In My Own Little Corner

This clip is from a 1957 version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella with Julie Andrews (of Sound of Music fame) as the title character. This production was filmed live for TV (think: stress and demands of a play multiplied by thousands of viewers, television cameras, and no lip-synching). Enjoy!

The world needs men and women who are willing to risk their lives in the jungles of Africa, but it also needs just as many who are content in their own little corners. Whether you are an exotic heiress with silkworms, a mother, a missionary to Africa, a student, a milkmaid, a mermaid, or a businessman, God has a job for you! Find joy in your corner today!

Love, Your Great-Great-Great Grandmother

I hold in my hands a part of the past. A scrapbook, the tale of Elmira Meadows' life. One page brings uproarious laughter, but the next draws tears. There is a newspaper clipping from when Teddy Roosevelt was president (1901), a report of the casualties of the Spanish American war in 1898, obituaries from 1894, and, towards the end, something from 1929. Elmira passed this precious book down to her daughter, Edna, who passed it down to my Great Grandmother, Irene.

My treasure trove is not all black and white, as my Great-Great-Great Grandmother filled the pages with carefully cut Victorian flowers, emblems, and stamps. Above, the first page, gives instructions for a superior scrap-book paste made of cornstarch and water. "It is said to be the kind used by all daguerreotypists on gem pictures." The right page contains the announcement of Elmira's wedding to Mr. Jesse O. Meadows in Wallowa County, Oregon. It thrills me to imagine their quiet romance and the hard but sweet life they led!

Only the next page over, though, I feel her tears as obituaries tell first of her parents' deaths, and then of her beloved husband's. "He leaves a wife and five small children to mourn his loss" the obituary says. It also adds, "The family were unable to attend the funeral on account of being under quarantine for scarlet fever."

She still knew how to laugh however, as she carefully pasted in a column of small town news.

"Mr. Tracy Whittaker, of Pearisburg High School, came home to spend the holidays, but after wearing out several telephones in trying to talk to his best girl in Pearisburg, he decided that it was cheaper to stay in that place and returned several days ago.
"Mr. C.L. Eaton added much improvement to his already good looks by getting a new hair cut last week." This is attributed to "Tootsy Wootsy."

(-:

Another clipping reflected on the things that have happened on Fridays. "Lee surrendered on Friday. Moscow was burned on Friday. Washington was born on Friday. Shakespeare was born on Friday. America was discovered on Friday. Lauren posts on her blog on Friday." (Whoops! How did that last one get in there?)

The pages are stiff, thick, and yellow. They report Mrs. Grover Cleveland's taste in dress, and the fact that the "whitest, worst looking hair, resumes its youthful beauty and softness by using Hall's Vegetable Sicilian Hair Renewer." A quote informs us that "a steel thimble is as good as a gold one for a girl who cannot darn her own stockings" while another article deviously lays out tricks to play on Grandpa.


One yellowed page informs about the reprehensible tradition of throwing rice at brides, and it speculates that the "next device will probably be a rice shower, arranged on the principles of stage rain." As I flipped through the pages, an article entitled "Being a Good Sister" caught my eye and my heart. It urges that "it takes brains, heart, conscience, womanhood, to be a good sister....There is no nobler missionary work on this planet than to give [your brother] at least a good sister. You can make no grander contribution to the world's treasure....Every time you add to your worthiness or independence, you add to the capital of the race and the quality of your future."

It is only a book, yes, but from it I learn of this woman who braved the rough life of the West over one hundred years ago. From the clippings she saved, I learn that she was a noble woman and a true follower of Christ.
I am favored with a glimpse into the life of this woman whom I would otherwise know nothing about, and I can't help but wonder if she looked into the future. I can't help but wonder if, as she rocked in front of her fire one cool night or helped her husband on their land one sunny day, she thought about her great-great-great grandchildren.
I do.

How Washingtonians Spend Their Saturdays

Saturday dawned bright and sunny, with weathermen all around threatening us with 90 degree weather and above. Thus it was that everyone unanimously vetoed the blueberry picking idea (we made up for it yesterday by picking 39 pounds) and unequivocally (except for Mom, who opted to stay home) voted to go hiking. I had had my eye on a certain hike since June, so we packed up and headed for the Gifford Pinchot National Forest in search of the isolated and ominous "High Rock Lookout."


Upon arriving at the trailhead, we were treated to an amazing spectacle over our picnic lunch..."You mean we're hiking there?! To that itty-bitty little house balancing on tiptoe at the top of a sheer 600 foot cliff?!"

l-r, back row: Melanie, Lauren, and Mikaela

front row: Susanna, Micah, and Jonah

With Susanna smiling so angelically, you can't tell that we were being annoyed by the worst "herd" of flies we had ever experienced. We felt like horses as we constantly swatted and slapped, killing three or four with each hit.


Papa!






Almost there! Melanie certainly seems to be enjoying herself, doesn't she? ;-)

The hike is 1.6 miles one way with a 1300 foot elevation gain--very vertical, to say the least!

We're there! High Rock Lookout is one of only 3 remaining fire lookouts in the Gifford Pinchot Forest. Built between 1929 and 1930, it was used by the Forest Service to locate fires each summer. We discovered a plaque which said:

"In loving memory of Johnnie T. Peters who packed materials by mule from Mineral in 1930 to build namely this lookout, High Rock, and 10 others in the Mineral, Packwood, and Randle District. 'At home in the hills.'"

Occupancy (i.e., residing in) this house is now forbidden because it is a lightning hazard. Hmm...it's the highest point around...I can't imagine why?

Micah helpfully pointing out the trailhead for your benefit. See the little tan spot right on top of his finger? That's where our car is!

