I didn’t expect my original “Bucket” post to multiply, but it has! I do believe this is the last of four and I don’t think you’ll be thanking me for embedding this song in your head, but here goes. My husband actually suggested this to me and, after quickly dismissing it, I found I couldn’t let the thought (or the melody) go.

Poor Henry faces a problem of inordinate proportions when he discovers a hole in his bucket. Stymied, he turns to Liza for advice. It seems pretty obvious to her, but each step she offers leads to a new complication. Henry exasperates Liza and never does fix his bucket—you certainly couldn’t call Henry a go-getter.

I began to think about the holes in my bucket and wondered if, like Henry, I lack the determination to plug them up and content myself with living a leaky existence. You may identify with some of these holes.

1. My heart is bursting with grateful wonder—and then I hear about a friend’s family event or trip or blessing. Envy pokes a hole in my bucket and my gratitude seeps out.
2. I am filled with a sense of purpose—and then I become aware of a criticism. Insecurity pierces my bucket and, drip by drip, my zeal puddles at my feet.
3. I am praising God for my life, for His goodness and blessings—and then I (or someone I love) notice an ache, pain, or lump. Tests are called for and fear stabs a hole in my bucket, allowing my praise to trickle away.
4. I am happy and content, trusting God in matters of the world and of my personal world—and then I hear assessments of society, leaders, governments. Anger punctures my bucket and my confidence dribbles away.

Friends, this is a brief look at the peril of having a hole in our bucket. To myself, and all the other Henrys out there, I quote Liza, “Well, fix it dear Henry, dear Henry fix it!”

Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise. Ephesians 5:15

*This song was first published in Germany around 1700.

Photo by Lucas van Oort on Unsplash

Bucket 3/4

Autumn officially arrives this Saturday—my favorite season! In our family, fall meant making applesauce, which did not necessarily include apple picking—I usually bought a bushel of “drops” from a local farm. While they simmered in my Dutch oven on the stove, I set out my grandmother’s old apple mill, and lined up our plastic containers.

When grandchildren came along I soon learned I didn’t need as many containers for the freezer—their taste testing of the warm sweetness greatly diminished our production volume. Nothing says fall to me as much as apples. But this favorite season includes many more delights.

• I love the colors of fall. Who is not drawn to gas-guzzling rides through the country to ooh and aah at changing leaves that glamorize the landscape?
• I thrill to see orange pumpkins sitting on porches, some with grinning faces and a flickering candle within. Then there are roasted pumpkin seeds, pumpkin pies, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin anything (except coffee).
• I think God had fun creating gourds with their varied colors, odd shapes, stripes and bumps.
• I love the need for a sweater or hoodie, an added blanket on the bed, and the return of cozy slippers.
• I love apple cider, apple pie, and caramel apples on a stick.
• I love to watch the leaves fall and twirl, dancing around me, and to hear them swish when I shuffle through their carpet.
• I love yellow and rust-colored mums and curly leafed purple cabbages.
• I love the memory of raking leaves to the edge of our property and burning them in the road. My nostalgia can still evoke the wonderful woodsy fragrance and savor the quiet absence of leaf blowers.

What do you love about fall?