I can't help but brag. The Sweet B is hot.
Way hot.
I know I'm smiling in this picture, but really my fingers are on fire.
What a lovely way to burn.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Thank you Tennessee!
It's about time. I thought this day would never come.
Now I'm really looking forward to hearing his platform and stance on Iraq/Iran. Will he step up to the plate? Can we finally have an honest, legitimate, and plausible answer to the war? Mr. Thompson, I'm ready to hand you all the eggs in my basket, don't let me down, you have "President" written all over you; I'd like to see you in my history books. Please, I really want to get excited about this election, be the catalyst!
Now I'm really looking forward to hearing his platform and stance on Iraq/Iran. Will he step up to the plate? Can we finally have an honest, legitimate, and plausible answer to the war? Mr. Thompson, I'm ready to hand you all the eggs in my basket, don't let me down, you have "President" written all over you; I'd like to see you in my history books. Please, I really want to get excited about this election, be the catalyst!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
May 15th My Utmost for His Highest
May 15th.
The HABIT of RISING to the OCCASION
"That ye may know what is the hope of His calling . . ." Ephesians 1:18
Remember what you are saved for - that the Son of God might be manifested in your mortal flesh. Bend the whole energy of your powers to realize your election as a child of God; rise to the occasion every time.
You cannot do anything for your salvation, but you must do something to manifest it, you must work out what God has worked in. Are you working it out with your tongue, and your brain and your nerves? If you are still the same miserable crosspatch, set on your own way, then it is a lie to say that God has saved and sanctified you.
God is the Master Engineer, He allows the difficulties to come in order to see if you can vault over them properly - "By my God have I leaped over a wall." God will never shield you from any of the requirements of a son or daughter of His. Peter says - "Think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you." Rise to the occasion; do the thing. It does not matter how it hurts as long as it gives God the chance to manifest Him self in your mortal flesh.
May God not find the whine in us any more, but may He find us full of spiritual pluck and athleticism, ready to face anything He brings. We have to exercise ourselves in order that the Son of God may be manifested in our mortal flesh. God never has museums. The only aim of the life is that the Son of God may be manifested, and all dictation to God vanishes. Our Lord never dictated to His Father, and we are not here to dictate to God; we are here to submit to His will so that He may work through us what He wants. When we realize this, He will make us broken bread and poured out wine to feed and nourish others.
The HABIT of RISING to the OCCASION
"That ye may know what is the hope of His calling . . ." Ephesians 1:18
Remember what you are saved for - that the Son of God might be manifested in your mortal flesh. Bend the whole energy of your powers to realize your election as a child of God; rise to the occasion every time.
You cannot do anything for your salvation, but you must do something to manifest it, you must work out what God has worked in. Are you working it out with your tongue, and your brain and your nerves? If you are still the same miserable crosspatch, set on your own way, then it is a lie to say that God has saved and sanctified you.
God is the Master Engineer, He allows the difficulties to come in order to see if you can vault over them properly - "By my God have I leaped over a wall." God will never shield you from any of the requirements of a son or daughter of His. Peter says - "Think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you." Rise to the occasion; do the thing. It does not matter how it hurts as long as it gives God the chance to manifest Him self in your mortal flesh.
May God not find the whine in us any more, but may He find us full of spiritual pluck and athleticism, ready to face anything He brings. We have to exercise ourselves in order that the Son of God may be manifested in our mortal flesh. God never has museums. The only aim of the life is that the Son of God may be manifested, and all dictation to God vanishes. Our Lord never dictated to His Father, and we are not here to dictate to God; we are here to submit to His will so that He may work through us what He wants. When we realize this, He will make us broken bread and poured out wine to feed and nourish others.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
My Tornado Dream
I usually look forward to having dreams. Nearly every night I go to bed and pray I get to dream (those other nights I don't think about dreaming, I end up doing so.. go figure). I can remember a few dreams that have filled me with terror, a very heart wrenching dream where I woke up crying, four where I was so moved in the dreams that I could barely keep it together the next day, one dream that has been forever seared in my memory because of the joy in it (in the case I would get Alzheimer's, I wrote it all down), and then there are my tornado dreams.
Call it the curse of the Wicked Witch of the West, bad food, or my mind trying to communicate with me, but I hate tornado dreams. Number one, tornadoes and I have an agreement: They stay in cornfields and wide open spaces (in real life and in dreams), and I don't have to worry about them ravishing through wherever I live, sucking me in and killing all my horses. And family. And friends.
I hate tornadoes.
