Hot Stacks.  Perfect for a lazy, recuperating Sunday morning.

The bag of hulled buckwheat groats in the pantry had been staring at me for a week now.  The day before had been rough, Alicia sporting a pretty high fever all afternoon.  We all felt groggy and tired.  This just felt like a stay at home do nothing Sabbath day.  So, into the blender the groats went, cup by cup… grinding magically into a soft powdery flour of goodness.  .

I don’t normally grind my own grains into flours but since our move to NC, I haven’t been able to find the flours I like to use in bulk.  Miss you terribly New Seasons Market.

If you haven’t tried playing around with a blender and fresh whole grains, give it a go.  It will bring out the “baker” in you. Being splashed with poofs of flours as I concoct in the kitchen is just plain fun.

I have made buckwheat pancakes before but I used a bag of the dark brown Bob’s buckwheat.  Grinding my hulled groats gave me a beautiful cream colored flour.  And these actually tasted way better.

Using a fine strainer to collect the flour and regrind the groats that got missed. One day I will have a Vitamix.

As I began to mix and stir and flip, Brian asked me with a grin, “Is that a recipe or one of your made up ones?”  He knows me well.  99% of the time, I am not content to just leave a recipe alone.

“You know…” I replied. “It’s a real recipe.  But I added some things.”

“Of course you did!”

“Well, yes, I subbed out the wheat flour for my buckwheat. Then I subbed in coconut oil for the butter.  No milk, I used almond milk… And I subbed out the sugar and put in a daub of honey instead.  Then I always like to add a dash of cinnamon and some vanilla…”

“You should write this down.” he tells me.

So I did.  I have quickly jotted down the recipe I did below for any hungry takers who want to try a wheatless, dairy free, sugar free, grain free pancake (yep, buckwheat actually is not a grain).  I started with a simple basic recipe I found online and then did my adjusting.

1 cup of buckwheat flour

1 cup almond milk

1 tsp baking powder

½ tsp sea salt

1 egg

2 tbs coconut oil (melted)

1 tbs of cinnamon

1 tsp vanilla

Mix it all together. Melt a little coconut oil in pan for non sticking… Cook on MEDIUM (not high) on a griddle or pan.  Don’t have to wait for the bubbles before flipping.

Top with a drizzle of maple syrup and a plop of almond butter.

Enjoy!

The first time I heard about this beautiful way to tell the Easter story, I knew as soon as my little girl was old enough to walk, I wanted to make this a tradition in our home.  Of course, somehow, she is now 8 years old and it’s days before our easter celebration… ahem, you guessed it… I am just now scrambling around the house and yard with my fella in the evening dark, putting it together, finally!

Guessing many of you have already seen this or perhaps you already tell the Easter story in this cleverly brilliant way.  I know you can actually purchase a kit online or in your local Christian supply store.  But for the DIY families, here is what I found with a few of my own added creativity (if you can call it that). 

You can do as many eggs as you want (the more the better if you have multiple kids who will be dashing around looking for them) but a dozen is a good amount to begin with (so you can store them in an egg carton for future years).

You will need the cheap empty plastic eggs from the Dollar Store or Target.  Write numbers 1 through 12 with a black Sharpie marker.  Then simply put inside each egg, one item and one verse note!  Then Easter morning, hide them around the house or yard.  I am planning to do a handful of plastic eggs with other goodies inside too that are not numbered (chocolate hershey kisses or the little round malt eggs) for added fun.  Once all the eggs have been found, put the numbered ones in order in the carton, and then you get to tell The Story!  What Easter is all about.

Egg item ideas and corresponding Bible verses.  Pick the ones you like with the items you have around the house. Make sure the last numbered egg is left empty!

