Yarn-a-thon 2012

I love to crochet. So this past weekend when my “yarn soul mate” made her way down to visit and it rained the whole weekend we never feared of boredom. I was slightly disappointed that the weather didn’t cooperate for us to make our way to the pumpkin patch and corn maze but then I remembered something her and I have talked about for years: we needed to have a weekend together without husbands to sit and play with yarn.

Thankfully, her 4 month old twin boys didn’t mind playing on the floor as we ventured down memory lane of awesome college years. Oh how things change and life goes on. It’s been a long time since those nights when we would sit in the common areas of Anderson Hall or backstage during intermissions and played with yarn. Who knew this would be a lifetime bonding activity that I have used many times to bond with other females and creative types. I could only find two pictures of us playing with yarn which is shocking considering we did it all the time.  Oh how things have changed since those good old days of yarn, late nights, and giggles over our favorite topic: college boys.

This past weekend was awesome… Old friend, twin baby boys, good conversation, and yarn. I am truly blessed. 😉

Now, who wants to have another yarn-a-thon with me????

Backstage during the play “Harvey!” Yes, it was about the big imaginary rabbit.

I made such a cute maid. 😉

My First Prayer

Yes, this is actually the country church where this story took place. Good Ole’ OW!

I remember only a small part of that Sunday morning. It was a lot like all the other Sunday mornings at the old country church. No trumpets sounded, the heavens didn’t open to rejoice; it was just another Sunday. I sat next to my father, eyes straight ahead and hands in my lap, as was my father’s rule. I wasn’t allowed to play with dolls or toys during the service. Nor was I allowed to draw or entertain myself in any way. I was to sit with my eyes forward, mouth closed, and ears open to hear the sermon the pastor was preaching that Sunday per my father’s instruction.

“If you have not asked Jesus into your heart, then you should do so now, before it’s too late…” The pastor’s voice rang through the sanctuary.

“Oh no,” I thought, “I don’t remember if I asked Jesus into my heart or not. What if I didn’t? Would I go to hell? I’m pretty sure I already asked Him to come into my heart but I’m not so sure now. What should I do? I better ask Him again just to make sure He’s really in there.” And then I silently prayed to myself, “Jesus, I think I already asked you to come into my heart, but just in case I didn’t, I want to make sure you’re in there. Could you please come into my heart?”

To my left the large pipe organ began to play a hymn as the congregation stood to sing. My father stood next to me and began singing in his perfect pitch tenor voice. I stood and reached out my right hand to meet his. He briefly looked down and smiled at me, then continued to sing.

That’s the first prayer I remember praying, and the day I remember asking Jesus into my heart. No trumpets sounded, the heavens didn’t open to reveal a glorious celebration. On that day, another little soul was saved in that small Lutheran country church; a soul that would never be the same again, because it had been changed forever by the power of Jesus.