Ode to Poison Ivy

Ivy has been my constant companion these past several weeks. And, I'm sorry to say that despite the many times I try hard to avoid her, she pursues me like a true friend. She really gets under my skin – literally.

I've known Ivy for some twenty years now and she usually plans her visits in the heat of the summer when I'm most likely to sweat and swell. We meet in the cool of the forest while enjoying the prairie paths and then she follows me home. In her carefree, breezy manner, she also tags along with my little dachshunds, following them home, bringing an unseen presence into our lives. It's almost magical the way she appears and re-appears.

I'm amazed at my dear friend's stick-to-it-ness, her ability to love on me through my daily work schedule and then, oh how she keeps me company in the wee hours. When I'm having trouble sleeping, there she is spurring me on to more challenges.

My latest conversations with Ivy began about four weeks ago out on our little road that travels to the back pasture. I have to admit most of our discussionss are a bit one-sided with me ranting and raving while she demurely turns red before my eyes. The objective that Saturday was photo opportunities on the prairie. It was an enjoyable outing, winding my way through the prairie grasses, the trees, and all those little stands of jagged leaf green plants. Ivy followed right along, teasing me with her abrasive humor once we returned home.

Yes, that's my dear friend Ivy. I've come to respect her place in my life . . . and accept her annoying nuisances. She reminds me again and again that to be a friend we have to be vulnerable and willing to accept the good with the bad; the beautiful and the ugly. In sickness and in health . . . friendship, like a marriage, is about the coming together of two forgivers. Right?

Well, I don't think Ivy got that memo. While I'm willing to forgive her discretions, despite how tiresome they may be, I've heard no apology from her all these many years.

And That's How We Show Love

When you have a menagerie to feed out on the prairie, where do you go? The farm store, of course. We're frequent visitors to the farm & home store in town. It's a great place for plumbing & electrical supplies, garden fertilizer and bedding plants, gun safes, hardware, overalls, flannel, leather work gloves, fencing, sour gummy worms, peanuts in the shell, salt water taffy, and on and on. The list is nearly endless.

Springtime, however, brings a new attraction to the product mix that always has a big pull for the elementary age crowd. And, Miss Brinna is no exception. Can you guess what it is?

Yep, downy balls of ducklings, chicks, and Beatrix Potter's favorite--Peter Rabbit's American cousins. They come in all shades and sizes and inevitably leave an interesting scent in aisle 1. Brinna doesn't seem to mind though, because once we hit the front door she's off for her baby animal fix. This past Saturday was no exception as I stocked up on 50-pound bags of grain for our horses and Brinna cooed to the bunnies.

At the check-out counter, they were giving out freshly cut, home-grown roses. Brinna picked a beauty that looked like God had taken his watercolor palette to it. Delicate brushstrokes of pinks & yellows.

Pushing the overloaded cart, loaded down with about 300 pounds of horse feed, I struggled to the truck with Brinna following. As I loaded the feed into the bed of the truck, I noticed Brinna was distracted a short distance from me, intent on something in the parking lot, near the curb. I called. She came. A beautiful yellow butterfly perched on her finger. The little guy was wounded, however. One of the four wings was down. Her spindly legs clung to Brinna's finger. Then Brinna decided to move the sweet thing to her painted rose.

Brinna's comment to me, "I just want to help make her last moments happy."

And, that's how a little girl showed love to a tiny butterfly.

Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13 NASB)