I went to my friend Momma’s blogsite this morning and found this, and thought it was fun…..so here goes

I found this meme on another blog and thought it might be fun!

1. Name six things in your refrigerator:
avocados, oranges, lemons, napa cabbage, pepperoncini, milk

2. Name six things in your freezer:
In my freezer above my refrigerator I have:   ice cubes, frozen peas, pine nuts, Trader Joe’s vegetarian meatballs, yeast, whole cardamom pods

3. Name six things under your kitchen sink:
Bio-Kleen dishwashing gel (for the dishwasher), a mixture of vinegar/baking soda/tea tree oil in a spray bottle for cleaning, a bottle of windex, a bottle of Method lavendar cleaner, a large box (takes up half of the space) with all of my pots and pans lids, numerous plastic grocery bags that need to be all packed up and taken back to the store for recycling!

4. Name six things around your computer:
the printer/scanner/copier that has yesterday’s mail stacked on top, our digital camera, a spindle of CDs that D is using for backing up the hard drive, 2 different computer games, my wallet, r’s reading workbook

5. Name six things in your medicine cabinet:
my moisturizer, lotion, perfume, contact lens cleaner, contact lens case (with the contacts in them,…I haven’t put them in yet today), various samples of Mary Kay products, some travel size shampoos, etc from a hotel stay in October

6. Name six things on or around your nightstand:
a glass of water, my alarm clock, a set of brass pinapple shaped book ends, 3 antique books, my lamp, the book that I’m currently reading

Feel free to be tagged by me!  Leave me a note so I can go read yours!

If you give a mom a muffin,
She’ll want a cup of coffee to go with it.
She’ll pour herself some.
The coffee will get spilled by her three-year-old
She’ll wipe it up.

Wiping the floor, she will find some dirty socks.
She’ll remember she has to do some laundry.
When she puts the laundry in the washer,
she’ll trip over some snow boots and bump into the freezer.

Bumping into the freezer will remind her she has to plan dinner for tonight.
She will get out a pound of hamburger.
She will look for her cookbook -
(101 ways things to make with a pound of hamburger).
The cookbook is sitting under a pile of mail.
She will see the phone bill, which is due tomorrow.
She will look for her checkbook.

The checkbook is in her purse that is being dumped out by her two-year-old.
She’ll smell something funny.
She’ll change the two-year-old.
While she is changing the two-year-old, the phone will ring.
Her four-year-old will answer and hang up.

She’ll remember that she wants to phone a friend to come for coffee on
Friday.
Thinking of coffee will remind her she was going to have a cup.
She will pour herself some.

And chance are…….
If she has a cup of coffee…..
Her kids will have eaten the muffin that went with it!
_________________

This came in an email to me today.    I don’t know the author, I wish I did though.  This is beautiful, and just too good to not post here!     You will want to get a tissue handy though…..

Daddy’s Poem

Her hair was up in a pony tail,
her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy’s Day at school,
and she couldn’t wait to go.

But her mommy tried to tell her,
that she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
if she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid;
she knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
of why he wasn’t there today.

But still her mother worried,
for her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
she tried to keep her daughter home.

But the little girl went to school
eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees
a dad who never calls.

There were daddies along the wall in back,
for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats

One by one the teacher called
a student from the class.
To introduce their daddy,
as seconds slowly passed.

At last the teacher called her name,
every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
a man who wasn’t there.

“Where’s her daddy at?”
she heard a boy call out.
“She probably doesn’t have one,”
another student dared to shout.

And from somewhere near the back,
she heard a daddy say,
“Looks like another deadbeat dad,
too busy to waste his day.”

The words did not offend her,
as she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
w ho told her to go on. And with hands behind her back,

slowly she began to speak.

And out from the mouth of a child,

came words incredibly unique.

“My Daddy couldn’t be here,

because he lives so far away.

But I know he wishes he could be,

since this is such a special day.

And though you cannot meet him,

I wanted you to know.

All about my daddy,

and how much he loves me so.

He loved to tell me stories

he taught me to ride my bike.

He surprised me with pink roses,

and taught me to fly a kite.

We used to share fudge sundaes,

and ice cream in a cone.

And though you cannot see him.

I’m not standing here alone.