COSI helped very little. The wind tunnel they use to show how a toothpick can shatter a 2x4 only served to increase my fear, forget toothpicks flying through the air, what about all those 2x4s? Nothing, absolutely nothing, causes me to stop breathing like the sound of tornado sirens or black clouds (yes, I know, green clouds are the ones with the tornado, hush). It's uncanny though, this past fall Columbus had several "funnel clouds" come right around Westerville and where was I? On the balcony, trying to figure out where they were. I had the tv on in the living room with the weatherman urging everyone to seek shelter away from windows, preferably in their basement or bathroom, and there I stood, outside, just eagerly waiting for some action. I think the thing with that occasion was the fact I had only 25 feet between the bathroom and I, so safety was right within my reach.
Right, on to this particular dream. (keep in mind I'm still terrified of tornadoes- in case you missed that)
For some reason I was lined up in a parking lot along a street festival, maybe a car show (#1, what the heck? A car show?), and the tornadoes were just sweeping through the festival at will. My MG sat lined up with the rest of the cars facing the street. At some point my row of cars and everyone in them nearly got swiped away. In the next scene I got a glimpse of the makeshift rescue station and everyone in the cars next to mine and I had our pictures posted on this board with the letters MIA boldly placed above. I instinctively knew that we were being worried over and mourned and knowing that I wasn't hurt at all made me happy and eager to share the news, for some reason however, I couldn't. I managed to survive that particular tornado by putting my car in reverse and backing up just in time. After it passed I moved forward into my spot again. At some point I remember making communication with the people around me and possibly my family, but we weren't allowed to leave our spaces.
Then, at the tail end of my dream and the very end of the storm, this huge F5 tornado came directly at me from the left and while I was trying desperately to get my car to move, it picked up my car and I inside it. Fear instantly raced through me and I covered my face as the B and I were swept around this tornado. It was dark gray inside and sounded as though a million freight trains were driving this monster. While this is all happening, I am still remembering that I might be impaled at any moment by a toothpick, 2x4, or telephone pole, yet at no point did anything strike the car or hit me. I distinctly remember being absolutely terrified and crying out to God to save me. At no point though, did I feel as though He assured me that it would turn out alright. I would hope that being a Christian, I would trust Him even as I face death; this was not the case. While I begged Him to save my life and my car (I guess I really love my car!) peace seemed to evade and even avoid me. "God, God, please," I cried over and over, even shouting to be heard above the roar. I thought of death and knew that I would be with Him should I die, yet no trust or peace filled me. I still remained stricken with terror. I knew, my mind told me so, that He was there, but if His presence was, I felt it not. Desperately I wanted Him to hold me, to soothe my worried heart, and to take care of helpless and hopeless me. I feared surviving this tornado and then plummeting to earth and being shattered to pieces. Terror filled my soul and I wept.
Then, suddenly, my car was slowly eased to earth and came to a stop, hovering inches above the land. I stepped out lightly from the B, my bare foot landing on a cushion even before the car had touched ground. All was well.
End dream.
It seems to me as though I am walking on water right now with my spiritual eyes firmly fixed upon Him. In this test of faith I do not question His existence or desire for me, I am just learning to keep walking, to rest assured that He will provide. This, I believe, is quickly becoming my first real test of Faith: While I may not see Him or feel His presence, I know that I must keep walking, that I can keep walking, and that He will do all that He needs to when His perfect will so determines. This is my tornado.
Call it the curse of the Wicked Witch of the West, bad food, or my mind trying to communicate with me, but I hate tornado dreams. Number one, tornadoes and I have an agreement: They stay in cornfields and wide open spaces (in real life and in dreams), and I don't have to worry about them ravishing through wherever I live, sucking me in and killing all my horses. And family. And friends.
I hate tornadoes.
COSI helped very little. The wind tunnel they use to show how a toothpick can shatter a 2x4 only served to increase my fear, forget toothpicks flying through the air, what about all those 2x4s? Nothing, absolutely nothing, causes me to stop breathing like the sound of tornado sirens or black clouds (yes, I know, green clouds are the ones with the tornado, hush). It's uncanny though, this past fall Columbus had several "funnel clouds" come right around Westerville and where was I? On the balcony, trying to figure out where they were. I had the tv on in the living room with the weatherman urging everyone to seek shelter away from windows, preferably in their basement or bathroom, and there I stood, outside, just eagerly waiting for some action. I think the thing with that occasion was the fact I had only 25 feet between the bathroom and I, so safety was right within my reach.
