Book Drawing: Leave a comment here or email me at writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter your name for a March book drawing of The Stained Glass Pickup.
During the last week of Jesus’ life on earth, there are references in the gospels about darkness, both nighttime and an evil blackness. Historical documents also mention the three hours of unnatural darkness while Christ was on the cross, one even written by Pontius Pilate.
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The elements that came together and brought about the crucifixion of Jesus included folk with dark evil souls. Judas, one of Jesus’ closest companions, showed his true color. When Jesus and the disciples gathered for the last supper, the Master said, “One of you is going to betray me.” Startled by his announcement, the disciples wanted to know which one of them would do so. Jesus identified Judas as the betrayer.
“Then, dipping the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas Iscariot . . ..As soon as Judas took the bread Satan entered into him” (John 13:26,27). Judas then left the upper room and the Apostle John closes the scene by writing, “And it was night.”
In Gethsemane, Judas assisted in identifying Jesus to the unruly crowd, and the Son of God was arrested under the cover of darkness. That night Jesus said to his captors, “Every day I was with you in the temple courts, and you did not lay a hand on me. But this is your hour—when darkness reigns” (Luke 22:53).
The next day throughout a bright morning, Jesus hung on a cross, but then a solemn darkness settled over the earth at noon. Crucified about nine in the morning, Jesus was on the cross for six hours, and during the final three hours, an unnatural “darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour, for the sun stopped shining” (Luke 23:44).
Through correspondence, independent witnesses later corroborated that the sun didn’t illuminate the earth for three hours. Tertullian wrote to the Roman senator Proculus: “The light of day was withdrawn, when the sun at the very time was in his meridian blaze . . . you yourselves have the account of the world-portent still in your archives!”
Another account of the withdrawal of sunlight is in a report Pontius Pilate sent to Tiberius, emperor of Rome. “There was a darkness over the whole earth, the sun having been completely hidden, and the heaven appearing dark, so that the stars appeared.”
Pilate further wrote, “I suppose your reverence is not ignorant of, because in all the world they lighted lamps from the sixth hour until evening.” He also wrote “the moon, being like blood, did not shine the whole night, and yet she happened to be at the full.” The unusual darkness must have been unnerving, frightening. Did God clothe the cross in darkness because he couldn’t bear the world gawking any longer upon the suffering perfect Son?
On that long ago Sunday at dawn, when devoted women went to Jesus’ tomb an angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said” (28:1, 5, 6).
Centuries before Jesus came to earth, Isaiah prophesied: “The people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.” The refreshment of a clean start is the promise made at the empty tomb of Jesus.
From the cradle to the cross, read Jesus’ story. His total goodness has a way of shining into dark secrets and dispelling shadows. God draped darkness over the evil deeds of the cross, but Sunday dawned and Jesus rose from the dead, proving his power and giving us hope.
Light always wins. Light always overcomes darkness.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
February-Book Winners
Congratulations! Winners of the February book drawing. A copy of The Stained Glass Pickup went to Jewell P. from Kentucky. Cindi and Kristi from, Oklahoma and Illinois won Multnomah’s donated copies of Rattled, Surviving Your Child’s First Year Without Losing Your Cool.
Book Drawing: Leave a comment at http://stainedglasspickup.blogspot.com/ or email me at writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter your name for a March book drawing to win a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup. Later this year, I’ll sponsor another contest to win A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday. A book I co-authored with several other writers.
Book Drawing: Leave a comment at http://stainedglasspickup.blogspot.com/ or email me at writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter your name for a March book drawing to win a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup. Later this year, I’ll sponsor another contest to win A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts ~ Stories to Warm Your Heart and Tips to Simplify Your Holiday. A book I co-authored with several other writers.
The Olive Press
Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, Sit here while I go over there and pray. Matthew 26:36
Luke wrote that Jesus and his disciples made regular trips to the Mount of Olives, a ridge running north and south of Jerusalem that’s 200 foot higher than the temple mound. The mountain received its name from the abundant olive groves. The word “gethsemane” is associated with the garden where Jesus prayed before his Crucifixion and where Judas betrayed him.
In Hebrew, the word “gethsemane” means olive press. Olive trees were of great importance to Judean economy and everyday life. Not only were olives eaten but the oil was used in lamps, as a preservative, and a lubricant for skin care.
Ray Vander Laan explains the long-ago process for extracting olive oil. “Whole olives were put into a circular stone basin in which a millstone sat.” An animal harnessed to the millstone walked in a circle rolling the stone and breaking the olives. “The cracked olives were scooped into burlap bags,” then the bags were stacked under “a huge stone column—a gethsemane.”
The enormous weight of the stone column pressed on the bags of olives forcing out the precious oil. The oil collected in a pit at the base of the gethsemane. It was near an olive press where Jesus agonized in prayer before his Crucifixion. His burden was great and it pressed down on him in such a manner that even God’s Son asked excuse from his mission.
During that evening, Jesus knelt and prayed several times, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done” In great anguish, he prayed. The stress took a toll and weighed down, pressed upon, “his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground” (Luke 22:42, 44). That night, the enormity of the world’s sins bore down on him.
Another fact about aging olive trees is when the trunk thickens the leaves cannot give the nourishment the trunk needs to survive. The tree is then cut back to a stump, and that’s when a new shoot will appear.
God used this gardening example to say, “A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse . . . . The spirit of the LORD will rest on him” (Isaiah 11:1, 2). The world never encountered anyone like this new green shoot, the Branch Jesus, who could give new life to a sinful world.
Although God often used common sights like olive trees and gardening to express spiritual messages, there was nothing common about his Son. Isaiah further wrote about him, “Righteousness will be his belt and faithfulness the sash around his waist” (11:5). Wholehearted devotion to God and us characterized the Son of God who prayed near a place we call Gethsemane.
Luke wrote that Jesus and his disciples made regular trips to the Mount of Olives, a ridge running north and south of Jerusalem that’s 200 foot higher than the temple mound. The mountain received its name from the abundant olive groves. The word “gethsemane” is associated with the garden where Jesus prayed before his Crucifixion and where Judas betrayed him.
In Hebrew, the word “gethsemane” means olive press. Olive trees were of great importance to Judean economy and everyday life. Not only were olives eaten but the oil was used in lamps, as a preservative, and a lubricant for skin care.
Ray Vander Laan explains the long-ago process for extracting olive oil. “Whole olives were put into a circular stone basin in which a millstone sat.” An animal harnessed to the millstone walked in a circle rolling the stone and breaking the olives. “The cracked olives were scooped into burlap bags,” then the bags were stacked under “a huge stone column—a gethsemane.”
The enormous weight of the stone column pressed on the bags of olives forcing out the precious oil. The oil collected in a pit at the base of the gethsemane. It was near an olive press where Jesus agonized in prayer before his Crucifixion. His burden was great and it pressed down on him in such a manner that even God’s Son asked excuse from his mission.
During that evening, Jesus knelt and prayed several times, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done” In great anguish, he prayed. The stress took a toll and weighed down, pressed upon, “his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground” (Luke 22:42, 44). That night, the enormity of the world’s sins bore down on him.
Another fact about aging olive trees is when the trunk thickens the leaves cannot give the nourishment the trunk needs to survive. The tree is then cut back to a stump, and that’s when a new shoot will appear.
God used this gardening example to say, “A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse . . . . The spirit of the LORD will rest on him” (Isaiah 11:1, 2). The world never encountered anyone like this new green shoot, the Branch Jesus, who could give new life to a sinful world.
Although God often used common sights like olive trees and gardening to express spiritual messages, there was nothing common about his Son. Isaiah further wrote about him, “Righteousness will be his belt and faithfulness the sash around his waist” (11:5). Wholehearted devotion to God and us characterized the Son of God who prayed near a place we call Gethsemane.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Book Drawing on Leap Day
Book Drawing: Leave a comment here or email me writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter your name on this last day of February for this month's book drawing to win a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup.
Second book drawing: Multnomah Publishing sent me two copies of Rattled ~ Surviving the First Year of Motherhood Without Losing Your Cool. See the interview with Trish Berg at my blog, leave a comment and sign up for drawing.
I'll post first names and last initials of winners on Monday and contact you.
Second book drawing: Multnomah Publishing sent me two copies of Rattled ~ Surviving the First Year of Motherhood Without Losing Your Cool. See the interview with Trish Berg at my blog, leave a comment and sign up for drawing.
I'll post first names and last initials of winners on Monday and contact you.
Cliff Dwelling
You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you (Isaiah 26:3).
Most mornings my husband gets up very early, long before daylight, and I usually prepare a brown bag lunch for him. One morning, I decided to stay awake for an hour and finish leftover chores. Unloading the dishwasher and tidying up the house is not calculus, and my thoughts took a leave of absence from the mundane tasks.
I dwelled on the latest writing project. I toss a lot around in my brain before anything is actually pounded out on keyboard. Faded childhood memories surfaced and took on color and I toyed with words and conjured descriptive phrases.
Even though my brainwaves crashed against a distant shore, my hands were busy as I walked from room to room and tidied up. Floating back to reality, I looked down. I’d completely made up my bed—sheet corners tucked, pillows plumped and comforter in place. I like to consider myself industrious, but I had planned to rest a few more hours.
Often we find our minds drifting during familiar routines. It’s a common problem. That’s when I put the sugar bowl in the refrigerator, the milk in the pantry, the dog in the crib, the kid outside. The most disturbing time my mind walks off is when I’m spending time with God, through Bible study, prayer or meditation.
How can inattention be solved, especially during this important time? Clues can be found in a long ago meeting between Moses and God. Prior to their meeting, Moses made two requests of God: "Teach me your ways so that I may know you," and " . . . show me your glory."
God’s response: “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by.”
From that encounter, I see two clues for staying focused: solitude and setting an appointment. Moses wanted to know God better, and God chose a quiet place near himself for the meeting—just God and Moses. The results were magnificent: On a mountain in a cliff, Moses glimpsed God.
Prearranging a quiet time-slot, moments alone with God is one of the best gifts we give ourselves. Our friends and family receive fringe benefits. Thoughtfulness, good character, compassion, kindness are all enhanced after meeting with the master teacher.
Life is busy and sometimes it feels like I-45 has been re-routed through our home. God is totally able to teach me on an interstate, but contemplating God on a freeway or a quiet country lane is as different as tornadoes and tranquility.
Life teases with a bouquet of distractions, but God longs for intimate meetings. Arrange quiet times with God, and watch for cliff blessings. Watch for God’s protective, covering and helping hand in life.
Most mornings my husband gets up very early, long before daylight, and I usually prepare a brown bag lunch for him. One morning, I decided to stay awake for an hour and finish leftover chores. Unloading the dishwasher and tidying up the house is not calculus, and my thoughts took a leave of absence from the mundane tasks.
I dwelled on the latest writing project. I toss a lot around in my brain before anything is actually pounded out on keyboard. Faded childhood memories surfaced and took on color and I toyed with words and conjured descriptive phrases.
Even though my brainwaves crashed against a distant shore, my hands were busy as I walked from room to room and tidied up. Floating back to reality, I looked down. I’d completely made up my bed—sheet corners tucked, pillows plumped and comforter in place. I like to consider myself industrious, but I had planned to rest a few more hours.
Often we find our minds drifting during familiar routines. It’s a common problem. That’s when I put the sugar bowl in the refrigerator, the milk in the pantry, the dog in the crib, the kid outside. The most disturbing time my mind walks off is when I’m spending time with God, through Bible study, prayer or meditation.
How can inattention be solved, especially during this important time? Clues can be found in a long ago meeting between Moses and God. Prior to their meeting, Moses made two requests of God: "Teach me your ways so that I may know you," and " . . . show me your glory."
God’s response: “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by.”
From that encounter, I see two clues for staying focused: solitude and setting an appointment. Moses wanted to know God better, and God chose a quiet place near himself for the meeting—just God and Moses. The results were magnificent: On a mountain in a cliff, Moses glimpsed God.
Prearranging a quiet time-slot, moments alone with God is one of the best gifts we give ourselves. Our friends and family receive fringe benefits. Thoughtfulness, good character, compassion, kindness are all enhanced after meeting with the master teacher.
Life is busy and sometimes it feels like I-45 has been re-routed through our home. God is totally able to teach me on an interstate, but contemplating God on a freeway or a quiet country lane is as different as tornadoes and tranquility.
Life teases with a bouquet of distractions, but God longs for intimate meetings. Arrange quiet times with God, and watch for cliff blessings. Watch for God’s protective, covering and helping hand in life.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Book Drawing on Leap Day
Book Drawing: Leave a comment at any post or email me and I’ll enter your name for a February book drawing to win a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup.
Second book drawing: Multnomah Publishing sent me two copies of Rattled ~ Surviving the First Year of Motherhood Without Losing Your Cool. See the interview with Trish Berg at my blog, leave a comment and sign up for drawing.
Second book drawing: Multnomah Publishing sent me two copies of Rattled ~ Surviving the First Year of Motherhood Without Losing Your Cool. See the interview with Trish Berg at my blog, leave a comment and sign up for drawing.
Lent Prayers
One day during Lent, I prayed for these countries: Sri Lanka, Thailand, Tokelau Islands, Tonga, Tuzalu, Vanuatu, Vietnam, Wallis and Futuna Islands. By the time Palm Sunday arrived, I’d prayed for all the nations of the world. The excellent prayer guide Seek God for the City ~ Prayers of Biblical Hope from WayMakers was the impetus for those entreaties.
Whether your Christian fellowship participates or does not in the Lenten season, the setting aside for time of repentance and renewal is biblical. Besides the nations of the world, the prayer guide targeted different groups of people in communities: health care workers, broken families, men, military personnel, the sick, the unemployed, prisoners and their families, the physically disabled, youth, mothers, arts and entertainment, the depressed, those in nursing homes and substance abusers of drugs and alcohol.
After the 40 days, I felt more akin, in tune, yoked to Christ because my pleas and praise were not limited to the minority of people I know, but for this world as a whole and in part.
The guide helped me pray more comprehensive prayers than ever before. And, the very reasonable price of $3.00 sent me back for another guide this year. Even though we are already into the 40 days of Lent, I encourage readers to purchase a prayer guide to pray any 40 days of the year. After you’ve prayed through it, place it by a December 2008 calendar page, a reminder to purchase one for 2009.
WayMakers offers other prayer tools at nominal fees of $2.00 a pamphlet: What Would Jesus Pray, Light from My House, Prompts for Prayerwalkers, Blessings and Open My City. At their Web site find free PDF files of the 2008 Seek God for the City for children and in Spanish.
Each prayer ended with “Even so, come, Lord Jesus.” And, one of my favorite lines from a petition welcoming Christ, “And may your mercy amaze us even more than miracles.” I found the Lent prayer guide to be one of the most helpful prayer tools. But overriding any tool is the knowledge that God hears and heeds the sincere—from the simplest to the most organized prayer, poorly worded or eloquently stated.
Through prayers, you can usher God’s help into your community and the world. During the 40 days of prayer it was such a blessing to lay gratitude, needs and burdens at the feet of God who has the power to intervene in global problems. Today, my prayer guide suggests praying for the news media, the poor and those without a shepherd. As I pray, my hope is based on the mercy of his hearing.
Note: Do you plan to do anything special on your "extra" day next week, Leap Day? If so, let me know, please. I'm collecting your suggestions for next Friday's column. Thanks, Cathy.
