Oh yes you do... everybody has to come to the Cross. Likely you've been there, else you wouldn't be reading this right now. Deb and I have been "At The Cross" many times in the years we've known each other. Surprisingly, I was "At The Cross" only this morning, before leaving the house... "I'm sorry Dear. I argued with you this morning. I was unkind. It was wrong. Please forgive me." Sounds like a speech doesn't it? It is. I know it by heart. My most blessed place, "At The Cross."So, how do you get there? What happens At The Cross? What happens when you leave? Let’s check it out.
Now I’m gonna’ pull a fast one on ya’ – I think I’ll stick a letter to Debbie in every now and then. This is one, dating back to about 2017. We lived next to a cow pasture – “The Ladies” is what I called the various milk cows. One in particular, #12037 (or some such – they had numbered tags on their ears, and large Alpine cow bells around their necks. They always had a habit of “watching” as you passed by on the river trail next to their fenced in pasture… Maybe! You’ll have a hand full of grass to give away… one never knows) was usually quite attentive to me. I brought her stashes of grasses that were beyond her reach. Her big ole’ (huge, actually – and felt like sandpaper) tongue would stick out and wrap around the grass and pull it into her big, toothy mouth. Quite amusing, actually! At times, she would investigate my hand by wrapping her tongue around my wrist… really! Cows don’t have hands, so I imagine their tongue is the closest thing to “touching” somebody.
Well then, here’s my letter to Deb. She was in the U.S. for about a month… a really long month!
Hi Doll,
Well it is Sunday afternoon about 4:30, I’ve done everything outside that I can think of doing, it is a sunny day and I felt I should be outside rather than inside.
So here I am writing to you in this way. Maybe it’ll be a long letter maybe not but I’m trying something new (“speaking” instead of writing) and I hope maybe I will do my story writing in some fashion like this, because it is an easy way to write.
I watered your plants this afternoon, and I went down to the river and sat on a stone and kind of rolled into the water just a little bit by accident then I walked down the trail a little ways. “The ladies” are gone now, and their milking station has been disassembled, so now I am without my lady friends.
Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
So here I am dictating a letter to you.
I vacuumed and mopped the house Saturday and you probably noticed the pictures of Fred and Stephanie here yesterday evening. They both enjoyed frolicking in the yard; Fred throwing slugs into the river, and Stephanie watering the plants that she felt I had not sufficiently tended to. There was a point where I took a picture of Fred digging slugs out of your garden next to the river, and I didn’t realize his shirt was up in in the back. Stephanie reached around and standing next to him pulled his shirt down to cover his backside. All a good time with those two, I rather wonder if they aren’t candidates for taking this place when we pull out.
I have a surprise for you, though now that I’m telling you about it it won’t be, actually. Yesterday at Penny market I noticed they had a multiple function chainsaw apparatus for €150 and I bought it. It runs off of gasoline so we can take it with us and it is all of these things: it’s a weed trimmer on and elongated pole, it is a chainsaw in the same fashion, it is a brush cutter blade in the same way, and much more to your liking it is a hedge trimmer that looks to stick out about 5 feet from the main body. I am thinking that I will trim all your riverside bushes by the time you get back and it seems to me if I start at the furthest part from the plant when I get through I’ll end up with little shards of leaves and limbs that really won’t need to be picked up but rather can sink into the soil. I’ll give this a try tomorrow. I hope I haven’t wasted €150, but it seems to me, should we move to Marilyn’s house, or any house, this sort of device would be most excellent down by the water and trimming trees and bushes and all that sort of thing. It looks like it would do a good job.
Now I believe I have exhausted your attention and this is an experiment letter anyway so I will send it your way and see if in fact you do get it.
I pray your church service goes very well and that it is uplifting to you and that God speaks to you in the various ways that he always does. God be with you baby I really miss Sunday with you but I have only one more to endure and then you’ll be back. Bye-bye.
Much love,
🌹
❤️🐸
Now yer’ askin’, “Just what does all of this have to do with “The Cross?!”
Much, in every way. I have made myself one with Debbie. Yeah, I know, you’re thinking “sex.” Nope, that’s not what I’m talking about here – though I won’t deny it, we “saved ourselves” for marriage, and to tell you the truth, I’m lucky to even be alive now. Well, you’ve probably watched “Dancing With Wolves”, most everybody has. Deb’s part Cherokee Indian… nuf’ said.
To be one with your spouse, I have discovered, requires an “act”, every single day. Nope, wrong again… we’re not talking sex. We’re talking God breathed, no kidding, sure enough born again type stuff. You cannot conjure it up. It isn’t physical. It isn’t emotional. It isn’t even mental… it’s Holy Spirit done. Maybe you’ve never tried it yourself (I use “tried” loosely here… ain’t no “try” to it. Once you open that door the Holy Spirit will most certainly come in and absolutely dassle you! I dare ya’! Try it. Try Him! I’ve been at this for going on 45 years now [April 14, 1979]. Debbie is my every breath.)
Now we’ll move along to the matter at hand, The Cross… and you.
