The Beach

I think the first Beach Day of the Summer merits celebrating! Today was the first time at the Beach this year, definitely not normal for us. Normally, we try to get the beach more than once a summer. Love the beach!

So, at about 12:00 we grabbed the towels, beach blanket, some money, packed the milk shakes in ice, and the four of us drove up to the beach. (We are about 35 mins from the lake, white sand, sand bars, the whole bit.) Today was a bright, sunny day with a high of 27 deg: Perfect BEACH weather!

10 mins from the beach we stopped at the grocery store to pick up some junk food -- and decided to pick up lunch. So we bought coke, munchies, candy, , a roasted chicken and onion rings from the deli (free plates, forks, condiments :D). We were the best eating kids on the beach :P -- and it was good. We did of course buy way too much food, but that is half the fun.

True to the country way of life, we had no sooner spread the food out then a kid came up and asked us for a fork-- we did have an extra one. And when while out swimming a random lady chatted away, asking a dozen questions. I was tanning on the beach when a dog came along to sample the chicken bones, I jumped up in surprise, and he thought I wanted to play. Out of the corner of my eye, I located his owner up the hill. So doggie and I did a little dance up the hill. You should have seen the look on the dog's face when he saw the chicken bones! He had such a look of delight as if to say "Oh! Abandoned chicken! My favorite and no one about to stop me!"

We stayed at the beach from 1:00 to 3:00. Even as I sit writing this, I am listening to the Beach Boys, trying to make the beach feeling last as long as possible. The sun felt so good, and I am again a bright shade of reddish brown. My whole being is warm, which is marvelous, especially after last night being so cold. It was the perfect ending to August, a perfect Saturday adventure

That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving,

and tell of all thy wondrous works.

~

Psalms 26:7

As for God, his way is perfect:

the word of the LORD is tried:

he is a buckler to

all those that trust in him.

~

Psalm 18:30

One of My Favorite

I love Gene Stratton Porter books. There has been only one of hers that I did not like, and I can't even remember its title. If you are able to find the originals, they usually have good illustrations.

Gene Stratton Porter (1863-1924) was an american novelist. She wrote often of nature: plants, animals, and the woods. She is best known for her book Girl of the Limberlost. Also well-

known, the book Freckles. Her husband Charles D. Porter started the Bank of Geneva in Indiana.

I think my favorite is The Harvestor. In this book, she paints a beautiful picture of a lakeside cabin. (Apparently developed from her own house she and her husband lived in near the swamp.) The hero is a man. I laugh at my lack of description, but truly, I cannot put it into words, you'll just have to read the book. He is the type of guy that makes modern novel heroes look like wimps....

We own quite a few (or rather my brother owns the books, since he bought them). Among my favorite are Laddie a story told through the eyes of a young girl -- this book is somewhat autobiographical, and Keeper of the Bees --which is about a guy who has just escaped from a army hospital....long story, again you would have to read them.

"For every bad man and woman I have ever known, I have met . . . an overwhelming number of thoroughly clean and decent people who still believe in God and cherish high ideals, and it is upon the lives of these people that I base what I write. To contend that this does not produce a picture true to life is idiocy. It does. It produces a picture true to ideal life; to the best that good men and good women can do at level best.

I care very little for the . . . critics who proclaim that there is no such thing as a moral man, and that my pictures of life are sentimental and idealized. They are! And I glory in them! They are straight, living pictures from the lives of men and women of morals, honor, and loving kindness. . . .

Such a big majority of book critics and authors have begun to teach, whether they really believe it or not, that no book is true to life unless it is true to the worst in life."
— Gene Stratton-Porter

Fimo Food

Working in conjunction with Willi Fustus & Co. , we have begun to sell the Fimo Food in little plastic bags with labels. Check out their store online The Willi Fustus Store

Fimo is a polymare clay that is soft and pliable like Plasterscene, but is cooked in the oven to harden. Fimo.com is the offical Fimo site, it has been around for along time and has recently become more popular. My aunt introduced us to

Fimo a few years back and we have been hooked ever since.

Working with the clay can be pretty tough, especially if the clay drys out. The dried out clay hardens and becomes like gum that has been chewed too long, tough and hard to work.

Fine detailing is also a bit of a challenge, but then the fun is in the challenge. These are some pictures of the Fimo Food we made these past two weeks. We sell the food to Purple Hill Togs, a company near our town that makes doll clothes to fit American Girl Dolls and other dolls. Their site is http://purplehilltogs.webnode.com/

The food is made for 18" dolls. The popular American Girl Dolls have had food accessories for a long time, but as with much of American Girl, the accessories can get pricey. The food we have been making is selling fairly fast. The diameter of the hamburger you see in the top picture is about the same as that of a 25 cent piece quarter.

Reflections of the Master's Hand

I am certainly not the originator of this analogy, but somehow the reality of this sunk into my consciousness this time. I look at how little I am and how perfectly the trail of history behind me reflects His guidance.

Being held in the master's hand. I often revel in the pure security of being in His hand. God's hand. I can trust him, even when I don't trust him I am still in the security of the hand of God. How much greater is His plan than ours. I love looking back and seeing how what seemed to be so scary, perfectly fell into place, step by step. He has painted the picture that I can only see glimpses of... I can trust Him.

