♫ ♪ Someday He'll Make It Plain to Me ♪ ♫

Remember last week’s complaints about Larry’s snoring, and my remark that I needed to get some earplugs?  Well, Larry brought some home for me last Monday.  I needed them immediately after going to bed, because Larry was doing his best impersonation of a John Deere tractor, circa 1938.

Trouble was, I had earaches, and shortly discovered I couldn’t bear those things in my ears (earplugs, not tractors).  Well, the tractors weren’t good, either, but I just resorted to my usual complaints and shoves and hisses of “Shhhhhhhh!!!  Quiet!  Turn over!  You’re snoring!”

Same chapter, second verse, Tuesday night. 

But they did work fairly well early Wednesday morning when Victoria decided to remodel her room or something, and I wasn’t done sleeping.  Fairly well, I say, because earplugs don’t keep the bed from shaking when there’s an earthquake measuring 4.5 on the Richter scale happening directly overhead.

Apricot buds

I finally gave up, clambered out of bed, washed my hair, and did some laundry.  Larry recently commented that oil and grease weren’t coming out of his tan britches, so I gave them all a liberal application of Resolve before tossing them into the laundry room hamper to cool their heels, uh, knees, while another load was in the washer.  When that was done, I threw them into the washer and added a healthy dose of color-safe bleach.  Pulling the trigger on the Resolve bottle wore my hands to a frizzle-frazzle – all to no avail.  The grease and oil didn’t come out of those tan jeans worth a hoot.  Why tan, when he always gets grease and oil all over them?!!  And why can’t Resolve come up with a way for arthritics to squirt their product on stuff without causing pain and suffering?!

Anyway, his jeans might not look clean, but at least they smell clean.

No drying things outside that day; it was rainy, and would be so for several more days.

Several people wanted to know where I got the Pain-A-Trate pain-relieving cream I mentioned last week.  The way I got my Pain-A-Trate by Melaleuca was to just sit here quietly minding my own business and paying my taxes (good line from a neighbor who never minded her own business, and whether or not she paid her taxes was a matter for debate) ----- and along came Teddy and Amy, who used to sell all sorts of stuff from that company, and they gave me the tube of Pain-A-Trate, some excellent Melaleuca lip balm (it comes in various flavors; they gave me tubes of both strawberry and vanilla), and a pan of cinnamon rolls (not from Melaleuca, but from Amy’s kitchen), once for Mother’s Day, and once for Christmas. 

Way back when Teddy and Amy were both in first grade together, my father was inquiring into how Teddy liked school, and if he was getting good grades.  (He was – mostly straight A’s, a B rarely.)  But Teddy, who was 6, said in a somewhat mournful tone, “I would have the best grades of anybody – except for Amy.” 

And Daddy said vewy, vewy quietly to me, “Guess he’ll have to marry that girl!” 

Too bad Daddy didn’t live to see that happen. 

Crabapple leaves and buds

Looking back on those days...  Many was the nice summer morning when I’d get up... bathe, dress, and feed the kids... take a bath and wash my hair... get dressed... and then we’d get out stroller and wagon and big wheels and bikes.  I could push an umbrella stroller with the baby in it with one hand and pull the big farm wagon with three kids in it with the other.  I was tough, back then!  Then away we’d go, with my wet hair gradually drying in the breeze.  An hour’s walk... and we were back home again, and then I’d curl my hair.  (I look like a mud mushroom, when I don’t add a dab of curl to my hair – it all flops straight forward; all the natural curl I had as a teenager went away after my first two babies.)  I was always mortified if we ever ran into anyone we actually knew, and tried to keep to the areas of town where people didn’t seem to be home at that time of day.  Ah, such vanity!  Why didn’t I just put a lovely headband on, and quit worrying??

I like living out here in the country better.  In town, we lived right across from the school and church, my parents next to the church, my sister’s family next door to us ... and I felt quite a lot as though I were in a fishbowl.  There were the ever-present horns and tires squealing, sirens, and people yelling over at the Bowling Alley (or maybe just over at the neighbors’).

Right now, I hear only a gazillion birds... the sound of a distant truck on the highway (that sound makes me want to go somewhere)... and a quiet bubbling sound from Victoria’s fishtank.  They have a white ferret at Earl May’s now.  Victoria wants it.  Of course.