Whether your Christian fellowship participates or does not in the Lenten season, the setting aside for time of repentance and renewal is biblical. Besides the nations of the world, the prayer guide targeted different groups of people in communities: health care workers, broken families, men, military personnel, the sick, the unemployed, prisoners and their families, the physically disabled, youth, mothers, arts and entertainment, the depressed, those in nursing homes and substance abusers of drugs and alcohol.
After the 40 days, I felt more akin, in tune, yoked to Christ because my pleas and praise were not limited to the minority of people I know, but for this world as a whole and in part.
The guide helped me pray more comprehensive prayers than ever before. And, the very reasonable price of $3.00 sent me back for another guide this year. Even though we are already into the 40 days of Lent, I encourage readers to purchase a prayer guide to pray any 40 days of the year. After you’ve prayed through it, place it by a December 2008 calendar page, a reminder to purchase one for 2009.
WayMakers offers other prayer tools at nominal fees of $2.00 a pamphlet: What Would Jesus Pray, Light from My House, Prompts for Prayerwalkers, Blessings and Open My City. At their Web site find free PDF files of the 2008 Seek God for the City for children and in Spanish.
Each prayer ended with “Even so, come, Lord Jesus.” And, one of my favorite lines from a petition welcoming Christ, “And may your mercy amaze us even more than miracles.” I found the Lent prayer guide to be one of the most helpful prayer tools. But overriding any tool is the knowledge that God hears and heeds the sincere—from the simplest to the most organized prayer, poorly worded or eloquently stated.
Through prayers, you can usher God’s help into your community and the world. During the 40 days of prayer it was such a blessing to lay gratitude, needs and burdens at the feet of God who has the power to intervene in global problems. Today, my prayer guide suggests praying for the news media, the poor and those without a shepherd. As I pray, my hope is based on the mercy of his hearing.
Note: Do you plan to do anything special on your "extra" day next week, Leap Day? If so, let me know, please. I'm collecting your suggestions for next Friday's column. Thanks, Cathy.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Book Drawing
Leave a comment at any of my posts, and I'll enter your name into a February drawing for a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup. Leave a comment at my interview with Trish Berg and Multnomah furnished two copies of Rattled ~ Surving Baby's First Year Without Losing Your Cool.
Thanks for stopping by...
Thanks for stopping by...
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Remembering to Forget Marriage Spills
Kristy Dykes tell a story about a husband who wanted to spruce up his cement patio and told his wife, “I'm going to be painting out here, so don't come out." But she forgot.
Later, she shoved the door open and knocked over a gallon of white paint. The husband had choices to make. He could have yelled, or said, “I told you so.”
He could have complained that he’d clearly informed her of his project or even brought up other times she’d forgotten things. The spill could have been incendiary.
However, this long married couple had experienced misfortunes before and had decided that when accidents occurred, they wouldn’t cast blame. They made a choice early in marrige to forgive and forget. Instead of a lecture or grudge, the husband chose to build a memory around the spilled paint and it became a witness to his love, not combustible blame-throwing.
When the husband looked down at the paint, he saw it had spread almost into a heart shape. With a few quick brush strokes he perfected the very large heart and let it dry. He later inscribed it with these words, “The heart of this house is my darling wife Jeanie.”
Instead of a lecture about carelessness, he chose to recognize and honor her role in their home. Some Eastern nomadic tribes refer to their wives as the tent pole. The one that holds it all together. Apparently the painter cherished his wife and her contributions and he forgave and forgot.
“Forgive & Forget” are good inscription words for the inside of wedding bands. I’m reminded of something I read about Clara Barton, who founded the American Red Cross.
A friend reminded her of a vicious act that someone had committed against her. The friend could see that Ms. Barton didn’t seem to recall the malicious behavior and asked, “Don’t you remember it?”
“No,” Ms. Barton replied, “I distinctly remember forgetting.”
Solomon said, there is a “time to keep and a time to throw away” (Ecclesiastes 3:6). Marriages shouldn’t become throw-aways, but a lot of the day-to-day components should. Upsets and mishaps will happen, but whether we bank them in a grudge vault or set them out with the trash is a persoanl choice.
This week love your spouse with all your heart, and remember to forget.
Later, she shoved the door open and knocked over a gallon of white paint. The husband had choices to make. He could have yelled, or said, “I told you so.”
He could have complained that he’d clearly informed her of his project or even brought up other times she’d forgotten things. The spill could have been incendiary.
However, this long married couple had experienced misfortunes before and had decided that when accidents occurred, they wouldn’t cast blame. They made a choice early in marrige to forgive and forget. Instead of a lecture or grudge, the husband chose to build a memory around the spilled paint and it became a witness to his love, not combustible blame-throwing.
When the husband looked down at the paint, he saw it had spread almost into a heart shape. With a few quick brush strokes he perfected the very large heart and let it dry. He later inscribed it with these words, “The heart of this house is my darling wife Jeanie.”
Instead of a lecture about carelessness, he chose to recognize and honor her role in their home. Some Eastern nomadic tribes refer to their wives as the tent pole. The one that holds it all together. Apparently the painter cherished his wife and her contributions and he forgave and forgot.
“Forgive & Forget” are good inscription words for the inside of wedding bands. I’m reminded of something I read about Clara Barton, who founded the American Red Cross.
A friend reminded her of a vicious act that someone had committed against her. The friend could see that Ms. Barton didn’t seem to recall the malicious behavior and asked, “Don’t you remember it?”
“No,” Ms. Barton replied, “I distinctly remember forgetting.”
Solomon said, there is a “time to keep and a time to throw away” (Ecclesiastes 3:6). Marriages shouldn’t become throw-aways, but a lot of the day-to-day components should. Upsets and mishaps will happen, but whether we bank them in a grudge vault or set them out with the trash is a persoanl choice.
This week love your spouse with all your heart, and remember to forget.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Free books
Multnomah sent me two free copies of Rattled as give-aways. Leave a comment, and I'll enter your name into a drawing to win a copy. Tell your friends to drop by and read Trish's interview. I'm a grandmother and reading the book to review on Amazon. Good, honest, faith-filled, down-to-earth stuff for Moms of all ages.
My favorite line so far page 89, "Even though your baby doesn't come with an instruction manual, you get something better: God is right beside you, whispering motherhood into your soul."
Oh, and I really like the "Food for Thought" Sidebar (easily spotted on the pages because a baby bottle accompanies the wisdom). It's full of helpful, motivating stats. Did you know the average person received nearly 50,000 pieces of mail in a lifetime? I wonder how many trees that equates to?
My favorite line so far page 89, "Even though your baby doesn't come with an instruction manual, you get something better: God is right beside you, whispering motherhood into your soul."
Oh, and I really like the "Food for Thought" Sidebar (easily spotted on the pages because a baby bottle accompanies the wisdom). It's full of helpful, motivating stats. Did you know the average person received nearly 50,000 pieces of mail in a lifetime? I wonder how many trees that equates to?
Rattled by Trish Berg
BLAST OUT Blog Tour for Trish Berg’s Latest Release… Rattled Surviving Your Baby’s First Year without Losing Your Cool!
Can you change a diaper faster than a rodeo cowboy ropes a calf? Need more sleep,
more laughter, and ten minutes in the bathroom – alone?
You must be a mom….Don’t let the clutter, chaos, exhaustion and Cheerio-dust get you Rattled.
Motherhood is simply draining and exhausting. Hands down the toughest job I have ever had.
But moms are not alone, and I want moms to know that God walks with them through these exhausting years.
What stresses moms out the most?
I think moms put a lot of pressure on themselves to do it all by themselves, and to do it all the right way. They need to simplify, let go of many details, and ask for help, from their husbands, and from neighbors and friends.
Rattled actually begins by looking at the months of pregnancy. How can moms use this time to prepare to survive baby’s first year?
Nine months is not nearly enough time to fully prepare for motherhood. I am not sure there is enough time to fully prepare.
I remember when our first child, Hannah, was born, I felt that my world had been turned upside down. Hannah did not like to sleep, and so we spent many nights walking the floor, bouncing her up and down, trying desperately to settle her down. My husband, Mike, and I took turns walking laps around the house, like the Indy 500 with a lot more bouncing.
So I guess I would have to say enjoying the journey. I live Psalm 118:24 every day of my life.
“This is the day that the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.”
Life is messy. Things break. Kids get sick. But moms need to remember to enjoy the journey no matter where the journey leads.
Today at the Berg house, our washing machine is broken. Our mini van needs new tires. We are hanging onto Mike’s 1986 Jeep on a wing and a prayer, hoping it makes it another year or so.
There is mud on my kitchen floor, crumbs on my carpet, and I can honestly say that I love my life. Just as it is.
Now, I certainly have moments where I get stressed and discouraged, and can even lose my temper (just ask my kids), but I am also learning to enjoy each moment of every day as a gift from God.
And thorough it all, my simple hope and prayer is that I can be the mom that God wants me to be.
Where can readers learn more about you, Rattled, your other books, and your ministry to moms?
My website at www.TrishBerg.com offers tons of FREE resources, links and downloads for moms, as well as mor information on my books and ministry.
Moms can also purchase their own copy of Rattled by clicking here.
And I will be speaking at all 3 Hearts at Home Conferences in 2008, I would LOVE for you to join me there. The National conference is in March in Illinois, and in the fall there is a conference in Michigan and Minnesota. You can get more information and register at http://www.hearts-at-home.org/
Thanks, Trish, for joining us today. What a joy to meet you and learn more about your new mom book Rattled.
Thanks for having me. Blessings to you.
You can catch up with Trish all week long on her BLAST OUT BLOG TOUR by going to the following sites. There will be FREE book prizes, and great moms to connect with at each blog.
BLAST OUT BLOG TOUR for RATTLED
1/31/08
http://karenrobbins.blogspot.com/
2/11/08
http://stainedglasspickup.blogspot.com/
http://mommymonk.blogspot.com/
http://www.5minutesformom.com
http://pursuingsimplicity.blogspot.com
www.jaxcreations.blogspot.com
2/12/08
www.survivingthechaos.blogspot.com
www.tinaannforkner.blogspot.com
http://www.myspace.com/mommyszablewski
www.xanga.com/mommyeaton
www.Coldnoodlesforbreakfast.blogspot.com
2/13/08
http://godusesbrokenvessels.blogspot.com
http://triciagoyer.blogspot.com
http://genxparents.blogspot.com
http://sprightly-amyanne.blogspot.com
2/14/08
http://spaghettipie.wordpress.com
2/15/08
www.keriwyattkent.blogspot.com
http://ramblinroadstoeverywhere.blogspot.com
http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/cappuccinosmom
www.mommycomelately.blogspot.com
http://www.cornhuskeracademy.blogspot.com
www.karenehman.com
2/16/08
http://zyphe.blogspot.com/
http://carasmusings.blogspot.com
http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/martha
2/17/08
www.marybethwhalen.com
www.bookjunkieconfessions.blogspot.com
2/18/08
http://www.terragarden.blogspot.com
Can you change a diaper faster than a rodeo cowboy ropes a calf? Need more sleep,
more laughter, and ten minutes in the bathroom – alone?
You must be a mom….Don’t let the clutter, chaos, exhaustion and Cheerio-dust get you Rattled.
With practical advice and scriptural reminders, author Trish Berg can help you not only survive the chaos and clutter of motherhood, but get back to the simple joy of being a mom.
I am excited to welcome Trish Berg, joining us today to talk about her new mom book, Rattled, Surviving Your Baby’s First Year without Losing Your Cool!
Trish is a national speaker for Hearts at Home, author of The Great American 
Supper Swap and Rattled. She has been published in Today’s Christian Woman, MOMSense, CBN.com, P31 WOMAN, and numerous regional and national publications.
Trish earned her MBA before leaving the workforce for motherhood, then earned her Doctorate in Diaper Changing in Ohio where she and her husband, Mike, keep busy raising their four children on their family cattle farm.
Trish, welcome. Thanks for taking time to be with us today.
Thanks for having me.
Motherhood is simply draining and exhausting. Hands down the toughest job I have ever had.
But moms are not alone, and I want moms to know that God walks with them through these exhausting years.
What stresses moms out the most?
I think moms put a lot of pressure on themselves to do it all by themselves, and to do it all the right way. They need to simplify, let go of many details, and ask for help, from their husbands, and from neighbors and friends.
Rattled actually begins by looking at the months of pregnancy. How can moms use this time to prepare to survive baby’s first year?
Nine months is not nearly enough time to fully prepare for motherhood. I am not sure there is enough time to fully prepare.
I remember when our first child, Hannah, was born, I felt that my world had been turned upside down. Hannah did not like to sleep, and so we spent many nights walking the floor, bouncing her up and down, trying desperately to settle her down. My husband, Mike, and I took turns walking laps around the house, like the Indy 500 with a lot more bouncing.
I am not sure I could have prepared for that.
But during your pregnancy, you can prepare in other ways. Like arranging for help. Ask your mom or mother-in-law if they can spend one day with you each week during the first few months. Just knowing someone is coming in the morning to help with the baby can make the being up all night not seem so terrible.
You talk about surviving motherhood. How do you help moms do that?
In Rattled, I talk about a mom’s survival kit. If you were thrown out into the wilderness, you would need FOOD, SHELTER, FIRE and WATER to survive.
Well, moms have been thrown out into the wilderness of motherhood, and to survive, they will need:
Water from the word (2 Samuel 22:3a) –To be in God’s Word.
A fire like desire for prayer (1 Thessalonians 5:17) – Moms can pray their way through their day.
Nourishment body, mind and spirit (1 Corinthians 13:13) – Love on all levels nourishes us.
Shelter from life’s storms (Proverbs 17:17)-Friends to lean on, trust, and support us.
In Rattled, I spend some time talking about how moms can use that survival kit to get back to the joy of mothering.
You spent a lot of time listening to what other mothers had to say. Share with us your best advice for new moms.
I would tell moms to relax. No one does it right all the time. Let the laundry pile up. Leave the dishes in the sink, and just enjoy holding your baby today.
Don’t worry about doing “it” right, just enjoy the moments you have.
That is sound advice...
But what aboud dads? Give us a few tips into what dad is going through during the first year.
Dads are just as insecure as moms are about parenthood. Even more so in many cases.
Moms do much of the baby feeding, diaper changing, and baby care. So dads can sometimes feel left out, and incapable of caring for their own baby.
One thing moms can do is encourage dad to be involved. But in doing so, moms must let go of “their way” of doing things, and let dad discover his own way.
For example. When Hannah was a baby, every time Mike would change her diaper, I would criticize the way he changed it. I tried to teach him how to put his fingers under the leg elastic and make sure it wasn’t bunched up, preventing a future leak.
But every time I criticized him, he stepped back and became less involved. And you know what? Even when I did the diapers the “right way” they still sometimes leaked.
So I had to learn to let Mike change her diaper his own way. I let him put her to bed his way, bathe her his way, and be the dad God wanted him to be.
That can be difficult for moms who can tend to be slight control freaks when it comes to baby care.
But let me just encourage you that the help you will get from dad if you can let go of those details will bless you in more ways than you can imagine!
In Rattled you’re very open about the loss of your own pregnancy in 2002. How has that loss changed your outlook on motherhood?
I in the 2nd trimester of my fourth pregnancy when I went in for a regular check up. I was not having any problems at all, and went in alone.
My OB/GYN performed an ultrasound just to check for twins, and suddenly my world turned upside down when he could not find a heart beat.
I was completely devastated. Mike and I had two weeks of further testing before we had assurance that our baby had died. And through it all, I prayed for a miracle, my miracle, that my baby would be alive again.
