Hot Cross Buns

"Grammie, tell me the story of the hot cross buns again," I said to my ninety plus year old grandmother.

Sitting in her favorite recliner, the tiny woman had on a flowered dress, a handmade apron, support hose and sensible dove gray tied shoes.  On the side table next to her lay her beautiful golden embroidery scissors, a spool of thread and a needle, a silver-colored thimble and her well-worn Bible. Her short gray, permed hair was pinned back with a bobby pin behind each ear.

"Well, when I was a young girl my father owned a horse-drawn delivery service.  He would pick up bread, pastries and rolls from the large bakery in our city and take them to his customers."

"On the Thursday before Good Friday, we set up great big trays on saw horses in our dining room and my father would fill the trays with hot cross buns from the bakery. Chrissy [her sister], Mama, Pop, Auntie Gert and I would count out the customer orders and put the buns in bags to get them ready for delivery in the middle of the night."

 

"Soon after midnight on Good Friday, we loaded up the wagon and saddled our horse, Don.  Chrissy and I road in the back of the wagon and it was our job to jump out with the orders.   Our customers' homes were all up and down the streets by the beach in Milford."

"We knew where all our customers lived.  And we knew all their dogs so we would slip past them and leave the Good Friday buns on the kitchen tables.  As long as Grampie owned a bakery delivery route, that was our tradition."

Ever since my grandmother told me that story, I have tried to make her hot cross buns for Good Friday as often as possible.  I love the idea of keeping the family story alive with something so tangible.  All senses are involved when I bake the buns--the sight of all the buns lined up on the pan;  the wonderful smell that fills the house;  the sound of the oven door opening and closing;  the sticky touch of the frosted cross;  the sweet taste of the soft bread bun.

Anticipating Passover and Easter it occurs to me that God cares deeply about food traditions for the purpose of keeping the stories of His people alive.  He knows how frail our memories are so He gave us meals to illustrate freeing His people from Egypt and sending His Son as Savior to free His people from the bondage of sin.  Today when we eat those meals God says, "do this in memory of Me."

So as you celebrate your holidays, enjoy your family traditions and remember to enjoy God's family traditions as well.

The Bell Buoy

Ask my husband, Jim, about our family excursion to Maine's Monhegan Island and his face will instantly turn pasty white and he will double over clenching his stomach.

We had made this trip before on the Hardy Boat so we thought is would be fun to take our girls to the island that had barely any cars and only about 200 year round residents. Hiking trails ran along the ocean and green, brown and blue sea glass peppered the shore.  A lighthouse was at the peak of the island and with a few summer artisan gift shops. All in all it promised to be a good day.

We grabbed our tickets, sweatshirts, jackets and sensible shoes for climbing on the jagged rocks along the sea coast, ran down the dock and climbed on the boat.  The sky was a bit overcast but as they say in Maine, "if you don't like the weather, wait a minute," so we forged ahead.

The boat loaded with folks "from away" fired up it's engines and slowly left the harbor.  As soon as we cleared the harbor markers the captain revved up the boat's speed and we were on our way.  Jim and the girls went to the upper deck to get the full views.  My aunts and I, choosing the more cautious route, stayed down on the first deck.

As we hit open seas, black clouds rolled in and it began to rain.  The more the rain kicked up more the Hardy Boat began to rock--back and forth, back and forth.  In seconds my "upper deck" family appeared to get out of the rain and to try and get their bearings.  The captain came on over the loud speaker saying, "keep your eyes on the horizon," but the boat was listing so deep and the swells were so high, there was no horizon.  Needless to say our family was lined up along the side of the boat. And Jim's only comment was, "that was a waste of a perfectly good blueberry muffin!"

We spent a miserable day on the island.  The storm did not pass and we knew in a few hours we had to make the return "voyage."  When the time came we walked to the dock and tried to muster up our courage to cross the bouncing gangplank onto the boat.  Finally we sat down and huddled under blankets anticipating the trip back to shore.

