Gooood News!!!

I won first place in the local Newspaper's yearly Christmas Story Contest. The story will follow and I'd like to take the opportunity to wish all my faithful readers a blessed Christmas season and a happy new year.

The story has bits and peaces of me all over it and some of it is very true too, but not all of it.

Sorry that I haven't been keeping up this blog to those who have been faithfully checking it out. Let me hear from you if you're enjoying it. I'll tell you, it is very encouraging. I 've had to go to the school to blog at all, and to check my mail and that is not too frequent. So thanks all, love you.

I'd also like to decorate this page with some art I did in my window this season. It's meant to look like stained glass but it's actually water color. The black part of it is tempera and didn't hold very well as you can see the one is slightly loved already by my two wonderful boys. They did light up though, like the real thing, when the sun shines through.

Being Mary
Becky had grown up in a Hutterite colony and had gone to a one room school all of her 16 years.

She was a cheerful and outgoing girl with a ready smile. She was a good actor, and one could always count on her to participate in the school’s yearly Christmas pageant.

Becky never had the chance to play the part of Mary though she had secretly longed to for many years.
It seemed that part was always reserved for someone with a button cute nose and delicate features, plus a dainty figure and Becky had neither. She had fairly large bones and her face was oval shaped.
She loved playing dress up though and would play the part to her heart’s content in front of her mirror at home in her room.

By the time she finished her grade nine education and left school to join the work force of the adults, she knew every word of We Three Kings and the narration of Luke 2 verse 1 to 20 completely by heart. She had played shepherd and angle to the best of her ability, but never Mary.

She had a strong clear voice that could carry whatever was to be said or sung all the way to the back of the room without a microphone. It was her voice that made her a welcome addition to the young people’s choir who met for practice once a week.

Each year at Christmas time the young people would make an appointment to sing carols at a nearby old folks home.

This was Becky’s first year, and having the freedom and imagination to contribute whatever she wished, she knew exactly what she wanted to do.

She was going as Mary!

She had no problem recruiting a Joseph from among her young and handsome companions so off they went in royal blue and purple.

She stood proudly with Joseph holding her doll in swaddling cloths and reading the words to Oh Beautiful Star of Bethlehem off of her neighbor’s book.

The doll had been a Christmas gift from her mom a few years before as one last doll gift before she would be too old to play with them.

She loved it, for it had dark skin, black hair and a bright yellow dress, unlike any other doll she had ever owned.

Becky sang happily when she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. A few glances in that direction produced the knowledge that one of the elderly ladies was beckoning for baby Jesus.

Without hesitation Becky weaved through the wheelchairs of the audience and laid her doll into the worn eager arms. The old lady’s smile was brilliant as she cradled the baby doll to her heart, and Becky was sure that she heard the angels sing along when she rejoined the choir.

After sharing songs, cards, cookies and friendship, Becky just didn’t have the heart to ask for her doll back. She said goodnight to the old lady and left for the van with that warm feeling tugging at her heart.

It was mixed with the sadness of having lost something dear. Becky could still see those wrinkled old eyes behind the glasses lighting up the room, and knew that she must have done the same.

That night, as she lay in bed, Becky thought of the real Mary of long ago, how she had had to give up her own precious baby Jesus to die on the cross for the sins of the world. How her heart must have been braking to see Him suffer.

Becky wiped a tear from her eye as she thought that maybe the old lady in the home had never had the chance to play the part of Mary either.

Here We Are

I was acting like a model and strutting my stuff, having fun with my photographer. He really knows how to keep me relaxed and at ease. We were flirting like crazy, and trying to act professional, hence the brilliant smile. Here I am in overkill again.

-34 years old

-5'5 tall

-blue eyes

-birthday, Apr. 17

-married in 1999

-about 60 cook weeks left till retirement at 45

There you have my good side, my bad side, and how they look all together. That's meant not only in the physical sense. I do have an ugly side as anyone living with me will tell you, but I guess we all do.

Oh.. By the way... Rodney took these photos of me.

Keeping On

I’ve been keeping up my exercise program for about 14 weeks now and it feels pretty good. I noticed all summer long that I had more strength and stamina at our normal garden work. I started alternating jogging with weight training.

I think the garden below gave me the very first incentive to begin, it was pretty hard laboring in the hot sun at times, but I got in touch with that strong and determined side of myself again. With a little encouragement from Carebear, I began reading “Body for Life.” I got some very important tips and learned about regrouping and keeping at it even when things change. Just get active! That’s not so heard.
It is quit catching as Rodney has joined me, and my sons just love to imitate us. My bubble burst a bit when Hans punctured my exercise ball with a dart, but the only time I’m not up to par is in a cook week, when everything gets thrown out of whack.

