South for the winter

Yes, it's to Kingsville in sunny hot Texas we go! No roaming the woods in the snow to find grandma's house this year for Christmas. Come down to visit next summer, and we can name a cabana on the beach for you!

In Other Words, e.g......

HE GOT JETS!!! And that means, (woohooo!) that we will be moving south. Warmth-heat- sun-water- fishing-boating- the Bay, all at our back door, if we move to NAS Kingsville. However, that's the one thing we aren't quite sure about is whre we'll be moving, b/c we could be sent to Meridian. Mississippi. Yeah. Well, that too would be the real south and close to family. We ought to know by Friday.

What do you do with answered prayers?

Last night my greatest and most dire prayer to date was answered. It was a plea that I had been asking for since I was a young boy. Of course there have been many other important prayers that have been on my heart over the years. In fact, in the great scheme of things, this prayer has little ramification (that I can see) other than the fulfillment of a boy's dream.

What do you do when a prayer is answered? Do you sacrifice the fatted calf? Do you pledge your unborn children to God? Vow to never drink again? (wait, that may be too much) Again and again, the answer is a resounding no.

All God asks of us is to Glorify Him and enjoy Him forever. And so, though I have in the past, I shall once again pledge my work to the Lord and to His Glory. For I was taught once, and reminded again of, the wise words of Micah 6:8- ...What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? (ESV) Fair enough!

Oatmeal

It sticks to one's bones, becomes flesh overnight
fueling the software to run one's neurons,
so music springs forth from the one
who takes time to make the sweet grain,
warmed over from stove to stomach.
Mixed with milk, dried fruits, nuts diced in detail,
it blends unawares the ground seed of flax
bounteous in roughage, all pipes it will clean
and satisfy daily the palate it first pleased.

Strange times, these

On a beautiful fall day, I spend no time outside, which is nearly criminal, considering the fact that there are few perfectly temperatured days in the human calendar within a year. We spent this Sunday worshipping and working, a full schedule of it, so that we're left wondering when the weekend is coming. Eric flies his last few rides of the season here at Vance, to find out next week where we'll be moving and when.

A Good Analogy

For anyone out there who needs a good analogy as to why we are fighting the war against terror, look no further.


The other day, my nine year old son wanted to know why we were at
war...My husband looked at our son and then looked at me.  My husband and I were in the Army during the Gulf War and we would be honored to serve and defend our Country again today. I knew that my husband would give him a good explanation.

My husband thought for a few minutes and then told my son to go stand
in our front living room window. He said "Son, stand there and tell me
what you see?" "I see trees and cars and our neighbor's houses." he replied. "OK, now I want you to pretend that our house and our yard is the United States of America and you are President Bush." Our son giggled and said "OK." "Now son, I want you to look out the window and pretend that every house and yard on this block is a different country" my husband said. "OK Dad, I'm pretending."

"Now I want you to stand there and look out the window and pretend
you see Saddam come out of his house with his wife, he has her by the hair and is hitting her. You see her bleeding and crying. He hits her in the face, he throws her on the ground, and then he starts to kick her to death. Their children run out and are afraid to stop him; they are screaming and crying, they are watching this but do nothing because they are kids and they are afraid of their father. You see all of this, son....what do you do?"

"Dad?"
"What do you do, son?"
"I'd call the police, Dad."
"OK. Pretend that the police are the United Nations.  They take your
call.  They listen to what you know and saw but they refuse to help. What do you do then, son?" "Dad.......... but the police are supposed to help!" My son starts to whine.

"They don't want to son, because they say that it is not their place
or your place to get involved and that you should stay out of it," my
husband says.

"But Dad...he killed her!!" my son exclaims. "I know he did...but the police tell you to stay out of it. Now I
want you to look out that window and pretend you see our neighbor who you're pretending is Saddam turn around and do the same thing to his
children.”

"Daddy...he kills them?"
"Yes son, he does. What do you do?"
"Well, if the police don't want to help, I will go and ask my next
door neighbor to help me stop him." our son says. "Son, our next door neighbor sees what is happening and refuses to
get involved as well. He refuses to open the door & help you stop him,"
my husband says.

"But Dad, I NEED help!!! I can't stop him by myself!!"
"WHAT DO YOU DO, SON?"
Our son starts to cry.

"OK, no one wants to help you, the man across the street saw you ask
for help and saw that no one would help you stop him. He stands taller
and puffs out his chest. Guess what he does next son?" "What Daddy?" "He walks across the street to the old lady's house and breaks down
her door and drags her out, steals all her stuff and sets her house on
fire and then...he kills her. He turns around and sees you standing in the window and laughs at you. WHAT DO YOU DO?"

"Daddy..."
"WHAT DO YOU DO?"
Our son is crying and he looks down and he whispers, "I'd close the
blinds, Daddy."
My husband looks at our son with tears in his eyes and asks
him..."Why?"

"Because Daddy.....the police are supposed to help people who need them...and they won't help.... You always say that neighbors are
supposed to HELP neighbors, but they won't help either...they won't help me stop him...I'm afraid....I can't do it by myself Daddy.....I can't look out my window and just watch him do all these terrible things...and.....do nothing..so....I'm just going to close the blinds.... so I can't see what he's  doing........and I'm going to pretend that it is not happening." I start to cry. My husband looks at our nine year old son standing in the window, looking pitiful and ashamed at his answers to my husband's questions and he says..."Son" "Yes, Daddy." "Open the blinds because that man.... he's at your front door..."WHAT DO YOU DO?" My son looks at his father, anger and defiance in his eyes. He balls up his tiny fists and looks his father square in the eyes, without hesitation he says: "I DEFEND MY FAMILY DAD!! I'M NOT GONNA LET HIM HURT MOMMY OR MY SISTER, DAD!!! I'M GONNA FIGHT HIM, DAD, I'M GONNA FIGHT HIM!!!!!" I see a tear roll down my husband's cheek and he grabs our son to his chest and hugs him tight, and says... "It's too late to fight him, he's too strong and he's already at YOUR front door son.....you should have stopped him BEFORE he killed his wife, and his children and the old lady across the way. You have to do what's right, even if you have to do it alone, before it's too late." my husband whispers.

THAT scenario I just gave you is WHY we are at war with Iraq. When good men stand by and let evil happen son, THAT is the greatest atrocity "YOU MUST NEVER BE AFRAID TO DO WHAT IS RIGHT! EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO DO IT ALONE!"

back on the plains

We arrived back home from the humid beaches of Rockport, Texas to the windy plains of Oklahoma. It's always good to see one's own humble abode, even though the pangs of leaving on the other end linger. Only a precious few weeks left of flight training and coffee making!

It's so cold...

...my fingernails wear ice caps. It's so cold, my arm hairs turn into mohawks. It's so cold, my tongue clogs up my throat, running from the wind outside. The cold front came as predicted, taking all our cheeks' blood with it.

It's work time

I work so much, my legs are going to fall off. I'm going mind numb because I do coffee shop tasks at high speed. One may go to coffee houses to read or write, but working there spares no time for reading. So I complain to myself. A job brings little lasting happiness and yet no small measure of selfish satisfaction. The other "wives" and I who consider life a boring expanse of hours to be whiled away when we don't have a job, moan and groan under the weight of real schedules. Our prayers are gratified: here's you a great little job to add to the family income. Our prayers change: O God, deliver me from tedious labour that requires me to get up at 5AM--and remind me: why was this so necessary to my life's eternal purpose in pleasing You, again?

O Woman, how fickle your desires, how fleeting your pleasures!