A Poem Called Boredom

Something, something for me to do,
I cannot think, my mind is blank,
I'm doomed unless my boredom leaves,
I'll ask not mom, not say to her,
I'm bored. For then, my head,
with chores, she'll cleave!

I wait, I wait for dear dear friends,
If they come tomorrow my love to lend.
That's hour, hours! So long away!
Give me patience. Please, Lord, I pray.

Update on Not Posting

We have not had a computer for a while. A computer virus closed us down. Good news? The computer guy saved our stuff! So, I'll try to post tomorrow.

Mandy

My Birthday

Today is May 22 and May 22 is my Birthday. Do I feel lucky? Not really. I woke up at the same time as usual: between five and Six O’clock. I ate the same thing, Chex cereal. I’ll probably do the same thing as I do every Sunday but that’s not the point.

Today is the day I remember another birthday. I can’t remember the date or the reason. I know I was four years old. I can remember that we were down near Georgia, visiting some friends of Mom’s. I remember a tiny room, a small bed (although it’s rather fuzzy so I could be wrong.) But what I remember clearly is asking Mom to help me ask God to save me. I don’t remember the reason. I only remember the time because I was getting ready for bed. All I get is a few glimpses of a scene that I want to remember is full color. Yet, what came after made up for that.

I will never be remembered as one of those miraculous stories. I’m not going to be one of those people that can remember a huge change. I won’t be the one to show others it’s doable even at twenty or fifty. But I got something very few others got. I got a life with God from almost the first moment I can remember. I got to know He loved me more than anything through one of the few unbroken homes. I got to hear and understand my whole life. I got to have the privilege of always being able to call upon Jesus through everything and knowing He was always going to be there.

I got the privilege to be happy, loved, cared for, and, at four, I was given eternal life. And I will be remembered as God’s child when I get to the pearly gates.

I hope you will too.

Mandy

Believing Not in Myself

I gave up believing in myself when I picked up a pad of paper and could draw nothing even though I was supposed to be an artist. I gave up believing in myself when I tried to write a character and it fell apart. I gave up believing in me at four as I realized I was a sinner and I could do nothing without God.

Someone might ask, “What kind of god tells a four year old that she is a sinner and can do nothing without him?”

If we were having this conversation for real I might smile (assuming I had the courage to say this at all) and reply, “A truthful one. Someone, that for once, will never lie. So many times a truthful answer at first is much less painful than for one to find out later. For them to find out they are going to spend eternity separated from their Lord and burning in a lake of fire. Wouldn’t you, too, have preferred the truth?”

God’s Wisdom
By Miranda E.

What have I to say today?
Not much at all.
I have quite a lot, in fact,
But what good, would do, my call?
Dare I say what I long to do?
Dare I even pray?
It’s such a silly fantasy and, yet, who knew,
What power, in dreamers, lay?
Patience, they say, patience,
I’ll try hard to learn,
For wisdom comes from patience,
And wisdom makes good passions burn.
Without God, and his wisdom, passions fall,
God gives wisdom in love,
Does He not then love the passions,
That are showed with wisdom from above?
I know not the answer,
Should I even care?
It’s in God’s nail pierced hands,
And they, my dream, are worthy to bear.

Mandy

Pooh, Keys and the Mail

And there we were again, walking to the post office, enjoying the day and discussing….Winnie the Pooh. I am, in point of fact, a self proclaimed Winnie the Pooh fan. If you are not, you have a huge problem. Pooh is adorable, simple, funny and just plain enjoyable. Compared to beans, Pooh is even more awesome. Are you now saying, who is this person who writes books at thirteen, can be completely serious in her faith, and loves Winnie the Pooh? Why are you looking at me? How should I know? I’m just what God felt like making on May 22.

Where was I? Oh yes. Pooh. Now we might have seemed like easy targets for muggers (had there been any in Nemo, which there aren’t) but we don’t go unarmed. What do we bring? M16s? No. Pistols? No. A giant ring full of keys? Yes! Yes? Yes. Melissa carries a big (and I mean big as in an old fashioned jail ring sort) ring of keys stuck in a plastic bag. Megan carries a very big stick (big as in tall, not fat.) I, on the other hand, bring a hat. A hat? Yes, a hat. A safari type hat that is more like a helmet (I like the defensive side). We bring all this in case of a wild dog or cat or just to get the mail.

