Greetings once again Dear Friends of the Fellowship of the Blog,

Looking into the background of ancient nursery rhymes, I realize it’s quite surprising to many readers to find the strange history and legends surrounding some of them.  To quote two of the world’s best scholars of nursery rhyme – Peter and Iona Opie… “It can be safely stated that the overwhelming majority of nursery rhymes were not in the first place composed for children; in fact many are survivals of an adult code … strikingly unsuitable for those of tender years.”

Yet, later on, in the 19th century we find a few really sweet nursery rhymes such as “Mary’s Lamb” and “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Then, in 1978, Christian Mother Goose appears, “Rhyming with Christ.”  There we find little Jack Horner memorizing Scripture and learning the way to Heaven.

The power of rhyme for remembering is known to us all.  It’s humorous that even in the heat of British parliamentary debate, no less a statesman than Winston Churchill fell victim to nursery rhyme parody when he was verbally thumped to be as a Humpty Dumpty!  The Chancellor of the Exchequer (Secretary of the Treasury in Whitehall, London) took a low blow in being called “Little Jack Horner.”  (Do I hear,”Order! Order! Gentlemen!”)

There’s a fascinating legend, both believed and refuted, attached to the old “Jack Horner” rhyme.  Horner was steward to Richard Whiting, Abbot of Glastonbury (1539) the richest abbey in the Kingdom under Henry VIII.  Horner was sent to see Henry VIII, along with a Christmas pie containing the deeds to twelve manor houses.  Whiting hoped they would appease the King and prevent Henry’s seizing the abbey.  On the way to London, Horner pulled out a “plum” – the deed to Mells Manor – kept it, and his descendants continue living there to this day.

One of my favorite hobbies when I’m back in England is visiting legendary churches, castles, and manor houses. I’ve discovered many mysteries and quaint stories in those ancient places.  A thatched cottage we once passed is 500 years old and still rents for the same annual lease: one pig and two chickens!  And they’ve never heard of Fannie Mae!  I’ve always wondered, “Who lives there?”

Which brings me back to America and a fun story of car drives and house dwellers from our own town in Hotchkiss Colorado.

Our story begins with Grace, who was like a meek little bird.  She was married to George, an impatient sort, with easily ruffled feathers.  He was the Postmaster of our small town who ruled his Post Office roost next door to our Decker Jewelry Store.

Every Sunday afternoon George took Grace and her friend, Marge, for a long drive to the Ragged Mountains (Marge shared with me Part One of this story.)  As the threesome meandered through the alpine landscape, whenever they passed a farm house, Grace would ask, “Who lives there, George?” – every Sunday, every time, at every house…and George’s ruffled feathers kept molting.

Then, one Sunday afternoon, the last of George’s feathers fell out, as he exploded with, “Before starting out, if you ask me one more time, ‘Who lives there, George?,’ I’ll never drive you anywhere again!”

Grace slouched down in the back seat, silent and wistful as each farm house came into view.  Not a word came from her meek lips all the way up to the turn-around.  (So far, so good.)  Then the drive home began.  At the first house they passed, Grace timidly risked a few words, “Do those same people still live there, George?“….  Dear reader, you can guess the rest.

But, hark!  Part Two: Poetic justice was in store; or, rather, was in the two bags of Grace’s groceries she told me about.  After shopping, Grace saw two similar black sedans parked outside the Post Office where George worked (which was near the grocery store).  So Grace put her groceries in the one she thought was George’s.  Then she walked home.  When George came home, she asked for the groceries.  He didn’t have them.  “You put them in the wrong car,” he fumed, and raced out to find the other car containing Grace’s groceries.  When he came back, he tossed the  groceries on the table, puffing in frustration.  Grace meekly smiled before saying gently, “But these are not our groceries, George.”  (Indeed, “A soft answer turneth away wrath.” )

Secretly, I wanted to say, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the last laugh.”  But Matthew 5:5 is far better.

Now, as I leave you with little Jack Horner’s last line: “Jesus is the way to Heaven,” I’m adding Psalm 23′s last line: “and I will dwell in the house of The Lord forever. ”

As for THE LORD’S HOUSE, if you should ask, “Who lives there?”-  take it on the authority of God’s Word: those same people who love Him here. Come and go with me to my Father’s House.  (He’s left the “LIGHT” on for you, too!)

Cheerio, and with Blessings in Jesus,

Christian Mother Goose®

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Hello again to our widening circle of Friends of the Fellowship of the Blog,

…and special kudos to our “comment corner” visitors.  Thank you – each and every one!

Once upon a time when I was in London with a mission team, I took one afternoon to visit the Tower of London.  It was of special interest to me for its historical Christian drama since it was first built by William the Conqueror in 1078.

Tied into the theme of this blog: crowns, jewels, and Christ’s return, is the Christian Mother Goose version of “Lavender’s Blue.”  This rhyme was published  around the time when a certain Colonel Blood, in 1671, attempted to steal the State Crown and other crown jewels from the Tower of London.

The largest gem ever found in the world is the Cullinan diamond.  It was  3,106 carats and discovered in 1905 by a mine superintendent strolling through the Premier South African mines.  He first thought it was a big piece of glass.  That “glass” was later purchased for $800,000 as a birthday present for King Edward VII.

From the rough diamond, the beautiful Cullinan #1 (530.2 carats) was cut, polished and set in the head of the royal scepter of the British Crown jewels.  Cullinan #2 (317.4 carats) was set in the British Imperial State crown. Ninety-six “smaller” diamonds were also produced from the mammoth Cullinan.  Now was my opportunity to view all this splendor.

Confidentially, I also wanted to tease my inventive husband, Dale, with fabulous descriptions of the British Crown Jewels.  It was a lifetime dream of his to produce a man-made diamond.  As a third generation jeweler, it seemed perfectly logical that he should dream such dreams!  (A chuckle or two allowed here.)

Back at home, Dale was putting the finishing touches to his “diamond-making” device, while I was gazing in amazement at the magnificent  array of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls of the British Crown jewels!  The most gripping aspect to me was the fantastic blaze of light – not helped by electricity, but a dazzling white light that radiated from the thousands of jewels themselves.

