We never know who we may bless when we open the book of our lives, today's page, leave it there, no apologies, just there and pray God will use it to bless another, some other, down in home, down in heart: to touch where they live: a gift.
This morning I am saying "Thank You" to someone who opened hers. I stopped by her table, not by accident, this Thursday morning and pushed her bread to my lips, swallowed, just as she did her bit at church communion washed down by the grapes, crushed.
I can't tell her, except through my prayer. From my lips to God's ear. Its me, hopeful, from God's mouth to her heart. Thank you, Ann. That over-used word in Christian circles, transparency. Ann of the glass world, you are glass and you ministered grace to me, allowing your suffering to mingle with His and pour on me. In me. That deepest place that only He can reach, to touch with a scepter of His healing.
It's what I want my life to do, to be, for other hurting humans, especially my sisters in Christ. But do I? Really?Am I willing to lay it down, lay it open, leave my bread he can change from the common to the holy, for another? The cross. Eucharist is up and down and it's side to side. We are all crosses. To take part in His sufferings, as He takes part in ours.
Today, my own heart knew its selfishness: empty, yawning, cavernous need to be a vessel of receiving, the fullness of Him, to once then again be emptied for another, to pour out in a never ending circle of streaming. He was faithful, is faithful, always.
Girlfriends, stranger, for anyone who stops by, take the Bread. Take the blood, wash in it. Wine of Life. Take it. His cloth is always spread for you, cup full. Ask. It becomes great joy to Him. To feed is His glory. May it also be yours.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Reply to comment online 'Washington Herald"
It's late and my eyelids are droopy. But having come thus far, I refuse to scratch my efforts to reply to the following comments made by 3 responders to a "Washington Herald" article about Franklin Graham's defense of his friend Sarah Palin. Since I didn't wish to subscribe to W.H.'s Disqus, or use my FB account profile, I decided to post here on my own blog.
Stated comments were as follows:
Thomas:
"That sleazeball isn't going to make her (Sarah Palin) look any better, not one bit!"
Daniel:
"The apple certainly fell a long way from the tree in the Graham clan. Poor choice of political ally for Franklin, his dad was much smarter in his choices."
Kika:
"I guess this sheeple herder guy wants to bring all fundamental Christians to her defense.
There is a lot of them out there. Especially the ones that believe dinosaurs walked the earth around 4000 years ago. " (always room for one more)
Me:
Before making derogatory remarks about Franklin Graham please try demonstrating a little true wisdom, diplomacy, and intelligence by doing your research. Going back several generations (read biographer John Pollock's,"A Foreign Devil in China" on the life of Nelson and Virginia Bell and writer Patricia Cornwell's account of the life of Ruth Bell Graham, for starters), members the Bell and Graham families have devoted their lives in service of humanity regardless of ethnicity, nationality, or any other criteria, such as religious belief's or affiliation of those they help.
Franklin is an awesome, 'regular' guy who is not afraid to roll up his sleeves and pitch right in and serve with volunteers for the Christian aids organization, "Samaritans Purse" of which he is president and CEO.
Samaritan's Purse volunteers are first responders in crisis situations in some of the most remote and dangerous spots in the world. Neither is he ashamed of his faith in Jesus Christ who is first in his life. He is incredibly loyal to his friends, whether it makes him popular or not.
It is rare if ever you will hear from mainstream media regarding relief organizations like "Samaritan's Purse" and what they do, "Friendships," YWAM, or others like them that minister unselfishly to the poorest of the poor and those caught in extreme crises such as earthquakes, ethnic wars, hurricanes, sunamis, refugee camps, epidemics and you-name-it.
For Franklin and his entire family, I have the utmost respect and deepest regard. He would, by the way, not be ashamed to be called a shepherd (sheepherder guy), since his Lord and Master refers to Himself as, "The Good Shepherd." And that He is.
Stated comments were as follows:
Thomas:
"That sleazeball isn't going to make her (Sarah Palin) look any better, not one bit!"
Daniel:
"The apple certainly fell a long way from the tree in the Graham clan. Poor choice of political ally for Franklin, his dad was much smarter in his choices."
Kika:
"I guess this sheeple herder guy wants to bring all fundamental Christians to her defense.
There is a lot of them out there. Especially the ones that believe dinosaurs walked the earth around 4000 years ago. " (always room for one more)
Me:
Before making derogatory remarks about Franklin Graham please try demonstrating a little true wisdom, diplomacy, and intelligence by doing your research. Going back several generations (read biographer John Pollock's,"A Foreign Devil in China" on the life of Nelson and Virginia Bell and writer Patricia Cornwell's account of the life of Ruth Bell Graham, for starters), members the Bell and Graham families have devoted their lives in service of humanity regardless of ethnicity, nationality, or any other criteria, such as religious belief's or affiliation of those they help.
Franklin is an awesome, 'regular' guy who is not afraid to roll up his sleeves and pitch right in and serve with volunteers for the Christian aids organization, "Samaritans Purse" of which he is president and CEO.
Samaritan's Purse volunteers are first responders in crisis situations in some of the most remote and dangerous spots in the world. Neither is he ashamed of his faith in Jesus Christ who is first in his life. He is incredibly loyal to his friends, whether it makes him popular or not.
It is rare if ever you will hear from mainstream media regarding relief organizations like "Samaritan's Purse" and what they do, "Friendships," YWAM, or others like them that minister unselfishly to the poorest of the poor and those caught in extreme crises such as earthquakes, ethnic wars, hurricanes, sunamis, refugee camps, epidemics and you-name-it.
