They Sprouted!

The tiny than tinier seed whose name is a mouthful, Rudbeckia hirta, sprouted. Well, some of them did. I planted thirty-six starter plants, and at least six of them waved at me this morning when I went to water them. Well, they didn’t really wave.  They are still too minuscule to have much personality.  But the dots of fresh green amongst dark brown is as pleasing as a wave, and a testimony I did not drown them.

Watering teeny, tiny seeds in those diminutive composition flats is tricky. A spray bottle’s application is safer but slower; the watering can is faster – but if I don’t water carefully, I can flood the flats. I flooded a few compartments this past week. The spray bottle was empty, and the watering can was full; so, I used what was easiest on a hot evening – a recently filled watering can. 

Sometimes – too often – that’s how I talk to people. Emotion or fatigue or something wells up in me, and I flood an unsuspecting soul with my words, because it is easier. Full of myself, I will answer loudly, in exasperation; or, I will mutter a caustic remark.

And I am really bad with customer service operators. 

For someone who says she believes in the fruit of the spirit, when I am trying to settle a bill or other service problem an eavesdropper would be hard-pressed to hear kernels of kindness. Frustration can culminate  in disrespect  – and I speak as I would never wish to be addressed.

Harsh words to strangers (to anyone) can become stumbling blocks. Mahatma Gandhi once declared  he was impressed with Christ, but not with Christians:  “I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”   Apparently,  a churchman in a South African church had barred Mr. Gandhi from entering the church, and used intemperate speech, and he remembered the insult.  Why do I “forget” that my words to an unseen person may inflict life-changing harm?

Speaking to someone thousands of miles from me is a feat of communication that Paul or John could not have envisioned. Instead being filled with  awe that God has provided me such a venue to be His ambassador, I have too often blown the occasion, flooding the flats of another person’s soul, when I could have taken the time, “refilled” with the Holy Spirit, and misted their hearts’ soil.

The comfort and blessing of God’s word are that my Advocate not only defends me before my accuser but He pleads my case, and paid my court costs before I understood their magnitude. (1 John 1:9-10) The mercy is He did not treat me as I deserved. (Psalm 103) And therefore, because of Him, I can treat others with forbearance, kindness and respect. So, making sure the spray bottle is filled, before I water those tender sprouts next time – I pray God reminds me the mission field may just be the next service call I must make!

Reading My Garden

Sydney Eddison, gardener and author,  observed, “Gardens are a form of autobiography,” and I see a comparison between my gardening adventures and my life.  In Maryland I knew what I wanted to plant, but I didn’t always bother with a few important details of how to make the plants flourish. Sometimes, I put the flowers in an inhospitable location – like the year I planted Black-eyed Susans.  I didn’t have so much luck growing them in Maryland. I made some basic gardening mistakes the time I tried. I  didn’t transplant the containers of flowers deep enough into prepared soil. I chose a part of the garden that didn’t get as much sustained sunlight, and the soil was too sandy to retain water, and I did not divide them at the end of the season or deadhead expired blooms.

So, they did not flourish or bloom again.

Doing the right things in the wrong way – or with the wrong attitude – often ends badly, no matter how hard I worked. Just because I wanted to plant something, didn’t mean I knew how; just because I wanted it to grow in a particular spot, didn’t mean it could or would. Soil preparation, proper plant tending, light and water matter – so does knowledge.

But,  as grim a reflection of my gardening skills (and character defects) that  my gardens sometimes show, they are happy reminders that God redeems what I count as losses.  He shows me that ignorant enthusiasm can be harnessed, and redirected. And the mystery of life is grander than my blunders. However, as I now read more carefully the directions jammed in the plant pots, I make sure where I plant plants corresponds with what is labeled with bright yellow or purple suns.  By building on what I am learning, I am not killing so many plants. Except for the pineapple sage I just planted in the wrong place.