I stood captivated by the implication of that light – the Bible’s description of the children of God as His own” family jewels.”  Those shining believers whose precious faith reflects the light and love of Christ.  Those “jewels” He is coming again to gather for the great unveiling of a fabulous eternity with Him.

I stood so long, that the elderly Yeoman Warder kindly said,” I’m sorry, but they’re not on sale today, madam.” I gave him a smile and a wink and went to sit outside on the Tower Green.

While sitting on the grass, I realized I was not far from the spot where a true “jewel” of Jesus, Lady Jane Grey, was executed in 1544.  This noble young Christian was Queen for only nine days, and at age sixteen she walked bravely to her death, refusing to deny her faith in, and love for The Lord Jesus Christ.  She was considered the most learned woman in the land, and brilliantly debated the clergy of her day in defense of the Christian faith.   I have always loved young Lady Jane Grey.  The light of her testimony outshines the Cullinan!

When I got back home to America, Dale was waiting to show me his finished diamond-making invention.  His theory was that with intense heat and pressure, plus the element of carbon, he might produce a true diamond by simulating conditions found in nature. He sought to accomplish this feat of physics using a cylindrical pipe with pressure gauges, release valves, vacuum nozzles and much more.

All the family cheered him on.  However, we were afraid it might all blow up!  So Dale decided he would go to Kansas, to be on the safe side.  We had a friend there with a huge wheat farm.  He was more than willing to let Dale come to execute the miniature explosion finale of this intriguing experiment.  He suggested using his John Deere tractor to drive to the center of the solitary wheat fields  (wise friend!), and that is exactly where Dale was a week later.

When he was satisfied that he was far enough away from anyone, there in the middle of Kansas wheat Dale lit the fuse, and raced the tractor away for the countdown.  Boom!  Shades of Job 3:25!  “The thing which I greatly feared has come upon me…”  Dale’s invention had plenty of pressure, perhaps too much, as the cap blew off, negating the long hoped-for, “Dale Decker Diamond.”  (Creation lesson: God’s way works every time!).

Furthermore, Dale got lost in that ocean of wheat, but our wise Kansas friend brought him back home on his John Deere tractor.  (Another Wizard of Oz?)

Right now, my dear husband in Heaven is undoubtedly enthralled with the glorious array of precious stones in the foundations of the Heavenly New Jerusalem (Revelation 21:18-27).  And, unlike my visit to the British Crown jewels, Dale has all eternity to admire the far greater treasures of his Friend Who is KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.

To all God’s precious “jewels” out there – polished or in the rough – let’s shine!

Cheerio, for now….

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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Beautiful Spring greetings to our BlogNog Visitors,

Who needs a boost of encouragement today?  Everyone!  And what a blessing to faltering hearts are the words of an encourager.  The one who, like the boy in today’s Christian Mother Goose rhyme, “strokes our nose” with bright words of morale-boosting support when we think we “can’t go on” – and who refuses to lose heart and hope for us.

It’s the encourager who renews our spirit to believe in great expectations again; who brings a song, laughter and a basket of hope from the endless reservoir of the “God of hope.”  The God Who gives us courage to march on in the face of the impossible, and turns our eyes upon Jesus; Who blesses us with miracles in answer to prayer!

I thought of such encouragement this week when I read of the recent 70th reunion at St Paul’s Cathedral in London – commemorating the over three million British children who were evacuated from their homes, and separated from their families in World War II.  It was a voluntary sacrifice by parents in key cities who sought safety for their children in the English countryside.

Many of the now silver-haired attendees at St. Paul’s wore the original brown “luggage” type label which, 70 years ago, marked them at railway stations as child evacuees.  One great fear among those wartime children, as the train left, was that they might never get home again.  Kindly villagers took them in; some for over four years!  What a frightening experience war levies on little children and families.  The picture of the English “Bobby” checking the little girl’s train label tells the whole story.

C.S. Lewis, author of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (1950), whose adventurers were four young evacuees from London, actually took child evacuees into his Oxford home during the war.  Perhaps they were the inspiration for the fascinating world of Narnia.

Just before war was declared, my family moved from Nottingham Street to the Liverpool suburbs of Knotty Ash.  Our own experience with evacuees came when Hitler launched his massive air blitz on Liverpool on Thursday, May 1st, 1941.

That began a week of “the terror by night” (Psalm 91:5) with nearly 500 Luftwaffe bombers that left our city a blazing mass of rubble, with over 1,500 people killed and more than 50,000 left homeless.  It also left us with countless stories of heroism and courage in the spirit of a patriotic people who knew God was on our side.  The radio voice of our leader, Winston Churchill, was our valiant encourager.

May 3rd, Saturday night’s blitz, left us with a city that looked like Dante’s Inferno!  Sunday morning brought timid knocks to our front door.  Three children from our old neighborhood stood there.  “Please, Mrs. Ainsborough, our mother sent us to ask if we could stay with you. We’ve been bombed out and living in an air raid shelter.”   My Mother immediately brought the rest of the family to our house, along with other neighbors from the demolished  Nottingham Street.  Our house was bulging at the seams.

By now, my youthful spirit of curiosity drew me into the heart of the still blazing, devastated city.  Our wonderful museum was gutted, which meant the delightful Sammie the Seal was gone, too.  It was a Sunday I’ll never forget.  To make matters worse, it started to rain, and, with no transport, I had miles to walk back home.

There were long columns of bombed out people walking, obviously heading for safer areas before nightfall’s expected raid.  Then I noticed an elderly woman walking alone.  I decided I would walk with her and carry her brown paper parcel.  As she handed it to me, I dropped it in the wet rubble.  It burst open – and there lay spare ribs in the ashes.  Spare Ribs!  An absolute luxury with rations at four ounces of meat a week!

“I’m very, very sorry,” I said tearfully.  She just smiled and said, “They’re just spare ribs, love.  It’s alright.  Last night, I lost eleven of my family – children and grandchildren.  These are just spare ribs.”  We left them in the ashes, just as an American truck pulled up, loaded with evacuees, but with room enough for the wise grandmother and me.

(That phrase, “It’s just spare ribs,” became a stock answer in the Decker household when lamenting something that is not valuable compared to the bigger things of life).

