Meahsmom's Xanga

My Boys - Part 3

Thu, 30 Apr 2009 21:52:45 GMT

Following is an actual conversation which I just witnessed in my living room - the names have been changed to protect the innocent:

Buttermilk: Here's a picture of guinea pigs. I didn't think those were even real!

Biscuit: Guinea pigs! Yeah, those are real. They're a kind of bird!

Buttermilk: Nuh-uh! Look at the picture.

Biscuit: That's not a bird, that's a human!

Buttermilk: Not HIM!! Look at what he's holding!!

Biscuit: That's not a BIRD!!

Buttermilk: Yeah, look, it says "Your Guinea Pigs." That thing that he's holdin' - THAT'S a guinea pig!

Biscuit: Oh, yeeeaaaahhh! I was thinking of guineas!

Blood on the Doorpost

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 05:54:32 GMT

There is so much rich symbolism associated with this time of year. All over the world people are thinking of sacrifices and blood for atonement, for redemption, as a covering. I love how no matter how many times we study the Scripture, we can always find a new treasure in the well worn pages. The sages teach that "the Scripture is like a beautiful jewel, we should turn it, and turn it again." Every turn shows us new facets. Every time we turn our eyes to it, it's as if we're seeing it anew, from a different angle, discovering further beauty within it.

The account of the passion of the Messiah in the Gospels parallels the account of the Passover story in Exodus in so many ways. I'm sure I'll never understand and fully comprehend them all, but one of the most vibrant symbols for me is the blood on the doorposts. On the final evening that the Israelites were in Egypt, they were to sacrifice a lamb, one year old without spot or blemish. The Lord instructed them to use hyssop to put the blood of the lamb on the doorposts of their homes. Then they were to roast the lamb and eat it.

While the practicality of this commandment seems pretty clear - that the Lord would pass over the homes with the blood on the doorposts, and only take the firstborn of the homes with no blood marking their doors - the deeper meaning has been a puzzle which I could not leave alone. The blood was like a marker announcing "This house and it's inhabitants belong to the Lord." But what did that mean in the greater context? The Lord searches within our hearts, does He not? He doesn't do random "doorpost of your heart checks", does He? I thought He was concerned with what's on the inside of my heart, not what sort of window dressing I use on it (I don't even know what that means!). I find myself contemplating it every few weeks. Sure, I'm familiar with a lot of the usual breakdowns, but there has to be more. I'm ready to turn the jewel again.

A few months back, the Lord finally decided to give me a break and show me a little something about it. It was one of those real "light-bulb moments". I have studied quite a few times in the past about the relationship between Messiah and the congregation and it's tangible counterpart of husband and wife (as explained by Paul), but I still just wasn't getting the full picture - or even enough of it to be satisfied with what I had to mull over until the Lord chose to reveal a little more.

Then, one day, as I was watching Big Daddy hang a new back door in the living room, the Lord showed me a real insight (at least I think it was, you'll have to judge for yourself, though). Daddy (meaning the daddy at my house, which is my husband -- not MY daddy, who never was mechanically inclined enough to install storm doors!) anyhow -- Daddy banged his hand on something and knocked a chunk out of the back of his hand. As any true blue carpenter knows, the proper procedure at that juncture is to completely ignore the gaping flesh wound in his hand and continue on as if nothing has happened until he notices that the blood that's running down his arm is about to drip on the new wood floor. Then, with a certain level of annoyance apparent in his attitude - yet not so much as to give the mistaken impression that he's actually concerned about a little bump, but simply to convey how inconvenient it is to be forced to trifle with his own mortality while busily flexing and lifting large pieces of construction material for the benefit of any hot little Mamas who happen to be about (that's me ) - he carelessly swipes the offending member across the back of his jeans leg, and goes on. I was only marginally aware of what was going on at this point, it being a familiar scenario at our house give or take a few minor details.

