I was dripping, blowing and talking funny because of allergies last Saturday, so didn’t get to give a scheduled devo at the Romance church’s Ladies Day. Sad face. I love those sisters and frankly, also love the delightful, homemade, holiday goodies I know from experience they would enjoy together. Anyway, I decided to post it here; nothing I can do, however, about the missed bon-bons, iced sugar cookies and the like.
I will always remember something Dr. James Dobson of Focus on the Family said years ago about prayer. He attributed his accomplishments in ministry (and the ministry itself) to the power of prayer. Most particularly, he credited the prayers of his great-grandfather, a godly man who consistently entreated blessings from the Lord not only for his sons and daughters, but also for his descendents in generations to come. What a testimony!
We can do the same!
What wonders would come to pass in our families 30, 40 or a hundred years from now if we began taking the time to regularly ask our God for stalwart warriors for him to arise from our sons and daughters many times removed? Godly seed. Calebs, and Gideons, and Davids, and replicas of the Lord Jesus Christ. How exciting would that be?!
Do it! Begin a prayer journal now, today. Birth a record that will be a testimony, a witness, for generations after you who will thank God for your foresight – and your faith. You don’t have to write dissertations in a journal; simply jot down the recipient’s name and a word or two about your requests for him or her.
I need a prayer group badly right now –I’m praying the Lord will bring that to reality with sisters in our present church family. I can’t wait to see what the Savior will do when we turn many hearts upward to him regularly. Have you ever been part of a group who raised their voices in praise, petition, and thanksgiving repeatedly and frequently? O, how God blesses those of us who cry out to him!
Prayer:
Confirms in our own minds that we are not self-sufficient.
Is an action that is a sacrifice of praise to the Father – Heb 13:15.
Confirms that we are not merely hearers of the Word, but do apply it – Jas 1:23.
Produces a peace understood by no human being, but which will guard our hearts and minds – Phl 4:6,7.
An action that helps conquer the weakness that lives in our human nature – Mt 26:41.
A weapon that helps in removing fear in those who preach about Jesus – Eph 6:19.
A weapon of the Spirit readily available anywhere, anytime, anyplace.
The avenue by which we can ask for more of the divine Spirit who dwells within us – Lk 11:13.
What’s not to love about prayer?
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Parakeets and Prayer
I want to talk about prayer.
But first, let me tell you about my grandma, a petite lady who stood about 4’11” in her shoes. She was widowed, and lived alone in an impossibly small trailer, one of those silver ones with rounded ends. Really, though, it fit her to a “t” since she was tiny as well. Because she was lonely she acquired a parakeet which she named Billy; she loved that bird fiercely. Soon she bragged to everyone about his ability to say a few words. Nobody took her very seriously – just murmured “um-m-m” in reply. I remember my uncle (in whose yard she lived) laughing about her claims to others in his cigarette-growly voice.
One July 4th several of us were lounging on this particular uncle’s front porch when Grandma came across the yard, swinging Billy’s cage in one hand. Uncle growled something about bird/talk/uh! that hopefully his little mother-in-law didn’t hear. She hung Billy’s cage on a prominent nail on the eave in front of us and settled in a chair. We resumed visiting.
Soon, in a lull in the conversation an unusual voice called out: “Bill’s a pretty bird – squaw-k-k-k – Bill’s a pretty bird!!” Uncle almost fell off his chair. My little grandma jumped up as if she were 12 years old and crowed, “I told you he could talk, I told you he could talk!!!” She didn’t settle down for 15 minutes; Billy, meanwhile, preened and cleaned, and never said another word the rest of the afternoon.
Now back to prayer.
We Christians sometimes view the power of prayer as grandma’s relatives regarded her claims about Billy’s vocabulary – with a few grains of salty reality. Yes, prayer helps - it does good things often, it’s fine to fall back on, but we are inclined to consider those a little simple-minded who urge reliance on prayer above and beyond all else, at all times and in all places and situations.
We tend instead to put a lot of trust in our personal skills, or determination, or innate savvy, and/or intellect to deal successfully with just about anything life throws at us. Yes, we look to prayer, but only after other attempts go south. Then – and only then will we consider it God’s turn to see what he can do.