Thanks to the friendly G.I’s, I got home before dark, thankful that I was hardly missed in the fluster of new sleeping arrangements for fourteen extra people in a three-bedroom home!  I was told I could sleep in the bath tub!  I did, for the six-week emergency measures – and there was no wardrobe closet to escape into Narnia!

Recently, a well-educated chap told me he was listening to the radio and heard an old tape of a man speaking whose voice and inspiring words held him spellbound.  He had no idea who that speaker was until he heard: “You have been listening to WWII Winston Churchill speaking.”

This brief encounter sadly revealed a generation’s ignorance of history.  Surely, in that man’s twenty years of schooling, Churchill’s immortal words would have been studied.  Words that held Britain together in her “darkest, yet finest hour,” till God brought us victory!

In America’s schools, what else are we obliterating, leaving our young generation woefully ignorant of the courage, sacrifice, and Godly foundations of this Christian country?  The country who gave rise to its freedom with the cry, “We the People!”

I thank God for our Christian Home School Moms and Dads, and Christian schools who are keeping the torch of America’s true Godly heritage alive, as they trace it from Genesis One to “…One Nation, under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.”

Be encouraged, Jesus said, “…Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”  Psalm 91 still stands!

Be sure to say an encouraging word of Hope to those you love TODAY!

“Now, may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Warm Spring Blessings to All,

Christian Mother Goose®

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Warm Greetings and Happy, Victorious Easter…HE IS RISEN!

Words cannot express the stunning, awe-inspiring Good News those three little words represent for mortal man.  Words that had waited to ring from Heaven since before the beginning of Time and Creation.  The triumphant Resurrection words of God The Father: “Come forth, My Son.  Arise to Me, My Son.”  The Lord Jesus Christ! – Conqueror of death, and the open “Door” to the presence of God and the glories of eternal life!

How Heaven must have cheered with angelic joy – those same angels who, hours before, had wept at the sight of Jesus, The Son of God, dying on an old rugged Cross.  How the Roman soldiers, the priests and scribes, those who had mocked the gentle Savior Christ Jesus, must have trembled with fear as the veil of the Temple was torn in two, from the top to the bottom; and a mighty earthquake struck the moment Christ died.  How the little children must have wondered why the dark of night fell thick upon Jerusalem in the middle of an afternoon.

And who can tell what reverberations were felt within the uncountable millions of stars, suns, and galaxies, whose origin came from the Creator hand of The One upon the Cross.  Those brilliant jewels in the sky above us that are held in space by the Word of His power! (Hebrews 1:3)  And of which the Scripture says: “For we know that the whole creation groaneth, and travaileth in pain together until now.” (Romans 8:22).  Yes, all creation was impacted by the events of the Cross of Christ on Calvary.  And all creation in God’s vast universe is blessed by His Resurrection.

For years I have wondered if the Resurrection may have been understood in a vision or dream given to Joseph, the Old Testament patriarch and administrator of Pharaoh’s Egypt.  He was so emphatic regarding the ultimate resting place of his bones when he died.  Genesis 50:24 states Joseph said to his brethren:  “…I die, and God will surely visit you, and bring you out of this land unto the land which He swore to give to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.”  Joseph even took an oath of the children of Israel that they would take his bones with them when they left for the Promised Land.

This was not a whim on Joseph’s part.  Hebrews 11, the great “faith chapter” of the Bible, tells us in verse 22 that it was “By faith…Joseph gave commandment concerning his bones.”  Two hundred years later, as Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt’s captivity and across the floor of the Red Sea, he did not forget to take Joseph’s bones with them. (Exodus 13:19)

So, by faith, Joseph was buried in the Promised Land.  The Land of the birth of God’s Son, Jesus; the Land of His miracles and ministry; the Land of His sacrificial death on Calvary and the Land of His mighty Resurrection!

So great was the Resurrection power of Christ, that when the earth shook, “…graves were opened, and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, and came out of the graves after His resurrection, and went into the holy city, and appeared to many.” (Mathew 27:52,53)  They were the “small sheaf” of the great harvest of the “Redeemed of The Lord!” that would follow later. Was Joseph in that “small sheaf?”  Did he have revelation knowledge that impelled him to be buried in the Land “for such a time as this?”  Personally, I’m all for Joseph being one of those saints who did walk out of their graves into Jerusalem, testifying that, “Now is Christ risen from the dead and become the first fruits of them that slept.”  Hallelujah, what a Savior!

“HE IS RISEN!”  That declaration split the history of this world in two: before the Cross and after.  Hallelujah!  Death is conquered, shattered and abolished once and for all by The victorious Christ Who rose from the dead that Easter morning.  He was …“declared to be the Son of God with power, according to the spirit of holiness, by the resurrection from the dead.”  (Romans 1:4)

It is the resurrection of Jesus that sets Christianity apart from all other religions.  Only Jesus leaves behind Him an empty tomb!  And with unassailable assurance Jesus tells all who believe in Him, and trust Him as their Savior, …“Because I live, ye shall live also.”  (John 14:9)

How easy it is for a child to grasp that truth.  I recall a wonderful demonstration of a child’s joyful response in the face of death.  It was around Easter time, and my husband Dale, Kevin, Keith and I were at the cemetery service of a dear Christian friend.  It was the closing minutes of quiet prayer.

Suddenly, a group of little children began plucking roses from the many wreaths around the grave.  Spontaneously, they began to skip and dance among the gravestones, singing, “Jesus loves me,” as they handed a rose with a smile to each adult.  What an act of worship!  Their roses became waving palm branches of the triumphant resurrection: “O, death where is thy sting?  O, grave where is thy victory?”  To such Kingdom of Heaven little citizens I dedicate my Christian Mother Goose version of “Ring-A-Ring O’ Roses.”

HE IS RISEN!  HE IS COMING BACK!  This was in the heart of those little dancing disciples with roses and smiles.

Yet, from the day of the resurrection of Jesus, when the two Marys ran the first resurrection “marathon” to tell the good news to His disciples that The Lord was risen – even until today – many attempts have been made to explain away the empty tomb and the many appearances of The Living Lord – all to no avail.