Being, for the most part, an invalid for the better part of last year, I didn't have much to do that day other than just sit there and drift in and out of touch with the banging and mumbling coming from the other side of the living room, but when I finally did perk up a little bit and start to take notice of what was going on over there, I noticed an odd smear of something on my new white storm door -- GRR!! Those things weren't cheap, and if Lowe's gave us one with a scratch on it, they were going to dang well replace it!! By this time, I was actually sitting up and taking notice of things. As I stared at the strange smear on the edge of my pretty, new - did I mention it was white? - door, I slowly came to the realization that the smudge on my new door was blood! Not just any blood, but fresh blood, and I could see where it came from, too. Big Daddy was still taking occasional swipes at his jeans with the back of his hand, where I could see a constant welling of red oozing out. I hazily thought "My husband has smeared his blood on my door." Then the light bulb came on, and all the little alarm bells started to ring in my head. I finally GOT it!! (or at least some more of it, 'cause honestly, if I ever get it all, then I would think my time here would be done).

When Messiah's blood was offered up as the Passover lamb, it was then applied to the doorposts of our hearts (that part we already knew). What was new for me was that he was also acting as the bridegroom in that moment. I know that lots of folks like to use those passages in Ephesians (5 is it?) to try to push the ladies around without ary a thought to the context of the passage (and, as we all know, Text without context is pretext!). Before the part about women submitting to their husbands is the part about what Christ did for the church. He offered up his life as a sacrifice to make blood covering, atonement - to facilitate communion between us and the Father.

(Sidebar: so, fellas, don't go waving that submission thing at your wives until you've taken into account the whole dying to cover her sins thing for yourselves [I'm not suggesting actual human sacrifice here, just the idea that if you're going to tell someone else what to do, then be ready to be held responsible for the things they do] -- likewise, ladies, your obedience to God i.e. your submission to your husband, is NOT dependent on your husband's obedience to God, so don't go putting the cart before the horse and saying "Fred, when you start living right, then I'll start listening to you." That's not how it works! There is no disclaimer in that passage, it doesn't read "wives also submit yourselves to your husbands, as long as they are up to snuff in your opinion..." So, ladies, just submit, and know that you've done your part. Men, weigh the cost and live up to your end of the bargain before you start laying down the law on anyone.)

Every man was responsible to apply the blood to his own doorpost. Every man was responsible for the welfare of his own family - the firstborn that was spared through this act of obedience was spared not just for his own sake. The firstborn was like the family's insurance. If something happened to Papa, then the firstborn son took on all the responsibility of looking after the rest of the family. Every woman hoped to have at least one son so that in her old age (and presumably after she had outlived her husband), she would be well cared for by her son's household until her death. Likewise, a young lady with no brothers may not be looked upon as favorably for marriage because her prospective beau would also be weighing the matter of providing for her mother in the future. The firstborn son was the stopgap against a family becoming destitute if the father became ill, injured or dead. So, when the man of the household applied the blood to the doorpost, it was to spare the life of his son, the future of his wife, the best prospects of marriage for his daughters, and the welfare of them all. It was done on behalf of the entire family.

In the same manner, Messiah, acting as the bridegroom, applied his own blood to the doorposts of our hearts in order to cover our sin and make us all acceptable to the Father. In labeling us as His, He saved us from moral and spiritual destitution. The blood on the doorpost of my heart isn't just the blood of a sacrifice, it's the blood of the bridegroom! Just like Big Daddy had smeared his blood all down the side of my pretty new door, and marked this house and everyone in it as not only belonging to him, but also under his protection up to and including the shedding of his own blood, so Messiah has also done the same for each of us!! WOW!! He didn't just say "I'm covering you to make you acceptable." He said "You're mine, and I have already laid down my very life to protect you. I've marked this heart and everyone in it as mine, not to be touched by the plague of death."

That wasn't just a regular old 60-watt-soft-white-light-bulb for me, it was one of those new fangled, scorch-your-retinas-when-you-turn-it-on, florescent-light-bulb-moments!! I know, you guys probably think I was dense not to have gotten this one already, but I just GET things more when I have an object lesson to go from. I mean, anyone who thought about coming through that door uninvited, and then noticed it all smeared with blood would probably think twice. If they ever learned that the blood belonged to the very big fella that lives here and calls this little patch of earth his and he's so tough that he didn't even notice when he bled all over the door (did I mention that it's white? that blood made a really yucky-looking stain), they probably would think a third time - as they flung gravel and burned rubber getting out of here. So, yeah, my guy's big and strong and tough, he's proven himself against plenty of different challenges, but just imagine, the blood on my other doorpost came from a guy who actually put it there on purpose, and overcame not just challenges, but death! Who wants to mess with that door?!?!

