tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23685660300101461792024-02-19T11:22:33.619-05:00Treasures and TriflesWho's to say which is which?Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-90160578327175114472011-04-17T12:52:00.004-04:002011-04-17T13:13:31.368-04:00Whoa.<span class="verse Rom_8_31"></span><blockquote><span class="verse Rom_8_31">What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?</span><span class="verse Rom_8_32"><strong> </strong>He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?</span><span class="verse Rom_8_33"><strong> </strong>Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies.</span><span class="verse Rom_8_34"><strong> </strong>Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. - Romans 8:31-34</span></blockquote><span class="verse Rom_8_34">My church has been memorizing <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=romans%208&version=NIV">Romans 8</a> during Lent, so I've been dutifully following along because I always do precisely what I'm told.<br /><br />Seriously, though, memorizing this chapter has been one of the most edifying things I've ever done. Every morning (well, not quite <span style="font-style: italic;">every</span> morning) I memorize a new verse; then while I drive to work I start at the beginning and quote as much as I can. It's changed my mornings. My commute, although a brief one, has always been marked by the stress of running late and feeling guilty about it. Now instead of <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2009/09/this-morning-i-woke-up-feeling.html">berating myself</a> with a list of "should haves" I begin my day with "There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." I need it every time.<br /><br />As I was working on today's verses (33 & 34, since I didn't get around to it yesterday), I was stopped short by the impossibility of it all. Christ himself is interceding for me? God graciously gives me all things? Who am I to deserve all this?<br /><br />The questions I ask in unguarded moments are the most telling. Who am I to deserve all this? Silly girl – that's why it's called "grace."<br /><br />Seriously: whoa.<br /></span>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-74393613513813694632011-04-10T00:31:00.007-04:002011-04-10T17:04:12.875-04:00Journal Entry: Newly Sprung, Part 2<span style="font-style: italic;">The latest from the handwritten log, or "nlog", of the happenings, prayers, and thoughts of my life.</span><br /><br />Sat, April 9<br /><br />Spring has officially arrived. Today I celebrated by cheering at the Goose Creek 5K for the fourth consecutive year, eating our community brunch, playing football in the rain, playing cards outside a coffee shop. And now I'm flopped on my belly on my quilt in my backyard, surrounded by <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2009/03/first-violet_19.html">violets</a> – and by students, similarly situated, studying, resting, pursuing the Lord.<br /><br />Have I mentioned that I love my life? Have I mentioned how fulfilled I am right now in my calling? This past week was busier, if possible, than the one before, and the <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2011/04/newly-sprung.html">grace to enjoy</a> has been as thickly distributed as these <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/search/label/violets">violets</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I prefer nlogging to blogging, but I'd like it even better if it provided a simple way to upload relevant images, such as these:</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIqzJlFbM0mCfIL-XKT8x5n6RwwMoaG6TVrNaDU7zxDknMO1-J4raUtHrJZESMbhXL-Fd2_5ce9NsFrdHl67PjEMM8vDg3FUAavwN-pXAIYAXU92GVROUHalp1z33O1gvQ_-OVpYca28/s1600/IMG_0887.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIqzJlFbM0mCfIL-XKT8x5n6RwwMoaG6TVrNaDU7zxDknMO1-J4raUtHrJZESMbhXL-Fd2_5ce9NsFrdHl67PjEMM8vDg3FUAavwN-pXAIYAXU92GVROUHalp1z33O1gvQ_-OVpYca28/s400/IMG_0887.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594060825199408626" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5jUsu8I_DCC7kWXgZ8zSTroVpuKRSe6JHZadSj-eWpg8nzIQY_A4-TygNwM5s3thPWac6Zf4cuHhExJt0eACmBAjbgNWhoAKr5MFu1z7hNcyLiA73vFUi-pCZgigiOeKyEeM08VyPao/s1600/IMG_0883.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5jUsu8I_DCC7kWXgZ8zSTroVpuKRSe6JHZadSj-eWpg8nzIQY_A4-TygNwM5s3thPWac6Zf4cuHhExJt0eACmBAjbgNWhoAKr5MFu1z7hNcyLiA73vFUi-pCZgigiOeKyEeM08VyPao/s400/IMG_0883.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594060828677740514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6JTkGFCd9bS1lrFS_SfkI_egJ5FrGTzRZao0eMHH9rMDVeQh2wh8H8PQ8hWSQtZjWTafFHEbIqTo2z_zxH0-11dqLJMXXlLI5SKDsCVfdSNxapY8ZxA_1Ryf_PlEU2kyHjT6jpzLC6g/s1600/IMG_0888_2.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 349px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6JTkGFCd9bS1lrFS_SfkI_egJ5FrGTzRZao0eMHH9rMDVeQh2wh8H8PQ8hWSQtZjWTafFHEbIqTo2z_zxH0-11dqLJMXXlLI5SKDsCVfdSNxapY8ZxA_1Ryf_PlEU2kyHjT6jpzLC6g/s400/IMG_0888_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594060835224545778" border="0" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDD1xkIRoU0hKnyhueU53o6jIOw2RgvCXcChnlmXCvN2J5avU_PW9NOGpAG6yN3laEzfhbVlJJdWBZWRdtOn-2Q6R3xb1_6ySz_MoMeDTWEPPeJZwoOIq5RXK6_fiPj5OhmJW8TZsEL0/s1600/photo2.