“Cause my daddy’s always with me,

even though we are apart

I know because he told me,

he’ll forever be in my heart”

With that, her little hand reached up,

and lay across her chest.

Feeling her own heartbeat,

beneath her favorite dress.

And from somewhere here in the crowd of dads,

her mother stood in tears.

Proudly watching her daughter,

who was wise beyond her years.

For she stood up for the love

of a man not in her life.

Doing what was best for her,

doing what was right.

And when she dropped her hand back down,

staring straight into the crowd.

She finished with a voice so soft,

but its message clear and loud.

“I love my daddy very much,

he’s my shining star.

And if he could, he’d be here,

but heaven’s just too far.

You see he was a policeman

and died just this past year

When airplanes hit the towers

and taught Americans to fear.

But sometimes when I close my eyes,

it’s like he never went away.”

And then she closed her eyes,

and saw him there that day.

And to her mothers amazement,

she witnessed with surprise.

A room full of daddies and children,

all starting to close their eyes.

Who knows what they saw before them,

who knows what they felt inside.

Perhaps for merely a second,

they saw him at her side.

“I know you’re with me Daddy,”

to the silence she called out.

And what happened next made believers,

of those once filled with doubt.

Not one in that room could explain it,

for each of their eyes had been closed.

But there on the desk beside her,

was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.

And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,

by the love of her shining star.

And given the gift of believing,

that heaven is never too far.

They say it takes a minute to find a special

person, an hour to appreciate them,

a day to love them, but then an entire

life to forget them.

This evening D and I were working on some things on my blog here (you’ll notice some changes in the Sidebar), and I was frustrated about a particular post that I couldn’t get to format correctly.   I was showing it to D (he’s now been working on it, and it still isn’t formatting correctly) and I told him that it all got “glommed together”.   He looked at me as if I had said something in a different language and asked “it got what?”   I said “It’s a technical term”   Well, at that we both just started laughing…..it was a good 3-4 minutes before I could speak again without laughing.    He keeps teasing me about my post being “glommed together” and I keep laughing out “it’s a technical term” :)   What fun we are having!    D and I really have so much fun…..he loves to make me laugh and I love to (totally innocently) make him scratch his head in wonderment

Found this article yesterday through an email loop that I’m on…..

Great concept, I may go back to once a month shopping….don’t have the resources or space for once a year, but this concept DOES work!

http://www.christianitytoday.com/mp/2006/002/7.44.html

One-Stop Shopping
Our once-a-year buying plan started of necessity. But it paid off big time!
By Eric Reed

“Do you own a restaurant?” a cashier at the warehouse club asked us.

“No,” my wife, Donna, replied.

“Butâ??the green beans!” the woman protested.

We snickered. It was an easy mistake. Our contractor’s cart was stacked with 42 giant cans of kitchen-cut Blue Lake green beans and cases of peas, tomatoes, applesauce, and ketchup, mostly in school-cafeteria sizes.

On our second trip through her line, the clerk eyed our two carts loaded with flour, pasta, and cake mixes. “Kids?”

“No,” I replied. “No kids.”

On our third pass, she was certain: “Cleaning service.”

The cases of tissue and gallons of cleanser would support her theory, but again my wife said, “Nope.” And we chuckled.

Handing me a three-foot long receipt, the mystified clerk said, “See you soon.”

“In about a year,” I replied.

On the way to pack our car, Donna and I grinned at our secret: we shop for groceries and household products only once a year.

Lovin’ and leavin’ Cracker Barrel
Our once-a-year buying plan started of necessity and as an experiment. As Donna and I settled into our first house, we found that the due date for the mortgage payment came with alarming regularity. With a penchant for numbers, Donna tightened the budget, and for a few months it helped. Until the shower incident.

New to home ownership, we were unaware that upstairs showers are a common cause of dripping in the light fixtures one floor below.

“You’ll have to take all this out to get to the trouble,” the contractor said, pointing to walls and floors with a sweeping gesture. The treatment eventually required remodeling a bath and a half, kitchen, and foyer.

Four months later, using our shower again, we started calculating how to pay for it.

“We’ll have to stop eating out,” Donna announced one evening, holding up a calculator tape. “Our restaurant tabs last month cost more than the payment on our fix-up loan.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. The hostess at one diner no longer asked our names when she penciled us on the waiting list. On our third visit in a week, she drawled, “You must love you some Cracker Barrel.” She was right. The Reeds’ battle of the budget was being lost at Cracker Barrel. And McDonald’s, Wal-Mart, and the grocery store.

