Category Archives: Stories

Fictional stories that I’ve written. Occassionaly something may be posted that I didn’t write but was still worth sharing.

“Oh, Adam…”


We’ve started a new chapter in our lives around here.  We have moved Connor to the big bed – no backing out this time.  Today, I spent 3 1/2 hours trying to get him to stay in bed and take a nap.  During that time, alone, he woke up his baby brother from his nap twice.  Suffice it to say I’ve had better days.

As I was washing dishes tonight, I was lamenting how stressful this day has been, and after bouncing around dozens of thoughts and nearly letting the tears flow a few times, I was reminded of a story I heard at some point as a kid.  It’s about a farmer and his farm hand, and I thought I would relay it here for you to read.  Just something to ponder on as you go through your day.


There was once a poor farm hand who worked for a rich land owner.  The farm hand had worked hard his entire life on other men’s lands, growing their crops, and, inevitably, growing their bank accounts.  Through all of his work, however, he was never able to get ahead.  He just barely scraped by, unable to provide any more than the absolute necessities for his family, and sometimes not even that.  As the years passed, his hands grew more calloused, his back more stooped, his feet and legs more sore.  His employer, however, was able to buy more land, hire more farm hands, and spend more time inside his recently upgraded and enlarged home.  The farm hand was in the fields day in and day out, from sun up to sun down, and in every kind of weather.  He was weary.

One particularly hot summer day, as he sat in the shade of an old oak tree eating his meager lunch of left-over mashed potato cakes and water, he conversed with his fellow farm hands.  One of the younger men, a newly-wed, talked of his big plans to save as much of his paltry wages as he could and eventually buy his own piece of land – to become his own man.  The poor farm hand remembered having those same thoughts a good twenty years before, and at once, he felt sorry for his young co-worker and resentful at his own lot in life.

Lunch ended, and as the man headed back to the field with his canvas bag slung diagonally across his chest to pick more green beans among the buzzing wasps, he began to ponder why he had to work so hard for so little.  The thoughts consumed his mind as he worked for the rest of the day.  At long last, he came to the conclusion that it was simply because life is not fair.  Why is life not fair, he lamented in his mind as he walked the mile to his two-room house, crowded with him, his wife, and their four children.  It was a thought that he turned over and over for the next several days.  He was finally forced to admit that life was not fair because there was sin in the world.  Life-long Sunday school lessons had taught him that sin had entered the world through the act of one man and his wife several millennia before he was born.

Once the man had reached that conclusion, a new mantra was constantly on his lips as he worked:  “Oh, Adam!  Oh, Adam!  Oh, Adam!”  With each whack of his hoe to a weed, “Oh, Adam!”  With each pull of a vegetable from a vine, “Oh, Adam!”  With each slice of his spade into the earth, “Oh, Adam!”

After a few weeks, the land owner heard the man’s mantra.  The foreman said he didn’t know what the man meant by it but that he had noticed the man saying it.  After several more days, the land owner called the man to his office and asked him why he was saying “Oh, Adam!”  The man felt a bit sheepish for a moment, but then, noticing the land owners austere office space with fresh paint, plush rugs, a book-lined wall, an ornate, hand-crafted desk, and other trappings of great wealth brought about by his own poor, work-worn hands, he felt that old resentment and bitterness rise up.  He told the land owner of all the hard work that he did each day and how he never was able to get even, let alone ahead in life.  He complained of how he worked in the dead heat of summer and the bone-chilling cold of winter and everything in between.  He complained of the pain that his body felt all day, each and every day.  And, at last, he told the land owner of how he had reached the conclusion that if only Adam hadn’t sinned in the Garden, then he would not be working his life away for nothing all these thousands of years later.

The land owner studied the farm hand in silence for several minutes.  Finally, he said, “When you get here in the morning, I want you to come meet me on the porch first thing.  I will speak to the foreman, so do not delay in meeting with me.  I think I have a solution for your problem, but I will need the rest of the day to prepare it.  Now, please, go finish out your work day.”  The farm hand agreed to the land owner’s vague plan and went back to work.  The next morning, he did just as he was told and met the land owner on the porch of the house.  The land owner was sitting on a plush armchair with a small spindly table sitting beside it.  On the table, there was a plain wooden box, a pitcher of sweet tea, and an empty glass.  The land owner stood as the man came up the porch steps and greeted him with a handshake.  “Come, let me explain my plan,” he said.