Right, on to this particular dream. (keep in mind I'm still terrified of tornadoes- in case you missed that)
For some reason I was lined up in a parking lot along a street festival, maybe a car show (#1, what the heck? A car show?), and the tornadoes were just sweeping through the festival at will. My MG sat lined up with the rest of the cars facing the street. At some point my row of cars and everyone in them nearly got swiped away. In the next scene I got a glimpse of the makeshift rescue station and everyone in the cars next to mine and I had our pictures posted on this board with the letters MIA boldly placed above. I instinctively knew that we were being worried over and mourned and knowing that I wasn't hurt at all made me happy and eager to share the news, for some reason however, I couldn't. I managed to survive that particular tornado by putting my car in reverse and backing up just in time. After it passed I moved forward into my spot again. At some point I remember making communication with the people around me and possibly my family, but we weren't allowed to leave our spaces.
Then, at the tail end of my dream and the very end of the storm, this huge F5 tornado came directly at me from the left and while I was trying desperately to get my car to move, it picked up my car and I inside it. Fear instantly raced through me and I covered my face as the B and I were swept around this tornado. It was dark gray inside and sounded as though a million freight trains were driving this monster. While this is all happening, I am still remembering that I might be impaled at any moment by a toothpick, 2x4, or telephone pole, yet at no point did anything strike the car or hit me. I distinctly remember being absolutely terrified and crying out to God to save me. At no point though, did I feel as though He assured me that it would turn out alright. I would hope that being a Christian, I would trust Him even as I face death; this was not the case. While I begged Him to save my life and my car (I guess I really love my car!) peace seemed to evade and even avoid me. "God, God, please," I cried over and over, even shouting to be heard above the roar. I thought of death and knew that I would be with Him should I die, yet no trust or peace filled me. I still remained stricken with terror. I knew, my mind told me so, that He was there, but if His presence was, I felt it not. Desperately I wanted Him to hold me, to soothe my worried heart, and to take care of helpless and hopeless me. I feared surviving this tornado and then plummeting to earth and being shattered to pieces. Terror filled my soul and I wept.
Then, suddenly, my car was slowly eased to earth and came to a stop, hovering inches above the land. I stepped out lightly from the B, my bare foot landing on a cushion even before the car had touched ground. All was well.
End dream.
It seems to me as though I am walking on water right now with my spiritual eyes firmly fixed upon Him. In this test of faith I do not question His existence or desire for me, I am just learning to keep walking, to rest assured that He will provide. This, I believe, is quickly becoming my first real test of Faith: While I may not see Him or feel His presence, I know that I must keep walking, that I can keep walking, and that He will do all that He needs to when His perfect will so determines. This is my tornado.
Friday, May 04, 2007
National Expansion
A little over two weeks ago I went up in the St. Louis Arch, formally dedicated as "Jefferson National Expansion Memorial." As fantastic as the view is from the top (at 630 feet tall), I found myself more in awe of what is below the arch, the "Jefferson National Expansion Memorial Museum." I love museums. Nothing fascinates me more than to wander around a museum and peering into the portholes of time, catching little snapshots of history; the time before me.
The Gateway Arch's museum is very well constructed. A bit confusing because although there existed a definite trail to follow through history, the period displays were scattered around their respective time, one needed more time than I had to fully appreciate the quality of material culture this museum contains. Displayed properly, as this museum exemplified, material culture and the historical descriptions can be very captivating. Many times artifacts are set out with minimal explanations to give context to the object; most times a description is all that accompanies the material and one is left to fill in vast gaps with an (usually incorrect) idea of the importance and necessity of the object. I felt like a kid in the candy store, ooo-ing and ahh-ing at nearly everything, so much to read, so much to see! I'm pretty sure Brandine and Cricket had about enough of wandering around, so I didn't get to spend nearly enough time there.
Inspiration to dive more into American History did find a place within me (I've mostly concentrated on European happenings) and I'm eager to delve back into my native history. As we were leaving I happened upon this quote, which left me speechless and still.
"At the rate of progress since 1800, every American who lived into the year 2000 would know how to control unlimited power....To him the 19th century would stand on the same plane as the 4th - equally childlike - and he would only wonder how both of them, knowing so little, and so weak in force, should have done so much." Henry Adams, 1907
Would that I could hear his thoughts now.
What will be my "so much"?
The Gateway Arch's museum is very well constructed. A bit confusing because although there existed a definite trail to follow through history, the period displays were scattered around their respective time, one needed more time than I had to fully appreciate the quality of material culture this museum contains. Displayed properly, as this museum exemplified, material culture and the historical descriptions can be very captivating. Many times artifacts are set out with minimal explanations to give context to the object; most times a description is all that accompanies the material and one is left to fill in vast gaps with an (usually incorrect) idea of the importance and necessity of the object. I felt like a kid in the candy store, ooo-ing and ahh-ing at nearly everything, so much to read, so much to see! I'm pretty sure Brandine and Cricket had about enough of wandering around, so I didn't get to spend nearly enough time there.
