Change

No geographic barriers keep cold air from sweeping across the western states and spilling icy winds into Dallas, and dropping temperatures. Yesterday was so lovely – low seventies, sunny, and a persistent wind that limited any attempt to rake up the leaves and acorns; perfect pansy planting weather.  

 

Grow Pansies! 

A good thing, too -- Today, I couldn’t work outside for love or money! 

Twenty-four hours – what a change. More change is coming with the onslaught of cold winds – and the remains of my autumn garden will succumb to frost. I am glad I put some fresh color in! Bloom on pansies – stand tall snapdragons! Multiply you cabbage and GROW!

 

Hoping some colors survive and thrive! 

I like change and I don’t. I like it when I do something new; but, not so much when I can’t control the new . . . when change does to me what I didn’t anticipate.

So much of what makes my life comfortable are people doing what I anticipate they will do – even If I don’t like what they do. But when they make changes in how they think or act or talk, I can’t stay the same.  Nor, usually can anything else in my life.

Well, I could try to keep things, including myself, the same. Then I think of Miss Havisham in Great Expectations, and realize failing to consider the upside of disappointments can limit a girl’s prospects.

No, change is normal – change is necessary!  Even if it’s not what I want. Change is the code in creation that makes life bearable, and understandable. If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies. ~Author Unknown Pollyanna

Surveying  our little corner of creation  in the midst of changing weather,  I realized that for all my handiwork, our backyard will change. First, because of the seasons – a power greater than myself sets the amount of heat and sun, and regulates the rain. (Ecclesiastes 3) Second, how diligently I tend my duties affects the yard. (Proverbs 6:6) And third, my tenure here – when it is up— well . . . yards and houses in this neighborhood disappear in a day, enfolded into far grander schemes. (Psalm 39:5, 144:4)

Winds of change keep whipping around my life too – I know I am changing – not always so gracefully.  But, hey – according the conventional wisdom recorded by Pinterest: Only dead fish go with the flow!

Every single thing changes and is changing always in this world. Yet with the same light the moon goes on shining. ~ Saigyo

You must welcome change as the rule but not as your ruler. ~Denis Waitley

If you would attain to what you are not yet, you must always be displeased by what you are. For where you are pleased with yourself there you have remained. Keep adding, keep walking, and keep advancing. ~Saint Augustine

Before the First Frost

A New Wrinkle

Wheels for the World

It’s been a pain, awkward and persistent – the problem with my hands. Not having the unlimited use of my hands is a constraint I never imagined. Mercifully, I am getting a taste, albeit on an infinitesimally small scale, of being disabled and dependent -- it’s been a prod to get me off the pity pot and take a good look at others, whose problems are more aggravating, discomforting and relentless. Multiple Sclerosis is worse. So is Parkinson’s. And this problem isn’t cancer, a genetic birth defect, or degenerative spine disease.   It may look like leprosy; but, it isn’t leprosy, for Pete’s sake! However, coming up with a remedy for a relatively benign problem has not been so simple. Three different doctors have told me three different things: It’s eczema; or, psoriasis or most recently, it may be contact dermatitis – similar and not similar.  Since I am working on my medical degree through WebMD, I had questions. Twice I asked the dermatologists if there might be a connection with my skin issues and nickel levels in Apple computer – they began shortly after I became an Apple user.  (Nickel in Apple products) They didn’t think so.  So, again using a new mixture of their prescriptions and OTC products, I noticed my skin began to calm down. Then when Doug got me a protective covering for the computer’s keyboard and a case, the calming became marked! Whether this has been an allergic reaction, or an immune deficiency, or just life, I can more deeply empathize with the one leper who came back to thank the Lord.  (Luke 17:11-19) Relief is sweet! So, while trying to tame the flare-ups of dry, cracking skin these past two years, I’ve learned that many folks, even younger than I, struggle with skin issues.  When I have screwed up the courage to mention my problem, my friends have been happy to pray for healing – asking me to pray for them, too!  Moreover, everybody has a recommendation for a lotion, ointment, or tonic, including superglue – some work well, others -- not so much. The persistent kindness of those who have prayed for me has been a balm of deep healing, reminding me to thank God, who stirred up and hears our prayers for each other, and who gives relief. Today, I pray for those whose pain and dependency remains deep and discouraging – specifically like Joni EarecksonTada, herself a quadriplegic, who urged: I pray for mothers of spina bifida children in Mozambique. I pray for men who become paralyzed from falling out of palm trees in the jungles of the Philippines. I pray for mentally handicapped children in the closed areas of North Korea or western China. And I pray for the people who care for the afflicted, injured and needy – please refine their skills, and meet their needs Lord.  And keep me from driving them nuts with my little problems.  o      Gratitude is the least of the virtues, but ingratitude is the worst of vices. ~Thomas Fuller o      The problem is not that there are problems. The problem is expecting otherwise and thinking that having problems is a problem. ~ Theodore Rubin, an American psychiatrist and author o      Sleep, riches, and health to be truly enjoyed must be interrupted. ~Johan Paul Richter, Flower, Fruit, and Thorn  Amateur Diagnosis

