Whatever research ensued from my developing this blog was not inspired by a desire for deeper knowledge. A friend had gifted me a version of a smart watch which shows time and is used mostly to mark steps. As of Sunday morning. I need an app I don’t want to update it, so I will go through half a year making a mental adjustment to be either late or early. How did we get to this point and how do we think we have really changed anything? As far as I can tell, the sun comes up and the sun goes down, and it pays no attention to labels we put on its cycles.

Note: cows were milked in the morning and Abe Lincoln read by candlelight until WWI. Find your own details, but DST was non-existent between the World Wars. Then there were exceptions and even today some areas of the world just take what is provided. Where you live in America determines how you set your clock, and October/February babies set their own sleeping and eating schedule without ever consulting a clock. Mindboggling terms appear like “shift an hour” (who does the pushing) and “a patchwork of daylight” (sounds like sewing some darkness in to make a quilt square.)

At the end of the day (Pun intended), no definitive research says without a doubt this is the best decision since sliced bread. Some business have made financial gains and some golfers have kept courses open after work. However, coffee shops have lost money and the advantage to the energy sector is inconclusive. Proof does exist that strokes and heart attacks increase and disruption of that flow of a day, circadian rhythm, causes loss of sleep while adjusting. I figure that if we are saving with DST we should be amassing interest at some point. The adage says, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Could we just live with what we were given?

And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day. Genesis 1:5

Two syllables and may be one of the most awesome words in the language. Make a choice can evoke a picture of a child standing in front of a Baskin Robbins glass while a parent says, “Make up your mind!” Two can be standing in a church saying, “I do,” to begin a life commitment. And after weighing all options, someone may have to utilize a power of attorney document put in place with trust for such a moment. On one hand some decisions can be irreversible and conclusive, while some are inevitable, yet may be faced multiple times. “Do we really want chicken for supper tonight?”

With the help of a transporting son, I made a choice Monday that I’ve cherished as my right since my earliest memory. My dad took me with him to the Log Cabin in Hammond and sat me on the counter next to him while he used an ink pad and a pencil eraser to mark his choice on a ballot. Since I turned 18, I have claimed my right to have a say in people and some laws that control parts of my life. I’ve been to school libraries and the back corners of grocery stores. I have voted early on site and with mail in documents that I had to sign my name over the flap for security. I have pumped my fist with elation over some outcomes and almost cried over some loses. Truthfully, I have been well-informed and sometimes chose for gut feelings. Look up Overstreet’s poem Stubborn Ounces. My choices were a part of the final count.

To bring us as a group or an individual throughout our lives takes choices. In Joshua 24, the Israelites have gathered after 40 years of wandering. Joshua is an old man and he summarizes all the steps in that journey and he charges them that they have one more choice, and with that choice comes responsibility. The people have a choice, but regardless of what they choose, Joshua has a resounding final comment: This is where I will stand.

Choose today whom you will serve……..As for me and my family, we will serve the Lord.

Joshua 24:15 (edited)

No, I haven’t downloaded that app. It’s just the story of my life this week and I’m writing at the last minute in a therapeutic fashion for me even if I know some part of it will match with you. From the first click of my lifely clock, I have been a morning person and a five minute manager before the term was invented. My body can be doing one task and my mind practicing a presentation for 8th grade literature. However, this week has slipped in “haftas” that totally put my “want tos ” in confusion. If videos had existed they would have been marketable!

Two underlying phrases I relate to. The opening of Lassie Come Home, (my favorite dog book) says, ” It’s time, it’s time, it’s time to go for the boy!” I relate. My internal clock sends messages of what’s next on the list. Then I had an uncle, obsessively early. He left for every appointment with time to change a flat tire on the way. I count being late as definitely among, if not first, of the deadly sins. This week the universe has inserted itself and rearranged or put off my plans. The coffee pot wasn’t aligned and didn’t drip correctly. Drought shifted the house and the front door sticks. I have had an appointment early enough each morning to mess up my counted on sequence of beginning. An unfinished project lies accusingly and messily on the dining room table.

