Category: Spirituality

Appreciation, Faith, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Prayer, Religion, Self-improvement, Spirituality

Because I Am His…

Lisa Burbank

“If the world hates you, realize that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, the world would love its own; but because you do not belong to the world, and I have chosen you out of the world, the world hates you. Remember the word I spoke to you, ‘No slave is greater than his master.’ If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you. If they kept my word, they will also keep yours. And they will do all these things to you on account of my name, because they do not know the One who sent me.” John 15:18-21

“Hate” is pretty strong word but, over the last twelve to fifteen months since I started blogging in earnest (I had a lot of fits and starts…), I have had my faith called into question for advocating peace and neutrality in the midst of family strife. I have been ridiculed for some of my choices in life–such as not dating anymore. And, most recently, mocked for trusting in divine Providence.

I make no apology for any of it.

Let the world hate, question, ridicule or mock. The Bible tells me I will be blessed because of it. And, lest, anyone think that I am suddenly adopting a “holier-than-thou” attitude about my faith…

I am NOT!

It is simply that my faith is strong enough that I no longer care so much about another’s opinion of me. It’s not something I can control anyway (which is easier to admit to in theory than in practice as I didn’t suddenly sprout wings and a halo, or turn into Wonder Woman), so the best that I can do, is to leave it all in His hands. I trust, as always, that He has some plan afoot. Whether He is using these experiments to further mold me and shape me for some higher purpose, using these same experiences to mold and shape someone else by creating a new awakening in them, or a little of both, I am trusting Him with the outcome. He has brought me this far.

The flip side of this is that the hatred, questioning, ridicule and mockery HURT…especially when it comes from people I have stood by through thick and thin. And, paradoxically, from near strangers who make a sweeping judgment based upon limited understanding…or compassion.

Yup. There’s a ripple of anger running through here. I have a right to be angry. Jesus got angry with the money changers outside the temple…and overturned their tables. I am angry at the injustice but, I do not have a right to repay evil for evil by seeking to hurt someone else in return. That one’s difficult. I want to lash out and call names and be confrontational when it hurts…like that wounded animal backed into a corner.

The irony of it all is that in almost every case, I have had snippets of some recent blog post parroted back to me with a sneer or a bit of sarcasm. It’s nice to know I’m being read. It’s also a building block for that thicker skin needed to be a writer. Because not everyone is going to like or agree with everything I write.

And that’s okay.

You may hate me because I belong to Jesus. But I will continue to love Him…and you. You may mock my faith, but it only strengthens that faith. Ditto for the ridicule. I am not ashamed of Him. And, if you have questions regarding that faith, I will be happy to share it with you, but I won’t give it up–won’t give Him up–just to make you more comfortable. Because, in the end, it’s all about Him, and my relationship with Him. And that’s worth fighting for.

Maybe the hatred, the mockery, the ridicule and/or the questions you have in your heart are all His way of saying to you, “Follow me!” He will give you the rest your heart and soul needs for a better life.

And that’s a promise I’d be happy to share with you.

May God bless you & keep you!

Appreciation, compost, Environment, Faith, gardening, Gratitude, Healing, Herbs, Homesteading, Lasagna Gardening, Nature, No-dig Gardening, Organic, Prayer, Religion, Spirituality

Dates with Monty Don and Charles Dowding

Lisa Burbank

“Rest in the Lord; wait patiently for Him to act. Don’t be envious of evil men who prosper.” Psalm 37:7

Forgive the redundancy but I really am a bad patient. As this leg continues to throb and ripple with muscle spasms, and my toes turn all tingly through the lack of circulation and swell and give me all manner of discomfort, I have been forced to spend most of my time on my duff, feet propped up to take the pressure off the leg. I could’ve taken out stock in the amount of Ben Gay I’ve slathered on knees, shins, ankles, feet and toes. Ditto for the aspirin. I look at the fine weather we’ve had the last couple of days and I growl at this forced convalescence, thinking of all the gardening I could be doing and various other farm chores. Since Thursday, it has been the bare essentials only.

And, yes, I know…Ben Gay? Aspirin? I am an herbalist, after all. But, while I almost always choose herbs over what’s become conventional medicine, as deeply as I believe that herbs are a better, healthier choice, sometimes they don’t work as fast. I needed more immediate relief just to walk up that hill Thursday night after work. Last night it was a warm bath to ease sore muscles (still no clue exactly what I did to the leg…); tonight there’s a jar of oil in which Plantain, Comfrey, St. John’s wort, Calendula and Cayenne Pepper have been slowly brewed. The first four ingredients are good for the skin. When combined like this you have the perfect combination of emollient, drawing power, anti-scarring agent, natural sunblock, and rash relief. I don’t have any of these but, whenever I make something to put on my skin, I add these four. Our skin is the largest organ of our body; we often neglect it. The cayenne is for improved circulation and for relieving sore muscles.