Joni & Friends

A Poet and Friend -- Barbara Black

Spiritual Eczema . . .

I just finished Philip Yancey’s latest book, The Question That Never Goes Away when three current events, on top of how our elected reps [are reported to] discharge their duties, burst through any semblance of calm:

·      An airplane vanished – and with it 239 souls. 

·      An explosion in NYC, and two buildings cave in. 

·      Russian troops go into Ukraine.

Yep – I can feel my breathing go shallow, and sleeping this week has not been deep or restful. (You Are Having a Panic Attack)  “Where was God when these bad things happen?” That’s the question that never ever goes away.  It’s like spiritual eczema – an invisible itch for which there is no effective scratch.  I don’t know if I am looking for answers to keep myself sane, or people I love, safe.   As if I even could!

So, I went back and looked at all the portions of the book I underlined and I got a bit of balm, that I pass along – sanity pills and spiritual Wheaties – if you will, a don’t and a do:

·      Be real reluctant to offer an opinion: Christians often cause more suffering when they try to comfort the hurting.  “Christians made it worse by offering contradictory and confusing counsel.” Those who were hurting said they heard explanations of their afflictions varying from God punishing them, to His especially choosing them for to demonstrate faith, to pinning the pain on God’s enemy, Satan (The Question That Never Goes Away, page 9.)

·      Be useful:  Contrary to nature’s rule of “survival of the fittest,” we humans measure civilization by how we respond to the most vulnerable and the suffering. So, we must look to the helpers.  (The Question, page 33) And be willing to be one. Yancey then reminds those who want answers to unavoidable suffering to consider what Viktor Frankl said: “Despair is suffering without meaning, everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.”   

The Christian hope is that of a radical intervention; one day “the creation itself will be liberated” – in a sort of cosmic rebirth. Until then, no answer to suffering will satisfy, even it we had the capacity to understand it.  Faith that an infinite, but personal God rules, Mr. Yancey concludes means believing in advance what will only make sense in reverse.  (Yancey, page 29.) He ended his consideration of the question that never goes away by quoting Dietrich Bonheoffer, shortly before his execution:

I believe that God can and will generate good out of everything, even the worst evil. For, that, He needs people who allow that everything that happens fits into a pattern for good . . . I believe that God is not a timeless fate, but that He waits for and responds to honest prayers and responsible action. (The Question, Page 113.)

    

Getting Out of the Bubble


 *PHOTO SOURCE

Gray Days & Gratitude

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Autumn's Yet to Be Spring Garden

From this corner of the garden – literally and metaphorically – it’s a gray day.  No matter that in that respite I was able to clean up the scraggly remains of last autumn’s additions to the garden – I am grumpy because I can’t put in all the colorful annuals that herald a Texas spring, since a sudden frost remains a distinct possibility until late March.   Forget the blessed memory of the past few days of weather that was sunny & seventy; today is gray – somewhat oppressive – capturing perfectly my heart’s malaise. 

I am bewildered by the losses sustained by some friends, and the trials that others endure, especially the unimaginable burdens a young boy bears in a hospital bed in Maryland.   And the news headlines are as worrisome and perplexing as ever.  Looking back over three years of blog posts – news still takes a toll on the spirit and baffles the mind. 

