What’s inside Mrs. Steel’s care package? I sent these to my students and a few kiddos from my church. If you got one of these packages, Let’s open them together. If you didn’t get one, come join us to see what’s inside. Perhaps you have some of these things at home and can do the activities with us. I’ll be posting activities in the next week here on this blog page.
The first chapter of the corresponding E-Book will be available in a few days. But if you have yarn, watch the second video called Finger-knitting with Gordon and you can get started.
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So this morning I woke up with an old Sunday School song in my head.
This is the day,
This is the day
That the Lord has made
Let us rejoice and be glad in it!
I am often struck by the joy of the Lord in the early moments of my morning. This song made me not only glad, but caused me to pull out a favorite pair of pink shoes. I wore them to church. Though I fell short of all out dancing, I did a lot of tapping of my toes and hand raising. I came home and decided to post the little story below. I’ve been working on it and thought you all might enjoy it. It’s not a Christian story, but it certainly reminds me of the comfort & joy we have in our ABBA Father, God.
Polka dot striped socks with flamingo pink shoes By Joleen Steel
Yes, I know there’s a real popular book called wonky donkey out there. I wrote this for my littles and have just read it to them for the giggles. I figure it’s one of those stories that’s just for us.
A Wonky Donky kinda Day:
Written & Illustrated by Joleen Steel
On Monday Muffin the donkey went out for a walk; nibbled some dandelions and fell off the dock. Clambering out she started to bray “Well, that’s a wonky donkey kinda day!”
On Tuesday Muffin had a package to deliver; trotted cross the bridge and tumbled into the river. Splashing out she began to bray, “Well, that’s a wonky donkey kinda day!”
On Wednesday Muffin went for a jog; dashed over the meadow and slipped into the bog.Sloshing out she just had to bray, “Well, that’s a wonky donkey kinda day!”
On Thursday Muffin had a good shake; rolled down the hill and plopped into the lake.Scrambling out she let out a bray, “Well, that’s a wonky donkey kinda day!”
On Friday Muffin began to stray; tripped on a bush and toppled into the bay. Swimming out she gave a loud bray, “Well, that’s a wonky donkey kinda day!”
On Saturday Muffin munched on a tree; rolled off the cliff and plunged into the seaSurfing out she yelled as she brayed, “Well, that’s a wonky donkey kinda day!”
On Sunday Muffin put on her spectacles; sat in a chair and looked out the windows. Sighing now she whinnied and brayed, “If I wear my glasses I’ll be okay,”
That afternoon Muffin went for a walk, Nibbled some dandelions and stood on the dock. She took the package she had to deliver; trotted cross the bridge and looked at the river, She went for a jog and inspected the bog, had a good shake and walked round the lake, Saw the bush and gazed at the bay, munched on a tree and took joy in the sea,
That’s when she heard all her friends holler. “Muffin come on down to the water!”
So Muffin lept right past the tree and somersaulted gracefully into the sea.
Singing with joy she let out a bray, “This is the perfect donkey day.”
Note: If you like this little story, I’ve got kaboodles more! Subscribe to keep receiving my stories! I’d love to know you are reading so drop me a hey there over on my Face Book or Pinterest page.
He loves the chill west wind that scoops up seedsand blows them high into the evening sky.
He loves how the sun sets the tops of the birch trees aflame with light.
Bartholomew rows his very own skiff across the mirrored pond; gazing at the iridescent heads of mallard ducks, and listening to the bullfrogs.
It is not safe to be out but he is drawn by the splashing minnows and the scent of the lilies glowing white on their green lily pads.
Bartholomew adjusts the tulip tree leaf over his boat. The broad leaf hides him from the watchful eye of the hawk perched in the pine tree. Hopefully, the red tailed hunter is more interested in the bunnies scampering over the north meadow, than a small field mouse.
Bartholomew knows it’s time to scuttle home when the great horned owl calls through the dusk. He does not wish to meet that great and mighty creature.
The skiff slides onto a sandy cove under the bridge. Bartholomew pulls his boat into the tall grass and ties it to a stump. A large greedy eye peers at him from the grass. The farmer’s cat leaps, grabs, misses, and rolls. Bartholomew wastes no time scrambling up the hill and into his home just under the big rock. He knows cat will be there waiting all night. He will have to stay in now and dream of autumn from his warm house.
So he dreams of stars gleaming in a navy sky. He dreams of sailing his skiff under a harvest moon. Bartholomew dreams, knowing that tomorrow he will venture out into the wide world again to see autumn.