When will the poor, unbelieving heart realize (as a British Bible teacher once said) “Our arms are too short to box with God.”  How much better to believe that God really loves us and has shown it by the great salvation in Jesus, offered to all, “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.”  (Romans 3:23)

And so dear friends of the Fellowship of the Blog, we can see the testimony of the words, “Because He lives!” all around us.   The “Son of righteousness has risen with healing in His wings.”  Healing for all that is wounded in our lives.  His Resurrection brings us new life, bright new hope, new encouragement, new strength and new peace and joy.  Our Easter Champion, The Lord Jesus Christ, strongly reminds us, saying: “Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”

So be of good cheer, fellow earthlings.  And as the early Church greeted one another with “HE IS RISEN!”…and their friends responded with, “HE IS RISEN INDEED!”…may we exchange that same joyful greeting this Easter.

Happy Easter Blessings,

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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Warm Greetings, Dear Blog-Nog Friends,

On this cold and snowy day, I am looking out of my kitchen bay window. I see last night’s blizzard left a huge donation of snow, which continues to pile up as I write, with pen in hand, by our cozy fireplace.  Its friendly warmth continues to cheer us up as we remain marooned at home on top of Decker Hills for a few days.

But standing bravely through the snow I see the green tips of my lilies, determined to herald Easter time, snow or not!  They are growing near the door of Mr. Rabbit’s home.  He’s a recent addition to the neighborhood, now residing under the east side of our back porch deck.  Mr. Possum (on the west side), and Mr. Turtle (on the north side), don’t seem to mind at all.

Well, this is a good day for hot tea, and the Easter Season tradition of Hot Cross Buns to remind us of our Lord’s Cross of Redemption.

The term “Hot Cross Buns” was formerly a London street vendor’s cry, and recorded as far back as 1733.  The “jingle” cry of the street vendor was: “Good Friday comes this month, the old woman runs, With one or two a penny hot cross buns.”  Later, it became the rhyme we know today (and then the Christian Mother Goose rhyme below).

Traditionally, the children sang “Hot Cross Buns” on Good Friday, when the buns were eaten for breakfast.  But by the time the rhyme reached – over the centuries – to my childhood in Liverpool, we  eagerly ate the buns as early as we could, all the way to Easter Sunday.  Then, after Easter, if any were left at the bakery in Rose Vale, we could buy a generous bag full of hot cross buns for just one big copper penny and a “ha-penny.”

The cry “Hot Cross Buns!”  has been heard through generations since 1733.  “I am The Bread of life,” has been the cry of The Son of God from eternity past, as He looked down the path of time to each and every Easter.  Jesus said in John 6:33, “For the Bread of God is He Who cometh down from heaven, and giveth life unto the world.” – true life: everlasting life, which was lost through the calamity of sin.

But God’s love confronts that calamity by the Cross of His dear Son.

The shed blood of Christ that cleanses us from all sin and welcomes all of us outcasts into His arms, without reservation, by our simply believing in The One Who died on the Cross to pay the price of our redemption from sin and death.  And even a hot cross bun can be used for a child to know that “The preaching of the Cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God.” (I Corinthians 1:18)

Behind some of the rhymes and stories in Christian Mother Goose are true incidents which inspired them.  One such rhyme” is “How Do Easter Lilies Hear?”  Here is the actual “story behind the story.”

It began in our local grocery store on the day before Good Friday.  I was in the floral

department when I noticed my friend, Barbara, staring at the Easter lilies – I should say plants, as no lilies were in bloom on the few pots left.  I had bought two pots; one was the last pot with lilies open, and the other pot with six lilies tightly closed.

Barbara picked up a pot, put it in her basket, looked at it for a minute, and then put it back on the shelf.  I surmised the reason for her decision.  I knew her household budget was hard pressed at home, with her husband between jobs at the time.  And most likely, groceries were the top priority for her.

I quickly paid for my two pots and then found Barbara in the soup aisle.  Without explanation, I held up the two pots, “Pick one, Barb,” I said.  Then I felt ashamed that I hadn’t just given her the one with lilies blooming. (Oh, dear Lord, here comes a confession of repentance again.)  Well, Barb picked the non-blooming pot, over my now-too-late insistence to take the blooms.

Then she shed a few tears, holding the dormant lilies, which only made me feel worse.  “The girls so wanted Easter lilies for Easter,” she stuttered.  I just hugged her and dashed off home, feeling guilty every time I looked at those blooming lilies, never knowing how God would bless that half-attempt at good neighborliness.

The next week, I bumped into Barbara again.  She was radiant as she told me the story of the six closed-up lilies as it came from her 5-year-old little girl’s lips.  Here it is, as I wrote the details in rhyme for the Christian Mother Goose series:

What a lovely lesson of God’s creative power in the laws of His plant kingdom!  A little child recognized those six lilies opened at His command and shed their fragrance in honor of our risen Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  Indeed, “A little child shall lead them.”  And that is the motto and insignia of Christian Mother Goose.  How wonderful if grown-ups would hear when “God told them to open and bloom.”

I remember an older man saying: “If I am so good-for-nothing, why did God pay such a high price for me?”  That wise question truly helps us to see the only answer: the infinite, never-ending love of God.  The God of Easter Who, as the beloved A.W. Tozer wrote: “To the frightened He is friendly; to the poor in spirit He is forgiving; to the ignorant He is considerate; to the weak He is gentle; to the stranger, hospitable.”  How can we not love such a Heavenly Father!

“Come and dine, the Master calleth.”  He has a place at His table for you and me. (And I believe we can even request Heavenly Hot Cross Buns.)

Happy Easter Blessings!!

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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Dear Friends of the Fellowship of the Blog,

Greetings!  It’s the crack of dawn, and as I pondered the theme of ‘water’ woven into the rhyme of “Jack and Jill,”  I was driven to the kitchen for my lifetime habit (instilled by the admonition of my mother in England)  to drink a cup of hot water, with a little lemon juice and honey, first thing each morning.  I’m not sure she would agree with my swapping Bragg’s brand apple cider vinegar and stevia (a natural sugar substitute from the health food store) for the lemon juice and honey, but since she is with the Lord in Heaven, she is past the foibles of earthlings.

