Janet's Blog

The sun is about to set on 2021. Some of us will say "Good riddance!" Others will be looking forward to 2022 as a chance for new beginnings. As I drove home yesterday afternoon, I was captivated by the sunset near Chimney Rock. Way back in the mid-1800s, travelers were excited to finally see its spire stretching toward the sky, signaling that they were on the right trail, and well on their way to Oregon. Just as those long-ago pioneers faced unknown challenges on their long, often treacherous trip, we, too, look ahead to the New Year with a little uneasiness, even trepidation, and perhaps a little anticipation as we wait to see just what God has planned. As I savored the beautiful sunset, I was reminded that the sun will come up again, just as it has since the beginning of creation, until that day when God determines that the world will come to an end. But even then, he will be with us. Chimney Rock no longer guides wagon trains on their way to the pioneers' new homes, bu

For a child is born to us, a son is given to us... And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. It's December, the beginning of "birthday season" for our family. Two December birthdays down--Will and Evie--and four January birthdays to go--Ruthie, Lydia, Erin, and Tobin. But this week, we are focusing on that one birthday that changed the world--the birth of Jesus, our Savior. The house is (mostly) clean, the trees are decorated, the nativity scenes are in place, the shopping is done, and the gifts are wrapped. Now, we wait for Erin's family to arrive from Wisconsin, for Christmas Eve practice to commence, for cookies to be baked. And then, the celebration will begin! As we wait, it's a good time to reflect on the past year, which has been another hard one, in many ways. But it has brought us many blessings, as well. Levi, a senior this year, has put forth a lot of effort, and is on the honor roll for this semester. H

  D ecember is here at last, this exciting, magical, sometimes overwhelming month we all love. Or do we? December has much to offer, it's true. Even sleepy little towns are busy this time of year with concerts and children's programs, parties and parades. Every main street in the US is decorated. Every store promotes its seasonal sales. Delivery workers are so overburdened that, unfortunately, even enterprising porch pirates have many choices. It's easy to become so wrapped up in the trappings of our modern day Christmas celebrations that we overlook the real meaning of this ubiquitous holiday. Even the word, Christmas , spells out the truth about the season: Christ's Mass was a worship service instituted about a thousand years ago, when Holy Communion was celebrated in commemoration of Jesus' birth. What started as a Christian feast day has somehow morphed into the extravaganza we continue to celebrate as Christmas.  Perhaps you are feeling jaded about life in gene

When I was a little girl, I wore dresses--plaid dresses. Plain colored dresses, if I wore them at all, were for church. In the winter, I wore red, navy blue, or white, heavy tights under my dresses. Little girls never wore black, not even black tights. When the weather was hot, I might wear a short set, with matching shirt and shorts, or a one-piece sunsuit, but only at home. If we were going someplace, I usually wore a plaid dress. This is me on my sixth birthday, with the doll cake my grandma made for me. My dress was gold and brown plaid, but a shinier, fancier plaid than usual, since it was a special occasion.  Most plaid dresses came in short-sleeve versions only. When the weather was chilly, I wore a cardigan on top. It didn't necessarily match my dress, but that didn't matter, since warmth was the only goal. If the weather was really cold, I wore slacks under my dress when I was outside, but the pants came off when I went indoors.  I was seven in this picture, which was

Just outside of Gering, right next to Scotts Bluff National Monument, is a fairly new museum, formerly called the Farm and Ranch Museum (FARM), and now known as Legacy of the Plains. The museum sprawls over several acres, including some working fields and plenty of old farm equipment, as well as a large, dedicated, museum building, some fully furnished period houses, a barn, and a blacksmith shop. Although it's a mecca for school field trips, the museum is open year-round for anyone to stop by and see what farming and ranching were like in the Nebraska panhandle from the late 1800s throughout the twentieth century. Every September, the museum sponsors a Harvest Festival, where the old machinery is fired up and used to harvest the year's crops: some combination of corn, dry edible beans, sugar beats, pumpkins, and potatoes. The old guys who volunteer their time at the museum are in their glory, using horse-drawn equipment, or driving vintage tractors through the fields. Even the

Meagan texted me a couple of weeks ago, wondering if I would like to come out to celebrate National Cheesecake Day. I never say no to cheesecake, so I headed right out. I'm not a huge fan of baked cheesecake, since I generally prefer the light, fluffy rendition like Bill's Grandma used to make, but Meagan had found a new recipe, and tried out the springform pan she inherited from Aunt Ellen.  The cheescake didn't last long. It was absolutely delicious! The grandkids were thrilled to have all available grandparents on site when it wasn't even someone's birthday. They had been excited to start homeschooling that Monday, but they still had plenty of time to play with the kittens and create things. They had so much to show us! The kittens had grown, and were at the cutest stage ever. The two mama cats had produced litters in June, about ten days apart, one on Meagan's birthday, and the other the night before Ari turned three. Surprisingly, the gray kittens in the se

