The Faithful Job of the Soldier.

  By faith they opened their eyes to the world around them and chose the hard road of change.

  By faith they pulled their feet out from under the bedcovers, laced up their boots, walked out through the familiar door of their homes and security, and bade farewell to the only family and friends they had ever known.

  By faith they put all that they owned into sacks of homespun, swung them over their shoulders and boarded unknown vessels for an unknown land.

  By faith they fell to their knees on the cold, wet sand and praised God who had carried them safely to a dangerous new land and asked for His help for whatever the future might hold.

 

  By faith they lived, grew crops, starved, fell ill, built, rebuilt, fought, survived, prayed, sang, cried, laughed, and died...

for freedom.

  By faith they created a government based on wisdom, Biblical guidance, the three offices from Isaiah 33:22, "For the Lord is our judge, the Lord is our lawgiver, the Lord is our king; he will save us," to balance and work together, unlike any other government that had ever existed. They elected strong, proven leaders with the stains of hard work on their hands, the strength of hope in their minds, the love of freedom in their very being, the sacrificial spirit of service for their fellow men, the ready use of knees for prayer, the fear of God in their hearts.

  By faith they took up their guns when that freedom demanded blood and honor to seal it's promise of a future.  They looked beyond themselves to their sons, grandsons, great grandsons, and they took their prosperity to heart making the greatest sacrifices of life, limb, and fortunes.

 

  By faith they penned documents to restrain the evil of the past, carefully chosing words to protect the hope of the future, commanding their unknown posterity to always treasure and defend the freedoms that they had so arduously won.

  By faith they protected the rights they held most dear: religion, to have and hold and speak freely of wherever the sole of their feet touched on the good ground of a free land, knowing full well that God wants to direct the lives of man everyday, not just on Sundays in the tall spired churches of the quickly increasing towns and cities; free speech; freedom to share the truth through penned words;  freedom to bare the arms needed to always keep freedom secure, tolerance only for protecting right; force for restraining evil.

  By faith they stood by a government of the people, by the people, for the people while "appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions."

(taken from the Declaration of Independence.)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  By faith every day they pull on their combat boots and stand up in the shadow of those who stood before.

  By faith they take up their guns and board unknown vessels for unknown places because they have seen the face of the past with the evils of tyranny.  They willingly pick up their guns and offer their life blood for the safety of a free today and the faith of a free tomorrow.

  By faith, they carry on with the brave steps of those who came before because the value of freedom burns in their hearts.

And on Memorial Day we remember all those who gave their lives for the faith they had for the worth of freedom.

 Thank you, to all who gave and to all who continue to serve.

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."

Hebrews 11:1

(The rest of my garden tour can be viewed here: Pails of Paint.com)


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When Freedom Waves...

As I stood looking out the window in the darkness etched with the breaking of day, the tears streamed down my face.  The knot in my stomach seemed to travel up and connect to the strings of my heart.  I had finally found him after years of waiting and praying, and now I had kissed him "Goodbye;" I realized it could have been my last kiss from his lips, that last embrace still seemed tangible to me. With everything in me, I hadn't wanted to let go, but I had to.  I did it as he did..for my country, for the love of liberty.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Not long ago a friend posted on facebook that she did not feel comfortable saying the pledge of allegiance to our flag.  She felt, I suppose from other things she has said, that a pledge is a serious thing to promise to a country that, in many ways, has stepped away from its state of origin.  I didn't respond to her post, understanding her frustrations, but also because I was too angry and irritated, I knew I might say too much and needed to think and pray about what to say.  I checked on the post a quarter of an hour later and saw that she had several kindly vehement responses from people, mostly who had served in the military.  I felt their responses were so much better than anything I could say, so I went to bed.  It still troubled me when I awoke the next morning, but when I checked, she had deleted her comment.  Perhaps it had troubled her in the night as well.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder if she would feel the same if she had stood by the window as I had several years ago as my husband headed off to the war in Iraq, my then almost two year old little girl sleeping soundly in her bed.  I had spent those moments wondering what life would be like for the next 9 months, not knowing what my husband was facing, wondering if he would be the same person when he came home... if he came home...always, countless times a day, pushing THAT thought out of my head.  He must come home; I needed him.  I couldn't think about what could happen.  I had to concentrate on keeping up with our lives at home.