So, we talk about numerous Winnie the Pooh shows that we remembered and mentioned the animation. We talked over new plans for my book. We took our time and came home. It was much more pleasant than the last time (when it was pouring rain). Since I had gotten three letters, I retired to write three replies.

Thermometers

Ever seen one of those movies where the detective finds a clue that no one else would have ever seen? Like the five containers of salt. Who had five containers of salt, they ask and it solves everything. Well, I’ll tell you who has five containers of salt on their shelf, us. Salt goes on sale, we buy enough for the year. It’s brilliant!

What was I going to say? Don’t worry, it will come to me.… Nope, not coming. Alright, new subject!

How many thermometers do you have in your house and yard? One? Two? We have a total of seven. I’m not lying. Honest! Not one of these can agree. It’s 60 out on one, 50 on another. A third says it’s 80 but it’s in the sun so it no longer counts. On the fourth it’s different every time you look. How do we know what the temperature is? We don’t. We just pick whichever suits us at that moment in time.

“Mom, it’s 80 out can we play in the sprinkler?”

“We can’t pick dandelions for syrup, it’s only fifty.” (Yes, we make dandelion syrup. It tastes like honey but is much runnier, It’s really sweet and great on apples.)

“We can wear shorts, it’s 60 out.” Blah, blah, blah… It’s great!

Why is it we have seven thermometers? Because we do and that’s the best answer you’ll get because we honestly don’t know.

This winter we had problems heating the house. Were we low on wood? No. Did we forget to stoke the fire? Okay, sometimes but that’s not the main reason. "Why then?" you demand. I’m getting there. Patience.

We are all experts at jumping up from our seats. Half way through a TV show Mom goes, “Windows!” We jump up and throw them open. Rain or shine, zero below or sixty above, they get opened. Is this a strange game? No. "What is it then?" you yell. I’m not telling you. So be patient.

Everyone moves away from the windows. Well, everyone but me. I remain rooted to “my spot” (which is right in front of a window). Is this punishment? Did I do something wrong? No, don’t be ridiculous! I’m just stubborn and love my special corner seat.

So, why do the thermometers get a shock and we have problems heating the house? Why do we do this strange procedure? Because Mom gets hot flashes. Hot flashes? You ask. Yes. She randomly starts burning and we throw wide the windows. It drops to fifty, we shut them, Mom is perfect, we’re all freezing. Perfectly normal.



P.S. Mom says I forgot two.

Treasures

Somethings we buy to treasure. Somethings we get and then learn to love. Often, the ones that start out ordinary turn out to be extraordinary. It’s those small things that become precious. It’s the large ones that are soon forgotten. It’s a friendship started by a few kind words that will last forever. It is those things we take for granted that we miss. It’s those who encourage you, that help you over the finish line.

It’s God, who gave you all those things and people, that will one day call you home.

Mandy

A Few Problems

Sorry that I haven't posted and the post, Hats, was missing for a bit but Blogger has been down and was doing repairs.

Hopefully I can post again tomorrow with no more problems.

Hats

Poems are awesome, as I have said about beans and hats…wait no hats! Scrap the poems I have to speak up for the best part of our wardrobe. (Sorry poems but I’ll get back to you later. Honest!)

Hats. I love hats. I mean if there is someone who thinks they love hats more just let them compete. I wear all sorts, old fashioned to church, helmets to ride on our dragon fly, baskets to ward off anything that might be thinking of stealing my brain (smile), caps to get rid of the sun in my eyes. I mean hats are more than awesome, they are spectacular, amazing, terrific, grand, cool (and I rarely go as far as to say cool), and just plain wonderful. I figured anybody could find a nice hat to wear. I was WRONG!

My great vision was destroyed by the hat murderers! I mean, I have nothing against the British. They make good, clean (sometimes) TV shows. They have cool accents (see I said cool again). They have really neat old manners. And the people are fine. But they have absolutely no taste in hats! I wear a basket and it’s less dreadful. Anyone who watched the news on the Royal wedding can vouch! My lovely hats, ruined! On most other matter the Brits are ok but your hats need some work.

Hats, otherwise, are still AMAZING! Does it matter some of them are strange, such as buckets? No, don’t be ridiculous! As long as they are colorfully awesome they’re great! Does it matter that they are too big? No, of course not. But before you try to become a hat making person, find out what type of hats or you might not only blow a hole in my bubble but pop it! And that would be dreadful!

God's Path

I’ve spent time telling you what I think, what I do and what I want to do. Have you listened? When you read my blog you smile and laugh. You get to see things my way for a moment. Do you like knowing what I want?