“I guess we’ll have to eat at home,” I murmured, looking askance at the new stove. I did so hate to see its gleaming surface smudged byâ??cooking. “I’ll do the shopping,” I offered. I had fond memories of the Saturday mornings I spent tailing my mother at the Food Giant as she selected a dozen items from a carefully crafted list and predicted to the penny the total the cashier would announce, tax included.

My wife, on the other hand, was subjected to laborious monthly buying trips for a family of six, embarrassed by the second cart she pushed behind her mother while complaining just out of earshot about store-brand corn flakes: “Silly Rabbit, Trix are for other families.”

Challenged, I would join the best of both approaches: frequent, joyful trips filling multiple baskets.

“We’re spending more at the grocery store than we were eating out,” my banker-wife announced a month later. “Now what?”

That’s when a columnist from USA Today came to our rescue.

Our family project
The man confessed that his weakness was clothes. He couldn’t step into a store without buying a sweater or slacks or shoes. So the columnist gave up buying anything for one year. We Americans have far too much stuff, he reasoned.

Good for you, I thought as I read this column online in late July and wondered if Donna and I could pull off a similar feat.

Our temptation was at the grocery store, but also at the discount store, the mall, and Amazon.com. Every trip for a gallon of milk produced a tab for $100. What good is milk without chocolate, right? Pantyhose cost $100 dollarsâ??with the requisite make-up, power tools, and DVD. It was as if the stores could read the balance in our checking account, and we would not be allowed to leave until that amount had been exacted.

“I think we should stop buying anything for a year,” I said, relating the columnist’s experience to my patient wife.

“Okaaaaay,” Donna said. “Can we try it for a month and see if we’re up to it?”

One month with no exceptions, we agreed. Not even gifts, because in a pinch one might accept a bucket from Kentucky Fried Chicken as an anniversary present. We bought supplies for the larder and gritted our teeth.

Could we go one month without buying anything?

Suburban pioneers
The first two weeks sailed by. Our project had that new-car smell, all leather and elbow grease. We approached life like frontier people. Ma and Pa Ingalls didn’t run down to the Merchantile four times a week, now did they? By week three we were drinking powdered milk, the lettuce was gone, and we really missed fast-food French fries. In week four Donna put her foot through her last good pair of hose and was forced to switch from dresses to pants for work attire for the remainder of the month. I was itching for a midnight run to Target until Donna tallied the results.

“Our expenses were less than half what we’d been spending. We can pay all the bills this month!” she announced. “If we survived one month, could we make it three?”

This was becoming our project.

Based on what we’d learned, we made new lists, including back-up pantyhose. We also began calculating really important mattersâ??specifically, how many rolls of tissue and bars of soap our household uses in a month. Donna counted loads of laundry and the soap required. I measured our chest freezer and estimated what can be squeezed into seven cubic feet.

“Don’t forget Thanksgiving,” Donna pointed out. “Will a turkey fit in there?”

“Not likely. Maybe a big chicken.”

And together we planned three months of meals. “What about milk and produce?” I asked, cringing at the thought of powered milk again.

“Could we buy a few perishables for ten dollars a week?” Donna offered. She stashed 13 fresh tens in the china teapot for the next quarter of a year.

“I can’t live without Cracker Barrel once in a while,” I confessed.

“And I need Value Meal Number One now and then,” my wife admitted. Our compromise: gift certificates. We bought a few gift cards for a monthly meal out and a drive-thru experience. The cards went in a drawer near the teapot.

Encouraged by our savings and the leveling of our shopping-hyped endorphins, we were asking by Thanksgiving, “Can we make it a year?” Soon we were plotting a big, one-time-only buying spree for the week after Christmas when lots of stuff would be on sale.

For a $35 membership at the warehouse club, we bought a year’s worth of food in large sizes at about half the cost of weekly trips to the store. “This is like following my mother around Winn-Dixie,” Donna said. Then she reached for a nine-pound box of Raisin Bran, the name-brand, two-scoops kind. After small sprees at the hardware and discount stores, we planned to buy nothing else. The only exceptions would be prescription medications, dry cleaning, and car repairâ??for a whole year.

