I was baking in the kitchen.
My youngest daughter called to ask if she could bring some friends for dinner.
Just about now, most college students are missing good old home cooking.
Of course, I said, how many friends do you want to bring?

Would ten of us be too many? She asked knowing what I would say.
Ten is fine; it will be fun, I said and meant it.
I love when my children want to come home.
I love when they want to bring their friends as well.

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I heard the noise as I was emptying the dishwasher.
I stopped clanging the dishes and listened.
Nothing.
As soon as I resumed the dishwasher emptying the noise started again.

I went into the living room and opened the door to the side porch.
Nothing.
I went back into the kitchen and opened the back door onto the deck.
Nothing.

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I am not a gardener.
I am not a seamstress.
I can maintain my plantings.
I can mend a few things.

I am always amazed at people who can plant seeds in the dirt and produce an abundance.
I am always intrigued with people who can see a bolt of fabric and know what it will become.
I am not that person.
I can take word and mix them around to tell stories but that is another matter.

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I was remembering math class.
I happened to walk down a stationary aisle in the store and saw some protractors.
It brought me back to when I learned about measuring angles.
The instrument that was to be used to measure angles I wanted to use to trace things.

I could trace the half circle and create all kinds of things.
I could make my own angles and create wonderful pictures.
I enjoyed the creative side of learning about angles.
I did not like the mathematical side of measuring them.

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It was during this time of year I received the warning.
I had been a new driver for a few months.
It was the season of falling leaves.
Be careful driving on the wet leaves, was the continuous refrain.

If I heard it once I heard it a thousand times.
Wet leaves are slippery.
Driving on wet leaves can be almost as bad as driving on ice.
I paid attention to the warning with a healthy dose of fear.

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When my husband and I were first married, we lived in Amish country.
He moved into our apartment in June of that year.
I moved into our apartment in October after we were married.
I loved the farmland, the country living, and most of all, the Amish buggies.

I was infatuated with the Amish culture.
I remember going to the post office and standing behind an Amish mother and her children.
These beautiful children had rosy cheeks and wisps of hair popping out from their bonnet.
I smiled at the one little girl who kept looking back at me.

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I finished the notes for the Bible study that I teach.
Writing them is a wonderful process from start to finish.
After reading what I need to read in order to prepare, I write all the notes in long hand.
After writing the notes on three sheets of legal-size paper, both sides, I begin to type.

Usually all of that writing amounts to about four typed pages.
The women seem to appreciate having the notes since it helps them follow along.
The notes are also the place where I can insert Biblical history.
That history helps us understand the times that the book was written in a bit better.

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I remember a commercial that someone posted on Facebook.
It was during the winter of never ending snow.
It was during the time when most of us had to scrape cars and shovel driveways.
It made me laugh just when I needed it most.

It showed someone digging out his car that was parked on the street.
The snow was piled high around him.
It was a huge tiresome job.
Finally, the job was finished and the man could easily pull away from the curb.

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I woke up to the fog.
Fog so thick I could reach outside my window and touch the cloud that seemingly came down.
It was a cooler morning, so I decided to take my walk a bit earlier.
There is something mysterious though not ominous about walking through the fog.

As I set out, I heard it.
It is a unique sound that can be recognized by hunters near and far.
It is recognizable though it is a far cry from a bark.
It is the sound of a baying beagle.

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Every time I am ready to write, I see a blank computer screen.
Instead of that being a bit daunting, it is exciting.
Exciting because I could not possibly write every day on my own.
I rely heavily on God for ideas and insights.

I trust that He will allow me to see and hear the littlest thing.
I know that He will help me apply that little thing to His Word.
I am certain.
I must be honoring.

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