Friday, August 28, 2009
Would You?
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Would You?
With strong convictions, an infected township decided to reside in the confines of their village for more than a year so their citizens would not spread the bubonic plague. This Sunday, pilgrims will gather near the English village of Eyam for a service of remembrance. During 1665-1666, Eyam’s population of 500 plus suffered the loss of half their friends and family.
In the 1300s, bubonic plague’s first recorded victims were in China’s Gobi dessert. Bubonic plague, contracted from rats and fleas, traveled from that region aboard trading ships. A PBS special “Secrets of the Dead” said “In October of 1347, a Genoese ship fleet returning from the Black Sea -- a key trade link with China -- landed in Messina, Sicily.” To the horror of dock workers “most of those on board were already dead, and the ships were ordered out of harbor. But it was too late.” From there, the killer disease spread to Europe and before it subsided an estimated 25 million died.
Again, in the 1660s the bubonic plague raged and killed 100,000 in London, a sixth of the population. In September of 1665 a batch of fabric was sent from London to the village of Eyam in Derbyshire. Local tailor George Viccars took the damp fabric infested with fleas into his home and hung it by the fireplace. Within four days he died and soon other villagers caught the disease. A few families panicked and fled north, but the town turned to Rector William Mompesson, who urged a self-imposed quarantine to prevent the disease from spreading to nearby villages. The noble villagers agreed.
For 14 months no one went beyond the town boundaries. Neighboring villagers left food at Mompesson’s well and coins of payment were left in the water. Church services were held outdoors to avoid clusters of people meeting together. Families buried their deceased in garden plots and back yards. Ironically the local grave digger, even though he buried many, survived. Mrs. Hancock of Riley buried her husband and six children within eight days.
Bubonic plague can turn into pneumonic plague, affecting the lungs and then the disease spreads from human contact. The plague oppressed the villagers for over a year and on November 1, 1666, the last victim died.
The rector’s wife Catherine Mompesson nursed the ill and dying for nearly a year and then she was among some of the last to contract the disease and die on August 25, 1666. Plague Sunday is celebrated the last Sunday in August and this year, as in the past, a red rose entwined wreath will be laid upon her gravestone.
Some believe a children’s nursery rhyme commemorates the plague and describes the disease and the fatalities: “A ring-a-ring of rosies / A pocket full of posies / A tishoo! A tishoo! / We all fall down.”
After the scourge was over the first outsiders ventured into Eyam where they expected to find a ghost town, yet miraculously half the population had survived. The abovementioned PBS special details how researchers traced and located direct descendents of Eyam plague survivors. Researchers hoped to find these folk to be carriers of a protective gene. They did find such a gene and for more information check out the PBS site.
Now, the medical community is preparing to protect the earth’s population from the less deadly h1n1 virus, and many ordinary citizens will also have opportunities to serve those who get this flu. If the flu is contracted, we can follow the good people of Eyam’s unselfishness and avoid exposing others.
Jesus said, “Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). He described a premier love, a love superior to self; a love lived out in a hamlet some 350 years ago.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Solace in Mundane Tasks
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I washed, dried and folded my guestroom bed sheets. After that, I ironed and starched and lavender scented the pillow cases. We had overnight guests and we’re expecting more, and I like to have a fresh set of sheets in case we have pop-in family who need a place to rest for a night. With just a little tidying, putting away clutter, and shaking out the welcome mat we’re ready for company.
Ironing pillowcases is one of those household tasks that don’t seem like a chore to me. When I mentioned that among a group of women, one other woman agreed that plunging her arms into sudsy water to hand wash dishes is her oasis of calm. Several of the housework skeptics said, “You’re both crazy.”
When linens need pressing, I’m eager to fold down my hide-away ironing board and with a hot iron push wrinkles aside. Maybe that lets you in on my personality. I like to fix things for people, make it better, or kiss away the hurt. I want to smooth out the rough spots, but we all know that’s not always possible.
That knowledge reigned again this week—not being able to fix some of the broken places in life. We lost a dear friend, Lee Roy, of 25 years. Within five minutes he was gone. After we heard the news, we drove several hours to see his wife, Paula. Lee Roy was her best friend and the love of her life. Those who knew them saw a couple devoted to each other. In times past, we met Lee Roy and Paula every few months for dinner, usually halfway between our homes in the Bay Area and
Because we are in the same business, our husbands spoke almost every day by cell phone. The four of us have a lot in common. We know the names of each other’s grandchildren and pets, and we’ve shared our families’ worries and needs. And now I want to fix things for Paula but I cannot.
At times like these, most of us have experienced the inadequacy of words. I like words and sometimes even get to trade them in for a paycheck. But I’ve found that spoken words or even purchased words in sympathy cards cannot properly convey the weight and density of sorrow.
The real desire of our friend’s heart cannot be fixed. Death is what it is and now she travels a road not by choice but one delivered to her doorsteps way too early. Her gut-wrenching loss made me cherish the daily handholding with my husband. Our goodbye kisses became sweeter just because we had the privilege. The solemn morning after our friend’s death, there was an extra long hug between David and me as we parted for the day.
After David left that morning, I went into my utility room, I needed to iron. I needed to press the wrinkles out of something. One of the things I like about ironing is that it’s routine work that allows my mind to stay or travel a long distance from the ironing board. Also, it’s a great time to pray. For my friend this has been my plea, “I lift up my voice to the LORD for mercy. I pour out my complaint before him; before him I tell my trouble. When my spirit grows faint within me, it is you who know my way” (Psalm 132:1-3).
Off and on throughout this week, I’ve done laundry and I’ve had more of my husband’s shirts to iron than in a long time. I steamed the collars, smoothed the yokes, and pressed the wrinkles out of sleeves, treasuring the work.
My main prayer request for our friend is for comfort and deep strength. I know she loves to mow her yard and I hope when she gets to trimming the hedges again that she can find solace in the task and the quiet time.
And she’ll be in my thoughts as I iron, smooth out what I can, and pray.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Pass the Bread
July Book Winner: L. Chapman in
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PASS THE BREAD
She kept coming into her own kitchen offering to help. The women who were working at her sink and serving up the homemade food kept saying, “We don’t need your help . . . Go . . . Sit down . . . Get some rest.” She needed rest. Between work and keeping her household running, her family had additionally kept an hourly vigil at the hospital with a terminally ill parent.
Now because of the parent’s death and funeral, her household ran over with out-of-town extended family. By the day of the funeral, she and her husband had little energy to expend and the family still needed to eat.
When food is shared the givers join Christ in ministry. In the Bible on one occasion in an isolated area, a hungry crowd numbering in the thousands needed food. Aware of the crowd’s hunger, Jesus said to his followers, “You give them something to eat” (Mark
On that day, Jesus’ mission was at least threefold – teaching the crowd and disciples about God’s caretaking, providing an actual meal, and cloaking his disciples with servant robes.
That evening when God multiplied small loaves and tiny fish, the disciples became food pantry trainees. The Lord of Harvest provided the bounty and asked the manly disciples to don aprons. From heaven, a chain of blessings began. From his storehouse, God scattered provisions to the needy. And with Jesus beside them the disciples willingly became the middlemen. Stepping in the gap, they passed out what God had multiplied.
Due to the generosity of a group of cooks at my home church, weekly meals are taken to those in need. We’ve taken meals on Christmas Eve, other holidays and ordinary days. I especially remember one such family who traveled to
Many churches provide this same ministry when a family’s primary cook is too tired to wield a spatula and a skillet. With chicken and dumplings, pecan pies and homemade rolls, cooks build bridges between God’s hand and the hurting.
Eating a meal you didn’t prepare or buy is a relaxing agent for the suffering. Watch for those times when you can ease a burden just by showing up with a chilled salad, fresh fruit, or batches of sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies.
From God’s hand, to yours, to the hurting -- “Pass the bread” takes on a whole new meaning.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Lyrics in My Heart
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Caleb, an age 4 character in Hallmark movie “Sarah, Plain and Tall” hears a farmer playing a song. Later Caleb says, “Maybe I could get a harmonica. I could carry it with me wherever I go. It would be like a little music in my pocket.”