For Franklin and his entire family, I have the utmost respect and deepest regard. He would, by the way, not be ashamed to be called a shepherd (sheepherder guy), since his Lord and Master refers to Himself as, "The Good Shepherd." And that He is.
Friday, October 01, 2010
That the World May Know
The Holy Spirit connects the dots for us in scripture: when we ask, seek, knock, familiar verses may suddenly emerge in new light. When we ask, a willingness, or better yet, an eagerness on our part for more please entreats the Teacher to open up a kaleidoscope of new insight. When we seek, He loves to surprise us as a lover his bride with beatiful pearls and gems from His word. When we knock, God the Father delights to share with us, as he does with the Son, the things that belong to Him.
One of the richest truths Jesus longs to convey to all who seek Him is the mystery of our oneness in Him, in the Father, and in each other. Merely shadowed in the Old Testament, Immanuel, God with us, became reality in the new. Following the Passover meal on the night He was taken, Jesus opened up His heart to His disciples. He spoke of things that would shortly come to pass and began to prepare them for His departure from this world. Later on he would dispense His “Great Commission” to go and make disciples in all the world. But tonight Jesus “desired with great desire” a personal and intimate communion with His chosen band of followers.
In passing the baton, our Lord desired most of all to leave His disciples a legacy of love: to reveal how much the Father loved the Son, and how that love united the Father, the Son, and those whom the Father had given Him. But as an added blessing, it was given not only for their sakes alone, but also for those who would believe on Him through their word. In that hour the disciples could not possibly have grasped how much we, in ours, would bank on that promise. Neither did they anticipate the intervention of years from their day to ours.
In the gospel of John, following His going-away discourse to the disciples, Jesus leads directly into His homecoming prayer to the Father. Embedded in this prayer lies our gem of oneness; but it is one that would have held a startling, almost unbelievable concept for Jesus’ followers. For centuries the Jews had been schooled in God’s inapproachable holiness and inaccessibility to sinful man: it would take the coming of the Holy Spirit to bring to their remembrance and comprehension Jesus’ words and actions that night, as well as to shed light upon many of His teachings during His ministry on earth.
In the disciples’ world culture and tradition placed great emphasis on clout and authority. The lesser served the greater. Especially among the Gentiles who ruled over them was this true but even their own Jewish culture had diminished the original intent of God’s methodology. When Jesus washed His disciples feet, those who had often striven with one another, vying for position and preeminence, had their theology turned upside down. This is why Peter drew back from having his Lord perform the menial task of the lowest of the low: the foot-washing servant. “Serve one another, love one another, esteem one another better than oneself.” To His discples this was a foreign concept.
The oneness model for Chrisitians and His ‘new commandment’ to love one another are truly one and the same. They also have literally everything to do with fulfilling His command to spread the "Good News." In His “High Priestly Prayer” Jesus’ petition to the Father makes clear and perfects this lovely and vital truth: “…that they all may be one; as thou Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us; that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.” John 17:21 (KJV)
In verse 23 Jesus deems that last part worth repeating: “…I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one: and that the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as thou hast loved me.”
Can we grasp the significance of the joining of these several truths? Dot to to dot to dot. The lion’s share of our evangelization of the lost hinges on our fervent love one for another. Like a city on a hill our brotherly love shines as a beacon to the weary traveler. No matter the length and breadth of scholarly studies, this is pure Bible theology: straight ‘from His lips to our ears.’ Though there’s not space enough here to list them all, in the gospel and epistles of John alone scriptures abound that echo this vision of loveliness.
In large measure what the world sees in us is what the world will know it can have access to in Christ. In other words, brotherly love is our most effective testimony. The love of the father, the love of Jesus, is measured to the world in lowly us.
“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” John 13:35. (KJV)
One of the richest truths Jesus longs to convey to all who seek Him is the mystery of our oneness in Him, in the Father, and in each other. Merely shadowed in the Old Testament, Immanuel, God with us, became reality in the new. Following the Passover meal on the night He was taken, Jesus opened up His heart to His disciples. He spoke of things that would shortly come to pass and began to prepare them for His departure from this world. Later on he would dispense His “Great Commission” to go and make disciples in all the world. But tonight Jesus “desired with great desire” a personal and intimate communion with His chosen band of followers.
In passing the baton, our Lord desired most of all to leave His disciples a legacy of love: to reveal how much the Father loved the Son, and how that love united the Father, the Son, and those whom the Father had given Him. But as an added blessing, it was given not only for their sakes alone, but also for those who would believe on Him through their word. In that hour the disciples could not possibly have grasped how much we, in ours, would bank on that promise. Neither did they anticipate the intervention of years from their day to ours.
In the gospel of John, following His going-away discourse to the disciples, Jesus leads directly into His homecoming prayer to the Father. Embedded in this prayer lies our gem of oneness; but it is one that would have held a startling, almost unbelievable concept for Jesus’ followers. For centuries the Jews had been schooled in God’s inapproachable holiness and inaccessibility to sinful man: it would take the coming of the Holy Spirit to bring to their remembrance and comprehension Jesus’ words and actions that night, as well as to shed light upon many of His teachings during His ministry on earth.
In the disciples’ world culture and tradition placed great emphasis on clout and authority. The lesser served the greater. Especially among the Gentiles who ruled over them was this true but even their own Jewish culture had diminished the original intent of God’s methodology. When Jesus washed His disciples feet, those who had often striven with one another, vying for position and preeminence, had their theology turned upside down. This is why Peter drew back from having his Lord perform the menial task of the lowest of the low: the foot-washing servant. “Serve one another, love one another, esteem one another better than oneself.” To His discples this was a foreign concept.