Perhaps if I would turn to the Lord immediately, before I did another thing or consulted anyone else, any action I did take would be wonderfully wiser and more effective than measures enacted out of my human wisdom. After all the Lord does say, “Without me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).
But first, let me tell you about my grandma, a petite lady who stood about 4’11” in her shoes. She was widowed, and lived alone in an impossibly small trailer, one of those silver ones with rounded ends. Really, though, it fit her to a “t” since she was tiny as well. Because she was lonely she acquired a parakeet which she named Billy; she loved that bird fiercely. Soon she bragged to everyone about his ability to say a few words. Nobody took her very seriously – just murmured “um-m-m” in reply. I remember my uncle (in whose yard she lived) laughing about her claims to others in his cigarette-growly voice.
One July 4th several of us were lounging on this particular uncle’s front porch when Grandma came across the yard, swinging Billy’s cage in one hand. Uncle growled something about bird/talk/uh! that hopefully his little mother-in-law didn’t hear. She hung Billy’s cage on a prominent nail on the eave in front of us and settled in a chair. We resumed visiting.
Soon, in a lull in the conversation an unusual voice called out: “Bill’s a pretty bird – squaw-k-k-k – Bill’s a pretty bird!!” Uncle almost fell off his chair. My little grandma jumped up as if she were 12 years old and crowed, “I told you he could talk, I told you he could talk!!!” She didn’t settle down for 15 minutes; Billy, meanwhile, preened and cleaned, and never said another word the rest of the afternoon.
Now back to prayer.
We Christians sometimes view the power of prayer as grandma’s relatives regarded her claims about Billy’s vocabulary – with a few grains of salty reality. Yes, prayer helps - it does good things often, it’s fine to fall back on, but we are inclined to consider those a little simple-minded who urge reliance on prayer above and beyond all else, at all times and in all places and situations.
We tend instead to put a lot of trust in our personal skills, or determination, or innate savvy, and/or intellect to deal successfully with just about anything life throws at us. Yes, we look to prayer, but only after other attempts go south. Then – and only then will we consider it God’s turn to see what he can do.
Perhaps if I would turn to the Lord immediately, before I did another thing or consulted anyone else, any action I did take would be wonderfully wiser and more effective than measures enacted out of my human wisdom. After all the Lord does say, “Without me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).
Monday, October 17, 2011
What did you say?
I realized recently that I had been mispronouncing a word all my life – well, since I could say fairly big words, anyway. Insolent. Not hard to see it isn’t “insolet,” is it? May be Word 101, but I managed to roll it off my tongue as insolet for more years than I want to add up.
One of my daughters-in-law brought another mispronouncement to my attention not long after she joined our tribe. As I described a certain sunny color to her, she observed, “Do you know you’re saying ‘yella’ instead of ‘yellow’? Well, no, I hadn’t noticed. As I began to monitor myself a little more closely, I caught several other mistakes in substituting lazy southern vernacular, such as: “pilla” (pillow), “fella” instead of fellow, “mirra” for mirror, and “wood jew” for would you. However, to justify myself a teeny bit, I hasten to point out that I do not drawl out “Loseziana” when referring to our southern neighbor, nor dollah for dollar (as Mississippians tend to do), or substitute “bidness” for business.
I suppose you’d call these lapses in correct English usage, “blind spots”: being unaware of errors. Such gaffes are fairly innocuous. Committing them likely will launch no wars, garner any jail time, or make us fatter (that happens only if we have to eat those words). If the possibility that you may be word-ignert keeps you awake at night, get a dictionary and start fixing the problem.
Other blind spots related to speech can be infinitely more serious. Many of us seem to pay little mind to Jesus’ teachings about our verbal communication. We sometimes cast questionable utterances in the “cute” category and spit them out anyway. “White” lies? Gossip? Words that soil our mouths, and dirty the air when allowed to escape? Words that flatter instead of “speaking the truth in love”? Sarcastic, demeaning words? Words designed to pacify instead of being a call to God’s truth? Oh man.
Do you say “Missoura” and “Miama”; how about “vi-eeʹ-na” sausages rather than Vienna sausages? Doesn’t really matter because minor mispronunciations – though annoying to others at times - don’t determine your destiny. Nor do they make or break relationships (if so, you’re probably better off without them), and neither do they bring a frown to the Lord’s brow.