But in the end, God’s miracle was not that my baby survived. God’s miracle was the reassurance that He used me as a vessel to bring a tiny soul to Heaven.
A year later, I lost another child to miscarriage.
Today, I have a greater sense of love and appreciation for my four children here on earth whom I hug with my arms, and a closer tie to Heaven where my two babies are waiting for me, whom I can only hug with my heart for now.
Today you’re the mom of 4 happy and healthy children. What do you see as the greatest blessing about being a mom?
I would say learning patience, but my husband would laugh out loud at that…since I am probably one of the most impatient people there is.So I guess I would have to say enjoying the journey. I live Psalm 118:24 every day of my life.
“This is the day that the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.”
Life is messy. Things break. Kids get sick. But moms need to remember to enjoy the journey no matter where the journey leads.
Today at the Berg house, our washing machine is broken. Our mini van needs new tires. We are hanging onto Mike’s 1986 Jeep on a wing and a prayer, hoping it makes it another year or so.
There is mud on my kitchen floor, crumbs on my carpet, and I can honestly say that I love my life. Just as it is.
Now, I certainly have moments where I get stressed and discouraged, and can even lose my temper (just ask my kids), but I am also learning to enjoy each moment of every day as a gift from God.
And thorough it all, my simple hope and prayer is that I can be the mom that God wants me to be.
Where can readers learn more about you, Rattled, your other books, and your ministry to moms?
My website at www.TrishBerg.com offers tons of FREE resources, links and downloads for moms, as well as mor information on my books and ministry.
Moms can also purchase their own copy of Rattled by clicking here.
And I will be speaking at all 3 Hearts at Home Conferences in 2008, I would LOVE for you to join me there. The National conference is in March in Illinois, and in the fall there is a conference in Michigan and Minnesota. You can get more information and register at http://www.hearts-at-home.org/
Thanks, Trish, for joining us today. What a joy to meet you and learn more about your new mom book Rattled.
Thanks for having me. Blessings to you.
You can catch up with Trish all week long on her BLAST OUT BLOG TOUR by going to the following sites. There will be FREE book prizes, and great moms to connect with at each blog.
BLAST OUT BLOG TOUR for RATTLED
1/31/08
http://karenrobbins.blogspot.com/
2/11/08
http://stainedglasspickup.blogspot.com/
http://mommymonk.blogspot.com/
http://www.5minutesformom.com
http://pursuingsimplicity.blogspot.com
www.jaxcreations.blogspot.com
2/12/08
www.survivingthechaos.blogspot.com
www.tinaannforkner.blogspot.com
http://www.myspace.com/mommyszablewski
www.xanga.com/mommyeaton
www.Coldnoodlesforbreakfast.blogspot.com
2/13/08
http://godusesbrokenvessels.blogspot.com
http://triciagoyer.blogspot.com
http://genxparents.blogspot.com
http://sprightly-amyanne.blogspot.com
2/14/08
http://spaghettipie.wordpress.com
2/15/08
www.keriwyattkent.blogspot.com
http://ramblinroadstoeverywhere.blogspot.com
http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/cappuccinosmom
www.mommycomelately.blogspot.com
http://www.cornhuskeracademy.blogspot.com
www.karenehman.com
2/16/08
http://zyphe.blogspot.com/
http://carasmusings.blogspot.com
http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/martha
2/17/08
www.marybethwhalen.com
www.bookjunkieconfessions.blogspot.com
2/18/08
http://www.terragarden.blogspot.com
Thursday, February 07, 2008
The Soul's Back Door
To enter the February book drawing for a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup, leave a comment after a blog entry or email me writecat@consolidated.net
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A New Mexico friend, Bill Johnson, is one of 14 children. He told us he overheard his dad say many times, “While I fought to keep the wolf away from the front door, the stork slipped in the back.”
In that context, the back door referenced things happening without much notice. Rick Larsen, presenter of “The Star of Bethlehem” DVD, made a similar statement about the soul having a backdoor. He saw how music moves folks toward God when usual cautions, teachings, and taps on the front door of the soul failed.
Anne Lamott tells how she was drawn to belief through spiritual hymns. She grew up in a family and neighborhood of atheists, however, at least one on her street did believe in God. In the intellectual atmosphere, Christians were deemed ignorant to cast their lots with “God” who could not be seen.
At an early age Ms. Lamott’s life went south, pushed low by personal behavior and drug addictions. Later in adulthood, confused, she walked each Sunday morning, trying to sort out her life.
On those Sundays, she strolled past a church—its doors open. The music spilled out onto the soiled sidewalks and dirty pavement. For weeks, she heard the strains of sweet music, but resisted the melodies.
Finally, she allowed herself to listen, to walk slowly as she passed by the open doors. She even began to linger at the door, not daring to go inside. But soon the words and melodies stroked a chord in her heart like no other, and a friendly hand of a member beckoned her to come on in, have a seat.
She told how God had tapped on her front door in childhood, but as an adult, God first got her attention through music—through the soul backdoor. If you’ve read Ms. Lamott’s works or followed her lectures, her politics and views on some moral issues are controversial. But, her belief in Jesus Christ is obvious, germinated by strains of music drifting from a church house.
The apostle Paul wrote to the church in Ephesus about the discipline of singing and making melodies in their “hearts to the Lord” (Ephesians 5:19). These past few weeks, I've been singing--a song of praise each day. Sometimes, it’s spontaneous. Sometimes it’s planned with a hymnal, shape notes, and lyrics in hand.
Some of the songs my grandmothers sang, some are new praise music. Which soul door did they enter when I first heard them? I don’t know, but I’ve learned this, when I sing a song, it airs out my soul. A sweet breeze flows through like none other.
Minister Robert Culp says, “Music invites us out of isolation and into the fellowship of the saints. It also draws us from self-centeredness and into God-centeredness.”
In solitude, sing a song to the Lord each day this week, one for his ears alone. And, listen for the creaking of door hinges.
“Music is God's gift to man, the only art of Heaven given to earth, the only art of earth we take to Heaven,” Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864).
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A New Mexico friend, Bill Johnson, is one of 14 children. He told us he overheard his dad say many times, “While I fought to keep the wolf away from the front door, the stork slipped in the back.”
In that context, the back door referenced things happening without much notice. Rick Larsen, presenter of “The Star of Bethlehem” DVD, made a similar statement about the soul having a backdoor. He saw how music moves folks toward God when usual cautions, teachings, and taps on the front door of the soul failed.
Anne Lamott tells how she was drawn to belief through spiritual hymns. She grew up in a family and neighborhood of atheists, however, at least one on her street did believe in God. In the intellectual atmosphere, Christians were deemed ignorant to cast their lots with “God” who could not be seen.
At an early age Ms. Lamott’s life went south, pushed low by personal behavior and drug addictions. Later in adulthood, confused, she walked each Sunday morning, trying to sort out her life.
On those Sundays, she strolled past a church—its doors open. The music spilled out onto the soiled sidewalks and dirty pavement. For weeks, she heard the strains of sweet music, but resisted the melodies.
Finally, she allowed herself to listen, to walk slowly as she passed by the open doors. She even began to linger at the door, not daring to go inside. But soon the words and melodies stroked a chord in her heart like no other, and a friendly hand of a member beckoned her to come on in, have a seat.
She told how God had tapped on her front door in childhood, but as an adult, God first got her attention through music—through the soul backdoor. If you’ve read Ms. Lamott’s works or followed her lectures, her politics and views on some moral issues are controversial. But, her belief in Jesus Christ is obvious, germinated by strains of music drifting from a church house.
The apostle Paul wrote to the church in Ephesus about the discipline of singing and making melodies in their “hearts to the Lord” (Ephesians 5:19). These past few weeks, I've been singing--a song of praise each day. Sometimes, it’s spontaneous. Sometimes it’s planned with a hymnal, shape notes, and lyrics in hand.
Some of the songs my grandmothers sang, some are new praise music. Which soul door did they enter when I first heard them? I don’t know, but I’ve learned this, when I sing a song, it airs out my soul. A sweet breeze flows through like none other.
Minister Robert Culp says, “Music invites us out of isolation and into the fellowship of the saints. It also draws us from self-centeredness and into God-centeredness.”
In solitude, sing a song to the Lord each day this week, one for his ears alone. And, listen for the creaking of door hinges.
“Music is God's gift to man, the only art of Heaven given to earth, the only art of earth we take to Heaven,” Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864).
Friday, February 01, 2008
And, the winner of the January book drawing is Carolyn E.! Congratulations, Carolyn E. I’ll be in touch to get your mailing address.
Register today for the February book drawing. Leave a comment here or email me at writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter your name for an opportunity to win a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup.
Billows
Okay, who really knows what “billows” are? Many have sung words from the count-your-many-blessings song: “When upon life’s billows you are tempest tossed, when you are discouraged thinking all is lost.” Have you ever been tossed upon a billows? Tempestuously tossed?
The word “billows” isn’t an everyday word, but if used in context, the meaning would be clear: Billows are shoving the cruise ship around. “The billows are frothy—not a good fishing day,” said the salty sailor. The billows splashed into the leaky John boat causing the fisherman to bail with vigor.
So, “billows” means waves, usually big one roiling and rolling. And life-billows must mean huge happenings that could cause drowning. Sea water can cause harm or good. The sea supports its world and inhabitants. But many humans, alien to life in the water, have been lost at sea. Humans can float on the sea, gather food from it or drown in it.
So, now that billows are in mind, what can we do if we get tossed on one? I’ve heard folks say that when bad times assault them, they can’t seem to pray. I’ve experienced that.
Others have told me, whenever pain, loss or devastation comes along, they find reading their Bible difficult. I’ve experienced that, too. When the brain is fogged by bad circumstances, pages can be turned but not comprehended because the mind is mired in despair.
But what do you do when the presence of God seems far away? For Jesus and his disciples, when life got crowded or dangerous, that’s when they fled to be alone for a day or night—alone with God.
When Jesus heard of his cousin John the Baptist’s beheading, he “withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place” (Matthew 14: 13).
Oswald Chambers says when “God gets us alone,” that’s when his most effective teaching occurs. When Jesus walked this earth, he and his disciples were constantly surrounded by problems of others, what Robert J. Wicks calls, secondary stress in his book Crossing the Desert.
But after a few intense days, Jesus would say something such as, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:31). They’d get away by themselves and over and over the same scenario is presented.
When the disciples were alone with Jesus, who is God, they asked questions. Isn’t that what we do when something puzzling happens? We ask a lot of questions, aloud and in our minds.
So when a toss on the billows happens, the lesson from Jesus and the disciples is to get alone with God. And who said questions to God, aren’t prayers. Questions communicate our sincerest thoughts to God. Then, we can present ourselves to listen for answers.
If you find yourself in the swell of a billows, spend time alone with God, it’s where he does his most significant work. He teaches survival techniques, passes out swim fins, and teaches us to float.
Register today for the February book drawing. Leave a comment here or email me at writecat@consolidated.net and I’ll enter your name for an opportunity to win a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup.
Billows
Okay, who really knows what “billows” are? Many have sung words from the count-your-many-blessings song: “When upon life’s billows you are tempest tossed, when you are discouraged thinking all is lost.” Have you ever been tossed upon a billows? Tempestuously tossed?
The word “billows” isn’t an everyday word, but if used in context, the meaning would be clear: Billows are shoving the cruise ship around. “The billows are frothy—not a good fishing day,” said the salty sailor. The billows splashed into the leaky John boat causing the fisherman to bail with vigor.
So, “billows” means waves, usually big one roiling and rolling. And life-billows must mean huge happenings that could cause drowning. Sea water can cause harm or good. The sea supports its world and inhabitants. But many humans, alien to life in the water, have been lost at sea. Humans can float on the sea, gather food from it or drown in it.
So, now that billows are in mind, what can we do if we get tossed on one? I’ve heard folks say that when bad times assault them, they can’t seem to pray. I’ve experienced that.
Others have told me, whenever pain, loss or devastation comes along, they find reading their Bible difficult. I’ve experienced that, too. When the brain is fogged by bad circumstances, pages can be turned but not comprehended because the mind is mired in despair.
But what do you do when the presence of God seems far away? For Jesus and his disciples, when life got crowded or dangerous, that’s when they fled to be alone for a day or night—alone with God.
When Jesus heard of his cousin John the Baptist’s beheading, he “withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place” (Matthew 14: 13).
Oswald Chambers says when “God gets us alone,” that’s when his most effective teaching occurs. When Jesus walked this earth, he and his disciples were constantly surrounded by problems of others, what Robert J. Wicks calls, secondary stress in his book Crossing the Desert.
But after a few intense days, Jesus would say something such as, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:31). They’d get away by themselves and over and over the same scenario is presented.
When the disciples were alone with Jesus, who is God, they asked questions. Isn’t that what we do when something puzzling happens? We ask a lot of questions, aloud and in our minds.
So when a toss on the billows happens, the lesson from Jesus and the disciples is to get alone with God. And who said questions to God, aren’t prayers. Questions communicate our sincerest thoughts to God. Then, we can present ourselves to listen for answers.
If you find yourself in the swell of a billows, spend time alone with God, it’s where he does his most significant work. He teaches survival techniques, passes out swim fins, and teaches us to float.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Prayer Mending
Leave a comment or email me and I’ll enter your name into my January book drawing for a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup.
“Come let us bow down in worship, let us kneel before the LORD our Maker; for he is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the flock under his care.” Psalm 95:6-7
Two wives were mending trousers, each mending her preacher-husband’s pants. One said, “My poor James. He is so discouraged in his work. He’s thinking about resigning and finding a regular job. It seems nothing goes right for him.”
The other wife said, “My husband says just the opposite. He is enthused. It seems like the Lord is closer to him than ever before.” A hushed silence fell as they continued to mend the trousers—one patching the seat and the other repairing the knees.
My parents knelt with my sister and me at bedtime and we said goodnight to God, and we learned bowing by example. My mother often prayed on her knees through the day, too, behind a closed door.
I remember sneaking peeks at her through the keyhole of an old-fashioned doorplate, the kind unlocked by a skeleton key. God provided my mother with rest and re-creation and will also help any praying mother err on the side of sanity and love.
The postures of prayer mentioned in the Bible are numerous—standing, lying facedown on the ground, kneeling, hands lifted toward the heavens, eyes turned heavenward and more. In Paul’s letter to the Ephesians he mentions his prayer posture, “I kneel before the Father” (3:14).
Our culture is an ocean and several centuries removed from bowing before monarchs. A bow or curtsey indicated that the performer would defer to the person of higher rank, whether they wanted to or not. In private, when knees are bowed to God, there’s more involved than coerced obedience.
A story of a father and son demonstrates forced compliance. Before seatbelt laws, a traveling dad said to his pre-school son who was standing in the seat, “Sit down, son.”
The child didn’t sit down, but after several more verbal commands he did. Finally seated, the boy looked at his dad and said, “But I’m still standing on the inside.”
In private, when knees are bent in prayer, it’s a voluntary act. When I was a teenager, I strayed from kneeling, but later on in life, I began praying on my knees again.
The first few weeks of adopting that prayer pose were difficult. For me, it meant allowing God to look into all the rooms in my heart, including the locked ones that had skeleton keys.
When kneeling, we’re physically closer to the earth, but somehow our hearts can be transported to the courts of heaven. Try prayer-kneeling this year. Of course, you just might have to patch pant-knees, but, meanwhile God will tailor your life from above.
“Come let us bow down in worship, let us kneel before the LORD our Maker; for he is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the flock under his care.” Psalm 95:6-7
Two wives were mending trousers, each mending her preacher-husband’s pants. One said, “My poor James. He is so discouraged in his work. He’s thinking about resigning and finding a regular job. It seems nothing goes right for him.”
