Confessions of a Slacker

It's been nearly 2 months since I last updated my blog.  Why?  Because I'm a slacker.  Call it what you will, there is just no getting around being a perpetual procrastinator.  Oh, I have good intentions, but as a billboard I recently read states: "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."  I laughed out loud when I read this and said to myself, "Well, I guess that means I'm going to H - E - double-toothpicks!"

Within the past 2 months, I have:  been to Oklahoma to visit our daughter at college, had several lambs and goats born, watched our 20 year old son ferry an antique airplane across the country (only to have engine failure mid-flight), helped return a prolapsed uterus in a too-young mama goat, sent my husband and youngest son to San Francisco to see our niece's wedding, hatched out 25 chicks, made a decision with the family NOT to move to Hawaii, and most importantly - developed several new friendships in our community.

All this plus the usual springtime-doings on the farm.

I've intended to "blog" about all of the above and more.  I've even taken pictures and started to write new blogs several times.  Titles such as: "How to dock a lamb's tail in 2 shakes of a lambs tail", "College Cafeteria Blues", and "Hatchin' Out Turkey's", are all half-written and in my edit box.  Complete with pictures. *Sigh*

So, what's the hang-up?  I'm not exactly sure.  I'd like to say that it's because we're so busy being busy that I simply don't have the time.  This is partly true. However, in retrospect, I suppose it's also partly because I'm a bit melancholy of where technology has taken us.

A friend called the other day and asked why I hadn't been on Facebook lately.  She noticed I hadn't updated my status and was concerned that something had happened to make me pull away from the social network.  Though I was encouraged that she called to check-up, I wondered if our quick glimpses into eachother's lives had taken the place of the friendly chats that can only come by face-to-face, sit-down-to-coffee conversations.  She confessed that she thought maybe I was depressed since I didn't appear to have enough Facebook "friends".  I smiled into the phone and gave a little chuckle. At the point she told me this, I was cleaning up from a dinner party we had at our house the night before with 14 of our friends in attendance.  Of which I didn't share on my Facebook page.  It was a lovely evening, spent in praise and worship.  It is an evening I will always cherish - somehow posting it on Facebook would have taken away from the special memory.

Last week, we received a hand-written letter in the mail.  I think it's the first hand-written letter we've gotten in years (since email came along.)  It was from an elderly woman we had met last Fall at a gathering several hours away.  She was writing to let us know of a conference that was coming up in our area and thought we'd like to know.  She then went on to share little tidbits about her life - about her grown children, her cat, her loneliness.  Handwritten with emotion, very special.  She doesn't have email and I doubt she even has internet - which is refreshing.  I sat down and penned a letter back to her (after I dug out the yellowed stationary from the back of the desk).

We have an elderly couple living down the road from us, he a retired vet and she a retired nurse.  They spend their days caring for their 6 dogs and 8 horses.  We've learned that when we go over to their house (which is at least weekly to share from our over-abundance of eggs) we make sure that we only go when we have time to "sit and chat a spell."  It seems that their coffee pot is never empty and they pour you a cup whether you want one or not.  The stories we've heard from their experiences are rich with history and full of lessons to be learned in life.   They should have a blog! But no, they don't have internet.  And it wouldn't be the same.

Yesterday, another elderly friend, recently widowed, stopped by our house.  I was outside hanging laundry on the clothesline and was trying to hurry so that I could get some spring planting done. "I don't want to keep you from your work," she said.  "I was in town and my prescription won't be filled for another couple of hours. I don't want to go back home so I thought I'd see if you wouldn't mind a visit."  The soggy laundry sitting in the basket and the seeds in their packets can wait.  I put the teapot on and listened attentively while she shared her life.  Again, so much to be learned.

I love reading blogs.  Like my friend, Teresa, once said, "Reading blogs is like reading a good book you can't put down."  So true!  And Facebook isn't evil, in fact it's nice to keep up with friends we haven't seen in 20 years or more...and friends and family we'd like to see more often but can't because of distance or time-constraints.  But what I don't want to be guilty of is using Facebook or blogging as a replacement of good old-fashioned conversation.

All this to say, I will stop procrastinating and start updating my blog.  However, if you ever find yourself in our neck of the woods, please stop by for a cuppa' and conversation.  We have much to learn from eachother - and may the warmth of friendship never be replaced by technology.

Damsel in Distress

This past weekend, we were surprised to find a "Damsel in Distress" in our goat pen.  When I say "Damsel in Distress" I really mean a "Woman on Drugs."  Yes, you read that correctly.  A woman, stumbling about in the snow, had climbed the fence of our property and was seeking warm shelter.  The goats weren't bothered by her presence, but I was a bit concerned (to say the least).  Actually, she frightened me.  Of all the things we expect to find on our farm in the early morning hours, an inebriated woman is NOT one of them.


"Mamm, can I help you?" I asked.


"Is there somewhere I can warm my hands?" she asked behind slurred words.


Shamefully, I hesitated to reply.  All my defenses came up and a thousand excuses poured into my mind.  "I'm not in the house, so you'll have to go elsewhere."


But it was very cold, and so was she.  In a thin jacket, no gloves or hat, and shoes bearing holes.  Stoned or not, the woman desperately needed help.


With a quick prayer for strength, and a call to my husband, we brought her into the house and sat her by the fire.


She was able to give her name (at least 'A' name, not sure if it was truly hers).  She didn't know where she came from or where she belonged.  She kept leaning over the woodstove as we held her upright while she benefited from its warmth. I was sure she was going to fall headlong onto the scorching surface.


She was confused, cold, and under the influence of some mystery substance (she didn't smell of alcohol). Needing more help than we could possibly give her, I called 911.


Trying to explain to the dispatcher the events leading up to our call, I realized that this woman was a victim.  She stared at us with glassy eyes while complaining of nausea and dizziness.  There was no way to tell how old she was, the effects of drugs had weathered her face and her frail body spoke of past abuse.  


When the paramedics arrived, they tried to get the same information that we attempted to pull from her:
"Where are you from?" 
"Do you know how you got here?"
"Do you have family or friends we can contact?"
A negative reply to all the above.


We personally know the 3 paramedics that responded (the mayor, the grocery manager, and the town engineer) and all of us were surprised that we didn't know who she was...it's a very small town and we tend to know everyone in the area.


Sadly, we'll never know who she really was or how she came to our goat pen.  Our guess is that she got dropped off on the highway and walked aimlessly toward our humble abode.  Seeking warmth.


She was transported to a hospital and we're not sure what became of her after that point.  But I learned something about myself in all of this and I need to repent and ask forgiveness.  It is this: my compassion was slow in coming.


I saw her, judged her immediately, felt violated by her trespassing, and above all --- didn't want to help her (at first).  She was seeking warmth, and I had a cold heart.


Lord, please forgive me...

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’  Matthew 25:37-40