Not so lying, vulgarity, gossip, malicious sarcasm, and cowardly language; these soul-shrinking, spirit-sickening blights delight the prince of darkness, as we betray the Holy One who lives within.
“For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ, in God…” Col: 3:3
Friday, October 14, 2011
Morning Musings
It Ain’t Like It Used To Be
Just thinking of how different my life is now that our nest is empty.
I can mix different kinds of dry cereal together at my pleasure. When I used to attempt that with children in the house, the general consensus was “B-l-e-c-h! What have you done to the Cheerios?” And they stayed suspicious of me for several weeks, eyeing the contents of their bowls like a hawk. I was merely trying to eliminate some of the cereal box clutter – but you would have thought they suspected me of felonious activity.
My washer is not fearful anymore that its galvanized sides will burst wide open with a ton of whatever happened to be piled on the bedroom floor. Poor thing, it soon started to gulp and shake whenever one of the kids approached it. I had to do some intense recovery therapy before it would open up even to me.
Nowadays I don’t ever leave a clean kitchen and return to find a room so bizarrely different that I have to back up outside to check the address. But in the old days I might find: bread sacks blaring open, knife covered in mayo resting atop random pieces of cheese (also dotting the floor), juice left out after creating a sticky spill, cabinet doors gaping, drawers pulled out, and trails of crumbs exposing the sinner. Regarding the open drawers and cabinets, I once accused Jim of a genetic defect he’d passed along to our kids: he could use his arm to pull objects toward himself, but was incapable of pushing anything closed. He denied it, said it was my overactive imagination.
I gave up trying to turn my teen sons’ bedrooms into replicas of magazine pictures. Pretty sheet sets and handsome spreads were useless. The top sheets lived on the floor (violating my mother’s rule that one never, never sleeps next to the spread or comforter – Why? You’d ruin it). That dictate of polite society got stowed away just like those top sheets and my druthers.
Yes, life is different nowadays for sure. All the beds stay made up, the towels remain on the holders, scissors don’t disappear, both sheets adorn all the beds, and closets don’t smell like somebody’s tennis shoes contracted a disease, died, and rotted in them.
If I could, would I go back in time to picky eaters, offended appliances, bizarrely messy kitchens (and other rooms), various interesting odors, and home décor- challenged offspring?
In a heartbeat.
Just thinking of how different my life is now that our nest is empty.
I can mix different kinds of dry cereal together at my pleasure. When I used to attempt that with children in the house, the general consensus was “B-l-e-c-h! What have you done to the Cheerios?” And they stayed suspicious of me for several weeks, eyeing the contents of their bowls like a hawk. I was merely trying to eliminate some of the cereal box clutter – but you would have thought they suspected me of felonious activity.
My washer is not fearful anymore that its galvanized sides will burst wide open with a ton of whatever happened to be piled on the bedroom floor. Poor thing, it soon started to gulp and shake whenever one of the kids approached it. I had to do some intense recovery therapy before it would open up even to me.
Nowadays I don’t ever leave a clean kitchen and return to find a room so bizarrely different that I have to back up outside to check the address. But in the old days I might find: bread sacks blaring open, knife covered in mayo resting atop random pieces of cheese (also dotting the floor), juice left out after creating a sticky spill, cabinet doors gaping, drawers pulled out, and trails of crumbs exposing the sinner. Regarding the open drawers and cabinets, I once accused Jim of a genetic defect he’d passed along to our kids: he could use his arm to pull objects toward himself, but was incapable of pushing anything closed. He denied it, said it was my overactive imagination.
I gave up trying to turn my teen sons’ bedrooms into replicas of magazine pictures. Pretty sheet sets and handsome spreads were useless. The top sheets lived on the floor (violating my mother’s rule that one never, never sleeps next to the spread or comforter – Why? You’d ruin it). That dictate of polite society got stowed away just like those top sheets and my druthers.
Yes, life is different nowadays for sure. All the beds stay made up, the towels remain on the holders, scissors don’t disappear, both sheets adorn all the beds, and closets don’t smell like somebody’s tennis shoes contracted a disease, died, and rotted in them.