In the meantime, I’ve actually become a bit of a couch potato–well, armchair is more like it. I’ve been relaxing (there’s a novel concept), feet up, in front of the TV and trying, albeit a little in vain, not to feel guilty for it…even as my leg throbs with a life of its own after another round of feeding and watering the farm. No, we don’t have cable/digital/satellite (i.e. so no reception) but Mom received Roku for Mother’s Day from my brother. Roku allows you to access shows via the Internet and broadcast them onto the TV screen. While there are some stations that charge a small fee, many of them are free. One of those is, of course, You Tube. To be honest, I haven’t really paid much attention to the Roku since helping Mom set it up when it first came here. She’s been enjoying episodes of her favorite HGTV shows and country music videos. Over the weekend, she handed me the remote to the Roku unit after watching me trying to watch music videos on my cellphone via the You Tube app I downloaded. (Eh, it was keeping me off my feet…)

First of all, Mom got a little bit of culture shock as my answer to not being able to walk to church yesterday saw me tuning in to Christian music videos by today’s contemporary artists as a way to still connect and worship Him. I listen to a lot of these artists on Pandora during the week and it always soothes me…despite the hard-rocking sound many of them produce: Casting Crowns, Lauren Daigle, Francesca Battistelli, Barlow Girl (which was much heavier than she expected), Meredith Andrews, Big Daddy Weave and Kari Jobe. I even got a little rap in there with Brandon Heath. After a while though, I got tired of constantly surfing You Tube for the next video and decided something a little lengthier would be better.

I have a thing for British television. If I lived in the UK, I would likely be a couch potato a little more often simply because I love their sense of humor and style…and, especially, their gardens. Charles Dowding caught my eye first. I believe it was an article in Treehugger, advocating the No Dig Gardening method, that turned me on to his You Tube channel; I’ve been a subscriber ever since. This was not my first initiation into the No Dig method, but I love the practical advice Mr. Dowding offers just for gardening overall but, more specifically, for the No Dig method. He gets beautiful fruits, vegetables and herbs. His gardens are so lush that I am frequently jealous at the yields. He makes a lot of compost and that’s helping me in that area of homesteading. And, I’ll admit it, for an older gentleman, he looks pretty darn good in a pair of jeans. He reminds me greatly of Kevin Cronin of REO Speedwagon. I had Kevin Cronin wallpaper as a girl, both in my bedroom and in my locker in school. Enough said (chuckle).

Anyway, it was through Mr. Dowding’s You Tube channel that I learned of the BBC’s “Gardener’s World” program, which is in its 50th year of airing (pretty remarkable, actually). Mr. Dowding’s homestead was featured on “Gardener’s World” one Friday evening and I fell instantly in love with the show. Now I watch an episode each week on You Tube. Host Monty Don, like Charles Dowding, is a wealth of information about gardening. Being forced to stay off my feet these last few days, I have been doing a marathon of back episodes I missed earlier in the year…and introducing Mom to the show, too. She’s been enjoying it. And we’re both learning a lot of cool gardening tips. I’m especially enchanted with Nigel and Nell, the two golden retrievers who follow Monty around his, roughly, two-acres of gardens…usually with a tennis ball, or one his trowels in mouth. It’s a bittersweet enchantment as I miss the big dogs that blessed my life over the years and hope, God willing, that things will get back on a more even keel in my life–soon–so that I might provide a forever home for another pair of dogs. All in all, despite this enforced convalescence, I don’t feel that the time has been completely wasted. Again, I’m watching, learning, and gaining more confidence through the pseudo-mentoring of these two gentlemen (we switched off at one point to watch some of Charles’ videos, too).

And, believe it or not, yesterday’s rock and roll religion did feed my soul, touch my heart. I’ve actually felt myself drawing closer to Him, taking deep breaths…because letting go and letting God is the hardest lesson of all for me, to give up any kind of control…and just surrendering my will to Him. I may not like the enforced convalescence but He is using it to mold and change me, to grow my faith in Him…something I’ve been yearning for. And praying for.

It was an interview I read with Lauren Daigle in “Young Salvationist” where she talks about how she surrendered her dream of music to Him that really touched my heart. When she finally surrendered her will to Him, doors started opening for her. Maybe I’m feeling “stuck” in my life because I haven’t truly surrendered my will to Him. That’s what I felt when I read this article over the weekend, that He was trying to tell me to just let go; He’s got my back. And it was the lyrics to Kari Jobe’s “Steady my Heart” that, well, steadied my heart:

Even when it hurts
Even when it’s hard
Even when it all just falls apart
I will run to You
‘Cause I know that You are
Lover of my soul, Healer of my scars,
You steady my heart, You steady my heart

That’s worth a few muscle spasms and tingly toes.

May God bless you & keep you!

References

Jobe, K. (2012). “Steady My Heart.” worshiptogether.com Songs, Ariose Music.

Maynor, C. P. (2015). “Interview: Lauren Daigle.” Young Salvationist. Retrieved June 26, 2017 from:
http://www.youngsalvationist.org/2015/02/04/interview-lauren-daigle/

Abuse, Addiction, Alcoholism, Animals, compost, Creativity, Environment, Faith, Frugality, gardening, Gratitude, Healing, Homesteading, Lasagna Gardening, Nature, No-dig Gardening, OCD, Organic, Self-esteem, Self-improvement, Spirituality

Who’s Really in Charge Here Anyway?

