And then some volunteers made my husband smile during a very difficult day. On our arrival in the ER, Ken looked up from his gurney and said to me: “This is why people vote early.” We had chosen to vote at our local polling place on election day. Ken never misses an opportunity to vote. After serving eight years in the military to preserve that privilege, he takes it very seriously. When our daughter learned that he was distressed over not having voted, she immediately got on the phone to the Christian County Courthouse to see if anything could be done. They took all his information and said they would put forth their best effort to get someone there, but they couldn’t promise that a team would be available. It was then that I discovered I had left Ken’s wallet, including ID, at home that morning. So our daughter hopped in the car and drove right back down the road we had just traveled to retrieve his ID, just in case. And, sure enough, at about three o’clock on election day afternoon, in walked two total strangers with a ballot. Ken’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He voted and that made his day. Four people at Mercy Hospital were able to vote that day because of volunteers. If you ever are looking for a place to volunteer your time, I can tell you this is a very worthy one.
ALL FEEDING OUR NEED TO SHOP and, lest we forget, all these things will rot and decay over time unless they become outdated first! What we once thought was treasure will become trash.
For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. Ecclesiastes 3:1
Okay, it was time….or maybe past time, to grab my pruners, my garden gloves and some trash bags. I dread removing the faded debris from my precious perennials when their season is finished. It seems so final. And this season has been a roller coaster for perennials, actually for my annuals as well. Our last frost in the spring occurred pretty early and, being a lover of bright garden color, I picked up a few long blooming annuals to jump-start the color palette and fill in spaces between perennials. After crawling on my hands and knees to get them into the ground, I stood back to admire my handiwork and was very pleased with the view from our street.
It seemed, however, that the critters in our neighborhood had a different take on my additions. What had been healthy, vibrant hibiscus and lantanas covered in beautiful blooms when I went to bed looked like a desert wasteland the next morning. An ever-growing family of bunnies had nipped off every single bloom and some of the leaves. And to add insult to injury, the squirrels had turned all that disturbed ground and new topsoil into something that resembled a war zone. The only things remaining were a few spindly stems that bore irregular leaves. I replanted them in pots, hoping that would place them out of bunny reach and it did, but the squirrels continued to dig until I placed rocks on the soil and sprinkled in a liberal amount of cayenne pepper. Finally, they became less aggressive in their digging. Those particular lantana never reached their potential but the hibiscus are still bringing smiles to my face with their huge red flowers, and it’s almost November.
The growing season has been a roller coaster, too much rain then not enough and our recent drought has brought many of the perennials to their knees. Most of them have a nature-prescribed season to grow vigorously and create beautiful blooms that mature into seeds, and then many die back until the next season. A few, however, stay with me for the summer if I coddle them a bit and deadhead their blooms regularly to keep them from going to seed. But all the water that I gave them this year couldn’t make up for the lack of late-season rain. It was time to remove the mess left behind and take down a few that were trying to keep going but just requiring too much hand watering to be considered reasonable. I had to let them go for their ultimate health as well as that of my water bill. Forcing them to go on when they were well past their normal growing season could result in weaker plants for next year.
Pruning and removing dead wood is an extremely important aspect of gardening. Halfway through the summer, I give my impatiens a major haircut. They look pretty rough for a couple of weeks but they come back much stronger and last until the frost finally claims them. We are nearing November and my pots are providing good color.
Timing is also very important to the pruning process. Many perennials bloom on old wood and need to be pruned immediately after they bloom to ensure new growth that will then become the old wood for the following spring. Sometimes we prune to remove a diseased portion of the plant or tree and sometimes when two branches rub together causing raw, open wounds on both of them. Whenever pruning occurs and for whatever reason, if done properly, it assures that the plant will be healthier and provide many years of beauty in the garden.
I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more. John 15:1-2
And how, I ask, could all this pruning of trees and plants be any different from the pruning in our lives? Does God not work daily to remove the bad things from our lives, to strengthen us by challenging who we are in Him?
