Riding Ranger and Whitey

Brenna rode the white horse home to visit us for the summer. She had a great time learning to ride and only fell off once! Mr. Brian Leist, our neighbor to the south, rode Ranger. He supplied the saddle, tack ,and riding instruction. The horse is now grazing in with Lilly and Shasta. The horse is a fifteen-year-old gelding.

Checking out the farm.

Doesn't she look like a Indian girl on a wild stallion in this shot? I mean, except for the blond hair and the pink saddle. Would you look at that sky! And how about the sudden green?

Brenna on Whitey setting out for adventure!

Oklahoma Pastureland

One of my favorite sights in spring is an Oklahoma pasture with grazing cows or horses, many with their calfs and colts beside them. I love the white clouds dancing across an everchanging blue skyscape. Pasture trees seem to turn green overnight. Barbed wire and rose briar fence in dry grasses beginning to show green from underneath. Often a hawk ornaments a fence post or a meadowlark puffs its black and yellow chest at the world and sings to the day from its wire perch.

He sings for sheer joy. Spring has come! He inspires the whole prairie with his song. From the creek banks treefrogs sing too, a chorus that intensifies when there is rain. Life stirs in the grasses. Birds build nests and rabbits give birth inside shallow burrows.

Hawks soar overhead on these afternoons - screeching at the world - a defiant - "I'll get you" sound. Wind sweeps the whole picture, stirring the treetops and drawing the sap out to the waiting buds. The sap will feed the new leaves and make them hardy. Soon the fences will be punctuated with sprays of pink wild roses and honeysuckle.

Soon heat will come as the sun rises and heats the ground with penetrating light. Humid and eighty-five by nine in the morning; breathless and one hundred degrees by noon, the days will live long and ride slow. Lanquishing in the heat, cows will wade into the warm pond water. Dragonflies will zip and buzz like tiny helicopters across the cows broad backs.

Wildflowers and blackberries will bloom and bare fruit there. Clouds will build toward evening and thunderstorms and tornados lurk always near. The everlasting winds weary the earth.

That's summer in Oklahoma. I can feel it coming!

Dear Jesus,

What a beautiful day Easter has always been to me because of you! Dad used to take us to the early sunrise service and then to a lodge in the woods where they served pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast. We sang and prayed and ate at long rustic tables festooned with bouquets of buttery daffodils as the sun slanted through the windows on us.

I remember sunrise service at our home in Texas at the Jesus House. Mama served up platters of pancakes and filled pitchers with fresh icy cold milk. We had bouquets of daffodils there too. Someone played a guitar and we sang about  how we cherish the cross because it was there you died because you loved us so and wanted to bring us the hope of overcoming death.

On the lawn at Grandma June's house in Louisiana, we watched the sun leap into the morning sky and we sang with the brothers and sisters there, "He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today! He walks with me and talks with me along life's narrow way!"

Oh, do you remember how Jiggs and the men's quartet sang for us on Easter Sunday? They started out slow and low and dreadfully woeful.

"Low in the grave He lay, Jesus, my saviour;
Waiting the coming day, Jesus, my Lord!

(Then with such pomp and power they sang:)

"UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE,
With a mighty triumph o'r His foes!
He arose the victor from the dark domain
And He lives forever with His saints to reign!
He arose! He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!"

"Death could not keep its prey, Jesus, my saviour;
He rolled the stone away, Jesus, my Lord!"

"UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE,
With a mighty triumph o'r His foes!
He arose the victor from the dark domain;
And He lives forever with His saints to reign!
He arose! He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!"

I can still hear them. Their deep and marvelous voices thundering in the old stone dome of the First Baptist Church in Manistee, Michigan. It was greater than any theater surround sound system on earth! I am sure that of all the praises you have heard, you must remember those.The sound went right through a person's soul and overpowered him. It made me laugh and cry at the same time!

This morning the sun rose bright and warm on my bedroom window and I watched these tulips open to the light. I thought about you and how good you are to us. I thought what a wonderful day it was when my spirit and heart opened to your light and I knew you were alive!