Lisa Burbank

“We ought not to insist on everyone following in our footsteps, nor to take upon ourselves to give instructions in spirituality when, perhaps, we do not even know what it is.” St. Teresa of Avila

I’ll admit it. “Charles in Charge” has nothing on me. I’m in control, or so I tell myself, and then hear the echo of what can only be God laughing as I tighten the reins…and chaos erupts.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I think I remember reading somewhere that 98% of us have at least a touch of it. Some of us have a bit more than a touch, unfortunately. Oh, it comes in handy at times. The alphabetized CD, DVD, VHS and book collections make finding whatever I’m looking for a snap. Because, really, who wants to waste time looking for something that may be right in front of your nose? I have bigger fish to fry, as they say. And, maybe it’s a bit extreme but my closet is color coded with all the yellow garments together, all the red, all the green, etc. Again, it makes finding that outfit easier. And I’m all about economizing my time. However, these little impulses and neuroses also tie me in knots and can make me a rather difficult person to live with.

Poor Mom.

This feeble attempt at perfectionism often manifests as criticism. I hear myself and cringe. Criticism was definitely NOT the intent but that’s what surely came across if I put myself in her shoes. And really, how important is it if the buttery popcorn bowl wasn’t rinsed first before it went into the sink? Or if the spoon rest is backwards on the stove? This latter “pet peeve” doesn’t get spoken; I simply turn it around again but then I think, as I’m doing it, does it MATTER???

And here is where the knots get tied because, as one voice is asking about the importance of such an act, another voice knows how much of a mental distraction it will be if I leave the spoon rest backwards…or the toilet paper feeding from under, rather than over.

Of course, I’ve never really sat down with Mom and tried to explain exactly what it’s like to live with OCD. Sadly, such a conversation tends to veer off into why mine is so intense in the first place: it’s a response to the molestation I grew up with. And that is a subject Mom would rather forget about altogether. As a child, I couldn’t control what was happening to me so I acted out by adopting these little “habits”. It gave me a false sense of security. And I was desperate to feel secure. Not only the abuse but also the alcoholism, the drunken accusations that told us all that we were “stupid” and couldn’t do anything “right” and to “look a little harder than you have to”. Like many children who grow up with some sort of substance abuse…as well as the abuse of their bodies, minds, and spirits, I turned all this negativity onto myself and shouldered all the blame. If I was a better student, he wouldn’t be so angry. If I kept my room neater, maybe he’d leave me alone. If I did all the chores around the house, all this chaos would stop.

Who was I kidding?

I’ve been tied up in knots since I was a very little girl. Is it any wonder that I’m still tying myself in knots? Unhealthy though it may be, it’s also a comfortable numb. It’s familiar. And, if I don’t grasp, and clutch, and sterilize my whole life, I start to relax…and then chastise myself for being “lazy”.

The paradox of all of this is that my property from the roadside looks like tobacco road. This is another coping mechanism from dealing with alcoholism. It keeps people away. But such a desire never cropped up until a few years ago when I had a live-in boyfriend…who was also an alcoholic. He seemed a nice enough guy when we met. And there was an instant rapport. This last one should have been a red flag…heck, it should have been flashing in neon red. Because that kind of comfort level so early on, well, they say a girl looks for her father when she dates…or, in this case, father figure. I was embarrassed. The sometimes-arrogant self, who would never allow herself to be caught in such a situation, got caught in it. How did this happen? How did I let this happen? And, worse, it took me forever to finally get out of it. The same mind control that I grew up with, manifested again in this romantic partner. The same self-doubt and shame crept in. And I felt sorry for him. He, too, had grown up with abuse in the home. I knew what that was like. And, while I had had a network of family and friends behind me as I sought therapy and tried to claw my way into some sort of normalcy of life, he was still wallowing in the beaten-down misery he grew up with. He even threatened to beat me physically…and I still let him stay. It wasn’t until, in a drunken stupor, he cut down a beloved shade tree in the yard that I snapped and gave him the boot.

Tobacco road’s been growing ever since…because I’m mortified that I allowed myself to be caught up in this unhealthy situation. I fell down on my principles. Every stitch of therapy went out the windows. Though I have no actual proof, I even suspect he was abusive to one of my cats as Trooper’s behavior while he was here was almost unbearable. And it stopped almost immediately once this man was finally gone for good.

A little bit at a time. That’s what friends tell me as I tackle this overgrowth. It’s a little bit like that “One Day at a Time” motto advocated by both Alcoholics’ Anonymous and Al-Anon. A little bit at a time, one day at a time.

This homestead is healing me as well as it is healing the land. My OCD says I should be able to perfectly landscape the 3/4 of an acre I’ve set aside for fruits, vegetables and herbs in a weekend’s work; it’s not good enough otherwise. Reality says, as I am implementing Charles Dowding’s “No Dig Gardening” method to bring as low an impact to the earth as I can, that such an enormous undertaking simply cannot be done in one weekend…not to the scale I envision. And not by one single person…especially one on a part-time income.

No, the “No-Dig” method isn’t expensive. Quite the contrary. It uses flattened cardboard boxes laid out on the ground (something easily had for free from many of the local businesses who don’t mind not having to pay out to cart the cardboard away instead) and then composted waste, from both the kitchen, and the animals, layered on top of the cardboard to create a raised bed. I’ve been dismantling a broken section of stone wall that runs along the front of my property to outline the beds once they’re made and using old feed bags that I’ve cut open and laid flat for the walkways in between. As funds permit, I buy a bag or two of red mulch and lay it atop the bags. This is where the part-time income comes into the picture as I cannot purchase enough at one time to cover all of the walkways at once. And, as I am on a major interstate, as well as in the commercial district, it has to be “pretty”.

