ONE RINGY DINGY DINGY . . .

THE PHONE IN THIS IMAGE IS ON THE WALL IN MY LAUNDRY ROOM.

How would you like to carry this thing around in your pocket. You might need a bigger pocket, not to mention you will only be able to make or accept phone calls on it. It isn’t multi-purposed like the phones of today. Today you have a million choices for various apps to add to your phone. You can set dates on a calendar to remind you of appointments. You can choose an app that shows you what kind of plants you have growing in your garden and what is simply a weed. You can discover the value of some vintage items you have around your house. Those are great conveniences, but they also use up some of your valuable time.

You can do so much on the newfangled phones of today, but there are some downsides to this instrument of communication. If you don’t want to communicate with someone, you don’t have to answer their emails. You can spend hours looking at the screen which also eats up time you could be spending outdoors, finishing a project, or simply enjoying the things that make you look beyond photos. You can fall into some dark rabbit holes. Many sites are available for things that tempt, that rouse your desires, that reveal more than you want to see. For the most part these phones can be a great convenience in researching something, but they can also stack up millions of minutes of screen time.

So, I’ve tried to include some of the good, bad and ugly of these devices. Did you realize the old-fashioned phone in my photo had a downside or two of its own? For one thing, if you lived in a rural area, you most likely had a party line, which included one or more other customers in your same location. You would know the call was for you, depending on the number of rings. If you picked up the phone when it was ringing for someone else, you would be privy to their conversation. A lot of false information would be gathered from those overheard conversations and could easily become fodder for gossip. You had to crank the phone to get the attention of the switchboard operator. It too, took a lot of valuable time away from the consumer. The good side of this device was mainly based on emergency situations or just having a means to communicate with friends and neighbors.

The phone has gone through a lot of changes even in my 83 years of living. Change for the better? I’m all for progress, but nothing beats sitting at a table and talking with someone face to face. You can read a person’s body language when you can see them. Even on FaceTime, each participant is on their best behavior, so you don’t really see what they’re thinking.

It makes me wonder what people did before the invention of the telephone. They wrote things down in journals. They read incessantly. They played board games. They went outside and enjoyed the peace and quiet of a lovely day. They had meals together as a family. They talked to one another. The visited museums, libraries, historical sites, entertainment venues. They talked about those trips when they got home. They also created some wonderful memories through them.

I am not complaining about the phones of today. In fact, they are very helpful to the senior community. We can call if we have an emergency. We can text to get an immediate response. We can write a blog. We can send emails when our handwriting has grown indecipherable. We can keep in close touch with those who live a long way from us. I kind of miss the old party lines, not because I enjoyed spreading gossip, but because a lot of interesting stories were added to my collection of future stories.

The speed of communications is wondrous to behold. It is also true that speed can multiply the distribution of information that we know to be untrue.”

Edward R. Murrow

Pardon me now as I try to write a ten page text message. It’s hard not to when you’re a writer.

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SQUIRRELY TALES . . . FLAT STANLY

She’s right, you know. I have a very scientific mind. It gets me into all kinds of trouble with the rest of the squirrels, but eventually they realize I’m right about most things. The fact that I flaunt my knowledge gives them a reason to pick on me from time to time. I’m getting used to it though.

When I was a baby squirrel, some of them referred to me as Flat Stanly, because I loved to splay my legs and lay flat on the ground. They said I was weird, but even at that very young age I knew doing this would keep me cool on the hottest days of summer. My mother took offense, but like I said, I’m a very intelligent squirrel. Did you know that baby squirrels are called kittens? Sometimes they’re referred to as kits or pups. I’d say that’s a lot weirder than Flat Stanly, but I’m OK with it. Mother always told me that the name Stanly is very complimentary. It means “Stony clearing.” The thought of splooting gives my name special meaning. Actually “splooting” is precisely what they call it when a squirrel spreads it’s legs and lays his belly close to the cool stones or grass when its overheated.

Those bullies won’t listen to me. They will regret it someday when the sun is fiercely beating down on them one steamy summer afternoon. They run around like chickens with their heads cut off and get even hotter. Not me! I may be a nerd, but you can’t beat natural air conditioning.

“People look at me like I’m a little strange, when I go around talking to squirrels and rabbits and stuff. That’s ok. That’s just ok.”

Bob Ross

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REFRESHING RAIN . . .

