Janet's Blog

It seems like the laundry is never done. At least two days a week, I trudge up and down the basement stairs to wash and dry the clothes, Bill's, Levi's, and mine. Thankfully, Victoria does her own. And, I'm beginning to think that it won't be long until Levi will learn how to do his own laundry. I'm just not sure if I'm ready for the amount of supervision that will require... I really shouldn't complain. I have a large, front-loading washing machine and a matching dryer that do their jobs quite well, most of the time. All I really have to do is sort the laundry, carry mine and Bill's to the basement where I combine it with Levi's, which he is supposed to have tossed down the laundry chute from the second floor hallway. Then, it's just a matter of switching loads between the washer and dryer, folding the laundry into a couple of baskets (assuming that Levi and Victoria have returned them to the basement) and putting Bill's and mine away. Lev

This is a silly little story about a frozen ham. It happened about a month ago, when I went to the basement to get some chicken out of the freezer for supper. I took the key from its hiding place and unlocked the freezer, as I always do; our aging freezer has to be kept locked so it doesn't open mysteriously, all by itself, and thaw all of the food inside. Trust me, I speak from experience. Anyway, I unlocked the freezer and opened the door, ready to grab a package of chicken, when this blankety-blank ham decided to ambush me. Before I could stop it, the ham rolled out, off its shelf, landing squarely on my left big toe. I was surprised. But, most of all, I was in pain. I gritted my teeth, picked up the ham, and placed it firmly on the shelf in the back of the freezer, making sure that it wouldn't be able to roll out again. Then, I located the chicken I had come for, closed and locked the freezer, and hobbled up the stairs to the kitchen, muttering, "Ow, ow, OW!"

It snowed three times in the five days leading up to Christmas. Our local weather service predicted their standard one to three inches each time, yet somehow, by Christmas morning, we had accumulated almost 16 inches. I just love a white Christmas, don't you? Snow is a gift, a truly beautiful part of God's creation. There is something magical about watching those pristine, frozen flakes drift lazily to the ground--or swirl fiercely through the air when the wind is raging. I like to trudge through the deepening snow, enveloped in the silence of the storm, snowflakes brushing softly against my face. I love the way the wind sculpts the snow into modern art along the fence rows that border our country roads. And there is nothing whiter than new-fallen snow, dazzling in the sunlight, the day after a storm. The fence rows near Chimney Rock, after the storm Many of us have a love-hate relationship with snow. I never met a young child who doesn't love to frolic in the snow,

It's a word we just don't want to hear, arguably one of the nastiest words in the English language-- suicide . Volumes have been written about it. Families have been torn apart by it. Lives have been wasted by it. Today, I heard that awful word again. It's bad enough when a young teen dies, for any reason, but suicide makes it so much worse. My heart aches for a troubled boy and the family he leaves behind. I pray that they may begin to find some peace, that God will wrap his arms around them and comfort them as only he can. I pray that their church family will step up and stand with them, cry with them, pray with them, and remind them of God's presence and everlasting grace. I pray for the other kids who knew him, who will be confused and shocked when they hear what has happened. I pray for my son, Levi, who knew him, too, who will have a hard time processing this tragedy. I pray for the pastors who have to help friends and family members make sense of the sensel