The oneness model for Chrisitians and His ‘new commandment’ to love one another are truly one and the same. They also have literally everything to do with fulfilling His command to spread the "Good News." In His “High Priestly Prayer” Jesus’ petition to the Father makes clear and perfects this lovely and vital truth: “…that they all may be one; as thou Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us; that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.” John 17:21 (KJV)
In verse 23 Jesus deems that last part worth repeating: “…I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one: and that the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as thou hast loved me.”
Can we grasp the significance of the joining of these several truths? Dot to to dot to dot. The lion’s share of our evangelization of the lost hinges on our fervent love one for another. Like a city on a hill our brotherly love shines as a beacon to the weary traveler. No matter the length and breadth of scholarly studies, this is pure Bible theology: straight ‘from His lips to our ears.’ Though there’s not space enough here to list them all, in the gospel and epistles of John alone scriptures abound that echo this vision of loveliness.
In large measure what the world sees in us is what the world will know it can have access to in Christ. In other words, brotherly love is our most effective testimony. The love of the father, the love of Jesus, is measured to the world in lowly us.
“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” John 13:35. (KJV)
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Shadow
just lift the edge
if you would like
the shadow’s edge
grasp it gingerly
with the fingertips
slowly
lift and peek beneath
to see what lies under
another world perhaps-
or nothing
impossible you say
but not if there is
wonder
imagination
vision
for mystery and life
keep secrets
if no oneever tries
and yet you may do so
by thinking it through
for where there is shadow
reality
where substance
shadow
attests to what exists
good evidence
not to be denied
if you would like
the shadow’s edge
grasp it gingerly
with the fingertips
slowly
lift and peek beneath
to see what lies under
another world perhaps-
or nothing
impossible you say
but not if there is
wonder
imagination
vision
for mystery and life
keep secrets
if no oneever tries
and yet you may do so
by thinking it through
for where there is shadow
reality
where substance
shadow
attests to what exists
good evidence
not to be denied
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Humorous Devotional
I worked hard on this article, but when I got to the writing challenge submission area at FaithWriters it was closed for this week's challenge, "Write in the Devotional Genre." This has never happened to me before. The number submissions allowed in any given week is 200. Normally they are well under at closing on Thursday morning. I was dissappointed.
But I thought since I have not posted in a long while I might just as well copy it in here. Hope you enjoy. The title is:
But I thought since I have not posted in a long while I might just as well copy it in here. Hope you enjoy. The title is:
Take Shoulders
For reasons I can't explain - the sermon wasn’t boring or anything - people's shoulders began to manifest themselves to me in a pronounced way. I think it was the shape. The more I contemplated them, the odder they seemed. I mean, here’s this globe head, after that a stem; and then these square lumps we call shoulders just jutted right on out there.
I speculated. “Hmmm… wonder why God made shoulders? Well, let's see." They’re good to hang purse straps from, or as a place to pin corsages. To prevent jackets sliding off?” But what else?“I know! Shoulders are great proof humans didn’t evolve. But then I realized evolutionists would claim apes had pre-shoulders or something. I argued with imaginary scientists.
“Pre-shoulders, according to your way of reasoning, would only develop into actual shoulders only for species survival. Like apes with weapons on their backs might tend to develop shoulders. But why would apes bear weapons? ” That silenced them: they had no answer.
“Well, does God talk about shoulders in the Bible?” this time I interrogated me. (Really, the sermon was good that Sunday. I planned to do a word study when I got home.
From Strong I learned the English word shoulder or shoulders appears 61 times in the Bible: 55, OT, twice, NT. Mostly shoulders had a negative connotation: they had to work too hard, they were belligerent, or somebody was sacrificing those of animals. A few times God was removing something from them and that was usually good.
Jesting aside, the shoulder fixation did get me thinking how God sometimes uses unorthodox methods of getting my attention. He works in strange ways or maybe He works with strange people, but I sensed Him telling me shoulders have spiritual implications in need of personal enlightenment.
“How do I use my spiritual shoulders then,” I asked? My word-study scriptures resonated.
When the Lord is trying to get my attention, do I “refuse to hearken, and pull away the shoulder, and stop my ears, that I should not hear?” (Zechariah 7:11) Do my thoughts drift aimlessly in prayer or quiet time? (Does my mind wander in church?)“
Are my shoulders pillows of comfort, or do I “thrust with side and with shoulder, and push all the diseased with my horns, till I have scattered them abroad?” as I just read in Ezekiel. Have my thoughtless words ever run anyone off from church?
Do I “shoulder in” on private matters that don’t concern me? Gossip?
Do I “bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders; but I myself will not move them with one of my fingers? Or do I “bear another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ?” Do I raise the bar for my friends, lower it for me? Do I want them to be there for me, but I’m too busy when they have a need?
Because I’m such a ‘strong Christian’ do I with pride carry my own burdens, or do I lay them on Jesus wide shoulders, “casting all my cares on Him, because He cares for me?” Do I toss and turn and worry, or give my problem to Him and leave it there?
And for my last but not least question: do I point lost folk to Jesus that He might shoulder their burden of sin?
“For what man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.” (Luke 15:4-6)
On second thought I take back that was my last. I have one more. Are you a bizarre person like me? If so, you might be willing to pursue my line of reasoning by asking a question of your own:
“To what use have I put my shoulders lately?”
