A Life Worth Living by Nancy Buxton

Archive for June, 2009

The #1 Vitamin You Need Now!

Okay, I am not a doctor, so don’t think I really know what I am talking about.  I only know what I read, what the doctor in my family recommends, and how it has worked for me.

Just before going to bed last evening I was reading a magazine called Health, the article on vitamin D caught my attention.  For about 2 years now I have been taking vitamin D on a regular basis.  I don’t think I have had a cold for over a year.  I really think it has helped my immune system.

The article states you can fight breast cancer, heart disease, weight gain and more with vitamin D.

More than one third of all women fail to get enough D for healthy bones and more than 75 percent of us lack the higher amounts needed for the vitamin to do its disease fighting best.

The more studies done the more it is believed that D is a real cancer fighter and who can’t use that help these days?

For each minute that you spend in peak summer sunlight your body can produce about 1,000 IU of vitamin D.  Of course, you have to watch out for too much sun and sun screen blocks the vitamin.

I take 2,000 units a day.  It is a good idea to be tested just to see your level of D and then you can decide what you need to do.

I hope you will look into this vitamin, we can use all the help we can get.

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Is Life Fair?

When I hear the phrase, “that isn’t fair” I tend to think of children, this seems to come out of their mouths often.  I don’t know it must be a universal thing.  As adults we may not say it just like the children but we may say it in other ways, or at least think it.  Why didn’t I get that promotion?  Why didn’t we inherit some money?  My friend Kay, whom I would love to tell you about some day, use to say , “life is hard and then you die.” She would always smile when she said it, but it did seem so true.  I mean really when was the last time your boss told you that you did a fabulous job and you deserve a week off with pay for the work you have done.  Or your family suggests you stay in bed one morning because you have worked so hard on cleaning the house.

In our story about Martha have you noticed she asked Jesus, “Lord, don’t you care?”  How many times have we asked the same question.

I can’t remember where I read this story but it is about a priest who served a small parish in an obscure country side (this is a parable–you know–made up) he loved his people, and they loved him, he was always doing God’s work, so two of Satan’s angels were assigned to get him off track.  They tried everything and still could not derail the priest.  Finally they called a conference with the devil himself and this is the advice Satan gave. “This is easy,” he insisted, “bring him news that his brother has been made bishop.”

Several weeks later they returned happy, the priest did not take well to the fact that his brother had been promoted, soon his joy was gone, he turned to depression, he no longer had encouraging words.  they had been replaced with grumbling and in a short time the man’s vibrant ministry had been destroyed by the green worm of envy, the black cloud of disappointment and the better conclusion of “life is not fair.”

Satan loves to distract, discourage and plant doubt.  What ever he can do to turn our eyes away from God he will do.  Don’t let it happen to you, have courage my sisters, Jesus cares.

Mom, I’ve Outgrown You. . .

 

Buxton Kids 6-25-09 012This This an article that appeared in the Outlook in 1993.  I have reread it many times, but one time I read it aloud to my own daughter because it makes sense to me, I hope it does to you too.  Perhaps your relationship with your daughter is not as stormy as some, but  the idea of growth certainly is worth thinking about.

Written by Ann R. Eddy

By the time I was 16, I was three inches taller than my mother.  She and I had a joke between us during that time.  Since daughters often end up taller than heir mothers, we reasoned with mock seriousness, mothers must shrink.

During my freshman year at college I began to wonder if my mother hadn’t shrunk mentally as well.  When I came home for the holidays I realized that not only could I reach kitchen shelves Mom couldn’t touch, but my mind was exploring heights toward which she’d never stretched.

Over the next three years I became aware of a widening gap between us.  We disagreed on religion, books, politics, education and personal goals.  Even our polite small talk exploded into hot arguments.

One night after a heated quarrel I went upstairs to my room and lay in bed thinking. I just couldn’t get Mom out of my mind.  When I thought of her sacrifices that let me get where I was, I nearly wept.  I had turned into the kind of daughter I thought I’d never be–one whose seeming ingratitude was breaking her parents’ hearts.  I finally vowed to bite my tongue until it bled rather than argue with Mom again.

All went well for three years and several short visits.  Mom and I had never discussed the no-argument plan, but we both knew the rules.  Most old subjects were taboo, and new, potentially explosive subjects were avoided.  Unfortunately, we were acting more like polite acquaintances than mother and daughter, and our relationship was becoming shallow.

After college graduation, in the fourth year of our delicate truce, I had a chance to spend a few days with Mom and Dad.  Within an hour of my arrival we had exchanged all the “safe” news.”  Three days of small talk loomed ahead.

Two of my mother’s friends came for lunch that first day.  I hadn’t seen them in years, so for a while I enjoyed their light chatter.  But four hours of talk about grandchildren, weather and African violets exhausted me.  I was annoyed, too, when they assumed that their slick, neat views on more complex subjects would naturally be mine as well.