The other wife said, “My husband says just the opposite. He is enthused. It seems like the Lord is closer to him than ever before.” A hushed silence fell as they continued to mend the trousers—one patching the seat and the other repairing the knees.
My parents knelt with my sister and me at bedtime and we said goodnight to God, and we learned bowing by example. My mother often prayed on her knees through the day, too, behind a closed door.
I remember sneaking peeks at her through the keyhole of an old-fashioned doorplate, the kind unlocked by a skeleton key. God provided my mother with rest and re-creation and will also help any praying mother err on the side of sanity and love.
The postures of prayer mentioned in the Bible are numerous—standing, lying facedown on the ground, kneeling, hands lifted toward the heavens, eyes turned heavenward and more. In Paul’s letter to the Ephesians he mentions his prayer posture, “I kneel before the Father” (3:14).
Our culture is an ocean and several centuries removed from bowing before monarchs. A bow or curtsey indicated that the performer would defer to the person of higher rank, whether they wanted to or not. In private, when knees are bowed to God, there’s more involved than coerced obedience.
A story of a father and son demonstrates forced compliance. Before seatbelt laws, a traveling dad said to his pre-school son who was standing in the seat, “Sit down, son.”
The child didn’t sit down, but after several more verbal commands he did. Finally seated, the boy looked at his dad and said, “But I’m still standing on the inside.”
In private, when knees are bent in prayer, it’s a voluntary act. When I was a teenager, I strayed from kneeling, but later on in life, I began praying on my knees again.
The first few weeks of adopting that prayer pose were difficult. For me, it meant allowing God to look into all the rooms in my heart, including the locked ones that had skeleton keys.
When kneeling, we’re physically closer to the earth, but somehow our hearts can be transported to the courts of heaven. Try prayer-kneeling this year. Of course, you just might have to patch pant-knees, but, meanwhile God will tailor your life from above.
Friday, January 18, 2008
January Book Drawing
Leave a comment or email me and I'll enter your name into the January drawing for a free book--my thanks for stopping by.
The Rain Dance
At a mall, six Girl Scouts, about 10 years old, tumbled out of an SUV. Just as their feet hit the parking lot, raindrops the size of half-dollars, quarters and dimes pelted them.
I watched from the dry-cover of my vehicle while waiting for a friend. The little girl faces showed pure delight because of the water-pelting.
Arms outstretched, they twirled and tilted their faces skyward. Their mouths opened to catch rain-change and rinse down giggles. They didn’t seem to mind that their green vests, stucco-ed with merit badges, grew soggy.
The adult leader emerged from the driver’s seat, but the girls didn’t imitate her hurried walk under an umbrella. They continued their freedom-dance. Skipping, hopping, side-stepping, they ambled toward the mall entrance.
As far as I know, I alone witnessed their pleasure at encountering rain. So, playing off a favorite line from another author, I ask, Could you dance in the rain, if no one saw you but God?
One of my favorite scriptures about Jesus’ joy is in Hebrews, when the writer quotes an Old Testament scripture saying Jesus’ joy was above any who ever lived, “God, your God, has set you above your companions by anointing you with the oil of joy” (1:9).
Bruce Marchiano says that Jesus’ joy is the most “obvious, most overlooked, most disregarded, most neglected, most misunderstood, most undefined . . . reality in all of Christendom.”
I admit that the atrocities of this world come clothed as robbers, joy-consumers. Bad news gobbles up happiness. Even though bouncy joy may be lost for a time, the loss is not forever. Jesus was aware of the horrors of life, but he and believers know that God will eventually right all injustices.
Injustices-righted is one reason for joy. God can and will correct the things we have no power to fix. There’s going to be a happy ending for those whom God acknowledges as sons and daughters.
When I’m reading my Bible and I come across a jubilant passage such as “The joy of the LORD is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10), I draw a little stick figure, its arms raised in praise. It’s my way of taking notice of how many times, praise, joy, handclapping and elation about God’s care is noted in the biblical text.
God is the true source of joy. I know that circumstances often step between us and that knowledge, but the joy is still God’s to give. Ask, seek, and knock for this true joy. Expect to receive it. Thank you, Girl Scouts, for the reminder that it’s possible to dance, even in the rain.
I watched from the dry-cover of my vehicle while waiting for a friend. The little girl faces showed pure delight because of the water-pelting.
Arms outstretched, they twirled and tilted their faces skyward. Their mouths opened to catch rain-change and rinse down giggles. They didn’t seem to mind that their green vests, stucco-ed with merit badges, grew soggy.
The adult leader emerged from the driver’s seat, but the girls didn’t imitate her hurried walk under an umbrella. They continued their freedom-dance. Skipping, hopping, side-stepping, they ambled toward the mall entrance.
As far as I know, I alone witnessed their pleasure at encountering rain. So, playing off a favorite line from another author, I ask, Could you dance in the rain, if no one saw you but God?
One of my favorite scriptures about Jesus’ joy is in Hebrews, when the writer quotes an Old Testament scripture saying Jesus’ joy was above any who ever lived, “God, your God, has set you above your companions by anointing you with the oil of joy” (1:9).
Bruce Marchiano says that Jesus’ joy is the most “obvious, most overlooked, most disregarded, most neglected, most misunderstood, most undefined . . . reality in all of Christendom.”
I admit that the atrocities of this world come clothed as robbers, joy-consumers. Bad news gobbles up happiness. Even though bouncy joy may be lost for a time, the loss is not forever. Jesus was aware of the horrors of life, but he and believers know that God will eventually right all injustices.
Injustices-righted is one reason for joy. God can and will correct the things we have no power to fix. There’s going to be a happy ending for those whom God acknowledges as sons and daughters.
When I’m reading my Bible and I come across a jubilant passage such as “The joy of the LORD is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10), I draw a little stick figure, its arms raised in praise. It’s my way of taking notice of how many times, praise, joy, handclapping and elation about God’s care is noted in the biblical text.
God is the true source of joy. I know that circumstances often step between us and that knowledge, but the joy is still God’s to give. Ask, seek, and knock for this true joy. Expect to receive it. Thank you, Girl Scouts, for the reminder that it’s possible to dance, even in the rain.
Friday, January 11, 2008
A Tax, a Fish, a Coin
Leave a comment or email me, and I’ll enter your name into a January book drawing to win a copy of my devotional book: The Stained Glass Pickup. Sorry, I can only mail them to readers in the continental USA. They are available for purchase at Amazon / Canada and UK for those outside the USA.
A coin, a fish and a tax—all surfaced in a conversation between Jesus and Peter. Scribe Matthew relates the event in chapter 17, verses 24-27. Temple tax collectors asked Simon Peter, “Doesn’t your teacher pay the temple tax?”
The temple tax, “atonement for the soul” offering of Exodus 30:15, was to be paid by every Jewish male over 20 years of age. Apparently, Jesus and Peter had not paid, yet. The collected money, used for temple upkeep and services, came due annually.
When the soul-atonement tax-men came collecting, Peter answered for Jesus and said something like, “Of course, Jesus pays his temple tax.” Then Peter trotted off to verify his story with Jesus.
Let me stop here and remind you what happens to Bible readers: scriptures will impact our lives in different ways at different times. Why? Because we are ever-learning-and-changing creatures. At stages in my life, I read the story of the coin, fish, and tax. Each time it impacted me, but in various ways. This time when I read it, I saw the majesty of God in a new light.
Now, let’s get back to Peter’s verifying that Jesus intended to pay his “soul atonement tax.” Before Peter ever uttered one word, Jesus asked, “What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth collect duty and taxes—from their own sons or from others?” Peter answered, “From others.”
“Then the sons are exempt,” Jesus said. Then Jesus said, we'll pay so that “we may not offend them,” and he gave special instructions to Simon Peter, the fisherman:
Go fish. At the lake, throw out your line and the first fish you catch, pry open its mouth and look inside. Inside you’ll find a four drachma coin, the exact amount needed to pay two drachmas each for you and me.
I imagine Peter’s walk to the lake. Some believe the wording indicates he didn’t use any bait. He slings the line out. The cash-fish is swimming somewhere close by and is somehow enticed to swallow the luring line. There’s a tug. The line goes taut, and Peter tugs it in. He can hardly wait, his anticipation had built.
He pries open its mouth, and there near the gills a four drachma coin—just like Jesus had told him. And, possibly the best catch of the day, Peter’s faith must have multiplied.
Freshness swept over me to read in this brief story that Jesus knew Peter’s conversation and thoughts, and also knew that the money-market fish swam in nearby lake waters. Where I worship we sing the song “Majesty,” and this story revealed anew the deity of Jesus.
To me, this is one of those side-step stories. While spectacular, I often wondered why God guided Matthew to include it in the text. Probably for folks like me. For those who need RE-assurance that God knows about all the details of life. Mine. Yours. And even fishes in the deep blue sea.
A coin, a fish and a tax—all surfaced in a conversation between Jesus and Peter. Scribe Matthew relates the event in chapter 17, verses 24-27. Temple tax collectors asked Simon Peter, “Doesn’t your teacher pay the temple tax?”
The temple tax, “atonement for the soul” offering of Exodus 30:15, was to be paid by every Jewish male over 20 years of age. Apparently, Jesus and Peter had not paid, yet. The collected money, used for temple upkeep and services, came due annually.
When the soul-atonement tax-men came collecting, Peter answered for Jesus and said something like, “Of course, Jesus pays his temple tax.” Then Peter trotted off to verify his story with Jesus.
Let me stop here and remind you what happens to Bible readers: scriptures will impact our lives in different ways at different times. Why? Because we are ever-learning-and-changing creatures. At stages in my life, I read the story of the coin, fish, and tax. Each time it impacted me, but in various ways. This time when I read it, I saw the majesty of God in a new light.
Now, let’s get back to Peter’s verifying that Jesus intended to pay his “soul atonement tax.” Before Peter ever uttered one word, Jesus asked, “What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth collect duty and taxes—from their own sons or from others?” Peter answered, “From others.”
“Then the sons are exempt,” Jesus said. Then Jesus said, we'll pay so that “we may not offend them,” and he gave special instructions to Simon Peter, the fisherman:
Go fish. At the lake, throw out your line and the first fish you catch, pry open its mouth and look inside. Inside you’ll find a four drachma coin, the exact amount needed to pay two drachmas each for you and me.
I imagine Peter’s walk to the lake. Some believe the wording indicates he didn’t use any bait. He slings the line out. The cash-fish is swimming somewhere close by and is somehow enticed to swallow the luring line. There’s a tug. The line goes taut, and Peter tugs it in. He can hardly wait, his anticipation had built.
He pries open its mouth, and there near the gills a four drachma coin—just like Jesus had told him. And, possibly the best catch of the day, Peter’s faith must have multiplied.
Freshness swept over me to read in this brief story that Jesus knew Peter’s conversation and thoughts, and also knew that the money-market fish swam in nearby lake waters. Where I worship we sing the song “Majesty,” and this story revealed anew the deity of Jesus.
To me, this is one of those side-step stories. While spectacular, I often wondered why God guided Matthew to include it in the text. Probably for folks like me. For those who need RE-assurance that God knows about all the details of life. Mine. Yours. And even fishes in the deep blue sea.
Friday, January 04, 2008
December 2007 winner of The Stained Glass Pickup
And the winner is............Tammy M. Congratulations! Horns are blowing! Bells are ringing! Can you hear them?
Tammy, I'll email you and get your physical address to mail your autographed copy.....Cathy
Tammy, I'll email you and get your physical address to mail your autographed copy.....Cathy
Don't Outfly Your Angels
January contest--Make a comment, leave a post and your name will be entered to win a copy of The Stained Glass Pickup. Drawing at end of January.
Not too long ago, my son, Russell, had an unusual trucking job. He transported about 30 very large “retired” trumpeting angels from a shopping center to storage. The job took about eight trips to cart the celestial beings to out-of-service duty. For several decades that chorus of steel and light bulb angels heralded the holiday season at a nearby shopping center.
Standing about 10 foot tall, the angels perched above the façade of the buildings year round, but their lights only shined over the shopping crowd during the Christmas season. On the way to storage, the route took Russell and angels by our home. Neighbor Linda saw him going down the road with three angels trailing his truck. Delighted by the sight, she phoned to say that Russell should be okay that day because “angels are following him.”
While there is information about angels in the Bible, I think mystery still surrounds their work. From the Bible stories of their interaction with man, they are messengers, protectors, providers of food and comfort, among other things.
I’ve never seen an angel, but I think I’ve seen the results when angels are active. When my children were young, two and six, one night divine intervention spared my family as I drove home in our pickup truck.
That night was before seat belt requirements, so my little ones knelt on the bench seat and watched the large moon shining through the back window of the single-cab truck. All of a sudden, their pensive mood changed and they asked if they could sit on the floorboard. They had never asked before and I had never allowed them to huddle in the small confines. I granted their request.
Just as they hunkered in the small area, the pickup truck slammed into something in our lane. I later learned that trespassers had cut a rancher’s barbed wire fence and four of his horses were out. We hit one. The poor horse didn’t make it and neither did our totaled truck.
The only undamaged areas were the driver’s space and the passenger floorboard where Russell and Sheryle crowded together. Over them, the passenger side of the cab crashed in close to the bench seat.
This weekend, our neighbors, Linda and Donald, had us over for dinner. We talked about the day she saw the angels trailing Russell, and she teased and said, “It’s a good thing not to travel faster than your angels can fly.”
Her words remained with me. I’ve shortened them for my 2008 motto: “Don’t out fly your angels.” The coined angel–phrase is a good prompt for living in this newborn year, both a caution and reminder of God’s multiplied blessings, because “[God] will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways (Psalm 91:11a).
Monday, December 31, 2007
Free Book Drawing
Post a comment at any of the December posts and your name will be entered into a drawing to receive a free, autographed copy of The Stained Glass Pickup. If you win, I'll contact you by email after December 31. Contest starts over and runs each month Jan-Dec 2008.
Thanks readers.....Cathy
Thanks readers.....Cathy
Friday, December 28, 2007
On My Plate
For those who live in the continental USA, I’m offering a contest. Leave a post or a simple "Howdy" before the new year and your name will be entered to win an autographed copy of The Stained Glass Pickup. The contest will run each month in 2008, too. I look forward to hearing from you and giving away 13 copies in the next twelve months.
___________________________________________________________________
“My plate is full.” How many times did you hear that this year? It’s a modern cliché that means a person has a full load. For many in 2007, life delivered a divided lunch tray with every compartment full. I find it ironic that the USA faces a major obesity problem along with our obese schedules. Personal and family agendas are popping at the seams.
Some seasons in life require more energy than others. Illnesses, weddings, location moves, job changes, a new baby in a household, all can crunch routines until accommodations are made for the new demands. Lately, I’ve heard several people say of their normal lives, “I’m overwhelmed.”
They are admitting to being snowed under, beleaguered, and weighed down. That means they sigh more than produce results—that no matter how much gets done, they feel as though they’re only treading water with no landfall in sight.
To set some boundaries and rest from the pushy world, try some of these ideas. Only read and answer E-mails at a certain time of day. You can even create a permanent signature that lets mail-ees know that you answer mail 8-10 in the morning. Stick to your plan.
How many requests are received for volunteer help by mail and phone? Have you ever gotten a plea to help a cause for which you had absolutely no passion? The Lady Bug Counting Committee needed one extra tallier for their spring outing, and you just couldn’t say no even though it was your only day off in a month.
