Everything You (I) Do

This picture illustrates how I usually feel by oh, the third day of the County Fair. 

Then again, just getting ready for the Fair is stressful. Supplies are expensive. We are under pressure to perform well. There's no help from any direction (which makes me feel resentful because people show up to watch the shows and have a good time but there is never anyone around when we are desperate for help).

I eat and breathe that resentment every year and it ain't pretty.

Yesterday I heard this song by Steven Curtis Chapman. It reminded me to do everything as if for Christ. If I we can keep this as our focus, our attitudes could be much brighter. Here's to a Fair Week during which we are models of patience.

Lyrics...

Maybe your that guy with the suit and tie
Maybe your shirt says your name

You may be hooking up mergers
Cooking up burgers
But at the end of the day

Little stuff
Big stuff
In between stuff
God sees it all the same

While I may not know you
I bet I know you
Wonder sometimes, does it matter at all?
Well let me remind you, it all matters just as long
As you do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you,
Cause he made you
To do

Every little thing that you do
To bring a smile to His face
Tell the story of grace
With every move that you make
And every thing you do

JonathanThe Barber

Sometimes I don't understand why it takes me so long to do something, like taking the little boys to the barber. Maybe it's the way they whine when I suggest a haircut.
OK, so they don't just whine. They get ugly faces and stomp their feet too.

This has been the case since last July, when Greg The Barber was tragically hit by a car while riding his motorcycle. He survived, but after months of surgeries and therapy, he still has limited use of his hands and legs.

He hired a young man to mind his shop. We hadn't visited since the accident.

Finally, yesterday, we met Jonathan The Barber.

The shop looks different. The walls are painted red and there is a Bible verse posted to the mirror. A desk stands where there used to be chairs.

Still, there are hunting magazines in the racks and the famous "Joe DiMaggio sat here" barber's chair spins, lifts, and lowers.

Jonathan is quiet. He wears flashy, comfortable sneakers that fit his athletic build. He is going to the Ukraine for two weeks in a missions trip.

The older men don't seem to know what to make of him. The shop lacks the chatter of town gossip and tool talk.

Jonathan doesn't do haircuts as fast as Greg, but my boys sure looked handsome after he worked on them! Was it the hair or the happy faces?!

Tips on choosing a barber from Make Your Home Awesome. http://www.makeyourhomeawesome.com/finding-a-barber/

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The Fourth of July Fatigue

In the "good old days" we used to host a 4th of July get together at our cottage. We enjoyed spending the weekend by the lake, watching the neighbors set off fireworks and the community parade.

Still, there was considerable work to do in terms of packing, cooking, and cleaning, especially when the children were very small or the group of company grew large.

I called it the 4th if July Fatigue. Some years, I felt as if I couldn't move after running between cottages, worried about water safety and guest comfort.

This year we hosted five, then six guests at our home throughout the long weekend. I cleaned four bedrooms and the living room from top to bottom to prepare for the visit...windows, linens, walls...

We still had to go to our jobs, see teens off to a youth retreat, and take care of the farm through flooding rains.

I felt, once again, The 4th of July Fatigue.

Thankfully, there is time and space for recovery, with two whole weeks until the Fair.

And, we felt very blessed by the visits. One cousin wrote, "can't wait until next year." It is, I suppose, the tradition.

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Human Error

I found three tadpoles swimming in the dish water. They had fallen out of a container when W, 8 years old, was portioning out individual pollywogs over the sink. He was going to give them away as gifts.

I recently made the mistake of pulling a few weeds without gloves on. Now my arm is covered with an itcy, oozy rash. A close encounter with something poisonous.

In my ticket office we've spelled Allegany as Allegheny. Typed 2011 instead of 2013. Included ticket office copies instead of customer copies.

It happens because we are human. Perfect messes every last one of us.

I'm worried that I've left a stem of milkweed in our large, new pasture area. One bite of milkweed and a sheep will blow up and die. It ain't pretty. It has happened before.

Mistakes seem more common when we are put of our routine. Yesterday I lost a pizza, the best supper I could manage, to the floor and the dog.

It's a very, very good thing that God is in control and not any man or machine. He's the only one with the perfect plan.

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The Funny I Hear

W, age 8, said this to me this morning..."You're really correct, Mom."

What I heard was, "You're really CRACKED, Mom."

I laughed when I realized I'd misheard him. There IS more on my plate these days, more than the usual, at least. I could be cracked.

Mr. WestberryMom is working across the country for a time. The boys' schedules are in flux thanks to the end of the school year. There is sooo much yard work to squeeze in between raindrops!

All the while I'm fascinated by this mismatch between what people say and what others hear.

It happened last weekend, when I was talking to a woman who was estranged from her daughter and grandchildren. We were talking about an incident where a man fell and died, without ever reconciling with his granddaughter. "That would be just terrible," she said.

I hear her say this and wonder why her words don't don't seem to match her behavior. I wonder if she believes what she says. Or maybe my perspective is limited, and I'm not really hearing or understanding.

I try to be very clear in my instructions to students and yet, at least someone in the group will go off in a completely unintended direction because of an assumption or a misunderstanding.

Help me Lord, to be a good listener and a clear speaker. Please give me wisdom and help me see the truth.

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The Hog Island Sheep Part 1

Three weeks ago I responded to a general Farm and Garden CraigsList posting asking about six sheep. "Good home needed, price negotiable." I described our home - 4-H family dedicated to rebuilding a rare breed,large pasture, caring shepherds. The person who owned the sheep called me shortly thereafter, describing the six animals he needed to find a good home for...a near-extinct breed of sheep called "Hog Island." We would be, he thought, the perfect family.

My Japanese friend Yuko thought that this was a very practical way to find the right home for such valuable animals. I'd compare it to the method used by Willie Wonka in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." Focus first on integrity rather than the value of the gift. Focus on logistics later. (She also guessed that maybe I was chosen because of my lineage back to the Mayflower." Probably not.) :)

I'm still in a state of shock, quite frankly, over the "burden" (the privilege, really) we now have to care for these creatures. They arrived just in time for W, who is now 8 (the official coming-of-shepherd-age in these parts), to take ownership.

All seven (yes, seven, the final count after unloading the truck into our pens) were given to us "free of charge" and free of conditions regarding selling, butchering, breeding or housing.

They just spent a year at a research facility, being tested and harvested, in preparation for the possible reality of their extinction. I'm fascinated by the details in their lab reports - how many embryos were frozen, what diseases they are resistant to, what was discovered in their blood draws, etc.

They are surprisingly docile and affectionate for having run "hog wild" for hundreds of years. Yet, their personalities (and their appearances) are vastly different from the other breed we care for.

Their survival and their peaceful, trusting nature (along with "no strings attached" gift from the Dempsey family) has me thinking about Jesus, our Good Shepherd, in brand new ways.

Welcome "Betsy" "Martha," "Patrick," "Fraggle," "Belle," "Eva," and "Paris."

Changed for Good

(Glinda):
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

Songs from the Broadway musical "Wicked" were very popular this year, appearing on students' Ipods and in the set lists for year-end performances. Our own High School Choir performed both a "Wicked" medley and this song, "Changed for Good."

I've been thinking on the lyrics lately, reminiscing about people who have influenced my own life (for better or worse).

I posed the question at the dinner table. It was interesting to hear my husband mention an 8th grade teacher who, in guy speech, "kicked him in the butt" (this being a good thing.)

Who will these people be for my children, I wonder. Who were the history makers in your life?