At last, we finally received a nice dousing this morning. Just in time too. I just weeded an area around Paul’s sculpture of “Surrender,” and planted a few plants at the base. Clearing out space for a new garden can be a literal pain in the back. I’ve tried a number of different gardening seats, stools and kneelers over the years. Lately I’ve reverted to an older storage bin with the cover on. It seems to be just the right size for my short legs. I had one of those short rolling seats but kept falling off the thing when I rolled it and had a Dickens of a time getting back up. The kneelers are out of the question because I no longer possess the knees of a 16-year-old.

One of the best things about slowly going through a section at a time is that you find all kinds of surprises. As I gently pulled long roots of weeds I came across a few lilac bushes. There are about four of them in the beginning stages of life. I lost a lot of these fragrant bushes when they installed the humongous sound barrier behind our house. I was so excited to see these baby lilacs pushing their little heads out of the ground. If I had been in a hurry or using a speedier method of eliminating the weeds, I would have taken these out as well.

Gardening for the geriatric population is not only a rewarding hobby, but you can work at your own pace. We’ve had some sweltering heat in May this year. So a little rain is a refreshment to the plants as well as the planters. I finally realize what it means to slow down and smell the roses.

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

Refreshing, cleansing rain falls softly on an eager earth,

Thirsting for relief, longing for renewal and rebirth.

The tears of God bring respite for the dying soul,

He gave His only Son to fill a gaping hole,

The hole that widens every day,

When we forget to look up and pray,

As branches dance and lightening fills the air,

I think of Him who never fails to care.

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RESTORED MAN . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

The title of this wood sculpture is “SURRENDER.” Paul carved this with hammer and chisel several years ago for a religious art show in Northeast Minneapolis. From there, it stood in his warehouse studio after which it was relegated to stand in two local churches. Eventually it wound up in our backyard. With years of standing in the garden, weathering the elements and stirred people’s imaginations, it finally was in need of restoration. My son-in-law has become quite talented working with wood, so he undertook the job of bringing new life into something old. Yesterday he delivered it to our backyard. It looks like new and will be good for another few years.

The sculpture depicts a man who is in need of restoration too. Paul shows the face of the man downtrodden and depressed, with his oversized hands reaching out to God for help to his desperate condition.

When you think about it, this sculpture might give the suggestion that the Father is looking down and the first thing He sees are these huge hands, begging for mercy. Like we must appear to our children when they reach out to us. Why do we wait until the burden becomes so heavy that we no longer can carry it? It would be so much easier to just surrender to God’s will. Not that we’re giving up. We’re actually doing what Christ commanded His followers to do.

Lord, when I come to you in prayer,

I know that you will be right there.

To comfort me and heal my pain,

To bring me back to life again.

My hands I lift to you each day.

You hear the prayers that I pray.

I know that you will answer me.

Your strength alone will set me free.

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DANCE LIKE A CHICKEN DAY . . .

Today is Dance Like a Chicken Day. The chicken dance has been around for 70 years. It was introduced by Swiss accordionist, Werner Thomas. After editing it a few times, it morphed into the melody we know today. The moves are said to be so easy, even a child can learn it in just a few minutes. As for us Oldies, but
Goodies, that doesn’t often hold true.

I remember a time when I could twist to the music of Chubby Checker. I could do just about every fast dance known at the time. Today, I can barely get up onto the dance floor, much less move on it. As we age, we soon learn that our bodies are incapable of multi-tasking. The used-to-be pliable muscles don’t want to move in such a fashion, not to mention the hand eye coordination and memory issues.

I must admit, my physical limitations aren’t the only things that deter me from participating in this silly dance. Can you imagine a chicken dancing? I know prairie chickens have a ritual dance that they do when they’re mating which is quite a sight to behold. My only recollection is when my farmer grandma killed a chicken by chopping off its head. That chicken did quite a dance before kicking the bucket.

So, how does one celebrate this funny display on the dance floor? Try to find a restaurant that has an accordion player and request it be played. You can try, even if you’re wheelchair or walker bound. The idea that life ends when we can no longer dance is just a myth. Just look for a different way of doing it.

HAPPY CHICKEN DANCE DAY!

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SPRING CLEANUP . . .

