An Experience You Don’t Want to Miss

My most excellent husband is continually surprising me–he led me recently to a meat cheese trayrenovated 1940’s farm house out in the country not too far from us here in our little community of Fulshear…it was in Sealy, Texas.  I hope you’re close enough to chance a trip to discover what you’ve been missing..

The inside of this unprepossessing little building delivers a sophisticated breath of fresh air. Subtle lighting, small group seating, soft music, linen tablecloths, candlelight and unique chandeliers…and an ambiance that lends itself to an afternoon of tasting the most excellent locally grown wines as well as a delicious domestic and international selection.  My own personal favorite is YBR’s own Symphony, “a hybrid mix of the Moscat and Granache Gris grapes, a  harmonious balance of sweetness and acidity that creates an angelic, noble, and slightly bubbly wine.” (their description)…hard to beat. There’s also plenty of comfortable outdoor seating, a plus for entertaining.  And Saturday evenings with live music will certainly increase the quality of your stay at YBR.

The waLambrm and enchanting hostess who came out to greet us was a comely blonde with a personable manner who will ensure that you’re a welcome friend before you leave.  Denyce Treybig, the owner of YBR, is very well spoken with a soft manner and welcoming smile. She knows her wines.

We introduced ourselves and began to converse when I saw something unexpected–a menu!   From a hidden little treasure of a winery they’ve expanded to a restaurant!

Denyce has added a gem: an experienced, forward-thinking chef (Chef Ken—we were lucky enough to meet him) who is passionate about culinary arts.  Ken is a master at the Texas Filet, perfectly seasoned and grilled to the exact degree of tenderness and flavor that you prefer.  Whether you’re fond of flatbreads, simple meat and cheese trays, Seared Tuna, New Zealand Lamb, or simply the JUICIEST half pound Burger that you have ever seen (and fries that people drive out from Houston to enjoy) you will agree with us that the Yellow Brick Road is a worthwhile stop on the path of a satisfying and memorable journey.

 

“The winery sits on an estate right off of Interstate 10 in Sealy, 20 miles West of Katy and 20 miles East of Columbus, only 50 minutes West of downtown Houston overlooking 50 acres, and just 35 minutes away from West Houston. The Yellow Brick Road Winery is a Texas owned and operated vineyard and winery and we are committed to growing and blending varieties best suited for the soil and climate.    In addition to the wines made on the premises, Yellow Brick Road Winery carries other Texan made wiposternes, domestic wines and international wines.”
The menu changes frequently complete with fantastic desserts…call ahead or come check it out, and while you decide, have a sip of the unbeatable Chocolate Wine…like a “liquid tootsie roll.”

Stop by and share in this well-kept (but not for long) secret tucked away in Sealy, Texas.   And yes, I’ve gotta say it, “Follow the Yellow Brick Road!”

 

 

Do You Have Any Idea How Lucky You Are?

windows-photo-gallery-wallpaper.jpgYou have been chosen.

By the God of the universe…He chose you before the foundation of the world.  And not just “you”, the “struggling, trying hard, want to do good you.”  Or the “oops, I stumbled again” you.  This also includes the “boy have I really blown it, no one is as bad as me” you.  THAT you.  I’m trying to tell you about the HOLY AND BLAMELESS you.  THAT is who He selected, HE CHOSE YOU before the world was ever formed.

Maybe that’s old news.  Maybe it doesn’t knock your socks off.  But it does me.

Every so often I just get hit with that realization anew. And it’s mind-boggling. What PEACE that brings…why is there any stress in this life when we are assured of our place in eternity?

If you aren’t aware, it’s all in His plan.  But oh wait, that’s right. He only accepts perfection. Blameless people.  That lets you out?  Not really.

He cannot abide sin.  Not even a little white lie.  (Most of mine are actually ugly, crunchy black things).  So He devised the plan to send His own Son to pay the penalty—which is death—for my sins and yours.  The plan goes like this:  Jesus, God’s son, came in a miraculous way, lived a perfect, sinless life.  Then He was put to death in a tortuous way. And in His death He assumed all of your sins.  All of my sins.  All the sins of the world’s people.

He carried those sins to the grave; conquered death and left them there.  Then he got up; he came back from the dead and went back to heaven, get this: to prepare a place for you.  And when you accept this, when you truly believe this and accept Him as the One who has saved you, you join the ranks of the holy and blameless. Isn’t that amazing?

