Education is sometimes planned sequentially. ABC, words, a reader. Toes, fingers, multiplication tables. Directions, a saw, a board, and a boat in the back yard. Sometimes a tidbit drops in unused until the magical moment. A decade ago we moved to the doll’s house on Swift Blvd. and I decided to plant the front yard instead of mowing. A friend from the Nature Conservency offered some suggestions. One reject was an unpleasant name and an un-enticing plant called rattlesnake plant. I made a donation for his time and moved on. This past Saturday, Son 2 and I went to a garden lecture on weaving baskets which revealed a variety of stems that could be peeled, flattened, maybe soaked and woven into baskets in the cool of your kitchen. First on the presentation was a rattlesnake plant. Its useful stalk was a tall stem that stretched up to a seed pod rattling in the wind like a snake ready to strike. A passing offer became knowledge.

All my revelations were a mixture of seeing, hearing the explanation, and passing around cups with examples. In the tour around a pebbled path, the expert introduced about seven different options from small stems split with your fingernail to large palmetto leaves that made arm baskets to ease other gatherings. She took time to clarify words I had read but had never spoken. Mordant was used casually with the display of some deep red wool. That term comes from the meaning “to bite” and identifies a property of some leaves to give color to other stems or even organic fibers. Then the word that’s been around since Egyptian times for the creation of Houstonians’ favorite summer fabric. Fields of flax are harvested, stems dried, and then retted to result in that elegant material – linen. A long lifetime and still something to be learned. What waits to reach out and bite you?

Wise men and women are always learning, always listening for fresh insights.

Proverbs 18:15

The title sounds like a business plan for a stock broker or a thriving company. On a more foundational level, these three words can work for a civilization or an individual. We have knowledge of the past through that study known as archeology, meaning the trash of one time leads to the treasure of a later date. Funeral practices of various eras provide clues to what was necessary to have for daily life. Pyramids opened to reveal what a pharaoh might need in the after life while entire Viking ships were sunk complete with the captain to assure a good journey. The Han Dynasty has that gathering of terra-cotta figures or mingqui (aka servants) so your every wish is my command forever. I have seen burial mounds of Native Americans at Cahokia, Illinois, while chaperoning an 8th grade field trip which gave a glimpse into life on the prairie where rivers intersect.

So, does knowing this offer me another option. Instead of the time and effort I am expending to sort drawers and clean out closets and make decision of Good Will or garbage, maybe I just need to cover the whole house in clear wrap and will it to the highest bidding research group. By the time the covering is pulled back, some revelations will be truth and some hypothetical guesses. Look, here is a broken sewing machine, an example of mechanics of that time that she literally wore out. This pile of rusty trowels, diggers, and a loper, remnants of the owner digging and tending a yard? A single older woman lived here, why would she need enough plates to feed a family reunion? And those sets of silverware have value. Amazingly, the iron Dutch oven hasn’t rusted through yet.

Really, come and go choices for things are the easy part or the least important decisions. Who cares about cheap department store jewelry, yet I want to hand over a special bracelet that reminds me of a mother/daughter trip to Santa Fe. One son took and framed pictures of roses that I admired in England. Another son took the time to fold for me 1,000 cranes as a symbolic blessing. Journals have sentences like the one about my mother’s palmetto fan: ” She took it to non-airconditioned church and if I were very good, I could use it.” All three paragraphs are not a comment on things, only the necessity of my taking the final task to completion in the best way possible. Dust myself off, take a deep breath, and choose this verse.

Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am. 

Philippians 4:13 The Message

The phrase sounds like a bonding exercise at the beginning of a corporate retreat, yet beyond that whenever hand appears it calls forth a contact that is needed to cement a relationship or facilitate a task happening. Hand to hand combat denotes the most ferocious kind while “give me a hand” invites an onlooker into solving a situation. Approval can be an individual bringing hands together in appreciation of a performance while two small children can face each other for “Patty-Cake” before growing to teenagers and mastering a five minute production of hands together and back to back in a very steady rhythm. Who would not feel better with a dependable “right hand helper” to pick up the slack?

