Our Visit to the Ark Encounter

 I am sitting here listening to Buddy Davis sing on Answers TV, and thinking about our recent visit to the Ark Encounter in Kentucky. 

I presume most of my readers have heard about it, but, in case you don't know, there is a huge, luxurious ship in the middle of Kentucky! No, this isn't a scam! It is really there, and you should go visit it if you get a chance.

To be honest I, on my SAHM budget of ... umm... (opening my wallet.... looking at my bank account...) $0. 😟 I couldn't afford to visit the Ark Encounter, or the Creation Museum. Let alone BOTH!! Not to mention, I live 2,430 miles away. 

But, thanks to some very persuasive relatives of mine, Jojo (my 11-year-old son) and I found ourselves in Kentucky! It's hard to say no, when someone offers to pay your way! (Thank you so much cousins! 💕 )

Admission was about $60 for me and $30 for Jojo. To compare, a theme park in our state, Wild Waves, charges the same amount, so, evidently this is a reasonable price. But, I don't often frequent theme parks, so, it sounded like a lot to me! It was hard for me to swallow my pride and let someone else pay that much for me and my son to visit the big, wooden boat!

To compare with my lifestyle: the small, county fair near us has free admission. The creation museum near Mt. St. Helens (our mountain), about 30 miles from our house, is by donation. The county museum in town is also by donation. So, I guess we are spoiled. We even camp for free by doing dispersal camping in the nearby National Forest. 

Yah, my expectations were unrealistic for sure! Nothing is really "free". Someone pays. And, wow! Some people really put a lot of time and money into this massive structure. They spared no expense! 

My husband works in a sawmill and we live in the woods, so I kind of have an idea of the value of wood. 

There is a timber framing business in our little town. I know some of the people who work there. They are very particular about the logs they use. The trees are carefully chosen and cut at the correct time of the year. Their customers are in a very different tax bracket than anyone I know personally. Yet, even these very rich people, can usually only afford to frame the entrance to their house. I couldn't wrap my head around how much it must have cost to build the Ark Encounter using such huge, beautiful, sturdy logs! 

The exhibits are very well done! You can ask "Noah" questions and he will answer you! The cages have a system for feeding and watering several animals at once. The library has a scroll for each book that evidence suggests may have been written prior to the flood. 

They did very thorough research on everything. There are so many details and everything is purposeful. If I lived close, I would love to buy the season pass and visit often. I think a person could visit several times and see things they hadn't noticed before.

But, my experience may very well be very different than yours. Here is where I am coming from:

I was raised as a homeschooler in the 80's. Ken Ham (our modern-day 'Noah') used to come to our homeschool conventions. He was so much fun to listen to and explained everything so clearly. As I homeschooled my kids, my parents often gave us the Answers for Kids, and other literature from "Answers in Genesis". I am currently homeschooling my youngest, Jojo. He has grown up with dinosaur books from AiG and watching videos of  "The Wild Brothers" and "Buddy Davis." My cousins' kids were really hoping to see Buddy Davis in person, as he is a celebrity in our circle!

Jojo ran through that ark like he had been there before. He glanced at the signs and claimed he already knew it all (To be honest, while I am sure there must have been something there that he didn't already know, he probably does know a lot of it). He said, "Hi" to Noah and the dove. He appreciated the correlation between Jesus and the door of the ark. And then he asked if we could go to the virtual reality building. He had money he had earned from mowing lawns and said he could pay for both of us. I swallowed my pride again as my 11-year-old son pulled out a wad of his hard-earned money to pay for a few minutes of entertainment. It was really cool though! Jojo loved it! And, he had to actually sit still and listen! 😂 

Of course, my brain never stops philosophizing, and, um... judging (?)... or, maybe "critiquing" is a better word!  (My husband says that is why I get headaches so much- overthinking!)  

 I wondered what Ken Ham was thinking building this place. Why the admission was so high? It was obviously FOR PROFIT! In our Christian community we kind of look down on things that are done "for profit." Especially when the gospel is shared. The gospel should always be FREE!! Maybe we even kind of believe that Christians should not be rich. They should give their money away to help people less fortunate. Isn't that what Jesus said?

As I toured this massive structure and the surrounding attractions I saw it from two conflicting perspectives.

 On one hand it must have cost a lot to build this place. The upkeep must be quite a bit too. I'm sure Ken Ham has a lot of money by now with all of the helpful and informative literature he has authored. He could have kept his money for him and his family. He could be retired now and living a quiet life back in his home country of Australia. But, instead, he is on the front lines. Speaking the truth, no matter the cost. But, he chose to buy high quality materials and hire like-minded people to realize this dream. It may seem silly to some. But, there are a lot stranger things people have spent money on.

 The other perspective was people like me. People who save up, sometimes for years, to go on their dream vacation. Families struggling to survive on one income. Christians who believe in the Bible, and already read the Book. Mom's with 11-year-old boys who already know all the answers.  And, families with little kids who still take naps! A more reasonable admission price would be $30 for adults, $20 for youth, and free for kids 12 and younger. 

