A Snow Job

           The world turned white on Christmas Eve when a blizzard hit Oklahoma. We woke Christmas morning to a few inches of white laid like a blanket over the farm. Everything brown and dead was covered with clean, bright snow that made the farm into a pristine wonderland.

Noone went out, except to the barn to give some feed and hay to the cows, horses, and donkeys, and to break the ice in the water trough. The lanscape was treacherous because of a layer of ice under the snow. It was beautiful though. All the farm junk was hidden. You know the old car, the two broken down mowers and the derelict tractor.

All the large family mess was hidden-- the new puppy's trail of chewed up destruction, the bike a grandson left lying, the remains of the brush pile burn, the lawn chairs, the pothole on the driveway, neon yellow water hose, the flower pots that the wind blew from the porch, etc. The brown grass, the dead weeds, the leafless  shrubs--covered.

Have you ever been snowed? Ever pulled a "snow job?" I remember when my oldest daughter Del was an adolescent , she tried one on me. Her bedroom was a fright and I drew my line in the sandwich. Until the room was clean, she would get no food--no lunch; and if it took her too long, no supper.  Well, Del slouched to her room and sprinted out just a few minutes later. I went toinspect never expecting to find under her bed a clean floor. I opened the closet not expectingto find clothes hung neatly , shoes lined up on the floor and a row of brown packages on the shelf overhead. The shelf held brown grocery bags neatly  lined up. I pulled one down

Winter Weather

The wind howled at us all night. It was like a wild animal outside but it couldn't get inside. It was scary in an exciting way, reminding me of some of the blizzards I experienced as a child. It is very cold, but we had only a flurry of new snow and  a little cold rain. 

I had been thinking of the homeless people who were featured in the Tulsa newspaper. The mission was taking in many more than capacity because of the extreme weather. It is so sad to me that these people have no place even a small shed or tiny, poor apartment. They huddle behind buildings, in parks under shrubs, and under bridges. Such a life!

I lay in my nice comfortable bed all snuggled under the blankets and listened to the howl of the wind. It was frightful and at the same time delicious for drama.

God has been so good to us. I don't have to fear that my family will be cold. We have warm coats, hats, a good, if old, house with storm windows, central heat and a woodstove in the family room. We have electricity and clean water, plenty of food, and really more than we need. I still catch myself whining sometimes though. Shame on me.

The wind was high and drove away all the clouds my morning, so it is sunny today. I supposed that with such wind the seven bird feeders I filled yesterday would be emptied, yet there was still seed in them. Firewood is stacked by the stove and more on the porch.

The wind has worried at us and is blowing still. It is very cold, supposed to get down below zero during the night. Thank you, Lord  for the blessings of home.

"Keep taking steps in a certain direction and you're going to end up where you're headed."

 Elizabeth Moore

The Sky in the Glass

By Elece Hollis

If you know me, you know how I love birds. I love to watch them flying, feeding, nesting. I love the way they move in communities like sparrows, ducks, seagulls, and cardinals, or individually—territorially, like hummingbirds, mockingbirds, and Blue Jays.

I am intrigued by their variety, their colors, their designs, theirs shapes, sizes, and camouflage. Their movements: the “V” of geese, the swirls of brown-headed cowbirds, the dainty flutter of goldfinches, and the dive of a Red-tailed hawk amaze me. The soundless swoop of the Great Horned Owl, the strut of a meadowlark, swagger of crows, the hop-hop-hop of the robin interest me.

I have been startled as I stood watching out a window when a hapless bird flew into it with a thump—a bump that it seemed it would kill the poor little bird. I have seen birds lying still and almost dead, and then beginning to breathe once more; start up and fly again.

Last fall, I had a problem with a bird flying at my window repeatedly—purposefully again and again. He was just knocking himself loopy—self-destructively. He seemed to be bent on getting through that window. Maybe he saw his own reflection and thought it was another bird he had to ward off—who knows?

I am like those birds some times, like the first one only, I hope, who flies at the glass thinking it is open sky. I brain myself on the reflection—hard and cold. I rest awhile and then get up and shake it off—fly again, wiser, watching to see I am not fooled another time.

As a wife and mom there are days like that, usually when I am nonchalant and cheery—zipping along here and there with abandon. I forget to check things out with God, to stop and pray about my situation. I forget to ask for direction. I go flying with my eye on myself. I get fooled and fly—“thump,” at my own reflection.