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw5ucGqjtWxaUNVZE0nI7fFG91oAxZOMjZUZanzRKh7ONvlwdhs2wKwDzNTHNudCzeTi2INGfrMOaIw2yezf9OdibKr6CoDh-AoLaYv7BhjK_L0yill-Ai4DoTepCn41jcH4ywgefNdcI/s1600/photo.JPG"><br /></a>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-47940557574801905492011-04-01T22:31:00.003-04:002011-04-01T23:14:53.158-04:00Newly SprungMaybe it was the ten days I spent on the Mediterranean coast in February, but I wasn't craving spring yet when it showed up. The <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/03/first-day-of-spring.html">daffodils</a> started smiling and nodding at me from the side of the road long before I thought to look for them. And the <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2009/03/first-violet_19.html">first violet</a>? I didn't have to seek her out; she came to me in the fist of my favorite 12-year-old, and she didn't come alone.<br /><br />The violets are everywhere, generously sprinkled outside my workplace, a pool of purple by the gate where I live. And I'm reminded of a God who gives grace upon grace. I'm not in survival mode; in the midst of chaos and clamor, I'm thriving. How many times have I heard it said, "He gives grace not just to endure, but to enjoy"? How many times have I said it to others? How many times have I grit my teeth and just endured?<br /><br />But now by his grace I'm newly alive, facing greater challenges but somehow loving my life and my calling more than ever, convinced that he withholds no good thing.Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-4896645931666728682010-09-13T20:57:00.003-04:002010-09-13T21:05:40.787-04:00bleep<div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div>"What was it I was thinking about? There was this thought, there was this thing I was thinking."<br /><br />Yes, I just said those very words out loud to myself. There really was something last week that I was wanting to blog about. Can't for the life of me remember what.<br /><br />This post is just my way of saying that, yes, it's been a long, long time. This post is that solitary "bleep" on the heart monitor in a dramatic TV scene. I'm still alive. I'm still here.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-84592642022776152062010-06-19T14:36:00.004-04:002010-06-19T15:18:30.842-04:00Closing the Gap<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> <br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I am officially a Bad Blogger. I haven't posted in almost two months. Bad! And as one who has learned by experience that interpersonal reconciliation is best achieved by plain repentance without an attempt to explain oneself, I won't tell you all my good excuses. I won't tell you, for instance, how insanely busy I've been, or the emphasis I'm trying to put on real life community, or the fact that my creative energies have been <del>sapped by</del> invested in work-related blogging. I won't tell you any of those things, because I hate it when people get defensive and try to justify themselves. It's not only godless, it's annoying. </span><br /></div></div><br />I was reading an old journal this morning (Why? Because I have four whole days before I leave the country with a team I'm leading, so I was looking for something to stave off the boredom) and was startled by this prayer I'd written: "God, I want to close the gap between me and You."<br /><br />Me? Close that infinite gap between a holy God and a depraved sinner? What was I thinking?<br /><br />Granted, it was nearly ten years ago, and I suppose I ought to cut myself some slack for that lousy theology. What shocks me is not that I thought that way or lived that way -- I know that was the case, and I thank God every time I think about how He's rescued me from the dark weariness of striving to make Him like me. What shocks me is that I wrote that down and didn't even recognize that it was the opposite of the Gospel -- a Gospel I thought I'd embraced but clearly didn't understand.<br /><br />All that to say, it challenges me -- first, to examine my own heart, and second, to examine what I teach, whether by word or by example, to make sure that any challenge to righteous living or obedience or godly standards is never presented without the why (because of love and for His glory) and the how (by His grace). Otherwise I'm just adding to a load that was never intended to be borne the way we tend to bear it because it was already carried with the cross and when He said "It is finished!" it really was.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-90825074172863257452010-04-29T13:41:00.010-04:002010-04-29T14:00:47.520-04:00Poem In My Pocket<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">It's <a href="http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/406">Poem In Your Pocket Day</a> -- apparently the 8th annual, but <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2009/04/poem-in-my-pocket.html">last year</a> was my first. No time to scribble one down today so it's in snapshots on my phone, which is in my pocket, and I guess that's the next best thing. And here 'tis:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Invitation</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><br />George Herbert</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><pre><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Come ye hither all, whose taste</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > Is your waste;</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Save your cost, and mend your fare.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >God is here prepar’d and drest,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > And the feast,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >God, in whom all dainties are.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Come ye hither all, whom <a name="wine">wine</a></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > Doth define,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Naming you not to your good:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Weep what ye have drunk amisse,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > And drink this,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Which before ye drink is <a name="bloud">bloud</a>.