So, a little bit at a time, one day at a time.

And, when the OCD starts kicking up again and stresses perfection, I need only look outside to see the rhubarb growing tall and strong in the three-tiered pyramid I built for it and the strawberries; I need only look at the green beans poking their kidney-shaped heads out of the ground in one raised bed and the beautiful purple flower heads of the chives, and the lush expanse of marjoram in another to tell me that, yes, one day at a time is good enough. It doesn’t matter that it’s not “perfect”. Obviously, these plants don’t care a fig if it’s perfect or not; they’re still growing in imperfection.

As for the grass?

Mankind has ever strived to tame and “control” Nature. I refuse to use anything gas-powered, or any chemicals, to kill it off. Even with the raised beds, the weed and grass barriers being laid down, there’s still the occasional blade that pokes up even amongst those sections already landscaped. This is a reminder that, despite my valiant efforts to control and manipulate this landscape, much like the landscape of my life, there is Someone greater than I who is really in charge. Someone who takes those knots I’ve tied myself into, lays them out flat…and helps me to grow.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Animals, aquaponics, Creativity, Environment, Faith, gardening, Gratitude, Healing, Herbs, Homesteading, Organic, Prayer, Religion, Self-esteem, Self-improvement, Spirituality

A Bigger Life

Lisa Burbank

“Ask, and you will be given what you ask for. Seek, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened. For everyone who asks, receives. Anyone who seeks, finds. If only you knock, the door will open. If a child asks his father for a loaf of bread, will he be given a stone instead? If he asks for fish, will he be given a poisonous snake? Of course not! And if you hardhearted, sinful men know how to give good gifts to your children, won’t your Father in heaven even more certainly give good gifts to those who ask him for them?” (Matthew 7:7-11)

Believe it or not, I often struggle with this biblical passage. Struggle because there is too much doubt in my heart that what I wish for, what I hope will come to be, I am not worthy to have. This passage says nothing about worthiness. It asks only that we, well, ASK. No other hidden clauses.

Of course, when/if I discuss this passage with others, I invariably get that old standby of predestination. If it’s meant to be, it will be. Yes, that’s probably true. Does not the Bible also tell us that even the hairs on our heads are numbered by God? And that He knows when every sparrow falls so, therefore, He also knows our struggles…even the desires of our hearts? And yet, I hear that old adage and, no sooner have I gone to God in prayer for what I need, or even want, and I’m already deciding that what I’m asking for is probably not a part of His will and, therefore, why am I asking? I defeat myself as soon as the prayer is out of my mouth…or head.

What kind of lukewarm faith is this? Is there nothing too great for God? Did He not make me along with everyone else?

Then we get into the whole thought process of accepting that maybe He is instead trying to mold and shape me for something better, something that is in line with His plans. And my anxiety ramps up because maybe it will require too much of a sacrifice…like the loss of someone I love (did not The Twelve leave even their closest family members to follow Jesus?) in order to have that dream. Because, whatever dream He put on my heart, I’ve already convinced myself I’m not worthy of. So I try to guess His plans. What does He want me to do? Show me the way. And then I start chastising myself for being so ungrateful for what I already have. And I shouldn’t want or ask for more. Who cares if I’m robbing Peter to pay Paul and find that Peter’s flat broke? I’ve reached the cap on God’s mercy, or gifts, or grace. Such thinking, I consider, must surely anger God. For where in the Bible does it say He has a cap? Nowhere. His love is unconditional. Passage after passage tells us that He wants only the best for His children. Yet still I doubt. If You’re going to show me the way, I need neon signs and strobe lights highlighting that way. And even then I’d probably doubt if it was “meant” for me.

You see, people who grow up in abusive homes, especially if the abuser was their father, or a father figure, have difficulty believing in a loving and compassionate Father in heaven; it’s an alien concept. We get the angry and vengeful God who punished the Israelites for worshiping other gods and erecting idols, for being stubborn, etc. But the God who loves us, who will give His children good gifts, we struggle with.

I am grateful for everything I have. I know I have been richly blessed already. Even when so many others were losing their homes during the Great Recession, I managed to hang on to this one…despite only being a part-time and/or seasonal worker (the only jobs available in this sleepy New England town)…simply due to His grace. It does seem a bit, well, sinful and selfish to be wishing for something more. This house is a fixer-upper; the homestead is small and, because of it’s smallness, it can also be limiting. However, the smaller size has forced me to get more creative as I continue to landscape and design, to find ways to re-purpose certain areas. It’s also on a major interstate so the dream of growing organic vegetables, fruits and herbs is already out the window. With that much carbon zooming by in a continuous stream, even with the row of Thujas across the front border, that carbon is undoubtedly settling onto each and every leaf; the Thujas can only filter out so much. And, though I am grandfathered in for the use to which I put the land, as big box stores continue to climb the hill, closer and closer to home, I can’t help but fear how much worse that carbon impact is going to be…or how long before that grandfathered use gets challenged. Of course, I probably wouldn’t say “no” if some big developer came by and offered me a decent price for it, enough that I could start over somewhere else…but that’s a bit like waiting to hit the lottery.

