Town Stars

Small towns rarely offer stars, but ours has a big one.

No, I'm not talking about the movie kind, I'm talking about the shape.

Del Norte rests under a small hill known on the map as Mount LookOut.
The people who live here call it "D Mountain."
Which is convenient since there is a huge white "D" painted on the side of it.
The "D" has been there for years prior to my birth and will remain for years after I am gone.

You can see the "D" across the valley floor on clear days.
Two times during the year that little hill turns into something wonderful.
Sitting atop the hill, strung between three poles, is a star.
(On Easter it is a cross.)

The star is normally lit the first weekend of December, and remains lit until a week after New Year.
It shines so beautifully on the hill, and after a fresh snow, it glows even brighter. It can bee seen, lighting up the sky from all around the valley.

A few years back, some people tried to tell the town it was a religious symbol and had to be removed so it wouldn't offend someone. Well, because it has been there for so long, and is a local icon of sorts, it remained.
(Sound of Rasberry being made) Haha to those who deem the world must remain politically correct.

Yes, that is how we here in this small town deal with people who want us to change something that has been around for years and years. We love the star.

It's light leads us home after a night full of shopping in Alamosa.
It welcomes the weary traveler as they journey through on the way to somewhere else.
It is the best part of our towns Christmas decorations, and should never change.

Sometimes, I admit, I am afraid the cost of maintaining it will cause it to be turned off.
We have had our share of vandals who have hiked up the hill and thrown rocks at the wonderful lights.
Yet, it remains lit.

Inspiring to us small town folks who do have legitimate fear of the outside world. It reminds us that no matter what, that star will be there to guide us home, give us light, and for a few minutes every winter, Del Norte has a "Star!"

What not to do..??!!

What not to do....if you are staying in a motel, lodge, or with friends and family. (And yes, I have personal experience finding all the wonderful things people have left, or changed, or...well, you get the point!)


Unlike Emily Post, I am not a pro in the manners department. In fact, I'm a huge klutz! Just ask anyone that has known me for more than five minutes. Regardless, I do know there are some things you should never do when staying away from your own cozy bed. 


Smile, it is pretty good advice.


1. When staying in a motel, remember that someone, at sometime, purchased the ugly carpet and coordinating bedspread to cover the dirt. It is incredibly impolite to remark on the ugliness, after all, someone actually purchased them for your enjoyment!


2. When staying at a lodge, it is never okay to leave leftover food under the bed. Yes, it is convenient for those ever popular midnight snacks, but you will always forget you put the pancakes there, and even though everyone generally likes the smell of maple syrup, it is not a great room deodorizer. 


3. When staying at a friends house, tell them if you have sleep walking issues. Your host and hostess may be shocked if you crawl in their bed in the middle of the night without warning.


4. If you find yourself staying in a motel and something doesn't work, you should tell someone right away. The repair guys get paid by the hour and love coming to your room in the middle of the night to fix your running toilet, the heat or a.c., or show you how the coffee maker works. Waiting until the next morning to complain won't get you a discount on the room, that is an old trick and never works. Instead try complimenting them on the matching decor!


5. If you find yourself in a lodge and what you flushed seems like it is coming back to visit you, don't flush again. There is a little rubber bowl with a stick on it nearby. You can use it, and if I have to explain how, you need a book called, "Plunging for Dummies!" Quick, the last copy may now be purchased at Amazon!


6. If your hostess makes something you simply hate, don't put it in your napkin unless it comes on a roll and is disposable. Instead, keep the intolerable mess and toss it outside when no one is looking. If you are lucky, the evidence may not be found for weeks, and by then, you are off the hook!


7. In a motel, remember, the toilet is not a bong. Yes, there is water conveniently placed there, and yes, there are straws near the coffee maker, but there is simply no excuse for leaving your umm... medication, on the toilet bowl. 


8. If visiting a lodge, and the television doesn't work, throwing it off the balcony will only make a mess. Instead, unplug it and move it to the dining room table. Someone is more likely to find it there, and who knows when the snow will melt enough for someone to find all the parts!


9. When designated to the couch at your friends, it could be considered rude to remove the cushion and look for spare change. They may be saving it for a rainy day!


Last but not least: Tip your housekeeper, unless you like your alarm clock set for three in the morning!


I hope you enjoyed these basic rules that can be used in a variety of settings. 

Spiritual Abuse

Spiritual Abuse. It is real, it happens today, and seems to be growing more and more as I look around.
Some of the first examples we have a spiritual abuse came through Judaic law. They added and added to those first ten commands until no one really knew when you sinned against God, or against the local clergy.
Through history, it has been evident. The early persecution of those who were not of the Roman Catholic faith, for one. 
Spiritual abuse can come in all shapes and sizes and look many different ways.
The dictionary says of spiritual abuse: Spiritual abuse occurs when a person in religious authority or a person with a unique spiritual practice misleads and maltreats another...