A  cotton ball sprayed with perfume.  Represents Mary anointing Jesus feet with expensive ointment.  John 12:3

Leaf or lego palm branch.  Represents Jesus triumphal entry that last week of His life.  John 12:12

Piece of bread or a thimble.  Represents the Last Supper. Luke 22:14-20

3 dimes or play coins.  Represents the silver paid to Judas. Matt. 26:14

Hershey kiss.  Represents the betrayal of Judas. Luke 22:48

Small swatch of purple cloth.  Represents the robe the soldiers mocked Jesus in. Matt. 27:28

Thorns from rose stem or pokey bush in the yard.  Represents the crown Jesus was made to wear.  John 19:2

A strap.  I snipped a couple inches of a thick rubber band.  Represents the whip they lashed Jesus with. Mark 15:15

A wooden cross.  Can make using twigs. Represents the way Jesus died. John 19:17

Nail. Represents the nails in His hands and feet. John 19:18

Dice. Represents the soldiers who gambled for Jesus’ clothes. John 19:24

Sponge. I just clipped a dry corner of my kitchen sponge (cleaned of course).  Represents the bitter wine they gave Jesus to drink. Matt. 27:34

Toothpick (may have to break it in half to get it to fit) Represents the spear Jesus’s side was stabbed with.  John 19:33-34

Crushed rock pieces or torn fabric.  Both represent the earthquake and Temple curtain being torn when Jesus died. Matt. 27:50-51

Bay leaf or whole cloves.  Represents the spices for Jesus’ burial. John 19:40

Small piece of cheesecloth.  Represents Jesus’ burial. Luke 23:53

Smooth stone.  Represents the rock sealing the tomb that was rolled away by the angel. Matt. 28:2

Last Egg is left EMPTY!  Represents Jesus being resurrected and defeating death!  Matt. 28:5-6

Enjoy the hunt!  Enjoy the story!  He is Risen!

Love,

Bozarth family.

(ps – I do not take any credit for coming up with all these item ideas.  Most I found on various websites and blogs and simply added in a few of my own. Check the verse references too in case there’s a goof)

When you travel fast sometimes the distance doesn’t seem so daunting. Today, with blue sky shimmering overhead, windows down, and flying along at 82mph (before you judge, so was everyone else on this wide open 4 lane highway), the 37 minute drive from Cary to Duke Forest didn’t feel so long.   And I heard my Maker’s voice like I would hear a friend’s.  It was a good listen and now I get to yak about it a bit.

I have some decisions to make.  And I’ve been carrying a pretty hefty burden these past 2 months.  One that doesn’t have my name on it but that I’ve been lugging around like a martyr.  Dear Brian and Alicia, forgive me!  Questions and hopes and options and possibilities and limitations that all keep reverberating around the inside of my cranium like a wild pinball machine.  When this happens, my natural bent is to turn cold inside and feel hopeless.  Now, I know, some of you people are itching to comment some cliche scripture verse or some fix- all answer all wrapped up in jesus paper and think that it’s going to help.  It’s not.  Trust me.  It actually makes it WORSE.  Because I know the verses and I know the church answers.  Please save them for someone else.  Then there are some of you who actually have experienced what I’m talking about and are nodding heads, recalling your own seasons of “battered brain syndrome” and, if geography allowed, would simply give an drawn out tight hug, an offer to meet for froo froo coffee, (and bless me with about $15000 if you could).

See, I had this perception that when we moved here my life would, in a sense, stay the same.  I would locate and enroll Alicia in a charming small private school, I would start back in with a sassy Zumba class, and I could finish my TESOL certificate, hopefully volunteering somewhere similar to the ESL tutoring I was loving at Portland’s Pamoja House.  Of course, I would also be baking merrily in my kitchen and inviting friends over for dinner, not missing out on The Hobbit or Les Mis for lack of babysitter, and learning French, riding horses, practicing photography and learning to knit stuff for etsy.  (ok, the French and knitting and horses were added daydreams).  My 6 year Portland routine is emerging into a different terrain.  Private school isn’t fitting into a budget that just was drained nearly $15,000 in cross country moving expenses and has international adoption fees looming ahead, nor does my current kitchen have a sink disposal or even enough room to roll out a pie crust properly.  I cannot muster the energy for my TESOL program and because I’m homeschooling full time, salsa-ing off to a Zumba class with daughter in tow just isn’t an option.  Finding a place like Pamoja House hasn’t even registered since I’ve just now figured out how to get to the local Krogers without relying on SIRI like the very air I breathe.

