Faith, Folklore, and Friends

Can wind direction forecast the weather for the New Year?  According to the Old  Farmer's Almanac, it can. If New Year’s Eve the wind blows south It betokens warmth and growth. If west, much milk and fish in the sea. If north, cold and storms there will be. If east, the trees will bear much fruit. If north east, then flee it, man and brute.

This list of books I've read this year contains some literature and some junk.  Don't judge me; I loved them all! 1.  The Kite Runner   by Khaled Hosseini 2.  The Quilter's Daughter by Wanda E.  Brunstetter 3.  Dead Sleep by Greg Iles 4.  A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini 5.  Angel Sister by Ann H. Gabhart 6.  Secrets of the Grave by Tami Hoag 7.  Thale's Folly by Dorothy Gilman 8.  To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee 9.  Dicey's Song by Cynthia Voight 10. Saint by Ted Dekker 11. My Antonia by Willa Cather 12. No Second Chances by Harlan Coben 13. Homecoming by Cynthia Voight 14. Daddy's Gone a Hunting by Mary Higgins Clark 15. The Weight of Blood by Laura McHugh 16. Battle of King's Mountain by Sharon McCrumb 17. Running Blind by Lee Child 18. King of the Wind by Marquerite Henry 19. A Hundred Flowers by Gail Tsukiyama 20. High Heat by Lee Child 21. The Color Purple by Alice Walker 22. The O...

             Nativity of Jesus, by  Botticelli Arise, shine, for your light has come,      and  the glory of the  Lord  has risen upon you. 2  For behold, darkness shall cover the earth,      and thick darkness the peoples; but the  Lord  will arise upon you,      and his glory will be seen upon you. ~Isaiah 60:1-2

It is an ancient profession, this job of being a shepherd. Someone has to tend the sheep. Someone has to keep the flock together; to chase away the predators. They have to keep the little lambs from wandering off and getting lost. They have to keep moving sheep to different pastures, searching for fresh grass. Fresco by Taddeo Gaddi, Basilica of Santa Croce, Florence, Italy, 1332-1338 In the days when believers read Isaiah and waited for the promise, there were many shepherds. The job sometimes fell to single men who had no family responsibilities, who could stay with the sheep day and night. They moved about with the sheep, living in tents or wagons. Being a shepherd was a mundane, lonely job with little to eat and none of the comforts of home. Throughout time, God has used shepherds for his purpose. Before he became the Father of Nations, Abraham tended sheep. Jacob and Isaac were shepherds. Moses spent his time in exile tending sheep. David, who had God's he...

I posted this recipe/blog after Thanksgiving last year, and some of you have asked for it again.  Here goes: I think it was in the late seventies that I first had Holy Smoke Pie.  It was at a party at Debra Morris Harville's house.  After we ate, Debra had to give the recipe to everyone there.  I came home and made it for my family, and it has been a favorite since then.  I always make it at holiday dinners, because I believe tradition is important.  It has become a favorite of our granddaughters. I've heard it called Chocolate Delight, Four-Layer Chocolate Dessert, and other odd things.  We call it Holy Smoke.  Here is how I make it: Chop us a cup of pecans; set aside. Add a stick of softened butter (NOT margarine) to one cup of self-rising flour. Cut the butter into the flour. Add the chopped pecans, and work it all together. Save two tablespoons of the pecans to sprinkle on top. Pour into a 9" x 12" pan th...

We wait in lines, at work, at school, in traffic. Always waiting, our vaporous time on this earth dictated by clocks, buzzers, lights, ringing. Life around us constantly flowing, everyone about their business, everyone running and waiting, hurry up and wait. Isaiah waited for a Savior while preaching of His majesty, His healing. David waited as he sang psalms and adored the one he had not seen with fleshly eyes. They knew the promise.  The Messiah was coming. We celebrate the Advent, this season of anticipation, and we tend the sheep in cold silence, wonder about the star in the east, wonder when this promise will walk among us. The Word, which always was, took on flesh, flesh that laughed and cried, flesh that needed food and water, flesh that felt cold and heat. Flesh that awoke, worked, rested, slept. Flesh that walked among us. Divine flesh that died for our redemption.                       ...

  Come to  me, all who labor and are  heavy laden, and  I will give you rest.     Take my yoke upon you, and  learn from me, for I  am  gentle and lowly in heart,  and  you will find rest for your souls.     For  my yoke is  easy, and my burden is  light. ~Matthew 11:28-30

Our Christmas tree is lovely this year. It is well lighted and adorned with a variety of ornaments, some of them forty five years old.  It has been in the living room for a while, and it  hasn't shed one needle. It probably never will, because the people who made it used fine machines and glue and paint to construct it, giving it the general shape of a tree. The closest it ever came to a real tree was when it was in a box in the back of the truck, coming home from Hobby Lobby.  It smells like. . . nothing.  Back in the day, Christmas trees smelled like excitement, like company coming, like the most wonderful time of the year. As soon as our school dismissed for Christmas break, my lil' ole sister and I went to the woods in search of a Christmas tree. We ambled in woods not our own because we wanted to find something we hadn't seen before. A few times, it is possible we wandered onto government land, but it has been over fifty years and we don't fear prosec...

There is within all of us an instinct to go home, the place where we began, the place where we belong. We hear stories of lost dogs returning home, worse for wear, after traveling for miles and miles, across rivers and busy interstates, after weeks of being lost. Banding hummingbirds has proven that some return to the same feeders in the spring, after they have wintered in South America, hundreds of miles from the plastic red feeder that feels like home to them. Each year, the swallows return to Capistrano. Pacific salmon return to the stream where their life began.  The circle of life sometimes ends where it began, and somehow, we find comfort in that. Some terminal patients, knowing that their days on this earth are few, beg to leave their hospital beds and go home, to their place, to spend their final hours. Wounded soldiers on blood-drenched battlefields write of their desire to just make it home, to be surrounded by family, to be burie...

Love, love this courthouse! The  Dicken's Christmas celebration in Tuscumbia had several snow machines, and it was fun watching it.  Not too realistic, though, since it was about seventy degrees while we were there. Here is something I don't see everyday...a white bunny with a Santa hat on.  He/she/it seemed to like it.