If I can't plow up flowerbeds, then I'll dig around to find what others are thinking about hard times. 

 

Philip Yancy repeated a joke going around Sarajevo in their nightmare years that sums up this “new normal” that too many loved ones now have:

“Do you know the difference between an optimist and a pessimist? 

A pessimist says, ‘Oh dear, thing’s can’t possibly get any worse.’ An optimist says, “Don’t be so sad. Things always get worse.”

In sum, I avoid trying to answer the Why? question because any attempt will inevitably fall short and may even rub salt in an open wound. As Jesus’ followers, we can instead offer a loving and sympathetic presence that may bind wounds and heal a broken heart. . .
  . . . As a counterbalance to the list of seven deadly sins, the church in the Middle Ages came up with a list of seven works of mercy: to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, house the homeless, visit the sick, ransom the captives, bury the dead . . .

. . . not all of us can serve on the front lines of mercy . . . I . . . came up with an additional list of spiritual works of mercy: to instruct the ignorant, counsel the doubtful, admonish sinners, bear wrongs patiently, forgive offences willingly, comfort the afflicted, pray for the living and the dead. (Philip Yancey, The Question That Never Goes Away. pages 47,40, 41)

So, if Mr. Yancey is right, I see that I am never without something to do in the midst of heartache or upheaval."Gray" still has a good deal of light in it.

On this gray day then, I need to turn from what I can’t change, and change what I can; I will soak in the comforting, convicting counsel from Dr. Tony Evans:

You may think you don't have everything you want, but God expects you to be grateful for what you have.

Hmmmmm:

·      I have a yard, with flowerbeds that are ready to be planted, when the weather permits, and I have time to pray.

·      Today, I have the health to hope for gardening chores, and time to pray.

·      I live in a country that remains the inspiration of people fighting tyrannies more grim than ever, and the freedom to pray.

And I managed to get a sweet arrangement of hearty winter pansies to remind me: It ain’t over yet.  If it were all bright and sunny and hot – the pansies would shrivel up.

Decking the Hall

All around me – lights beaming, gaily decorating trees and buildings; familiar carols resounding on the public radio station; reconnecting with family and friends – the Winter Solstice soon upon us never fails to rev me up. 

“Fast away the old year passes . . .”

We attended a pageant celebrating Christmas, hosted by the tutorial overseeing our grandchildren’s schooling. Children’s sweet faces and voices, their earnest performances – expressing the hope and joy of the season: God so loved us He gave us His Son.   

But, like so many Christmases past, the brilliance of the season, both secular and sacred, contrasts with the dark reality of disease, despair and depravity. MS and cancer haven’t taken the holiday off – nor has the anger and dysfunction, disrupting too many families disappeared just because it’s Christmas. 

Life hurts!

And if the pain of living were not enough, a few people have figured out how to silence those who object to their conduct, which defies God. Folks, all for whom that Baby came, whose political correctness reacts and punishes a Christian’s comment on the obvious, do nothing when their government rewards itself at the expense of those who fought to protect its citizens. (Are We That Cruel?) All the lights of the season do not seem to illuminate our minds to see how dark the darkness is. (The Culture of Death, continued)

Bah-Hug!  

Making sense of suffering, I can’t, apart from the hope that an infinite personal God chose to involve Himself in the world and lives of all He created.

I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for, that all the humiliating absurdity of human contradictions will vanish like a pitiful mirage, like the despicable fabrication of the impotent and infinitely small Euclidian mind of man, that in the world’s finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pass that it will suffice for all hearts, for the comforting of all resentments, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity, of all the blood they’ve shed, that it will make it not only  possible to forgive but to justify all that has happened. (Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, chapter 34. Cited by Tim Keller, Walking with God through Pain and Suffering, page 154.) 

Morning Has Broken

Bible Study . . . Again

Autumn nears – and I will return to a group of women to study the Bible; this year it’s Exodus. And I am rereading The Gospel According to Moses, by Athol Dickson. All during a time when ancient countries like Egypt, Syria and Israel are current events.

