Hope: From Sunrise to Sunset

September 28, 2021, sunrise

Sometimes, it feels like God is trying to send a message on a direct line straight to you. For me, it happens when the same themes keep coming up in different contexts.

It started with one of my daily email devotionals from The Upper Room:

Today’s Reflection

What I have come to see is that there is nothing more important to human beings than hope. Certainly in our own day, many people live without explicitly religious faith. And evidence of loveless lives is tragically abundant. But people usually do not survive long without hope. They cannot, because hope is the very heart of a human being.

—Michael Downey, in Hope: It’s More Than Wishful Thinking, compiled and introduced by Amy Lyles Wilson

Today’s Question

When has hope sustained you?

Today’s Scripture

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

—Romans 15:13 (NRSV)

The "HOPE" theme has continued with spectacular sunrises and sunsets this fall. The latest one was just last evening. Since our house is tucked into trees all around, it's always "by guess and by gosh" moment when I look out the front door and contemplate whether it's worth driving down the road for an unobstructed view. 

Last night, it was definitely worth the effort. (I should have been a little quicker because the unique light that made it look like the sky was on fire only lasted for a few minutes.)

Just last week, I saw a Facebook post with a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote. I don't remember which friend posted it, but I saved it and  looked up the source (Collected Poems and Translations):

Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety. Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in. Forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day: Begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This new day is too dear, with its hopes and invitation, to waste a moment on yesterdays. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson from Collected Poems and Translations

 

October 4, 2021, sunrise

 

But the "HOPE" lessons weren't done. I've been reading Robert Dugoni's The World Played Chess, a coming-of-age novel in which one of the central characters is a Vietnam vet. I was an oblivious high school student at the end of the Vietnam War. And though this is a fictional account, I feel like I've learned a lot because of the well-researched novel. (It's not necessarily a book I would have gravitated toward, but Robert Dugoni wrote my favorite book of 2019, The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell.)

And I've found nuggets that the main character, William, shares with a younger friend, who then uses those lessons in his own life, as both a man and a parent. Last night's bedtime reading had me writing down page numbers to two different passages so I could find them again:

October 15, 2021 sunrise

 

... Learn to celebrate each morning that you wake, take a breath, and realize you're still alive and the day is filled with endless potential.

From The World Played Chess by Robert Dugoni

October 15, 2021 sunrise

 

... Mornings are strangely beautiful. The temperature is comfortable, and the air clear and crisp. I sucked in each breath, savoring it like a  cool drink of clean water. I could see color. The sky awakened with ribbons of red and orange, yellows and fuchsia. The color is always welcome. It means I'm still alive.

From The World Played Chess by Robert Dugoni

 

And seeing a spectacular sunset reminds me that we've made it through another day - despite interruptions, breakdowns, personnel issues ... whatever the day had in store.

September 29, 2021, sunset

Prayer for the Week

New every morning is your love, great God of light, and all day long you are working for good in the world. Stir up in us desire to serve you, to live peacefully with our neighbors and all your creation, and to devote each day to your Son, our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

May your day be filled with HOPE.

Chocolate Pistachio Shortbread Cookies

 

When you're looking for "fancy" cookie recipes, you don't necessarily spend a lot of time in the "bar cookie" realm. But the Chocolate Pistachio Shortbread Cookies came highly recommended.

Jill made them for a work event and said they were fairly quick and easy, yet had elements of fancy. She found it on one of her favorite baking blogs, Sally's Baking Addiction. Those two "recommendations" were enough for me to add the wedge-shaped cookies to my cookie trays for the August bridal shower.

The Chocolate Pistachio Cookies are on the right side of the tray. (Sorry for the bad church basement lighting.)

 

The simple recipe is "fancified" with melted chocolate, finely-chopped pistachios and a sprinkle of sea salt. That simple dash of salt is enough to tickle taste buds in a sea of sweet choices. Not that the cookies aren't sweet. They are. The salt just adds another dimension, along with the salted pistachios.

Give them a try. And let me know what you think!

  Chocolate Pistachio Shortbread Cookies 

Adapted from Sally's Baking Addiction

 

1 cup butter, softened to room temperature

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/4 cup brown sugar

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1 tsp. salt

2 1/4 cups flour

2/3 cup finely-chopped pistachios

Topping

1/3 cup finely-chopped pistachios

8 oz. semi-sweet chocolate

Sea salt to sprinkle

 

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Line two 9-inch cake pans with parchment paper, leaving enough overhang around the sides to easily lift shortbread out. Set aside.

 

In mixer bowl, beat the butter on high speed until completely smooth. Add sugars and beat until smooth and creamy, about 1 minute. Add vanilla, salt and flour and beat on low speed, gradually increasing to high speed as the mixture combines. Add 2/3 cup of finely-chopped pistachios. Dough will be crumbly.

