Scraps

Scraps have different meanings in our house.

Basically there's two kinds.

The kind you throw to the pigs or chickens.

And the kind you hoard if you're a quilter: fabric!

Since I finished my last quilt I have been eager to start my next one(s).

I can't seem to stop myself from just one quilt ;).

I have squared all of Connor's quilt blocks and have them set aside.

I said his quilt is next and I plan on keeping my word... as the budget allows.

Quilting is not a cheap hobby!

I have sketched out his quilt and estimated the fabric I need to complete it.

Now I'm waiting for a good sale.

In the meantime...

I have started to organize the scraps I do have.

Not much but at least it's organized.

This is only the smaller scraps.

The larger pieces are folded and arranged in a craft cabinet drawer by color.

My other quilt project is going to be a jean quilt.

I have been cutting up a large quantity of jeans (three bags).

This is one of two piles I had after cutting the seams out of the jeans.

A pile of seventy 5 1/2" squares.

I think I have over 100 now.

I also have strips of two different widths to help supplement the squares.

I have no pattern I'm going by.

I do have a few ideas I've gathered on Pinterest that I'm using as a guide.

My goal is to make a king sized quilt... we'll see.

A Tale of Two Fathers

I miss my dad terribly and could not think of a better way to honor him this Father's Day than to tell our story. This has taken me some time to write (I started in March). It's a tearful journey. I debated on adding pictures. I decided that since my dad was a photographer, how could I not? I don't ever remember actually calling my dad, Dad. Unless I was referring to my dad, I always called my dad Papa. Truly, this is a tale about my Papa.

I cannot take credit for any of this tale.  It was all tenderly orchestrated by our heavenly Father. His patience and love abound like no other. Full of forgiveness and love; just and righteous is He.

I was born to a military family. We lived in four states and two countries before I was nine. I'll be honest and say I don't remember a lot of my childhood. There were unpleasant things that happened. I'm not going to elaborate, just saying that it occurred. There were good times too, it wasn't all bad. My parents divorced when I was nine. I didn't have a good relationship with my dad. It was pretty much non-existent. Growing up basically without a dad. I spent many birthdays crying and disappointed that he didn't call. I always thought, "This time will be different." They never were. It was like my dad didn't put much effort toward me. Whatever the reason, that's how it was. I began to hate Father's Day; not much joy for someone with a deadbeat dad. I never actually hated my dad but resentment began to grow.

When I was 20 I became a Christian. That means that I believe I am a sinner. According to the Bible, sin has an eternal punishment of separation from God. I could not fix my sin problem on my own. Jesus died in my place to cleanse me from my sin. I also got married when I was 20. Since I didn't know my dad all that well, I had my mom walk me down the aisle. Why is my getting married relevant to this story? Well... Not too long after Dwayne and I were married, my dad started to call me more. I did not handle this well. Anxiety crept in every time he called. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. It was beginning to affect our marriage. Eventually, Dwayne came up with three options. I didn't like any of them. One, I could leave things as they were. No thanks. Two, I could tell my dad I didn't want to see him anymore. Cut ties and move on with my life. I couldn't do that either. That left me with choice number three: move beyond the past and start anew. Likewise, I wasn't really fond of this idea, but it seemed to be the best option. The real question was how was I going to go through with it? I mean the reality of it was far more difficult to carry out.

So I had made my decision and began to figure out how to live with it. As God worked it out, I was involved with my first bible study.  This group of ladies was all wounded by abusive husbands.  I was the only one who had a great husband, but I came from a broken home with similar issues.  God did amazing work through His word and the fellowship of those ladies. I began to get to a point where I was OK with the connection my dad and I had at that time. Still not loving it but not hating it either. It wasn't easy, but the healing had begun.

Over the next several years our relationship grew. It was a slow growth. In the mean time Dwayne and I had moved two hours away. It was during this time that my dad and I began to talk more. We were getting to know each other. I also was growing more in my walk with God. I finally got to the point where I forgave my dad. I did not forget the past but completely forgave what happened. It was freeing for me and I haven't looked back. I'm so thankful for God's patience where I would have given up on my dad; God did not give up on me. I began to pray that I someday would have the opportunity to tell my dad that I forgave him.