For many years, I thought I knew what Exodus was about because I had seen the Charlton Heston version. When I finally read the book, and moved beyond the flannelgraph story, I learned the connection between Passover and Communion. (No kidding, even though I was “churched,” I had missed the part about why blood, and not wine, is central to relating to God. Hebrews 9:22)

I learned about Israel’s attraction to idols, even in the midst of God’s miracles and Law. They had seen and heard God’s power; they knew what He required – and they still wanted to worship gods of their own imagination – a persistent problem that plagued the Israelites.

And I have learned their problem and mine are quite alike:  I am prone to whine and wander!  Knowing what Scripture says – and does not say – is so important – but sometimes I feel like the Israelites: Manna again?  (So, You Wanna Go Back to Egypt?)

So, why study what I think I know?   

First – because I can. I have the right to learn about my religion. Years ago we met Egyptian Christians studying how we taught English in high schools in the United States, and they were flabbergasted that with all our freedom of religion here, we did not take advantage of it in sharing our faith.

Second – because, again, I can. I still have my wits about me, and the wherewithal to take some time and study what God did, so that I might understand what He is doing. Moreover, I might be able to encourage or be encouraged by other desert-trekkers.  A kind, edifying word can be as refreshing as a cup of cold water.

Third – because I still usually prefer my own way – and I don’t have another forty years to wander in deserts of my own making. (Isaiah 65:2)

But, fourth – I still have questions. And Moses questioned God. Athol Dickson described why some abandon faith:

“ . . . I abandoned my faith because t seemed I had no right to question difficulties, much less expect answers. I had been taught to accept ready made-dogma rather than to personally take my doubts to God.

 . . . God loves a good question.”  (The Gospel According to Moses, p. 17)

Exodus isn’t only about supernatural acts, or commandments that are impossible to keep; it is about real people – whose desert trek to worship their God turned into something nobody anticipated. All of which raises questions.  

So  – I am approaching the study in Exodus, thinking what it must have been like for an “older” woman to leave Egypt, not knowing if she will get to the Promised Land.   Real women had been enslaved in Egypt – they suffered, because of injustice and oppression; because of persecution and personal failure – women contributed their gold for the making of that abominable calf! (Exodus 32)  They whined, complained, and longed for the good old days, right along with their men – teaching their daughters and sons very poor lessons.

I’d like to offer better lessons and be a better companion. (Joel 2:25-27) But, this raises questions -- a bunch of questions.  

The Cost of My New Bible

The new (to me) Bible cost a bit more than two and half paper grocery bags at Half-Price Books. Well, they gave me the money at the back of the store; I gave it back to them at the front.

Mindful of what being buried alive in too much of a good thing means, thanks to a reality cable show, I have become diligent about discarding what others might enjoy or profit from reading. But a recent quote by a favorite author spurred on my disposal: John Piper told seminary students to stop reading so much John Piper and start reading the Bible. (Bible Study: Following the Ways of the World, by Kathleen Bushwell Nielson)      

I like his books, and I’ve collected several on timely topics – they are surely biblical.  That is, he anchors his opinions with Scripture.  But  books taking up space on a (dusty) shelf wasn’t why the man wrote them; hoarding them, afraid I may not find another copy, shows I may not have fully grasped the many ways Dr. Piper wants his readers to be in the world.

Anyway, I had to find space for the books from Maryland we just shipped to Texas and I needed a smaller Bible.  Study Bibles – Bibles with footnotes, concordances, charts, cross references, and maps -- I have. One that is more portable, yet with print large enough to decipher, that I can carry to and from Bible study, which just began, I didn’t have.

So, I traded in a stash of books for just one -- I wonder why the one who disposed of their Bible got rid of a brand-spanking new one.  Maybe the NIV edition wasn’t scholarly enough for their studies?    I sure hope it wasn’t because they didn’t want it.  Too many Bibles on Half-Price Books’ religion shelves look like folks couldn’t or wouldn’t use them – although I honestly am not sure what the protocol is for Bible disposal.  

Anyway -- in the coming months, I will be reacquainting myself with apocalyptic literature, and using a Bible with no notes, scholarly, or my own.  (It does have cross-references and a concordance – and maps.) It is a letter to me, in the church, and given so that we non-scholarly types could understand from God how He sees us.  And I pass along the following, if Revelation piques your curiosity, dear reader:

 Study Questions for Apocalyptic Literature

1.            What is the situation or what are the conditions among the people to whom the apocalypse is written? How does the text reveal the situation?