So I suppose what I'm getting at is that Messiah's blood on the doorpost of your heart signifies more than just covering of sin, it signifies belonging to him, and everything that goes along with that - an expectation that he's staked his claim, that you've come under his protection, been made part of his family. I thought that was pretty cool!

Thanks for putting up with my ramblings....and btw, I did finally get that door clean - it looks so nice, too!

a poem

Sun, 29 Mar 2009 15:35:02 GMT

I wrote this poem a few years ago. It's not the greatest thing I ever did, but it strikes a chord, ya know?

I Don't Deserve This

"Lord, I don't deserve this," I lamented just today
As I stumbled over toys hurrying on my way
To the kids' room to investigate just what was wrong this time.
Thankfulness was certainly not what was on my mind.
They were yelling, even screaming at each other in a rage,
And I wondered, "Lord I don't think I'll survive them past this age?"
Then I calmed them and I sat them down and counseled them with love
And reminded them that someone's always watching from above.
So, they gave each other hugs and apologized contritely,
Then as I went on my way I heard her comment brightly,
"You're my brother, and I love you, and we really shouldn't fight."
So she'll sing to him a song about a mockingbird tonight.
As I listen to her angel voice as they drift off to sleep,
I kiss them both, and look at them and then begin to weep.
When I get down on my knees before the Lord tonight, I'll pray
"Dear Lord, oh please forgive me for the things I said today.
For they're precious and they're beautiful, each one of them a gift,
And I didn't know how right I was when I said 'I don't deserve this.'"

My Boys - Part 2 (actually, the former)

Fri, 20 Feb 2009 17:33:38 GMT

The Sapling

Glistening in the sunlight he stands
Tall and straight and slender
Soaking up the nutrients from the good earth and the sun
Stretching ever taller, higher
Spreading his branches to encompass an ever-widening circle
Promise of strength
Protection and sustenance to all that shelter beneath him
Preparing to drop his seeds to the earth
And see them blossom into young saplings as well
The promise of a mighty forest in this single slender stalk
The wealth and wisdom of generations contained in this thin trunk
Waiting to be nurtured and revealed
Waiting to nurture and reveal to untold numbers
The beauty, the value, the worth concealed within
Within us all

It would not do him justice to try to describe Lane by his attitudes, daily activities, or crazy boyish shenanigans (make no mistake, he has plenty of those!). He's so much more. The words "deep" and "complex" come to mind, but they conjure a brooding, unhappy boy, which could not be a more inept description of him. He's quiet - not sullen, but peaceful. He's intelligent, but thoughtful. Rare things in a young man of 11. He's very deliberate, meticulous. My family says that he's just like my great-grandfather, Doyle. He would sit - actually squat on his heels, like only the old-timers could do - for hours on end just thinking. Then, when he'd reached a decision, he acted. He never gave the impression of moving quickly or being in a hurry, but he got things done amazingly fast - and well. He worked harder, and longer than any man I've ever known. He was not a big man - 5'7", maybe 5'8" - and never more than 170 lbs. - but somehow he could do things that much larger, apparently stronger men could not. He could accomplish things that men who seemed to have every advantage over him could not. His formal education stopped around the eighth grade, yet he was an innovative businessman. He was essential in the bringing of electric services to areas of rural Arkansas. He spent his most productive years carving prosperous farms from wilderness, thickets and briers so that he could give them as an inheritance to his children. He was a respected elder in his community and church. He had an unassailable grasp of matters spiritual, Scriptural and theological. He would spend hours debating and discussing intricate points of doctrine with men seeming to be far his superior in learning and education.