Fog, rain, wind, and huge waves were our only focus of what seemed like an endless trip. Fearful thoughts ran through our minds.  Did the captain know how to navigate this weather?  Were we going to make it back safely?  How could the boat's crew possibly tell where we were?

After an excruciating hour of being churned about on the sea, we heard the gentle, calm rocking sound of the harbor buoy.  We were "home!"  We had made it!  The sound guided the captain into the harbor loaded with docked lobstermen's boat.  He expertly brought the rocking Hardy Boat to rest.  We were safe.

We have learned that each harbor has it's own buoy with it's own bell.  In the midst of darkness or storm or fog a captain can tell where he is by the sound of the bell.  He must know his bell's sound or he will be lost.

This year I have been tossed and churned about.  In the midst of fear and anxiousness,  I'm learning the sound of my Heavenly Father's voice who will guide me into safe harbor.

                           

Tantrums

"Sweetheart, I have to run out to the grocery store.  Why don't you grab your jacket and come with me."

My young daughter dressed in her Saturday play clothes--green corduroy overalls, a white turtleneck with flowers printed all over it, navy blue leather mary jane shoes, and a green ribbon bow tied around her topknot--did not take to my plan at all.

"I don't want to go.  I hate the grocery store.  I want to stay home with Daddy.  I'm not going!" she said forcefully as she punctuated her statements with a solid stamp of her little blue shoe.

I tried to coax and cajole her to come with me.  In the midst of the all the messy back-and-forth words, I didn't want to tell her that her best friend's mother had called to ask if she could come and play. I wanted to surprise her.  I wanted to bless her but because she thought she knew what was happening she dug her heels in and nearly missed the blessing.   My six year old did not trust that I was thinking of her, that I had her best interest in mind.

This year I've been asked to follow God unconditionally into places I haven't wanted to go--physically and emotionally painful and frightening places . I've been weak and indulgent in self-pity.  "What are you thinking, God?  Where is your fatherhood?"   I have stomped my feet (best that I could with two broken ankles) and through my tantrums I have told my Heavenly Father, "I don't want to go with you!"  I have not always trusted that He has my best interest in mind and as a result I'm sure I have interfered with His blessings.

In the Old Testament book of Jeremiah God states,  "I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness."  As I walk on with my Heavenly Father, will I have to courage to believe His words are true, to let go of questioning His goodness?

Erasers

As a little girl in third grade wearing a polyester aqua plaid skirt with a shirt and knee socks to match, it was my week to stay after school and clean the slate black board and erasers. Truthfully for a wild, curly haired young girl wearing brown corrective shoes, this was my favorite job to get of all the chores on the Jobs List.

Every day for a week I got one-on-one attention from my teacher; and every day for a week I got to make order out of chaos, both things that were needed in my early life. When the big hand on the large round classroom clock moved around to 3:10 pm, it was time to snap into action.  On my tippy toes I would begin at the top of the board and erase the day's math, science and homework assignments away.  I worked until there was no trace of the past.  Then to complete the task I would put my jacket on, grab up the two gray felt erasers, head down the wide stairwell, and out the large front doors.  There I would clap those erasers together with all my might.  I clapped and clapped until the poofs of chalk dust were gone.

Back upstairs I beamed at a job well done, knowing the next day could begin with a clean slate--a fresh start, a new beginning.  Certainly our Heavenly Father has the same love of fresh starts--Christmas is about giving mankind a second chance; Easter is about giving humankind a clean slate.  Yet our God knew we could not wait for months for a do-over so He designed daily new beginnings.  In the Old Testament book of Lamentations it speaks of God's mercies being new every morning.

As this new year rolls around, erase the old and with your Heavenly Father's help welcome the new fresh start.

The Moon

"Jim are you ready to go? It's starting to get dark."

Jim and I got in our '01 gray Volvo station wagon and drove off to a nearby lake to see the Super Moon rise.  It was a magnificent summer evening and we arrived at the lake just in time to see the big, perfectly round bright moon ascending up in the sky. The huge circle laid down a brilliant path that spread all the way across the calm lake waters.  The light path was so wide and so bright, I felt I could hop out of our car (minus my wheel chair) and run to the other side of the lake on the newly laid path.  The thought of running on top of the water brought such  joy!