Learn to say, “No.” Practice. Say it out loud. For best results, say it over and over until it will roll off your tongue without guilt. Sure the lane-mate at the red-light may find you odd, seeing you practice the short word that can usher in some peace of mind. You’ll never see them again. Keep on practicing until you can say a kind, but confident, “Sorry, no.”
Don’t always allow the outside world to intrude on family time. Why not designate a quiet hour each day in your home, a time when no outside influence is allowed through any cable or wireless receivers. That can mean turning off the TV, radio, computer, electronic games, landlines and cell phones. Silence turns to gold only when experienced.
In Jesus’ day his disciples became weary, too. They had a foot-traffic problem: “So many people were coming and going that they didn’t even have a chance to eat.” Jesus knew that every person they encountered couldn’t be hosted, healed, or helped. The human body runs on fuel and rest and the disciples needed some.
Jesus’ solution and words are some of my favorite. He said, “Come away with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:30-31).
A friend with a broken foot said her injury was the best thing that happened to her. She rested and had an excuse to do so. For you, readers, I’m praying for backbones not broken feet. With His help, take the load off in 2008.
Happy New Year!
___________________________________________________________________
“My plate is full.” How many times did you hear that this year? It’s a modern cliché that means a person has a full load. For many in 2007, life delivered a divided lunch tray with every compartment full. I find it ironic that the USA faces a major obesity problem along with our obese schedules. Personal and family agendas are popping at the seams.
Some seasons in life require more energy than others. Illnesses, weddings, location moves, job changes, a new baby in a household, all can crunch routines until accommodations are made for the new demands. Lately, I’ve heard several people say of their normal lives, “I’m overwhelmed.”
They are admitting to being snowed under, beleaguered, and weighed down. That means they sigh more than produce results—that no matter how much gets done, they feel as though they’re only treading water with no landfall in sight.
To set some boundaries and rest from the pushy world, try some of these ideas. Only read and answer E-mails at a certain time of day. You can even create a permanent signature that lets mail-ees know that you answer mail 8-10 in the morning. Stick to your plan.
How many requests are received for volunteer help by mail and phone? Have you ever gotten a plea to help a cause for which you had absolutely no passion? The Lady Bug Counting Committee needed one extra tallier for their spring outing, and you just couldn’t say no even though it was your only day off in a month.
Learn to say, “No.” Practice. Say it out loud. For best results, say it over and over until it will roll off your tongue without guilt. Sure the lane-mate at the red-light may find you odd, seeing you practice the short word that can usher in some peace of mind. You’ll never see them again. Keep on practicing until you can say a kind, but confident, “Sorry, no.”
Don’t always allow the outside world to intrude on family time. Why not designate a quiet hour each day in your home, a time when no outside influence is allowed through any cable or wireless receivers. That can mean turning off the TV, radio, computer, electronic games, landlines and cell phones. Silence turns to gold only when experienced.
In Jesus’ day his disciples became weary, too. They had a foot-traffic problem: “So many people were coming and going that they didn’t even have a chance to eat.” Jesus knew that every person they encountered couldn’t be hosted, healed, or helped. The human body runs on fuel and rest and the disciples needed some.
Jesus’ solution and words are some of my favorite. He said, “Come away with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:30-31).
A friend with a broken foot said her injury was the best thing that happened to her. She rested and had an excuse to do so. For you, readers, I’m praying for backbones not broken feet. With His help, take the load off in 2008.
Happy New Year!
Friday, December 21, 2007
The Foggy Cross
On a journey from New Mexico, my husband and I watched for Christmas décor at homes and businesses. Most of our travel took place during the day, and 400 miles of the trip we were surrounded by fog, a mix thick as clouds or at other times thin as tea kettle steam.
When night fell, one display glowed high above the interstate. As we neared a radio tower the hazy outline of a cross appeared. Even parallel with the lighted cross, it did not emerge “midnight-clear.” The cross remained shrouded by fog.
The fogged in cross made me think of the mystery that often accompanied The Christ on his earth-journey. Wonder surrounded Jesus’ birth. Born of a virgin, who conceived by the Holy Spirit, Jesus came into the world through God’s plan, not man’s desire.
Luke told how Mary treasured the events of Jesus’ birth and “pondered them in her heart” (2:19). Prophet Simon said to Mary that Jesus would cause the “thoughts of many hearts to be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul, too” (Luke 2:35)? Was she ever unsure, uncertain?
Choreographed by God, Jesus’ birth announcement filled a nighttime sky. The Bethlehem welcoming committee hurried to town from a pasture not a palace. God’s Son didn’t have a silver rattle. Instead, he rested in a hay-manger.
The forecast didn’t clear much when Jesus began his ministry. A corrupt government had caused Jewish citizens to long for a political deliverer. Office holders didn’t want a newbie-leader in government or synagogue. Jesus cleared the air a little when he said, “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36).
By the time of Jesus’ crucifixion, a small group began to comprehend, to see in Jesus, a soul-savior. He didn’t want a signet ring and purple robe. He stepped into everyday life to assist the neediest.
This king of hearts touched foul flesh, sat in fishing boats, rebuked the haughty and cradled children on his lap. He washed feet, forgave murderous sins, and healed bad reputations. For believers, the fog began to lift.
Jesus was not what we expected.
Jesus was what we needed.
Christmas-signs say “Believe.” I’m pretty sure the red glittery messages refer to Santa, a figment of imaginations, but the word can remind of an ultimate belief.
When Nicodemus sought to understand Jesus better, Jesus told about a key ingredient for clearer understanding, “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).
From heaven’s porch, God’s plan for salvation could be seen with clarity. From earth’s footstool, things looked a bit foggy as to the outcome. But, through the biblical account, this blessed generation has a more complete picture of prophecy and promises fulfilled. On the trail—from manger to cross—belief that Jesus is the Son of God has caused the fog to lift.
Merry Christmas!
When night fell, one display glowed high above the interstate. As we neared a radio tower the hazy outline of a cross appeared. Even parallel with the lighted cross, it did not emerge “midnight-clear.” The cross remained shrouded by fog.
The fogged in cross made me think of the mystery that often accompanied The Christ on his earth-journey. Wonder surrounded Jesus’ birth. Born of a virgin, who conceived by the Holy Spirit, Jesus came into the world through God’s plan, not man’s desire.
Luke told how Mary treasured the events of Jesus’ birth and “pondered them in her heart” (2:19). Prophet Simon said to Mary that Jesus would cause the “thoughts of many hearts to be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul, too” (Luke 2:35)? Was she ever unsure, uncertain?
Choreographed by God, Jesus’ birth announcement filled a nighttime sky. The Bethlehem welcoming committee hurried to town from a pasture not a palace. God’s Son didn’t have a silver rattle. Instead, he rested in a hay-manger.
The forecast didn’t clear much when Jesus began his ministry. A corrupt government had caused Jewish citizens to long for a political deliverer. Office holders didn’t want a newbie-leader in government or synagogue. Jesus cleared the air a little when he said, “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36).
By the time of Jesus’ crucifixion, a small group began to comprehend, to see in Jesus, a soul-savior. He didn’t want a signet ring and purple robe. He stepped into everyday life to assist the neediest.
This king of hearts touched foul flesh, sat in fishing boats, rebuked the haughty and cradled children on his lap. He washed feet, forgave murderous sins, and healed bad reputations. For believers, the fog began to lift.
Jesus was not what we expected.
Jesus was what we needed.
Christmas-signs say “Believe.” I’m pretty sure the red glittery messages refer to Santa, a figment of imaginations, but the word can remind of an ultimate belief.
When Nicodemus sought to understand Jesus better, Jesus told about a key ingredient for clearer understanding, “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).
From heaven’s porch, God’s plan for salvation could be seen with clarity. From earth’s footstool, things looked a bit foggy as to the outcome. But, through the biblical account, this blessed generation has a more complete picture of prophecy and promises fulfilled. On the trail—from manger to cross—belief that Jesus is the Son of God has caused the fog to lift.
Merry Christmas!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
copies of The Stained Glass Pickup available
Amazon is getting low on SGP, but Leafwood Publishers has the second printing in--click on devotionals. SGP is on second page. I have copies, too. Click here to order ASAP to receive by Christmas...CM
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
The Squash Mystery-December 14
On a forgiveness scale, with minor infractions at the bottom and world wars at the major end, this story about squash casseroles ranks . . . well, you decide.
Several times a year Carolyn, a friend, is in charge of the mid-week meals that her church hosts for their members. Women who participate prepare the menus and cook the food for one month of Wednesdays. I’ve replicated some of Carolyn’s recipes and she ranks up there with Emeril. She knows the exact spice to make a chicken pot pie tasty, the little flare to make it eye-appealing.
Have you cooked for a crowd? It’s not a small task. Much vegetable scrubbing, cutting, grinding, measuring, pan washing, frying and love combine to turn out culinary masterpieces.
Ordinary recipes for small families are increased to feed 150-200. The recipes are tested because good cooks know when multiplying servings, quality can be lost. Seasoning strengths vary between a 16 ounce can of legumes and a mountain of beans.
The coordinator also considers the diners: two-year-old toddlers to gramps on walkers. Middle un-spicy ground is preferred for all palettes. Carolyn is also a do-ahead person. She knows emergencies can come up Wednesdays.
Once when her turn was near, she bought pounds of yellow squash and zucchini. After cleaning, chopping, cooking, mashing, adding butter, eggs and all the other good stuff, she ladled them into seven large aluminum pans wrapped them in foil. This took a big chunk of time and work.
Satisfied and relieved to have part of the meal ready, Carolyn delivered them to the church kitchen freezer. Now, church kitchens belong to all members, and a few days later, another good hearted woman decided to scrub down the kitchen. Really freshen it good—Spic and Span the floors, toss leftovers out of refrigerators and freezers.
When Mrs. Clean saw the overcrowded freezer and lifted the foil on a few items dried as the Sinai desert, she began tossing food into the mammoth trash can.
Dum-de-dum, dum, dum. Later in the week, Carolyn arrived to prepare the rest of the Wednesday night meal and found the kitchen sparkling clean—the fridge remarkably empty. She went into panic mode. She phoned around.
The phone calls set off a search worthy of a mystery dinner theatre. In her heart she felt they were gone, but she hoped another committee cook was baking them at home.
The missing zucchini was the buzz for several weeks. Then at Sunday worship, a couple of weeks later, a teary eyed woman approached Carolyn. Weeping, she confessed to being the squash bandit.
Carolyn said, “I could tell she felt terrible.” And Carolyn knew it had been difficult for Mrs. Clean to come forward. But two women who follow Jesus did the right thing. One confessed. One forgave.
In this season of Advent, of waiting and remembering the One who came to save his people from their sins, search around in your heart for grievances. If you find one . . . or two, speak confessions. Speak forgiveness.
Renewed, you can earnestly pray “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive others.”
Several times a year Carolyn, a friend, is in charge of the mid-week meals that her church hosts for their members. Women who participate prepare the menus and cook the food for one month of Wednesdays. I’ve replicated some of Carolyn’s recipes and she ranks up there with Emeril. She knows the exact spice to make a chicken pot pie tasty, the little flare to make it eye-appealing.
Have you cooked for a crowd? It’s not a small task. Much vegetable scrubbing, cutting, grinding, measuring, pan washing, frying and love combine to turn out culinary masterpieces.
Ordinary recipes for small families are increased to feed 150-200. The recipes are tested because good cooks know when multiplying servings, quality can be lost. Seasoning strengths vary between a 16 ounce can of legumes and a mountain of beans.
The coordinator also considers the diners: two-year-old toddlers to gramps on walkers. Middle un-spicy ground is preferred for all palettes. Carolyn is also a do-ahead person. She knows emergencies can come up Wednesdays.
Once when her turn was near, she bought pounds of yellow squash and zucchini. After cleaning, chopping, cooking, mashing, adding butter, eggs and all the other good stuff, she ladled them into seven large aluminum pans wrapped them in foil. This took a big chunk of time and work.
Satisfied and relieved to have part of the meal ready, Carolyn delivered them to the church kitchen freezer. Now, church kitchens belong to all members, and a few days later, another good hearted woman decided to scrub down the kitchen. Really freshen it good—Spic and Span the floors, toss leftovers out of refrigerators and freezers.
When Mrs. Clean saw the overcrowded freezer and lifted the foil on a few items dried as the Sinai desert, she began tossing food into the mammoth trash can.
Dum-de-dum, dum, dum. Later in the week, Carolyn arrived to prepare the rest of the Wednesday night meal and found the kitchen sparkling clean—the fridge remarkably empty. She went into panic mode. She phoned around.
The phone calls set off a search worthy of a mystery dinner theatre. In her heart she felt they were gone, but she hoped another committee cook was baking them at home.
The missing zucchini was the buzz for several weeks. Then at Sunday worship, a couple of weeks later, a teary eyed woman approached Carolyn. Weeping, she confessed to being the squash bandit.
Carolyn said, “I could tell she felt terrible.” And Carolyn knew it had been difficult for Mrs. Clean to come forward. But two women who follow Jesus did the right thing. One confessed. One forgave.
In this season of Advent, of waiting and remembering the One who came to save his people from their sins, search around in your heart for grievances. If you find one . . . or two, speak confessions. Speak forgiveness.
Renewed, you can earnestly pray “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive others.”
Thursday, December 06, 2007
The Star Giver
The stars are out. Light-bearing look-alikes are fastened to street lamps and balanced on tree tops. Foil covered cardboard stars stand in pageants while bedecked five-year-olds sing, “O Holy Night.”
My friend Brenda Nixon, author of Parenting in the Early Years, is a creative shopper and pays a company to name stars after friends and family. The company presents recipients with a certificate, the naming symbolic.
The International Astronomical Union (IAU) alone has the right to name stars. Due to the vast array, most are given numbers, very few are named. The numbering system helps astronomers find star-addresses because the estimated number of galaxies seen by Hubble telescope is 100 billion, including the faint dwarf galaxies on the edge. Beyond telescope range, billions more (www.astronomycafe.com).
Imagine the task of naming the galaxies and the indefinite number of stars within—but someone did it. The Star Giver did. "He determines the number of the stars and gives names to all of them. Great is our Lord, and mighty in power; his understanding has no limit” (Psalms 147:4-5).
Because he created the stars, God knows the exact makeup of each, giving them “pet names,” says one writer. We glimpse God’s magnitude when he compares himself to measurements we understand. Prophet Isaiah told how God measured earth waters in the hollow of his hand. Have you ever picked up a few tablespoons of the ocean in the well of your hand? Imagine God holding all oceanic, river and deep-spring waters in his palm.
Isaiah also told how God marked off the heavens by a span. In Bible language, a span is the breadth of a hand—thumb to pinkie. With his hand-measure, God marked off the heavens we see and heavens we don’t see. The nations of this earth are compared to a drop in a bucket, and the islands, God weighs them like they were fine dust. (40:11-15).
Feel small enough, yet? Jesus reiterated the vast knowledge of God when he said the hairs on all our heads are numbered. A daily accounting of gray, brunette, red, black and blond, and, yes, those dyed purple, too.
Over the course of many nights, a star guided the astronomers from the east to Jesus, their journey canopied by a starry host. When at last the wise men gazed upon the young Jesus, they worshiped him, a holy light, greater than all celestials.
The old priest Zechariah had seen many atrocities on earth, and prior to The Messiah’s birth he sang these truths about the Jesus-light: “Because of the tender mercy of our God . . . the rising sun will come to us from heaven to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace” (Luke 1:78-79).
