The Fourth Man in Christys' Life

Names
Kiwi, Rabbit, Bullfrog, Bubbles, Bunny, Goldfish, Fishbowl, Mr. Grumpy Gills, Donut, Puppy, Bird, Birdo



Official Title
Supervisor in Chief of all Human Activities
Tax Collector - 15% tax in the currency of whatever meal is being served



Hobbies
Outsmarting Jen (my human) Disclamer - only successful on rare occasions.
Meeting new people
Climbing bushes ext.
Popping Balloons

Favorite Foods
Ice cream, freash spinich, sweet potatoes, special K loaf, animal crakers, brussel sprouts.
Non food items - laundry soap, tubes of acrylic paint, plants, windex, mop water

Favorite Mode of Transportation
Remote control Truck, Handle bars of Jens' bike at break-neck speeds, shoulders, repelling down long hair.



Vocabulary
"Step Up!"
"Hello"
and almost "PHYSICS"

Phobias
Sparrows! Cows! Any other bird! Going hungery! Airplanes! Shopping carts! Costume Parties!

A Time To Embrace

“Toast ‘em! Toast ‘em! Put them in the toaster!
Toast ‘em! Toast ‘em! DING! All Done!”

Throwing his arms open, a small girl tumbles forward like a giggling sunbeam, “Do it again Daddy! Do it again!” Running back to be encircled with his strong arms, she begins to chant the ditty with him. There is a safeness in being snuggled close and in hearing his heartbeat slow and steady through his shirt.


Tenderly held in the firelight of the woodstove, and cradled in the softness of the lullaby,

“If I could, I would give you wings
To carry you out of the storm
Take you higher then the wind
And you’d be safe and warm.”

Her voice is dusky, lilting in time with the creaks of the cushioned rocker. A tousled towhead is nestled into her neck, blinking slowly… and slower until his dark lashes rest on his flushed cheek.


“If the smell of a campfire was bottled – I’d wear it!” The athletic bounce in her voice is identical to the vigor in her step when she hikes mountain ridges in search of a “good view”.

Wrapped snug in her arms, we chuckle as the sparks spin upward to join the stars. Her hugs are as warm and nourishing as her cinnamon rolls, and she sways gently and talks about life… her kids, her husband, the fields, calves, Andy Griffith, Italy, the sunset, and Spunky the cat.


High on the list of endangered species and natural resources is an item of inestimable worth, one that is rapidly becoming one of the scarcest commodities on the planet. Among pandas, pure water, Siberian tigers, rainforests, and whales - there is one thing for which humanity is starving.

Have you guessed? It is a simple hug!

Granted, some would vehemently argue that an honest and hearty handshake is even nearer to extinction. But I maintain that if the frequency of heartfelt hugs increased, more people would grow up having internalized the ethics from which a good handshake develops.

Hugs are among the most wonderful renewable natural resources available to mankind, but unfortunately many people are suffering from a severe deficiency. Manipulating hugs, cheap hugs, and indifferent hugs are more then plentiful. A safe, warm, and sincere embrace is rare.

He was born into this world with an embracing heart, an indomitable Spirit of hope, and a mission to encircle the earth with a bright-eyed and captivating love.

Not pious, polished, or political.
No air of importance, no façade, no indifference.

“And He took them up in His arms, put His hands on them, and blessed them.” Mark 10:16

There was no distance of difference.
He stood in the middle - informal, unprofessional, and completely down-to-earth.
Open arms, open heart.

“God, who in Heaven surrounded by living creatures and myriads of angels would on earth touch ulcers, and hold children, and tell stories, and wash dirty feet.” God Cares p. 337

Certainly not the traditional picture of the Divine Omnipotent, but real, approachable, and huggable! When we become captivated by His love, our own hearts become enlarged to embrace others – to embrace the world.

Will you embrace your world?

For He is the “God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” 2nd Corinthians 1:4

Sisterness

Shaila perfers life to be straight, neat and tidy.

I perfer life to be curly and spontaneously unpredictable.

