A palm tree between here and Melbourne intrigues me. It slants slightly toward the river for 15 or 20 feet, then takes a sharp turn away from the river toward US#1. For the next few feet, it slowly makes its way back towards the river. A very strange looking tree, but it reminded me of my walk with the Lord. How?
Things seem to be going very well for a while, then I decide to take over and I take off for parts unknown. All the while, however, God, in His steadfast love, draws me back to Himself.
For example, I had an appointment with my neurologist this morning. I've been fussing and fretting about it for weeks. To go back a few appointments, last summer, I asked the doctor about Alzheimer's tests. I was curious, but he immediately arranged for the test. It's a simple test of questions, testing memory and ability to concentrate.
I asked the doctor why he gave it to me. He said Alzheimer's occurs more frequently in women at age 70 and increases even more at age 80. If I remember correctly, it's 25% of 70 year olds and 50% of 80 year olds. I thought the one test that I did "very well" on would mean no more tests, but I was wrong. The next appointment, the nurse gave it to me again. This time I noticed she was writing numbers on the test and I got offended. Any scoring she does is purely subjective and I wasn't going there. I was fully ready to go in there this morning and lower the boom.
Before I went, I had my time alone with the Lord. The Psalmist asked the Lord to be His refuge. Sarah Young often advises the simple calling on Jesus can make a great difference. I asked the Lord to be my refuge, my shield, my fortress. As I was praying, I was reminded I was obsessing about this offensive test and asked forgiveness, asking the Lord to be my focus for the day.
The nurse that checked me in was a little cool. She's also the one who administers the test and takes my weight (UGH). I mentioned I was early because we have to drive 30 miles and I never know what traffic and construction will be like. She smiled and said she understood. I then told her about a sign in a bar in Pearl City, Hawaii, that says, "Every road between here and Honolulu is under construction." That made her laugh.
When it came time for weight, blood pressure, and Alzheimer's test, I cooperated with a smile. When we got done with the test, I asked her about her writing on it, out of curiosity. Turns out, each question has a point for each correctly answered question. She was merely indicating how I answered each questions. Facts, not opinions, as I had assumed. We ended up having one of the nicest meetings I've ever had. I realized I'd had a bad attitude and a chip on my shoulder. Thanks to the Lord's steadfast love, He took away the chip and the attitude, filled me with His love, and made my appointment much more pleasant for all concerned.
One of the questions on the test asks that world be spelled backwards. I told her I could quote the books of the New Testament backwards. She looked at me in awe and said it was impressive. Not sure why I even mentioned it. But, I can. If it keeps the Alzheimer's at bay, I'll do it.
She even complimented me on my handwriting! She asked if I were a calligrapher! That is a first. My handwriting is terrible. I've been practicing and trying to do better because I teach cursive and it's a little hypocritical to have terrible handwriting and feel free to correct boys who don't.
The doctor's news was also good. All in all, a great day. The best of it is that God drew me to Himself, corrected my bad attitude and filled me with joy. My tree may be crooked, but it's thriving, by God' wonderful grace.
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Farewell, Christmas
Round trip completed safely, thank You, Lord. Gifts opened, expressions of gratitude made, good food eaten. Gift wrap in the trash. Wonderful family memories made. Today, the trees came down. Lights out. Decorations boxed and stored. Glitter vacuumed (most of it). All over till next year.
Bob made the comment it's a good thing it comes only once a year. Daughter-in-law said that's what birthdays do-come once a year. Thanks, Deb, for recognizing what we are actually celebrating, the birth of Jesus Christ.
However, it was harder to find Him this year than ever. There are fewer carols playing in stores-humbug to them. I shop much more when I hear carols. The word "merry" can be seen about everywhere, but "Christmas" not so much.
Santas are everywhere. I have no real problem with that, as long as Jesus is seen more. My favorite ornament is Santa kneeling at the manger. Yes, we told our children about Santa, but we also told them about Saint Nicholas, so they could make the connection of celebrating Jesus' birthday with exchanging gifts.
The news said that purchases were up a whopping 8% this year. Should make stores happy. However, since they're not willing to honor the traditions of the season,why is it being done? I have to wonder if generations older than me felt the same way I do now when they saw traditions they held dear be ignored or even ridiculed as one woman did on "The Five" yesterday. She said on another program her comments sometimes cause people to threaten her. I won't do that, but her comment was very disappointing.
I keep hoping that next year will be better. This was a wonderful year, don't get me wrong. However, I did not feel there was much in the way of worship of the King of kings, the Prince of Peace, Immanuel.
Maybe it's a good thing Christmas is at the end of the year. A week later, we make resolutions to do better next year. That's my number 1 resolution for 2016. I want to worship Him, know Him, obey Him, and draw closer to Him. Maybe we need to come up with a stronger word than "resolution" so we'll actually do what we say we want to do.
We say Happy New Year. It will be much happier for me if I keep that resolution.
Bob made the comment it's a good thing it comes only once a year. Daughter-in-law said that's what birthdays do-come once a year. Thanks, Deb, for recognizing what we are actually celebrating, the birth of Jesus Christ.
However, it was harder to find Him this year than ever. There are fewer carols playing in stores-humbug to them. I shop much more when I hear carols. The word "merry" can be seen about everywhere, but "Christmas" not so much.
Santas are everywhere. I have no real problem with that, as long as Jesus is seen more. My favorite ornament is Santa kneeling at the manger. Yes, we told our children about Santa, but we also told them about Saint Nicholas, so they could make the connection of celebrating Jesus' birthday with exchanging gifts.
The news said that purchases were up a whopping 8% this year. Should make stores happy. However, since they're not willing to honor the traditions of the season,why is it being done? I have to wonder if generations older than me felt the same way I do now when they saw traditions they held dear be ignored or even ridiculed as one woman did on "The Five" yesterday. She said on another program her comments sometimes cause people to threaten her. I won't do that, but her comment was very disappointing.
I keep hoping that next year will be better. This was a wonderful year, don't get me wrong. However, I did not feel there was much in the way of worship of the King of kings, the Prince of Peace, Immanuel.
Maybe it's a good thing Christmas is at the end of the year. A week later, we make resolutions to do better next year. That's my number 1 resolution for 2016. I want to worship Him, know Him, obey Him, and draw closer to Him. Maybe we need to come up with a stronger word than "resolution" so we'll actually do what we say we want to do.
We say Happy New Year. It will be much happier for me if I keep that resolution.
Monday, December 28, 2015
Tangible
If my Christmas blog seemed like a brag or a selfish list of the gifts I received, I expressed it badly leading you to misunderstand. And, I'm sorry. I apologize. In the first place, I've been needing a laptop for quite a while now. It was a wonderful gift. Even better, it was a tangible expression of children who love me.
Bob had every intention of making a laptop his gift to me this year until our son and daughter-in-law beat him to it. He then decided to get me a purse and shoes, but the purse was the kid's gift for my birthday. While out shopping, I saw a pair of shoes that were supposed to be comfortable on my bunion. Since it was Christmas Eve, Bob laughingly agreed to the purchase when I asked him Before I made the purchase, he took Deb outside to the porch and scolded her for messing up his plans. He then had Deb wrap a large amount of cash in a small box to give to me from him. That was his tangible expression of his love for me. He was emotional as he told me I could only spend it on clothes. No bills, no appliances, nothing by clothes.
I now understand the wisdom of our son and daughter-in-law's agreement that no personal purchases be made between Thanksgiving and Christmas. It might be on the gift list.
Getting back to tangible, it's my heart's desire to be able to tell those who will listen that sex is not love. It's a tangible expression of that love. Or not. That's why the movie my granddaughter wanted me to see was so disturbing. It had nothing to do with love. She did say the story would eventually work into something sweet and loving. Sorry. I'm not buying it anymore than I'd eat a delicious dinner covered in sewage. Wouldn't it be nice if Hollywood would go back to understanding the imagination is so much more powerful than the visual? It would be even nicer if they understood that indiscriminate sex has nothing to do with love.
One of my favorite movies is "The Quiet Man." You don't have to see sweaty, entangled flesh on a bed to know when love has been consummated. A certain look, a sweet smile, a brief touch. I'm a firm believer that love begins in the spirit. There's a certain connection experienced. Over time, it moves to the soul. Love is expressed. Finally, love is tangibly exhibited by giving self to another and no one else. That's how it's been done throughout history and until society returns to that, we'll continue to have STDs, broken hearts, single moms, impoverished children, and lonely, lonely people who can't figure out what went wrong.
Did I need the laptop or the cash to know I was loved or to celebrate the birth of my Lord and Savior? Or course, not, but every once in a while, that tangible expression doesn't hurt. It made the day very special, not because of the gifts but of what they expressed.
Bob had every intention of making a laptop his gift to me this year until our son and daughter-in-law beat him to it. He then decided to get me a purse and shoes, but the purse was the kid's gift for my birthday. While out shopping, I saw a pair of shoes that were supposed to be comfortable on my bunion. Since it was Christmas Eve, Bob laughingly agreed to the purchase when I asked him Before I made the purchase, he took Deb outside to the porch and scolded her for messing up his plans. He then had Deb wrap a large amount of cash in a small box to give to me from him. That was his tangible expression of his love for me. He was emotional as he told me I could only spend it on clothes. No bills, no appliances, nothing by clothes.
I now understand the wisdom of our son and daughter-in-law's agreement that no personal purchases be made between Thanksgiving and Christmas. It might be on the gift list.
Getting back to tangible, it's my heart's desire to be able to tell those who will listen that sex is not love. It's a tangible expression of that love. Or not. That's why the movie my granddaughter wanted me to see was so disturbing. It had nothing to do with love. She did say the story would eventually work into something sweet and loving. Sorry. I'm not buying it anymore than I'd eat a delicious dinner covered in sewage. Wouldn't it be nice if Hollywood would go back to understanding the imagination is so much more powerful than the visual? It would be even nicer if they understood that indiscriminate sex has nothing to do with love.
One of my favorite movies is "The Quiet Man." You don't have to see sweaty, entangled flesh on a bed to know when love has been consummated. A certain look, a sweet smile, a brief touch. I'm a firm believer that love begins in the spirit. There's a certain connection experienced. Over time, it moves to the soul. Love is expressed. Finally, love is tangibly exhibited by giving self to another and no one else. That's how it's been done throughout history and until society returns to that, we'll continue to have STDs, broken hearts, single moms, impoverished children, and lonely, lonely people who can't figure out what went wrong.
Did I need the laptop or the cash to know I was loved or to celebrate the birth of my Lord and Savior? Or course, not, but every once in a while, that tangible expression doesn't hurt. It made the day very special, not because of the gifts but of what they expressed.
Sunday, December 27, 2015
Pushing the envelope
Had some wonderful alone time with my granddaughter yesterday, Among other things we discussed the differences in lifestyles from when I was her age (26) and mine now (72). There are so many things that are different, but one thing that doesn't seem to change is human nature.
One the the things we talked about, is that everyone does it who is her age. I pointed out that we all tend to think what our social group does is what everyone's doing, but that's not necessarily the case. That's when I told her that teens, especially, push the envelope. It's human nature for teens to do that. However, her envelope is much, much bigger because her dad's generation and mine had pushed it. So much of what we pushed I now see as destructive to society as a whole. To be honest, I'm sure no generation realizes what pushing the envelope will look like in future generations.
The conversation started when she asked me to watch a Christmas movie with her. I should have known I wouldn't like it. It was an R. Right off the bat, the nudity started. Then came the f bomb and the blatant copulating. I walked out, not only disappointed at the movie, but disgusted at the number of actors I admire for the majority of their work. This was the bottom of the barrel as far as movies go, in spite of the big names in it.
During the conversation, I told her about a novel set in the time of Christ. According to the author, the Apostle John lived in Ephesus, the sex capitol of the world. I have every reason to believe the author did her due diligence in researching the times in which the story is set. If so, the behavior described in the first century-20 centuries ago-was even worse in some situations than it is today. My granddaughter said she would not tolerate that kind of behavior.
There are some things my age sees as intolerable, but we have no choice. It's a part of today's culture. On reflection, those intolerable things came from enough someones pushing the envelope until it became the norm. I've told my family when their behavior is inappropriate, I have to accept it. I can't understand it, agree with it, or change it, brokenhearted though I will be. They've given me no option but to accept it.
That leads me to wonder how far are my granddaughter's children and grandchildren going to push the envelope? What we did in defiance as teenagers was so innocent when we compare it to what's being done today and we never dreamed our world would look like this when we were her age. The behavior described in the novel, I firmly believe, will be commonplace when she is a mother. I don't think she'll have to wait until she's a grandmother of a 26 year old.
The Bible says we sow the wind, we'll reap the whirlwind. Sadly, we are. On second thought, maybe I don't need to be such a gloomy gus. If shocking things done in the first century haven't come around or stayed for 20 centuries, God has intervened through someone or some event. We call that revival. Lord, please send a revival and let it begin with me.
One the the things we talked about, is that everyone does it who is her age. I pointed out that we all tend to think what our social group does is what everyone's doing, but that's not necessarily the case. That's when I told her that teens, especially, push the envelope. It's human nature for teens to do that. However, her envelope is much, much bigger because her dad's generation and mine had pushed it. So much of what we pushed I now see as destructive to society as a whole. To be honest, I'm sure no generation realizes what pushing the envelope will look like in future generations.
The conversation started when she asked me to watch a Christmas movie with her. I should have known I wouldn't like it. It was an R. Right off the bat, the nudity started. Then came the f bomb and the blatant copulating. I walked out, not only disappointed at the movie, but disgusted at the number of actors I admire for the majority of their work. This was the bottom of the barrel as far as movies go, in spite of the big names in it.
During the conversation, I told her about a novel set in the time of Christ. According to the author, the Apostle John lived in Ephesus, the sex capitol of the world. I have every reason to believe the author did her due diligence in researching the times in which the story is set. If so, the behavior described in the first century-20 centuries ago-was even worse in some situations than it is today. My granddaughter said she would not tolerate that kind of behavior.
There are some things my age sees as intolerable, but we have no choice. It's a part of today's culture. On reflection, those intolerable things came from enough someones pushing the envelope until it became the norm. I've told my family when their behavior is inappropriate, I have to accept it. I can't understand it, agree with it, or change it, brokenhearted though I will be. They've given me no option but to accept it.
That leads me to wonder how far are my granddaughter's children and grandchildren going to push the envelope? What we did in defiance as teenagers was so innocent when we compare it to what's being done today and we never dreamed our world would look like this when we were her age. The behavior described in the novel, I firmly believe, will be commonplace when she is a mother. I don't think she'll have to wait until she's a grandmother of a 26 year old.
The Bible says we sow the wind, we'll reap the whirlwind. Sadly, we are. On second thought, maybe I don't need to be such a gloomy gus. If shocking things done in the first century haven't come around or stayed for 20 centuries, God has intervened through someone or some event. We call that revival. Lord, please send a revival and let it begin with me.
Saturday, December 26, 2015
Touchy little boogers
I'm on my laptop trying to navigate through the sorts of things I already know how to do (Facebook, e-mail). Laptops are touchy little things. If you've posted on Facebook and I haven't responded, it's probably because I haven't got the hang of scrolling, yet. I go too far and have to back up. I back up and go too far, missing the ones I want to see. I have learned this morning that it takes a very delicate touch.
I also need to learn to keep my fingers off the tracker while I'm thinking. All sorts of little boxes pop up or the cursor departs to places I did not intend for it to go. When I start to type again, my letters are not in the right place.
How I get Facebook to expand the size of the pictures and put the comments on the side, I have no idea. It's happened several times this morning. My answer? Close it out and go back in. Can't tell you how many times that's happened.
On e-mail, Sometimes there's a blue line across some of what's written or even all of it. Don't know how that happens or how to get rid of it. It comes in that way. Haven't done anything to it, but need to learn how to get rid of it so I can at least see what my friend has to say.
My generation and the generation under mine often talk about young people today being whiners. Everything's too hard. Well, guess what? They ain't the only ones! I'm not saying this is too hard. That would be insulting my God-given intelligence. But, I will say it ain't easy! I've said it before and I'll say it again. I will conquer this. I will. That will be the best way I can say thank you to my son and daughter-in-law for giving me this gift. Stay tuned.
I also need to learn to keep my fingers off the tracker while I'm thinking. All sorts of little boxes pop up or the cursor departs to places I did not intend for it to go. When I start to type again, my letters are not in the right place.
How I get Facebook to expand the size of the pictures and put the comments on the side, I have no idea. It's happened several times this morning. My answer? Close it out and go back in. Can't tell you how many times that's happened.
On e-mail, Sometimes there's a blue line across some of what's written or even all of it. Don't know how that happens or how to get rid of it. It comes in that way. Haven't done anything to it, but need to learn how to get rid of it so I can at least see what my friend has to say.
My generation and the generation under mine often talk about young people today being whiners. Everything's too hard. Well, guess what? They ain't the only ones! I'm not saying this is too hard. That would be insulting my God-given intelligence. But, I will say it ain't easy! I've said it before and I'll say it again. I will conquer this. I will. That will be the best way I can say thank you to my son and daughter-in-law for giving me this gift. Stay tuned.
Friday, December 25, 2015
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas to one and all! I do hope this has been a day of joy, peace, and hope. Our hope for you is that you've enjoyed your family and had lots of fun to boot. We've been teasing my daughter-in-about all the "memories" she's been making.