What about what God wants? Have you spent time reading His blog? So, now you are saying: This is beginning to sound like I’m being preached to. Do you honestly think I can preach to you? I’m thirteen, will be fourteen in a few weeks. I don’t know that much, I am still in school, and right now I don’t even know where God is leading me. Do you really think I can?

Moses said that God couldn’t use him. He wasn’t good enough, he could talk like others, he wasn’t the right guy. Did God use him?

We don’t pick if God uses us. God created the universe. Do you think He can’t use someone like you, like me? I am nothing special and I would be nothing at all if God didn’t see fit to save me. I could travel the world and without God I wouldn’t get through to anyone. What if I don’t want to travel the world and tell people but God does? Well, I have a feeling I won’t win the argument.

We are God’s people and He loves us. He loves us and will care for us no matter what road He sends us down.

So, am I preaching to you? No. I’m just telling you what I think and what Go gave me the talent to think. That is what you are here to listen to, isn’t it? The talent, the stories, the articles God gave me the power to create, for Him.

No matter where we are, He will use us. No matter how we resist, if He wants us as His, we will come. No matter what the talent, it’s a gift from God. No matter how badly broken a heart, God can fix it. No matter what the loss, no matter how small the person, God is God, and He will show us what to do, where ever we are.

There is one more thing I need to tell you. We have roads of our own that we like best. We have plans that we want to fulfill. But God’s road is the road where we will be the happiest. Even if it’s hard to let go of our own. We must see that. God is leading us the right way, don’t turn off.

Mandy

Mother's Day Events

So what did you all do for Mother’s Day? (No, honestly, I’m asking. Leave a comment. I like them!) Probably the normal, easy thing, right? Sit back, relax, watch TV. Maybe go out to a nice restraint. Whatever your mother wants.

Now I have a confession, I am writing this before 9:00am Mother’s Day. So, I don’t know what we’re going to do.

Do you know what my mom wants to do? Nope, you’re wrong. She doesn’t want to watch TV or go to town. She wants to put up a gazebo our neighbor gave us. All of you who know my mom are smiling and nodded. All of you who don’t have your mouths hanging open, are shaking your heads and thinking she’s crazy. No, she isn’t crazy but she is an over-achiever. One of the best over-achievers I know, I might add.

Will we be able to talk Mom out of this? There is a twenty percent chance. This is Mother’s Day. Do we do everything our mother’s say on this holiday? Probably but we will do our best to convince her that she needs to rest (and therefore give us a break, not that we need one). Will this work? In the next paragraph I’ll tell you but really that won’t be written (because I’ve still got to do it) until tomorrow. So, Mandy signing out. Until you scroll down, that is.

Here I am, just as I promised. One paragraph and one day later. That’s the nice thing about stories, you don’t have to wonder what happens because it will tell you immediately.

Did we put the gazebo up? No, we didn’t. Did we expertly sweet talk mother out of it? No, of course not. Who do you think we are? I don’t think anyone can talk my mother out of anything (except God). So, you ask, what did happen?

She forgot.

Am I saying she has a bad memory? No. I wouldn’t do such a thing. My mom has a brilliant memory but she had more pressing things on her mind. What more pressing things? Hold on ten seconds and I’ll tell you. Our neighbor’s dog. You go, huh? I know, it sounds strange but we were watching the dog and Mom takes this type of thing very seriously. So, she forgot all about the gazebo. For now. Tomorrow or the next day we’ll probably end up doing it but for now, we’ve escaped.

For My Mom

I know, you're all going,"Three none-laugh-out-loud type articles in a row?" But you'll simply have to deal with this one because it's Mother's Day and this is a very serious matter! Honest!

Mother's Day comes once every year, in case you have forgotten, and it is the day where we tell our moms how important they are, just in case you forgot the point. So here I am, writting this for my mom.

You taught me to smile, to laugh, to write. You taught me what is truely important and what just seems to be. You showed me God's love and discipline. You taught me to show love to those who need it and not to hold grudges long. You taught me and I can only hope that I learned to be just like you.

On any other day of the year this might make you cry but today you're just expecting it. This is the day were every mom is waiting for all this poetry, this tribute, this sudden show of love. After today we will go back to our jobs and lives but today we're saying, We love you.

It's not only because it's the thing to do. It's not just because there is a holiday and it would be wrong to dismiss it. This holiday was made for this purpose by people who knew how important you are.

