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To any new readers, welcome aboard, folks. Fasten your seat belts.
A few things you should know. First, this isn’t a farm and food blog. If it were, it’d be called Farmilicious or Chick & Biscuit or Butterbean Babe.
I’m a suburban girl who didn’t grow up on a farm and doesn’t live on a farm now. I write all sorts of things. You never know what’s coming next, and neither do I.
This isn’t a devotional, although there are Bible verses that apply to the posts.
This isn’t a music blog either, but I really like music, hence the links to songs. Like a soundtrack for a movie.
Now about yesterday’s post Food Fright. Your response encouraged me to take inventory. Lo and behold, a pattern emerged.
Posts about what’s true and what’s not true about farming and food matter to you.
field of dreams
Since Milk Wars exploded a year ago, I’ve met a lot of cool people. Yesterday reminded me there are stories waiting to be told. Questions begging for answers.
Is my food safe? Are farms ruining the environment? Who’s behind all this? Will there be a Madagascar 4?
So among the posts about the dog, the family, the ups and down, the cosmetics and clothes, the social issues and flashback hits, don’t be surprised to see more about farming and food.
Chick & Biscuit can take a hint.
Let them praise the Lord for His great love
and for the wonderful things He has done for them.
For He satisfies the thirsty
and fills the hungry with good things. Psalm 107:8-9 NLT
Consider this is your sign. Your ride is parked at the curb. The doors are open. Get on the bus.
And just as each person is destined to die once and after that comes judgment,so also Christ died once for all time as a sacrifice to take away the sins of many people. He will come again, not to deal with our sins, but to bring salvation to all who are eagerly waiting for him. Hebrews 9:27-28 NLT
Funk musician Frankie Smith says, “Get on the bus!” The Double Dutch Bus.
I have a tiny bone to pick with Wellesley High School English teacher David McCullough’s assessment, “You’re not special.”
You’ve probably heard about McCullough’s “You’re Not Special” commencement speech. Delivered on June 1, the speech quickly went viral.
king of the world?
It’s not hard to understand why this speech appeals to folks. Much of what we teach our children and how we treat them hinges on overprotection. We work very hard to prevent bad things from happening to them. We do all we can to ensure their success. We treat them as if they are, well, special.
They may get the idea they are entitled to a life of ease without frustration. But the real world doesn’t work that way.
If you’ve ever struggled to earn a paycheck, overcome a hardship, or climb out of a dysfunction, you know life can be tough. The world is no respecter of persons when it comes to fairness. The sun rises and the rain falls on the righteous and the unrighteous, the special and the ordinary.
As an occasional helicopter parent, I agree with the gist of McCullough’s speech. But it troubles me for another reason.
I cringe because the speech’s implication is as dangerous as what it argues against.
“You see, if everyone is special, then no one is,” said McCullough. In order to be special, we must do something special. Our worth depends on our performance.
And if no one is special, then is every one replaceable? Disposable even? If only those who perform and do something special—if only those have worth—who’s to say what’s to become of the rest of us?
Our children, including the young adults graduating from Wellesley High School this year, are special to their families. Or at least they should be. They’re special to their country as our best natural resource. Or at least they should be.
Most assuredly, they’re special to God. So are you and I.
With God, your worth doesn’t depend on what you do or don’t do. He created you, so you have intrinsic value. He loves you, so you have worth. He died and rose to save your life, so your life is beyond price.
all hands on deck
Maybe it’s semantics. I wish McCullough would have said, “You’re not entitled.” Of course that doesn’t sound nearly as provocative as, “You’re not special.”
And I suppose he’s right. Performance is our measure in this world’s economy.
Thank God it’s not our measure in His eyes.
God saved you by His grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. Ephesians 2:8-9 NLT
That’s my take from 40 days of WordAds. I didn’t expect to make much, but $5.85?
Christmas 2013
I don’t even get paid until I reach $100. At this rate, I’ll see my first check in time for holiday shopping—Christmas 2013!
The ads were charming, but distracting. I couldn’t approve them in advance or negotiate fees, yet they commandeered some of the best space on my page.
As my friend Janice of A Colorful Adventure said about her experience with ads on her blog, “I wanted the prime real estate for myself!”
Me too, Janice. So I’m ending my WordAds Beta.
The quest for ways to generate income doing what I like to do continues. I have a few ideas up my sleeve. Or maybe a more traditional approach is in order.