Yes, indeed, the foibles of us earthlings are many!  Some are big, some are little, some are foolish and some are funny.  Even Jack and Jill present a question of curiosity as to why they should go UP a hill for water, when water seeks its own level.  Was their climb and struggle quite unnecessary, and perhaps a telling picture of the almost humorous mishaps of earthlings whose struggles and thirst are often a case of wrong perspective?

Many hot summers ago, our family fell right into that wrong “perspective struggle” one scorching 4th of July in the desert of Western Colorado.  After a morning of patriotic parades, and a big picnic lunch at home under our flag, there was enough of the afternoon left for an interesting mini-expedition.  What could be better than a trek into the mysterious “meteorite” hole less than an hour away from our home?  After all, it “didn’t look far” from the highway, and the “short hike” would do us good – just a nice “little excursion.”  We might even find some out-of-this-world rocks!  (Note: the words in quotes are dangerous traps).  So off went the Decker earthlings: Father Dale, Mother Marjorie – with sons Glen, Bradley, Kevin and Keith in tow.

We had learned about the meteorite crater from a geologist friend of Dale.  He said the crater was largely unknown, even though he estimated it to be in the league of the record-holder meteorite crater in Arizona.  The Colorado hole was about 20 miles away in the bulging, barren hills and high mesas of a semi-arid expanse of lonely land.  Occasionally, we traveled the highway that wandered through that moonscape-like area.  We knew exactly the only spot where the meteorite hole could be seen between hills.  It came into view for just a few seconds as the car raced by.  Our boys would wait, tense with excitement, to catch this rare sight and shout, “There it is!” – then it was gone.

But this July 4th was special.  We parked the car and shouted, “Here we are!”  As our trek began, everything seemed intensely hotter – the sun, the sandy ground, even those bulging hills oozed their own hot air down on us.  Still, the meteorite hole didn’t seem very far away, and the lure of an out-of-this-world trek into the bowels of an asteroid’s collision with earth kept us going.  The boys scampered ahead, while Dale and I kept an eye out for unusual cosmic rock specimens like the one someone found at the Meteor Crater in Arizona below.

Suddenly, I noticed strange markings in the sand.  “Look! Hieroglyphics!”  I shouted.  Dale rushed up, took a long look at my archeological find, and then burst out laughing.  “Those are the imprints of the boys’ tennis shoes,” he chuckled.  “Let’s catch up with them.”

By now, the “short outing” was becoming more like a book of the children of Israel’s wilderness journey of “Forty Years to a Purpose-Driven Hike.”  We wondered why the “not-so-far-away” hole never seemed to get any closer. Nevertheless, we kept on trudging along until we reached the rim.  Making matters worse for our now-thirsty nomadic clan, like fools, we decided to descend into the earth’s deep wound – likely inflicted by a catastrophic blow delivered by an ill-mannered asteroid at some 25,000 miles per hour.

At the bottom of that vast meteorite hole, sunburned and parched, sat six weary earthlings, contemplating how far we had walked and how thirsty we were as we looked around this hole that had been quietly minding its own business for countless millenia.  To us, the task might have been equal to climbing out of the famous Arizona Crater (that measures 4,100 feet across and 570 feet deep) shown here.

Worst of all, we had come without water for each of us.  Oh, foolish earthlings!  Oh, for a drink of water!  We were exhausted. Then a spark of deliverance came as twelve-year-old Bradley said, “Here, Mom, I brought a canteen of water with me.”  What heavenly bliss to wet our parched lips with blessed water – those precious sips sustained our labored ascent to the top.

There were barely enough rationed sips for the long walk back to the highway.  I also noticed Bradley gave most of his sips to little Keith. (Brad, the reward of Mark 9:41 is yours)

As the sun was setting, we finally reached the car along the side of the highway.  What a glorious sight!  Bradley’s water was long gone and our hope for a desperately needed drink was the filling station fifteen miles away.  Alas, the only drink they had when we pulled up on that scorching day was limeade pop – ten warm cans of it. We bought every one and drank with hearts of thanksgiving.  Oh, yes, we did bring back a small bag of what appeared to be meteorite rocks, but they couldn’t compete with the joy of warm, wet limeade.

Like “Jack and Jill,” we had climbed a hill, only ours was an upside down hill called a hole.  But, whether UP or DOWN,  we are all thirsty earthlings, often directed by deluded perspective, only to find at the top of the hill, or down in a hole, that our thirst is not quenched by a pail that has just a “drop in the bucket.”

There is an ocean of Living Water in Jesus Who said, “Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst, but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” (John 4:14).  Jesus, The Lord of Glory, climbed the hill of Calvary to pour out His life and His love to every precious earthling.  And as Astronaut Jim Irwin, our Apollo 15 friend, wrote to us: “His love from the moon – You are more than earthlings because of His love and grace.”

Be encouraged today.  Our Heavenly Father is watching over you. Until next time, be refreshed walking with Jesus – The Living Water.

Until next time fellow Blog-Nogs, cheerio for now,

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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Happy Thoughts to all of Our BlogNog Readers,

Through my writing room window, I sometimes witness delightful scenes from God’s creation playing out before my eyes.  Just a while ago, I saw “Mr. Turtle” (who lives next door to the ‘Possum family under our kitchen deck) slowly taking a stroll towards a virtual village of huge mushrooms growing near the house…at least I hope they are mushrooms and not toadstools.  This perky village sprang up overnight and resembles a sporty umbrella-filled resort!

Mrs. Turtle must have been involved in some road-rage incident as she was passing a “Shell” station, as I see she has a fifty-cent size dent in her “mobile” home shell.  But, as slow as the turtle family is (running on low octane?), they are determined to be on the move daily for whatever purpose they have in mind.

And that brings me to the theme of today’s blog: the comings and goings of motion-driven earthlings, and the transportation used to get there!  Earthlings have learned that from the tiny atoms in the cells of our bodies, to the big cities across the globe, mankind is in constant motion!  With or without a purpose, earthlings must be on the move, going somewhere, doing something!  And what fantastic lengths they go to in order to accomplish some of these exploits.

Consider “Lawn Chair Larry,” the man who, in 1982, flabbergasted airline pilots when they passed him, floating at 15,000 feet above the Los Angeles Airport seated in his lawn chair!

