A Precious Gift

I didn't write this...but wanted to share it with you...have a Merry Christmas!


We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly sitting and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, 'Hi.' He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment.

I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. 'Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster,' the man said to Erik. My husband and I exchanged looks, 'What do we do?'

Erik continued to laugh and answer, 'Hi.' Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, 'Do ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek- a-boo.'

Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed.

We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.

We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door.

'Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,' I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's 'pick-me-up' position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man.

Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love and kinship. Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time.

I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, 'You take care of this baby.'

Somehow I managed, 'I will,' from a throat that contained a stone.

He pried Erik from his chest, lovingly and longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, 'God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift.'

I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, 'My God, my God, forgive me.'

I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes.

I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking, 'Are you willing to share your son for a moment?' when He shared His for all eternity.

The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, 'To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children.'

Halelujah!

Do you still remember your part?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXh7JR9oKVE

Cherished Chairs

Recently, I adopted another member into my family of "Cherished Chairs." It's the sort of thing that just happens... no planning.

This time it happened at a supper at First Lutheran Church of Norway Lake. Paul and I joined the line of folks waiting to buy dinner tickets. As we inched forward, we came to the first of many long tables filled with craft and "pre-owned" items that were being sold as a fund-raiser. Between the first two tables was old wooden spindle-back chair with a bright pink price tag on it. I leaned forward to read the tag. . . $5!

In my head I said, "Sold!" but outwardly I played the part of a real expert. I tested it to see how sturdy it was. I looked under the seat to see what kind of wood it was made of. I ran my finger along it's sleek lines and felt it's somewhat dimpled complection. In reality, I didn't care about any of that. I just plain wanted it and that was that. Paul kind of rolled his eyes but he knew in the end, the chair would be mine. He'd been down this road with me before.

I have a certain weakness for chairs...especially if they are all alone. If you've ever been to an auction, you've heard them refered to as "odd." I've always wondered about that. Does being alone or one-of-a-kind make one odd?

Some day, my children will hold an auction to get rid of all my old stuff. And as people wander among the rows of cherished chairs, I'm pretty sure, someone will refer to me as odd.

I'm okay with that.

Why Fly South?

Late summer days in Minnesota can be some of the most pleasant and most beautiful of the entire year. I caught these geese basking in the morning sunshine today on the banks of Lake Minnewaska in Glenwood.

The First Annual "Rock Pickers Triatholon"

It was a beautiful summer evening in rural Minnesota when my husband (the Agricultural Engineer) asked me to give him a hand and pick a round of rocks in the soybean field. I was working on my stairway project but agreed to wrap it up and head over to meet him at the 'Olson' farm about four miles from our place. He and the dog had taken the 'Gator' to the field and planned to keep the little safari vehicle there for a few days in order to finish the rock harvest.

I arrived and we took off up the soybean rows, finding plenty of rocks that could potentially end up in the combine if they weren't gathered. The round was a long half-mile and after we finished, we decided that one of us ought to walk 'overland' to the next farmsite toward home with the dog. Copper had been swimming in the pond and hunting in the field... he was filthy. Riding in the car wasn't an option for him.

I volunteered to take the walk across the pasture, through woods and down another field to the farmsite...a little over a mile away. On the way, a doe ran across my path...not 20 yards ahead. I should have counted all the little critters I saw, many of which scolded me for being there.

I walked through an open meadow where, two years earlier, we had planted some pine trees right out there in the sod. It was fun to see them peaking above the tall grass, showing off their new soft green needles.

I rounded the edge of a pond and picked a nice little bouquet of wildflowers and watched the geese and their fuzzy little ones swim away from me. One of the parents led the family and the other followed a distance behind, stretching its neck to be sure Copper and I weren't dog-paddling toward them.

Finally, I made it to the farmsite, hopped on the waiting bicycle and headed home with Copper following along in the ditch - tongue hanging out (the dog's not mine..okay, well maybe my tongue was hanging out, too). The wind was strong and fought with me all the way down the highway. I had only gone a mile when Paul appeared in the car. He must have known about my aching legs and my losing battle with the wind. I traded my bicycle for his car and drove home, leaving he and Copper to finish the last leg of the race.