2.            What images and symbols are used in this text? What effect does it have on you as reader?

3.             Where do the symbols appear elsewhere in the Bible? And what, if any, connection does the author intend for us to make?

4.             What in the text demonstrates that we are reading about events from God’s vantage point of history? What comfort and insight does this provide for our human perception of history?

5.             How does the text anticipate or recall the death resurrection and reign of Jesus Christ?

6.             What is the tension or conflict in the text and how does it relate  both to the original readers and us?

7.            How does the text compel us to respond to the death, resurrection and reign of Jesus Christ?

 (from Bible Study: Following the Ways of the Word, pp 176-177.)

Classical Music

Hello! I have enlarged my humble knowledge of classical music, and reposted here: https://autumns-garden.com/hanging-pictures-hearing-music-still-sorting-stuff/

 Please come on over!

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome. ~Anne Bradstreet

John Lennon & My New Food Processor.

It took me long enough to decide; Saturday I did. I bought a food processor. With discounts and rebates I saved twenty dollars. Which is good because the trip to the Urgent-care was $25.00.

Unpacking the machine with care, I had been mindful of the sharp blade; warily I picked up the chopper with my left hand and it flew out, grazing my thumb and to fingers and palm. Catching it with my right hand, it sliced a moon shape into my third finger. Scrambling to help, Doug assembled the first aid station, and went to work – when the bleeding did not stop, we headed over to the professional band-aiders. They fixed me up and renewed my tetanus vaccination.

And our adventure happened on a Monday. Needless to say, my agenda changed. So, now, I gaze now across my desk at the sunshine and shadows that are today’s gifts – and agree with Robert Fulghum: “If you break your neck, if you have nothing to eat, if your house is on fire, then you got a problem. Everything else is inconvenience.”

I reflect that God, who knew I needed a way to the Urgent-care, saw to it the luncheon that would have occupied my hubby was canceled. He also saw to it the snow and ice were totally gone, too. He put me into the care of capable, kind folks in a clean facility. There, I thought about our soldiers. And my friends who are undergoing rehabilitation, cancer treatment, and palliative care as their lives end. So many I know and love, and more whom I know only by reputation have had their plans “changed.” “Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans,” John Lennon observed.

The food processor gleams on the counter – almost saying, “Want to play again.” Well, not today, or, even tomorrow. Some of the recipes that convinced me of my need for a food processor involve “moisture.” I can hunt and peck out my tale – but I can’t do much else that involves moisture. Therefore, I am putting off all those amazing recipes for health and fitness for a few more days.

Sometimes the littlest things in life are the hardest to take. You can sit on a mountain more comfortably than on a tack. ~Author Unknown

Looking Away from A Water-Stained Floor

We finally met on the fly, in the DFW airport; I was picking up some family, and she had flown in to speak about disability issues at Dallas Theological Seminary. She didn’t know me, but she had been introduced to me through her music, and then her art. So, I have known of her for over thirty years. Her voice is clear, her paintings and drawing as pristine and moving as her sketches and paintings. Her writing is as powerful as her music and art. And most mornings I hear her speak when I read the daily e-mail her ministry sends.

This morning, the devotional, written in 1993, was about spiritual blessings – her point was we are more blessed than angels:

“. . . What are our spiritual blessings? Peace that is profound. A soul that is settled. Assurance of joy. Grace to let go and give. Life eternal, rich and free. A home in heaven. A best friend in God. Truly, we have more than the angels.”

It’s easy to say Amen when life is sweet; it’s another matter to say that when illness, grief, disappointment and other pains assault us. Yet, my “friend” speaks as a quadriplegic, and now a breast-cancer survivor. (2010) She has the right to tell me – and you, dear reader, to “Snap out of it!”

Joni then explained how, though profoundly afflicted, she is content with every spiritual blessing God has given her in Christ. She quoted from The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, written in the 17th century by Jeremiah Burroughs:

"Luther says: 'The sea of God's mercies should swallow up all our particular afflictions.'If you pour a pail full of water on the floor, it makes a great show, but if you throw it into the sea, there is no sign of it. Afflictions considered in themselves are great. But let them be considered in the sea of God's mercies and then they are not so much. They are nothing in comparison."