This doesn't sound like much fun.
But I have seen it occur over and over, and in every church I have ever attended.
I know that statement is powerful, I think I mean it to be.


But before I go further, I want to give an example of the instances I have experienced


My first real experience came when I was a teen. I was "on fire" for God. I was at church every time the doors opened. I could quote my fair share of bible verses, and I knew every single word of the 10 Commandments. (Said with much sarcasm)
Now let me explain that when you live in a small resort town, where the entire population is 400 in the winter, and jumps to 10,000 in the summer, that church can be exciting and fun. Even if the main focus of the church is to cater to those thousands in a short 3 month period of time. But when the air gets cold, everyone leaves, and the real work of a local church begins. 
There had been a couple in town, living in a tepee for a number of months. The church had given them money when needed, food, and warm clothes. They promised to come to church. I was excited at the prospect. Then one warm summer day, they did come. I sat proudly in the front pew, my normal spot as they made their way down the aisle. The pastor we had at the time practically ran down to meet them. But instead of a welcome hug, he told them they weren't dressed properly for church, and they couldn't come back until the took a shower.
Needless to say, I was shocked. I couldn't even concentrate on the sermon. I left church that day and rarely went back after that. I didn't want to be a part of a group that expressed acceptance by their own standards.


It was then that I began to notice that church, as I knew, was capable of spiritual abuse.


Since when do we have to dress to a certain standard to be able to attend church?
If you have lived in the south, or even visited, you will see that everyone wears their best. It is like a Sunday School Model show with the little old ladies and men standing at the door, inspecting everyone's attire to make sure it meets their standards.


Church here in this small town is really nothing like that. Most people come in ranch clothes, blue jeans, and some even have manure on their boots. Some times we may dress up a little, but only for Christmas or Easter, and I may still wear jeans on those days, depending on the temperature.


Yes, this is but one example, but it leads to a great many questions, and some of my opinions.


Since when has another believers opinions been greater than that of God?


I have seen preachers point their fingers at the church members, for not giving enough, doing enough, being there enough, and at the same time, ignoring the spiritual growth of the people in the pews.


I have seen musicians make people cry with their beautiful songs, then ten minutes later hear criticism coming from their mouths.


I have seen ministries use the very people they claim to be helping, all in the name of furthering God's Kingdom on earth. Just to throw them aside when the "rules" are broken or when you have an opinion that differs from the church leaders.


This all falls under the guise of spiritual abuse.


I am not pointing fingers here. I have done it myself.
Yes, I fully admit that I have thought to myself many times, even when I didn't speak it out loud, that "I am a better Christian than they are!" Oh how wrong I truly am. If it weren't for grace, I wouldn't be anything at all.


I keep hearing the childrens song, nah nah nah nahhh nahhhhh nah.


What is it that keeps us doing this terrible thing? Instead of loving those around us in our local church, we judge, point fingers and whisper insults.


I believe the problem starts when each of us decide to follow Christ. Suddenly, just as we are on the verge of such an incredible spiritual high, feeling pure and secure, someone starts sending is messages full of rules.
"We don't do things like that in church."
"We don't act like that in church."
"We don't speak like that in church."
People start telling us what a believer should do and not do.
All these things are the beginning of spiritual abuse.
Like we, in our own wisdom, know more, and can teach more than the Holy Spirit.
Where did this spiritual arrogance come from?
In my deep psyche, I feel it is an innate need to form power.
New believers trust older believers, they have wisdom, so, shouldn't we listen to them?
NO!!!
In fact, we should question every single thing they say, using the Holy Spirit and the Word of God to judge the real truth.
God doesn't care what we look like, or for that matter, what we smell like. He really doesn't care if our church pews have cushions or if we sit on the floor. God really doesn't care about the many little things we deem important. 
God sees the individual heart, right where it is.
He doesn't ever see our sin after we have asked Jesus into our life. No, not even the sin I commit tomorrow. Why? Because the blood of Christ has covered all my sin, and when God looks at me, He sees me. The child He loves. 


More on spiritual abuse in the days to come, this is a humble start.
Just know, God's Grace is enough for me, and for you. He loves you just exactly the way you are, and no one else matters. Rest in His arms and heal, He will never let you go.