The opportunity came (God is so good). I will never forget that day. My dad had called me at work. I don't remember why he called but I could tell from our conversation that my opportunity was now. (And I was praying like crazy.) I excused myself from my cubicle office to a conference room for some privacy. It was there that my dad began to be remorseful for his past behavior. Genuinely sorry for being a bad dad. Sorry for all the crummy stuff. Sorry for not being there. Everything. And that's when I told him that I had already forgiven him months ago. We both bawled our eyes out. It was awesome. From that day on we had a new relationship. Not perfect but it was new and fresh. Thank God for forgiveness and new beginnings!

We had a new start. It was good. Then in 2010, my step-mother died from cancer. Though we knew her death was coming, my dad was still devastated. It was difficult for him. I chose to walk with him through his grief as much as I could. It was then that we started talking regularly. We'd talk about anything and everything. He told the best stories. Stories from his military days and his extensive travelling around our great country. He had a dry sense of humor. He told some of the funniest Mexican jokes! He was goofy. He asked how I was doing. He was genuinely interested in what the family was up to. He would ask what we were having for dinner... and usually responded by calculating how much driving time it would take to get here from wherever he was in the country.  I enjoyed our talks.

He frequently told me how proud he was of me, Dwayne and the boys. Proud of Dwayne for working on his associate degree in biblical studies. He was impressed that I learned to cook for Connor's food allergies. Proud that we were homeschooling. Telling us that we were doing a good job. He would ask what the boys were learning.  He joked that he was our homeschool superintendent.  He always told me he loved me.  He hated the cell phone when it cut us off and then not have the opportunity to express his love. If we did get cut off, he always called back to say he loved me and then said good-bye until he had a better signal.  Always. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that he loved me.

Had I not forgiven my dad all those years ago, I would have missed out on so much. In the end, we were talking at least every other day, if not every day (and sometimes twice a day). I last spoke to him the evening before he was murdered. I will treasure our talks always. Oh how I miss Papa.

                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It occurred to me while doing this post that I don't have many pictures of me and my dad together.

We both preferred to be behind the camera rather than in front of it.

My dad showing the boys his "office".

Four generations.

And That's Two

 I can't believe it's been two years since my brain surgery.

A lot has happened in that time.

Even though I have to live with the horrible atrocity of my

dad's murder for the rest of my life, it's still great to be alive.

My dad would have gotten a huge kick out of this photo. (No pun intended.)

Every once in a while my scar, which we call my seam, gets tender.

And that's OK, I can live with that!

(I'm only mentioning it because some people still ask.)

We joke all the time about my seam and the plate in my head.

It has brought us much laughter.

I feel fine.

I have a clean bill of health.

God has given me so much to be thankful for.

Breathing, walking, talking.

Family.

Salvation.

That's just a drop in the bucket.

She's Crowing

Before I get to the crowing part, I have to show the mischievous part.

These two hens felt the need to roost on the gate.

Then one decided to fly into the yard.

Apparently our side looked better.

Might be time to clip some wings.

This is our entire flock.

Seven Indian Runners, two Khaki Campbells, and seven chickens.

For the most part they get along.

As the younger bunch (the four on the right) have gotten bigger they've

been able to join the others without any problems.

Both of our Khaki Campbells are hens.

We're super excited about that... more duck eggs!

Not sure why she was holding her foot up.

She walks and runs just fine.

I guess she wanted to be a flamingo for a minute.

See the one looking at the camera?

She's supposed to be our Jersey Giant hen.

She started crowing this morning.

Obviously she's not a hen.

She's bossed everybody around since we brought her home.

We figured it was because of her size.

While I'm sure that was part of it, I'm guessing it was because she's a rooster.

We let Nolan pick the Jersey Giant.

He's the same age as the hen behind him...

Roosters are larger than the hens but this one will be much bigger.

They're supposed to get HUGE.

Thirteen pounds huge... almost twice the size of a normal hen.

Think great dane of chickens.

This could get interesting!

The hen/rooster was not the only mix-up at the farm store.

The hen on the right is supposed to be a Barred Rock.

She seems to be missing her bars.

We think she's another Black Australorp.

That's what happens when people children pick up chicks

and don't put them back in the proper bin.

Maybe that's why some stores won't let you pick them up.

Which is also why it's better to order what you want rather than getting them from the bins.

We only planned on a few...

The younger ones, which Dwayne calls "littles", coming to see what I'm doing.

This is Ra.

He's supposed to be a rooster.

He's very friendly and comes right up to you.

So maybe he's not a rooster after all.

Only time will tell.

                                                                 

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