Yesterday morning I was blessed to just enjoy the moment and my two youngest siblings. Frank and Anna Frances went out with me to do the chores and we had a great time. (Sorry for the poor phone picture quality.)
Frankie informed me when we first went out that he was "Frankie Farmer." I changed his name to Farmer Frank and in that role, he fed Buttercup...
The battle of the Alamo has always been one of those turning-point events which particularly captures my attention and admiration. Stories of sacrifice and courage are (I think) the very greatest of any that can be told and the thirteen-day defense of a sprawling mission by about 130 men against more than ten times their number is among the greatest of these stories.
I am not an Alamo expert by any means and to date (March 6th, 2019) have never even been close to Texas, so I'll stick to the basic facts in this brief narrative.
* This "devotional" is something I wrote during the Lamplighter Summer Reading Challenge last year. I have a lot of character sketches and other devotionals like this, some of which I will be posting. I hope it is an encouragement to someone - and go read the book!*
“Oh, it’s just a little thing!” Just a little pain, a little unkindness, a little selfishness, a little laziness - who cares about the little things? Gilbert Phayre, the only son left to his mother after a catastrophic train accident, did not care much about little things. He loved his mother and she idolized him; he was always ready to show her affection whenever any “big” problem arose - so why give up his own pleasure when she had some little request?
The trouble is that “little” things lead to great things. Gilbert had no idea how he pained his poor mother on an almost daily basis by constantly following his own preferences rather than hers. Of course, she was happy to yield to him, but how much happier would she have been if he had showed the loving deference of a son, and yielded to her? He helped keep her in a state of mournful, nervous misery, largely because she could not trust him in the “little things.” He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much - and the reverse is quite as true: He that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much. (Luke 16:10)
We all have great power for good when we pay attention to little things. As Keith said when parting from George and Willie at school: “Catch your foxes while they’re little… and kill them before they eat your grapes.” (Song of Solomon 2:15). It is the “little” things of life that make up the “big” things in the long run, and God pays attention to both, therefore we should too.
Have you ever considered which books have had the greatest impact on your life? Besides the Bible, which obviously is the most important Book, I have read hundreds, maybe thousands, of books and they all have more or less helped shape my thinking, but in considering which ones really impacted my thinking, only a handful stand out distinctly. Some are thoroughly Christian, such as The Pilgrim's Progress, and some are classics, like Ben Hur. A few are comparatively unknown, or like The Heir of Redclyffe, were once bestsellers, but now receive only a passing mention in some encyclopedia and are almost entirely out of print. Please note that I do not recommend all these books for all readers; this is simply a list of the books that rise above the crowd when I mentally review the literature I have read. They are not listed in order of importance, because I could not decide on which were the most important. Read them, and see for yourself.
The early morning stillness was disturbed, gently, by the shuffle of feet on the stone steps of the church. A man, clothed in the drab robes of a monk, unrolled a parchment and glanced over it again, though he had every word of it by heart. A puff of his smoky breath drifted away in the frigid air, but he seemed scarcely to feel the chill. The parchment rustled as he pinned it against the chapel door with one hand while he groped in a pocket of his ample gown with the other. He found what he sought - a small iron nail - and transferred it to the fingers on the corner of the parchment. He lifted a hammer.
The silence of the sleeping town was abruptly broken by the sharp, determined ring of the hammer against the nail. One nail sank through the parchment, into the wood, and he placed a second against another corner of the document. That one also was driven home, awaking uncertain echoes from the sharp-pointed roofs of the houses in the street behind, and the walls of the castle beyond. The monk began driving in another nail.
A shutter creaked behind and above him and a man thrust his head out. His hair was tousled, his eyes bleary, and his face flushed with sleep. He blinked. The sight of a monk nailing parchments to the door of the Schlosskirche was not terribly unusual, but it was annoying to be awakened so early in the morning. He stifled a yawn as the monk turned around and looked up, after hammering the fourth and last nail.