But, maybe that amount wouldn't be sustainable. The Ark Encounter does have a very important message, and it is hard to put a price tag on that. Maybe they need to charge as much as they do to keep it running. I'm not a business woman. What do I know?

Attractions by Age Group

Kids 1-10  

    It is free this year for this age group! I hope they keep it free. The little kids might get bored reading all the big signs, but someone thought that through very well. There are a lot of cool things for them to see, right at their height. Some little kids in our group were scared by the loud thunderstorm at the beginning, so headphones might be a good idea. There is a room off to the side with scary animals (not real- there are no real animals on the ark itself). My son led his little cousins through it without realizing how scary it was and regretted that! Poor kids! Hopefully they weren't traumatized for life! 

    If you have little kids I would suggest planning to spend more time outside. We didn't know this and ended up not having time to see the zoo as a group. Jojo and I ran through the zoo on our own though.

    The playground is absolutely the coolest playground ever! The kids could spend hours playing there. I think, if we go again in ten years or so, and have little kids with us (this is a hint to my adult children!), we should take two days to tour the Ark. I would suggest taking the kids through the Ark at a steady pace and then riding the carousel and visiting the zoo the first day. The second day, I would bring lunch and let the kids play on the playground and snack while the adults and teens take turns touring the ark at a slower pace. 

Ages 11- 18

    Young people might need to slow down and be encouraged to read the signs. Have them watch videos in preparation for visiting so they know what to look for. There are videos, on Answers TV, of Ken Ham explaining specific things to look for. I wish I had thought to look for them before we visited. I think Jojo would have paid a bit more attention if his Mom had prepared him better! 

    The playground is still fun and appropriate for big kids, but it won't keep them busy for long. The zoo is actually pretty cool, though small. It will only take a few minutes for kids in this age group to see all the animals. I never did find the petting zoo, but I guess there is one. We ran out of time.

Jojo and I listened to an animal presentation in the zoo. It was so refreshing to hear everything they said be based on our worldview! Of course, Jojo said he didn't learn anything new. But, I thought it was very well done and informative (I guess it wasn't new information for me either, but I appreciate repetition at my age! 😂)

 Again, I wish they didn't charge so much for this age group. I'm guessing that most people in this age group, who visit the Ark, will already be familiar with most of the information presented. A bit too old to be impressed by the models of people, the cute animals and pretty lights. A bit too young to think critically about the logistics of the building. 

    Most everything inside the ark is enjoyed through only two senses. It would be great if they had live actors, or activities. -make it more of a living-history experience. -a scavenger hunt, or mystery solving game for the tweens to play. (maybe they do and I just didn't know) Or, "chores" to do to win cheap prizes. Something to make it challenging for young people who already know the information presented. Maybe even contests they can join. -build a miniature model ark and see if it holds up in a small wave pool, or something. Get these hands doing stuff! 

    The virtual reality experience is cool for tweens and young teens. I'm not sure if older teens would be impressed. It is a high quality experience. Very well done, as is everything at the Ark Encounter.

    The carousel is large and in it's own area. It is really nice. Jojo ended up riding on it and having fun. The music is great! I think it would be great if they had more rides, but then they would probably raise the price even more. If they put in more rides, I hope it is something geared towards this age group! 

    Kids this age should definitely bring plenty of their own money. There are lots of places to buy food inside and outside. The gift shops are well-stocked, but priced to make a profit! Mom and Dad won't want to hand out $7 for a cool magnet, or $5 for a deck of cards! So, if your kids like to spend money, they should come prepared. Everything is priced at typical theme park prices. 

Adults

     If you don't have kids in your group you can easily experience the Ark Encounter in one day! I would suggest going off season as it was super crowded when we went. Take your time to enjoy the experience at a leisurely pace. Read all of the signs. Look above you and all around. There are so many details that are easy to miss! 

    Take time to look up and down when you are in the center of the Ark. This is truly a remarkable building. It is very well-researched. Everything in the exhibit is there for a reason. Take your time and look at all of the details.

    There are short videos to watch throughout the Ark, so give yourself time to sit and enjoy them. Don't be embarrassed to ask "Noah" questions. He has some very thought out responses. 

    Walk through the zoo, ride the carousel, and eat lunch at the picnic tables next to the playground. Watch the children play and be thankful that you aren't at that stage anymore, and then have a twinge of sadness as you wonder why you didn't bring the grandkids. Next time! 

Another Idea

    IF you have wanted to visit the Ark, but have a hard time figuring out how to afford it, this is what I would suggest: 

    Get a subscription to Answers TV and explore the Ark virtually. 

    Save up a much smaller amount of money and visit Mt. St. Helens. You can camp in the National Forest for free! Castle Rock, Washington has the Mount Saint Helens Creation Center that has the same information you can get at the Ark for free! Give them a donation so they can keep their doors open. Sign up ahead of time to go on a tour guided by experts and actually experience what the Ark Encounter only tells you about. Walk in a canyon carved by a mudflow that got geologists all over the world questioning the millions of years theory. Dig your fingers into ash that is still here decades after the devastating explosion! See evidence of life returning much quicker than anyone expected! See their display of REAL dinosaur bones! The people there are so kind and knowledgeable. They are usually not too busy to sit and talk with you. They have personal account stories to share! 

