Comfort Song

Whom have we, Lord, but Thee,
Soul-thirst to satisfy?
Exhaustless spring! The waters free!
All other streams are dry.

Our hearts by Thee are set
On brighter things above;
Strange that we ever should forget
Thine own most faithful love.

Yet oft we credit not
He freely gives as God,
Though well we know our happy lot
In trusting to His blood.

None like the ransomed host
That precious blood have known;
Redemption gives faith's holy boast
To draw so near the throne.

Higher and higher yet!
Pleading that same life blood;
We taste the love that knows no let,
Of Abba, as of God.

Mary Bowley

Van Gogh report

This week R asked me, "Mom, why did slap-it-up artists get so popular?" A photo of a Helen Frankenthaler painting in one of his art books prompted the question. We talked about it a bit, and I got to share with him my twisted theories about art.

A couple days later he prepared a report on Van Gogh, out of the same book. This was not my idea; he called it show and tell. Here's the report, "copied" from the book in the photo (R's spelling & punctuation intact):



"Vincent van gogh was the son of a Dutch minister he tried a number of cureers, incluoding the ministry. until at the age of 27 he decided to become an artist Thro art he exppreesed his conpashon for mankind and his strog emoshinal response to the world around him."

Caffeine & Carbs @ Cabin

I should preface this post with an apology to my Walla Walla friends I didn't see on Memorial Day weekend. This trip was truly a surgical strike, for the annual Lamb family cabin breakfast.

Most of you are familiar with the cabin. I think I can say with certainty that never have so many people had so much fun in such a shacky, un-plumbed place over the course of so many years. The amount of soda pop and junk food consumed there during the last several decades is staggering, not to mention the sledding, hunting, hikes, naps, hymn-sings, first kisses and gory chain-saw accidents.

The cabin breakfast is usually an outdoor affair, cooked over open fire; this year the rain drove us indoors and forced the use of propane. Dad makes pancakes and what he calls sheepherder coffee. It reminds me a bit of Steve Martin's "famous java" from the movie Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid.

It's great coffee. We all drink too much of it and talk really fast over one another, then eat and go hike all over the property. So fun.