tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51108773098366252742024-03-13T04:09:04.172-07:00myletterstoemilyvignettes from a rich life.myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.comBlogger383125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-55652783756350041912020-10-13T14:49:00.001-07:002020-10-14T13:28:01.200-07:00Let the Wind blow<p> Dear Emily,</p><p><br /></p><p>What a year this has been! We have learned so much . . . about what we</p><p>don't know, what we can't do, and where we aren't supposed to go. This </p><p>week our family of 17 has to miss our daughter's wedding in New York. </p><p>NOT because New York isn't safe, but because our little state has increasing </p><p>cases of the plague. Many tears have been shed, but our love is abundant </p><p>and will not be confined to our physical presence.</p><p><br /></p><p>We are, after all, spiritual creatures. We don't know which way the Wind </p><p>blows, but we know that He is full of Love and able to carry ours across </p><p>state lines. In my imagination, He is the Farmer who plucks us, the </p><p>dandelions, from the fertile soil and blows our fuzzy seeds thousands of </p><p>miles to our daughter who will plant them in the garden of her heart for </p><p>a future day when we can be together and celebrate.</p><p><br /></p><p>We are, also, abundantly grateful that most of our loved ones and friends </p><p>have escaped the virus. We have learned how to safely be with our children</p><p>who live near us and are no longer afraid to smooch and snuggle with our</p><p>beloved grandchildren. Our prayers are for those who are gravely ill, those </p><p>who have lost loved ones, and our mayors, governors, and president who </p><p>must make impossible decisions about life and liberty.</p><p><br /></p><p>Love,</p><p>Lea</p><p><br /></p><p>"The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it but do not</p><p>know where it comes from and where it is going; so is every one who is</p><p>born of the Spirit." John 3:8</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-25921799009655189432020-04-27T13:18:00.000-07:002020-04-27T13:18:54.039-07:00To LingerDear Emily,<br />
<br />
What does it mean to linger? The dictionary says it is to be<br />
slow to part. I love that. In this time of waiting out the 'walrus'<br />
(our 2 1/2 year old grand daughter calls this the cowonawalrus,)<br />
I find myself longing to linger near those I'm not allowed to be<br />
near. <br />
<br />
When I say, "goodbye" to grandchildren that I can't hug or kiss, <br />
that parting is full sorrow.<br />
<br />
My hope is that soon this ole' walrus will burn off. Until then I will<br />
linger with the Lord and my husband and feast on whatever crumbs<br />
the six feet distance from my grandbabies can afford. <br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Lea<br />
<br />
"We have lingered for Thee eagerly"<br />
Isaiah 26:8myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-61510815689078007402017-12-28T11:52:00.001-08:002017-12-29T23:24:51.697-08:00Dear Emily,<br />
<br />
Colorful paper in piles on the floor. Sweaters, socks,<br />
and jammies in happy heaps nearby. Books stacked<br />
in towers of promise. Tears of joy and sorrow linger.<br />
<br />
Outside my kitchen window, the snowman leans<br />
precariously for his lost glove. The snow now a sweet<br />
memory. As are lost grandparents who, of course, are<br />
not really lost but waiting in heavenly realms.<br />
<br />
Angels singing, earth rejoicing.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Lea<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-55130896546732567742017-12-19T16:28:00.000-08:002017-12-29T23:29:24.508-08:00RestorationDear Emily,<br />
<br />
I just happened upon this old blog and took<br />
a trip down a winding, dusty road. You know<br />
what? I encouraged myself. How was I so<br />
naive and full of hope? Where did my lilting,<br />
winsome babble go?<br />
<br />
No matter; I have grandchildren to restore it. <br />
The Lord is so good at restoration.<br />
<br />
"God will restore everything you lost; He'll<br />
have compassion on you; He'll come back and<br />
pick up the pieces from all the places where<br />
you were scattered." Deuteronomy 30:3<br />
<br />
Our old precious pastor, Brother Bill, used to<br />
warn us not to become 'weary in well doing.'<br />
It just makes us wearier.<br />
<br />
How do we become feistier in well doing?<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Lea<br />
<div class="grammarly-disable-indicator">
</div>
myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-38142436987825954322016-04-26T10:49:00.000-07:002016-04-26T10:49:53.735-07:00Two Years LaterDear Emily,<br />
<br />
More than two years ago I was swept into my parents' aging vortex.<br />
<br />
Nothing. <br />
<br />
Not even raising five teenagers prepared me for the heartache, frustration,<br />