Thank you, Lord, for coming. Thank you for dying and for living again, for making all things beautiful in your time. And thank you for tulips waving like flags to the spring sky and oh, yes, thank you for songs to sing.

Love you, Elece

Announcing Spring!

Like the ruffled skirts of Texas square dancers—the petals of the daffodils stand out and unfurl to wave spring under our hungry noses—to wave yellow—from creamery butter yellow, to pastel Easter egg yellow, to lemon pie custard yellow, to egg yolk.

The flower trumpets—some slender and waxy—some wide and fluted—others round and short blare out to the world the good news. Daffodils are the voice of spring. They shout to our shuttered winter-weary brains, “Hey, you! Spring is here! Yes, it is. Believe it!”

Nothing in nature is yellow in winter. Even the goldfinch is drab gray and pale olive in the winter and doesn’t put on his bright uniform until spring has arrived. All the yellows of fall leaves and bright Chrysanthemums fade and disappear. All the yellows of our world disappear come winter and everything turns gray and brown.

The forsythia sends up yellow pennants on its shooting star branches. The wind comes to dance with her and wave the blue birds to their nesting boxes. You can hear spring coming—just up the road coming closer—humming—not singing out loud yet—just humming the refrain—the promise.

 

Summer will come with sunshine on yellow dandelions, on yellow tulip blossoms, on roses, on marigolds and black-eyed-Susans, on yellow sulphurs flitting over a sky-reflecting puddle, the yellow of a grandbaby’s silky sun-drenched hair, the yellow of promise, the yellow of joy.

The desert and the dry land will become happy; the desert will be glad and will produce flowers. Like a flower, it will have many blooms. It will show its happiness, as if it were shouting for joy.

Isaiah 35 1-2 NCV

Love Those Farm Babies!

 

Daffodils Mean Spring!

 I will speak using stories; I will tell secret things from long ago.

Psalm 78:2

Daffodils seem to burst out of nowhere. I love them. (Notice how different these two types are.) I go looking for them every spring - watching for them in flowerbeds and through the countryside, even where no house stands.

The first story I wrote for publication was about finding daffodils around and old root cellar on a piece of land where a log house once stood. There were so many of the flowers on long hollow stems. I picked too many. I couldn't carry them all and dropped a few on my way back to the car. The flowers were like a gift from some distant pioneer woman. I felt kinship to her as a mother and housewife.

The abandoned home site was like a mystery - a secret from the past.

Later, I learned the real story of the place and I met that woman's grandson, her great grandson, and her great -great granddaughter. Really!

I learned some amazing facts about the homestead. I learned about the log house which once sat on the spot had been built from logs from the banks of the Deep Fork River. Each log was dragged to the site by slow and powerful oxen. It took two years to get enough wood to finish the house.

The family of nine, who had come by wagon from Haskell County, lived in and around the wagon for that long time. They endured some miserable weather while they built a chicken coop and shed and planted crops. Later, the patriarch of the family invested in the building of a schoolhouse for the community. The Evening Star School was born in 1913.

In 1930, when a larger school building was built of brick, the old schoolhouse was sold and moved by a team of mules to the land I now live on. (Really again!) Another small house and a porch and second story were added. So, here I am living in the Evening Star School and it is a school again for my children. I love the stories of real pioneers and at last I am a part of one.

We hosted a pioneer camp here one fall for the homeschooled children. We cooked our pioneer meals outside on the fire, washed on a washboard, dyed cloth, ground corn, and made cornhusk dolls.We used an old metal shed we found on the back of the acreage as a "one room schoolhouse," where students figured and practiced spelling on slates. When we told the story of the house to the students, one little boy was thrilled. "Awesome, Mrs. Hollis," he piped up, "Your house is history!"

Keep your eyes open for daffodils and you'll find spring and maybe a story too!

Snow Bell

The Noble Snowbell

The farm bell froze in place during the last winter storm. Ice coated the pull rope and snow formed a dome on the housing. Icicles hung from the rim. The bell would not ring.

