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.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
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
Sunday, April 4, 2010
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
Saturday, April 3, 2010
My Address Book
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)
Thursday, March 25, 2010
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:
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
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.
God sees sweet flowers growing. ~Albert Laighton (19th century America lawyer & poet)
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.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
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.
Monday, March 15, 2010
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.
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)
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
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)
Learning contentment is key to recovery – and it is key to growing up in Christ, daily.
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)
Monday, February 15, 2010
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.”
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:
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;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!
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.
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)
“. . . 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 )
Friday, February 12, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
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!
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!
Monday, February 8, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
How’s Your Hearing?
What the Haitian people have endured since January 12, 2010 is unimaginable. In the past week, I have heard that women, just like me, one minute were going about their business, the next, suffering atrocious anguish and indignities – losing loved ones or their lives, everything they valued. One woman lost her five children – and her mind. I have heard that more than 200,000 people may have lost their lives and another 1.5 million were made homeless; 3 million people risk infection. And I heard the numbers could change – will change – this time tomorrow or next week. I have also heard about courage and charity.
How could the poorest of the poor been so afflicted? Or, did they bring this on themselves?
Predictably, some prominent churchmen speculated that the earthquake was God’s judgement on Haiti. For those tempted to point a finger, remember how many point back! Occultism and pretend churches are just two problems in every nation, in every city and community – and God urges churchmen to listen to what the Spirit says to the churches – while there is time. (Revelation 1-3)
To whom will I listen?
Luke heard the Lord Jesus said:
I hear some ask, then, “Does God ‘cause’ disaster?” He says He does – and how can anything ever happen without His “permission” if He is Lord? (Jeremiah 32:34)
I have heard and believe God is deeper and bigger – more than even the word “Holy” conveys. (Psalm 62) His being strikes a form of terror in me – even as Job said (40:4) and as Isaiah responded. (Isaiah 6)
I hear Isaiah say, God is "Mighty to save." (Isaiah 63:1)
C.H. Spurgeon wrote that:
O God! Please be mighty to save – save so many more today – even those trapped in literal and spiritual chaos.
How could the poorest of the poor been so afflicted? Or, did they bring this on themselves?
Predictably, some prominent churchmen speculated that the earthquake was God’s judgement on Haiti. For those tempted to point a finger, remember how many point back! Occultism and pretend churches are just two problems in every nation, in every city and community – and God urges churchmen to listen to what the Spirit says to the churches – while there is time. (Revelation 1-3)
To whom will I listen?
Luke heard the Lord Jesus said:
"I tell you, no, but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.
"Or do you suppose that those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them, were worse culprits than all the men who live in Jerusalem?
"I tell you, no, but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish." (Luke 13:3-5)
I hear some ask, then, “Does God ‘cause’ disaster?” He says He does – and how can anything ever happen without His “permission” if He is Lord? (Jeremiah 32:34)
I have heard and believe God is deeper and bigger – more than even the word “Holy” conveys. (Psalm 62) His being strikes a form of terror in me – even as Job said (40:4) and as Isaiah responded. (Isaiah 6)
I hear Isaiah say, God is "Mighty to save." (Isaiah 63:1)
C.H. Spurgeon wrote that:
By the words "to save" we understand the whole of the great work of salvation, from the first holy desire onward to complete sanctification. The words are multum in parro: indeed, here is all mercy in one word.
Christ is not only "mighty to save" those who repent, but He is able to make men repent. He will carry those to heaven who believe; but He is, moreover, mighty to give men new hearts and to work faith in them. He is mighty to make the man who hates holiness love it, and to constrain the despiser of His name to bend the knee before Him . . . Whether to begin with others, or to carry on the work in you, Jesus is "mighty to save;" the best proof of which lies in the fact that He has saved you. What a thousand mercies that you have not found Him mighty to destroy!
O God! Please be mighty to save – save so many more today – even those trapped in literal and spiritual chaos.
So turn to me and be helped — saved! — everyone, whoever and wherever you are. I am GOD, the only God there is, the one and only. ( Isaiah 45:22 from THE MESSAGE )
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The photos
It’s the pictures of the children . . . the babies and toddlers who were saved, and the ones who did not . . . that testify to the depth of the horror of the 2010 Haitian earthquake. Thank God or the photographers who captured the grief, the sorrow, the joy – What was so important before the quake, how important is it today?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Heroism – “Doe The Next Thynge.”
Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird defined heroism:
“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.” (Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird, Chapter 11)
Two real women come to mind who modeled this description – Miep Gies and Elisabeth Elliot.
By 1942, Miep Gies was licked – the Nazis had occupied her country, Holland, since 1940. A gun would not have helped her defy so mighty a force. But, she did what she could to save a few lives, humans who were marked for destruction because they were Jewish. She was a secretary of Otto Frank and she took a risk, hiding him and his family and a few others, and continuing to do what she did on a daily basis. She said:
"Imagine young people would grow up with the feeling that you have to be a hero to do your human duty. I am afraid nobody would ever help other people, because who is a hero? I was not. I was just an ordinary housewife and secretary."