    The little town of Castle Rock has a family friendly restaurant that serves the best pizza and has little games and rides in the back that still use quarters like they did in the 80's. They also have motels and parks and antique stores. 

    Let the kids out in the woods where they can run and holler and experience God's creation and be awed by the catastrophic remains of a relatively small volcanic eruption. 

    Be immersed in the experience! Look at the volcanic crater and the canyon; hear stories of personal experiences of this mini-catastrophe that taught Creation scientists much of what they now know; taste huckleberries that God caused to grow where so many people thought it would be impossible (because of the deep ash cause by the volcanic explosion); feel the ash, volcanic rock and dinosaur bones; smell the fresh mountain air and evergreen trees that grew where it was "impossible." Stand in Awe of God and His creation! 

    For more information visit:   https://www.mshcreationcenter.org

    [I'll write another blog about the Creation Museum in Kentucky later.]

    So, if you have the means to visit the Ark Encounter in Kentucky, USA, go for it! It is a remarkable experience! But, if you can't, don't feel like you are missing out! There are other ways to learn the same information. There are also other places to visit with your family that impress and educate about our world view. 

    If you have also visited a creation museum, or the Ark encounter, feel free to share your experience in the comments. Also, educate me on what a fair price is! 😁

The View From High Ridge

 I walked up the empty road and paused when I got to the bridge. My eyes clouded with tears that weren't mine. Suddenly my arms felt empty and I closed my eyes as I listened to the stream flowing beneath my feet. The birds sang in the trees and "It is Well" rang in the background of my thoughts as I imagined my great-grandmother travelling this road nearly 100 years ago. Did she also pause at this stream? What did she feel? Did she sob inconsolably? Or, was she numb and cold? Was she angry, like I would be? Or, was she patient like Job?

"I was content!" I spoke aloud, imagining what I would have felt if I had walked her path:

     I didn't even want to get married! I submitted to Your will and I was happy. You gave me a Godly husband; a home of our own; and then, our very own dear little firstborn son. I never asked for any of those. All I wanted to do was make music. I was content playing my violin. I finally said, "Yes!" to Your plan for my life, and now I am here, carrying my firstborn son to his resting place. -only two days old. 

I hate this place, this town!

I wondered if those were her thoughts. That's how I would feel. If she was too pious to feel hate, or anger, I would feel them for her.

My heart was heavy as I continued my journey to the cemetery on the hill. Dark storm clouds were on the horizon. As I came up over the hill the tombstones came into view. I wondered what she had thought when she came to this spot in her journey. I crossed my arms across my chest. Was she carrying him, or following?

I quickened my pace, even though part of me wanted to run the other way.

    We haven't forgotten! Three generations later, and I still remember: I remember the doctor finally arriving, just when the pain was the worst. He was drunk. I remember him sitting on her legs and telling her not to push because he wasn't ready. I remember the sweet neighbor lady who had held John Paul, after he was born. I remember her saying, "...that baby never did cry right." -the pain. -the 48 hours of crying and convulsions. -the odd peace and quiet as he breathed his last and was no longer in pain. 

Of course, I didn't really "remember". How could I? This all happened generations before my time. But, I DID remember the elderly neighbor's tender face as she told us of each babe born in the tiny house next door all those years ago, including the first one. I remembered my Grandma telling the story that her mother had told her about an older brother she never met. I remembered my mother's face as she talked about the doctor who came drunk and unprepared. A doctor she also had never met. 

I stopped walking and looked up. I had come all this way, but I didn't know where I was going. Silly me, the tombstones aren't in alphabetical order! How would I ever find him? I began to cry -just a little. I made a phone call and a kind man with a map of graves soon arrived. I apologized for my silly tears. He understood and soon led me to an empty area of grass. No stone. No marker. The dates on the nearby stones were after his death of 1926. The loneliness of laying the body of a tiny babe in this isolated spot washed over me and I wanted to sit on that grass and have a good cry, but huge rain drops began to fall from the sky urging me to leave.

The stranger offered me a ride back to my cousins' house. 

Of course he knew who they were. 

Of course he knew where they lived. 

He was kind and polite. I thanked him for the ride and ran into the house, not sure if the dampness on my cheeks was rain or tears.

"I found his grave!" I whispered to myself.

A couple days later tears welled up in my throat again as a helpful librarian handed me a death certificate.

 John Paul Dugger... 2 days old... trauma at birth...convulsions...

My heart hurt. 

I was angry at the doctor. How could he?! 

I knew more than the cold words on the death certificate admitted. Yet, it seemed so final to read those words. It was true, I realized.

"I know what you did and why the babe had convulsions!" I spoke to the other side of this piece of paper, right into the doctor's eyes, red with wine. ...right into my great-grandfather's eyes who forgave a murderer! "I know the truth!" I told those men. But, of course, they were long dead and this paper was only a copy and these emotions weren't real. My great-grandmother might have felt something completely different. 

