Morning Hour

I became so frustrated with my scanner the other day. When I tried to open it to copy some stuff, it responded with a thunky sound every time. The light glowed greenly; it seemed to be alive, but couldn't perform the work I asked of it. I pushed the on/off button several times; low and behold, the thing wouldn't even turn off! Thinking, oh, no, wonder what a new one costs?, I decided to test the plug-in, in spite of the fact that it looked perfectly all right. I jiggled and wiggled it, then pushed it in tighter. Viola! Pay dirt! The familiar buzzing emanated that meant it had connected soundly with the power source and would now do its part in the world.

Believers are all around us who seem to be okay, who on the surface appear to be living in the power of the Holy One, but who, when pressed by trials or temptations, possess no inner strength to survive. All they can manage is a "thunky" sound. They sometimes find themselves crying with David: "I am bowed down and brought very low; all day long I go about mourning ... I groan in anguish of heart." Their green light may have been shining, but it proved to be a false reassurance.

How vital is it that I examine my spiritual life? Essential!! Commanded! "Examine yourselves to see if your faith is genuine" (1 Cor 13:5). Haven't we learned by now how deceitful our adversary can be? He'd like nothing better than to rock us to sleep in the cradle of complacency. Don't assume anything - be alert, be diligent to consume the word daily and trust in the Spirit's power to keep us connected tightly with the power source. Which will eliminate thunky sounds.

Ripening

I'm disturbed.
Time is passing much too fast
for me to keep up.
My head whirls to keep track
of dates and events I thought
so recent.
Are you sure that was
last year?
Two years ago?
I'm getting old - well,
older, anyway.
What I mean to say is that
I'm getting older too fast
to be possible!
This isn't real - how these
days zip by like soap
slipping from wet hands.
I can't seem to get a grip
on my life.
Lord, please supply
some traction!

I wrote that when I was 34 years old. That was 34 years ago. And time is still zipping by just like those slippery bars of soap! I'm so glad that in heaven we'll be free from time - no clocks, no calendars, no device of any kind telling us that time is streaking on by.

But you know, each stage of life has its own rewards. You may not possess the energy to work circles around others any more, but you probably now have the wisdom to give encouragement in a situation that would have left you tongue-tied earlier. You can go to bed any time you want; no waiting on a fussy baby to fall asleep first! No list of baby-sitters! No getting up bleary-eyed rushing to get ready for work (well, no rushing anyway).

We must not take advantage of being older to be a bossy know-it-all, or sharp-tongued, or think we deserve special permission to be abrasive and rude. Several years ago I was waiting impatiently in the speedy check-out at a grocery store. The aisle was narrow - several were behind me. An elderly gentleman in overalls and straw hat came in pushing a cart, looked around, then took careful aim squarely at our line. He stopped and looked at me through his thick lenses, his mouth open in a silent "O". Seeing he didn't understand the nature of the problem facing us, I said politely, "Sir, I don't think you can get through here - it's way too narrow." I spoke clearly and rather loudly, expecting him to nod and toddle off seeking another entrance.

Instead, he looked down his long, straight nose at me and said, just as loudly, "Well, cain't you get outta the way?!"

All sorts of retorts ran through my mind. No, I did not want to get out of the way! I was in a hurry! I was tired! I was aggravated at his rudeness! After a minute, however, I turned to the frowning folks behind me and said "Someday, if God lets us live long enough, we're going to be old. And we're going to want others to be kind to us. So, let's just get out of the way and let him through." The tension broke, we all laughed, and with one accord backed up. Our elderly friend pushed right on past us without a "thank you, kiss my foot" or any other acknowledgment. We forgave him.

Then there was Marie. In her 60s, she was one of the most interesting, refreshing women I had ever met. She lived vivaciously in the present day. You couldn't mention a current event she didn't know something about. I'm sure Marie could have regaled us with good-ole-days stories, but she chose instead to focus on NOW.