While re-reading through the Psalm lyrics, the songs of the Bible, a few of the phrases reverberated in my mind. Just as favorite melodies of a song make laps in the mind, these psalm phrases latched onto my heart — like words backed with Velcro.
One is “Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings” (Psalm 17:8). Because of David’s wording in his prayer-song, my personal requests became more specific. Because I’ve seen mother hens shelter vulnerable chicks, I could visualize being sheltered beneath God’s wingspan.
However, on those occasions when the faith gauge is low, different words from the psalms cycle around in my thoughts, “How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13:1).
This question from David comforts me. God doesn’t mind when my doubt is verbalized to him. Honesty with God is not a bad thing. He already knows if I’m feeling out of touch, needy, and my questioning words don’t shock God. Like a chick, I may not be able to see his face, but I still know where I am—under his protective wing.
Another psalm meditates on God’s “works” and “mighty deeds,” recalling times when God helped the Hebrews. Their walk on dry ground through the
The Hebrews knew God cut that swath through volumes of water, and although God’s footprints were not seen, he opened a path of escape from enemies and opened a trail to strengthening the Hebrews’ faith.
On a rainy day, my young son slipped out of my sight and left our country yard traveling into farm dangers -- ponds, cattle, and woods. Scanning damp ground outside our fence, I prayed to see small footprints, and, thank God, tiny mud-depressions led the way to my child. Much like that, I recently tracked God through the Psalms.
After this recent read-through of the 150 Psalms, I again heard an orchestra in my heart—ancient lyrics spinning round and round. The many “sightings” of God’s footprints within the psalms remind me of his care.
Today, remember that you are the apple of his eye. If doubts and fears arise ask God your questions, whatever their subject. Read a few psalms each day until the imprints of his good care are stamped on your heart. Then you can have many lyrics resonating too, music that goes with you, much like music in pockets.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Quit Procrastinating Tomorrow
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PROCRASTINATION
"Fiddle deedee, I'll worry about that tomorrow." Scarlett O’Hara, the heroine in Gone With the Wind, made a habit of shoving a lot onto the next calendar day, and she has plenty of modern companions, including me.
Procrastination is putting off a project until a later date, especially habitually doing so. Delaying decisions, avoiding messy projects or putting off confrontations is as common as sunsets. But wait. Help is available!
Hypnotists claim they can de-procrastinate dawdlers. The Japanese developed psychological strategies for dealing with the hesitant. Books and DVDs offer self-help, but they still need to be bought and read and watched. That’ll probably happen tomorrow, too.
Support groups exist for stallers. If I attended such a meeting, I imagine the warm welcome, as reformed procrastinators offer help, “Hello, my name is Cathy, and I’m a procrastinator.”
Written centuries ago, Solomon’s advice is still relevant today, “Whatever you hand finds to do, do it with all your might” (Ecclesiastes
Our natural world goes through seasons of growth, disposal, and rest each year. These cycles keep our environment tidy and functional, and order would dissolve and chaos would reign if any season skipped its timeslot.
Most of us have experienced the sheer joy of completing a dreaded project. It may have been laundering the Saint Bernard or cleaning out the fridge, but a carefree spirit cloaks shoulders when any overdue project is done.
Today, I plan to change a bad habit. I will spend 30 minutes each day sorting through old paperwork until the stack is diminished. Most will not even have to be stored, but will go into the recycle bin or shredder.
Trying to change one bad habit at a time is a good thing. My husband loves to tease about too much personal change by saying, “I don’t want to be too perfect—got to leave room for a little improvement.”
Closet cleaning, e-mail reading, house painting, eating healthy, exercising — are any of those on tomorrow’s list? Fred Brooks observed, “How does a project get to be a year behind schedule? One day at a time.”
I’m truly hoping and praying to do better in all my tomorrows. What about you? “At a steady rate, we procrastinate. I’ve only this to say—if tomorrow ever gets here, it’ll be a busy day!”
Friday, July 17, 2009
Fire in a Green Tree
June Book Winners: Congratulations to the Adys in Oregon.
Send an email to writecat@consolidated.net or leave a comment to enter the July book contest to win The Stained Glass Pickup or A Scrapbook of Christmas First, your choice. Read reviews at www.amazon.com
FIRE IN A GREEN TREE
Moses investigated, and he saw green vegetation on fire, but it wasn’t consumed by the intense heat. He stepped closer, and his eyes hadn’t deceived him.
Scorching tongues of fire flickered in the low branches of a bush, yet the leaves shone verdant green, and then “God called to him from within the bush. ‘Moses! Moses!’ And Moses, said, ‘Here I am.’” (Exodus 3:4).
In some ways, Moses witnessed a mini-version of what would happen to him over the next few decades. God’s consuming passion for rescuing the Israelites from Egypt included finding a leader to negotiate with Pharaoh. God intended to engage Moses and fire him up -- at the age of 80!
Moses grew up in Egypt, but at the age of 40 he hastily left because he took the life of a harsh Egyptian taskmaster. The next forty years he tended sheep in a wilderness, a place where the harsh conditions sandpapered his heart, got it ready for service.
When God made the call from the hot flames, perhaps Moses had considered retiring his shepherd’s staff to prop his feet on a rock footstool and listen to the latest Bedouin tunes. But God designated another path.
Was Moses past his prime, God didn’t think so. Part of Moses’ job description was to represent God in Pharaoh’s court. Eventually, because of a holy fire kindled in Moses’ heart, he pleaded God’s case against enslavement.
In Reg Cox and Rick Brown’s superb book, The Xodus Files ~ following God in an alien land, they compare Moses and Israel’s journey to this generation of Christians. In File number 4 (chapter 4) they say, “It’s one thing to catch a glimpse of God’s mission. It’s another to be awakened to the possibility that he wants to use you.”
That possibility ignited in Moses. God knows about fickle human hearts, but when Moses heard from God, he said, “Here I am.” Because Moses followed through with God’s call millions were rescued.
God, in majesty and power, drew the Hebrew people into a renewed covenant relationship. After living in bondage for over 400 years, Israel was happy to escape from slavery, but they weren’t necessarily running to God. Later, God explained how he wooed them. “I carried you on eagle’s wings and brought you to myself” (Exodus 19:4).
Inexperience, old age, young age -- God still knows how to ignite fires in green trees. Authors Cox and Brown say that God’s goal is to communicate his love to all people. “He will craft a mountain, shape a seashore or erect a cross if that’s what it takes to get our attention and alter our eternity.”
Send an email to writecat@consolidated.net or leave a comment to enter the July book contest to win The Stained Glass Pickup or A Scrapbook of Christmas First, your choice. Read reviews at www.amazon.com
FIRE IN A GREEN TREE
Moses investigated, and he saw green vegetation on fire, but it wasn’t consumed by the intense heat. He stepped closer, and his eyes hadn’t deceived him.
Scorching tongues of fire flickered in the low branches of a bush, yet the leaves shone verdant green, and then “God called to him from within the bush. ‘Moses! Moses!’ And Moses, said, ‘Here I am.’” (Exodus 3:4).
In some ways, Moses witnessed a mini-version of what would happen to him over the next few decades. God’s consuming passion for rescuing the Israelites from Egypt included finding a leader to negotiate with Pharaoh. God intended to engage Moses and fire him up -- at the age of 80!
Moses grew up in Egypt, but at the age of 40 he hastily left because he took the life of a harsh Egyptian taskmaster. The next forty years he tended sheep in a wilderness, a place where the harsh conditions sandpapered his heart, got it ready for service.
When God made the call from the hot flames, perhaps Moses had considered retiring his shepherd’s staff to prop his feet on a rock footstool and listen to the latest Bedouin tunes. But God designated another path.
Was Moses past his prime, God didn’t think so. Part of Moses’ job description was to represent God in Pharaoh’s court. Eventually, because of a holy fire kindled in Moses’ heart, he pleaded God’s case against enslavement.