It's just jet lag. Only me, being a silly, emotional woman. I'm sure Grandma Effie was a better woman than I. Babies often died in those days. I stuffed the paper in my bag and messaged a cousin who lived far away, "I found John Paul's death certificate." I told her. "Who was John Paul?" she replied. I told her, with fire in my eyes, determined to not let his memory be erased. I would tell everyone I could. "Yes... they had an older brother...the doctor killed him."

The next days brought other activities in other places, but the paper stayed in a pocket in my suitcase- waiting. Occasionally, I peeked to make sure it was still there. Then, the day came when I was again walking up that hill. This time with little children, 4 generations removed from the babe in the unmarked grave. I had learned, and heard, a lot in the previous week. Was that why my perspective changed?

The story I told them as we sat in the sunshine on the green grass still contained some sadness and anger, but somehow I forgot to mention the doctor. I told about a young couple who loved God and loved each other. They had said, "Yes!" to Him and His plan for their lives. Andrew gave up his career as a teacher. Effie gave up her career as a musician. The villain: Satan himself, tried to discourage them by killing their firstborn son. Guess what? That didn't stop them. They didn't get angry at God. They didn't get offended and walk away. They drew closer to God. They loved people even more! And, guess what? I wanted to shout! We are still here, four generations later, living for God! 

Suddenly, as we placed flowers on the empty spot of grass, it felt like a place of victory. My eyes lit up with joy as we spoke of that day when the trumpet of God will sound and the graves will be opened. -including this little unmarked grave. 

"Do you think your great-great uncle will still be a baby when Jesus waked him up?" I asked as they ran and played in the sunshine. I don't know if they heard me, or if they will remember. But, I do know someone who will never forget, and that is my Lord and Savior. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. That is the enemy: Death. -not the doctor, -not God.

But, someday, death will be swallowed up in victory! And, I hope, on that great day, the doctor and some of his descendants will be there too. For the enemy of our souls is also the enemy of that doctor's soul. And, the war we are in is the same one he had to fight. I hope he was victorious in Jesus. I hope alcohol and guilt and shame didn't destroy him. I hope I can meet him someday and tell him that what Satan meant for evil, God used for good.

I'm not absolutely sure what the good is, but maybe it has something to do with a dear lady who has a heart for teaching babies the Word of God. And, maybe it has something to do with why the area around that unmarked grave is empty, and this child's siblings and parents are buried in far away places, including Israel. Or, why my Great-Grandparents talked so much about that coming Great Day!

As I walked down the hill, my own son by my side, we again reached the bridge. "I was thinking" he said, breaking the stillness, "I'm kind of gonna miss this place, but it's gonna be good to be home."

"Me too." I whispered as I squeezed his hand. "This is a nice little town!" 

I wonder if Effie grew to love this little town. This is where her children were born, including my grandma. I will love this place too, I decided.

I apologized to my son for calling this place: "misery". It is where my roots are and where part of me will always belong. This little town I love.

I'll end with a phrase from a song Effie Dugger wrote about the New Jerusalem:

"The saints shall come to Zion then with singing, and everlasting joy upon their face. Our God shall come and take away all sadness. Sorrow and sighing, shall flee away."

Tell Blind Bartimaeus to Chill

 

The feelings I felt inside of me were not new. I groaned as I heard the pleas, again. The same whiney voice crying out for attention.

"We all have problems man!" the words formed in my brain. I wish I could help relieve the pain, but I really can't. Somehow, part of living in this fallen world, means that we will all experience pain. 

Suddenly, as I pondered these things, a verse popped into my head. I had often heard that verse, tucked in the middle of a common Bible story: "...they rebuked him... (Luke 18:39)" I often wondered why.

Why would anyone rebuke a blind man who was crying out for Jesus to heal him?! Even if they didn't have compassion on him as a person, wouldn't natural, human curiosity want to stand by and see if Jesus might heal him?

But, here I was, in the crowd, and my heart was saying the same thing. Suddenly I understood.

Maybe Blind Bartimaeus was well know. Maybe, every day he felt his way to the same spot on the highway and cried. All day, every day. 

"Even Samson ground grain when his eyes were poked out!" someone reprimanded. "Surely there is SOMETHING even a blind man can do!"

Sometimes he sat in the middle of the road. "I can't see." he reminded people when they complained. "You can tell where the road is." they argued. And, he cried again.

This was a main highway that people traveled on almost constantly. 

If there was a wedding, or a funeral, or some other kind of procession, everyone knew there would be one uninvited guest: blind Bartimaeus, sitting on the side of the road, dressed in rags, drawing the focus of the day onto himself, even if it was just for a moment.

"It's embarrassing," someone may have said, "to have him begging right outside our city gates."

Why do I think that?

Because I have thought those things as I watched someone begging for someone to notice him. The crazy thing is: literally everyone DOES notice him. 

No amount of pennies in a cup, or friendly conversations, or drinks of cold water, could change the man standing on the side of the road, just outside of the city gates. 

Not then.

Not now.

Some days, we are busy and tired and don't want to be bothered.