Maybe you hurt for good and sufficient reasons this morning, dear reader – I know I’ve got “good” reasons to be less than upbeat. But just for today, I will consider Joni Eareckson Tada’s wisdom and look away from water staining my floor, and consider the ocean of grace that sustains me in ways too numerous to count. I pray you can, too.

Love in Christ,

bwsmith

A Word About My Newly Organized Cabinets

First, we are no longer annoying each other in our efforts to get dinner on the table. So, I correctly imagined a functional arrangement. However, I can’t always remember where I relocated every thing. So, I have spent the past few days searching for glasses and silverware in the wrong places.

 Morever, I can’t remember where I put the meat platters to conserve storage. Maybe that’s why I still leave my kitchen cupboard doors open rather than shutting them?

Oh wait – I put all the serving pieces in the dining room side board.

Well, leaving doors and drawers open is a habit that’s starting to drive me nuts – it’s driven my family nuts for years.

Why do I do this? I hope I discover it’s a more compelling reason than laziness.

I like the word "indolence." It makes my laziness seem classy.  ~Bern Williams

Hanging with the Hurting . . . Feeling the Burn

Ok – the Rangers are not having a good second World Series night – the pitchers are walking in runs! It looks bad . . . 9-0 Giants in the eighth inning. And the Rangers went down in the ninth – game over.

Wow . . . A second big loss!

Our baseball team is struggling to perform - to be as good as they have been and we know they can be – a snapshot of life.

Ball games, like baseball or softball, show how groups of talented people work together to reach goals. They are put together by other people who can spot talent, develop it and use it to great advantage and  entertainment.

Technology has changed how we watch a baseball game. Years ago, the only way I knew what players looked like was by checking their  baseball cards. Now I see them close up on TV and know who shaved and who didn’t. Sometimes what I see is too much information! Close-up shots show the emotions the players experience as they play. I see faces of players in the dugouts – and the litter underneath their feet as they await their turn at bat. I  see how pitchers respond to the catchers’ signals; instant replays from many different angles; freeze frames capture the sheer force of a strike-out as the bat is nowhere near the pitch.

Our recent return to being baseball fans reconnected me to a paralyzing childhood fear. The words, “It’s your turn up at bat,” or “Batter up!” panicked me when I was in school. Facing any kind of pitcher, quickly showed my athletic limitations; a strike-out, or a foul-out substantiated them. If I connected with the ball, alas, I was an easy out at first. The shame and fear of striking out, fouling out, or being tagged out was real – so was failing the team.

So our return to baseball – albeit on a couch –  has been an unexpected  goad, reminding me that I don’t go through life alone – I am on several teams: my family;  our business; my community – state and nation, and the church. In each of these arenas, it isn’t just about my individual game – which always needs improvement, no matter the venue.  It’s about how I am helping my team, even from a position of limitations.

 I see people I love who are struggling; they are up at plate, or playing a base or outfield in the games of their lives, and for all the times they are stellar players, other time they fail. What am I doing? Am I so hung up on myself – my very real failures and selfish ambitions  – that I can’t see fellow teammates are struggling too?

Paul wrote to the church in Corinth – a bustling city which had many of the same sins that stumble  21st century Christians –  and said he ran his race to win – and he urged the church to do likewise. (1 Cor. 9:24-25) He was quite a competitor (Philippians 3:4-6) He had his eyes on the prize – and yet he saw those who stumbled – felt a deep compassion. “Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn?” (2 Cor. 11:28-29)

I want the Rangers to win – but I can’t help them.

I want my family to win. Not just success in the world’s eyes – but success in God’s eyes. I can help them. I want all of them to wear a victor’s wreathe – my husband and children, and their children; for my brother and his family; for aunts and uncles, in-laws, cousins, nieces and nephews – everyone I know! For my church – for the pastors and teachers, choir and servants, I want them to be lights that can’t be extinguished or hidden.  And if I and those closest to me  “win” the races set before us, perhaps my nation will one day love the Lord.

