Knot doesn’t always have to be a problem. To tie a knot and move on is to wrap up a solution and declare fine to that project or to keep all that has been accomplished from unraveling and lying as a tangled mess on the floor. If you are a person of artistic bent, you may spend affirming hours designing or admiring knots with capital letter names that denote interconnectedness and eternity: a Celtic Knot that has slight changes to be Love, Trinity, or Endless. For a sewer, a knot is useful or decorative. A fly-fisherperson depends on the knot to keep fish and hook together. A sailor’s safe return to shore hinges at times on the tenacity of knots that have been tied to anchors or other equipment. In a slight whisper, remember the efficiency of a hangman’s noose is essential.

I would venture every person has a knot story. Before velcro most children learned bunny down a hole to tie their shoes. My first beyond that expertise is now totally useless. In the far away time when boxes and goods were trusted to the USPO, a knowledge of the final step of tying the box was essential. My daddy very carefully taught me how to measure a piece of cord and create an over and under presentation that displayed six squares on top and bottom with a looped and pulled knot that would hold all the way to Santa Fe carrying clothes for a summer job. To finish the hem of a skirt, one circled the thread around the needle and pulled it through.

When the knot serves its purpose or creates a problem, how to release it remains. Faced with the Gordian Knot In the ancient Greek legend of Alexander the Great, he drew his sword and cut instead of laboriously unweaving. I had to guide fishing line over and under between two nails on a back porch, so I could rewind it knotless on a reel for the next trip. Offspring who walk away from parental care are said to “untie the knot.” Sometimes an extra person is needed for help whether dealing with a real length of cord or a metaphorical knot that has to be faced to resume ease of life. Keep an extra friend or two around for help in either case.

Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:12

English is an evolving language, adding to and dropping from as need demands. In my childhood of WWII days only a few items domestically required the term. “Plug it in” to serve its purpose. Lamps, of course, maybe a drill depending on the man of the household, and the ubiquitous item of day, the iron which also required the reverse statement, “Did you unplug the iron?” Some households moved forward to plug in a coffee pot. I went to college with a drip pot still sitting on the back of the stove. Water was boiled, poured over fresh grounds, and the pot placed in a shallow pan of warm water to keep the brew ready for a hot cup during the day. Oh, yes, the washing machine stayed at ready alert from the day of purchase unless protection was thought necessary during a summer thunder storm. No drier was required because the clothes line was in the back yard. The black phone with a dial needed electricity after you got an account, yet the word for its being in use was connected.

Just as I was ready to move on and update, the radio came to mind. A large, almost piece of furniture, was in the living room for news and evening programs. The one that counted was the small aqua one in the kitchen for morning weather and the update of police reports. Sandwich in a phonograph and then the explosion starts. Televisions moved into the home. College made me aware of various a.v. equipment, some that worked as touted and some that didn’t. An electric typewriter did not really improve my keyboarding skills, only revealed my mistakes more rapidly. Now, a current seven year old could add to the list devices I can’t imagine that go beyond computer and cell phone. These require words like reboot and charge and link and SIM cards to make them useful on the beach or in outer space.

And yet, behind all this, is our wonderful God-made machine, body and soul. Even for us, the words of plug it in or connect or recharge count when we do not have the energy for that productive activity required of us. What helps us restart varies. Turn off concern, worry, and disconnects by rebooting, resting, and starting afresh. Find the listening or reading that redirects your program to be useful again. Sometimes trust another person who sees a needed solution and can rewire a system to help us become at least a refurbished B. When total frustration takes over, go back to the source of unlimited power.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.