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Come ye hither all, whom pain</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > Doth arraigne,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Bringing all your <a name="sin">sin</a>nes to sight:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Taste and fear not: God is here</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > In this cheer,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >And on sinne doth cast the fright.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Come ye hither all, whom joy</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > Doth destroy,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >While ye graze without your bounds:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Here is joy that drowneth quite</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > Your delight,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >As a floud the lower grounds.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Come ye hither all, whose <a name="love">love</a></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > Is your dove,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >And exalts you to the skie:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Here is love, which having breath</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > Ev’n in <a name="death">death</a>,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >After death can never die.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Lord I have invited all,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > And I shall</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Still invite, still call to thee:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >For it seems but just and right</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" > In my sight,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Book Antiqua,Times;font-size:100%;" >Where is all, there all should be</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia,serif;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I'm not all about transubstantiation, by the way -- or alternative spelling, for that matter -- but I am all about God being all, for all. Thanks, George.</span><br /></span></div></div><h4><p align="center"> </p></h4> <p align="center"> </p><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-59382449523618682262010-04-12T15:12:00.001-04:002010-04-12T15:48:00.693-04:00Happiness is...<p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddWSBm5cj1TrGkQAktoXRNq5VUe2ikPgAxVbIIUWHbvwoRFR_mDXP4iFSdEOHqWMif3daLOXXenpeXgtOfOxO4fGDlp1AncyQ4HESVrA_aQr9s2bpTQLdg9xjE03FncC7-yv2vn-4FDQ/s1600/photo-783972.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddWSBm5cj1TrGkQAktoXRNq5VUe2ikPgAxVbIIUWHbvwoRFR_mDXP4iFSdEOHqWMif3daLOXXenpeXgtOfOxO4fGDlp1AncyQ4HESVrA_aQr9s2bpTQLdg9xjE03FncC7-yv2vn-4FDQ/s320/photo-783972.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459331144531456146" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo">...a pocketful of almonds.</p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-43087401736332330122010-04-05T00:20:00.002-04:002010-04-05T00:45:21.460-04:00Happiness is...<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>...hammocking in the park on a Sunday afternoon.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEViwnqUeZnBxHmdWmyqdmeCrMPZ9Vqv6g36Df8YKWLyYcSCZODLUYPyGnUTyIAc02YgcWfNo0Kx3Qxw7UDhAX5CcEfuu0AtZ7idpbtV8QsayeNCFwEt-EOMlPxqiE2iOLdyXiTSU5-YM/s1600/IMG_0287.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEViwnqUeZnBxHmdWmyqdmeCrMPZ9Vqv6g36Df8YKWLyYcSCZODLUYPyGnUTyIAc02YgcWfNo0Kx3Qxw7UDhAX5CcEfuu0AtZ7idpbtV8QsayeNCFwEt-EOMlPxqiE2iOLdyXiTSU5-YM/s320/IMG_0287.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456494157197469602" border="0" /></a><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9g7OflCmvukMTUdAEdk0UBtfPP7AvMcLQlsPTthnqR8GWg03hnjVEHjSaFWj9Dbc7a-X8KrpgHibqVRIYz1AJw39sCBtCVXx5lOUs9fF8D-HP3zE1AovpW2V8nLRUubile1IMcoLUpc/s1600/IMG_0289.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9g7OflCmvukMTUdAEdk0UBtfPP7AvMcLQlsPTthnqR8GWg03hnjVEHjSaFWj9Dbc7a-X8KrpgHibqVRIYz1AJw39sCBtCVXx5lOUs9fF8D-HP3zE1AovpW2V8nLRUubile1IMcoLUpc/s320/IMG_0289.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456492325597338466" border="0" /></a><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6tHoYBpgitIqK7S8azDJmtUexyjDkhLNVLE28RGfYLTbiEZuMPlQIasuDs-SXqHBqNISgm3Uvte8U8TaIt67mYDRr7Xjjr4Iq_SWJBCNFh4i33Ku4-846DRx2_sEuUX0A5bpF8tPfCg/s1600/IMG_0293.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6tHoYBpgitIqK7S8azDJmtUexyjDkhLNVLE28RGfYLTbiEZuMPlQIasuDs-SXqHBqNISgm3Uvte8U8TaIt67mYDRr7Xjjr4Iq_SWJBCNFh4i33Ku4-846DRx2_sEuUX0A5bpF8tPfCg/s320/IMG_0293.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456494174944209442" border="0" /></a> <span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons">Especially when it follows some good Food-n-Fellowship (including an Easter egg hunt in which I decided to make a tradition of <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2009/04/we-never-hunted-easter-egg-as-kids.html">hunting violets instead</a>).</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons">Speaking of <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2009/03/first-violet_19.html">violets</a>, the day after <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/03/on-brain-part-ii.html">bemoaning</a> their absence I found one! I was dashing back and forth cleaning up our community lunch so could only pause to cry "There you are!", snatch her up, and slip her into my Bible for safekeeping (as it happens, right next to God saying, "Open wide your mouth and I will fill it").