Where Can I Turn for Peace

Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded hear,
anger or malice
I draw myself apart, searching my soul?

Where, when my aching grows,

When, when I languish.
Where in my need to know, where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand
to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand? He, only One.

He answers privately,

Reaches my reaching
In my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend.
Gentle the peace he finds
for my beseeching
Constant He is and kind, Love without end.

Meadowlark

Yesterday as I was hanging laundry I was being kept company by two or three Meadowlarks singing in the hills above my house. I love listening to those Meadowlarks. It seems like they always come to me on those soft spring mornings when the earth smells damp and new, and the breeze is warm on my skin. The Meadowlarks remind me of someone, someone I never even knew, she passed away several years before I met her grandson, my husband. The first spring we lived in our house my husband’s parents were here visiting and the Meadowlarks were singing like crazy. My Mother-in-law stopped to listen and they went on to tell us that the small town she grew up in was named “Lark” after the Meadowlark and that her Mother always loved to listen to the birds sing. She went on to say that her Mother always told her that the birds were singing a special song that went like this: “Lark is a pretty little town…” over and over. Every time I hear the Meadowlark sing I can’t help but repeat those words in my mind “Lark is a pretty little town.” A year or so ago those words changed when I told my youngest daughter “Do you hear the birds singing to you? They are saying ‘Emma is a pretty little girl’”. She smiled, and I remembered a woman I never knew.

To here a Meadowlark sing go here.

Relaxation with a Purpose

“Mother knitted and rocked in her high-backed rocking-chair. Father carefully scraped a new ax handle with a bit of broken glass. royal carved a chain of tiny links from a smooth stick of pine, and Alice sat on her hassock, doing her woolwork embroidery. And they all ate popcorn and apples, and drank sweet cider, except Eliza Jane. Eliza Jane read aloud the news in the New York weekly paper.”
“Farmer Boy” Laura Ingalls Wilder

I have always liked this scene in “Farmer Boy”. It is so simple and serene. A far cry from most family evenings now days. In today’s world there are so many things demanding our attention, so much noise and so many activities. We are so busy, but are we doing anything? Notice that in “Farmer Boy” everyone in the family is doing something, some kind of work, something of value.

Before I started to simplify my life I wasted a lot of time on meaningless forms of entertainment. I would spend all evening in a dark room wanting to be entertained by the television. It was meaningless and empty, and it left me meaningless and empty. I wasn’t spending my time building relationships, expanding my mind and building my character. What do I have to show for all the hours spent in front of that TV? Not one thing.

A year ago we canceled Direct TV, and where we live that is our only option for television, we don’t even pick up the local stations, and our lives have changed! Instead of hurrying the kids off to bed so we can watch our “shows” we now hurry the kids so we can all read together. Dadzoo and I talk, we read and work on other projects. In the summer we spend more time gardening and playing outside with our kids. I haven’t given up on TV all together, we still watch movies (something that we need to cut down on) but I think we have become more discerning. We netflix documentaries and good family movies. We are not continually bombarded with all the junk on TV so we aren’t as tolerant of junk in movies.


One thing I have found that I really enjoy in the winter time in crochet. I so enjoy sitting next to Dadzoo after the kids are to bed and the dishes done, while he reads or watches some movie and crochet. It is so much more relaxing to me and I feel as if I have done something instead of sitting and waiting to be entertained. I am learning to relax in ways that build relationship, expand minds and build character.

My Mission

Mission. What does mission mean? What does it mean to have a mission in life? The past few weeks I have been really thinking a lot about my life’s mission.

The dictionary defines missions as: an assigned or self-imposed duty or task; calling; vocation.

So again I wonder “what is my mission?”

First and fore most I am a mother and a homemaker and I take that roll very seriously. It is my calling. I have always wanted to be mother, even when I was very small and was asked in school what I wanted to be when I grew up. The answer was always “a mom”.

I am left to wonder if there isn’t something more.

Is there something else that my Heavenly Father put me on this earth at this time to do? I don’t have grand illusions of influencing nations or even large numbers of people. However, is there someone out there that I am suppose teach, love or befriend? In my pondering I realized that I will never know the answers to those questions unless I ask. My Father in Heaven knows me perfectly and knows what I am capable of. I need to ask daily to be an instrument in His hands. I need to ask for guidance and direction so I can help Him in His work.

That is my goal for the New Year: to ask daily and then to act upon those promptings.

Woman

“She was a battered woman now, not a lovely girl; but she still had that something which fires the imagination, could still stop one’s breath for a moment by a look or gesture that somehow revealed the meaning in common things. She had only to stand in the orchard, to put her hand on a little crab tree and look up at the apples, to make you feel the goodness of planting and tending and harvesting at last. All the strong things of her heart came out in her body, that had been so tireless in
serving generous emotions.”
My Antonia, by Willa Cather.

That is how I want to be described in the latter years of my life.