The year without shopping
“Remember Diane’s washing machine?” Donna said one day in early December. Diane, her husband, and two children were serving as missionaries in an Asian country with an inadequate stock of washing machine parts. We’d met them while they were on furlough.

“When they were packing to return to the mission field,” Donna said, “Diane told me she had to take everything they needed for four years. Even replacement hoses.”

“You want to order parts for the washer?”

“No. I’m saying we should think of ourselves as missionaries.”

And so we did. Our absence from the stores took on a spiritual dimension. Wal-Mart was in America, and we, apparently, lived in a distant country.

Did we stay out of the stores for a whole year? Mostly. Our exceptions that first year were the purchase of meat for the freezer in October, a couple of birthday presents for family, and funeral flowers. Was it easy? No. Eating at home requires work, but after three or four months, we appreciated the routine. Evenings became together timeâ??cooking and washing upâ??but together.

The second year we repeated the buying spree, budgeting one limited clothes allotment for each of us during sale season. While our adherence now isn’t quite as legalistic as the first year, we’ve learned there’s a lot of stuff we don’t need.

In our married life, I felt God had provided for us sufficiently, but, in all honesty, we’d not spent our money wisely. I didn’t think of us as wastefulâ??we didn’t wear Rolexes or drive Beamers or throw out leftovers. But we did fritter away cash in small amounts.

How much became clear as with our monthly savings we started paying off small nagging debts, and eventually large nagging debts. We charged about half the items we bought in the stock-up, but the supplies were all paid off in three months. Then we doubled the payments on our car loans and the new stove and shower, paying them off in less than half the time the financers predicted. Except for the mortgage, we’re debt free.

And it’s all because we went a year without buying anything.

Eric Reed is managing editor of MP’s sister publication Leadership journal.

Taking Stock Check out these 11 tips we found helpful for buying a year’s supply of everything. 1. Calculate how much you use. Measure everything, from cake mix to motor oil. 2. Count the cost. Project expenses and comparison shop. The warehouse club is a bargain on many items, but not all. 3. Switch to reusables. We were astonished by how many rolls of paper towels, disposable razors, and plastic cups we used. 4. Create new storage. We converted the coat closet and two closets in the basement into pantries. For extra meat storage, our local market has freezer drawers available. 5. Visit websites. I found advice for stocking a fallout shelter that was helpful. And the once-a-month cooking community aided in menu planning and large-quantity shopping. 6. Plan detailed menus. During the trial, we scheduled all our regular dishes, then multiplied the supply list by four. 7. Remember hardware. Our locally owned store has good buys on brooms and nails and light bulbs and duct tape. 8. Think seasonally. We stocked salt for snow removal and briquettes for summer barbequing. 9. When you run out, go without. We lived without some favorite items when supplies ran out early. Fortunately, there were three rolls of toilet tissue on the shelf on December 31. 10. Make a game of it. The $10 trips for perishables taught us to buy in-season veggies, buy-one-get-one-free items, and to come in under the limit. 11. Pray over your spending. We asked for God’s help getting our budget under control, and we discovered a new sense of stewardship over his blessings.

Copyright © 2006 by the author or Christianity Today International/Marriage Partnership magazine. Click here for reprint information on Marriage Partnership.
Summer 2006, Vol. 23, No. 2, Page 44

This week’s quote is: “Once in a while you have to take a break
and visit yourself .” - Audrey Giorgi   I have found in the past 13 1/2 years of being a mom, and specifically a stay at home mom, that sometimes I do just need to take a break and revisit who I really am! This oftentimes is a gradual process. The process generally begins with relaxation, whether it is taking a LONG warm bath with all of my favorite bath products and painting my nails and such, or with a cup of my favorite tea and a book, or a good workout at the gym, or a night out with my honey, I have found that if I’m not relaxed, this process just isn’t as effective. The next step in “refinding myself” is to spend time (usually a lot of it) with God in prayer and study. One of the processes that has helped me in this step is journaling….not personal “Dear Diary” type journaling, but bible journaling. I have posted my bible reading plan here and will continue to post it on a monthly basis. Here are the instructions for Life Journaling (this is the church that our pastor learned this process from). Sometimes I take this process one step further and spend time with friends that are likeminded sorting out my thoughts and feelings.