As frequent as toy commercials, reinvented stars show up in December, The Star Giver flung stars in the sky, but sent The Light of the World to us. It’s December. The stars are out. They can remind us.
My friend Brenda Nixon, author of Parenting in the Early Years, is a creative shopper and pays a company to name stars after friends and family. The company presents recipients with a certificate, the naming symbolic.
The International Astronomical Union (IAU) alone has the right to name stars. Due to the vast array, most are given numbers, very few are named. The numbering system helps astronomers find star-addresses because the estimated number of galaxies seen by Hubble telescope is 100 billion, including the faint dwarf galaxies on the edge. Beyond telescope range, billions more (www.astronomycafe.com).
Imagine the task of naming the galaxies and the indefinite number of stars within—but someone did it. The Star Giver did. "He determines the number of the stars and gives names to all of them. Great is our Lord, and mighty in power; his understanding has no limit” (Psalms 147:4-5).
Because he created the stars, God knows the exact makeup of each, giving them “pet names,” says one writer. We glimpse God’s magnitude when he compares himself to measurements we understand. Prophet Isaiah told how God measured earth waters in the hollow of his hand. Have you ever picked up a few tablespoons of the ocean in the well of your hand? Imagine God holding all oceanic, river and deep-spring waters in his palm.
Isaiah also told how God marked off the heavens by a span. In Bible language, a span is the breadth of a hand—thumb to pinkie. With his hand-measure, God marked off the heavens we see and heavens we don’t see. The nations of this earth are compared to a drop in a bucket, and the islands, God weighs them like they were fine dust. (40:11-15).
Feel small enough, yet? Jesus reiterated the vast knowledge of God when he said the hairs on all our heads are numbered. A daily accounting of gray, brunette, red, black and blond, and, yes, those dyed purple, too.
Over the course of many nights, a star guided the astronomers from the east to Jesus, their journey canopied by a starry host. When at last the wise men gazed upon the young Jesus, they worshiped him, a holy light, greater than all celestials.
The old priest Zechariah had seen many atrocities on earth, and prior to The Messiah’s birth he sang these truths about the Jesus-light: “Because of the tender mercy of our God . . . the rising sun will come to us from heaven to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace” (Luke 1:78-79).
As frequent as toy commercials, reinvented stars show up in December, The Star Giver flung stars in the sky, but sent The Light of the World to us. It’s December. The stars are out. They can remind us.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
The Painted House
If you read about the end of her life—at age 67 buried in a child’s coffin, lowered into a pauper’s grave—you might think how tragic. Maud Lewis lived with many physical defects, including crippled hands and hunched shoulders that caused her chin to rest against her chest. But her bold, happy spirit could have filled an art gallery—eventually it did.
Maud Lewis, born in rural Nova Scotia in 1903 lived a simple childhood, and by all accounts had a sweet disposition. As an adult, although awash in poverty and a bitter marriage, joy surfaced and found a stage in her folk art.
As a child, Maud’s mother taught her to hand-paint Christmas cards, which were sold to neighbors. She played the piano until her fingers grew too arthritic. Even though she quit school after the fifth grade, perhaps due to the taunting of classmates, she had a fairly normal life with her parents.
When her parent’s died in the late ‘30s, her life took a dismal turn. Her brother took the inheritance and left her penniless. A miserly fish peddler, Everett Lewis, hired Maud to be his housekeeper and married her. Their cottage had 272 square feet (16 sq. meters) of space with a sleeping loft. She lived in the one-room hut without electricity or plumbing until she died. A single window lighted the objects she decorated with her art.
Soon after marrying, she painted tulips, birds, animals, and flowers on nearly every surface of the house inside and out. Her miserly husband scrounged and furnished leftover boat paint. Her later paintings, he sold and often hid the money from her.
Maud painted tea tins, dust pans, wallpaper, window panes, and the cottage door. The tiny residence looked like a queen’s garden had bloomed. Fanciful birds, bees and butterflies had flocked to it. Even her wood burning cook stove boasted art work. Her art is in high demand today, and she has become the Grandma Moses of Canada.
After Maud and Everett Lewis were both gone, their small house remained empty for five years and fell into deterioration. An art gallery acquired the cottage and restored it. “The Painted House” now sits in a nook of the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia in Hallifax. To date, it is the most beloved exhibit warehoused there.
With severely crippled hands, sardine tins for her palette and card board for canvases, Maud Lewis’ zest for life flowed through the tips of crude bristle brushes. The tiny frail woman refused to kowtow to a dingy existence.
Maud chose to brush stroke joy onto everyday life.
Maud Lewis, born in rural Nova Scotia in 1903 lived a simple childhood, and by all accounts had a sweet disposition. As an adult, although awash in poverty and a bitter marriage, joy surfaced and found a stage in her folk art.
As a child, Maud’s mother taught her to hand-paint Christmas cards, which were sold to neighbors. She played the piano until her fingers grew too arthritic. Even though she quit school after the fifth grade, perhaps due to the taunting of classmates, she had a fairly normal life with her parents.
When her parent’s died in the late ‘30s, her life took a dismal turn. Her brother took the inheritance and left her penniless. A miserly fish peddler, Everett Lewis, hired Maud to be his housekeeper and married her. Their cottage had 272 square feet (16 sq. meters) of space with a sleeping loft. She lived in the one-room hut without electricity or plumbing until she died. A single window lighted the objects she decorated with her art.
Soon after marrying, she painted tulips, birds, animals, and flowers on nearly every surface of the house inside and out. Her miserly husband scrounged and furnished leftover boat paint. Her later paintings, he sold and often hid the money from her.
Maud painted tea tins, dust pans, wallpaper, window panes, and the cottage door. The tiny residence looked like a queen’s garden had bloomed. Fanciful birds, bees and butterflies had flocked to it. Even her wood burning cook stove boasted art work. Her art is in high demand today, and she has become the Grandma Moses of Canada.
After Maud and Everett Lewis were both gone, their small house remained empty for five years and fell into deterioration. An art gallery acquired the cottage and restored it. “The Painted House” now sits in a nook of the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia in Hallifax. To date, it is the most beloved exhibit warehoused there.
With severely crippled hands, sardine tins for her palette and card board for canvases, Maud Lewis’ zest for life flowed through the tips of crude bristle brushes. The tiny frail woman refused to kowtow to a dingy existence.
Maud chose to brush stroke joy onto everyday life.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Golden Drumsticks
Need a gift for the holidays?
Cathy’s devotional book The Stained Glass Pickup is a thoughtful gift that will continue to encourage throughout the year. Read reviews at www.amazon.com and www.christianbooks.com. Autographed copies available at www.stainedglasspickup.com
Golden Drumsticks
A happy heart makes the face cheerful. Proverbs 15:13
One dark and stormy Thanksgiving Day in my kitchen, I wrestled a thawed turkey onto the drain board. The snoozing sun, blanketed by thunderclouds, started to peek from the horizon. Groggy, I set the coffee maker to brewing wake-up java. Coffee done, I poured a cup and wrapped my hands around the warm mug. I read The Courier, and my eyes made their usual stops along the newsprint pages.
Finally, I could dally no longer, so I poured a second cup of coffee and laid out my turkey tools. Grabbing the kitchen shears, I snipped a hole in the snug plastic wrapper around the turkey, but a shiver of fright ran along my arms when I saw the price tag.
I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. I spewed coffee, and blinked again. What I saw couldn’t be true. The price tag read $39.71, BONELESS, SKINLESS TURKEY BREAST. What? I didn’t want all white meat. I wanted turkey drumsticks, and usually paid nothing for the Thanksgiving turkey. This Tom cost 40 bucks.
Those earlier November ads were clever. Grocers enticed shoppers with an offer of a free turkey. Many gave one away or only charged 39 cents per pound if a shopper bought at least $20.00 of mincemeat, marmalade, and mousse makings.
My mind returned to the plastic encased poultry. Did I really pay $40.00? Maybe he was free after all. I lathered hands, rinsed and dried and went in search of my grocery receipt. Locating it, a quadruple digit leaped out of the tallies. Sure enough, the main course, supposed-to-be-free fowl, had deficited my budget by nearly half a hundred.
It was too late to give “Tom” his freedom. Too late to return him to the grocer. Already, Austin, TX relatives were packing their cars, readying to drive to our house. I returned to the kitchen, snipped off his price tag and laid it aside.
Once more, I began to cut the plastic away from the turkey, I consoled myself that at least I’d bought a boneless skinless breast, and we’d have prime turkey. But no. Under the fancy price and phony label was a Pilgrim-plain, bone-in, drumstick-protruding turkey.
Through the rest of dinner preparations, like a neon sign, the $39.71 price tag flashed in my mind. I decided to keep my secret. I corralled my thoughts and shut down the complaint department and ordained “thanksgivings.”
By noon that day, pies were sliced, flaky rolls huddled in an old bun warmer, and a quarter cup of real butter melted on a mound of mashed potatoes. I lifted the browned, “golden,” bird from the oven. He preened on a silver platter.
At our feast table, guests seemed to enjoy cranberries, carrots, and costly turkey. His price tag intruded in my mind once more, and with each bite of turkey I swallowed half dollars—caching, ca-ching.
I consoled myself. Someday, I’d memorialize this old bird in a story. He could outlive the gravy and the clan. I recalled other renowned fowl—Daffy and Donald Duck, Chicken Little, Tweety Bird, the goose that laid the golden eggs.
Cathy’s devotional book The Stained Glass Pickup is a thoughtful gift that will continue to encourage throughout the year. Read reviews at www.amazon.com and www.christianbooks.com. Autographed copies available at www.stainedglasspickup.com
Golden Drumsticks
A happy heart makes the face cheerful. Proverbs 15:13
One dark and stormy Thanksgiving Day in my kitchen, I wrestled a thawed turkey onto the drain board. The snoozing sun, blanketed by thunderclouds, started to peek from the horizon. Groggy, I set the coffee maker to brewing wake-up java. Coffee done, I poured a cup and wrapped my hands around the warm mug. I read The Courier, and my eyes made their usual stops along the newsprint pages.
Finally, I could dally no longer, so I poured a second cup of coffee and laid out my turkey tools. Grabbing the kitchen shears, I snipped a hole in the snug plastic wrapper around the turkey, but a shiver of fright ran along my arms when I saw the price tag.
I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. I spewed coffee, and blinked again. What I saw couldn’t be true. The price tag read $39.71, BONELESS, SKINLESS TURKEY BREAST. What? I didn’t want all white meat. I wanted turkey drumsticks, and usually paid nothing for the Thanksgiving turkey. This Tom cost 40 bucks.
Those earlier November ads were clever. Grocers enticed shoppers with an offer of a free turkey. Many gave one away or only charged 39 cents per pound if a shopper bought at least $20.00 of mincemeat, marmalade, and mousse makings.
My mind returned to the plastic encased poultry. Did I really pay $40.00? Maybe he was free after all. I lathered hands, rinsed and dried and went in search of my grocery receipt. Locating it, a quadruple digit leaped out of the tallies. Sure enough, the main course, supposed-to-be-free fowl, had deficited my budget by nearly half a hundred.
It was too late to give “Tom” his freedom. Too late to return him to the grocer. Already, Austin, TX relatives were packing their cars, readying to drive to our house. I returned to the kitchen, snipped off his price tag and laid it aside.
Once more, I began to cut the plastic away from the turkey, I consoled myself that at least I’d bought a boneless skinless breast, and we’d have prime turkey. But no. Under the fancy price and phony label was a Pilgrim-plain, bone-in, drumstick-protruding turkey.
Through the rest of dinner preparations, like a neon sign, the $39.71 price tag flashed in my mind. I decided to keep my secret. I corralled my thoughts and shut down the complaint department and ordained “thanksgivings.”
By noon that day, pies were sliced, flaky rolls huddled in an old bun warmer, and a quarter cup of real butter melted on a mound of mashed potatoes. I lifted the browned, “golden,” bird from the oven. He preened on a silver platter.
At our feast table, guests seemed to enjoy cranberries, carrots, and costly turkey. His price tag intruded in my mind once more, and with each bite of turkey I swallowed half dollars—caching, ca-ching.
I consoled myself. Someday, I’d memorialize this old bird in a story. He could outlive the gravy and the clan. I recalled other renowned fowl—Daffy and Donald Duck, Chicken Little, Tweety Bird, the goose that laid the golden eggs.
If I keep retelling the story of pricey Tom Turkey, he might join the ranks of other famous fowl. He might make a name for himself, after all.
Wat fun holiday memories do you recall?
The cheerful heart has a continual feast. Proverbs 15:15
Friday, November 16, 2007
Gift Tags
Need a gift for the holidays? Cathy’s devotional book The Stained Glass Pickup is a thoughtful gift that will continue to encourage throughout the year. Read reviews at Amazon and Christianbook.com
Purchase autographed copies here . Or contact writecat@consolidated.net for prices on two or more autographed copies.
Visit Leafwood Publishers / ACU Press for other gift book ideas.
Leigh McLeroy, author of The Beautiful Ache: Finding the God Who Satisfies When Life Does Not, wrote about the tags that God leaves on his gifts to us. Ms. McLeroy and the Thanksgiving holiday led me to think about 2007 blessings.
Heard any Canadian geese flying south this fall? In their flight pattern, an inked signature from God wasn’t sky-written, but his one-of-a-kind mark was in their V-formation.
Last month, when presenting at a women’s renewal in a forested setting, I saw my first Johnny jump-up plant with delicate violet flowers and purple seed pods, and there in the wooded glen—God’s name tag.
Last year at this time, I mentioned the Thousand Gifts List by Ann Voskamp. She said, “I am daily jotting down items on my ‘Thousand Gifts List.’" The discipline of writing down gifts opened her eyes to things unseen before.
She is “working, one-by-one, up to a thousand gifts. Not of gifts I want. But of gifts I have.” Assisted by my “Thousand Gifts List,” I took a short journey back to January of 2007. A few of my favorites:
The smile that spread across three-year-old granddaughter Jolie’s face when she first picked up a harmonica and “played” it. My son married, bringing his wife, Pam, and her five-year-old daughter into our family. Natalie became an instant grandchild, who immediately called me “Grandma Cathy.”
Other gifts were the funny words of Adam, six-year-old grandson. One hour after last year’s Thanksgiving feast that fed 21, he opened my refrigerator and asked, “Grandma, do you have ANYTHING to eat in here?” My conversations with Grandson Jack, nearly ten, deepened. We still talk trivia, but we also talk about social and political issues.
Other gifts came from our customers. We rarely have trouble collecting monies but have occasionally. As many businesses do, if illness or hard times caused delayed payments, we wrote off the debts.
Two customers who owed money contacted us this year and paid in full. One owed us money for three years, the other for 11 years! Their integrity refreshed my faith.
Among other blessings, my husband and I still have four living parents, each couple celebrating over 60 years of marriage. I especially treasure my husband, who still holds my hand.
Author Leigh McLeroy said God’s gifts with nametags are gratifying, but “it's the Giver who really makes my heart sing. Any gift divorced from its giver is a lifeless thing.”
Preparations for guests, pie baking and turkey stuffing might crowd next week, but carve out a bit of one-to-one quiet time and give thanks to the Giver.
What is the number one thing on your "thanksgiving" list?
Purchase autographed copies here . Or contact writecat@consolidated.net for prices on two or more autographed copies.
Visit Leafwood Publishers / ACU Press for other gift book ideas.