ART & INSPIRATION BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

Garage Sale signs are popping up all over the place. Some folks use this time of year to declutter and get rid of things so they can go to some of those sales and pick up more clutter to reclutter their homes. In the past eight years, we have gone through the resizing of our living space before we moved to a different home. We’ve since had to reorganize our upstairs because we didn’t use it anymore. It became a storage locker for some of our belongings. After Paul’s death, my children reopened the upstairs for my grandson to move in. Rearranging – reopening – reorganizing – resizing – restoring – etc, etc, etc. Life goes on and we seem to do the same things over and over.

Much like our own lives, we are always in a state of change, no matter what age we are. There are things that need to be tossed because they are no longer useful. Things that we haven’t worn for years now become part of a donation bin. Stuff that has value only to us is the hardest to let go, but there comes a point where we must.

“Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Luke 6:37-38 ESV

We will undoubtedly be getting rid of more stuff as the days go forward. Our hope is not reliant on things of this world. Jesus was not of this world. Taking on human flesh, He experienced all the concerns we have each day, but He never gave way to sin. He alone is our only hope for salvation. In Christ alone!

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TURNING BAD INTO GOOD . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

It was a few years ago. I’d had a bad day. So bad, that my husband suggested a long drive so I could clear my head and turn the bad into good. I think this was close to the beginning of our precious road trips. We hopped (embellished) into the car and began a long drive to a specific pie shop in Stockholm, WI. It was a favorite spot to visit in the past. We quickly escaped the sounds and sights of Minneapolis and St. Paul and began our entrance into the hills and valleys of Wisconsin. Some of the historic towns along the way called out for us to stop, but we had our sights set on a slice of freshly homemade pie. The scenery was breathtaking.

As the ride continued, I could feel the stress of the day melt from within me. My attitude had changed considerably. I could feel God’s creation wrapping around me and erasing anything that had before made my day miserable. We approached the quaint little town. There is nothing like nature to get you back on track. The town seemed empty, compared to past visits. We arrived at the pie shop and discovered that it was closed. I could’ve turned that moment into another rabbit hole to fall into, but by then it didn’t matter. The frustrations of the early part of that day had vanished into a refreshing outing.

As I get into the car today, I feel alone. My life partner is no longer in the seat beside me – encouraging and lifting me out of a dark pit. Life has changed for me and all those of you who have lost a loved one. Grief is hard. It’s a process that goes on forever, but each day becomes a little easier when you let it. Trusting in God’s promises is essential. He alone will walk beside you every minute of every day.

You’re no longer here beside me,

I miss you every day.

But our God is here to guide me,

And lead me through each day.

It’s hard for me to forget you,

You live within my heart.

In paradise I’ll join with you,

We’ll never be apart.

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HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY . . .

My mom grew up during the Great Depression. It was a time of much change in the country. Not only was a World War raging across the sea, but women were put to work in factories. Up until then, they were considered the help mate of the head of the house. But since so many young men had enlisted, this was young women’s way of sharing in the war effort.

To honor moms on just one day, seems inadequate. The profession of homemaker and mother kind of went out with the Brady Bunch and Father Knows Best, when perfectly dressed women went through the tasks that kept the home fires burning without compensation. Personally I think the stay-at-home moms fizzled out with the fight for women’s rights.

My own mother went to work in the professional world when her kids were in high school, giving my sister and me the tasks of developing our homemaking skills. Because of that training, we were able to manage a home and a job when the time came. She still had time to instill other values within us. She was the buffer between us and our dad. She answered questions he couldn’t answer. She stood up for us when he was unreasonable. She wasn’t a stranger to discipline however. I remember her chasing me around the house to spank me with a hairbrush. She finally caught me and with the first swat, the hairbrush broke. We both laughed over that.

She taught me that laughter was important to the soul. She didn’t leave out the fact that God was in charge of our lives. We were just on loan to her until we grew up. She was a lovely woman, always dressed to the nines, hair styled and eyebrows in place. She would get out of bed early so she could apply them. She loved everyone and found the best in even those who weren’t especially loveable.

When my father passed away at the age of 61, she was a widow. She was only 58. She remarried and moved with her new husband to Florida. He was considerably older than her, but he kept her busy with her new life. They traveled and took part in many activities offered to them. Eventually, age caught up with him and mom became his caregiver. When he passed, she began to take care of herself, which included doctoring for her own many maladies. That led to a dependence on pain killers and eventual addiction to the

My sister helped to sell her home and car. She paid to have all her belongings shipped to my home. I was glad to provide a place for her to live. The first few months were difficult as we weaned her off the meds, but after a year or so, she was capable of getting her own apartment and taking care of herself. She was almost the same age as I am now.