Ephesians 3:20

Much loved are flowers in my yard that were never once bouquets from lovers, or cherished friends, or even from a funeral overflow. They had their first life in someone’s yard. Mostly they were dug up by the giver, placed gently in a brown paper bag, and handed to me as a sideways gift. Only one was ordered from a company and one that has multiplied was a starter stolen because it poked through the restraining fence. Let’s start with those. In the front right bed I am gradually building a clump of red amaryllis. A horticulturist’s step forward was to encase a bulb in wax, so it needed no vase or care. When the captive bulb has spent its life on a table near a sunny window, I just free it from the wax and relocate in a bed to restore its strength and allow it to multiply. One spring on a neighborhood walk, spires of bright blue salvia poked their square stocky steams toward the sidewalk. I broke several to make the parent even with the fence, bought the children home to put in dirt enriched with root starter and now have four stands in various places.

My mother raised a long row of daylilies: yellow, orange, and mixed blends , down the ditch that separated two houses. My sixth year of marriage I finally had a yard, received the paper bag offering and have three large cheerful groups on Swift sixty-three years later. Since I shared when I had an overflow, I also know other streets that are brightened by their offspring.

Along a side fence, though I can enjoy them from my kitchen window, are multiple peach cannas. Their arrival was convoluted. A friend’s mother from Oklahoma gave her some in a pot. When they needed dividing they were shared with another joint friend in Bellville who in desperation one spring mailed me a box, “Here, have some!” Those kept spreading and now until fall are glory in bloom.

Red, blue, sunrise yellow, peach and the last group is shout out loud white Easter lily trumpets. Truth be told, they were a pot gift for Easter lunch at least 15 years ago. To Rice yard and to Swift, again divided and planted in eye catching spots for a May exuberant show. Last fall I was negligent about seasonal care. In March I realized three pots were crowded with buds like people in an elevator. Now those pots are the eye-catching color of the back yard. I found I can have them as extravagant cut flowers on the dining room table. In about three weeks, I will clean out the pots. If you want some bulbs, I’ll do my best to transport, and maybe you too can be one who shares.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

Matthew 5:28 – 29

My eye was caught by shades of red in a small square of a brick wall. Bricks aren’t stacked like Legos. They are staggered one row on top of another with the end of a top brick being in the center of the bottom one. Then thinking about why they were built, I kept running full force into a WALL! Sturdy walls have a main purpose: keep out. Even Robert Frost’s iconic Mending Walls has the man on the other side of a repair project state: “Good fences make good neighbors.” That sounded more negative than admiring the beauty required.

Always back track and change perspective. In 122 A.D., Emperor Hadrian began a stone wall between his new Roman colony, now England, and the wild tribes to the north. Its purpose was protection of the colony to ensure growth. That sounded better than I put this up to cut you out. A secondary reason was to establish a boundary. This wall was as far as the empire would go and it marked an area where civilization could grow. Each opposite area is now strong and tours are held through piles of rock that helped make today possible.

Even before Hadrian by about 300 years, Nehemiah rebuilt a necessary wall. He was part of a group of Israelites in exile in Persia under King Artaxerxes. Some Jews had returned to Jerusalem and had sent word city walls were in disrepair. Returning to rebuild was Nehemiah’s purpose. His task was make a useful inspection of need, clear rubble, defy taunts and opposition and set up teams of some to work and some to protect the laborers as needed. He provided a strong inverted sentenced to define his task, “So built we the wall!”

At times each of us needs to build a wall, not for a need to be isolationists. We might require a peaceful moment to restrain choices that come our way as we learn to create our own independent character and strength to withstand assaults. Cracks may appear and we push to reset goals and even enlist others to stand guard with us as we redefine our safe place. At times we feel overwhelmed by surrounding attacks as we claim for ourselves the title mason: a skilled worker who builds with substantial material. Nehemiah set the reason for success, “the people had a mind to work!”

The Lord was standing by a wall that had been built true to plumb, with a plumb line in his hand.

Amos 7:7

This is personal and, truth be told, that is how individuals live their lives. As the saying goes, “I finally got it all together and forgot where I put it!” Easter Monday was heights to depths, catch your breath for me. You’ve had such a time. All in the car for a perfect famiily vacation and the thought keeps niggling the back of your mind, “Did I really turn off the stove when I cleaned the kitchen?” You finish the last statement in a time consuming office report, hit the wrong key and the computer freezes.