Leigh McLeroy, author of The Beautiful Ache: Finding the God Who Satisfies When Life Does Not, wrote about the tags that God leaves on his gifts to us. Ms. McLeroy and the Thanksgiving holiday led me to think about 2007 blessings.
Heard any Canadian geese flying south this fall? In their flight pattern, an inked signature from God wasn’t sky-written, but his one-of-a-kind mark was in their V-formation.
Last month, when presenting at a women’s renewal in a forested setting, I saw my first Johnny jump-up plant with delicate violet flowers and purple seed pods, and there in the wooded glen—God’s name tag.
Last year at this time, I mentioned the Thousand Gifts List by Ann Voskamp. She said, “I am daily jotting down items on my ‘Thousand Gifts List.’" The discipline of writing down gifts opened her eyes to things unseen before.
She is “working, one-by-one, up to a thousand gifts. Not of gifts I want. But of gifts I have.” Assisted by my “Thousand Gifts List,” I took a short journey back to January of 2007. A few of my favorites:
The smile that spread across three-year-old granddaughter Jolie’s face when she first picked up a harmonica and “played” it. My son married, bringing his wife, Pam, and her five-year-old daughter into our family. Natalie became an instant grandchild, who immediately called me “Grandma Cathy.”
Other gifts were the funny words of Adam, six-year-old grandson. One hour after last year’s Thanksgiving feast that fed 21, he opened my refrigerator and asked, “Grandma, do you have ANYTHING to eat in here?” My conversations with Grandson Jack, nearly ten, deepened. We still talk trivia, but we also talk about social and political issues.
Other gifts came from our customers. We rarely have trouble collecting monies but have occasionally. As many businesses do, if illness or hard times caused delayed payments, we wrote off the debts.
Two customers who owed money contacted us this year and paid in full. One owed us money for three years, the other for 11 years! Their integrity refreshed my faith.
Among other blessings, my husband and I still have four living parents, each couple celebrating over 60 years of marriage. I especially treasure my husband, who still holds my hand.
Author Leigh McLeroy said God’s gifts with nametags are gratifying, but “it's the Giver who really makes my heart sing. Any gift divorced from its giver is a lifeless thing.”
Preparations for guests, pie baking and turkey stuffing might crowd next week, but carve out a bit of one-to-one quiet time and give thanks to the Giver.
What is the number one thing on your "thanksgiving" list?
Friday, November 09, 2007
The Cost Per Mile
Travel cost per mile is on the rise.
If you live in Texas, those costs may happen on numbered roads. When I tell folks from out of state that we live on “FM 2854,” some have asked if Texans aren’t clever enough to come up with names for roads.
“FM” means “farm to market.” A few ranchers didn’t like the term “farmer,” so some roads are officially noted as “RM” for ranch to market. And when the cities finally crowd pig, goat, and oat farmers off the land, a road can be changed to “UR,” urban road.
Paul Burka gives stats about these numeric roads in Texas Monthly. FM 168 is the longest farm road—140 “straight-arrow miles,” running through cotton and grain fields west of Lubbock, not even touching a town of more than 2,500. Least traveled is FM 2167 in Briscoe County, maxed out at 10 cars per day near Silverton leading to a Boy Scout camp.
Busier than an ant trail, FM 1093 in Houston is the most traveled farm-to-market. An average of 61,000 vehicles a day travels 1093 in front of the Galleria Mall, also known as Westheimer Road. I vote to change the prefix of FM 1093 to UR, urban road.
The cost for traveling these roads is on the rise. Trust me. The price of beans is going up—again. Close to everything we consume is trucked. When I whine about the cost of diesel, most folk don’t realize that eighteen wheelers only get five miles per gallon of fuel. Tugging 80,000 pounds of freight is costly.
When diesel hit the $3.20 mark this week, our company cost was $6.40 for every 10 miles each truck traveled. Those costs didn’t include insurance, equipment cost or maintenance. Have you priced a new Peterbilt lately?
I’m really not complaining, just stating facts. My husband and I breathe prayers of thanks for each safe day on the roads and for each moment our business is in the profit margin. Our pocket book is not hurting nearly so much as those who pay premium prices to drive to minimum wage jobs.
Roads and driving expenses have me thinking about costs in life—especially about the costs of walking with Jesus. Jesus told his disciples to make up a price-list, and he gave the example of house building. A dream home is one thing, the actual pricing of lumber and porcelains is quite another. Before homebuilding, a thoughtful planner lists all the materials and prices. Who wants to lay a foundation, frame up interior rooms and then find that insulation and drying-in materials are too expensive.
For any who follow Jesus’ path, the disciple-cost price-list could be a helpful exercise, for novice Christians and those on church rolls since the printing press. Why not write out a personal price list. What will the next ten years cost to follow Jesus? To follow the same road Jesus traveled, things may need giving up, handed out or reined in.
Some of Jesus’ disciples gave up professions. Others learned the freedom of giving rather than receiving. Some were rejected by family. One woman poured out repentant tears and received forgiveness. Mahatma Gandhi observed, “I like your Christ, but I do not like your Christians, for they are so unlike your Christ.” Then to Gandhi’s India, Mother Teresa came along and gave a better witness to the Christ.
When you travel on the roads near your home—FM, RM, UR—and you think about the cost of fuel these days, also think about your Jesus price-list. What is the cost per mile to follow him?
For the holidays: Purchase copies of The Stained Glass Pickup at www.leafwoodpublishers.com www.christianbook.com or www.amazon.com Order autographed copies at www.stainedglasspickup.com
If you live in Texas, those costs may happen on numbered roads. When I tell folks from out of state that we live on “FM 2854,” some have asked if Texans aren’t clever enough to come up with names for roads.
“FM” means “farm to market.” A few ranchers didn’t like the term “farmer,” so some roads are officially noted as “RM” for ranch to market. And when the cities finally crowd pig, goat, and oat farmers off the land, a road can be changed to “UR,” urban road.
Paul Burka gives stats about these numeric roads in Texas Monthly. FM 168 is the longest farm road—140 “straight-arrow miles,” running through cotton and grain fields west of Lubbock, not even touching a town of more than 2,500. Least traveled is FM 2167 in Briscoe County, maxed out at 10 cars per day near Silverton leading to a Boy Scout camp.
Busier than an ant trail, FM 1093 in Houston is the most traveled farm-to-market. An average of 61,000 vehicles a day travels 1093 in front of the Galleria Mall, also known as Westheimer Road. I vote to change the prefix of FM 1093 to UR, urban road.
The cost for traveling these roads is on the rise. Trust me. The price of beans is going up—again. Close to everything we consume is trucked. When I whine about the cost of diesel, most folk don’t realize that eighteen wheelers only get five miles per gallon of fuel. Tugging 80,000 pounds of freight is costly.
When diesel hit the $3.20 mark this week, our company cost was $6.40 for every 10 miles each truck traveled. Those costs didn’t include insurance, equipment cost or maintenance. Have you priced a new Peterbilt lately?
I’m really not complaining, just stating facts. My husband and I breathe prayers of thanks for each safe day on the roads and for each moment our business is in the profit margin. Our pocket book is not hurting nearly so much as those who pay premium prices to drive to minimum wage jobs.
Roads and driving expenses have me thinking about costs in life—especially about the costs of walking with Jesus. Jesus told his disciples to make up a price-list, and he gave the example of house building. A dream home is one thing, the actual pricing of lumber and porcelains is quite another. Before homebuilding, a thoughtful planner lists all the materials and prices. Who wants to lay a foundation, frame up interior rooms and then find that insulation and drying-in materials are too expensive.
For any who follow Jesus’ path, the disciple-cost price-list could be a helpful exercise, for novice Christians and those on church rolls since the printing press. Why not write out a personal price list. What will the next ten years cost to follow Jesus? To follow the same road Jesus traveled, things may need giving up, handed out or reined in.
Some of Jesus’ disciples gave up professions. Others learned the freedom of giving rather than receiving. Some were rejected by family. One woman poured out repentant tears and received forgiveness. Mahatma Gandhi observed, “I like your Christ, but I do not like your Christians, for they are so unlike your Christ.” Then to Gandhi’s India, Mother Teresa came along and gave a better witness to the Christ.
When you travel on the roads near your home—FM, RM, UR—and you think about the cost of fuel these days, also think about your Jesus price-list. What is the cost per mile to follow him?
For the holidays: Purchase copies of The Stained Glass Pickup at www.leafwoodpublishers.com www.christianbook.com or www.amazon.com Order autographed copies at www.stainedglasspickup.com
Friday, November 02, 2007
Word Palette
Jolie, my three-year-old granddaughter, is learning to speak English. From toddler gibberish she progressed to complex sentences and words. A few weeks ago, we took her north to Huntsville, Texas. She had recently heard the word “hospital.” When we left to travel north, she told her Pop, “We’re going to Huntspital.”
When our son Russell was acquiring his language skills, he combined “eyelashes” and “eyebrows” into one common word, “eyebrashes.” He also had cemetery and cafeteria confused. In his world, people were buried in cafeterias and had meals in cemeteries.
Where would we be without words, written or spoken? We would no doubt be reduced to animal like communications where we trumpeted, woofed, and cackled. But, thank God, he blessed humans with not only the ability to communicate necessary information, but we can transcend commercial language and express deeper thoughts through verbal expressions of concern, poetry and love notes.
In greeting cards, if you care enough to send the very best a Hallmark card is chosen. Their adept marketing touts their merit through ad campaigns. Hallmark hires trend experts so when we belly up to their card rack, we’ll find the exact words to express our sentiments.
In 2006, their trend experts identified prevalent needs in American society, things they’ve noticed for nearly a decade, that’s when they are categorized as trends. “An emerging and strengthening trend is the search for meaning in a technological, rapidly moving, pressure-filled society – and the sense of dissonance that results.”
Marita Wesely-Clough, a Hallmark trends expert, wrote that “attitudes, perceptions and behavior continually evolve into trends and as individuals, the nation and the world adjust to change, some trends become cultural characteristics.”
God knew that the search for meaning is a life-long trend. To assist us, he created language—the language we use in the market place and the vulnerable language we use to strengthen relationships with family and to pour out woes and praise to God.
Jesus, the embodiment of heaven’s language, behaved, loved, noticed, forgave, extended mercy and righted injustices. In his life, we read good language, God-language.
Just as little children learn language skills, adults are still learning, too. A proverb says, “A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver” (25:11). Families need artists. From a palette of effective words, we can create masterpieces that inspire members to a higher calling.
When our son Russell was acquiring his language skills, he combined “eyelashes” and “eyebrows” into one common word, “eyebrashes.” He also had cemetery and cafeteria confused. In his world, people were buried in cafeterias and had meals in cemeteries.
Where would we be without words, written or spoken? We would no doubt be reduced to animal like communications where we trumpeted, woofed, and cackled. But, thank God, he blessed humans with not only the ability to communicate necessary information, but we can transcend commercial language and express deeper thoughts through verbal expressions of concern, poetry and love notes.
In greeting cards, if you care enough to send the very best a Hallmark card is chosen. Their adept marketing touts their merit through ad campaigns. Hallmark hires trend experts so when we belly up to their card rack, we’ll find the exact words to express our sentiments.
In 2006, their trend experts identified prevalent needs in American society, things they’ve noticed for nearly a decade, that’s when they are categorized as trends. “An emerging and strengthening trend is the search for meaning in a technological, rapidly moving, pressure-filled society – and the sense of dissonance that results.”
Marita Wesely-Clough, a Hallmark trends expert, wrote that “attitudes, perceptions and behavior continually evolve into trends and as individuals, the nation and the world adjust to change, some trends become cultural characteristics.”
God knew that the search for meaning is a life-long trend. To assist us, he created language—the language we use in the market place and the vulnerable language we use to strengthen relationships with family and to pour out woes and praise to God.
Jesus, the embodiment of heaven’s language, behaved, loved, noticed, forgave, extended mercy and righted injustices. In his life, we read good language, God-language.
Just as little children learn language skills, adults are still learning, too. A proverb says, “A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver” (25:11). Families need artists. From a palette of effective words, we can create masterpieces that inspire members to a higher calling.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Tittle-Tattle
The “Witch House” earned its name. Constructed in the mid 16th century and painted black, it’s the only structure to remain that is connected with the infamous witch trials. We toured the house in Salem, Massachusetts and the $20.00 spent on the guided tour was well worth the fee.
The house belonged to Magistrate Jonathan Corwin at the time charges of witchcraft were brought against Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne, and Tituba as accused tormentors of two young girls, Betty Parris, age 9, and Abigail Williams, age 11.
Through centuries, the witch trials brought about much speculation as to the original events that eventually caused the hangings and deaths in prison of 24 people.
The Peabody Essex Museum houses 552 original, preserved documents pertaining to the witchcraft trials. On display are eerie memorabilia such as “Witch Pins,” used in the examination of withes. A small bottle containing the supposed finger bone of victim George Jacobs remains at the Courthouse in Salem.
While Magistrate Jonathan Corwin never wrote anything about the witch trials, he did later offer an apology for his part in the proceedings. The imaginative minds of children and the dynamics of Puritanism obviously played a key role in the deplorable accusations.
“The Crucible,” first a play, early 1900’s, and then later revived in movies, portrays the witch trials of Salem. If you want closer-to-the-truth facts rely on historical documents because liberties were taken in the latest movie, 1996, and known facts were changed to enhance story lines.
Most historians agree that the Old Testament ninth commandment was broken during the accusations and trials: “You shall not bear false witness” (Exodus 20:16). Bearing false witness means that one whispers, bears tales or slanders a person. Of course bearing false witness is as common today as it was at the villainous witch trials in Salem.
When I was a child and first read about the Salem trials, I remember the feeling of horror that young girls could wreak such havoc and cost lives. Not long after, a tale I’d started landed me in trouble, but my parents found out and nipped my insult before anyone went to the gallows.
When someone behaves badly we tend to measure their words, intents, and actions, with an ugly stick. As a listener we have choices to make with what we see and hear. We can think the worst or we can pause and wonder what might have caused their irritability. Reputations, businesses, and lives can be lost because of misconceptions or deliberate slander.
George Bernard Shaw said, “The only person who acts sensibly is my tailor. He takes my measure anew every time he sees me. Everyone else goes by their old measurements.”
A proverb says, “He who covers over an offense promotes love, but whoever repeats the matter separates close friends” (17:9). If you lived in Salem in the 16th Century, tittle-tattle could have separated the neck bone from the backbone. Gossip and slander sever. Follow the tailor’s actions and take new measurements when you meet folks.
The house belonged to Magistrate Jonathan Corwin at the time charges of witchcraft were brought against Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne, and Tituba as accused tormentors of two young girls, Betty Parris, age 9, and Abigail Williams, age 11.
Through centuries, the witch trials brought about much speculation as to the original events that eventually caused the hangings and deaths in prison of 24 people.
The Peabody Essex Museum houses 552 original, preserved documents pertaining to the witchcraft trials. On display are eerie memorabilia such as “Witch Pins,” used in the examination of withes. A small bottle containing the supposed finger bone of victim George Jacobs remains at the Courthouse in Salem.
While Magistrate Jonathan Corwin never wrote anything about the witch trials, he did later offer an apology for his part in the proceedings. The imaginative minds of children and the dynamics of Puritanism obviously played a key role in the deplorable accusations.
“The Crucible,” first a play, early 1900’s, and then later revived in movies, portrays the witch trials of Salem. If you want closer-to-the-truth facts rely on historical documents because liberties were taken in the latest movie, 1996, and known facts were changed to enhance story lines.
