Sunrise

We started the jeep as the sun came up

and watched the sun rise three more times 

as we moved in and out of hill shadows.

The last sunrise was at Mount Joy,

at Denny’s parents' grave.

Denny’s major childhood Easter memory

is hearing his dad enthusiastically singing 

“Up From the Grave He Arose!”

and he wanted to spend Easter morning with Walt.

My own childhood memories of Easter 

involve Norman Rockwellian tables 

with tulip centerpieces at Grandma Maud’s House 

containing ham, 

scalloped potatoes,

and sour cherry pie,
which I miss immensely,
and also memories of wearing pinchy shoes

and uncomfortable slips, 

which I don’t miss at all.

One the way home from the graveyard

Denny and I recalled other Easter memories—

Sunrise singing with One Way Street 

on the ski slope in Treasure Lake.

A trip to Houghton 

when we had to pull over quickly for Luke, 

who had been sitting in the back seat 

eating every bit of chocolate from his basket.

Singing in a thatched church 

in a cornfield in Tanzania 

to the accompaniment of swishing feet, 

ululations, 

and percussion on a plastic bucket.

In Oxford’s University Church 

where one man’s “Whoopee!”

echoed in the cathedral.

To the list of memorable Easters,

we can now add 2020.

In social isolation, 

we Zoomed Sunday school,

sang duets online,

and listened to N.T. Wright’s sermon from 2019.

He was talking about some pivotal moments in history:

the Enlightenment in France,

the founding of America.

I pondered our present situation 

and wondered if the future will see 

this time as a pivotal point in finances, 

in government.

But nothing, NOTHING is as pivotal as Easter morning.

The stone was rolled away.

The veil was ripped from top to bottom.

Past and future both were fulfilled 

in one move from death to life.

The world is weirdly, wildly different right now, 

but each day the sun still rises, thankfully 

and, 

even more thankfully, 

the Son has risen,

is risen.

Indeed.

Already But Not Yet

It's 1:35 on Easter Sunday
and I am sitting on the front steps,
waiting.
Den and I are all ready for Easter
but Paul's family
and the Toms
and Shelby and her sister and friends
are not yet here.

The pysanky eggs
from childhoods past are on display.
Den has hidden the eggs for the girls' egg hunt.

The table is set with Grandma Maud's silver
and decorated with daffodils,
rabbits,
frog candlesticks,
Grandma's singing children,
and "Alleluia" written in Scrabble tiles.

I think of Maud every Easter
when I decorate the table,
when I serve sweet potatoes and beets,
when I sing a loud alto in church.
I am not the woman she was, however.
She would have ironed the tablecloth,
polished the silver,
waited for the rolls to rise before she baked them,
made homemade stuffing
and gravy from scratch.
She would have dug dandelion greens
to serve with hot bacon dressing.
She would have stuffed the celery
with three kinds of cheese.
I am more like Maud's older sister, Thelma.
Thelma served culinary disasters
and said, "That's the way I wanted it."
Thelma would have understood my hard-as-a-bullet rolls
and why I decided to leave the celery unstuffed
and unserved.
I don't call it lazy.
I call it enjoying the day.

For years,
Den and his dad went to sunrise services together
so Den misses Walt on Easter Sundays.
This morning
for the first time
we visited Mount Joy Methodist
because Walt is buried there
with four generations of Shaffners.
As we sang "He Lives"
we could look out the left side windows
and see the rising sun hitting the hillside
and we could look out the right side windows
and see Den's dad's gravestone
...and our own.
We may meet the Lord in the air at that very spot.
Death has been defeated!
Alleluia!

Now it is 10:30.
The third load is in the dishwasher.
It has been a great day
full of family
and old and new friends
and no one needed a bandaid.
We hunted for eggs
and ate outside
(new dish: black olives stuffed with m&ms)

then ate inside
(new dish: Paula Deen's pineapple cheddar casserole)
then played outside in the warm sunshine.
The girls rode Anna's razor tricycle,
then washed the driveway
and my car
while the grownups rode Anna's razor tricycle.

While some people took a walk
Anna wanted to have another egg hunt
and she volunteered to hide the eggs.
I refilled each 
with the traditional one m&m
and gave them to her.
Several minutes later
I accompanied two year old Lily Toms
on her search for eggs
and noticed that quite a few were now empty.
"Anna," I said,
"Why are some of the eggs empty?"
She got a little chocolaty grin on her face
and said,
"I wanted to remind Lily about the empty tomb.
It IS Easter, you know...."

Yes, it is.
We live in the "already, but not yet."
Death has already been defeated
and so we celebrate Easter,
but we have not yet experienced the final celebration.
We had better be prepared to be unprepared.

Thoughts on Runaway Bunnies

 

The kids sit boy-girl-boy-girl
in a semicircle on the floor for reading.