From our last week contact, you know I really love Easter on many levels. The week builds emotionally and spiritually to a glorious worship service and a family gathering. The group to eat has shrunk from lunch for 30, yet it is still my responsibility to make rolls and a so yummy dessert. Who knows how long strength and eyesight will allow me to keep my place in the program? Check,check,check and all from special music to joyous conversation around the table made the day just right.

I had a list for Monday of reclaiming routine that anchors my life, and it didn’t happen. First I slept late. I, who am always a lark, felt pushed to get breakfast out of the way and make two business calls that had been put on hold already. Both businesses had a pleasant robot who asked me several times what I wanted to do before offering to get someone to help me. That person also said I was important, but would have to wait my turn. Then the doorbell rang for two of the water department’s finest. Last week the occupants at the end of the block covered the manhole of the water main in the easement with a flower bed and they had to check each house of the block for unobstructed flow. At 3:30 power went out along with the possibility of rain. A son came in time to be eyes to match prices and meds that needed sorting. After opening every drawer and cabinet door I discovered the book with needed information to complete the day.

About 7:00 p.m. I sat down twelve hours late and laid out what I had done instead of asking for guidance about what to do. The dust settled, At LSU I went to the small University Baptist Church. My education philosophy professor stood each Sunday at the front of the center aisle and proclaimed Psalm 113:3 to begin the service. Help that I needed is available each and every day, and, just so you know, Tuesday was better.

From the rising of the sun unto the going down of the same, the Lord’s name is to be praised.

I am not a theologian, though I am a believer, even if sometimes I am a doubter. This Holy Week, whenever it comes in the spring calendar, leaves me smack dab as one of all three at the same time. The seven days bring a mixture of breathlessness, awe, and overwhelming joy. Think of times you consider what is coming at the end of a week. Here’s a list. At the end to have finished first grade or to have graduated from any educational goal you’ve worked toward. A wedding with all its plans to be an extra special occasion. A new baby will move from dream to reality .A move that will involve uprooting and resettling. A gathering of family and friends to memorialize the life of one no longer in that circle. Preparation aside, each of these bear the possibility of change lurking along the way.

From Genesis on through Christmas to the River Jordan and a peripatetic ministry, I struggle with the concept of fully God and fully man. Fully man – or human if you prefer – is difficult enough in dealing with daily demands whether it is organizing eating or dealing with quibbling members of a close group. To have a total knowledge of a better way and never say, “Because I told you so!” calls me to always consider the omission of an opportunity missed.

Follow that week that began with palm branches through the days which Jesus knew would unfold. The shouts sound good, but the affirmation won’t last. The misuse of the Temple provided no comfort. A walk out of town and the fig trees didn’t even get the season right. Maybe Martha did her best for a quiet place. Yet, He knew ahead that the right person would provide a room for a last supper together, facing the betrayal that began the process of a trial and the end of his human demands by the requirements of the heavenly gift.

My settling places are two. My church has a Thursday worship service that ends with the Christ Candle carried out of a dark chapel noting finality with each of the bearer’s steps. Even as I cook and prepare for a Sunday gathering, the time of finishing the week hasn’t come until that Candle triumphantly leads a choir processional back into an Easter worship service and the fully God’s words come true for all. The week ends as it began, “Hosanna! Hallelujah!”

 “The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men. 23 They will kill him, and on the third day he will be raised to life.”