You never know until you try.
I remain confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the Lord. Psalm 27:13-14 NIV
This is not a political blog. If you want to know how to vote, there are plenty of other websites that will be more than happy to tell you.
red state vote 2012
Am I thrilled with either of the presidential candidates? Not really. Does that change my responsibility? Not really.
The larger question is, am I an American citizen who cares about my country? The answer is yes and the mission is clear: VOTE.
As ugly as campaigns get, the vote is sacred. Your ballot is secret, between you and God.
You could go from here to November without revealing your opinion about the issues or publicly throwing your support behind a candidate. Or you could shout your convictions from the rooftops. Doesn’t matter. When you cast your ballot on November 6, 2012, your vote will speak as loudly as Bill Maher’s, Rush Limbaugh’s, Rachel Maddow’s, or Ann Coulter’s.
blue state vote 2012
To me, that’s something to be excited about.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, use these months before election day to prepare. Get registered. Get informed. Get ready.
With courage for the process and respect for the privilege—without getting wrapped up in the histrionics—prayerfully, politely, powerfully, prepare to VOTE.
Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of Him to whom we must give account. Hebrews 4:13 NIV
I can’t choose just one favorite Schoolhouse Rock song, but Shot Heard ‘Round the World comes close. “The continental rabble took the day!”
Please feel free to use the VOTE 2012 images from this post in your social media.
What does voting mean to you? Are you excited about it? Why or why not? If you are raising children, how will you talk with them about the election and voting?
It’s time again for another blog-cation. Today we go to the headquarters of Vyzion Entertainment where I’m posting as a guest writer.
Vyzion is a gutsy start-up that aims to bust open the marketplace of ideas for entertainment and talent.
Stephanie and Greg Bailey founded Vyzion Entertainment in 2009 as an independent record label. In 2011, the Baileys joined forces with my friend Eric Bostic and his wife Tomeka. They expanded the company by adding Vyzion Radio as a platform for independent artists and an affordable advertising venue for small businesses.
Greg describes Vyzion Radio as “international, free, public radio.”
Greg Bailey
The company is on-air 24/7 with listeners in more than 200 countries and 2,200 cities from India to Los Angeles to Detroit to their home base in North Carolina.
Vyzion DJs are not limited to a single genre like traditional radio. They are free to play the music the listeners want to hear including independent artists and DJ mixes. Bailey foresees Vyzion as a channel to introduce new music to the world.
“I want the station to be for everybody,” said Bailey.
Eric Bostic
He and Eric served in the U.S. military and strongly believe in freedom of the press, unhindered by corporate or government influence. They work to keep Vyzion self-sustaining and independent as the company grows.
Vyzion recently began to offer “exposure without exploitation” to modeling talent like Zewdi Reda Miss Ethiopia and to writers.
Guess which category I’m in.
Supermodels, you’re safe for now. I’m posting as the blogger with a topic most wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole: Truth, Grace, and NC Amendment One.
catch the Vyzion
We can try to ignore the elephant in the room or we can listen, discuss, and figure out what to do. Same way we can continue to be spoon-fed what traditional media wants to give us or we can bust open the marketplace with new ideas.
Catch the Vyzion, click over, scroll down to read my post, and let the music play.
Grace and Truth came through Jesus Christ. John 1:17 NIV
Let the Music Play by Shannon because here we play what the people want, too.
Oh, sure, there’s the good stuff. Long, sunny days. Outdoor swimming pools. Vacation plans. Quality time with the kiddo. But if I learned anything in all my years of schooling, it’s that summer is synonymous with the loss of routine.
I was one of those strange children who didn’t like weekends. More at home with the rhythm and clear expectations of the classroom, I skidded toward summer break on a downward spiral. And I know I’m not alone.
We Type As like our routines. Changes in THE PLAN are exciting, but they can be frightening at the same time.
Maybe you’re not Type A. But maybe you’re a parent. Maybe—I’m guessing here, you and your children thrive on some semblance of structure.
Come on, moms and dads. Back me up on this. Doesn’t the thought of filling all those unstructured hours of your child’s summer vacation strike a wee bit o’ fear in even the bravest of super parent hearts?