If I was in the crowd, this would have been a day like that.

Jesus of Nazareth had risen in popularity. He was a wise teacher. He told stories that made a person think. He talked as he walked. It was hard to hear with everyone around. Maybe I would have caught a word here, or there. 

The people in the front tried to quiet everyone down and clear the path, so everyone would have a better chance of hearing.

They were almost to Jericho, to the city gates, when a blind man yelled to whoever was on the road. "Who is coming? I hear a lot of people!"

"It is Jesus of Nazareth." they answered, hoping he would quiet down so they could hear what Jesus was saying. It was a really important topic. He was telling them about his upcoming death and resurrection. This was not the time for interruptions. Bartimaeus could collect coins all day every day. Jesus was only here for a little while and there was so much to learn. Couldn't the blind man hear that he was interrupting an important discussion?

"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Bartimaeus yelled even louder, planting himself in the middle of the road. His young nephew, who had the job of leading him around, hid his face in embarrassment. 

"Stop! Just stop!" came out of MY mouth. And, I finally understood. ALL of the interrupted important conversations. All the celebrations that turned into being about him instead of the person who we met to honor. Even interruptions of my time with Jesus!

I paused when I heard it, and I saw the crowd and my Lord. Oh how I wanted to hear every word He had to say. Just this one day I wanted to be able to walk past the blind man without having to shower him with attention.

I tried to shush him, to shoo him away, but he just hollered louder.

Then, Jesus saw him...

                                        ...and stopped.

Jesus walked right up to that annoying, pestering beggar and asked him a question.

"What do you want me to do for you?"

Now don't go thinking that maybe I should have thought to ask him that question. Because, I had, many times. That exact question! 

True today I was hushing him, but many times I had stopped and asked him exactly the same question. But, his requests were always impossible! It was no use even listening to his outlandish demands.

"Lord, I want to see again." the blind man requested.

I held my breath.

Finally he was asking the right question to the right person.

"Receive your sight; your faith has made you whole!" Jesus said.

Suddenly the blind man wasn't blind anymore, but he wasn't quiet either. He was shouting the praises of God. But, now he wasn't blocking the road. He was following. Following the only One who could give him what he longed for.

The little boy, who was his guide, was smiling, a free happy smile, and so was I. 

And, now I also see that it wasn't just the blind man who received healing that day. Many other burdens were lifted.

Jesus, really did come to lift heavy burdens, set captives free and give life: abundant, beautiful life!

I don't know what this realization will change in me. Maybe nothing. Or, maybe, next time I feel like telling someone to "just chill" I'll just get out of the way and let someone handle this who can see deep into the heart and provide what I can not.

Friends Without Words

 

This week I have a family history story on my mind. (I have a Bible one on my mind too, but that one needs to wobble around in my head a bit longer before I can put it into words.) Speaking of words... this story is about a friendship that lasted many years, yet the young ladies never spoke a word to each other. 

My great-great grandma, Harriet Melinda Nixon was born in Ontario, Canada in 1858. As the ninth of ten children, she had a wonderful childhood. Her favorite place to play was in the chicken house down by the creek. She played with the glass eggs her Dad had placed in the nests to encourage the chickens to lay eggs in the correct spot. Little Hattie loved to set up house in the hen house. She brought her little tin cups and a small blanket and set up a nice table to serve her baby dolls tea. Mint growing down by the creek was perfect for making tea. 

One day a visitor stopped by her little house. He motioned to the tea and little Hattie nodded and smiled. She moved her dolly off of the stool and he sat and drank the tea. She gave him a biscuit from her apron pocket and refilled the little tin cup. He smiled his thanks and left. She wasn't scared. Her Mama often served their neighbors. The kitchen was always open. I guess it was a different world back then.

However, it wasn't long, and the man with long black hair was back. This time a shy little girl, who looked just like him, peaked out from behind him. He turned and walked away, leaving the children to stare at each other for a few minutes. 

Hattie handed the girl a biscuit and pointed to the little makeshift table. The girls played all afternoon with their baby dolls and busily picked tea leaves and made more tea and giggled as they played. It was so fun. All summer Hattie played in the hen house and often her little friend would join her. Their baby dolls napped together in one of the nests while the girls walked hand-in-hand to the creek to cool off.

One day Hattie's friend seemed sad. She was trying to tell her something. Finally Hattie realized it was time for their summertime neighbors to move south. The girls hugged and cried. The little brown-eyed girl held out her precious baby doll to Hattie. The little blue-eyed girl (or maybe green-eyed, she was Irish) accepted the gift. She picked up her dear little cornhusk dolly and handed it to her friend. The girls hugged again and Hattie's best friend left. 