In thinking of my own situation right now, I have the greatest respect for this woman. She endowed me with her bright spirit, her compassion, her laughter, her love. I am especially grateful that she introduced me to my Savior at an early age

Words can’t convey my gratitude for those last years of her life. It was like going home.

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TODAY IS NATIONAL TRAIN DAY

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

Today is National Train Day and tomorrow is Mother’s Day, so I thought I’d combine my post to include both of them. In the olden days, when I was just a girl of 9 and my sister was only 5, we were placed on a train by our parents to visit our grandparents up north in Wisconsin. The fact that we traveled unchaperoned is still a mystery to me. In the modern world, it’s very unusual. Either my parents were very naive. Perhaps their trust level was way beyond the norm. Maybe they paid the conductor to make sure we got to our destination. Maybe they just wanted to get rid of us for the summer. I never asked.

Going to spend the summer with our maternal grandparents was something both my sister and I couldn’t wait for. We felt very sophisticated as we stepped onto that shiny locomotive. The conductor led us to our seats. Of course, I got the window seat because I had seniority. We both watched as the Milwaukee skyline disappeared into the distance, being replaced by magnificent dairy farms and animals grazing. I’ve often said that every child should experience life on the farm at one point or another. It was an extraordinary adventure for both of us.

Grandpa had taken a job with the electric company and turned the farming over to his sons, so he wasn’t home much, but Grandma instilled some lifetime lessons for the time we spent with her. She grew up as a pioneer woman. Her strength in adversity is still a trait I’m working on. She was like a second mother for a few months. My own mother inherited most of those same attributes, and I picked up the baton.

Those train rides were the best. I’ll never forget eating in the dining car. It probably was the start of my observing of people and how they talked, moved and interacted. The best and most important part was the destination at both ends of the ride.

Paul has painted several scenes with trains. In the two I’ve shared today, you can see so much detail. Train travel was the means of getting from place to place when I was growing up. When I took a train trip in my senior year of high school, I would fall in love with the man I married and spent a lifetime with.

HAPPY NATIONAL TRAIN DAY AND HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

The train we boarded was an older model, but it had a club car and a dining car.

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Thank you Jesus for another week . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

This little gem fell into my lap today. An original Paul Boecher watercolor presented to me eight years ago by the artist on my birthday. Paul almost always gifted me with art on special days. As I think about Mother’s Day coming soon, I thank God for the man who made me a mom. Each special occasion reminds me of him. I will love him forever.

I see your face within my dreams.

It never leaves my aching heart.

I hear you voice, at least it seems.

In quiet whispers you impart.

As time goes by I can’t erase?

The loss I feel from dawn ’til dark,

And then the tears run down my face.

The sobs then come to make their mark.

As days fly by I turn to God.

Knowing full well that He is there ,

To dry my tears, as on I trod.

He walks me home so we can share . . .

THE JOYOUS GIFT OF HEAVEN!

Posted in Art & Poetry by Paul & Kathy Boecher, death, Dreams, Uncategorized | 9 Comments

SQUIRELLY TALES – STUBBY

I’m switching gears today since it’s Friday. I’m using this day to post something different. Humor has always been part of my life. I also enjoy telling stories. So, I will begin with this chapter of Squirrel Tales. Stubby is one of my favorite squirrels to watch from my window. He’s the most recognizable because of his short tale. He’s also very funny.

It’s that time of year again. Spring has sprung, the grass is riz. I wonder where the flowers is. Oh, yeah, I know that’s an old one, but you have to give me credit for being educated. Listen, I know squirrels are kind of low on the skill set, but I actually did make it through one year of squirrel pre-school. My name is Stubby. There’s a reason for that. My tail is half the size it used to be. I won’t go into details, because the story is too traumatic even for me. Let’s just say I had an encounter with a snowplow and leave it at that. I used to be called, Woodsy Guy by the owners of the tree I live in. I felt like a very important squirrel because of it. Wouldn’t you?

That nice old couple who own that tree have been very diligent about keeping the bird feeders full to the brim, but lately they’ve been making our work a little harder. At first, it was a breeze making it up that pole leading to my breakfast. Then one day they added a cone to keep me from getting past that lay ahead. I made it as far as the cone with my superior climbing skills, but then it was curtains for me. Did you ever try climbing a cone? I mean it takes way more intelligence than you think. It wasn’t too long before I realized I was wearing the wrong shoes. I sped over to the nearby shoe store and stuffed my squirrely feet into a pair of climbing shoes with suction cups on them. After an interesting and slow walk back to my neighborhood tree, I finally made it to the waiting feast.

