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Showing posts from June, 2011

That's My Girl!

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Last week's blog post on Father's Day reminded me how my folks praised me when I did something good. "That's my girl!" was soon replaced by "Attagirl!" My parents didn't heap praise on me willy-nilly. I had to earn it. When I did, they were effusive in their approval. It made me want to strive that much harder.

Although I was not the youngest child in my family, I was the smallest. My short legs didn't pump as fast as my siblings. I tried to keep up with my big sisters and my athletic brother. My parents called me Spunky because I never quit trying. (Eventually, they discovered that this trait was actually stubbornness.)

Do you suppose that God is looking down from Heaven, watching our efforts and thinking, "That's my girl?" I know for sure that He is on our side. Our Heavenly Father treasures us as His chosen children. Can't you just imagine God, our Savior, and the angels all jumping up and down and cheering us on as we strive …

A Family Man

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I have some great memories of things my dad and I did together, both as a child and later in adulthood. He was a terrific dad, a devoted family man. He had four kids and always had time for us. I was a goofy tomboy, but he always said, "Attagirl, Spunky!" Yesterday was Father's Day, and I miss my dad.

Since he passed away in 2005, my life has changed a bunch. I've started writing again and became an empty-nester. I often wonder what he would think of my decisions or my life choices. He was a really good advisor, although he never gave opinions unless you asked. The Hubster and I liked to bounce things off of him, especially when we started our business.

My favorite memories of my dad are sitting on his lap on Sunday mornings. He would read the funnies to me and my job was to follow the words with my fingers. Later on, he would cook big breakfasts of pancakes and sausage or biscuits and gravy. He would tie an apron around me and call me his "assistant." Durin…

MacGyver, I Ain't!

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Summer time in small-town America means home renovation time. If you drive through Arkansas City, KS this week, you would see home owners roofing, landscaping and painting their properties. Weekend warriors would be out in force, complete with ladders, nail guns and hedge trimmers. Yes, most of the folks in our town know how to yield a hammer, paint brush and jigsaw. Except for us. Nope, we got no skills.

That's not to say that we don't know how to do stuff, we do. The Hubster and I are capable of doing a lot of stuff with our brains. We just can't wield an axe or a shovel. So instead of joining our neighbors at the local hardware store, we hire it done.

We had our little cottage painted this month. The painter we hired is a long-time family friend, and a gifted craftsman. Rick Hawkins' attention to detail is unparalleled. He worked quietly, steadily, thoughtfully.

"I wish I had your brains," he said to The Hubster and I.

"We wish we had your skills,"…

Construction Zone

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Philippians 1:6 (KJV)
Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ:

The Hubster and I took a trip up the Interstate today to see one of his many specialists in Wichita. Since the weather has started warming up there is one occurrence that I have noticed more and more: construction zones. It seems like the highway department is constantly tearing up the roads in one direction or the other. If one project is nearing completion, they start putting up the orange cones for another one. The worst are the on- and off-ramp repairs. Horrors!

I know construction and repairs are necessary on the highways to keep things running smoothly and make sure vehicles (and their passengers) are safe. Just think if the state officials let our roads decay and crumble until they were impassable. It sure would make it a lot harder to drive to Wichita, or anywhere else, for that matter.

My life is in a bit of a construction zone, too…