and exhaustion of that battle. I think of it as a battle, because I was at war<br />
with doctors, nurses, siblings, and even the parents for whom I was advo-<br />
cating. <br />
<br />
Everything.<br />
<br />
In my life was consumed by this. My poor, loving husband watched his<br />
wife wither into an old woman whose eyes were wrecked from crying.<br />
<br />
Yet, here I am now, somehow on the mossy shore of the same ageless<br />
river that once tried to drown me. My parents are still fragile but happy,<br />
sometimes. I am older and wiser with advice:<br />
<br />
1. Before your parents lose their capacity to care for themselves, make<br />
copies of EVERYTHING: driver's licenses, medicare cards, insurance<br />
cards, birth certificates, social security cards, doctors, medications. One<br />
day every important document will scatter everywhere: in their cars, in<br />
their shoes, in their silverware drawers, under beds, under dressers,<br />
under water.<br />
<br />
2. If you can afford it, hire a home health care nurse to supervise the<br />
dispensing of meds and to interface with doctors. The medical world<br />
likes to use vocabulary no one else can speak. An advocate helps.<br />
<br />
3. Obtain a Power of Attorney before you need it. Trust me, you will<br />
need it. It is the crown and scepter of parental care.<br />
<br />
4. Maintain one or two relationships to vent, whine, and even punch.<br />
<br />
5. Cast all your cares on the One who loved your parents from the womb<br />
and maybe even more now that they are unable to care for themselves.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Lea<br />
<br />
"Even to your old age I will be the same, and even to your graying<br />
years I will bear you." Isaiah 46:4myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-71082950402573209832014-01-16T14:03:00.001-08:002017-12-20T12:41:36.605-08:00Raising capitalDear Emily,<br />
<br />
Notice anything different? Yep, I'm making myself use capital letters,<br />
because I'm a grown up now. As soon as my parents began to depend<br />
on us kids more, I knew it was time to capitalize. <br />
<br />
I've learned to capitalize the importance of trusting my siblings and to<br />
delegate. Another lesson is from Philippians 2:3, "Do nothing out of<br />
selfish ambition or vain conceit . . . but consider others before yourself."<br />
It is a capital offense to whine about the difficult decisions we must<br />
make.<br />
<br />
Ours have been capital parents, giving us all they knew to give, and<br />
now it's our turn.<br />
<br />
I've been in denial, pretending things were not slipping down that<br />
slippery slope. I've also been a hypocrite, thinking I was a devoted<br />
daughter. Now is when the rubber meets the road, and I pray I can<br />
meet the challenge.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to my favorite Alexander McCall Smith quote, <br />
"Denial and hypocrisy get bad press; there's plenty of room for both."<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Lea<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-14429341457300911082013-11-22T10:05:00.000-08:002017-12-20T12:42:00.047-08:00beauty obsesseddear emily,<br />
<br />
when i was your age, i went days without moisturizer much less makeup. <br />
NOT because i was overwhelmed with keeping up with five children, but<br />
because i had a makeup addiction. the acknowledgement of my disorder<br />
led me to fast beauty products for a season.<br />
<br />
my poor husband never said a word except, "i like you better without it."<br />
he also said, "i like you better with some meat on your bones." what<br />
a gift. him, not the extra 'meat'.<br />
<br />
i realize now that my beauty obsession had its roots in a comment from my<br />
father when i was young. i have a gorgeous mother and not the kind of<br />
beauty that requires eyeliner or even lipstick. she rises from her sleep with<br />
a pink flush on her perfect cheekbones. i was proud when she walked the<br />
halls of my highschool, because she was prettier than the cheerleaders.<br />
<br />
when my dad said, "you will never be as beautiful as your mother," i thought,<br />
"well, duh." i don't think he meant to be cruel but was complimenting her, as<br />
i was outgrowing my awkward, cygnet years. he didn't realize how hurtful<br />
the remark was to his seventeen year old daughter.<br />
<br />
how kind of the Lord to give me a husband who loves my heart. "beauty, oh<br />
beauty, where is thy sting?" <br />
<br />
now, let me just say that i have a loving relationship with my father, and i<br />
still like makeup. every barn needs a nice coat of paint. <a href="http://shesintheglow.com/2013/10/glow-girl-rose-marie-swift/">this</a> is a fun beauty<br />
blog written by a young friend. <br />
<br />