In Reg Cox and Rick Brown’s superb book, The Xodus Files ~ following God in an alien land, they compare Moses and Israel’s journey to this generation of Christians. In File number 4 (chapter 4) they say, “It’s one thing to catch a glimpse of God’s mission. It’s another to be awakened to the possibility that he wants to use you.”
That possibility ignited in Moses. God knows about fickle human hearts, but when Moses heard from God, he said, “Here I am.” Because Moses followed through with God’s call millions were rescued.
God, in majesty and power, drew the Hebrew people into a renewed covenant relationship. After living in bondage for over 400 years, Israel was happy to escape from slavery, but they weren’t necessarily running to God. Later, God explained how he wooed them. “I carried you on eagle’s wings and brought you to myself” (Exodus 19:4).
Inexperience, old age, young age -- God still knows how to ignite fires in green trees. Authors Cox and Brown say that God’s goal is to communicate his love to all people. “He will craft a mountain, shape a seashore or erect a cross if that’s what it takes to get our attention and alter our eternity.”
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Tapioca-Who Knew?
June Book Winners: Congratulations to the Addys in Oregon.
Send an email to write cat at consolidated dot net or leave a comment to enter the July book contest to win The Stained Glass Pickup or A Scrapbook of Christmas First, your choice. Read reviews at www.amazon.com
This week I made tapioca pudding—my husband’s favorite dessert. The pudding is certainly easy enough to make, with the convenience of boxed granules and a microwave.
If you look at the ingredient label on real tapioca, not the pearled version derived from potato starch, you will see two words: cooked tapioca. There's a reason the comforting word "cooked" appears, because uncooked tapioca is poisonous.
"Tapioca" is a word of South American Indian origin. The name applies to a food derived from the root of bitter cassava. According to Latin American tradition, a Spanish explorer, heard from the natives about the highly poisonous sap of the cassava plant. Later, lost in the jungles of Brazil, the suffering man preferred a quick death to one of fever and starvation, so he boiled cassava roots for his last meal.
Instead of dying, he lived to tell the world how this pleasant, digestible food saved his life. The application of heat removed the poison from the sap. The cassava plant is widely known as "yucca" or "manioc." Fortunately, something poisonous changed into a benefit.
One scripture I often hear spoken as a comfort to troubled people is Romans 8:28, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him . . .." Over the centuries, this verse has proven to be true on several levels. One of the good things God works for his children is aiding them to become like Jesus, with genuine love for God and neighbors. This is most likely the greatest promise connected with this scripture.
For many, this promise of good coming out of all things has been a rescue, the floating plank from a shipwreck. Drowning Christians have climbed up on this promise and waited to see what good would come from their experienced misfortune.
Or others have clung to the plank for the rest of their lives and in their judgement never saw the promise of good come from personal disasters. But the glitch is human eyes, scanning a very short time frame. God sees from Eden to end and knows the best timing for "good" things to happen.
Sometimes, it's not in his immediate plan for us to glimpse the turn-around. But our human nature, often accompanied by plenty of misery, asks when and how will this "good" arrive? But our most important work is to believe the Promise Maker.
Every day God is dishing out hope. Today, may be your day. Somehow, he may be turning a poison in your world into a life-support.
Send an email to write cat at consolidated dot net or leave a comment to enter the July book contest to win The Stained Glass Pickup or A Scrapbook of Christmas First, your choice. Read reviews at www.amazon.com
This week I made tapioca pudding—my husband’s favorite dessert. The pudding is certainly easy enough to make, with the convenience of boxed granules and a microwave.
If you look at the ingredient label on real tapioca, not the pearled version derived from potato starch, you will see two words: cooked tapioca. There's a reason the comforting word "cooked" appears, because uncooked tapioca is poisonous.
"Tapioca" is a word of South American Indian origin. The name applies to a food derived from the root of bitter cassava. According to Latin American tradition, a Spanish explorer, heard from the natives about the highly poisonous sap of the cassava plant. Later, lost in the jungles of Brazil, the suffering man preferred a quick death to one of fever and starvation, so he boiled cassava roots for his last meal.
Instead of dying, he lived to tell the world how this pleasant, digestible food saved his life. The application of heat removed the poison from the sap. The cassava plant is widely known as "yucca" or "manioc." Fortunately, something poisonous changed into a benefit.
One scripture I often hear spoken as a comfort to troubled people is Romans 8:28, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him . . .." Over the centuries, this verse has proven to be true on several levels. One of the good things God works for his children is aiding them to become like Jesus, with genuine love for God and neighbors. This is most likely the greatest promise connected with this scripture.
For many, this promise of good coming out of all things has been a rescue, the floating plank from a shipwreck. Drowning Christians have climbed up on this promise and waited to see what good would come from their experienced misfortune.
Or others have clung to the plank for the rest of their lives and in their judgement never saw the promise of good come from personal disasters. But the glitch is human eyes, scanning a very short time frame. God sees from Eden to end and knows the best timing for "good" things to happen.
Sometimes, it's not in his immediate plan for us to glimpse the turn-around. But our human nature, often accompanied by plenty of misery, asks when and how will this "good" arrive? But our most important work is to believe the Promise Maker.
Every day God is dishing out hope. Today, may be your day. Somehow, he may be turning a poison in your world into a life-support.
Friday, June 26, 2009
A Story Gem
Leave a comment or send an email to writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter you name into the May drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
A Story Gem
Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her.
Genesis 29:20
In 1980, the newlywed Molly looked at her ring finger and exclaimed to her husband Richard, “I’ve lost my ring!” Shopping in a local
Richard and Molly abandoned their grocery errands, and they walked back and forth in the aisles, staring at the floor. But they never saw any gleam of her diamond. Since they didn’t know when the ring slipped off Molly’s finger, they later looked through their car’s carpet. At their apartment, they flipped throw pillows over, shook out rugs and felt behind couch cushions. Molly even requested Richard remove the drain trap from under the kitchen sink. The young husband had the heart to do the job, but not the tools.
That evening was a sad one. Molly cried over the loss of her beloved simple ring, a symbol of Richard’s love. She even asked Richard if he would get on his knees and pray that they find her ring. So on his knees he went, and he prayed.
The next morning, Molly, with very puffy eyes, went to her job at
Early that same morning and unknown to Molly, Richard went back to the grocery store. The store had not opened, and he knocked on the door. After his explanation, the manager let him in, and he retraced their grocery cart journey from the previous day. At the meat department, he remembered the choice cuts they had looked at, but had abandoned because of their tight budget. He decided to look there.
Leaning over the bin of beef, his fingers grew cold as he shuffled the Styrofoam packages. About to give up, his eyes glimpsed a sparkle among the plastic wrapped meats. The ring! Under a rump roast!
Richard shared his good news with the store manager then drove to his bride’s workplace. Elated, he couldn’t help smiling the whole way. Arriving, Richard explained to the supervisor about his find. Leading him to his wife’s office, the supervisor walked over to Molly, who had her back to the door, and announced, “Guess who’s here?”
Molly swiveled around in her chair to find a smiling Richard. An unmistakable love shone in his eyes, and without a word, he held the ring up for her to see.
When this Christian couple shared their lost-and-found story, I saw evidence that their love is up-to-date. Even after 28 years of marriage and rearing five children, the diamond sparkle is still there.
It’s in their eyes.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Dads' Pet Phrases
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A television show airing in the 1950s became a household favorite, “Father Knows Best.” Jim Anderson, played by Robert Young, had his share of family problems. His character’s wife was Margaret and their kids were Betty, Bud, and Kathy.
Jim had a pet name, “Kitten,” for Kathy, his youngest. A lot of dads have pet names for their kids, and they have quite a few instructional pet phrases. Much of our wisdom and understanding of the world comes from our dads, and a Bible proverb says, “Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains understanding” (Proverbs 3:13). See if you recognize any of the fatherly wisdom and idioms, I’ve collected from family and friends:
Don’t make me come in there.