<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWfhvnb-AQqlzG8MeujE9qef_WLu634-k2y334DkUUz2pWKqczOa5vy6oPFck6uFggkUB40FEWOTcyWZsFMuK_ifD9uFpF86pkMzoMXZXZcn-D5svQIPDHW3d24BmoIiRW3WWP3Nn0h0/s1600/IMG_0295.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWfhvnb-AQqlzG8MeujE9qef_WLu634-k2y334DkUUz2pWKqczOa5vy6oPFck6uFggkUB40FEWOTcyWZsFMuK_ifD9uFpF86pkMzoMXZXZcn-D5svQIPDHW3d24BmoIiRW3WWP3Nn0h0/s320/IMG_0295.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456492249217645058" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons">And here are Violets #2, 3, 4, & 5...</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-YMOgjV3bEX0FJnBoTsq1LTTN4OMjdNdJZ72shgpDBAfmjG6Zz1xCmgLRYtTYVohmNPljVvisB3Yn_qezS5WmTu2Id9StB9J6Cg6VVTgqkWGWm6-Lpeag4B2i8J0c25Diopl7VSjUzg/s1600/IMG_0281.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-YMOgjV3bEX0FJnBoTsq1LTTN4OMjdNdJZ72shgpDBAfmjG6Zz1xCmgLRYtTYVohmNPljVvisB3Yn_qezS5WmTu2Id9StB9J6Cg6VVTgqkWGWm6-Lpeag4B2i8J0c25Diopl7VSjUzg/s320/IMG_0281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456492271072766050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons">...and #s 6-15...</span><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LYR2N9YNyjF6Si15waDFhfxGauvBy7_chTWcfY9lRaAUQ9P7Yquj-FTZaAoCzHih8pSF5bNva3AW8z9YJE1Zr7AnZ1L5mdh9zLlc9FA7EEW5fOqylnYwh-l4qrqn1gz1oNj1LY_JZDM/s1600/IMG_0280.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LYR2N9YNyjF6Si15waDFhfxGauvBy7_chTWcfY9lRaAUQ9P7Yquj-FTZaAoCzHih8pSF5bNva3AW8z9YJE1Zr7AnZ1L5mdh9zLlc9FA7EEW5fOqylnYwh-l4qrqn1gz1oNj1LY_JZDM/s320/IMG_0280.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456492299581123794" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons">...and Karina sniffing #16.</span><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-RCOXOTQbteOKrx0zmP9g9LixD6bW4rHZ85T7qRr3yj1rPjKIpqf2tT6dSsFvpEX1yRTkiiTLvVrACaRoQqyUWbdIM8bjVBZtOjhJkmSRSv9H9C57EyyqwFkubxJkt8q0yyvRoYSgEc/s1600/IMG_0283.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-RCOXOTQbteOKrx0zmP9g9LixD6bW4rHZ85T7qRr3yj1rPjKIpqf2tT6dSsFvpEX1yRTkiiTLvVrACaRoQqyUWbdIM8bjVBZtOjhJkmSRSv9H9C57EyyqwFkubxJkt8q0yyvRoYSgEc/s320/IMG_0283.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456492313904208434" border="0" /></a><br /></div></div></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-51505153410232468922010-04-04T23:52:00.003-04:002010-04-05T00:13:15.144-04:00Resurrection<div style="text-align: center;"> <br /><div style="text-align: left;">I woke up Saturday morning to the sound of a mourning dove outside my open window and the news that my friends in Sudan were safe.<br /><br />This morning, celebrating the Resurrection was all the more meaningful after the darkness of <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/04/it-was-good-friday.html">that good Friday</a>. As I listened to the familiar <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=lk%2015:11-31&version=NIV">story</a> of the prodigal, I wanted to raise my hands and say "That's me!" I was dead, but I'm alive again; I was lost, but now I'm found.<br /><br />Then this afternoon: more bad news, as a dear friend who's become my little sister shared the troubling report of her fiance's health concerns. For some reason I thought that after Friday there would be no more blood tests or frightening unknowns, no more wars or rumors of wars.<br /><br />He's alive, and because of him so are we, but this world isn't our home; it's groaning for redemption. I won't bother trying to explain what I mean, since we sang about it this morning:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me,<br />I cannot proclaim it well.<br />O that day when freed from sinning,<br />I shall see Thy lovely face;<br />Then clothed in blood-washed linen,<br />How I'll sing Thy sovereign grace!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">- Robert Robinson, "Come Thou Fount"</span><br /> <br /><div style="text-align: left;">He's risen indeed. Come, Lord Jesus!<br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div></div></div></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-18422587152535517652010-04-04T22:18:00.005-04:002010-04-04T23:20:57.757-04:00It was a good Friday.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A friend of mine left Friday morning to attend a funeral in his hometown.<br /><br />Over lunch, a friend of mine shared the struggle of realizing that her father is dying.<br /><br />In the afternoon, I grieved with another friend over the loss of a dear, close relative.<br /><br />Then I discovered that a good friend was being held at gunpoint in Sudan. She is one of my heroes for pursuing a childhood dream of starting a medical clinic near the Darfur region. A group of militants took over their compound and held the workers and patients hostage. As I prayed for their deliverance, I remembered her telling me years ago that she would consider it a privilege to lose her life while serving in Africa.<br /><br />That evening as a group of us enjoyed the spring weather, coffee, and conversation on a café patio, someone mentioned that a man she'd known for years had recently commit suicide.<br /><br />In the parking lot as we were leaving, someone else got a phone call. Her "Oh no!" was alarming, but before we could find out what had happened a woman pulled up. She asked us for directions and lisped out her story through a broken jaw: she was in an abusive relationship, she told us, and was on her way to meet the creep so the police could catch him. She was bruised and nervous, but what struck me most was the pink baby carrier buckled into the backseat.