I’ve heard pastors say, if you want to know the flavor of the tea, just add hot water.  Or my own made up quote “If you want to get the smell out, open all the windows.”   This uprooting and moving across the country feels like very strong tea, and wide open windows.  Things blowing around and stuff that often settles into the background, comes flying up… insecurities and awkwardness and grit of the heart.   Some insecurities take up residence on the natural characteristics we’re born with.  For me, on the cusp of my shy introvert nature, grew the duplicitous wart of of Comparing.  I used to think I wasn’t a good Christian if I still wrestled over this rocky area in my life.  Now I am learning to wipe away the tears, confess the obsessions, and to thank God for this weak place because it causes me to throw myself onto His grace and under His protection .  Although it sometimes feels like an arm wrestling match, it’s ultimately a win-win as I surrender over to Him.  And then I can listen to the truth about comparisons. It’s not always a deep pit, but sometimes a window.

Some comparisons can be helpful, spurring us on and giving us an example to follow after.  These are educating times and to our advantage if we use them like a tool.  Other times, tainted with the sin of pride or the noose of fear, they just make us shrivel and curdle and turn cranky in the nut of the heart.  A big waste of time.  Knowing when I’m walking rightly alongside them or when I’m falling headlong into them with a brutal crash is called Discernment.

Some comparisons feel like a solicitous magnet and I’m helpless to advert my gaze, wishing and wasting away the time and gifts that I have before me.  In those times, I am seeing only my lack and the other person’s fulfillment.  In plain English I believe we call that Envy.  uggg.  I meet newlywed wives in my small group who have a perpetual princess fairy glow and I berate myself for feeling run down, and missing those romantic butterflies 24/7.  I have a gorgeous family member who is basically living the life I always think  I want, a solid and satisfying career under the belt, big city beat in the veins and off to amazing overseas places so I groan at the tight boxed in season I tell myself I am in right now, slashing at the priceless life I have before me. I watch from afar these neighborhoods flash past with houses over 3000 sq feet and which are most certainly furnished with Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel and  William Sonoma.  I think, “surely how motivated I would be to bake in a kitchen that size and how cheerful I’d be hosting friends over with a living room like that!”  Clearly all I need are sexy highlights in my hair,  a KitchenAid mixer and a career and portfolio to make me feel worthy and wanted and accomplished!

But comparing doesn’t always have to equal the Mirror Mystery House, always confusing and detaining and distorting.  See, I have people in my life that I admire greatly.  I can watch the way they mother their children and think, “I see how remarkably she handled that with grace and energy, boy do I need to hang around her!”  I have friends who know how to sew incredible things, who homeschool their kids with genuine joy and excitement and have this creative gene that radiates through their homes… I can glean splendidly fun ideas and projects to try from them, their bravery and joy rubs off on me and things I would not think to attempt on my own, I dare.   I know smart people who post their intelligence about healthy eating and are top-notch cheerleaders when it comes to their workouts, and I think, “wow, I am inspired to drink green smoothies and step up my game.”  I know people who have this incredible gift of laughter and when I’m with them, I look the mirror of my stark and pensive cautiousness and demand that I find that funny girl again!  These are all good comparisons, where I look at them and I look at me, and I make good wholesome valuable adjustments that enhance my life and that encourage and lift me up and continually help me see with fresher perspective the things I can color and add to my life.  

“When the inner life is composed, the outer life feels manageable.” (Sally Clarkson)  Day by day, I appeal to Jesus to take this tangled inner life and add so much of His light that all my darkness becomes light…  So much of His warmth that my benumbed stony places turn childlike and pliable and possible!   …so much of His peace that the morning I greet doesn’t remind me of my shame and fear and simpleness, but it is an invitation from my Creator to open the day like a love note.  I need Him to realign my soul every single day so that I can avoid the trip-ups of the Comparing that squeezes out my life and recognize the ones that can can compliment the life He already has equipped me with.

It is mighty cold out.  But the sun has been showing off its amber colors through the bare trees all day. But it wasn’t a day for homeschool lessons or tramping through the crackly leaves or even an errand to the market.  It was a sick day.

Alicia wasn’t feeling well this morning.  And by 9, I was holding back her tangled hair as she shakily heaved up icky stomach bile.  So the day began.  Quiet.  Slow.  Low tunes on Pandora, my clicking and typing as I answered emails and checked Instagrams from friends and straightened my tight back every 30 minutes.  The morning passed uneventful and I began to agree that although it may seem like a rotten day for Alicia, a sick day was just what I needed.

By noon, I’d accomplished everything I needed to do on the ever so important social media places, email and a few phone calls!

At 1:30, I hopped downstairs to the basement crowded with moving boxes waiting ever so patiently, and gave a hard push on the elliptical.  I won’t tell you exactly how long of a push it was because it isn’t worth mentioning.  The fact that I just went down there, is enough.