But perhaps you, like me, ask how can I trust others? God knows how I have struggled with trusting. Sometimes my fear has been so great it prompted instant and irrevocable decisions that hurt innocent people. "How can I trust others?" I ask."In light of what I know of Him, and his perfection and how little I trust Someone who deserves all my faith -- how can I trust others whom I know to be mere humans like myself?"

I do not have the answers, but this helped me understand...

The Memoirs of a Simple Violin

"I thought I felt like puddy in his hands. I realize now it is more like the feeling of being handled as a valuable violin in the hands of a musician taught by a master violinist. The musician's every motion was guided by the skill imparted to him by the Master. The Master who not only taught the musician , but the Master who made me --the simple violin that I am. How thankful I am that the musician is taught by the Master, for the Master loves me more than anyone.

The Master will always love this simple violin. He has a unique love for me because He made me--me the violin. The Master is teaching the musician to love me the way He loves me.

The musician sees the value of the violin, because it is the work of the Master. Any studied musician values a Stradivarius because of its sound, quality, beauty, and its name.

The Stradivarius bears the name of its maker, Antonio Stradivari. I am called my Master's name.

In the hands of the Master, I am formed and play, and move to my Master's music. In the hands of the Master I am completed and tried. I experience, through gentle, but sometimes painful, process. I don't always sing as I should. Sometimes I am out of tune.

Sometimes I squeak or grate in awkward sharp notes. My Master fine tunes me, tightens my strings, stretching my strings -- its uncomfortable. The Master made me for a purpose. Then the Master shows the musician, whom he made me for, how to tune and play the violin, so that I will sing for him too.....

....Sometimes, the musican makes mistakes and I vibrate with hurt. Pain. But I bravely quiver as the musican's bow catches on the stings. A loud I complain. "I AM not supposed to be played this way! This is not how my Master's music sounds!" .....

....I always marvel when my Master steps in. He gently takes the bow from the musician, and lifting me in His arms: He plays. Sweet the song of the Master.

I have seen many violins thrown or given away. A squeaky violin is not appreciated by a musician. I am always amazed when my complaints are graciously forgiven.

Cast off violins are often given to children to play with. A disobedient violin is of no use to the musician. The musician looks for one of greater value. But the Master always love the violin. Sometimes, although the Master loves the violin, He must put the stubborn violin in a different place. A stubborn violin can be of no use to the musician.

But a well-tuned violin is a beautiful and useful instrument. The Master places a fined tuned violin into the hands of a loving musician. The violin is loved by the Master and the musician alike....

...the orchestra, the conductor, and the audience love a violin made by the Master, played the the Master-taught musician. The violin cannot play itself. The violin must depend upon another.

We need others in our life. The Master made us. Can we not trust the Master to care for us even in the hands of others? The Master's love and wisdom is not limited. We can trust Him with the others in our lives. "

***

I really enjoyed the little picture of the violin. There was more to the story, which I didn't included. But the part that struck me in this story was this: I can not control what others do, but I can trust the God who made me.

Random Projects: Jeans

I know many are wondering if I have disinherited them P

As I may or may not have explained.... I have been very wrapped up in current projects.

Just so you know this is not an excuse... this is my very random Saturday project.

It all started with my total lack of ambition due to sleeping too much. (Sleep was completely necessary at first, but after the lovely sleeping, I found I lacked the ambition to do anything! Experiencing lack of ambition drives me crazy. ) So, one Saturday morning, I decided to deal with my jeans...... history of these jeans: well long story short, two pairs shrunk and one pair wouldn't stay up. (Both of the shrunken pairs were from Dots, I am not sure if this is significant or not.)

I decided to cut the one pair into shorts and the other pair into caprices. Worked splendidly! The scraps caught my attention. So, I ripped the third pair apart, cutting off the waist and sewing it to the legs of the other two pairs. :D Made a knee-length skirt and matching cap -- sorry only have pics of the skirt, I couldn't find the hat just now.

I am waiting for the dawning

of the bright and blessed day,

when the darksome night of sorrow

shall have vanished far away:

when for ever with the Saviour

far beyond this vale of tears,

I shall swell the song of worship

through the everlasting years.

I am looking at the brightness -

see, it shineth from afar -

of the clear and joyous beaming

of the bright and morning Star.

Through the dark grey mist of morning

do I see its glorious light;

then away with every shadow

of this sad and weary night.

I am waiting for the coming

of the Lord who died for me;

oh, His words have thrilled my spirit,

'I will come again for Thee.'

I can almost hear His footfall,

on the threshold of the door,

and my heart, my heart is longing

to be with Him evermore.

1923

I have been listening to country lately, seem to be on a country trend--maybe its the scenic route I take to work or maybe just this time of summer. I was listening to the song I call "Wait for Me" although as I have just now found out, the song is really called "Love, Me". Anyways, the song reminded me of my 'adopted' great-grandpa, G.P. Taylor. Most know G.P. Taylor as an older preacher, he told us wild stories. One such story was very similar to this song, see, he and his-bride-to-be eloped when quite young, since her father didn't approve of the match. They hopped in his car and drove through one or two states until they found state where they could get married. The details of the story I have forgotten, but I will never forget him telling me the story. I think he was 98 at the time, and he laid on the couch chuckling to himself, and he kept interrupting himself with stories of his late wife, how good she was, how talented. I always loved when he told us stories. Anyway, enjoy. :)

(Since the blog music automatically plays, scroll down the page, click the pause button on the right hand side to stop the blog music.)