<br /><br />When she left, we learned the source of my friend's "Oh no": her sister's friend, a single mother of four, had lost her little boy. He'd been abducted, horribly molested, and killed.<br /><br />By now the day had gotten a bit surreal. What's more, I kept checking for updates but still had no news from Sudan.<br /><br />That morning I'd led a worship service focused on the weight and wonder of the cross. One of the aspects we meditated on was how Jesus was falsely accused at his trial and did not defend himself; we, on the other hand, are truly guilty but try to justify our crime. And he took the punishment while we go free.<br /><br />As Friday progressed another friend of mine kept those of us in his social network updated on the events of that day in history. "By now he had been betrayed and humanity was putting God on trial. It was a good Friday," he tweeted. He continued throughout the day as Jesus was questioned and the crowds chose a criminal over him. And then: "Now the entire weight of wrath fell on him. Not some or part, but all. God was killing his Son. But it was a good Friday."<br /><br />We are badly, badly broken. We're so unworthy of the cross -- but oh, how we need it.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-30711208446179021652010-03-28T22:50:00.006-04:002010-04-05T00:32:12.004-04:00On the Brain, Part II<div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div><a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/03/winter-may-remain-for-time-but.html">The</a> <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/03/first-day-of-spring.html">other</a> <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/03/sooner-than-hoped.html">theme</a> in my mobile photo library.<br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcZeJ7SHLrV3xlVaFRRe5LkuejGeAQN4Xw5wuqJBePKvERVaM6JZoQH8fbX_S0VtMXHK4gnmi8jRf4wOhV6_gK7uR8G5_YzjU-ubOcP1YgqGrNvhuGcavB6b96fq8hlwie8xc4cxj3xI/s1600/IMG_0264.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcZeJ7SHLrV3xlVaFRRe5LkuejGeAQN4Xw5wuqJBePKvERVaM6JZoQH8fbX_S0VtMXHK4gnmi8jRf4wOhV6_gK7uR8G5_YzjU-ubOcP1YgqGrNvhuGcavB6b96fq8hlwie8xc4cxj3xI/s320/IMG_0264.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453884988623137042" border="0" /></a>More daffydills<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGnobJcvJNRs0cOELrDA1wwvg9OUzetuU6RIPp7XBBhClLErvtbIvXgJxgh1DhMNue3cH8VoTyO59S1DFwNptmXTCc7z2zAIb43S3Q2pM9AGp2pZBjEjnzvnf2f2G1sWz5meQReTtwLHM/s1600/IMG_0265.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGnobJcvJNRs0cOELrDA1wwvg9OUzetuU6RIPp7XBBhClLErvtbIvXgJxgh1DhMNue3cH8VoTyO59S1DFwNptmXTCc7z2zAIb43S3Q2pM9AGp2pZBjEjnzvnf2f2G1sWz5meQReTtwLHM/s320/IMG_0265.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453884971543184402" border="0" /></a>When the carpet cleaners parked me in I made lemonade, so to speak, by taking a walk to the park. I asked this little tuft of grass to let me make a ring out of it, and to prove its undying devotion it complied, the whiff of wild onion upon being twisted and torn its olfactory equivalent to "Oh, happy dagger!"<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSqStw9SwV0RrhHqhseZJzrcQPDqSeogzMNu_Pt_xjICB0c3fgwpROQ273QLQw42D_cU4hjqXQIbHZqON-AcGfL79BrxtmfPKvWDcxLE8n2Uh37L0hSBxyyBf7tluBttyEX7gO8sZKqek/s1600/IMG_0271.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSqStw9SwV0RrhHqhseZJzrcQPDqSeogzMNu_Pt_xjICB0c3fgwpROQ273QLQw42D_cU4hjqXQIbHZqON-AcGfL79BrxtmfPKvWDcxLE8n2Uh37L0hSBxyyBf7tluBttyEX7gO8sZKqek/s320/IMG_0271.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453884978970656866" border="0" /></a>A meeting in the basement? On a day like today?<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I started blogging after I discovered <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2009/03/first-violet_19.html">the first violet</a> this time last year and, as usual, couldn't keep quiet about it. For years that first blossom has become synonymous to me of our hope and God's faithfulness.<br /><br />Last year the first violet caught me completely by surprise. This year my blogiversary came and went, followed by the first day of spring, and I've been keeping my eyes peeled. This has resulted in some clumsy walks and a discovery of quite a bit of dog poop in my neighborhood, but my hope remains deferred. No purple head peeks out by the sidewalk, the tree root, the bush.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"> </div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Still, my hope is in Him and He's faithful, whether or not those sweet little reminders appear. Silly of me to look for the sign instead of the source.<br /><br />Anyway, spring seems to have arrived without the violets.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div> </div></div></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-62606663912003242402010-03-28T21:50:00.011-04:002010-03-28T23:51:33.921-04:00On the Brain<div style="text-align: center;"><br />Browsing my iPhone photos the other day, I <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/02/hangin-out-in-kitchen.html">detected</a> <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/01/some-days-grace-is-brown-and-hot-and.html">a</a> <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/01/success-of-day-homemade-yogurt.html">theme</a>.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TFVH_JrqGhWIsuy-q98vTCdFjgqs7VSXjg5Hl7hKKZ8K9L32d6SnMepkMaudZRwE-6BgJ3Ov7HhNB2JQSXnUh2jzbKXNF1ih9HSIc2fo6GadNGmObXeERo7auHEiYbL7M7WYI43ldi8/s1600/IMG_0159.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TFVH_JrqGhWIsuy-q98vTCdFjgqs7VSXjg5Hl7hKKZ8K9L32d6SnMepkMaudZRwE-6BgJ3Ov7HhNB2JQSXnUh2jzbKXNF1ih9HSIc2fo6GadNGmObXeERo7auHEiYbL7M7WYI43ldi8/s320/IMG_0159.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453872609990070978" border="0" /></a>Mmm, authentic enchiladas.