Humans can be very resourceful too. After beginning my ascent up the pole, I encountered a slippery slope. They greased the pole, making it impossible for me to climb. I must’ve given them a great source of entertainment as I gracefully slid from top to bottom in a flash. In fact, they even held up signs that had numbers on them, from zero to ten. The old woman always gave me a five for effort. The old man never went over zero. That fellow had no time for squirrels. At least those of us wearing special shoes.

My days have since changed and so has my diet. I no longer search for birdseed. I’ve moved up to collecting and storing nuts. Now if I could just remember where I put them.

Posted in Humor, Nature, seasons, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

REFLECTIONS . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

Another houseboat painting which shows the art of reflecting light. Paul was a master at finding the light. Many times he would photograph a site in order to capture the moment. Then he would continue to paint on the spot, sometimes referring to the photo, other times winging it. He had a beautiful mind and I trust that God is using Paul’s talents in heaven now.

When darkness fills my sleeping hours and fears surround each hour,

When good news turns to deep concern and makes my day grow sour.

When perils of each passing day invade my tear filled eyes,

I wonder if God hears my prayers or does he hear my cries?

Confusion rages in my thoughts,   I try to lift the load.

But it’s too heavy for these arms which now are turning old.

My mind is going up and down, like waves that fill the sea,

The turbulence is far too much for one like little me.

The world is throwing challenges from every single port,

The wars still rage and hate abounds we can’t begin to sort,

The answers seem to disappear, when they begin to form,

The shadows of a broken life leave nothing but a storm.

As hard as we may try to win, the struggles we must fight,

Trials cannot by us be won.  Our dreams soon take to flight.

And when it seems impossible, that’s when God shows His face,

He reaches out to calm our fears, He cuddles us with grace.

Instead it would be easier to let God take that role,

To trust in His unfailing love, for things we can’t control.

To turn them over to the Lord, and trust He’ll find a way,

To give us rest and confidence to live another day.

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BEACHED . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

This sweet watercolor depicts some rugged old canoes sitting on the shoreline, waiting to get back in the water. Weather is always an issue in Minnesota. It can be the dreariest time of year, but when the waters open up and spring displays its beauty, those canoes will get another chance to prove themselves.

We are much like those anxious boats – waiting and waiting and dreaming of better days. Longing for peace. Desiring a change of pace, answers to problems that keep mounting up. Feeling somewhat useless or purposeless. The beauty of the changing seasons resembles our walk in life. Spring is like a second chance. We need to make the most of it because life is so short.

It’s hard to wait. The thought of waiting for heaven is similar as we grow into the winter of our years. Time is running out. Bodies are aging. Minds aren’t as sharp as they used to be. Even in those latter years God has a purpose and use for us here on earth. we continue to serve God. We get closer and closer to the finish line. Because of what Jesus did when He came to live with us, we know that what’s waiting for us on the other side of life is a perfect existence where our patience will be rewarded.

Cool, refreshing waters wash up on an empty, tranquil beach,

The final days of summer have washed over us and we are spent,

Our days pass so quickly as we grow old – or not at all,

Time escapes and ends up somewhere in infinity,

Still there is hope,

For those in their final years,

For the broken,

The crushed,

The weary,

The lonely,

There is a fresh beginning right around the corner,

New start,

New hopes,

New goals to reach,

New people to meet

New adventures to make,

New life,

Live it.

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GIGI’S GREAT ADVENTURE

Today, instead of art and poetry, I’m featuring my first road trip in a long, long time. We started out with hazy skies and a misty rain all the way to Wisconsin to celebrate my brother-in-law’s life – the last in a marathon of celebrations. The rain made the drive easier since we were traveling into the sun. I’m sure many of you remember the road trips that Paul and I pursued last year. This was a three-day event. My son-in-law was the Uber driver. Passengers consisted of my daughter, their daughter, her infant son and me, Gigi.