Wednesday I decided not to go to church that night and spread germs.  My ears still hurt (not bad enough to take any more Tylenol, though), and I was dizzy as a hoot owl.  (Are hoot owls dizzy?)  Anyway, I didn’t want to stagger up the aisle like a drunken sailor. 

I doubt if I’ll ever become a pill popper, because I have a dreadful time swallowing pills.  I have to chew up a bite of banana or something, then just as I’m ready to swallow the bite, I pitch in the pill and gulp.  It may or may not go down – and if it doesn’t, it will be harder to get it down on the second try.  My parents thought it was all in my head – until a doctor noticed I had an old throat injury.  I couldn’t remember any injury until I was on the way home, and then it occurred to me:  I’d gotten accidentally karate-chopped across the throat by a little girl with whom I was riding bikes when she suddenly and unexpectedly decided to use hand signals (“Let’s turn THAT way!”), not realizing I was so close. 

Lilac buds

Ka-WHACK!!!  Down I went, cracking my head against the curb, which put me out like a light.  The neighborhood children carried me home, and one of them pushed my bike home.

Once wasn’t enough.  It happened again, this time with a girl riding her mother’s too-big bike.  She lost control of it, crashed into my bike, and knocked me flatter’n a pancake.  Head against curb.  Repeat above.

Just imagine how much brainier I’d be, had I not twice had them thar brains jarred plumb loose! 

SNAP!  A mousetrap just went off.  Why did the mice decide to invade — in the springtime?!  They even got into my drawer in the bathroom and nibbled on my long-handled lotion applicator.  Aaarrrggghhh.  They must like the flavor of my lotion.  They nibbled on my new package of Ivory soap, too, the nasty little beasts.  Sooo... I set all the mouse traps, and soon caught three mice under the kitchen sink.  Bleah.

None in the bathroom, though.  But I expect I’ll catch Larry or Victoria before long, when they forget that trap is there. 

By afternoon, another mouse had gotten into a trap – and old Black Kitty was happily munching away on it, out on the front porch.  How ’bout that.  She can’t seem to eat dry food anymore, but there she was, crunching down an entire mouse (other than the gizzard [well, it looks like a gizzard to me], which she systematically extracts).  Mah woid.

She now and then actually ‘asks’ to go outside now; she hadn’t done that for a while.  So she was already out there when this mouse helped himself to the peanut butter on the trap.  I took it outside... let her sniff it... released it... it considered running... and ka-POUNCE!  She had it!

Since I’ve been giving her soft food, her eyesight has improved considerably. 

She wanted indoors with her mousey, and made that funny hollow howling/meowing noise she’s always done when she catches a mouse.  No, Cat, you can’t bring it inside!!! 

There.  Aren’t you pleased, I related an Entire Crunchy Mouse Story to you?

Ugh.  As Teddy used to say when I set a plate in front of him, full of something he didn’t find particularly appetizing, “That’s really nice!”  <pause>  “And I’m full now.”  He was 2.

I reset the mouse traps, filled the bird feeders, watered the indoor flowers (the phalaenopsis is blooming profusely! – as are the African violets, the white and lavender cyclamen, and the pink Kolanchoe), washed the dishes, and headed downstairs to sew.  But first... I cleaned the litterbox thoroughly, mopped the floor, took out some trash...  then came back downstairs to discover Kitty had upchucked the done-et mouse onto the freshly mopped floor.  I will not be offering her any more of those critters.

Some people say mice are ‘really bad!’ for cats.  But ... if you think about it, that’s kinda nuts, unless of course the mice have been poisoned or something.  Our mice are well-fed, plump things that are absolutely chockfull of vitamins and minerals and nutrients, so there!

The pattern I chose for Larry’s cousin’s daughter’s wedding is found – and refound (should be a word).  We were gone to South Dakota Friday and Saturday, you’ll recall, and arrived home to find the house shiny clean, thanks to Victoria, who’d gotten into a top-notch cleaning attitude while we were away.

Now, it was extraordinarily nice to walk into a house all spic and span and glistening; but what this also means is that ... I don’t know where my things have vanished to.  That included the pattern I had just picked out last Thursday night and placed on the table beside my other VNP (Valuable and Necessary Paraphernalia) such as coffee mug warmer, Old Goat pain relief formula, GenTeal Eye Drops, Carmex lip balm, eyeglass cleaner, and Puffs tissues.