<br />Sure was nice having the Delgado family in town.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-CVhqUmWeJ_pZxEGFrGnv7RWe3FfkmYjsre2XDVco2MJy07gCaRymF_AprYXMDoSDo5go6PkokA3LY6gBz4Pb2M0ar9GyrM6btMiv3ioxuOHDVXSHbjghv6FsYs1rlMl3kmyJFSlsSo/s1600/IMG_0221.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-CVhqUmWeJ_pZxEGFrGnv7RWe3FfkmYjsre2XDVco2MJy07gCaRymF_AprYXMDoSDo5go6PkokA3LY6gBz4Pb2M0ar9GyrM6btMiv3ioxuOHDVXSHbjghv6FsYs1rlMl3kmyJFSlsSo/s320/IMG_0221.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453872622674436386" border="0" /></a>The only thing better than a café miel at Quills...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbKo9EB0rGXDAz06TVtzPUIDDfPazcFNIVWdX0g5-4F2Ecxq3rY5aLyOLpUnXTYc6zqfJ2l59bTL2ZNDm5vyhJrji0zg3RjBaWF_Ik0VsYjkwBfMINHA9DfZqbWTQbfZrLuRXZtPLRf0/s1600/IMG_0219.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbKo9EB0rGXDAz06TVtzPUIDDfPazcFNIVWdX0g5-4F2Ecxq3rY5aLyOLpUnXTYc6zqfJ2l59bTL2ZNDm5vyhJrji0zg3RjBaWF_Ik0VsYjkwBfMINHA9DfZqbWTQbfZrLuRXZtPLRf0/s320/IMG_0219.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453872615095332306" border="0" /></a>...is a café miel at Quills with Kristen.<br />(She's looking a tad grainy here -- no fault of her own.)<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDddtd0bRpCDfqPDfwSBVeLYIwsbT2a0mg0ew-BFKHLHz0nqp2lKqRS9Hgwd5GGjsqcRGJYtAOc15d0VS6jz-XGuoNXba9Qufd35BITnj4OMXsLR2XTvT2vOMCr7FswV-IKQV6CUI1GNg/s1600/IMG_0269.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDddtd0bRpCDfqPDfwSBVeLYIwsbT2a0mg0ew-BFKHLHz0nqp2lKqRS9Hgwd5GGjsqcRGJYtAOc15d0VS6jz-XGuoNXba9Qufd35BITnj4OMXsLR2XTvT2vOMCr7FswV-IKQV6CUI1GNg/s320/IMG_0269.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453872631102654578" border="0" /></a>After living in <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2009/09/on-community.html">My Own Place</a> for six months, I finally bought a kitchen table and decided the inaugural meal warranted commemorating. In case you're wondering, that's a mug of homemade baked beans, and the jar of milk is the closest to farm fresh I can get.<br /><br />This meal made me think of Gramma, for no other reason than that I sprinkled my eggs with <span style="font-style: italic;">herbes de provence</span> gleaned from her kitchen cabinet after she passed away last summer. It occurred to me as I enjoyed my little supper that Gramma would have been an avid Craigslister had she known how to use a computer, and she would have been proud of me for talking the previous owner of my "new" table into selling it for $40 instead of $50.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheahpiLeqdpFrSTszrjpFlVMFF66pVnt44vxMt5B0eAwwqrLJBcCe6OlWsR-hwD9wlGvIMjV7PqaD5xB-KDEHXyQnUtOri4zG8KW-b47WGe1AvBQk9galuk_a8wzTX-QZYBF5V7U3aSaM/s1600/IMG_0272.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheahpiLeqdpFrSTszrjpFlVMFF66pVnt44vxMt5B0eAwwqrLJBcCe6OlWsR-hwD9wlGvIMjV7PqaD5xB-KDEHXyQnUtOri4zG8KW-b47WGe1AvBQk9galuk_a8wzTX-QZYBF5V7U3aSaM/s320/IMG_0272.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453872644143332002" border="0" /></a>Java doesn't brew my favorite coffee in town, but they do serve it in my favorite misshapen turquoise mug.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3e6aRcGgogM4HcUbZHk7-T4brd5vNIa5Kw1jAhSbk22r7YMbwCfakf_w4HQMHSbYe3g7aazc-vQ6GqP5mbhV1K7WRq41LzPuGsyfGLS8bYaUa5OLj6-T-j9pQEkdN85BaHvv95JLBIY/s1600/IMG_0273.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3e6aRcGgogM4HcUbZHk7-T4brd5vNIa5Kw1jAhSbk22r7YMbwCfakf_w4HQMHSbYe3g7aazc-vQ6GqP5mbhV1K7WRq41LzPuGsyfGLS8bYaUa5OLj6-T-j9pQEkdN85BaHvv95JLBIY/s320/IMG_0273.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453873258362146898" border="0" /></a>This is peanut butter and jelly. Literally.<br />It made for a good midnight supper after a long day of work.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VlPV_x3kYb7No7NoGrRpeLTIQTxCa6-hfUOcnhDyxvUP9_c8JDH0_7NM3TQTGMoWVYbY8rwdURZSRc1RM6OXbz98q-ZDja1UQo1rgU9CyikdIlrumvwCXr6CVvewoBIzLmDr7927_ZI/s1600/IMG_0275.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VlPV_x3kYb7No7NoGrRpeLTIQTxCa6-hfUOcnhDyxvUP9_c8JDH0_7NM3TQTGMoWVYbY8rwdURZSRc1RM6OXbz98q-ZDja1UQo1rgU9CyikdIlrumvwCXr6CVvewoBIzLmDr7927_ZI/s320/IMG_0275.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453873263918832258" border="0" /></a>Rainy Sunday afternoons are for coffee, cookies, and parables.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmc5W4Kqx9zKebCDphtolgu5VsrKEGyS3jkKKv8XviPZoUAeUEQrP2BJvj0L7BIfNVDLnGaKa2Q_7brZGc8u6efZVw7VDpyACpUiSexiFFHbvWs0DRUDl_i_OWb1WG-jRQKyauN02PqY/s1600/IMG_0277_2.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmc5W4Kqx9zKebCDphtolgu5VsrKEGyS3jkKKv8XviPZoUAeUEQrP2BJvj0L7BIfNVDLnGaKa2Q_7brZGc8u6efZVw7VDpyACpUiSexiFFHbvWs0DRUDl_i_OWb1WG-jRQKyauN02PqY/s320/IMG_0277_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453873272566533986" border="0" /></a>And also <a href="http://treasuresandtrifles.blogspot.com/2010/03/prrrr.html">red shoes</a>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span>"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">- <a href="http://bartleby.com/198/1.html">T.S. Eliot</a></span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-CVhqUmWeJ_pZxEGFrGnv7RWe3FfkmYjsre2XDVco2MJy07gCaRymF_AprYXMDoSDo5go6PkokA3LY6gBz4Pb2M0ar9GyrM6btMiv3ioxuOHDVXSHbjghv6FsYs1rlMl3kmyJFSlsSo/s1600/IMG_0221.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><br /></div></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-14303197031014628272010-03-20T15:52:00.005-04:002010-03-21T19:28:00.749-04:00First Day of Spring<div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CWjEKHSibzKTKVPTr1nttfKC2eZqtbIOFSZtZ3DoHQUAG-IsJbSjr9eWhmsWQKh6n3tccasqQ-Z7e5MYAS-0A7ua0LO5K2HU_3AxRHyRCYn9LEq0ccgcFhSNV8u4tzns6BF3ubE_uWg/s1600-h/IMG_0263.