Clothed With Scarlet

Everything we want, everything we have...

"A government big enough to give you everything you want, is strong enough to take everything you have."
                                      -- Thomas Jefferson

~~~

posted by Mrs. Klause

August 19, 2009

Music: Big Snow In Salzburg

I am just a sinner.

When I say...

“I am a Christian,” I am not shouting, “I am clean living,”;

I am whispering, “I was lost, now I am found and forgiven.”

When I say…

“I am a Christian,” I do not speak of this with pride.

I am confessing that I stumble and I need Christ to be my guide.

When I say…

“I am a Christian,” I am not trying to be strong.

I am professing that I am weak and I need His strength to carry on.

When I say…

“I am a Christian,” I am not bragging of success.

I am admitting I have failed and I need God to clean up my mess.

When I say...

"I am a Christian," I am not claiming to be perfect.

My flaws are far too visible, my failures every single day.

When I say…

“I am a Christian,” I still feel the sting of pain;

I have my share of heartaches, so I call upon the name of Christ.

When I say…

“I am a Christian,” I am not holier than thou, I am just a simple sinner

who received God’s amazing grace.

                                                                  ~~Author & Title Unknown

~~~

 

posted by Mrs. Klause

February 9, 2009

Home

Home

The dearest spot of earth to me

Is home, sweet home!

The fairy land I long to see

Is home, sweet home!

There how charmed the sense of hearing!

There where love is so endearing!

All the world is not so cheering

As home, sweet home!

I’ve taught my heart the way to prize

My home, sweet home!

I’ve learned to look with lover’s eyes

On home, sweet home!

There, where vows are truly plighted!

There, where hearts are so united!

All the world besides I’ve slighted

For home, sweet home.

                                                         

                                                                                      By W. T. Wrighton

~~~

posted by Mrs. Klause

March 15, 2008

Music:  The Family That Prays

Grandma's Apron

This hangs in my kitchen.  Here is what it says:

Grandma's Apron by Tina Trivett

The strings were tied, It was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed. For Grandma, it was everyday to choose one when she dressed. The simple apron that it was, you would never think about; the things she used it for, that made it look worn out. She may have used it to hold, some wildflowers that she'd found. Or to hide a crying child's face, when a stranger came around. Imagine all the little tears that were wiped with just that cloth. Or it became a potholder to serve some chicken broth. She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen fire. To hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire. When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow. You never know, she might have used it to shoo flies from the cow. She might have carried eggs in from the chicken coop outside. Whatever chore she used it for, she did them all with pride. When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest. I'm sure the apron that she chose, was her Sunday best. I miss you Grandma...

** Mrs. Trivett wrote explains her poem: 

"I wrote the poem years ago for my Grandmother when she passed. She was a sweet dear lady who lived to be 96. She was from Kentucky, wife of a farmer, mother of 13 children. She may have treated herself to a few puffs from a corncob pipe once in a while, but she was also very dignified.

"She wore a fresh, crisp, clean apron over her dress every day. The pockets held little treasures like chewing gum and mints. When she passed, I was in the middle of a snowstorm in the North Carolina mountains, and could not attend her funeral in Kentucky. That's where the poem 'Grandma's Apron' came from.

~~~~~

I do so love aprons.  They are practical and useful and can be so lovely.  Wearing my aprons has cut back on my laundry as they keep my daily clothing from being soiled. 

My girlies and I have decided that we want to make seasonal aprons.  It will be a work in progress and should be lots of fun.

~~~~~

posted by Mrs. Klause

January 24, 2008

Music:  Touch of the Master's Hand

Little Leaves...

In autumn when the trees are brown
The little leaves come tumbling down
They do not make the slightest sound
But lie so quietly on the ground
Until the wind comes puffing by
And blows them off towards the sky.

-- author unknown --

posted by Mrs. Klause

November 11, 2007

Useless each without the other..

As unto the bow the cord is,

So unto the man is woman:

Though she bends him, she obeys him;

Though she draws him, yet she follows;

Useless each without the other.

              --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

posted by Mrs. Klause

November 3, 2007

Music: Romanza

Three Mothers

Once a woman came upon three mothers at work.  "What are you doing?" she asked of them.

"I'm doing the weekly washing," answered the first.

"I'm doing a bit of household drudgery," replied the second.

The third woman replied, "I'm mothering three young children who someday will fill important and useful spheres in life, and wash-day is a part of my grand task in caring for these souls who shall live forever." 

Only the third woman had caught the vision of the great work she was doing.

-Author Unknown

posted by Mrs. Klause

September 5, 2007

Thank you Lord for each and every day.

There are times in our lives when God must take us by the shoulders and give us a good shake back to the reality of the true purpose of this life or times when it seems He just swoops us up into His mighty hands and holds us close to His heart for a while.

Yesterday I "met" a family and I want you to meet them too.  Please go to Mrs. Wilt's place...you will find her at The Sparrow's Nest.  She will introduce you to the "99 Balloons of the Mooney family".

posted by Mrs. Klause

A Tribute

e I read a lovely essay recently.  It was written by a young lady.  I thought you might enjoy reading it too.

Mrs. Klause

~~~~~~~~~                                    

Tribute to My Dad!

