Snow in Dallas -- "Snowstorm of the Century!"

The snow, that was not due until mid-afternoon, started accumulating early by 9:00 A.M.; enormous wet flakes blanketed everything.  By 10:00 A.M., we lost power.  Snow-laden live oaks, magnolias, and crepe myrtles bent low over power lines, severing them when their branches snapped. My MD family who had endured upwards of 40 inches and wind, had power!

Clearly an expedition to Lowe’s was in order – since we had no shovel, sand,  or scraper. Doug bundled up, headed out, and returned with aforementioned gear plus a nifty lantern, battery -operated so we could read. During the first of the power outages we visited  the library during the afternoon, and I got a biography of Mary Cassette and stories by Wallace Stegner. It seemed like a lark, especially when the power came back on in the afternoon, and we enjoyed dinner before the fire. Then we lost power at 10:30 P.M. and knew it might not be back on in the foreseeable future. But our neighbor across the street still had power.

I didn’t even have time to say goodnights to folks I was chatting with on-line! Click! Conversations over. The power goes, and so does light, warmth and the Internet. I tried reading.
But the blue-hue of the led isn’t comforting like the old-fashioned 60 watt-er. Besides I went to bed with all my clothes on and my scarf. (If my neck is warm, I am warm.)

And did it get chilly! The house went from 68 degrees to 57 degrees in the morning. But more than the chill and shadows cast by the fire and candles was sensation of a different kind of solitude. How did women homesteading this country make it without TV commentary,  chatting on discussion boards, e-mail,  face-book or blogging?  And how do you do housework without electricity or hot-water? Or make breakfast? We bundled up for another adventure – in search of food. Our first stand-by was closed, our second, crowded; we finally settled on a friendly place, and shared our table with strangers, having a fine conversation and breakfast.

When we got back, the inside temperature dropped to 52 degrees, and when Doug left for the office – the aloneness became a bit menacing.  It felt safer to be out and about falling limbs and globs of snow melting from bent branches. By three, I knew it was time to return home – and mercifully, I opened the front door, and was greeted by warm air.

I feel again my familiar solitude – heat, warm water, light – shelter. The people across the street were not so fortunate – it’s past 11:00PM and their homes are unusually dark – not a hint of light!   Doug was told some folks in Dallas won’t have power until later in the weekend or even Monday!

Some people are on the streets in Dallas tonight – some have said they feel safer outside than in. That’s surely true for folks in Haiti! Today, I got a glimmer of feeling more threatened inside than outside.

I thank God for all the people who have risked their health and safety so I might have heat and warmth; I thank Him for all those who feed and shelter and care for others who have no homes.

  
 

Praying or Just Reciting Well- Loved Words?

A familiar plea, the words sometimes come off as rote:  "Lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil [or, the evil one]." (Luke 11:4) A plainer translation makes the thought more lively: “God, keep us from ourselves and the Devil.” (From THE MESSAGE )

C.H. Spurgeon, commenting on this part of the disciples’ prayer wrote, “What we are taught to seek or shun in prayer, we should equally pursue or avoid in action.” With every prayer, I believe God shows me a path to pursue actively or avoid assiduously. Christ is my path;  my own inclinations, I must avoid, so that I won’t “tempt the devil to tempt me.” 

Getting the enemy’s attention is not smart. (See _The Oath_ by Frank Peretti)

Christ permitted the devil to tempt Him; Christ spent 40 days wrestling with real temptation  – physical, emotional and spiritual. (Matthew 4) I rarely last 10 minutes into a temptation.  And then I am where I should not be: the wrong pasture! Before I know it, I am in an argument, or misunderstanding; I’ve lost my temper, or I’m using my time unwisely, or, making unhealthy food or exercise choices. I am doing what I shouldn’t, and not doing what I should: and so become an easy prey.   I need deliverance! (Romans 7:24)

Mr. Spurgeon said of the plea, “Prevention is better than cure: it is better to be so well armed that the devil will not attack you, . . . Pray this evening first that you may not be tempted, and next that if temptation be permitted, you may be delivered from the evil one.” So I pray, God please keep me from wandering into the wrong pastures, . . . and deliver me from evil – the one who can tempt me. My worst enemy is me – and my real enemy is the devil. (Ephesians 6:10-19)

The plea is simple; the purpose is lifesaving – my own and the lives of those I love: “God, keep us from ourselves and the Devil.” It covers my husband, our children, and grandchildren – and you, dear reader.

God, I believe; Help, Thou, my unbelief – and keep these oh so familiar words from being simply a bedtime recitation!

Remembering An Anniversary

Seventy -eight years ago, on February 7, 1932,  my mother married my father in San Juan Puerto Rico. Their marriage ended on March 5, 1978 with my father’s unexpected death. They were married just over forty-six years. How a child sees their parents’ marriage is rarely accurate – how they see their parents is oft equally inaccurate. I am hardly a child – but I confess to never having seen either my father or mother  clearly, much less understood them. 

I know very little about my father – I don’t remember many conversations, although he was a distinct personality in my life; but, he didn’t talk much. He wasn’t much interested in the persistent genealogical endeavors that consumed other family members’ time; He never talked about God, except to say thankfulness to “the man upstairs” was important. He joined the same church my mother attended, and was a church-goer. 

Long after he was gone, his younger brother and sister, then  in their seventies,  told me he was expelled from high school. I knew he never finished high school; the reason was never given.  I assumed hard times in a small, rural South Carolina town was the reason my father’s education stopped. And he never corrected my assumption.

About 1926, shortly before graduation, the school expelled him and another student, whose lineage was not as old, but whose family was as poor as his. My father was caught in an unfortunate game of “hot potato.”  That potato was a new product only recently available in a pharmacy – a condom. The small town,  without much else to divert attention marked both young men.  I wonder how deep that humiliation went?

Within in weeks, my father boarded the train for Baltimore, where his older brother, an engineering graduate from Clemson, had made a successful start – financially and socially. He earned an accounting degree at night school, and found  a promising position with the Federal Land Bank – marrying  a beautiful young woman with a few family issues herself.

Not many people are alive who remember my parents, or their anniversary. Horace and Mildred Williams’ life together  formed so much about what makes me, me – yet as the years slide by, I see how fleeting  my understanding was of the people they were. 

So, what’s my point, I can almost hear my son ask?

Take time to get to know people you think you know like the back of hand – whether it’s a parent, a sibling, a spouse or a child, or a  friend.

How’s Your Hearing?

What the Haitian people have endured since January 12, 2010 is unimaginable. In the past week, I have heard that women, just like me, one minute were going about their business, the next, suffering atrocious anguish and indignities – losing loved ones or their lives, everything they valued. One woman lost her five children – and her mind. I have heard that more than 200,000 people may have lost their lives and another 1.5 million were made homeless; 3 million people risk infection. And I heard the numbers could change – will change –  this time tomorrow or next week. I have also heard about courage and charity.

How could the poorest of the poor been so afflicted? Or, did they bring this on themselves?

Predictably, some prominent churchmen speculated that the earthquake was God’s judgement on Haiti.  For those tempted to point a finger, remember how many point back! Occultism and pretend churches are just two problems in every nation, in every city and community – and God urges churchmen to listen to what the Spirit says to the churches – while there is time. (Revelation 1-3)

To whom will I listen?

Luke heard the Lord Jesus said:

  "I tell you, no, but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.
"Or do you suppose that those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them, were worse culprits than all the men who live in Jerusalem?
  "I tell you, no, but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish."  (Luke 13:3-5)

I hear some ask, then, “Does God ‘cause’ disaster?”  He says He does – and how can anything ever happen without His “permission” if He is Lord?  (Jeremiah 32:34)

I have heard and believe  God is deeper and bigger – more than even the word “Holy” conveys. (Psalm 62) His being strikes a form of  terror in me – even as Job said (40:4) and as Isaiah responded. (Isaiah 6)

I hear Isaiah say, God is "Mighty to save." (Isaiah 63:1)

C.H. Spurgeon wrote that:

By the words "to save" we understand the whole of the great work of salvation, from the first holy desire onward to complete sanctification. The words are multum in parro: indeed, here is all mercy in one word.

Christ is not only "mighty to save" those who repent, but He is able to make men repent. He will carry those to heaven who believe; but He is, moreover, mighty to give men new hearts and to work faith in them. He is mighty to make the man who hates holiness love it, and to constrain the despiser of His name to bend the knee before Him . . .  Whether to begin with others, or to carry on the work in you, Jesus is "mighty to save;" the best proof of which lies in the fact that He has saved you. What a thousand mercies that you have not found Him mighty to destroy!

O God! Please be mighty to save – save so many more today – even those trapped in literal and spiritual chaos.