Press 1/2 of the dough into each of the prepared cake pans, pushing it down well. Bake for 30 minutes or until lightly browned on top and around the edges.

Remove from the oven; cool for 10 minutes. Use parchment paper to carefully remove shortbread from the pan. While the shortbread is still warm (not hot), cut each pan into 12 wedges. Allow to cool completely.

Topping:

Melt the chocolate in the microwave in 20-second intervals, stopping and stirring after each time, until chocolate is melted and smooth. Dip the shortbread ends into chocolate and sprinkle with 1/3 cup chopped pistachios and sea salt. Allow chocolate to completely set before storing. 

Late Arrivals

White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland

I don't remember many songs from Alice in Wonderland ... with the exception of one. It's the one the White Rabbit sings as he's dashing across the meadow.

 

I'm late, I'm late,

For a very important date.

No time to say, "Hello," "Goodbye,"

I'm late, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late! ...

I run and then I hop, hop, hop
I wish that I could fly
There's danger if I dare to stop

And here's the reason why ...

 

You see I'm overdue

I'm in a rabbit stew

No time to say "Goodbye" "Hello,"

I'm late, I'm late. I'm late!

 

 

 

The White Rabbit was late for his appointment with the Queen of Hearts. But it's the "queens" of the fall - Monarch butterflies - that seem to have been late this year at my house. Unlike the White Rabbit, they aren't limited to "hop, hop, hopping." But their "air traffic" seems to have been delayed (kind of like those poor Southwest Airlines passengers over the weekend).

Usually, the Monarchs arrive in September around the shelterbelts near our home. And my unofficial nature consultant and friend, Pam, posted a spectacular photo of the butterflies roosting near Cheyenne Bottoms almost a month ago.

 

But I had only seen a few. However, on Saturday as Randy was planting wheat, he called and said he was stirring up butterflies as he drove along some tree rows. On my first attempt to find them, I saw a few, but they weren't landing for long enough to click the camera shutter. Later on Saturday, after the front moved in, I was able to "capture" a few in my camera lens.

 

Butterflies are truly miraculous.

If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies.

- Author Unknown

That's quite a reminder for this change-challenged person. They are the ultimate symbol of transformation. As George Carlin once quipped, "The caterpillar does all the work but the butterfly gets all the publicity."

I'm not sure that's true of monarch butterflies. It sounds like a lot of work to me to travel for two months, across thousands of miles, bucking wind and rain and predators. And it's all to get to a destination they've never visited before.

County Line photo from 2019

 

They begin the journey in their summer home in Canada and the northern regions of the U.S. They are headed for a mountain range 70 miles west of Mexico City in central Mexico, where they find the perfect habitat to survive November through March in the Oyamel forests. As many as 300 million spend the winter there. Wouldn't that be a sight to see?

It's not like ducks and geese which migrate year after year. They will only make this journey one time. So how do they know where to go? It is just another miracle of God's creation. Researchers say that it appears to be a combination of directional aids such as the magnetic pull of the earth, the position of the sun and the availability of milkweed, where the butterflies lay their eggs.

No matter the reason, they are a beautiful signal of fall ... whether they are late or not.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

 

Randy had a regular doctor's checkup not too long ago. We were escorted back to an exam room, and we ended up waiting quite awhile.

As usual, I had brought a book. I try not to be irritated by delays because I hope the doctor will spend the time needed for me, so why should I wish differently for another patient? If I have a book, I can pass the time and be happy. However, I also gawked at my surroundings.

There was a sign on the door, politely telling family members who were there during a loved one's appointment to keep their comments to a minimum. I didn't take a photo of that sign, though I did abide by the directive.

But I did pull out my camera to snap a shot of another sign that hung near the exam table:

10 WAYS TO LOVE

 

Listen 

without interrupting

Speak

without accusing

Give

without sparing

Pray

without ceasing

Answer 

without arguing

Share 

without pretending

Enjoy 

without complaint

Trust

without wavering

Forgive

without punishing

Promise

without forgetting

I don't always go to Randy's appointments, so I'm not sure how long the plaque had been a part of the room's decor. But I thought it was significant enough to take a photo. 

Was it hanging there before the Covid-19 pandemic? Before the last election? I don't know. But the sign seemed to have a message for me during this time when there are so many different voices, espousing so many different opinions, more often shouting than speaking conversationally.  

I could certainly hone those 10 ways to love. I do some of them better than others. I imagine most people do. 

These days, I sometimes censor myself, trying to avoid those uncomfortable situations. I have avoided posting photos to social media from K-State football games this fall, knowing there are people who will think we should not be in a stadium with friends, family and strangers.

  

Same goes for the Kansas State Fair, where we presided over a meeting ... but also enjoyed a grandstand show.

Before the vaccine was released, I even hesitated to share photos during the few times we gathered with our kids or granddaughters.

"What will people think?"