So today, even though you are expecting it, I'm saying it from the bottom of my heart, I love you to the farthest star and back! And God does too.

Mandy

P.S. Today is your day off, people can deal with my bad grammer. (Right, mates?)

A Poem

Mountians stretch away so far,
Away into the distance,
Reaching up to touch the stars,
Like a giant, for instance.

God's love is bigger than the mountian,
Larger than the sea,
Stronger than the strongest wind,
Yet, He cares for a speck like me.

Who can say the stars,
Were made just for them?
Oh, but if you only knew,
God made them all for you!

His love is everlasting,
He will never forget to hear,
His grace is sufficent,
For us all, my dear.

Twenty minutes

Twenty minutes is a long time if you are waiting for something. I know, for I have waited for lots of things. Yet, twenty minutes is not long at all if that’s all you have to save someone’s life. Twenty dollars is a lot for a drink but twenty dollars isn’t even a start if that’s all you have to live on.

Twenty buttons on a shirt,
Too much, too much.
Twenty buttons for all your clothes,
Better have a magic touch.

Twenty trees is a massive amount if you cut them down illegally but twenty trees is so little if a forest.

Doesn’t the number twenty seem so long? Sometimes it does. But, what if all you had was twenty minutes to find the truth? To make a decision, trust God or risk judgment? To risk being separated from God forever, for eternity? We would say it was a easy decision but what if until that moment you’d never even heard of him? What about if all you’d ever heard was God made the earth swallow up his enemies? What if, until you were told you had twenty minutes, you’d never heard Jesus died for you? And you have twenty minutes to find out and decide?

How long is twenty minutes then? Don’t wait to find out until all you have is twenty minutes.

Mandy

Popsicles

Popsicles are a necessity. They are lifesavers. No, not the candy, there is no such thing as a lifesaver flavored popsicle. What I mean is, they save our lives. We mow lawns, do gardening and play and we just plain need them. Okay, want them. We eat probably five a day, or more, depending on how many lawns we mow, how much gardening we do, and how many we decide to take to the creek when we go for our once a day swim.

Yet, we have still to learn the fine art of throwing away the plastic tubes they come in. Hopefully, this year we can get that drilled into our heads. Not that it will matter because we’ll still find some from three years ago.

Along with popsicles, iced tea takes a major roll in our summer life. We take our bottles of the stuff everywhere. We make five gallon, ten gallon containers of it and drink it all in two days between the seven of us. If you ever wonder what is in the back of the trailer attacked to our lawn mower that we go everywhere with you can bet there is popsicles and iced tea (and most likely our push mower, weed whacker and other lawn mowing instruments.)

I have often wondered what people think of me when I go by driving a lawnmower pulled trailer, wearing sunglasses, a pink shirt, a big hat, such as I often wear, and salute them as they pass. How should I know but I really don’t care. I like being different and eating popsicles!

Gardening

Time to start planting - according to our mother. What does it matter that it snowed yesterday? We can plant our plants anyway! Sure, it’s rarely above fifty but who are we to argue with Mom? The moon is right, so it’s time to plant!

Today we are going to plant spinach, peas and lettuce. You know all those things that can survive a three foot snow - we hope.

When I was younger I somehow got the job of carrots. How this happened I don’t remember but it did. Rose got peas and Missy - I don’t remember what Missy had but she had something. We’d go out every year into our several sixty by four foot bed garden and Rose would help Mom plant a bunch of peas in nice straight lines and Peter would help dig perfect little holes for tomatoes and Missy would neatly do what ever it was she did. And then there was me. I took the package as Mom told me, carefully ripped it open, or as carefully as ripping gets, and threw the seeds all over the bed! That may have been why I liked carrots. No careful measuring, no digging holes, just scrap the dirt to the edges, throw the seeds around and push the dirt back!

Did I say that was all I did? Well it wasn’t. I was always done before everyone else so I “got” to help plant peas and do tomatoes and we all did potatoes. Dig a trench, put the seed potato in with the eye up and when you’ve finished with both sixty foot beds, push dirt over top. But we didn’t do that until we named a thousand worms and lady bugs and practically every stick that looked like a worm. And then we’d go get a popsicle, one of those tube kinds, and watch Mom limp to the house after stepping on a bee. (She tends to do this a lot).

Anyway, despite the fact we say we hate it, our fondest memories are of gardening. We tend to do one more thing, besides step on bees. We laugh. We laugh practically the whole time, even though we are complaining. We come up with sayings and scenes and characters for my book out in our garden and I know we still will.