How many times do I have to tell you—clean your room?
You eat me out of house and home.
Don’t cross your eyes. They’ll stick like that.
Keep on crying, and I’ll give you something to cry about.
Don’t sit so close to the TV.
Finish your dinner, there are starving kids in the world.
If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times.
Sit up straight.
Use your inside voice.
Money doesn’t grow on trees.
If I have to tell you one more time . . .
No, we’re not there yet. Don’t ask again.
You’ll shoot your eye out.
Obey your mother.
Don’t talk back to your mother.
Apologize to your mother.
I can’t leave you alone for a minute.
This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.
Wash your ears out.
What part of “No” don’t you understand?
Didn’t I tell you that’d happen?
You’ll spoil your appetite.
Don’t roll your eyes at me.
This is the last time I’m going to tell you.
Once you get in your house, you can do what you want.
Stop touching your brother.
Let’s play the quiet game.
What in the Sam Hill are you doing?
Write that down in your little black book.
Cut that out.
Wipe that look off your face.
Use your manners.
Because I said so.
If your dad is still around, be sure to thank him for all the memorable advice delivered in simple slogans and add a plate of homemade cookies and a big kiss on the cheek.
A television show airing in the 1950s became a household favorite, “Father Knows Best.” Jim Anderson, played by Robert Young, had his share of family problems. His character’s wife was Margaret and their kids were Betty, Bud, and Kathy.
Jim had a pet name, “Kitten,” for Kathy, his youngest. A lot of dads have pet names for their kids, and they have quite a few instructional pet phrases. Much of our wisdom and understanding of the world comes from our dads, and a Bible proverb says, “Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains understanding” (Proverbs 3:13). See if you recognize any of the fatherly wisdom and idioms, I’ve collected from family and friends:
Don’t make me come in there.
How many times do I have to tell you—clean your room?
You eat me out of house and home.
Don’t cross your eyes. They’ll stick like that.
Keep on crying, and I’ll give you something to cry about.
Don’t sit so close to the TV.
Finish your dinner, there are starving kids in the world.
If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times.
Sit up straight.
Use your inside voice.
Money doesn’t grow on trees.
If I have to tell you one more time . . .
No, we’re not there yet. Don’t ask again.
You’ll shoot your eye out.
Obey your mother.
Don’t talk back to your mother.
Apologize to your mother.
I can’t leave you alone for a minute.
This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.
Wash your ears out.
What part of “No” don’t you understand?
Didn’t I tell you that’d happen?
You’ll spoil your appetite.
Don’t roll your eyes at me.
This is the last time I’m going to tell you.
Once you get in your house, you can do what you want.
Stop touching your brother.
Let’s play the quiet game.
What in the Sam Hill are you doing?
Write that down in your little black book.
Cut that out.
Wipe that look off your face.
Use your manners.
Because I said so.
If your dad is still around, be sure to thank him for all the memorable advice delivered in simple slogans and add a plate of homemade cookies and a big kiss on the cheek.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Nip Assumptions
Leave a comment or send an email to writecat at consolidated dot net and I’ll enter you name into the May drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
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I started to open a carbonated cola while riding in my husband Dave’s truck and he offered to pull the tab for me even though he was driving. He likes his truck to be clean and neat, so I was immediately a little bit offended, thinking he thought I’d spray the truck’s dashboard with fizz when I pulled the tab. I didn’t voice my thoughts but soon found out my assumption was very off track.
I’d been working on avoiding guesswork, so I asked why he offered to pull the tab, and he said in a gentle voice, “I didn’t want you to break a fingernail.” Because of my earlier assumption, I misjudged—for the moment—his charitable act of kindness.
He simply offered to open a cola can, such an ordinary occurrence, and I misjudged his motives. Just imagine how many larger things in life that we make wrong guesses about.
“Knowing their thoughts” is a phrase that characterizes Jesus in the New Testament. Because Jesus knew the thoughts of men, he could size up hearts and then address a crowd or individual in a way that would help them grow in their understanding of God and others.
Only God can truly know the inner person because he has seen every hurt and privilege. He knows our make-up better than any geneticist, and God knows each facet of our environments from birth to grave. He alone can know exactly what we are thinking and what has influenced us to behave in certain ways.
We humans look at events, or listen to conversations, or even facts, and then we still give our opinions from each individual small perspective. Tunnel vision. Thinking I know what someone else is thinking is where I get into the most trouble.
James offers helpful advice for good relationships when he says, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry for man’s anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires” (1:19-20).
Some of the most wounding circumstances start with one person misjudging what another is thinking. Many misunderstandings could be avoided if each person clamped off assumptions, listened, asked a few questions, and sent anger to stand in the corner.
June 13, Saturday, is dubbed “Weed Your Garden Day,” a reminder and a call to action. If weeds aren’t pulled, they multiply. Take a walk around your heart garden. See any misjudging there? If so, follow the bumbling Barney Fife’s advice, “Nip it. Nip it in the bud.”
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I started to open a carbonated cola while riding in my husband Dave’s truck and he offered to pull the tab for me even though he was driving. He likes his truck to be clean and neat, so I was immediately a little bit offended, thinking he thought I’d spray the truck’s dashboard with fizz when I pulled the tab. I didn’t voice my thoughts but soon found out my assumption was very off track.
I’d been working on avoiding guesswork, so I asked why he offered to pull the tab, and he said in a gentle voice, “I didn’t want you to break a fingernail.” Because of my earlier assumption, I misjudged—for the moment—his charitable act of kindness.
He simply offered to open a cola can, such an ordinary occurrence, and I misjudged his motives. Just imagine how many larger things in life that we make wrong guesses about.
“Knowing their thoughts” is a phrase that characterizes Jesus in the New Testament. Because Jesus knew the thoughts of men, he could size up hearts and then address a crowd or individual in a way that would help them grow in their understanding of God and others.
Only God can truly know the inner person because he has seen every hurt and privilege. He knows our make-up better than any geneticist, and God knows each facet of our environments from birth to grave. He alone can know exactly what we are thinking and what has influenced us to behave in certain ways.
We humans look at events, or listen to conversations, or even facts, and then we still give our opinions from each individual small perspective. Tunnel vision. Thinking I know what someone else is thinking is where I get into the most trouble.
James offers helpful advice for good relationships when he says, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry for man’s anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires” (1:19-20).
Some of the most wounding circumstances start with one person misjudging what another is thinking. Many misunderstandings could be avoided if each person clamped off assumptions, listened, asked a few questions, and sent anger to stand in the corner.
June 13, Saturday, is dubbed “Weed Your Garden Day,” a reminder and a call to action. If weeds aren’t pulled, they multiply. Take a walk around your heart garden. See any misjudging there? If so, follow the bumbling Barney Fife’s advice, “Nip it. Nip it in the bud.”
Friday, June 05, 2009
Pardon My Wrinkles
Annnnnnd the book winner for May is KAREN, notified at her blog and here.
Leave a comment or send an email to [writecat at consolidated dot net] and I’ll enter you name into the June drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
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“Discipleship Journal” reported that the “Oxford Junior Dictionary” cut a few words out of the current edition, to reflect Britain’s “modern, multicultural, and multi-faith society.” They cut religious and historical words such as: sin, Bishop, empire, and nun. Some of the modern words that replaced them were: blog, broadband, MP3 player, voicemail, and celebrity.
“Sin is out, celebrity is in,” DJ magazine’s lead words touted. That concept reflects the mindset of some of the world. Much of what God deems sinful is celebrated in society. Sin wrinkles lives, lives that can be pardoned only by the perfect Jesus Christ.
I ordered new sheers for my guest bedroom double windows, and when I opened the package out slid the long, filmy panels. They were remarkably smooth, with the only creases being along the folds due to packaging.
A slip of paper floated to the floor as I looped the sheers over my arms, readying to thread them onto the curtain rods. I thought the manufacturer’s note might contain washing instructions. Written in bold print across the top of the paper was “PARDON MY WRINKLES.”
