning out here in Western Oklahoma!
We had thunder yesterday ...and then rain.  Life is Grand!

x

Ghost Mountain

You have to be willing to make a detour...and the road, though paved, is full of potholes. Of course that doesn't mean people slow down in the least. They seem to know where the holes are in time to swerve around them while they are whizzing past me at 70 miles an hour. I'm sure the speed limit on those roads is forty five, because it isn't posted, but they must think there is no limit. Ah well, there's very little traffic out here, even on a day so beautiful. It's around seventy five degrees; thy sky is full of poofy clouds, and there's a myriad of little red roads to explore.

Claye and I took a little time off from our drive home. (Actually we added a few minutes to the drive home...which, oddly enough comes out to the same thing) After inadvertently entering a driveway and asking directions from the farmer's wife, we found a road that led right up to the foot of what looked like "Ghost Mountain". (It's Oklahoma, ok? Anything taller than the grain elevator is called a mountain) I don't know where it got its name. Really, there's no place for ghosts to hide on it at all, but that's what the kids called it. Looking at it up close reminded me of a certain sophomore class party a few years ago when we decided to climb Ghost Mountain.

It was an easy climb to the top, and I probably would have forgotten the whole incident were it not for the foolish insistence of three girls who, ignoring advice and clearly stated direction, decided to climb it once more after supper so they could "watch the sunset from the top". They slipped away as we cleaned up the picnic detritus. We called. They giggled and pretended not to hear. Soon, they sighed triumphantly from the top as the sun slipped down into the wheat fields. Suddenly, it was dark. They had no flashlights, not even cell phone lights because they hadn't been invented yet. There was a lot of squealing, and terror, and bold rescuing on the part of the brave guys in the class, who led the clinging girls back to the safety of the ground--which lends understanding and perhaps motive to the girls' uncharacteristic lack of judgment.  They all made it down to the cars with only a few scrapes and bruises.  I fussed and fumed all the way home about how the party could have ended in broken legs and backs, and who knows what! By the time I got home, I had murmured it out of my system and was able to face the rest of the year without strangling a small subset of the sophomore class. Never-the-less, I haven't taken any more classes on a "Mountain-climbing" party.

Today, Claye and I parked the car beside the road and got out. If we had only obtained permission from the farmer, who was plowing nearby, we might have ventured a small climb of our own. As it was, we just poked around a bit and took pictures.













Our three word Wednesday prompt was : cling, murmur, taken

The Weaker Brother

I've been thinking a lot lately about convictions: why it's so important to have them, and moreover, why it's so tragic to break them.  The apostle Paul was adamant about the danger of our causing a brother to sin by leading him to break a conviction that we may not hold ourselves. "So what's the big deal?" you might ask. "There's nothing wrong with that."

People may serve the same God, even attend the same church, yet, especially in the area of practices not discussed in the Bible, may hold to different standards. Some of this is due to upbringing; some is due to dedication. Paul felt that "food offered to idols" was just that--"food offered to things that had no power to change it". He ate the food and it didn't damage his conscience to do so.  However, he also refrained from eating that same food in the presence of those who felt it a sin to partake of it. His explanation was as follows: If I do this, and they follow my example, it would be against their conscience. I would cause my brother to sin.

 Breaking a conviction hardens the conscience. Anything that hardens the conscience leads to spiritual numbness, and scar after scar makes a hard heart.

That's why it's wrong for a Christian to induce other Christians to break the "scruples", "laws", "mores", and, most importantly, "convictions" they hold or have been raised with. No, you may not see anything wrong with a certain thing, but it may be devastating for them. First it's a minor step, a small thing, then another, then one step more. They begin to question everything they once stood for, and you have just helped to shipwreck a life.  If, indeed, it's important for someone to abandon the principles they once held as an honor to God, we should let God's Word convince them, not ours.

Most of the time though, "importance" doesn't enter into it. We just want to "set people straight on the issues of what we can or cannot do and still serve God".  Maybe, it's because we feel they are ridiculous and too rigid in their beliefs; but it might also be because we want someone else to do what we are doing so we can feel more justified in doing it. For disciples, the danger is rather with the one who follows farther behind...not the one who follows too closely.

Was Daniel "weak" when his conscience did not allow him to eat Nebuchadnezzar's food? Hardly. It was his conviction to hold fast in this minor thing that kept him  strong when circumstances challenged his faith. Later, his very life was tested, but he held to what was right. What if someone had convinced him that the "sin" of eating unclean food, was not relevant to his position as a war captive? What if he had eaten along with the rest? Perhaps his name would be just as obscure as the names of a thousand other captives.

When Paul speaks of the "weaker" brother, he's not condemning that disciple, nor does he try to change him. He refers to a "weak" that means "vulnerable".  It is not our job to persuade someone that they are giving up too much for God, to liberate them from their dedication, to talk a Samson into cutting his own hair--one strand at a time.  

Odd Mounds

If you wander around Western Oklahoma, you see interesting sights...like windmills broken by the wind that once gave them life... or black cows in green fields next to red roads.












From the interstate, I always see a set of odd-looking mounds in the distance. For years, I have wanted to drive over there and investigate them.

So a few days ago I left the beaten path--or driven- upon path if you will--and explored. For all you people who have wondered, here's what they look like up closer.



There are actually several sets of them. Some are being mined for red gravel or maybe potting soil. Others, grass covered, just sit there and look knobby. Cows graze around their skirts.