Monday, April 09, 2007
Happy Easter
We had an awesome service and sermon at church on Easter. Our pastor used John 20 as his main text, focusing on the devotion of Mary Magdalene to her Lord and how it is our devotion and the way it impacts our lives that is most important.
Paraphrased, "Christianity at it's essence is not a theological, academic excercise. It is relational, devotional, impacting."
One thoughtful observation of his centered on Mary's response to seeing the angels, one at the head, the other at the foot of where Jesus body had lain. She didn't say, "WOW! Angels!" and then go off into a torrent of questions about angel life.
Like a bulldog Mary honed right to her main concern: "They have taken away My Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." She was not going to allow the eye-popping, mind-boggling, heart-stopping sight of supernatural messengers from heaven sidetrack her for a single minute.
"Sir if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away."
A common girl grappling with the body of a grown man was a ludicrous thought, but Mary wasn't thinking about logistics. In her zeal and devotion, she leaped past every earthly obstacle.
Our pastor is an excellent Greek scholar and frequently translates entire passages for us from the original. In fact he has large portions of the Bible committed to memory and is able to give comprehensive, contextual references from almost any point in scripture.
More and more though, he has been talking about the futility of mere academic Christianity, such as arguing for hours, as he recently witnessed during a pastor's conference, over proper tense for a verb.
"If if walk out of that place to pass without incident a person in pain or need, I am become nothing but a modern-day Pharisee, swallowing camels and gagging on gnats."
In the midst of all the pre-Easter and Easter activities I did manage to get in a bit of Bible reading and studying on my own of some of the seasonal texts. I would like to share in the form of a short devotional some of what God seemed to be showing me.
More Than Proof is Love
After His resurrection Jesus appeared to His disciples. He stood in their midst and said, “Peace to you.” They thought He was a ghost and were terrified. He said, “Why are you troubled? And why do doubts arise in your hearts? Behold My hands and My feet that it is I Myself. Handle Me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have.” Luke 24:39
More Than Proof is Love
After His resurrection Jesus appeared to His disciples. He stood in their midst and said, “Peace to you.” They thought He was a ghost and were terrified. He said, “Why are you troubled? And why do doubts arise in your hearts? Behold My hands and My feet that it is I Myself. Handle Me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have.” Luke 24:39
He showed them His hands and feet, but they still dared not believe and wondered. Jesus asked the disciples if they had any food, so they gave Him fish and honeycomb. He took it from them and ate it.
In John 20:27, we see Jesus summoning Thomas, “Reach your fingers here, and look at my hands; and reach your hand here, and put it into my side. Do not be unbelieving , but believing.”
I receive more here than documented proof for doubting disciples. I sense a mixing of brotherhood blood. I feel love demonstrated.
In effect Jesus was saying to them - and to us, “Doubting is a painful state to be in. Your doubting is part and parcel with human weakness, one of the stripes of the flesh I took upon myself. As you suffer pain in your doubting, so I suffered pain of beating and the cross."
"See, I have kept the nail-prints and side-wounds: they show I am one with you forever. When I suffered I took on your suffering, when I died I took on your death. As I was resurrected, so you will be resurrected.”
We think we need tangible proof to believe: sight, taste, touch - or something academic or scientific. But the greatest proof of all is shared pain, shared victory. Jesus hands and feet and side were his proof. Not so much the feel of them, or the seeing, but love the animating force that defined them.
That is why we can say with Thomas, “My Lord, and My God!” We know, as he did, that it is our God Who is as near and as real as our own beating heart - our Lord Who is alive again.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Ladies Retreat
Ladies Retreat, Twin Oaks Ranch
Posted on 2007-03-19
Hi y'all,
I've been away for a few days but I'm home now after attending our church's very first ladies retreat in Buda Texas. This past weekend in spite of the fact my body had to adapt to lots of things it wasn't accustomed to, my spirit came back refreshed. Sharing a cabin with four other ladies (one of whom snored like a logger): trying to relax on a rough plank in a sleeping bag with people coming in and going out at odd hours; and attempting to eke lo-carb meals out of hi-carb fare, all were challenges I survived. I am so glad I was privileged to attend.
"In His Image" was the theme Bev Armstrong, our keynote speaker, chose for our time together, introduced during the first session on Friday evening. Bev broke ice that evening by urging us to imagine, then define, our spiritual shape to the person next to us. Several of us looked at one another with a question mark above our heads, but others caught on fast. When called upon to describe their shapes the quicker studies in the group came up with some interesting shapes to share.
To name a few, there was a square, an isosceles triangle, a circle, an oblong, a star, and others - even one squiggly. A few ladies volunteered to explain their reasons for choosing the shapes they did. The oblong said she was a less than perfect circle; star said her points stood for all the different roles she had to play as a mother - triangles were similar. Squares and rectangles said they were more black and white types, with definite edges and boundaries. The squiggly said she felt like she had to be flexible because so many demands were made on her that she had to slip from one identity to another at the drop of a noodle.
After hearing some of the women explain themselves I got a better idea of what was meant. I decided I was a spaghetti because my thoughts are all interconnected. But before I could interject my shape the squiggly lady spoke up and since I felt they were so similar I kept mine to myself. (It seems like that happens to me often in group settings. I think of this brilliant insight and someone else pops out with it first. Always leaves me feeling kind of deflated, you know.)
On Saturday we learned why we had been called upon to think about character shapes. Our speaker drew a circle on the board with a cross inside forming pie-shape divisions or sections within, each one representing ways that God re-shapes us. You see in the beginning of creation we were made in His image, the perfect circle representing a perfect shape. But after the first humans sinned in Eden that shape became distorted. Hence the cross inside the circle to show how God provides a new beginning at Calvary for those who believe.