Now, I am hoping I had time to add some Maryland color in our Texas garden.  Starting some Black-eyed Susans from seeds, yesterday, I knew I was late . . . two months late. They’re  wild flowers, one of the most common, so I am hoping the seeds I just committed to starter containers will not be temperamental.

Reading the directions on the packet, I learned the seeds, smaller than poppy seeds, need sun to germinate. And I needed to press them ever so slightly into the soil without covering them up. Teeny-tiny black seeds are hard to see against dark brown potting soil, and figuring out how much pressure presses a minuscule seed no deeper than one-eighth of an inch were challenges,  so late in yesterday’s 100+ degree heat.

Now, I am nervous, wondering how hard I pushed those seeds down – if the spot is too sunny, too hot, or too dry – or if I started too late? I really would like to see them sprout. If they emerge, I will have a perennial reminder of Maryland for they are the state flower of Maryland – and another page in my autobiography.

H.A.D.D.: Housework Attention Deficit Disorder

 This is the new home for H.A.D.D. Please visit!

https://autumns-garden.com/yesterdays-cleaners-are-more-useful-than-yesterdays-attitude/

WORMS

Worms are many and varied; some are helpful – the slimy, slinky ones, that is. Others are not – like the one that invaded my computer. Suddenly I found my browser going to strange internet sites. Doug spent two days and nights trying to root the “critter” out. This meant I was unable to complete my preparation for guiding a discussion group, “Having Difficult Conversations: Living out your calling as a peacemaker.” (Matthew 5:9) 

This little class is a passion on mine – helping Christians rein in the power of conflict in their relationships.  Conflict is a difference of opinion or purpose that frustrates someone’s goals or desires. (_The Peacemaker_ , Ken Sande, p. 29) And I was in conflict with my computer! When I calmed down, and realized the reality that no computer was what it was – and nothing but patience and perseverance would root out the invader,  I thought about the great metaphor this setback was for the trouble conflict often creates.

Conflict, like stress, is not always bad; it can motivate creative thinking; it can be a great teacher – showing us things we would never learn otherwise. Yet unresolved conflict splits apart people – wrecking relationships and churches.  I believe we can do better, but we often do not – because what we want gets in the way of resolving and reconciling conflicts.

Conflict erupts, and we often cannot see why or how we clash with another; another person and I differ, and this is frustrating an idea, emotion or need I feel deeply. And like that computer worm took me places on the internet I didn’t want to go, conflict also takes me where I don’t want to go. James did a great job describing the wormy places that unreconciled conflict can lead me – and why:

“Where do you think all these appalling wars and quarrels come from? Do you think they         just happen? Think again. They come about because you want your own way, and fight for it deep inside yourselves. You lust for what you don't have and are willing to kill to get it. You want what isn't yours and will risk violence to get your hands on it. You wouldn't think of just asking God for it, would you?  And why not? Because you know you'd be asking for what you have no right to. You're spoiled children, each wanting your own way.” (James 4:1-3, The Message, emphasis added)

I needed outside help conquering the computer worm; it took time and skill. How much more do I need help in rooting out the causes of conflict in my heart and in the relationships God established! God is great “tech support” in unresolved conflict – He is the only one who knows the depth and breath of the infection. (Jeremiah 17:9-10) And He is the only help who can diagnose and heal all the worm holes my pride and self-centeredness dug. (Psalm 107:20-21; Isaiah 53:5; Jeremiah 17:14) He is the only reliable shield against the viruses infecting our hearts. (Psalm 18:30) 

And for what it is worth, He answered my prayers, helping Doug; the computer works for now – though that worm may still wreak havoc – again a picture of the dangers unresolved conflict creates! (Hebrews 12:15-16)


Image Source

Don’t Wait to Remember

Walking past a large room in an assisted living facility, I saw an old woman yelling at the nursing aid to give her back her empty food cup; the yelling escalated into reaching and grabbing – and became an anguished tantrum. As I walked along a corridor and saw women and a few men, seated in wheel chairs, lining the nurses’ station – waiting – dread nagged at my mind. 

If God grants me life, how could I live if this is the path He designs?