We believe that memories hang on the mistakes that are made, not the perfections of the event. She's made a bunch, so we have many memories about today. She started by putting our granddaughter's stocking goodies in the wrong stocking and Ashley's stocking hung empty.
We have the tradition of passing gifts, one at a time and allowing the person to open it before going to the tree for more gifts. Mark was playing "elf" and having difficulty doing it. He was finding gifts for everyone but me. Finally, Deb picked up a package from the front of the tree and handed it to me. It was a disc for security! It was then decided that they would dig around at the back of the tree to find the computer the disc went into! I now have my laptop. It brought tears to my eyes to know the family was willing to spend that kind of money for me. My granddaughter and son have spent a lot of time setting it up for me.
Then I made the mistake of not putting a name tag on one of the gifts, so Mark opened it to find it was for my grandson. Oops.
Deb apparently set the wrong time on the timer for the Christmas breakfast casserole. It was obviously unfinished. We were laughing about having so many gifts to open, we had to take and break and come back to it. We were all seated at the table and learned the casserole wasn't done baking. So, back we went to the tree and the family room.
My second shocker came when Bob gave me a large cash gift. Deb gave me a monogrammed purse for my birthday. Bob had planned to give me a purse and shoes for Christmas. Yesterday, while Deb and I were out getting the oil changed on our car, I was saying I have a terrible time finding comfortable shoes. We stopped at a shoe store she thought could help me and sure enough, I ended up getting shoes. Bob had Deb wrap the cash for me. I was so shocked, I cried. So did he-and everyone else. A memory none of us will forget, regardless who caused it.
Now, the fun begins as I learn to use this laptop. They family's been trying to get me one for years and I've balked because I have a very hard time using the tracker. Mark gave me a few quick lessons. The rest will have to come one step at a time. Well, Deb did teach me how to set the sound where I want it. Even though it's the same program, I need to use the buttons on the keyboard instead of the icon on the screen. Never too old to learn. Stay tuned.
Again, a very Merry Christmas to you all.
We believe that memories hang on the mistakes that are made, not the perfections of the event. She's made a bunch, so we have many memories about today. She started by putting our granddaughter's stocking goodies in the wrong stocking and Ashley's stocking hung empty.
We have the tradition of passing gifts, one at a time and allowing the person to open it before going to the tree for more gifts. Mark was playing "elf" and having difficulty doing it. He was finding gifts for everyone but me. Finally, Deb picked up a package from the front of the tree and handed it to me. It was a disc for security! It was then decided that they would dig around at the back of the tree to find the computer the disc went into! I now have my laptop. It brought tears to my eyes to know the family was willing to spend that kind of money for me. My granddaughter and son have spent a lot of time setting it up for me.
Then I made the mistake of not putting a name tag on one of the gifts, so Mark opened it to find it was for my grandson. Oops.
Deb apparently set the wrong time on the timer for the Christmas breakfast casserole. It was obviously unfinished. We were laughing about having so many gifts to open, we had to take and break and come back to it. We were all seated at the table and learned the casserole wasn't done baking. So, back we went to the tree and the family room.
My second shocker came when Bob gave me a large cash gift. Deb gave me a monogrammed purse for my birthday. Bob had planned to give me a purse and shoes for Christmas. Yesterday, while Deb and I were out getting the oil changed on our car, I was saying I have a terrible time finding comfortable shoes. We stopped at a shoe store she thought could help me and sure enough, I ended up getting shoes. Bob had Deb wrap the cash for me. I was so shocked, I cried. So did he-and everyone else. A memory none of us will forget, regardless who caused it.
Now, the fun begins as I learn to use this laptop. They family's been trying to get me one for years and I've balked because I have a very hard time using the tracker. Mark gave me a few quick lessons. The rest will have to come one step at a time. Well, Deb did teach me how to set the sound where I want it. Even though it's the same program, I need to use the buttons on the keyboard instead of the icon on the screen. Never too old to learn. Stay tuned.
Again, a very Merry Christmas to you all.
Monday, December 21, 2015
Own it
In Jane Austen speak, today I'm two and seventy. And proud of it. God has given me 72 wonderful years and I say what's the sense of hiding it? I had an aunt that changed her birth certificate so often, her daughter said it was unreadable. Why? It doesn't change the facts. So, here I am. 72 years old. What's next, Lord?
This morning, we walked down by the river, hoping to see the sunrise. Unfortunately, it was too cloudy, but it was windy and very cool. More like Christmas weather. Loved it. Loved that gray sky. I loved it even more because it was my sweet husband's suggestion. He doesn't often make suggestions.
A friend played the cello during the singing in church today and we sang several carols. Loved that. I hear bass tones more than tenor and soprano, so the carols sounded better. Carols aren't played publicly that much anymore and it breaks my heart. I've told Wal-Mart that carols make me want to shop. If they want to be politically correct and skip them, that's their loss. Go ahead. Shoot themselves in the foot.
After church, there was a dinner and that was lovely. It's a great way to grow closer to those who attend the same church, have the same values, and care about one another. Our world is so busy, so wrapped up in activity and staying in contact electronically, it's nice to have warm chats with others face to face. It's old-fashioned and even young people are complaining about electronic contact missing something. It gives me hope that the old-fashioned way of face to face will someday be seen for the wonderful thing it is and others will return to it.
Facebook has posted many Happy Birthday wishes from friends and acquaintances all over the country. That's made me smile, too. Just hung up after talking to a friend in Mississippi who always calls me on my birthday and vice versa. One son called the day before and the other son called late in the evening. Icing on the cake. All in all, it's been a lovely day. Having my foot in two different worlds can be confusing and frustrating, but it can also be beautiful and memorable.
I have to say I've had a lovely life. I often think about my junior English class in high school. We were asked to write an essay about what we'd do if we knew we'd be blind in a year. I said I'd want to travel and see places that I could store in my memory. Well, 33 moves in 52 years fulfilled that dream.
I'm a people person. Love getting acquainted and learning about people. Needless to say, all those moves have made it possible to make many friends in many places. The memories I have of the wonderful people I've met would fill volumes.
Going to college was expected of me and my dream as well, but I didn't finish. Instead, I married the man of my dreams and did all that traveling. Our loving Lord opened the doors for me to finish at Moody Bible Institute after the boys were gone from home. God is so good. I'm reminded of a chorus we used to sing in the 70's "All I had to offer Him was brokenness and strife, but He made something beautiful of my life." It's so true. I've made so many mistakes, done so many stupid things, but He's taken it all and made it beautiful.
Those sons have become fine men who've made us so proud. And, they've given us four wonderful grandchildren and a great grandson. Can't ask for more than that. Dealing with boys at school who come from so much chaos in their lives, I can only say thank you for the way God has worked in our family.
Speaking of the boys I now work with, it's given me purpose and meaning. It looks like I'm one of those who's going to burn out instead of rust out. Thank you, Lord. While my memories are precious and the culture of today is going in a direction I don't understand or like, I still have work to do and if I can be relevant in this day and age, I'm grateful-just so I can do it without all the gadgets!
Although, I do have to say the gadgets have their advantages, too. It's been a lifelong dream to write and it's finally come to pass, thanks to the computer. Thanks to Facebook, Linked In, Pinterest, et al, I can stay in contact with friends and loved ones all over the world, meet and make new friends, and even learn more about the world we live in. I have to say that's one good thing about the gadgets I fight with that everyone else loves. I've been quite repetitive, haven't I? Typical of people my age. Live with it. I have to. 24/7. It's not that bad for you. Then too, your day is coming! I just got here first.
So, again, I ask, what's next, Lord? Stay tuned.
This morning, we walked down by the river, hoping to see the sunrise. Unfortunately, it was too cloudy, but it was windy and very cool. More like Christmas weather. Loved it. Loved that gray sky. I loved it even more because it was my sweet husband's suggestion. He doesn't often make suggestions.
A friend played the cello during the singing in church today and we sang several carols. Loved that. I hear bass tones more than tenor and soprano, so the carols sounded better. Carols aren't played publicly that much anymore and it breaks my heart. I've told Wal-Mart that carols make me want to shop. If they want to be politically correct and skip them, that's their loss. Go ahead. Shoot themselves in the foot.
After church, there was a dinner and that was lovely. It's a great way to grow closer to those who attend the same church, have the same values, and care about one another. Our world is so busy, so wrapped up in activity and staying in contact electronically, it's nice to have warm chats with others face to face. It's old-fashioned and even young people are complaining about electronic contact missing something. It gives me hope that the old-fashioned way of face to face will someday be seen for the wonderful thing it is and others will return to it.
Facebook has posted many Happy Birthday wishes from friends and acquaintances all over the country. That's made me smile, too. Just hung up after talking to a friend in Mississippi who always calls me on my birthday and vice versa. One son called the day before and the other son called late in the evening. Icing on the cake. All in all, it's been a lovely day. Having my foot in two different worlds can be confusing and frustrating, but it can also be beautiful and memorable.
I have to say I've had a lovely life. I often think about my junior English class in high school. We were asked to write an essay about what we'd do if we knew we'd be blind in a year. I said I'd want to travel and see places that I could store in my memory. Well, 33 moves in 52 years fulfilled that dream.
I'm a people person. Love getting acquainted and learning about people. Needless to say, all those moves have made it possible to make many friends in many places. The memories I have of the wonderful people I've met would fill volumes.
Going to college was expected of me and my dream as well, but I didn't finish. Instead, I married the man of my dreams and did all that traveling. Our loving Lord opened the doors for me to finish at Moody Bible Institute after the boys were gone from home. God is so good. I'm reminded of a chorus we used to sing in the 70's "All I had to offer Him was brokenness and strife, but He made something beautiful of my life." It's so true. I've made so many mistakes, done so many stupid things, but He's taken it all and made it beautiful.
Those sons have become fine men who've made us so proud. And, they've given us four wonderful grandchildren and a great grandson. Can't ask for more than that. Dealing with boys at school who come from so much chaos in their lives, I can only say thank you for the way God has worked in our family.
Speaking of the boys I now work with, it's given me purpose and meaning. It looks like I'm one of those who's going to burn out instead of rust out. Thank you, Lord. While my memories are precious and the culture of today is going in a direction I don't understand or like, I still have work to do and if I can be relevant in this day and age, I'm grateful-just so I can do it without all the gadgets!
Although, I do have to say the gadgets have their advantages, too. It's been a lifelong dream to write and it's finally come to pass, thanks to the computer. Thanks to Facebook, Linked In, Pinterest, et al, I can stay in contact with friends and loved ones all over the world, meet and make new friends, and even learn more about the world we live in. I have to say that's one good thing about the gadgets I fight with that everyone else loves. I've been quite repetitive, haven't I? Typical of people my age. Live with it. I have to. 24/7. It's not that bad for you. Then too, your day is coming! I just got here first.
So, again, I ask, what's next, Lord? Stay tuned.
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Finding truth
Sometimes I find truth in the most unusual ways. Thursday, I was working with a young student who has a great deal of trouble with comprehension and retention. At Shiloh, boys are required to memorize Scripture, which means a need for retention. Since the school uses the King James Version, sometimes the ability to comprehend is a little difficult, so I try to explain it in modern, age appropriate terminology.
Since I've been attending church, Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, and several Bible colleges all my life, Scripture is easier for me to understand than most of the boys Or is it? Not only am I a lot older, but most of them have had little to no Biblical training. It's often been preached to me the necessity of meditation on Scripture. Yes, I read my Bible daily. Yes, I get a great deal from it. However, working with a young boy who hasn't had my training taught me something new. Well, validated other verses of Scripture is closer to the truth.
The passage the boys had to learn for the month of December was Matthew 1:18-23. Makes sense to learn the passage about the birth of Jesus. How many times have I read that passage, memorized that passage, heard Christmas carols, watched movies about it, or heard it preached? Dozens? Hundreds? Many, many, to be sure.
And yet, as I worked with this boy who was having such difficulty learning that passage that is so familiar to me, I learned something, too. I have long known that Jesus said He is the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Him. (John 14:6) Known it, studied it, believed it, experienced it. It always thrills me to find other passages of Scripture that validates one I've known and believed for many years.
Going back to working with the boys, I would have the young man quote a small phrase over and over again until he knew it. Or so I thought. When I was sure he knew that phrase perfectly, I'd have him quote another phrase until I was confident he knew that one. Then, I'd have him put the two together. That's how I learned two chapters in Romans-word perfect-for a class at Moody when I was 45 years old.
The trouble is, it wasn't working with my charge, so I'd try to explain it in language appropriate for a nine year old. For example, every time he's quote verse 19, he'd leave out the word "not." That's a very important word in that phrase. Joseph was not willing to make Mary a public example. He'd leave it out every time he tried to quote that phrase. That changes the meaning entirely.
But, it was verse 21 that was the eye opener for me. ..."thou shalt call His name JESUS for He shall save HIS people from their sins. Such a little insignificant word that I'd been passing over my entire life. Only HIS people will be saved from their sins. Acts 4:12 says there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved. It gave me the opportunity to share truth with this boy that Jesus is the ONLY way to heaven, the ONLY way to be saved from our sins.
I've just begun Billy Graham's book Where I AM. In it, he quotes Zig Zigler saying the good news is that we can do nothing bad enough to keep us out of heaven. On the other hand the bad news we can do nothing good enough to keep us out of hell. A pastor once said there'd be a lot of surprised people in heaven and and lot of surprised people in hell.
Matthew 1:21 showed me yet again that only those who come to Jesus will be saved from their sins. Only HIS people will be saved. There are many, many other passages that say the same thing, but it was that one little word that affected me so powerfully.
Since I've been attending church, Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, and several Bible colleges all my life, Scripture is easier for me to understand than most of the boys Or is it? Not only am I a lot older, but most of them have had little to no Biblical training. It's often been preached to me the necessity of meditation on Scripture. Yes, I read my Bible daily. Yes, I get a great deal from it. However, working with a young boy who hasn't had my training taught me something new. Well, validated other verses of Scripture is closer to the truth.
The passage the boys had to learn for the month of December was Matthew 1:18-23. Makes sense to learn the passage about the birth of Jesus. How many times have I read that passage, memorized that passage, heard Christmas carols, watched movies about it, or heard it preached? Dozens? Hundreds? Many, many, to be sure.
And yet, as I worked with this boy who was having such difficulty learning that passage that is so familiar to me, I learned something, too. I have long known that Jesus said He is the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Him. (John 14:6) Known it, studied it, believed it, experienced it. It always thrills me to find other passages of Scripture that validates one I've known and believed for many years.
Going back to working with the boys, I would have the young man quote a small phrase over and over again until he knew it. Or so I thought. When I was sure he knew that phrase perfectly, I'd have him quote another phrase until I was confident he knew that one. Then, I'd have him put the two together. That's how I learned two chapters in Romans-word perfect-for a class at Moody when I was 45 years old.
The trouble is, it wasn't working with my charge, so I'd try to explain it in language appropriate for a nine year old. For example, every time he's quote verse 19, he'd leave out the word "not." That's a very important word in that phrase. Joseph was not willing to make Mary a public example. He'd leave it out every time he tried to quote that phrase. That changes the meaning entirely.
But, it was verse 21 that was the eye opener for me. ..."thou shalt call His name JESUS for He shall save HIS people from their sins. Such a little insignificant word that I'd been passing over my entire life. Only HIS people will be saved from their sins. Acts 4:12 says there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved. It gave me the opportunity to share truth with this boy that Jesus is the ONLY way to heaven, the ONLY way to be saved from our sins.
I've just begun Billy Graham's book Where I AM. In it, he quotes Zig Zigler saying the good news is that we can do nothing bad enough to keep us out of heaven. On the other hand the bad news we can do nothing good enough to keep us out of hell. A pastor once said there'd be a lot of surprised people in heaven and and lot of surprised people in hell.
Matthew 1:21 showed me yet again that only those who come to Jesus will be saved from their sins. Only HIS people will be saved. There are many, many other passages that say the same thing, but it was that one little word that affected me so powerfully.
Friday, December 11, 2015
Our gentle, loving God
I'm so grateful God is loving and gentle when He corrects me. I'm sure He knows how I get my back up when people try to advise me without my asking. They're 99.9% wrong and 100% meddling. On the other hand, the Lord often uses examples from the lives of others to show me I'm no different. Life applications I call it. That's one of the myriad of reasons I wrote my book and have others about ready to go.
I have no right to judge other people and don't appreciate their judging me. However, if I can use stories to prove my point, perhaps they'll understand and "get it."
Yesterday, I told Bob I was giving up the icicle lights I bought 14 years ago and had attempted to put up on the condo porch only a couple of times. His thank you was so sincere and so full of relief, I realized how selfish I was being, asking an 80 year old man to climb a ladder and put up lights strangers driving by could enjoy for a week. (We're going to our son's for Christmas and the lights will be out.) Adding insult to injury, Bob is not really a celebration kind of guy. One of the first things he told me when we were dating is that Christmas was just another day in the week when he was growing up. That statement was so foreign to me, I was just sure he'd be dazzled and change his opinion once he saw how Christmas was really done-my way, of course.