Indeed she was an office secretary, one who defied the Nazi occupiers, and hid the family for two years, simply doing the next thing. Here’s the full story.
In 1955, Elisabeth Elliot, too, was licked when she received word her husband, Jim and four other men were speared to death in the jungles of Ecuador. (Ed McCully, Roger Youderian, Pete Fleming, and their pilot, Nate Saint also perished) She had no gun; widowed, the mother of a toddler, she lived among the very people who slaughter her husband and fellow workers. Like Miep Gies, she got on with her work and mothering.
In her own words: (Emphasis added)
When I went back to my jungle station after the death of my first husband, Jim Elliot, I was faced with many confusions and uncertainties. I had a good many new roles, besides that of being a single parent and a widow. I was alone on a jungle station that Jim and I had manned together. I had to learn to do all kinds of things, which I was not trained or prepared in any way to do. It was a great help to me simply to do the next thing.
Have you had the experience of feeling as if you've got far too many burdens to bear, far too many people to take care of, far too many things on your list to do? You just can't possibly do it, and you get in a panic and you just want to sit down and collapse in a pile and feel sorry for yourself.
Well, I've felt that way a good many times in my life, and I go back over and over again to an old Saxon legend, which I'm told is carved in an old English parson somewhere by the sea. I don't know where this is. But this is a poem which was written about that legend. The legend is "Do the next thing." And it's spelled in what I suppose is Saxon spelling. "D-O-E" for "do," "the," and then next, "N-E-X-T." "Thing"-"T-H-Y-N-G-E."
The poem says, "Do it immediately, do it with prayer, do it reliantly, casting all care. Do it with reverence, tracing His hand who placed it before thee with earnest command. Stayed on omnipotence, safe 'neath His wing, leave all resultings, do the next thing." That is a wonderfully saving truth. Just do the next thing!
Monday, January 11, 2010
Burned Out?
“Take the first step in faith. You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.”
(Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)
In the row of four walkway lights, leading to our front door, one non functioning bulb was obvious and upsetting. We just installed those!
Finding a LED replacement bulb seemed an easy task. Proceeding down to the local Lowe’s, I anticipated no problems. However, a few cropped up – beginning with the fact, Lowe’s has (at least) two separate displays devoted to light bulbs – and in both displays, the LED bulbs are stored behind displays, in small packages, with small print.
The first cheerful, helpful sales associate directed me to a humongous display of bulbs, found one that matched the size of my burned out bulb, assuring me, this was the one; I did not read labels, for it matched the size and shape of the one clutched in my hand. However, it cost over six dollars, for a fixture that was less than twenty dollars!
Wavering, I moseyed over to the outdoor fixtures’ aisle just for curiosity sake.
The sales associate in this department was also friendly but not so confident about finding a replacement bulb from another considerable large array of choices. This area was not as well lighted as the previous display; the packages were harder to see. After the first attempt, he recommended going to a speciality light bulb store across town (a direction not helpful to a newcomer to a big city like Dallas). I then expressed my frustration that Lowe’s would sell a fixture and no replacement bulbs! So, he searched around for other bulbs, from a series of small bins labeled with hard-to-read characters.
I then checked the box of a fixture similar to the ones we installed, and my problem was not simply getting the right bulb and being certain it was an outdoor replacement bulb – but making sure the bulb was the proper voltage. The sales associate retrieved one; the price was better: three dollars for two bulbs. As I had become a more discerning reader of lilliputian letters, I examined the package of light bulbs the other sales associate showed me, comparing it to the packages in this department. Though the right shape and size, I now saw the former was for indoor fixtures. Therefore, though it had been recommended confidently, it was not a match.
I am often like that row of lights leading to our front door – part of me is burned out; I shouldn’t be – but I am. And it’s as obvious as an unevenly illuminated walk. Not only am I unattractive, I can trip other people up. Somebody needs to replace me!
Scripture says rest – (let God) take care of my body. (1 Kings 19)
Scripture says rest – (let God) take of my spirit. (Isaiah 30:15)
Scripture says rest – (let God) take care of my heart. (Isaiah 139:23-24)
Maybe I should let God – do for me what only He will, so that light comes back on? (Psalm 51-12-13)
(Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)
In the row of four walkway lights, leading to our front door, one non functioning bulb was obvious and upsetting. We just installed those!
Finding a LED replacement bulb seemed an easy task. Proceeding down to the local Lowe’s, I anticipated no problems. However, a few cropped up – beginning with the fact, Lowe’s has (at least) two separate displays devoted to light bulbs – and in both displays, the LED bulbs are stored behind displays, in small packages, with small print.