There is a teaching amongst the Jews that at any given point in time, there are 39 Hidden Tzaddikim (righteous men) for whose sake the Lord stays His hand and does not bring about the destruction of the world - much as He agreed to do, at Abraham's urging, to the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. The Tzaddikim are unknown to those around them, and live their lives in relative anonymity. I am certain that my Papa was one of them. I see so much of him in Lane. He even squats on his heels the same way. It's a posture that's terribly uncomfortable to all but the most lanky and limber people. I've never seen anyone but old farmers do it. I think it's an adaptation brought about by the occasional need to sit down, and the lack of any place free of cow pies to do so. In any case, Lane does it. He's an old soul - not worn out or obsolete - but ancient and to be treasured. I find myself praying more often and with more fervor for his future spouse than for any of my other children's. I desire very deeply for him to find a mate who will treasure and nurture all the strength and wisdom within him, and have the wisdom herself not to squelch the kindness and compassion that are necessary to make such wisdom bearable. His compassion overrides all his other emotions, sometimes even to his detriment. He's still learning to temper compassion with judgment, judgment with compassion. It's a case that requires a great deal of wisdom - and I believe he will possess that in great measure in time as well.

I love all of my children best, in their own way, for their unique personalities. This morning, looking out my kitchen window, seeing him standing there beside that sapling in the yard, echoing its shape, its potential, emphasizing everything about it that is most beautiful and inspiring - I love him best.

Say a little prayer for the Bargers tonight

Tue, 27 Jan 2009 05:28:27 GMT

David and I are looking into a rather radical change in our lifestyle/livelihood, and we would truly appreciate the prayers of our friends. We have stumbled upon an intriguing and surprising opportunity. It's something we would never have thought of to do, but the other day I passed this place that was for sale, and I just haven't been able to let it go. Mom (serving in her official multiple capacities as real estate agent, advisor, mom and friend) and I have gone and looked at it, and the more we consider it, the more intrigued we become. We would all very much appreciate your prayers for guidance and wisdom as we approach this. I'm sorry to be so vague, but we're still in the early stages of investigating this opportunity, and I really do feel like it's just too soon to put it all out there just yet. But I will post more as soon as we know more. . .

in other news -- the calf is growing and thinks she's big and tough. She kicked David the other day. Also, about a week ago, she got to running around the field so much that she got going too fast to steer well, and managed to run headlong into the side of an old truck we have parked in the field. She's hilarious!

Miss Clair is learning new words these days -- she learned to say "Ta-ta" today. Now before you go and get all scandalized, I know that in some circles that is considered rather coarse slang, but in our family it's how Pa Charlie says "thank you". So pull your mind out of the gutter, and say "oh, how cute!"

Duncan lost a tooth today by eating an entire apple and being careful to take every bite with his loose tooth - it only lasted through half the apple, then I had to cut up the other half. That reminds me, i think the first-string tooth fairy at our house went to bed without performing his duties. I guess I'm off to try to scrounge up a few bucks to put under a spider man pillow in exchange for an apple scented tooth. . .

good night all,
sleep tight

Whose side is He on?

Sun, 18 Jan 2009 18:04:50 GMT

A quick perusal of today's A7 newspaper (aka Israeli National News) should reassure you that the Lord, is indeed still on Israel's side (just in case you were wondering). The first four stories report a huge natural gas reserve discovered in Isreal, rockets launched into Isreal by Hamas (who refuses to abide by a ceasefire) caused extensive damage ----- to two chicken coops, with no human injuries to report, and a Palestinian man who was throwing rocks at Israelis as a protest managed to hit and kill himself with his own rock!!

"And I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse." Gen. 12:3

Here's a link, if you'd like to see for yourself.

http://www.web-view.net/Show/0X51094D98C32FDC5DEBC5214DFF922E2F6BDA9DDAACE21598CA7CC5A36F3EAB7A.htm

you may have to do the old fashioned copy and paste method.

Abby!!