This week, our family, as well as our country celebrated a very important holiday.  Our Independance Day…..as we were leaving the community fireworks display I began to reflect on what this really means in our day to day lives.   The thing that got me started thinking about it was we were preparing to cross a normally busy street with dozens of other people.   There was a group of developmentally handicapped adults in front of us, when we got to the other side of the street, one of the women got to the curb (it is a high curb at that particular intersection)  and kind of panicked.  She was standing there crying out for help and there were people filing past her just staring at her and getting angry that she was “holding up the crowd”.   My husband was just ahead of her, and a friend of ours was just behind her….they both heard her cries and turned to see what was the matter and both reached out a helping hand to help her up the curb.   What’s sad is that probably 12-15 other adults walked right past her staring and grumbling.   For some reason, that picture just really disturbed me….and then I realized “Well, they have the “freedom” to do that”.     I prefer to use my “freedom” in this great country that we live in, to help others in need.   Sometimes this may mean giving a lunch or waterbottle to a homeless person, or donating our very usable clothing that no longer fits my growing family to the homeless shelter, OR  in this instance, lending a helping hand to someone that needs help stepping up the curb.   Now others use this freedom to walk around the person in need, or to ignore the obviously homeless person on the street, or to speak out against our country, our President, and our military.    It’s rather ironic how differently people use this freedom that we have that has been fought for for the past 230 years…

I received this email today, and just had to pass it along via my  weblog here.

WIFE ‘S REQUEST

I was sitting alone in one of those loud, casual steak houses that you find all over the country.

You know the type–a bucket of peanuts on every table, shells littering the floor, and a bunch of perky college kids racing around with long neck beers and sizzling platters.

Taking a sip of my iced tea, I studied the crowd over the rim of my
glass. My gaze lingered on a group enjoying their meal.

They wore no uniform to identify their branch of service, but they were definitely “military:” clean shaven, cropped haircut, and that “squared away” look that comes with pride.

Smiling sadly, I glanced across my table to the empty seat where my husband usually sat.

It had only been a few months since we sat in this very booth, talking about his upcoming deployment to the Middle East.

That was when he made me promise to get a sitter for the kids, come back to this restaurant once a month and treat myself to a nice steak.

In turn he would treasure the thought of my being here, thinking about him until he returned home I fingered the little flag pin I constantly wear and wondered where he was at this very moment.

Was he safe and warm?? Was his cold any better?? Were my letters getting through to him?

As I pondered these thoughts, high pitched female voices from the next booth broke into my thoughts.

“I don’t know what Bush is thinking about. Invading Iraq. You’d think that man would learn from his old man’s mistakes. Good lord.

What an idiot!? I can’t believe he is even in office. You do know, he stole the election.”

I cut into my steak and tried to ignore them, as they began an endless tirade running down our president.

I thought about the last night I spent with my husband, as he prepared to deploy. He had just returned from getting his smallpox and anthrax shots.

The image of him standing in our kitchen packing his gas mask still gives me chills.

Once again the women’s voices invaded my thoughts.

“It is all about oil, you know. Our soldiers will go in and rape and steal all the oil they can in the name of ‘freedom’.

Hmmm! I wonder how many innocent people they’ll kill without giving it a thought?? It’s pure greed, you know.”

My chest tightened as I stared at my wedding ring. I could still see how handsome my husband looked in his “mess dress” the day he slipped it on my finger.

I wondered what he was wearing now. Probably his desert uniform, affectionately dubbed “coffee stains” with a heavy bulletproof vest over it.

“You know, we should just leave Iraq alone. I don’t think they are
hiding any weapons. In fact, I bet it’s all a big act just to increase
the president’s popularity.

That’s all it is, padding the military budget at the expense of our
social security and education.

And, you know what else?

We’re just asking for another 9-11.? I can’t say when it happens again that we didn’t deserve it.”

Their words brought to mind the war protesters I had watched gathering outside our base.

Did no one appreciate the sacrifice of brave men and women, who leave their homes and family to ensure our freedom??

Do they even know what “freedom” is?

I glanced at the table where the young men were sitting, and saw their courageous faces change.

They had stopped eating and looked at each other dejectedly, listening to the women talking.

