After School Peppernut Baking Party

I went to sleep last night with an old song by Steve and Annie Chapman
(changing the words to fit my sentiments . . . )
I count it as a privilege, I count it cause for praise.
To pick these girls up from school
and be greeted by their smiles!
For I know too soon  the time flies by
and older they will be.
Making memories is for today
to be part of us for life.

 When a Grammy gets reminded and asked . . .
you know it's important and it's time.

Peppernuts . . . Pfeffernuese . . . Paepanaet . . .

whatever you call them . . .

I did not grow up with these tiny German Mennonite spice cookies -
maybe because we lived far from extended family -
but they are becoming an adopted tradition now.
It's never too late.

The name reflects the size and the fact that you tend
to eat them by the handful, like nuts . . .

strangely addictive.

Depending on the amount of time they are baked,
they can be a little chewy or crunchy
and they keep for weeks at room temperature.

When I've made them before, I rolled snakes, about the thickness of my ring finger,

but we found it a lot easier to simply cut thick strips and slice them,

skipping the rolling. 

So, as in any good party, there was a goody bag for each girl to take home

and I have a feeling they were guarded like candy.

I wanted to try something new with the same dough, since it keeps so well.

Before baking them I punched a little hole in them, using a plain piping tip.

(the hole tends to close while baking, but is easily repunched with a toothpick while still warm)

These were done up in a hurry, but  they could make 

fun gift tags or rustic tree ornaments.

Natalie, Lacey and Teddy . . .

Thank you for such a great time around the baking peninsula . . .

where the seating order is important and special

where flour is liberally sprinkled, getting on sleeves and laps,

where cookie dough gets sampled again and again

and where stories and giggles abound.

I count it as a privilege. 

Still Pretty

A lot of leaves fell while we were away.
 However, as I walked the rainy trail this week, 

I could not help but pull out my phone. 

I know . . . every fall I take the same pictures!
It's a season that calls for us to notice.

I passed the ducks on the overflowing pond . . .
(looks like they just wanted to go back to bed)

and then caught sight again of my favorite part of the walk.
Could streets of gold be more beautiful than this?

And then there's home sweet home!

The patio furniture is stored away.

The swings taken down.

Soon it's time for twinkle lights.

This simple rotation of the seasons brings with it a certain calm and assurance that all is well.
Rains may fall, storms may threaten, but He's there.
The Captain of what we see . . . and also of what we do not see.
He will take us safe to shore.

Emma Grace's Song

My daughter shared this modern day miracle story in a letter and I've asked her permission to condense and share it. It's a small peek into what inspires MAF families to live in proximity of remote villages that can be reached by air.

In the town they live, our grandchildren attend a school along with nationals, expats and other missionary kids. One of their friends has spent years in an interior village among the Moi people, but the family is now living in town to be closer to school.

While this family was living in the village, a young Moi girl got married and conceived. For most of the pregnancy her husband was away.  When he returned, he was furious to find that his wife had given birth to a healthy baby. The Moi tribal people of Papua believe that when a woman gets pregnant, the baby will not grow unless the mother continues to be sexually active. How then could their baby have grown unless she had been unfaithful? The husband ordered his wife to kill their newborn. Broken-hearted, but resigned to tradition, she took her wee baby girl and wrapped jungle vines tightly around her neck and body, leaving her in a net bag outside their hut to die.

When the missionary heard what was happening he rescued the baby in the bag, and ran with her to get help. They worked quickly to free the newborn from the strangling vines and she survived! Going back to the parents’ hut, they tried to explain that babies are precious gifts from God, but they refused to receive her back.

So the missionaries bathed and cared for the infant, naming her Emma Grace. Eventually, God used the story in Exodus 1, which had recently been translated into the Moi language, to speak to Emma Grace’s father. (This is the passage which tells of the Hebrew midwives who were blessed because they spared the lives of the Israelite baby boys, even though Pharaoh had ordered the babies killed.) This father became a believer in Christ and accepted his daughter back into their family.

In the meantime, missionaries have opened schools in several villages for children who have no opportunity to receive an education. The video I'm sharing shows Emma Grace leading the group of children at the opening ceremony of a brand new school in her village. Hope School (Sekolah Harapan) is just finished, built with supplies and teachers flown in by MAF.




What first intrigued me about this story is that age-old tribal customs are slow to die off and we easily wonder, how can this be? But the second thing that I had to think about is that many in our modern, educated society also have no regard for the sanctity of life. Here it is expressed in other ways, but is it any different? With all that we know, what excuse do we have?

May this story inspire us to live out truth, no matter where we live.

The Painted Canyon

A forty-five minute drive from where we are staying took us out of the city, into a rural area,

past citrus groves, vineyards and date farms.

Never having taken note of date farming procedures,

we were intrigued with these palms loaded with muslin covered bunches of dates . . .

obviously covered for protection, but also a neat way to catch them.

Once we got past the beautifully irrigated farms and orchards,

we met up with the reality of the Mecca Hills wilderness,

driving along a sandy road for several kilometers

until we came upon these amazing sights of colored hills!

We drove as far as we could and began our walk into these huge rock outcroppings.
It is interesting to find out that these were formed by the convergence of the
North American and Pacific Plates, along the San Andreas Fault Line.

The sandy path kept getting narrower

. . .  climbing ladders

led us to yet more narrow paths.

This is one of the holes we climbed out of to explore 

the next layer up. It was fascinating!

Sometimes we  could barely see the sky.

After a half hour or so we came to a plateau of sorts



with pretty colored plant growth along the path,

 interesting rock layers

and natural fort like views!

We were not sure if there was much ahead yet so we

 headed back . . . reluctantly . . . this time climbing into the holes we had come out of.

I loved the playground feel of this place

which  reminded me of mazes that Disneyland might try to copy.

When we stopped for lunch at the bottom we met up with other hikers, just coming down, and
found out about the view we missed going to the very top plateau.

 I guess we'll just have to come back again sometime!

The Miles We've Walked

This time of year, whether walking the path strewn with colorful leaves at home 

or enjoying a bit of time in the desert

is always a reminder of where we've come from

and where we are going.

It's a vivid reminder of how young we once were

and how we never would have imagined us at this stage

where we actually almost fit in with the old retired people 

we've observed here for 40 years.

This morning as we walked, I wondered how many miles we have actually logged together.

He has always been a runner, from before we got married.

I tried to join him at first, 

but the pain in my lungs and side ... ugh!!!

And then I discovered walking!

So, now he runs . . . 

and then he still walks with me.

I love this guy!

Thanksgiving

 I'll begin this Thanksgiving post with this framed art, new in my kitchen
and a sweet memory of our recent trip to Ohio.
I love the the apron, the pie and the verse
inviting us to taste the goodness of God.
Isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?

As I tried to figure out why getting my table set up seemed like a big deal this year
I realized that it was more than just family growth.
Last year we were all together in Hawaii
and the year before that only one family (out of three) was living in town.
So, with the big deal, came a new revelation -
that we could push over the family room furniture, put two tables end to end
and spread our tables right into the family room.
This made for a large and roomy feel,
and I was a happy table setter!

I pulled out decorations I had on hand from previous years

and added these fun name tag wrappers to the napkins.

(Judy shared this idea from this link - and I know it

quickly became every one's go to in our group)

I used grocery bag paper for printing them off.

And here we are with our Abbotsford clans.

Mom and Abe also joined us on this day.

And one more from the kitchen counter view!

Turkey

stuffing and jellied cranberries

mashed potatoes

yams with toasted marshmallows

roasted green beans

Greek salad

French bread

apple and rhubarb pies

We tasted and we enjoyed,

 blessed beyond measure!