Marie gave her life to Jesus Christ when in her 60s. When her neighbor invited her to a home Bible study, Marie's response was "Sure, never too old to learn!" She soaked everything up like a sponge, and asked a thousand questions. My husband, Jim, happened to be teaching that study and afterward came home raving about her intelligence, thirst for the Word, and her interest in everything around her. Marie was baptized after only two studies and began loving and serving her new church family in any way she could. We moved away, but after many years were privileged to see her once more. Marie held court from her wheel chair by then, but she was still Marie: optimistic, smiling, loving. Her 80-something years had clipped her wings, which saddened us; however, I'm quite sure that by now she's talked some angel out of his. He didn't stand a chance.

"The righteous will flourish like a palm tree, they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon; planted in the house of the LORD, they will flourish in the courts of our God. They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, 'The LORD is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.'" Enjoy being God's older child!

It's so refreshing to hear about the humble boldness of a child of God. Today a wife related how that when she and her hubby are in one of the local tributaries of a ginormous chain store, he in no way is there to shop. Spotting someone he doesn't know, he strolls over and engages him or her in chit-chat for a few minutes, then simply says, "You know, I may never see you again, so I'd like to talk with you about ...." He then proceeds to wade off into a discussion about Jesus Christ with this stranger!

The remarkable thing is, according to the wife, not one person has ever stomped off in a huff, or told him to mind his own business. As a matter of fact, they usually wind up pouring out their souls to this one who walks in where angels fear to tread. I'm sure one reason he is received so well is that he's one of the kindest men I've ever known. This isn't a new venture, he's been seeking out people in this same store for years.

In another instance, a lady was humbly bold enough to say in a brief exchange with a rough-looking acquaintance, that "Anyone is blessed if they're washed in the blood of Jesus." End of conversation. Oh, yes, this also happened at the tribulation - uh, I mean tributary of the big chain. However, some time later he called this Christian sister and pleaded with her to come pray for his sick wife. "I can't - I mean, I can't pray for her," he admitted, knowing he hadn't cultivated much of a speaking relationship with the Lord.

Not without misgivings, she nevertheless set out, asking God to be with her. The woman was indeed ill. After praying for the man's wife and visiting with her for awhile, they so connected with each other that a new friendship was forged. Who can say what eventually may result from this one interaction in the store?!

These comments came from a discussion of this question: How are you working to make a difference in your community? My thoughts immediately went to holding a public office, or beginning a shelter of some sort, or you know - big stuff. These two testimonies humbled me, yet greatly encouraged me to be aware of the seemingly less noticeable ways to do the work of God.

"Do not despise these small beginnings, for the LORD rejoices to see the work begin ..." (Zec. 4:10).

Morning Hour

My mother hated the word, "darn." This was particularly puzzling since our family used every other euphemism under the Arkansas sun: dadgummit, gosh, golly, shoot, heck, etc. No cursing; that carried a severe penalty, such as getting your backside warmed. However, "darn" must have carried the same awfulness in mama's mind as using God's name in vain, because once when I made use of it (quite unaware of her prejudice), she went into a major meltdown.

When she'd finished venting her objections, I ventured a small "Why is that word ...?" Didn't get to complete my question. She showed signs of heating up again and I backed w-a-a-y off, thinking it wise to wipe that word from my heart and life (at least when around her).

Even though I never solved the mystery, I'm still curious. Did she as a child get into big trouble on account of that word? Or did someone - perhaps a mean neighbor kid - make it into an acrostic designed just for her? Such as Dames Are Really Nauseating? Probably not; country kids didn't know words that long.

That reminds me of the indignation of our then three-year-old daughter when the creative sons of a friend recited, "Myrtle the Turtle Without No Girdle" solely for her benefit. She had no idea what a girdle was, but her wrath knew no bounds. And she still doesn't like the word "girdle." Words are powerful.

Words are responsible for a lot of childhood suffering. My uncle was traumatized by saying a prayer his older brothers taught him - can you imagine? They carefully instructed him in when and where to employ it. One day when the family gathered around the farm house table at noon, uncle asked to say the blessing. He was standing between his mama and poppa because, unfortunately, with that many children, the chairs ran out. When he received permission, uncle said, with enthusiasm,

"Bless the meat,
D____ the skin,
Back your ears
and cram it in!!!"

A calloused hand from the chair next to the pious little guy swatted his bottom; immediately a smaller hand delivered another swat from the chair on the other side. Guffaws erupted from the male section of the table. Poor Uncle Lonnie.
He found out that words are powerful.

