He Makes Me Laugh

Who makes you laugh? For me, this is most often my husband. We've been married almost 40 years and nearly every time I get upset or we start to argue, he comes up with something to make me laugh. (It's tough to argue when your are laughing!) Also, when I feel bad about anything or am just in a blue mood, he says or does something to make me smile so I'll feel better. He is a clown at heart and always has a movie line, song lyric or Bible quote to fit any occasion.

Some of his jokes may seem old or corny to our kids and their families, but to me they just showcase who he is and how he has always been. Sometimes I don't catch the joke; it just goes right over my head. That makes him sad. He says it's no good to tell something funny if I don't get it or he has to explain. He feels that takes the fun away. So I try to listen carefully so I can laugh with him. That's easy to do because I love him and he's wonderfully good to me.

He can't stand to see me sad or down. If I cry, he's done for. It's a good thing I don't cry on purpose to manipulate him. He'd give me the the world and the moon if he could because he is kind and generous to a fault. But, if he gets angry, his brown eyes flash with fire and the air around him snaps & pops. Lightning flashes seem almost visible. He seldom gets angry with me, but injustices in the world ignite his fire within.

I can't believe I'm the lucky girl who caught him. He's the greatest! Not only is he cute and funny, but he is kind and generous and full of love for me and our sons. I'm grateful he married me all those years ago. I'm glad he still makes me laugh.

A New Daddy in Our Family

On May 27th we welcomed the newest member to our Guthrie Gang and in so doing we acquired a new Daddy. Our younger son is the proud papa of Levi Jackson, 7 lbs. 1 oz. 20 inches long.

Our son has always been good with children and, as Uncle Steve, he is loved by his nieces and the children of his friends.
The new Momma is also doing well -- except for the typical new parent lack of sleep. She's up every two hours to feed and care for the Little Man. Daddy helps as much as he can and all the family is ready to lend a hand.







As I stood at the nursery window, I thanked God for the baby's safe arrival, his health and perfection. I asked for continued blessing on this new life; guidance for the new parents; wisdom for the grandparents.
Grandpa is proud of the new baby, too.


Uncle Jason, Aunt Heather, and Cousins Courtney & Sydney fell in love at first sight.

I am thankful, so very thankful, for those who already love our new arrival. I feel confident this small one will grow up knowing he is wanted, loved and valued as a member of our family. He is and always will be a blessing to us.

A Memory -- Canal Swimming

We lived in California from my 1st to the 5th grades. While we lived there, Dad mostly worked on a dairy farm and we had a lot of afternoons free. The summer days usually found us somewhere in or around the water.

We often swam in the irrigation canals. Ditches lined with concrete, the water ran clear and clean. Spaced throughout the irrigation route were gates to direct the water's flow. On the afternoon that I clearly remember, my mom, dad, brother and younger sister were playing in the water. Dad did all those water games with us: races, wrestling, dunking and splashing. After awhile, my brother -- he's 3 years older than me -- and I swam down to the water gate. This gate allowed the water to rush through to the next level and onward to the fields. Some other kids were playing there and we joined in their game of riding through the open gate in the rushing water.

We laughed and played and had a great time. Until -- one time I started through the gate and lost my breath and my bearings. I thought up was down and down was up. I floundered around coughing and spluttering and struggling to find my way to the surface or the side. Suddenly, my dad reached down and picked me up. Safe in his strong arms, I coughed a little more but soon settled down and let him carry me out. The water was too swift and rough for a little girl, but my dad could traverse the current with ease. Even when I wasn't aware of his presence, he watched over me and was immediately ready to come to my rescue.

As a child, I accepted this rescue as right and proper and my due as a daughter. Why then do I resist my Father when He reaches to rescue me from swift, turbulent waters today? Why do I feel I must do it on my own even when I am on the verge of drowning in the troubles of my life?

When I look back at the years of my childhood (all the moving, the changes, the making of new friends), I see the heavenly Father's hand preparing me for the unknowns of life. He gave me a family of love and laughter. Our home was always full of people, a house of hospitality. He introduced me to friends that were willing to reach out to the "new kid" in class, and showed me that in the midst of change, He is the one and only constant.