Most historians agree that the Old Testament ninth commandment was broken during the accusations and trials: “You shall not bear false witness” (Exodus 20:16). Bearing false witness means that one whispers, bears tales or slanders a person. Of course bearing false witness is as common today as it was at the villainous witch trials in Salem.
When I was a child and first read about the Salem trials, I remember the feeling of horror that young girls could wreak such havoc and cost lives. Not long after, a tale I’d started landed me in trouble, but my parents found out and nipped my insult before anyone went to the gallows.
When someone behaves badly we tend to measure their words, intents, and actions, with an ugly stick. As a listener we have choices to make with what we see and hear. We can think the worst or we can pause and wonder what might have caused their irritability. Reputations, businesses, and lives can be lost because of misconceptions or deliberate slander.
George Bernard Shaw said, “The only person who acts sensibly is my tailor. He takes my measure anew every time he sees me. Everyone else goes by their old measurements.”
A proverb says, “He who covers over an offense promotes love, but whoever repeats the matter separates close friends” (17:9). If you lived in Salem in the 16th Century, tittle-tattle could have separated the neck bone from the backbone. Gossip and slander sever. Follow the tailor’s actions and take new measurements when you meet folks.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Honing Instincts
It flitted by and surprised us. While 13 miles out to sea from the Gloucester, MA harbor, a Monarch butterfly flew close to the deck railing of the whale watching boat. My husband said to a nearby man, “He’s a long way from home.”
That same day, aboard the Hurricane II (115 foot) boat, we saw five juvenile humpback whales. The rich krill feeding grounds of the cold Maine Gulf served ample meals to the youngsters. They filtered gallons of water through baleen plates, and with teenage appetites, fed around the clock, doing their part to reach adult size, up to 50 foot long.
From my vantage point at the rail, the humpbacks looked about the length of their granddaddies. Like us, the juveniles were on a round trip journey. Soon, they would migrate to the warmer waters near the Dominican Republic, the humpback delivery and breeding grounds.
After we returned home, we watched a television special about migrating Monarchs. University and nature programs monitor the Monarch flights. A tagging system, a whisper-light sticker for a wing, allows researchers to track distances and destinations.
School children can get involved in the tagging process at Monarchwatch.org, a comprehensive site with interesting facts and statistics. Monarchs need to store plenty of fat in their abdomens to fly 1,000-3,000 miles to warmer climates. The Monarchs maiden-fly to exact locations and often to the same tree as their late grandparents and great grandparents roosted in the previous year.
Monarchs west of the Rocky Mountains fly to trees along the California coast. Those east of the Rocky Mountains fly to forests in the high mounts of Mexico. In South Texas, you may have seen a lot of Monarchs earlier this week because it was peak time for their travels through our neck of the woods.
“Another unsolved mystery is how Monarchs find the overwintering sites each year,” states monarchwatch.org., in cooperation with the University of Kansas. “No one knows how their honing system works; it is another of the many unanswered questions in the butterfly world.”
During migrating season, if a Monarch is caught and then released hundreds of miles away, it will seem confused for about five days. And then a remarkable thing happens, it somehow gets new flight bearings and joins up with its kin.
People stray, too. Some walked godly paths before, and some have never believed in God. But, I’ve noticed that many will return to belief or find God for the first time, late in life. Solomon said God “set eternity in the hearts of men” (Eccl.3:11).
God excels in creating honing devices in animals and men. His implanted human-heart compasses are capable of pointing folks to him. Seeking the meaning to life is an earth-old quest. The deep seated hope of something eternal is from God.
If you are floundering outside your flight pattern, take hope, this old world is not all there is to life. There is still the God-friendly climate of eternity to return to and explore.
That same day, aboard the Hurricane II (115 foot) boat, we saw five juvenile humpback whales. The rich krill feeding grounds of the cold Maine Gulf served ample meals to the youngsters. They filtered gallons of water through baleen plates, and with teenage appetites, fed around the clock, doing their part to reach adult size, up to 50 foot long.
From my vantage point at the rail, the humpbacks looked about the length of their granddaddies. Like us, the juveniles were on a round trip journey. Soon, they would migrate to the warmer waters near the Dominican Republic, the humpback delivery and breeding grounds.
After we returned home, we watched a television special about migrating Monarchs. University and nature programs monitor the Monarch flights. A tagging system, a whisper-light sticker for a wing, allows researchers to track distances and destinations.
School children can get involved in the tagging process at Monarchwatch.org, a comprehensive site with interesting facts and statistics. Monarchs need to store plenty of fat in their abdomens to fly 1,000-3,000 miles to warmer climates. The Monarchs maiden-fly to exact locations and often to the same tree as their late grandparents and great grandparents roosted in the previous year.
Monarchs west of the Rocky Mountains fly to trees along the California coast. Those east of the Rocky Mountains fly to forests in the high mounts of Mexico. In South Texas, you may have seen a lot of Monarchs earlier this week because it was peak time for their travels through our neck of the woods.
“Another unsolved mystery is how Monarchs find the overwintering sites each year,” states monarchwatch.org., in cooperation with the University of Kansas. “No one knows how their honing system works; it is another of the many unanswered questions in the butterfly world.”
During migrating season, if a Monarch is caught and then released hundreds of miles away, it will seem confused for about five days. And then a remarkable thing happens, it somehow gets new flight bearings and joins up with its kin.
People stray, too. Some walked godly paths before, and some have never believed in God. But, I’ve noticed that many will return to belief or find God for the first time, late in life. Solomon said God “set eternity in the hearts of men” (Eccl.3:11).
God excels in creating honing devices in animals and men. His implanted human-heart compasses are capable of pointing folks to him. Seeking the meaning to life is an earth-old quest. The deep seated hope of something eternal is from God.
If you are floundering outside your flight pattern, take hope, this old world is not all there is to life. There is still the God-friendly climate of eternity to return to and explore.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Need Wisdom, Just Ask
Early morning sun filters into the king’s throne room. Loyal servants hover about, but the peace is shattered by frantic women’s voices from the outer court pleading for an audience with King Solomon.
When King Solomon’s reign began, God offered to help, and Solomon literally asked for a “listening heart” to govern his people. An example of Solomon’s inspired wisdom is found in 1 Kings 3:16-28. Here’s how I imagine the scene.
The women’s arguing made Solomon chuckle to himself, he didn’t like to get involved in women’s quarrels, after all he’s gaining a reputation as a wise king. However, his heart is drawn into the unfolding drama because of another sound--the cries of an infant mixed into the fray.
He motions and two disheveled women walk toward his dais. A bawling newborn is swaddled in a sling in front of one, and the woman makes no effort towards comfort. King Solomon signals for a burly bodyguard to take the infant.
Massive-soldier Hiram does as the king asks, but a frown creases his brow as he awkwardly lifts the tiny babe to his shoulder.
Intent, Solomon listens as the women argue their plights, each claiming to be the birth mother. These facts emerge through their accusations. They live in the same house and both delivered sons the previous week. However, one of the sons died in the night, and now both women swear the tiny babe is theirs.
Solomon wonders which woman is telling the truth. He knows two facts: last night, one woman had a son die and one had a son stolen. Even a fool knew that information added up to two inconsolable women. A swift move of his hand signals for their bickering to stop.
Like a refreshing breath from above, a solution descends upon him. He looks toward Hiram who cradles the mewing infant and wonders how the giant guard has managed to calm the babe? He calls him forward and commands he unsheathe his sword.
Solomon reads his trusted guard’s eyes. Doubt briefly flickered, but he obeys. Hiram stretches out huge palms, in one the babe, in the other the haft of his razor-edged sword. A hush falls over the room.
Solomon steadies his gaze on both women and gives a command to half the child between them. Immediately one woman’s face registers smug pride, but the other woman’s eyes reflect indescribable pain, “Please, my lord, give her the living baby! Don’t kill him!” Solomon has his answer. Only a real mother would be willing to give her son to another to spare his life.
When Solomon became king, God offered him gifts. Instead of wealth, power, or fame he asked for good judgment. All of us could benefit from wisdom that descends from the King of Kings, the kind Solomon received.
James encourages, “If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him” (James 1:5).
That’s a wise request king or not.
When King Solomon’s reign began, God offered to help, and Solomon literally asked for a “listening heart” to govern his people. An example of Solomon’s inspired wisdom is found in 1 Kings 3:16-28. Here’s how I imagine the scene.
The women’s arguing made Solomon chuckle to himself, he didn’t like to get involved in women’s quarrels, after all he’s gaining a reputation as a wise king. However, his heart is drawn into the unfolding drama because of another sound--the cries of an infant mixed into the fray.
He motions and two disheveled women walk toward his dais. A bawling newborn is swaddled in a sling in front of one, and the woman makes no effort towards comfort. King Solomon signals for a burly bodyguard to take the infant.
Massive-soldier Hiram does as the king asks, but a frown creases his brow as he awkwardly lifts the tiny babe to his shoulder.
Intent, Solomon listens as the women argue their plights, each claiming to be the birth mother. These facts emerge through their accusations. They live in the same house and both delivered sons the previous week. However, one of the sons died in the night, and now both women swear the tiny babe is theirs.
Solomon wonders which woman is telling the truth. He knows two facts: last night, one woman had a son die and one had a son stolen. Even a fool knew that information added up to two inconsolable women. A swift move of his hand signals for their bickering to stop.
Like a refreshing breath from above, a solution descends upon him. He looks toward Hiram who cradles the mewing infant and wonders how the giant guard has managed to calm the babe? He calls him forward and commands he unsheathe his sword.
Solomon reads his trusted guard’s eyes. Doubt briefly flickered, but he obeys. Hiram stretches out huge palms, in one the babe, in the other the haft of his razor-edged sword. A hush falls over the room.
Solomon steadies his gaze on both women and gives a command to half the child between them. Immediately one woman’s face registers smug pride, but the other woman’s eyes reflect indescribable pain, “Please, my lord, give her the living baby! Don’t kill him!” Solomon has his answer. Only a real mother would be willing to give her son to another to spare his life.
When Solomon became king, God offered him gifts. Instead of wealth, power, or fame he asked for good judgment. All of us could benefit from wisdom that descends from the King of Kings, the kind Solomon received.
James encourages, “If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him” (James 1:5).
That’s a wise request king or not.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Friendly Award
A man who has friends must himself be friendly~ Proverbs18:24
In the past when someone labeled Texans as unfriendly, I bristled, like the spine-fur on a dog’s neck when its territory is threatened. Even in our huge-hearted state, the unfriendly-label-blanket can be thrown over an entire community when visitors encounter town grouches.
My husband David and I would like to give out a “friendly” award to the Northeast town of Gloucester, Massachusetts. Last week in Gloucester, David and his army buddy (Vietnam) Chris Larsen reunited for the first time in nearly four decades. Over the years, phone calls and mail kept them in touch, and we finally met his lovely wife Joan and family.
Of Finnish descent, Chris Larsen comes from a long line of stout-hearted commercial fishermen. Lost at sea, his grandfather’s and uncle’s names are at a cenotaph, a memorial to those whose remains are elsewhere.
One memorial features a fisherman’s wife and two children gazing toward the Atlantic horizon, searching the seascape for the husband and father they kissed goodbye. Some 10,000 Gloucester fishermen have lost their lives since the 1600s. Over 5,000 known names are honored at the memorials.
Chris owns Larsen’s Shoes on Main Street, a much safer occupation. On a touristy Saturday, he didn’t open his store. Instead, he guided us around Cape Ann. We visited granite rock quarries, wharfs, filming locations for the movie “The Perfect Storm” (about the fishing vessel, “Andrea Gail,” lost at sea 1991). I dipped my toes in the Atlantic, just because I could.
At Stage Fort Park, we walked Half Moon Beach, home to a 1600’s settlement. And, moored on towering rocks we photographed an arsenal of antique cannons, jutting toward the Atlantic. There, we climbed atop 50 foot granite boulders.
Driving in any new area can be challenging. In Gloucester, some streets allow for parking on both sides, narrowing the lane for moving vehicles. Traffic rotaries are abundant, road-hubs where—three, four or five—side roads converge onto the paved circle. Rotary vehicles have the right of way, but on other roads, Chris said, “Everyone has the right-of-way.”
When Dave and I drove in town, friendly folk often let us cut in line. We’d be waiting to turn out of a parking lot onto a busy street, and a charitable driver would stop, honk-honk, and wave us into the traffic. Innumerable times.
Soon, we too had our windows down, waving cars into the bumper-to-bumper parade ahead of us. Like a communicable disease, Massachusetts friendliness went around, and we caught some.
While there, we discussed wild turkeys. Massachusetts still has plenty. To our surprise in downtown Boston a few days later from a trolley window, we saw a lone wild turkey foraging with pigeons on a grassy area. The easygoing pigeons seemed to accept him as one of their own.
To glimpse God’s extravagant handiwork and experience pleasant people, visit Gloucester. And I imagine our friend Chris could outfit you with a nice pair of walking shoes, too.
In the past when someone labeled Texans as unfriendly, I bristled, like the spine-fur on a dog’s neck when its territory is threatened. Even in our huge-hearted state, the unfriendly-label-blanket can be thrown over an entire community when visitors encounter town grouches.
My husband David and I would like to give out a “friendly” award to the Northeast town of Gloucester, Massachusetts. Last week in Gloucester, David and his army buddy (Vietnam) Chris Larsen reunited for the first time in nearly four decades. Over the years, phone calls and mail kept them in touch, and we finally met his lovely wife Joan and family.
Of Finnish descent, Chris Larsen comes from a long line of stout-hearted commercial fishermen. Lost at sea, his grandfather’s and uncle’s names are at a cenotaph, a memorial to those whose remains are elsewhere.
One memorial features a fisherman’s wife and two children gazing toward the Atlantic horizon, searching the seascape for the husband and father they kissed goodbye. Some 10,000 Gloucester fishermen have lost their lives since the 1600s. Over 5,000 known names are honored at the memorials.
Chris owns Larsen’s Shoes on Main Street, a much safer occupation. On a touristy Saturday, he didn’t open his store. Instead, he guided us around Cape Ann. We visited granite rock quarries, wharfs, filming locations for the movie “The Perfect Storm” (about the fishing vessel, “Andrea Gail,” lost at sea 1991). I dipped my toes in the Atlantic, just because I could.
At Stage Fort Park, we walked Half Moon Beach, home to a 1600’s settlement. And, moored on towering rocks we photographed an arsenal of antique cannons, jutting toward the Atlantic. There, we climbed atop 50 foot granite boulders.
Driving in any new area can be challenging. In Gloucester, some streets allow for parking on both sides, narrowing the lane for moving vehicles. Traffic rotaries are abundant, road-hubs where—three, four or five—side roads converge onto the paved circle. Rotary vehicles have the right of way, but on other roads, Chris said, “Everyone has the right-of-way.”
When Dave and I drove in town, friendly folk often let us cut in line. We’d be waiting to turn out of a parking lot onto a busy street, and a charitable driver would stop, honk-honk, and wave us into the traffic. Innumerable times.
Soon, we too had our windows down, waving cars into the bumper-to-bumper parade ahead of us. Like a communicable disease, Massachusetts friendliness went around, and we caught some.
While there, we discussed wild turkeys. Massachusetts still has plenty. To our surprise in downtown Boston a few days later from a trolley window, we saw a lone wild turkey foraging with pigeons on a grassy area. The easygoing pigeons seemed to accept him as one of their own.
To glimpse God’s extravagant handiwork and experience pleasant people, visit Gloucester. And I imagine our friend Chris could outfit you with a nice pair of walking shoes, too.
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