The grandchildren love our farm bell. We let them have a chance to sound it to call Grandpa in from the orchard or the older kids from the creek. Some of them can't reach the pull rope yet so we hold them up or have them stand on a lawn chair. The sound often startles them; they never expect such a BIG sound. But the word bell comes from the word bellow and we moms have all heard one or two of those.

Perhaps we have been the ones bellowing!

The frozen snow bell didn't make a sound. It was stuck like a writer with writer's block. It was stuck like a mom who can't tell what to cook for supper. It was stuck like an artist facing an empty canvas; like any human trying to be creative can become stiffled.

Then the sun came out after the storm passed. Soon the icicles fell and the heap of snow slid off the wrought iron. The ice on the rope dripped and dribbled down to the base of the pole. The bell was free and sat waiting for a tug to make it sound again. Its call of "Come in for supper," and "Come back to the house," and "someone's waiting for you," rang sweetly again!

The cold places in our lives can often leave us feeling ignoble (common or low) rather than the noble persons God called us to be. The warmth of God's grace and mercy comes though, like the sun on the bell, when we pray and seek him. It thaws us and melts away the cold that surrounds us and stops us. God frees us from the aching cold of our own selfishness and allows us to be useful again.

Let the bell ring sweet and loud!

Visit to Center for Missions Mobilization

Learning about Missions

This winter we took Brenna, Quinton, and Alton to visit the Center for World Missions Mobilization in Fayetteville, Arkansas, where Joe and Audra  (our son-in-law and daughter) are now serving as home missionaries. Joe uses his expertise in art and graphics for several mission groups that have their home offices in Fayetteville.

Here Brenna posed beside some of the beautifal faces protraying ethnic groups around the world. The super-sized photograqphs decorate walls at the center.

Joe gave us the grand tour starting at the front entrance. ("They went that-a-way!)

Perspectives, Body Builders, U. S Center for World Missions, Every Ethne, and Pioneers are some of the mission organizations that are stationed at the Fayetteville office building.

Joe was excited about filling us in on all the work that goes on at the office. The goal of these home missionaries is to use their God-given skills and talents to send and support missionaries worldwide.

The building is spacious and once served as a bank (The vault makes a great storage closet!) on Fayetteville's town square. The square is the location of a famous farmer's market, so it affords the workers access to some interesting sights and sounds, plenty of visabilty, and as a plus, fresh fruits and veggies for their families! Here are the kitchen and the lunchroom.The entrance and lobby areas face out to the town square, which has beautiful trees and plants and shrubbery around the old courthouse building. The farmer's market features artists painting while you watch, jugglers, musicians, and basket weavers, etc., along with vendors selling local fresh produce, soaps, candles, quilts, woven goods, and flowers.

Here we see Joe's cubbyhole. His office also has an art table and chalk and drawing boards for creative work.  Brenna sketched this horse for Joe on one of the large chalk boards. Looks close to the real thing--her horse Lilly.

The research library and meeting room were decorated for the Christmas holiday. Thanks, Joe for a great tour of your new workplace. We are proud to be a part of it all. God bless the work!

Spring is Almost Here

Spring in the Meadow

By Elece Hollis

The treetops show a palest green.

The iris fronds point straight and clean.

The daffodils nod in between

The earth and sky.

The air above is slate-grey blue;

It shines with very different hue

Than golden warm when robins flew

South in the fall.

The grass appears about to burst

Forth from the ground whose long cold thirst

Is sated now with the fresh first

Swells of spring rain.

Under the mat of last year’s grass

Bright flowers struggle up to pass

Through to the sun’s warm rays at last

From winter’s night.

The geese fly honking overhead,

As Spring arises from his bed;

He shakes himself, comes to be fed

On bread of light.

 Spring has not arrived, but come,

Like Papa from a journey home,

Calls from the soil, calls from the loam

“I’m almost there!”

A Beautiful Bouquet

Good morning from my windowsill.

Some flowers are so special they are almost a song!

 Bouquet in the bright morning sun - prettier than a poem.

What a color!

Especially wonderful with sunlight lighting up the petals.

 As bright as a sunset in late summer.