As I watched the moon change position in the sky and the light path ripple in the wake of a boat crossing it, I began to think about the moon being a reflection of the sun. The moon's beauty and nighttime guiding light is dependent on the sun.  It cannot fulfill it's purpose without the sun.

These qualities are not unlike my own life.  I cannot fulfill my design and purpose without reflecting the "light of the world"--God's Son.  In the Old Testament book of Micah there is a concise description of what I, as a God follower's purpose should be:  act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God.  I can not do these things on my own I must depend on the Son.

You too can reflect the Son.  Let your brilliance and beauty shine through.

Dorothy

"So what are you going to name your new piano?,"said my first student to play on the new-to-me baby grand piano that had been delivered that morning.  That hadn't even occurred to me but my adult pupil told me many famous musicians often named their instruments and she thought it would be fun if I did the same.

At supper that night I told Jim and the girls what Christine said during her lesson.  My family embraced the idea and began to offer suggestions--silly ones, serious ones and thoughtful ones.  Then I said, "I think we should name her the female name that means, gift of God."

Jim went on a search for the Name Your Baby book.  He soon returned with book in hand.  Flipping through the dog-eared pages of the book, our eyes settled on a name in the D column that meant gift of God.  It was Dorothy.  "Oh Jim,  that's it!!"  With sweet tears rolling down my cheeks I explained to my young daughters that I had one piano teacher from when I was seven years old to when I graduated from high school and her name was Dorothy.  She was a gift from God to me.

And so it was...my light wood Kranach and Bach baby grand piano was given the name Dorothy.

Recently there have been many "Dorothys" in my life.  There has been our neighbor who built the ramps so I could get into our house with a wheelchair.  There has been my friend who comes on Sundays when I can't go to church.  There have been the countless people who have regularly, unceasingly have prayed for Jim and I.  There have been kind church members and friends who have brought us delicious meals.  There have been sisters, brothers and daughters who have called us to check in and encourage us. There have been aunts and dear friends who went shopping for clothes. There have been many loved ones who have come to visit.  There has been a friend who has volunteered to go to the month of training with Jim and I to learn my new dialysis method.  And then my greatest "Dorothy" has been my husband who has cared for my every want, wish and need.

In God's Word it says, "Every good and perfect gift is from above" and "In everything give thanks." So for all my "Dorothy's" I give thanks.

The Tire Swing

"Dad they have a tire swing in their yard,  may we go out and swing on it?," was the inquiry of our little six year old visitor.  She and her little sister were full of joy at the thought of sticking their legs through the hole in the old black tire and swinging back and forth past the forsythia bushes and the stockade fence.

Watching the two young girls dressed in brightly colored outfits run out to play on the tire swing flashed me back to nearly twenty years ago when I had two small daughters running up the hill to do the same thing.  That swing has hung on the giant maple tree for about thirty years.  It has weathered sun, rain, snow, and wind--steadfastly baring it all.

Yesterday Jim pushed me out in my wheelchair to the back door of the garage where I had a clear view of the tire swing.  I marveled over the thought that the long rope with tight knots had been there as long as the swing.

"Did you ever change the rope," I asked Jim.

"No.  I tried to change the tire once but the knot around it was so strong, I couldn't get it loose."

As I sat soaking in fresh air from my chair and admiring the deep blue sky, I mused over the thought that the swing moves back and forth.  Sometimes it twirls in circles and blows around in the wind.  But ultimately it is anchored to the large branch on the majestic maple tree that stands in the yard.

In recent months, I have swung back and forth between medical challenges and happy dates with Jim at the park.   I have gone around in circles trying to make life altering decisions.  I have weathered good times and rough times but in the end I am anchored to my heavenly Father--securely tied, safely held.

In the book of Hebrews, chapter six, it speaks to this very thing when it says:
         "We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure." 

No matter which way I'm swinging or twirling, I am anchored firm and secure.