Larry had purchased 45 weather balloons, and several tanks of helium to strap to a sturdy lawn chair as phase one of his flight plan.  Phase two was to anchor the chair to his jeep bumper, inflate the balloons with helium, pack a lunch and load his pellet gun.  He planned to float for a few hours above his rooftop, enjoy the novelty, and then pop the balloons with his pellet gun when he wanted to come down.

But, when the mooring lines to Larry’s flying lawn chair were prematurely cut by the house roof’s sharp edge, Larry shot into the Los Angeles sky like a rock from a slingshot;  zooming up to 15,000 feet!  Terrified, Larry wouldn’t dare pop balloons for a descent at that altitude!  So he drifted for hours…. Pilots from two different airlines radioed the L.A. tower, saying they had just flown past a man flying in a balloon-powered lawn chair at 15,000 feet!

The Los Angeles airport swung into action and dispatched a helicopter to investigate.  No, the airline pilots hadn’t lost their minds, for there was Larry, cold, frightened, and probably praying for all he was worth.  Larry eventually did shoot some of his balloons with his pellet gun, allowing himself to slowly drift back to earth, some ten miles from where he began.  Unfortunately, Larry undershot his attempt to land on the Long Beach Country Club grounds and wound up caught in some powerlines (which caused a blackout in Long Beach when utility crews had to cut power to the lines to get Larry down).

Now, back to earth….Whoever, back in antiquity, invented the first wheel really set things in motion!  But later it was Henry Ford who put America on wheels and in motion with his Model A car. Since then, we’ve seen mankind racing about on wheel contraptions of every sort.  Penny-farthing bicycles, tricycles, motor cycles…wheels, wheels, ad infinitum.

I wonder if Henry Ford ever read the prophecy in the Book of Nahum, where it is written:  “The chariots shall rage in the streets, they shall jostle one against another in the broad ways: they shall seem like torches, they shall run like the lightnings.” (Nahum 2:4)  Just substitute the word “car” for Nahum’s chariots, and what do we see?  A perfect picture of today’s highways.

I’ve heard of  road rage, but just last week I fell prey to “shopping cart rage” in our local Wal-Mart.  (My, my, whoever heard of such a thing!)

However, shopping cart rage must differ from road rage in decorum and etiquette.   You see, the lady who came flying  around the corner – thoroughly thumping and squashing me against the vegetable display – immediately offered to let me thoroughly thump her in return…she was so contrite!  I’ll let you guess the NASCAR outcome…ha, ha!

Recently, I saw a picture of a Segway Personal Transporter, advertised as the two-wheeled “future of transportation.”  Someone said, “What a blessing for all walks of life.  Even monks could use a Segway to race to their quarters to have more time to be still.”  Hmmm?

Well, may I present the true future of transportation:  Some fascinating, thrilling examples of transport in the Kingdom of God!

For one, the Old Testament prophet Elijah, as he parted from Elisha, was caught up into Heaven by a chariot of fire.  Spectacular!  Philip, a New Testament evangelist, after leading a man of Ethiopia to faith in Christ Jesus, was instantly transported from Gaza by the Spirit of The Lord, and appeared at once in Azotus (Ashdod).

Then the most amazing transport of all!  On the morning of the resurrection of The Lord Jesus, Mary Magdalene was overjoyed to see Jesus Himself standing before her at the tomb.  The Lord said to her, “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God and your God.”   (John 20:17)

Jesus had yet to ascend to Heaven with His sacrificial blood of atonement.  Yet, that same day he met with His disciples without bodily restraint at all; thus showing He had accomplished His mission in Heaven and returned to earth the same day!

Space, gravity and time are mere servants of the Living Lord Who created them.  Our Christian Mother Goose Rhyme echoes a child’s belief in the certainty of heaven and the promise that we will return to earth again one day with Christ our Lord.

And it is this glorious “Daystar” Lord of whom Paul says: “For in Him, we live, and move, and have our being.” (Acts 17:28)  God’s children live and move by faith in The Lord Jesus Christ, Who said, “For with God, all things are possible.”

The world may frantically move in restlessness and motion, but as Augustine said, “Thou hast made us for thyself, Oh God, and our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee.”

Surely the day is fast approaching when Jesus will return to earth again, even as He promised.  No need for planes, cars or wheels; we shall meet The Lord in the air, and so we shall ever be with Him.  Hallelujah!

So, dear BlogNogs, climb aboard your prayers.  Your prayers are “faith in motion.”  Trust Jesus for the “impossible” today!

Until next time, Blessings and Peace to you.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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HAPPY NEW YEAR to my dear fellow BlogNog Friends,

May 2013 be filled with bright, new hope in our faithful Lord Who said, “Behold, I make all things new.”

To ring in the “new” we rang our smaller version of America’s Liberty Bell.  It’s housed in our Flag Garden here at our Decker Hills home.

What a glorious day it must have been when the original Liberty Bell first rang out announcing the Declaration of Independence on July 8, 1776.

And what an apt Scripture (Leviticus 25:10) is inscribed upon it: “Proclaim Liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof.”  I pray that still rings true of America today.

Curiously, the Liberty Bell was cast in England in 1752.  And at that time, the old rhyme called “The Bells of London” was already a favorite, although the children sang it as, “Oranges and Lemons.”

That’s the version I knew well, as a child, and the one I paraphrased to honor God’s Creation in my first Christian Mother Goose Book, released in 1978.  Later, the rhyme was beautifully orchestrated in the Dove award finalist album, “The Christian Mother Goose Musical Adventure” CD.

When you hear the many mystical church bells in symphony on the CD, remember – those Bells of London can still be visited today.  Their fascinating history recalls characters, such as the money-lenders, like old Ebenezer Scrooge of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol,” who lived within the sound of St. Martin’s bells.  Or, their unfortunate clients who failed to pay back the money-lenders on time, and were sent to Fleet Street Debtors’ Prison, where they languished under the sound of Old Bailey’s bells.