So turn to me and be helped — saved! —  everyone, whoever and wherever you are. I am GOD, the only God there is, the one and only. ( Isaiah 45:22 from THE MESSAGE )

The photos

It’s the pictures of the children . . . the babies and toddlers who were saved, and the ones who did not . . . that testify to the depth of the horror of the 2010 Haitian earthquake. Thank God or the photographers who captured the grief, the sorrow, the joy – What was so important before the quake, how important is it today?

Heroism – “Doe The Next Thynge.”

Atticus Finch in  To Kill a Mockingbird  defined heroism:

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand.  It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.  You rarely win, but sometimes you do.”   (Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird, Chapter 11)

Two real women come to mind who modeled this description – Miep Gies and Elisabeth Elliot.   

By 1942, Miep Gies was licked – the Nazis had occupied her country, Holland, since 1940. A gun would not have helped her defy so mighty a force. But, she did what she could to save a few lives, humans who were marked for destruction because they were Jewish. She was a secretary of Otto Frank and she took a risk, hiding him and his family and a few others, and continuing to do what she did on a daily basis.  She said:

"Imagine young people would grow up with the feeling that you have to be a hero to do your human duty. I am afraid nobody would ever help other people, because who is a hero? I was not. I was just an ordinary housewife and secretary."

Indeed she was an office secretary, one who defied the Nazi occupiers, and hid the family for two years, simply doing the next thing.  Here’s the full story.

 

In 1955, Elisabeth Elliot, too, was licked when she received word her husband, Jim and four other men were speared to death in the jungles of Ecuador. (Ed McCully, Roger Youderian, Pete Fleming, and their pilot, Nate Saint also perished) She had no gun; widowed, the mother of a toddler, she lived among the very people who slaughter her husband and fellow workers. Like Miep Gies, she got on with her work and mothering.

In her own words: (Emphasis added)

When I went back to my jungle station after the death of my first husband, Jim Elliot, I was faced with many confusions and uncertainties. I had a good many new roles, besides that of being a single parent and a widow. I was alone on a jungle station that Jim and I had manned together. I had to learn to do all kinds of things, which I was not trained or prepared in any way to do. It was a great help to me simply to do the next thing.

Have you had the experience of feeling as if you've got far too many burdens to bear, far too many people to take care of, far too many things on your list to do? You just can't possibly do it, and you get in a panic and you just want to sit down and collapse in a pile and feel sorry for yourself.

Well, I've felt that way a good many times in my life, and I go back over and over again to an old Saxon legend, which I'm told is carved in an old English parson somewhere by the sea. I don't know where this is. But this is a poem which was written about that legend. The legend is "Do the next thing." And it's spelled in what I suppose is Saxon spelling. "D-O-E" for "do," "the," and then next, "N-E-X-T." "Thing"-"T-H-Y-N-G-E."

The poem says, "Do it immediately, do it with prayer, do it reliantly, casting all care. Do it with reverence, tracing His hand who placed it before thee with earnest command. Stayed on omnipotence, safe 'neath His wing, leave all resultings, do the next thing." That is a wonderfully saving truth.  Just do the next thing!

Burned Out?

“Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.” 
(Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)

In the row of four walkway lights, leading to our front door, one non functioning bulb was obvious and upsetting. We just installed those!

Finding a LED  replacement bulb seemed an easy task. Proceeding down to the local Lowe’s, I anticipated no problems. However, a few cropped up – beginning with the fact, Lowe’s has (at least) two separate displays devoted to light bulbs – and in both displays, the LED bulbs are stored behind displays, in small packages, with small print.

The first cheerful, helpful sales associate directed me to a humongous display of bulbs, found one that matched the size of my burned out bulb, assuring me, this was the one; I did not read labels, for it matched the size and  shape of the one clutched in my hand. However, it  cost over six dollars, for a fixture that was less than twenty dollars!

Wavering, I moseyed over to the outdoor fixtures’ aisle  just for curiosity sake.

The sales associate in this department was also friendly but not so confident about finding a replacement bulb from another considerable large array of choices.  This area was not as well lighted as the previous display; the packages were harder to see. After the first attempt, he recommended going to a speciality light bulb store across town (a direction not helpful to a newcomer to a big city like Dallas). I then expressed my frustration that  Lowe’s would sell a fixture and no replacement bulbs! So, he searched around for other bulbs, from a series of small bins labeled with hard-to-read characters.

I then checked the box of a fixture similar to the ones we installed, and  my problem was not simply getting the right bulb and being certain it was an outdoor replacement bulb – but making sure the bulb was the proper voltage. The sales associate retrieved one; the price was better: three dollars for two bulbs. As I had become a more discerning reader of lilliputian letters, I examined the package of light bulbs the other sales associate showed me, comparing it to the packages in this department. Though the right shape and size, I now saw the former was for indoor fixtures. Therefore, though it had been recommended  confidently, it was not a match.

I am often like that row of lights leading to our front door – part of me is burned out; I shouldn’t be – but I am.  And it’s as obvious as an unevenly illuminated walk. Not only am I unattractive, I can trip other people up.   Somebody needs to replace me! 

Scripture says rest – (let God) take care of my body. (1 Kings 19)

Scripture says rest – (let God) take of my spirit. (Isaiah 30:15)

Scripture says rest – (let God) take care of my heart. (Isaiah 139:23-24)

Maybe  I  should  let God – do for me what only He will, so that light comes back on?  (Psalm 51-12-13) 

The Blessing of SKYPE

Though I didn’t know my grandmother well, I knew she lived in a small town in Jonesville South Carolina. This morning I learned where my little grandson thinks I live. His dad pulled out his laptop, and Jack started pointing at it, squealing, “Mimi! Yea Mimi!”

Could my grandmother have imagined the technology – like skype – I take for granted? 

She enjoyed several fruits of technology, early 20th century.  My grandmother’s children saw to it that her home had indoor plumbing, a washing machine, and a brand spanking new electric range; she had used a privy, boiled her sheets in a large black cauldron, and fried chicken on a wood stove.

Could she have imagined the whirlpool in my bathtub, albeit two decades old? What would she have thought of my  washer and dryer that does a load of  sheets in less than one hour? Having watched her catch, kill and clean a chicken which she then floured and plopped into Crisco, how would she like the local carry-out that makes the guilty pleasure, fried chicken, a breeze? And what would she think of a microwave – or a coffee pot that turns itself on and off?

I knew where she lived, and I saw her occasionally – but I never had a conversation with her about what she thought. She played the piano, though, and I remember her playing “The Old Rugged Cross.” Perhaps that’s the closest we came to a conversation – but it is a memory that goes very deep.
   

        “. . . One generation shall praise Thy works to another,
    And shall declare Thy mighty acts.
    On the glorious splendor of Thy majesty,
    And on Thy wonderful works, I will meditate.
    And men shall speak of the power of Thine awesome acts;
    And I will tell of Thy greatness.” (Psalm 145:4-6)

Lois told Timothy what she knew – (2 Timothy 1:5) Grandmothers are still useful purveyors of truth – especially in the age of instant communication. The blessing of technology is that I can have conversations with my grandchildren! Jack may think I live in a computer for now – although he has been to Texas – but we talk. 

How can I use it to tell them what I know about God?

Christmas Carols --Musical Mallets

I disposed of the Christmas mantelpiece arrangement tonight, leaving the three wooden kings and the angel out until Epiphany: three days hence. But I am still listening to Christmas music.Our cable provider offers more than a dozen music channels – and the one that has been of great comfort this holiday plays Christmas carols and secular music – from the Hallelujah Chorus to Spike Lee singing “All I want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth.” I have listened to it for three weeks and counting.

When the news got too grim, or, other programing too mind-numbing, I found classic carols, new ones, and quiet jazz arrangements of this glorious music comforting. How much greater their comfort as this holiday season closes – it’s as if I am sitting with old friends reminiscing how great the party was we just threw.

Those carols untangle the strands of memories – threads that hold glimpses of grief and joy firmly in place for months and years unravel when certain notes sound – and I am cast back to the times I first heard them. For example, with the first quiet notes of “Silent Night” I am in the choir stall one midnight Christmas Eve service; I look out and see the mother of my friend and fellow junior member. She is fighting back tears; her eldest daughter has given birth to a little girl, Annie, a child born with profound disabilities. At twelve I do not understand how a new born Child of whom we sing will help them.

For melodies that are so familiar, I am sorry to admit how poorly I understood what the Christmas carols were saying – thrilling to their poetry and music – but at a loss understanding what their message had to do with me.

Maybe that’s why Christmas is as much a time of sadness as it is gaiety? We see and hear joyful sounds, but have no joy. We eat glorious foods and are still hungry. Maybe that’s why the Puritans banned “Christmas?”