“Well, I, for one, think it’s just deplorable to invade Iraq, and I am
certainly sick of our tax dollars going to train professional
baby-killers we call a military.”

Professional baby-killers?

? I thought about what a wonderful father my husband is, and of how long it would be before he would see our children again.

That’s it! Indignation rose up inside me. Normally reserved, pride in my husband gave me a brassy boldness I never realized I had.

Tonight one voice will answer on behalf of our military, and let her
pride in our troops be known.

Sliding out of my booth, I walked around to the adjoining booth and placed my hands flat on their table.

Lowering myself to eye level with them, smilingly said, “I couldn’t
help overhearing your conversation.

You see, I’m sitting here trying to enjoy my dinner alone.

And, do you know why?

Because my husband, whom I love with all my heart, is halfway around the world defending your right to say rotten things about him.”

“Yes, you have the right to your opinion, and what you think is none of my business.

However, what you say in public is something else, and I will not sit by and listen to you ridicule MY country, MY president, MY husband, and all the other fine American men and women who put their lives on the line, just so you can have the “freedom” to complain. Freedom is an expensive commodity, ladies.

Don’t let your actions cheapen it.”

I must have been louder than I meant to be, because the manager came over to inquire if everything was all right.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied.

Then, turning back to the women, I said, “Enjoy the rest of your meal.”

As I returned to my booth applause broke out. I was embarrassed for making a scene, and went back to my half eaten steak.

The women picked up their check and scurried away.

After finishing my meal, and while waiting for my check, the manager returned with a huge apple cobbler ala mode.

“Compliments of those soldiers,” he said. He also smiled and said the ladies tried to pay for my dinner, but that another couple had beaten them to it.

When I asked who, the manager said they had already left, but that the gentleman was a veteran, and wanted to take care of the wife of “one of our boys.”

With a lump in my throat, I gratefully turned to the soldiers and
thanked them for the cobbler.

Grinning from ear to ear, they came over and surrounded the booth.

“We just wanted to thank you, ma’am.

You know we can’t get into confrontations with civilians, so we
appreciate what you did.”

As I drove home, for the first time since my husband’s deployment, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

My heart was filled with the warmth of the other diners who stopped by my table, to relate how they, too, were proud of my husband, and would keep him in their prayers.

I knew their flags would fly a little higher the next day.

Perhaps they would look for more tangible ways to show their pride in our country, and the military who protect her.

And maybe, just maybe, the two women who were railing against our country, would pause for a minute to appreciate all the freedom America offers, and the price it pays to maintain it’s freedom.

As for me, I have learned that one voice CAN make a difference.

Maybe the next time protesters gather outside the gates of the base where I live, I will proudly stand on the opposite side with a sign of my own.

It will simply say, “Thank You!”

To those who fought for our Nation: Freedom has a flavor the protected will never know.

GOD BLESS AMERICA!

Please pray for God’s protection of our troops and HIS wisdom for their commanders.

Pass this on to as many as you think will respond.

“Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us.

Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. I ask this in the name of Jesus, our Lord and Savior.”

When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our ground, air and navy personnel in every area of the middle east.

There is nothing attached….

This can be very powerful….

Just send this to all the people in your address book.

Do not stop this prayer chain, please….

Of all the gifts you could give to anyone in the US Military, be it Air
Force, Army, Navy, Marines or National Guard, Prayer is the very best one…..Amen!

Nancy C.
Pittman Valley, AZ

I know that this could have been written by any number of military wives, or just supporters of our country…I know that I certainly have heard these same conversations in restaurants, coffee shops, banks, etc but I don’t respond.   I may just respond now, having thought about my “freedom” to do so.

THANK YOU to all the military men, women, and families in our country!   Our family does TRULY appreciate the sacrifices that you make for us on a daily basis!

12/16/05

LAUS DEO:

I thought that you and others may like to see this. One detail that
is not mentioned, in DC, is that there can never be a building of
greater height than the Washington Monument.

With all the uproar about removing the ten commandments, etc… This
is worth a moment or two of your time. I was not aware of this
historical information.

On the aluminum cap, atop the Washington Monument in Washington, DC,
are displayed two words: Laus Deo. No one can see these words. In
fact, most visitors to the monument are totally unaware they are
even there and for that matter, probably couldn’t care less.