"I give thee good morning, father," he said, as respectfully as he could manage so early in the morning. "Thou art up early to begin thy learned disputes. What is so important that it must needs be brought to light so early?"
"Good morning," the priest said gravely, pocketing the hammer. "Canst thou read?"
"Aye, but -"
"Then come and read what is here written, and thou wilt understand that it is not early, but late. These doctrines ought to have been discussed in long ages past, for mankind has been in woeful darkness for many years and Mother Church must needs bestir herself if they are to have light."
A bolt rattled inside the chapel door and the monk in the street turned and walked swiftly away. The man at the window stared after him for a few seconds, then hastily withdrew his head and closed the shutter.
In a wonderfully short space of time - for a man as phlegmatic as a German shopkeeper - he joined the priest who had unbolted the chapel door. "What is it, father?" he asked, after a brief greeting, which the priest had not heard.
He looked up from perusing the document, which was written in good Latin, defeating the shopkeeper's attempt to read it. There was a dazed expression in his eyes. "It is either hidden truth," he said slowly, as if speaking to himself, "or deepest heresy."
The shopkeeper fell back a step from him. "Truth - or heresy!" he gasped.
The priest nodded and went on, as if still speaking to himself. "These questions will cause great commotion, questioning, war, perhaps - and yet... I have had some doubts myself, and if these theses be right, they mark the dawn of a brighter day than the Church has known."
The sun rose higher, turning the silvery light of early morning to the golden glow of full day. A chill blast of wind accompanied the light, but it quickly passed away and the temperature rose. The priest went back into the chapel and shut the door, leaving the shopkeeper staring at the iron-bound oak. The parchment was still spread on the wooden door before him. Gently, he touched it with one finger, wishing he could read Latin. The words of the two priests had awakened something within him; something that had stirred often before when the chapel priest chanted the mass in Latin. He could not have named what he longed for - he only knew that he, and many others across Germany and the Christian world, hungered and thirsted for a change, a purification. The longing had become an undefined prayer, rising spontaneously from those who were kept in darkness by the few who had the light of learning and wealth.
He sighed and walked back to his shop. At the door he paused and looked back. He could still see the parchment, a frail rectangle of light against the dark oak doors of the church. A shaft of the morning sun lit it up with golden brilliance and he smiled. Somehow, he knew that another light was dawning. He stepped into his shop and closed the door, content to await God's timing.
The monk who nailed the parchment to the door of the Schlosskirche of Wittenberg was Martin Luther.
The parchment contained 95 theses, or questions, based on the Bible instead of the teachings of the Catholic church.
The date was October 31st, 1517 - the beginning of the Protestant Reformation.
The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.
Isaiah 9:2
Celebrate the great blessing of the Reformation! Thank God for the brave, faithful men and women who have gone before us. They endured - and many still endure - great tribulation for the sake of Jesus and the full Gospel.
Felix Mendelssohn wrote the great Reformation Symphony (Symphony no. 5) to celebrate the presentation of the Augsburg Confession, and the Reformation. It is well worth hearing, as he recounts, in music, the longing of oppressed people for the full truth of God's word, the dawning of the Reformation, and the struggle through the ages of persecution, ending with the triumphant declaration that God truly is a mighty fortress for His people, and that His truth will - and does - prevail.
(If you don't want to listen to the whole thing, at least listen to the finale.)
On a different note:
Lamplighter Publishing is giving away MP3 downloads of their audio drama, The Haunted Room. (I wrote a review of the book, The Haunted Room, some time ago.) This is an excellent story, although parts of the drama are - well - very dramatic. I don't recommend it for younger listeners and, as always, parents should be aware of what their children are taking in, and preferably, check it out themselves first.
*A word of explanation: I was recently asked to write an article about riding safely in skirts. This is the result. I hope it is encouraging!