Ah--the joys of walking the dog in the summer. Neither of us need a jacket or boots when the air is balmy and the sidewalks are clear of snow. Evening walks are the best, when the cool breeze blows away the heat of the day, and the only sounds are the train in the distance, and a few cars on the highway. Hah! And the neighborhood dogs barking every time we walk past, and the car stereos blaring, and the kids yelling to each other as they play on the sidewalks. But, I love it all, anyway, and Jackson does, too. For nearly a month, we got to share our walks with the "granddogs," Bowie and Bella. Bowie is a black Pugapoo, and Bella is some kind of Beagle mix. They both just finished a couple of weeks of intensive training in Wisconsin, with the dog trainer who lives across the street from Erin, Reed, and Will. Bowie, who received a little extra training, was on his best behavior most of the time, walking sedately, rarely tugging on the leash or attempting to chase any bunnies or

I made the 400 mile drive from Fairbury on Thursday without incident, my trusty iphone plugged in, providing the GPS guidance I needed to stay on track. But then, after I arrived back home that evening, my cell phone abruptly stopped working. As I plugged it in to recharge it, it suddenly got stuck in a loop, cycling between the white screen with the apple in the middle, and a black screen. Eventually, it just settled on the white screen. I've been told it's a common problem with iphones. So now I'm singing the no-cell-phone blues. For such a little thing, my phone certainly occupies a lot of my time. Like most people, I use it for so many things besides just talk and text: it's my alarm clock and ever-ready camera, my GPS, weather forecaster, reference guide, phonebook, and cookbook, my source for daily news and social media. I use the Gateway Bible app every day. In fact, since my eye surgeries, I find I can avoid a significant amount of eyestrain when I read almost e

A Gideon gave a short presentation at church on Sunday. That's not unusual. Every church I've ever attended has welcomed representatives from The Gideons International at least once a year. The Gideons International began in 1908 as an association of Christian businessmen who began placing Bibles in hotel rooms. Their outreach expanded from there, providing billions of Bibles, in more than 100 languages, to school children, nurses, prisoners, members of the military, and other people all over the world, in almost every facet of life. For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.   Hebrews 4:12 I remember receiving a maroon Gideon New Testament when I was a fifth grader. All of my children came home from school with Gideon New Testaments, as well. When Bill and I visited India, I was pleased, but not surprised, to find an English l

Monday afternoon, as I walked into the house from the garage, Levi met me at the door. "I have a late Mother's Day present for you," he said. I wondered if he had brought me something he had baked at school in his Foods class. I didn't have to wonder for long. I followed him into the kitchen, where he pointed to the flowers on the table. He had picked two flowering crabapple sprigs from the trees that surround his school, just a short block from our house, and had carefully placed them in a small vase of water. Levi has always had a knack for picking just the right gift for each person. He is invariably thoughtful, and careful to choose something that he knows his intended recipient will appreciate. As we were riding in the car last week, I had pointed out the gorgeous crabapple trees lining the street, and I commented that my dad had often scouted out the abandoned farmsteads surrounding the town, so he could bring armloads of crabapple and lilac branches for my mom

My family has always been a feather pillow family. As long as I can remember, my maternal grandma kept everyone well-supplied with pillows. I'm sure she cleaned old pillows and recycled the feathers into new ticking from time to time. Or, maybe, like Bill's grandma, she took her old pillows to the dry cleaners to be cleaned and reticked. Some of her pillows contained fresh feathers or goose down, obtained from a local, northeastern Nebraska farmer, because she did not raise any kind of feather- or down-producing fowl herself. When I was visiting Mom and Dad last week, I had a chance to go through some old suitcases filled with century-old, family photographs. I enjoyed seeing photos of my mom and grandparents as young children, as well as vintage photos of some great-grandparents I never knew. One photo stood out. At the turn of the twentieth century, when photography was still in its infancy, it was common for rural Nebraska families to be photographed outside their homes, wit

I was sitting on my stool at the front of the church on Sunday, mostly hidden behind my music stand, as usual. The worship team was playing The Wonderful Cross ,   which is an updated version of When I Survey the Wondrous Cross. The verses are the same hymn I've known my whole life, with an additional chorus. This particular version of the song calls for the bass, and most other instruments, to play only a D for the entire verse, with other appropriate chords added just during the chorus. I have the verses memorized, and I can play an open D with my eyes closed and my left hand tied behind my back, so I didn't need to look at my music. At first, I glanced at the rear screen, where the lyrics are displayed for the onstage singers to see, but since I already knew the words, my gaze shifted across the singing congregation. I couldn't help but notice the family standing right in front, some singing, but most struggling to keep from crying. The elderly man on the end was sitting

It's been more than three months now since Uncle Gary left this earth. He knew he might not survive the surgery to repair his aortic aneurysm. After living with the aneurysm for years, and enduring several other procedures along the way, his last surgery was his surgeon's heroic, final effort to fix something that was finally beyond repair. Gary would be the first to tell you that he had lived a satisfying life. Except for one rather brief marriage, he lived alone in the house he had bought in North Platte. He had a large, loyal group of friends there, where he had retired after working there as a dispatcher and, eventually, communications supervisor, for the Nebraska State Patrol. I would characterize Gary as usually soft-spoken, diligent, determined, ethical, hard-working, and loyal to family and friends. He loved sharing his garden space with his neighbor, and sharing his produce with his friends. After his sister, my Aunt Ellen, was no longer around to make jelly, he learne