Ridiculous, I know. Yet the fear of summer lingers. It nabbed me yesterday morning in yoga class. I like my yoga instructors Grace and Boomer. I’m comfortable in this routine, this respite from the stress of relocation, motherhood, and what to cook for dinner. I don’t want to give it up.
But how will I continue to do yoga when my son’s out of school for the summer? What will I do with him during class? Turn him loose to run wild through the YMCA? Sit him in front of the Wii for an hour? What if he wanders out to the pool alone? What if (insert catastrophe)?
runs with shovel
And how will I blog this summer? When will there be time? Who will read it? What about the other projects I want to pursue? What if I miss all the opportunities? What if I wake up in September and they’re ALL GONE? What if the world ends tomorrow? What if (insert catastrophe)?
The only way to roll with the changes is one step at a time. One season at a time. That’s why they usually don’t happen all at once. Thank You, Lord.
I’ll take a cue from yoga. Follow my breath. Put my shoulders back and down. Let myself feel grounded. Take a moment to be thankful for another day.
Then I’ll put on my sunscreen and forward march into summer.
The day is Yours, and Yours also the night;
You established the sun and moon.
It was You who set all the boundaries of the earth;
You made both summer and winter. Psalm 74:16-17 NIV
Dear Routine, Though we’ve got to say good-bye for the summer, darling, I promise you this: I’ll send you all my love every day in a letter Sealed with a Kiss.
Today is the National Day of Prayer. There’s a lot of hubbub surrounding the alternative National Day of Reason—as if faith and reason are mutually exclusive. Seems fitting to turn our attention to the skeptics, people who express disbelief of Biblical truth. For that, we call in an expert.
Meet the Skeptic by Bill Foster
Meet the Skeptic, by friend Bill Foster, reached number one in Amazon’s Science and Religion category earlier this week. Congratulations, Bill!
In Meet the Skeptic, Bill presents skepticism as an opportunity to see where the need for truth lies in each individual. Bill is Gen X, so expect references to pop culture alongside illustrations and Biblical support. All this is packed into a mere 144 pages. You can read that in one sitting, people.
I asked Bill a few questions about his book. He was gracious to share these answers with me.
What inspired you to write this book?
Bill: Two main things. First, my own frustrations in talking with skeptics and feeling like I wasn’t getting anywhere even when I had answers. Second, realizing there are a lot of apologetics resources out there but people are intimidated by many of them.
What makes this different than other ways to share the Gospel?
Bill: Meet The Skeptic is more about asking the right questions to get underneath surface-level objections than it is about trying to answer every objection. It’s more about understanding worldviews and where a conversation will likely go than it is about regurgitating data. Facts and evidence are always valuable and the more knowledgeable we are about a subject the better. But I think the evidence is best used as supporting information after the skeptic’s worldview is uncovered rather than as lead-off material.
What one thing would you like people to know about sharing the Gospel with the skeptic?
Bill: We don’t need to “win” the discussion. Intellectual arguments alone will never convince anyone, only God can do that. When we engage skeptics and really try to find the deeper obstacles to their faith, we have a better chance at seeing whether or not God is working on them. If He is, great! They may be receptive to truth. But if He’s not, it doesn’t mean that He never will. It just might mean that on this occasion we’re only scratching the surface of hard ground rather than gleaning the harvest.
Find Meet the Skeptic books and study resources on the book’s website and on Amazon. God bless you, Bill, as you aid in the harvest.
“The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field. Go! I am sending you out like lambs among wolves.” Luke 10:2-3 NIV
You know it’s bad when your yoga teacher hands out weather maps in class.
red fence
“The storms are coming,” said Grace last Saturday morning. “They won’t be here until tonight, but they’re coming. Don’t know what you want to do about that.”
Saturday afternoon, I was inexplicably driven to clean. This was a momentous occasion. Our first chance to come face to face with the legendary storms of Tornado Alley. Needed to get our house in order, if only to have it flattened.
“Tonight we’ll have a slumber party,” we told our son. “We’ll be in the basement together and that’s the safest place to be.” Not counting other states or planets.
Preparation felt cursory. Unnecessary. We moved about in denial. By six o’clock, the twisters had yet to materialize. We shook our fists at the sky. Dined at a teriyaki restaurant called Tsunami. Let our son watch The Wizard of Oz at his Kids’ Night Out party. Drove home uneventfully.
buckled
Meanwhile, the sky went black and began to rain. Normal at first. Then in torrents. Hail. Wailing tornado sirens.