Didn't happen. He's never really complained, but I get the impression he kind of grits his teeth, hoping I'll get done shopping for others before we go completely bankrupt. Childhood abject poverty left deep scars I've so often selfishly ignored. I'm trying to express my love to others and he's paying for it. Not good or right. He hates glitter, so I make the effort to please him by vacuuming every day. There just aren't any decorations in this day and age that don't have glitter. Even Christmas cards glitter.
Spray on snow. Well, that's an absolute no-no. Has been for 47 years. He still mentions it on occasion. (Nagging, I think it's called, but at least he does it in a joking way.) I was pregnant with our second son 47 years ago and pregnancy, for me, was difficult. Spray on snow was cheap-but oh, so hard to get off after Christmas. It took months and Bob growled and groused about it the whole time. He still talks about it when I say something about decorating for Christmas. Lesson learned.
Last night, while I was watching TV, I noticed my vision was a little blurred. It's happened before. Don't know why, but it doesn't usually last long. It made me remember three people and reminded me that I need to make some changes in my diet. I've been gaining and losing weight since I was 13 and would dearly love to get off this ridiculous whatever you want to call it. My daughter-in-law is concerned about my son's health. He's diabetic and recently, his vision began to blur. It scared him and put him back on eating right. Diabetes affects vision and he knows it. I told my daughter-in-law about the man on Facebook who is diabetic.
When he first started posting, he mentioned he was diabetic and the doctor said if he didn't change his ways, he would die. That scared him enough to change his diet. For months, he posted his weight loss and it was phenomenal. Then, a few weeks ago, his post was full of typos. He posted that suddenly his vision was black. Nothing but black. Yep, he's now blind.
I've known about him and his situation for months, but it didn't affect me. Until last night. My blurred vision, my son's blurred vision and the Facebook posting of sudden blindness. It also brought to mind one of our students who's no longer with us. I dearly love that boy, but he was a handful. One of the rules of Shiloh is that a boy behaves, and if he doesn't, he has to leave. This boy had been warned repeatedly. I have to say our culture has changed so dramatically and it's causing our boys to act out in violent ways. He was one of those boys.
In the classroom one day, he was the only one there and he was sobbing violently. The others were in with the pastor. I'd never seen him that boy so emotionally distraught. I've seen boys cry, even caused some of them to cry. (Sometimes, they're afraid they can't do what they need to do to complete the assignment. They'll get teary eyed, expecting me to pity them. I ignore it and we always get the assignment done.) Ever so gently, the Lord reminded me that my yo-yo behavior with food is no different than the boy's being good and bad. I was playing the same game with God. The boy was forced to leave the school and may face military school, especially if again is expelled from public school. That's how we get a lot of our boys. If I continue to binge and diet, I could face diabetes and worse.
If I might digress for a moment, I would love to learn the lesson that intrinsic motivation is so superior to extrinsic. Extrinsic motivation is often from fear and seldom is lasting. Intrinsic motivation, on the other hand, is lasting and isn't from fear. God's Word says perfect love casts out fear. Why can't I understand that God is not trying to scare me into eating properly? He's telling me He loves me so much, He doesn't want me to destroy myself-His creation of love.
Finally, this morning, we were having our typical love fest with our dog Sheila. She loves it when Bob puts her on the bed between us and we lavish love on her and she us. Her little tail beats strong and steady to our petting her. She loves it when we rub her chest. If I stop, she paws me, letting me know to do more. My hand is at an awkward angle and it tires easily. It's reminds me of the boys who complain that typing or writing in cursive tires their hands. Blithely, I tell them they'll get used to it. They're learning something for their good.
So, how does that compute with my dog's demands on my hand and time? It reminds me that I'm giving of myself unselfishly. If you've read my book, you know that love is spelled s-a-c-r-i-f-i-c-e. That's how the Lord showed His love for mankind. He demonstrated His love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
Therefore, Lord, let me learn intrinsic motivation. Let me learn that proper eating is Your expression of love for me. You want me to be healthy. You want me to focus on You-the Lover of my soul. You want me to give up the idol of food. Stay tuned.
I have no right to judge other people and don't appreciate their judging me. However, if I can use stories to prove my point, perhaps they'll understand and "get it."
Yesterday, I told Bob I was giving up the icicle lights I bought 14 years ago and had attempted to put up on the condo porch only a couple of times. His thank you was so sincere and so full of relief, I realized how selfish I was being, asking an 80 year old man to climb a ladder and put up lights strangers driving by could enjoy for a week. (We're going to our son's for Christmas and the lights will be out.) Adding insult to injury, Bob is not really a celebration kind of guy. One of the first things he told me when we were dating is that Christmas was just another day in the week when he was growing up. That statement was so foreign to me, I was just sure he'd be dazzled and change his opinion once he saw how Christmas was really done-my way, of course.
Didn't happen. He's never really complained, but I get the impression he kind of grits his teeth, hoping I'll get done shopping for others before we go completely bankrupt. Childhood abject poverty left deep scars I've so often selfishly ignored. I'm trying to express my love to others and he's paying for it. Not good or right. He hates glitter, so I make the effort to please him by vacuuming every day. There just aren't any decorations in this day and age that don't have glitter. Even Christmas cards glitter.
Spray on snow. Well, that's an absolute no-no. Has been for 47 years. He still mentions it on occasion. (Nagging, I think it's called, but at least he does it in a joking way.) I was pregnant with our second son 47 years ago and pregnancy, for me, was difficult. Spray on snow was cheap-but oh, so hard to get off after Christmas. It took months and Bob growled and groused about it the whole time. He still talks about it when I say something about decorating for Christmas. Lesson learned.
Last night, while I was watching TV, I noticed my vision was a little blurred. It's happened before. Don't know why, but it doesn't usually last long. It made me remember three people and reminded me that I need to make some changes in my diet. I've been gaining and losing weight since I was 13 and would dearly love to get off this ridiculous whatever you want to call it. My daughter-in-law is concerned about my son's health. He's diabetic and recently, his vision began to blur. It scared him and put him back on eating right. Diabetes affects vision and he knows it. I told my daughter-in-law about the man on Facebook who is diabetic.
When he first started posting, he mentioned he was diabetic and the doctor said if he didn't change his ways, he would die. That scared him enough to change his diet. For months, he posted his weight loss and it was phenomenal. Then, a few weeks ago, his post was full of typos. He posted that suddenly his vision was black. Nothing but black. Yep, he's now blind.
I've known about him and his situation for months, but it didn't affect me. Until last night. My blurred vision, my son's blurred vision and the Facebook posting of sudden blindness. It also brought to mind one of our students who's no longer with us. I dearly love that boy, but he was a handful. One of the rules of Shiloh is that a boy behaves, and if he doesn't, he has to leave. This boy had been warned repeatedly. I have to say our culture has changed so dramatically and it's causing our boys to act out in violent ways. He was one of those boys.
In the classroom one day, he was the only one there and he was sobbing violently. The others were in with the pastor. I'd never seen him that boy so emotionally distraught. I've seen boys cry, even caused some of them to cry. (Sometimes, they're afraid they can't do what they need to do to complete the assignment. They'll get teary eyed, expecting me to pity them. I ignore it and we always get the assignment done.) Ever so gently, the Lord reminded me that my yo-yo behavior with food is no different than the boy's being good and bad. I was playing the same game with God. The boy was forced to leave the school and may face military school, especially if again is expelled from public school. That's how we get a lot of our boys. If I continue to binge and diet, I could face diabetes and worse.
If I might digress for a moment, I would love to learn the lesson that intrinsic motivation is so superior to extrinsic. Extrinsic motivation is often from fear and seldom is lasting. Intrinsic motivation, on the other hand, is lasting and isn't from fear. God's Word says perfect love casts out fear. Why can't I understand that God is not trying to scare me into eating properly? He's telling me He loves me so much, He doesn't want me to destroy myself-His creation of love.
Finally, this morning, we were having our typical love fest with our dog Sheila. She loves it when Bob puts her on the bed between us and we lavish love on her and she us. Her little tail beats strong and steady to our petting her. She loves it when we rub her chest. If I stop, she paws me, letting me know to do more. My hand is at an awkward angle and it tires easily. It's reminds me of the boys who complain that typing or writing in cursive tires their hands. Blithely, I tell them they'll get used to it. They're learning something for their good.
So, how does that compute with my dog's demands on my hand and time? It reminds me that I'm giving of myself unselfishly. If you've read my book, you know that love is spelled s-a-c-r-i-f-i-c-e. That's how the Lord showed His love for mankind. He demonstrated His love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
Therefore, Lord, let me learn intrinsic motivation. Let me learn that proper eating is Your expression of love for me. You want me to be healthy. You want me to focus on You-the Lover of my soul. You want me to give up the idol of food. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
Christmas Angel
Bob and I will celebrate our 52nd wedding anniversary on the 23rd of this month. The Christmas angel that topped our tree is 50 this year. Why is that significant? I'm getting to it. The first Christmas we were married, we spent with Bob's parents. Yes, I spent my honeymoon with my in-laws! They worked and both retired early when they came home from work, so we really had the place to ourselves. Anyway, no Christmas decorations were needed.
The next year, Bob was in Germany, and I was at home with my parents, waiting for orders so our son and I could join him. No decorations for the tree needed that year, either.
Therefore, the first tree we decorated as a family is while we were in Germany. Just about all the decorations were German in nature. Mushrooms with red caps, dotted in white. They do those for good luck. They also light real candles on the tree on Christmas Eve, but we never had that kind of nerve. We bought all the decorations and lights we could afford. For the rest of the tree, we covered it in box after box of icicles. Remember those days? Almost all of those decorations and lights are gone now. Traveling is hard on anything, especially if it's of a delicate nature, like glass ornaments.
We do, however, have one ornament left from Germany. You guessed it. The Christmas angel on the top of the tree. She's almost like a miracle angel. Like I said, ornaments don't survive moves very well. The miracle of her is not only did she survive the move from Muschenheim to Butzbach, but she made it to Ft. Bliss, Texas. Van Horn Park to Leslie Ross Road. Not one, but two moves on Ft. Bliss. Then, it was off to Ft. Huachuca, Arizona.
Probably one reason I think of the angel as a miracle is that I took up ceramics in Ft. Huachuca. Unpacking after the move from there to New Jersey found my angel at the bottom of the box that contained about twodozen jars of ceramic paint! She was unharmed! Then, it was Aurora, Colorado. The driver got drunk and lost the truck on that move. When I told them a very beat up rocking chair was not mine, one man said, "It is now!"
A year later, we were on our way to Pottstown, Pa. Ten months later, we were on our way back to Ft. Huachuca. That move was especially rough. I complained repeatedly that the movers left things they promised faithfully to come back and get. When they finally decided I was married to some big wig colonel and would get them in trouble if they didn't come get the things that wouldn't fit on the truck, they sent two fellows who finally came out of a local bar with a bag of peanuts and a strange sense of humor. Complaints of broken items were met with ridicule. I told the office that I would never use them again. If they came to my door, I would meet them with a broom. The official took me seriously and made other arrangements.
The move to San Antonio was short and the furnishings were left in storage until the move to Honolulu. We had to separate our things into two different shipments on that one because, at that time, the military furnished our units. Hence, what things they didn't furnish, such as Christmas ornaments, were shipped and everything else stayed in Arizona.
Four years later, we were on our way to Rolla, Missouri for Bob's final year in the military and almost 6 years as a civilian before he took a new job and we moved to Dalton, Georgia. Things didn't work out job wise, and Bob was transferred to Smithville, Tennessee.
It was there the real reason I consider the angel a miracle came to light. By now, her silk skirt was looking a little bedraggled, as did her foil underskirt and puffy sleeves. The florist happened to know someone in town who refurbished dolls. When I handed him the angel, he took her in his hands as gently as if she were a new born baby. I was amazed at the way he handled her. But it was his comment that bowled me over. "She's wax."
WAX!!! She had been halfway around the world on several occasions and even ended up under 20+ jars of ceramic paint and she hadn't a scratch or break on her! The first thing I did was buy a glass dome to put her under and make every attempt to keep her safer than she'd been before.
Four more moves brought another severe test for her. In 2004, we endured three hurricanes in as many weeks. Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne. We were without power for nine days after Frances hit. There she stood on the counter in her glass dome, braving heat and humidity with nary a breeze and nary a melt! Ivan was mostly rain, but Jeanne was the worst as far as wind. We only lost power four days with Jeanne, but again, no electricity and no melting.
I've received or purchased several other angels over the past 50 years, but she's truly my miracle Christmas angel.
The next year, Bob was in Germany, and I was at home with my parents, waiting for orders so our son and I could join him. No decorations for the tree needed that year, either.
Therefore, the first tree we decorated as a family is while we were in Germany. Just about all the decorations were German in nature. Mushrooms with red caps, dotted in white. They do those for good luck. They also light real candles on the tree on Christmas Eve, but we never had that kind of nerve. We bought all the decorations and lights we could afford. For the rest of the tree, we covered it in box after box of icicles. Remember those days? Almost all of those decorations and lights are gone now. Traveling is hard on anything, especially if it's of a delicate nature, like glass ornaments.
We do, however, have one ornament left from Germany. You guessed it. The Christmas angel on the top of the tree. She's almost like a miracle angel. Like I said, ornaments don't survive moves very well. The miracle of her is not only did she survive the move from Muschenheim to Butzbach, but she made it to Ft. Bliss, Texas. Van Horn Park to Leslie Ross Road. Not one, but two moves on Ft. Bliss. Then, it was off to Ft. Huachuca, Arizona.
Probably one reason I think of the angel as a miracle is that I took up ceramics in Ft. Huachuca. Unpacking after the move from there to New Jersey found my angel at the bottom of the box that contained about twodozen jars of ceramic paint! She was unharmed! Then, it was Aurora, Colorado. The driver got drunk and lost the truck on that move. When I told them a very beat up rocking chair was not mine, one man said, "It is now!"
A year later, we were on our way to Pottstown, Pa. Ten months later, we were on our way back to Ft. Huachuca. That move was especially rough. I complained repeatedly that the movers left things they promised faithfully to come back and get. When they finally decided I was married to some big wig colonel and would get them in trouble if they didn't come get the things that wouldn't fit on the truck, they sent two fellows who finally came out of a local bar with a bag of peanuts and a strange sense of humor. Complaints of broken items were met with ridicule. I told the office that I would never use them again. If they came to my door, I would meet them with a broom. The official took me seriously and made other arrangements.
The move to San Antonio was short and the furnishings were left in storage until the move to Honolulu. We had to separate our things into two different shipments on that one because, at that time, the military furnished our units. Hence, what things they didn't furnish, such as Christmas ornaments, were shipped and everything else stayed in Arizona.
Four years later, we were on our way to Rolla, Missouri for Bob's final year in the military and almost 6 years as a civilian before he took a new job and we moved to Dalton, Georgia. Things didn't work out job wise, and Bob was transferred to Smithville, Tennessee.
It was there the real reason I consider the angel a miracle came to light. By now, her silk skirt was looking a little bedraggled, as did her foil underskirt and puffy sleeves. The florist happened to know someone in town who refurbished dolls. When I handed him the angel, he took her in his hands as gently as if she were a new born baby. I was amazed at the way he handled her. But it was his comment that bowled me over. "She's wax."
WAX!!! She had been halfway around the world on several occasions and even ended up under 20+ jars of ceramic paint and she hadn't a scratch or break on her! The first thing I did was buy a glass dome to put her under and make every attempt to keep her safer than she'd been before.
Four more moves brought another severe test for her. In 2004, we endured three hurricanes in as many weeks. Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne. We were without power for nine days after Frances hit. There she stood on the counter in her glass dome, braving heat and humidity with nary a breeze and nary a melt! Ivan was mostly rain, but Jeanne was the worst as far as wind. We only lost power four days with Jeanne, but again, no electricity and no melting.
I've received or purchased several other angels over the past 50 years, but she's truly my miracle Christmas angel.
Monday, December 7, 2015
America's Team
I watched most of the Steeler's game last night and felt like they were at last showing the gumption they've been know for. To tell you the truth, I haven't watched them much since Terry Bradshaw left in 81 or 82. Watching the game brought back a lot of memories and made some new ones as well.
We were in San Antonio one year when they played and beat Dallas in the Super Bowl. Several of my co-workers wanted me to bet. I refused, saying God wouldn't let me bet and if I did, the Steeler's would lose. At that time, Dallas was known and "America's team." That rankled a little. I believed then and do even more so now that Pittsburgh is America's Team. More about that in a bit.
The second time Pittsburgh played Dallas in the Super Bowl, we were living in Honolulu. Due to the time change, the game came on during our church service. Some of the chaplain's assistants would slip out during church, run across the street and ask someone what the score was. They'd return with the information and whisper it to someone sitting in the back pew. The news would spread like wildfire through the church. Chaplain Schaffer was so upset, as he shook hands with everyone leaving the chapel that day, he'd mutter something about the Dallas Steelers and the Pittsburgh Cowboys. Pittsburgh won that day, too.
Still, Dallas was known as America's Team. Roger Stabaugh (sp?) was the quarterback and well respected. He was a graduate of the Naval Academy before he played football, but whether he actually served in combat is unknown. However, Pittsburgh has at least two team members who served. Rocky Bliar served during Viet Nam and was so seriously wounded, he was told he'd never walk again. Not only did he walk again, he came all the way back to play for the Steelers. I remember after he retired, his replacement allowed Bradshaw to be sacked. Bradshaw was one unhappy camper. I can sometimes read lips and what Bradshaw said to the guy was not something I would repeat. The announcers said that Rocky would NEVER have allowed that to happen.