If you’d like to know more, please leave me a comment.  But it’s all in the Bible.  Start with John 3:16 if you like, and go on from there.  In fact, he comprised the whole thing into that one verse: “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believes on Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.”  See, I had to use 7 paragraphs, he used one sentence.

And if you don’t have a Bible but you’re using the Internet, there’s www.biblehub.com or  www.biblegateway.com.  You can find it all there.

So.  Now.  Put your socks back on.  And have a blessed day.

Major Industry in the Window Well

My big brother and I had a thriving transport industry when I was small back in 1957.  Our Dad sold construction machinery so our interests often led in that direction.  Our new white brick house in the Gardenside neighborhood of Lexington, Kentucky had a basement below ground. To allow natural light Window wellinto the basement, there were windows which were slightly below ground, and had corrugated wells or shells that surrounded them.   These mysterious apertures were always lending themselves to mischief and made great hiding places.

The Christmas when Mike received a crane and dump truck was unexpectedly warm and a temporary reprieve from the snow temporarily so we played outside every day.  After learning to maneuver the crane and operate the bed of the dump truck, we had to find ways to put them to use.  We gathered sticks, and  piles of leaves and were making a general mess when we discovered the gravel down in the window wells.  We hauled the gravel out of the well bucket by bucket, filling up the dump truck, till Mom said we had to stop and put it all back and smooth it out again.  This stymied our plans so we had to get really resourceful for new materials to haul.

Our cat had kittens a few weeks prior to this, so it occurred to Mike to go into the Kitten Delivery business.  He set up shop in the back yard, making all those amazing mouth noises that little boys devise for their major machines, cranking it out and running it around with vigor.  He would call out the orders as they came in from our demanding imaginary customers and get ready to deliver his product without delay.

It was always my job to jump down into the well, which seemed 10 feet deep to me at the ripe age of 4.  I would kneel down and capture a squirming kitten (placed there earlier by yours truly much to the chagrin of their Mama cat), then yell to the foreman (much older Joe Mike the master craftman–who was 7) to reel the bucket down.  He loved that steel Tonka Crane that he’d received from Santa that year, and he would turn the hand crank that lowered the black steel basket down into the well with enthusiasm–sometimes cracking a kitten in the head, or plopping onto the unsuspecting little critter like a giant black claw.

I would close the claw, tuck the little creature into the basket that it made, and yell, “Geronimo!” releasing the basket to watch it go toddling skyward to be dumped into the bed of his dump truck for hauling away.  This was a slow and precarious process, as the cargo tended to pop out out of the truck bed almost immediately to go exploring.

We kept at it  until the Mama cat had enough, coming to rescue her little band  Her bleating meows alerted our Mom, who caught us and put a stop to our innocent feline torture trials.  We found other uses for tCrane piche crane and dump truck after that, just as adventurous as you’d imagine would come from the mind of a precocious 7-year-old.  But that Kitten Transport Delivery service was probably the best time we had that Christmas and a memory that hasn’t faded in almost 60 years.

Mama’s Reinforcer

My 3 brothers and I were rambunctious, curious, headstrong kids who were constantly experimenting, trying out new things, building contraptions, getting into scrapes.  Especially when we concocted pretend battles that earned us scrapes and more than one hilarious–if unexpected–outcome. (Tale for another time)

Yet when Mama said jump, we did.  Didn’t ask why.  Or argue.   We just understood that she was Mama, she was in charge, she knew best, and she had a little maple switch to back up her words if we disagreed.

She didn’t use it much.  She didn’t have to.  She knew that our history with her and our aversion to pain had taught us to trust her at her word.  The few times our egos got in the way and that little guy with the horns on my left shoulder prompted me to flip that big toe over the line a bit too far…I had the Truth of what I already knew reinforced.

Don’t get me wrong, I would never dare to complain about this.  It wasn’t excessive; it wasn’t cruel or meant to harm.  It was love in action; love showing us that we had firm boundaries in place for our safety and protection.  We knew that from her perspective, in her many years of wisdom earned the hard way, that she absolutely knew what was the right thing for us to do.  Our doubts were set to rest with a bit of stinging on the legs, a few tender tears, and a much chastened ego.

When I read again John 2: 4 today, (about the wedding in Cana) I had to think about mothers and their children.  As a mother of grown sons today, When I see a need to be filled, I quietly direct my sons in the same way that Mary did.  “Jack, we need more tea,” or “Seth, that box is too heavy for her.”  I know without hesitation that they will acquiesce, and help in whatever way my statement implied.  I know that’s taking huge license with the Saviour and His relationship to his mother, but that’s my personal frame of reference here.