Christ said we would have tribulation in this world; growing older and watching others age, and others approaching the end of their days I see trouble comes in many more costumes then I imagined.  (John 16:33)

Visiting with an uncle and aunt this weekend reconfirmed that brass in the golden years is the major problem my mother attested that it was. They both live in assisted living communities;  though separated by 80 miles, their experiences have many similarities.  Loneliness, decrepitness, and dependence punctuate the challenges of growing old, making old age no place for sissies. Old age demands humor, courage and  grace; it needs others’ forbearance,  even the kindnesses of strangers.

The Lord told Peter as much:

“‘I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.’ Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God.” (John 21:18-19)

We think Peter was crucified, upside down, perhaps during Nero’s brutal persecution of Christians in 67 A.D. But, the Lord’s prophecy resonates when we see how age and infirmity can rob us of strength and ability.  Maybe I will need help in ways for which I can’t imagine asking; maybe I won’t even be able to ask! 

How can I uncoil fear’s icy fingers from my heart?  By doing today, what I might not be able to do tomorrow – Remember God now – “. . . before the years take their toll and . . . the winter years keep you close to the fire.” ( Ecclesiastes 12:1-7)

Remember God and walk – by faith that:    

    He energizes those who get tired, gives fresh strength to dropouts.
    For even young people tire and drop out,
        young folk in their prime stumble and fall.
    But those who wait upon GOD get fresh strength.
    They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
    They run and don't get tired, they walk and don't lag behind. (Isaiah  40:29-31)

This morning I sang with the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir – maybe you will join in?

     Through Every Pain Every Tear
    There's A God Who's Been Faithful To Me

    When My Strength Was All Gone
    When My Heart Had No Song
    Still In Love He's Proved Faithful To Me . . .
   
    He's Been Faithful
    Faithful To Me
    Looking Back His Love
    And Mercy I See
    Though In My Heart I Have Questioned
    Even Failed To Believe
    Yet He's Been Faithful, Faithful To Me . . . 


Sing along, too!

I Looked in a Mirror

While I said I would avoid mirrors, I needed to see how my little dermatological problem was responding to treatment.   The telltale signs indicated the infection was not going anywhere. But I did not look at my face.  Panic is not a pretty picture.

All plans for the morning changed as we went back to the ER for the third time. I entered the ER as if on a crest of a wave – shortly after,  a dozen or so folks swept in behind me, each looking for help – for health – for that sensation of well-being, strength, calm, and vigor. At least this is what I was looking for. All I could “see” was an abdominal inflammation and discoloration – my imagination ruled.

Mercifully, a triage doctor saw me, and pulled up the lab report, quickly learning I did not have MRSA, which the previous ER doctors assumed. (My lab work had not been finished at the time.) I learned that without lab reports, doctors treat what they suspect, while, if they have a conclusive lab report, doctors can treat based on what they see and objectively know. This doctor saw the remains of a sebaceous cyst that somehow had become infected.  The cyst may have  formed around an insect bite in I received in 2005. He proceeded to remove the offending substances, and remind me to follow up in a few days.

So,  five years ago, an insect bit or stung me on my abdomen; I don’t know what. But I developed a tiny bump on which I could see what looked like bite marks. I showed it to a few doctors during routine physicals – and they were not concerned. No other signs of trouble until last week when the first symptoms presented and I took myself to a walk-in clinic. Was there really a connection?  I don’t know – but I see in this experience a lesson.

Small problems, left unattended for whatever reason, may generate  unanticipated or unintended consequences. Small duties, ignored for whatever reason, may also generate  unanticipated or unintended consequences. And bypassing even the smallest opportunity to show kindness may generate unforeseen or unintended sorrow. Often overwhelmed – paralyzed – by news of world events, I need to remember that attending to the small stuff is where I can make the biggest difference.

God willing, an ER doctor was able to help me by excising the scars of an old wound. God willing, tomorrow, I’ll be able to do the next thing to hold my place in the human race. And God willing I’ll return a portion of the kindness, compassion and help shown me these past few days.