 Graphicsfairy

Sitting in church was hard.  Having a full time job in the day and then working our farm in his off hours, my husband doesn't get much time to relax.  Church is a time to just sit next to each other, feel each other's presence.  I treasure my time at church with him.  I wondered if she had ever sat alone in church and felt the emptiness of the seat beside her, and wondered if that seat would ever feel his presence again...pushing that thought aside to try to concentrate on the sermon at hand.

 Graphicsfairy.blogspot.com

Weekends were difficult. Suppertime was hard.   Holidays were an effort of being jovial while missing him.  His phone calls helped, except for the tedium of the time change, the waiting for the transmission time to fill in the gaps of silence and learning how to not interupt each other because of it.

I wondered if she would feel the same way if she'd gone to bed alone, night after night, felt the loneliness and sadness, wishing he was there, wishing life was normal again, trying not to think that that spot next to her on the bed might not hold his presence again...and pushing that thought aside so as to force the sleep to come that was needed to hold up the home-front.  Courage constantly battered by fear.


And yet, invariably, as I lay there looking out at the stars, I thought of other women...women who held down their homes during wars where there was no reliable means of correspondence, going weeks or months without knowing where their husbands were or if they were ever coming back.

Source 

 I felt a sense of comfort knowing that their hearts had traced the outline of their losses on their beds as well, tears falling in the darkness, extra prayers passing their lips.  We had a bond, these women I had never met, a bond of knowing the price of freedom...sometimes our own, but always for posterity's sake.  Tucked beneath the worry, there was the underlying sense that the value of freedom is worth fighting against the terror of not having it .

Graphicsfairy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

We brought little flags to the airport the day he came home.  Our daughter thought it was fun to wave hers around saying, "My daddy is coming home today."  I touched the stripes of my flag as we drove up to the airport, realizing that sometimes we have to see things in light of the bigger picture. This flag stands for much more than the cloth it is sewn from...it symbolizes the weight of what our country was founded on. As long as it stands for the freedom that it symbolizes, as long as men and women like our husbands and wives, sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, give of themselves to defend that freedom and keep it that way, I will stand and honor that symbol.  I will be grateful to those who sacrifice for her freedom today and in the future.  Perhaps someday, if her son grows up and heads off to serve in the military, the weight and pride of freedom from this vantage point will give her a new perspective of our flag.

  Some may feel the need to express their freedom by burning Old Glory, some by not pledging because they are dissatisfied with the current problems affecting our country, and that is because they are free to do so.
  For me, I will stand beside my husband and love the freedom our flag symbolizes: a freedom that is a merciful gift from God.

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

For my American readers, please show your love of freedom and vote for it today.

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Pruning.

I have many fields to cross before I can claim to be a farmer.

When I came into this marriage,

I had plenty of heart and desire to learn about farming...

 but there's a lot to know with this farming bit.

It's not a light task:

different ways with different crops,

different behaviors for different animals,

different touches for different harvests,

different methods for better yields.

Small-scale farmers,

in order to be productive farmers,

are, by necessity, smart people.

They do a lot with the hours in each day.

I had such a zeal for growing all of our own food:

raspberries, blueberries, grapes, cherries, apples, pears,

along with the whole vegetable garden host.

But my grapes vines have been sadly abused by my unskilled hands.

It is a woeful sight.

I decided to try to fix them this year,

watching Youtube videos for some reassuring instructions

that they might be salvageable.

I faced the overwhelming mess with pruners in hand.

 The funny thing is,

as I cut them, 

they reminded me of myself.

It's easy to get caught up with things in this life,

too many things that don't really matter.

Too many things that do, or should.

Life should be simple.

I've found myself getting caught up in debates on facebook

about politics,

 religious perspectives,

health topics.

Things should be clear and easy.

But they are not.

Angry words are painful.

They give pain, they cause pain.

How I respond when I am angry or disappointed

should not be different than who I am,

whom I represent.

I wrestled with God the other night.

My tears were hot and fell on my pillow

denying me the sleep I knew I needed.

What did He want from me?

Is silence the golden ticket

or does one brandish the verbal sword?

The pain of the unknown,

of the possibility that I had done more damage than good...

I fell to sleep unsure,

disappointed.

 So God took His pruners and has been cutting my branches.

Strength is not in silent apathy.

Tyranny loves it's yellow cloak.

But folly dances to anger's brutish clamor.

Truth can be visible.

Like a candle at night, it's reality may clearly be seen,

even if error comes wrapped in the golden glow of the reflection

of truth,

 misaligned.

While sometimes swords are required to defend right,

prayer should be the sheath which holds that sword.

The grape vines were drastically reduced.

