Life Is a Farmers' Market

Jeremy and his watermelons

I roamed our local farmers' market and discovered my friend April had wonderful blueberries. I bought a quart, ate them all week and came back for more. Then one day, April had no blueberries and only one stand carried any. They were a little overripe, a tad mushy. Obviously, the last of the season.

Then Jeremy brought in his watermelons--the best the North Country had to offer. None ever tasted so fresh, crisp and sweet. Until this last one. Obviously, the last of the season.

I'm now onto Honey Crisp apples. And as I watch one fruit or vegetable I love fade and another take its place, I can't help but think about Ecclesiastes 3:1. "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven(.)"

While we work our lives, sometimes the seasons are too dry or too wet or too short. Sometimes we produce much, other times we lie fallow. However, if we live our lives honoring God, we are like the fruit of the farmers' market. We'll grow and flourish in our season, and then lie fallow for a bit. Don't despair--the preacher of Ecclesiastes has also said we need to enjoy the fruit of our labor while we can.

The prophet of our ages said--what goes around comes around...I choose to believe, if I live righteously, I'll reap joy.

PS I LOVE the benefits of our farmers' market--but that's another blog

Let 'Er Rip: Don't Fear Looking Foolish

Like the soft winds that hint of a distant storm, the happy notes of an indistinct song wafted over me. I swung on my porch swing and smiled. Someone's happy. Then the strains intensified, and I knew. The Singer approached. Without seeing her, I pictured the young woman: MP3 player to her ear, playing music only she could hear. The singer belted out the lyrics in a manner that would have made Paula Abdul cringe, let alone Simon Cowell. The song intensified, and she wailed like a cow giving breach birth to co-joined calves.

You'd never catch me doing that. The more's the pity.

The world would be a better place if we just cut lose and enjoyed ourselves. Because I refuse to look the fool, I lost out on many things in life:

1. I refused to learn the guitar in high school because I felt silly carrying the huge instrument. It wasn't until my late thirties that I dared picked up the bassoon (talk about the aforementioned cow).
2. I never sing if I can be heard--and it certainly brings me down in church and other places. I used to love it, and singing is a cathartic activity. I have nothing on The Singer--except a loss of joy.
3. In my twenties, I refused to run because I thought I looked silly. Turns out I'm a fast runner. Today, I love it--but it took me twenty years to overcome my fear of looking foolish, and to discover the joys of a runner's high.

How have you allowed the fear of looking foolish hinder you.

The Bane of Arrogance

Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Arrogance. Yep, what none of us have. Take me for example: humble, honest and willing to grow. That is until I bombed ANOTHER writing contest.

As I judged the Carol Awards, I tried to offer constructive criticism. After all, if a writer (or anyone) wants to grow, she needs to see her weaknesses. But applied to me? My writing, is award-winning. Ask my mother.

It took me a week to look at the score sheets from the Novel Rocket contest. And what did I discover? Genuine weak spots, which once corrected took me a step closer to making my writing something people other than my daughter would read.

How can arrogance ruin you?

1. You don't see how your writing (or any other skill) can improve. And actually be read by someone other than your husband/wife/significant (read forced to love you) other.
2. Makes you unloveable. We've all met conceited people (no one like us), and to a person, they aggravate us and turn us off to their way of thinking.
3. Ruins your life. Truth is truth. And if we're not willing to face it, our flaws will only grow.
4. Ruins your life. (Yeah, I said that already). If you are arrogant, you will feel miserable when someone necessarily points out your weaknesses.

Eventually, I went through the critiques. And read the entire email. Turns out one entry was solidly good. I was told the judges believed it deserved more than a "too bad, so sad" email. The judges said they would see that book on the shelves.

As for my other work? All criticism was spot-on. I heeded the words...and some day, you will read that book, too.

Don't feel miserable--how can you shed arrogance?

Be Prepared: Step One of House Showings (and life).

 "Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour" Matt 25:13.

I believe in the boy scouts--be prepared. If we are, no evil, which is common to man, would ever overtake us. I.E. my house, which is on the market, would be clean when the realtor wanted to show it.

Anyone who has ever tried to sell a house can attest, let it be a mess, potential purchasers will beat down your door.

Friday, while on my way to my concert (pay attention, I played second bassoon), Neil's cell phone rang. A realtor wanted to show our home. On Saturday. The next day. Mind you, we neared Potsdam, a town located about forty miles away. My concert would begin in an hour, and then I needed to return home. That spelled: L-A-T-E.