If I could, would I go back in time to picky eaters, offended appliances, bizarrely messy kitchens (and other rooms), various interesting odors, and home décor- challenged offspring?
In a heartbeat.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Rock This House!
Another one of those Encounters with God! I rose very early one recent Saturday, threw on clothes, gulped breakfast, brushed teeth, and with Bible and notebook in hand headed toward Ash Flat, AR. About midway I picked up two delightful teen girls, Lindsay and Jaycie.
What could be going on in Ash Flat, AR, that would cause teen girls to roll out of bed early on a Saturday?! Or for that matter a woman of age? We were about to find out.
Ash Flat is a small town - we're talking small. It's just on the other side of Evening Shade (remember that one?), settled in among the hills. The Church of Christ there - also small in number - has stepped out of the proverbial box, gone beyond expectations, and allowed the Lord to extend their horizons regarding "Ladies' Day."
On Friday evening the God-filled weekend began with local speakers, storytelling, drama, music and snacks! Although I wasn't there on Friday, I believe a potter highlighted the session by throwing a pot, applying a spiritual lesson while doing so. About 600 filled the fellowship hall!
The keynote speaker for the weekend, Jennifer Rothschild, has been featured on Dr. Phil, ABC’s Good Morning America, and the Billy Graham Television Special, and on other national TV and radio programs including Hour of Power, Life Today, Family Life Radio, TBN, and others. Her life story and message has been the cover story of numerous national publications including Today’s Christian Woman, Virtue magazine, Becoming Family magazine, HomeLife magazine, and others. She has authored six books, including Self Talk, Soul Talk, and Lessons I Learned in the Dark; you see, Jennifer has been blind since the age of 15.
Another young woman, her traveling companion, assisted Jennifer to the stage, then returned to her seat. We would never have guessed this lovely lady could not see if we hadn't already known. She was poised, graceful, looking out on us as if she had faultless vision. I did not detect a smidgen of self-pity; only intense thankfulness to God for his blessings on her life. She is a fan of Jesus Christ!
We were so blessed also by the worship sessions led by the praise team of the Ash Flat church. Composed of 8 or 10 men and women, they helped us lift the roof with songs of adoration for our Lord.
Lindsay, Jaycie and I left with our hearts full! (Our tummies too, a delicious feast was spread for us.)
Here's few excerpts from Jennifer's lesson:
Speculation and assumption never lead to faith in the Lord.
Sometimes God calms the storm; sometimes he calms my heart in the midst of the storm.
We are sometimes delivered through trials - not out of them.
REST versus RESIST: the only letter not found in REST is "I."
Jesus' response to unanswered prayer was commitment. When God didn't deliver him from the cross, he set his face to obey the Father. So should be our response to unanswered prayer.
The Ash Flat church hopes to have Max Lucado for next summer's Rock This House. Check their website for updates, and make your plans to attend!!!
What could be going on in Ash Flat, AR, that would cause teen girls to roll out of bed early on a Saturday?! Or for that matter a woman of age? We were about to find out.
Ash Flat is a small town - we're talking small. It's just on the other side of Evening Shade (remember that one?), settled in among the hills. The Church of Christ there - also small in number - has stepped out of the proverbial box, gone beyond expectations, and allowed the Lord to extend their horizons regarding "Ladies' Day."
On Friday evening the God-filled weekend began with local speakers, storytelling, drama, music and snacks! Although I wasn't there on Friday, I believe a potter highlighted the session by throwing a pot, applying a spiritual lesson while doing so. About 600 filled the fellowship hall!
The keynote speaker for the weekend, Jennifer Rothschild, has been featured on Dr. Phil, ABC’s Good Morning America, and the Billy Graham Television Special, and on other national TV and radio programs including Hour of Power, Life Today, Family Life Radio, TBN, and others. Her life story and message has been the cover story of numerous national publications including Today’s Christian Woman, Virtue magazine, Becoming Family magazine, HomeLife magazine, and others. She has authored six books, including Self Talk, Soul Talk, and Lessons I Learned in the Dark; you see, Jennifer has been blind since the age of 15.
Another young woman, her traveling companion, assisted Jennifer to the stage, then returned to her seat. We would never have guessed this lovely lady could not see if we hadn't already known. She was poised, graceful, looking out on us as if she had faultless vision. I did not detect a smidgen of self-pity; only intense thankfulness to God for his blessings on her life. She is a fan of Jesus Christ!