The upper left section represents the Cross or death of Christ on the cross; the upper right is The Word, or scripture; the lower left is Prayer; and the lower right is our involvement with one another. Each has an impact that is vital to restoring God's image to us. On Saturday, three sessions dealt with the cross, the Word, and Prayer, respectively. The last service, Sunday morning, centered in our relationships with other Christian women.
Since it would require too much space and time I won't go into detail about each of the ways God has planned for us to regain His image. I will however give you a very terse synopsis. On the cross Jesus said, "It is finished!" That means our sin debt was paid in full at the cross - our separation from God repaired. The victory of our salvation was actually won 2,000 years ago. There is obviously however much to be done in respect to our regaining the glory of God's original shaping. While salvation is assured, the scriptures speak of the judgement seat of Christ - according to the material of which they are made our works are either burnt up or rewarded there: gold, silver, wood, hay, stubble. Kingdom works are precious metal that does not burn. Selfish works are the wood, hay, or stubble. This leads us to the next reshaping tool.
"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. How do we make the will of God on earth reality? The scriptures reveal God's mind, His will. The Word of God is the tool of God to change the people of God. Scripture is God-breathed. They self-validates their Godly origin and usefulness for equipping the saints. The Word pierces our attitudes; it has convicting power.
Prayer. Pray the scriptures. This is a wonderful way to communicate with God in His own language. Begin with praise. Psalms is an excellent place to pray praises. Pray the scriptures for your family, your friends, your church, your nation and its leaders. Place your own name in the scripture of request, then pray it back to God.
To complete the circle we must love others as self. Do not use group prayer, or prayer with a prayer partner as a way to manipulate others. Pray to God, not to your group or prayer partner. Don't try to "fix" someone. Instead, come alongside, point to Christ. Bev gave wonderful example of Lydia, a New Testament business woman of means, being in harmony with a former demon-possessed slave girl. Lydia opened her home to Paul and Dr. Luke, her beautiful couch perhaps to be stained by their bloody backs. Lydia had a choice to make. She chose correctly. Bev spoke of the three-strand cord in Proverbs, suggesting we ask God to bring us someone of His choosing for us to interact with, for just one year. Both parties in a discipleship relationship have something to gain. It is never one sided. Women under the influence of the Holy Spirit can make a tremendous difference in their church and community.
On Saturday evening we had quiet time with God, individually under the stars. Afterward we came together around a bonfire and shared our hearts. I shared how He spoke to me about standing on His airhose. I was stopping Holy Spirit flow, suffocating myself with my own selfish pursuits. Into the fire went our mistakes, repentances, regrets, baggage. We were cleansed and bonded together as one.
To end on a lighter note I will share one of the more humorous incidents that happened at retreat. Each lady at registration was given a gift bag filled with frilly girl-type items. One of the items in each bag was a container of liquid hand soap. I know because I read the label. In our cabin I was the first to pull mine from the bag. I set it on the lavatory for all of us to use. But it was not until the second day that I observed one of my cabin buddies removing her container and squishing some of the pink liquid into the palm of her hand. She was at the time sitting on her bunk. I remarked how nice she had gotten hand lotion. "I only got soap!" I complained. She started to read her label. It said HAND SOAP. We had a good laugh.
Later at lunch around a table of about 8 ladies we were recalling the incident to a friend. She said, "Oh! That was soap?!!" I rubbed it all over my body after my shower this morning." Of course since we were already giggling you can imagine the peals of laughter this new revelation provoked. We teased her with all kinds of scenarios. If we saw bubbles coming out from under her cabin door we would know she was in the shower. We told her she better only wash one leg or an arm at a time. "Doesn't it itch?" we wanted to know. "Not really," she said. "I just feel a little slick." When I told my husband later at home he said she best not get caught in a rainstorm. Our sweet-natured friend took it all in good humor, joining with us in poking fun at herself.
Until next time, be sure to read all your labels.
Posted on 2007-03-19
Hi y'all,
I've been away for a few days but I'm home now after attending our church's very first ladies retreat in Buda Texas. This past weekend in spite of the fact my body had to adapt to lots of things it wasn't accustomed to, my spirit came back refreshed. Sharing a cabin with four other ladies (one of whom snored like a logger): trying to relax on a rough plank in a sleeping bag with people coming in and going out at odd hours; and attempting to eke lo-carb meals out of hi-carb fare, all were challenges I survived. I am so glad I was privileged to attend.
"In His Image" was the theme Bev Armstrong, our keynote speaker, chose for our time together, introduced during the first session on Friday evening. Bev broke ice that evening by urging us to imagine, then define, our spiritual shape to the person next to us. Several of us looked at one another with a question mark above our heads, but others caught on fast. When called upon to describe their shapes the quicker studies in the group came up with some interesting shapes to share.
To name a few, there was a square, an isosceles triangle, a circle, an oblong, a star, and others - even one squiggly. A few ladies volunteered to explain their reasons for choosing the shapes they did. The oblong said she was a less than perfect circle; star said her points stood for all the different roles she had to play as a mother - triangles were similar. Squares and rectangles said they were more black and white types, with definite edges and boundaries. The squiggly said she felt like she had to be flexible because so many demands were made on her that she had to slip from one identity to another at the drop of a noodle.