Although my uncertainty is still forefront in my attempts to do what is best for these vines,

I am hoping that a clean, airy start will be better than 

the twisting masses of unproductivity.

The unneeded pieces lay scattered on the ground,

 and as I began to clean up the mess...

and I considered the doubt and frustration,

the pain of the uncertainty of the correct response,

I looked down.

 The sun draped my shoulders with it's warmth

and I prayed that always

despite me,

God's will and wisdom would cover me.

I don't do things right.

I mess up a lot.

I don't want people to see me or hear me and think,

"What a self-righteous hypocrite."

I have no righteousness.

God's mercy is my cloak of righteousness.

And if hypocrisy mars my earthly image,

I can only pray that God will carefully prune it out.

I know that the most important people in my life...

 are watching me and learning by my ways.

I am reminded as I finish,
that my grapevines will need pruning every year,
that life is a continuous ball of lessons.

The splinters in my hands remind me that

most farmers probably wear gloves when they prune...

but my waste turned useful
makes them feel worthy...

somewhat.

"I am the vine,

ye are the branches: He that abideth in me,

and I in him,

the same bringeth forth much fruit:

for without me ye can do nothing."

^{John 15:5}

Linking up to:
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Raising Homemakers: Homemaking-link-up

Political Drama in the Cold Cellar.

 This is our cold-storage building.

We keep our potatoes in a sack in here,

and some apples I buy in bulk

in the late fall,

which are then wrapped individually in newspaper.

They keep from rotting for several months because they are protected

in this building.

The kids are always intrigued to peek into the cold, lightless room

whenever one of us has to step into it.

The other week my husband was in there,

when he called to me

as I happened to be passing by outside.

He pointed to something on the ceiling.

But, what was it?

 Yes, it looks like it was a spider,

but what in the world happened

and why is it just staying that way?

 I'm sure there must be some explanation,

and certainly some great comparison I could use for this situation.

Really.

But what?

 Could I somehow compare it to those politicians?

You know,

the politicians that are for sale,

who say what people want to hear,

but seem to not be living on the ground

where we do?

Those politicians:

people who are supposed to represent us,

to be standing in our place,

for our good,

for the good of the country,

and yet they seem in a world apart from our own?

People whose tongues speak,

but they seem to say nothing,

who answer questions with vague,

empty

hoola-hoop dances.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly,

only it's not always easy to decipher which is whom

or what mixture each may contain.

Hmmm....

politicians?

 Or maybe the media...

 

that great machine that twists and turns and shapes stories

to grab attention,

work an agenda,

glamorize, patronize, monetize, dehumanize, pretty-the-lies

by twisting the truth or bending or fabulousizing reality;

sniping where it deems it needed, or justified, or strategic;

brandishing it's street side verdict

before the evidence is in:

til one is left standing there

not sure which way up is from down,

truth from error,

legitimacy from monstrosity?

Hmmm...

the media.

What is one to think?

Where is the right path?

Should we search for truth,

pray for mercy and guidance,

for forgiveness for our error?

Is there a route from a path that we have descended 

losing sight of

the rights of the people,

the respect of the people,

the honor of the Sovereign;

a twisted trail that has bumped and bartered our freedoms,

not just over 4 or 8 year terms,

but increasingly sickly, greedy, dependent generations?

If we are getting more intelligent,

why have we lost so much self-respect,

self-dependence,

self-control?

Or does self-respect come from more than one's self;

are these self-motivations actually a result of dependence

on the God who gives the proper self-image:

one wrapped in humility, gratitude, compassion, defense of right,

hard work, honesty;

the ten commandments fleshed out:

a decided standard of right and wrong?

Or maybe...

maybe this would better be compared...

to those who don't care.

Maybe this analogy

would somehow work...

for those who don't vote, don't take a stand,...

they just don't.

Those who don't see the necessity of looking beyond the ugliness of politics,

the glare of the media;

who don't search for the truth and the light

that is left 

somewhere in the midst of the dark, thick tumult.

Those whose vision is marked by closed eyelids,

asleep to the errors marked in history,

to the evils of apathy and the laissez-faire approach,

to the foolishness of neglect,

to what that choice would produce:

a broken ship's wheel,

spinning,

veering the once glorious vessel toward shipwreck,

or the worse fate of

the skull and cross-bones marauding pirate ...

Well, I'm sure it must work for something that has been battering my mind lately.

But one thing I know,

I'm glad this woolly white didn't find refuge and safety

in the feed sack of potatoes.

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