Matthew 17 22-23

For those of you who still have patches of snow lingering in shady spots, hang on to hope. Lurking around the corner are whatever flowers that herald a farewell to winter in your locale. Even if it is just a few green leaves on bare branches, they still say warmth is on the way. Across the Gulf Coast small bushes of red Christmas Cheer azaleas tickled your “maybe” bone and led the way in to banks of President Clay’s rosy glory. Washington D. C. and northern Virginia already have had rows of varied colors of tulips that were planted in the fall with great expectation. Another month or two will pass before Colorado has columbines brighting the foothills of its mountains. In Texas, family carloads are taking to the highways to park along fields of bluebonnets for a yearly picture of children in a glorious setting.

I never knew bluebonnets until I came to Texas in 1960 and had to be ignorantly in charge of the Texas Independence Day program for children and parents. I had to sort out the legend of the Cherokee girl who received them as a gift from the Great Spirit after providing a means of ending a drought while working in that bluebonnets became the state flower in 1902 through the efforts of Colonial Dames of America, a very impressive title. I helped plant a native garden at another school that involved scoring the seed with sandpaper and soaking them before planting. Germination was not any greater with this care than the amazing patch in my current back yard from seeds blown over the fence from the stand grown by my neighbor. The Texas Department of Highways scatters 30,000 lbs of seeds a year and what happens is beyond belief.

So now is the viewing time. A friend and I left on a perfect morning last Friday to head toward the Hill Country. As we got out of town, teasers began to appear. We sighted a few dark blue shadows and a scattering of red Indian Paint Brush and the accent of Snow on the Mountain. Finally, the first large field. We pulled off onto the shoulder, avoiding the ditch, to document the moment. On to Chappell Hill, one official Festival town, for lunch and then a circle to Bellville. There the town has a designated field opposite a mall to make the trip a success. By the time you read this on Thursday the past few days have probably moved this year’s blossoms from almost to full glory. While viewing, sing “Have you ever been to Texas in the spring? Where bluebonnets wave in the air.” “Tis the season!

Consider how the wild flowers grow. They neither toil or spin. Yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.

Luke 12:27

For seven years I’ve been writing mostly three paragraphs and a Bible verse of something interesting, or a shared story, or a quirky thought and sent it forth on a Wednesday night. An article caught my attention in the fall, and I have just spent an hour Googling and Yahooing and trying to bring order out of chaos. SPOILER ALERT. I have a list of one sentence information. Each tidbit could be followed by nevertheless, however, or possibly. So accept my apologies to Wikipedia and the Oxford English Dictionary and to scratching an interest and giving some thought to mycology.

A mycologist, while generally interested in life connected to fungi, can specialize in a variety of topics from slime mole to athlete’s foot to mushrooms. The later is our topic for today. Your knowledge may be the surprise of a vibrant colored mushroom complete with a dome and gills that is gathering nutrients from decomposed matter around the trunk of a tree. Some of these are safe to eat, except, unless an expert, insert , however, because some can be poisonous. I have a personal testimony that portobello burgers can be consumed as protein of the vegan world and you can live to tell about it. Then there are toadstools, mythically created by witches, which have a concave top and a band on their steam clearly proclaiming NOT SAFE! My favorite quote is “consumption can leave you with hallucinations of vivid unicorns or lying in the hospital with liver failure.” You may be a gourmet cook who chooses your fresh mushrooms in a specialty store or you may only buy canned or order as a pizza topping. A few people just like the names: Lion’s mane; oyster, morel; or porcine.

While this commentary is obviously not exhaustive, I do need to bring up the elite second cousin – the truffle. They are the edible spore of a fungi that grows only underground. It is sparse and tasty enough to be in the costly range. Harvesters in the beginning used female pigs to locate except the animals chose to find and devour rather than share, so now dogs are the replacement. A successful Oregon truffle hunter might earn $90.000 to $119,000 for December to March efforts. If you need a Biblical thought, God did give us all plants to enjoy and the same chapter told Adam on his banishment that some gathering would take more effort. I’m just remembering that the “magic button” gave Alice the change in size to have an adventure of which Robert Louis Stevenson could remind us…

The world is so full of a number of things, that we all should be as happy a kings.