I’ve been thinking about those words since then and about all the wrinkles folk get as they pass through life, wrinkles caused by poor judgments and giving into selfish desires. Those happenings make dents, folds, and impressions on a person. All of us sin, and none of us are without resulting wrinkles.
I think about the folk Jesus’ holy character attracted. Like us, they had a variety of sin-issues, past and present. In Jesus’ immediate group of disciples was tax collector, Matthew, who had cheated citizens, and Judas, known to steal from the love offerings.
Others were drawn to the purity and joy seen in Jesus, and sought to have the creases smoothed out, to be done with sin. Immoral women and men sought Jesus’ forgiveness and received a permanent pressing — forever relief from wrongs done and help to avoid future wrongs.
People near Jesus also had subtle sins, too. James and John were called Sons of Thunder because of quick tempers. Martha put protocol before people. Thomas struggled with doubt. Peter wanted to correct situations with a sword.
The “Oxford Junior Dictionary” is wrong. Sin is here to stay because it infects people with alarming regularity. The only thing that changed about sin happened over 2,000 years ago, when a perfect Savior came to save a fallen world.
You can’t just take “sin” out of the dictionary and hope it goes away. It can only be removed because, “God so loved the world that he sent his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall never perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).
If only the whole world could earnestly plead to God, “Pardon my wrinkles,” then sin could disappear from dictionaries.
Friday, May 29, 2009
On Snippet Judging
Leave a comment or send an email to writecat at consolidated dot net and I’ll enter you name into the May drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
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The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart. 1 Samuel 16:7
“David and Goliath!” my age five son shouted on that long ago morning when I asked which Bible story he wanted to hear. The story of the young shepherd David slaying an enemy giant with slingshot and five smooth stones was irresistible to a young boy.
This portion of David’s life was almost all my young son knew about David, not really enough to make a judgment about his Bible hero. David, like most of us, cannot be summed up in only one or two life-shaping events. Some of his life was brutal. Much was gentle.
Look at some of the highlights of David’s life: He slew a lion and a bear while tending his father’s sheep. Before he became Israel’s king, he slaughtered enemies as a bride price. He became known as a king at war, fighting against marauding nations.
In one of David’s dark hours and weaker moments, he lusted after Bathsheba, another man’s wife, and committed adultery. When she conceived, David had her soldier-husband Uriah placed in the frontlines of a heated battle, guaranteeing his death.
On a happier note, David brought the captured Ark of the Covenant back to Jerusalem, and celebrated its return with a public dance before the Lord. He had many intimate talks with God, repenting of adultery and murder. He recorded his dismay and sorrow over his sins in his many psalms. To this day, millions relate to the psalms penned by this ancient shepherd king.
What if I knew nothing of David’s life except that he brought the bride price and men’s body parts to his future father-in-law? What might I think of him? Barbarian. Beast. Possessed.
If King David’s psalms were the only means of learning about him, might my response be more tolerant? When I read about the weak-in-the-flesh David who was remorseful, repentant and aware of God’s unfathomable grace, would I think more kindly toward him?
The old cliché is true—you can’t judge a book by its cover. God said about David, “I have found David son of Jesse a man after my own heart; he will do everything I want him to do.” (Acts 13:22). David took plenty of wrong turns, but his right turns brought him back to God.
A reader asked me to write about making wrong judgments based only on snippets of life, often by what we see, hear, or read. She tagged a common problem. In thoughts, conversations, and writing, unfair and biased opinions are often made.
Michel de Montaign, a religious writer from the middle ages wrote, “There is no man so good, who, were he to submit all his thoughts and actions to the laws, would not deserve hanging 10 times in his life.” We all log less than stellar moments.
We also have times when we can step away from what we see in a small frame of time and can look at the big picture. Author David G. Meyers gives excellent advice about judging, “When torn between judgment and grace, let us err on the side of grace.”
Friday, May 08, 2009
The Secret Holocaust Diaries of Nonna Bannister
April book winner: Lenae, who left a comment at blog.
Leave a comment here or send an email to writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter you name into the May drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
By the time Nonna Lisowskaja turned nine years old, she’d learned four to six languages. Also, she was on a path of learning forgiveness, courage and hope, especially from her mother, maternal grandmother, and her father.
April 21, 2009 was Holocaust Remembrance Day. Just prior to 10:00 o’clock in Israel that day, horns and sirens blared, followed by two minutes of silence. Traffic stopped. Pedestrians stopped. Most bowed their heads remembering the 11 million who perished during the Holocaust, six million were Jews.
I read The Secret Holocaust Diaries the Untold Story of Nonna Bannister a few weeks ago. Nonna, of Russian lineage, was the lone survivor of her family of 35. Later, a young adult, she arrived in New Orleans June 6, 1950 aboard the USNS General Haan, determined that her new life in America would look forward to happier times and not look backward at the evil that caused the loss of her entire family.
She brought with her a packet of documents, photos, post cards, and secret diaries that she had written from an early age on miniscule scraps of paper, in different languages. She kept the striped ticking packet hidden under her clothes and slept with it every night of her life.
She married Henry Bannister soon after her arrival, and they had over 50 years together, rearing three children. Her loving husband knew that Nonna had a painful past, but he also knew that when she was ready, she’d talk about it. He honored her time schedule.
Later in life, Nonna began to translate her diaries into English, transcribing them onto many yellow legal pads. One night she took Henry’s hand and leading him to the attic of their home, she said, “It’s time.”
There amid the dusky lighting and unadorned timbers, she opened a double locked truck. Her past unfolded, as Henry read the transcribed pages. First, he read about her beautiful childhood lived out in Russia with her privileged family. Yet, the later sheets of yellow paper told stories of unspeakable loss and sights that no child should witness.
What makes Nonna’s recounting so outstanding is an overriding sense of joy because of the goodness in others during wartime, often at great risk to themselves. Nonna adopted an attitude of forgiveness and compassion from her family and her Heavenly Father, often giving thanks in her diaries.
I admit, her tender account of her father’s dying is difficult to read, and it’s difficult to comprehend the cruelty that mankind is capable of committing. Having been severely beaten by German soldiers and his eyes gouged out, he lingered with only in-home care for six weeks before he succumbed to his injuries. Nonna said he “remained the same gentle and kind person” forgiving the soldiers who had beaten him.
Rich in spiritual gifts, Nonna’s grandmother left indelible legacies of faith to her granddaughter. Nonna also tells about gentle faith building moments with her mother. Among those are the times she witnessed her mother lovingly caring for frozen German soldiers, their enemies.
Instead of gathering fiction for summer time reading, read The Secret Holocaust Diaries. The charity you find within the pages is like a vacation for the soul. I promise you’ll have new “insights.”
Happy Mother’s Day.
Leave a comment here or send an email to writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter you name into the May drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
By the time Nonna Lisowskaja turned nine years old, she’d learned four to six languages. Also, she was on a path of learning forgiveness, courage and hope, especially from her mother, maternal grandmother, and her father.
April 21, 2009 was Holocaust Remembrance Day. Just prior to 10:00 o’clock in Israel that day, horns and sirens blared, followed by two minutes of silence. Traffic stopped. Pedestrians stopped. Most bowed their heads remembering the 11 million who perished during the Holocaust, six million were Jews.
I read The Secret Holocaust Diaries the Untold Story of Nonna Bannister a few weeks ago. Nonna, of Russian lineage, was the lone survivor of her family of 35. Later, a young adult, she arrived in New Orleans June 6, 1950 aboard the USNS General Haan, determined that her new life in America would look forward to happier times and not look backward at the evil that caused the loss of her entire family.
She brought with her a packet of documents, photos, post cards, and secret diaries that she had written from an early age on miniscule scraps of paper, in different languages. She kept the striped ticking packet hidden under her clothes and slept with it every night of her life.
She married Henry Bannister soon after her arrival, and they had over 50 years together, rearing three children. Her loving husband knew that Nonna had a painful past, but he also knew that when she was ready, she’d talk about it. He honored her time schedule.