"Are they going to judge me?"

It made me think of the song from my teenage years:

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

The "signs" are confusing these days. Just like the Five Man Electric Band song said, "Do this." "Don't do that." We shake our heads (if not our fists) and shout, "Can't you read the sign?"

But the sign may seem like you're going past it at 75 miles an hour and viewing it through a dirty windshield. It's kind of blurry. There may not be a "right" answer. But it is very likely the answer IS "right" for you and your family. And that's OK.

 

Taken on our way home from the K-State game 10-2-2021. Most were blurry like this!

Signs don't have to just be ones that you can read. I've seen plenty of "signs" all around me as I continue my role as chief "go-fer" around here during wheat planting. Some of those signs don't make a lot of sense either. For the second fall in a row, I have a few lilac blooms on bushes that typically bloom in the spring. 

 Last year, I used a different analogy. Here's just a snippet from that blog post:

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. 

I realize that statement can be taken a variety of ways. It certainly seems plenty of people are "mad" in 2020. It's true whether we're talking about anger "mad" or chaos "mad" during this year that everyone is calling "unprecedented." From a pandemic to a hotly-debated election, there's plenty of madness to go around.

So I guess I wasn't surprised that our lilacs are going mad, too. Not a single one bloomed this past spring. We figured that a frost had nipped them in the bud - literally. 

However, last week as I returned to the farmstead after umpteen trips to the field as go-fer, I noticed a few purple blooms among the greenery.

Taken October 6, 2021, after my second trip to the wheat field that morning.

Not much has changed. People still seem mad. And one persistent purple bloom in the lilac bushes south of my driveway is bravely brightening my day as I drive in and out on yet another farm errand. 

Even in this world that often seems awfully dark and full of vitriol, there are prisms of light. 

 We just have to slow down and see it.

And even more important, share it ...

 To live and LOVE in new ways.

Marathon, Not a Sprint: The Journey Toward Wheat Harvest 2022

 

The journey toward Wheat Harvest 2022 is a marathon, not a sprint. Since I've never been much of a sprinter, that's a good thing. 

We began planting our 2022 wheat crop on September 21. And we're still at it. We have had a few days hiatus, beginning last Thursday when we got 2.25 inches of much-needed rain. We got another shower last Saturday. We may be back in the field later today. The verdict is still out.

Wheat is the primary crop on our dryland farm on the Stafford/Reno County line. And this year, we're going big: Randy is planting 1,900 acres to wheat. No wonder it's taking awhile!

One of my favorite photos from wheat planting so far was taken at sunrise. The day was brand new, so there wasn't time for anything to have gone wrong or broken down yet. You gotta love a Kansas sky, and this one looked painted with "Hope" to me.

It's what keeps farmers planting the next crop and doing the next task, time and time again. Randy has been doing that for 50 years.

Here in Central Kansas, we plant winter wheat. We plant it in the fall, and then it goes dormant during the cold months of winter before coming out of its "hibernation" and growing again next spring, then maturing for a June/July harvest.

We saved some of our 2021 crop in bins on the farm to use as seed wheat. It's binned during harvest, and then we load it into the truck to take to Miller Seed Farms near Partridge for cleaning. 

 v

They treat it with Cruiser, a fungicide, which helps protect the small wheat plants from disease. It's also treated with Vibrance Extreme, an insecticide which helps keep bugs at bay. That's what gives it its pinkish tinge.

Randy uses a grain-fill auger to transfer the seed wheat from the truck to the drill.

Randy wonders if he could get a Flex Tape endorsement commercial. Flex Tape is one of the tools in his repair kit. So far, so good.

 

So why is wheat our primary crop? First, we don't irrigate. Wheat is more drought tolerant than corn or soybeans. While the seed genetics are getting better and helping make dryland corn and soybeans a more viable crop in this part of the state, wheat is a proven performer in less-than-ideal conditions. (Of course, we would love to have ideal conditions, but that rarely happens.)

 

 

In this part of Kansas, the textbooks say that October 1-10 is the ideal time to plant wheat. Since we can't get the whole crop in the ground during that time, we start a little sooner. Many years, we don't finish before October 10 either. 

 

As with every planting season, I think about the optimism that seems to be part of the fabric of every farmer.

 

They put a seed in the ground and then wait like a kid on Christmas morning. 

 

 

They slow down as they pass a planted field, just waiting for that first glimmer of green. And then the miracle begins again for yet another season. 

 

And through sunrises and sunsets for some nine months, we hope and pray that the crop comes to fruition.

 

This wheat crop will be our final one as working farmers. Randy plans to retire after wheat harvest next summer. So this planting time has meant some time for reflection. But even as we turn the reins over to a younger farmer, our hearts will always be tied to the land. As farmers' kids before we were farming ourselves, it's part of our DNA. And we've been working together for more than 40 years. We are blessed.