Admission

My name is Robin, and I am an arborholic. Some call it OCTPD (Obsessive Compulsive Tree-Planting Disorder). Simply put, I can’t stop planting trees and other woody perennials, especially roses. No matter how many I plant or transplant, it’s never enough.

Last spring, the act of planting dozens of saplings and shrublings was so arduous that I was certain I’d had my fill. And one would think that last summer’s excessive heat and drought might have cured my addiction, due to the sheer amount of time and labor that went into keeping the little things from dying of desiccation. Then in the fall, the job of fencing all the young trees to protect them from the cows should have convinced me to give up the habit for good.

But spring is around the corner, and I’m having cravings.

Because I’ve ordered so many windbreak trees from our local conservation service, they know me by name and send me a tree order form every January. Hubby found this year’s order in the mailbox before I did, and he threw it away before I could see it. That’s as fruitless as flushing a smoker’s cigarettes down the toilet or draining an alcoholic’s bottle in the sink—removing the temptation doesn’t fix the problem.

Besides, I know where the conservation service office is. It’s probably not too late to put in an order….

“You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.” –ISAIAH 55:12 (NIV)

Heaven

“Our Father in heaven….”

This week’s homework assignment from our pastor was to ponder and respond to this phrase, found in Matthew 6:9. This is what I wrote in my prayer journal.

Father, You’re not just in heaven—You are heaven. Heaven is heaven because You are there. If You showed up here, right now, this little ranch would be instantly transformed.

Your glory would beautify every ugliness. There would be no dust on the television or stains on our old T-shirts. There would be no mud on our shoes and carpet, no manure in the corral and pasture. The dirty snow and slippery ice would disappear. Every blade of grass, every tree and shrub, every flower would spring to life, green up, and blossom—except for the weeds. We could search high and low but not find a single kochia, curly dock, or Russian thistle. The bees and butterflies would come back, and the larks, robins, and sparrows would sing again.

Your truth would expose every lie and vanquish every pretense. Your justice would make every wrong right and more than compensate for every word or act of contempt given or received. Your mercy would sweeten every bitter memory, and your grace would redeem every shattered dream.

Your love would banish all fear, shame, anger, and sorrow. Every scar on every heart would be healed. Every hole in every soul would be filled. Every infirmity of man and beast would be made whole. No human, cow, horse, or goat would ever limp or gimp again. It wouldn’t even surprise me if Jessie, Peaches, and Sam (my dear departed blue heeler and cats, respectively) were resurrected!

So, what are You up to today? If You get a chance, stop by for a while!

“…Christ in you, the hope of glory.” 

–COLOSSIANS 1:27

Favorable Conditions

Meels (see Meels’ Big Day, posted on December 1, 2012) can’t stand Lolli, the buck that I borrowed for pregnancy insurance. Meels is repelled by any of Lolli’s attempts at courting. Furthermore, he eats too many of her beloved oats!

It’s good news that Lolli has been here for over three weeks and Meels still has no interest in buck-doe relations. Her normal cycles were 21 days long. If Meels wasn’t pregnant, she likely would have, er, warmed up to his affections by now.

Meels’ rounded tummy seems to confirm our suspicions that she’s expecting, but she’s always been a bit on the curvy side so that can’t be counted as proof. The biggest change that I’ve seen, though, is that she lies down to rest much more than normal. Any mom who is reading this knows that that’s a really good sign.

The jury’s still out regarding Blueberry’s condition, however, but I have high hopes!

Meels

“Blessed (happy, fortunate, to be envied) are all those who [earnestly] wait for Him, who expect and look and long for Him [for His victory, His favor, His love, His peace, His joy, and His matchless, unbroken companionship]!”                                                                 --ISAIAH 30:18 (AMP)

Little Bit

Little Bit got his name because he was born a little bit late, to say the least, to an old pet cow named Mama Cass who had been having reproductive problems. She’d lost two calves prior to Little Bit, so she was especially devoted to and fiercely—and I do mean fiercely—protective of him. Perhaps she sensed that he’d be her last calf.

Little Bit didn’t stay little for long. Mama was a good milker, and Little Bit had inherited her easy-fleshing ability (cattleman lingo for “pleasantly plump”). This is a desirable trait for range cattle that have to earn their living in lean times, such as drought or snowpack, but ours always have plenty of good pasture or hay--maybe even a little bit too much.