Later in life, Nonna began to translate her diaries into English, transcribing them onto many yellow legal pads. One night she took Henry’s hand and leading him to the attic of their home, she said, “It’s time.”
There amid the dusky lighting and unadorned timbers, she opened a double locked truck. Her past unfolded, as Henry read the transcribed pages. First, he read about her beautiful childhood lived out in Russia with her privileged family. Yet, the later sheets of yellow paper told stories of unspeakable loss and sights that no child should witness.
What makes Nonna’s recounting so outstanding is an overriding sense of joy because of the goodness in others during wartime, often at great risk to themselves. Nonna adopted an attitude of forgiveness and compassion from her family and her Heavenly Father, often giving thanks in her diaries.
I admit, her tender account of her father’s dying is difficult to read, and it’s difficult to comprehend the cruelty that mankind is capable of committing. Having been severely beaten by German soldiers and his eyes gouged out, he lingered with only in-home care for six weeks before he succumbed to his injuries. Nonna said he “remained the same gentle and kind person” forgiving the soldiers who had beaten him.
Rich in spiritual gifts, Nonna’s grandmother left indelible legacies of faith to her granddaughter. Nonna also tells about gentle faith building moments with her mother. Among those are the times she witnessed her mother lovingly caring for frozen German soldiers, their enemies.
Instead of gathering fiction for summer time reading, read The Secret Holocaust Diaries. The charity you find within the pages is like a vacation for the soul. I promise you’ll have new “insights.”
Happy Mother’s Day.
Friday, May 01, 2009
But, Daddy, the cat ate the pie."
April book winner: Lenae, who left a comment at blog.
Leave a comment here or send an email to writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter you name into the May drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
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The date was my husband’s birthday, a few years ago when our son was 13 and our daughter was 10. Make that several decades ago. David and I readied to go out for an early dinner celebration, and we gave general instructions to the children before we left them home without a babysitter for a few hours.
The specific instructions came from their dad. Our family usually celebrates birthdays with a preferred pie instead of a cake. I’d baked David’s favorite—southern pecan. David told the kids, “You can each have one piece, but I don’t want to come home and find all my pie gone.”
When we returned home about three hours later, the house was dark, the lights out, apparently the kiddos were in bed early. That was out of the ordinary, but we felt so pleased. What obedient children.
When we opened the back door, we smelled the aroma of fresh baking, and when we flipped on the kitchen light, there sat a brand new pie on the table with a note propped against it. The kitchen was spotless.
The note said, “We’re sorry. We let the cat in. We know we’re not supposed to, and the cat ate your pie. You didn’t have any more pecans, so we made you a walnut pie. Love, Russell and Sheryle.”
So, that’s why the kitchen was immaculate and they were tucked into their beds early. We knew something was up. They had gone to bed early hoping the new pie and the note might soften our hearts. They did.
The next morning, we discussed how their disobedience, letting the cat in, had caused them misery. However, we did appreciate their attempt to make things right — pie dough from scratch and the innovative walnut substitution.
My granddaughter Jolie, who is four, loves to hear stories about her mother Sheryle. Recently, I told Jolie the “cat ate the pie” story. Afterwards, I asked Jolie, “Do you think Russell and Sheryle got into trouble?”
She bobbed her chin up and down saying, “Yes,” but I shook my head no. I told her that David, now known to Jolie as Pop, forgave Russell and Sheryle for letting the cat in and thanked them for the fresh pie. I then got to give details about forgiveness to a four year old. Try it some time. It’s fun. I explained that when someone says they are sorry that we are to accept their apology and forget the harm they did to us.
For each offence committed, there is not always an apology, but we can pattern God’s mercy and forgive anyway. The Old Testament prophet Micah said about God, “You do not stay angry forever, but delight to show mercy” (7:18).
Other familiar words are a good starting place for all offenders and would-be forgivers, too, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
To receive mercy, offer mercy. And if you need to get your foot in the door to seek forgiveness, it might not hurt to have a pie in your hands.
Leave a comment here or send an email to writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter you name into the May drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
********************************************************************************
The date was my husband’s birthday, a few years ago when our son was 13 and our daughter was 10. Make that several decades ago. David and I readied to go out for an early dinner celebration, and we gave general instructions to the children before we left them home without a babysitter for a few hours.
The specific instructions came from their dad. Our family usually celebrates birthdays with a preferred pie instead of a cake. I’d baked David’s favorite—southern pecan. David told the kids, “You can each have one piece, but I don’t want to come home and find all my pie gone.”
When we returned home about three hours later, the house was dark, the lights out, apparently the kiddos were in bed early. That was out of the ordinary, but we felt so pleased. What obedient children.
When we opened the back door, we smelled the aroma of fresh baking, and when we flipped on the kitchen light, there sat a brand new pie on the table with a note propped against it. The kitchen was spotless.
The note said, “We’re sorry. We let the cat in. We know we’re not supposed to, and the cat ate your pie. You didn’t have any more pecans, so we made you a walnut pie. Love, Russell and Sheryle.”
So, that’s why the kitchen was immaculate and they were tucked into their beds early. We knew something was up. They had gone to bed early hoping the new pie and the note might soften our hearts. They did.
The next morning, we discussed how their disobedience, letting the cat in, had caused them misery. However, we did appreciate their attempt to make things right — pie dough from scratch and the innovative walnut substitution.
My granddaughter Jolie, who is four, loves to hear stories about her mother Sheryle. Recently, I told Jolie the “cat ate the pie” story. Afterwards, I asked Jolie, “Do you think Russell and Sheryle got into trouble?”
She bobbed her chin up and down saying, “Yes,” but I shook my head no. I told her that David, now known to Jolie as Pop, forgave Russell and Sheryle for letting the cat in and thanked them for the fresh pie. I then got to give details about forgiveness to a four year old. Try it some time. It’s fun. I explained that when someone says they are sorry that we are to accept their apology and forget the harm they did to us.
For each offence committed, there is not always an apology, but we can pattern God’s mercy and forgive anyway. The Old Testament prophet Micah said about God, “You do not stay angry forever, but delight to show mercy” (7:18).
Other familiar words are a good starting place for all offenders and would-be forgivers, too, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
To receive mercy, offer mercy. And if you need to get your foot in the door to seek forgiveness, it might not hurt to have a pie in your hands.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Ant Hills of Evidence
Leave a comment here or send an email to writecat at consolidated.net and I’ll enter you name into the March drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
Ant Hills of Evidence
Southeast Texas is dotted with ant beds popping up every where. And if you are looking for illustrated Bible lessons about work, just sit and watch the activity around an ant mound for a few minutes.
Noted as one of the wisest men, King Solomon advised some spring and summer sightseeing: “Go the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise! It has no commander, no overseer or ruler, yet it stores its provisions in summer and gathers its food at harvest” (Proverbs 6:6-8).
With over 11,000 known species of ants on this planet and ants far outnumbering humans, there are plenty of teachers to go around. In my yard, fire ant mounds have cropped up like chill bumps on arms, although probably not the species Solomon watched. Most likely, he observed the industrious harvester ants, living in arid parts of the world.
Harvester ants collect seeds then they carry them into underground chambers, just beneath the crust of the earth. There, workers husk the seeds, and then refuse is carried to the surface while other workers ferry the nutritious part of the seed to storage areas. If the seed is too moist, it is taken above ground to air-dry in the sun. These ants also make bread from seed kernels, food for their larvae.
Many fascinating ant species share our world. Leaf cutter ants farm miniature fungi to supply their colony with food. Aphid-tending ants keep bug-cattle, “milking” them for a honey dew substance. Weaver ants build their homes in trees.
Weaver baby ants forego their cocoon silk while gluing leaves together for the colony’s home. Leaving them vulnerable, the infants are tended in a special nursery until adulthood. God’s ant workers are true marvels.
Ants are not lazy. If they loll around through the summer they go hungry in the winter. I can’t imagine them getting sidetracked as often as I do. Some of life’s current attractions are real time wasters. If time is not spent wisely, my days go into the red, and my week goes bankrupt.