I dream of acreage somewhere. I dream of that plot of land down that dusty, country lane, with pastures full of goats, sheep and chickens, maybe a horse or two, and border collies zipping around “Come by” and “Away to me” as they herd those sheep and goats into the barn at night. I dream of a small pond, or lake, on that property where my ducks can swim until their hearts’ are content. I dream of paddling a canoe, or pedaling a paddle boat, out onto that lake or pond after the workday is done. I dream of campfires, with friends and family sharing meals and some good music as we break out the guitar, the dulcimer, and open our hearts and lips to song. No Kumbaya, mind you, just a gathering of friends. I dream of herb gardens, lush, full, and diverse. Gardens made for teaching how to cook with herbs; how to tincture, infuse, poultice and compress. Maybe even some “magickal” uses for luck and love and a bit of romantic whimsy. I dream of equally lush vegetable gardens and small fruits growing and a greenhouse that houses an aquaponics’ system for growing even more food. I dream of a thriving produce stand, or a booth in the local farmers’ market. I dream of supplying the local food pantry with fresh, nutritious produce instead of the packaged, processed donations they typically receive. I dream of looms full of brightly-colored threads, all weaving a brilliant tapestry from the wool, angora, mohair and cashmere fibers routinely sheared, or plucked, from the animals I raise. I dream of a little store where yarns and fabric are sold from my stock. I dream of fresh goat’s milk and cheese, and goat’s milk soap scented with some of the herbs I grow. I dream that all, or at least most, of these animals are rescues, given a second chance at life, for a forever home. I dream of summer days out on the road with a trailer full of goats as we clear land for others in a manner that is much gentler on Mother Earth. I dream of an orchard with healthy and thriving honeybees buzzing in and out of the blossoms. I dream of honey and beeswax candles. And I dream of walking into that bookstore someday, or logging into Amazon, and seeing my name on the cover of that bestseller.

And I dream. And I yearn. And I consider that, maybe, these are just dreams and never “meant” to be. Maybe someday I will do as that Garth Brooks’ song says and thank God for unanswered prayers. Surely, His plans ARE bigger and better than anything I could ever imagine. But, maybe, just maybe, I can finally find it in my heart to TRUST that God truly has put these dreams in my heart for a purpose, that it isn’t all a pipe dream, fueled by an over-active imagination. Perhaps *Someday* I will trust that, yes, I am worthy of such dreams, that God loves me beyond any human ability to comprehend. Just because. Not because I “earned” it. Not because I prayed the most compelling prayer and that was the one He chose to answer. Not because of anything of my will but because His will shall be done. Maybe, just maybe, He’s using these dreams and yearnings to first answer another prayer, a prayer that asked to draw closer to Him, to know Him better, to learn how to trust in a loving Father.

Can I let go enough to let that healing begin? To allow His miracles to take place? Can I trust that, even if these dreams do not come to light, that wherever He does lead me, will bring me more joy than I can possibly imagine? Can I trust that His gifts are not like those given on earth, to sometimes bribe, sometimes stifle, to sometimes manipulate? This isn’t a toe-in-the-water sort of thing. It’s that proverbial, giant leap of faith. Can I do it? Can I accept God’s will for me on this earth? And, more importantly, can I accept that, yes, I do have a loving Father in heaven who does desire to give me good gifts?

Okay, then.

Breathe.

Relax.

And let go.

Thy will be done, Father. Thy will be done.

May God bless you & keep you!

Faith, Prayer, Religion, Spirituality

Please Leave your Cellphone at the Door

Lisa Burbank

“Remember to observe the Sabbath as a holy day. Six days a week are for your daily duties and your regular work, but the seventh day is a day of Sabbath rest before the Lord your God.” (Exodus 20:8-10)

Okay. So maybe leaving the cellphones at the door of the church is a little extreme. There are certainly emergency workers and caregivers who attend services each week and they are often on call. I’ve got that. But for the rest of the congregation–and I shudder even as I type this as attendance is often low enough as it is–do you really need to check your Facebook, Twitter and/or Pinterest accounts during church services?

I know. This may be one of those Al-Anon situations where I would be told to mind my own business. But that LED lighting up in random pews throughout the church…that becomes my business as it just distracted me from Father Elson’s homily. Ditto for a number of other congregationalists. But, okay. I’ll try.

And keep telling myself to be still. Don’t look over there again…even if the pew is suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree at midnight.

Don’t look…

MYOB…

Nope. Rudeness is always a distraction. And playing on your cell during any sort of meeting is rude. Plain and simple. It may not be something one wants to hear but it’s true…even if you’re in the choir loft.

We gather together on Sunday to hear the Word preached, to pray, to receive the Sacrament of Communion, to be enlightened, to draw closer to God. Church attendance is on the wane. And that’s sad enough as it is. I can respect that maybe for some of you reading this, it’s not Jesus but maybe Allah or Buddha or some other deity or Higher Power. I’m okay with that. This isn’t a my-religion-is-better-than-yours-and-everyone-has-to-conform-to-it blog post. This is a simple plea to those who still consider themselves practicing Christians to show some respect to their fellow parishioners, their clergy, and even to God on Sunday morning.

