It's a beautiful thing to drive by fields and fields with combines faithful at work to bring in the beans and the corns before the nice weather disappears into more rain and cold. It's been sunny with a high of 75 the last couple days and between the corn ready to go, the turning leaves and the dying grasses, the view is gold. EVERYwhere is golden. The sun makes everything more golden. I LOVE the color.
Perhaps the Lord built heaven out of gold so as to emphasize that the harvest is in. Or perhaps harvest is gold to remind us that heaven is the end result of our labors. Either way... I like the view. The sunsets are amazing and yard work is my favorite. I've missed having a plot of earth that needed to be cared for and maintained. I really enjoy mowing the lawn and I haven't minded that the rains and warm weather has the lawn asking to be trimmed again, even though we're half way through October.
I also love that the grass is still green and growing because the cows have happily been chomping down and staying in the place. At least none has got out for at least 36hours.
Now is an important time to keep them in because the corn field surrounded our plot of existence hasn't been touched yet. Perhaps because the nice farmer man who usually farms it was in a head on collision car-accident a couple months ago. Dad thinks he's paralyzed but I've heard speculations that he might be walking with therapy. (Farmer life gossip I guess). Either way, my hopes are with whomever decides to harvest the corns for him because we've come darn close to having our cows jump in there and forever gone.
We've been steadily working on the treehouse. Or, I guess you should call it trees house. It spans across two trees. Dad takes building projects seriously and the youngest sons of the household will reap major benefits. Assuming any of us other kids get married and have children, they will be spoiled when visiting grandparents. We've all been sore, splinted, bruised and scratched via this project. But it's really fun to be a part of, I think. Even though it's a group effort, I like looking out at it and thinking, "I helped build that." I have come to be a master of a drill and a hammer and T-square, level, tape measure, and all the other measure-it-as-near-as-perfect-as-possible tedious kinda tools that ESFP's would otherwise consider a complete waste of time. Dad is a J. He likes things done right. And he will painstakingly spend minutes and hours getting measurements and angles and cuts JUST RIGHT. This annoys me, but the treehouse looks excellent and I don't ever see it coming down in a big storm.
Another thing that I've really come to enjoy is any and every encounter I have with PJ.
Peej, as I call him when i decide to abbreviate PJ is one of the senior pastors at my parent's church. He joined the church sometime while I was in high school. He's name is Jay... but goes by Pastor Jay, which is obviously why he is called PJ.
One of the first sermons he ever preached in our church, he asked the congregation the question, "Wouldn't it be something if they ever figured out how to make alcohol out of corn? There's so much corn in Iowa!" The church was filled with smiles and laughter and good cheer and us young youth knew at that point that this was a man who could lead our flock well.
And lead he does. His good nuggets and morsels of laughter that sprinkle seasoning into every sermon have only gotten better with age. From him ACTING OUT how a baby roots for milk TWICE in one sermon, to the unmentionable one's that shouldn't be repeated... but are around campfires and cocoa cups, he remains to be one of my favorite humans to stand behind a pulpit on a sunday morning.
Even as recent as THIS PAST SUNDAY he continues to have the best one-liners in prayer and out of it. This past Sunday he used the illustration of a shar pei dog owned by a rich man who hired one of PJ's friends in college to watch the house and the dog. (I hope you're following).
Now, some people might say the dog got out and was hit by a truck or killed by a truck or lost his life when a truck hit him. Not PJ, though. PJ of course, will give it to ya straight.
"Dockwa was flattened by a truck. He got out and was flattened. My friend lost his job because that ugly dog was squished flat."
Which made his closing prayer just as precious as can be. PJ prayed, "Oh Lord, I'm thankful we are worth more than dogs and are not replaceable like dogs." He prayed more stuff, of course, but these are the sorts of things that I remember.