As they walked toward the chair, the land owner said, “I have decided that since you are having so much pain and discomfort from the conditions of your work, that I will allow you earn your pay by simply sitting in this chair each day, all day, enjoying some tea, reading books, taking naps, whatever relaxing activity you wish.  You may have the chair moved from the porch to inside the parlor if the weather does not suit you, and at lunch, you will be welcome to eat what my house servants eat.  They have instructions to bring it to you for you to eat from your chair or you may go eat in the kitchen with them, if you please.  I will also have my driver come pick you up each morning and take you back home each evening.  And as an added bonus, I am even doubling your pay.”

The farm hand could hardly believe his ears.  It was a dream come true, to earn money and not work.  To rest, to eat, to be out of the weather, to do nothing and earn twice what all his hard work earned him.  “What is the catch?” he asked his boss.

“Catch?  There is no catch.  There is a condition, however,” answered the land owner.  “You see this box here on the table?”

The man nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

“You must not ever open it, under any circumstances.”  The land owner looked the farm hand in the eye.  “I will know if you do.  And, if you do open the box, everything will go as it was before:  You will come to work and go home on your own.  You will work in the fields, bringing your own lunch.  Your pay will return to its normal rate.  And you will never again utter the phrase, ‘Oh, Adam!’  Do you agree to my terms?”

“How long will you allow me these luxuries?” asked the farm hand.

“For as long as you keep the box closed,” answered the land owner.  “Are you in agreement?”

The farm hand studied the land owner.  The man was known to be honest, a tough employer, but honest, and he seemed to be playing no tricks now.  He slowly held out his hand and agreed.  One signed contract later, and the farm hand was sipping sweet tea on the land owner’s porch.  He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and said to himself, “Finally, my ship has come in.  I’ll sit on this porch the rest of my life.  Not open a box…Ha!  How could I fail?”

The first week of his new “duties” was a cinch.  He hardly thought of the box on the table.  No matter where he had his chair placed for the day, the little table and box followed.  He enjoyed warm, filling lunches from the kitchen staff each day and was never short on tea or even cold water or hot coffee, if he preferred.  He read the newspaper each day, enjoyed naps, and even made a list of what all he would do with all the money he had coming to him.  His wife was suspicious of this development in his job, but she would be convinced of his good fortune with time.  He couldn’t blame her hesitation; life had been hard for a long time.  Each day, the land owner would stop by for a few minutes and visit with man, making small talk and asking him how he was enjoying his new life.  The man had no complaints.

The second week, the man found himself feeling a bit bored from time to time, but he just started bringing books to read and blank paper to write. This kept his mind busy for a couple of months.  And he hardly ever thought about the box that sat beside him day after day.  However, he eventually became bored with reading, and he turned to writing.  He sat an entire morning, one day, trying to come up with an idea to write about with no success.  However, when his lunch was brought to him, the box caught his eye.  I could write a story about what is in the box, he thought.

Soon, the box was consuming his thoughts.  He would write page after page, each day, on stories about the box and its mysterious contents.  Each day was a different story:  a box of money, a box of jewels, a box of love letters, a box of the land owner’s will, a box of human hair and finger nail clippings, even a story about a box of air.  The man would hold the box, feeling its weight, his fingers detailing every bump, groove, and smooth surface of the box.  He would gently shake it, put his ear to it, even sniff it.  Before long, he had abandoned his stories and spent his days inspecting and thinking about the box.  He wanted to know what was in the box.  It became all he thought about.  He dreamt of the box.  He spoke of nearly nothing except the box.  He could get no hints from the land owner of its contents, only reminders that if it were to be opened, he would know.

Three and a half months after signing the contract with the land owner, the farm hand had had enough.  He sat on the porch in his arm chair with the box on his lap for the umpteenth time and said to himself, “Just one peak.  The boss will never know.”  He glanced up and down the porch.  He looked out to the fields behind the house.  No one was around.  No one was watching.  He lifted the box up to his face and very slowly eased up the hinged lid a tiny crack.  It was too dark to see inside, so he lifted the lid further and further.  He had it half-way open when suddenly his nose was accosted by a large monarch butterfly escaping from the box.  He immediately dropped the box and lunged toward the butterfly, but it was fast.  It flew to the ceiling of the porch.  The man jumped to catch it.  It fluttered frantically towards the open air beyond the porch.  The man made one last dive towards it, his fingers missing it by inches, and doing a painful belly flop onto ground just past the porch.