As I arrived at home I congratulated myself for taking first place in the Rock Pickers Triatholon. It was then I realized that I had been joined in the event by an army of woodticks... 19 of them to be exact. What a prize for my first place finish!

Time for Planting

This past Memorial Day weekend, we decided it was time to plant our garden. Paul took one look and determined that it was way too lumpy and needed a better seed bed than he could prepare with just the walk-behind-tiller. He asked me to help him hook one of his tractors to the disk so he could run through the plot a couple times and smooth it out.

This is what a disk looks like all folded up.

I walked over to the disk and yelled at Paul to stop backing up the tractor. He jumped down out of the cab and came over. I pointed to a problem. There, propped on top of one of the folded up disk wings was a robin sitting on her nest, looking a bit nervous.

I told him, "If you unfold the disk, the nest will fall out...I'm sure she's got eggs in there. We better not bother her."

I was kind of surprised but he agreed that we didn't want to disturb the little family. I figured we'd just have to wait a week or so until the babies were gone.

Here's the nest...can you see the mom sitting there...scared to death? Poor thing!

Then, Paul had a brilliant idea. (He gets those sometimes.) He suggested that we lift the nest off the disk and place it temporarily on the digger that was parked close by. Then we could work the garden, bring the disk back and return the nest to its place.

That's just what we did. While I was busy moving her nest, the mama robin flew nervously overhead chirping and calling. I kept telling her it would be okay. But, she disappeared. I was hoping she'd stick around and watch where I set her nest down while we used the disk, but she didn't.

Here's what I found in the nest as I was moving it. Not too cute, are they?

We finished our work and carefully put the disk back into its place all folded up and neat, just the way it was. I moved the nest with the ugly, naked, fuzzie critters back to the exact spot they were before we invaded their world.

I thought maybe the mama wouldn't come back to her mobile home after all the craziness.

So I waited and watch....and she came back!

I'll probably check back in on her in a few days to see how the naked little uglies are doing.
For now, I'll leave the little family alone. I've caused them enough stress.

Taking it One Step at a Time

I like to take on a new 'house project' each spring -- a 'legislative assignment,' if you will.

This year, I'm refinishing my staircase...actually it's not fancy enough to be called a 'staircase.' It's just a tired old stairway that leads to the second floor of this 100-year-old house. I know it's tired because it complains OUT LOUD with squeaks and wails whenever someone walks up or down its 13 steps.

I started the assignment weeks ago and I've done six steps...that's it...SIX! (Why is it that every assignment I tackle is way harder and much more complicated than it seems at the start?)

I'm just guessing here, but I'd say this stairway was stained and varnished by the builder and remained that way for, say 40 years. Then, someone came along and decided to glue down some rubber treads and call it good for another 40 years.

Then came the 'carpet days.' Anderson (only people with the name 'Anderson' have lived in this house) pieced together some old carpet pieces on top of the rubber treads, stapled the pieces down and added a tad of glue just to make sure the 500 staples on each step would hold forever!

Then, years later, another Anderson ripped up the carpet pieces with great anticipation, hoping to find beautiful hardwood steps shining underneath. Instead, that Anderson found rubber treads and a hard layer of glue on top of them...and underneath them. Enthusiasm may have dimmed as she pulled out hundreds of staples from each step and attemped to scrape the rubber treads and the glue layers that were completely fused to the wood. Overwhelmed, she tacked down some rubber-backed carpet treads on the steps to mask the hideous layers underneath and things were good for a few more years.

ENTER: one more Anderson, volunteering to be the 'committee chairperson' for the assignment. (That's me!)

I tried a number of different strategies: an electric sander, putty knives, steel wool, steel brushes, liquid stripper......and lots of elbow grease!

Now that I've done six steps, I have it down to a routine. It involves all the above mentioned tools plus a hammer for pounding in the nails and staples I can't pull out with my needle-nose pliers, two more electric sanders, each with a different purpose and a vacuum cleaner.

Each step takes about 4 hours.

Last week I 'unalloted' the assignment....or maybe it would be better to say that I 'tabled' it.

But today is a new day...I have made a motion to take the assignment off the table and move forward with vigor!

All in favor of the motion say "aye." Opposed "nay."