Happy B-day Hans Sep.29

Hans has turned four, and is still big for his age. It seems like he has been older for a while, but there is still enough of baby in him to satisfy his mom. It seems that I don’t have another baby to baby so I baby him. Well, the cheeks are so tweekable, and he still has dimples in his hands; add to that a lisp and you have one cute guy.

I’m really reconciled to the fact that he is much like me, sometimes I think that he is the boy version of me. It helps me understand him better and it makes it easier to give him what he needs.

I usually write something for my boys every birthday that they will someday want to look back at. I’ve already told them of my heart’s desire. It’s for them is to accept Jesus as their savior someday.

Hans loves to be challenged; he will do some things only because we say he can’t do them, to prove that he can.
“I bet Hans can’t put off his PJs all by himself.”
“Close your eyes, Mom.”
“Hans needs help from someone.” Comes the muffled taunt.
“You can look now.” He pops up wearing only a big smile.
“Is daddy hiding somewhere near? You must have had someone to help you.” Says mom giving him a big hug.

"Thtanley says girls shouldn't touch boyth."

"Oh Honey, But I'm your mommy."

He needs a lot of attention, and loves to cuddle and be with people. He is a little tease and will relentlessly bug whomever he wants the attention from.

He will let you know when he is not happy by sticking out his lower lip; better known as a pout. But he soon forgets it though, and the smile returns just as quickly as the frown came.

He is a happy child and loves stories. He listens to Victor for hours and has told me the one about “Ricky Ticky Tabby” completely by heart. He also enjoys bible stories, but not of bad people like Jezebel. His English is very good for his age, and we can talk a lot of it.

We try daily to teach him about God, and let him know that his family is really pleased and complete with him in it.

Where did my summer go?

June, July, August...gone.

What did I do all summer? Did I accomplish anything?

I spent quite a few of Hans' nap times sweating it out behind the turkey barn in the old homestead building a garden and a swing. I have some other plans yet, but need some supplies. I was inspired to make it from a story called The Man who Planted Trees, but poor Nel can't remain anonymous. The story just thrilled me.

This is the dream version of it before I made the real thing. I was going to celebrate doing and trying things anyway even though you are going to make mistakes, but it turned out even better then it did in reality. Here, you can judge for yourself, it was made in the paint program.

Here is the real thing..

I was there the other day and the swing has already broken down but the flowers are just getting nicer and sweeter. The Alisum have finally bloomed and are giving off a musical cent.

It was meant, at first, for butterflies, because I have named it 'Butterfly grove,' but there weren't any this year. I wanted to have them eat there in the garden and have planted some Milkweed for them as well, so they could grow there, eat, reproduce, and hang out.

I also planted some raspberries, just for anyone who goes there, I can just see Mel and her best friend being chased out of there by the mosquitoes. ;)

Lost My Internet connection, blog on hold because of the second law of thermodynamics. See you, thanks for coming!! oxox Nel

Would You Shelf This?

Sometimes I get inspired to write stuff, and I let it sit in my drawer. I wonder if it's not better off out there somewhere where folks can read it. Maybe it can bless, challenge, or even encourage someone today. I do challenge myself a lot and am fairly hard on myself at times, but this goes well with the semons we've been having lately about knowing christians by their fruits.

Dear Christian,

How can you say you love Me, when you speak an unkind word to the troubled soul in your argument?
How can you say it, when you walk right by her with your nose in the air?

How can you say you love Me, when you take the credit for all the gifts I’ve given you?
How can you say it, when I’ve lent you your heartbeat, strength, and talents, and you think you did it all yourself?

How can you say you love Me, when you won’t give the poor man some cash, a coat, warm mitts, not even a prayer?
How can you say it, when you turn in disgust, and spend all you have to seek your own happiness?

How can you say you love Me, when you don’t take the time for the widowed old lady giving comfort and hope with a touch or a smile?
How can you say it, when you’re wishing her story of long ago would soon be done?

How can you say you love Me, when you won’t share the good news with the broken heart who’s crying a river?
How can you say it, when I’ve promised to give you the words that you don’t speak?

How can you say you love Me, when the children that surround you are not blessed?
How can you say it, when they beg your attention and you send them away?

How can you say you love Me, when you have nothing to show to anyone watching?
How can you say it, when they don’t see Me in you?