Stop, breathe, and look where I am. One of the over one hundred quotes about time says, “Time flies, but you can be the pilot.” In spite of all, I have made some impressive checks by “Done that, move on!” Tomorrow for now looks as if nothing is required until 11:00 and even that is optional. The final statement is, I really can only do my best in whatever comes. God’s word to Job affirms that while reminding him that God does start the days. Thank goodness!

Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place?

Job. 38:12

Depending on your age and your occupation or need, Monday, October 13, may have made some changes in your calendar … or not. No mail, only ATMs, yet stocks could be traded and most schools had a long week end. Details and time frame of celebration or not can easily be found with the now ever present AI. As always, what we have lived with gives us a foundation. I grew up when Columbus Day was not to be treated casually, but noted and respected. However, balance these adages: “To the victor goes the spoils,” against “History is shaped by the evidence that survives.”

So, other than filing 1492 from a requirement of history class as a year to be remembered, a song and a poem validated the celebration, All of my first through twelfth grade school was gathered in the auditorium for a program. We sang Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean, a candidate for the national anthem for some years and a reminder of Columbus’s voyage that found a block on his venture to India. Then year after year, some high school senior girl (no idea why never a boy) gave an emotional reading of Joaguin Miller’s poem Columbus, Not only did I pinpoint geography, I claimed the “Sail on!” cry at the end, memorized all myself, and eventually taught it to grades of student.

Back to the “History is shaped…” statement. Stories of conquest and mistaken claims of land abound in history books. Columbus Day now shares the joint title of Indigenous People Day for those who occupied the land and were designated as Indians, a mistake difficult to shake off. Though we are not required to sail literal unknown seas, figurative journeys seem to abound. Often we go forth by faith and not by sight. Something needs to keep us going besides a song or a poem. The endurance to “Sail on !” may be in this verse.

But I’ll take the hand of those who don’t know the way,
    who can’t see where they’re going.
I’ll be a personal guide to them,
    directing them through unknown country.
I’ll be right there to show them what roads to take,
    make sure they don’t fall into the ditch.
These are the things I’ll be doing for them—
    sticking with them, not leaving them for a minute.”

The Message Isaiah 42:16

I feel like I am going from the sublime to the ridiculous, yet maybe there is a path. First, this week has had happenings I just don’t need to comment on. Second, a funeral used Proverbs 31 which lists all the things stay at home wives do well. Third, devotions kept provided verses with the I Am statements of God, all that really needs to be said. So I thought of myself, and you, and people around the world and the varied I am and what each brings to the table. Some are chefs, some are accountants, gardeners, woodworkers, and today someone was even good enough at quantum physics to win a Nobel Prize.

So, I was and am a seamstress, a sewer. I am visual. I can look at a piece of fabric and envision possibilities. A delightful trip is always to a fabric store from Rosenblum’s in Hammond, to Krauss in New Orleans, to a little shop in Golden, CO, with an opportunity to touch the folds and be swallowed by the colors and patterns. From cottons to fine wools, from feed sacks to velvets. I have made at least one of all possibilities, my creative moments. I have made napkins and pillowcases and clothes to suit age and gender. Then there are quilts which began with bed size and a pattern and the leftovers become the title for today, the snippets, the scraps which still have possibilities. Oh, and don’t forget special individual baby covers which have been treasured to the next generation.

Now, what about you. When we sit in a group with a project or a problem in front of us, what is your contribution? How do you finish the sentence, “I can……” ” I am…..” Scripture has a serving section with lists, “And some are called to be……” All offerings can be holy and we weren’t cloned as robots. Various stories require unique leaders. Have you built any arks lately? Though I am more than the utilizer of a needle and thread, I do cherish several verses for my skill.

She makes coverings for her bed;
    she is clothed in fine linen and purple.

Proverbs 31:22

Forewarned this one’s personal, yet all blogs are. Here is a part of a comment I wrote sitting alone in my church about eight years ago. ” I focused on a thankful list as a start to private worship. Surprisingly each brought wet eyes. These surroundings mean so much to me. To a young single they were a welcoming place close to my apartment. David and I melded our marriage attending here. Three children were sheltered by these walls as they grew. I found ways to serve and was served in return. A next generation wedding was blessed and after fifty-four years a funeral was conducted. Others had built this to be His dwelling place on this spot in Houston, and I was reaping their commitment. In stillness my inner being received the word, ‘Welcome home.'”