Tabby & Teensy watching a bunny

Well, I threw the usual fit (“Where is it?!  Where is it?!  Where is it?!” – like that, accompanied with frenzied scurrying about), and finally it occurred to Victoria where she’d stashed it:  with the junk mail.  Aauugghh.  I then gave the usual lecture (“If you must put a pattern away, put it with the other patterns!”  “Patterns are expensive!”  “I walked five miles to school uphill both ways!!!”  “Blah blah blah!!!”) and then trotted off to my sewing room, still fussing and jabbering like a li’l ol’ lady.

Anyway, the pattern was found (though I wound up partly using a tutorial online and partly using my imagination, since the pattern was none too intelligible), candles were lit (apple-honey and apple-spice; I accidentally coordinated the scents) (no, they are not on my cutting table) (Really! They aren’t!), coffee mug was refilled (Vanilla Nut, this time), and I was ready to begin. 

If you’re interested in the aforementioned Old Goat spray, here it is:  Old Goat Spray 

You can also get Spring Chicken muscle rub there:  Spring Chicken Rub

Since I think this is a real hoot, I plan to get a few sets and give them to my sister and her husband, and my mother-in-law and father-in-law, and maybe others, just for the fun of it.  (And because it’s good stuff.)

The watched bunny

I looked at my pattern, watched part of the youtube tutorial, glanced at some other online instructions ...  then picked up my slotted ruler and my rotary cutter and started cutting long strips of fabric.  One set of instructions informed me that I absolutely had to have a certain specialty ruler – but I didn’t have one, and wasn’t about to go buy one.  The pattern said I needed eight fabrics.  I had thirteen.  And I was a-gonna use ’em all, too!

My stash is small... and shrinking right along.  I do like making good use of everything I already have... but ... I’m looking forward to the day I finish something, look around, and say, “Oh, my goodness, I have to go to the fabric store, ’cuz there isn’t a thing left to sew!” 

I still have some things left from my clothing-making days, and plan to use it for doll clothes – and maybe throws, if it’s soft and washable. 

Here are some strip sets, with triangles cut from them.  Can you guess what I’m making?

Thursday morning Victoria drug both big garbage cans over to Old Highway 81, one after the other, because Larry forgot.  It’s a long ways over to Old Highway 81, when you’re dragging a heavy garbage can (wheeled, fortunately) in thick gravel.  Good thing she’s young and tough!  And good thing she went when she did, because soon it was raining.  But the temperature was dropping.

I walked into the bathroom – and found the mouse trap I’d put in my drawer—sprung.  And sitting out on the counter.  Guess the mouse didn’t do that, ay? 

At about 1:00 p.m., I looked out the window and discovered – it was sleeting.  An hour later, it was starting to snow.  By 2:30, it was snowing hard.  The forecast still said ‘rain showers’.  But AccuWeather showed a 250-mile band of snow that had only just begun moving over us – and the majority of the blue area depicting snow was dark blue.

Apple blossom budding

It’s okay; I like snow.  Besides, we badly needed the moisture.  I trotted off for my camera.

Tree pollen is high here, or at least it was, before the snow.  Pollen at any time of the year didn’t used to affect me, when we lived in town.  By the second year out in the country, however, I had a full-blown bout of hay fever in the autumn – and now I have it a bit in the spring, too.  Not as bad as that second year, though.  Does one get ‘used to’ pollen?

I fed the livestock (indoor cats and outdoor birds) (the goldfinches are turning bright yellow, and their little black caps are beginning to show up in stark relief against the yellow), scrubbed the tub, remembered to eat breakfast (a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds), and headed downstairs, coffee mug in hand, to work on Emily’s wedding gift.  I’d posted those pictures of the fabric strips and triangles online, but no one had guessed what I was making. 

A whole lot of ladies who quilt also garden.  Someone sent a note to the quilting group wanting to know what to put around their garden to keep the rabbits out. 

I replied, “I know just the thing!” – and sent a link to this picture: 

Nary a soul laughed.  At least, not out loud, they didn’t.  Several wrote to explain to me why that wouldn’t work, and one wrote with an anatomical description of the dog, to show why this would be a poor choice.  Siggghhhh...

It was a joke, ladies.  How can you not laugh, just looking at the picture of that dog?!  Even if the beast can’t run after bunnies and catch them, for pity’s sake, the bunnies would be frightened away by his looks!  Or maybe they’d just be laughing so hard they couldn’t eat.