Then, the inspiring Bells of Bow in the story of Dick Whittington (1606).  This young, penniless, runaway lad heard the chimes of the Bow Bells calling to him, seeming to sing prophetically: “Turn again, Whittington, Lord Mayor of London.”  Stirred and encouraged beyond all his miserable circumstances, he returned to London where he became wealthy, and, eventually, Lord Mayor of London.

Sadly, those ancient Bow Bells were silenced by Nazi bombs in World War II.  When war comes to your doorstep, everything changes radically.  My own youthful days, growing up in wartime Liverpool, were changed, overnight, forever.  Go back with me to those days:

As the air raids over our city began, it was a strange sight, especially for children, to see colossal, grey barrage balloon dirigibles floating in the sky above us.  They were meant as a defense against enemy bombers, but seemed quite ineffective.  To me, they looked like sad, giant bumblebees who had lost their yellow coats.

World War II Barrage Balloon

Soon after the launching of those barrage balloons, our beekeeper friend, Mr. Yardley, dropped in to see us, obviously bursting with news to tell us. He couldn’t even wait for a cup of tea!  (That’s serious for an Englishman)  So we gave him the floor, and here’s what trumped the tea:

A great swarm of bees had lodged in the pipe organ of a large church.  What a choice place some Queen Bee had chosen for her family gathering, complete with full power amplifiers through all those organ pipes to announce the event.  The “buzz” announcement did not fall on deaf ears!  In fact, the relentless buzzing absolutely guaranteed empty pews the next Sunday – wartime-needed prayers or not.

So, the police were called to conquer – but the buzzing won! The Fire Station was then called – again, the buzzing won!

Then someone recommended Mr. Yardley, the beekeeper.  He was told he could get a huge swarm of bees if he could smoke them out and save the peace.  He hastily arrived on the scene with his equipment.  From the roar of the buzzing, he gleefully anticipated his reward as the smoking-out began.

Suddenly, the great buzzing ceased, and, to his amazement and chagrin, one single solitary bumblebee surrendered to the smoke.  No great swarm (to add to his hive) to justify the uproar.  Just one bumblebee inside the mighty resonance of the pipe organ had thwarted the police, the firemen, and turned a neighborhood upside down!  “Ah – I’ll have that cup of tea now.”

However, thinking about the bells and the bumblebee, I see an abiding principle at work:  It was only in the huge church bell that the small clapper found its ability to ring out across London.  It was only in the resonant pipe organ that the little bumblebee could impact a city’s district.

And it is only in Christ that we frail, flawed earthlings can be transformed with newness of life – eternal life! –  new purpose, new desires and a new destiny.  As it is written in II Corinthians 5:17: “Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creation; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”

How miraculous it is to us that the freshness, sparkle, surprise  and delight of the “new” is ever present with God.  Earthlings everywhere are saying, “Happy New Year!”  But it is only with trust in Christ Jesus, The Lord, Who makes all things new, that the year 2013 will remain “new” in the highest and dearest sense.

As I think of all the resolutions I’m making this New Year, I have to chuckle at yet another saying that crops up in the Decker family to drive home a point of need.  My older brother, Jimmy, coined the phrase when he came home after six years away in World War II. Clothing was still heavily rationed, and new shirts scarce.   Grinning, Jimmy said, “Here’s a button, all I need is a shirt sewn on it!”

So, echoing Jimmy’s homespun appeal, I say, “Lord, here are my good resolutions,” (the button).  “All I need is the power to perform them!” (the shirt).  Praise God, His power is not rationed.  It is free and abundant to all “button” believers in “Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God.”  (I Corinthians 1:24)

May God’s grace, peace and love “ring out” to all my Blog-Nog-Button friends.  Happy New Year’s Blessings!

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Christian Mother Goose®

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Merry Christmas Dear Friends of the fellowship of the Blog,

Christmastime is here!  This week, it brought plunging temperatures and frosty cold that made us welcome the season’s first cheery blaze in our fireplace.  Kevin and I consider the lit fireplace almost another member of the family – “swaddling” us in the comfort of its warmth.

When I grew up in England, homes depended entirely on fireplaces for heat.  Our coal man would deliver coal in 100 lb. sacks.  The living room fireplace was indeed the heart of the home.  This forever remained a symbol to me, especially when I encountered the snowy winters of Colorado.  Later, when my husband Dale and I bought a house in Grand Junction, Colorado, that had no fireplace, it seemed forlorn and entirely “unswaddled.”

So, being a man of many talents, Dale set to work to build a fireplace of his own design.  It took nearly nine months!  But, if you knew Dale’s penchant for “built-to-last” projects, you would not be surprised that the fireplace went through numerous architectural stages.  It was the only fireplace I ever saw where the ashes could be emptied from outside the house.  It also drew admiration for its sturdiness when our boys said it could withstand a tornado!  The brick exterior concealed reinforced concrete that was poured around the firebrick flue chamber all the way to the top of the chimney!

By Christmas time, the fireplace was finished.  And just before snow began to fall, the house was warmly swaddled with a big fireplace blazing cheerily.  As we sat together around the fireside glow, we gave Father Dale a big round of applause for building this big “heart of the home.”  Humpty Dumpty’s Christmas Song of “togetherness” fit right in to the happy scene.

On another snowy Christmas Sunday, when high drifts made the road to our small country church impassable, we found being marooned at home was a marvelous way to discover a child’s unique version of the Christmas Story.

It began with never-before-heard-of carols, when Keith, then age 6, jumped forward to lead the singing, and Kevin, at 9, immediately joined him with his Bible ready for preaching.  The rest of us were a captive audience.

The first song is “Slow Elk,” Keith announced.  That was the first revelation, as he robustly sang, “Slow elk, slow elk,” to the tune of “Noel, Noel.”  And he hung on to his own Slow Elk rendition in spite of his congregation’s conflicting “Noel’s.”  The next revelation was the “Dark Colony”, which turned out to be the Doxology, with praise from the “Heavenly Hoe,” and the admonition to preachers: “Praise Him all ‘preachers‘ here below.” (instead of creatures)

But wait!  Revisionist history continued as Kevin earnestly opened with the King James Version of the Christmas story, beginning with: “And Joseph…with Mary his exposed (espoused) wife….  Then, pausing, he soared into his own free-wheeling recitation, taking us back to the Red Sea where, surprisingly, Nebuchadnezzar turned up to chase the escaping Israelites.  Then, on to Jonah, who first headed for England instead of Nineveh.  But, when God took him to Nineveh by whale, to preach the Gospel, the King there repented in a gunny-sack!

