In the center of the state of Georgia is an unincorporated town with the name, “The Rock.” Interesting label, don’t you think? The name is credited to Dr. James Anderson, who lived in the area in the early 1800’s. The mail at this time was delivered by stagecoach. Dr. Anderson, speaking with the stage coach driver and pointing to a nearby cleft in a rock, said, “Put my mail in that hole.” Soon, everyone in the community was riding up by horseback or buggy to retrieve their mail from this protected cavern in the rock. Over the years, it became enough to address mail to a recipient at “The Rock”, Georgia and it would be received.

We don’t hear the word, “cleft” used so much anymore. Probably the most well known use of it is in the popular hymn lyrics – rock of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee. And there is the mention of it in Exodus 33 when God puts Moses in “the cleft of the rock” and covers him with His hand while he passes by so that His face would not be seen.

My hiding place when I was growing up wasn’t in a rock, but on a log that trans versed the Calamus River (a stream, really) on the other side of the sheep pasture. Anytime I desired to be alone, I would head for the log. One bank of the river kept me hidden from the house; the other from the occasional traveler on the road. Even today, that sweet memory is so strong and comforting in my mind, that when I crave solitude and meditation time, I am drawn to sit on one of several benches that line Spearfish Creek in the City Park. The fast moving, clear water blocks out any park noises from behind me.

Whether our “hiding place” is in a rock or beside a stream, or any number of safe places we might go to, as believers it is really Jesus that is our safe place. Psalm 18:2 says it so well. The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my savior; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection. He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety. We really do not need a place to go to find Him; He’s accessible wherever we are. As I enjoy my senior years, I’m thankful that he’s just as accessible in my recliner as He is on the bench by the creek.

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

It has been said that not since biblical Adam, has a human known solitude like Michael Collins. Even though “his” event happened in my lifetime, and more specifically on my birthday, I had to ask, “Who’s Michael Collins?” Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin are names quite familiar to us, but Michael Collins, even though no less important, is less familiar. He piloted the command module for Apollo 11 which carried the men to the moon and allowed Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Aldrin to be the first humans to walk on the lunar surface. While the two astronauts stomped across the moon and planted the first American flag, Mr. Collins circled the moon in the module. As he drifted to the back side, all communication with both his fellow crew members and with those on earth were severed as was expected. In his journal that day he wrote, “I am alone now, truly alone, and absolutely isolated from any known life. I am it. If a count were taken, the score would be three billion plus two over on the other side of the moon, and one plus God knows what on this side.”

I can’t claim anything close to this degree of solitude, but I do remember a time when I was so lonely for my family that I didn’t know if I would survive another day without seeing them. I had just finished up a grueling season of demanding work during my nurse’s training. A mega paper that had required hours of research had at last been handed in. For weeks, my mind had been focused entirely on the paper, my work schedule, my patients, and other “nursing school” details I have long forgotten. No time since have I experienced such an overwhelming relief once that intense month was behind me. I desired nothing more than to have my Mom and Dad visit and give me a hug and take me to dinner.

It didn’t happen. Not to mention it was a five hour trip to Lincoln, NE, but it was also a busy time on the ranch. Ranchers, as you might know, don’t just don’t take off at the drop of a hat or the call of a daughter. I lived through it, but I might have shed some tears.

Fifty years later, I have had many opportunities to “feel” that loneliness again. I have experienced extended periods when I have had long evenings by myself that could have turned into a pity party of major proportions. But, I have been spared the agony. How come, you ask? Why is it different now? I can only credit it to increased spiritual maturity. Back in the 70’s I was still looking for other people (my folks, for example) to fill the void. Today, I rely upon Jesus. He is always with me and there’s no one that can love me more than He does.

So now I live with the confidence that there is nothing in the universe with the power to separate us from God’s love. I’m convinced that his love will triumph over death, life’s troubles, fallen angels, or dark rulers in the heavens. There is nothing in our present or future circumstances that can weaken his love. There is no power above us or beneath us – no power that could ever be found in the universe that can distance us from God’s passionate love, which is lavished upon us through our Lord Jesus, the Anointed One! Romans 8:38-39 (The Passion Bible)

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

We had weird forms of entertainment when I was a kid. I suppose some of that comes from not having game boxes, cell phones, or even a TV with good reception. But…never the less – we found entertainment in many of our daily activities.

Sometimes, for whatever reason, the family or part of the family would find itself sitting on the concrete steps of our front doorway. It would start with one family member sitting on the step taking a rest from daily chores on the ranch. Another would walk by and plop down beside the first. Mom might hear us from the open kitchen window and not wanting to miss out, she would join the group. Whether it was just a couple of us or the entire family, we always had a ranch dog or two that wanted in on the action. They would nuzzle their way between us – hoping for attention in the form of pats and rubs.