In Rolla, Missouri, we had a member of our church that was trying out for another pro team. He told us that everyone who made the team had to go through the whole process every year. No one automatically returned. The young rookies who were hungry would do their best to replace the vets. Rocky had to fight his way through that, even as a wounded vet and he did it. My hat's off to him.
I remember when we were moving from Arizona to New Jersey. Two station wagons full of screaming men and waving signs passed us somewhere in Ohio between Columbus and Zanesville. I couldn't believe it. They were saying the Steelers won! I told Bob the Steelers hadn't won since Washington was President. When we arrived home, the first thing I did was ask Mom about it. She assured me the Steelers were winners, with two quarterbacks, both named Terry. Terry Hanratty didn't stay much longer, but Bradshaw did and guided them to 4 Super Bowls.
Now, we live in Florida and I'm amazed at the number of Steeler fans. We have so many neighbors from Long Island, New York, I've often joked that we live in Southern New York. There's not nearly as many fans for any other team as there are the Steelers. One reason I say they're America's Team.
Then, last night, I learned there is another combat veteran on the team. Villeneau (sp?) That's another reason why I say the Steeler's are America's Team. Pittsburgh is an old city that has seen a melting pot of ownership. Indian names are prominent throughout the area, as are French names. The French owned the area before the English. Many people came from Europe and worked the coal mines and steel mills, meaning there are areas that are German, Jewish, Italian, Eastern European, and many others. But, it's the fact that this blue collar city has reared it's children to love their country enough to serve it in times of war that makes me so proud of my heritage and the Steeler's.
It's Christmas time and the catalogs are coming thick and fast. Without exception, every one that sells pro football memorabilia, uses the Steelers as their examples of what's for sale. They're America's Team all right.
Last night, they did their fans proud. They played brilliantly. And they had fun. Who will ever forget the fellow trying to "stick" the ball to the goalpost and scaring the guard half out of her wits when he grabbed her jacket before falling to the ground? He was all twinkling eyes and huge grin. Good for him. I'm only sorry I was flipping channels when ads came on and didn't get to see him to his full punt return to touchdown. I've never seen one and missed it last night. I just caught the last 10 yards.
Will they be able to earn a wild card spot? Who knows? Even if they don't, they're still great. Of course, when I'm around my granddaughter, I have to be careful what I say. She's a Jaguars fan. Good for her. She's lived most of her life in Jacksonville and has every reason to be loyal to her team. But, as many moves as we've made, it's still the Steelers for me.
We were in San Antonio one year when they played and beat Dallas in the Super Bowl. Several of my co-workers wanted me to bet. I refused, saying God wouldn't let me bet and if I did, the Steeler's would lose. At that time, Dallas was known and "America's team." That rankled a little. I believed then and do even more so now that Pittsburgh is America's Team. More about that in a bit.
The second time Pittsburgh played Dallas in the Super Bowl, we were living in Honolulu. Due to the time change, the game came on during our church service. Some of the chaplain's assistants would slip out during church, run across the street and ask someone what the score was. They'd return with the information and whisper it to someone sitting in the back pew. The news would spread like wildfire through the church. Chaplain Schaffer was so upset, as he shook hands with everyone leaving the chapel that day, he'd mutter something about the Dallas Steelers and the Pittsburgh Cowboys. Pittsburgh won that day, too.
Still, Dallas was known as America's Team. Roger Stabaugh (sp?) was the quarterback and well respected. He was a graduate of the Naval Academy before he played football, but whether he actually served in combat is unknown. However, Pittsburgh has at least two team members who served. Rocky Bliar served during Viet Nam and was so seriously wounded, he was told he'd never walk again. Not only did he walk again, he came all the way back to play for the Steelers. I remember after he retired, his replacement allowed Bradshaw to be sacked. Bradshaw was one unhappy camper. I can sometimes read lips and what Bradshaw said to the guy was not something I would repeat. The announcers said that Rocky would NEVER have allowed that to happen.
In Rolla, Missouri, we had a member of our church that was trying out for another pro team. He told us that everyone who made the team had to go through the whole process every year. No one automatically returned. The young rookies who were hungry would do their best to replace the vets. Rocky had to fight his way through that, even as a wounded vet and he did it. My hat's off to him.
I remember when we were moving from Arizona to New Jersey. Two station wagons full of screaming men and waving signs passed us somewhere in Ohio between Columbus and Zanesville. I couldn't believe it. They were saying the Steelers won! I told Bob the Steelers hadn't won since Washington was President. When we arrived home, the first thing I did was ask Mom about it. She assured me the Steelers were winners, with two quarterbacks, both named Terry. Terry Hanratty didn't stay much longer, but Bradshaw did and guided them to 4 Super Bowls.
Now, we live in Florida and I'm amazed at the number of Steeler fans. We have so many neighbors from Long Island, New York, I've often joked that we live in Southern New York. There's not nearly as many fans for any other team as there are the Steelers. One reason I say they're America's Team.
Then, last night, I learned there is another combat veteran on the team. Villeneau (sp?) That's another reason why I say the Steeler's are America's Team. Pittsburgh is an old city that has seen a melting pot of ownership. Indian names are prominent throughout the area, as are French names. The French owned the area before the English. Many people came from Europe and worked the coal mines and steel mills, meaning there are areas that are German, Jewish, Italian, Eastern European, and many others. But, it's the fact that this blue collar city has reared it's children to love their country enough to serve it in times of war that makes me so proud of my heritage and the Steeler's.
It's Christmas time and the catalogs are coming thick and fast. Without exception, every one that sells pro football memorabilia, uses the Steelers as their examples of what's for sale. They're America's Team all right.
Last night, they did their fans proud. They played brilliantly. And they had fun. Who will ever forget the fellow trying to "stick" the ball to the goalpost and scaring the guard half out of her wits when he grabbed her jacket before falling to the ground? He was all twinkling eyes and huge grin. Good for him. I'm only sorry I was flipping channels when ads came on and didn't get to see him to his full punt return to touchdown. I've never seen one and missed it last night. I just caught the last 10 yards.
Will they be able to earn a wild card spot? Who knows? Even if they don't, they're still great. Of course, when I'm around my granddaughter, I have to be careful what I say. She's a Jaguars fan. Good for her. She's lived most of her life in Jacksonville and has every reason to be loyal to her team. But, as many moves as we've made, it's still the Steelers for me.
Friday, December 4, 2015
Precious Memory
In chapel ysterday morning, we watched more of a video about the children of WWII vets. One son took his son to Iwo Jima to help the boy understand the sacrifice his grandfather made on his behalf.
It brought back a memory of my own. He was my great uncle, but he reared my mother as his own daughter because my grandmother died when Mom was seven years old. If you've read my book, you'll see the story in there. No, I was not being imaginative, it actually happened.
We called him "Pop." It's gratifying to have such a wonderful memory of a man who believed deeply in God and who lived his life to honor God. My granddaughter seems to long for the times I grew up in. Her comparison with today's world always leaves her longing for more honest times. Those days were more honest, more simple, more trustworthy, more noble.....you get the picture. I just wish there were some way my granddaughter could do more than long for days like that.
On the day I remember so vividly, it's like it happened yesterday. My cousin and I were playing some game when we come into the dining room and spotted Pop at his usual spot, kneeling in front of his rocking chair, praying. How that man prayed. Even though I was only nine and my cousin four, I still remember how he would sit in the rocker and read his Bible in a hoarse whisper. Then, he'd kneel in front of his rocker and pray in that same hoarse whisper. No matter what activity swirled throughout the rest of that large, old farmhouse, Pop would read his Bible and pray first thing every morning. I firmly believe that's why I grew up in a sweeter, simpler, nobler, safer, more honest, more trustworthy time. I seriously doubt Pop was the only man in America praying like that.
Hey, New York newspaper, maybe God isn't fixing this because America has stopped praying. Or as James says, maybe we Americans are praying for the wrong things and the wrong reasons. Do a paradigm shift in your thinking. Couldn't hurt and it might help. But, I digress.
Often, Pop would lift his hand and face toward heaven as he prayed, emphasizing his adoration or supplication. Whichever it was, I do not know. When Pop prayed, we left him alone to be with the Lord as a matter of respect.
Except my four year old cousin, Pop's only grandson. That mischievous four year old turned to me and said, "Let's get a horsey ride on Grandpa!"
"No! He's praying!" was my horrified response.
"He won't care. I do it all the time," came his reply as he left me to watch in shock. He hopped his grandpa's back, riding him with all the glee and fervor only a rambunctious four old could muster.
Pop never acknowledges his grandson in anyway. He continued to pray with a fervor that matched his grandson's. He was no different that any other day I witnessed his time of prayer. My cousin actually tired before Pop did. We trailed off to other adventures while Pop remained on his knees. Thanks, Pop you taught me a lot.
It brought back a memory of my own. He was my great uncle, but he reared my mother as his own daughter because my grandmother died when Mom was seven years old. If you've read my book, you'll see the story in there. No, I was not being imaginative, it actually happened.
We called him "Pop." It's gratifying to have such a wonderful memory of a man who believed deeply in God and who lived his life to honor God. My granddaughter seems to long for the times I grew up in. Her comparison with today's world always leaves her longing for more honest times. Those days were more honest, more simple, more trustworthy, more noble.....you get the picture. I just wish there were some way my granddaughter could do more than long for days like that.
On the day I remember so vividly, it's like it happened yesterday. My cousin and I were playing some game when we come into the dining room and spotted Pop at his usual spot, kneeling in front of his rocking chair, praying. How that man prayed. Even though I was only nine and my cousin four, I still remember how he would sit in the rocker and read his Bible in a hoarse whisper. Then, he'd kneel in front of his rocker and pray in that same hoarse whisper. No matter what activity swirled throughout the rest of that large, old farmhouse, Pop would read his Bible and pray first thing every morning. I firmly believe that's why I grew up in a sweeter, simpler, nobler, safer, more honest, more trustworthy time. I seriously doubt Pop was the only man in America praying like that.
Hey, New York newspaper, maybe God isn't fixing this because America has stopped praying. Or as James says, maybe we Americans are praying for the wrong things and the wrong reasons. Do a paradigm shift in your thinking. Couldn't hurt and it might help. But, I digress.
Often, Pop would lift his hand and face toward heaven as he prayed, emphasizing his adoration or supplication. Whichever it was, I do not know. When Pop prayed, we left him alone to be with the Lord as a matter of respect.
Except my four year old cousin, Pop's only grandson. That mischievous four year old turned to me and said, "Let's get a horsey ride on Grandpa!"
"No! He's praying!" was my horrified response.
"He won't care. I do it all the time," came his reply as he left me to watch in shock. He hopped his grandpa's back, riding him with all the glee and fervor only a rambunctious four old could muster.
Pop never acknowledges his grandson in anyway. He continued to pray with a fervor that matched his grandson's. He was no different that any other day I witnessed his time of prayer. My cousin actually tired before Pop did. We trailed off to other adventures while Pop remained on his knees. Thanks, Pop you taught me a lot.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Why?
My friend and I were discussing the state of the world the other day-again. It's either that or moan about our weight gain. We were discussing the Muslim terrorists. It's disturbing to know they're out there and we don't know who they are, where they are, or when they'll strike.
Thankfully, letters from missionaries do far more than warn about the dangers of extremists-from any belief system. In the Middle East, Muslims are turning to Jesus Christ in droves. My friend mentioned that in America, so many are turning away from the church and turning to Islam. She was wondering why.
I may have found the answer in a biography of Brother Andrew. Most of the boys' essays at school are based on biographies of missionaries. Each year, I get to reread many of those biographies in order to be sure the boys are accurate in what they write. Far, far above and beyond that, I am blessed and humbled by reading about the men and women who have suffered so much to carry the Gospel of Jesus Christ to a lost and dying world.
Brother Andrew is one of those biographies. The man is amazing. In his 80's, he climbs a mountain every night and throws Bibles across the border into a country where he probably is no longer welcome. He started smuggling Bibles into communist countries in 1955. He had no backing, no agency, he just wen, asking God to blind the eyes of the border guards to his literature and Bibles. Wherever he went, he would start his message by saying he was bringing greetings from fellow Christians in the Netherlands, the country of his birth.
Those words were always a comfort to the people hearing that there were believers in the free world who were praying for them and cared about them. As communism fell, the smuggling was no longer necessary in some countries, but his ministry still grew exponentially. Even though it's no longer necessary to smuggle Bible into some of those counties like he did 50 years ago, there are needy people who would do anything to get their hands on a Bible. Each country he worked in eventually had tremendous changes, most for the best. In fact, I firmly believe those droves of new Christians in the Middle East are the payoff for the Bibles he smuggled into those countries 15-20 years ago. Unless you're plugged into missions, you may not realize how God is working in spite of what the media tells you about the horrors going on in the world.
Even the Middle East. It was Brother Andrew's words about Islam that got my attention this morning and is the reason for today's subject. "'There is a lot to admire in Islam,"' he says. "'You have to pay attention to a religion with this kind of draw."' Part of its appeal, he explains, is the close community support it offers. It claims to be the answer to economic and social problems.[He didn't say it was, he said it claims.] It emphasizes wholesome living, drug-free, alcohol-free, prayer centered communities that hold up the father as the responsible head of that family.
Those are the very standards America upheld until a few decades ago. When we were an agrarian society, families had no choice but to work together. Donald Trump's children say that's one reason they're close to their dad. For decades, men have been ignored, challenged, mocked, ridiculed, and especially in the black community, have just plain checked out. Just this morning there was an ad, suggesting men be good fathers. How I praise God for that ad!
We're also a mobile society today. Grandma often lives hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away. True, we have social media that makes connections possible anytime, anywhere, but it's not the same. Grandma can't see children's behavior and warn them about the danger they're in. Psychologists are now saying social media is causing all sorts of difficulties. Even my granddaughter complained that you can't get that close connection in social media like you can face to face. When I was growing up, lawsuits were non-existent. In fact, if a kid did something wrong, the neighbor who saw it was thanked for correcting the matter post haste. America is paying for it's departure from close community support in ways it never dreamed.
Economically, my high school teachers often talked about the rise and fall of communism being directly related to economics. As long as America was sound economically, communism couldn't really get a strong following. And it's strongest following occurred during the 1930's-the Depression. Maybe that's why Islam has such a strong following today. People are hurting financially and looking for answers. I'm not saying Islam has it, but they claim it and some people don't dig too deep.
The insistence of taking pleasure in things that are detrimental to our health is bound to catch up with us one of these days. I would venture to guess that many more people die from alcohol related accidents or drug overdoses than we're losing men and women in our armed forces. If drugs are such a wonderful pleasure, why are our suicide rate so high among teenagers? If indiscriminate sex is so much fun, why do 15 year olds have to get drunk to "enjoy" it?
The lack of prayer indicates a lack of belief in a power greater than self. America loves to tout "I can do anything I want so long as I believe in myself." Really? If that were the case, I doubt I'd have allowed our condo to be destroyed in Hurricane Frances. The engine wouldn't have blown one week after we had it rebuilt and the day after I had finally paid off the VISA bill. We'd have a lot more doctors, lawyers, movie stars and rock stars if all that was required was to work hard and believe in ourselves. I'd be a best-selling author by now! Not every dream comes true, so why put all my faith in me and my dreams? There is a Higher Power. His Name is God, the I AM, Jesus Christ, Creator, Sustainer, Savior, Sanctifier, Healer, Coming King, Prince of Peace, Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, Emmanuel, Lover of my soul. You get my drift.
Finally, and it's a biggie. Fathers are considered the responsible head of the family. Kids in America learn early that they have to fend for themselves. Some manage. Most don't. Instead, they turn to their peers, to drugs, to big names who have more problems than the kids do.
If Islam is so great, why be upset that it's growing? Brother Andrew tells people he's not against anything. He's for Jesus Christ. American Christians and churches could learn a lot from him. Opposing Islam is not working. We need to become a missionary nation like we were right after WWII. We were the greatest nation in the world. Why? Because we were telling the world about Jesus Christ. His love for us is the greatest message in the world, bar none. Jesus told us to love our enemies. The missionary letters I read from persecuted brothers and sisters in Christ in other nations all say they don't hate their persecutors, they love them and forgive them. Maybe it's time we stopped patting ourselves on the back and start taking some lessons from those who are succeeding where we are failing.
Having said all that, I am NOT promoting Islam. Even if it were a wonderful as it claims in just those 4 areas, Jesus said He was the way, the truth, and the life. NO ONE comes to the Father, EXCEPT by Him. Therein lies the difference between all religions and true Christianity. The life here on earth may be ideal, but what about eternity?
It is disappointing that Muslims who are not extremists are not doing anything to stop the takeover of their religion. I would imagine it's fear. Just like it's fear when someone is convinced they need to follow the dictates of a denomination or spiritual leader instead of the Lord. Jesus said to love our enemies. The Bible says perfect love casts out fear. I preach because I love.
Thankfully, letters from missionaries do far more than warn about the dangers of extremists-from any belief system. In the Middle East, Muslims are turning to Jesus Christ in droves. My friend mentioned that in America, so many are turning away from the church and turning to Islam. She was wondering why.