The Lord corrects those he loves, just as a father corrects a child in whom he delights. Proverbs 3:12
When I feel there is nothing left in me, He fills my well again with thoughts and words, messages that I need to hear in my quest to be more like Him. I need that precious connection and so do you. And with that connection, reality settles in….I don’t use my gift of words to gain glory on this earth. The words He gives to me flow back to Him, my perfect audience of One, and if they also land in someone’s world who needs to hear them, that’s a bonus. 
John 14:27 
We have family who were impacted during both storms and waiting to hear is a very sobering business. We finally did learn that while they have a lot of clean-up in their futures, they’re safe.
against that wall for a few months now, dealing with several health issues. Our doctor ordered each of us to go through a brain MRI. That happened last week and I have to tell you that I had my share of concerns. First and foremost is the question of what exactly is causing our symptoms and then comes the uncertainty of what the test will be like and I’d heard some very negative descriptions. And, in my case, the fear of the IV needle insertion is paramount. But, for the last few times, I’ve had blood drawn, I’ve placed my fear in God’s hands and He’s gotten me through it. And so, I gave the MRI to Him, as well. I felt totally at peace isolated in that tube with loud and annoying sounds all around me, and when it came time for the needle, one quick stick was all that was needed to inject the contrast dye. It ended sooner than I expected and I left the test area feeling relaxed and comforted.
I recall a noisy evening some forty-two years ago. It was likely right around the time of my birthday. I was standing in the high school gym in my tiny town, waiting for a ball game to begin while having a conversation with a new acquaintance who had just moved into the community. Out of nowhere, he asked me if I knew Jesus and I knew this was a turning point in my life. It was as if the chaos around me just ceased and I was left with a life-changing question just hanging in the air. Did I really “know” Jesus? And so began a journey of finding myself within the loving arms of Ken’s Jesus who has truly become my Jesus as well. 
the time I have left to share the gift of Jesus with those I encounter, just like Ken did for me? Of whom do I need to ask, “Do you know my Jesus?”
Ah, vacation time! We look toward those journeys down highways and backroads with great anticipation and no small amount of planning and organization. Our last major excursions happened in 2019 before the pandemic radically changed our lives. That year we went to the great state of Texas to visit our son and his family, followed about six weeks later by a circular journey that took us to Florida for some family time with Ken’s siblings, then wandered up through parts of Georgia, South and North Carolina and through the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee before heading back to Missouri.
I walked resolutely forward not making eye contact with my escort alongside me, holding my hand but never clamping down on it. We approached an intersection in the road where I hoped someone might come by. And, in fact, a car did approach and I frantically waved for the driver to stop. I told him my plight and asked him for a ride to my house. Bear in mind, this was a perfect stranger, whose car I would have never entered under normal circumstances. But this was no ordinary situation in my mind. The man seemed to believe I was overreacting and clearly believed the dog was no danger to me. However, it was still a long way down that road to my home and I really did not want to make that walk with my new “friend” holding my hand.
These earliest immigrants came with everything they thought they needed to survive because no new supply ships would be reaching them anytime soon and their seed for crops would all require a full growing season to mature into edible stores. Apple trees, though slower to mature, were an important part of their cargo accompanied by hives of honey bees for pollination. Within a few years, the apple trees flourished and, with the help of worker bees, bore large crops of juicy, red fruit. The apple was a staple of the pioneer diet because it could be used in so many ways and was easy to preserve for the long, lean winter months. Not only was it eaten fresh and stored successfully in cool, underground cellars, but huge kettles cooked the apples down gently over an open fire into creamy apple sauce and apple butter. Crude cider mills popped up all over the countryside to produce both sweet and hard varieties. The apple could also be dried for eating or rehydrating later for pastries. Eventually, apple trees would find their way all across this great land we call home.