No, I don’t think your cellphone is bad. But the enemy of our souls uses it to distract us from that Word when we allow the temptation to check email during service to overcome our sense of decency and courtesy. And, no, I’m not the pillar of etiquette; Miss Manners has nothing to fear. But I can’t help thinking that our obsession with social media is causing an even greater division between us and our Creator. When we can’t even sit quietly, politely, and listen for just an hour or two on a Sunday morning, what does that say about our faith?

Granted, I give everyone who attends each week high marks just for being there…at least in the flesh. But, unless there is truly an emergency somewhere that you must attend, is it too much to ask that you attend in heart, mind and spirit also? Your cellphone, the emails, tweets, and messages will still be there in an hour. And, in the meantime, you will have received the best message of all–the message of salvation from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Faith, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Healing, Homesteading, Prayer, Religion, Self-improvement, Spirituality

I’m a Martha

Lisa Burbank

“As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a village where a woman named Martha welcomed them into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat on the floor, listening to Jesus as he talked.
“But Martha was the jittery type, and was worrying over the big dinner she was preparing.
“She came to Jesus and said, ‘Sir, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me’.
“But the Lord said to her, ‘Martha, dear friend, you are so upset over all these details! There is really only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it–and I won’t take it away from her!” (Luke 10:38-42)

It has been a crazy week here at the Herbal Hare Homestead with goats needing de-worming and, of course, it was Holy Week last week and I’ve spent the better part of the last few days at church, giving the readings for Good Friday and Holy Saturday.

It was a blessing to be able to serve in such a way. The Holy Saturday vigil was done by candlelight and it was a truly beautiful ceremony. As I gave some of the readings, listened to others’, to Father Elson’s homily, and celebrated a young soldier being baptized, receiving First Communion and Confirmation, for the first time in a very long time, I felt my soul filling with His word, His love. For the first time in a very long time, I surrendered my will to Him and placed at least a tentative trust in Him, that He will not lead me astray, but allowed the knowledge that He truly wants the very best for me–for all of us–to fill me.

And yet, I kept glancing at the clock.

Good Friday’s Liturgy was at 3 p.m. Though the service lasted two hours, even walking, I was home by 5:30 p.m. with plenty of time to feed animals and focus on the day-to-day stuff. The walk home was a perfect time to reflect and absorb the beauty of that service. We observed the Stations of the Cross and, while my bad knees screamed some abuse at me after kneeling twice for each station (14 stations in all), all-in-all, peace settled over me and I walked home feeling contented…and looking forward to the following evening’s ceremony.

I have rarely attended a Holy Saturday vigil. Though I am usually home from work early enough to attend, I confess to placing some worldly concerns before it. But, when the request for volunteers to help with the readings came out, I quickly volunteered…and looked forward to it. Again, it was a beautiful service and my heart was moved throughout. But, like the previous evening’s ceremony, it was rather lengthier than a typical Mass and I found myself looking over my shoulder at that clock.

My farm is on a slightly later schedule than most. As I work evenings and do not get home until around 8 o’clock, feeding time is between 8:00 – 8:30 a.m. and p.m. each day. Saturday there is a slight variation on this because my work schedule is earlier; feeding time gets bumped up to around 7:30. As the hands of that clock drew closer and closer to 7:30, I began to get antsy. Goats and rabbits are both prone to bloat and must be kept on a regular schedule. My poor babies must be getting hungry. I wonder if I can slip out as soon as Communion is served without being noticed…(this from the very first pew!). These thoughts, and more, threatened to derail the peace of this Holy Saturday vigil and I found myself thinking about one of the readings given for Palm Sunday last week. It was the story of the two sisters, Martha and Mary, and how Martha complained to Jesus because her sister did not help with the chores but sat at Jesus’ feet and listened. Suddenly, I felt Him knock and I realized that, while I tell myself that, no, I would be more like Mary, listening to His every word and choosing the better part, the truth is, I’m more like Martha. I worry. I stress. I drive myself to distraction over the “little things”…and miss out on the more important things in life. I have my “routines”; heaven help anything that alters those routines. I snap and squabble and mutter under my breath at these alterations.

In short, I have issues.

And it was never more apparent than during that last half hour of the Holy Saturday vigil. My initial reaction to this realization was to pray for His forgiveness for allowing myself to be so distracted by worldly concerns and then asking Him to still my heart that I might let those concerns go, to place them in His much more capable hands. And then I looked at the clock again. It took several attempts to finally draw my attention back to the vigil and truly focus in again on the blessings being given. The enemy of my soul was doing his best to draw my attention away; Jesus kept reminding me, no, look here. I am the Way.

May God bless you & keep you!

Environment, Frugality, Gratitude, Homesteading, Minimalism, Religion, Self-improvement, Spirituality

Walking the Walk–Literally

Lisa Burbank

I have long been extolling the virtues of choosing to walk or ride a bicycle rather than driving everywhere. When the Lenten season started, one of the vows I made was, as soon as we turned the clocks ahead and it was light enough out after work, I would start walking to and from the dealership. This probably doesn’t do much for auto sales but I have always walked to the beat of my own drum–no pun intended. And it’s all for a good cause.