The land owner heard the ruckus and came rushing out to check on the man.  The man was winded and stiff, but unhurt, unless you counted his ego.  Once the land owner was satisfied the man was okay, he turned to see the empty box on the porch floor.  “Hmm…I see you opened the box.  It would seem you’re no better than Adam was all those years ago in the Garden.  Your crew is in the western fields.  Get your hoe from the shed and see your foreman for your assignment.”  The land owner reentered the house without looking back, and the farm hand got to his feet and slowly trudged to the tool shed.  Never again did the farm hand complain of his lot in life or blame Adam for how unfair his life felt.


I did embellish this story some.  I have no idea who originally came up with it, nor do I remember who told it to me.  I just find it useful for keeping perspective.



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A Blessed, Merry Christmas To You


-“Birth Of the King” by Michael Dudash

The Gospel of Luke 2:1-21 KJV

1 And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.

(And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)

And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)

To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.

And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

10 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

12 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

14 Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

15 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

16 And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.

17 And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.

18 And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

19 But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.

21 And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his name was called Jesus, which was so named of the angel before he was conceived in the womb.

May God bless you on this day, His only Son’s birthday. 

Merry Christmas!

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The Fabulous Fourth


The smell of gunpowder and bug spray…  If you grew up in the US of A, then you know what I’m talking about.  It brings back memories, doesn’t it?  For me, it brings back plenty of memories.  Every year, my dad and step-mom would take us down to the big fire-cracker (that’s what I call them) tent in the Kroger parking lot, beside the good snow-cone stand.  They would give each of us $10 to buy firecrackers, and we would load up on bottle rockets, snap dragons, blooming flowers, black cat firecrackers, and many more of the little things.  We would also end up with a few dollars worth of the bigger bottle rockets between the four of us, and we would sometimes get to get a snow-cone and head home.  We were always a few days early on buying our firecrackers, so for the next few days, we would wait in excited anticipation for the big night, trying our best not to throw all of our snap dragons or pull all of our confetti poppers.

Then, finally the night would come.  Daddy would spend the evening after supper setting up cinder blocks and old pieces of pipe in the back yard while we would anxiously watch for darkness.  We were never able to wait for the sun to go down entirely, and we would end up popping the loud black cats, making black snakes grow, and letting chasers chase us around the carport.  I distinctly remember one year, the chasers loved my sister Dawn.  Every single one of them seemed to zero in on her like she had on a homing beacon.  We all got a good laugh out of her running from the chasers.

Once it would finally start to actually get dark, out came anything colorful:  the cone fountains, laying hens, spinning triangles that you had to nail to a tree trunk, and the occassional super cheap bottle rocket.  By nine-thirty, it would really be dark, and we could shoot the “big” bottle rockets and other things we had left.  We were often left with far more penny-bottle rockets than could be shot in a night, and those went to the cause of blasting off the face of the picture of a lawyer on the back of the phone book or blowing over-grown squash and cucumbers to smithereens over the next several days.

Once the big night was over, though, we would all head inside:  Our hair, clothes, and hands smelling like gunpowder and bug spray.  Tired and exhilarated.  There was nothing like being a pyro-techie for a couple of hours.

Yes, the smell of gunpowder and bug spray bring back a lot of memories.

Tonight, I am a twenty-seven year old wife and mother.  We didn’t have the money for any firecrackers, and we haven’t for the past several years.  Besides, our baby is too little to stay up way past dark, while we shoot firecrackers that he neither cares for nor will remember.  Instead, My Honey went to bed because he wasn’t feeling well, and I watched the neighbors shoot firecrackers in their yard.  They had several kids out with sparklers and lighting the little cones, roman candles, and spinners, and they also had some big, pretty, booming firecrackers that they would light every few minutes.  I could smell the gunpowder from the big ones, and it would take me back to all those years ago when I was a kid enjoying the Fourth of July.