As much as I complain about its excesses, though, I am glad the Puritans didn’t have the last word. The music of Christmas weaves its magic with memories and expectations of a time of year that seems brightest because the shadows are deepest. Though the carols’ theology may be incomplete, they are a goad – possibly some will keep the treasures of the music in their heart, and ponder, how can this little Child help me?

Verses stayed with me – going into my heart, musical mallets in the Holy Spirit’s determined hand –

How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven . . .
O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born to us today . . .

The Help

A stroll down memory lane isn’t always easy or pleasant. I just took one when I read  The Help  by Kathryn Stockett. This first novel weaves together several lives, just as the fabric of segregation began unraveling in Mississippi in 1962, and as a new cloth of civil rights for black Americans unfolds. Though we know how that appalling era ended, The Help portrays people often neglected in the formidable tapestry of the US civil rights movement – black women and the white women for whom they worked – beautiful strands each. The women take turns, as if at a loom, telling her experiences, weaving her observations and ambitions into small part of a much larger fabric, familiar to us, especially those who lived through the ‘60's.

By scattering historical facts in her fictional account of how three women authored a best-selling novel in Jackson, Mississippi, Ms Stockett creates a potent and personal story. Their matter-of-fact observations, and casual commentary emerge against the racial tension in the south in the ‘60's. Two women, Aibileen and Minny, are black women who are maids; the third woman, Skeeter, is white and like a misfit in her hometown. They disclose their aspirations, humiliations and heartaches – interlaced with fear of real consequences, from ostracism, to tongue lashings, brutality and incarceration.

The reader is a trusted confidant, also growing in understanding as the characters describe how they cope with a monster who is becoming more recognizable, as their stories include names of real people and real events. The awareness of the blight Jim Crow propagated deepens – and disturbs. For those who know about James Meredith, the Freedom Riders, To Kill A Mockingbird, Dr. King, and Medgar Evers, even the most humorous scenes are bittersweet.

The reader may laugh at how stupid the racists looked and sounded; empathize with the heartaches and marvel at the maids’ forbearance – but then the reader may remember what happened to people who overstepped. This is why what began as walk back in time hurt.

I am no longer just reading a well-written first novel; I am looking through a glass – seeing the cost of slavery exacted from still another generation. And I am looking into a mirror. The novel’s words are unadorned – familiar – describing attitudes like ones I heard growing up in Baltimore at about the same time. Our segregation was not as blatant in the 1960's as Jackson’s, but it was just as real.

As the novel ends, the reader has hope. The book they have written is a double-edged hope for all three. “Wasn’t that the point of the book” Skeeter wonders? “For women to realize, ‘We are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I’d thought.”

Perhaps their lives, torn apart by fortune and misfortune, will be re-woven again with strength, dignity and success? It is, after all, 1964.

Coffee and Conflict

Last night I ground some special Christmas coffee, which Doug gave me, prepared and loaded the coffee maker, anticipating a flavorful start to the morning. Today, I pushed the “on” button and went about my business – only to hear an odd gurgling. The good news is I caught the disaster before it spilled down the bottom cabinets; the not so good news is something got plugged up – even though I washed all parts the night before. Somehow, something clogged the valve into the thermos – and my fancy coffee went everywhere but its intended destination!

It was a three-towel mop-up.

Settling down now with coffee in hand, I wonder what the lesson was in the mess?

Soon, I saw an implicit comparison: Thinking I am doing everything “right” doesn’t mean, in fact, I am. Nor does doing my things “right” mean I can control other things – or people. Last night I inadvertently did, or did not do, something that caused the hot coffee to overflow the pot this morning. Maybe, I added a bit too much finely ground coffee? Or, perhaps I did not tighten the thermos lid thoroughly, or I misaligned it? It’s easy to see who ultimately caused the overflow this morning – even though making a mess was not my aim. It was also easy to see that the only choice I had was cleaning up the mess and starting over.

But suppose I had ignored the coffee spill until a more convenient time – or expected Doug to deal with the mess? Really crazy, huh?

Nope – that’s how most of us often deal with conflict if we aren’t blowing our stacks! (And I include Christians!)

Dissension between family and friends is often a little like my coffee debacle – surprising, painful and messy. But, instead of quickly addressing the mess, we try to ignore a conflict – until a more convenient time. Or, we pass the problem off to someone else to solve. Yet the pain of unresolved conflict is just as messy and dangerous as an overflowing pot of hot coffee – and might take more than three towels to clean up!

So, if you suspect something isn’t perking as intended, consider whether you're making peace quickly is as necessary as the need for me stop a hot coffee spill. Peacemaking can be messy. We might get burned. And we may need help doing it. Here’s some help from Scripture:

• Have you fallen out with someone – because they seem like a jerk? (See Matthew 18:15)
• Has a relationship cooled for no apparent reason? (See Matthew 5:23-25)
• Are you convinced you are faultless in a disagreement? (See Luke 21:31-32)
• Are you a Christian, wanting to reflect Him?   See Matthew 5:9 in the following translations:

• "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.” (ESV)
• “Happy are those who strive for peace-they shall be called the sons of God.” (TLB)
• "You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.” (THE MESSAGE)

When conflict next erupts, I hope I remember pretending the mess is not my problem is as unwise as letting a coffee maker continue to flood the counter.

Remedy it, or welcome it: a wise man's only two choices. ~The Quote Garden

Snap Out of It!

I met one of my favorite Mary Englebreit characters in the mid 1990's, when prozac and psycho-babble ruled.

 She has MOVED -- please drop on by: https://autumns-garden.com/snap-out-of-it/

A Christmas Carol: Have you read it?

Mr. Dickens’ tells  a tale that has  endured 168 years.  It is  an ever fresh analysis about how even the worst of us  can be all be made better with a little supernatural help and our own determination to be and do good.

I first heard it read by Lionel Barrymore on Christmas day, 1956. Settling myself in a comfy chair I put the records on a phonograph just below the 21-inch Philco televison screen. It was late afternoon, and the Christmas tree lights were quite cheery while I listened to a story I didn’t quite grasp.

I grasp it now, forty-three years later, having seen many different productions. And the story never disappoints me; its theme is always a tonic: even the worst of the lot can change in time to do some good for the human race  – whether Scrooge is played by Alastair Sim, Jack Palance, Scrooge McDuck, or, Vanessa Williams.  That was the intention: In his own words, Mr. Dickens

“ . . . endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me.” He wanted it to “. . . haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.”

Wherever it is set, and whenever the story unfolds, the theme is the same: a supernatural intervention in an ornery old person’s life: Ebenezer Scrooge’s.  He – or she, depending on the production – is headed for eternal torment, condemned to wander the earth unable to do the good he or she once might have done – never resting, weighed down by the chains their sins forged in life. A departed associate has been  dispatched to warn the greedy man of affairs; three spirits arrive successively – all knowing a great deal about  Scrooge’s life – former and current. Memories long suppressed confront the Scrooge, forcing him  to judge what he has become. And, then, Scrooge is shown his end – the grave –  unless – he repents; he does. The supernatural intruders succeeded! Scrooge does a one-eighty, and becomes a keeper of Christmas year-round,  helping and serving mankind, who should have been his business his whole life. Death for now is thwarted.

Now, Mr. Dickens doesn’t say exactly who sends the spirits, though he is plain on the purpose of their mission: Scrooge’s welfare, his reclamation on Christmas Eve – the day the church celebrates the birth of Jesus the Christ. Yet, Mr. Dickens did not link  Christ Jesus  to the Scrooge’s transformation. (1 Timothy 1:15) Baptized in the  Anglican church, Mr. Dickens was averse to evangelicalism –  and, alas, apparently aligned himself with Unitarianism for the remainder of his life. (Dickens, Christianity and the Life of our Lord: Humble Veneration, Profound Conviction, By Gary Colledge,  link)

Is Scrooge’s change therefore a humbug? For the Cratchits, his nephew Fred, and 19th century London, surely not! Mr. Dickens stated Scrooge put his life and money where his mouth was:

     “Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world . . .  He had no further intercourse with Spirits, . . . and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge . . .”

And England in the mid-19th century needed many charitable hearts and hands – just we do in 21st century America today. (Mark 14:7)

So what am I confessing this Christmas with deeds? (James 2:26)

Maybe that is why A Christmas Carol remains a beloved goad – one I understand more deeply each year as memories of Christmases past haunt me. I confess with my mouth Jesus is Lord; He reclaimed my sin-laden soul.

•     You intervened in my life though I had not asked – (Ephesians 1:4)
•     You invited me to a splendid feast, one that destroys the grave! (Isaiah 25:6-8)
•     And you gave me lavish robes – to cover my wretched rags. (Zachariah 3:4)
•     In You, I have a hope and a future – far brighter than the Christmas lights in big -D and more real. (Jeremiah 29:11)

What have I done with so great a salvation?