One of life’s most comforting thoughts is to have someone present to hold your hand. With a certain person that action ranks right up there with a kiss and a hug. To have a child you know well or even slightly reach up to hold your hand as you walk together is a blue ribbon moment. The ultimate of a loving affection is to affirm that he or she keeps your heart in his or her hand, not to squeeze tightly, just to keep safe.

Have you ever broken a finger or strained a wrist? Suddenly you have lost an important tool. A healthy usable hand is necessary for your life in progress from brushing teeth to stirring oatmeal, not to mention climbing a rope ladder a hand at a time. The word of skill recognition is, “Can do whatever he puts his hand to.” To make a criminal ineffective tie his hands behind his back. In a varied group, with a special other person, or by yourself, take advantage of what is “at hand” and put those appendages of yours to good use every day.

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, 

Ecclesiastes 9:10

June 21, 2026. I can only hope your father remembrances are good from dad jokes to moments of loving togetherness. If, not, you’ll just have to share mine a minute and go from being read comics to while sitting on a sturdy lap to receiving with awe the gift of cosmic vastness. June 21 this year started one of those means of noting our life as a child of the creator of the universe, a day that needs the triumphant music of “This is my Father’s world, and to my list’ning ears, all nature rings the music of the spheres.” Remember Genesis one and the banishing of chaos to have day and night. Daily you are gifted by a period of time with hours to labor and hours to rest.

String enough of those days together and by various cultures we have months. Some are defined by waiting for crops to grow. Others are marked to celebrate a feast. The world turns on its axis and we label a turn as a year. Some things change : we grow or move or learn a new skill. A birthday or a school start are waiting for us the next year. Four times a year the tilt of the earth and the angle of sun’s rays gives four designated days to begin a new season of climate. Trip the names off your tongue: Winter Solstice. Spring Equinox, Summer Solstice, Autumnal Equinox. June 21 this year a season of longer days of sunlight and warmer temperatures began in my hemisphere to be enjoyed with only impreceptible changes until September 21.

The import of this time was made visibly aware to us on a trip our family took to the Arctic Circle. To sleep in darkness, we had black out curtains in our cabin rooms. I woke in the middle of the night, raised the curtain, and looked at floating ice bathed in pure light. This week may be a stop and appreciate the presence of our designation of a human father. If not, revel in days, night, months, years, and seasons that have been yours since birth.

The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it,
    the world, and those who live in it; Psalm 24:1

And one of them isn’t love. I had an issue this week dealing with books and who likes what and how and why people read. Then I took a left turn down the path to think maybe it isn’t just reading. I have made time every day for years to do Spanish in Duolingo and can only trust myself to say accurately, “Dónde está el baño?” Spanish children around the world along with a variety of natives from other countries learn to speak fluently and easily in their native language. That L word’s definition is the principle method of communication between people. That’s our first contact with a person, do we understand what they are saying. I went in circles with a student asking me about the “sign-als” until I realized she meant the red and green lights, the signals.

Maybe a step away is Lingua coming from the Latin for tongue. Sometimes just knowing the words isn’t all that matters. The meaning comes from the flow of our voice, the nod of our head, the inclusiveness of our speech. We use our tongue to pour oil on troubled waters or to fan a few ashes into fiery flames. Even if we don’t understand the language we step back from a staccato flow accompanied by an arm slashed downward and we bend down to speak softly to a weeping lost child.

If all comes together, we finally arrive at literacy: to speak, read, and write to gain and share knowledge one with another. That knowledge can vary from an alphabet that makes words, to numbers that solidify business transactions, to visual drawings that define a building. Knowledge is gained and possibilities shared. Our field of literacy is the one that gives focus to each day of our lives. Polish your language, mind your tongue, and put your literacy to good use.

The words of the wise prod us to live well.
They’re like nails hammered home, holding life together.
They are given by God, the one Shepherd. Ecclesiastes 12:11

So much more than that! The thought came from the teen boys across the street and then boiled over like a pot left untended on the stove. The front yard is a playground for four 8th graders: a goal net to practice soccer kicks, a basketball goal, and room to toss a football. I came out to get my mail and they were taking turns on two types of scooters down the driveway and into the street. I had to do some research. Both were manual though electric are available. One was a flat bed, a front and back wheel, and a steering column. The other had a split bed that kept spreading out to a V and required leg motion to coax back in. The ad on it said the motion was kick, wiggle, and push.