"I have never liked the notion that the world is round. It makes me feel so giddy." ~Miss Matty in Cranford (explaining why she can't teach Geography)

l-r: Lauren, Micah, and Mikaela

After finishing the hike and glorying in all of the natural beauties, we reluctantly headed for home. We did, however, stop at Mineral Lake to cool off. Jonah, Susanna, Micah, and I jumped in, clothes and all--how refreshing! After such a glorious day, I have to wonder why anyone would want to live anywhere else?

No (,) God

The article caught my eye, not because I knew the actor it was referring to, but because of the wretched misery that was contained in the short title: “I don’t believe in God.”
That was it. This actor set himself up as a god and said, “No, no, no!” when asked if he believed there was a God. He went on to say, “I’m probably 20% atheist and 80% agnostic. I don’t think anyone really knows. You’ll either find out or not when you get there, and then there’s no point thinking about it.[i]” (Atheism blatantly denies that there is a God, while agnosticism says that it is impossible to even know if certain things about theology, the afterlife, and ultimate reality are true.)
Such apathy shocks me.
You have probably also heard of bestselling books like The God Delusion and God is not Great, the titles of which are enough to make my fingers stiffen on my keyboard. Psalm 14:1-2 says, ‘The fool has said in his heart, “[There is] no God." They are corrupt…. The LORD looks down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there are any who understand, who seek God.’
The question is, when He looks down what does He see?
According to surveys by the Barna Group, the percentage of atheists and agnostics in each generation stays virtually the same. Thus, the generation of those 61 and older contains about 6% atheists/agnostics, close to what it was fifteen years ago. My generation, on the other hand, is 19% atheist/agnostic[ii]. We will live our lives with these people for maybe seventy or eighty years, brushing shoulders with them, making small talk, perhaps never seeing the same “man on the street” twice, and probably never giving them a second thought.
What was I saying about apathy?
According to the Barna Group, less than half of one percent of those in my generation (18-23) have a biblical worldview[iii]. While we idle, however, those who reduce our great God to a delusion are united in viewing Christianity as a threat. “Most atheists and agnostics (56%) agree with the idea that radical Christianity is just as threatening in America as is radical Islam.[iv]”
Perhaps our sin is greater even than those who turn their back on God. We know the truth—we know the greatness of our God, and we know the consequences for those who reject Him. And yet, what do we do?

David Kinnaman, who directed the survey I have been referencing, said, “There are nearly 130 million American adults who describe themselves as Christians, but who are Christian in name only; their behavior includes little related to experiencing and expressing their alleged faith in Christ." Check out the poll on the sidebar--not everyone has voted yet, but the results are very interesting. Furthermore, what would our answer be if asked if we had witnessed even more recently? Last week? Yesterday? My own answer would show indifference, to my shame.
Here is our challenge and the promise to those who reject God. Here is the antidote to our apathy:
‘“You are My witnesses,” says the Lord, and My servant whom I have chosen, that you may know and believe Me, and understand that I am He. Before Me there was no God formed, nor shall there be after Me. I, even I, am the Lord, and besides Me there is no savior….Is there a God besides Me? Indeed there is no other Rock; I know not one. Those who make an image, all of them are useless….I have sworn by Myself…that to Me every knee shall bow, every tongue shall take an oath….To Him men shall come, and all shall be ashamed who are incensed against Him….Though one cries out to [gold], yet it cannot answer nor save him out of his trouble. Remember this, and be men, take courage.'

(Isaiah 43:10-11, 44:8b-9a, 45:23-24, 46:7b-8a)

[i] http://www.thefoxnation.com/entertainment/2009/07/23/brad-pitt-i-dont-believe-god
[ii] http://www.barna.org/barna-update/article/12-faithspirituality/102-atheists-and-agnostics-take-aim-at-christians
[iii] http://www.barna.org/barna-update/article/21-transformation/252-barna-survey-examines-changes-in-worldview-among-christians-over-the-past-13-years [iv] http://www.barna.org/barna-update/article/12-faithspirituality/102-atheists-and-agnostics-take-aim-at-christians

Running

This morning, I slammed my hand on my alarm and rolled out of bed. Still half asleep, I pulled on nylon shorts and an Old Navy t-shirt. I brushed my hair back into a ponytail and located my MP3 player. Meeting Lauren downstairs—we were the only two awake in a still, cool, dim house—I pulled socks on, shoved my feet into shoes, and tied them. Together we stretched in kneeling, upside-down, and I’m-just-about-to-fall positions. Then the long walk down the driveway in the already-hot air. We placed earbuds to ears, carefully aligned our feet with the mailbox—our start and finish line—and with eyes on her watch, Lauren gave the countdown: 3…2…1…GO!
And so I run, reminded again on this beautiful morning of why I run. With my legs moving automatically, and my breathing coming steadily, I feel the hymn “This is My Father’s World” rising in my soul. I am on a mountaintop, and life is good.
Halfway! I turn around, prepared to rerun what I just ran. The rest of the way stretches out before me, because I can unfortunately visualize every inch of the familiar road. What lies ahead is a battle with no room for complacency. My calves are burning, and my lungs seem to have suddenly shrunk like a wool sweater in the dryer. I have a mind game to deal with as taxing as any chess match, debate session, or persuasive essay. It is me—my spirit, soul, mind, and will—against me—my flesh!
Soon, I have managed to eat up the distance until I reach the neighbor’s house that stands in for the ¼-mile marker. A quarter of a mile left. And all uphill. With the sun out and shining cheerfully. This fight is grueling as I push every step of the way. I am fighting gravity, resistance, friction, and myself. I am stretching out my legs, opening my mouth, panting, and craning my neck to the sky. I am on fire, with sweat streaming down my body, and my mouth tasting like blood. I am running…running…running…for my home: the prize! Are you?