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 23:08:04 GMT

Sheba finally had her calf! It's a little girl, and we think we're going to call her Abby. It's short for Abishag, and you can look her up in the Bible. It seems to be appropriate, since so far she appears to have the same infatuation with David as her mother does. That's how Sheba got her name. Since her first day here, she's been in love with David. Even when the boys or Ashlee started being the one to feed her every day, she still loved David best -- so, we called her Sheba (short for Bathsheba -- you can look that one up in the Bible, too).

Anyhow, this afternoon around 12:45, I got to looking, and I couldn't see Sheba out in the field. I figured she must be in the barn since she's been spending more time in there the last couple of weeks. I went out to look in on her, but she wasn't in the barn either. That got me worried, so I started out across the field to look for her. About twenty paces from the barn, I saw her laying down in the tall grass (the one section of field that we'd kept her out of until a month ago). She was stretched out on the ground on a little slope with her head and back pointed downhill. I knew that wasn't good, but I didn't want to rush up on her. I wasn't sure what to do, so I went back into the house to get the phone. I called David on my way out of the house, and as I stepped outside, she was still down. Apparently, when I went around the barn, she got up and dropped the poor baby right on her shiny black head! When I got to her, she was licking the calf, and the calf was trying to move, but because it was literally laying on top of its head, it couldn't move. Every time it tried, it's flanks would quiver and convulse horribly, then it would subside with no apparent change. For a minute there I thought we had a horribly deformed little creature that couldn't possibly live. But she was breathing, and her mama was licking her, so I thought things might not be as bad as they seemed.

Sheba wouldn't let me get close enough to touch the calf, so I had Lane come out and lure her a few feet away with a pan of feed. All of a sudden, it clicked in my brain how to help the poor little thing. I grabbed two legs in each hand and rolled her over onto her other side. As soon as I laid her back down, she turned her head the right way and suddenly what had appeared to be a slime-coated nightmare vision resolved itself into the most adorable little calf covered in black, curly (albeit slimy and wet) hair. I grinned like an idiot, unselfconciously wiped the slime on my pants, and got the heck out of dodge as a thousand pounds of anxious mommy beef came trotting back to see what I was doing to her new baby.

After that, things progressed pretty normally, I think. The baby tried to get up and fell over. Her mama licked and nudged her. She tried to get up, fell over, got licked and nudged, then tried to get up while her mama tried to help by nudging - this bowled her completely over on her side. About 20 minutes after being unceremoniously dumped on her head into this big old world, she was able to put all four feet under her at one time. Pretty soon , she was chasing her mama in circles trying to nurse, while Sheba was trying to "tie up the loose ends". That was pretty funny to watch. She walked right up to David, and nuzzled his hand as soon as she saw him. That's how she got her name. And now, she's put up in her nice cozy barn stall with her mama, and everyone is doing just fine!!

btw, if you want to be completely grossed out, go ask someone who's in the know what cows do with their placenta (David already knows, but when we caught her at it a while ago, I thought he was going to toss his cookies!) And I thought cows were herbivores!!

Addendum: This morning (thur) I got to go out and shovel up what she didn't "take care of" and carry it off -- what a way to start the day!!

Here it is...sorry it took me so long

Fri, 26 Dec 2008 22:57:11 GMT

I know you guys only drop by here to see if I've put up new pics of the kids or am sharing fun stuff about the baby. I'm not quite up to uploading pics today, but I'll tell you what Miss Clair has been up to.

She started talking a little - she says "Dada" "Mama" "Baba" (that's her binky) and "Bad" -- She's even combining them in new a creative ways, such as "Bad, bad Dada" when she gets her pants changed. It's very cute! She's been sitting up for quite a while, and she's figured out how to get from sitting to all fours, but she's not quite crawling yet - I'd give it a couple weeks at most. She loves to look at books, and kiss her baby dolls. She's really good at giving wet kisses when you least expect them. Her brothers and sisters call those "ambush kisses." She generally gets a handful of hair or ear on each side of your face before she moves in for the kill, to prevent her victim from turning their head and minimizing the impact. She has also learned to head butt folks, when they're are holding her, but quit paying attention to her. She's got a really hard head. She made my lip bleed the other day!