And so the Christmas story flew back and forth between Old Testament heroics and New Testament shepherds, angels, wise men, and finally arriving with Herod challenging the “scribbles”
(scribes) as to the birth of Jesus.

When Kevin finished with, “Ladies and gentlemen, friends, members of the church, I’ve preached the Gospel in South Africa and North Carolina, and…I’m tired,” Keith quickly led in the “Dark Colony” again, and we all clapped heartily.

I dare say that home-spun (i.e. mixed up), but heart-felt performance of two little boys on that snow-bound Sunday, was as precious to our Savior as the grandest service in the Canterbury Cathedral.

After all, it was not in a palace or cathedral that the shepherds made haste to find the One of whom the angel said to them: “Fear not; for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, Who is Christ The Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:10-12)

The birth of The Lord Jesus Christ was not heralded with trumpets and a royal parade; not accompanied by a legion of angelic hosts on white horses.  The shepherds were told to look for the sign of a Savior wrapped in swaddling clothes  – a baby in a manger!

What a miracle!  A Christmas miracle!  The One Who lit the furnace of the sun, was the One the shepherds found wrapped in linen strips of swaddling clothes to keep warm.  The One Who is the Word of God, they found silent in the first hours of His humanity!  God incarnate: Jesus – very God and very Man.

What sacred mysteries surround the love of God, to pour out His love and redemption in the Person of His Son to this needy world.

At last, after thousands of years containing hundreds of prophecies foretelling His coming, The Christ child was born!

This Christmastime, God’s  open invitation still rings out to all earthlings.  No one is too high or too low to accept the free Gift of God, which is eternal life through Jesus Christ, our Lord.

May this earth ring with: “Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable Gift!”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Merry Christmas! And God bless us all!

Christian Mother Goose®

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Hello to all you good friends of the Fellowship of the Blog,

But it’s “Goodbye” to my particular “three bags full” of “stuff” saved for years because “We might need this stuff someday!”  Well…now those bags are off to the Salvation Army to help those in need.

Baa, Baa Black Sheep’s three bags full are a different story.  Raw sheep’s wool in 1744 (when this rhyme was published), was in high demand and of great value.

Wool has always been a major industry in England – beginning with the Roman occupation in 55 B.C. and throughout the centuries, it continues to enjoy world-renowned leadership in superior wool.  Australia was actually colonized by a successful sheep-raising industry.

Charles Dickens handily used Australian sheep-raising for his rags-to-riches Magwitch character in “Great Expectations.”  Magwitch, a convict, had been deported to Australia.  Dickens would smile to learn that a bale of world-class Australian wool brought $247,480.00 at auction in 2008.

Recently, I labeled the entire efforts of all mankind as “three bags full,” stamped with all the selling, borrowing, lending, buying, and bargaining it took to fill them!

Even Springtime gets involved, bringing out that wonderfully amusing staple of Springtime in Americana – Yard Sales.  Like rabbits scurrying out of winter burrows, happy bands of “yard sailors” are racing from “sea to bargain sea,” on lawns and driveways across our land.  Such wonderful surprises at deliciously low prices.  But, an expert “yard sailor” told me the best part is a day’s outing of fun and sun.

With such encouragement, I enlisted Dale and Kevin to go with me to a giant yard sale being held by a church in town.  I was looking for a certain small desk for my studio.  The church was a large, ecclesiastical-looking edifice, festooned with banners flying at the entrance announcing “All-Church Yard Sale.”  My chances of finding the desk here were very good, we all agreed.  So we drove in through the waving flags.

A woman cautiously opened the church door and said in a hushed tone, “Come in. The rest will be here soon.”  Since the large hall was empty, I asked where we could view the yard sale items.  The lady stared at me, and said, “This is the meeting for Alcoholics Anonymous.”  “But I’m a tea-totaler,” I told her, to which she shot back with a wink, “So is everyone else who’s coming here!”  We drove away laughing, but had to conclude the waving “Yard Sale” sign may have been a discreet code which valiant AA members would recognize.

By the way, I did find a desk – just about the same size as the small one C.S. Lewis used.

I know because I once had the writer’s treat of signing books seated at the little desk that produced the mighty works of the “Chronicles of Narnia.”

At the beginning of this blog, I mentioned the Salvation Army - the most respected and trusted charitable organization in the world – and it is Christian!  It’s founder, Englishman William Booth (1829-1912) outstripped even Charles Dickens in the harshness of his childhood. Apprenticed to a local pawnbroker after leaving school at 13, he worked surrounded by the sad possessions of the poor.  But he had a heart for God, the Gospel, and a burning desire to alleviate the poverty and misery of the poor.

I bring this up to pin-point my own observations of the pawnshop, as a child in England.

When I was sent on errands to Mr. Lanyon’s dairy, I mused about a lot of things in my ten-year old heart.  How did Mr. Lanyon’s cows survive in a cobblestone courtyard? And across the street was the pawnshop.  What was in the big bundles carried in through the side door on Monday, then carried out again on Saturday?  Around the corner was the pawnshop’s window with beautiful gold watches and jewelry.

I found out the “side door” bundles contained the only thing of value the poor could pledge for a week’s loan of money: their woolen blankets and overcoats.  They had only one week to redeem them.  The jewelry in the window “around the corner” was from the rich customers, who had more time to redeem their treasures.  Nevertheless, both borrowers were all in the pawnshop!

In later years, I see what a dramatic picture this is of us all.  Rich or poor; whether we have three bags full of wool or treasure, we are all in life’s pawnshop, helpless, because money cannot redeem us.  Redemption time is ticking, and at stake is our eternal life!

Thank God we have a Redeemer, willing and able to pay the price of our redemption. “Forasmuch as ye know that ye were not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold…But with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot.”  (1.Peter 1:18-19)  To poor pawnshop bundles the Lord says: “Fear not, for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.”  I found my Redeemer in time, and I hope you have, too.

Blessings and Cheerio! for now,

Christian Mother Goose®

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