Sigh. We do like gardening but it wouldn’t be the same if we didn’t complain for often that is the best part. Along with chucking half the seeds into the row behind you as you say, “If in doubt, throw it out!” so many times it drives Mom crazy.

South Dakotans

I already did a story on Homeschoolers so it’s only fair I do a story on South Dakotans. We are, to put it quite simply, masters at under-stating the obvious. Then again in different circumstances we are masters of over-stating things. I’m not sure why we can’t just say things like they are but I think it started back at the Black Hills gold rush. The first people out here said, “The winters are a bit difficult.” Yeah, right, about half of you died. And they also said, “There is a ton of gold!” No. There wasn’t a lot of gold. So, I figure it’s just in our nature.

We like the word “breezy”. If you ever hear a South Dakotan say that word assume they are lying because it’s not breezy. “Oh, look the wind just blew that car over!” “Yeah, it’s a bit breezy.” That’s us!

Last winter, we went to the grocery store. Most people would take the hint that it’s too cold to drive sixteen miles into town when it’s thirty degrees below zero but our family is home schooled. Stubbornness issues again. Sigh. We drove into town anyway. We got our stuff and went to the check out isle and the lady says, “A bit nippy today.”

“Sure is,” Mom replies.

Down playing and over-stating are just always going to be part of South Dakota, I’m afraid. But then again, if we were normal there wouldn’t be anything special about us. We are, after all, the selected guardians of our national monument, Mount Rushmore. I mean, just think about it, George Washington’s head is 60 feet tall!

There is just one more thing I wish to say about South Dakotans. We are also stubborn and I hope we always stay that way. One example of this is when a man rode on bike all the way from South Dakota to Washington D.C. to be at a rally for black’s civil rights back on April 28, 1963. Stubborness issues? You betcha!

A List

There are several classically rude things one can do. I’m not saying I don’t do these things, of course I do. Classically rude is not so rude that it makes you angry in the least. They are simply things we do, note the we, all the time to each other and usually laugh about. (I have never done any of these involving the pineapple.)

1. Steal someone’s place in the line for the microwave.
2. Take the cat. (Maybe not as many smiles, maybe.)
3. Not let someone know there is pineapple until five pieces are gone.
4. Put fresh pineapple on a pizza (waste of pineapple.) Canned is fine.
5. Ignore someone well they’re attempting to read you a funny part in their book, even if most likely it will leave you confused.
6. Say you don’t like anything involving pineapple. (Quite rude, you know.)
7. Forget a wonderful saying you made up for my book before I’ve written it down.
8. Leave me a message on how great my book is but put it in cryptic writing that you can’t just change the writing with the handy dandy computer so I have to undo it by hand.

Of course, there are several others but I won’t go on or it’ll take all day and I’d rather not think that hard. But, I thought everyone should know about pineapple and cats and,…and…pineapple!

God's Gifts

Some people say dreams are just hopes. I say they’re wrong. Your dreams are who you are. My dream is to be a writer. God gave me this talent to use but without him it would not be worth using. I write to show people there is light beyond their darkness. I write to make hope. I write to inspire. I write because in doing so I feel close to my Savior.

Many people may say I’m too young but God gave me this talent now and who are we to say otherwise? Some might wonder if I have what it takes to get through the whole process, writing it, correcting it and probably getting refused by a few publishers. Here’s the truth, I don’t. But God does.

He gave me many things, many talents and many Bible verses to use but there is one gift I would take nothing to give back. He gave me Jesus who cared so much that He died. And that’s not all. He loved me enough to give me friends. Friends that care about me no matter how I act or what I do. He gave me a home to go to when my life is over. I don’t need a mansion but that‘s what He is preparing anyway.

And one day, I hope He’ll give me the one thing I want when I get to Heaven. A hug. I want to know I’m safe at last. That’s the one gift that I still want. Who wants a crown? Not me. Who wants acres of land? Not me. Who cares about being rich? No, not me. I just want a hug from Jesus.

If God has plans for me, then show me where to start. I don’t need the courage it’ll take because He has all I need. I don’t need tons of money, He’ll provide.

I’m not perfect. I know I’ll be scared but I also know He cares enough that He’ll give me comfort. If I’m in need, I’ll ask Him because he says, “Therefore take no thought saying, what shall we eat? Or, what shall we drink? Or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek: ) for your Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.” - Matthew 6:31-32.

Have faith.

Mandy.