MUD

May: 
Just Help- "If you preach, just preach God's Message, nothing else; if you help, just help, don't take over; if you teach, stick to your teaching; If you give encouraging guidance, be careful that you don't get bossy; if you're put in charge, don't manipulate;" Verse 7


Step 1: Wash Water Tanks 
Step 2: Practice What You Preach 
Step 3: I Am Not The Boss 


There are many things I love about summer, things that may seem odd to many who read this.  I knew it was almost here when the sweet smell of weeds, grass and wheat danced in the wind.  The big blue sky would fill with white puffy clouds, and the sun would warm everything up.  We stacked hay in pyramids that made for a pretty fun climb, and an even better slide down. 

The farmers turned on the irrigation well that rested on our dirt road, and it would roar at all hours of the day and night.  Crickets, locusts, and baby birds sang me to sleep, along with the purr of that well.   


By late summer, the corn would rise taller than my dad, and sometimes it seemed to have a spirit of it's own.  

I loved to ride my 4-wheeler, as fast as it would go, for as long as I could.  I looked 3 shades darker after all of the dust settled on my skin and hair, but I didn't care.  It didn't seem to matter that dirt etched into my eyes, molding with unauthorized tears, forming Cleopatra style shapes.  


One day, I rode along, enjoying the sun.  It hadn't rained in weeks, as often happens in the panhandle.  For this reason, I was puzzled when the wheels of my 4-wheeler stuttered to a halt and sunk 6 inches deep.  I was quickly reminded that the irrigation well wasn't there for my personal sleep hygiene. (Some people have recordings with waterfalls or rain, but I would love one of a well motor. :) )


I was about a mile from my house, sunk in a gigantic mud patch caused from farmers watering the corn. As I leaped from the 4-wheeler and into the mud, I stood there, panting, wondering how in the world I was going to get out of that mess.  I raised my leg, which felt like 50 pounds, and the suction pulled my shoe back down, tearing away from my foot. 


Standing with one shoe still on, rapidly sinking in the mud, I made a lunge for drier ground.  Eventually I made it, covered in mud, with an increasingly redder sun burn by the minute. I walked the mile back to my house this way, leaving my clodded shoes behind with the sunken 4-wheeler.  


There's something about this memory that brings the words: frustration, hopelessness, and defeat.  But, there's something kind of beautiful in the ending.  After walking a mile to my house, I convinced a brother to drive a 4-wheeler out there, with a chain, to rescue me.  The 4-wheeler, and my shoes, recovered from the mud, and all that was left was a scarred piece of earth.  


Sometimes "just helping" and "not being the boss" can be frustrating, hopeless and defeating.  But, more often than not, it is also beautiful.  


The thing about this month's goal is that someone else needs help. It's not about me, and more importantly, I can help save someone the feeling of frustration and defeat. I can help them feel relief-- even if it's by washing dishes, changing a diaper, opening a door. We can all do little things to pull each other out of the mud,  to wipe away the dirt, and show Jesus.   

Room Service

May: 
Just Help- "If you preach, just preach God's Message, nothing else; if you help, just help, don't take over; if you teach, stick to your teaching; If you give encouraging guidance, be careful that you don't get bossy; if you're put in charge, don't manipulate;" Verse 7


Step 1: Wash Water Tanks 
Step 2: Practice What You Preach 
Step 3: I Am Not The Boss 


Before I was old enough to drive, or work legally in the state of Texas, I had a car payment and a job.  My first car reminded me of a race car; it was a standard, and it went fast.  White, 4 doors-- a 94 Acura Integra.  At the time, 1994 didn't seem that old, and more importantly, it was mine.  


As a result of newly owning a car, I was in need of income.  My dad graciously decided to begin paying me for work. (Yes, begin. Child labor is popular on the farm.) And so, that is how I became the resident water tank washer of 2 feed yards in the Texas panhandle.  


For those of you who are not familiar with the term "feed yard", let me enlighten you.  A feed yard serves much like a hotel for cattle. They arrive in a rather large coach to stay in our luxurious pens, and essentially eat, drink, and be merry.  My presence in this happy little fairy tale resembles that of room service.  

 Exhibit: A. 

The cows I served weren't quite as small, or cute, for that matter.  It took me two and half hours to clean one feed yard's tanks.  I wore ratty old jeans with holes, a t-shirt or sweatshirt depending on the day (west Texas weather is about as predictable as in comes), my hair was folded into a messy knot on top of my head to combat the ever persistent breeze, and I wore rubber boots up to my knees in order to avoid sloshing manure seeping into my socks.  I marched with a large scrubbing brush in my hand, crawling through the fence into the pen. Cows taller than me looked up in curiosity, or maybe they had thoughts like, "Finally. It's been days, and they call themselves a 5-star feed yard?"  Cows are sassy like that. 