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CWjEKHSibzKTKVPTr1nttfKC2eZqtbIOFSZtZ3DoHQUAG-IsJbSjr9eWhmsWQKh6n3tccasqQ-Z7e5MYAS-0A7ua0LO5K2HU_3AxRHyRCYn9LEq0ccgcFhSNV8u4tzns6BF3ubE_uWg/s320/IMG_0263.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451230147487995074" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection,<br />not in books alone, but in every leaf in spring-time."<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">- Martin Luther</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"Daffodils were sunbeams in a previous life<br />and will be lemon cupcakes in the next."<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">- me</span><br /></div> <br /></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-33132225154216551322010-03-19T15:20:00.000-04:002010-03-19T15:21:24.633-04:00bee tee double you<div style="text-align: center;"> <br /><div style="text-align: left;">Happy blogiversary to me!<br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-17163468426564511492010-03-16T21:43:00.005-04:002010-03-19T15:28:42.501-04:00That Darn Thing with Feathers<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>"Hope is the thing with feathers," chirped <a href="http://www.online-literature.com/dickinson/827/">Emily Dickinson</a>, "that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all."<br /><br />There are days, good days, sunshiney spring-is-here-at-last days, when I sing hope's praises alongside Emily, as well I should.<br /><br />There are days, grey days, drizzley winter-may-stay-forever days, when I want to strangle the thing with feathers to silence its incessant song.<br /><br />You irritate me, little bird. You tantalize me with your promises and frighten me with your risk. You're unabashed, Emily says, by the sorest of storms or the chilliest of lands, but I'm not interested in storms or chill; I'd rather stick cynical thumbs in my ears than be lured out to sea by your sweet song. Emily insists you've never asked a crumb of her. From me you demand my final meal. You're not safe, you unassuming feathered thing, and if I sing along, I may be disappointed.<br /><br />But sing I must, like it or not, because I've read the Book and I know the outcome and I see that I am called to join the chorus because I'm loved by a God who doesn't just offer a hopeful option or wistful thinking or blind optimism but <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> Hope, my only hope. To run from hope is to hope in myself, and that's a chilling thought if ever there was one.<br /><br />He does <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=is%2049:23&version=TNIV">promise</a>, after all, that those who hope in him are never disappointed, and of course it's true --how could he ever disappoint? It's the "in him" that makes the difference, since he's the one, the only one, who never fails.<br /><br />That's the pitch I'll tune my heart to.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-23288698619156640522010-03-09T09:05:00.001-05:002010-03-09T10:37:45.317-05:00Sooner than hoped.<p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP_o8p-lEav0McdsoeEHrhvFJvE0zLBtDCUm96HX2Uu9xqz6SJI2k6m1I7qEGb9ep3BWuHfinAnWdYGMjPRA_JplI6rw4_uwhB9j-kPVAbnrdAlpcS4znMmtzpj-v5iG-jdYYAcgU18J4/s1600-h/photo-767003.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP_o8p-lEav0McdsoeEHrhvFJvE0zLBtDCUm96HX2Uu9xqz6SJI2k6m1I7qEGb9ep3BWuHfinAnWdYGMjPRA_JplI6rw4_uwhB9j-kPVAbnrdAlpcS4znMmtzpj-v5iG-jdYYAcgU18J4/s320/photo-767003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446635148426783250" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo">But definitely not daffodils.</p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-15115414007190982492010-03-07T18:31:00.002-05:002010-03-07T23:30:35.858-05:00Happiness is...<p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_OwNOFhLAa7LyQGSvLL7iPHS_Q1BnpSOAe95gqsLh5oCRtImXsOLjPbK3NyT0BPBa9jX_Yr71FD-0LttTuOnzSzxyfkKtOP7Moq-qTW6E6DriTOYkhBXI5J_3FIiRflkc0pe-vhnA7zk/s1600-h/photo-701319.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_OwNOFhLAa7LyQGSvLL7iPHS_Q1BnpSOAe95gqsLh5oCRtImXsOLjPbK3NyT0BPBa9jX_Yr71FD-0LttTuOnzSzxyfkKtOP7Moq-qTW6E6DriTOYkhBXI5J_3FIiRflkc0pe-vhnA7zk/s320/photo-701319.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446038722026392530" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo">...an open sunroof.<br /></p>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-66105375356030125472010-03-06T11:36:00.001-05:002010-03-06T18:08:53.838-05:00Prrrr<p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFaZMW3EQVqhDZMLmnGb7Cg1gaLYS5JkvY5_zz-zTG0soo-y9UIqRnhIcA-sc4IhE313JV4DJfNOyfYVVXePT7rQ1LZVLNeBOW_n7dQQoF755me3aLu1KvmUh5qFkXzJFO-MPZVxN14g/s1600-h/photo-720369.jpg"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><br /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFaZMW3EQVqhDZMLmnGb7Cg1gaLYS5JkvY5_zz-zTG0soo-y9UIqRnhIcA-sc4IhE313JV4DJfNOyfYVVXePT7rQ1LZVLNeBOW_n7dQQoF755me3aLu1KvmUh5qFkXzJFO-MPZVxN14g/s1600-h/photo-720369.jpg"> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFaZMW3EQVqhDZMLmnGb7Cg1gaLYS5JkvY5_zz-zTG0soo-y9UIqRnhIcA-sc4IhE313JV4DJfNOyfYVVXePT7rQ1LZVLNeBOW_n7dQQoF755me3aLu1KvmUh5qFkXzJFO-MPZVxN14g/s320/photo-720369.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445560774469295074" border="0" /></a></p>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-31509553226156269542010-03-02T10:25:00.004-05:002010-03-28T23:22:15.580-04:00Winter may remain for a time, but rejoicing comes in the spring.<p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDa1-P76_XXAPZrJD0lesm-rCRSW0ZxuX91eFoHQH-R_OgOvH3wt1AMROIi67a-l55JTXjfxEk0BYN4LGZpoIAedsweZF5UYMhe8Fy-zp6N_yW-Xbe7WkR7ZOuAi3i3YNAWA8k_84XMs/s1600-h/photo-756779.