We were so blessed also by the worship sessions led by the praise team of the Ash Flat church. Composed of 8 or 10 men and women, they helped us lift the roof with songs of adoration for our Lord.
Lindsay, Jaycie and I left with our hearts full! (Our tummies too, a delicious feast was spread for us.)
Here's few excerpts from Jennifer's lesson:
Speculation and assumption never lead to faith in the Lord.
Sometimes God calms the storm; sometimes he calms my heart in the midst of the storm.
We are sometimes delivered through trials - not out of them.
REST versus RESIST: the only letter not found in REST is "I."
Jesus' response to unanswered prayer was commitment. When God didn't deliver him from the cross, he set his face to obey the Father. So should be our response to unanswered prayer.
The Ash Flat church hopes to have Max Lucado for next summer's Rock This House. Check their website for updates, and make your plans to attend!!!
Thursday, September 1, 2011
A Mixed Bag of Thoughts
God calls me to be completely satisfied by Him – not by any outward circumstances. If I have to live in a certain location, possess specific objects, or participate in this or that activity before I am content, then would God alone really be sufficient if everything else vanished?
Shouldn’t I be able to “be at home” anywhere – in any kind of situation because the God I love is with me?
I want to constantly examine myself and adjust my mind lest I grow so attached to my routine, home, possessions, way of life, health, even my loved ones, that I would be unable to function if any one or all of these were taken away. I’m not talking of normal sorrow or disappointment, but to be so crushed and bereft that I would conclude my life was over.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Lord, open my eyes to my subconscious idols. Don’t have to search very much before one pops to mind: wanting to call the shots when I “sacrifice.” I’m prone to cautiously outline (silently) just how this “sacrifice” will be implemented: how long, how far, how many and how much. All wrapped up in a neat little selfish package.
Synonyms for sacrifice are to give up, forgo, forfeit, let go … surrender!? Surrender means to “lay down your arms.” Could that have any meaning here? Boy, does it ever! When I assemble my arsenal of conditions to insure that I won’t be trapped into more than I want to do, I just took up arms. One who has surrendered to the lordship of Jesus Christ has no need for protective weapons. He isn’t the enemy!
O Lord, empower me to fully rest in you, trust in you, and abandon my will to yours.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Jesus was eager to celebrate the Passover with his disciples even though Judas would certainly be present, and even though the Lord knew Peter would betray him and all the others would run away in a very short time. He not only spent the evening “rubbing elbows” with them, he washed their feet.
What about us? Do we ever avoid fellowshipping certain people because we think they’ve behaved badly toward us or those we love? How arrogant!! Do we think we’re too good to be offended? Or that God has appointed us to activate the shunning of one who has treated a friend badly? If so then we must consider ourselves better than Jesus. Also, who knows how God will choose to work out his purposes through our association with that person – in both our lives.
Is my heart and spirit so in tune with my Lord, so intertwined with his heart, that I am eager to be with others, all others, especially my brothers and sisters in the Savior?
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“Prayer is the first act of war when under attack.” – Beth Moore
Shouldn’t I be able to “be at home” anywhere – in any kind of situation because the God I love is with me?
I want to constantly examine myself and adjust my mind lest I grow so attached to my routine, home, possessions, way of life, health, even my loved ones, that I would be unable to function if any one or all of these were taken away. I’m not talking of normal sorrow or disappointment, but to be so crushed and bereft that I would conclude my life was over.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Lord, open my eyes to my subconscious idols. Don’t have to search very much before one pops to mind: wanting to call the shots when I “sacrifice.” I’m prone to cautiously outline (silently) just how this “sacrifice” will be implemented: how long, how far, how many and how much. All wrapped up in a neat little selfish package.
Synonyms for sacrifice are to give up, forgo, forfeit, let go … surrender!? Surrender means to “lay down your arms.” Could that have any meaning here? Boy, does it ever! When I assemble my arsenal of conditions to insure that I won’t be trapped into more than I want to do, I just took up arms. One who has surrendered to the lordship of Jesus Christ has no need for protective weapons. He isn’t the enemy!