“Do not despise this small beginning, for the eyes of the Lord rejoice to see the work begin, . . . "
    (Zechariah  4:10 TLB)

Avoiding Mirrors

When I asked for a teachable heart last week, I didn’t expect quite the answer God gave:  six hours last Sunday in the ER because I exhausted all other treatment options. The dermatological problem I developed suddenly,  persisted and worsened; I’d been to a walk-in clinic, a private physician, and back to the emergency clinic. I had no where else to go.  One doctor warned about sepsis; his warning nagged at me. Could I cease to be because of an overwhelming blood infection?

I walked into the ER, fearful and hopeful – grateful for my husband’s help. Knowing the wait might be long, I brought a book, That Thing Around Your Neck, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichiea, a collection of short stories of Nigerians, living through national strife and personal grief; the stories showed me still more ways to number my days. (Psalm  90:12-17) I just about finished it waiting my turn. A few dozen other folk had also exhausted their options, too.  Most of us, interestingly, were from the same generation – “Boomers.” A few little babies and youngsters were also waiting for help, and a handful of  Millennials or Generation Y’s also waited.

The ER staff couldn’t say precisely what I have, or how I got it. But thank God for their care. That I had no fever or elevated white cells are hopeful signs.  

So, how is my heart any wiser for this experience, while  seeing and reading about others who are similarly but more profoundly provoked than I?

I don’t know – but I think I will avoid mirrors for a while.

The ER nurse who kindly dressed the recent excision of whatever it was – either a boil, or abscess – warned me how to rotate the application of tape when changing the dressing: she said her grandmother had developed a grave sensitivity to dressing tape.

Her grandmother? Why was she telling me that?

Perhaps because she could see I am not her contemporary – but her elder. Although I don’t feel much older than 35,  I am old enough to have a granddaughter who is an ER nurse.  As that truth dawned on me, I remember my mother saying she felt the same as she had in her twenties or thirties – and was always surprised that her  mirror never substantiated her feelings. 

So, I think I will not look so closely in the mirror, then. But I am glad for writers who can tell stories of people’s lives –stories  reflecting more clearly than mirrors how so many live their lives – simple stories that root out my ignorance of other folks’ pain the way the doctor lanced and drained my little affliction.

Could the Food Network Improve Children’s Programming?

For over one year, the Food Network has stirred our grandchild’s imagination in astounding ways. She is a devoted fan of several cooks, quoting them frequently as she goes about her toy kitchen, raiding her mom’s kitchen for pots and spatulas, and rattling pots and pans. She knows a competition from a demonstration, and speaks confidently, using such words a cinnamon, vanilla extract and cumin. And she arises in the morning wondering what to cook for dinner, and her nap anxious to see what Sunny and “Contessa Barefoot ” have planned. The Food Network is a powerful education tool – perhaps stronger than PBS’ early learning line-up.

This morning we watched Super Why and a charming but complicated regimen of finding a word to solve a problem – it took thirty minutes; retelling  the fairy tale, “Jack in the Beanstalk. The PBS writers ignored the lessons in the fairytale, and inserted characters and situations to solve a mystery the writers invented to find one missing word. Our granddaughter never referred to the method or the message for the rest of the day.

We then watched cooking shows; throughout the day, she used words and imitated instructions the TV cooks modeled. She knew the drama on Iron Chef and wondered how much time was left in the competition. During bath time, the bubbles became her kitchen, the toys, her  tools and the memory of so many cooking lessons her recipes. For twenty minutes she explained what she was adding, how she mixing or stirring, and for whom she was preparing her meal.

In this little child’s life, the example of real people doing work they love has been a powerful motivator and great teacher. Giada, Bobby Flay, Paula Dean and Rachel Ray among others are engaging the heart and mind of a little child and if PBS educators are wise they might reconsider how they present what they present.