When I reached the water tank, positioned in the middle, I reached to the bottom to find the stopper.  It usually took great might to rip it out of the hole, and more often than not, I sprayed myself with its contents: manure, spit, moss, mud, grain, and who knows what else.  As the water drained, I scrubbed the sides of the tank until it was clean and white.  Then, I placed the stopper back in and let the water fill, crystal clear.  Lather, rinse, repeat. For every pen.   


On occasion, the cattle would decide to charge at me for no apparent reason.  This made my job even more fun.  At the end of my duty, I possessed a smell that took days to remove, dried manure grit in my teeth, and a rats' nest on my head.  For one feed yard's cleaning, two and a half hours of work, at minimum wage, I made 12 dollars.  It is not a stretch to say that I was at the bottom of the feed yard totem pole.  You simply could not find a worse job.  Did I mention my dad was the boss? 


When I read May's verse, and when I think about offering my life as a living sacrifice to God, I can't help but think about that feed yard job.  Just help: wash water tanks.  I want to help others in simple, and sometimes unpleasant, ways-- without recognition, power, or complaining.  


Washing water tanks wasn't a difficult job. It wasn't particularly great,  but someone had to do it.  

Christmas With Dad

Family Christmas Countdown

1 week before:

Lindsay and I headed to Katy Mills to wrap up our Christmas shopping. I left Lindsay in bath and body works to visit Bass Pro Shop. I felt certain I could find something for my dad there. I wandered around a forrest of camo attire, and finally decided to consult my brothers. Both proved completely worthless. Tyler, however, came up with an idea in the end. Apparently my dad had just gotten a new gun that he was pretty proud of. We decided that maybe we could go in together and get him an accessory like a scope. Tyler instructed me to go to the gun counter and give them the code for the gun. I had absolutely no idea what I was asking about, but didn't have time for a tutorial.

I walked to the counter and asked, "Can I see an accessory to a Colt AR15, please?"

The guy behind the counter gave me a funny look before saying, "ma'am, we don't sell assault rifles here.".

Oops! Pretty sure I'm on some watch list now. They're probably wondering just what in fact I wanted a scope for an assault rifle for.

At a loss, I wandered back into the camo forrest. After much debate, I settled on a pair of bibs. I felt sure he could use them working in the panhandle. It's cold and windy there! Plus, Tyler assured me Dad didn't have any. I left Katy feeling good about my purchase.

Day of Family Christmas

5 hours before:
I am hurrying to Lubbock to help my dad do his Christmas shopping. This is completely normal and expected from him. He's a fly by the seat of his pants kind of Christmas shopper.

3 hours before:
I met Dad, Tyler and Tucker at On The Border where they were having a few beers to prepare for family Christmas. While this happened, my dad began telling us of a recent trip to Oklahoma City.
"Hey y'all, I was in Oklahoma City last week and I got some really cool bibs there. They are made with the material they use for astronauts! The same stuff they went to the moon in! I got a coat too!" He raved.

At this point I had to close my mouth. I mean, really? Out of all things to buy? He stole my Christmas present idea! And if you haven't met my father, he's a bit eccentric and has a tendency to go overboard. It's his own fault he's so hard to buy for!

Tyler thinks all of this is hilarious.

"You say you got bibs, did ya?" he asked my dad. I about kicked him under the table.


1 hour before:
The four of us met at best buy for some quick, last minute Christmas shopping. We ran around picking gifts, checked out, and loaded the truck.

15 minutes before:
By the light of the moon (and Tuck's tail light), we started to wrap presents in the bed of the truck in my grandmother's driveway. Tucker was in charge of getting wrapping paper. As we unrolled the seemingly silver paper, we discovered it was clear! Thankfully, Grandmother let us borrow some.

Game time:
Dad unwrapped his regular old bibs from me and we survived another family Christmas!

Post report:
I got home to a bed with missing sheets, no hot water in the hall bath... And we were all woken up by runaway horses hangin out on the highway in the middle of the night!

Until next year...



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

That One Time There Was A Warrant For My Arrest...

This is the last week of school before Christmas. I'm exhausted and there's a million things to do.  And, to top it all off, I feel like my head is a balloon about to take off. 