The starting point is  knowing and caring how other people are doing – and considering their welfare as important as mine. 

Impossible? Well,  look how the Rangers have come together, and how far they have come. Despite reversals, uncertainties and failures, they kept showing up, they kept playing ball and they got beyond their past! It’s an example I can practice; it’s an example I recommend – whether or not they win the World Series.

Back in Texas

 Reason and faith are both banks of the same river.  ~Doménico Cieri Estrada
 (quotegarden.com)

One week ago today I was organizing myself to head to Maryland, and the week I spent there flashed by, even though the days were filled with several long hours of giggles and tears. This morning I am not organizing much except some pleasant memories. Yes, here I am — sipping coffee in absolute quiet — well except for the classical radio station’s soothing strains.  No ear-piercing shrieks, squeals, squalls or loud crashes. Even my phone is silent. The loudest noise is me sniffling because the baby shared her cold.

In thanking God for what He provided this week past, He showed me – at the airport – a concrete reason  we could enjoy our children and their children, a place to worship and hear the Gospel of Grace, and sleep in peace. The reason?  Soldiers.

They face head on what is always lurking around the corners of my life – death. Many young people – and not so young as well –  dressed in fatigues – coming from or going to battles I could never fight; battles that mean I can live in peace.

This peace that God has enabled is not only for my pleasure – it is an opportunity. How well will I use it, knowing its cost to my fellow citizens and the Lord Jesus Christ?

While I can, let me learn, live and love because You, Lord loved me first. And You have given me a hope and a future. 

Come and listen, all you who fear God;
let me tell you what he has done for me.
 I cried out to him with my mouth;
his praise was on my tongue.
  If I had cherished sin in my heart,
the Lord would not have listened;
 but God has surely listened
and heard my voice in prayer.
 Praise be to God,
who has not rejected my prayer
or withheld his love from me!
(Psalm 66:16-20)

. . . My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.
Those who are far from you will perish;
you destroy all who are unfaithful to you.
But as for me, it is good to be near God.
I have made the Sovereign LORD my refuge;
I will tell of all your deeds. (Psalm 73:26-28)

. . .  I will not die but live,
and will proclaim what the LORD has done.
 The LORD has chastened me severely,
but he has not given me over to death.
(Psalm 118:17-18)

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.

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 . . .

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/

Getting Out of Life Alive

Many have said death is not what scares them – it is what leads to it. Older women and men I have known are quick to affirm, old age is not for sissies – and the golden years come replete with much brass. If our minds stay clear, our bodies may not cooperate; if our minds fail, our bodies may survive.

Mrs. Palfrey, who took up residence at the Claremont, in the novel and movie bearing her name, did so to minimize the burden her aging and decline would cost her family – robbing them of an opportunity to come to terms with death. She confronted the end of her life in surroundings she chose, with strangers who became comrades. Some simply helped her manage the details of daily living, like sorting out appropriate dress. Others enabled her to reflect on all her life’s blessings. Yet, none could keep her from her final appointment.

Mrs. Palfrey’s winsome spryness, regret and loneliness engaged me – perhaps because if God permits I will be facing what she faced. Maybe you will, too? But God, who lent her life, was not her final comfort; William Wordsworth was – especially his thoughts from “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.” Facing death, she remembered creation’s infinite delight – “. . . a host of golden daffodils . . . flash[ed] upon that inward eye . . .” filling her heart with pleasure.

If only the end of one’s life were so serene, albeit solitary. Is there not a comrade for this time for me and thee – a group of sympathetic companions whose words will fill our hearts – with more than memories of golden flowers that are here today, and gone tomorrow?

Surely, thinking on creation’s beauty is a tonic. Springtime – the daffodils – heralds hope; as Martin Luther observed, “Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection not in words alone, but in every leaf in springtime.” But what of autumn? Is there a helper here?

Isaiah spoke of One who knew us before our birth:

“. . . I will be your God through all your lifetime, yes, even when your hair is white with age. I made you and I will care for you. I will carry you along and be your Savior.” (Isaiah 46:3-4 TLB)

And the psalmist, a son of Asaph, knew Him, too.