love,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"it came about when he came near to egypt, that he said to sarah his wife,<br />
'see now, i know that you are a beautiful woman . . . '" genesis 12:11<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="grammarly-disable-indicator">
</div>
myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-48222557803168377332013-11-19T19:43:00.000-08:002013-11-19T19:43:19.305-08:00"Preaching to the choir"Dear Emily,<br />
<br />
Many people have a presumption about choir members, thinking we<br />
are all goody-goodies. nope. I have a funny story to disprove it.<br />
<br />
Caution: leave this blog now if you can't take a little pg-13. Some<br />
of our choir members are in highschool and college, and they are<br />
delightfully talented and refreshingly guileless. <br />
<br />
In between services, some of us were standing in line in the ladies'<br />
room, when one of our young choir members said, "I have a secret<br />
admirer at school."<br />
<br />
That got my attention. "How do you know?"<br />
<br />
"He leaves notes on my car."<br />
<br />
Now, I was totally intrigued. "What do they say?"<br />
<br />
"The last one said, 'You have a great ass.'"<br />
<br />
When I saw the horrified expression on the face of the woman NOT<br />
in the choir, I said, "I'm pretty sure, you can't say that in a choir<br />
robe."<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Lea<br />
<br />
"When Jesus saw Nathanael approaching, He said of him, 'Here is a<br />
true Israelite, in whom there is no guile.'"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-993531583162912252013-11-07T15:30:00.000-08:002013-11-07T15:30:52.294-08:00tag, you're it!dear emily,<br />
<br />
it's been fun reconnecting with old highschool and college friends on<br />
facebook. no matter how much time has passed, we have an instant<br />
rebonding that boggles my brain and delights my heart. <br />
<br />
it is not delightful, however, when people 'tag' me in photos. my page<br />
is smothered with odious pictures that i did NOT choose or want. it<br />
reminds me of my least favorite childhood game, 'tag.' i would die a<br />
thousand deaths once tagged, because i was never fast enough to tag<br />
anyone else. in my case, once tagged forever 'it.'<br />
<br />
right now i have a photo, front and center, of my jiggly, fat arms. i<br />
haven't removed it, because i didn't want to hurt the person's feelings<br />
who tagged me. wow. i just reread that and realize that i may need<br />
counseling. wait, just a sec . . . ok, i just untagged myself and feel<br />
so much better.<br />
<br />
now, there are still unflattering pics of my aging face but i'm resigned<br />
to that. when friends from my distant past first visit my facebook page, <br />
they all say the same thing.<br />
<br />
"look at your sweet face." sweet is the new 'old.'<br />
<br />
love,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"but people do not pour new wine into old wineskins . . . " mark 2:22<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-29063123777092224742013-11-01T08:24:00.000-07:002018-09-02T13:16:30.105-07:00still the onedear emily,<br />
<br />
i spied hans driving to work as i finished my walk.<br />
this is unusual, because he usually leaves before i<br />
even wake up. i know, no "here's your scrambled<br />
eggs and bacon, honey."<br />
<br />
my justification? i would rather he remember me<br />
from the night before than the morning after.<br />
<br />
anyway, he motioned me to his car.<br />
<br />
"they're playing our song."<br />
<br />
we have a song? i leaned in to hear shania twain's<br />
twangy, "still the one i run to, the only one i belong<br />
to . . ."<br />
<br />
for dang certain,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
ps. "love must be sincere. hate what is evil; cling<br />
to what is good." romans 12:9myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-91248387684268657612013-09-20T09:54:00.000-07:002013-09-20T09:54:26.567-07:00how will we know?dear emily,<br />
<br />
how will we know if we have raised our children well? there are many<br />
litmus tests, but i like the kindness test the best.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>how do they treat the dog when no one is looking?</li>
<li>who do they prefer, the high and mighty or the underdog? (sensing a dog theme here)</li>
<li>are they generous to those in need?</li>
<li>what do i feel when they leave, relief or sadness?</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
sadness, always sadness. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
our oldest son and his precious wife have been living with us for nine months</div>
<div>
while they have been remodeling a home. tonight they spend the first night </div>
<div>
in their own house, and i'm feeling just like i did when he left for college.</div>
<div>