Once you know Laus Deo’s history, you will want to share this with
everyone you know. But these words have been there for many years;
they are 555 feet, 5.125 inches high, perched top the monument,
facing skyward to the Father of our nation, overlooking the 69
square miles which comprise the District of Columbia, capital of the
United States of America.

Laus Deo! Two seemingly insignificant, unnoticed words. Out of sight
and, one might think, out of mind, but very meaningfully placed at
the highest point over what is the most powerful city in the most
successful nation in the world.

So, what do those two words, in Latin, composed of just four
syllables and only seven letters, possibly mean? Very simply, they
say “Praise be to God!”

Though construction of this giant obelisk began in 1848, when James
Polk was President of the United States, it was not until 1888 that
the monument was inaugurated and opened to the public. It took
twenty five years to finally cap the memorial with a tribute to the
Father of our nation, Laus Deo …………..Praise be to God!”

From atop this magnificent granite and marble structure, visitors
may take in the beautiful panoramic view of the city with its
division into four major segments. From that vantage point, one can
also easily see the original plan of the designer, Pierre Charles
l’Enfant…a perfect cross imposed upon the landscape, with the
White House to the north. The Jefferson Memorial is to the south,
the Capitol to the east and the Lincoln Memorial to the west.

A cross you ask? Why a cross? What about separation of church and
state? Yes, a cross; separation of church and state was not, is not,
in the Constitution. So, read on. How interesting and, no doubt,
intended to carry a profound meaning for those who bother to notice.

Praise be to God! Within the monument itself are 898 steps and 50
landings. As one climbs the steps and pauses at the landings the
memorial stones share a message. On the 12th Landing is a prayer
offered by the City of Baltimore; on the 20th is a memorial
presented by some Chinese Christians; on the 24th a presentation
made by Sunday School children from New York and Philadelphia
quoting Proverbs 10:7, Luke 18:16 and Proverbs 22:6. Praise be to
God!

When the cornerstone of the Washington Monument was laid on July
4th, 1848 deposited within it were many items including the Holy
Bible presented by the Bible Society. Praise be to God! Such was the
discipline, the moral direction, and the spiritual mood given by the
founder and first President of our unique democracy ..”One Nation,
Under God.”

I am awed by Washington’s prayer for America. Have you never read
it? Well, now is your unique opportunity, so read on!

“Almighty God; We make our earnest prayer that Thou wilt keep the
United States in Thy holy protection; that Thou wilt incline the
hearts of the citizens to cultivate a spirit of subordination and
obedience to government; and entertain a brotherly affection and
love for one another and for their fellow citizens of the United
States at large. And finally that Thou wilt most graciously be
pleased to dispose us all to do justice, to love mercy, and to
demean ourselves with that charity, humility, and pacific temper of
mind which were the characteristics of the Divine Author of our
blessed religion, and without a humble imitation of whose example in
these things we can never hope to be a happy nation. Grant our
supplication, we beseech Thee, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Laus Deo!

When one stops to observe the inscriptions found in public places
all over our nation’s capitol, he or she will easily find the
signature of God, as it is unmistakably inscribed everywhere you
look. You may forget the width and height of “Laus Deo”, its
location, or the architects but no one who reads this will be able
to forget its meaning, or these words: “Unless the Lord builds the
house its builders labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the
city, the watchmen stand guard in vain.” (Psalm 127: 1)

12/16/05

The Legend of the Candy Cane
Written by Lori Walburg

One dreary evening in the depths of November a stranger rode into town. He stopped his horse in front of a lonely storefront. The windows were boarded shut and the door was locked fast. But the man looked at it, smiled and said, �it will do.�

All through the gray short days and the long dark nights of November, the man worked.
The townspeople could hear the faint pam pam pam of his hammer and the snish snish snish of his saw. They could smell the sweet clean scent of new lumber and the deep oily smell of new paint.
But no one knew who the man was or what he was doing.

The mayor hoped he was a doctor, to heal his illness. The young wives hoped he was a tailor, to make beautiful dresses. The farmers hoped he was a trader, to exchange their grain for goods.
But the children had the strongest, deepest wish of all. A wish they did not tell their parents. A deep, quiet, secret wish that none of them said out loud.
No one spoke to the man. No one asked if he needed help. They just waited. And watched. And wondered. And wished.