                                                                           
     Of the many, many admirable things about my dad, there is one in particular I would like to mention: he is human.  Maybe I should rephrase that: he is a man, made in the image of the almighty God, the One who created him, the One who gave him life on earth to become my dad.  That fact alone makes him more special than anything else ever could or will and requires my respect, honor, and praise above all other things.

     You have asked for the nitty-gritty, and I intend to give it to you, the first and quite obvious one being that my dad is not perfect.  In fact, he is far from it.  But in this one area he has been of great encouragement to me.  You may ask how this is possible.  I tell you it is.  For amidst failures, shortcomings, and the ever-present sinful human nature, he comes before his Creator in humility and asks for pardon with a heart, ready and willing to do penance for grieving his Heavenly Father so.  And with renewed strength and re-established spirit, he ventures forth once more to conquer the world for his ever gracious Lord and King.  I have known no other man or woman so ready to admit defeat in such true humbleness of spirit, nor one so ready to keep reaching for that lofty goal laid out by the great I AM despite continual buffeting.

     But my dad is not all stumble, start over, stumble, start over, by any means.  He can fix just about anything, he certainly doesn’t physically stumble often, and boy does he know how to cook!  In our circle of family, friends and acquaintances, he has become famous for his burgers.  It’s always a treat to have him cook, especially since most everything he makes is even better than dessert!

     My dad is very creative.  In fact, he started cooking when he was still in elementary school.  He has really helped and encouraged me in the area of creativity, whether or not he realizes it.  He is always making up songs about random things such as my sisters and I, our dog, chips and salsa, and whatever else suits his fancy.  He’s also an expert at making up puns at the drop of a hat.  Not surprisingly he learned it from his dad, and when the two of them are together, they have whole conversations with a pun to adorn every sentence.  He comes up with all kinds of funny “word” things, switching words and letters to make an entirely different phrase, but always succeeding in harvesting lots of laughter.

     Probably one factor that causes this creativity is the music he listens to: that of the greatest classical composers who ever lived, his favorite being Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.  To be honest, he doesn’t even know what first attracted him to this music other than it’s exquisite beauty and purposeful structure.  I will always be grateful to him for instilling in my sisters and me an ardent love for this amazing gift from God to human kind.  From the time when we were infants, the music of the masters’ has been played in our household, intriguing and inspiring us to learn more about this marvelous gift.  My dad, in his love for this most beautiful of arts, has in turn taught us to love it ten times more.

     The music in our lives when replayed often brings back joyful memories, exciting memories, sad memories, and hilarious memories.  Some of our fondest memories are of the times when dad has stopped whatever he might have been doing so he could tell us of the times before we were born, or about his parents, or his grandparents.  The nostalgia of the occasion is evident and the stories told, along with the memories being made, will be forever held in our hearts to cherish and share in hopes of bringing that same charm into all ups and downs of life.