Another Solomon work-proverb is, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might” (Ecclesiastes 9:10). I think Solomon is saying life will not go on forever; a worker is to stay focused, keeping mind and hands on the same project. Half-heartedness is a salute to laziness, not God.
Hard work has many benefits. One is getting to eat. Other advantages are peace about finished projects, helping our sluggard economy, and guiltless nights of rest when we’ve labored with gusto. This is all very true.
A little ant told me.
Ant Hills of Evidence
Southeast Texas is dotted with ant beds popping up every where. And if you are looking for illustrated Bible lessons about work, just sit and watch the activity around an ant mound for a few minutes.
Noted as one of the wisest men, King Solomon advised some spring and summer sightseeing: “Go the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise! It has no commander, no overseer or ruler, yet it stores its provisions in summer and gathers its food at harvest” (Proverbs 6:6-8).
With over 11,000 known species of ants on this planet and ants far outnumbering humans, there are plenty of teachers to go around. In my yard, fire ant mounds have cropped up like chill bumps on arms, although probably not the species Solomon watched. Most likely, he observed the industrious harvester ants, living in arid parts of the world.
Harvester ants collect seeds then they carry them into underground chambers, just beneath the crust of the earth. There, workers husk the seeds, and then refuse is carried to the surface while other workers ferry the nutritious part of the seed to storage areas. If the seed is too moist, it is taken above ground to air-dry in the sun. These ants also make bread from seed kernels, food for their larvae.
Many fascinating ant species share our world. Leaf cutter ants farm miniature fungi to supply their colony with food. Aphid-tending ants keep bug-cattle, “milking” them for a honey dew substance. Weaver ants build their homes in trees.
Weaver baby ants forego their cocoon silk while gluing leaves together for the colony’s home. Leaving them vulnerable, the infants are tended in a special nursery until adulthood. God’s ant workers are true marvels.
Ants are not lazy. If they loll around through the summer they go hungry in the winter. I can’t imagine them getting sidetracked as often as I do. Some of life’s current attractions are real time wasters. If time is not spent wisely, my days go into the red, and my week goes bankrupt.
Another Solomon work-proverb is, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might” (Ecclesiastes 9:10). I think Solomon is saying life will not go on forever; a worker is to stay focused, keeping mind and hands on the same project. Half-heartedness is a salute to laziness, not God.
Hard work has many benefits. One is getting to eat. Other advantages are peace about finished projects, helping our sluggard economy, and guiltless nights of rest when we’ve labored with gusto. This is all very true.
A little ant told me.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Worry Dolls
Leave a comment here or send an email to writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter you name into the March drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
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Some Guatemalans hide a worry doll under their pillows at night to chase away fears. Cute as a button and about the size of one, these dolls are about a dollar a dozen.
If one teensy, colorful charm doll could chase away troubles, then I wonder what 50 under a pillow would do? They are whimsical and cute and will fit into a birthday card to a worrier, but even if 25 were held in hand, how could a little figurine solve real problems.
What do you do when worry plows a furrow in your brow? Do you fret to any who will listen? Do you whine? Do you count your blessings, hoping to minimize your troubles?
John Jay Chapman says, “People get so in the habit of worry that if you save them from drowning and put them on a bank to dry in the sun with hot chocolate and muffins they wonder whether they are catching cold.”
Statisticians tell us that less than one percent of what we worry about happening ever comes true. Worry is non-productive. I take that back. Worry can cause actual physical ailments. I guess that’s production even though worry-results are negative. A better word to describe worry is “worthless.” Worry is frivolous, a real waste of thought power. How do you best combat worry?
Ralph Gower in The New Manners and Customs of Bible Times tells about ancient, walled cities and how the entrance gates were often very small so that enemies could not storm the gates in droves and gain entrance.
This presented a problem when wagon loads of grain or caravans of camels loaded with goods arrived. However, the cities had a plan. When merchants appeared at the undersized city gates, porters were hired to shoulder the loads. Large bundles were divided into smaller portions and the goods were toted inside the walls.
This picture of porters reminds me of prayer. When troubles mount, the best possible way to “take a load off” is to be a prayer porter. We frail, made-of-dust creatures are not capable of handling the oversized burdens that life often places at our small gates. But God has opened wide heaven’s gates through the life and gift of Jesus Christ. We can take the whole load into our King’s throne room and lay them down.
Belief and trust in God is vital to our physical and spiritual health. I love the comfort found in 2 Samuel 22:17, when David cried out in prayer and describes the help he received from God: “He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.”
If you buy worry dolls, do so as cute decorations but not for solutions. Next time you’re tempted to worry, grab your burdens and tote them through heaven’s massive gates. A prayer porter’s wages are strength, confidence, and joy. It’s one of the best salaries in today’s economy.
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Some Guatemalans hide a worry doll under their pillows at night to chase away fears. Cute as a button and about the size of one, these dolls are about a dollar a dozen.
If one teensy, colorful charm doll could chase away troubles, then I wonder what 50 under a pillow would do? They are whimsical and cute and will fit into a birthday card to a worrier, but even if 25 were held in hand, how could a little figurine solve real problems.
What do you do when worry plows a furrow in your brow? Do you fret to any who will listen? Do you whine? Do you count your blessings, hoping to minimize your troubles?
John Jay Chapman says, “People get so in the habit of worry that if you save them from drowning and put them on a bank to dry in the sun with hot chocolate and muffins they wonder whether they are catching cold.”
Statisticians tell us that less than one percent of what we worry about happening ever comes true. Worry is non-productive. I take that back. Worry can cause actual physical ailments. I guess that’s production even though worry-results are negative. A better word to describe worry is “worthless.” Worry is frivolous, a real waste of thought power. How do you best combat worry?
Ralph Gower in The New Manners and Customs of Bible Times tells about ancient, walled cities and how the entrance gates were often very small so that enemies could not storm the gates in droves and gain entrance.
This presented a problem when wagon loads of grain or caravans of camels loaded with goods arrived. However, the cities had a plan. When merchants appeared at the undersized city gates, porters were hired to shoulder the loads. Large bundles were divided into smaller portions and the goods were toted inside the walls.
This picture of porters reminds me of prayer. When troubles mount, the best possible way to “take a load off” is to be a prayer porter. We frail, made-of-dust creatures are not capable of handling the oversized burdens that life often places at our small gates. But God has opened wide heaven’s gates through the life and gift of Jesus Christ. We can take the whole load into our King’s throne room and lay them down.
Belief and trust in God is vital to our physical and spiritual health. I love the comfort found in 2 Samuel 22:17, when David cried out in prayer and describes the help he received from God: “He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.”
If you buy worry dolls, do so as cute decorations but not for solutions. Next time you’re tempted to worry, grab your burdens and tote them through heaven’s massive gates. A prayer porter’s wages are strength, confidence, and joy. It’s one of the best salaries in today’s economy.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Resurrect God's Love
Leave a comment here or send an email to writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter you name into the April drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
Resurrection Sunday, Easter, is a celebration of God’s extravagant love.
Genuine personal love, like none this world had ever experienced, marked the beginning, the middle, and the end of Jesus’ public ministry. At the beginning, Jesus attended a wedding, an embarrassing event where the host ran out of wine. Without a showy display, Jesus changed water into wine, not several decanters, but an extravagant 75-115 liters. From that time on, Judea, Galilee, and surrounding areas were about to experience unparalleled displays of love, grace, and mercy.
Throughout three years Jesus continued portraying the Heavenly Father with exact measure. The writer of Hebrews described Jesus as “the radiance of God's glory and the exact representation of his being" (1:3). Jesus gave in the same way the Heavenly Father gives—over abundantly.
Jesus freely gave over-the-top care to the needy: withered limbs re-muscled; fishermen's nets overflowed; thousands ate from heaven's bread basket; massive waves and atmospheric elements obeyed his voice and ceased their violent nature — because extravagant God trod the earth in the person of Jesus Christ.