Oh! This season may no one miss the real supernatural power in Christmas because of my deeds. May I be “as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a [woman], as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. . .”

God help me to be a woman who walks straight, acts right, and tells the truth.
May I never hurt my friend, or  blame my neighbor.
May I despise the despicable.
May I keep my word even when it costs me, and may I make an honest living, never taking a bribe. (Psalms 15 from THE MESSAGE)

Nothing Like Sunshine . . .

When James Thurber described two kinds of light, he described morning at my desk: “There are two kinds of light - the glow that illumines, and the glare that obscures.” Until recently, the Bradford pears outside our window formed a weathered canopy of golden leaves. Though their mellow  hue was one more reminder of the difference between Dallas and Maryland it has been a pleasure writing at my desk, drinking coffee, and plotting my day. (What a difference a little longitude and latitude makes, huh?)  Within the past few days, however, the remaining leaves cannot shield me from the morning sun. 

The winter light pouring through the  window unsettles  my thought process, such as it is. Squinting, I must shift the position of the computer screen – sometimes losing track of an idea that just emerged! Clearly, I’ll need an earlier start, or a different location.

Nothing like sunshine to rearrange one’s thoughts.

So before  the winter sun disrupts me again – let me commend a verse that warmed my heart last night – especially if the bright lights of Christmas are obscuring your path:

    “Stay always within the boundaries where God's love can reach and bless you. Wait patiently for the eternal life that our Lord Jesus Christ in his mercy is going to give you. Try to help those who argue against you. Be merciful to those who doubt.” ( Jude 21-22 TLB)

In all the gifts we give this year, mercy is perhaps the finest – and most costly.  It may mean overlooking some offenses,  giving up a deep hurt, or embracing a discipline we hoped to avoid; being merciful to those who do not deserve out mercy is the best gift we can give – for such was God’s gift to us in His Son.

A Painful Memory –

 Comes back this time of year -- It happened over a decade ago.

“If you don’t leave me alone,” the woman snapped at me, “I will report you to the manager!”

My breath lodged in my throat while my soul recoiled from the slap of her angry words. A few minutes before, the woman’s coughing spasms interrupted my shopping, so, I  offered her a cough drop. When she curtly refused with anger, and I mumbled  an explanation: “I thought you were in distress. . .” And so she spoke sharply to me.

I stood for only a moment before quickly replacing the items I was considering, and fled the store.  Silent judgment overcame compassion and I headed for the door. Silent  indignation fueled my flight. “How dare she speak to me like that!” I fumed. I was vexed, offended, and resented her disdain. She treated me like I was . . . like I was some pestering vagrant!

The December night’s air smacked my flushed cheeks, shaking me lose from my gripe. That’s how I had sounded, not twenty minutes before, when I flounced myself out of the house for one last errand before Christmas: buying a gift in Christ’s name  for some poor child.

Now able to breathe, I was still  unable to pray whole-heartedly for that hostile woman. Our words were different, but our attitudes were too similar:  “Don’t mess with me! I got all this extra work because of this lousy season.”     

Peace on earth – Good will to men upon God’s favor rests.

O Lord! I whispered. You asked me to go a little further, work a bit longer, and then endure a simple insult. I don’t have to die for anyone’s selfishness; I must die to my own. And I can’t master my emotions when You give me an opportunity to sip from the cup Jesus took. (Hebrews 12:1-6)

O Lord, I am a beast! When I remember what You have promised, I am ashamed I dropped Your standards, first to my family and then to a stranger whose hurting heart ruined her poise. (Psalm 73)

Merry Christmas, to those who know not the One who can release them from the chains that stumble them. He is come!

And to the Christian troops, who are weary, bearing many insults, trials and tribulations  – Merry Christmas!

God is keeping a list; whether He checks it twice, I do not know. And we don’t want anyone, even our worst enemy to be on that list! However,  HE knows who’s been naughty and nice. He of whom the angels proclaimed is come and is coming again. (Matthew 25) He promises a crown to those who overcome – May we overcome our momentary afflictions,  for HIS glory and enjoy the great reward He plans for us.

Love in Christ,
bwsmith  

A PS from this year: Thank you God for our armed forces who serve so I might worship and serve you.

Reconnecting to My Childhood.

Because of the internet I found a friend, one with whom I played as a little girl. We played with our dolls, we invented games about being mommies, teachers – and Dale Evans – Roy Rogers’ faithful friend; we shared meals, birthday parties, neighbors, games, dolls . . . she knew people who are now just blessed memories to me. Somewhere along the line, though, we went different ways and lost track of each other – almost fifty years ago!

A lot of water goes under a bridge in that amount of time. A lot of buried treasure, too. But with a few clicks of a mouse, I can go back and think about people and places that all contributed a bit to who I am today. Imprecise recollections surfaced these past few days – stirring memories, creating questions about  “what if . . .?”

Born to parents who lived through the depression and several wars, I grew up with an older brother in a modestly prosperous community, Stoneleigh, adjacent to a bustling city, Baltimore. Neighbors, playmates, teachers, aunts, uncles, cousins, lifeguards, shopkeepers, crushes: How did these dear people, whose stories I will never fully know, influence me? Or, I, them?  I never stopped to think as I rushed ahead toward the life I have now, not mindful of how lovely parts of  each day was.

Oh! How I understand Emily Gibb’s aching question to the Stage Manager in Our Town: “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—every, every minute?”

For all the better choices I might have made, I am glad to be where I am just now – humbled that I am where I am – just for today – free to enjoy what I never deserved. And could never had earned even if I never made a bad decision.

. . . GOD is sheer mercy and grace; not easily angered, he's rich in love.
He doesn't endlessly nag and scold, nor hold grudges forever.

He doesn't treat us as our sins deserve, nor pay us back in full for our wrongs.

As high as heaven is over the earth, so strong is his love to those who fear him.

 And as far as sunrise is from sunset, he has separated us from our sins. . . (Ps 103:8-12 from THE MESSAGE)

A Faulty Faucet

Eleven o’clock on a Saturday night  is not the easiest time to find a willing, competent plumber – but we tried a referral, one whose recorded message promised a call-back in a few minutes.   

The hot water in our shower would not shut off last night – in a newly remodeled bathroom. We had installed new fixtures, but some of the stems upon which the bright and shiny brass and porcelain knobs rested were old – indeed, worn out.  The stems were not visible. A crack caused a screw to slip, and a washer fell off, meaning no matter which direction I turned the knob, hot water pulsed through. And no turn-off was readily apparent – meaning the only cut off was in the adjacent alley, under a manhole, close to the fence. Douglas bundled up, for the temperature had dropped to 27 degrees, and valiantly stopped the flow of water.

While he struggled to cut off the water, I quickly filled up a water jug, prepared the morning  coffee, and filled the bathtub so we might flush the toilets. And we settled down awaiting a jingle on the phone. By 12:45 A.M., we gave up and went to bed. At 8:00 A.M. the plumber called, set an appointment, and came, discovering the problem, and fixing it with some new stems and washers.

The simple motion, turning off a faucet, was thwarted. A good thing, hot water, became scalding and harmful because of an aging piece of hardware, hidden from view finally wore out. And one faulty faucet meant shutting down all running water. No running water changes a lot -- stopping many things, anything that I had not made provision for before the water ceased to flow. 

Christ said water was to flow out of me – living water. (John 7:38-39) But sometimes, what comes out of my heart and mouth is as unsafe as that scalding hot water, and the cause may be as  unanticipated as that corroded faucet stem – that cracked under heat and persistent turning. Intemperate speech can also shut down all kinds of things as surely as Doug shut off the water to the house. Unfortunately there is no advance preparation for such a debacle the way I provided for the inconvenience of no running water.  I have scalded other people with my tongue. The only provision I have is that there is a Balm. (Jeremiah 8:22)

The plumber replaced the damaged pieces, turned the water back on, and now the shower turns on and off again – the water’s temperature easily moderated because he reset the temperature on the water heater. What comes from me also can be moderated, though I can’t see or know the stuff in my heart. My heart “. . .  is hopelessly dark and deceitful, a puzzle that no one can figure out.” ( Jeremiah 17:9  from THE MESSAGE )

Grace rests the gauge on my emotions when I remember these things and act:

    God did not die and leave me in charge. “You grab a mad dog by the ears when you butt into a quarrel that's none of your business.” (Proverbs 26:17 from THE MESSAGE )

    God gave me Scripture to get at the corroded corners in my heart and soul. “Who can discern his lapses and errors? Clear me from hidden [and unconscious] faults.” (Psalm 19:12 AMP)

    God has a purpose in my speech. “ When she speaks she has something worthwhile to     say, and she always says it kindly.( Proverbs 31:26 from THE MESSAGE )

"[S]he who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, 'From [her] innermost being shall flow rivers of living water.'"  (John 7:38-39)

Cold Water In Loving Cups:

A Ministry?