Getting into a pickup truck might have been an interesting side-bar, but I’ll leave that to your imagination. No camp songs. No sightseeing. Just an uneventful 350 mile drive from Minnesota to Milwaukee, WI. We made one stop, which was sufficient, even for this almost 83 year old great grandma. Our first stop was to check in to the hotel, meet up with the rest of our immediate tribe and

After checking into our hotel, we met the rest of the tribe and found a place to eat. When we’d go out to eat with are young family, we would each try to place a spoon on our nose. I never could do it since my nose has a definite slide to it. My kids tried, but the photo indicates that oldest daughter accomplished the feat. She cheated though, by tucking the spoon under her glasses.

Family time is always the best. Being separated by miles, we don’t see much of each other, so it’s a pleasure when we do. After attending the memorial service, we took a side trip to take a look at the old Froemming Boecher Funeral Home. The building has been totally remodeled and doesn’t resemble the building where Paul lived as a child. The Time of Grace Ministry purchased the property and along with St. Marcus Lutheran Church now spans an entire city block. Another interesting connection. Paul’s family was actively involved in this majestic gothic Lutheran church. Paul even rang the bells as a young boy. The interior of the church was recently remodeled and contains the altar, baptismal font and pulpit which has to be reached by climbing stairs. Those elements came from my home church on the other side of Milwaukee. I recall looking up at the pastor as a child with the fear of fire and brimstone coming down on me. It is interesting how Paul and my lives were connected before we even knew each other.

The celebration continued with the reunion of so many friends and relatives. Stories about the past led to much embellishment and fodder for future stories, scripts and memories. The day passed quickly with lots of hugs and tears.

The farms of Wisconsin created a beautiful backdrop on the way back home. Skies were brilliant blue with a few fluffy clouds drifting by. Sandstone cliffs and interesting rock formations popped up. Lakes appeared along with various rivers. The majestic rolling hills of Wisconsin, the cows, horses and sheep in the pastures all contributed to a lovely journey home.

The blessings I’ve received over the past four months have been countless. I achieved my Gigi wings. I’ve been blessed by my immediate family. through their support and help. My theatre troupe has been amazing. My friends are unbelievable in their love and compassion. Above all, my Lord has given me the strength and courage to live as Paul would have wanted me to. I thank Him for giving me another day.

Posted in Daily inspiration and devotions, Travel, Uncategorized, wisdom | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

ONE LIFE LEAVES – NEW LIFE BEGINS

God’s plan for the circle of life remains intact. These three photos show how two grieving widows (My sister, Carol and me) embracing a new life of seven months. My first great grandson has warmed and comforted the hearts of this family since he first entered the world.

I am so grateful that Great Grandpa Paul had three months to get to know him and instill his love for Jesus in his heart. Oh, the things they could’ve enjoyed together.

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SO, NOW WHAT?

ART & INSPIRATION BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

It has been a long journey these past four months. My sister’s husband passed away on Christmas Day and my husband followed him a week later on New Year’s Day. Both my sister and I knew the time was coming. There’s never complete knowledge of where or when, but we had our final celebration of life this past weekend. As friends and loved ones fall asleep in our heavenly Father’s arms – as those of us who remain, struggle with various physical ailments – as we age and become helpless when we used to be strong – as our worldly expenses exceed our meager income – what’s next?

All through our lives, we place death on the back burner praying that it eludes us.  When we’re young we never think about it.  We feel invincible – as though we can do anything, conquer the world, live forever.  As we mature into our middle age, we’re almost too busy to think about it.  Our lives are now full of responsibility and demands which require our constant attention.  When the nest is empty we turn our thoughts to retirement and the bounty of time we’ll have on our hands to travel or enjoy life to the max.  Death rarely enters our mind at this point either.

Then reality sets in.  The years begin to take their toll.  Your body has lost its elasticity.  Your bones are becoming brittle.  Your mind is playing nasty tricks on you as your memory is slowly shrinking.  Every ache and pain is a reminder of your mortality. My God has sustained me through this life. He has walked with me through trials, loss, pain and fear.  He has carved out the perfect plan for me even though I often thought it was the wrong one.  His promise of eternal life is not just empty words. 

The thought of leaving those we love behind crushes the spirit.  There is so much we want to teach them – so much wisdom we can share – so much of ourselves yet to be passed on, but when we leave this earth, we leave a great legacy if we’ve shared our Savior with those who remain.  They will carry on your love.  You’ve planted the seeds within them and even though the memory of you will fade, they will never forget what God has given them through you.

Every day God gives us on this planet is a time of God’s mercy – a time to live for Him – a time to share His love with others – a span of years which will live on through others.