O Lord, empower me to fully rest in you, trust in you, and abandon my will to yours.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Jesus was eager to celebrate the Passover with his disciples even though Judas would certainly be present, and even though the Lord knew Peter would betray him and all the others would run away in a very short time. He not only spent the evening “rubbing elbows” with them, he washed their feet.
What about us? Do we ever avoid fellowshipping certain people because we think they’ve behaved badly toward us or those we love? How arrogant!! Do we think we’re too good to be offended? Or that God has appointed us to activate the shunning of one who has treated a friend badly? If so then we must consider ourselves better than Jesus. Also, who knows how God will choose to work out his purposes through our association with that person – in both our lives.
Is my heart and spirit so in tune with my Lord, so intertwined with his heart, that I am eager to be with others, all others, especially my brothers and sisters in the Savior?
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“Prayer is the first act of war when under attack.” – Beth Moore
Monday, July 25, 2011
A Weekend to Remember
A WEEKEND TO REMEMBER
Jim and I recently enjoyed a retreat. We traveled to Nashville, TN, to the Hermitage area thinking we’d be staying with a dear long-time friend, Ruby. However, we were unable to do so because of a death in her late husband’s family, and instead were invited to Ruby’s brother and sister-in-law’s home.
Even though Paul and JoAnn Odum live only minutes from a sizable shopping center, we felt as if we’d ventured deep into the countryside when we arrived. The foliage grew lushly and trees dipped over the narrow highway from both sides of the road, shading our drive.
Their red-brick house sat at the crest of a hill reached by a gently curving driveway. After parking in front of their home, we climbed steps that led still further upward. Borders of pink roses and nandina bushes flanked both sides of the walkway, the roses perfuming the air as we walked between them. The outdoor staircase ended at a welcoming porch adorned with granny rockers; they seemed almost to beckon us to plump down and “set a spell.” We resisted somehow and tapped on the door.
In moments Paul greeted us with a smile and with blue eyes twinkling, ushered us into the living room. JoAnn soon joined us from her work in the yard, and we began our most pleasurable weekend with the Odums.
Paul and JoAnn bought their place in 1993. The original dwelling was a log house, and after consideration, they decided to preserve it. Now that wonderful piece of history is imbedded within the additions they made, resulting in a supremely comfortable, beautiful home which they delight in, and generously use to delight others.
We feasted on meaty burgers for supper, grilled for us by Paul and JoAnn’s son, John, and eaten in a little gazebo-shaped dining area of the porch. Stuffed, we sipped homemade grape juice and talked till after dark. The tree frogs tried to outdo each other, gurping loudly from nearby trees while we became better acquainted, fellowshipping in the Lord.
We were privileged – and I was excited - to sleep upstairs in the loft. We ascended by way of a narrow staircase (installed by the previous owner) and rejoiced that we didn’t have to access our night's lodging as the first proprietors had - by clambering up a ladder by the fireplace. The loft. Right out of yesteryear! How many feet have tread upon that pine floor laid so long ago - how many conversations have the walls been privy to over the years? And the roof: how many weary folks have been lulled to sleep as rain tap, tapped on it?!). The Odums have stashed a spacious, modern bathroom at the back of the loft room, which made our stay absolutely perfect. I loved this loft from by-gone days, but love modern conveniences also; I do not grieve the demise of the outhouse associated with that era.
Everywhere I looked something bloomed or produced – fruit trees, grapevines, flowers, garden veggies, strawberries (the berries struggle a bit, but that’s between JoAnn and me). Honestly I can’t begin to remember everything we saw flourishing on both sides, behind, and in front of their home. After the shower the following day I almost could believe we had somehow been transported to a rain forest - the view from the window was lushly and luxuriantly green and moist.
Their creek at the bottom of the hill brings up visions of busy little boys, perhaps pint-sized Huck Finns and Tom Sawyers. Little boys would never, ever want to leave once they built their first dam or fort, or took a dive in the little pool. Or once they explored the woods surrounding this Tennessee Shangri-La for small people. Perhaps the two paddle wheels would capture their imaginations for hours of fun. Paul has worked hard on this enterprise, and has even more plans to implement in the future.