However, I have not lived up to this vow…until I got pulled over by a policeman coming from the local grocery store. Now I had just pulled away from the traffic light so there was no way I could’ve gotten up to “speeding” and I did not peel out. Lights are working. Turn signal was on. I admit I was stymied.

The car was unregistered. (What?) It seems I have been driving around in Mom’s uninsured and unregistered vehicle for over a year now. (How the heck did I dodge that bullet for so long???) Though we had a current registration and insurance card sitting in the glove box, the DMV had dropped the registration after Nationwide dropped our policy for lack of payment. Mom was also mystified. She’s been making payments. What happened? Sadly, Mom was a recent victim of ID theft. Payments, of roughly the same amount, have been going to a cellphone company for someone in California. Mom saw the payment coming out but did not notice the name of the organization pulling the payment. And Nationwide did not send her notification that she was falling behind. A trip to the DMV revealed we cannot renew the registration in Mom’s name because she can no longer drive with her cataracts and does not have a valid license anymore. So I’ve been “grounded” so to speak…until we can find a way to get this thing valid again. And, as if that wasn’t enough, the car will not start. We suspect the battery. So we have a few obstacles to overcome. But it has also been a good turning point for me in this campaign to reduce my carbon footprint.

We live in rural CT so the roughly uniform city block is not a part of our immediate world. However, as The Herbal Hare Homestead sits just on the edge of the business district of the town, we are close enough to my work, the feed store, the post office, the library, town hall, church, and even the local Walmart so that this walking thing isn’t really so bad. The toughest part is the huge hill that leads from my neighbor’s farm down into that commercial area. It’s mostly downhill on the way into town but I am finding myself woefully out of shape traversing that uphill climb on the way home.

But I’m not complaining. When all is said and done, I should have lost this extra 30 lbs. I’ve been lamenting, improved my circulation greatly, saved money on gasoline and wear and tear of the car–because I don’t intend to start driving locally even after this glitch is resolved–and, yes, reduced my carbon footprint on the world.

The good Lord works in mysterious ways. I’ll admit to a bit of an “Oh, Lord, why me?” reaction after this citation (and, yes, the nice officer did cite me but, coming from a family of police officers, it’s all good; he’s just doing his job and it’s good to see). Now I am seeing some of the benefits of it. Even Mom asked me last night, “Isn’t walking or riding a bike part of homesteading?” Who-hoo! Yes, it is.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Faith, Gratitude, Homesteading, Nature, Spirituality

10 Years Sheared

Lisa Burbank

Off of my life, that is.

This morning it was business as usual at The Herbal Hare Homestead. I trudged outside to the chicken coop, filled a small pool with water for the ducks and scattered the contents of the chicken bucket on the ground. I then opened up the door to henhouse and, while they dined on breakfast, I cleaned their perch and the floor of their house.

Suddenly, Sargent Feathers let out some ungodly screeching. I ran out of the henhouse as my flock of chickens and ducks came racing back to the coop. I looked up to see a large hawk flying away, evidently frightened by the sudden appearance of a human holding a long, shiny, dark object (an old hoe that I use to scrape droppings off the perch). I did a head count: 16 chickens, 3 ducks. And there were 2 chickens bunking in with the goats…

No, only 1…I carried Flame into the henhouse when I got out of work last night. She was now with the other hens, huddled at the back of the henhouse.

Who’s missing?

After a more thorough head count, I realized Taffy, my little Silkie, was missing. I confess to immediately resorting to copious blubbering. All I kept thinking was, “No, Lord, please, not my Taffy!”

I try not to have favorites but, sometimes there’s just that one who is such a little character. That would be Taffy. And yet, I wouldn’t trade one of the others in her place. I love them, too.

Devastation doesn’t begin to cut it…Especially after a search of the yard revealed a pile of her silky feathers near the fence the hawk just flew over. It seemed the worst had happened, with me only a short distance away. I tried not to imagine her little body being ripped apart piece by piece, prayed she died quickly so she would not feel the pain of it. And then shook my fist after the long gone hawk, threatening to shoot it if he/she returned. As I don’t own either firearms, crossbow or bow and arrow, I’m not sure how I might’ve carried out this threat…Even if my overly sensitive heart could readily have raised such a weapon.

Yes, I know predation is part of raising livestock, especially chickens, who are pretty high up there on the food chain. But I wasn’t prepared to be rational about this. Again, devastation doesn’t begin to cover it. I gathered up the feathers…I’m not sure why.

Mom was up when I went inside the house. Did I check under the deck? Yes, I had. How about under that corner of the barn where she hid before? I doubted there had been time for her to duck under there. I showed her the pile of feathers. I was already in mourning.

“Who is that saint you call upon when something is lost?” Mom asked.

St. Anthony. But I had already gone straight to the top, to God. And, yup, over a chicken.

I didn’t hold out much hope as I traipsed out to the barn. On the way there, though a voice inside told me I had already looked under the deck, I got down on my hands and knees and looked underneath again.

Lo and behold, a fuzzy gray and black head poked up from behind one of the footings. How she managed to crawl in there, I have no idea but I wept copiously again, with relief and joy this time, praising Him greatly for sparing her. Yes, He does answer prayers with a “Yes” sometimes.