Hattie's little friend never visited her in that chicken house again. Eventually the Nixon family migrated to the USA, or maybe Harriet migrated after she married a handsome farm boy from the USA named John Stratton. They settled in the hills of Missouri. I guess they probably lived in a log cabin, or maybe even a sod house. One day in late fall (I believe it would have been about November 1878), John left Hattie to care for the little farm while he took a trip to St. Joseph, Mo, nearly 20 miles away, for supplies. He would be gone three days. Mrs. Stratton was a woman now. She would be fine. She smiled as she waved to the wagon as it faded into the distance. She wiped a tear away. "It must be the dust." she thought. It was silly to cry. Alone in the tiny house, with no neighbors in sight, Mrs. Stratton looked for things to keep herself busy. Dear John would be home soon. Three days wasn't long. She busied herself getting ready for the little life growing inside her belly. She made a little bed next to their own. This time her baby wouldn't have to sleep in a nest of straw. She laughed as she remembered her hen house turned play house! She sewed tiny blankets and knitted little socks. It was early to make a bed. The baby wouldn't come until the spring, but it gave her something to do. The next morning she noticed the wind picking up as she did the morning chores. Was a storm coming? She knew how to prepare, and soon everything was ready for whatever nature might throw at them. Hopefully it wasn't going to be a tornado! She was scared to be without John. She may be a grown woman of 20, but as the ninth child in her family, she had never really been alone, not until now.

She lit a lamp and bolted the door shut and sat down to do some knitting. It got darker and darker outside. Then, it was all white. A blizzard? "Oh dear! I hope John has made it to St. Joseph. I hope he stayed in town and hasn't tried to head home." She began to pray, silently at first, but as the wind howled she prayed even louder! 

Suddenly there was a thump at the door. Was it a branch? An animal? She didn't go to the door at first, but then she heard something that sounded like crying. She unbolted the door and saw a mound of what looked like a blanket in front of her door. "It's a woman!" she realized as she began to pull her into the house. 

The young, native woman was weak and sweating with fever. She handed Mrs. Stratton a tiny bundle and collapsed onto the floor. The baby opened it's mouth to cry, but nothing came out. She laid the baby in the tiny bed and helped the woman into her bed. Then she got busy making broth. For a few days Harriet nursed her patients faithfully. The tiny baby got stronger every day. Harriet carefully brushed the woman's long black hair. She dozed in her chair in between cooking and tending to her guests. Hattie had never been so tired. One night she made herself a bed on the floor and fell fast asleep. When she woke up it was very quiet. The wind had stopped howling. The sun was out. She blinked her eyes. Something else was different too. She jumped to her feet! The baby was gone! The woman was gone. Her bed was made perfectly and in the baby's bed lay a little something. She walked towards the bundle, warm sunlight streaming through their one window. She picked up the little something and gasped. It was a little corncob doll. Some say that all corncob dolls look alike. Some say there is no way that could have been the same person who Hattie played with all those years ago. How could a Native American from Canada be in Missouri? Some say I am remembering the story my Grandma told me completely wrong and that I actually read it in Little House on the Prairie, or some other book written about that time period.

Maybe they are right. I do have an imaginative memory. But, I love this story and I do hope that it is true. I hope it happened many times 150 years ago. I hope it happened in my ancestor's house and Laura's and even your ancestor's home! More than that I hope it continues happening now. What is "it"? It is people from completely different cultures showing kindness and hospitality to other humans. It is people not being afraid to open the door and sit down at the same table and share our favorite and best with total strangers.

We have many family stories of those long ago days and the friendships made with neighbors who lived very differently from each other. DNA results and the census records can't seem to explain why my little blond haired boy's skin turns brown in the summer, or why my little Song Bird was born with straight black hair and a love for Native American things. Ancestry tells me we are Scandinavian, or British, oh, there is a little Swiss, maybe that's it. Or, maybe, just maybe, a young man and a young woman fell in love and they didn't tell the government. Maybe the everyday, average person lived differently than the history books and media of the time tell us. Maybe, most people, were able to live harmoniously. 

Want to know a little theory I recently heard about why Sodom was destroyed? (I just can't write a story without including at least a mention of scripture. 😉) It is said that it was because they were not kind. Perhaps that seems naïve because we all can list off quite a handful of wicked crimes committed by the people of that time and place. But, maybe the theory is correct that neglecting to be kind was the beginning of the cry that rose clear to heaven. Living to please one's self, is the opposite of kindness, is it not? Only Lot opened his doors to the strangers. The townspeople were angry that he would do such a thing! 

Sometimes I wonder if it is more dangerous now than it was then, you know, to open my door, to be friends with someone who doesn't speak my language. Sometimes it seems like Sodom outside my door, and just like the angels firmly showed Lot, there is a time to shut them out and protect your own family, not throw them to the wolves. But, the advice on how to treat others may be simpler than I realized: "Be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." Ephesians 4:32 KJV

May God bless you in this journey we call life.

Where's the Fruit?

 I started writing this blog a week ago. Scribbled out on a scrap piece of paper as I waited for my son to finish his mowing job. Monday was the day I planned to type it out, but I found myself mowing instead. Why was I mowing when there are four perfectly capable men on this property who would have gladly mowed the lawn? I had dishes to do and laundry to fold and a garden to weed, yet mowing is how I decided to spend my evening. I told myself it was because mowing is more satisfying than my other chores. Dishes and laundry never seem to be done. But, after I get done mowing I can admire the smooth lawn for days! But, then, as I finished my last round on the mower in the dim light of dusk, I remembered what I had planned to do Monday evening: Write this blog!