Inspiration to dive more into American History did find a place within me (I've mostly concentrated on European happenings) and I'm eager to delve back into my native history. As we were leaving I happened upon this quote, which left me speechless and still.
"At the rate of progress since 1800, every American who lived into the year 2000 would know how to control unlimited power....To him the 19th century would stand on the same plane as the 4th - equally childlike - and he would only wonder how both of them, knowing so little, and so weak in force, should have done so much." Henry Adams, 1907
Would that I could hear his thoughts now.
What will be my "so much"?
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
This is why I love my Jax.
My 10 year old Jack Russell Terrier, Jax, is quite possibly the greatest chap, err, dog, that has ever graced this earth. He's accompanied me on long 4 hour horseback rides, sat on my lap as I've driven the horse-trailer hours to and from events, kept my bed warm (and taken up 3/4 of it) during the winter, and when it storms outside he's right beside me. Every time I come home, he props his paws on my lap and begs for my attention, giving no heed to whomever else may call his name. To him, I am numero uno. The big cheese. The Mac. The Queen B. I am his and he couldn't be any happier to be mine.
My Jax couldn't care less about the others who inhabit his abode (oh yes, he reigns supreme in the Wakefield house. Our Great Dane is his serf) when I'm around. All others can just "sod off" when there's an opportunity to bask in the glory that is me.
Well, so he says.
When my ol' Pops first brought him home, the poor pup was so terrified that he scurried up to my room and sought refuge on my bed. He was, and is still, the most adorable pup that I have ever seen. I just patted his little head and scooped him up next to me and we've been BFF from that moment on. We even eat our meals together. Just don't tell my good parents, I still think they believe I inhale all my food more quickly than my brothers. Tee hee. Ok, so they may be on to me... I mean, every time we sit down for dinner, Jax takes his proper place right by my seat, hidden slightly by the corner of the table. Usually I can slyly flick the morsel down or, if the timing is just right, I just casually drop my hand down and he'll get it. Not that I condone begging, but when it's Jax, you just can't resist those big brown puppy-dog eyes. I'm a sucker for those eyes. They just plead with me, "Sarah, love me, feed me. Feeding is love. Look deep into my eyes, don't you remember the memories we have together? All those evenings of playing fetch, how I never once tired from showing you how fast I could run, how I always let you throw that stick (insert a jaunty little wag of the tail). Remember how I've always let you rub my tummy, are you forgetting how I've always followed and protected you, I could be gone tomorrow! (his eyes flicker back to my plate) Mmm, roast beef tonight aye?"
When I come home and sit on our porch, he will yip and yelp (ever politely, he is a gentleman) until he finds me, then he'll plop down beside me and try to mesmerize me into obliging him with a long belly rub. It used to be that if I went out to the barn, he would go too. If I headed down to the woods, he would be right beside me, happily searching out any pesky woodland creatures that my disturb my trek. Now he moves more slowly and carefully, knowing that he cannot be with me like in the old days. It's still fun though to walk up and down the stairs, the little pitter-patter of his feet following me as he climbs behind me. As soon as I pull in the drive, he's right by my door, eagerly awaiting me, ever the proper host. If he's in the house being held captive by my conniving siblings, all I have to do is holler "JAX!" and he comes running. He is precious.
So, anyway, there's a reason for this post. Here is a prime example of why I love my Jax so much. This little fella exhibited all those characteristics which make up a true Jack Russell. (FYI, I am only particular to Jacks because of my Jack, I know there are plenty of other members of the canine species that do the dog justice, I just happen to have the best.)
My Jax couldn't care less about the others who inhabit his abode (oh yes, he reigns supreme in the Wakefield house. Our Great Dane is his serf) when I'm around. All others can just "sod off" when there's an opportunity to bask in the glory that is me.
Well, so he says.