Remember that as you interact with others today - your words are powerful.

Afternoon Hour

I like to pour over decorating mags as much as anyone, but had to snicker over one of the features the other day. This guy had prettied up his whole house by himself, and the living room sported "antique French toile covered pillows on a sofa upholstered in (get this) linen sheets from a European monastery." I said out loud, "Aw-w-w, please!!"

But perhaps I was too hasty to snort: could it be that his ordinary sofa became hallowed when clad in material from such a venerated location? Surely this fabric would have absorbed some amount of superfulous goodness, just from the surroundings. Or maybe the holy sheets were assigned to that couch just to keep those French throw pillows in line. You know what they say about the French.

I wonder, did the monks themselves weave the flax into linen? More than that, did they, with their own hands, pull the flax out of - wherever that plant grows? Or, on a more realistic note, was the linen simply delivered to them in a cart by the people of the nearest village for a pittance, then sold by the brothers for more than a pittance?

I have a hard time visualizing making my bed with linen, epecially since I slept on muslin sheets growing up. I don't what that stuff's made from - I do know that after being laundered several times, your bed clothes will sprout little "pills" of wadded fabric that can make for an interesting night.


I really don't have any animosity toward linen sheets; I'd like to try sleeping between a set before I die. Don't you think that surely Wal-Mart will stock them one of these days?

Sadly, this post has no point - it's just the musings of my mind.

afternoon hour

I was reading a recipe for a cheesecake in Southern Living magazine recently and couldn't believe the instructions on the crust: "trim and discard excess dough."

You've gotta be kidding! Why, for goodness sake? Trashing those scraggly pieces of leftover pastry is agin to discarding pieces of gold. Well, almost. We would never have even considered those leftovers as something of no account. In fact, as a child I always hoped there'd be lots of "excess dough" left when mama was making pies, because that part of baking day ritual belonged to me!

I'd press the odds and ends of the soft pastry into one piece, then roll it out with mama's ancient green bottle (rolling pin). I would spread the united dough with soft butter, then sprinkle it with sugar - more like a downpour than a sprinkle, actually. Next came slicing it into fairly thin sticks; carefully lifting each onto a baking sheet and sliding it into a hot oven, drooling noticeably. I didn't dare leave the kitchen; these delicacies required very close attention, otherwise they'd burn black so fast - usually one instant after the just-right stage.

A blast of hot air never failed to hit me in the face upon taking the pastries from the oven - but, oh how luscious the scent that accompanied that blast! Waving the heat aside I put the pan down, wondering if I could possibly, possibly try to eat one right away. It never worked - I already knew that sad fact from past experience, but would chance nibbling anyway. With lips slightly burnt, I fan them instead.

Cool enough at last, I gather all of them onto a plate, pour a big class of cold milk, find my book and spend the next few minutes in pure bliss.

Sometimes we decide it's better just to do a discard with someone whose life is in bits and pieces. We reckon there's just not enough there to fool with. Especially is this so when someone is on his or her "70 times 7" mistake.

Thank God that he doesn't reason as we do!! He delights in taking bits and pieces of souls ravaged by the adversary and creating beauty and usefulness - a work of art. Lord, enable me to look no longer at others through the eyes of my reasonings, but gaze through your merciful and powerful perspective.

Morning Hour

Perhaps it's normal that we Christians react to the horrible killings in CT (and stabbings in China) by begging the Lord to come back and take us out of this rotten world. Naturally, we are scared for our children and grans to any longer navigate the mess Satan has made! "Please, come take us to heaven as we hold our kids tightly!" That's my first response too.

But you know, it isn't just about us. If he were to come back today, what would happen to those sucked down into this rotten mess?

Jesus grieves not only for the broken-hearted families, but also for the sick ones captured by Satan to coldbloodedly kill. These evildoers are reprehensible in our eyes; at the same time, we must remember that a merciful, tender Savior loves them (Rm 5:8)- with no apologies. And he has asked his own request of us: "Will you make time to introduce ME to those without hope? Will you look outside your own world, to reach out to those who may, without me, become murderers?"

JESUS! THE ONLY ANSWER! Share him!