I may have found the answer in a biography of Brother Andrew. Most of the boys' essays at school are based on biographies of missionaries. Each year, I get to reread many of those biographies in order to be sure the boys are accurate in what they write. Far, far above and beyond that, I am blessed and humbled by reading about the men and women who have suffered so much to carry the Gospel of Jesus Christ to a lost and dying world.
Brother Andrew is one of those biographies. The man is amazing. In his 80's, he climbs a mountain every night and throws Bibles across the border into a country where he probably is no longer welcome. He started smuggling Bibles into communist countries in 1955. He had no backing, no agency, he just wen, asking God to blind the eyes of the border guards to his literature and Bibles. Wherever he went, he would start his message by saying he was bringing greetings from fellow Christians in the Netherlands, the country of his birth.
Those words were always a comfort to the people hearing that there were believers in the free world who were praying for them and cared about them. As communism fell, the smuggling was no longer necessary in some countries, but his ministry still grew exponentially. Even though it's no longer necessary to smuggle Bible into some of those counties like he did 50 years ago, there are needy people who would do anything to get their hands on a Bible. Each country he worked in eventually had tremendous changes, most for the best. In fact, I firmly believe those droves of new Christians in the Middle East are the payoff for the Bibles he smuggled into those countries 15-20 years ago. Unless you're plugged into missions, you may not realize how God is working in spite of what the media tells you about the horrors going on in the world.
Even the Middle East. It was Brother Andrew's words about Islam that got my attention this morning and is the reason for today's subject. "'There is a lot to admire in Islam,"' he says. "'You have to pay attention to a religion with this kind of draw."' Part of its appeal, he explains, is the close community support it offers. It claims to be the answer to economic and social problems.[He didn't say it was, he said it claims.] It emphasizes wholesome living, drug-free, alcohol-free, prayer centered communities that hold up the father as the responsible head of that family.
Those are the very standards America upheld until a few decades ago. When we were an agrarian society, families had no choice but to work together. Donald Trump's children say that's one reason they're close to their dad. For decades, men have been ignored, challenged, mocked, ridiculed, and especially in the black community, have just plain checked out. Just this morning there was an ad, suggesting men be good fathers. How I praise God for that ad!
We're also a mobile society today. Grandma often lives hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away. True, we have social media that makes connections possible anytime, anywhere, but it's not the same. Grandma can't see children's behavior and warn them about the danger they're in. Psychologists are now saying social media is causing all sorts of difficulties. Even my granddaughter complained that you can't get that close connection in social media like you can face to face. When I was growing up, lawsuits were non-existent. In fact, if a kid did something wrong, the neighbor who saw it was thanked for correcting the matter post haste. America is paying for it's departure from close community support in ways it never dreamed.
Economically, my high school teachers often talked about the rise and fall of communism being directly related to economics. As long as America was sound economically, communism couldn't really get a strong following. And it's strongest following occurred during the 1930's-the Depression. Maybe that's why Islam has such a strong following today. People are hurting financially and looking for answers. I'm not saying Islam has it, but they claim it and some people don't dig too deep.
The insistence of taking pleasure in things that are detrimental to our health is bound to catch up with us one of these days. I would venture to guess that many more people die from alcohol related accidents or drug overdoses than we're losing men and women in our armed forces. If drugs are such a wonderful pleasure, why are our suicide rate so high among teenagers? If indiscriminate sex is so much fun, why do 15 year olds have to get drunk to "enjoy" it?
The lack of prayer indicates a lack of belief in a power greater than self. America loves to tout "I can do anything I want so long as I believe in myself." Really? If that were the case, I doubt I'd have allowed our condo to be destroyed in Hurricane Frances. The engine wouldn't have blown one week after we had it rebuilt and the day after I had finally paid off the VISA bill. We'd have a lot more doctors, lawyers, movie stars and rock stars if all that was required was to work hard and believe in ourselves. I'd be a best-selling author by now! Not every dream comes true, so why put all my faith in me and my dreams? There is a Higher Power. His Name is God, the I AM, Jesus Christ, Creator, Sustainer, Savior, Sanctifier, Healer, Coming King, Prince of Peace, Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, Emmanuel, Lover of my soul. You get my drift.
Finally, and it's a biggie. Fathers are considered the responsible head of the family. Kids in America learn early that they have to fend for themselves. Some manage. Most don't. Instead, they turn to their peers, to drugs, to big names who have more problems than the kids do.
If Islam is so great, why be upset that it's growing? Brother Andrew tells people he's not against anything. He's for Jesus Christ. American Christians and churches could learn a lot from him. Opposing Islam is not working. We need to become a missionary nation like we were right after WWII. We were the greatest nation in the world. Why? Because we were telling the world about Jesus Christ. His love for us is the greatest message in the world, bar none. Jesus told us to love our enemies. The missionary letters I read from persecuted brothers and sisters in Christ in other nations all say they don't hate their persecutors, they love them and forgive them. Maybe it's time we stopped patting ourselves on the back and start taking some lessons from those who are succeeding where we are failing.
Having said all that, I am NOT promoting Islam. Even if it were a wonderful as it claims in just those 4 areas, Jesus said He was the way, the truth, and the life. NO ONE comes to the Father, EXCEPT by Him. Therein lies the difference between all religions and true Christianity. The life here on earth may be ideal, but what about eternity?
It is disappointing that Muslims who are not extremists are not doing anything to stop the takeover of their religion. I would imagine it's fear. Just like it's fear when someone is convinced they need to follow the dictates of a denomination or spiritual leader instead of the Lord. Jesus said to love our enemies. The Bible says perfect love casts out fear. I preach because I love.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Context is King
Taking words and actions out of context is a common thing in this day and age. Even Scripture can be taken out of context. It's true the Bible says "there is no God." However, in context, it says, "The fool in his heart says there is no God." Putting something in context provides a whole different meaning. God is, but the fool refuses to acknowledge Him.
Politics and the media seem to be taking things out of context as an art form these days. I'm referring to Trump again. It seems as though I begin to admire him for something and then there's that mouth. I watched in amazement and admiration the other day as his son spoke about the kind of dad Mr. Trump has been to him and his siblings. I have to say I admire Trump for doing such a good job with his children.
It's also interesting to note that Trump never sees the need to defend himself as a dad. He doesn't need to. However, business decisions and politics are another story. His lack of confidence is showing. One of those ways is to when he takes the word of others out of context, but God help the person who does it to him. Did you see how upset he got and how he accused a woman of being a Bush plant when she asked him an uncomfortable question at a meeting? Personally, I thought that was bullying on his part. There was no way she could defend herself against The Donald. However, we hear him defending himself and his context for days on every media outlet that will have him on their programs.
Then, yesterday, he's on FNC running down George Bush-but saying he was't. Context again. Mr. Trump said 9/11 would never have happened on his watch. Really. Then why did he not see those bankruptcies coming? Not once, but four times. He insists he was not putting Bush down by saying we were not kept safe. Here's where the context comes in. In my mind, Jeb Bush defends his brother for keeping us safe after 9/11. There's no argument there. Plot after plot was foiled and we were not attacked again. Since Bush left office, our safety and security grows weaker by the minute. We've already had terrorist attacks in this country, regardless what Obama says. Remember Ft. Hood? Candidate Trump refuses to see Jeb's comments in the way they were intended. Trump says we were not kept safe ON 9/11 and it would not have happened on his watch.
A great deal of context loss may come from the fact that we have different perspectives. I've often been misquoted. Something I've said has been heard differently by someone who has a totally different perspective. The Bible says where words are many, sin is not absent. Perhaps we all need to slow down, listen more carefully, ask about the speaker's context, give them more benefit of the doubt, and disagree more politely. Personally, I'm tired of our politicians running for office to prove themselves popular. I want a leader who doesn't have to consistently explain himself. If he's or she's a good leader, he or she won't have to.
Politics and the media seem to be taking things out of context as an art form these days. I'm referring to Trump again. It seems as though I begin to admire him for something and then there's that mouth. I watched in amazement and admiration the other day as his son spoke about the kind of dad Mr. Trump has been to him and his siblings. I have to say I admire Trump for doing such a good job with his children.
It's also interesting to note that Trump never sees the need to defend himself as a dad. He doesn't need to. However, business decisions and politics are another story. His lack of confidence is showing. One of those ways is to when he takes the word of others out of context, but God help the person who does it to him. Did you see how upset he got and how he accused a woman of being a Bush plant when she asked him an uncomfortable question at a meeting? Personally, I thought that was bullying on his part. There was no way she could defend herself against The Donald. However, we hear him defending himself and his context for days on every media outlet that will have him on their programs.
Then, yesterday, he's on FNC running down George Bush-but saying he was't. Context again. Mr. Trump said 9/11 would never have happened on his watch. Really. Then why did he not see those bankruptcies coming? Not once, but four times. He insists he was not putting Bush down by saying we were not kept safe. Here's where the context comes in. In my mind, Jeb Bush defends his brother for keeping us safe after 9/11. There's no argument there. Plot after plot was foiled and we were not attacked again. Since Bush left office, our safety and security grows weaker by the minute. We've already had terrorist attacks in this country, regardless what Obama says. Remember Ft. Hood? Candidate Trump refuses to see Jeb's comments in the way they were intended. Trump says we were not kept safe ON 9/11 and it would not have happened on his watch.
A great deal of context loss may come from the fact that we have different perspectives. I've often been misquoted. Something I've said has been heard differently by someone who has a totally different perspective. The Bible says where words are many, sin is not absent. Perhaps we all need to slow down, listen more carefully, ask about the speaker's context, give them more benefit of the doubt, and disagree more politely. Personally, I'm tired of our politicians running for office to prove themselves popular. I want a leader who doesn't have to consistently explain himself. If he's or she's a good leader, he or she won't have to.
Monday, October 19, 2015
80 (cont.)
How can I describe the man I've been married to for 52 years in a few short paragraphs? Therefore, I continue. We met at a farm cow pond outside my home town. That farm no longer exists. It's been made into a park. Bob later said he decided the instant he saw me I would be the mother of his children. Maybe his wife. He was a Californian. His standards were skewed.
We'd been dating 3 1/2 weeks when he proposed, but he still wanted me to finish college. He said it would be a real feather in his cap to be a soldier who's wife had a college education. At the time, he was a high school drop out. Eventually, he was able to get his GED and an AA. College meant a lot more back then than it does today. However, he was transferred to El Paso, Texas, shortly after our engagement and my dad was out of work while the mill went on strike. I came home from college, never expecting to return.
Several months later, I followed him to El Paso, and we were married by a chaplain on Ft. Bliss. Thus began out adventures of travel and becoming one as Scripture mandates. I always wanted to travel and being married to a soldier made travel a high priority. We went from Ft. Bliss, Texas; to Butzbach, Germany; back to Ft. Bliss; to Ft. Huachuca, Arizona; to New Jersey; to Colorado; to Pennsylvania, back to Ft. Huachuca; to Ft. Shafter, Hawaii; to Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri where he retired from an honorable career with the United States Army. In between those major moves were several smaller, temporary moves. Even after the army, we had several more. Many of the families we knew in the service would separate for long periods of time for convenience' sake. Bob said, "We're family. We go together." I appreciate that. At times it was highly inconvenient, but it's not easy being both mother and father. The boys needed their dad and I needed my husband.
I admire my husband for his courage. Rickets and broken legs weren't the only things he's suffered in his life. In Hawaii, his ulcer perforated. He continued to work for 8 months with that perforated ulcer now forcing the pancreas to close the open sore, damaging the pancreas in an effort to keep the intestine from spewing its contents into the abdominal cavity. The doctor who performed the surgery was literally in a state of shock when he came out of surgery. "I don't know how he stood the pain." I had a few choice words (no swearing) but he understood what I thought of the military doctors who'd mocked him and accused him of malingering. To prove them wrong, Bob continued to work.
In Chicago, he had a ruptured diverticulum. Again he endured excruciating pain for weeks. I finally had the opportunity to return to college to finish my degree and he suffered in silence, concerned that he was dying of cancer, but determined to keep me going to school with only school on my mind. Little did he know! My dad had passed away the previous December and the plan was that I would visit my mother during Spring break. Fat chance. By now, he had lost so much weight, he was literally skin and bones. I cancelled my trip and he had surgery the Monday after Easter. The doctor again was amazed. "He should have been popped out like he was 9 months pregnant, able to keep nothing down, and running a sky high temperature, but he had no symptoms." He also said it would take at least 6 weeks for Bob to be able to return to work. He was back in 3.
Bob's taught me a lot over the years regarding work. As NCOIC of his department, he'd not be required to be at work until 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning, but he'd be there by 5:30. All his paper work would be completed without the interruptions he knew would be the order of the day once the rest of the hospital was up and running. When he was stationed in Ft. Leonard Wood, our home was 30 miles away, meaning he'd have to leave very early in the morning to be at work by 5:30. Even in Chicago, as a civilian, he'd leave for work at the 100+ year old Cook County Hospital. Not only was the hospital old, nurses and doctors were as incompetent on machinery as I am. "There's only one way to put the paper in the machine, but they'd get it in backwards and wonder why the machine didn't work." He'd often be called out to fix a non-functioning piece of equipment, only to find out it wasn't plugged in. That's the sort of things he faced all day, so he wanted his paperwork out of the way first. Staying late was not his thing. He firmly believed in doing the job and going home, even if it meant going to work very early.
His sense of humor has not only kept us laughing, but it's been his way of expressing tenderness. Men his age aren't supposed to have feelings. My first pregnancy was difficult. I was so sick, I lost 20 pounds in the first three months. Although he hated shopping, he did that particular Sunday that was very rough for me. It was Mother's Day. He walked into our tiny apartment, carrying a cake. "You can only eat 1/3 of it because you're only 1/3 of a mother."
When the priest admonished the bride and groom at their wedding that the Bible says the husband is to be like Christ, Bob whispered, "Big deal. You get to go home and do dishes for me. I get to go out and die for you!"
The day he took a 15 mph exit ramp on 2 wheels, he asked me if I was scared. "Me, too," he said at he patted my let. When he forgot to set the brakes on the ATV and it headed for the canyon, leaving us stranded in the wilderness, he asked if I'd had my adrenaline fix for the day after we got it stopped before disaster happened.
Bless his heart, he's been with me through thick and thin. Literally. Like I said, when he quit smoking, it was over. Not so for me with food. He once said he'd love me no matter what I weighed. I'm grateful for that, but won't stop trying to make him proud of me. I'm so very proud of him.
We'd been dating 3 1/2 weeks when he proposed, but he still wanted me to finish college. He said it would be a real feather in his cap to be a soldier who's wife had a college education. At the time, he was a high school drop out. Eventually, he was able to get his GED and an AA. College meant a lot more back then than it does today. However, he was transferred to El Paso, Texas, shortly after our engagement and my dad was out of work while the mill went on strike. I came home from college, never expecting to return.
Several months later, I followed him to El Paso, and we were married by a chaplain on Ft. Bliss. Thus began out adventures of travel and becoming one as Scripture mandates. I always wanted to travel and being married to a soldier made travel a high priority. We went from Ft. Bliss, Texas; to Butzbach, Germany; back to Ft. Bliss; to Ft. Huachuca, Arizona; to New Jersey; to Colorado; to Pennsylvania, back to Ft. Huachuca; to Ft. Shafter, Hawaii; to Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri where he retired from an honorable career with the United States Army. In between those major moves were several smaller, temporary moves. Even after the army, we had several more. Many of the families we knew in the service would separate for long periods of time for convenience' sake. Bob said, "We're family. We go together." I appreciate that. At times it was highly inconvenient, but it's not easy being both mother and father. The boys needed their dad and I needed my husband.
I admire my husband for his courage. Rickets and broken legs weren't the only things he's suffered in his life. In Hawaii, his ulcer perforated. He continued to work for 8 months with that perforated ulcer now forcing the pancreas to close the open sore, damaging the pancreas in an effort to keep the intestine from spewing its contents into the abdominal cavity. The doctor who performed the surgery was literally in a state of shock when he came out of surgery. "I don't know how he stood the pain." I had a few choice words (no swearing) but he understood what I thought of the military doctors who'd mocked him and accused him of malingering. To prove them wrong, Bob continued to work.
In Chicago, he had a ruptured diverticulum. Again he endured excruciating pain for weeks. I finally had the opportunity to return to college to finish my degree and he suffered in silence, concerned that he was dying of cancer, but determined to keep me going to school with only school on my mind. Little did he know! My dad had passed away the previous December and the plan was that I would visit my mother during Spring break. Fat chance. By now, he had lost so much weight, he was literally skin and bones. I cancelled my trip and he had surgery the Monday after Easter. The doctor again was amazed. "He should have been popped out like he was 9 months pregnant, able to keep nothing down, and running a sky high temperature, but he had no symptoms." He also said it would take at least 6 weeks for Bob to be able to return to work. He was back in 3.