As the big booms rang out and the bottle rockets whizzed into the air, I got a whole new sense of what this holiday means and just how precious this one in particular is.  Do you know why we shoot firecrackers anyway?  What is the reason we fire off such loud, bright gunpowder-packed rockets in the first place?  I will tell you why:  To remind us of the cannons and gunshots of the Revolutionary War.  Those soldiers, those colonists-turned-rebels did not have happy memories attached to the smell of gunpowder.  That smell probably struck them with a fear and an anxiety that we can’t even begin to imagine.  Even today, there are parts of the world where the boom of a cannon and the smell of gunpowder bring people to their knees in terror.

I cannot begin to imagine what feeling must have coursed through the soul of a twenty-seven year old wife and mother in 1776 when she heard a cannon-boom or smelt gunpowder in the air; it certainly wasn’t the feeling I had while reminiscing on my childhood.  It would have brought to mind images of dirty, tired militia-men facing off with England’s red-clad army in a field that had probably already soaked up too much blood.  It was a feeling of fear that her house would be the next to stand in the way of a cannonball, or that the English army would torch her village as they passed to the next battlefield.  It was the constant worry of whether her husband would return home whole, maimed, or even return at all.  It was the haunting thought that the war would stretch on until her son was old enough to join the fight.  No, gunpowder did not bring any happy memory or thought to that woman’s mind.

We are 237 years removed from when the Declaration of Independence was signed.  And I have to admit to having the passing thought that this could be the final birthday for the United States.  I fear that we, too, will learn how terrifying a cannon-boom and the odor of gunpowder can be.  Maybe I am taking what ought to be a happy, celebratory post and turning it into a depressing announcement of doom, but it’s a thought and feeling I can’t shake and must tell.

America, for so many reasons and in so many ways, is dying more rapidly with each passing day.  We have fewer days before us than we have behind us.  We have angered God and are only continuing to provoke him with our sinful behavior and acceptance of such.  We have politicians in office who only desire to take total control of America, and we have citizens gladly allowing them to do so.  We are falling to pieces morally, ethically, politically, economically, internationally, and socially.  The Constitution is nothing more than the doormat of the White House, and the Holy Bible is the mulch for the Rose Garden.  We have fallen far from what the founding fathers had in mind and even farther from what God intends.  We cannot sustain ourselves, and the rest of the world has less and less desire to help us do so.

Life, as we know it, in America is about to end.  America, herself, is lying on her deathbed.  I fear there will be war, such as most of us have never encountered.  It will be on our soil and between ourselves and other countries.  It will not be pretty, and I feel that we will never wish to watch a fireworks show again.

Our only hope lies in God.  We must turn back to Him, whole-heartedly.  We must desire to do His will, and then we must do it.  We must repent of our sins, which are greater than can be numbered, and we must be willing to accept that He may still allow destruction to come to our country.  This is where we stand on July the fourth, twenty-thirteen.  Two-hundred and thirty-seven years ago, the beginning was at hand; today, the end.  We can sit idly by and watch it all fall to waste, or we fight on our knees with our heads bowed in prayer, because that is the only way we will keep America what the militia men fought to make it.

God bless you.

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Happy Mother’s Day!

As I’ve hopped around on the internet the past couple of days, I’ve run across several cute little poems and such that honors mamas.  Today is Mother’s Day, and I just want to wish all of you mamas out there a wonderful day today.  You work hard to raise your children and love them even during those times that they make it hard.  I found this little story on a forum that look at some, and I wanted to post it on here for all the mamas.  Happy Mother’s Day to each of you and God bless you for the hard job you take on each and every day.


A baby asked God, “They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?”

“Your angel will be waiting for you and will take care of you.”

The child further inquired, “But tell me, here in heaven I don’t have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy.”

God said, “Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you. And you will feel your angel’s love and be very happy.”

Again the child asked, “And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don’t know the language?”

God said, “Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak.”

“And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?”

God said, “Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray.”

“Who will protect me?”

God said, “Your angel will defend you even if it means risking it’s life.”

“But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore.”

God said, “Your angel will always talk to you about Me and will teach you the way to come back to Me, even though I will always be next to you.”

At that moment there was much peace in Heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, “God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel’s name.”

