Grace: always more

I was driving in Adelaide recently and saw a truck with the logo Grace: always more.
How good is that, I thought.
Grace is a common enough word. It's name still used now, even as it was over 100 years ago for my  Auntie Grace - great-auntie actually, long dead. Her name was Grace Lilian - the only one of her 10 siblings who only scored two names. There was Percival George James and my grandma Evangeline Sarah Olive, commonly known as Sadie.. And Amazing Grace, the song, ) has been almost done to death. Great words...
   Through many dangers, toils and snares
   We have already come.
   T'was grace that brought us safe thus far
   And grace will lead us home,

...but sung so often we're almost immune to their impact.

So that truck made me think. About grace. About God's grace. And I thought about some of my family. One of my daughters (People say,' I met your beautiful daughter usually referring to the one that lives nearby to which I say, 'I have two beautiful daughters.'

Well, the younger one has a guest accommodation palce at Deep Creek.

The Sanctuary    https://www.stayz.com.au/holiday-rental/p9191560
 Blatant advertising here!

This property is large with a dam and frequented by kangaroos which guests love to watch. In the recent summer when things were very dry and there was no water in the dam, the kangaroos came looking for the water bowl put out for the birds and could be seen slowing lapping. The shortage of grass was noticeable and they even resorted to eating the rose bushes. Ouch!

My daughter and her bloke live nearby on a smaller property and just before Christmas last year adopted a little kangaroo called Roody (Roodolph - get it?) who needed a home. He needed nurturing with bottle feeds day and night and time snuggled in his pillowcase pouch near to them. We celebrated Christmas with the whole family there and Roody even appeared in the annual Christmas family photo.

Now that he is bigger, does he need to seek water from the bird bowl or eat rose bushes? No way. He has everything he needs and more. He enjoys being inside with his people, he is often hand fed with treats (within the proper guidelines for his well-being, of course) and has is very much part of the family.
The kangas at The Sanctuary have what they need and mostly get by okay. Roody has found a forever home and has what he needs and so much more. That's Grace. God's Grace is like that. Grace: always more.

Now about that truck. I was intrigued to discover it was the slogan of a removals company. Hmm!

More blessed to give...

So, yesterday was the church garage sale. We haven't had one for about five years but wanted to raise some money to finish painting the church before the centenary in October. 'Let's have a garage sale,' someone said. Ron thought that was a good idea and away he went, getting it all sorted. Everyone knows how it goes. All sorts of stuff was donated, and the blokes worked hard bringing in trailer loads.
As I did some publicity I discovered that people of my age were more keen to get rid of stuff than buy it, and I didn't sort out anywhere near enough of my stuff.

But the day came and so did the buyers. So many stories of wonderful transactions and bargaining. One of our team had a ball looking up stuff on Google and discovering some items that were 'collectables' and worth a motsa. The pews from the recently closed neighbouring church went like hotcakes. Evidently they are currenlty a 'thing'. Someone asked for vinyl records so my husband nipped home and brought back all ours - some more than 50 years old, but all gone now. And so it went on.
I mostly hid in the kitchen dispensing good 'frothy' coffee, chai latte, hot chocolate and generally pretending to be a barista. But at one stage I escaped. A little girl was standing in front of the fluffy toy collection, Every Op shop and garage sale has them and they aren't much in demand. As I stopped near her, she shyly asked about one little character with big eyes. I asked her if she liked it and she said she did but that she only had $6. I picked it up, 'Here you are,' I said, 'It's free.' Later I saw her carrying it lovingly under her arm and it was then I realised it was a lot like the free gift of grace God gives us....

Who's that?

What sort of car do you drive? Who would know?  Family? Friends? Well, if you live in a small town, everyone knows.
For many years we lived in the main street of a town in the mid north. (Home of Golden North ice-cream if you want to know its name.) From my kitchen window I could see cars drive past on our side street and would know immediately who it was
If I was outside in the garden or chatting in the street then of course, I would wave. No need to see who the driver was; the car was enough to make the connection.
When we moved to the city I vividly recall standing on a friend's porch when a car went by, so i turned to look and see who it was. Not a clue! Way too many cars in that suburb for me to know the driver. I realised I was not in the country now.
After several years we again live in a small town. I've realised how I quickly I know who is at church by the cars parked outside. And of course I wave as cars go by. There are a few common types like our son-in law's white Holden station wagon but even then there is usually some ID other than the number plate.
One of my fellow singers usually parks next to me on rehearsal night. She wasn't there when I got there last week. At least I didn't think so. Turns out she has a new car. Same make but a different colour. So I didn't recognise her!
I am a bit more anonymous around town as we live close to shops and church and so I often walk. People don't know me by car. Besides we are in the process of getting a new car and so are using an old one that isn't often seen around town. So when I 'm driving it and wave, nobody responds.
Maybe I could get my name on the rego plates ...

Flushed with success

During the week our pressure pump died. For you city types, it's the pump that makes sure our rainwater is delivered with enough pressure to be useful. I was standing in the shower with hair lathered up when the flow of water slowly diminished to a thin, cold stream.
After much head scratching and dismantling of the old pump it was decided a new one was required.
So for most of the afternoon there was water in the tank and a bit in the pipes and that was it. And I began to ponder. How much I take for granted that lovely stream of hot, clean water, on tap. So many in the world have to cart water daily from a communal source and heat it over a fire.
It's not so long since, even in our part of the world, things were different. My Dad used to fire up the copper so Mum could wash with hot water every Monday and he'd do it on Saturday night and bucket water in to the bathroom so we could all have a bath. (Yep, once a week, all in, one after the other.)
One of my older friends told me that when she came to the Riverland  during the infamous 1956 flood things were pretty basic and that for a whole year she kept herself clean with just a basin of water. No shower or bath.
During my afternoon of no water I thought about toilets as well. I've always had a flush toilet even if it did have a chain to pull and the paper was of dubious provenance.
The house we live in now has a lane running along the back - commonly called the dunny lane - to make access easier for the poor dunny man who emptied the dunny cans from the lavatory located near the back fence.
I wonder about using about using precious, drinking quality rainwater to flush the toilet and love visiting my sister's loo, which has a wondrous system where there is a small basin over the cistern. You wash your hands and the water then runs into the cistern for flushing.
Before too long the new pump was installed and all was well. How grateful I am. A simple flush is a wondrous thing.