There have been several times over the past couple of weeks when I thought "I should take the time to blog about that . . . ". I should have told y'all about the three ring circus when 4 grown men brought 11 calves, just days old and not yet weaned, home. 4 grown men + 4 bottles of formula + 11 calves . . . . well I think you can do the math and can probably imagine the mayhem.

I could have told y'all about the heartbreak of being a farmer as one by one our frolicking herd of frisky calves succumbed to "shipping fever" and we're down to four "hopefuls" and one good strong heifer (she'd already been weaned and has been getting her fill of hay).

I could have told y'all about the tornado-like storm that passed through our area just over a week ago that took down our huge apple tree and an even bigger cedar tree but literally skirted around our house. I should have told y'all how grateful I am that our Lord and Savior saw fit to place a hedge of protection around our home and our animals.

All of those things would have made good posts. There could have been some laughs and some tears. My days are so full with work and home, though, that by the time I could sit down at the computer, I honestly just didn't have the energy. I either had the energy to stop by and read some of your posts OR the energy to write a post. Selfishly on my part, I chose to read yours!

Today, however, something happened that has me stirred to the very center of my being. Something that makes me want to climb over boxes and dig through the furniture in our storage room in search of my beloved needle point stool. Some of you may not be familiar with my needle point stool. Some of you actually have one of your own. Being vertically challenged, I use my stool to help me reach for things like the loving awards I've received throughout my blogging journey. This time, however, my needlepoint stool would serve as my soapbox. Just high enough that I might be seen. Just padded enough to comfort my feet as I voice my concerns. Just low enough to keep me from sustaining permanent injury in case someone should decide to knock me off. This is something I can't talk to "just anyone" about because not everyone would understand. However, you my dear friends, have proven that I can trust you with my feelings and that whether or not you may agree with me, you'll still love me with the same unconditional love that you've shown me over the past 18 +- months of my blogging journey.

Today, when we should have all been celebrating the good fortune that has been given to a deserving young person allowing them the opportunity to break the familial cycle they've been born into, I witnessed some of the most blatant displays of prejudice, scorn, bigotry, envy, pride, disgust . . . . and although I hesitate to say the word . . . . hatred. All targeted at someone most had never set eyes on. All based on opinions. Opinions about why that person should be given this and why that person should be able to do that and why that person . . . . And when one extremely immature, but very opinionated voice asked "well, would you want your daughter/son to date or marry someone like THAT?" I bit back the response "I would be proud to have my son/daughter date or marry someone like that, it's people like YOU I would hope they have the sense to steer clear of!" Then I got to wondering - is it just here in this place in this culture that people react in this manner? Would someone from the slums of Philadelphia or the streets of Miami or the poorest section of any city in any state in the union who had been given the opportunity to brush the dust of a life filled with poverty and drugs and hopelessness from their clothes and with the generosity of many break the cycle that has been a part of their family for generations have received the same scorn? Then deeper thought brought me to the realization that YES some people would chose to find fault rather than embrace the wonderful gift that has been given to this person. Then, upon even deeper thought, I realized that the Person who has been scorned for centuries because of His lowly beginnings has been the center of many heated arguments and even wars over the years is the King of Kings. He couldn't be the Messiah. He couldn't be the Savior. After all His "parents" weren't even married and he was born in a barn. Families and nations have been divided over this issue for years. I guess there's not going to be an easy resolution to today's rift amongst co-workers, is there?

So, my friends, as I breath a sigh and carefully step down off of my needlepoint stool, I ask for nothing more than your prayers. Prayers for a peaceful work place. Prayers for a very deserving young person. Prayers for those whose hearts are so hardened.


Blessings from The Creek y'all!

An expectant mother . . . .

Twenty years ago last weekend I was sitting in Plant City Florida eating strawberry shortcake with my mother and my Aunt Margie and Uncle Bill who were visiting mother from Pennsylvania. Among other things, we talked about the excitement of my pregnancy and that it would only be a few weeks before I'd get to see my bundle of joy for the first time.

Last weekend, I sat in the bleachers at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, with my husband by my side as we waited expectantly for my son - that unnamed bundle of joy I held so close to my heart twenty years earlier, and waited so expectantly for - to march across the parade field as he graduated from basic training.

The joy I felt last weekend was no more or no less intense than what I felt twenty years ago. Just different. Tears still clouded this expectant mother's eyes as I waited for my son to march past me - just as they did twenty years ago as I waited for him to arrive. This time, though, there was pride in my heart. Pride in knowing that my unnamed bundle of joy of twenty years ago has grown into a fine young man. A young man who has made his mother proud and whom I have no doubt will make his country proud.