Time goes fast and stands still

Just over a week ago, my mom and I ventured to my sisters house to begin working on a project we had planned a few months ago. Just about six months ago to be exact.
My brother had a plethora of t-shirts. After he died, none of us were sure what to do with them. No one wanted to give them away, or dump them in the trash. 
So, after a few discussions with Glenda, my sister-in-law, we decided to make memorial quilts out of them.
Now, some of you may be thinking that because we live in the world of little towns, we would have nothing more to do than make quilts and jelly. Nay, say I. This was something we had to tackle, and soon.
We all picked out the t-shirts we wanted on our quilts, bagged them up, and took them to Penny's to begin the major task. 
Now, you have to keep in mind that none of us have ever made quilts. Yes, I have made some small baby quilts, nothing hard, easy one pieces. But we had decided it couldn't be that hard to make a few quilts. Well, 10 didn't seem that hard, we figured, if a person could do one, we three could certainly make 10. No problem. Oh, for famous last words.
First, we had to iron on backing to all the shirts. No easy task. It took my mom and I a day and a half to complete it. Penny supervised. Millie, my dog had come along with us, and was bored after the first few minutes of watching the steaming irons. She had more fun later when the material scraps were all over the floor for her to play with.
After completing this part, we moved on to how to put them together.
First, we had to make squares. Because, quilts have squares.
This would have been much easier if some of the shirts didn't have logos that covered the entire front of the shirt and sleeves. 
Not wanting to destroy a single logo, we cut the shirts in half, and decided that we would use the entire shirt, laid out flat, front and back to make the smaller lap robes for the kids. Each one would have a single shirt.
Now to put them on the material we had purchased. 
We spent the rest of that day contemplating how this should be done, and eventually decided we would use a simple zig-zag stitch, and piece them together.
It took us one entire day to finish the top of one quilt. There had to be a better way. Simply cutting out material and piecing them together was not going to work. 
Light bulbs came on above our heads when we decided to sew the entire shirt onto one piece of material.
We had four days left to complete all the tops so that my sister could take the quilt tops to work and place pictures of John on them.
In all honesty, after we figured out this part, it did fall into place and with sewing machines smoking, (or was that Penny and I?) we were able to get all of them done with a couple hours left over.
I have now decided this was one of the best therapy sessions I have ever had. We all needed that time together. We all shared memories of my brother as we cut and sewed. Some so funny we rolled with laughter, others so sad we had to take a break and cry a while. 
Mom shared a story about my brother bringing home a dead cat, and telling everyone his dad would fix it, because dad could fix anything. (I have to admit, he can fix just about everything, and make it better than it was in the first place, but a dead cat full of bugs was not something he could quite do.)
Penny talked about the memorial service and all the people that had come. We had so much love and support that day. God's hand was holding us close that day, and many more since then.
I talked about how John loved his nieces and nephews, and all the things he did for them through the years. They loved him so much, and it had nothing to do with anything he had ever given them. They just loved him because he always loved them unconditionally. They all new John would give good advice, a quick smile, and a pat on the shoulder. 
We talked about even more, but those things seem the most important to me right now.
Now that the tops are finished, Penny is putting pictures on them, and then my mom will take them all over to her friends who does quilt and has a huge machine, to have them finished. They may even be done by Christmas!
Now to tackle making jelly...hmm...maybe next year!

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My town, My people!

I love my home town!
No! I really do!
I like being able to walk down the street and know almost everyone.
I like waving to neighbors when I walk to the store,
or drive down the street.


A few years back, there was an accident at our home
It happened the day of our annual Covered Wagon's Day Parade.
A man had a seizure after seeing the blinking lights of the patrol cars.
conveniently parked at each end of main street, detouring traffic.
He was going well over 60 m.p.h. when he hit out neighbors garage, bouncing him over to our fence line, where his truck tore it out.
He then hit our back steps, which forced him back over to out neighbors,
upon which he took out their clothes line, and ended up in their shed.


We had just walked in the door. Nathaniel was sitting near the window closest to the fence. Our youngest son, in the back bedroom, watching t.v. just a few feet from our back door. Our neighbors were gone.


My neighbor just happens to be the chief of police, and my husbands cousin.
We felt terrible for the destruction of their home, while rejoicing that the damage to our property and lives was very low.


Within minutes, our neighbors were there. 


After the all clear was given by the gas and electric company, our neighbors pitched in and helped pick up the debris. All of our neighbors things that were stored in the garage, were now all over the yard. It really didn't take long for everyone to clean it up, put their stuff in boxes and bags, and store it next to their home.


Our neighbors brought us something to drink, patted us on the back, and went back to their homes.


That night, a few neighbors and friends still stopping by to see the now non-existent fence, garage, clothes line, and shed just sat and visited.
We caught up with friends we hadn't really talked to in years, met some new friends, and thanked everyone who wanted to pitch in and help.


Now, I know this doesn't happen everywhere. (I did live in L.A. for a time)


But I like knowing that the people who live around us really do care, even when we only share the occasional wave or nod of a head.


No, we don't have all night stores, or hang outs, like people have in large cities. We don't have a mall, or a multitude of convenience stores. 


We have something much more important! It is knowing someone will always have your back if you need them, just as we would for them.


It isn't the buildings that make this town great, or even the single stop light. It is the people. The cat lady who we never see come out of her house. The people across the street that came to America for a better life and after years of work, became citizens. The couple with all the kids down the block, who wave and ask if we want to come play. The older couple on the end of our block who are always kind and loving to their pets. The young adults who share a house and have a party every now and then, (and play good music.) Our cousin and chief of police who works hard at keeping us safe. It is all these people and more.