     You may wonder why I have only lightly touched on his spiritual life.  It is because all that I have described about him is “faith [which] is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Heb. 11:1).  You may ask how that works.   Well, because he has “faith” in the one and only living God, he knows there is a purpose and reason for his life.  And because life has meaning, he can enjoy it to the fullest, and being a dad brings him great joy.  Do you see?  Do you see why I love my dad?  Do you see why he is worthy of this tribute even though he is not the best or most famous man in the world?  According to ‘Webster’s New World Dictionary and Thesaurus’ the third definition of tribute is: “something given, done, or said to show gratitude, honor, or praise”.  Dear Dad, I hope and pray that this does all of that, and I hope and pray that in every day God allows me to live I will do all that and more.  I love you Daddy!

~~~~~~

Observations by Mrs. Klause:

From the outside looking in.... 

One must stop and ponder the life of this young girl. 

One must stop and ponder the raising up of this young girl. 

One must stop and ponder what it is that her mother instills in her daily. 

One must stop and ponder the things that this girl of 15 spends her time doing. 

One must wonder what she will be like as a woman of 25...

... a woman of 35 ...

... a woman of 50 ...

... a woman of 75 ... 

One must wonder about the husband that God has awaiting her. 

One must wonder how the Lord will use her life to build the Kingdom of Heaven.

posted by Mrs. Klause 

The Chosen Vessel

The Master was searching for a vessel to use;
On the shelf there were many - which one would He choose?
Take me, cried the gold one, I'm shiny and bright,
I'm of great value and I do things just right.
My beauty and luster will outshine the rest
And for someone like You, Master, gold would be the best!

The Master passed on with no word at all;
He looked at a silver urn, narrow and tall;
I'll serve You, dear Master, I'll pour out Your wine
And I'll be at Your table whenever You dine,
My lines are so graceful, my carvings so true,
And my silver will always compliment You.

Unheeding the Master passed on to the brass,
It was widemouthed and shallow, and polished like glass.
Here! Here! cried the vessel, I know I will do,
Place me on Your table for all men to view.

Look at me, called the goblet of crystal so clear,
My transparency shows my contents so dear,
Though fragile am I, I will serve You with pride,
And I'm sure I'll be happy in Your house to abide.

The Master came next to a vessel of wood,
Polished and carved, it solidly stood.
You may use me, dear Master, the wooden bowl said,
But I'd rather You used me for fruit, not for bread!

Then the Master looked down and saw a vessel of clay.
Empty and broken it helplessly lay.
No hope had the vessel that the Master might choose,
To cleanse and make whole, to fill and to use.

Ah! This is the vessel I've been hoping to find,
I will mend and use it and make it all Mine.
I need not the vessel with pride of its self;
Nor the one who is narrow to sit on the shelf;
Nor the one who is bigmouthed and shallow and loud;
Nor one who displays his contents so proud;
Not the one who thinks he can do all things just right;
But this plain earthy vessel filled with My power and might.

Then gently He lifted the vessel of clay.
Mended and cleansed it and filled it that day.
Spoke to it kindly. There's work you must do,
Just pour out to others as I pour into you.

Author Unknown

posted by Mrs. Klause

THE TURKEY shot out of the oven
    and rocketed into the air.
It knocked every plate off the table
    and partly demolished a chair.
It ricocheted into a corner
    and burst with a deafening boom,
Then splattered all over the kitchen,
    completely obscuring the room.
It stuck to the walls and the windows,
    it totally coated the floor.
There was turkey attached to the ceiling
    where there’d never been turkey before.
It blanketed every appliance,
    It smeared every saucer and bowl.
There wasn’t a way I could stop it,
    that turkey was out of control.
I scraped and scrubbed with displeasure,
    and thought with chagrin as I mopped,
That I’d never again stuff a turkey
    with popcorn that hadn’t been popped.

--------------------------------------------------

May your stuffing be tasty. May your turkey be plump.

May your potatoes ' n gravy have nary a lump.

May your yams be delicious. May your pies take the prize.

May your Thanksgiving dinner stay off of your thighs.

My sweet friend shared this with me today and I thought it so very funny.  May you all have a blessed Thanksgiving.  "Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord.  Praise ye the Lord."  Psalm 150:6

posted by Mrs. Klause

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is.... 

Thanksgiving is a
time of gratitude to God,
our Creator and Provider,
whose guidance and care
go before us...
and whose love
is with us forever.

Thanksgiving is a time
to reflect on the changes,
to remember that we, too,
grow and change
from one season of life to another.

Thanksgiving is a time
of changing seasons,
when leaves turn golden
in Autumn's wake
and apples are crisp
in the first chill breezes of fall.

Let us remember the true meaning
of Thanksgiving.
As we see the beauty
of Autumn, let us acknowledge
the many blessings
which are ours...
let us think of our families
and friends..
and let us give thanks in our hearts.

~~Author Unknown.~~

Mother's Prayer - Poem

 

Mother's Prayer

I was but a youth and thoughtless,
As all youths are apt to be;
Though I had a Christian mother
Who had taught me carefully.

There came a time when pleasure
Of the world came to allure,
And I no more sought the guidance
Of her love so good and pure.

Her tender admonitions fell
But lightly on my ear,
And for the gentle warnings
I felt an inward sneer.

But mother would not yield her boy
To Satan's sinful sway,
And though I spurned her counsel
She knew a better way.

She made my room an altar,
A place of secret prayer,
And there she took her burden
And left it in His care.

And morning, noon and evening
By that humble bedside low,
She sought the aid of Him who
Understands a mother's woe.

And I went my way unheeding,
Careless of the life I led,
Until one day I noticed
Prints of elbows on my bed.

Then I saw that she had been there
Praying for her wayward boy,
Who for love of worldly pleasure
Would her peace of mind destroy.

Long the conflict raged within me,
Sin against my mother's prayers,
Sin must yield - for Mother never
While she daily met Him there.

And her constant love and patience
Were like coals upon my head,
Together with the imprints
Of her elbows on my bed.

And so at last the fight was won,
And I to Christ was led,
And mother's prayers were answered
By her elbows on my bed.

(Author unknown)

~posted by Mrs. Klause