The first cheerful, helpful sales associate directed me to a humongous display of bulbs, found one that matched the size of my burned out bulb, assuring me, this was the one; I did not read labels, for it matched the size and shape of the one clutched in my hand. However, it cost over six dollars, for a fixture that was less than twenty dollars!
Wavering, I moseyed over to the outdoor fixtures’ aisle just for curiosity sake.
The sales associate in this department was also friendly but not so confident about finding a replacement bulb from another considerable large array of choices. This area was not as well lighted as the previous display; the packages were harder to see. After the first attempt, he recommended going to a speciality light bulb store across town (a direction not helpful to a newcomer to a big city like Dallas). I then expressed my frustration that Lowe’s would sell a fixture and no replacement bulbs! So, he searched around for other bulbs, from a series of small bins labeled with hard-to-read characters.
I then checked the box of a fixture similar to the ones we installed, and my problem was not simply getting the right bulb and being certain it was an outdoor replacement bulb – but making sure the bulb was the proper voltage. The sales associate retrieved one; the price was better: three dollars for two bulbs. As I had become a more discerning reader of lilliputian letters, I examined the package of light bulbs the other sales associate showed me, comparing it to the packages in this department. Though the right shape and size, I now saw the former was for indoor fixtures. Therefore, though it had been recommended confidently, it was not a match.
I am often like that row of lights leading to our front door – part of me is burned out; I shouldn’t be – but I am. And it’s as obvious as an unevenly illuminated walk. Not only am I unattractive, I can trip other people up. Somebody needs to replace me!
Scripture says rest – (let God) take care of my body. (1 Kings 19)
Scripture says rest – (let God) take of my spirit. (Isaiah 30:15)
Scripture says rest – (let God) take care of my heart. (Isaiah 139:23-24)
Maybe I should let God – do for me what only He will, so that light comes back on? (Psalm 51-12-13)
Saturday, January 9, 2010
The Blessing of SKYPE
Though I didn’t know my grandmother well, I knew she lived in a small town in Jonesville South Carolina. This morning I learned where my little grandson thinks I live. His dad pulled out his laptop, and Jack started pointing at it, squealing, “Mimi! Yea Mimi!”
Could my grandmother have imagined the technology – like skype – I take for granted?
She enjoyed several fruits of technology, early 20th century. My grandmother’s children saw to it that her home had indoor plumbing, a washing machine, and a brand spanking new electric range; she had used a privy, boiled her sheets in a large black cauldron, and fried chicken on a wood stove.
Could she have imagined the whirlpool in my bathtub, albeit two decades old? What would she have thought of my washer and dryer that does a load of sheets in less than one hour? Having watched her catch, kill and clean a chicken which she then floured and plopped into Crisco, how would she like the local carry-out that makes the guilty pleasure, fried chicken, a breeze? And what would she think of a microwave – or a coffee pot that turns itself on and off?
I knew where she lived, and I saw her occasionally – but I never had a conversation with her about what she thought. She played the piano, though, and I remember her playing “The Old Rugged Cross.” Perhaps that’s the closest we came to a conversation – but it is a memory that goes very deep.
Lois told Timothy what she knew – (2 Timothy 1:5) Grandmothers are still useful purveyors of truth – especially in the age of instant communication. The blessing of technology is that I can have conversations with my grandchildren! Jack may think I live in a computer for now – although he has been to Texas – but we talk.
How can I use it to tell them what I know about God?
Could my grandmother have imagined the technology – like skype – I take for granted?
She enjoyed several fruits of technology, early 20th century. My grandmother’s children saw to it that her home had indoor plumbing, a washing machine, and a brand spanking new electric range; she had used a privy, boiled her sheets in a large black cauldron, and fried chicken on a wood stove.
Could she have imagined the whirlpool in my bathtub, albeit two decades old? What would she have thought of my washer and dryer that does a load of sheets in less than one hour? Having watched her catch, kill and clean a chicken which she then floured and plopped into Crisco, how would she like the local carry-out that makes the guilty pleasure, fried chicken, a breeze? And what would she think of a microwave – or a coffee pot that turns itself on and off?
I knew where she lived, and I saw her occasionally – but I never had a conversation with her about what she thought. She played the piano, though, and I remember her playing “The Old Rugged Cross.” Perhaps that’s the closest we came to a conversation – but it is a memory that goes very deep.
“. . . One generation shall praise Thy works to another,
And shall declare Thy mighty acts.
On the glorious splendor of Thy majesty,
And on Thy wonderful works, I will meditate.
And men shall speak of the power of Thine awesome acts;
And I will tell of Thy greatness.” (Psalm 145:4-6)
Lois told Timothy what she knew – (2 Timothy 1:5) Grandmothers are still useful purveyors of truth – especially in the age of instant communication. The blessing of technology is that I can have conversations with my grandchildren! Jack may think I live in a computer for now – although he has been to Texas – but we talk.
How can I use it to tell them what I know about God?
Monday, January 4, 2010
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 –
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 . . .
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