Over the past week, these are some of the photos and comments I've had on the Homeschool on the Croft Facebook Page. If you don't have Facebook, I don't want you to miss out, so I share some of them here.
I shared this from a link DR had put on his own Facebook page.
How many of you can relate to it?
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I was so glad to see this on a number of Facebook Pages. Our children will be Godly only when God works in their hearts. Making them 'godly' is not our job. Thankfully.
Being the Godly parents this picture speaks of is our responsibility.
Ouch. That truly convicts.
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The Wee Guy found this hilarious, and has told everyone he's met this story.
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This photo was from an older blog post, but I re-posted my recipe for Scottish Oatcakes on Tuesday.
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I posted this on Friday. It may be slightly amusing, but it is true.
The Builder phoned me yesterday around lunch time.
Builder: "I am SO glad I married you ..."
Me: contented sigh
Builder: "You make an amazing Lemon Cake."
Aye, I suppose I have my uses then ...
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On Saturday evening I posted this photo. There was a slight aurora, as you can see, but I really wished I could show you the awesomeness of the sky all around us. No wonder the psalmist said in Psalm 8, 'When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained ... What is man, that thou art mindful of him?'
Yes, David. That is just what makes me wonder when I, in awe, consider the vastness and beauty of the stars.
Seek him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into the morning, and maketh the day dark with night: that calleth for the waters of the sea, and poureth them out upon the face of the earth: The LORD is his name: Amos 5: 8
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And on Saturday, I posted this photo, taken (of course) from my Family Room window. The Wee Guy is in the bright yellow Hi-viz jacket, and himself, his cousin, his auntie and Big Brother are ... are ... erm ... "Calum! What were you doing on Saturday with the sheep?"
Calum: "We were piercing their ears..."
Oh. That seems reasonable. They're girls after all.
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And now, the tone of this post is going to change. Big style. Do you know that since I began posting last Monday - that's a week ago, this has happened:
* each day, 125,000 unborn children have been taken from their mother's womb. In a week, that amounts 875,000 babies who will never have the opportunity to learn to count and to read, who will never sit with their siblings watching TV, who will never receive one hug or one kiss.
Over three-quarters of a million babies will never have the opportunity to learn a trade, to marry or to have children of their own.
* of these 875,000 babies, over 20,000 of them would have grown up to be American. Twenty thousand ... just in one week. They will never sit round a campfire, or fly the flag, or play baseball.
The same thing has happened in my own nation over the past week too. And today, I wonder how I can live my own life, and barely give these children a thought.
I think it's because it's too much.
The numbers are too huge. It almost doesn't seem real. Like the figures in budget deficits, they seem incomprehensible. They are figures on a page. Surely they can't be representative of real, live human beings?
The sorrow is too great. I can't look at these numbers, accept the statistics, or read the facts without ending up in tears. I just cannot take it. It's agony for me. I have carried four of these precious bundles myself. I felt them move, learned of their different stages. I saw them on ultrasounds, and loved them before I ever met them. These are babies! Real, live children. And they are being torn from their mothers' wombs, and I can't bear it.
I want to put my arms around every one of these young mums who are making the decision to terminate the life of their child. I want to hug them and love them into changing their minds. I want it to stop. But I feel utterly helpless and hopeless. I want to tell them how much they will love this child once he or she is born.
I wish I felt the same love towards our leaders who allow this to happen, but right now I feel anger towards them. I pray for a spirit of prayer for them. I do pray that God would have mercy on them, but I feel anger too.
The problem seems too huge to be able to do anything of any worth. I pray. I weep. I try to talk to my kids, but I weep when I talk. I pray, weeping, that God would give them grace to DO what I haven't done.
And I don't even know what to do. But now, at this stage, all I know is that I must do something. I pray that God would show me what to do. I hardly know what to do. It seems easier to do nothing. I hardly know what to feel. It seems easier not to feel anything ... it's less painful.
And do you know that since you began reading this blog post, another seven hundred unborn children have lost their lives? It really is simply incomprehensible.
Oh Lord, have mercy ...