 I know I am not the only writer who struggles with procrastination. But, why do we? Especially when we love writing so much? I'm not sure, but I think it may be because there is a finality to typing my thoughts out. Once I hit "publish" this idea will be solidified. Monday evening it was still fluid. Flowing in and out of my mind as I mowed around the trees and down the little hills, choosing what to cut short and what to leave long. In fact, I may not even use my notes from last week after all. 

So much has happened since last Thursday.

But, this blog isn't about what has happened since Thursday (at least I don't think it will be). It is about another Feast Day that is coming up this weekend. Some know it as "Shavuot", but most of you know it by the Christian name of "Pentecost". 

Do you remember Passover?   ~ 50 days ago. 

We remembered the ancient Israelites becoming free from the bondage of slavery. We remembered the sacrifice our Savior paid to rescue us from the bondage of sin. Some of us ate unleavened bread. 

The climate where I live is usually still cold and wet at Passover time and this year was no exception. The branches on the deciduous trees were bare and brown. It was hard for me to tell which trees were dead and which ones were just resting. But now, everything is alive. I have watched the miraculous explosion of life in the plants and animals around me. Trees that seemed dead at Passover time are now leafed out and covered with singing birds and humming bees. New flowers have bloomed each week since then.

If the Feast Days are a picture of our walk with Christ I imagine Passover time portraying a new believer. They might not look all that different at first. At least not on the outside. But something new IS alive inside of them. Growth is happening.

Did you know God commanded His people to do something between Passover and Pentecost? Leviticus 23: 15 & 16 describe it. We are to COUNT! Each evening we count by ones. Each week we count by sevens. Until we have reached seven weeks or forty-nine days. The next day, day fifty, is Pentecost. (I hope I have that right.)

Pentecost is the anniversary of Israel receiving the written law. Exodus 19 begins this story. It is also the anniversary of the followers of Christ receiving the Holy Spirit.  This story is in Acts chapter 2. The law was written on hearts along with the power of God to do what He says.

One of the first years I celebrated Shavuot/Pentecost I called my aunt in Israel. I was confused. Somehow, when I started counting, as I watched the trees explode into lush, green masses of life, I presumed I would see fruit by Pentecost. But, here I was, staring at my cherry tree and seeing nothing but green. No red, pink, or even yellow. 

"There isn't fruit here in Israel either," she said. "That's why it is called firstfruits." I didn't even try to figure that one out. I had no first ripe anything to bring to the table. But, this year, surrounded by very much alive everything, my mouth watering for the berries that should be ripe any day now, I wondered what spiritual lesson is in all this.

Do we expect spiritual fruit to be manifested in our lives, or in the lives of those around us, without the indwelling of the Holy Spirit? 

Without the POWER from ON HIGH, we cannot reach our full potential. 

May God bless you with a fresh anointing of Ruach HaKodesh, His Holy Spirit, this weekend. And, may we all bear much fruit this summer.

3 Important Plants for Beginning Foragers to Avoid

The last time I wrote about plants I wrote about three edible plants for beginners. If you are feeling the urge to go out and nibble weeds, you must also educate yourself on what to avoid. Today I am going to tell you about 3 common, yet poisonous plants: Buttercup, Yew, and the infamous, deadly Hemlock (Hint: It is NOT a tree!)

Buttercup

One of the things I love the most about living in the country is the wildflowers. When I first moved out here I was a newlywed. We had our own little house with our very own, empty flowerbeds. I excitedly requested buttercup starts from a neighbor and planted them right next to our doorstep. I have always loved buttercups and thought they would be a lovely addition to our yard. My husband wasn't as pleased as I thought he would be, and now, 22 years later, I understand why. I have come to realize that buttercups are not as innocent as their name and appearance suggest.

Those delicate, shiny petals look so inviting, but, dear one, they are oh so deceptive. If the horrible taste doesn't convince you to spit it out, you will soon be rewarded with painful blisters on your tongue, and, if swallowed, pain throughout your digestive system.

If you decide to eat more than a nibble you probably won't die. But, you may wish you were dead instead of laying in a hospital bed experiencing unpleasant symptoms and procedures.

Yeah, the sweet little buttercup is not a friend when it comes to looking for sustenance. 

Yew

Next comes the beautiful Yew. This small, evergreen was quite possibly growing in your grandparents' front yard. It has attractive red berries that many children grow up nibbling, oblivious to the harm they are protected from by not chewing their food. Most children will either spit out the seed or swallow it whole, which is fine. If they were to chew a few seeds, needles, or even bark (kids do strange things sometimes), they would start feeling nauseous and may experience changes in their heart rate. 

Yew wood is said to be the most poisonous wood of any tree. The needles are poisonous also, but it would take eating a couple handfuls of pokey needles to kill a person. 

In spite of the toxicity of this tree, it is rare for someone to die by eating Yew. 

There are many edible berries and also many large evergreen trees whose needles and even inner bark CAN be eaten. 