Yes! I really do love this town!

Faith

I am a Christian.
It was not an inherited faith.
I did not become a Christian because my parents were Christians.
I did not become a Christian because I am weak, ill, or slow-witted. My faith is not a "crutch."
I certainly make no claims to be intelligent, I feel I am fairly normal in the brain department.
I did accept my God's forgiveness as a child, and at that time asked Him to be the Lord and Master of my life.
I do not claim to be a "Super Christian."
I do not claim that because of my faith, my life is perfect.
Anyone who knows me even slightly, knows my life is far from perfect!
I have not always lived my belief. I am guilty of being a hypocrite from time to time.
Christianity is not an easy form of faith.
My faith in an invisible God Has been trying and question filled. 
Yet, despite all of that, my faith is simple.
I believe God created this world in Seven days. I do not know exactly the length of those days, as I, nor anyone else, was present at that time. I do believe God is the creator of time, and thus is not held to it's constraints as humans are.
A creator can create anything to suit himself, and is completely able to change it.
I believe the Bible is the written word of God. I believe a Supreme Creator can use the mind and body of His creation, while still allowing said creation to use his or her own mind for interjection. To me, this does not make the bible invalid. I believe it is simply a fact.
I believe that Jesus Christ is the living Son of God. I believe He is the Word of God, His voice, His hands, and the reason for being able to approach Him without fear, boldly even, because of what He allowed His Son to do. 
I believe that the blood of Christ covers all sin. All Sin. even those I have not committed, all past sin, not only mine, but every single person who is willing to accept this gift. 
I believe there is nothing I can do in my own power to please my God. 
I believe that building faith takes a life time.
I believe that the Holy Spirit is God's breath living, ever present.
I believe that we can only meet God on His terms, which means accepting His gift of Jesus Christ.
I know that no matter what is happening in this world, my God will always be with me, often carrying me.


I still have struggles with my faith. I still question my God.
I believe both are acceptable to Him, because it is honest.


God is truth, there is no other.


In the next few weeks, I will be interjecting posts on a matter of topics concerning faith. I hope to hear from as many people as possible about this mysterious thing called Faith!


Have a question? I will be happy to search for the answer with you, although, I will probably be very likely to give you my opinion!


(Was that a warning??? L.O.L. Probably!)

Growing up in the "old" days!

Del Norte is an awesome place to grow up!
As a kid, I lived here from the time I was seven, until I was a teen, when we moved to Creede.
We lived on the north side of town, just off the highway, and near what is now the park. It wasn't built until just before we moved.
My cousin had an old horse, mainly white. His one outstanding feature was the small "o" that his lips made. He could never quite close his mouth. We could always tell which horse Blitz was in a crowd of white horses, just because of this little feature. My sister and I had ponies. Mine was called Babe, and my sisters, was her filly named Flicka.
Our pastures were near our house, so it was always easy access.
It was wonderful to grow up in a time where our parents never knew where we were, although they did know we were always out riding. We didn't have to worry about kidnapping, (Not that anyone would have wanted us, spending that much time with a horse lends a certain odor to your being,) or drugs, or weapons at school. 
The three of us girls were always together, always on an adventure!
One of our favorite places to ride was behind the sawmill. We would ride our horses across the lower head gates, or just across the Rio Grande, depending on the depth of the water. As long as the horses could swim, we figured we would make it.
We would spend hours in that little field of cottonwoods, pretending we were cowboys and indians, bank robbers, wealthy ranchers chasing cattle rustlers, or just racing. It was near the pig farm, and the swimming hole in the river, complete with a knotted rope for swinging out over the hole!
Of course, riding horses all day does make one hungry. Because we knew there would mainly be bologna or P.B.&J. at home, we would have to figure out a way to make money to buy the various junk food we craved.
One of our favorite ways to make money was dressing up as cowboys and indians. Because my cousin and I had western saddles, we were always the cowboys. My sister always had a tan, long hair, and looked kind of like a boy, she was the indian, complete with headband and face paint.
We would take our horses up to the Old West Hotel and pose for pictures for the tourists. 
This wasn't always an easy feat. One, we didn't have a camera, the tourists would have to use their own. Two, We had to collect a dollar from them after they snapped our photo. Most were simply not willing to do this. Thus, causing us to become miffed and because my pony was well trained, I would make her rear up at them to show my personal disgust. 
Most days, we would make a couple of dollars, which at that time, bought a whole bunch of junk food at Jessops store.
We would buy 5 cents worth of penny bubble gum. Some candy bars, and maybe even a soda. We would always make our money back on the bottles by trading them back in.
There was rarely a day we didn't ride. 
We considered ourselves expert on everything "horse."
We lived, ate, and breathed horse. Even at home, we would get down on our hands and pretend to be a horse, racing up and down the halls, causing our parents to yell at us to be quiet. My cousin and sister were fluent in "horse." I didn't ever master the talent of a whinny or a snort, but they needed someone to interpret, so that job was mine!
One particular winter, we had become upset with our respective parents, and decided to run away from home. It didn't take us long to figure out where we would go. To us, it was obvious. We would ride to Utah and live happily ever after with the Osmonds and Robert Redford. 
We knew a trip of this magnitude would take planning. One just couldn't take off and find horse feed just anywhere.
Grudgingly, we asked for maps and paper, which was given generously to us by our parents. 
The entire winter was spent around our kitchen table. Maps opened, and lists made of the items we needed before we could leave.
We tended to feed the horses a little better that winter, so they could fatten up for the trip.
I don't remember all the plans we made, but I do remember they were intricate. We knew how many miles we would ride every day. Yes, we were experts on this matter, because we had ridden to Center and Monte Vista previously, we knew what our horses could take. 
We knew we would have to get a couple of mules to haul all of our camping items, which consisted of a couple of pans, a water bucket, oats for the horses, and three blankets. 
We would camp the real way, using our saddles as pillows!
It was one of the best winters ever!
Looking back, I can now truly say how thankful I am for that time.
I know we wore those poor horses out, but we loved them more than life itself!
I know we drove our parents crazy, but they let us be kids and didn't mind too much when lived out our imaginations.
I feel sorry for kids who never had this chance. For us, the days were carefree and fun. They taught us how to settle our own fights, make a world of our own, and how to be compassionate and care for animals. We learned that family is always more important, that sometimes, boys are cute, but most of the time they weren't worth the effort, and we could be anything we wanted! We could make a circus and get our friends to join in, ride for hours, and stop and watch the wonders of the world around us.
There are moments when I see something that reminds me of that time. It makes me smile and in moments I'm swept away to that time and place, and I am a cowboy or a princess, riding off into the sunset!