Cattle aren’t known for being fastidious, but Little Bit was rather particular about his water. He’d use his tongue to clear the surface before he drank, deftly sweeping the water clean of drowned bugs and little bits of grass or hay that the other cows had left behind. I found this peculiar habit amusing, but the thirsty cattle which were waiting impatiently behind him for their turn to drink were a little bit less impressed.  

“The word that saves is right here, as near as the tongue in your mouth, as close as the heart in your chest. It’s the word of faith that welcomes God to go to work and set things right for us.” –ROMANS 10:8 (MSG)

Straw

A piece of straw is basically hollow and virtually weightless. When tossed up in the air, it flutters slowly to the ground or blows away in the slightest breeze, barely affected by gravity.

Straw has so little mass that a handful of it doesn’t feel any heavier than one. Even a small bale of it weighs only 30 to 40 pounds, depending on type and how tightly it was baled. But we have some large round bales of barley straw that are so dense that they weigh around 1400 pounds! When the net wrap is cut, the bales almost explode with enough straw to bed the barn twice.

I’ve never looked at a piece of straw under a microscope, but I’ll bet it looks something like Velcro because it seems to stick to everything.

Unlike hay, straw has very little feed value, but when spread in a barn, acts as, well, an absorbent toilet tissue for livestock waste.

Words are either hay or straw. (Forgive my hayseed philosophy!) Hay-words bless and add value to whoever hears them. But straw-words are worthless and can absorb value, leaving the listener feeling worthless too. Straw-words can be heavy with contempt and dripping with scorn, just like bedding from a cow-filled barn. Straw-words seem to stick like Velcro and build up until the load seems suffocating. One more critical, shaming word could be the last straw.

“Those who look to Him are radiant;
    their faces are never covered with shame.” –PSALM 34:5

“To add value to others, one must first value others.” –John Maxwell

A Change-of-Seasons Request

We must have had some fog the previous night because we woke to a frosty world on Saturday morning. The rays of sunlight refracting from every tiny ice crystal transformed even the homeliest, dried-up old weed into a sparkling wonder, as if a large, unseen hand had sprinkled diamond dust everywhere.

When I was doing chores, my eyes were drawn to last summer’s sunflower skeletons. Although my flower beds look rather messy in the winter, I leave most of the freeze-dried flowers standing until spring. My semi-scientific reason: I read once that decaying roots, with their companion fungi, are a boon to soil health. I also leave them there as proof that winters—no matter how long, dark, and frigid—always pass, and summers always come.

There’s a waitress in town that reminds me of this picture. Customers are understandably underwhelmed by her cold countenance and prickly personality. But I can’t help but wonder what kind of long, dark, frigid winter her soul has endured. How many of her hopes have died? What storms have swept through her life, drying her dreams and icing up her heart? Jesus, give her spring and summer, I pray.

“Turn and answer me, O Lord my God! Restore the sparkle to my eyes, or I will die.” –PSALM 13:3 (NLT)

Lindsay's Kids

My niece, Lindsay, teaches in an inner-city San Antonio third-grade classroom. Her school is in an impoverished, crime-ridden neighborhood. Many of her students come from homes where drug deals and violence are the norm, but books and homework are not. Most test far below grade level.

One child spends part of the school year in the psych ward, and another flunks his tests because he always eats—yes, eats—them. Some try to steal her purse, others try to attack their classmates with scissors, many write or shout obscenities fluently. The vast majority of American students who have learning disabilities, mental illnesses, or behavior disorders have individualized education plans, teams of specialists, and/or instructional aides. Lindsay’s kids don’t.

During a recent classroom discussion, Lindsay discovered that most of her students had never even heard of a zoo! No one had ever read them Dr. Seuss’ If I Ran the Zoo, Curious George Visits the Zoo, or any of the other gazillion zoo books written for children. Mind you, San Antonio has one of the biggest zoos in the nation, but those kids have never seen a single one of its 3,500 animals. (Field trips are out of the question—Lindsay’s kids don’t even have access to music, art, science, or recess.)

It’s not right.

Note to Mom and Dad: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for every single trip to the library and zoo!

(Photo from Google Images)

These are NOT Lindsay’s kids.

^“Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’” –MATTHEW 19:14