When my ol' Pops first brought him home, the poor pup was so terrified that he scurried up to my room and sought refuge on my bed. He was, and is still, the most adorable pup that I have ever seen. I just patted his little head and scooped him up next to me and we've been BFF from that moment on. We even eat our meals together. Just don't tell my good parents, I still think they believe I inhale all my food more quickly than my brothers. Tee hee. Ok, so they may be on to me... I mean, every time we sit down for dinner, Jax takes his proper place right by my seat, hidden slightly by the corner of the table. Usually I can slyly flick the morsel down or, if the timing is just right, I just casually drop my hand down and he'll get it. Not that I condone begging, but when it's Jax, you just can't resist those big brown puppy-dog eyes. I'm a sucker for those eyes. They just plead with me, "Sarah, love me, feed me. Feeding is love. Look deep into my eyes, don't you remember the memories we have together? All those evenings of playing fetch, how I never once tired from showing you how fast I could run, how I always let you throw that stick (insert a jaunty little wag of the tail). Remember how I've always let you rub my tummy, are you forgetting how I've always followed and protected you, I could be gone tomorrow! (his eyes flicker back to my plate) Mmm, roast beef tonight aye?"
When I come home and sit on our porch, he will yip and yelp (ever politely, he is a gentleman) until he finds me, then he'll plop down beside me and try to mesmerize me into obliging him with a long belly rub. It used to be that if I went out to the barn, he would go too. If I headed down to the woods, he would be right beside me, happily searching out any pesky woodland creatures that my disturb my trek. Now he moves more slowly and carefully, knowing that he cannot be with me like in the old days. It's still fun though to walk up and down the stairs, the little pitter-patter of his feet following me as he climbs behind me. As soon as I pull in the drive, he's right by my door, eagerly awaiting me, ever the proper host. If he's in the house being held captive by my conniving siblings, all I have to do is holler "JAX!" and he comes running. He is precious.
So, anyway, there's a reason for this post. Here is a prime example of why I love my Jax so much. This little fella exhibited all those characteristics which make up a true Jack Russell. (FYI, I am only particular to Jacks because of my Jack, I know there are plenty of other members of the canine species that do the dog justice, I just happen to have the best.)
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
My Utmost For His Highest
(The following is an excerpt from My Utmost For His Highest, Oswald Chambers.)
May 1st.
INSIGHT NOT EMOTION
"I have to lead my life in faith, without seeing Him." 2 Corinthians 5:7 (MOFFATT)
For a time we are conscious of God's attentions, then, when God begins to use us in His enterprises, we take on a pathetic look and talk of the trials and the difficulties, and all the time God is trying to make us do our duty as obscure people. None of us would be obscure spiritually if we could help it. Can we do our duty when God has shut up heaven? Some of us always want to be illuminated saints with golden babes and the flush of inspiration, and to have the saints of God dealing with us all the time. A gilt-edged saint is no good, he is abnormal, unfit for daily life, and altogether unlike God. We are here as men and women, not as half-fledged angels, to do the work of the world, and to do it with an infinitely greater power to stand the turmoil because we have been born from above.
If we try to re-introduce the rare moments of inspiration, it is a sign that it is not God we want. We are making a fetish of the moments when God did come and speak, and insisting that He must do it again; whereas what God wants us to do is to "walk by faith." How many of us have laid ourselves by, as it were, and said - "I cannot do any more until God appears to me." He never will, and without any inspiration, without any sudden touch of God, we will have to get up. Then comes the surprise - "Why, He was there all the time, and I never knew it!" Never live for the rare moments, they are surprises. God will give us touches of inspiration when He sees we are not in danger of being led away by them. We must never make our moments of inspiration our standard; our standard is our duty
May 1st.
INSIGHT NOT EMOTION
"I have to lead my life in faith, without seeing Him." 2 Corinthians 5:7 (MOFFATT)
For a time we are conscious of God's attentions, then, when God begins to use us in His enterprises, we take on a pathetic look and talk of the trials and the difficulties, and all the time God is trying to make us do our duty as obscure people. None of us would be obscure spiritually if we could help it. Can we do our duty when God has shut up heaven? Some of us always want to be illuminated saints with golden babes and the flush of inspiration, and to have the saints of God dealing with us all the time. A gilt-edged saint is no good, he is abnormal, unfit for daily life, and altogether unlike God. We are here as men and women, not as half-fledged angels, to do the work of the world, and to do it with an infinitely greater power to stand the turmoil because we have been born from above.
If we try to re-introduce the rare moments of inspiration, it is a sign that it is not God we want. We are making a fetish of the moments when God did come and speak, and insisting that He must do it again; whereas what God wants us to do is to "walk by faith." How many of us have laid ourselves by, as it were, and said - "I cannot do any more until God appears to me." He never will, and without any inspiration, without any sudden touch of God, we will have to get up. Then comes the surprise - "Why, He was there all the time, and I never knew it!" Never live for the rare moments, they are surprises. God will give us touches of inspiration when He sees we are not in danger of being led away by them. We must never make our moments of inspiration our standard; our standard is our duty
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