Bear Story

A number of people have asked me to share my bear story. So, here it is, in all of it's glorious and humorous moments! Enjoy!


A number of years ago, while I was youth minister at the former First Southern Baptist church, myself and my friend took three teens to Discipleship Training at the Baptist Camp of Glorietta, New Mexico. (The Mecca for Baptists in the west!)
We decided to camp, using my brand new two room tent. The cabins and rooms were beyond our budget. We picked a location on the hill near the end of the camp loop. It was a beautiful spot, surrounded by Ponderosa pine. 
We registered, ate dinner Saturday evening and returned to our camp and got ready for the night. The two girls were in one air mattress in one room, my son on a cot in the room with me and my friend on the other air mattress.
Now, there were a number of other campers there that night, including a Spanish baptist group that were enjoying a sing-a-long near their campfire. Some of them shouldn't have been singing, I know the bible says to make a joyful noise, but I had to wonder if God could find any joy among this noise!
Needless to say, we got little sleep that night.
Because the camp was so full, we were slated for the early breakfast schedule. Six is a little early for me to get up, and without much sleep the night before, the first day seemed to drag on endlessly.
We literally slid ourselves to bed at 10:30 that evening, thrilled that the campground was empty except for us. Happy the Spanish campers had moved out, and there was a great possibility that we would enjoy a good night sleep.
Everyone was asleep before we hit our sleeping bags. 
A noise woke my friend and I around 2:00 in the morning. Whispering, she said, "I think there is a bear out there!"
My eyes snapped open. "What do we do?"
"Be quiet, maybe it will go away."
Our whispers woke the three teens, who promptly asked what was going on.
"Shhh!" My friend whispered, "There is a bear out there, just go back to sleep!" Yeah, I'm sure that inspired them that we had everything under control and they could once again venture into dream land!
It was at this moment, that my brainy son spoke softly, "Mom, I see trees."
Brilliant, I thought, "Of course you see trees, we are in the woods."
"No mom, I mean I see the trees, I think the door is open!"
Suddenly I sat up, thinking we were more tired than I thought. I must immediately get up and zip up the door, closing off access to our humble abode. I crawled over my friend, who was now sitting up looking at the door. It was when I neared the door, sticking my hand out that I noticed the door was completely zipped, and yes my son had seen the trees, because there was a hole sliced near the zipper from the top of the tent, to the bottom.
You must remember, that brains rarely work well when suddenly roused from sleep by bears. After a quick discussion, we decided it would be best for us to leave the tent, get into the vehicle, and leave this place of wild animals.
Quickly gathering our coats, a flashlight, and pillows, I stood to lead the way.
Shaking, I unzipped the zipper. Now, at this point you may be asking yourself why we didn't just go through the convenient hole already there. As previously stated, brains don't work well when awoken by a bear! I stuck the flashlight out, saw no bear, and we all dashed for the vehicle. (We had borrowed a larger vehicle from a church member so we could carry our various camping items.) Now, being older, and ignorant of the lock your door always rule, my friend and I jumped into the front seat. Her in the driver seat, me in the passenger seat. The teens, well aware of the a fore mentioned rule, had dutifully locked their doors the night before. They were standing there, pounding on the glass in unison, "LET US IN! LET US IN!"
After fumbling with the lock, they were finally able to get into the back seat. Both girls next to the doors, my son sitting greatly relieved in between them. 
We were ready to go, breathing a sigh of relief, my friend spoke. "okay, give me the keys."
Looking at her, my brain still not functioning well, "I don't have the keys, you have them."
She shook her head, "No, you have them."
"No,", I said matter of fact, "You drove back last night, you have them."
It was at that exact moment our brains came to the same conclusion as we spoke in unison. "The keys are in the tent."
"Well," I said, "Someone has to go get the keys."
All eyes turned to my son, the only he-man-type male among us.
He shook his head, "No, you can call me a wimp, or a wuss, or whatever else you want, but I'm not getting the keys." As he sat boldly between the girls.
We all sat quietly for a moment. Knowing we were the adults and after all, we were responsible for the teens, and we really couldn't just send them out alone into bear infested woods to retrieve keys, we came up with a plan to get the keys.
I, being the lesser of the brave, would remain in the vehicle with the teens. My friend would run to the tent and grab the keys and because she was already in the drivers seat, this was the most logical conclusion. I decided I would keep her safe from the bears by rolling down the window just enough for me to hold the flashlight outside, so she would be able to see, while the other hand was on the horn. I would honk if I saw the bear, after that, she was pretty much on her own!
With trepidation, she ventured out to get the above mentioned keys.
It felt like eternity before she emerged from the tent, still using the door, and promptly zipping it back up again, keys in hand.
Relieved, we drove to the bottom of the hill where the camp host was sleeping soundly in his R.V.. Earlier, we had read a sign on the door that said if you see a bear, please inform the camp host. It didn't say we shouldn't do so in the middle of the night. My friend and I jumped out of the vehicle now feeling safe since the tent was at least 100 yards up the hill. We quickly knocked on the door, looking at each other as we heard a woman's voice coming from inside somewhere. "It must be a bear."