Cable news succeeds in outlining, describing and reiterating what Paul observed: the days are evil  – These are desperate times! (Ephesians 5:16) And the times affect the very people who create them. (John 13:34, Matthew 5:44) Paul saw his generation and described ours:


        . . . People knew God perfectly well, but when they didn't treat him like God, refusing to worship him, they trivialized themselves into silliness and confusion so that there was neither sense nor direction left in their lives. They pretended to know it all, but were illiterate regarding life . . .   Refusing to know God, they soon didn't know how to be human either — women didn't know how to be women, men didn't know how to be men. Sexually confused, they abused and defiled one another, women with women, men with men — all lust, no love . . .  And it's not as if they don't know better. They know perfectly well they're spitting in God's face. And they don't care — worse, they hand out prizes to those who do the worst things best! (Romans 1:18-32 from THE MESSAGE )

People who believe God live in the midst of people who do not believe in Him, and our charge is to love each other and nonbelievers with love. How do I do I do this?

First, remember that but for God’s grace – and the loving forbearance of several Christians – I might be far worse than the Romans Paul described. Second, ask for a heart that loves – and a will that serves; neither one is second-nature to me. Third, put away the fire hose. I am learning offering cold water in loving cups is one way  –  though I used to think a fire hose of hot water was one way to quench the "opposition." Fourth pray for Christians who are visible – that they are transparent and effective witnesses of Jesus the Christ.


Finally, I found this e-mail from Peacemaker Ministries quite helpful on how to reconcile, live at peace, among and with “enemies.”

    Don't Drop Your Weapons!


    Paul also understood that God has given us divine weapons to use in our quest for peace. These weapons include Scripture, prayer, truth, righteousness, the gospel, faith, love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control (Eph. 6:10-18; Gal. 5:22-23). To many people, these resources and qualities seem feeble and useless when dealing with "real" problems. Yet these are the very weapons Jesus used to defeat Satan and to conquer the world (e.g., Matt. 4:1-11; 11:28-30; John 14:15-17). Since Jesus chose to use these weapons instead of resorting to worldly weapons, we should do the same.

    (Adapted from The Peacemaker: A Biblical Guide to Resolving Personal Conflict by Ken Sande, Updated Edition (Grand Rapids, Baker Books, 2003) p. 248)


    Food for Thought

    What weapons do you tend to use when you are in a conflict?

    When we finally decide to reconcile with an enemy, we sometimes approach them with an attitude of "dropping our weapons.” But Jesus never calls us to be unarmed or passive among our enemies. To the contrary, he calls us to lay down our ineffective worldly weapons (like defensiveness, anger, self-justification, and gossip) in order to take up the truly heavy artillery (like love, peace, patience, kindness, and self-control). Take time today to read Romans 12:14-21 and resolve to take up again the weapons for which the Lord sacrificed so much to equip you.


Romans 12:14-21


    Bless those who persecute you; bless and curse not.

    Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.

    Be of the same mind toward one another; do not be haughty in mind, but associate with the lowly. Do not be wise in your own estimation.

    Never pay back evil for evil to anyone. Respect what is right in the sight of all men.

    If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men.

    Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, "Vengeance is Mine, I will repay," says the Lord.

     "But if your enemy is hungry, feed him, and if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap burning coals upon his head."

    Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (NASB)

An`Estate Sale --

My friend spied an estate sale and passed on the address.  Estate sales are always on my way; so, I stopped; I parked on the same street that had obliged me a few Saturdays previously when another estate sale loomed. Approaching the house, I saw through large windows many good, but gently worn treasures in with everyday stuff – and so it was in each room. Alas, nothing for me.

 Leaving the house, a guard greeted me – testifying to the remaining valuables: sterling silver, a full length mink, rugs, books on collecting porcelain and silver, amongst costume jewelry, old appliances  – and half full bottles of cleaning and yard sprays, marked fifty cents. I looked up and saw a broken window pane in a dormer; the paint was pealing; looking around, I saw the yard was overgrown. In the driveway, people had removed the seats in their van to accommodate their find: a sofa with good bones and timeworn upholstery

Because of the economy, her home may be remodeled instead of demolished – and all her things, the care of which surely occupied a large portion of her resources – time, money, and thoughts – will have new homes – or molder landfills. What we work so hard for, becomes another’s property – for a season or two; where is that from in  Ecclesiastes?

A woman’s life sorted, tagged and on sale – not a thing that bore witness to a man’s presence. Who was she? Where is she? Did she have people to love, and love her? Did someone help her at the end of her stay in home?

Well, dear anonymous and elegant lady – thank you for letting me see your treasures. I hope for all the pleasure they gave you, loving hearts gave you more – and that you were loved and that you loved.

A Familiar Lonesome Wail

I remember the first time I heard the sound of a train – I was a small child visiting my grandmother in Jonesville, South Carolina. The tracks were several miles from her home.  Though trains ran throughout the day, I only heard them in the morning and evening. But, that wail intrigued me – I had seen pictures of passenger trains, and distant sounds kindled day dreams. My grandmother’s house still stands – does a child dream when she or he hears a distant wail?

The next time I heard a train’s horn, I was a junior at the University of Maryland – our apartment was literally right by the tracks. The landlord said we’d get used to it; he was  right. After the first couple of days I rarely heard it. I had no time for dreams.

But now, that distant wail – haunting and familiar – is clearly discernible at our new house! As I sat down with coffee, it greeted me – having said a goodnight before I retired. I have time for  musing – Does  that train wend its way east and north through South Carolina, and Jonesville, onto College Park, perhaps then chugging into Grand Central?  Another train now passes.  This is no way to get a morning’s housework done!

Coming to Terms with Time

Some birthdays are difficult to celebrate, for they bring an awareness of aging – a daunting prospect with all that attends!  I heartily concur with another woman’s thoughts:
   

    Come, thieving time, take what you must,
    Quickness to move, to hear, to see,
    When dust gathers near to dust,
    Such diminutions need must be,
    But leave, O leave, exempt from plunder,
    My sense of humor, curiosity, and wonder.

(An anonymous poem, from a 93-year-old  lady, given to her pastor in Washington DC church)

But a sense of humor, curiosity, and wonder aren’t always enough if facing  infirmity, loneliness  and death.

The first time I ever thought much about how old I was getting, I was staring at my reflection in a mirror - in Quito Ecuador - on my 23rd birthday; it dawned on me (finally) I was an adult – but the choices I had been making were not so wise. I had some decisions  to make, not fully realizing that growing up meant growing old.  That was the only birthday that literally troubled  me. Plenty of other times have given me pause to reflect on how quickly my life was passing – but not another birthday – so far.

About twenty-three years later, was one such time as I stood in the autumn sunlight of our dressing area, stunned by the realization that  “middle aged” was no longer an apt description of my age and stage. How it came to me was doing the math . . . doubling my age that afternoon I figured that put me well beyond what even Moses said was a reasonable  prospect of longevity. (Psalm 90:10) 

Another twenty years, or so, has passed since that epiphany – decades that brought all kinds of changes – the least of which has been aging: people whose lives I often took for granted died; new relationships have been forged – I have another “son” and “daughter” – gifts of grandchildren who will outlive me, God willing. Changes that seemed unthinkable have come to pass – wars, uncertainty, and a “normlessness”– anomie – that I thought only described post World War I; “unshakeable” foundations shook.  

When I first thought about growing older, I assumed I had time, time to dream and live those dreams out – time to make a difference  – I would make a major contribution to my world. And I would be very different from other women I knew! Twenty three years passed and  my ideas about what to contribute had changed; my desire to be so different has mellowed. Another couple of decades zipped by, and imagining the future is not as pleasurable as remembering how far God has brought me; I miss the women, my mother, family and friends, all from whom I wanted to be so different. And that sense of humor, curiosity, and wonder doesn’t overcome pain, loneliness and fear.

I read Isaiah 46:3-5 and am comforted by God, who is the God of my gray hairs – an important promise for one who decided to retire Miss Clairol.

“When my skin sags and my bones get brittle, GOD is rock-firm and faithful.”(Psalm 73:26 from THE MESSAGE ) 

Grateful for each day, then – even as my get up and go . . . diminishes . . . even with increasing limitations, I can with laughter, curiosity and wonder, pray: 

    . . . And even when I am old and gray, O God, do not forsake me,
    Until I declare Thy strength to this generation, Thy power to all who are to come.
    (Psalm 71:18)

    . . . Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.
 Cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me.
 Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit.
 Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you.
 Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, O God of my salvation, and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness.
 O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise. . .  (Psalm 51:10-15)

My Window Now Faces South . . .