but that unhappy feeling is laced with gratitude and hope. i hope they visit </div>
<div>
often, and i'm grateful that, because they were such thoughtful houseguests, </div>
<div>
i don't feel one bit relieved that they're leaving.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
well, i guess i could say that i'm relieved he grew up so kind.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
love,</div>
<div>
lea</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in </div>
<div>
Christ God forgave you." ephesians 4:32</div>
<br /><br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-80956411673771933592013-09-13T07:46:00.000-07:002013-09-13T07:46:31.382-07:00men are from . . . way farther away than marsdear emily,<br />
<br />
hans and i were driving home from a father's dinner at my brother's new<br />
house. i had on shorts and he (my husband, not my brother) had his hand<br />
on my leg ( i know, TMI.) he would lift his hand and then put it down. . .<br />
lift it, replace it, etc.<br />
<br />
i couldn't help but think about every night, when he does the same thing. <br />
just as i'm drifting off into a sweet dream, he lifts his hand, then replaces<br />
it, and BOOM! i'm wide awake. the fourth time, he gets my elbow.<br />
<br />
so, as we're driving along, i said, "would you like to know the secret to<br />
happiness?"<br />
<br />
that got his attention.<br />
<br />
"if you would hold your hand still, it could stay a lot longer on my leg."<br />
<br />
" . . . but it stops feeling like skin if i don't move it."<br />
<br />
i give up,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"again i say unto you, if any two of you agree on earth as TOUCHING<br />
anything they shall ask, it shall be done for them by my Father in<br />
heaven." matthew 18:19myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-5383255383066296792013-08-28T09:01:00.000-07:002013-09-20T15:44:15.427-07:00green jimmy choosdear emily,<br />
<br />
hans and i celebrated our 33rd wedding anniversary the night of our<br />
lovely niece's rehearsal dinner. the coinciding events made each<br />
one even more special, but my feet enjoyed themselves the most.<br />
<br />
a week ago, hailey and i were taking a circle through sak's shoe dept. <br />
we consider this a museum expedition, gawking at beautifully crafted<br />
works of art. at the back of the department i saw a vision of loveliness<br />
that took my breath away . . . green suede jimmy choo pumps.<br />
<br />
hailey noticed my elation and began listing the outfits in my closet that<br />
they could happily accompany. but, the extravagance paired with the<br />
idea that being so memorably green, i couldn't wear them often, dissuaded<br />
me from even trying them on. i imagined a certain person whispering to<br />
a certain other person, "i saw lea in her old green shoes again."<br />
<br />
a week later there were several of us huddling around our kitchen table<br />
computers, postponing the fancying up for the rehearsal dinner when hans<br />
marched in. he wore a triumphant expression, carrying a saks bag, and<br />
'i just knew it held a jimmy choo' (dr. seuss shout out.)<br />
<br />
as i was dreamily gazing at my gorgeous foot, shelby said, "samara will<br />
LOVE dressing up in those." :)<br />
<br />
love,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father<br />
of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." <br />
james 1:17<br />
<br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-81870714750175670712013-07-28T09:46:00.000-07:002013-07-28T17:27:37.087-07:00just do itdear emily,<br />
<br />
i don't often post videos, because i don't think people really have time<br />
for them. they hop over here, because it's usually short and sweet . . .<br />
or sour.<br />
<br />
this is worth the time, i think.<br />
<br />
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfVJT7rqc_0&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DCfVJT7rqc_0&nomobile=1<br />
<br />
love,<br />
leamyletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-41580423782021000882013-07-21T20:41:00.000-07:002013-07-21T20:41:22.319-07:00not a farmerdear emily,<br />
<br />
my dad grew up on a farm outside a tiny town in the panhandle of<br />
oklahoma. farming remained in his blood well after college and<br />
medical school. he was, in fact, the quintessential country doctor,<br />
even though he always practiced medicine in the city.<br />
<br />
he longed for the country and so bought 1,200 acres near our city.<br />
to my horror, we became ranchers. every weekend and for three<br />
or four weeks each summer (our summer vacation,) we worked<br />
cattle, rode horses, and hauled hay. my dad relished the hard work<br />
in the sunshine, as if doctoring 80 hours a week wasn't work.<br />
<br />
as a teenager, the city held my heart. i liked tanning at swimming<br />