The quilt top was about a third put together when I stopped and fixed some supper for my brother.  He doesn’t accept it quite as often as he used to (and he always tries to do something in return, if not for Larry and me, then for some of our children and grandchildren)... but sometimes I can lure him into it with an offer of apple salad ‘just like Mama used to make it.’  He’s learned to make a number of things himself, and doesn’t worry so much about opening a can of something that’s too much for him to eat in one meal.  He had meatloaf from my sister, and a lettuce salad in his refrigerator; so I took him mixed vegetables, apple/fruit salad, and lime jello.

Here’s a fact:  it’s hard to peel an apple with lotion on your hands.

Fortunately, I have a hand-crank apple peeler.  (No, I didn’t get lotion in the apple salad.)

After taking food to Loren, I went on to Wal-Mart to get birthday gifts for Ethan and Josiah, who are now ages 11 and 5.  For Ethan I got a remote-controlled helicopter; for Josiah, a remote-controlled Jeep.  I got a big package of 24 batteries, too.  Nothing more deflating than getting a new birthday gift – and the giver forgot to get you any batteries.  I also picked up a little Matchbox car for each of the children, including a purple one for Emma, and a couple of little bath toys for baby Warren.  I stopped by their house and gave them the gifts before coming home.  Little people have a way of making a grandma feel important, you know that?

I drove home and prepared to sew the rest of the evening.  Well, that is, I would sew, once I fed those purring, meowing felines doing figure eights around my ankles.

Late that night, the flimsy was finished.  That is, the quilt top.  Flimsy = quilt top without batting or backing.  It’s called ‘Strata Star’.  This pattern is also called ‘Crazy Eights’ or ‘Card Trick’, although other patterns share those names, and ‘Card Trick’ more often refers to four squares ‘overlapping’, as opposed to eight.  Loading it on my quilting frame would be an interesting endeavor, because of its odd shape.  I’d have to figure out ... something.

Friday when I went downstairs, I found a large puddle all around the chimney.  I evidently need to climb up on the roof and hold an umbrella over it when it rains?

It took a while to sew odd-shaped muslin pieces around the sides of the table topper, making it into a square that I would be able to load onto my quilting frame.  I used water-soluble thread in the bobbin so that when it’s done, I will only need to mist it lightly with water, and the muslin will come right off. 

I had just started putting together the backing (yes, I remembered to take the bobbin of water-soluble thread out and replace it with regular thread) when Larry came home that evening, and we went to the little town of Arcadia, out in the Nebraska Sandhills, to get ten blue spruce trees.  They are about five feet tall, very nice trees, and will take the place of the trees Loren recently took down for us because they had been infested with the pine sawyer beetle and were dying. 

Saturday morning, Teddy called Larry and gave him some terrible news:  Craig Anderson, our son-in-law Jeremy’s sister’s husband, a cousin of Andrew’s, had just been killed at work.  He was in a payloader attempting to pull a mixer truck from where it was stuck in mud, when a chain holding the nylon tow rope broke, and the hook hit him.  He was only 26 years old, and he and his wife Dorothy have three adorable little boys, ages 6, 3, and 3 ½ months old.  

Jeremy, as you may remember, is one of eight siblings who lost their mother when she died in childbirth in 2001.  In 2012, Jeremy’s younger brother Richard, Caleb’s best friend, drowned. 

Some people have more than their fair share of tragedy, don’t they?  Craig was a hard-working young man who loved his family.  He graduated the same year as Hester and Andrew; they were in the same class since kindergarten.  His parents have been good friends all our lives.  Such a stunning catastrophe to have happen on a bright spring day, so hard to believe.  We just saw him at church a few days ago, walking along, holding his little boys’ hands... 

Here is Dorothy and Craig’s wedding photo.  They would’ve been married seven years in June.

It’s difficult to think of anything else in the wake of such heartbreaking news.  So many lives have been upended and changed forever.  Plans and hopes are dashed.  Very sad.

But as David wrote in the Psalms, “My times are in Thy hand.”  Craig was a godly young man who loved the Lord, and we know that we’ll see him again someday in heaven.  This is the hope that gives us comfort in sorrow. 

That afternoon, Larry brought home Walkers’ Bobcat backhoe, and dug up the stumps from the old trees.  He leveled out the ground a bit, and then made something of a berm to stem water flowing through the garage when it rains, as it always does.  He decided to take down the remaining three big trees in our front yard, as they are dying anyway, and there wouldn’t be room for the ten new trees without removing them.  And no birds had started building nests in them yet.