“You will simply call her, ‘Mom.'”

– Unknown

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Times That God’s Ways Are Not Our Ways

My husband and I moved to our current location early last fall.  Our first priority after getting here was to find a new church home, and we quickly did in Crystal Valley Baptist Church.  Soon after we started attending the church, we learned of a young couple dealing with one of the most difficult things in life:  cancer.  The wife, Amy, had learnt earlier in the summer that she had a childhood form of leukemia.  We only ever saw the couple one time, and we weren’t able to really get to know them any at all because she could not have people very close, physically, to her because her immune system was very weak.

We continued to hear updates from time to time on Amy’s condition.  At times things seemed to be going fairly well, and at others not so great.  The church prayed and wished there was more we could do for the small family (Josh and Amy also have a young son, about 2 years old.), but other than emails, cards, phone calls, facebook, and text messages, there was little that could be done.  Amy’s immune system did not allow her to have visitors.

A few weeks ago, Amy had to be admitted to the hospital, again, and things did not look good.  She had several infections, organs in her body were not functioning properly, and she was eating little.  She basically had no white blood cells, which are the immune system’s army.  Her husband Josh began to write daily blog updates on how she was doing.  Most days there were no changes, just more of the same, but a few days ago, things got worse, if that were even possible.  They had to put a breathing tube in, which helped, at first.  Then yesterday, everything just went wrong.  I received about three text messages with updates and pleas for prayer.  The same was on facebook several times during the day.  And her husband even updated his blog at least twice.  Things were going downhill and doing so fast.  Then, this morning, I saw in my email inbox yet another blog update from late last night.  Amy had passed away.  Cancer had taken yet another victim.  A young wife and mother, only a year or two older than me.

I never really knew Amy and have yet to know Josh or their son, but through praying for them for the past few months, I am saddened by the loss of Amy.  I can’t imagine what it must have been like for Josh to have to sit, daily, and watch his wife slowly slip away and not be able to do anything for her, to barely be able to touch her.  I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like for their little boy.  He will probably have no memories of his mother, and if he does, it will only be memories of a very sick woman who could do little for or with him.  I can’t imagine what it must be like for her parents and family to have to bury their daughter years before what we, on Earth, would consider to be her time.

There are times in life, when things happen, that we would never choose for ourselves.  We pray and ask, even beg, God to keep those things from happening.  I can imagine that Josh’s prayers for the past several months have been for God to spare his wife.  But for some reason, God chooses to do the one thing we did not want Him to do.  It’s times like that which shake our faith, and our loyalty, to the sovereign God.  In Isaiah 55:8, the Lord says, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways…”  We often cannot understand our Lord or His ways.  I have no answers as to why God chose to take this young, godly woman home, away from her husband, son, and family.  I somehow doubt that Josh or Amy’s family have answers either.  In fact, we all may go the rest of our lives wondering why, never to know the answer.  That may not sound very comforting; it does little to comfort me.  But it’s all I know.

I may not understand why God does what He does sometimes, but I take comfort in knowing that He knows why He does what He does.  He never does anything without a reason.  He is sovereign.  He is almighty.  Just like the song says, “He’s got the whole world in His hands.”  The Bible says, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?  Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.”  (Matt. 10:29)  Everything happens for a reason, even if we don’t know what that reason is.  I find that there is comfort in that.

Amy was a good Christian woman.  At some point in her life, she had turned her life over to Christ and received salvation.  Though she is gone from here, she is safe and completely well in Heaven.  And one day, when Josh’s time comes, he will be with her again.  As will all her brothers and sisters in Christ.

There is an hymn that I think of at times like this.  It’s titled “That Glad Reunion Day.”

Vs. 1:  There will be a happy meeting in heaven I know, / When we see the many loved ones we’ve known here below, / Gaather on the blessed hilltops with hearts all aglow, / That will be a glad reunion day.

Chorus:  Glad day, a wonderful day, / Glad day, a glorious day;  / There with all the holy angels and loved ones to stay, / That will be a glad reunion day.  (That will be a happy day, yes, a wonderful day, / That will be a happy day, yes, a glorious day; There will all the holy angels and loved ones to stay, / That will be a glad reunion day.)