After hearing some of the women explain themselves I got a better idea of what was meant. I decided I was a spaghetti because my thoughts are all interconnected. But before I could interject my shape the squiggly lady spoke up and since I felt they were so similar I kept mine to myself. (It seems like that happens to me often in group settings. I think of this brilliant insight and someone else pops out with it first. Always leaves me feeling kind of deflated, you know.)
On Saturday we learned why we had been called upon to think about character shapes. Our speaker drew a circle on the board with a cross inside forming pie-shape divisions or sections within, each one representing ways that God re-shapes us. You see in the beginning of creation we were made in His image, the perfect circle representing a perfect shape. But after the first humans sinned in Eden that shape became distorted. Hence the cross inside the circle to show how God provides a new beginning at Calvary for those who believe.
The upper left section represents the Cross or death of Christ on the cross; the upper right is The Word, or scripture; the lower left is Prayer; and the lower right is our involvement with one another. Each has an impact that is vital to restoring God's image to us. On Saturday, three sessions dealt with the cross, the Word, and Prayer, respectively. The last service, Sunday morning, centered in our relationships with other Christian women.
Since it would require too much space and time I won't go into detail about each of the ways God has planned for us to regain His image. I will however give you a very terse synopsis. On the cross Jesus said, "It is finished!" That means our sin debt was paid in full at the cross - our separation from God repaired. The victory of our salvation was actually won 2,000 years ago. There is obviously however much to be done in respect to our regaining the glory of God's original shaping. While salvation is assured, the scriptures speak of the judgement seat of Christ - according to the material of which they are made our works are either burnt up or rewarded there: gold, silver, wood, hay, stubble. Kingdom works are precious metal that does not burn. Selfish works are the wood, hay, or stubble. This leads us to the next reshaping tool.
"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. How do we make the will of God on earth reality? The scriptures reveal God's mind, His will. The Word of God is the tool of God to change the people of God. Scripture is God-breathed. They self-validates their Godly origin and usefulness for equipping the saints. The Word pierces our attitudes; it has convicting power.
Prayer. Pray the scriptures. This is a wonderful way to communicate with God in His own language. Begin with praise. Psalms is an excellent place to pray praises. Pray the scriptures for your family, your friends, your church, your nation and its leaders. Place your own name in the scripture of request, then pray it back to God.
To complete the circle we must love others as self. Do not use group prayer, or prayer with a prayer partner as a way to manipulate others. Pray to God, not to your group or prayer partner. Don't try to "fix" someone. Instead, come alongside, point to Christ. Bev gave wonderful example of Lydia, a New Testament business woman of means, being in harmony with a former demon-possessed slave girl. Lydia opened her home to Paul and Dr. Luke, her beautiful couch perhaps to be stained by their bloody backs. Lydia had a choice to make. She chose correctly. Bev spoke of the three-strand cord in Proverbs, suggesting we ask God to bring us someone of His choosing for us to interact with, for just one year. Both parties in a discipleship relationship have something to gain. It is never one sided. Women under the influence of the Holy Spirit can make a tremendous difference in their church and community.
On Saturday evening we had quiet time with God, individually under the stars. Afterward we came together around a bonfire and shared our hearts. I shared how He spoke to me about standing on His airhose. I was stopping Holy Spirit flow, suffocating myself with my own selfish pursuits. Into the fire went our mistakes, repentances, regrets, baggage. We were cleansed and bonded together as one.
To end on a lighter note I will share one of the more humorous incidents that happened at retreat. Each lady at registration was given a gift bag filled with frilly girl-type items. One of the items in each bag was a container of liquid hand soap. I know because I read the label. In our cabin I was the first to pull mine from the bag. I set it on the lavatory for all of us to use. But it was not until the second day that I observed one of my cabin buddies removing her container and squishing some of the pink liquid into the palm of her hand. She was at the time sitting on her bunk. I remarked how nice she had gotten hand lotion. "I only got soap!" I complained. She started to read her label. It said HAND SOAP. We had a good laugh.
Later at lunch around a table of about 8 ladies we were recalling the incident to a friend. She said, "Oh! That was soap?!!" I rubbed it all over my body after my shower this morning." Of course since we were already giggling you can imagine the peals of laughter this new revelation provoked. We teased her with all kinds of scenarios. If we saw bubbles coming out from under her cabin door we would know she was in the shower. We told her she better only wash one leg or an arm at a time. "Doesn't it itch?" we wanted to know. "Not really," she said. "I just feel a little slick." When I told my husband later at home he said she best not get caught in a rainstorm. Our sweet-natured friend took it all in good humor, joining with us in poking fun at herself.
Until next time, be sure to read all your labels.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Perils Of The Undermice
Sharing my latest!
“What do you think about this?” Over a cup of hot coffee, I was jawing with my fellow writer friend Ross about animated movie script ideas.
“You got a mice couple, call ‘em Ikedrom and Molly, never had any kids. Live in the walls of an old abandoned apartment building. Old man, he’s happy, the way things are. But the wife, she’s freaking out because she wants a kid so bad. Nags Ikedrom all the time.
One day they find a blankie on their doorstep. Turns out, there’s a newborn kitten wrapped inside. Molly wants to keep it, Ikedrom thinks Molly’s nuts. They argue. Molly digs in, takes matters into her own paws. She drags the blankie inside - names the kitty Rehtse, feeds it from an old rubber glove of Ike’s.
Before long Molly realizes Rehtse is getting too big for her blankie and their apartment. She needs Ike to help her figure out a way to move Rehtse someplace roomier- but close enough so she can still look after her. So she makes up with Ike. Idea is maybe he can find a closet or an attic or something in the building and create an opening from there into their apartment.