pools, shopping at clothing stores, and drinking diet dr. pepper with<br />
vanilla at sonic. my sympathy always fell with lisa douglas from<br />
'green acres.' why, oh why, did oliver make her leave the city? <br />
<br />
while pulling stuck hay from the sharp blades of dad's tractor on a<br />
105 degree day, imagining a rattle snake with every reach, noting<br />
that dad was about five feet above all rattlers, i would sing,<br />
<br />
"new york is where i'd rather stay . . . i get allergic smelling hay."<br />
<br />
love,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"ruth said to naomi, 'i would like to go and glean grain in the field<br />
of anyone who will allow me . . . " ruth 2:2myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-88105912177780880872013-07-15T08:57:00.000-07:002013-07-15T09:02:35.773-07:00that time i ran away from home . . . as the momdear emily,<br />
<br />
i'm not sure if shelby has told you this one, but six weeks before her wedding<br />
i ran away from home.<br />
<br />
all five kids were home the entire summer we planned her perfect day. there<br />
was constant activity, a little anxiety, and clamour . . . from me not shelby. <br />
she was an angel. <br />
<br />
it being my first wedding and all, i set the bar pretty high for myself, read<br />
every book on wedding etiquette, and still managed to make a gazillion<br />
mistakes. after <strike>lecturing</strike> telling my family to be sure to tip the delivery<br />
man, i tipped an old family friend's daughter. she was horrified. <br />
<br />
my sister in law, in her deep southern accent, said, "lea, while shelby is<br />
writing all her thank you notes, you're writing all your apology notes." <br />
<br />
the lady who ordered our invitations kept sending the lists back with "you<br />
can NOT address a formal invitation with 'ma and pa kettle.'"<br />
<br />
the door bell rang 100 times a day. there were fittings and shootings. i<br />
shot the caterer, church photographer (not ace) , and wedding planner . . .<br />
then i packed an over night back and left for the nearest hotel (it was either<br />
that or the psych ward.) my family received this text: "i will be home<br />
tomorrow, maybe. don't call or text me. feel free to shoot anybody you<br />
like."<br />
<br />
love,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
ps. "but jonah ran away from the Lord and headed to tarshish." jonah 1:3myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-50619430677253824802013-07-10T14:46:00.000-07:002013-07-10T14:46:14.597-07:00side effectsdear emily,<br />
<br />
we were chuckling about a drug commercial during the NBA playoffs<br />
with a horrifying list of side effects: cancer, severe stomach bleeding,<br />
death. my son mumbled, "does anyone even remember what drug is<br />
being advertised?"<br />
<br />
even if we could, i was not likely to take it. what ailment could be worse<br />
than severe stomach bleeding or death? allergies, itchy scalp, aching pinky<br />
fingers?<br />
<br />
our generation has become accustomed to taking drugs for everything, and <br />
there's no telling what we have done to ourselves. my recent addition is<br />
calcium plus 1200 units of vitamin D. my parents worked outside for<br />
their vitamin D, which is just one reason they are called the greatest<br />
generation. <br />
<br />
we'll probably be called the wimpiest generation,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"beloved, i pray that in all respects you may prosper and be in good<br />
health, just as your soul prospers." 3 john 1:2myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-62466510153660353402013-07-04T20:33:00.000-07:002013-07-04T20:33:45.278-07:00my superpowerdear emily,<br />
<br />
i have a new superpower, but you may be wondering, "what are her<br />
old superpowers?" uh huh.<br />
<br />
my new superpower is invisibility. can you possibly imagine how<br />
convenient this might be? i could slip right in front of any line in whole<br />
foods, AMC theaters, or the bank. heck, i could rob the bank, and no<br />
one would see me.<br />
<br />
i'm as see-through as the very air i breathe . . . unless i'm under water.<br />
<br />
it has been a gradual disappearance, so it only dawned on me recently<br />
that i have become invisible. a small disclaimer, though: i am not<br />
invisible to everyone. for some reason, children can still see me. they,<br />
of course, have their own superpowers..<br />
<br />
my secret? skip the lipstick and tuh dah! invisible.<br />
<br />
oh the power,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. for<br />
what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." 1 cor. 4:18<br />
<br />
<br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-33561134733327086712013-06-25T08:11:00.000-07:002013-06-25T08:11:58.838-07:00blessing and sorrowdear emily,<br />