Vs. 2:  There within the holy city we’ll sing and rejoice, / Praising Christ the blessed Savior with heart and with voice, / Tell Him how we came to love Him and make Him our choice, / That will be a glad reunion day.


Vs. 3:  When we live a million years in that wonderful place, / Basking in the love of Jesus, beholding His face, / It will seem but just a moment of praising His grace, / That will be a glad reunion day.



Please keep the family and friends of Amy in your prayers.

To read Josh’s blog:

For information on Crystal Valley Baptist Church:

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The Back Yard “Fence”

This was, essentially, the fence in our back yard, except that until this afternoon, it was all standing.  Leaning severely, but standing.  Then the wind blew, and this happened.  My husband and I have been waiting for this fence to come down for quite some time, and now part of it finally has.  You see, we would have taken care of it, but we rent our little home, and our landlord said he would take it down soon after we moved in.  That was in September.  Yeah, we gave up hope on that months ago, but we also didn’t have much inclination to do anything with it (for several reasons), except wait for it to fall.  Therefore, we try to advise people not to park near it, and we don’t either.  So other than the fence, no harm was done today.

Well, once it fell, we had to do something.  Being the not-so-industrial-inclined people that we are, pretty much the only tools we had for the job were two cheap, wimpy hammers and our own ingenuity.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my husband dearly – truly I do – and he does have an engineering degree, but sometimes he just doesn’t think these type of jobs through.  I don’t have any kind of engineering anything, but my dad is a great carpenter.  He basically built a two-story house around a single-wide trailer while I was growing up.  (In fact, it’s still an on-going project.)  But I’ve helped him out with several little things and kinda have a sense of how structures are built.  (That’s not to say that you want me to draw up the blue prints for your next project – don’t get me wrong.)  Anyhow, there we were, two stubborn, aggravated people, with a wimpy  hammer each, trying to tear apart part of a “fence” that has had several patch-work attempts at securing it a little better over the years.  Sometimes with screws, sometimes with nails, sometimes with two-by-fours, sometimes with nothing better than your basic stick.  It was not pretty, to say the least.

However, after about a half an hour of fussing, beating, yanking, pulling, dragging, and just flat savage-like yells of aggravation, we managed to accomplish two things:  a pile of old “fence” wood and an empty space where part of a “fence” once stood.

And we still made it to church on time!  😀


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A Good, Blessed Day!

Today has been a really good, blessed day.  I really enjoy those kind of days.  Even though it had a couple of unpleasant moments, it really has been good.

Today was my first pregnancy appointment.  My husband took the day off to come with me, and it’s been nice to have him around.  He first went and got his hair cut, which definitely goes toward making the day be considered a good one.  He looks quite handsome with his hair cut short.  Then we ate a bite of lunch before heading to the doctor.  Now I won’t lie, I was nervous about going to the doctor.  I didn’t know what they were going to do, and some of the possibilities weren’t too attractive to me.  Not to mention, I’m just not the kind of person who is thrilled by having to go to the doctor.  In fact, I avoid it if at all possible.

Well, we got there a little early, and when our turn came, the first thing they did was an ultrasound.  My husband and I got to see the baby and hear the heartbeat.  You just can’t top that!  Praise the Lord, everything is well and good.  The baby’s heartbeat was normal and good, everything else looked good, and we are due right in the middle of November.  All is well with the world.  After that fun, they did some lab work, which wasn’t so fun.  In fact, my arm is still sore from having blood drawn, but I’m sure I’ll survive.  Then I got weighed and my blood pressure checked.  My blood pressure is good, but let’s leave the weight part alone.  Then came the part that I dreaded the most:  The Exam.  Well, I survived that, too.  Everything, apparently, looked fine.

The doctor and the nurses and everyone were very nice, patient, and helpful.  We left with a big packet of stuff:  magazines, a book, some forms, and other information.  We set up another appointment for May 10th right before we left.  And to top it all off, I got a little sucker from the bowl off the desk (Yeah, it may have been for kids, but it made me feel better.  I think I needed a bit of sugar after that blood-draw.) and my wonderful, loving husband drove us home, even though we were in my car!

We made it home safe and sound.  And, as if making sure all is well with the baby wasn’t enough, when I checked the mail, we had our tax refund check in the box!

“God is so good!  He’s so good to me!”

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