The bed gets made, the living room gets picked up, the kitchen counter gets a swipe.

By 3, and several library books read aloud later, Alicia is nibbling little blue corn tortilla chips and sipping water, my brain begans to get restless.  It’s been so quiet.  The cars on the lone road below pass by unaware that I am sequestered inside, pacing…  Alicia snoozes again.  The minutes on the clock are really dragging.

At 4:30 I put the chicken in the oven to roast.  Perhaps a walk to the mailbox sparks interest and I grab my boots.  You know, that 45 second walk down the crunching gravel to the black metal box on the road,   thinking about what could be in there waiting for me is a good feeling.  And then the hollow creak as I open it to find only cold air and a dead spider, now THAT is a very lonely feeling.  Nothing.  Not even a cruddy piece of junk mail for crying out loud.

When I come back inside, Alicia smiles.  “Anything?” she asks weakly?  At that moment, I wish I could shovel armloads of beautiful cards and scrawled letters and interesting magazines and Amazon parcels, a newspaper, even a bill, but, I give her a smile back, and reply “Nothing today hon”

This has been the slowest and quietest day I have had in a LONG time.  I’m not sure I quite liked it.  This day will slip by into nothingness and I didn’t even leave my house!  Somehow I feel that Presence that tells me, a lot actually happened today.  Maybe I couldn’t see it all with my eyes. But He tells me not to write the day off completely.  Slow empty days are not wasted days.  Not today anyhow.  We took a sick day.  And spent very quiet hours living. Full.

“Ya it sucks but cargo’s closed up, you’re too late.”

My heart sank like a stone at his casual words.

“I don’t understand.  She has a 7:45 am flight.  This is where I drop here off right?”

“Yep, but like I said there’s nothing I can do.  You’re supposed to be here two hours early.”

“I was on time,” I explain, “but got mixed up driving around trying to find this building.  Well, here we are.  The plane doesn’t leave for an HOUR and a half.”

“Sorry there is nothing I can do.”

His half-lidded eyes and backwards cap tell me this is not a big deal to him, he couldn’t care less, he was probably up earlier than me this morning (and I was awake at 3:30am).

“There has to be someone who can help me.  I have a super distressed cat who needs to be on her way to North Carolina.”

“Like I said, you’re too late.  Cargo hold is closed up. I know, it sucks.”

“So where’s the cargo hold?  Can I talk to them?”

“No, you gotta talk with the Pet Safe people, bleep bleep, Pet Safe, totally sucks, sorry, I can’t help you. They have to reschedule you a flight” He checks his clipboard.

Somehow I don’t believe him.

“So you’re telling me” I begin again, “That there is NOTHING you can do?  Just check her in and I’ll drive her to the cargo hold?” I ask.  My heart is thumping, my mouth dry and I wish I’d worn mascara and hot lipstick.  How bad is that?

“Next flight’s at 8:20am,” he sighs, “well, probably can’t get in that one either by the time you get a new ticket with bleep bleep Pet Safe, man, they take forever.  There’s a noon flight…”

“You want me to wait here til NOON?” I ask incredulously.

“Ya well, like I said, it sucks but there’s nothing I can do.  The desk ladies hate it if I call, get so bleep’n mad when they have to open the cargo again.  Should have been here earlier.  Its closed man, sorry.  You could just come back tomorrow for a flight.”

“Her health certificate is only good for 10 days.  Today is the 10^th day.” I reply curtly.  I feel my hope draining.

I step outside to grab my phone.  It is still dark out and cold.  Julia is in the car.  The yowling I’d been listening to the whole ride to PDX  had quieted to a pitiful mewl.

I could cry right now.  But that would seem pathetic.  I already look lousy.  ‘Keep it together  Bec.  God what do I do?  Lord, I need to know what to do…’ I mumble, trying to find the phone number for the Pet Safe dept.  I can’t believe that this is seriously happening.  Poor Julia.  Poor me.

When I go back in, he is typing on his computer and muttering to himself and another coworker.  I hear little snippets of curse words.  I wonder if adding a few of my own choice words might help light the fire under him to just get my ‘live cargo’ boarded.

“Here, fill this out just in case.”  He hands me a sheet with Live Animal stickers and places for me to sign.