In our new home, because of my desk’s situation, the morning sky’s light is different – I face south. The light is gentler – in our former home, I faced east in the morning — but I rarely sat at my desk; I enjoyed reading and writing on the screened porch, (weather permitting) an exposure also protected from the sun. So, the light feels somewhat familiar.  

On either side of the desk are books, photos and tiny treasures, some that chronicle thirty-seven years together: some wedding gifts, many we collected. I added to the collection a Maryland memento. Saturday, while yard-sailing, (or, in Dallas, estate-yachting) I found a small Delft ginger jar, inscribed  Maryland – interesting to speculate what the connection was.

Were they transplants, too?

Texas is full of transplants! Business people whose companies relocated; Latin American and African immigrants, university and medical students – quadruple the mix since Douglas left in the 1960's. Many folks here, when asked if they are natives, reply, “No, but I got here as quick as I could.”  I genuinely like Texans – natives and transplants – everybody who have so graciously opened their hearts to us.  But I have never been more aware of being a Marylander – even a Baltimorean, though most of my life I’ve spent in the Annapolis area! What’s that about? I wasn’t so conscious of that when I lived in DC. 

Of course, this surprising tie to my provenance is like Doug’s. One evening as we walked, he remarked on the sunset – brilliant blue melting into orangery-purples – and I realized maybe he’d been missing the memory of how the sun looks – rising or setting.

Sunshine!

Yesterday and today have been glorious, cool and sunny in Dallas – after days of   showers and storms – downpours that have replenished water supplies.

Last Monday, as we readied boxes and bags for the Tuesday move, we worried about the weather – the clouds parted and the movers from Maryland and Texas converged –depositing the bits and pieces of our lives: the living room rug that I saw first in my husband’s bachelor pad was unrolled,  and the memories of our children playing, crawling and toddling spilled out.

Many open-hearted friends and family pitched in – with concrete, kind help – bringing food, muscle power and encouragement. By Thursday night – because of all their help – we could find our way around the house, and our son and his wife flew in – through the crazy weather – and we had a fun time – content to leave the chaos. Friday night the Texas family and friends entertained them and us.

Saying good-bye after breakfast this morning was hard – the feelings  reminded me of the Sunday we left our son at his college: for years I knew the day was coming – yet was somehow surprised that time did not simply stop.

. . . Time, like an ever rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day . . . 

But just for today I remember the kindness of so many and the love of the best kids a mom and dad could have, and God who made such a wideness in His mercy it found out me.

Stuff

Another move looms . . . Less than forty-eight hours until we settle in to our next home . . . Boxes, empty cabinets, empty walls – and rooms that echo slightly because the curtains are at the cleaners. Yep, I've moved a bunch . . .

My first move -- just a couple of suitcases: I left  Baltimore for Ocean City – to work for the summer before moving to a college dorm, then, into two different apartments in the same building, before I moved two more times around the College Park area – acquiring stuff, discarding stuff –  never having enough of what the next living space required.

Next, I moved into an apartment near the zoo in DC; within a year I moved onto Capitol Hill, NE. From there I moved to Ecuador for a year – moving around the country, twice.  Illness and revolution sent me back to South Carolina, with little more than what I had in a suitcase to recover before returning to DC – the outskirts of Capitol Hill, this time in SE. Then I moved to Georgetown . . . from whence I married and moved to Annapolis. I left most all my stuff for others to use.

In Annapolis, we moved seven times in twenty-four years; we accumulated stuff.  Lots of it was other people’s downsizing. God gave us children, and our stuff really multiplied! The moves became more complicated – and we needed storage lockers.

We’ve moved three times so far in Texas, each time acquiring stuff – and now we are fixing to move the fourth time. We have let go of a great deal of stuff; photographs remind of us of our real treasures: people and places.  An assortment of images, freezing in time people, who are no longer precious babies, toddlers – or teens; of people who now know what is on the other side of this life; rooms we loved in, argued and cried in; holidays, vacations – I see the colors, smell the smells and hear their voices. They all go with me -- 

So, I am  used to moving . . . and the sadness and excitement that fill the minutes and hours of moving day.   Forty-eight hours until we settle into our next home . . . Boxes, empty cabinets, empty walls – and rooms that echo slightly because the curtains are at the cleaners. And in the upcoming abode – the scenario is the same . . . packing up, sorting, tossing, saving for another time to dispose of, . . . my life is still in moving boxes?

Social Justice

Tonight we had dinner with some interesting folks – about 500! WORLD Magazine held a  dinner honoring Christians who are offering hope and compassion to hurting hearts without government help. They spotlighted three groups, from among many:

Crossover Ministry (www.crossoverministry.org) – Clinics offering healthcare, education and medicine to poor people in Richmond Virginia.
   
Snappin’ Ministries (www.snappin.org) – ministering to families with special needs children.
   

Forgiven Ministry (www.forgivenministry.org) helping reconcile children with their parents who are incarcerated.

Prior to the dinner we attended one of three seminars: Offering Hope to the Poor through Social Justice, with Marvin Olasky (editor of WORLD) and Stephen Tavani (Founder of WOW International – http://www.wowjam.com ). Both men are deeply committed to social justice – but not the way contemporary politicians and social engineers promote it.

The political left thinks social justice must needs not simply level all playing fields – they want  "From each according to his abilities, to each according to his need." The political right too often stumbles into social Darwinism – let the poor die off. The Bible teaches that justice separate the guilty from the innocent; (social) justice is always accompanied with righteousness – these are the foundation of God’s throne – and must be the core of how we serve the poor and hopeless.

Mr. Tavani believes if the Gospel is true and works in the worst places, it is true and works anywhere. To that end, he and enormous corps of volunteers go into tough communities with everything from free cold water, bicycle repair, hair cuts, manicures, food, family photographs, games and shoes. He and his volunteers escort a small number of folk at a time into a tent, and fit each with  free name-brand athletic shoes – after bathing the feet of those they serve.  Is it any wonder they draw crowds?   And to those crowds, he offers the Gospel of salvation, as he and his volunteers meet real needs. They believe doing is more important than saying. 

Mr. Olasky believes this as well, citing the difference between the ancient Romans and Christians hospitality. The Romans were hospitable to those who could do them some good; the Christians entertained those who could never repay. (Luke 14:12-14) He speculated that one reason Christianity may have caught on was not so much the teaching, but the practice by which Christians shared and risked their lives to serve.

It was quite an evening! 

Cause of Damage: Unidentifiable?

Moisture has been a problem in our little house, especially since it was vacant for almost two years.  We can see these problems because of the unusually rainy fall.  So, we’ve replaced the gutters and down spouts and we’ve installed a French drain whose conduit to the curb seems to be working. But we found old damage – damage that had been covered up by carpet for over twenty years.  Our contractor  noticed a little rotted wood under a window.

Fearing more moisture problems  or termites we asked the floor refinisher to investigate, and we called in the pest control folks, in an abundance of caution. The workman thought it was just old moisture damage; but, the manager of the pest control company came himself to ensure they had not overlooked anything in the initial inspection and treatment. He clambered around the crawl space and pronounced it free of termite damage. Then, he recommended an extra treatment, no charge, in case the culprits were carpenter ants, who eat damp wood.

Sin remains a problem in my life, though I confess Christ has paid my debt in full; I take steps to battle it – winning many battles, and losing some painful ones. Sometimes “religion”  gets laid over the losses, covering old wounds, the way that carpet covered rotted wood.

My Carpenter, Christ, (Mark 6:3) is in the business of removing covering – especially “religious”  coverings.  What we are discovering is the vestige of sin’s damage; like those floor planks that need ripping out and replacing – the damage needs replacing. But, with what?

I still have the memories, fears, and faithlessness. Frankly, it’s easier to replace rotten wood than live with the fallout of  rebellion – mine and others.    

Though the world has seeped into my heart as relentlessly as moisture accumulates under a pier and beam home and its passions gnaw at me as determinedly as termites or carpenter ants, yet I hesitate to act; I won’t act out of the same abundance of caution I did for our home. Too often I am embarrassed to call out for help, anticipating other Christians’ rejection or derision. Worse, I doubt God cares, or, can help.

Is that what I would tell someone, though, who asked me for spiritual aid and comfort? “ Don’t bother me – or God; I don’t care and neither will He?”

No! I’d urge you to pray – I’d read you Scripture – I’d pray for you! Why is it easier, then, to tell you what to do, than to hear the Gospel for myself?

Maybe because asking God to help me shows just how feeble I am. Asking God shows me Who really is in charge; Confessing His Sovereign rule is one thing; living it is quite another. I don’t mind asking for help I can pay for – I resist anything that underscores how poor  I am.