Our descent downstairs was a rush of grabbing the child, the dog, bottled water, pillows, a candle, lip balm. We barricaded our troop in a basement bedroom. From there we monitored the storms’ progress online. Posted updates on Facebook. Prayed.
We couldn’t see or hear the twisters from inside our bunker. Online reports were our only source of information. We quickly learned tornadoes are fickle.
The storms have turned south and will miss us. No, they’re headed north into downtown. Now they’re coming straight up the highway. Right for us!
Our camp scrambled into the bedroom closet. We huddled on the floor with our smart phones and prayers. You realize by telling you this I make you accountable. If God forbid we should ever go missing in a tornado, you are to direct rescuers to look for us in that closet.
inside
And then, without warning, it was over.
The next day, the sky was bright, sunny, and blue. We’d awakened to a life that looked the same as it had many mornings before, except for a few broken blades on our outdoor porch fan.
We wandered through Sunday trying to absorb our surroundings. Watched a storm chaser’s video of the tornadoes. Saw their smoky devil tendrils trickling downward from a smooth expanse of charcoal clouds. Mustering spins. Willing themselves into funnels.
upside down
When Midwesterners learn I grew up in North Carolina, I cannot tell you how many have said to me, “Oh, I wouldn’t want to live there. You have hurricanes!”
Hurricanes are visible on weather maps three days out. Those that make landfall wreak havoc, but most hurricanes sputter and die at sea. They are devastatingly dangerous, yet hurricanes lack the element of surprise.
We’d survived this first round. A fine welcome to Tornado Alley.
Our days on earth are like grass;
like wildflowers, we bloom and die.
The wind blows, and we are gone—
as though we had never been here.
But the love of the Lord remains forever
with those who fear him. Psalm 103:15-17 NLT
Dust in the Wind, like you’ve never seen or heard it before, by Judith Mateo.
I shot the photos in this post three miles from my home.
Last night, I read in said book about a Japanese novelist who awoke at 4 a.m. every morning for seven months to write his most important work. He would write for five hours, then jog. Requires discipline and strength, he said. Writing and running, that is.
So at 4:27 a.m. today, unplanned, I awoke. Beckoned by the power of suggestion. I can explain it no other way.
I lag behind the author from Japan. Twenty-seven minutes and umpteen books to be exact. He’s accomplished. I’m but a lowly blogger. Unsure. Beginning.
The blackness of the morning yields itself to the task. A complement to the blank white of the screen, the darkness hangs in the air, and all is quiet.
Requires concentration, I read in the book. Uninterrupted stretches of lonely pounding out, writing and jogging. Words to page, feet to pavement.
Two and a half hours, a thousand words later, the sun is up and I’m going back to bed. No jogging for me. It’s Saturday after all.
Will I do this again? Wake up in the third watch and write? I can’t say. Strength can come at any hour.
I’ve lost count of the tests and books, the hours of discussion, the rabbit trails run to determine what I’m supposed to be when I grow up.
Another career consultation looms today. Part of the relocation package. Help for the uprooted spouse.
I wonder how many people go through this. Figuring out how best to care for your family while also using your abilities to contribute meaningfully and financially with work outside the home.
Meaningfully. Oh, how I’d like to be passionate about my work.
Financially. Oh, how I’d like to be compensated for it.
I’m not much for the process. Just get to the point. Tell me the answer without the ambiguities.
But life’s not like that, is it?
The Israelites stood on the banks of the Jordan River at flood stage, waiting to cross. It had been quite a journey and Moses was dead.
The officers circulated through the camp. They told the people to watch for the ark of the covenant, the symbolic box where God lived. It would lead the way.
road full of promise
“Then you will know which way to go, since you have never been this way before.”
“Keep a distance of about a thousand yards between you and the ark; do not go near it.”
The pastor I heard teach this from Joshua 3 said the ark was far ahead of the people so all of them could see it. The distance symbolized the separation between God and the people’s sin.
Joshua then told the people, “Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do amazing things among you.”
And God did. That very day He parted the river waters for them to cross.
I don’t follow an ark. Christ’s death and resurrection closes the separation between Him and my sin. He comes near to me. Emmanuel, God with us.
Chin up, buttercup. Keep walking. Who knows what amazing things await?
Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness (or your Righteous One) will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard. Isaiah 58:8 NIV