My hand is shaky as I write.

He types some more.

“So, its $250.00.  Check or card?” he asks.

Daring to breathe, I slide my card over.  I sign a few more papers.  Is he going to help me after all?  I put Julia and carrier on the scale.  Her big brown eyes plead with me through wire mesh.  Her newspaper is all squashed up on one side and her food bowl is tipped, little kibbles rattle in the bottom as she squirms.

“Ok, so that’s it.  She’s good.” He finally says.

“Good?  So she is on THE flight?” I don’t dare to smile just yet.  My stomach cramps.  Stress has begun to do its evil magic on my guts.

“Yeah she’s on.”

The other coworker tells me he will tape her food baggie to the top of the carrier.

I say a quick goodbye to Julia, did my eyes actually water up?  For goodness sakes.

“I appreciate you guys for going the extra mile.” I say.  Lame I know.  Somehow I get the feeling he doesn’t want a big thank you.

I gather my stuff and exit into the chilly dim morning air.

Sitting in the car, I whisper thanks to the Lord.  The tension of the last 30 minutes still knots my neck and I begin texting Brian.

The whole drive home I am SO relieved that somehow the heart of this young man was changed and all without me losing my temper, bawling my eyes out, or begging shamelessly.  THANK YOU GOD.  Thank you Papa God.

God’s daughters fit in any swim suit, dress suit, shimmering suits, because they are suited up in the armour of Christ, and no arrows from the media or the past or ourselves can harm us.

The curve of a smile is a woman’s most perfect curve and the only tag that matters is the one that says Robed in the Righteousness of Christ.

Things to remember, daily.  For me.  And for the little girl we’re raising.  She loves legos and does her OWN hair into a ratty ponytail every morning.  Yet she smears sparkly pink lip gloss on her cheeks,  and when she emerges downstairs sometimes, it is apparent she has spent much time layering on the clothes and is hoping for an approving comment.

Life is hard.  And understanding beauty is even trickier.  Because all around us we’re told what ‘beauty’ should be… and no one can live up to it.

From as early as I can recall, I hated my hair.  The way it had SO much body and my sister’s did not.  I frowned at my skinny brown arms and even skinnier brown fingers.  I couldn’t wait to paint those fingernails for the first time (8th grade graduation).  I stared at the dark circles under my eyes and the breath came shallow as the minutes to “get ready” in the morning came close to the bus arriving.  I peered inconspicuously at those who’s frames filled out with all the’ right’ curves and slouched even more in the girls locker room.  Even now, I’m know to lose sleep tossing when an occasion is coming up.  Because all those years I believed that my worth lay in my appearance.  Wasted and empty hours. And it can still linger in the background hollows of my heart, like mist that hasn’t quite burned off…

I think, I hope, I pray that Alicia somehow recognizes her beauty is not in what the mirror reflects or the magazines shimmer, but in the solid and hearty assurance that she is exactly the way her Rescuer and Friend and King made her to be!

Today I was reminded, SMILE Becca, stand tall, glow with the love of Jesus, and do not be dictated by the bent up mindset of the world around me.

Bold quotes above by Ann Voskamp  Book recommended by Ann as well.

My heart did the sap dance in the car today.  Alicia asked me longingly if I was going to be at her school today during her lunch period.  I’ve been helping every Monday and although I enjoy seeing her I was never quite sure if she really enjoyed my being there… I hear stories about kids who are embarrassed by mom showing up or having a parent somewhere in their space when hanging with friends.  So today when she asked if I was going to please come again to school, I melted a bit and asked her why she wanted me at school today (Wednesday).  She replied, oh because I like seeing you there.  Nothing fancy.  But it’s something I will log away in my memories to keep.

Since she is nuts about hearing the “when mom was a kid she…” stories, I recalled about how I LOVED seeing my mom surprise pop in during elementary school hours.  Before mom went back to work fulltime, she would help out on occasion in my class… I remember her bringing festive cupcakes for class parties or being a driver for a field trip.  It wasn’t that she singled me out with smooches or extra special favor.  But it was just knowing she was there.  Seeing her in the clothes I knew so well, her hair fixed just that way, and knowing I was “part of her club” so to speak.  I was “in” with her.  She was my mom.

I would give her a hug, smell her Charlie perfume, and a wave of comfort would wash over.  My mom was there.  Familiar.  Comforting.  And I was safe.