I don't want to be stubborn and refusing to learn, like the other bird who spent days battering himself—fighting an enemy who turned out to be only himself.

I must never give up flying for fear of mistakes either. There is wide open sky out there—vast expanses of clear safe sky. A few lumps shouldn’t keep me from picking up and taking off again. I can’t let them.

Daddy's Home!

Dad is back from a week in Reno, Nevada at his company's annual national convention. It was a long week for him and a long one for me and the kids. He missed his flight early this morning and didn't get home until nearly six.

There were shouts,"Dad's home!" and thundering hoofbeats through the house out to the garage to meet him and welcome him inside with all his luggage. When the kids were little they'd run squealing to meet him at the door when he came home for work. They still are excited, though granted, a little more "respectable" when they see him drive up to the house after a trip.

It does my heart good to see them hurry out and hug him. My big teen sons never hold back from  expressing their love for their dad. Brenna squeals and won't even let him get out of the car before she gets her hug. I loved my own daddy like that-- still do. Good fathers are a decided and incomparable treasure.

Today, after going to pick up a granddaughter, he will take us for a Christmas outing to choose a tree and we will get to spend the evening listening to Christmas music and decorating our tree. Families are a wonderful creation!

Daddy Cooked Tapioca

When I was growing up in a large family, Mama was often busy with the little ones' bedtime routines in the evenings, so Daddy would cook for us older ones if we wanted a meal or snack late at night. One of his favorite projects was tapioca pudding.

Sometimes he cooked  tapioca after church on Sunday night. It is now a food I crave when I am homesick or when the weather is nasty and miserable. I love to eat it hot with a sprinkle of nutmeg or cinnamon on top.  It reminds of my sweet daddy and so it comforts my soul.

Many of you have experienced tapioca as a school  cafeteria or restaurant food. That form of pudding may have been gooey and cold and practically inedible. You probably have never tasted any cooked at home from fresh ingredients.If you have tasted the real thing, you likely love it like I do.

Daddy used Minute Tapioca, which is ground so it doesn't need to be soaked overnight before cooking. In the pan you combine eggs, a few tablespoons of tapioca, salt, milk, and sugar. Let it sit for about ten minutes then cook over medium heat like any  pudding. When it begins to boil, take it off the heat and let it set. The pudding will thicken. While it is still warm, ladle it into bowls and sprinkle with a dash of nutmeg.

Tapioca keeps well in the refrigerator and is delicious cold, or reheated in the microwave.I make a double batch. My children love it as much as I do and so often there is none to keep. It makes a perfect winter dessert.

All's Well

The evening sky was clear and stars began to show even before the sun set. The world was still and faded like an old woolen coat. The were colors, but not bright or harsh ones in the setting sun behind the bare tree's filigreed silhouettes. The only sounds coming to my ears were the gentle creak of the porch swing's chain and the rustle of dry leaves as the dog settled into them to sleep under the bedroom window. In the distance, I heard a cow bawling, a few birds calls, and an occasional far away bark of a dog. There was no wind, no tractors rumbling, no sound of traffic passing. All quiet on the home front.

Like A Green Pine Tree

"I, the Lord, am the one who answers your prayers and watches over you. I am like a green pine tree; your blessings come from me." Hosea 14:8

"He that has a bountiful eye shall be blessed, for he gives his bread to the poor." Proverbs 22:9

Truant Sun

The Truant Sun
By Elece Hollis

The sun peeped out this morning
No color, no majesty,
No pomp and splendor, just a peep.
I think he must have been ashamed of himself
After all those days of gloom and drear.
There he was!
He peeked out like a child
Accused of a cookie snitching,
Like a puppy who has
Shredded the morning paper—the Sunday paper
The severity of his crime escaped him.
To my eyes he was a traitor seeking amnesty.
”It’s about time you showed!” I blurted
And sent him scuttling for cover
Like a frightened rabbit back
Behind a cloud.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry! Please don’t go!” I cried
“ We need you today! We can’t take it!”
Out he peered tentatively
I sighed with relief.
“Please,” I pleaded plucking carefully
At the sliver of light like a weaver
Who has dropped a thread
And must most gently attempt to reach
Through the warp
To retrieve it and pull it back into the design.