Fortunately, my house was sort of clean. I'd done the laundry, no mess paved a path throughout my home, but it wasn't move in ready. If it was, we would not have received that call.

Once back in Malone, Neil and I dug in. I wiped down the bathrooms and emptied the trash containers. He straightened his work bench. In the morning I mopped and dusted while he vacuumed. And in the matter of a few hours, we were able to sail off (literally) in our kayaks spying bald eagles, great blue herons and a family of ducks while another family explored our house.

How will our showing turn out? Don't know. But I do know--like the virgins in the parable, we prepared. We needed to trim our wicks and polish off the glass, but we had anticipated the potential of a showing and were prepared.

Being prepared applies to many things. Do you love your family? Make sure they know. You may have an argument before you meet your Maker, but if love is a way of life, the little mess you left behind won't be remembered.

And most important, remember you are going to meet your maker. Are you prepared?

Huyck Preserve: With Bassoon and Inspiration

Tootling My Own Horn

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when the desire comes, it is a tree of life. Proverbs 13:12

Ah. The bassoon. Who could ever create a finer sound and look so cool doing so? My dream, ever since I saw it in high school concerts, was to play one. But I never got a chance to learn it. Until...

Ellen and I searched for instruments to rent when I was in my thirties. She could find the ones she wanted: clarinet, flute. Instead, for twenty bucks, she bought a recorder.

Me? The owner of a music store told me I would have to buy bassoon. No one rented them. However, at a cost of $4,000, it wasn't an option. My daughter insisted on eating and having a roof over her head. (Demanding child). So I prayed, "Lord, if you want me to play the bassoon, You'll have to find one."

And guess what? Yep. He did. For ten bucks, I found one in a garage sale. And our band director at school had been a bassoon major. So now you say, "The rest is gravy. God willed it. Presto-virtuoso!"


Nope.

A few things interfered:

1. Abdominal surgery. It's hard to blow a bassoon with belly stitches.
2. The said band teacher moved.

But a dear friend who majored in music at Crane alerted me to a professor who would give non-Cranies lessons. You repeat, "Abra-ka-tah-tah-tah."

No again.

1. Seven years of traveling to Crane, produced a mediocre player.
2. So mediocre, my teacher got a job elsewhere.

 So what's my point?

Throughout this time, I knew God had answered my prayers. I met my husband who told me about the Adirondack Players. They took me on and taught me to play with a band. A member there alerted me to performance opportunities at Crane. I expanded my skills.

I now play second bassoon in a community band, in addition to first (read: only) bassoon in two other bands. And lo and behold (it's my blog and I can be cliche if I want to), I've been sight reading music, playing fast and accurately and sounding pretty good.

It took many years. It took due diligence and no symphony would ever take me on as even a stage hand, but I'm playing the bassoon.

God answers prayers. Usually not the way we expect, but if we're faithful, we will walk in His perfect way.

Fighting Snow-On-The-Mountain

Heb 12:15

See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.

 

Crawling on hands and knees, I curse (quite Christianly) the ground cover I once thought innocuous. The former owner of my home had planted it in the garden, and I, like a fool, thought it pretty.

Today, with mature beds this weed, which I’ve recently learned is Snow-On-The-Mountain, has overrun my garden and threatens to attack the town of Malone.

(Believe me, I’m not really to blame for this take-over of Malone even I could have conquered the stupid green thing with a mind of its own had I tried when it was small.)

To eliminate it, I have”

·          Mulched

·          Sprayed

·          Prayed

·          Torn both it and my hair out by its roots.

Despite these measures, when I leave my pristine flower beds for a day, those little suckers have once more reared their ugly leaves.

In order to annihilate this invasive plant, I must root out every fiber of its root. A small section left in the ground will set out tendrils and multiply exponentially.

So, too, is the sin in our lives. At one time I thought sin was harmless. If you loved someone, then “love” him or her physically. Man created gossip as a diversion. After all, we didn’t always have iphones and ipads to amuse us. And of course, we understand, we are so much better than the rest of society—like those who make front page news (of the yucky sort).

Some sin can be conquered easily. Our spouse may have let himself/herself go, but we understand it’s better to not pursue our coworker.   Other sins are like my notorious Snow-On-The-Mountain. Their roots tangle about our being. We pray, fast, confess, cover the stupid thing, and still it pops up. 

Continually.

What can we do?

Pray, fast, confess, read Scripture, and root it out. Unfortunately, some sin will always rear its enticing head—because it does, indeed, often beguile us.

But most important is to know sin’s nature. Don’t plant it. If we do, it will take over our lives.