Today, Mr. Spurgeon commented on Lamentations 3:41, "Let us lift up our heart with our hands unto God in the heavens." He zapped me – identifying the cause of damage:

    The act of prayer teaches us our unworthiness, which is a very salutary lesson for such proud beings as we are. If God gave us favours without constraining us to pray for them we should never know how poor we are, but a true prayer is an inventory of wants, a catalogue of necessities, a revelation of hidden poverty. While it is an application to divine wealth, it is a confession of human emptiness. The most healthy state of a Christian is to be always empty in self and constantly depending upon the Lord for supplies; to be always poor in self and rich in Jesus; weak as water personally, but mighty through God to do great exploits; and hence the use of prayer, because, while it adores God, it lays the creature where it should be, in the very dust.

And there’s always so much dust during any worthwhile remodeling! (Romans 8:29-31)

Eve’s Problem – and Mine

When the woman saw that the tree was good for power, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was desirable to make one wise, she took from its fruit and ate; and she gave also to her husband with her, and he ate. (Genesis 3:6)

Eve was created to be in the very place I would enjoy: the delight of her husband, living in a glorious garden with no pests, and no laundry. Yet, when offered a taste of something God proscribed, that’s the very thing she went for – fruit from the tree of knowledge because it looked tasty –  and would make her wise. In fairness to Eve, the serpent deceived her, challenging her to question what God said. (1 Timothy 2:14)

Where I live isn’t excellent in every way – as was the garden where Eve first lived. (Genesis 1:31) I live in the aftermath of their free choice. But, it’s way more pleasant than what Eve encountered when she and her husband were driven from the Garden.  In fact, I enjoy many of its fruits; I am grateful for its bounty. But, too often I can be as complacent as Eve was, not stretching, as she might have, for the fruit from the tree of life. (Genesis 2:9) And so when I hear the question, “Did God say  . . . ?” I can slide into doubt if God really said what He said. If He didn’t, then maybe I can be in charge and do what pleases me?

At the root of my doubt is disobedience – mine or someone else’s. I will not do what I should do, and I embrace what I should not. Or, I stumble into doubt because another Christian sinned. The thought, “God can’t be real if He let’s this go on,” flits by, and sometimes I invite it in for a chat, plunging myself into dark waters. 

Though presented with a powerful deception, could not Eve have asked Adam about challenge, or, God? My question goes beyond what Scripture teaches – but it is a life line in the watery darkness of doubts. But, I must look away from the temptation and search for God. Longing to enjoy pleasure, and to be wise, I am so like Eve, unless I look beyond my sin, or the sin of someone else. And when all I can see is failure – it’s hard!

The tree of life was not hidden from Eve and Adam – nor, is it hidden from me because of the Scriptures.

    Wisdom . . . a tree of life to those who take hold of her,
    And happy are all who hold her fast. (Proverbs 3:18) 

Christ is not hiding from me. He is as close as I permit; like Peter, though,  I can’t always handle the closeness.   . . .  "Master, leave. I'm a sinner and can't handle this holiness. Leave me to myself." (Luke 5:8   THE MESSAGE ) And left to myself, I am hopeless! (Romans 7:24) Fortunately Christ never left Peter, nor forsook him, and so I have hope. (Romans 7:25- 8: 39)  

    God, God, save me! I'm in over my head,
    Quicksand under me, swamp water over me; I'm going down for the third time.
    I'm hoarse from calling for help, Bleary-eyed from searching the sky for God.
    (Psalm 69:1-3 from THE MESSAGE )

My hope: 

I'm not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. (Philipian 3:12 from THE MESSAGE )


Now, let me get on with the laundry.

Follow-up on Granite Countertops

I have enjoyed the fall out conversations from my discovery that granite countertops may pose health risks. Some  granites have been reported to have higher radioactivity – perhaps creating a link to cancers. But, lo, and behold, I learned the science is not so definite and the warning may be tied to advertising wars: the countertop competitors may have magnified the scientific details. And this from the man who gave me the great deal.

One says there is a threat; another says the threat is without proof; which do I believe? If death, even a terrible death like cancer, is the result of acting on a seemingly innocent decision, what then?

My religion teaches that my days are numbered and known by my Creator; my Savior comforts me, assuring me worry will not add a thing to my life. (Psalm 139:16; Matthew 6:27) My Redeemer promises I will see Him, even after my skin is destroyed. (Job 19:25-27; John 11:25)

But,  my Friend asks me, as He asked Martha: “Do you believe this? " (John 11: 26) 

Martha confessed her faith, called her sister, and finally let the burial stone be rolled away, demonstrating her belief. (John 11:27-41)  My circumstances are not so dramatic as Martha’s, but, the Lord Jesus’ question remains. He wants to know if I believe He is the Life, the Conqueror of death and my Deliverer from its snares? Alas, it is a question I struggle with, even as I answer “Yes!”

We are remodeling a house that may well be around after we are not; we made improvements – granite countertops – which were formed and will endure after we die. Until Christ returns, this material world will outlast us. Yet, the life God promises me is more real than the granite, and will endure His fire –

My flesh argues; my heart replies – my hope defends and delivers me:

     "LORD, make me to know my end, And what is the extent of my days, Let me know how transient I am.

     "Behold, Thou hast made my days as hand breadths, And my lifetime as nothing in Thy sight, Surely every man at his best is a mere breath. Selah.

    "Surely every man walks about as a phantom; Surely they make an uproar for nothing; He amasses riches, and does not know who will gather them.

    "And now, Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in Thee.

    "Deliver me from all my transgressions; Make me not the reproach of the foolish.
    (Psalm 39:4-8)

And deliver me from my own foolishness – please.

Should I Start Smoking Again?

I quit my three-pack a day smoking habit thirty-nine years ago this Labor Day. This morning I discovered I may have introduced a potential carcinogen into our lives that is almost as deadly as smoking.

So, what have I done?  I put granite counter tops in our kitchen and bath.

The voguish folk tell me granite is good choice; science, though, has issued  a warning. Today, surfing the net,  I discovered that my economical, valuable solution  may pose a health risk comparable to smoking! Wikipedia says:

    “. . . Granite is a natural source of radiation, like most natural stones. However, some granites have been reported to have higher radioactivity thereby raising some concerns about their safety . . .     Radon gas poses significant health concerns, and is the #2 cause of lung cancer in the US behind smoking . . . ” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Granite)

Something “natural” might be deadly?

Do we have, courtesy of Wikipedia, unexpected support for statements in Genesis 3 that the Fall was deeper and wider than we can imagine? That it distorted nature?  Builders, salesmen and scientists may disagree. But, I believe Scripture is right in saying that what God created as good, now groans under His curse. (Genesis 1:10, 3:17; Romans 8:22)   And what we promote as not just OK, but useful and cost-effective – see cigarette advertising before the Surgeon General’s report – may not be so fashionable, or wise. “. . .  What the world calls smart, God calls stupid. It's written in Scripture, He exposes the chicanery of the chic.” (1 Corinthians 3:19 from THE MESSAGE )

So when I am in my refurbished kitchen, preparing meals on a “natural” surface, I will be slightly disquieted, wondering if my penny-wise trendiness was so smart. I just hope they give me as much pleasure as the long pull on a Benson & Hedges I still dream about taking.

The Remodeling This Far

Getting situated in our “new” home has been a series of starts, stops, and holding patterns. Buying our bungalow took almost three months of negotiations, and this in a down real estate market! Though the little house presented well, we understood it needed some repairs just to maintain its charm. So, we decided to address the problems before moving in. 

Planning and pricing  the remodeling work took another six weeks. The contractor kept saying he likes getting the work figured out beforehand as much as possible, so the sure-to-come glitches will be less likely to derail us.

The remodeling started slowly after Labor Day, picked up steam and last week roared along with roofers, foundation workers, carpenters, electricians, and painters. Promptly, they tore out rotting wood, redirected water from the foundation, upgraded wiring and discovered gas leaks. One of the genuine delights of the remodeling has been seeing so many craftsmen, whose full names I don’t know, who are equally thoughtful, careful, diligent and creative.  Even so, we have had those glitches: a sub measured the kitchen and bath counter tops incorrectly.

At first, I thought it might not matter, but waiting an extra ten days to two weeks for the new counter tops didn’t set well with the contractor who had scheduled the remaining work for back splashes, appliance installation, attic insulation, and floor refinishing.  His careful preplanning kept me from accepting a delay, and he directed me to a faster and more cost-efficient alternative.

