Purple Martin Time

 My favorite picture of our purple martins. It looked like one was waving to me just as I took the picture, and it thrilled me to death. This was taken years ago the Spring after a fall that brought a hurricane near us. You can see how beat up the edges of the house are. The martins didn't seem to mind. We haven't had any martins come to our houses in a few years, and we miss them. This is the month they usually arrive, but we have too many hawks and kites, and our bird population has dwindled. 

My oldest son said he had some martins on his martin house awhile back. Martins always come back to the houses they were born in, so he will most likely have martins this year. They send out their scouts early before settling in. God's creation is just amazing.

Here in southeast Texas we have maybe one more month of beautiful weather before the heat and humidity come to stay. We're enjoying our time outdoors while we can. Hopefully, next month I'll be able to post some pictures of the tanagers, cedar waxwings, and grosbeaks that come to feed off the mulberry bush in our backyard.

May the Lord bless you and keep you,

Claire

Still Singing Where He Leads Me

 Sang a hymn in church this morning that I remembered singing as a seventeen-year-old:

Where He leads me I will follow, where He leads me I will follow. Where He leads me I will follow. I’ll go with Him, with Him, all the way. 

Brought back my years growing up in the church and singing this song in the youth choir and later adult choir. And then singing it as a new bride, and then a new mother. 52 years later, as a grandmother, I’m still singing it. God is so faithful and trustworthy. We have no greater love than the love of God and Jesus Christ, our Lord.

True Story

 A little boy’s husky voice floated over the shelf from the cereal aisle.

“Fwost Fwakes, Mom, peas?”

I froze in disbelief. He sounded like my youngest son when he was a toddler. In that moment, the forgotten feeling of young motherhood washed over me. Instead of being the mother of college-aged men busy pursuing their education and their part-time jobs to the point we were more like distant relatives, I morphed into the mother of two little boys whose every thought, mood, and facial expressions I could anticipate as well as my own. 

Standing in the canned vegetable aisle, a tidal wave of memories rushed in without warning. Cloth diapers and pacifiers, high chairs and baby food jars, little boy voices and toys strewn all over the living room floor. I could almost feel the sharp edges of a Pocket car piercing the flesh of my heel. I couldn’t believe nineteen years had passed so quickly.

“Fwost Fwakes, Mom, peas?”

“I told you no. You’re going to finish the box of Sugar Snaps at home.”

A wail like a police siren flooded the aisles. 

My heartstrings jerked wildly. I wanted to rush over to that little guy and get him the box myself. I wanted to tell his mother to say “yes” whenever possible, to make happy memories while it was still within her power to do so, to enjoy this special time of motherhood because it would soon be over, never to return. 

While I was debating whether to risk embarrassment or mind my own business, the young  mother surrendered. “Okay, okay. Here’s your Frosted Flakes. I’ll eat the Sugar Snaps.”

Silence.

Then, “I wuv you, Mom.”

“I love you, too,” came the soft reply.

I bent over and pretended to inspect a can of green beans while tears slipped down my cheeks.

Our Chihuahua, Esther

Esther is the most unique chihuahua we've ever had. She rarely barks, stays so relaxed her ears flop over (and she could not care less), has a crooked nose and mouth, a thick neck and no tail. (Her mother accidentally bit it off while cleaning her after she was born.) She loves to nap, and she loves her ball. And we don't know what we'd do without her. Now if only we could get her house-broken! She is good most of the time but slips up now and then. Working on getting her to use the doggie door by the end of the month.