Me and My Big Mouth

Conversations we always thought would have a part two, may end abruptly because of stuff beyond our control. Don’t let any loving thought go unsaid – don’t lose any opportunity to express respect, even when disagreeing. Labeling another with your perceptions of how they think or express themselves may not be useful, kind or true. 

Will Rogers once advised, “When you give a lesson in meanness to a critter or a person, don't be surprised if they learn their lesson.” So, if . . . “If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'.”  Words are usually the tool with which I dig – verbal and written. How do I stop digging? And how do I get out of the hole? So, one sure-fire way  way to stop “diggin” that hole is “Stop talking!” And do not fire off an e-mail!

Not answering back is so hard to do! Especially when I know with just a few more words I can show you why you are wrong! Could it be, I would rather win the argument and look like a fool than work through a conflict?

Some men once wanted to win an argument with the hurting friend. Remember Job’s friends?  (Job 13:1-12) They couldn’t shut up, so convinced they were of their rightness Job cried out to his friends: “Oh, that you would altogether hold your peace! Then you would evidence your wisdom and you might pass for wise men.”  (Job 13:5 AMP)

My friend Flo keeps an index card with this verse  written out on the inside of her kitchen cupboard; she frequently opens that door and reads Job’s plea before answering in anger. It’s better to have folks think you are a fool, then to open your mouth and remove all doubt.

“Post this at all the intersections, dear friends: Lead with your ears, follow up with your tongue, and let anger straggle along in the rear. God's righteousness doesn't grow from human anger.” (James 1:19-20  from THE MESSAGE )

If I were as quick to listen as I am to speak, I might not have so many regrets about   conversations unexpectedly ended. I might better say what I mean, and more truly mean what I say.  I might not find myself in so many holes – and I might look a lot smarter.

“Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise; When he closes his lips, he is counted prudent.”
 ( Proverbs 17:28)

Thought for the day:
“Just because I am invited, doesn’t mean I have to attend every argument.” (An anonymous quote)

Image source

Helping Each Other Out of Our Grave Clothes

Shortly before His own humiliating, excruciating death, Christ  assigned His followers  a task that illustrated what loving another person looks like: unwrap the man I just raised from the dead. (John 11:43-44-6) Those first disciples saw Lazarus stumbling out of grave, unable to freely walk – and Christ told them to get close to him, close enough to be useful to him. Doing so would also have helped the onlookers believe their eyes. Removing those clothes helped Lazarus walk free, and as they freed Lazarus’ head and limbs from the linen strips and winding sheet, as they have inhaled the lingering scent of anointing spices, they knew this was Lazarus, really and truly raised from the dead! 

When God saved me I did not know how tightly wrapped I was in my grave clothes – my habits, hurts and hang-ups; they felt natural. Not until some friends came alongside me did I begin to sense I wasn’t walking as well as I might.  Thank God for the spirit with which they addressed me. (Galatians 6:1-2)

God forgive me for the many times I failed to lovingly help unwrap others – and rejected their help!

Not wishing to over-spiritualize this familiar passage, I understand that as God still woos and wins souls to life, each born-again believer needs help walking out of his or her grave clothes – their habits, hurts and hang-ups – even little children who come to Christ early. So, He asks His witnesses to help those stumbling out of their tombs shed their grave clothes.

If I imagine how those reacted who saw Lazarus come out, I can compare how I have helped others walk free. How did they unbind Lazarus – tentatively, fearfully – brusquely? Would Lazarus have protested, “No-no, I can do it myself?” 
   
Did any hang back, waiting for the more spiritually mature to make the first move? I have. Did any think, “I’ll just wait for Lazarus to outgrow those clothes?” I have. Did any rip and tear at Lazarus’ grave clothes, stripping him of his dignity?

With my words, I have.

Or, did they simply loosen the grave clothes enough so Lazarus could walk back into his home?    

Sometimes I thought the people God put in my path  would simply outgrow what was binding them. Or, worse, I tugged and hauled too hard at their strips and sheets.  And if they protested they could take care of their own grave clothes, I left them alone.