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TIME OUT . . .

I will be taking a short break, but I’ll be back

ART BY PAUL BOECHER

Taking a short break, but I’ll be back.

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THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY . . .

Today is the first May. It has been four months since the love of my life has gone to heaven – where time is not measured as it is on earth – where life continues in a perfect place – where no thoughts, worries or concerns fill the mind. Where God dwells. Perfection.

We all need Jesus to remind us that He was not of this world. He came from that paradise to live with us. To suffer, to laugh, to teach, to feel everything we feel, yet He is part of that perfection called heaven. Our 24 hours a day continue for those left behind. Our days and nights put us in a race to that special destination. When part of us dies and we remain, pain continues until we join them there.

Thank you, Jesus for another day.

A haze entrenched sky,

Sprinkles a minute amount of light,

Upon the mighty river’s edge,

Capturing reflections,

Dispensing shadows,

Displaying an array of natural color,

The remnant of a fallen tree rests frozen in a mass of crystal shards,

But today is a new beginning as each day should be,

Today the waters have returned,

God’s finger has opened them,

The first of May,

Transition time.

Time to sweep out the cobwebs of winter,

To lift the veil of anticipation.

And look ahead,

To days of warmth,

Rapture,

Lazy days of summer

To reach heights never dreamed of,

To find renewal,

To live.

Posted in Art & Poetry by Paul & Kathy Boecher, life after death, seasons, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

LORD, YOU ARE MY ROCK . . .

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER

The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” Psalm 18:2 ESV

One year, my husband gave me a rock for my birthday. My first inclination was to think of Charlie Brown on Halloween, as he went trick or treating with his friends. Everyone collected their treats, but poor old Charlie would receive a rock from each place. Then I looked closely at the rock I had been given. It was carefully engraved in ink with a portion of Proverbs 31:10-31. I have had this sitting on a windowsill in my kitchen for many years. I treasure it now, because it is such a reminder of how special this man was. The rock reminds me that God has remained my rock throughout my marriage.

The years and the sun have taken their toll on this precious gift. Many of the letters have faded, but the memory lingers. Paul knew the strength of God. It helped him to survive so much in life. He knew the power that God displayed in what seemed to be impossible circumstances. He loved the Lord first, and all the rest was added to him.

Several years had gone by since that gift was given. I since discovered that Paul always carried a rock in his pocket to keep reminding of God’s majesty, His Power and strength. In fact, he gave the one he carried to a young man who was going to be deployed soon and away from his family. Paul told the man that God had always been his rock and fortress, so he asked him to carry it. The man returned home and gave the rock back to Paul along with a gift of his own. Along with a remembrance, the best thing Paul recalled that the true power of God’s protection came from God, the Rock of his salvation.

As we went through Paul’s many collections, we found many of these rocks. His art displayed the majesty of God’s creation. His work with young people gave him an opportunity to share his love for God. His adventures across the country gave him a chance to talk about Jesus. His zeal for the Word of God was a rock for so many individuals that he touched in his life. He taught me how to rely on God to get me on the right track. I would give a million rocks to hold his hand again – to let him know what he meant to me – to lean on – to love, but I know that day will come when I join him in paradise.


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THE ANOKA FEED MILL . . .

The Anoka Feed Mill has been independently operating for more than three generations. The family farm of Ernest Petersen was established in 1945 with a focus on grain and feed products. It is bordered by the Rum River on one side and the Anoka Police Department on the other. The remnants of unused silos is also located there. Certainly, a delightful location for the plein air artist. Paul did many of these “on location” paintings in 2014. This was the year we moved from Northeast Minneapolis to the historical town of Anoka.

ART & POETRY BY PAUL & KATHY BOECHER©

It stands like a sentry, so tall and so bold,
It’s worn out by time and is now growing old,
But still it stands faithful to those that it serves,
Tradition from years gone by, it still preserves,
When silos are empty and barns lose their class,
We know that our own death will soon come to pass,
And what do we leave in that sweet after glow,
To dust we return when our last breath does flow,
But Jesus is waiting, for every last one,
To hold and refresh them by what He has done,
So death has no power – new life is assured,
The price has been paid by the pain He endured.
He overcame death on that first Easter day,
Defeating the devil, He took sin away,

Posted in Art & Poetry by Paul & Kathy Boecher, history, Salvation, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments