This is probably an Agapostemon splendens, at least a green "sweat" bee, or Halictid bee. Photo copyright 2011 by David L. Green. How do you react when you think of bees? Do you shiver at the thought of getting stung or are you thankful to them for their services in pollinating our food supply? Because of the Colony Collapse Disorder that has increased the world’s awareness of “disappearing” honeybees, the general public has become somewhat more aware of our dependence on
Read Phil 1:6 Click on this link to read the passage. You may select your preferred version of the Bible after the link opens. Children are prone to mess up over and over on one thing or another. It’s just a part of growing up. Messy rooms, messy eating, telling stories… Young moms can probably name these faster than I can think of them now that my daughter has children of her own. How critical should we be with
I was cutting a piece of fabric at a friend’s house and commented on how I like the sound of cutting out fabric on a wooden table. It has a sound that is so unique. That started my mind thinking of some of the sounds that give me warm fuzzy feelings… Sounds like rain on a canvas tent roof, or water lapping against a boat drifting downstream, or the sound of a woodpecker in the woods. I asked my friends on
When I use Mama's pin I am reminded of the rich heritage she gave me through her love for sewing. As I worked on my latest quilt block for my Bible storybook, The Creation, I reached for a pin in my pincushion to hold a turned piece of fabric in just the right position while I hand stitched it to the background. Although there are probably 100 pins in my pincushion, I had a particular one in mind – Mama’s
Fading Mom by Janice D. Green When Mom was young She cared for me She wiped my tears And fixed my knee And as I grew She was my friend She met my needs And lent her hand. But then I moved So far away And failed to call And share my day. I dreamed of things That we might share Another day When I got there. But years have passed, Shared moments few, With miles between Where loneliness grew. She’s ninety-three Can barely hear; I hold the phone And shed a tear. Before her years Slip away Enjoy your mom Day by day.