Bob's taught me a lot over the years regarding work. As NCOIC of his department, he'd not be required to be at work until 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning, but he'd be there by 5:30. All his paper work would be completed without the interruptions he knew would be the order of the day once the rest of the hospital was up and running. When he was stationed in Ft. Leonard Wood, our home was 30 miles away, meaning he'd have to leave very early in the morning to be at work by 5:30. Even in Chicago, as a civilian, he'd leave for work at the 100+ year old Cook County Hospital. Not only was the hospital old, nurses and doctors were as incompetent on machinery as I am. "There's only one way to put the paper in the machine, but they'd get it in backwards and wonder why the machine didn't work." He'd often be called out to fix a non-functioning piece of equipment, only to find out it wasn't plugged in. That's the sort of things he faced all day, so he wanted his paperwork out of the way first. Staying late was not his thing. He firmly believed in doing the job and going home, even if it meant going to work very early.
His sense of humor has not only kept us laughing, but it's been his way of expressing tenderness. Men his age aren't supposed to have feelings. My first pregnancy was difficult. I was so sick, I lost 20 pounds in the first three months. Although he hated shopping, he did that particular Sunday that was very rough for me. It was Mother's Day. He walked into our tiny apartment, carrying a cake. "You can only eat 1/3 of it because you're only 1/3 of a mother."
When the priest admonished the bride and groom at their wedding that the Bible says the husband is to be like Christ, Bob whispered, "Big deal. You get to go home and do dishes for me. I get to go out and die for you!"
The day he took a 15 mph exit ramp on 2 wheels, he asked me if I was scared. "Me, too," he said at he patted my let. When he forgot to set the brakes on the ATV and it headed for the canyon, leaving us stranded in the wilderness, he asked if I'd had my adrenaline fix for the day after we got it stopped before disaster happened.
Bless his heart, he's been with me through thick and thin. Literally. Like I said, when he quit smoking, it was over. Not so for me with food. He once said he'd love me no matter what I weighed. I'm grateful for that, but won't stop trying to make him proud of me. I'm so very proud of him.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
80!
If others don't get tired of hearing me talking about how quickly time goes, I get tired of saying it. But, it's true. My husband will be 80 on Wednesday! Our eldest son and his wife came down from Jacksonville yesterday, took us out to lunch and visited with us for several hours. My daughter-in-law and I had been planning it for weeks. It was to be a surprise and it was. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a secret? Especially from him. He's very astute.
There was arranging for the birthday cake and making a reservation for lunch at Mulligan's, a very popular restaurant on the river. There were the phone conversations back and forth with my daughter-in-law without Dad knowing. I couldn't even tell people here at the ranch for fear someone would spill the beans!
We pulled it off. He was honored that his son would think of him and be willing to drive 3 hours just to spend time with him. Our daughter-in-law outdid herself with his gift as well. She'd been begging me to give her ideas for his gift, but I'm as clueless as anyone else on what wouldmake him happy. She bought him a basket full of junk food! Cheetos, jumbo cashews, chocolate covered cashews, candy coated cashews, pumpkin flavored candied popcorn, candy corn mixed with raisins and peanuts, and a whole lot more! Guess what we had for supper last night.
My husband of nearly 52 years does not look 80, does not act 80, and doesn't seems to feel 80. I hope it's not because our vision of 80 is what 80 looked like when we were still impressionable youth. As a teenager, I thought 25 was old! I hope we're not fooling ourselves. A friend remarked that he's still active and that makes a huge difference.
Sheila, our dog, gets a lot of credit for that. He walks her, plays with her, feeds her, has been to training with her. Then, too, he feeds the cows and polices the grounds which gets him outside and busy doing things that give him a sense of accomplishment.
He amazes himself that he's lived this long. Born with rickets, his legs had to be broken several times in order to straighten them. If they hadn't done that, his legs would have continued to bow outward, making it impossible for him to walk. At the time, the family lived in Oklahoma. The university hospital that did the surgeries was hours away from home. The family was poor. His aunt and mother would take him to the hospital, drop him off and come back to pick him up 6 weeks later. He was so young he didn't remember his own mother. His aunt said he'd call her "The Woman." His courage as an 18 month old earned him the honor of being the orthopaedic department's poster child.
The fact that he could only dog paddle did not deter him from jumping off railroad trestles into the Neosho River a few year later as a young boy. Nor did it excuse him from picking cotton as a four year old when the family was forced to become migrant farmers. Yes, he had a rough growing up, but it turned him into a fine man, the man who asked me to marry him almost 52 years ago.
He became an airplane mechanic and thought he should also be able to pilot those planes he fixed, so he did. In Hawaii, he couldn't wait to become a scuba diver. At the time, he was a smoker and his first attempt to pass the swim test nearly killed him. When reminded of it, he'd grumble that was only because he was trying to keep up with his competitive swimmer son who swam rings around him. He finally managed and it was there in the beautiful waters of Hawaii he first began to truly understand there is a Creator God. No human could possibly create what he saw, nor could it "just happen." It was just too magnificent. He also finally saw the damage cigarettes were doing to his lungs and gave it up. "Don't buy any more cigarettes for me until I say so," he told me one day in January of 1979.
That's one of the things I so admire about him. If he says he'll do it, he will. Oh, that I could do that with food! Another thing I admire about him is his compassion for children and hurting people. When the 8 month old daughter of friends died, he was crushed. He'd prayed for that child from the time we learned of the pregnancy until she died. At the funeral home, he couldn't approach the casket. He sat in the corner and cried.
He was escort for a P.O.W. returning from Viet Nam in 1973. Finances were tight and I'd just gotten a job at Sears and our oldest son had just broken his leg in the bone growth area, meaning he had to stay off it for the entire time the cast was on. An escort was almost a slave. He was required to be there when the man got out of bed in the morning, when he went to bed at night, and all times in between. Very wisely, my husband simply incorporated him into our family. He'd never been to a movie. I got a woman I worked with to be a blind date for him and we double dated at the movies. He brought him home for supper. He'd never done any kind of work around the house. Bob taught him how to use a lawn mower. We took him bowling. Anything to bring him up to speed after the 4 1/2 years he'd spent in the Hanoi Hilton. Without sacrificing his family.
After 52 years, he can still make me laugh. It may well be the glue that's held our marriage together. I have a sober, serious nature and it takes effort to make me laugh, but he does it. My favorite pictures of him are him playing with his children and grand children. I have such fond memories of our granddaughter sitting on his lap, watching television. Her eyes would be filled with sleep, her hair tangled and her nightie rumpled, but she'd snuggle up in the recliner with her grandpa and watch cartoons or "The Andy Griffith Show." What grown man wants to watch cartoons or reruns of "The Andy Griffith Show"?
In spite of the rough start, he's had a good life. Perhaps even because of it. He learned to roll with the punches. He learned to take risks and didn't blame others if they didn't work out. What a man! Happy Birthday, man of my dreams!
There was arranging for the birthday cake and making a reservation for lunch at Mulligan's, a very popular restaurant on the river. There were the phone conversations back and forth with my daughter-in-law without Dad knowing. I couldn't even tell people here at the ranch for fear someone would spill the beans!
We pulled it off. He was honored that his son would think of him and be willing to drive 3 hours just to spend time with him. Our daughter-in-law outdid herself with his gift as well. She'd been begging me to give her ideas for his gift, but I'm as clueless as anyone else on what wouldmake him happy. She bought him a basket full of junk food! Cheetos, jumbo cashews, chocolate covered cashews, candy coated cashews, pumpkin flavored candied popcorn, candy corn mixed with raisins and peanuts, and a whole lot more! Guess what we had for supper last night.
My husband of nearly 52 years does not look 80, does not act 80, and doesn't seems to feel 80. I hope it's not because our vision of 80 is what 80 looked like when we were still impressionable youth. As a teenager, I thought 25 was old! I hope we're not fooling ourselves. A friend remarked that he's still active and that makes a huge difference.
Sheila, our dog, gets a lot of credit for that. He walks her, plays with her, feeds her, has been to training with her. Then, too, he feeds the cows and polices the grounds which gets him outside and busy doing things that give him a sense of accomplishment.
He amazes himself that he's lived this long. Born with rickets, his legs had to be broken several times in order to straighten them. If they hadn't done that, his legs would have continued to bow outward, making it impossible for him to walk. At the time, the family lived in Oklahoma. The university hospital that did the surgeries was hours away from home. The family was poor. His aunt and mother would take him to the hospital, drop him off and come back to pick him up 6 weeks later. He was so young he didn't remember his own mother. His aunt said he'd call her "The Woman." His courage as an 18 month old earned him the honor of being the orthopaedic department's poster child.
The fact that he could only dog paddle did not deter him from jumping off railroad trestles into the Neosho River a few year later as a young boy. Nor did it excuse him from picking cotton as a four year old when the family was forced to become migrant farmers. Yes, he had a rough growing up, but it turned him into a fine man, the man who asked me to marry him almost 52 years ago.
He became an airplane mechanic and thought he should also be able to pilot those planes he fixed, so he did. In Hawaii, he couldn't wait to become a scuba diver. At the time, he was a smoker and his first attempt to pass the swim test nearly killed him. When reminded of it, he'd grumble that was only because he was trying to keep up with his competitive swimmer son who swam rings around him. He finally managed and it was there in the beautiful waters of Hawaii he first began to truly understand there is a Creator God. No human could possibly create what he saw, nor could it "just happen." It was just too magnificent. He also finally saw the damage cigarettes were doing to his lungs and gave it up. "Don't buy any more cigarettes for me until I say so," he told me one day in January of 1979.
That's one of the things I so admire about him. If he says he'll do it, he will. Oh, that I could do that with food! Another thing I admire about him is his compassion for children and hurting people. When the 8 month old daughter of friends died, he was crushed. He'd prayed for that child from the time we learned of the pregnancy until she died. At the funeral home, he couldn't approach the casket. He sat in the corner and cried.
He was escort for a P.O.W. returning from Viet Nam in 1973. Finances were tight and I'd just gotten a job at Sears and our oldest son had just broken his leg in the bone growth area, meaning he had to stay off it for the entire time the cast was on. An escort was almost a slave. He was required to be there when the man got out of bed in the morning, when he went to bed at night, and all times in between. Very wisely, my husband simply incorporated him into our family. He'd never been to a movie. I got a woman I worked with to be a blind date for him and we double dated at the movies. He brought him home for supper. He'd never done any kind of work around the house. Bob taught him how to use a lawn mower. We took him bowling. Anything to bring him up to speed after the 4 1/2 years he'd spent in the Hanoi Hilton. Without sacrificing his family.
After 52 years, he can still make me laugh. It may well be the glue that's held our marriage together. I have a sober, serious nature and it takes effort to make me laugh, but he does it. My favorite pictures of him are him playing with his children and grand children. I have such fond memories of our granddaughter sitting on his lap, watching television. Her eyes would be filled with sleep, her hair tangled and her nightie rumpled, but she'd snuggle up in the recliner with her grandpa and watch cartoons or "The Andy Griffith Show." What grown man wants to watch cartoons or reruns of "The Andy Griffith Show"?
In spite of the rough start, he's had a good life. Perhaps even because of it. He learned to roll with the punches. He learned to take risks and didn't blame others if they didn't work out. What a man! Happy Birthday, man of my dreams!
Friday, October 16, 2015
What's ahead?
This morning's conversation about a news blurb brought to mind the old hymn, "Am I a soldier of the cross, a follower of the Lamb? And shall I fear to own His cause, or blush to speak His name?" Verse two has run through my mind the most: "Must I be carried to the skies On flowery beds of ease, While others fight to win the prize And sail through bloody seas?"
Apparently, the Obama administration is attempting to do something about "terrorism from the right." Steve Doocy said that would include the religious right. The other two he mentioned, I can't remember. "Constitutionalists" may have been one of the other two.
My friend said she thought I believed in a pre-tribulation Rapture. I do. But, that does NOT mean those who leave this world in the Rapture are going to escape suffering. Can you imagine the Apostle Paul asking how I suffered while I was on earth and the best I could tell him was that I did not become a best-selling author instantly? Down through history, people have suffered for the Name of Jesus Christ. Am I to escape because I'm a law-abiding patriotic American?
That's not to say I look forward to being labeled a terrorist and the accompanying abuse, ridicule, and possible punishment. I've often said I'm God's weakest and whiniest child. I do not enjoy suffering. Hang nails are my idea of major pain. However, Jesus said not to fret about the future. IF anything happens in America like it's happening in other places in the world, not to worry. He will give me the words to say to bring glory to His Name. That's all I ask.
With all that's going on in the world around us, I personally believe it won't be long now. Who would have thought 30 years ago that America would turn on Israel? The Bible says the nations that curse Israel will be cursed. America's asking for it.
Who would have thought that telling others about the love of Jesus would be considered terrorism? Apparently, it's coming.
If it comes, and I will be more surprised if it doesn't, I ask that the Lord keep me faithful. Let me go out with a smile on my face and a song on my lips. In Islamic countries, Muslims are turning to Jesus Christ in droves. Many are experiencing visions. Research about those visions are leading them to Christ.
Down through the ages, the suffering church has always been the strongest church, although rarely the largest. In the 1960's, the Congo was rife with violence, much of it against the church. A missionary from there said the church was reduced in size by half, but oh, the strength and the faith of that smaller church!
On the other hand, Corrie ten Boom said that as soon as the Nazi boots invaded the Netherlands, the churches were full. People tend to turn to the Lord in a crisis. Remember Congress on the Capitol steps singing, "God Bless America"? I guess those who are attending church for any reason other than truly worshipping the Lord are those who get scared off when trials and tribulations come.
For all that, I go back to what I've been witnessing lately. God is working. His plan is unfolding. We are seeing more Christian movies produced. Miracles are happening in the Sudan, in Togo, in parts of the world we don't even know about. Satan may think he's winning, but he's wrong.
As for me, I want to feel privileged to be in this day and age. God has a purpose for me and I want to fulfill it. No matter what it costs me. He's worth it.
Apparently, the Obama administration is attempting to do something about "terrorism from the right." Steve Doocy said that would include the religious right. The other two he mentioned, I can't remember. "Constitutionalists" may have been one of the other two.
My friend said she thought I believed in a pre-tribulation Rapture. I do. But, that does NOT mean those who leave this world in the Rapture are going to escape suffering. Can you imagine the Apostle Paul asking how I suffered while I was on earth and the best I could tell him was that I did not become a best-selling author instantly? Down through history, people have suffered for the Name of Jesus Christ. Am I to escape because I'm a law-abiding patriotic American?
That's not to say I look forward to being labeled a terrorist and the accompanying abuse, ridicule, and possible punishment. I've often said I'm God's weakest and whiniest child. I do not enjoy suffering. Hang nails are my idea of major pain. However, Jesus said not to fret about the future. IF anything happens in America like it's happening in other places in the world, not to worry. He will give me the words to say to bring glory to His Name. That's all I ask.
With all that's going on in the world around us, I personally believe it won't be long now. Who would have thought 30 years ago that America would turn on Israel? The Bible says the nations that curse Israel will be cursed. America's asking for it.
Who would have thought that telling others about the love of Jesus would be considered terrorism? Apparently, it's coming.
If it comes, and I will be more surprised if it doesn't, I ask that the Lord keep me faithful. Let me go out with a smile on my face and a song on my lips. In Islamic countries, Muslims are turning to Jesus Christ in droves. Many are experiencing visions. Research about those visions are leading them to Christ.
Down through the ages, the suffering church has always been the strongest church, although rarely the largest. In the 1960's, the Congo was rife with violence, much of it against the church. A missionary from there said the church was reduced in size by half, but oh, the strength and the faith of that smaller church!
On the other hand, Corrie ten Boom said that as soon as the Nazi boots invaded the Netherlands, the churches were full. People tend to turn to the Lord in a crisis. Remember Congress on the Capitol steps singing, "God Bless America"? I guess those who are attending church for any reason other than truly worshipping the Lord are those who get scared off when trials and tribulations come.
For all that, I go back to what I've been witnessing lately. God is working. His plan is unfolding. We are seeing more Christian movies produced. Miracles are happening in the Sudan, in Togo, in parts of the world we don't even know about. Satan may think he's winning, but he's wrong.
As for me, I want to feel privileged to be in this day and age. God has a purpose for me and I want to fulfill it. No matter what it costs me. He's worth it.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Look up!
When things get as crazy as they have been of late, Christians sometimes tend to get discouraged, but this morning, I was so very encouraged as I read my Bible and spent time in prayer. Yes, this is a very challenging time, but we serve the same Lord that the Apostle Paul served and our challenges are no where near what he endured.
Sunday, we had a missionary speak and then show slides at church. It's amazing what God is doing in Togo, Africa. Recently, I had a magazine from "Voice of the Martyrs" about the Middle East. People there are suffering greatly, but rejoicing as they do. They are seeing Muslims turn to Christ in droves. God is at work in the Middle East.
Seeing more and more Christian movies come out of Hollywood says God is at work there, too.
All of that reminds me of Pilgrim's Progress. Christian observes a man in a cell, crawling around in the straw and mud, desperately looking for wealth when all the while, an angel hovers over him with a gold crown. All he has to do is look up!
I want to be one of those who looks up. I'm tired of being dragged down by the news and the media twisting it to make it seem even worse than it is. Scare mongering. Regardless what happens, I'm very sure of two things. 1. God put me here on this earth at this time in history for His purposes. 2. He will never leave me. So, why should I be down because things are not working out the way I think they should? Haven't I been saying over and over again that God's way is best? If I say it, I must also believe it.