At least we wouldn't have to feel guilty about waking them up! This must have happened before. A man, wearing gray sweat pants and a Glorietta t-shirt opened the door. 
"There is a bear at our tent," I spewed excitedly, "and it ripped a hole in our tent from here to here." I used my hands to speak, knowing from experience that brains don't work well, and he may need a visual description to get the point across to his brain.
Without a word, and leaving the door open, he turned and picked up an old rotary dial phone. "Security, this is the camp host, we have a bear in the campground, I think it's the big one."
At those words, eyes popping, my friend and I looked at each other and mouthed, "The Big One!!!" My brain, now starting to function slightly, thought, wow, they know these bears so well, that they could tell it was the big one just from my visual explanation! They are good!
Within moments, a security guard in a golf cart passed us as he drove as quickly as you can in a golf cart up the hill to tent camping. 
I looked at the camp host, "We can't stay in our tent now, it has a huge hole, what should we do?"
After another phone call, he turned, "We have a cabin you can use, there isn't a key, but no one bothers anything here."
No problem, but our bedding, minus pillows, was still in the tent with our clothing. Happy now, the teens noticed we had saved the junk food from being demolished by a hungry bear by insisting we leave all food in the truck and quickly dug in to grab a mid-night snack. 
After a time, we heard the golf cart returning. The nice security guy told us he would help us get our items out of the tent and move to the cabin. He hadn't seen the bear, and was pretty sure it was gone, but just in case, he would hold the tent open while he stood with a shotgun in his hand, just in case. Being fully awake, his brain functioning perfectly, he told us just to use the convenient hole made by the bear.
It was now 4:30 in the morning. It took another half hour for us to move our clothes and sleeping bags into the nearby cabin. Two sets of bunk beds, and a cot, along with an old gas stove and noisy 1940 refrigerator were the only things in the small 15x15 foot cabin.
Lights out, and at last, sleep. But the teens, tummies full from junk food, and adrenaline rushing through their hormone filled bodies, were unable to sleep. Oh well, it was almost time for us to get up and go to breakfast. We made our way to the shower house, glad we didn't have to wait in line, no one else was up at this hour. It was upon returning to the cabin that we now could see the vehicle. The sun just coming up over the mountains. Paw prints, in the dust on the side of the vehicle. And, what is this? The air vent cover, put there more for decoration than anything else, was missing. We moved en mass to the rear of the vehicle, and it was there we saw the tongue prints on the window. The bear had tried to get our junk food! The teens were angry now and desired revenge from the foe who would dare take their chips and chocolate!
We went to breakfast, glad to be alive, yawning, and trudged to our classes.
Now, for those of you who have never been to this mecca of the baptist west, know the bathrooms can rival those in any major football league stadium in the United States. The stalls seem to be an endless row or relief. 
While using these wonderful facilities, my friend and I overheard everyone talking about a bear attack in the camp ground. 
"I guess it shredded the tent!"
"Yeah, and I heard that one of them had their leg torn off, we need to pray for those poor people!"
"I have been praying, but can you imagine a bear thrashing through a tent full of teens? It must have been horrific"
"I'm sure it was, bless their little hearts!"
Not aware that it was ourselves who were the topic of this discussion stepped into the main room. A very grandmotherly woman was at the sink. My friend approached her, "When did this happen? We had our tent attacked by a bear last night too!"
The lady flung her arms around my friend and I, nearly smothering us with her um, rather large bosoms. "Bless your little hearts, You must have been terrified!"
Pulling away from her loving grasp, we nodded, smiling. "Yeah," I said, "but it is kind of funny now that we think about it."
"How close to the campers that lost their legs were you?" She asked.
"Well, we thought we were the only ones there and we didn't even know about anyone losing their legs."
It was at this moment, we were graced by a female security person who explained, it was only one tent, and, we were the ones that had been spoken about. We both looked down at our legs, just in case one was missing, and being as tired as we were, we may not have noticed a missing body part. 
Nope! All intact, we left the bathroom, amazed and still laughing from our experience.
Just in case you are wondering, I still have the tent, although I don't use it any longer, I keep it just in case someone asks me to return to this place and camp with them. I quietly take it out and show them, using my hands, I explain loudly why I can never again return to this campground. 
There is a little more to the story, but I will save that for a time when I must write about sleep deprivation and what it can do to the human brain!
And just a word of warning, whispering does not deter bears from keeping company with you in the middle of the night. It is better to shout and scream. I just thought I would share this bit of information in case you decided to travel to this amazing place! By the way, do you need to borrow a tent?