And, I got a new camera from mom, so I'll be converting the living room into a makeshift photo studio some time in the next two weeks and taking her official baby pictures. I'll try to post some of those as soon as I can. We've even got props, but you'll have to wait and see what they are!!

Have a wonderful new year everyone!!

Rusti

Ode to Miss Barb - More commonly known as "Forest Lawn" by John Denver

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 02:22:33 GMT

Oh lay me down in Forest Lawn in a silver casket,
Put golden flowers over my head in a silver basket.
Let the drum and bugle corps play taps while cannons roar
And sixteen liveried employees sell souvenirs from the funeral store.

I want to go simply when I go,
They'll give me a simple funeral there I know,
With a casket lined in fleece
And fireworks spelling out "Rest in Peace."
Oh take me when I'm gone to Forest Lawn.

Oh lay me down in Forest Lawn, they understand there.
They have a heavenly choir and a military band there.
Just put me in their care, I'll find my comfort there
With sixteen planes in a last salute they'll drop a cross in a parachute.

I want to go simply when I go,
They'll give me a simple funeral there I know:
With a hundred strolling strings
And topless dancers with golden wings!
Oh take me when I'm gone to Forest Lawn.

Oh, come, come, come, come,
Come to the church in the wildwood,
Kindly leave a contribution in the pail.
Be as simple and as trusting as a child would
And we'll sell you the church in the dale.

To find a simple resting place is my desire;
To lay me down with a smiling face comes a little bit higher.
My likeness cast in brass will stand in plastic grass
While hidden weights and springs tip it's hat to the mourners filing past!

I want to go simply when I go.
They'll give me a simple funeral there I know.
I'll lie beneath the sand
With piped in tapes of Billy Graham.
Oh take me when I'm gone to Forest Lawn.

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
For a slightly higher fee!

Oh take me when I'm gone to Forest Lawn

My Boys - Part 1 (or actually pt. 2, pt. 1 is yet to written)

Sun, 23 Nov 2008 16:37:42 GMT

Both of our boys are a lot like David, but in different ways. Lane is the thoughtful, careful side (which I probably have seen more of in his 30's and 40's than anyone could have imagined was there in his teens and 20's). Duncan is all the things that made David decide to be a pro bull rider - without any of the stuff that made him decide that after nearly crippling himself he should quit. The boy doesn't know how to slow down, or think ahead - and he doesn't care! He's awfully sweet, he never wants to hurt anyone. He's almost never mean, but he can't see past his nose. He'll climb to the top of the highest tree with never a thought as to how he'll get down. And when he realizes he can't go back the way he came, he jumps - with no thought whatever to what kind of landing he may have - aside form the occasional "this is gonna leave a mark" mumbled to himself.

This summer, I was sitting out in the back yard one day with David, and Duncan was on the trampoline. He goes "Mama, watch this!" (and with him, I always do, because first it promises to be entertaining, and second I've learned that if we end up in the emergency room, my ability to give a plausible account of how he sustained the injury could be the difference in whether or not they call in child protective services, so first-hand knowledge of the event is invaluable). Then he does a back flip, but doesn't land quite square on his feet. He bounces backward a bit to regain his footing, loses his balance and begins this slow-motion ballet of disaster. He falls on his back with enough momentum to carry him right over onto his head. By now he's on the springs. His head threatens to pop between two springs, while his right arm slips between the adjacent two, while he continues to somersault head over heels. By now, I can see the end result, and am already taking a breath to yell for David. I'm sure that Duncan's little body is going to continue on it's course while his arm will stay hopelessly tangled in those deadly coils. The end result being a really nasty compound fracture, and a wailing child dangling from his mangled appendage until his frantic father can extricate him and transport him to the nearest ER. Somehow, just when I'm certain things are going very badly indeed, his arm slithers free, hanging just long enough to ensure that he gets dumped on the ground flat on his back with a thump and a grunt as all the air is forcibly expelled from his lungs. After a breathless moment (for both of us) a goofy, half-giggling voice floats up from the grass on the far side of the trampoline - "Ow, that hurt!" Then he pops up and is back on the thing jumping and whirling again as if nothing happened. Yup, that's Duncan.