Life moved on and last Sunday that church had a business meeting, something Baptist believe in because we are a congregational group. Several facets were in the discussion: location, condition of buildings, financing, use of property. For several years, people I trusted had met to offer a wise decision. Whatever we did would be CHANGE! All they were asking was permission. Nothing would happen tomorrow and certainly not in my lifetime. I looked at four young couples at a table next to me and voted yes, maybe for them and their children to have a haven I had had.

If you have read this far, you can match current news reports with the same type of hold your breath changes and do the best you can for future challenges. The values that give each of us strength and wisdom vary: a strong caring family, a broad education that challenged us to think individually and globally, a choice of a spiritual guide that makes us care for the good of all. A church at the corner of Main and Richmond provided the validity for my vote. In the larger sense, we all rely on our histories and the future we’ll never see and as we hold fast to hope for the best, we vote yes for life every day.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.

Jeremiah 29:11

Words fit a need, sometimes obliquely or in a circular fashion. This one offers a variety of approaches. Most of you recognize it as a machine that sucks air and all that is in it to clean an area, usually a floor. My mother’s machine was an upright that was pushed and pulled. Then came a canister version, followed by a robot that can be programed to a unique pattern to reach all corners of a room. I watched amazed as the German Shepherd who is my guard dog when at my son’s house stood still enjoying a furme sucking loose hair from behind her ears to the end of her tail. Cartoons show dogs running from a room and hiding under a bed to avoid that buzzing noise.

Another need and the same word. A fall project in my childhood was for my mother to preserve a variety of foods from late summer fruits and vegetables. A very precise sequence was followed of cooking the items, placing in a clean jar, then a rubber rimmed top and a metal ring to tighten. As the contents cooled a vacuum seal was created and a satisfying pop guaranteed that the contents would be safe to eat later. A variation for preventing freezer burn is to use a straw to suck air out of a ziplock bag as you fold it down.

How to wrap this up. Well, truthfully, I have moments I feel like a dirty floor. A person has called up an inappropriate response or confusion of a day has left a pile of dust. Maybe vacuum is not exactly used, but cleaning is definitely what is needed. Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. (Psalm 51:7) In moments that feel like hot water is destroying, I need to remember a plan may be in order for preservation. Preserve my life, for I am holy; You are my God; Save Your servant who trusts in You! (Psalm 56:2) Cleaning and preserving, multiple meanings, one reason.

 Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others.

Philippians 2:4

To reach another place requires movement, voluntarily or otherwise, and part of the process is some preparation. Columbus’s trip beyond the horizon was not made casually. Before wagon trains headed west someone had to gather supplies and plan a route. A friend of mine was in an Army family and moving always involved her choosing what would be familiar in a new strange place. Currently, travel is less daunting, yet preparation is still a necessity. . Brochures can familiarize the new area. That useful internet can produce transportation: cost and timing. While maybe not appreciating the whole process, some three year olds have boarded a plane in Houston and debarked in Paris. Just not my story.

Childhood going somewhere for me was by car, period, To Baton Rouge and New Orleans to shop, to Shreveport to visit relatives, and two vacations of my whole life to places outside the state. Summer jobs took me to Santa Fe and David and I did have some plant provided trips. Even though I know the routine, leaving home is still an adventure. As you read this, 4/6 of current Smiths will be in the air to visit the other 2/6 in Colorado. I was a fringe organizer and either provided my own lists or had them given to me. A plane ticket awaited on my computer and I needed help to download. I ran afoul of the USPO and needed a neighbor to gather mail. Labeled zip-lock bags will keep me from going cold turkey on medicines, and the suitcase stayed open several days for additions. Yet, I was gathered at 7:30 this morning, locked the door, and moved forward.