He took them right out of the ground, roots and all, with no troubles whatsoever, using that Bobcat. 

I asked, “Why didn’t you do that with all of them?!”

Well, because the ground was frozen, he explained.  Although it wasn’t, back last fall.  I think the real answer is, Larry was busy working, and Loren was bound and determined to take down trees!  I wish he’d quit it, though, before he cuts off one leg or something.  He nicked his Carhartts twice with his chainsaw!  At least he doesn’t have these trees to contend with now. 

When that was done, Larry used a big auger to make the holes for the new trees... and by then it was dark.  He hopes to plant the trees tomorrow.

Blue spruce can live for over a hundred years.  They are slow-growing trees, developing between 6 to 12 inches of new growth each year.  If special care is given, the tree can grow upwards of two feet each year.  After they are first transplanted, however, blue spruce might grow even more slowly for the first few years, as it gradually adapts to its new environment.  They will usually reach a maximum height of around 70 feet.  They do well here, if they get enough water.  And they are not susceptible to infestations by the pine sawyer beetle. 

While Larry worked outside, I put together the backing for the table topper.  Trouble was, every time I went into my sewing room to cut a piece of fabric or iron something I’d sewn, when I walked back to my newer sewing machine on the marble table in the bigger part of the basement, Black Kitty had jumped onto my desk chair!  Now, just to the side is a thick, cushy piece of fleece, folded multiple times so it’s extra soft, just for whichever cat wants to lie at my feet at the moment.  I’d carefully lift her off my chair and snuggle her into the fleece.  She’d lie there – until I went back into the sewing room.  Then, ka-floof! – up she’d go again, onto my chair.  And of course, when I walked back to my machine, I had fabric pieces in my hands, arranged just so, ready to put under the presser foot – but no, I had to lay them down and lift Kitty off my chair again.

Sometimes she jumps up behind me on the chair, and snuggles against my back.  The moment I stand up, she spreads herself all over that chair, so there isn’t even a smidge of a spot for me to sit.  But every time I pick her up, she purrs and butts her head against me... and I’m just glad we still have her. 

She’s done this ever since she first came to us – jump in our chairs and sleep, the moment we exit them.  She was so weak last month, she couldn’t do it – so I’m glad to see her back to ‘normal’.  She asks to go outside lately, and if it’s nice out, she’ll stay out there for an hour or so, just walking around, doing her business.  She eats the soft food fairly well, though not very much at a time.  And here she is again, sound asleep on my chair.  :-)

Recently, she bugs the daylights out of me when she’s hungry.  She changed her way of telling me this, somewhat – she used to go stand by the food bowl or the bag with food in it, and squall at the top of her lungs.  Now she just gets on my lap and turns around 6,302 times (with difficulty; her hind legs are gimpy).  So... I get up and feed her! 

She doesn’t do well at chewing anymore; she acts like it’s just too much work.  Maybe her jaws hurt?  She actually crunched down a couple of bites of dry cat food Saturday... then she swallowed another bite whole (she’s always done that, crunching some, swallowing some)... and then she gave up and went away.  Even the soft food, if the pieces are too big or too hard, must cause her troubles, as she leaves them behind.  She licks up all the ‘gravy’, and leaves the rest dryer’n a bone.  The shredded meat is easier for her to cope with than the chunky meat.

As long as she’s not in pain or suffering, I’ll keep doing my very, very best to keep her alive and as healthy as possible.

Dorothy’s sister Melody, who is Victoria’s age, asked Victoria if I had any pictures of Craig.  I searched my computer and found 42.  Suzanne, Amy’s older sister whom Dorothy’s father Tim married last year, is probably putting together one of those nice Shutterfly books; she often does that. 

Last week, Jacob got a book from the library on tarantulas.  After reading it, he got his tool belt, filled it with all manner of necessary items, and then said to little Jonathan, who has recently learned to walk, and goes everywhere Jacob goes, “Come on, Jonathan!  We’re gonna go hunting enchiladas.”

And around the house they went, Jacob first, Jonathan directly behind.

Victoria is remembering a couple of years ago when Jacob told her one of his little tools was ‘McNuggety’ – he meant ‘magnetic’.

I was just loading the table topper backing onto the frame when I heard a little voice.  Sounded like a little Grant, to me!  I scurried upstairs – and sure enough, there was Teddy with Grant, who’s 2.