I know I have to be realistic that there will probably be a time when my presence will not be the most thrilling thing in Alicia’s life.  Yes, I will not be on her first date and I promise not to show up in costume at her prom.  But knowing for now, for this time, she wants me there… wow, makes me wanna cartwheel around my living room.

On the flip side… I have the Presence of my Papa God with me always.  It’s not a “watching like a hawk” feeling… not a “breathing over my shoulder” feeling…  But a strong powerful parental love knowing…

Do I relish His familiarity and comfort? Lots of times, I admit, I neglect to recognize He is there.  Too busy and too self focused, I forget that my Father is ever present, looking out for me, cheering me on, opening and closing paths, beckoning me… He has so much to tell me and so many ways to help me grow and flourish and He knows that if I just turn my eyes to Him, how much more I will find joy and peace and rest.

Do I thrill at His voice?  And His touch?  Do I see His gifts and loving graces all around me?  Do I remember I can run to Him anytime for anything?  I don’t have to go through the day, the week on my own!!!!  Sigh… what a relief… it’s You Lord.  It’s You.  There.

“You have made known to me the path of life; You will fill me with joy in Your presence, with eternal pleasures at Your right hand.”  Psalm 16:11

I am a new student.  Today I began my first unit study online to get my TESOL certification.  Recently I started assistant tutoring ESL students one day a week and so hopefully this will help me a lot!  I am so proud of Brian for the last year of study as he works diligently to complete his Bach degrees and aims for his Masters.  I love being Alicia’s teacher at home Tues./Thurs. Now I get to join the ranks of students and here I am with a nervous big grin on my face and a cramped back from hunching over my computer reading all about Language Studies… trying remember vocabulary words like semantics, morphology, and pragmatics.

Ok, this was just a quick up to date hello and what is new in Becca’s life this week.

Yep, that’s right.  Nothing.

For one week, I am fasting from asking.

In the midst of a routine prayer, I found myself speaking out words, committing to worshiping rather than asking.  Instead of seeking and pleading and needing, I will be praising and adoring and marveling at the beauty and closeness and power of God.

Is there anything wrong with asking?  No.  God says to come boldly, freely, expectantly.  All this summer I’ve been doing that very thing!  But I feel like I’ve hit a wall.  A place where God is being silent so that I can hear myself reverberating.  And its loud.  And has become demanding.  My heart needs an adjustment.  The best way I know is to fix my eyes on Jesus and choose to worship Him.  Period.

This morning, God showed me two things that echoed His simplicity and His healing, giving me something to worship Him for.

I saw numerous friends come together in the middle of the week day to help another friend in distress move into a new rental.  Simple.  People sacrificing their time, loving on a brother, and lending themselves in service.  And I praised God for His redeeming work, the way He mends and fixes the broken things.

Second, I saw four plump brown ducks with their heads tucked under wing, snoozing on the sidewalk right next to a busy library and Walgreens.  As cars pulled in quickly to park within feet of them, and people walked hastily by, they rested.  And I praised God that He is the Prince of Peace who resides inside my often frenetic and worried heart, calming my beat, reminding me to slow the pace, and cast my cares onto Him.  Because, He cares for me.

This week, will I choose to be one who worships over everything else?  Resting and keeping watchful eyes so that I don’t miss the touches of God all around me?  Can I take a week from asking and instead spend that time thanking?  Speaking aloud His greatness and marveling at His Presence and what that really truly means?  Being joyful over the Giver instead of just holding my hands out for the blessings.

Dusty horse stables.  Meandering river.  Old fashioned club house.  Rustic cook shack.  PJ game nights with other bunkhouse campers.  Grubby boots and the smell of leather.  Rolling hills and blue skies. Gooey marshmallows and picnic lunches.  Sparkly blue pool an ice cold chocolate shakes.

Our weekend away at R Ranch (in northern Cali) was just what we needed.  We took up our friends invitation to be their guests at the ranch and had the BEST time ever.

There is just something about watching our 7 year old run around without shoes, finding caterpillars, swinging with friends, feet high in the sky, poking around the creek, squealing through the barn, climbing fences, and sitting bravely in the saddle.  Here are some highlights.

	Braiding the horses mane
	Highschool best friend
	No hurry around here
In the stables	Cali and Faith and Alicia
God's Country