Archive for February, 2014


When I read Charles Dickens in school, I read the the CliffsNotes.

I know I’m ignorant. I’m not a detail person. I don’t like a lot of words and Dickens is known for them.

So when my pastor told us he was going to spend several weeks in one chapter of the Bible, I thought maybe I’d get bored.

Fact is, he’s spent 3-45-minute-Wednesday-night-lessons on just five words.

“Christ died for our sins.”

He quoted some famous guy who talked about those words. “Bury yourself in a dictionary and come up in the presence of God.”

We’ve been doing just that. I’m enthralled.

Last night Pastor David Brady spoke on the word sin.

When we think of sin, most of us think of the ten “big ones.”  We may even say we keep most of them. Sometimes.

The trouble is the law of God isn’t a serious of commandments.

The law of God is who He is. He doesn’t have to keep it. The law flows out of His character. It balances His mercy, goodness, love, purity, holiness, and justice. And He balances them all perfectly. All the time.

If there is no holy God, there is no sin since sin is relational.

When Adam and Eve sinned, they hid from their Creator. No one told them to do that, it was natural. When you and I sin, we distance ourselves from our Creator.

It doesn’t matter if you believe in a Creator. Truth doesn’t change.

Scripture describes sin in several ways. Missing the mark, unbelief, immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry. Basically, if you live your life your way, you are sinning.

Christ died for those sins.

All of them.

Unless you haven’t received His free gift of salvation. You’d better hurry, It’s not on the table forever. The moment you die salvation is not an option. No second chances.

What do I need to do?

Believe this:

“Christ died for your sins.”

Then live like it.


When Life Hands You Lemons, Make Chicken Pie

After single-digit-weather, 17 degrees felt almost balmy. A perfect day to celebrate my farmer husband’s birthday.

We drove the short distance to the field that held the chickens and Great Pyrenees puppies. They are protected by a pliable electric fence that separates them to keep chickens with chickens and puppies with puppies.

Something wasn’t right.

Our LGD’s (Livestock Guardian Dogs), Molly and Lacey wagged their tails as we drove up. Trouble was, they munched on black feathers. And chicken wasn’t on their menu.

Tom intervened. They’d just begun their feast when we’d appeared.

I heard Tom scolding the “girls,” and watched as their tails swiped back and forth like windshield wipers in a snowstorm. They were clueless about their misdeed. All they knew was a chicken flew over to their side of the fence. I’m sure at first they were playing, but then their carnivore instincts kicked in.

When am I gonna figure this whole livestock thing out? I thought as I collected eggs from the traumatized ladies.

Tom threw the bird in the woods and we trudged back to the van.

“If we were brave, we’d go get that chicken and cook it.”

That’s all I needed to hear.  You see, we could probably have paid for another child’s wedding with the money we’d been pouring into our poultry adventure. “Someone besides the neighborhood fox should benefit from the chicken and it might as well be us,” I stated as we headed back to the forest.

We loaded the chicken in a bucket and traveled home to watch a youtube video. Also, I knew I could call my friend and farm-wife-guru, Kelly Josey, to figure out what to do with the bird. (The bird was almost completely in tact.)

“Get as many feathers off as you can, dunk it in hit water, then gut it.”

I did what Kelly said.  Soon, what I held in my hand looked like meat that would stock the shelves of any local grocery store. I boiled it, added vegetables and a crust.

I made two chicken pies–courtesy of one of the “ladies.”

When I committed to being a farmer’s wife, I had no idea I’d be plucking and cooking a chicken. In fact, before I moved to the farm, I never really thought about where my food came from. I guess I thought it magically appeared in the store.

Now I know how much work it takes to cultivate the land, plant a seed, and harvest a head of lettuce. I understand how the tomatoes on my sandwich are pruned and fed. And now I’ve a glimpse into the complicated life of owning livestock.

I have a context when I use phrases like, “you reap what you sow,” and “there is a pecking order.”

For Tom’s birthday dinner, we decided to eat my very first farm-to-table chicken pot pie. After that, I understood another phrase–”She’s a tough old bird.”

That she was.

May she rest in peace.

Enjoy the upside-down pic!