Rock

I like rock music. Yes, I know I am mid step in my personal century. Yes, I know it has been said that people my age should not appreciate music that has a deep vibrating bass, drums that are not of the bongo or tympani, or guitars that can hit notes the human voice can't. 
I know all of that, yet, I still love it!
Not just any rock music. I do appreciate Christian rock. 
Now before you give me the whole spiel about how you think Christian Rock can't hold a candle to, umm, "real rock." I must insert a hardy, nay nay.
In my very humble although loud opinion, I believe there are a few bands that put secular rock to shame.
Pillar, one of my all time favorites has a throbbing bass line, enough to shake your lungs in your chest. Having seen them live in concert on more than two occasions, I can honestly say my lungs shook for hours! Their lyrics speak directly to my heart, make me want to jump up and scream, and I have even been tempted to toss my body into a crowd.
Here is a link to one of the songs by them that I love.
http://youtu.be/BAGZ7c8V9SM


Another band I personally love is Skillet. I have also seen them a couple of times, and they boast the same lung shaking bass that Pillar does. The lead singer and bass player is married to the keyboarder and this is one band that truly lives their faith. Besides, they have a chick drummer, how awesome is that? Yes, I know Kid Rock does too. I'm not trying to make a point here. I just think any lady that can beat a drum set to death has to be awesome!


Of course, I still love NewsBoys, even though most of the original members are not in the band any longer. Their music takes me on adventures. At one point in my life, I was even on the Street Team for the release of one of their albums. The poster I received still graces the walls of my home, and always will. And yes, I have seen them many times.


I do like secular rock too, but it doesn't inspire me, or encourage me the way Christian Rock can and does. 


And to those who think Christian Rock has to be some kind of oddity, or, if you think it is a sin to listen to Christian Rock, I only have a few words to say.


Okay, maybe more than a few, but here it is. 
Christian Rock is just as valid as secular rock. Personal taste does not make one genre of music more important than any other. There is a place in this world for all forms of music.
Music is music, it is inanimate, it does not live or breathe. It has no living soul. Music is written with the same notes, whether Christian or not. Rock music was not inspired by people worshiping Satan in Africa. It is not a form of music that will send anyone to hell. God doesn't just like Southern Gospel, or chants, or any other particular genre. In fact, I think God rocks out every now and then with a grin on His face. 


I'm sure I will be rocking out when I'm closer to the 100 year mark in my life. And if I don't make it that far, that's okay too. Just make sure they play Rock music at my funeral! And I won't mind if anyone stands on the pews, bangs their head, or dances in the aisles, and I'm pretty sure God won't mind either!

Road Trip!!

I love road trips. They are always fun and wonderfully spontaneous. I love the whole thing, junk food, cold Pepsi, cat naps, wild animals, beautiful scenery.
Last week, my sister and I took my mom and dad on an overnight road trip to celebrate my moms birthday. 
It was a hard week, emotionally. Since John's death, I seem to go through those with my family. We each deal with it in different ways. The focus was on my mom though, and we wanted her to get away from the house.