<br />
my friend patricia and i were discussing the random nature of blessing,<br />
wealth specifically. this is an uncomfortable subject for me, because<br />
i like to pretend money is like the leaves of a tree, available to whom<br />
ever reaches their hand to pluck it. that, of course, is fiction.<br />
<br />
one can't really think about blessing without a nod to its sister, sorrow.<br />
remember when 'much afraid' (<u>hind's feet on high places</u>) is bound to<br />
her new friends, 'sorrow' and 'suffering?' shudder. they were truly<br />
friends and protectors, though.<br />
<br />
why do some have a bucket of blessing, and others a hayfield of sorrow?<br />
heck, if i know, but this i do know: how we respond to either is the<br />
spoonful of sugar.<br />
<br />
there are innumerable non-fiction stories about men of great fortune<br />
who dithered it all away . . . along with wives and children. there<br />
are also accounts of women who endured great suffering and through<br />
it blessed many.<br />
<br />
oswald wrote today that if we yield through the fires of sorrow to the<br />
Man of sorrows, "God will make us nourishment for other people."<br />
<br />
feast on me, baby!<br />
<br />
love,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"He was . . . a Man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering." is. 53:3myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-8568032737965380222013-06-15T13:46:00.000-07:002013-06-15T13:46:34.583-07:00spinach pesto turkey sandwichdear emily,<br />
<br />
i have really been trying to replace bad fats and sugars with good fat<br />
and VEGETABLES. aaargh. i just can't make myself eat enough<br />
of those nutrient rich foods, so i've had to be creative. for instance,<br />
instead of slathering mayo and mustard on my sandwich today, i made<br />
a spinach pesto with coconut oil.<br />
<br />
think that sounds gross? well, you're wrong. it was delicious and full<br />
of good fat and green veggies. "i'm dreaming of a" whole grain pasta<br />
and vine ripened tomatoes drizzled with this yummy pesto.<br />
<br />
while i wrote those two puny paragraphs, my husband just ate half of<br />
my sandwich. here's the super easy recipe:<br />
<br />
an entire package of baby spinach<br />
3 garlic cloves<br />
1/2 cup parmesan<br />
1 t. dry mustard<br />
1 t. apple cider vinegar<br />
1 T. honey<br />
ground pepper<br />
1/4 c. coconut oil<br />
tiny dribble of olive oil as a token to normal pesto<br />
<br />
squoosh it into your food processor and season to taste.<br />
<br />
you're gonna' love it,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof." psalm 24:1<br />
<br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-75732147941896483062013-06-10T20:47:00.000-07:002013-06-11T18:47:26.543-07:00PG-snakedear emily,<br />
<br />
several weeks ago, a good friend and i were hiking around turkey<br />
mountain. in our neck of the woods, you don't really hike UP<br />
anything, because everything is so flat. we rounded one bend and<br />
stepped over a grass snake. i felt obligated to scream like a school<br />
girl, since i did go to school once.<br />
<br />
my friend said, "don't worry about it, it was just a grass snake." i<br />
thought, "is there really such a thing as 'just' a ANY snake?" <br />
<br />
i lost all the endorphins i had gathered from the hike and put the last<br />
of my energy into scanning back and forth along the trail like a drone<br />
searching for terrorist snakes.<br />
<br />
sure enough, we ran into another harmless grass snake. <br />
<br />
"he is more afraid of us than we are of him." (friend)<br />
<br />
"really? well, why is he staring us down like he wants to make the<br />
first strike?" now, a spoiled princess, i begged to turn around and<br />
go home. "that was a bad grASS snake."<br />
<br />
love,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"now the serpent was more crafty than any other beast of the field."<br />
genesis 3:1myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-90840432296008427152013-05-26T21:05:00.000-07:002013-05-26T21:05:58.438-07:00struck down but not forsakendear emily,<br />
<br />
a week ago our state faced the military grade assault of an F-5 tornado. the<br />
loss of life, possessions of life, and way of life can not be measured. those<br />
who endured the battle will count their days as BT and AT, before and after<br />
tornado.<br />
<br />
our children have a friend who is a firefighter and first responder. he didn't<br />
come home for five days and will most likely suffer from the same post<br />
traumatic stress as our finest marines.<br />
<br />
the question, "why?" has been fired at the heavens like puny artillery.<br />
<br />
i don't deny anyone the right to "why?" and have felt it bubbling up in my<br />
own heart, as well. the response i keep hearing is, "why not?"<br />
