The Fisher

Amazing how a very ugly, furry carcass will draw menfolk from far and wide. Tonight there was some strange sort of man-party on my porch as they gathered to see...THE FISHER. The story begins as my hubby finds this dead carcass along the roadside and does what every he-man would do, he picks it up and brings it home (in my pink storage container.) I feel the pull of the homeschool moment coming on, a teaching occasion, we can learn about the Fisher. I'm not quite jumping for joy at his arrival, but the whirr of excitement begins...Calls to knowlegeable "Fisher-men," contacting friends, neighbors, game officers. Apparently these guys are not too common. He is in the weasel family and is about 3 feet long. So all the men gather on my front porch, in the dark, talking about and examing the carcass. I am not present, this is a testosterone charged circle and I don't want to get too near the glow. My husband forgets he hasn't eaten his dinner, as it sits in the oven petrifying in the name of the man-circle. Real men don't need dinner. If they get hungry enough, maybe they'll even eat that Fisher. It ends quietly with all the neighboring tribesmen returning to their clans. And my husband is left alone, to ask his wife, that would be me, if he may put the carcass in the freezer beside the fish sticks and chicken legs. The 3 ft long carcass. I haven't looked yet, I may not look at all. He promised it would be gone in one week. Maybe we could live without frozen food for a week.

Mark 1:17 And Jesus said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you become fishers of men.”

Recent sunset on the farm.

Sweet Reward

These days are good, when I remember where I've been. These days are good when I don't. These days are a reward for having laid an offering of wee ones before you, helpless to nurture what I could not comprehend. Somehow, they fly. It is a miracle that you use the helpless to raise the helpless, but it is part of your design, and it is perfect. When now I begin to see the spark of what they are to become, what a joy. It is not for me to receive any praise or due, because I was the helpless and you were the helper. How many times I cried in not knowing. How many times I cried for you to take me away from this task you bestowed. I knew I could not go on. You knew I could. Thank you for receiving my offering to you. Thank you for multiplying it and making it something that may feed the many. Thank you for my children, how blessed I am to have been molded by you through their little hands.

Psalm 127:3 Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,
the fruit of the womb a reward.

Overdue... a prayer

Longing, I am longing to be real with you to you today. Lord, I have hidden from this keyboard. I ponder the whys and wonder if in some way I may be hiding from some "thing" that you want to speak to me. The act of hiding from truth is a dangerous affair, leading to no good thing. It's core is unbelief, questioning of the goodness of the Holy. Perhaps, I'm hiding from the looking. Writing probes the heart in some way, that is unexplainable. I see what I could not see and maybe what I don't want to see. A mirror or magnifyer, either, revealing things You need for me to see. So, here I am, a tad reluctant, but asking to see. What is it Lord, that is askew? Show me where I'm missing the mark. I'm not to fear, you are slow to anger, and quick to listen, as I'm to be. You flood my heart with Grace, love, peace, your nearness is my good. You gently show me how I can be right, like You. It's in the blood, it is the scarlet that makes white, brings light to darkness, removes all need and want of hiding. Oh the blood of Jesus, that washes white as snow.