Ikedrom agrees to venture into the wide world of their building to see what he can see. Next morning at daybreak, he sets out.
“Wait a minute,” Ross interrupts - rather rudely, I’m thinking. “Plot sounds kind of’ fantastical to me. Nobody’s gonna’ buy it. You know, suspension of belief and all that!”
“Patience, friend,” I counter him, “there’s a thread. Besides, you the myth-king of all time, are telling me my story’s too fantastical?”
“Well, all right,” my friend relents, but with a martyred look on his face. But try to get on with it, will you? Just give me a rough outline.”
Okay, I’ll try but I’m not sure I can do justice just hitting the high points.” I taste my coffee and frown deeply. Ross has been jabbering so much, it’s gotten cold.
“Anyhow, so Ikedrom crawls out a crack, climbs a vine, and re-enters through an air-duct. Once inside he starts to look around and sure enough finds the perfect hidey-hole for Rehtse. But before he can make it back to tell Molly, he overhears two renegade cat denizens, Namah and Manah, plotting against the big hama-hama cat of the neighborhood, Sure-Usa-Dak-Uben.
So happens big guy is a champion of the under dog mice folk and has just made a decree in their favor. The two traitors don’t like it so they’re gonna’ do him in.”
“Nope, nope, story line’s never gonna’ work!” Its Ross again, rearing back in his arrogance.
“What do you mean it won’t work? I think it’s great!”
“Audience won’t sit still for it. Too weird! But do go on!”
“Thanks buddy, I think I will!” I clear my throat.
“As soon as the coast is clear old Ike rushes back home to tell Molly what he overheard. They write a note to Sure-Usa warning him of danger and the plot against him is foiled. Sure-Usa writes it all down on a sticky-note, but then forgets all about it.
Months go by and Rehtse grows into a little beauty. She loves her adoptive mice parents but senses it’s time to move on. Once in the hood, she becomes queen of the hop. Sure-Usa notices Rehtse, Rehtse notices Sure-Usa. They become inseparable and begin wedding plans. Rehtse doesn’t tell Sure-Usa about her mice relations.
Before you know it a new dastardly plot arises in the enemy camp. Namah and Manah are spreading it that mice cause golden tumors on cats. All mice are declared enemies of the state and are to be exterminated. Without realizing what he’s doing, Sure-Usa signs the bill.”
“Oh my goodness!” Ross is shaking his head, determined not to let me get a word in edgewise.
“Please!” I hold up a hand. “I’m almost done.”
“Ikedrom goes looking for Rehtse - finds her basking at her ease. Tells her about dastardly plot, enlists her aid. Rhetse agrees but demands backup: all mice have to give up cheese for Lent. Mice of the hood agree.
Meanwhile, Sure-Usa can’t sleep one night, finds wadded-up note under him is reason. Reads note that Ikedrom saved his life one time. Gives Ike a new suit of clothes.
Rehtse hatches plan. Invites Sure-Usa, Namah and Manah to a party. Rehtse confesses her humble beginnings to Sure-Usa and rats on Namah and Manah. She begs a mice reprieve for her adoptive kinfolk. When Sure-Usa catches Namah and Manah trying to claw Rehtse, that corks it. He banishes them to Pied Piper land. Rehtse, Sure-Usa, Ikedrom and Molly all take a cruise together. On Namah and Manah’s money.”
“Now see, that didn’t take too long!”
“Well, it might be okay,” this was quite a concession for such as Ross. But I couldn't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. And it did.
“But I have just one question… (here it came) why a weird name like Molly?”
“I don’t know,” I said, after thinking about it a minute or two. I scratched my head, “That’s just her name, I guess!”
“What do you think about this?” Over a cup of hot coffee, I was jawing with my fellow writer friend Ross about animated movie script ideas.
“You got a mice couple, call ‘em Ikedrom and Molly, never had any kids. Live in the walls of an old abandoned apartment building. Old man, he’s happy, the way things are. But the wife, she’s freaking out because she wants a kid so bad. Nags Ikedrom all the time.
One day they find a blankie on their doorstep. Turns out, there’s a newborn kitten wrapped inside. Molly wants to keep it, Ikedrom thinks Molly’s nuts. They argue. Molly digs in, takes matters into her own paws. She drags the blankie inside - names the kitty Rehtse, feeds it from an old rubber glove of Ike’s.
Before long Molly realizes Rehtse is getting too big for her blankie and their apartment. She needs Ike to help her figure out a way to move Rehtse someplace roomier- but close enough so she can still look after her. So she makes up with Ike. Idea is maybe he can find a closet or an attic or something in the building and create an opening from there into their apartment.
Ikedrom agrees to venture into the wide world of their building to see what he can see. Next morning at daybreak, he sets out.
“Wait a minute,” Ross interrupts - rather rudely, I’m thinking. “Plot sounds kind of’ fantastical to me. Nobody’s gonna’ buy it. You know, suspension of belief and all that!”
“Patience, friend,” I counter him, “there’s a thread. Besides, you the myth-king of all time, are telling me my story’s too fantastical?”
“Well, all right,” my friend relents, but with a martyred look on his face. But try to get on with it, will you? Just give me a rough outline.”
Okay, I’ll try but I’m not sure I can do justice just hitting the high points.” I taste my coffee and frown deeply. Ross has been jabbering so much, it’s gotten cold.