It was typically warm weather when we perched on the porch steps. As we would pacify our canine’s nudges, we would often come across an engorged tick enjoying a satisfying juicy supper. If you’ve never seen an engorged tick it looks completely different than the tick that hasn’t been feeding on a host’s blood supply. Where as a non-eating dog tick is small with a wrinkly appearance, the body of an engorged dog tick can be almost 5/8 of an inch long with a smooth appearance. The color of the two changes from a reddish brown to an almost white or gray/blue body. She (the female is the only one that becomes engorged) buries her head beneath the skin surface. The tick’s mouth has reverse barbs that dig into the skin to hold it in place. But, don’t wince yet- no discomfort is detected by the dog because the tick injects an anesthetic solution into the surrounding area where they choose to get their dinner. (They are still not my heroes by any means, but this did make me feel a little better about ticks.) Hanging on like this, as if it is surely their last meal, they are often difficult to remove.

That’s when Dad would reach into his back bib overall pocket and pull out his pliers. Those little creatures would hold on even tighter when grasped with the jagged edges of the tool. Eventually they were no match for Dad’s strength and they would lose the battle.

Once the tick was off the host, the fun began. Remember, we were three ranch kids that came up with creative ways to have fun. What better way than to see how far we could make that blood fly in that fat tick when smashed beneath our shoe or pinched tight with a second pair of pliers. The whole idea doesn’t sound appealing to me now but it had its charm back in the day. (With all the research that’s been done on tick born or carried diseases, I’m sure parents today wouldn’t allow such behavior.)

When I think back on those days of sitting on the step and dealing with those determined ticks hanging onto their host with all they’ve got, I can’t help but think how great it would be if Christians had that amount of resolve to shine God’s light in this darkened world. If we were all to do that, it might not look dark at all – it might transform everything. We might see the darkness the way God sees it – the night shines like the day because darkness is as light to Him. (Psalm 139:12)

It’s easier to shine our lights during the Christmas season than it is at any other time. Maybe Christmas could be our time to start, with the intent of letting our light shine throughout the entire year. For my New Year’s resolution I think I’ll vow to increase my resolve.

Merry Christmas! Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

No doubt, we have all heard this icebreaker statement. “Tell the group something very few people know about you.” I was thinking about that question this week and wondering what I would say. Then, it came to me. I’m not sure my extended family even knows this about me.

I used to skin muskrats! That’s right. I can hardly believe it myself now – forty plus years later. We had the cutest shed that my first husband had built for just that purpose. It was white, trimmed in brown to match the house. We were a young couple, and trapping was a sideline hobby for my husband. To be honest, the furs he harvested allowed us to buy appliances and a few extras along the way.

Trapping season occurs in the colder weather when the furs are prime. This means they are at peak color, length, density and texture. As I remember, the average muskrat pelt was worth $4.00 in the 80’s. It took a stack of those to add up, but when you could supplement them with mink, raccoon, beaver, or coyote – all worth five times that amount, then a new freezer or TV seemed less like a dream.

My motivation for helping out in the not so pleasant smelling fur shed, was less about the new freezer and more about family time. If the boys and I were to see their dad through the winter months, we would have to join him. He was skinning, fleshing, and stretching hides every night. The shed was equipped with a small electric heater and once the four of us added our body heat, the small space was flannel shirt comfortable. Daniel may vaguely remember these evenings, but Caleb was still tucked beneath blankets in the infant seat.

We had a radio tuned into the local country western station while we worked. Once I got used to the strong, musty smell, (that’s as nice as I can put it) it wasn’t a bad environment. I could skin a muskrat in about 4 minutes – twice as long as it took my husband – but he was grateful for the help and knew better than to complain. It freed him up to tend to the larger animal pelts.

I would have never seen myself enjoying doing this kind of activity, but I came to look forward to those evenings we would all be together in the shed. The experience taught me that, sometimes, in order to receive a blessing, we need to step out with a positive attitude and try those very things we’ve not been inclined to favor.

It makes me think of Esther in the Bible. She stepped before the King, knowing he could have her put to death, but what a blessing she received. The entire Jewish nation was saved because of her willingness. I didn’t save any kingdoms, but I did put a deposit down on some good old-fashioned family time. And now you know my secret life. 🙂

Until next time….keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

When my boys were toddlers and preschoolers, we lived in a ranch style home in Cozad, Nebraska. The patio door looked out onto the small backyard where the sandbox and the swing set resided. On increment weather days, Daniel and Caleb would stand at the patio door, hands and noses pressed to the glass, longing to go out and run their trucks through the sand or climb onto the swing set. I do not claim to be a meticulous housekeeper, but I did use a fair amount of Windex and rags on that patio door! So many prints!

This week, I was reminded of that as I heard the song, “Fingerprints and Noses” by Newsong for the first time. A friend on FB posted a video where he did an awesome job of singing it and commenting on the lyrics. I invite you all to listen to the song now from Newsong.

As I listened, it made me ask if I have the same hopeful anticipation of these children. Do I believe without a doubt that if He says He’s coming, He is?

Father God…give me this childlike faith. Bless these little ones that display it so well and help me to learn the lessons they so willingly teach me. Amen

Until next time…keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.