Yet Jesus’ statement in verse 4 was, (as stated in the Hebrew Names Version),

4 Yeshua said to her, “Woman, what does that have to do with you and me? My hour has not yet come.”

Jesus wasn’t being disrespectful or refusing to obey; He was simply asking her to consider His own perspective of His mission of salvation versus her more immediate temporal concern.

That is a huge lesson for me right now.  Recovering from an unexpected divorce, I have my own laundry list of immediate wants and needs that I’ve taken to Him, confident that He cares.  But He’s reminding me that His perspective is different from mine.  His purposes in the trials I face today are eternal, not temporal.

That’s quite a lesson for me.  I wanted to pass it along, for what it’s worth.  And to share with you one more bit of serendipity…the verse to encourage me that came to mind from this study was from I Peter 5:7

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. (NIV).

Now, I have a children’s memory verse pad—it’s a post-it note pad with a different verse printed on every page in large print—I guess it’s used in VBS or children’s classes.  The top one was about children obeying their parents.  I used to stick them on the mirror and around the house, as reminders.

Haven’t used it in a while.  In a pinch, I turned it over and scribbled I Peter 5:7 down on the back of the last well-worn sheet that still had a bit of sticky on it. I folded the sticky edge down and stuck it with the verse I wrote showing on my bookshelf beside my desk.  It was a few moments later when I stood up to leave the desk, that I glanced at the notepad to see what the new memory verse would be.  Here it is: “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

 

Memory verse pad

My Mama Sang

Mama was so funny.  She told jokes really well. Unless she forgot them.  Or got the facts mixed up.  But regardless, she was funny.

Her heart was the biggest I have ever known.  When she led my Brownie troop back in 1960, she taught us how to make favors for the meal trays at Cardinal Hill Children’s Hospital.  We cut out the silhouette of a cardinal from red construction paper, put a horizontal slit in the side, then cut a rectangle of paper and folded it accordian style; and inserted it through the slit, so that the bird had 3-D wings.  It was really a cute little gesture, and brightened the lunch trays of severdal hundred crippled children that day.

We donned our Brownie uniforms and carpooled to the imposing old brick building, perching high on a hill off of Versailles Road and Mason Headley Road where it gazed down over what later became Cardinal Valley Subdivision.  It was freezing cold as we piled out of station wagons and cars with several other mothers in attendance.  We were well rehearsed in how to stay in 2 lines and behave as we visited the hospital to sing Christmas carols and brighten the faces of the children who were receiving treatment there.  As Mom led us from room to room, her animated face, exaggerated movements and that wagging index finger marking time to the acappella music brought bright smiles to more than a few.

The way she could widen and roll her eyes brought laughter to the lips–and joy to the soul. All 4 ft 11 1/2 inches of her were proud to reach out to each little heart, speaking with her smiles and comedic gestures to love each one in turn.

Not such a big deal, you say?  You weren’t there.  It’s as if someone turned on the lights in room after room as she strolled through, bringing the love of Jesus to child after child.  It impressed me then, a little girl of 7.  And the memory of it still impresses me today, at 63.

Someday, when I meet you in heaven, I’ll introduce you to Mama, and if you’re really lucky, I get her to sing for you “This Little Light of Mine.”

That’s my Mama.

 

 

 

 

Food for Thought

In difficult times, our faith can stand upon the security of what God has purposed, lean upon the surety of what God has promised, and count upon the certianty of what God will provide.                                                                                                                                 –Roy Lessin

Enough said.

“Nothing Can Stop Us Now”

[Once again, this draft was penned in June a year and a half ago.  It’s ancient history now :0), but I’m pleased in a shy way to see how upbeat I was able to be.]

 

The last time I wrote (January 1) I exclaimed, “What’s Next, Father?”  and basically stood amazed, waiting for whatever He brought my way.

I wanted to let the few of you who still read this little chat know what has transpired since then.

Times grew worse; desperate, in fact.  I wish I could list for you all the particulars, but for now let’s just say that I can’t imagine anything worse happening to us.  (What a frightful thing to say, now I see this and wonder if I “jinxed” our journey).

Then on one of the earliest sunny days in 2014 to date, someone that neither my husband nor I had ever contacted called him and asked him to come to work for them.  Right here in Oklahoma.  No 12 hours of travel; no outlay of expense for hotel, or anything.  Just wanted him to come to work immediately.