These scooters were definitely a step forward from bicycles of my childhood. Another go forth option with wheels were skates. They had a back strap to incircle your ankles and clamps by your toes that fastened over tacky (in my opinion) brown oxfords. The obligatory accessory was a key to tighten the clamps at the beginning of the outing and whenever forward motion began to loosened their effectiveness. Wobbly skates left untended guaranteed a spill and skinned knees.

A variety of ubiquitous orbs started filling my mind. Going beyond the stone circles of a B.C. cartoon were the wheels with axels and spokes on the 1400 chariots owned by Solomon for war and impressing others. Conestoga wagons traveling west had wheels 5 feet tall to help move people and all they needed for survival. Trains had wheels shaped to fit the tracks: narrow gauge, standard, and broad. Civilization kept moving with tires for cars. In my world now are also skate boards, grocery carts, and wheel chairs. Even airplane need wheels when they are earthbound. Yet, when those necessary underpinnings go flat or get bent or can’t manage the road at hand, a truth remains.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God. Psalm 20:7

All year around a pot of soup simmering on a back burner can be creating a meal. Contents differ by the season of the year and seasoning by the maker of the pot. When the cook dips a spoon to lift offerings from the bottom, any vegetable of the alphabet may surface. Today, at this moment, in the life pot of soup we are part of, each of us comes up as a survivor only if the process is tweaked to help us come though the making without scorching and being scraped up and tossed down the disposal.

We’re in the heat of the day’s demands. Simple decisions like deciding when to water the lawn. Stopping everything else to delete unwanted requests for support for various causes. A list of to do from paying bills to writing thank you notes to picking up children after school. Coming through the swirl of the day with a meal to serve requires that we thwart distractions and focus on a product as perfect as we can make under the circumstance.

Evening comes and that enticing smell of something special fills the house. We have tended to our day and have survived to be the offerer of a meal. Not only was it us, but as Lowell’s poem states, “Standeth God within the shadows keeping watch o’er all His own.” His unseen tweaking and twarting have been a part of the day allowing each of us to thrive. A disparate mix of the morning’s beginning has become a feast over which can be said. “Lord, make us thankful for these and all other blessings.”

For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their prayer, but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil.” 1 Peter 3:12

Just a weekly conversation with out-of-state son. He asked me about a restaurant we went to in his earlier life and I never made the connection. In our brains are up front happenings and down in a back corner are those moments to be remembered: be mindful of again. So on Monday I thought of the collection of Smiths gathering at Live Oak Ranch and saddling horses for rides out to see Longhorns and cutting early peaches for cobbler. Not any pedestrian action on Swift Blvd. yet the air had that enticing smell of someone barbecuing out of sight. Flags on polls in front yards fluttered in the slight breeze and snapases caught a thought buried in the back reaches of my brain’s convoluted folds.

Memorial Day. A holiday at the end of school to draw the family to the ranch and so much more than that. Through various changes since the Civil War it has been a time to remember those who died in war, a giant “Thank you for your service.” My parents married when my dad came back from WWI. As a child, I bought red paper poppies to remember and raise money for the VFW. Hammond was small enough that I marched in my Girl Scout uniform along with the local National Guard led by the college band and a baton twirling drum major. The poem In Flanders Field was quoted with solemnity at the end of ceremonies before Taps was blown.

Once the memories became more expansive they became more focused. The honor is bestowed because the soldiers died. I’ve been to Arlington where graves face east to be prepared for a great gettin’ up morning. I have stood beside orderly rows of crosses at Omaha Beach for those who will never come home and each cross has a name. Men I’ve worked with and boys I’ve taught have been a part of the next generation to go to battle, even to this day. I travel hopefully for a promised ending of Isaiah 2:4 And He will judge between the nations, And will mediate for many peoples; And they will beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning knives. Nation will not lift up a sword against nation, And never again will they learn war. Until then, we have to be faithful to remember.

Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations: ask thy father, and he will shew thee; thy elders, and they will tell thee. Deuteronomy 32:7

Even non-superstitious people shake their heads over 13, hoping a smirk covers their reaction. Buildings skip a floor with no elevator stop and don’t forget those four teen years that start with 13. I did some research and want you to know there is a word for the phobia that causes people to postpone weddings, or trips, or any major decision on the 13, especially a Friday of a month: (deep breath) triskaidekaphobia. Yet, the extra cookie treat in a baker’s dozen is never turned down and Tuesday I took part in 13th happening that resulted because of a change of path in my life.

Fall of 2010, a former principal and I, mostly her, opened a 6th grade as a skip from a Pre-school/after school option to a private middle school for low income families. Details can be ignored. Just know that my part in making this venture succeed was to come early enough for another teacher to take her 5 year old to kindergarten and arrive to team teach with me until noon when I went home. My duties were English and field trips. Year one graduation was 2013. Last Tuesday was the 13 year and 13 8th graders moved on to high school.

Forget the steps and changes and commitments that led to this day, just feel the emotional throbbing in the basement room of a local church. Parents and various age siblings sat in rows on folding chairs. My co-teacher and I represented a founding faculty and were able to connect with a family of four girls we had taught. A much younger brother was graduating with honors and recognition. No Middle School moving on in Houston matched that gathering. Each student came to the mike, gave their name and how they felt about the school. They thanked each teacher specifically and expressed gratitude to their parents, sometimes repeating in Spanish to assure understanding. Each one had a moment when tears and the ability to continue called for a pause in presentation. Teachers came to stand by them and family and classmates called out encouragement. This group of 13 had this opportunity in small part because of me. What else can I say to this group about this lucky number?

 I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy.

Philippians 1: 3 – 4

Teens cannot fathom this, but conversations without a phone used to exist. Smoke signals, jungle drums, snail mail with a $.03 stamp for years and electronic Morse code for sophisticated situations. In 1876, Alexander Graham Bell was given a patent for the telephone. As usual, my childhood memories of the black stationary version are of a different time. We were never on a party line, but an uncle was. Answer only if his special two rings, unless one was nosy and listened in to someone else’s conversation. Our phone was a step up and not attached to the wall. It had a receiver and a transmitter and sat in an alcove between the living room and the front bedroom. Run when it rings was the sequence of answering. Because Hammond had a training center, we had an operator as a helper to reach numbers like 398 or 713. If you were caught out in the world, public telephones were available in the ubiquitous red booths for a nickel. The final black box step to making contact was the answering machine. What more could we ask for?

It turned out quite a lot. Cell phones carried into the world by you seem to have been upgraded almost momentarily from being just a mobile phone to a mobile computer with as many bells and whistles as you want to pay to have available. Hold that thought and list the helpful advantages that matter to you and let me offer my gripe about privacy invaded. If an illegal option exists someone will find it from pickpocketing to scams. My first be careful education was not to answer offers that sounded good on the surface but could clean out my bank account. As of today, I am currently consumed with the sequence of blocking a throw the net wide call to me and unknown others asking for money for an election in Michigan, or telling a tale of woe about unthoughtful treatment to the sender, or supposedly making certain I know of evil in the world.

So here an old lady stands in the storm of life. Over my voting life I have been both a registered Democrat and a Republican. Switches were not made in anger. I have faced a variety of race and behavior from children in a classroom and managed not to send messages of hate. I have expressed the opposing opinion in some situations, hopefully in a manner that offered an option leading to a solution. The first tech action of the morning is to check this day to see if it will be lived without a world war. AND whatever mistakes I’ve made, I’ve not invaded your privacy with a text that is more abusive than banned books. Leave your phone on and use it for that communication humans need to share what connects and upholds in a positive way. I plan to do this with the time given when I don’t have to block the interruption of invasive texts.

The first thing I want you to do is pray. Pray every way you know how, for everyone you know. Pray especially for rulers and their governments to rule well so we can be quietly about our business of living simply, in humble contemplation. 1 Timothy 2: 1-2