Recently we were laughing about how different and yet how similar we are - and this inspired the making of the following list of common opinions:

Chocolate is good but overrated

Tea sipping is soothing

Children should be homeschooled

Horses (idealistically) are the best mode of transportation

Music is the language of the soul

A girl never outgrows playing dress-up

Friends are gifts from God to be treasured

Desire to have snowy white hair in the winter season of life

Morning is the most productive time of day

Firm handshakes speak of strong character

Sighs and sound effects are more fluent then words

Make-up is to be avoided at all costs

Thrift stores are the places to shop

Purses are unnecessary - everything can fit in my bible case

Caves, stairwells, and bathrooms are the best places to sing

Backrubs cannot be given to hard

People are like music boxes

Cohutta Wilderness

John Eliot made a dirt compass by finding the East-West line using the shadow of the sun.

Christy Craft

Back country surgery

Analizing a handful of trail-mix

"Come To The Edge", He Said

Left side of the church, back row, right corner. That was Mr. Miltons' self-assigned seat. From this spot he observed the church folk doing church. Then inevitably, he would doze undisturbed until the rousing notes of the closing hymn reached his rusty ears.

Afterward, he would amble slowly out to an antique army ambulance nearly as ancient as he. It was the shade of overcooked peas and spattered with red-orange Alabama dirt. With coaxing, the metal beast would rumble to life and lumber down the road.

He was brusk, blunt, bear-like...

With a scruffy appearance that was reminiscent of a batchlorized mountain man from a tattered storybook…

a gruff grandfather man. . . a lonely man.

But with time his stolid silence gave way to crusty comments—even a rare compliment.

Once on his way out he paused beside me and with matter-of-fact dignity declared, "I like little girls with big feet."

Swallowing impudent laughter, I sputtered a red-faced "Thank you."

Goodness! How is one to reply! —"Oh yes, they're great for standing on!"

Through casual conversations, he offered his burly friendship in scraps of advice, memories, and dreams.

He dreamed of building a perfectly round house on a plot of good Mississippi ground, and of retiring there alone with a fierce bulldog and a large cat.

His face softened when remembering his lovely mother—a refined an accomplished woman of many arts who, according to him, possessed a classical repertoire so extensive she could play the piano from memory for eight hours straight!

He also advised me to learn how to handle a gun, and offered counsel on what to look for in a good man (if he owned a good truck, that would be a bonus).

In the midst of one of our good-natured chats, I was sitting backwards in the pew to face him, when he paused for a long moment and said, "I want to tell you a story—one that changed my life."

Tweaking his full white beard and leaning slightly back, he began with the majestic deliberation that only the snow-crowned sages can muster.

"He stood on the edge of the cliff and called, 'Come to the edge!'

But they would not come . . . 'Come to the edge!'" His voice deepened with intensity.

"But they would not come. . .

'Come to the edge!'

And they came."

Green and gold glints snapped in his eyes from under those wild white eyebrows.

"And they came . . . and he pushed them!"

Instantly my breath caught like a sparrow thudding against glass, and I felt my eyes widening with innocent horror.

Tears moistened his eyes as gentle rain after years of drought, and his voice softened to a husky tenderness.

"He pushed them . . . and they flew!

They flew. . ."

Silence suspended between us, a mist across the chasm of experience. My feet whispered that they preferred the ground while my heart hiccupped with the possibility of flight. I wanted to fly.

"Words are powerful." His unfaltering gaze drilled to my core. "They can change lives, and therefore, they can change the world."

Life is comprised of edges—the edges of my knowledge and experiences, of my capacity to hope, to love… the very edges of who I am. The beyondness can be staggering in its immensity, but it remains undeniably there.

Human edges, like walls and chains, blockade dreams and confine me to the parameters of the past. But I want to fly—to fly free.

It is as incomprehensible for me to imagine not having edges as for me to grasp the concept of eternity. Yet I hear His voice, the One without edges beckoning to my heart,

"Come to the edge!"

And so I come.

"When you come to the edge of all the light you know, and are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen: There will be something solid for you to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly." Edward Teller

"O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up, you understand my thought afar off. . . Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; It is high, I cannot attain it. . . Where can I go from your Spirit? If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me fast." Psalm 139:1, 2, 6, 9, 10

Honey Giggles