And a couple of days following that–ending 3 years of unemployment–I was called for an interview that I had joked about a few days earlier.  I’d grown so used to pouring my all into an interview to no avail, that I just relaxed and enjoyed this one. No pressure–if I wasn’t going to get the job, there was no reason to fret and be nervous. So I relaxed, and laughed a lot, and had a great time in this interview. In fact, when I left the boss’s office, I was so pleased just to have a warm and confident interview that I was encouraged just to have accomplished that simple act.

You can’t imagine the awe and delight in my heart when I was asked to accept the position a couple of days later.  It was more than I could fathom that all of this would transpire at the same time.  BOTH of us hired within a few days’ time.

To shorten a long and rather boring tale, we’re now in a new home; smaller, but beautiful.  We have a new beginning; new jobs, new dreams, and thankfully, a new purpose.

Last time it was “What’s Next, Father?” And this time I can truly say it’s all about Him.  To quote my husband’s wedding vows to me, “Nothing Can Stop Us Now.”

 

New Chapter Coming Up

[Written over a year ago when I switched jobs.  Not sure why I neglected to publish…but I still appreciate RCB bank, even though I’m over 500 miles away now…it’s STILL “my bank!”]

I’ve had a wonderful time working for the local bank the past few years.  Along with other activities I’ve spent my days staring at checks written by customers, squinting at the handwriting of Mr. Jones and Miss Smith, trying to interpret what dollar and how many cents they mean.

You’ll never believe how many people put about 4 zeroes BEFORE the dollar amount on their deposit slip…and a dash, or slash, or dots, or smiley face after the written dollar amount–leaving me to guess what they actually intend in regard to their accounts.  My coworkers grew weary of hearing me say, “I wanna teach a class in how to write checks or people can’t have accounts!”

I can now stop feeding that wicked machine that photographs (but for me it eats) paper checks and distorts them until I cringe at the outcome.  They’re letting me out of validating new information, they now understand that they cannot train this old traditionalist to read the “new math” kind of numbers that some customers are writing for us.

And now I’ve turned  another page in my personal history and moved on to more familiar ground.  I left the hallowed tan cubicles, ornate paneled elevators, with scenes of quiet floral vases and opulent wallpaper for a more common habitat. I learned a great deal from each of those I met  at the bank.  I learned not go to the banking floor to cash a cheque unless it’s between 2 and 3 pm.  And which teller to approach–one always busy, one chatting you up so that you never go away feeling less than a new member of the family.

I learned that it is NOT necessarily worth it to wear jeans on Friday. That the bank has the very best leftovers in town (their catered events are fantastic). I learned that behind this genteel aura of respect, impersonal formality and “properness” is a group of observant, thoughtful and caring people, a team who shows regard for your personal safety and security, trying to help you succeed (sometimes in spite of your own best intentions).

The slow, deliberate nature of their decision-making process allows time to examine all avenues available to their clients…resulting in a studied, wise and certain direction that will rarely offer you less than the very best outcome possible.  Quite a legacy, when you stop to think about it.

I’ve moved on to new territory…different, surely, but not necessarily  better.  Just different.  But after all’s said and done, I can still say with certainty and pride, ..”that’s STILL my bank!”

Never Know How Little You Know Until You Teach

Been teaching lately.  And while it shouldn’t, it still surprises me how much I learn just from preparing to teach.  A few pearls I’ve picked up this year:

  • You do not have the answers to everything.
  •  It’s okay not to have the answers to everything.
  • Expounding longer and in detail while it sounds a bit impressive (to the beginner’s ear) does not improve the percentage of learning that takes place.  In fact, it usually drops the numbers a bit.
  • Students learn as much when you ask them questions as when you provide answers.  Possibly more.
  • The times you’re less well-prepared tend to turn out pretty well.  In spite of you.
  • It’s very humbling to hear simple wisdom emanate from someone you had totally underestimated.  And gratifying, somehow.
  • Wisdom comes in many forms.
  • The lesson you thought you were teaching isn’t always what was learned.  And that’s okay.
  • “Pride goes before a perilous fall”…watch the teacher stumble. Pride shouldn’t enter into lesson preparation OR delivery.
  • About 12 years ago I wrote an article titled “Surprised by Christ.”  It still rings true.  No matter how well I believe I know Him, He continually amazes me.
  • A lesson not bathed in prayer isn’t worth teaching.
  • Timing is important.  I repeat.  Timing is important.
  • Teaching is addicitive.  Or more like a calling.  I’m driven to it; can’t help it.  Can’t get enough of it.

Enough said.