Our Sunday dinner (not a sissy luncheon) was a throwback to my childhood when the preacher came to eat with us: table loaded with everything under the sun, best dishes, lip-smackin’ desserts, and lots of good laughter and conversation. We were thrilled Ruby was able to come, and delighted not only in catching up with her, but also with other old friends we last saw 31 years ago. What a blessing!
What a weekend. What hospitality Paul and JoAnn freely gave to us. Especially so when they had such short notice that a couple they really did not know was going to invade the premises. Now that's graciousness at its finest. Thanks, friends.
Jim and I recently enjoyed a retreat. We traveled to Nashville, TN, to the Hermitage area thinking we’d be staying with a dear long-time friend, Ruby. However, we were unable to do so because of a death in her late husband’s family, and instead were invited to Ruby’s brother and sister-in-law’s home.
Even though Paul and JoAnn Odum live only minutes from a sizable shopping center, we felt as if we’d ventured deep into the countryside when we arrived. The foliage grew lushly and trees dipped over the narrow highway from both sides of the road, shading our drive.
Their red-brick house sat at the crest of a hill reached by a gently curving driveway. After parking in front of their home, we climbed steps that led still further upward. Borders of pink roses and nandina bushes flanked both sides of the walkway, the roses perfuming the air as we walked between them. The outdoor staircase ended at a welcoming porch adorned with granny rockers; they seemed almost to beckon us to plump down and “set a spell.” We resisted somehow and tapped on the door.
In moments Paul greeted us with a smile and with blue eyes twinkling, ushered us into the living room. JoAnn soon joined us from her work in the yard, and we began our most pleasurable weekend with the Odums.
Paul and JoAnn bought their place in 1993. The original dwelling was a log house, and after consideration, they decided to preserve it. Now that wonderful piece of history is imbedded within the additions they made, resulting in a supremely comfortable, beautiful home which they delight in, and generously use to delight others.
We feasted on meaty burgers for supper, grilled for us by Paul and JoAnn’s son, John, and eaten in a little gazebo-shaped dining area of the porch. Stuffed, we sipped homemade grape juice and talked till after dark. The tree frogs tried to outdo each other, gurping loudly from nearby trees while we became better acquainted, fellowshipping in the Lord.
We were privileged – and I was excited - to sleep upstairs in the loft. We ascended by way of a narrow staircase (installed by the previous owner) and rejoiced that we didn’t have to access our night's lodging as the first proprietors had - by clambering up a ladder by the fireplace. The loft. Right out of yesteryear! How many feet have tread upon that pine floor laid so long ago - how many conversations have the walls been privy to over the years? And the roof: how many weary folks have been lulled to sleep as rain tap, tapped on it?!). The Odums have stashed a spacious, modern bathroom at the back of the loft room, which made our stay absolutely perfect. I loved this loft from by-gone days, but love modern conveniences also; I do not grieve the demise of the outhouse associated with that era.
Everywhere I looked something bloomed or produced – fruit trees, grapevines, flowers, garden veggies, strawberries (the berries struggle a bit, but that’s between JoAnn and me). Honestly I can’t begin to remember everything we saw flourishing on both sides, behind, and in front of their home. After the shower the following day I almost could believe we had somehow been transported to a rain forest - the view from the window was lushly and luxuriantly green and moist.
Their creek at the bottom of the hill brings up visions of busy little boys, perhaps pint-sized Huck Finns and Tom Sawyers. Little boys would never, ever want to leave once they built their first dam or fort, or took a dive in the little pool. Or once they explored the woods surrounding this Tennessee Shangri-La for small people. Perhaps the two paddle wheels would capture their imaginations for hours of fun. Paul has worked hard on this enterprise, and has even more plans to implement in the future.
Our Sunday dinner (not a sissy luncheon) was a throwback to my childhood when the preacher came to eat with us: table loaded with everything under the sun, best dishes, lip-smackin’ desserts, and lots of good laughter and conversation. We were thrilled Ruby was able to come, and delighted not only in catching up with her, but also with other old friends we last saw 31 years ago. What a blessing!
What a weekend. What hospitality Paul and JoAnn freely gave to us. Especially so when they had such short notice that a couple they really did not know was going to invade the premises. Now that's graciousness at its finest. Thanks, friends.
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