Helping remove grave clothes is intimate, time-consuming, personal work; we don’t work alone, we have a Helper, One who wants us to enjoy the sureness of His work.  (Matthew 28:18-20) While I can’t help another take off what they won’t surrender – I have been equipped to be useful. (2 Peter 1:3-10).  And, this is the core of what we all are sent to do; helping each other out of our grave clothes and into comfortable, clean robes! Even our children and grandchildren.


Clip art from:Florida's Educational Clearinghouse

My Address Book

My address book is one given to me so many years ago that it is held together by packing tape, and has as many white-outs as addresses. My daughter was young enough when I received it to think that copying the addresses from the old book to the new was fun – so I treasure it for the vestiges of her handwriting.  Even the lines that have been written over remind me of significant changes in the lives of those I love. As someone once observed, “It takes a long time to grow an old friend.” 

When I misplace it – I go into a dither: it’s the only “list” of friends I have – and it is a reminder of Christmas cards sent – birthdays – weddings – anniversaries – divorces  and sympathy notes.

    “. . . But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
    All losses are restored and sorrows end.” ~William Shakespeare (Sonnet 30)

My address book reminds me, in ways a blackberry can’t, how fortunate I am because of so many others – and all they brought into my life.  In its own way it’s a diary, a journal of how much has changed in my life, and the people to whom God has connected me. 

    “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art . . .  It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.” (C.S. Lewis)

Life After Pruning

Where man sees but withered leaves,
God sees sweet flowers growing. ~Albert Laighton (19th century America lawyer & poet)

One lone iris (iris reticulata) waved shyly this morning from the corner of our yard. Its genteel purple and yellow flower cheered me, hopefully, portending no more snow?

Why only one? Last fall, I wanted the beds cleaned out – but it was hard to tell in September the difference between neglected plants mixed with dying vestiges of ornamental grasses – and the man who was just doing what I asked: "clean out the beds, please," did yeoman's service. So its solitary appearance reminded me that loveliness can survive even a thorough pruning and reappear at just the right time!

My life is like an overgrown flower bed – Many blooms past; the tangle of unfinished works, inept jobs and non-starters look like so much overgrown ornamental grasses!  My comfort is that God is a smarter gardener than I – and He knows what to prune and why. He wants me to keep growing stronger, even as my body rebels. And this is what that lonesome iris reminded me, and it is the hope  over which the psalmist rejoices: 

“. . . They shall still bear fruit in old age; They shall be fresh and flourishing,
To declare that the LORD is upright; He is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in Him. (Psalm 92:14-15 NKJV)

As a transplant  from the world into God’s garden, (Colossians 1:13-13) I will prosper, though old, like palm trees, grow tall like Lebanon cedars; . . . I’ll  grow tall in the presence of God, lithe and green, virile still in old age . . . " even as age bends my bones.  (Psalm 92:14-15 from THE MESSAGE )

In one translation of  Psalm 92:14-15 I see a reason for my bulges! I

“. . . shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing;
To shew that the LORD is upright: he is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in him.
(Psalm 92:14-15 from the KJV)

So, creation shows me again the faithfulness of God who answers my cry: “Do not cast me off in the time of old age; Do not forsake me when my strength fails.” (Ps 71:19) That iris gives me an answer:  “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.”(Ps 71:18)

May we all keep our eyes open to see His answers to our heart’s desires in His creation and His word.

Who Would Want My Faith?

She said, “I wish I had your faith,” in the midst of a conversation about what keeps me from flipping out in any given news cycle. I have faith nothing that is going on is a surprise to God;  nothing that seems to me to be careening out of control – is moving even a nanometer out of His boundaries.

Am I just whistling past a graveyard? 

No and yes.

An infinite omnipotent, yet personal Creator God makes sense to me; a causeless confluence of energy doesn’t. However, current events frighten me; so do some of my fellow humans’ education, values and goals. I don’t think fear itself is the only scary thing flowing freely around today. Millions times millions of people suffered and died in the last century, many never fully understanding how their fellow men could do what they did to them. Believing in God, even the One of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, as many did, did not spare them. Reading history and the news makes me fear my fellow man, and myself.