We girls were out with Daddy for our annual Christmas shopping trip - which is really just a nice opportunity to go out for the day with him since we don't usually buy much. We headed into Barnes & Noble to get some coffee and stood near the front door, enjoying our special treat, when an older, sloppily-dressed lady came up to us. "I just wanted to say that I like the way your girls dress," she began in a forceful tone. She looked from Daddy to each of us.
"Well, thank you," Daddy said.
"I don't dress that way because I ride horses and it just ain't safe to ride in a skirt, but I like the way you dress."
All my sisters - except Anna Frances, who was distracted - looked at me. I smiled and said, "Actually, I have horses too and ride in a skirt all the time."
"Well, you can do that, but I ain't gonna be caught dead in a skirt! It ain't safe!" she said.
This lady held to a common misconception. All of us who wear skirts have probably heard it at some point or other and many ladies who prefer to dress modestly feel that wearing skirts or dresses would restrict them from riding. This simply is not true, though. Riding in a skirt can be done safely - but it does take a certain amount of thought and preparation. For the purpose of this article, explaining how to ride safely in a skirt, I'm going to skip all the wonderful reasons to wear skirts. Those of you who are reading this are probably already familiar with these reasons and the Biblical basis for them.
I have been riding in skirts for eight years or so and have never had a skirt-related accident yet. Not to say I never will have one, but I haven't to date. I have also done a lot of other things in skirts, including climbing trees (a lot), swimming, hiking, bicycle riding, climbing rocks, canoeing, dog training, and working around the house and farm.
This is what many people think of when they hear of riding horses in skirts.
I'm not quite sure how to begin this blog post since I haven't posted since October... Sorry folks! I can't promise to do better, because frankly, blogging about personal life/ family stuff just isn't the most important thing I have to do right now. But - for those of you who are interested, I will still try to at least occasionally post something family related.
So... Without further ado, here is our recent trip to the Atlantic side of Florida!
What famous classical piece of music has 16 cannon shots written into the original score and includes portions of at least four other pieces of music?
And what connection does this classical piece by Tchaikovsky have with Napoleon Bonaparte?
As most everyone knows, Napoleon was a French dictator and general who made France a world superpower. His power was finally broken, in the providence of God, by the British at Waterloo in 1815. But the allied victory at Waterloo would not have been possible if it had not been for his disastrous campaign into Russia. This campaign marked the beginning of the end for French dominion.
The Russians were comparatively poorly equipped and trained, no match for the French from a military point of view. They were forced to resort to "scorched earth" tactics, retreating before the French army and destroying everything before them. The French were thus forced to rely on an inadequate supply line for provisions in their advance to Moscow. When they arrived in Moscow, they found the city in flames and learned that Tsar Alexander would rather sacrifice his capital than capitulate with them. To make matters worse, the brutal Russian winter was coming. Napoleon had no choice but to turn his dispirited Grand Armee around and leave.
The retreat from Moscow became one of the most discouraging pages in French military history. Thousands of soldiers succumbed to the cold and starvation and the ones who survived were too dispirited and disorganized to win the War of the Sixth Coalition. Napoleon was banished to the island of Elba, giving Europe a brief respite from his empire-building wars.
Now, to answer the first two questions: The 1812 Overture has 16 cannon shots written into the score.
5 shots signify the French - Russian battle of Borodino; 11 more shots punctuate God Save the Tsar in the finale of the overture. It includes fragments of Lord, save thy people, La Marseillaise, U Vorot, Vorot, and God Save the Tsar.
The 1812 Overture was written by Pyotr Illyich Tchaikovsky to commemorate Napoleon's invasion of Russia, Tchaikovsky's home country.This Wikipedia article explains the overture more fully, and it is amazing how this piece comes to life (at least, for me) after reading the article.
While the Russian Orthodox faith was mostly apostate and the Czarian rule of Russia was little, if at all, better than Napoleon's rule of France, God used the Russian campaign to break the power of the deist French dictator, Napoleon Bonaparte.