The Chapel at Bella Vista

Driving south from Missouri on US Hwy. 71, I took Exit 98 at Bella Vista, AR. I traveled a mere two blocks east into a different world. Gone was the hustle and hurry of cars and trucks intent on getting to their destination. Instead, I found the quiet and solitude of the Ozarks woods.

I pulled into the parking lot and gathered keys and camera then started toward the sign pointing to the Chapel. As I left my vehicle, the smells of exhaust and asphalt fought for dominance against the spring woods and earth. A few steps onto the path and the woods won. The odor of damp earth naturally mulched by fallen oak leaves filled the air.

The path diverged. One way led to the Office and on through the woods to the small lake. The other way led to the Chapel. That day, I followed the way to the chapel. Blooming redbud and dogwood trees splashed their vivid fuchsia and white among the green tinged grays of the oak trees. A few pines sent their heady aroma wafting toward me. The first unfurling leaves of spring struggled to open. Then coming over a small rise I spied the Chapel.

Designed by architect E. Fay Jones, a student of Frank Lloyd Wright and schooled in the principles of Organic Architecture (designing to fit the environment), the Mildred B. Cooper Memorial Chapel was built to honor the wife of John A. Cooper, Sr. Mrs. Cooper's deep spirituality and love of nature prompted her family to commission the Chapel to honor and celebrate her life and her dedication to God and his creation. The chapel, designed and created by the mind of man, fits perfectly into the natural scene which surrounds it.

The Chapel is open to visitors daily and available for weddings and other special occasions, but there is no need to wait for an event. Whenever you are weary of the busy world, walk a few yards and connect with the quiet, natural beauty of God's world. The walls of windows give an air of openness to the surrounding Ozarks and heights of the steel arches give lofty access to the Creator.I walked through the massive arched door. Soft music greeted me and I felt as though I were still outside. Church pews created an aisle up the the flagstone floor to the stage. Piano and organ flanked the glass arch on the far wall. I settled in and allowed my mind to wander. I contemplated the beauty of Spring, the greatness of the universe and the smallness of the earth. I meditated on God's love of Man and me in particular.

After a time, I moved to the stage to look through the arched glass. As far as I could see, the Ozarks forest engulfed me. I could neither see nor hear the cars and trucks on the highway. I saw birds and squirrels busy with life in the wild. I watched trees sway in the wind. I searched for wildflowers among the barrenness of leftover winter. I felt at peace.

Too soon, time called me back to my journey. I, too, had places to go, people to see and things to accomplish. However, I carried the serenity of the Chapel with me. Often, as I travel south into Arkansas, I remember my time there and the serenity returns.

Whether you are looking for a unique place to hold a wedding or other occasion or merely need a place for meditation, contemplation and prayer, the Mildred B. Cooper Memorial Chapel at Bella Vista, AR, a tribute to a man's God given genius and inspired by a family's love, is a quiet oasis in a noisy world.

This Do In Remembrance of Me

Gathered in an upper room, my Messiah and His closest friends came together at the time of Passover in Israel. Betrayal close at hand -- who would it be? Who would guide the soldiers to take him?

The Ceder Meal over, questions and answers given, He said, "Eat. This is my body broken for you. Drink. This is my blood poured out for you. This do in remembrance of me."

From that room filled with people to the quiet of the garden. He went to meet the
Father. He sought comfort and strength. He prayed, "If it is possible, let this pass from me. Nevertheless, not my will but Yours."

A heavy heart for sinful people, He persevered, he travailed as He surrendered. Blood drops hinted of what lay ahead -- His sacrifice for me.

Judas, a kiss, soldiers took Him away. Trials, false witnesses, beatings, mockery, a crown of thorns, nailed to a cross, ridicule, separated from the Father, darkness, earthquake, the Veil that hides the Mercy Seat & His Presence torn from top to bottom. He cried out, "It is finished!" and gave His life a sacrifice for my sin.