To a point where I play PJ sermon bingo! It's my favorite thing! Mom turned over one of my bingo boards one day and I thought poor PJ might be a little less than enthused but, I was thankfully wrong. PJ loves my bingo almost as much as I do and has told me more than once that I should pass it out to the whole congregation. He even offered to get me a list of everyone who sleeps in church and maybe that'd be a good place to start expanding my bingo friend circle.
PJ. I feel sorry for any church that doesn't have a PJ. He has never failed to bring laughter into the sanctuary on days I didn't think people were even awake. Every church should have a PJ.
You'd think the goodness of PJ would only exist on a Sunday morning? Oh no no. PJ is great basically all the time.
He's also great in that he is one of the 3 humans at parent's church that acknowledges my existence and says "hi" every now and again. And of the 3 humans who do, he is the one that says the most words or takes the most time doing so. Being an extrovert, this is one of the few things in this part of Iowa that puts a little life into my heart every now and again, which makes me especially grateful.
As I've said in previous blogs, I've quite become okay being an anonymous nobody since it means I can dress in jeans and a sweatshirt almost every time I go into town and get away with it. Heck, I've even worn my mud boots in public. My heart has not been touched to the bottomest places for a long while but PJ, at least, makes me smile enough for survival.
Besides, God never promised we'd be overflowingly abundently joyful and loved to the bottomest places ALL the time. He said he'd make us prosper. And prosper I do. I have a blessed life. The Lord is here and the Lord is good. Peej is how the Lord chooses to remind me that He is good.
Another really great thing is the kids club they've let me join for the bit to volunteer as a helper in the preschool group. As a retired nanny, I do miss my kids pretty often. My heart sprang to life two weeks ago when on a little hay ride through an apple orchard in Iowa City, we happened to pull up to where my old nanny kids were waiting to get on. Ahh what a joy! It was good to see them!
Anyways, kids club. First of all... I've NEVER been good at basket ball. I avoided it like the plague in high school and never really even came close to touching a ball in college. I have friends who play and are amazing. I have friends who shoot hoops just for fun and are great. I never even did that. Because..air balls, ya know. I'm 23 and stink at the sport and I don't care to impress anyone with it anyways.
BUT! At our leader's meeting before starting the whole kids club thing, they said leaders should arrive 15 minutes early so as to get in good with the kids by playing and interacting with them. My little sister has to be at church AN HOUR early for her youth group worship team practice which annoyed me at first but I've come to love it. 1) Because that's when I encounter PJ the most and 2) because that means I'm the first one into the gym and *I* get to pick what game we play and all the kids come ask me if they can join and play with me.
I love this especially because I felt like the new kid since day one and told all the kids I had no friends. The oldest ones are in 6th grade, but I think they understand new kids not having friends and they have made me to feel loved by letting me play with them.
Knock out is now my favorite game ever. I play mostly with the 6th grade boys... who are amazing. But as the Lord's goodness would have it, I have improved enough to make shots on my first try. This ends up being my salvation since Newell boys are born and bred basketball and so when I say they are in 6th grade and playing basketball, it means that they have 12 years of experience that I don't have. BUT! I'm usually one of the last 3 in the game and this has me proud. PLUS, it makes me the adult that the 6th grade boys listen to..even though most of them thought I was a sophomore in high school when we started. I don't mind, I feel too old and too young to exist here all at once, so the fact that most humans think I'm in high school is a compliment and makes me feel more like I belong.
And the little little kids.. the preschoolers are total dolls! I mean, they're fairly naughty, but it's so darn precious, I often find myself chuckling at their mis-deeds before I remember that *I'm* the adult who's supposed to be telling them to behave. They are so cute.
I like little kids. They make me feel like I have a purpose at the church. It's not much, since I only just show up and do stuff for about an hour and half, which isn't much. But it's just enough.
"Enough" has been the theme of my sustaining graces lately. I like 'enough.' It's a humbling place, spiritually. Like Elijah who received bread from the ravens, which was just enough.. not a feast or a large meal, but enough. He was fed and he did fine.
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