Snow Bell

The Noble Snowbell

The farm bell froze in place during the last winter storm. Ice coated the pull rope and snow formed a dome on the housing. Icicles hung from the rim. The bell would not ring.

The grandchildren love our farm bell. We let them have a chance to sound it to call Grandpa in from the orchard or the older kids from the creek. Some of them can’t reach the pull rope yet so we hold them up or have them stand on a lawn chair. The sound often startles them; they never expect such a BIG sound. But the word bell comes from the word bellow and we moms have all heard one or two of those.

Perhaps we have been the ones bellowing!
The frozen snow bell didn’t make a sound. It was stuck like a writer with writer’s block. It was stuck like a mom who can’t tell what to cook for supper. It was stuck like an artist facing an empty canvas; like any human trying to be creative can become stiffled.
Then the sun came out after the storm passed. Soon the icicles fell and the heap of snow slid off the wrought iron. The ice on the rope dripped and dribbled down to the base of the pole. The bell was free and sat waiting for a tug to make it sound again. Its call of “Come in for supper,” and “Come back to the house,” and “someone’s waiting for you,” rang sweetly again!
The cold places in our lives can often leave us feeling ignoble (common or low) rather than the noble persons God called us to be. The warmth of God’s grace and mercy comes though, like the sun on the bell, when we pray and seek him. It thaws us and melts away the cold that surrounds us and stops us. God frees us from the aching cold of our own selfishness and allows us to be useful again.

Let the bell ring sweet and loud!

Snow Bell

The Noble Snowbell

The farm bell froze in place during the last winter storm. Ice coated the pull rope and snow formed a dome on the housing. Icicles hung from the rim. The bell would not ring.

The grandchildren love our farm bell. We let them have a chance to sound it to call Grandpa in from the orchard or the older kids from the creek. Some of them can’t reach the pull rope yet so we hold them up or have them stand on a lawn chair. The sound often startles them; they never expect such a BIG sound. But the word bell comes from the word bellow and we moms have all heard one or two of those.

Perhaps we have been the ones bellowing!
The frozen snow bell didn’t make a sound. It was stuck like a writer with writer’s block. It was stuck like a mom who can’t tell what to cook for supper. It was stuck like an artist facing an empty canvas; like any human trying to be creative can become stiffled.
Then the sun came out after the storm passed. Soon the icicles fell and the heap of snow slid off the wrought iron. The ice on the rope dripped and dribbled down to the base of the pole. The bell was free and sat waiting for a tug to make it sound again. Its call of “Come in for supper,” and “Come back to the house,” and “someone’s waiting for you,” rang sweetly again!
The cold places in our lives can often leave us feeling ignoble (common or low) rather than the noble persons God called us to be. The warmth of God’s grace and mercy comes though, like the sun on the bell, when we pray and seek him. It thaws us and melts away the cold that surrounds us and stops us. God frees us from the aching cold of our own selfishness and allows us to be useful again.

Let the bell ring sweet and loud!

Dear God,

It is the end of March in Oklahoma. My daffodills are blooming and the other bulbs sending up their spears to the blue sky. Soon the irises, the tulips, and the hyacinths will bloom. But this morning sleet is pelting the side of the house. The rain fell all night followed by freezing rain and then an hour or two of sleet, sounding like rice popping as it hits the windowpanes.

I ventured out into the cold wet wind to fill my empty bird feeders, grab the mail, and pick a bouquet with ice on it. The mud puddles and the water still standing from the last rain are frozen now. Snow is swirling out of the northwest – large soggy flakes. The weatherman predicts four to eight inches before the day is over. We have had these last of March snow storms before and they are soon gone and spring moves in with southern breezes and warmer days soon afterward.

In Louisiana, I was enthralled by the camellias that budded out on bushes and produced assorted orage, red, pink and salmon colored blossoms against shiny leather-like green leaves. What pretty flowers! I brought a potted one here to try my hand at raising them. Though roses grow well here, camellias don’t stand a chance against the freezes we have. The lilacs I carried home from Michigan failed for want of enough cold.

Here we have the Indian Paintbrush, the Prairie Primrose, and the wild rose that trundles in great sagging sprays over pasture fences. Every place has its natural graces. Cardinals, cowbirds, chickadees, white-throated sparrows, downy woodpeckers, and nuthatches are busy outside my window like so many mobile flowers.

Brenna’s little donkeys have eaten the center out of a round coil of hay. They seek the shelter of their open-sided shed on days like today. The cows and horses don’t seen to mind the cold. They graze lazily along the wooded side of the orchard.

Winter clings and then is gone. Spring, summer, and autumn each hold allure and trials of their own. I love living where I get to experience all the seasons fully. Things change and new joys and challenges entertain us.

Thank you for the seasons, especially these that keep us hopeful.

Love you, Elece

Dear God,

It is the end of March in Oklahoma. My daffodills are blooming and the other bulbs sending up their spears to the blue sky. Soon the irises, the tulips, and the hyacinths will bloom. But this morning sleet is pelting the side of the house. The rain fell all night followed by freezing rain and then an hour or two of sleet, sounding like rice popping as it hits the windowpanes.

I ventured out into the cold wet wind to fill my empty bird feeders, grab the mail, and pick a bouquet with ice on it. The mud puddles and the water still standing from the last rain are frozen now. Snow is swirling out of the northwest – large soggy flakes. The weatherman predicts four to eight inches before the day is over. We have had these last of March snow storms before and they are soon gone and spring moves in with southern breezes and warmer days soon afterward.