So, please, remember: Don't Chew Yew!

Hemlock

The third plant is poison hemlock. It still exists and is just as deadly as it was 1,000 years ago. It has spread to many regions of our beautiful world. 

Poison hemlock is a plant, not a tree. There is a tree with the word hemlock in the name. It is not poisonous.

This plant is why I have yet to forage any plant that resembles parsley or carrot, no matter how much it looks or smells like the plants in my garden. 

It has a round stem, splattered with red blotches as if to warn any passerby of its intent. The foliage is feathery and lush, kind of like a carrot. The flowers are lacey and delicate like Queen Anne's Lace. Do not touch. Steer clear. This beautiful plant is deceptive and cruel. I don't think I need to go into detail about the harm it can cause. 

Hemlock used to be a rare plant but now grows all over Europe, North America, and even parts of Asia. Why anyone introduced it to the Americas I have no idea, but it has spread to every state as of this writing. 😡

I believe there is a purpose for every created thing, so I am sure there must be a reason for each one of these plants. But, the purpose is most definitely not for human consumption! 

If you plan on foraging for edibles, please make sure you have thoroughly researched the plants on your property. If you aren't absolutely sure of a plant's identification, steer clear of it! There are plants that can give you rashes, or even kill you. 

I purposely am not sharing pictures of the plants that I am discussing. My hope is that you will do your own research! Buy a plant identification book for your area, or find someone local who can point out edible plants.

Even plants that are not poisonous can seem that way if you are allergic to them. So, always proceed with caution when you are exploring.

Have fun in the sun exploring God's creation! 😄

What an Old White Man Taught me About Compassion

In today's culture, there are many stories of people who have been mistreated by those close to them. Stories on my Facebook newsfeed tell of friends learning to stand up for themselves against bullies. We applaud them and pray for those who are trapped in abusive relationships. We look for resources to help those mistreated. But, a couple weeks ago I heard a conversation that ended completely differently than I had come to expect on Facebook.

Someone brought up a confrontational subject. 

Someone else teased.

And, suddenly it was war!!!

The teasing turned quickly to anger followed by threats.

How often have we seen this play out on social media? Soon there is a mob mentality, with everyone voicing their opinions, people blocking others, and reporting posts.

But, this time the comments stopped abruptly after only two people commented. Within two hours the post disappeared. I knew family or friends of the author had helped calm the situation. 

I know the author. I know this person is often angry and says things that are hurtful. But, I also know this person is very much loved. And, he/she is not dangerous. 

I wrote to the other person in the conversation, who had been verbally attacked. My heart hurt for the older gentleman. He didn't deserve to be treated this way. 

But, he wasn't nursing hurt wounds. He didn't sound defeated. 

He said, "I love him!"

He didn't say it was okay, but he acknowledged his part in the flare-up (though from my perspective he was innocent). He bore no grudge against his lifelong friend. 

I, being a woman of many words, continued jabbering about how I just don't understand. And, even though a person has brain injuries, disabilities, or trauma, that is no excuse to treat people like that!

He said, "We had a wonderful childhood. We grew up like brothers. I love him and his family." 

He explained that, while the church community he grew up in didn't get everything right, they were a close and supportive family. As he grew he realized that their tribe (a modern-day term, not his wording) was not perfect. In fact, not one human in all of scripture (except for Jesus) was without flaws. Some had very glaring faults! No one got everything completely right.

He told me that the Body of Christ is made up of many diverse, flawed people from all denominations and walks of life.

Then, he said, "Forgiveness is a crucial key to us Christians!" 

I have heard that statement before. In fact, I have a shirt somewhere that says, "Forgiveness is key." But, somehow the word crucial made it more than a good saying. Not just a truth that would help us live a more meaningful life, but necessary for survival in the Kingdom of God!

I'm not old and wise yet. I still lash out in anger when I feel I am not being heard. I don't think I have ever reacted correctly in a stressful situation. So, who am I to judge someone who is also flawed- like me?

As a mom, I have been treated badly. I've been bitten, thrown up on, slapped in the face, and stepped on. Not to mention kicked in the ribs! But, none of those things made me block my precious babies from my life. 

Why not?

Because my love for them was greater than the pain inflicted by my little one!

I understood the maturity level of a preborn infant or even a toddler. And, most of the time... well, some of the time anyway, I chose to handle the situation with maturity and grace. But to show that grace to someone who is older and should know better?!

Well, am I ever shown grace and mercy when I don't deserve it?

I loved the little sermon. I have been pondering it for over a week. This is part of why I didn't write a blog post last week: I was still digesting this lesson, and I guess I still am. I don't think I will fully grasp it until I am an old white woman, or maybe even not until I am made new in the Kingdom of God.

My wise friend shared Ephesians 4:13 with me:

"..until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God, as we mature to the full measure of the stature of Christ."

I will end with something else he said:

 "We are all imperfect children of the perfect God."

[Please note that I am definitely NOT suggesting criminals, like domestic violence perpetrators, be shown mercy and grace. God was very clear about telling His people to protect themselves from certain people, and not show them mercy.]