That's one of the reasons I love reading the letters missionaries send to the church. No matter what's going on in my life, no matter how bleak things look, I am blessed to know that God is at work at some place in the world. He's working here, too. Sometimes we don't see it because He's not working in the way we want Him to.
My boss recently told me about Daniel Webster, who is seeking to be Speaker of the House. Even Fox News is ignoring him. They want Paul Ryan. Trouble is, Paul Ryan doesn't want the job. As I prayed, I realized that if it's the Lord's will that Daniel Webster be the next Speaker of the House, no one will keep him out. It just takes so much off my shoulders to trust the Lord to work things out, instead of campaigning, whining, and generally making a nuisance of myself in front of God and everybody.
It's the same for the elections that are coming up. God will choose our leaders for His purpose and I will continue to look up.
Sunday, we had a missionary speak and then show slides at church. It's amazing what God is doing in Togo, Africa. Recently, I had a magazine from "Voice of the Martyrs" about the Middle East. People there are suffering greatly, but rejoicing as they do. They are seeing Muslims turn to Christ in droves. God is at work in the Middle East.
Seeing more and more Christian movies come out of Hollywood says God is at work there, too.
All of that reminds me of Pilgrim's Progress. Christian observes a man in a cell, crawling around in the straw and mud, desperately looking for wealth when all the while, an angel hovers over him with a gold crown. All he has to do is look up!
I want to be one of those who looks up. I'm tired of being dragged down by the news and the media twisting it to make it seem even worse than it is. Scare mongering. Regardless what happens, I'm very sure of two things. 1. God put me here on this earth at this time in history for His purposes. 2. He will never leave me. So, why should I be down because things are not working out the way I think they should? Haven't I been saying over and over again that God's way is best? If I say it, I must also believe it.
That's one of the reasons I love reading the letters missionaries send to the church. No matter what's going on in my life, no matter how bleak things look, I am blessed to know that God is at work at some place in the world. He's working here, too. Sometimes we don't see it because He's not working in the way we want Him to.
My boss recently told me about Daniel Webster, who is seeking to be Speaker of the House. Even Fox News is ignoring him. They want Paul Ryan. Trouble is, Paul Ryan doesn't want the job. As I prayed, I realized that if it's the Lord's will that Daniel Webster be the next Speaker of the House, no one will keep him out. It just takes so much off my shoulders to trust the Lord to work things out, instead of campaigning, whining, and generally making a nuisance of myself in front of God and everybody.
It's the same for the elections that are coming up. God will choose our leaders for His purpose and I will continue to look up.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Open Windows
The windows of heaven opened on me this past week, especially today, and blessings have fallen too much to keep to myself. I have the privilege of being the missionary liaison at our church, which means that I read all the letters and literature that comes in, report any special situations to the pastor and about once a month, inform the congregation of the work God is doing in some place in the world. That ministry, in of itself, is a tremendous blessing. It opens my eyes to an entirely new perspective regarding the lives of others. Americans often boast about our country being the greatest in the world. All too often, we forget to thank God for what He has done for our country.
This morning, a missionary from the country of Togo spoke in the morning service. He is caring for almost 300 children and has only recently been able to install toilets for 300 children! The pastor asked him about air conditioning in Africa. Of course, there is none. I can't imagine living in a country on the equator without air conditioning. It was hard enough for 9 days in Florida.
Earlier in the week, I had the privilege of listening to a man who is a travels between Chattanooga, Tennessee, and Nicaragua. The pastor announced that since I had been so wonderfully blessed listening to this missionary, I would soon be giving a report on what I learned!
Yesterday was the flea market where I sell my books and am privileged to meet so many wonderful people, one of whom is the daughter of a woman who has sold many Christian books. She put me in contact with her mother, who has, in turn, helped me in many ways to seek other avenues to sell future books. Not only did she like my book, she sent it to her mother, and suggested the possibility that her sister might be willing to do the cover of my next book!
Before the message, there is a time of welcoming where we meet and greet others in the congregation. A woman approached me and said she wanted me to start a woman's group! Wow! Where did that come from? I would love to do that, but only if that's what the Lord wants me to do. But, how honored I am that she would ask me. She said there was too much wisdom among older women in the church that's not be utilized. She's right, but I'm not the only 70+ woman in that church and she chose me!
It was a delight to see Esther, the missionary's daughter there today. She's in college in Mississippi and since I hadn't heard from her, I didn't expect to see her there. But, there she was. Such a beautiful young woman. I'm honored that she allows me to call her a friend. How many 20 year olds want to be friends with great-grandmothers?
Today is one of those Sundays that a dinner is served in the dining hall after church. This happens almost every other Sunday, giving the congregation still more opportunity to bond with each other. There, I spoke with a dear woman who agreed that she very much wanted to be a part of a woman's group. On top of that, she knows a pastor of one of the largest churches in a nearby community. She is trying to open that door so that I can speak to that church! Again, I'm humbled and amazed.
While she and I were talking, another woman and her daughter approached. I stepped back, assuming she wanted to speak with my friend, but she informed me she wanted to talk to me. Her first Sunday at our church after she moved from South Carolina, I spoke about miracles God was working in South Sudan. She contacted her church in South Carolina and they, too, were blessed to hear what God was doing for men and women who are suffering greatly in that part of the world.
It turns out, her daughter is a budding author who is looking for Christian fiction. She bought my book! They, too are wanting a woman's group to be started. When I got home and got online, I was invited to join a group that promotes studying Scripture and applying it to our lives. An ad on the side was for Christian fiction readers and authors. Can't wait to tell my new friends about the Website and to loan her my Jan Karon books.
There's an old chorus that's been running through my mind as I've been writing this.
"The Windows of Heaven Are Open
There's blessing that's falling tonight
There's joy, joy, joy in my heart,
Since Jesus made everything right,
I put off my old tattered garments,
He gave me a robe of pure white,
I'm feasting on heavenly manna
And, that's why I'm happy tonight."
Supposedly, D.L. Moody was so overjoyed at all God was doing in his life, he stepped into a Chicago alley knelt and prayed, "Oh God, stay Your hand lest I perish." I'm beginning to understand what he was talking about. Thank You, Lord. Your amazing grace is overwhelming. I can do no more than say, "thanks."
This morning, a missionary from the country of Togo spoke in the morning service. He is caring for almost 300 children and has only recently been able to install toilets for 300 children! The pastor asked him about air conditioning in Africa. Of course, there is none. I can't imagine living in a country on the equator without air conditioning. It was hard enough for 9 days in Florida.
Earlier in the week, I had the privilege of listening to a man who is a travels between Chattanooga, Tennessee, and Nicaragua. The pastor announced that since I had been so wonderfully blessed listening to this missionary, I would soon be giving a report on what I learned!
Yesterday was the flea market where I sell my books and am privileged to meet so many wonderful people, one of whom is the daughter of a woman who has sold many Christian books. She put me in contact with her mother, who has, in turn, helped me in many ways to seek other avenues to sell future books. Not only did she like my book, she sent it to her mother, and suggested the possibility that her sister might be willing to do the cover of my next book!
Before the message, there is a time of welcoming where we meet and greet others in the congregation. A woman approached me and said she wanted me to start a woman's group! Wow! Where did that come from? I would love to do that, but only if that's what the Lord wants me to do. But, how honored I am that she would ask me. She said there was too much wisdom among older women in the church that's not be utilized. She's right, but I'm not the only 70+ woman in that church and she chose me!
It was a delight to see Esther, the missionary's daughter there today. She's in college in Mississippi and since I hadn't heard from her, I didn't expect to see her there. But, there she was. Such a beautiful young woman. I'm honored that she allows me to call her a friend. How many 20 year olds want to be friends with great-grandmothers?
Today is one of those Sundays that a dinner is served in the dining hall after church. This happens almost every other Sunday, giving the congregation still more opportunity to bond with each other. There, I spoke with a dear woman who agreed that she very much wanted to be a part of a woman's group. On top of that, she knows a pastor of one of the largest churches in a nearby community. She is trying to open that door so that I can speak to that church! Again, I'm humbled and amazed.
While she and I were talking, another woman and her daughter approached. I stepped back, assuming she wanted to speak with my friend, but she informed me she wanted to talk to me. Her first Sunday at our church after she moved from South Carolina, I spoke about miracles God was working in South Sudan. She contacted her church in South Carolina and they, too, were blessed to hear what God was doing for men and women who are suffering greatly in that part of the world.
It turns out, her daughter is a budding author who is looking for Christian fiction. She bought my book! They, too are wanting a woman's group to be started. When I got home and got online, I was invited to join a group that promotes studying Scripture and applying it to our lives. An ad on the side was for Christian fiction readers and authors. Can't wait to tell my new friends about the Website and to loan her my Jan Karon books.
There's an old chorus that's been running through my mind as I've been writing this.
"The Windows of Heaven Are Open
There's blessing that's falling tonight
There's joy, joy, joy in my heart,
Since Jesus made everything right,
I put off my old tattered garments,
He gave me a robe of pure white,
I'm feasting on heavenly manna
And, that's why I'm happy tonight."
Supposedly, D.L. Moody was so overjoyed at all God was doing in his life, he stepped into a Chicago alley knelt and prayed, "Oh God, stay Your hand lest I perish." I'm beginning to understand what he was talking about. Thank You, Lord. Your amazing grace is overwhelming. I can do no more than say, "thanks."
Sunday, October 4, 2015
I can, too!
It never ceases to perplex me to know that so many people hate to read. I've lost count of the number of people who've bought my book just for the autograph, but haven't opened the book since they bought it!
I couldn't wait to learn to read. My mother often said I came home from school the first day, tried to read the comics in the newspaper and was very upset at being unsuccessful.
The time I remember is when I tried to convince my brother that I could read. I don't think I'd even started school. The book was called, The Little Lost Puppy. I would have someone one read it to me until I had the first page memorized. I took the book to my brother who is six years older than me and insisted I could read. Every time he'd say, "You can't read," I would yell, "I can, too!" To prove it, I quoted that first page, quite pleased with myself. Then, he turned the page and said, "OK, Smarty, read this page."
Busted.
Down, but not out. Dad loved to read. He borrowed his mother's books and let me read them. I was intrigued by the mysteries of Ellery Queen and Miss Jane Marple. My brother's copies of The Sugar Creek Gang often found their way into my hands, as did anything about Nancy Drew. Heidi, Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn were favorites that I read repeatedly. The adventures of Jack London's hero's sent my imagination soaring and Grace Livingston Hill romances made me sigh and dream of the man who would someday sweep me off my feet. Her heroes were so perfect and so were her heroines. Sophisticated people claimed Hill's books rotted the brain, but they made a strong impression on me and my friends about the importance of purity before marriage.
But, the books I love the most are missionary biographies. Since I've been tutoring at Shiloh, I've been reintroduced to them. Hudson Taylor, D.L. Moody, George Mueller, Brother Andrew, and of course, the five martyrs in Eduador: Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Roger Youdarian, Pete Fleming, and Ed McCully. I think I enjoy reading about missionaries most because they humble me. Not put me down to make themselves feel better. Their lives are so Christ-like and I know I am no where near their walk with the Lord. I stumble and fall over and over again.
Who among us today would refuse to fire a gun-even to scare away men determined to hack us to death with machetes? Who among us today would refuse to ask one single person, or even hint at a financial need when asked, like George Mueller or Brother Andrew? Today's media devices rule out completely saying good-bye to our mother, knowing we'd never see them again, like Hudson Taylor. And, who among us would have the audacity to rent the World's Fair tent in Chicago to have evangelistic meetings in the mornings, knowing full well there would be all kinds of entertainment in the afternoon like D.L. Moody did?
That's what I mean by being humbled. They don't say an unkind or critical word, they just go about the business God called them to, and they accomplish great things. They inspire me as well as humble me. I know I have a lot to learn to live as close to the Lord as they were, and I keep trying.
Never thought of it before, but maybe now's the time to say, "I can, too!"
I couldn't wait to learn to read. My mother often said I came home from school the first day, tried to read the comics in the newspaper and was very upset at being unsuccessful.
The time I remember is when I tried to convince my brother that I could read. I don't think I'd even started school. The book was called, The Little Lost Puppy. I would have someone one read it to me until I had the first page memorized. I took the book to my brother who is six years older than me and insisted I could read. Every time he'd say, "You can't read," I would yell, "I can, too!" To prove it, I quoted that first page, quite pleased with myself. Then, he turned the page and said, "OK, Smarty, read this page."
Busted.
Down, but not out. Dad loved to read. He borrowed his mother's books and let me read them. I was intrigued by the mysteries of Ellery Queen and Miss Jane Marple. My brother's copies of The Sugar Creek Gang often found their way into my hands, as did anything about Nancy Drew. Heidi, Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn were favorites that I read repeatedly. The adventures of Jack London's hero's sent my imagination soaring and Grace Livingston Hill romances made me sigh and dream of the man who would someday sweep me off my feet. Her heroes were so perfect and so were her heroines. Sophisticated people claimed Hill's books rotted the brain, but they made a strong impression on me and my friends about the importance of purity before marriage.
But, the books I love the most are missionary biographies. Since I've been tutoring at Shiloh, I've been reintroduced to them. Hudson Taylor, D.L. Moody, George Mueller, Brother Andrew, and of course, the five martyrs in Eduador: Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Roger Youdarian, Pete Fleming, and Ed McCully. I think I enjoy reading about missionaries most because they humble me. Not put me down to make themselves feel better. Their lives are so Christ-like and I know I am no where near their walk with the Lord. I stumble and fall over and over again.
Who among us today would refuse to fire a gun-even to scare away men determined to hack us to death with machetes? Who among us today would refuse to ask one single person, or even hint at a financial need when asked, like George Mueller or Brother Andrew? Today's media devices rule out completely saying good-bye to our mother, knowing we'd never see them again, like Hudson Taylor. And, who among us would have the audacity to rent the World's Fair tent in Chicago to have evangelistic meetings in the mornings, knowing full well there would be all kinds of entertainment in the afternoon like D.L. Moody did?
That's what I mean by being humbled. They don't say an unkind or critical word, they just go about the business God called them to, and they accomplish great things. They inspire me as well as humble me. I know I have a lot to learn to live as close to the Lord as they were, and I keep trying.
Never thought of it before, but maybe now's the time to say, "I can, too!"
Friday, October 2, 2015
Off the rails
While the rest of the country is reeling in shock over yet another mass shooting, the President is gleefully politicizing his desire for gun control. I'm not exaggerating. The man was actually smiling as he spoke. How sad. And hypocritical. Both Dana Perino and Glen Beck remarked that more were killed in Chicago last month, although by different shooters at different times, but tragically, many more people. Not a word said about that. Doesn't fit the agenda.
It got me to thinking. When the President was an elected official in Illinois, he voted for the killing of babies who survived termination attempts. How is that any different or humane than what that tortured soul did in Oregon yesterday? He ended the lives of several supposedly because they were Christians. A terminated pregnancy is life ended at the convenience of the mother and the profit of the abortionist.
Hilary Clinton said she couldn't change hearts and she's right. She can't. But, God can and He wants to. So much has gone off the rails in this country since we've become too civilized and too intelligent for belief in God. Take the shootings as an example. I have repeatedly remarked that when I was in school, boys had rifles on racks in the back windows of their pick ups. Our biology teacher was the sponsor of the high school NRA. He was very strict. Any member who pointed a gun, loaded or otherwise, at another person was automatically kicked out of the NRA and barred from ever returning, at least in the high school setting.
When I was in high school, there were many girls who got pregnant and then married before the baby came. Then comes Roe vs. Wade and the terminations were at some point over a million a year. Women my age are the better for having those children. Now, those children are companions and assistance to the mothers who chose to give them birth. Even better, those women have no regrets over the choice they made that cannot be undone.
God created the woman's body to carry the infant until it could grow on it's own. None of us escaped the fetal stage or just hatched. We too, started as a single cell and went through the entire process, just like babies do today.
So, how did America go off the rails? It's easy to see when we talk about termination vs. life, isn't it? Is it as easy to see in the gun control issue? Perhaps not. I grew up in a culture of guns. Dad hunted, my brothers hunted, my husband hunted, and both my sons are hunters. I trust them all with guns. I do not trust those politicians who wish to take them away from responsible people. Why? It won't help. We are so far off the rails when it comes to respecting life, taking guns away from everyone will not change a thing. More people are killed by drunk and drugged drivers than guns. Shall we all go back to walking or riding bikes to stop vehicular homicides? Shall we take drugs off the market because some choose to abuse them and commit suicide? Personally, I wouldn't care if alcohol were taken off the market, but then I don't drink. Those who do would find some other way to medicate their pain.
Therein lies the problem. It's not a matter of the method, not the instrument. No matter what method or instrument is removed, the tortured soul will find some way to kill himself or others. Why? There's no understanding of a loving God who longs to give them a better way.
What, then, do we do? Returning to God would be the best possible start. As a high school student, I'm sure the majority of the students my age attended church faithfully. They learned to respect authority and life. They had moral barriers that controlled those emotions that threaten to get out of hand for all of us on occasion. Even those girls who got pregnant before they married had moral barriers that enabled them to give life to the child in their womb. Yes, illegal abortions were around in those days. They've been around for centuries, but weren't done or even promoted. It was unthinkable to a woman who respected life.