Joseph & Nicodemus took His broken body, wrapped it tenderly and laid it in the tomb. More soldiers came to seal and guard the grave.

Early morning: Mary and the other women came. "Where is He? Where have you taken Him?" Disbelief. The men came to see for themselves and went away wondering.

The same upper room, behind locked doors, Jesus appeared. He's alive! He moved among them 40 days. Then He came into His Glory. He ascended to heaven. Even now, He lives with His Father in Heaven. Waiting for the fullness of time, He intercedes on my behalf. Soon, maybe very soon, He will return to reign as King of Kings.

This day, I meet with His followers, other believers. We read His word, sing and pray. The table is laid. We serve on another in love. I take the bread and eat. I take the cup and drink.

This I do in remembrance of Him.

Why I Write

I write to remember how God has brought me through trials in the past; recall blessings and find encouragement. also, t leave a legacy so my children and grandchildren will know what God has done for our family.

Writing in my journal helps me hear God. As I put my thoughts on paper, I can sort out what is from the Lord, and what is just me. It also gives me a place to look back to see patterns for change and to see where God is leading me next.

Our pastor has been encouraging us to be prepared to Tell My Story. Writing it down helps you give substance to your testimony, which is all your Story really is. The Bible itself is a written history of what God has done for His people. It gives us encouragement and hope for a future. where would we be without this written word?

So, remember a journal helps you recall past blessing, gives focus to your prayer, clarifies your praise, is encouragement for the tough times, and prepares you to Tell Your Story.

A Recent Trip

We left that Friday morning about 2:30 a.m. and arrived at the W.W.Hastings Hospital in Tahlequah just before six. First stop: the Lab. Then to sign in at the OR. As we sat to wait for my turn, a nurse came to take me to my hospital room, admit me, and prep me for surgery. All of that took a little time, but before I knew it, the surgery nurse appeared with a rolling chair to whisk me to the OR Staging area.

I watched as out-patients were admitted and given instructions. I saw more nurses and the anesthesiologist and more nurses and a doctor or two come through. Each time my insides lurched at the thought it was my turn. Then I relaxed back into the chair as they once again passed me by. Finally, one stopped and asked if I felt I could walk to the actual operating room or did I need a ride? I felt confident and slid to my feet and clutched at my dignity. An open hospital gown flapping in the breeze requires a certain self-control to retain any semblance of modesty, let alone dignity.

I finally maneuvered onto the table and immediately began to tremble. The room was FREEZING! It had enough lights and people for a small city and each one knew their job. They poked and prodded and hooked me up to monitors and hoses. They asked me -- it seemed for the 10th time! -- my name and why I was there.

The mask descended and I heard a voice say, "Just breathe deeply." The next words I recognized kept repeating, "Are you awake?" I think I answered and eventually my eyes quit rolling all over their sockets and I began to focus. The nurses wasted no time on pleasantries, but helped me to another wheeled chair and rolled me back to my room. We passed my dear husband in the hall and he fell in behind us.

Our procession arrived back at my room and I was deposited in my new home. Tubes were adjusted, buttons pushed and covers pulled up. I smiled and tried to say thank you. Then I promptly fell asleep. Sleep, alas, is hard to maintain in a hospital. Every two hours, or perhaps more often, someone came in to poke me or in some way collect their required information.

Each nurse or aide introduced themselves and announced why they had come, collected their info, thanked me and left. Each one said I should try to rest. I smiled, too tired to laugh.

The next day, the doctor came by at last and said I could go home. I was ready!! Only wait -- the pharmacy needed to send my "meds" and I definitely wanted them to go home with me. Papers signed, clothes on and pain handling medications in hand, we finally rolled out the door and into the waiting car.

The drive home was uneventful; a blessing for sure. At home, I finally slept only to wake on that same two hour schedule.

Day by day, even hour by hour, I feel stronger, less exhausted, and less sore. I give thanks for all those who gave in service to me. They meant to be kind and only poked as needed. They offer themselves to the care of the sick and God uses each one to heal the ill and make healthy the infirm. I could never do what they do. Thank God they do what they do.