In Louisiana, I was enthralled by the camellias that budded out on bushes and produced assorted orage, red, pink and salmon colored blossoms against shiny leather-like green leaves. What pretty flowers! I brought a potted one here to try my hand at raising them. Though roses grow well here, camellias don’t stand a chance against the freezes we have. The lilacs I carried home from Michigan failed for want of enough cold.

Here we have the Indian Paintbrush, the Prairie Primrose, and the wild rose that trundles in great sagging sprays over pasture fences. Every place has its natural graces. Cardinals, cowbirds, chickadees, white-throated sparrows, downy woodpeckers, and nuthatches are busy outside my window like so many mobile flowers.

Brenna’s little donkeys have eaten the center out of a round coil of hay. They seek the shelter of their open-sided shed on days like today. The cows and horses don’t seen to mind the cold. They graze lazily along the wooded side of the orchard.

Winter clings and then is gone. Spring, summer, and autumn each hold allure and trials of their own. I love living where I get to experience all the seasons fully. Things change and new joys and challenges entertain us.

Thank you for the seasons, especially these that keep us hopeful.

Love you, Elece

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

The Snowflake

It snowed in Oklahoma last week, which was the cause of a great deal of delight at my house. The kids zoomed through their schoolwork and headed for the back room to don overcoats, stocking caps, and gloves. I ventured out long enough put a tray of extra birdseed in the front yard for my cardinals, juncos, sparrows, and nuthatches. Two pairs of bluebirds and a Jay scrabbled at the suet feeders with the woodpeckers.

I watched the kids build a mini-snowman (a snow-baby or a result of global warming shorter snowmen?). I watched them slide down the hill on a blue plastic sled and clobber each other with snowballs. Their shouting and laughing didn’t dissuade the birds from eating.

The snow fell in huge flakes. Soon the whole ground was covered and the branches of the trees and the bushes were frosty. The blowing snow against the dismal browns and grays of Oklahoma’s January were a welcome sight. It made me understand Northerners for a fraction of a minute.
No wonder they love it. It is beautiful!

Have you ever felt like a snowflake—just a one small person in the great span of eternity—just one diminutive drop in the great ocean of humanity—just one tiny part of God’s world? Oh, I have.

Snowflakes are formed when minute particles called ice nuclei pass through the clouds. As a particle tumbles in the super cooled moisture, it forms a six-sided crystal—radiating from the center. The sides add branches and buds that make the snowflake grow and change as it falls. Though each snowflake is small, flakes soon cover the ground.

I am like one of those snowflakes. My influence begins inside my home, with my own children and my grandbabies. The things I do and say affect my neighbors, my community, and my society. My influence reaches beyond my house to other homes. My influence, for good or bad, grows and continues past myself, past days at home washing faces and sweeping up messes, past soothing quarrels and folding dish towels, past cooking supper and changing bed sheets.

My home is a mission field and I serve God here. I represent Christ here. Some days I feel like I am being tumbled in cold places—buffeted by trials and weighed down by work and problems. Some days I feel small, fragile, and isolated. That is the time to spread my hands farther and be like a snowflake, helping to cover the world with the beauty of the knowledge of Jesus.

(Taken from What’s Good About Home 2007)

The Snowflake

It snowed in Oklahoma last week, which was the cause of a great deal of delight at my house. The kids zoomed through their schoolwork and headed for the back room to don overcoats, stocking caps, and gloves. I ventured out long enough put a tray of extra birdseed in the front yard for my cardinals, juncos, sparrows, and nuthatches. Two pairs of bluebirds and a Jay scrabbled at the suet feeders with the woodpeckers.

I watched the kids build a mini-snowman (a snow-baby or a result of global warming shorter snowmen?). I watched them slide down the hill on a blue plastic sled and clobber each other with snowballs. Their shouting and laughing didn’t dissuade the birds from eating.

The snow fell in huge flakes. Soon the whole ground was covered and the branches of the trees and the bushes were frosty. The blowing snow against the dismal browns and grays of Oklahoma’s January were a welcome sight. It made me understand Northerners for a fraction of a minute.
No wonder they love it. It is beautiful!

Have you ever felt like a snowflake—just a one small person in the great span of eternity—just one diminutive drop in the great ocean of humanity—just one tiny part of God’s world? Oh, I have.

Snowflakes are formed when minute particles called ice nuclei pass through the clouds. As a particle tumbles in the super cooled moisture, it forms a six-sided crystal—radiating from the center. The sides add branches and buds that make the snowflake grow and change as it falls. Though each snowflake is small, flakes soon cover the ground.

I am like one of those snowflakes. My influence begins inside my home, with my own children and my grandbabies. The things I do and say affect my neighbors, my community, and my society. My influence reaches beyond my house to other homes. My influence, for good or bad, grows and continues past myself, past days at home washing faces and sweeping up messes, past soothing quarrels and folding dish towels, past cooking supper and changing bed sheets.

My home is a mission field and I serve God here. I represent Christ here. Some days I feel like I am being tumbled in cold places—buffeted by trials and weighed down by work and problems. Some days I feel small, fragile, and isolated. That is the time to spread my hands farther and be like a snowflake, helping to cover the world with the beauty of the knowledge of Jesus.

(Taken from What’s Good About Home 2007)