I introduce the book:
The Runaway Bunny by Margaret Wise Brown.

M begins.
Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.

So he said to his mother,
"I am running away."

"If you run away,"
said his mother,
"I will run after you.
For you are my little bunny."

S reads next.
"If you run after me," said the little bunny,

"I will become a fish in a trout stream
and I will swim away from you."

"If you become a fish in a trout stream,"
said his mother,
"I will become a fisherman
and I will fish for you."
"Awww, Mrs. Shaffner, this is a such a nice story."

Reading Margaret Wise Brown is such a soothing experience.

Goodnight Moon.

The Friendly Book.

Even her name is soothing.
Say it:
Margaret Wise Brown.

Even the word "bunny" is soothing. 

Curious George played with bunnies.
Snoopy loves bunnies, too,

and even gave up his beloved
because she ate bunnies.

 B continues.

"If you become a fisherman,"
said the little bunny,
"I will become a rock
on the mountain high above you."

"If you become a rock
on the mountain high above me,"
said his mother,
"I will be a mountain climber
and I will climb to where you are."

 It enters my mind
that The Runaway Bunny is a retelling
of Jesus's parable of the Lost Lamb.

It's A's turn.
"If you become a mountain climber,"
said the little bunny,
"I will be a crocus in a hidden garden."

"If you become a crocus in a hidden garden,"
said his mother,
"I will be a gardener. And I will find you."

The idea held up throughout the rest of the book,
and at the end,
the little bunny decided
that living with his mother
was a good choice.
She then gave him a carrot.

As we begin Holy Week,
The Runaway Bunny
will be my mental children's sermon.
We are loved.
We are pursued.
We have been given the directions home
where there is a warm hug waiting.
And maybe carrots.

Let's go home.

I've discovered Pinterest

It's been quite awhile since I've blogged!
This summer during our time in Montana,
my cousin's wife Tangie started me on Pinterest.
Stage one of Pinterest
is spend LOTS of time scrolling down and down and down....
I do it while Den is watching a movie so I can call it "multitasking."
Stage two of Pinterest
is wanting to share your own ideas.
Since clicking on ideas often leads to a website or blog,
this blog is where I will put my ideas.

It seems quite odd to be talking about Christmas in August.
but to get the ideas out in time to be used,
I guess this is the way it's done.
Besides, "Oh come, let us adore Him!"
and "Let Earth receive her King!"
are great thoughts any time of year.

I am a dedicated, weekly Goodwill shopper.
When I find interesting
Christmas pins for under a dollar,
I buy them
and pin them on an old hat,

and when Advent season comes,
I start wearing the hat.
Along with the eye rolls
I get some interested or
amused looks from people
and sometimes they lead to conversations.
I then offer them
a pin of their choice.
If they choose one,
I ask their name
and wish them a Merry Christmas.
I write their name on a list in my car
and as I drive around in December,
I pray for my "pin people."
(Note: not recommended for
wearing to the United Nations.
The metal detector there doesn't like it.)




Den and I also decorate the vehicles for Christmas.
Den's jeep
and my ancient Volvo Gilda
both wear wreaths on their front grills,

and Gilda also wears a jaunty sprig of holly
on her back windshield wiper.
The holly works especially well,
as the wiper is broken,
along with the tape deck,
the trim on the door,
the back speaker cover,
the latch that secures the back seat,
the front seat heaters....
Thankfully she still passes inspection.








Another decoration that Gilda wears all year long is her quotes.
Since her paint and the metal under the paint
are the same color,
her cancer isn't immediately evident,
but she is just tacky enough
that writing favorite quotes--
scriptures,
the Irish blessing,
Robert Frost,
Jim Elliot,
C.S. Lewis,
Groucho Marx--
above and below her windows
seems like a creative rather than a destructive idea.
Sharpie marker works well.




Various species of greenery from the mountain
become Christmas wreaths for the driveway
and the garage
and the barn,
and extra branches are pushed into the leftover soil in the window boxes
or tied in bunches for the front door
or the pass through.
They're not really Christmas decorations,
they're winter decorations,
and they stay up 'til Valentines Day,
at which time we start looking expectantly for bluebirds and robins
and plant our seeds for summer on the south porch windowsills.








Our Christmas tree ornaments
help us relive the past years.
Each year we choose ornaments
that have a flat surface
on which we write significant events of the year,
one for each child
and one for Den and me to keep.
As the boys decorated the tree,
they relived their childhoods.

Paul's ornaments now hang on his own tree,
and Luke's provide a way to share his past with friends.



 We use old toys from our family's childhoods to decorate the shelf above the woodstove.