There are several going forth and getting there stories in the Bible. I am most impressed by the precipitousness of leaving Egypt and that same repetition of time to move on now that announces the impetus of let’s go for 40 years. Mention is made of 600,000 men (imagine that line at the airport) but no number of the women who had to check daily if a cloud said they could stay put. Granted, their wanderings were guided by fire, yet the females were still the ones who had to again tie on the breadboard, gather the children, and head across the desert. Considering that, my defined preparation for a one day journey seems like an easy effort.

 Whenever the cloud was taken up from the tabernacle, the Israelites would set out on each stage of their journey,  but if the cloud was not taken up, then they did not set out until the day that it was taken up.

Exodus 40:36-37

If I stop and put my mind to it, I can feel one step better than a pioneer woman with a pot swinging from a hook over an open fireplace. Somehow what I had to cook with never mattered as much as what I could cook and that was what satisfied hungry men: hot bread, real meat, potatoes or rice, and dessert. Granted, I can vary and have expanded a little, but gourmet was never my middle name. I felt I had taken a step forward in the 1970’s with a matched set, some of which I still use, of green Club aluminum wear. and there was always an iron skillet, well-seasoned, and its study larger cousin, the Dutch oven.

I realized I was falling behind when the variety of colorful sets came out. I tried lifting one and dumb bells would have been lighter. Now, I do have a Crock Pot. All jokes aside, it served a teaching mother well enough that I still have it stored on a shelf, in case. Gadgets came and went. A good paring knife replaced an apple corer and a strawberry huller. I tried three salad spinners and always ended up blotting with a towel. Don’t even mention options in coffee pots and many of my friends have a variety of Insta-Pots near an unused plug and open space on their counter tops. However, it is amazing how useful a set of funnels turned out to be from measuring and mixing powdered milk to filling the hummingbird feeder.

At the end of the day, two things matter the most. First, I guess, is that we really are fed. Food is available and we are provided for. Second, though it may be the most important, is having someone to share with. These days I cook with what I have and I mostly eat alone. No children tumbling in, no adult to say, “Smells good in here!”, or only sometimes a friend to sit at the table and review happenings. Elijah stories are among my favorites and when he arrives hungry and needs to be fed, the widow says she has only a little oil in a flask and a handful of flour. I don’t know what utensils she used, but what she made, simple or not, was enough.

¹⁵ She went away and did as Elijah had told her. So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. 

I Kings 17:5

Granted, I like having seedless red grapes all year long, even if the January ones come from Chile. Just having them seedless is in itself a huge step forward in my opinion. However,, I do appreciate the slogan, “Buy locally.” Having certain fruits from a special place at a certain time stirs my blood like telling a hunter, “Deer season opens next week.” Strawberries at their best were in April/May in Tangipahoa Parish. Freestone peaches, though more costly, still arrive from the Carolinas in August, yet fresh peach cobbler with just picked Fredericksburg peaches makes July 4 extra special. I have fought birds to be the first to just ripe LSU figs, yet I never knew of Elephant Ear figs until I drove to Glorieta to teach over several summers.

My childrenhood story of what Labor Day means is this. My daddy’s edict was that was the last time to trust eating a good watermelon. Faithful readers will know my daddy was an ag man and could have written the Farmers’ Almanac. Memorial Day to Labor Day or you missed your chance. We never bought one that I remember. Instead we drove down parish roads to a student’s family farm. After crossing a cattle guard to the fenced pasture, we engaged in back and forth conversation with the owner, who would then bring out one or two to see which passed the thumping test, a rite of taste testing I never understood. I think a hand shake took the place of monetary exchange and we went home to cool the melon. Finally the moment came to cutting thick circles, quartering, and eating them in the back yard, so the juice running down your elbow fell on the ground.

I don’t really have a place to cool a uncut melon nor the skill to cut perfect circles and then to complete the final step of trimming the green rind off to make watermelon rind preserves, a crispy treat never found on grocery shelves. I’m 308 miles from a summer memory and had to salve a longing with a plastic tub of prepared red fruit from Kroger. Houston has provided its own treats for each season, yet part of me understands the longings of the Israelites for the variety that for them was once grown locally.

“We remember the fish which we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers and the melons and the leeks and the onions and the garlic,”

Numbers 11:5