Teddy had come for a haircut.  While Larry contended with that, I played with and showed books to Grant.  One page had a bowl of fruit.  Grant pointed them out – and counted them. 

I said to Teddy sotto voce (as Grant jabbered on), “Did you know your child is counting?” 

Before Teddy could say a word, Grant, who I didn’t think was listening at all, interrupted himself to answer brightly, “Yep!” which made everyone laugh.  Grant laughed, too.

After Teddy and Grant went home, I finished loading back, top, and batting onto my frame.  And then it was bedtime.  But first, I uploaded photos of our trip to Arcadia, and photos of Larry using the Bobcat to take out the last three dying trees from our front yard:  Nature’s Splendor

There weren’t many dry eyes in the congregation yesterday morning when we sang such wonderful, heart-touching old hymns as Does Jesus Care? and Moment by Moment.

The Anderson and Tucker families are two of the largest in the church – Craig’s death affects a lot of people.  Friends and family are wonderful in times of sorrow, but God’s Word even more so.  He is our greatest Friend in times of trouble. 

The great-grandfather of Dorothy was Doyle Tucker.  His wife Evelyn is still alive, in her 90s – and still comes to church faithfully, three times a week, though she’s had a few bouts of illness recently.  Their son Delmar is in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s.  So sad, when someone gets that awful disease.  I was the flowergirl for Delmar and Helen’s wedding when I was 2 ½, in 1963.  They have nine children, 49 grandchildren (one of which is my son-in-law, Jeremy), and 16 great-grandchildren.  The Anderson family is every bit as large.

It poured as we were driving to church last night.  We knew the storm was coming, and got ready a little early.  By the time I ran out to the Jeep, big fat raindrops were starting to come down.  When we got to the edge of town, it was hailing.  Those hailstones began coming down so hard and fast, increasing in size, I was afraid our Jeep would get damaged.  But it survived, seemingly unscathed.

I just ordered a Blooming Garden Basket for the funeral:

It’s a sad time for us here.  Our strength is our faith in the Lord, in the Word with its many verses of comfort, and in our hope and belief in a heaven beyond this old world, where there will be no pain and suffering, and no one will ever die.

I’m washing clothes and hanging them outside today.  It’s a pretty, sunshiny day; the clothes are drying quickly.

I haven’t even started editing my pictures from Easter.

One year I learned that I really shouldn’t do it when I’m falling asleep, late Sunday night/ early Monday morning.  I finished editing the photos – and then, for some unknown reason, wiped out the whole works.  Out of my folder – and then I ran C-Cleaner, which clears out all temporary memory, plus the Recycle Bin.  The camera card had been cleared as soon as I downloaded the pictures.

Soooo...  realizing immediately, Uh-oh, me make boo-boo, I hunted for a File Retriever online, downloaded it, and got all the pictures back.  Unedited, of course.  But at least I could edit them again!  Lost hours are a lot less upsetting than lost photos.

Tomorrow evening I will get butter croissants, thick sliced roast beef and mozzarella cheese from the deli, and make a couple of boxes of sandwiches for the luncheon after the funeral.

There have been a whole lot of lives changed forever.  But we believe we’ll see Craig again someday in heaven.  Meanwhile, the Lord is our Helper in time of need, and, as the beautiful old hymn says, “Someday He’ll make it plain to me... someday I shall understand!” 

Here’s the song in its entirety:

Someday He'll Make It Plain to Me

I do not know why oft ’round me
My hopes all shattered seem to be;
God’s perfect plan I cannot see,
But someday I’ll understand.

Refrain:
Someday He’ll make it plain to me,
Someday when I His face shall see;
Someday from tears I shall be free,
For someday I shall understand.

I cannot tell the depth of love,
Which moves the Father’s heart above;
My faith to test, my love to prove,
But someday I’ll understand.

Though trials come through passing days,
My life will still be filled with praise;
For God will lead through darkened ways,
But someday I’ll understand.

I hear Victoria playing the piano.  The song is Each Step I Take.  Such a beautiful hymn.  The words take on new meaning, when tragedy has struck us.

I hope to quilt tomorrow.  The table topper is loaded and waiting.  The wedding is in two weeks.

Life is sometimes a churning combination of joys and sorrows, is it not?

,,,>^..^<,,,     Sarah Lynn     ,,,>^..^<,,,