This one was outlined in hay bales.

Dieting Drearies

I'm getting really tired of dieting, but I'm not going to quit. I really have no choice. The minute I open the door to sugar, it's over. I'm not ready to throw the pounds back on and elevate the blood pressure again, and aggravate the knee joints, and bring on the chest pain...so there it is. I'm just going to eat boring food for the rest of my life. Oh, it's not so bad. On Sundays and special occasions, I can break the rules...but that means I have to be ridiculously cautious the rest of the week. I'm not looking for a lot of solutions here; really, I suspect there are none. I'm just asking for sympathy!

Here's the problem:
Why don't the food companies make sugar-free food in more flavors?

I see mocha, pumpkin, cream cheese, mint, caramel, raspberry, cherry, blueberry and coconut cream. But not in the sugar free. Nope. We get vanilla and hazelnut. Don't get me wrong. I like vanilla and hazelnut...but I like the others too. Where are they?

Think about cake mixes. They come in a jillion flavors. We get chocolate and vanilla. Nice.

Ice cream? Same there. I  would love to eat almond chocolate, coconut ice cream...or mint chocolate chip...or peach. I dream of peach ice cream.

And then there's jello pudding. It's my one delightful sixty- calorie treat. I like it. But I'd like it more if it came in Mocha, Coffee, Coconut, Tapioca, Cherry, Peach, or Custard!

Yesterday evening we shopped in a larger city. I scanned the offerings hopefully. After all, online there are pictures of other flavors.
Nope. No luck.

Finally, I spotted a sugar-free tapioca pudding. It was another brand, but it might be tasty. Right? Well it might have been, but it wasn't. In fact there was no taste at all. Imagine eating starch soup. Yep.

Oh well. If only all my problems in life were this small....

Turtle Goes Fishing

The day was calm and fishful
at least the fisherman was wishful.
When he took his light canoe
And sought a quiet spot

 Near the shore the rocks were slippery
His vessel prone to flippery
So he braved the deeper waters
Where fish just might be caught












But ski boats agitated
Sent waves that aggravated
The canoe was buffeted a bit
And the fish were scared away










So he rowed back empty-handed,
Made sure the boat was landed,
And he had an impressive sunburn
To show for the entire day.

Medicine Park

We stopped and had a picnic supper in a recently-discovered and highly commercialized little resort  called Medicine Park. This river area was a public park, running through the center of town.

There were little kids splashing everywhere, so I finally caved in and let Zay and Mim wade in the water---but only up to their necks. Well, if you had smelled the water, you would have set a few limits too!

 The geese were fearlessly swimming and strutting all over the place, joining the waders and begging--nay, demanding--scraps from our picnic lunch. While we were watching the grandchildren  doggy-paddle in the puddle, three wild ducks swooped down and made a glide through the canyon. It was impressive.

 

All the same, we had a concert to attend, so we soon called our bedraggled youngsters to the car, where they struggled into clean, dry clothes that didn't smell like old geese poop. We made it to the school auditorium and listened to Elijah's third-graders and then his fifth-graders. All together, there were around two hundred and sixty choir students. They sang exuberantly. With the auditorium packed, I'm sure nobody noticed what remained of the pond-water smell.

Attractions--Large and Small

 The fence is to keep tourists out...at least the ones who follow the rules and suggested guidelines. The buffalo in the background don't read, yet for some reason they keep their distance from this fierce little attraction

 We always have to stop and say hello to the prairie dogs in their village full of tunnels. Most of the time there are plenty of them on the surface, standing to bark a warning, or slinking up to the fence, hoping for someone to disregard the notice board and throw them a cheese pretzel.

This one found something to munch. We thought it looked like a piece of bread crust, but didn't want to approach and ask politely to see. After-all, if buffalo are afraid of them, they must be fearsome indeed. I'm sure the "cuteness" is just a ruse.

A Picnic in May on a Hot, Windy Day

 When my own children were young, we used to hike in the Wichita Mountains. Now that the grandchildren are visiting, we've renewed the tradition. No, we didn't take the eight-mile Buffalo Trail. We had a lot to do in one day, and the temperature was approaching ninety degrees, so we just hiked a little ways--less than a mile actually, although it included quite a bit of climbing. Since there was a great breeze, it didn't feel as hot as I knew it was.

 That was fine with us, but it sure messed up Mim's posing for the camera. She always had to hold her hair out of her face.

 I liked the look of the swirly clouds and the little trees against the sky here.

 There were plenty of rocks and stumps to clamber over, and the wild flowers were vivid.

 We saw a cosy little bench near the end of the trail, but, since it was not in the shade, it wasn't tempting in the least.

 In the distance--a lake beckoned. Nope, we didn't swim in it, but we did make it back to the creek at the beginning of this article, where two squealing grandchildren scampered around to cool down, chasing fish that were as long as their feet, but swifter.

I realize I'm not keeping up very well. It's a sad fact that I'm not keeping up with everything right now. That's what comes with the last few weeks of school, especially when you're senior sponsor, trying to plan a graduation, make sure all the students get their work in and graduate, plan a senior trip, make a slide show, get caps and gowns to the church, and keep my desk clean. Ha ha. That last one is a joke. Anyway, I plan to write more in a couple of weeks. Here are a few of my exuberant seniors. They're loving this last week. Bless them.

May--Canola and Wheat Pictures