Quiet time on the back porch was almost too chilly – but a
cup of coffee warmed the blood and kept it moving to old bare toes. We have had so many lovely days! I know
that this time in July and August sitting outside with java and classical music
won’t be so appealing.
Grateful, I read a bit from
a John Piper’s book, Bloodlines: Race, Cross, and the Christian
. And I
filled again with sadness that times are so troubling.
My campground, as I said, is Ecclesiastes, a book I read
through in two mornings. And I am reading from the Daily Walk’s Living Bible
translation, which includes some handy goads and pithy commentary. The editors ask me to answer:
Where am I looking for satisfaction?
Have I found it there?
If not, why not? And
What would Solomon’s counsel be to me?
Who wrote Ecclesiastes and when is debatable according to
Wikipedia. I will refer to Solomon as its author, knowing its insights may not
have been recorded in the 9th century BC, but as late as 200 BC – a
time while Israel longed for a word from God, as she sunk under foreign
Solomon had wealth and wisdom – he also had health and strength. He had perspective – and was able
to see a bigger picture than many men. But he had no peace. In his opinion,
. . nothing is worthwhile; everything is futile . . .
matter how much we see, we are never satisfied;
matter how much we hear, we are not content. (Ecclesiastes 1:2,11)
Yes, but . . .
Coffee and classical music on a chilly May morning in Texas
ain’t half-bad. And having even 15 minutes to think, reflect, and
pray is a luxury many women don’t have – it's more than all right. Maybe just
reading about the issues Dr. Piper raises will weave a thread of understanding,
conscience and courage in me to stand against mistrust, hatred and separation
among Americans if only for today.
I love my country – I grieve for our failures and I ask God
to give His church here a fresh start, making us comforting, kind and
transparent in uncertain times.
Note: the bottle of red pepper flakes in the photo is my current weapon against the burrowing squirrels who forget where they have hidden last year's acorns.