So, if you are interested in listening to the 1812 Overture, check out this YouTube video (music only). It is an amazing musical commemoration of Russian and world history.
I'm sure everyone reading this blog has either experienced hurricane Irma or seen it on the news. Just for the record though, I will mention that it was the largest recorded storm in the Atlantic (outside of the Carribean) with peak sustained wind speeds of about 185 mph. It was larger than the state of Florida, and predicted to travel right up the middle of the state after making landfall as a Category 4 hurricane. That's a strong storm!
Because it was so strong and we live in a mobile home, we deemed it would be prudent for us to get out of the way, so we evacuated to church. A number of other families had the same idea, so we all got to camp out Sunday afternoon - Monday morning. It was so much fun!
For those who are wondering about the title: I have a litter of 6 Border Collie puppies right now, plus my three breeding dogs. I couldn't exactly leave them behind, so they got to come along.
This blog post relates strictly to our family life for the last couple weeks and has no book recommendations or apologetic discussions whatsoever.
:D
I am not very good at updating the blog about what has been going on in our family (as you have probably all noticed!) So... now that I have a few free minutes, I will try to share some pictures.
Frankly, I did not mean to write this entire blog post in the style I did, but as it turned out, I felt led just to publish almost the whole thing in story format instead of as an article. Maybe it will at least be easier to read...
*************
"Susie, have you completed that assignment on the French Revolution?"
Susie hastily slid The Return of the King into her desk, picked up her pencil, and was bent over the history book which lay before her, resting her left forefinger beside the paragraph which she was reading, when Mom opened the bedroom door. Mom was pleased to see her being so diligent, but repeated her question as Susie looked up from her book, apparently surprised by her mother's appearance.
"No ma'am," she answered, pushing away the guilty feeling which told her she should have been working on her research paper instead of reading Tolkien's classic. But that book was just impossible to put down...
Originally written and posted on a very rainy day last week...
Ever since we got our first dog, Mama has periodically wished for a cat which would like dogs. I used to have a hard time believing all she said about how her cats and dogs loved each other because my only experiences in that line involved excited Schnauzers, my stressed out, deaf kitty, and (later on) our whip-thin black cat, Flavia, who hates dogs, and Kep, who loves chasing cats.
Then Flavia retired from working and the rats (which are always more or less present on a farm) began multiplying way too fast, so we finally got two young kittens. They were six week old brothers from Shepherd's Hill Farm and are the most wonderful cats. They are sweet to each other and people, and I think they will be great ratters. (BTW, there is one kitten left from this litter who needs a home! Contact me if you are interested in adopting him.)
Dickon (left) and Chauncey (right)
The first time one of the dogs (Flossy, I think) walked up and sniffed the new kittens, they both totally panicked, as several scratches on my hands testified. For a while they would spit and fluff up every time one of the dogs came nearby, but Flossy has the gentle-giant nature of her Great Pyrenees mama (Inez) and the curiosity of her Border collie sire, Duncan, so she didn't mind the fluffing, hissing, spitting, and swatting, and would just walk over to the kittens lick them until they were too soggy to spit and fluff.
So eventually, they gave it up.
I think Flossy thinks the kittens are her personal pets. At any rate, she has trained them to be friendly with dogs, and because we never allowed the dogs to chase them at all, they have all accepted them as part of the family.
Even Kep seems to have been finally cured of his cat-chasing proclivities and has fully subsided into his role as Farm Grandpa, even providing entertainment and exercise for the kittens by wagging his tail obligingly.
"Well, what are you staring at? Haven't you ever seen a cat hone its pouncing skills?"
But, though all the dogs are fine with the cats, Flossie is the one who really enjoys them, and they even seem to enjoy her (well, most of the time.)
Today it is raining, and everyone knows that rainy days are the best for napping. Apparently Dickon and Flossie agree.