“. . . When my skin sags and my bones get brittle, GOD is rock-firm and faithful . . . ”(Psalm 73:23-28 from THE MESSAGE )

Mrs. Palfrey, nearing the end of her life, sought solace in solitude; she found serendipitous companionship and poetry. She believed that she would never get out of life alive, and wanted to control her end. Approaching the home stretch of my life, I believe I will get out of it alive. I also believe that yielding control to Someone greater than I is how I will live.

"And as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, And at the last He will take His stand on the earth. Even after my skin is destroyed, Yet from my flesh I shall see God; Whom I myself shall behold, And whom my eyes shall see and not another . . . ( Job 19:25-27)

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Coping with Pain -- two views:

In 1895  Andrew Murray was in England suffering from a terribly painful back, the result of an injury incurred years before. One morning while eating breakfast in his room, his hostess told him of a woman downstairs who was in great trouble and wanted to know if he had any advice for her. He handed her a paper he had been writing on and said, “Give her this advice I am writing down for myself. It may be that she’ll find it helpful.”

This is what he wrote:

“In time of trouble, say, ‘First he brought me here. If it is by his will I am in this strait place, in that place I will rest.” Next, say, “He will keep me here in his love, and give me grace in this trial to behave as his child.’ Then, say, ‘He will make the trial a blessing, teaching me lessons he intends me to learn, and working in me the grace he means to bestow.’ And last, say, ‘I am here by God’s appointment, in his keeping, under his training, for his time.’”

(Quoted in _Calm My Anxious Heart_ by Linda Dillow, p. 171)

And from a one who also knows pain, this reflection:

anything but that

“Send anything but that,” I cried,
and still the thing I feared did come;
I watched its shadow rise
and shrank in terror from the blow:
“Oh, Lord, this thing I cannot bear!”

And yet Thy tender love did send it me
in answer to my prayer.

My prayer! My cry Thou heedest not
and leav’st me sick, in pain.

And still Thy presence sears and binds –
is all my praying vain?

And still it comes, this fearful dark;
I cannot stem the tide.

“No more,” I cry, “I know my strength!”

And then, Thou, God replied,
“Thy frenzied strength thou knowest, ah
but thou dost not know Mine.”

Barbara Black 1991 (Taken from her poetry, In Affliction)

Not Mantra, but Marrow!

To embrace is to draw close, so close that the fragrance and warmth of the person enfolded fills the senses on of the one who embraces. We enjoy embracing our loved ones, feeling their embrace and savoring their closeness. An embrace confirms our affection and reassures our hearts.

As Mary Magdela reached out the first Easter to touch the risen Savior, we, too, long to feel His touch. (John 20:17) If you could embrace the Lord Jesus today — feel the strength of His arms, the warmth of His love, and savor His closeness, would this “hug” build your faith?

When I think of what the Lord smells like, I think of fresh linen, and wood – rough hewn. But there is another smell – disturbing and frightening. It is the smell of death: His, and, as His follower, my own. Sheep have an excellent sense of smell – maybe that is why I am so prone to wander from Christ – I can smell the necessary death of something I cherish – my own way.

“I am crucified with Christ, and I no longer live . . .” isn’t just a mantra. It is marrow:Christ's life showed me how, and enabled me to do it. I identified myself completely with him. Indeed, I have been crucified with Christ. My ego is no longer central. It is no longer important that I appear righteous before you or have your good opinion, and I am no longer driven to impress God. Christ lives in me. The life you see me living is not "mine," but it is lived by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. (Galatians 2:20 from THE MESSAGE )

So, taking up my cross doesn’t mean sighing deeply and living with disappointment; it means putting to death, as on a cross, all my little passions: An ancient Roman cross where Jesus suffered and died was rough-hewn, splintering shards of wood into His back. When I embrace the Cross, it will cost all I claim is mine -- not just the "good things" that I enjoy toting around, like my husband, kids, education, work, etc. -- but it means letting go of resentments, disappointments, bitterness and frustrations, all of which have become such familiar traveling companions in my life's journey. It means letting go for it is not ultimately me who has been sinned against.

Maybe that’s why the Cross is such foolishness to people who don’t think our little indulgences are so bad? We don’t like smelling death. So, it’s easier to debate if Christ really lived; if God really is.