When Mom finally closed the front door on her departing guests, she said to me.  “Honey, you didn’t have much to say.  I wish you had talked more.”

“Mother,” I burst out, “I didn’t talk because I was bored! Don’t you see that you and I have nothing in common? You either don’t approve of or don’t understand everything I find worthwhile!”

I was shocked to hear my dark anger pour out into the light.  My knees turned to jelly and I sank into a  handy chair.  Mom sat down more slowly, as if she were bravely sustaining an arrow through her heart.

But when she spoke it was as if she had read my old thoughts. “You’ve outgrown me, Ann.” She said evenly. “It’s hard for a mother to accept, but it always happens.  I outgrew my mother.  When I was your age I’d go back home to the farm and think I was going to scream from boredom. No one ever talked about anything but the crops, no one ever asked anything but “How are your hens laying?”

“And once, in a very regrettable moment, I told my mother that she and Papa were dull and old fashioned.  Mama sat down with tears tracing the deep wrinkles of her cheeks and said, “But, Nancy, that’s because you’ve outgrown us.  Papa and I raised you with the hope that you’d do and learn things we never had the chance to.  Our sacrifices have nurtured the very growth that’s made you find us dull.”  And then Mama said slowly, but with a strange pride, “I reckon your feelings are proof of our success.'”

This was one of those crystal moments in life when I saw myself as part of an endless chain–a chain of mothers and daughters winding  back through time, every child outgrowing her mother, only to make sacrifices for her child and be outgrown herself.

Perhaps Mother and I saw the same chain, because the old chasm between us miraculously filled.  For the first time in years we stood on solid, communicable ground.  But our first exchange wasn’t very articulate.  I found myself with my arms around her as we gave soggy comfort through our tears.  In the days that followed, the easy warmth of those moments held fast.

Slowly we began to tackle those points of disagreement that had separated us over the past years.  Now the air was clear.  The urgency was gone.  We were willing to compromise, to admit agreement when we saw it, to acknowledge a good point on the other side and most of all, to listen.

We still disagreed about quite a few things. But our eager, open talks showed me wisdom in my mother I’d never known before or maybe just refused to see.

By the next summer Mom had died.  We parted in love and respect.  I knew I was what I was  because of her.  I knew she had known that.

A Special Day

Can you tell Papa had some help blowing out the candles?

Can you tell Papa had some help blowing out the candles?

Yesterday was my man’s birthday!  He is. . .Well let’s just say next year we are going to have a Medicare Party.  We are looking forward to Medicare, didn’t think we would ever think it much less say it.  With the high price of health insurance we have changed our thinking. 

It shocks me to think we have grown old together, well maybe not old but at least seasoned. We use to be so young, I had long blonde, straight hair and he had hair.  I didn’t out weigh him and he was a hunk.  Here we are I am struggling with my weight and he certainly watches his weight.  My hair is brown with the help of the hairdresser and he doesn’t know where his comb is because he no longer has any hair to comb.

In my prayer for his birthday, I thanked the Lord for him.  He is a special man, he makes the bed every morning.  He lets me be me.  He never complains when I go on a trip for Women’s Ministries.  He is kind to me and he never complains about any thing I do.  He likes my cooking no matter what I make.

I like his quiet ways.  If I don’t know the answer to something he usually does.  I like the way he takes care of my car, he keeps it clean and usually makes sure I have plenty of fuel.  I appreciate the fact that he is honest and hard working.  He cries when he sees something sad.  I love his tender heart.

When I decided to marry this man, I was not a mature Christian.  It never dawned on me to pray about my decision, to ask God if He thought this man was right for me. 

I am so thankful God cares enough to stick with me even when I don’t consult him.  He never turns his back on me and he is always in my corner.  What a God.

The birthday has come and gone but when I wake up in the morning and hear my man’s  soft snore I am thankful he is beside me.  I am thankful we have given our children the example of  “sticking”.  I am thankful he is mine and I am his.  I am thankful God took a marriage that was not prayed over by us, (I am sure my mother prayed for both of us), and made it good.

PS:  Another 1 1/2 pounds down, that makes 15 1/2.  Seems slow, don’t you think?  Well, maybe not to you, your not watching your friends eat Buster Bar Dessert.  Maybe Buster Bar will be your Thursday dessert recipe, who knows.

Blueberry Thursday

Blueberry Galette

Blueberries are really good for you!  They are on my “plan” but not with crust.  Of course, the crust is really what I like the best.  Hope you enjoy this and eat a piece for me because I won’t be making it this year.

I have endured many eating events since I have been on “the plan.”  I look at it this way, “the plan” has kept me from gaining at least 5 pounds.  I weigh again on Friday.  Iwill keep you posted, in the mean time, enjoy some Blueberry Galette for me.