Do  any of these daily adventures compare to remodeling of my heart without over spiritualizing the analogies? Just as remodeling sites are usually  messy, even when the workmen daily tidy up, I seem messy, even as I confess and repent. There have been spiritual fits and starts right along with real changes. I have misunderstood, miscalculated and misconceived God’s resources and my need. Worse, I have dallied on my inner remodeling site, putting off what I was supposed to be doing, preferring other work. And I have tripped up others by my faults.

While I am a new creature – by grace through faith – I remain a work in progress. God, the Builder has worked a unique plan, one that overcomes “glitches.”

    When someone becomes a Christian, [s]he becomes a brand-new person inside. [S]he is not the same anymore. A new life has begun! (2 Corinthians 5:17 TLB)

    . . .  For God is at work within you, helping you want to obey him, and then helping you do what he wants. (Philippians 2:12-13 TLB)
   
    'For I know the plans that I have for you,' declares the LORD,' plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope. (Jeremiah 29:11  NASB)

Lord, I believe; Help Thou my unbelief!

A Painful Ebenezer: Talking to a Computer

This week the pressures of overseeing our humble  remodeling effort have kept me moving, and in the past two days anger has swept over me, almost drowning me in emotional “in-bursts” and out bursts. What robbed me of my composure is one too many conversations with a mechanical voice.  Before I could speak to a person, I had to answer a computer’s questions; sometimes I lost track of the choices and had to start over; sometimes I heard way too much elevator music; once the computer hung up on me, and then my cell phone started ringing with a computer-generated notification of an appointment. Surely, I could maintain my composure simply conveying information to a machine?

Alas, not.

What I have thought and what I have said this week has been neither wise nor kind.  (Proverbs 31:26) And this week we began a study of Dr. Paul Tripp’s book, War of Words. Does God have a sense of humor or what?

Dr. Tripp described the purpose of words, using Proverbs 18:21 in a pointed paraphrase: Words kill, words give life; they're either poison or fruit — you choose. (From THE MESSAGE ) God gave us words so we could, among other things, solve problems. (Can you imagine ordering phone service without using words?)

I had several problems this week – arranging work, ordering services and getting information – but how I chose to use my words, spoken and unvoiced, brought a bitter harvest. No computer held a gun to my head, demanding I think or speak rudely; I chose, either to think, or to say unkind, unwise words. More than once, I yelled  – at  a computer – to make a point; worse, I used words as if no one else could hear, souring my tone when a real, live person finally came on line.

So, how far have I come this week? (1 Samuel 7:12) I am learning again, Someone listens, and He hears even my unspoken words.

“May my spoken words and unspoken thoughts be pleasing even to you, O Lord my Rock and my Redeemer  ” – even when I am answering a computer’s questions. Let me use Your gift of  words so I might be prepared to speak with wisdom and winsomeness to the next person you place in my path. (Psalm 19:14 TLB)

All rather ironic given my comments on Rep. Wilson , huh?

So Far Around the Bend, I Missed the Curve.

Coming into the house, chatting on my cell, I dump my purse on the steps, and start searching for my cell phone so I can be sure and plug it in. I mean for almost two minutes I searched those pockets madly while keeping up a conversation on the missing phone.

What does this mean?

Current Events – Saying You Are Sorry to All the People You Offended.

When Representative  Joe Wilson  responded to the President’s assertion that illegal aliens would not be entitled to health care, he shouted, “You lie!” This assertion offended the President, the Congress, his South Carolinian constituents, and me. He apologized to President Obama who graciously accepted it. However on a news program Representative Wilson declared his refusal to apologize to anyone else and cited his civility.

The U.S. House of Representatives sit because of the shed blood of millions of Americans. I hope Rep Wilson will take the next step and apologize setting a concrete example of civility

Christ warned his followers that if you even suspect someone has something against you, make it right. (Matthew 5:23-25) It’s good advice for all of us – regardless of religion.

If I blow it, onlookers are sometimes as wounded as the person who was the brunt of my frustration. Taking the time to think about what I said and whom I may have harmed is time well spent; and having the courage to ask forgiveness from all whom I offend  – without inserting excuses – is part and parcel of being blessed by God. (Matthew 5:9)

Seven A's of Confession (From Peacemaker Ministries)
 
As God opens your eyes to see how you have sinned against others, he simultaneously offers you a way to find freedom from your past wrongs. It is called confession. Many people have never experienced this freedom because they have never learned how to confess their wrongs honestly and unconditionally. Instead, they use words like these: "I'm sorry if I hurt you." "Let's just forget the past." "I suppose I could have done a better job." "I guess it's not all your fault." These token statements rarely trigger genuine forgiveness and reconciliation. If you really want to make peace, ask God to help you breathe grace by humbly and thoroughly admitting your wrongs. One way to do this is to use the Seven A's.

   1. Address everyone involved (All those whom you affected)
   2. Avoid if, but, and maybe (Do not try to excuse your wrongs)
   3. Admit specifically (Both attitudes and actions)
   4. Acknowledge the hurt (Express sorrow for hurting someone)
   5. Accept the consequences (Such as making restitution)
   6. Alter your behavior (Change your attitudes and actions)
   7. Ask for forgiveness

See Matthew 7:3-5; 1 John 1:8-9; Proverbs 28:13.

The Cost of Ownership

Time lost is too rarely realized as an irreplaceable gem until it is long gone from its setting.  A downside of our recent yard sale was the growing awareness that managing my stuff foreclosed being with people: no time to dally over coffee, take a long walk, shoot the breeze, or ask a question. No, I had to be about hauling, sorting, discarding, keeping, selling repositories of my memories, while the most valuable commodity I had – time with folks I love – slid away.  A hidden price of my treasures cost me time with my husband, a conversation with my daughter; the cost kept me from listening to my son, watching my grandchildren, and calling a friend. If I had known this unseen but real cost of all the possessions –  slated for disposal – would I have been so ready to buy? 

A Yard Sale Ebenezer

This time last week we faced an enormous task: emptying a 10x10 storage locker, moving it to our former home, sorting, pricing and preparing for a yard sale, scheduled for the same day a hurricane was due to visit Maryland. Now, the day before, when flying up from TX, we enjoyed a smooth flight – with an empty seat on our row! Then we relaxed with kids and grand-kids, girding our loins so to speak for the “reveal” day.

So, Thursday a week ago, we rented a truck, and began unpacking the contents of the storage locker; what did not go home, went into a locker one-fourth the size.  Two friends pitched in; our daughter-in-law gave up her last days of summer vacation before beginning a new academic semester and joined the insanity wholeheartedly: loading, moving, unloading. Then, our daughter and son-in-law’s living room and porch became a mountain of Smith clutter. And the sorting began: this stays, this goes, this is trash; the “this” was a pile of priceless pieces of a long and happy marriage.

Friday dawned – the sorting continued while the pricing began. What’s realistic? What’s not? We had some help from an antique dealer who gave us a few bottom lines, and educated us: some stuff we thought was valuable were just decorator pieces; some stuff we thought was knock-offs were the real deal. Throughout the run-up to the sale, we tended a busy three-year-old and eighteen months-old who doesn’t know how to walk; he runs! Our daughter-in-law brought crafts and kept some semblance of quiet.  We worked until 10:30 P.M.; my daughter, taking the occasion to purge her “collection” worked until midnight! Projections of bad weather the day of sale slowly became firmer.  Did we have a fall-back plan if rain was a reality on Saturday? No.

Saturday, the big day began at 6:00 A.M. We awoke to a  humid morning, hints of sun shining through clouds; our son-in–law had secured tables for us, so we  quickly began transferring the inside on my daughter’s home to the front lawn. Buyers showed up at 7:15 – before we finished unpacking. The cloudy skies were a mercy; the humidity was not.  Sell, sell, sell – you offer, we deal – that was my mind set, closing my mind to the memories. That is, until one yard-sailor demanded how badly I wanted to get rid of a carpenter’s chest? I preferred consigning it. By one we had loaded up the truck and deposited what was not sold to the Salvation Army. Our unsold books went to the A.A.U.W.  And nary a rain shower!

Then,  we collapsed – taking a long nap!

Was such an effort worth it? Money -wise, we made some. But it wasn’t the money that made Thursday, Friday and Saturday worth it. (Next time I have the urge to purge, my “junque” goes to Salvation Army directly!)  What made these three days great for me was the people who helped and those who came to the sale – the helpers’ time, kindness and strength were invaluable. And those who came to sale, some shared genuine compassion, understanding what it means to “downsize.”  We also got to see friends we hadn’t seen in many years, who promised to give our stuff good homes.

Some of the lessons of the last week  are still percolating – but, given all the possible problems, I know God heard the  prayers for us – His kindness was overwhelming! From giving us many loving, helping hands, re-routing the rain, to having a good time with kids and grand kids – to getting rid of stuff we can no longer use, God is surely kind.