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God, Daddy and Norm Working in Tandem

November 29, 2017

God, Daddy and Norm Working in Tandem

1 Corinthians 8:6 (NIV)  Yet for us there is but one God, the Father,
from whom all things came and for whom we live;
and there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ,
through whom all things came and through whom we live.

I ponder the scriptures in Corinthians and Isaiah. I know there is one God, and He is our Father.  However, my thoughts wander to my earthly Father that is now in Heaven. Daddy was a wonderful example of what our Heavenly Father is. 

He loved the land, tilled the soil, raised crops, enjoyed his friends and loved to fish.  Daddy loved the Lord, loved his wife, loved his children and grandchildren – in that order!

He teased us and brought joy and laughter into our lives. He worked in tandem with God to mold me into the person I am today. It is easy for me to love the Lord because He gave me an example in an earthly father to love.

God sent me a husband who  has the same godly tributes. He constantly works to make our lives better. He lovingly tries to mold and give guidance to our sons, grandchildren, my sister and niece.  He took over the legacy of overseeing the farm that Daddy and our family love so much.

I miss my Daddy now as I think about our life. I am so thankful God gave me Norm to spend time with here on earth. It gives me comfort to know my Heavenly Father is always with me and will never leave me. It is my mistake when I don’t pause to start the day with Him and acknowledge His presence.

I have a feeling Daddy and God are both working in tandem – with Norm as an earthly helper. It is a big job keeping an eye on the Tramba clan. Norm turns 75 this week. I am truly blessed to have had him in my life for forty-three years.

Isaiah 64:8 (NIV)
Yet you, LORD, are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of Your hand.

0 Filed Under: Life Stories Tagged With: Daddy, farm, Father, fishing

“This is How You Do It, Dandy”

July 13, 2017

“This is How You Do It, Dandy”

Every spring we drove the twelve miles to the Post Office in Lewis, Kansas to pick up a new batch of Spring baby chickens.  They were delivered in a brown shallow cardboard box. My sister and I excitedly peeked through the holes covering the box at what appeared to be hundreds of baby chicks. We liked to go to the brooder house and visit the chicks every day.  The minute we opened the door, they panicked, and dust, feathers and chicks cheeped and flew in all directions.  As soon as we closed the door and stood quietly, the chicks settled down and cuddled under a metal tent where they enjoyed the warmth from the bulbs that were shining in the center of the tent.

Those chicks grew fast, and all farm kids have chores.  Around 1953, I was age six, and my chore was to gather eggs.  I used a cream colored, dented tin bucket with BB Gun holes scattered through it, thanks to my brother and his Daisy BB Gun.

 I had to crawl over a board, that was waist high that Dad nailed boards across the door to the chicken coop.  The purpose was to keep the sheep from stealing the chicken feed.  The chicken house had a distinct musty smell. Our chickens nested in a row of wooden boxes, covered with gunny sack curtains.

I didn’t like to gather eggs, and I hated the setting hens.  They were so stubborn, I would just skip over their nest for several days in a row and let them keep their eggs.  Dad always knew what was going on.  He would walk into the chicken house and kindly say, “This is how you do it, Dandy.”  I stared in disbelief, as I watched his large, tanned and scarred hand fearlessly reach under the hen as it pecked away.  He could pick up three eggs, without flinching, and gently place them in my bucket.  He didn’t seem to mind that eggs were dirty with chicken poop, and straw stuck to the them.

The next day, I devised a new plan to deal with the setting hens.  I grabbed the longest stick I could find.  I started yelling and banging the stick around as I entered the chicken coop, hoping the noise would disturb then and they would hop out of their nest.   When they didn’t, I proceeded to poke at the stubborn hen, called her names, scolded it and tried to pry her off the nest with my stick.  Dad would hear all the commotion and walk into the chicken coop and patiently demonstrate again, “This is how you do it, Dandy.”

One day after gathering half my eggs, I was reaching into a dark nest and a big grey rat jumped out, startling me as it quickly zig-zagged across the chicken coop floor.  I ran screaming out of the chicken house, tripping over the board Dad nailed across the door.  I dropped my bucket, breaking the eggs, skinned my knee, and there I sat in a pile on the gravel crying.

Next thing I knew, Daddy was lifting me in his arms, listening to me patiently between sobs, telling him my story of the rat, my broken eggs, and showed him my skinned knee. He helped me clean up my mess, and together we finished my chores. That night,  I prayed to God that I would never have to gather eggs again.

I think about my daddy, and realize he was an example of how our Heavenly Father is today. He always knows what is going on.  He is patient in teaching us, listening to our fears and pain, and always ready to embrace us and give us a second chance. Then he plans our future and walks hand in hand with us helping us along the way. And he always answers our prayers when the timing is right. 

Ten years later, when I graduated from High School and left for college, my childhood prayer was answered. I never had to gather eggs again.

 Blessings,

 Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him.  Truly he is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.   (Psalm 62:5-6)

 

5 Filed Under: Childhood Farm Stories Tagged With: Daddy, farm chores, Heavenly Father

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