I collect moose(s?!)

that are really Hallmark reindeer--
less than a dollar at Goodwill
or yard sales
or Deseret Industries
when I can find them.
I name them for someone
significant
at the time
(Jack is for Uncle Jack
who was there on our DI trip)
and write their names
on their butt tags.
At Christmas
they sit on the stairs
with other old toys.
Granddaughter Anna
has fun deciding
which moose
will play with which toy.













The boys' mouse house
 also gets decorated
at Christmastime.
(It's NOT a dollhouse;
it belonged to the boys
who used army guys
and mice,
not dolls,
and stacked the furniture
against the doors
and windows
to keep out the bad guys.)
The stockings are
hung by the chimney
with care,
and not a creature is stirring,
not even a mouse.






Scrabble tiles
are another great Goodwill find.
I use them on trays in my classroom
for spelling practice
and in the hall outside my classroom
for passing students
to do an unscramble-the-word activity.
I put an object,
often something from nature,
on the round table outside my door
and mix the scrabble tiles
that spell the name of the item.













I started using Scrabble tiles
in the upstairs bathroom
to write messages to family
or guests
after seeing Groundhog Ben's
cool breakfast room
with Scrabble tiles on the top of his wainscoting.



















I also use Scrabble tiles
to decorate the table at family gatherings.
This is our Easter table,

with Scrabble tiles
and flowers
and my grandma Maud's ceramic people.
I miss my grandma,
and emulate her in my own grandmothering.
What would Maud do?




My dining room table used to belong to Maud.

Before that, it was the Davenport family's laundry table.
and before that--
hmmm.
I don't know.
Mental note to call Davenports!
 I saw an article in Reader's Digest years ago
that told of a college prof
(sorry, forgot who you are)
who had dinner guests sign
the underside of his dining table.
We've tried to do that
and keep a sharpie in the dining room

for that specific purpose
but at least half the people
have left without signing
because we've forgotten to ask them.
Perhaps that's a mixed blessing
as we've run out of room for names
on the main table
and now alternate the table leaves used.






I'm sure there are more Pinterest ideas around here,
but I'm also currently working on writing a song
for a Penn State competition.
Seven or eight winners will be critiqued by Paul Stookey
(for the two people who don't know who that is,
think "Peter, Paul, and Mary")
and one winner will sing in a concert with him in September.
I'm a great loser,
but I'm hoping to be an enthusiastic winner.
I'll let you know how that turns out.

Blessings,
Sue
 

March Waiting

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Mike, I hope you're flattered....
Some March thoughts:

1. March is the second advent--
waiting for God to display his new creation once again.
So far, we've seen robins, geese, a moseying skunk,
and a roadkill bunny.
Now we're watching for snowdrops in bloom,
coltsfoot,
and porcupines, raccoons, and possum.

2. Denny and his class tuned in daily for Iditarod updates,
and mushed fantasy dog teams over playground snowbanks.
The weather channel guy says diphtheria;
the book I read gave the pronunciation as diphtheria.
Are both correct?

3. Cleaning bookshelves is never as easy as it seems.
There's always a pile
that doesn't fit with the new organizational scheme,
maps that siphon away time,
xeroxed pages of jokes and stories.
Throw away?
I toss most of them back on the shelf.

4. Some weeks are jammed.
Holy week also contained St Patrick's Day
(dress as a leprechaun and throw green and gold glitter on kids' heads),
the official first day of spring
(dress as Mother Nature and bonk kids with flowers while explaining the equinox),
and two days of parent-teacher conferences,
all in four days.

5. Why, all of a sudden,
am I getting weird blog comments from people I don't know?
I ticked a few boxes to try to stop them,
and now I'm unsure whether any comments can get through.
Pictures have also been more of a pain than usual.
It's frustrating to be only slightly computer literate.
And why does this computer keep barking at me?

6. I've sucked thousands of ladybugs from windows in the last few weeks.
I do prefer them to the gypsy moths they were imported to fight, but
where have they been hiding?
What have they been eating?
What percentage of them have escaped from the vacuum cleaner?
If I refuse to suck any more of them,
will there be any biological repercussions?

7. Den made maple syrup at one of the county historical sites.
It's been a good year for sap.

8. I have been a Survivor fan for the last few seasons,
but I'm disgusted at the people who are volunteering/pleading to leave.
I think Den would be a terrific contestant for Survivor,
but he's not interested.

9. Den took the snowblower off the John Deere on Friday,
as the forecast was for an inch or two.
We woke on Saturday to a foot of new snow.
We now can confirm that it does take longer to shovel by hand.

10. Easter memories include
travelling to Houghton
without keeping a close eye on the backseat--
we had to make an abrupt stop in Bradford
for Luke to unload a chocolate bunny,
the eggs no one finds til months later,
pickled eggs,
and the resurrection story in swahili.
I am grateful to be reminded of Jesus's resurrection victory
and his free gift of grace.
He is risen indeed! Hallelujah!