Fear also wrecks any chance of a civil conversation with others, as well as an edifying chat with myself.  Fear, wrote Samuel Butler, is static that prevents me from hearing myself.

My faith in Christ, faltering as it often is, should create – increasing peace within me and with others – no matter the circumstances. (Isaiah 54:4; Hebrews 13:5; Matthew 5:9) My faith in Christ may not change my circumstances – or remove me from them; but with Him, I can get through them. (Psalm18:28-29) And my faith in Christ bids me ask you to come along with us – If we stumble, we won’t be down long; God’s got a firm grasp on our hands! (Psalm 37:23-24) Perhaps the waters around us will rise – literally or figuratively – they will not overflow us.  (Isaiah 43:2) 

Faith worth sharing is faith that is well-fed. Talk-radio and the news nourish fear, not faith. A wise counselor said once, “Remember the tea kettle - it is always up to its neck in hot water, yet it still sings!” So, I sing – for I cannot be silent; His love is the theme of my song. (Fanny Crosby, a woman blinded by a doctor’s mistake, deserted by her husband, impoverished and mother to an infant taken too soon to heaven) 

I have heard that courage is faith that has said her prayers – O God! I believe; Help Thou my unbelief!

On the Job Training

Today was the first of my O.J.T. at a local crises pregnancy center, having completed my first formal training session on Saturday – with another formal day a week hence. In several ways the focus of the training was completely different than what I expected. Yes, the trainer presented troubling information. However the major portion of the training thus far examines what do I believe about God, and how am I living according to what I am learning? The training is anchored in  Scripture and tests accordingly what I believe about God, and His gift of life to me – so that I might freely – and wholeheartedly –  give to the woman God brings, love and compassion in her time of trouble. 

Back Spasms and other Lessons

Returning to Texas, Doug spotted a treasure: the Bradford pear trees – the ones that had shaded my desk in the hot summer – and later, exposed me to winter sun – are flowering again! These  trees, however,  are a mixed blessing. They probably were not the kind of tree that the psalmist or the prophet had in mind when they commended the steadfast faith by which we live. (Psalm 1:3-4; Jeremiah 17:7-8) Yes, they proffer a lush canopy of green in hot weather from early spring to right through to late autumn. But, they are prone to collapse, especially after hard winters – which we surely had this year! So, months from now, with only a burst of wind, they could split apart, changing a shady spot to an oh so sunny spot.

I had an unexpected collapse in Maryland: my lower back rebelled. Bending lifting and turning  stressed my back muscles into rebellion. OTC’s  reduced or masked the pain – but  the pain often broke through, taking my breath away; spasms stopped even the simplest movements. It surely felt like something at my core snapped and I had to surrender completely to the couch and the care of others.

For a recovering control freak, this was not my idea of a good cure. But pain breaks the grip of even the most determined controllers. Rest and heat, though, reined in the rebellious muscles.
And I discovered that prayer can break pain’s grasp. From my granddaughter’s prayers, to a former pastor’s prayers, my husband’s prayers – and my daughter’s, mercifully, the pain subsided. (James 5:17-20)

That bout also showed me again how unproductive self-absorption is. Just when I settled down to enjoy a pity party, God brought to mind others coping with extraordinary afflictions; recalling their battles was a great short-circuit to my pain!  What is a muscle spasm compared to the convulsions people in Haiti and Chile endure? Or, what has been my limited discomfort compared to my friends’ battles  against cancer and terminal MS?

If it is true, as the Latin proverb declared, “In time of sickness the soul collects itself anew,"  I am renewed, and relieved;  I am again upright and moving – enjoying the breezes that may yet do in those pear trees.