A Child’s Garden of Verses

I can’t say I was the main force in a cherished pet family. I just have had a few slightly tangential moments to this point. Before age 4, my daddy had white bitch named Snow White. She littered the Seven Dwarfs which he gave away one by one without a specific name. Though there was no true bonding, i was the owner of Bill the pony. While children still lived at home, various goldfish and two cats were fed and tended. The cats stayed in the family house longer than the children, just walking through the cat door and away when their years of belonging were up. Now, I have raised caterpillars to butterflies. They require little attention and definitely no naming.

Yet, I still have a longing to have created a habitation for three creatures. One I gave a try as a step toward success. The second tantalized me with a relative’s possibility. The third will only be a never will happen dream. I could hear the owl call at night and even found a baby that had fallen from a nest. Of course, I read up and purchased an owl box. An elder son climbed up a ladder that I steadied to attach the box at a prescribed height in an enticing (I hoped) oak tree. Two years later, I realized that home was ignored, and the box rotten down of its own volition.

Trial two was the possibility of a bee hive.The buzzing of noisy production and the vision of multiple small winged creatures going in and out of plants in my garden before returning to their home was the enticement more than suiting up to gather honey. I read the catalogues and scattered botanical attractors’ seeds with no success. However, more aggressive carpenter bees attacked a beam in a breezeway. They drilled multiple holes and disappeared to make unseen tunnels in the depths. Keeping the beam intact required a vigilant program of spraying the holes.

Number 3 will remain only a wish fired by teaching My Side of the Mountain. A generation of 5th graders and I did extensive research before abandoning the project. of raising a hawk.The first three requirements cut short our idea: be approved by a licensed agency; build a large cage in your back yard where birds can fly, and document that you are spending a prescribed time per day giving attention to training. I have to be content with newspaper articles that state pereqines nest on window sills downtown in Houston.

The wildness of these mentioned animals appeals to me maybe because they keep alive a genetic memory of God creating and bringing one of their ancestor for Adam to name. When we lived on Rice Blvd, I could hear the morning rumble of lions in the zoo waking up. Out from Fort Davis, I have seen bighorn sheep scampering up sides of a mountain, and migrating elk created moving shadows beside a dark road as I drove to Estes Park.

Now the Lord God had formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds in the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name.

Genesis 2:19

As a memory gift, I was given a dear friend’s cookie recipe burned into a wooden paddle to hang on a wall. Last Saturday I set aside the morning to make a six cup of flour batch of chocolate chip cookies. The process was interesting. One always has enough staples…maybe. I took down the flour container. Amazingly, just 6 cups with a teaspoon to spare. The same for 1 1/2 cups white sugar. Whew! Then this large recipe called for 4 cups chocolate chips. Kroger had doubled my order for some reason, so that need was solved. After creaming with a mixer, stirring in the flour with a wooden spoon, and squishing chocolate chips and nuts with fingers, I baked four pans in sequence to have 95 cookies. ” ‘Just right,’ said Amelia Bedelia.” (Hold that thought.)

Millie was the source of the recipe. She was a friend and almost sister because our husbands did projects together. From being young marrieds, to managing six children between us, to uncountable phone calls to cover various problems and solutions, we moved through life as a team. She was more adventurous in planning activities, and I was the one who kept count of the children and encouraged the stragglers. She made the cookies for family, little boys on the block who sometimes walked the dog and fed the cat, and for the elderly widow she visited.

Completing the cookies and calling up memories was just enough to make a just right morning. I packed a container for a daughter and a ziplock bag for one son. One more bag went to the children two houses down because they had brought the mis-delivered recipe package from their house to mine. A friend will share some after a lunch visit. Amelia Bedelia is a scatter -brained maid in children’s books who avoids being fired because on the last page she dashes in to pull a hot offering from the oven with the comment, “Just right.” What we prepare to give opens the way to the blessing we receive.

Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

Luke 6:38