May God bless you & keep you!

Gratitude, Healing, Religion, Self-improvement, Spirituality

Punctuality

Lisa Burbank

I have a reputation. And it’s not one that I’m proud of. In fact, I spent part of Mass yesterday, teary-eyed with embarrassment because I was 2 minutes’ late…and it was my weekend to serve communion; someone else had to do it.

This is the story of my life. And I probably sound like a very disrespectful person, as though I do not care about other people’s time or agendas. Nothing could be further from the truth. I really do try to make it on time–everywhere. And I am going to give myself a bit of a break, just a teensy one, because once upon a time, I was at least an hour late to everything. I’ve managed to cut it down to 5 minutes. That’s certainly a big improvement, but these last 5 minutes seem to elude me. The one exception seems to be when Mom and I are traveling somewhere together; I struggle enough with my own punctuality. When we’re putting a commute across the state line and at least a half dozen pit stops from Mom before we can leave, well, family has learned to tell us to be there for 1 when they really want us there for 1:30. It’s shameful. Being late when there’s a legitimate reason (a traffic accident where you sat for a time, unable to move, for example) might be excusable but, in my case, where it’s a regular thing, it is inexcusable. It’s rude. There’s no other word for it.

As Lent is coming up soon, I’ve been debating what I can do as my Lenten vow. While everyone else seems to give up chocolate or some other indulgence, I tend to make vows that will somehow make an improvement in myself. As I’m on a very limited, fixed budget right now, indulgences are few and far between; giving up the rare treat seems a bit too easy, actually. I like to challenge myself during Lent. Of course, I have a couple of standards: an internal cleanse where I cut out sugars, bread, pasta–basically anything that might create candida in the small intestine, and I add a few extra nightly “thankful” items in my grateful journal (this is a journal that I keep beside my bed where, before I go to sleep, I write down (at present) 5 things that I am grateful from that day). But those are sort of routine. I’m looking for that bigger challenge, that one thing I can do for Him this Lenten season.

I think striving to close that 5 minute gap is as good as it gets. This weekend I was rude to my fellow parishioners, my priest and, most importantly, my God. It’s time for a change. Maybe I should even give this campaign a title: On Time for Jesus.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Faith, Gratitude, Healing, Homesteading, Nature, Prayer, Spirituality

More Little Crises

Lisa Burbank

Domino is doing much, much better. He and the other goats had a second dose of dewormer on Friday; they will receive a third treatment in 10 days’ time. His stool is back to normal. Appetite still not quite up to snuff but he is eating again; he was completely off his feed before. And, as he’s a little overweight, I’m not going to quibble about it too much…so long as it doesn’t go on for too long and he continues to thrive. He’s full of pep these days rather than the slight lethargy he was displaying a little over a week ago. Fortunately, this little crises has been easy to treat. The goats love the taste of the de-wormer so there’s been no trouble getting it into them. (Now if they would show as much enthusiasm for hoof trimming…) In fact, Domino keeps nuzzling my hand for more, even after he’s had the full dosage. He’s also becoming more lovable and affectionate as he starts to feel better. That makes “Momma” feel better!

A month ago, I blogged about Mom’s dog, Max, peeing blood and having to make an emergency run to the vet. The vet diagnosed him with two separate, tick-borne diseases, Lyme and Anaplasmosis (Hope I’m spelling that last one correctly…). The vet put him on doxycycline and he did fairly well with it until the day before his re-check visit. Max stopped eating. He also started developing symptoms of a urinary or kidney infection, straining to pass urine but only producing a small trickle, at best. However, when we took him in Friday for his visit, an attack of nerves had him suddenly leaking everywhere. His vet put him on a different antibiotic to kill the infection but he is being scheduled for something called a full senior panel. As he is 8, going on 9, he counts as a senior. I’m not sure what all this encompasses but, in short, they want to make sure everything inside is working correctly. The vet’s main concern was the leakage but, as soon as we left the office and headed home, the leaking stopped. And it has stayed that way. Off the doxycycline, his appetite has returned and he’s also much more himself.

However, Max did not visit the vet alone on Friday. Pearl rode shotgun. I came home from work Thursday evening and Pearl came running to the door to greet me as usual. Halfway across the living room floor she suddenly stiffened and rolled a couple of times. Stopped, got halfway up and rolled again. Scared the crap out of both of us. My worst thought was a seizure of some sort. Or a stroke. (Can cats have a stroke?) However, it has proved to be an inner ear infection that was affecting her balance. She, too, is on antibiotics and seems to be thriving again.

Phew!

I am so grateful that all three of these fur-babies are healing; I keep thanking God for each little triumph on the road to wellness again. 2016 was a rough year here at the homestead, with the loss of several geriatric pets, and even a couple of youngsters (Squire the psychotic rooster met his end suspiciously after challenging Sargent Feathers earlier in the day…Alice Cooper, my beautiful flame-point kitten, curled up for a nap in his kitty bed and never awakened); enough already!

They say trouble comes in threes. I’m not sure who “they” are but they seem to know what they’re doing. I hope “they” are right. Mommy’s heart–and her pocketbook–need a break!

May God bless you & keep you!

May