By now, pro-abortion people are screaming that women will resort to the back alleys and death. If their hearts are not changed, if there is no desire to hear from a loving God, no respect for life, I agree that's a strong possibility. The point I'm trying to make is that taking the life of another is never a good answer for anyone, regardless of the method.
Therefore, respecting the Giver of Life is the way to start cleaning up this mess we've created for ourselves. Parents have all at one time or another, had a child come to them and request we fix something they broke. The child tried to hard to fix it on their own, to no avail. Finally, in desperation, grubby little hands and tear-stained little faces would timidly approach Mommy or Daddy with the broken toy and the request to "Fix it."
Perhaps it's time we come before our heavenly Father with tear stained faces and request He fix it. It's the only way it can happen.
It got me to thinking. When the President was an elected official in Illinois, he voted for the killing of babies who survived termination attempts. How is that any different or humane than what that tortured soul did in Oregon yesterday? He ended the lives of several supposedly because they were Christians. A terminated pregnancy is life ended at the convenience of the mother and the profit of the abortionist.
Hilary Clinton said she couldn't change hearts and she's right. She can't. But, God can and He wants to. So much has gone off the rails in this country since we've become too civilized and too intelligent for belief in God. Take the shootings as an example. I have repeatedly remarked that when I was in school, boys had rifles on racks in the back windows of their pick ups. Our biology teacher was the sponsor of the high school NRA. He was very strict. Any member who pointed a gun, loaded or otherwise, at another person was automatically kicked out of the NRA and barred from ever returning, at least in the high school setting.
When I was in high school, there were many girls who got pregnant and then married before the baby came. Then comes Roe vs. Wade and the terminations were at some point over a million a year. Women my age are the better for having those children. Now, those children are companions and assistance to the mothers who chose to give them birth. Even better, those women have no regrets over the choice they made that cannot be undone.
God created the woman's body to carry the infant until it could grow on it's own. None of us escaped the fetal stage or just hatched. We too, started as a single cell and went through the entire process, just like babies do today.
So, how did America go off the rails? It's easy to see when we talk about termination vs. life, isn't it? Is it as easy to see in the gun control issue? Perhaps not. I grew up in a culture of guns. Dad hunted, my brothers hunted, my husband hunted, and both my sons are hunters. I trust them all with guns. I do not trust those politicians who wish to take them away from responsible people. Why? It won't help. We are so far off the rails when it comes to respecting life, taking guns away from everyone will not change a thing. More people are killed by drunk and drugged drivers than guns. Shall we all go back to walking or riding bikes to stop vehicular homicides? Shall we take drugs off the market because some choose to abuse them and commit suicide? Personally, I wouldn't care if alcohol were taken off the market, but then I don't drink. Those who do would find some other way to medicate their pain.
Therein lies the problem. It's not a matter of the method, not the instrument. No matter what method or instrument is removed, the tortured soul will find some way to kill himself or others. Why? There's no understanding of a loving God who longs to give them a better way.
What, then, do we do? Returning to God would be the best possible start. As a high school student, I'm sure the majority of the students my age attended church faithfully. They learned to respect authority and life. They had moral barriers that controlled those emotions that threaten to get out of hand for all of us on occasion. Even those girls who got pregnant before they married had moral barriers that enabled them to give life to the child in their womb. Yes, illegal abortions were around in those days. They've been around for centuries, but weren't done or even promoted. It was unthinkable to a woman who respected life.
By now, pro-abortion people are screaming that women will resort to the back alleys and death. If their hearts are not changed, if there is no desire to hear from a loving God, no respect for life, I agree that's a strong possibility. The point I'm trying to make is that taking the life of another is never a good answer for anyone, regardless of the method.
Therefore, respecting the Giver of Life is the way to start cleaning up this mess we've created for ourselves. Parents have all at one time or another, had a child come to them and request we fix something they broke. The child tried to hard to fix it on their own, to no avail. Finally, in desperation, grubby little hands and tear-stained little faces would timidly approach Mommy or Daddy with the broken toy and the request to "Fix it."
Perhaps it's time we come before our heavenly Father with tear stained faces and request He fix it. It's the only way it can happen.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
The gift of prophecy?
Way back when, as a sophomore in college, preparing to return home for summer break, a fellow where I worked insisted when I came back to school in the fall, we were going out. Not hardly. In the first place, I didn't like the guy. In the second place, we worked in a store several miles away from the school. We worked till 10:30 PM and the buses stopped running at 8:00 PM. My ride home (when she could be bothered to work) was a student madly in love with this guy that wanted to date me. Even if I did like him, which I didn't, I wasn't about to risk my only transportation, no matter how unreliable. The last night I worked that May, this man repeated his demand that we go out in the fall. I coldly informed him I expected to be engaged when I returned in September. The truth is I didn't know anyone, had no one in mind, and didn't meet the man I married until July 12th-6 weeks after I stated that I would be engaged! Is that the gift of prophecy? Maybe it's just God's wonderful sense of humor.
The truth of the matter is that prophecy is no joke. Over the years, I've been accused of having a sharp tongue and I suppose I deserve the description, but those with the gift of prophecy are not supposed to be flatterers. My sharpness has become even more noticeable on Facebook. Some people are VERY thin skinned. No matter what I say or how I say it, they feel compelled to correct me in an unflattering way. There's also culture conflict. This is the age of PC, which I most certainly am not. Most politically correct speech is designed to intimidate and obfuscate. However, knowing that, it is also wise to pick my battles carefully.
A friend suggested I not engage in posts I happen to disagree with. And, if the response is nasty, ignore it. For the most part, I do ignore the nasty responses. However, when it comes to commenting on something I disagree with, I have to wonder if the Lord wants me to try to gently suggest there may be a better answer.
For example, someone made the comment that conservatives would tear the Pope apart about his stance on global warming. I asked how the liberals would respond to his stance on abortion and gay marriage. A man posted that God didn't care who we married and didn't want women to suffer because of unplanned pregnancy. It's obvious He was speaking for God without ever reading God's Word. I told him so, after asking him if he'd ever had women weep in his arms because they chose termination and regretted it. He said I had a cold, rigid dogma and he didn't want to hear it.
We listen to Ravi Zacharias on Sunday mornings before going to church. For those of you unfamiliar with his name, he is from India. At the age on 17, hospitalized after a failed suicide attempt, he came to know Jesus as his Savior. God has used his brilliance mightily since that time. He's so brilliant, my husband says his logic gives him a headache. Mr. Zacharias travels the world, speaking and debating on college campuses. It's not easy to disagree with people who don't want to hear it and he makes his living at it.
Now, to be clear, the gift of prophecy is somewhat different from prophecy. Prophecy is foretelling the future. There were many in the Old Testament. My point is that they all suffered a great deal for doing what God told them to do. Ravi Zacharia has suffered a great deal, too. I doubt that he considers himself a prophet-someone who foretells the future. To me, he is a foreteller of the truth. That's the gift of prophecy. Someone who warns others if they ignore consequences of not following God's ways and follow their own.
Jesus told the parable of the soils in the New Testament. One of those soils is hard, trampled down as a path. Seed that falls on it it carried away by the birds. There seems to be many people in this country who are "hardened soil." They don't want to hear what God has to say, can't be bothered to check out what anyone else says about God's Word, just dismiss it summarily.
It would seem that I've been called to work the hard soil. I don't give up on anyone and I seem attracted to those who disagree with me-some very strongly. Whether or not they disagree with me is not the point. The problem is that few to none can show me where I'm wrong in my beliefs about God and and His Word. I would welcome anyone who can teach me instead of refuting me out of superstition, tradition, anger, or ignorance. Anyone who disagrees with me has every right to do so. AND VICE VERSA.
Going back to whether or not I should say something, I need to be careful that I am not dogmatic or belligerent, but obedient. If I believe the Lord would have me suggest an alternative view, I need to obey. If I disagree only because I'm wired to be a conflict thinker, there is going to be unnecessary conflict. By the same token, changing someone's mind or lifestyle is not my job. That's God's. My job is to be the messenger, the ambassador. He does the changing.
What most people don't realize is my disagreement with their beliefs has two underlying reasons and neither have anything to do with me. First, I believe God should be worshipped and adored. He is worthy of that at the very least. We should also be grateful. He's given us so much more than we deserve. Even better, He's not given us what we really deserve. Secondly, those who are living an in-your-face defiance and expecting God to approve are doing themselves so much damage. Their relationship with the God of the universe is either non-existent or damaged. Who wants that for themselves or anyone else? The Bible says God is not willing for anyone to perish, but for all to come to repentance. That's my desire, too.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Happy birthday, Son!
Today is my youngest son's birthday and although he hates attention drawn to himself, this proud mother can't help herself. Forgive me, Son. You don't have a choice. The Lord insists.
Sometimes your sense of humor came through and you didn't even know it. I remember the time we were moving to San Antonio from Ft. Huachuca. Dad told me to turn the car around and be ready for him to get in and drive us away after he signed out. Trouble is, I didn't realize there was another exit at the top of the hill and I tried to turn the car around in a rut filled dirt parking lot. The homemade trailer we were pulling caught one of the ruts, jack knifed, and left a huge dent in the side of the car. Dad was furious with me. "I suppose you're going to be mad at me all the way to San Antonio," I said.
"I probably will," was his honest response. There was dead silence for several miles on that interminable 28 mile stretch of nothing between Ft. Huachuca and Interstate 10.
Finally, the quiet voice of a six year old came from the back seat. "Is Mommy going to get a whipping?" It broke us up and the rest of the trip was made in a more jovial mood. In fact, somewhere east of El Paso, Dad asked you and your brother to pull the inside panel off the wheel area and try to kick the dent out of the car. Don't think it worked.
When we got to San Antonio, we decided that International Travelall was much too big for roads in Honolulu. Trading it in for a Pacer was the decision. However, we still had Chief, our 35 pound dog and we were unsure he would fit under the hatchback. We took him to the dealership. Dad walked to the Pacer on display, opened the hatchback and told the dog to get in. Chief hopped in, Dad closed the door and told the approaching salesman, "OK, now we can talk."
Trouble is, you, the six year old, is the one who wanted to talk. The first thing out of your mouth is the story of the dent. Dad excused us, saying it was time for you boys to eat. We stopped at a fast food place, got the 2 of you hamburgers, dropped you off at the apartment we were renting and then he and I went back to make the deal on the car.
Speaking of hamburgers, I remember the time you were sick of them. No blame there. We were on the road-again. This time, it was from New Jersey to Colorado. We'd stayed in hotels until we could find a place to buy. We thought it might be a good idea since Viet Nam was still raging and as a serviceman, Dad could easily have been called to the cause, leaving the 3 of us and the dog with no home. We usually lived on base, but base housing at that time was not available to dependents without the active duty person. The house we bought had no stove and we ate out again the last night before the stove came so I could finally cook something besides hamburgers. It was more than you could bear. You looked at that hamburger and looked down at your hands and back again. I don't think you touched it. I'm not sure any of us did. Three weeks of McDonald's was enough to cure anyone.
I'm on a roll as far as you and food are concerned. You were in kindergarten and your brother was in the 4th grade when we were living in Ft. Huachuca. He came home from school one day and announced I needed to make cupcakes for the Halloween party at school the next day. You started hopping up and down, demanding I make them for your class, too. They were a rush job, even more so than your brother's, who got his order in first-at the last minute. Needless to say, they weren't my best effort, but your 4 year old heart was deeply touched. You stood on tiptoe, looking at those cupcakes spread across the top of the washer and dryer. "Oh, Mommy, they're so pretty!"
Let me hasten to add that food and you are not my only memories. I still can see you outside on the street in Rolla, playing "football" with half a dozen munchkins a third your size. You were a big boy and they weren't at all large for their age. You'd stand there, with those tykes hanging all over you. They were having a big time. Later, they'd tell their mother with a big swagger and bigger grin, "I beat up Dan!"
When I was with you many years later, I was deeply impressed at the way you had such in-depth conversations with your teenage son. You treated him with respect and dignity. Not something all dads have the patience or understanding to do. Now, he's showing the world the results of a good dad with a teenage son.
It's one thing to treat a respectful child with dignity and respect, but you were also compassionate and understanding when most parents would have given up or at least, not done nearly so much as you did. You are an amazing dad and now, as a grandpa, you are still amazing.
I also remember the time you played football in Rolla-with the high school team, not neighborhood little ones. The Waynesville team not only tripled teamed you, one of them launched himself at you like a missle, striking you in the back with his helmet propelled into you with the full weight of his lance straight body behind it. You and I spent the next week traveling back and forth between Rolla and Ft. Leonard Wood, at the doctor's office. Finally, I asked the doctor why he had to see you so frequently. His response was that there was the possibility you liver was bruised and if so, you could bleed to death before anyone knew what was wrong! I still get chills at the thought at how close we came to losing you.
How grateful I am God gave you to us and has kept you safe. You've been a good son, a great father, and you chose a wonderful wife that loves you. Can't ask for more than that. You've blessed your parents in ways we could not begin to tell, and we're grateful for you. The happiest of days to you and a great year to follow.
Sometimes your sense of humor came through and you didn't even know it. I remember the time we were moving to San Antonio from Ft. Huachuca. Dad told me to turn the car around and be ready for him to get in and drive us away after he signed out. Trouble is, I didn't realize there was another exit at the top of the hill and I tried to turn the car around in a rut filled dirt parking lot. The homemade trailer we were pulling caught one of the ruts, jack knifed, and left a huge dent in the side of the car. Dad was furious with me. "I suppose you're going to be mad at me all the way to San Antonio," I said.
"I probably will," was his honest response. There was dead silence for several miles on that interminable 28 mile stretch of nothing between Ft. Huachuca and Interstate 10.
Finally, the quiet voice of a six year old came from the back seat. "Is Mommy going to get a whipping?" It broke us up and the rest of the trip was made in a more jovial mood. In fact, somewhere east of El Paso, Dad asked you and your brother to pull the inside panel off the wheel area and try to kick the dent out of the car. Don't think it worked.
When we got to San Antonio, we decided that International Travelall was much too big for roads in Honolulu. Trading it in for a Pacer was the decision. However, we still had Chief, our 35 pound dog and we were unsure he would fit under the hatchback. We took him to the dealership. Dad walked to the Pacer on display, opened the hatchback and told the dog to get in. Chief hopped in, Dad closed the door and told the approaching salesman, "OK, now we can talk."
Trouble is, you, the six year old, is the one who wanted to talk. The first thing out of your mouth is the story of the dent. Dad excused us, saying it was time for you boys to eat. We stopped at a fast food place, got the 2 of you hamburgers, dropped you off at the apartment we were renting and then he and I went back to make the deal on the car.
Speaking of hamburgers, I remember the time you were sick of them. No blame there. We were on the road-again. This time, it was from New Jersey to Colorado. We'd stayed in hotels until we could find a place to buy. We thought it might be a good idea since Viet Nam was still raging and as a serviceman, Dad could easily have been called to the cause, leaving the 3 of us and the dog with no home. We usually lived on base, but base housing at that time was not available to dependents without the active duty person. The house we bought had no stove and we ate out again the last night before the stove came so I could finally cook something besides hamburgers. It was more than you could bear. You looked at that hamburger and looked down at your hands and back again. I don't think you touched it. I'm not sure any of us did. Three weeks of McDonald's was enough to cure anyone.
I'm on a roll as far as you and food are concerned. You were in kindergarten and your brother was in the 4th grade when we were living in Ft. Huachuca. He came home from school one day and announced I needed to make cupcakes for the Halloween party at school the next day. You started hopping up and down, demanding I make them for your class, too. They were a rush job, even more so than your brother's, who got his order in first-at the last minute. Needless to say, they weren't my best effort, but your 4 year old heart was deeply touched. You stood on tiptoe, looking at those cupcakes spread across the top of the washer and dryer. "Oh, Mommy, they're so pretty!"
Let me hasten to add that food and you are not my only memories. I still can see you outside on the street in Rolla, playing "football" with half a dozen munchkins a third your size. You were a big boy and they weren't at all large for their age. You'd stand there, with those tykes hanging all over you. They were having a big time. Later, they'd tell their mother with a big swagger and bigger grin, "I beat up Dan!"
When I was with you many years later, I was deeply impressed at the way you had such in-depth conversations with your teenage son. You treated him with respect and dignity. Not something all dads have the patience or understanding to do. Now, he's showing the world the results of a good dad with a teenage son.
It's one thing to treat a respectful child with dignity and respect, but you were also compassionate and understanding when most parents would have given up or at least, not done nearly so much as you did. You are an amazing dad and now, as a grandpa, you are still amazing.
I also remember the time you played football in Rolla-with the high school team, not neighborhood little ones. The Waynesville team not only tripled teamed you, one of them launched himself at you like a missle, striking you in the back with his helmet propelled into you with the full weight of his lance straight body behind it. You and I spent the next week traveling back and forth between Rolla and Ft. Leonard Wood, at the doctor's office. Finally, I asked the doctor why he had to see you so frequently. His response was that there was the possibility you liver was bruised and if so, you could bleed to death before anyone knew what was wrong! I still get chills at the thought at how close we came to losing you.
How grateful I am God gave you to us and has kept you safe. You've been a good son, a great father, and you chose a wonderful wife that loves you. Can't ask for more than that. You've blessed your parents in ways we could not begin to tell, and we're grateful for you. The happiest of days to you and a great year to follow.
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