<br />
so stark, harsh, and cruel, that.<br />
<br />
this earth is a hostile place, doling out earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes,<br />
diseases, war, and tornadoes. Jesus spoke about a tower that fell on 18<br />
men, admonishing us to be greatful that it did not fall on us.<br />
<br />
"we are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in<br />
despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." <br />
2 corinthians 4: 8,9<br />
<br />
love,<br />
leamyletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-49844313518831344952013-05-07T13:08:00.000-07:002013-05-07T13:08:31.508-07:00make way for goslingsdear samara,<br />
<br />
several weeks ago a gaggle of geese descended upon the 'island' by<br />
our lagoon. their graceful long necks and soft grey feathers were<br />
beautiful. i thought that surely swans could not be lovelier and was<br />
sad when they flew away. hans said that he wouldn't miss all the<br />
honking.<br />
<br />
we were strolling along the grounds last night and noticed two of the<br />
geese had remained with a surprise. six surprises! can you guess?<br />
yep, six fluffy grey goslings. they reminded me of your baby chicks<br />
but with longer necks, and i haven't heard any chirping.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KeBS_lN_HBI/UYlebD1ozcI/AAAAAAAAA4g/C6kX1QV56NY/s1600/Best_birds_IMG_7132-cau-first_goslings_2004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KeBS_lN_HBI/UYlebD1ozcI/AAAAAAAAA4g/C6kX1QV56NY/s400/Best_birds_IMG_7132-cau-first_goslings_2004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">google image<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
today they walked up the big hill and around all ten acres. can you<br />
imagine? their little legs must have been so tired. i followed them<br />
down to the lagoon, while the goose (mommy) and the gander (daddy)<br />
took turns watching me. i wished you were with me to see how cute<br />
the goslings were, imitating everything their mom and dad did.<br />
<br />
i hope that if i visit them a few times each day and leave them a present<br />
of bread crumbs, then maybe they will let me get closer. what if the<br />
geese return every year? then i might call myself a grandgoose.<br />
<br />
miss you,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"the birds of the sky nest by the waters . . . " psalm 104:12<br />
<br />
<br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-79668112194313958532013-04-24T13:50:00.000-07:002013-04-24T13:50:42.065-07:00just do it.dear emily,<br />
<br />
i'm preaching to the choir here, because you are the 'fittest' person i<br />
know, but you will look up someday and be 20 years older. that's<br />
when you will thank yourself for keeping your body in shape.<br />
<br />
speaking of shape, my trainer (and great friend) was bemoaning how<br />
many women our age have just let themselves evolve into a 'soft' pear<br />
or apple shape. fruit should only be smooshy in a pie.<br />
<br />
it is harder to work out now, i admit. sometimes my hip or back<br />
aches, but that's no excuse. there is always something i can do to<br />
get my heart rate up and my muscles working.<br />
<br />
someday, i want to be the grandma who throws a football to her<br />
grandson and plays on the floor with her granddaughter. how can i<br />
do that if i don't strengthen my arms and legs now?<br />
<br />
i will sit in the rocking chair with my great-grandbabies.<br />
<br />
love,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
"therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees." hebrews 12:12myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5110877309836625274.post-71781583900063203642013-04-19T08:45:00.000-07:002013-04-19T08:45:59.818-07:00dear emily,<br />
<br />
one of our evangelist friends likes to tell a story about the dearest little,<br />
old lady in his congregation. she is his example of kindness, goodness, and<br />
generosity.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h7_SZApdyTA/UWL233L3-CI/AAAAAAAAA4E/ApHASjHwkHk/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h7_SZApdyTA/UWL233L3-CI/AAAAAAAAA4E/ApHASjHwkHk/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">google image</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
he said to her, "aunt minnie, you never say an unkind thing about anyone. <br />
why, i bet you even have something nice to say about the devil."<br />
<br />
she smiled fondly at the young evangelist and replied, "well, honey, he sure<br />
does try hard."<br />
<br />
love,<br />
lea<br />
<br />
ps. "let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt,<br />
so that you may know how to answer everyone." colossians 4:6<br />
<br />
<br />myletterstoemilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555607498974287844noreply@blogger.com16