But one small girl watched and wondered, waited and wished longer than she could stand. And one snowy day she knocked at the stranger�s door. �Hello,� she said, �My name is Lucy. Do you need some help?
The man smiled warmly and nodded. Then he opened the door, and Lucy stepped inside.
A long counter ran down the side of the room. Bare shelves filled the opposite walls. In the back were dozens and dozens of barrels and crates.
�Could you help me unpack?� the man asked.

Lucy�s heart sank at the sight of all the boxes. What if they were only barrels of nails and bags of flour?
But she removed her dripping boots and hung her coat on a peg. On stocking feet, she crossed the rough wooden floor and knelt beside a crate.
�Please, Open it,� the man urged.
Slowly, Lucy put her hand into the box and pulled out an object wrapped in tissue. Round and heavy, it almost slipped through her fingers. Lucy trembled a little as she unwrapped it.

It was a glass jar.
Lucy gave the man a puzzled look. �Go on,� his nod said.
So she unpacked another glass jar, and another, and another, until she was completely surrounded by jars of all shapes and sizes. Tall and thin. Round and squat. Jars with lids and jars without.
�Now,� the man said, �for something to put inside.�
And he pulled over a huge crate stamped with a strange word.

As Lucy unpacked, her eyes lit up.
It was candy. Her favorite candy. Gumdrops!
�Try some,� the man said.
She popped one in her mouth. Now she could hardly unwrap fast enough. Peppermint sticks! Taffy! Lollipops! Chewing gum!
Wide-eyed, she looked at the man.
�We wished–,� Lucy said.
�Yes I know,� said the man, �And here it is. Welcome to Sonneman�s Candy Store. I am John Sonneman.�

Soon the small store was filled with candies, gleaming in their glass jars. Raspberry suckers and tiny lemon drops. Brightly colored jawbreakers and long tangles of licorice. Pink and white peppermints for church and butterscotch balls for company.
Then, in the very last package in the very last crate, was a candy Lucy had never seen before, a red-and-white striped candy stick with a crook on the end.
�What is this?� Lucy asked.

�This,� Mr. Sonneman explained, �is a candy cane. It is a very special Christmas candy.�
�Why?� Lucy asked.
�Tell me,� Mr. Sonneman said, �what letter does it look like?�
�J!� she said.
�Yes.� Mr. Sonneman smiled. �J for Jesus, who was born on Christmas day.�

�Now turn it over. What does it remind you of?�
Lucy turned the candy in her hand. She peered down intently. �I know!� she said finally, �It�s like a shepherd�s staff.�
�Who were the first to find out about Jesus� birth?� Mr. Sonneman asked.
�Shepherds in the field, � Lucy answered, �Watching over their flocks by night.�

�But Mr. Sonneman what are the stripes for?� Lucy asked.
The man�s eyes grew sad. �The prophet Isaiah said, �By his stripes we are healed,� Before he died on the cross, Jesus was whipped. He bled terribly. The red reminds us of his suffering and his blood.
�But then,� Mr. Sonneman continued, �the candy is white as well. When we give our lives to Jesus, his blood washes away our sins, making us white and pure as snow.
�That,� he said , �is the story of the candy cane.� �
�Is it a secret?� Lucy asked.
Mr. Sonneman looked at her for a long moment. �It�s a story that needs to be told,� he said, �Will you help me share it?�

It was now the depths of December.
The town was whipped round by blizzard winds. For days, the sun hid itself.
But every morning, Mr. Sonneman and Lucy ventured out. The wore heavy woolen coats and bright hand knit scarves. And in their stiff, mittened fingers they each held a bag.
The went to every house in town. They traveled to every farm in the country. They knocked on every door. In every home, they told the story, they left a small gift, and they gave an invitation.

On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, the sun finally broke through the clouds.
And Sonneman�s Candy Store officially opened.
The mayor came, feeling better than he�d felt in days. The young wives came, dressed in beautiful smiles. The farmers came, eager to trade grain for Christmas gifts. The children ran in dizzy circles.
Yes, their wish had come true.
Yes, they had come to share in the opening of the candy store.
But they shared something more. Something bigger, Something better.

On that Christmas Eve, they shared the story of the candy cane. They told of the miracle of Christ�s birth. The misery of his death. And the mercy of his love.