Nature’s obstacles weren't the only places Jesus mirrored the Holy God of heaven. He also crossed social and racial barriers. He esteemed women, often looked upon as mere property. Jesus conversed with a Samaritan woman, and her village hosted Jesus and his disciples for several days. He touched a woman, who was “unclean" because of illness. The outcasts of society, the unwanted, and the shunned ate at the same table with the Master of reconciliation.
As Jesus' last days drew near, in yet another loving kindness, he caused life to return to dead Lazarus, and a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. In attendance, Mary sensed the Master would soon depart this earth and what the exit would cost him. Through a reverent gift she expressed her love.
She poured about two cups of very expensive nard, worth a year’s wages, on Jesus’ feet. The scent permeated the air as she rubbed the rich emollients into his skin, and wiped the excess off with her hair. She had learned over-the-top giving from her superior Teacher.
A few dinners later, Jesus washed his disciples’ dust laden feet, and he called them to carry on his generous mission and calling them to love each other. Within hours, heaven’s mountainous mercy continued at the cross and the tomb where Jesus took on the sins of the world. There, he received undeserved punishment and his death became our rescue. Three days later, Jesus’ body was resurrected.
We resurrect and rekindle Jesus’ loving kindness each time we allow his generosity to flow through the beginning, middle and end of our walk with him.
Happy Resurrection Sunday.
Resurrection Sunday, Easter, is a celebration of God’s extravagant love.
Genuine personal love, like none this world had ever experienced, marked the beginning, the middle, and the end of Jesus’ public ministry. At the beginning, Jesus attended a wedding, an embarrassing event where the host ran out of wine. Without a showy display, Jesus changed water into wine, not several decanters, but an extravagant 75-115 liters. From that time on, Judea, Galilee, and surrounding areas were about to experience unparalleled displays of love, grace, and mercy.
Throughout three years Jesus continued portraying the Heavenly Father with exact measure. The writer of Hebrews described Jesus as “the radiance of God's glory and the exact representation of his being" (1:3). Jesus gave in the same way the Heavenly Father gives—over abundantly.
Jesus freely gave over-the-top care to the needy: withered limbs re-muscled; fishermen's nets overflowed; thousands ate from heaven's bread basket; massive waves and atmospheric elements obeyed his voice and ceased their violent nature — because extravagant God trod the earth in the person of Jesus Christ.
Nature’s obstacles weren't the only places Jesus mirrored the Holy God of heaven. He also crossed social and racial barriers. He esteemed women, often looked upon as mere property. Jesus conversed with a Samaritan woman, and her village hosted Jesus and his disciples for several days. He touched a woman, who was “unclean" because of illness. The outcasts of society, the unwanted, and the shunned ate at the same table with the Master of reconciliation.
As Jesus' last days drew near, in yet another loving kindness, he caused life to return to dead Lazarus, and a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. In attendance, Mary sensed the Master would soon depart this earth and what the exit would cost him. Through a reverent gift she expressed her love.
She poured about two cups of very expensive nard, worth a year’s wages, on Jesus’ feet. The scent permeated the air as she rubbed the rich emollients into his skin, and wiped the excess off with her hair. She had learned over-the-top giving from her superior Teacher.
A few dinners later, Jesus washed his disciples’ dust laden feet, and he called them to carry on his generous mission and calling them to love each other. Within hours, heaven’s mountainous mercy continued at the cross and the tomb where Jesus took on the sins of the world. There, he received undeserved punishment and his death became our rescue. Three days later, Jesus’ body was resurrected.
We resurrect and rekindle Jesus’ loving kindness each time we allow his generosity to flow through the beginning, middle and end of our walk with him.
Happy Resurrection Sunday.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Untie the Colt
Leave a comment here or send an email to writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter you name into the March drawing for either The Stained Glass Pickup ~ Glimpses of God’s Uncommon Wisdom or A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday
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Two strangers walked up to the donkey, untying it from the hitching post. Astounded, the owners watched while the two men unknotted the leather strap in bright daylight. How brazen! Most thieves preferred moonless nights for rustling cattle.
The owners approached, not accusing of theft, but asking, “Why are you untying our colt?”
The only answer the two men gave, “The Savior needs it.”
When the owners heard the reply, they signaled OK, and Jesus’ disciples walked away, leash in hand, colt in tow. When they reached Jesus, they threw their garments over the colt, as a makeshift saddle blanket.
While reading chapter 19 of Luke, a few new lessons emerged for me. Jesus had told two of his followers to go to a nearby village where they would see a tethered donkey colt. Jesus’ instructions were to “untie the colt,” and “if anyone asks what you are doing, just say, ‘The Savior needs it.’”
From the text, several phrases kept bleeping back into mind. “Untie the colt” is one. When I get wrapped up in my tiny world, binding myself to too many possessions and unhealthy obsessions, the Lord calls me to let go for the kingdom’s sake.
The “colt” and the disciples’ “garments” is a second reminder. Pooled resources underwrote the Lord’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem. A colt willingly given and disciples’ garments spread upon its back were combined gifts that ushered the Savior into the city where he received deserved praise and recognition.
In Jerusalem some loved Jesus and some didn’t. One day, a group of hundreds became a welcome committee shouting “Hosanna” and lining the path with small branches. A few days later, denouncing rings of “Crucify him” echoed in the streets. Human nature is mirrored in the contrast.
Inviting a miracle worker into my needy life is easy. Dedicating my resources to the miracle worker’s cause is more difficult. On the same day Jesus’ disciples borrowed the donkey, a chorus of praise rang out for King Jesus. Several sunsets later, Jesus’ innocent blood seeped into the soil outside the city gates.
What do I need to losen my grip from, so I may be a devoted servant to the Savior, the kind who gives him the praise and recognition he deserves?
“Untie the colt and bring it here” resonates in my heart. Because “the Savior needs it” is the call I’m hearing.
Have a blessed Palm Sunday.
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Two strangers walked up to the donkey, untying it from the hitching post. Astounded, the owners watched while the two men unknotted the leather strap in bright daylight. How brazen! Most thieves preferred moonless nights for rustling cattle.
The owners approached, not accusing of theft, but asking, “Why are you untying our colt?”
The only answer the two men gave, “The Savior needs it.”
When the owners heard the reply, they signaled OK, and Jesus’ disciples walked away, leash in hand, colt in tow. When they reached Jesus, they threw their garments over the colt, as a makeshift saddle blanket.
While reading chapter 19 of Luke, a few new lessons emerged for me. Jesus had told two of his followers to go to a nearby village where they would see a tethered donkey colt. Jesus’ instructions were to “untie the colt,” and “if anyone asks what you are doing, just say, ‘The Savior needs it.’”
From the text, several phrases kept bleeping back into mind. “Untie the colt” is one. When I get wrapped up in my tiny world, binding myself to too many possessions and unhealthy obsessions, the Lord calls me to let go for the kingdom’s sake.
The “colt” and the disciples’ “garments” is a second reminder. Pooled resources underwrote the Lord’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem. A colt willingly given and disciples’ garments spread upon its back were combined gifts that ushered the Savior into the city where he received deserved praise and recognition.
In Jerusalem some loved Jesus and some didn’t. One day, a group of hundreds became a welcome committee shouting “Hosanna” and lining the path with small branches. A few days later, denouncing rings of “Crucify him” echoed in the streets. Human nature is mirrored in the contrast.
Inviting a miracle worker into my needy life is easy. Dedicating my resources to the miracle worker’s cause is more difficult. On the same day Jesus’ disciples borrowed the donkey, a chorus of praise rang out for King Jesus. Several sunsets later, Jesus’ innocent blood seeped into the soil outside the city gates.
What do I need to losen my grip from, so I may be a devoted servant to the Savior, the kind who gives him the praise and recognition he deserves?
“Untie the colt and bring it here” resonates in my heart. Because “the Savior needs it” is the call I’m hearing.
Have a blessed Palm Sunday.
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