“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”  (C S Lewis - The Problem of Pain) 

Making Lent a Way of Life

In the church, Lent is a  time of preparation for Easter – the celebration of the Lord’s Resurrection for the dead; it is marked by prayer, penitence, almsgiving and self-denial. I grew up in a church that observed Lent. Whether it was their teaching or my obtuseness, I could not understand the point – it only showed me what a weak-willed so and so I am.  So, I gave up Lent long before I left the church. 

Decades later, though, when I began looking into what Scripture really said,  I made it through one Lenten season, faithfully abstaining from two pleasures. At the end of those forty days, abstinence taught me more than I bargained for.  I became a Christian and with Christ, I had the courage to face my addiction to alcohol.

I learned that Scripture commends fasting – but in a better way than the one to which I was originally  introduced. Fasting isn’t about just giving up, but it means taking on – becoming active in opposing evil and producing good. (Isaiah 58:1-14) So, a different slant on Lent might be seeing it as a continuing time of learning, changing, doing – not simply as a time of going cold turkey off simple pleasures. Forty days of no chocolate isn’t enough time to make me a  life-giving garden in the 21st century deserts of our world.  And it isn’t enough time to learn contentment with who and where I am.  (1 Timothy 6:6)

 Paul gave up and took on many things and at the end of his life could say, "I have learned, in whatever state I am, therewith to be content." (Philippians 4:11)

    These words show us that contentment is not a natural propensity of man . . . Paul says, “I have learned . . . to be content;” . . . Do not indulge the notion that you can be contented with learning, or learn without discipline. It is not a power that may be exercised naturally, but a science to be acquired gradually.  (C. H. Spurgeon)

 Learning contentment is key to recovery – and it is key to growing up in Christ, daily.

    . . . Living one day at a time;
    Enjoying one moment at a time;
    Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
    Taking, as He did, this sinful world
    as it is, not as I would have it;
    Trusting that He will make all things right
    if I surrender to His Will; . . . (From the Serenity Prayer)    

More Lessons in the Dark

More Lessons in the Dark

Our return to power after Dallas’s blizzard was short-lived, less than 18 hours. A series of fiery snaps, pops and crackles abruptly severed our electrical service. A power surge – or something – fried a wire overhead, and darkness and cold crept back in. We shivered for another 24 hours. Then, wind knocked more limbs down and complicated the power recovery! Our situation was an uncomfortable and inconvenient  reminder how dependent  we are on  “services,” – inconspicuous until they are interrupted.

Upon reflection, the power failure – and the power company’s  workers who have labored diligently to bring us back to civilized living showed me how I might better serve.  For decades, one of my favorite choruses has been “Make Me a Servant.”

    Make me a servant – humble and meek;   
    Lord, let me lift up those who are weak
    and may the prayer of my heart always be,
    make a servant, make me a servant today.

Lifting up the weak may be heavy lifting  – but as long as I have a pulse, I really do have a purpose – just like Paul Newman observed. And how many times have His servants lifted me, unconditionally? But sometimes I reserve the right to stop serving – always with reasonable reasons – and especially if the problems are not of my making – or, if those whom I serve are oblivious to the cost of my service!

So, this weekend, God showed me another picture of  “servants” who have kept  working to solve problems they didn’t cause. These servants had to keep working because they have the training and abilities most people don’t have to restore storm-damaged power lines. They have been working in cold, wind and damp because their boss offered a vital service others depended upon.  The workers I saw looked like they had been working longer than an 8-hour day; they were haggard but determined.

And this is the lesson I must needs learn again:

• I also have a Boss who offers me all the power to I need to deliver all kinds of  services, (John 10:10 )
• He even offers to take the lead in the work and He doesn’t sleep.  (Matthew 11:28-30; Psalm 121:4)
• He encourages me to rest from – but not run away from life’s problems. (John 16:33)

So, Barbara,

“. . .  let's not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop if we don't give up, or quit. Right now, therefore, every time we get the chance, let us work for the benefit of all, starting with the people closest to us in the community of faith.”  (Galatians 6:9-10 from THE MESSAGE )

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.