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDa1-P76_XXAPZrJD0lesm-rCRSW0ZxuX91eFoHQH-R_OgOvH3wt1AMROIi67a-l55JTXjfxEk0BYN4LGZpoIAedsweZF5UYMhe8Fy-zp6N_yW-Xbe7WkR7ZOuAi3i3YNAWA8k_84XMs/s320/photo-756779.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444058138163257090" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo">Daffodils are not far off.</p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><br /></p>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-49276465590169691792010-02-10T22:05:00.003-05:002010-02-11T14:55:47.776-05:00Hangin' Out in the Kitchen<p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM4T0LAAyF1pENJDDsFJx2oqd4OdZjl3twDtuhhEsOcYB8mfJyzksF7lZFEPx3hK6sDHjDm4CypZYV-JE2VZj9R3C8IT44Qs3nILoK-S0Ma2pAtSvNZFYuTcC-y_EZA739ZxBLi2JiqCo/s1600-h/photo-730716.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM4T0LAAyF1pENJDDsFJx2oqd4OdZjl3twDtuhhEsOcYB8mfJyzksF7lZFEPx3hK6sDHjDm4CypZYV-JE2VZj9R3C8IT44Qs3nILoK-S0Ma2pAtSvNZFYuTcC-y_EZA739ZxBLi2JiqCo/s320/photo-730716.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436816694297171650" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-89011176192327899962010-02-09T23:06:00.006-05:002010-02-11T14:56:02.005-05:00Snow Day, Part 2<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs166.snc3/19344_275010742613_503032613_2853390_4611493_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 515px; height: 386px;" src="http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs166.snc3/19344_275010742613_503032613_2853390_4611493_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Some offices have coffee breaks involving burnt Folgers and styrofoam. Around here we build snow creatures inspired by Dr. Seuss and sip lattes. Don't you wish you had my job?<br /><br />Oh, and we definitely have the best snowman around. Those kids down the street didn't stand a chance.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-21746795045607996402010-02-09T11:15:00.009-05:002010-03-07T23:35:11.444-05:00Snow Day<div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div>It's the kind of snow that comes down in thick, wet flakes, sticking to my hair and my nose and my tongue (which, of course, is hanging out to catch it). It's sticking to the trees, too, transforming suburbia into fairyland. The boys across the street are building barricades and itching for a fight. The neighbor kids have the first big snowball ready for their snowman. I have firewood on hand and everything I need for a batch of homemade hot cocoa.<br /><br />I love today.<br /><br />Waking up to fresh-fallen snow holds the same wonder it always did, even though I'm a grown-up now and can't stay home and don't even own a sled. Suddenly the world is clean, and even the drab parking lot behind my cheap apartment brims with potential and magic. I know I'm <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=ps%2051:7&version=ESV">far</a> <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=is%201:18&version=ESV">from</a> the first to make this observation, but when I look out my window at the white-draped world I can't help but be reminded of how God blankets my dinginess with His purity. That's cause for a wonder that only grows, and with it gratitude and delight and awe.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">whose sin is covered." - Psalm 32:1</span><br /><br /></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-36794127020304821472010-01-20T14:59:00.003-05:002010-02-11T14:54:57.316-05:00Some days grace is brown and hot and liquid.<p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwEkU6DQzxjWG-gSzjHCtGxrKNGluOjDkrZYY2jlGuQZZwQguHE7BG242v_GwJFdl9IbPP1FJL9TaiD5EclLVP1XsljNe_Vm8aluCq4q2hg7wiJiFScLXhERsFycyijnkk65PEieXSOc/s1600-h/photo-799634.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwEkU6DQzxjWG-gSzjHCtGxrKNGluOjDkrZYY2jlGuQZZwQguHE7BG242v_GwJFdl9IbPP1FJL9TaiD5EclLVP1XsljNe_Vm8aluCq4q2hg7wiJiFScLXhERsFycyijnkk65PEieXSOc/s320/photo-799634.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428914249748308882" border="0" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo">I drink deeply.</p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-5867981639948287122010-01-17T19:19:00.003-05:002010-02-11T14:55:32.647-05:00Success of the Day: Homemade Yogurt<p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"> <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxF2EvvQmxmDf3YWZI9mP_ERL2yR_hcchiSa7mXKM6EDQJIayvWdcOdnETv1L6pi8HzAG_w0TgEs7mVPrq68K0fsdiz4dhcMTCDM1crd7m8gY_fERgTMnVBh35bLzr2J1rcDmSJdhgEFw/s1600-h/photo-794159.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxF2EvvQmxmDf3YWZI9mP_ERL2yR_hcchiSa7mXKM6EDQJIayvWdcOdnETv1L6pi8HzAG_w0TgEs7mVPrq68K0fsdiz4dhcMTCDM1crd7m8gY_fERgTMnVBh35bLzr2J1rcDmSJdhgEFw/s320/photo-794159.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427867977447125570" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2368566030010146179.post-72318284282427109792010-01-11T00:27:00.003-05:002010-01-11T00:49:31.794-05:00When Life Hands You a Snowstorm, Make Snow Cream<p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihwr51mpYeShRjqDHOs421XTvhgtrUnc6A1d_1kIA0msn8W6qV5ROBTdbeaEkOVdZG6-u9wCpE_8WAN_0_Hl7JClcgv4SapLLu0bAyB9VAxHRK9sQ5mPz601ISAyb2xLVlKRYST1QHDiA/s1600-h/photo-793031.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihwr51mpYeShRjqDHOs421XTvhgtrUnc6A1d_1kIA0msn8W6qV5ROBTdbeaEkOVdZG6-u9wCpE_8WAN_0_Hl7JClcgv4SapLLu0bAyB9VAxHRK9sQ5mPz601ISAyb2xLVlKRYST1QHDiA/s320/photo-793031.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425349830643696850" border="0" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p>Libbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02188902478429539760noreply@blogger.com0