The cream and egg are  just to brush on the crust to make  it brown nicely so you can leave that out if you are vegan.

 2 C Blueberries

¼ C Sugar

1 T Corn Starch

1 T Fresh Lemon Juice

2 t Lemon Zest

1 Pie Crust

1 Egg beaten with 1 T cream (I just use the cream not the egg)

1 T sugar to sprinkle over crust before baking

 Preheat oven to 400. 

Mix sugar, corn starch, juice and zest together, pour over  

the blueberries and stir to combine 

 Place parchment paper on cookie sheet.  

Lay pie crust on top of parchment paper.

 Spoon blueberry mix into center of crust leaving 2 inch border.   

Fold crust border up and over the filling forming loose pleats all around the  

edge and leaving the center open.  Brush  dough with the  

egg/milk mixture, then sprinkle it with 1 T granulated sugar.

 Bake for 25-30 minutes or until the crust is golden brown.   Allow to 

cool on wire rack before serving.  Serve warm or at room temperature.

A Heart Like His

 

Have you ever tried to do it all from taking care of the car to. . .

Have you ever tried to do it all from taking care of the car to. . .

 

Keeping up with the jobs at home?

Keeping up with the jobs at home?

Have you ever tried to do it all?  I bet you have, it’s how we’re  wired as women.  We have a career, manage the household, pay the bills, buy the groceries, make arrangements for the children and most of us are the social secretary to boot.  When you think about it,  being a woman requires a lot of imagination, stamina, will and wit.

This is nothing new, I mean women have always had plenty to do.  Rich or poor back in the 1800’s even if you married a rich plantation owner you didn’t just drink lemonade under a shade tree. These women made candles, sewed all the clothing, knit socks, washed, dyed and spun wool.  Baked endless cakes and pies.  They helped sow and reap the crops, killed animals, salted and preserved food, and took care of the sick.

Sooooooooooooooooo what did you do yesterday.  I know you were busy so was I.  You are probably as tired as the women who lived way back when, and yet I know you have a desire to spend some time away, some time learning to have a Heart Like His.

I love the story of  Martha and Mary, I think it describes us as women so well. We all want to worship like Mary and yet the Martha in us keeps reminding us of the things we need to do.

I hope you will read the story of the two sisters found in Luke 10.

If  Martha’s heart was right with God do you think she would have been able to stay away from Jesus?  I don’t know the answer to the question what I do know is this–we have a lot of Martha’s, you may be a Martha your self and so am I.  It seems I am always doing four things at once.

My question is this, how does a Martha become more like a Mary?  I don’t want to miss knowing Jesus by being a Martha.  Doing good and doing the right thing can squeeze out my chance to know Jesus.

It is an odd thing, achievement is so importnat, I even do a seminar on knowing your purpose, serving in your field of giftedness and yet Jesus says, “Be still and Know that I am God.”

I don’t think one can become an authentic Christian when they are always busy and have something going on all the time.  Power comes from being still and we can become stronger with quietness and listening.

This much I know, to have a relationship with Jesus I have to show up, I have to take time out to be still and know God.

I love this text and it is exactly what I want my relationship with God to be.

John 15:15

“I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business.  Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.”

Making Memories

Tonight as I am writing this post, I have a grandchild asleep on the bedroom floor.  She is 11, she was 4 the first time I ever saw her, I thought she was special then and I still do.

It’s not easy being the oldest, but we can’t do any thing about that.  I told her the other day that we are all learning how to be parents and grandparents on her.  The little kids will have it easy because she is blazing the trail.

When I became a grandmother I knew I wanted to help make some special memories for these little ones.

I have a special drawer for each grandchild and trust me the minute they get in the door they head for their drawer.  They find all kinds of treasures that I have stacked in the drawer.  Their parents get a pillow gift the first night of each visit.  It may be a cap, special soap, a grapefruit, perfume, a book, or even chocolate.

I have a book for each grandchild and I write cute things they say or do.  I keep things they give to me, or things they write.  I did this for my children also and these kids love to have me read their book to them. This morning the 11 year old told me that kids her age like to be with younger kids, kids their own age or sometimes adults.  They don’t like to be with older kids.  I asked her why and she said, “because they might talk mathmatically.” LOL

Each child has a certain color of stationary and when that color comes in the mail they know it is a letter from MarMar, Mom Mo, Grammy or Nana.  They all call me a different name, sometimes I don’t even know my own name. The eleven year old told me today, she thinks she will call me Gram, she likes it better. 

We often pitch a tent in our bedroom and when they come to visit that’s where they like to sleep.  Lately our Kansas group prefers sleeping downstairs near mom and dad.

If you are a grandparent I hope you are making some memories with your little ones.  I know they get into things and they are kind of messy, but every thing washes.  The more children know we are crazy about them the better off they are.  My desire is for my grandchildren to know Jesus as a kind, loving friend.  I want them to see Jesus in me.

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