After taking the kids to outclass, I checked my email and saw one from my dad titled, "Warrant for your arrest".  The email said nothing, but had an attachment with it.  My father, the technological cowboy, had scanned a letter dated 11-30-10 and emailed it to me (without any sort of questions, scolding, or a lawyer's phone number). He has always warned us about getting thrown in jail-- we would be on our own, and not to make our one phone call to him! I was thankful he let me know I was wanted by the law, for it was in fact, a warrant for my arrest. 

I read the letter ten times before realizing it was real. I don't get service in my school and the letter was from Sulphur Springs, so I walked outside to the playground to call the number and hear what was going on.

The lady told me that this was about a ticket for outdated registration on a random highway October 23, 2004.  Let's just remember that in a few weeks it will be 2011.  Also, the address was my father's. So really, they could have been sending notices all these years and I would never know, because I'm pretty sure my dad hides from his mailbox.  I assured the lady on the phone that I didn't remember any of this, but that if I did, I would have definitely taken care of it!

Kindly, she gave me the number of the Judge in Bronte, TX. Population 1076.  He answered his own phone.  I went into my big spill about how I was sure I was innocent, laying on the sweet talk and "yes sirs" good and thick.  I had to pause for a minute while his computer booted up and he found my case. 

He spoke with a slow, southern drawl, "Miss Waggoner, this was so long ago, and I don't have any proof, and you don't have any proof, I think I'll just take care of this for ya." 


Annnnnd, I am no longer wanted by the State of Texas.  :)

10 Reasons Why Visiting My Dad Is Like Going to Another Country

10. You wash your face with freezing cold water.

9. The toilet doesn't work without some manual maneuvering.

8. Food is scarce.

7. When you walk outside, you can't be sure people will speak English.

6. It smells.

5. You have jet lag when you go home, waking up at 4:00 am like your body became used to.

4. Antibacterial soap.

3. You have internet, but scarce cell service.

2. Normal rules and laws do not apply.

1. Spiders, bugs and mice.. oh my!!

Confessions of a NOT-So-Tough Farm Girl

I guess you could say it all started over Christmas break. Everyone was reading the Twilight series, so I thought I needed to also.  After reading those four books in about a week, I was thirsty for something else to devour. Lindsay suggested that we read the Left Behind series together and talk about it. Well, there are a good 12 books in that series. We started sometime in January and she had me read ahead of her. That way, when I finished a book, I could just pass it on to her. The problem is when she's done before I am. Because then she's without the next book-- waiting on me. Well here we are a few months later and I just finished book 10.  She was supposed to bring me book 11 but forgot it at home. So, this is why I had to drive all the way out to her house to get the next book. And, because I drove out there, I had to kiss and squeeze and play with the baby. (my favorite)... I left and came home to eat. Admittedly, this caused me to be running short on time and instead of rushing to church, I just stayed home. This leads up to the point where I am relaxing on my bed watching Lost on my computer.  I decided to catch up on some past episodes in order to be ready for tonight's new one.  I was eating some truffle Hershey kisses and dipping them into honey roasted peanut butter, when all of a sudden something caught my eye. 

My heart stopped. 

And then it moved again.  In my haven of a bed, on my perfectly matching pillow, a spider was scurrying about.  I leaped with full force ejecting myself out of the vicinity.  What to do next? Save the computer! Save the chocolate! Save the peanut butter! Leave the trash.... put on some shoes... run around aimlessly.  And then, I remembered a poisonous spray I keep under the sink for wasps.  I grew up in the panhandle and we didn't deal with those much, so I like the poison spray that zaps them dead instead of trusting my aim with a big shoe. I quickly grabbed the can, a rag and ran back to my room. I inched closer and spotted the eight legged creature again.  I held my breath. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it echoing in my head.  I sprayed the projectile wasp poison on my perfectly matching 14.99 TJMAX down throw pillow and backed away to safety. (What was the spider going to do, fly up and get me?) The arachnid was furious with me. It scattered in circles and hopped up and down hiding under the pillow. (I'm sure it was hissing obscenities at me and spitting venom)  Well now what? I took a deep breath, counted to three and turned over the soiled pillow. And we were off to the races again! The spider took off running amok before curling on my bedspread.  I sprayed it again. This time I watched it writhing in pain, but it wasn't enough, it was STILL moving!!!! This was war. This house isn't big enough for the both of us.  I chased it onto the floor where I stomped it to its death. DIE!!!!!!!!!!!   

I won.  Sweaty, near heart failure, but victorious.  I grabbed shout and attempted to clean my poor, poor pillow. As far as casualties go, better it than me, though.  

I suppose my rough and tough upbringing masquerades me as being bullet proof. But, the truth is this: I would rather castrate a cow than deal with a spider.  

The end.