This is my mom and dad at the start of the trip. They looked so cute and so very hippie in their matching bandannas! On the scenic overlook on Wolf Creek. 

We drove over Wolf Creek and ate lunch in Durango before going to Mancos. My mom lived there as a young teen, so we got the whole tour along with a few good stories. If you know the road outside of town, you know the highway goes up a hill. It was on this hill that my mom went sledding one early winter morning, only to be found by a local police officer. She just happened to be with the judges son, so they all received a long lecture about the dangers of sledding on a major highway!
She then told us about the school blowing up, a bar burning down, and a rope swing over the river. Ahh, good times!
Here is a pic of mom with a bronze outside one of the many galleries in Mancos.

She is too cute!!
We then took a drive up to Mesa Verde. It was a National Park when my mom was younger. Her dad was from Norway, and loved anything that had to do with the "Wild West." They spent many weekends there when she was younger, before they had the paved trails. She remembers climbing all over the ruins and finding bits of pottery. 

Here are mom, dad, and Penny at the overlook near the Museum. 

We didn't walk down into the canon, we just drove around and looked at all the ruins. It was sunset when we were leaving the park and we made one last stop at the Fire lookout. Sunset over "The Sleeping Ute" mountain. 

Lady Bugs gathering on the scrub oak. I have never seen this before. I am sure there were thousands of them on a number of bushes near the lookout.

After spending the night in Cortez, we drove up to Telluride, stopping at the top of Lizard Head pass for this photo op. 

Home sweet home! F.Y.I. Telluride is beautiful, as always, but the people who live there are freaks! Seriously, we were almost run over by a guy on a bicycle, and we were in the truck! I watched a woman change clothes while parked outside of the cemetery! Seriously, she stripped down and redressed after taking a jog, ignoring me parked next to her and the passing traffic. The residents use the cemetery as a dog park where the dogs are encouraged to take care of business all over the stones and no one, including local police, mind who is getting stoned while sitting on their porch or walking down the street!!

Picnic at the park where as a child my brother taught me how to skip stones. (Yes, I skipped a few just for him, and yes, I still throw like a girl!)

My grandfathers name, (Magee, Carl Guy) on the mining memorial near the gondola entrance.

We rode the gondola up to the village, and then back to Telluride. This is not a mode of transportation I would like to take often. I still get that sick feeling in my tummy just thinking about how far up you really are!

Bridal Veil Falls. Still able to take my breath away!


We returned back to my parents house that night. Penny and I heard more stories about our parents adventures growing up in these amazing places and shared some good memories with one another. Although the time and places have changed, our roots have not. I'm thankful for being planted here in this amazing place!
Road Trip??!! 
I'm ready!

Just another day!

Today is my moms birthday. She is 75 years old!!!
She certainly doesn't look her age, and she definitely doesn't act her age...well, most of the time.
My mom is an amazing woman and I want to share some things about her life.
My mom was born on a lake in Minnesota. Okay, it was actually in a little cabin, on a little island, located about 50 yards from the shore. We went there on a family vacation and saw it over 30 years ago.
Her father was from Norway. I recently discovered he was never a citizen of the U.S. but he did love it here. He died a few months before I was born, so I never had the opportunity to know him. 
Her mother was around 15 when she married my grandfather. Times have changed!! She always smelled like fresh bread and ran a few cafe's in and around Telluride.
My mom's family moved to Colorado when she was a kid. Grandpa worked for the Diamond Match Company in Mancos. He later worked with Orvil Jackson and was an independent logger.
She graduated from Del Norte High School in 1954. She married my dad in 1956 and they are still happily together.
My mom raised three children, (I'm the middle one) and helped raise her brothers children. 
She has always been active in church, and is now serving as W.M.U. President for the Colorado Baptist Convention. 
She loves V.B.S. and thinks she may slow down next summer, but none of us think she will.
My mom paints, and I proudly display her work in my home. 
She is an organizer. If you need something organized, she is the woman to call.
My mom taught me how to love, how to laugh, how to argue loudly, and the benefit of a good story.
Our family vacations were always road trips, and most memories I have of them are not the places we went, but the stories my mom told. She has this weird habit of getting guide books, and telling us about every town as we drove through it. (Something that bored us all when we drove through Nebraska!!) My sister and I rolling our eyes in the back seat when something in the guide book would cause her to remember something and off she would go, into a story!
I think she is the best grandma a child could have. My children and niece loved being with her as they were growing up and they all adore her. She took them places, made cookies, told stories, crafted, helped home school, babysat, and spent hours hugging and loving on them. 
My mom is a little bossy, but I wouldn't want her any other way.
The best compliment I received recently, was when my husband told me I was exactly like her. Thanks Honey, I only want to be half the woman she is!!