“Anyhow, so Ikedrom crawls out a crack, climbs a vine, and re-enters through an air-duct. Once inside he starts to look around and sure enough finds the perfect hidey-hole for Rehtse. But before he can make it back to tell Molly, he overhears two renegade cat denizens, Namah and Manah, plotting against the big hama-hama cat of the neighborhood, Sure-Usa-Dak-Uben.
So happens big guy is a champion of the under dog mice folk and has just made a decree in their favor. The two traitors don’t like it so they’re gonna’ do him in.”
“Nope, nope, story line’s never gonna’ work!” Its Ross again, rearing back in his arrogance.
“What do you mean it won’t work? I think it’s great!”
“Audience won’t sit still for it. Too weird! But do go on!”
“Thanks buddy, I think I will!” I clear my throat.
“As soon as the coast is clear old Ike rushes back home to tell Molly what he overheard. They write a note to Sure-Usa warning him of danger and the plot against him is foiled. Sure-Usa writes it all down on a sticky-note, but then forgets all about it.
Months go by and Rehtse grows into a little beauty. She loves her adoptive mice parents but senses it’s time to move on. Once in the hood, she becomes queen of the hop. Sure-Usa notices Rehtse, Rehtse notices Sure-Usa. They become inseparable and begin wedding plans. Rehtse doesn’t tell Sure-Usa about her mice relations.
Before you know it a new dastardly plot arises in the enemy camp. Namah and Manah are spreading it that mice cause golden tumors on cats. All mice are declared enemies of the state and are to be exterminated. Without realizing what he’s doing, Sure-Usa signs the bill.”
“Oh my goodness!” Ross is shaking his head, determined not to let me get a word in edgewise.
“Please!” I hold up a hand. “I’m almost done.”
“Ikedrom goes looking for Rehtse - finds her basking at her ease. Tells her about dastardly plot, enlists her aid. Rhetse agrees but demands backup: all mice have to give up cheese for Lent. Mice of the hood agree.
Meanwhile, Sure-Usa can’t sleep one night, finds wadded-up note under him is reason. Reads note that Ikedrom saved his life one time. Gives Ike a new suit of clothes.
Rehtse hatches plan. Invites Sure-Usa, Namah and Manah to a party. Rehtse confesses her humble beginnings to Sure-Usa and rats on Namah and Manah. She begs a mice reprieve for her adoptive kinfolk. When Sure-Usa catches Namah and Manah trying to claw Rehtse, that corks it. He banishes them to Pied Piper land. Rehtse, Sure-Usa, Ikedrom and Molly all take a cruise together. On Namah and Manah’s money.”
“Now see, that didn’t take too long!”
“Well, it might be okay,” this was quite a concession for such as Ross. But I couldn't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. And it did.
“But I have just one question… (here it came) why a weird name like Molly?”
“I don’t know,” I said, after thinking about it a minute or two. I scratched my head, “That’s just her name, I guess!”
Friday, March 02, 2007
Back - yes again
An updated version of an old post. I had been lax in posting anything at all for some time when the original version of this story appeared. After another lapse of time (much longer) I am reworking some of my older challenge articles from Faithwriters. The challenge subject- Sewing. 150-750 words.
A New Beginning for Sylvie
Sylvie sat near an open window staring out at the front lawn, unmindful she had massaged her knuckles until they were nearly raw. In her lap lay an officious-looking letter, unopened. She hadn’t been able to attend her church for some time now and her giving was next to nothing. For that reason she feared the letter had to do with removing her from the church roster.
As she watched, a few dispirited, brown leaves circled in their own personal, small tornado before an instant gust of wind sent them scooting across the lawn. “Just like me,” she thought, dry and useless as an old, dead leaf, spent and good for nothing but the burn pile.”
The elderly lady’s birdlike features pinched into a knot as she sought to hold onto the flood of weeping mounting in her throat. “Oh Lord, just take me home,” she sobbed, bending nearly double into her lap. “What good am I to a blessed soul on earth? What good am I to You Lord, for that matter?”
“Ma’am?” It was Torie, Sylvie’s care-giver. “I got the soup all heated up now and don’t it smell good! And if you want we can have some of those nice oyster crackers you like so much! C’mon now sweetie, you hadn’ had a bite all day,” Torie’s narrow, plain face widened in a smile of encouragement.
Ashamed to be caught in such an emotional display, Sylvie righted herself, pulled a tissue from its container and began to dab at her face. Then with some difficulty, she sought to release the hand-brake on her wheel-chair. “At least I can still do that,” she chirruped in an attempt to sound more upbeat. But as sharp pain stabbed through her arthritic fingers she winced and had to stifle a moan.
---
For over half a century, Sylvie had been the unofficial seamstress for her church. Over the years she had stitched her way through mountains of sewing projects: choir robes that needed hemming or altering; velvet covers for the kneeling pads at the altar; curtains for Sunday School rooms and tapestries for the vestry; more kid’s pageant costumes than anyone could keep track of.
Her church pals used to stand in amazement, “Sylvie, you hop around like a flea – don’t know how you get a thing done. But if you don’t accomplish more than all the rest of us put together my name isn't (and here you may place whoever's name it was that was poking harmless fun at Sylvie)! Must be your gift!”
Sylvie was certain they were right; and what joy to one whose only family had been her church sisters and brothers. Sylvie was an orphan and had never married.
But now her gift and the days of her usefulness were all behind her. What with that new, young man they had hired as a pastor, and most of her friends having passed over, Sylvie felt very few even knew who she was: much less the role she had played in the life of her church.
--
“Would you like me to open your letter for you?” Torie broke in on Sylvie’s gray thoughts.
In days to come Sylvie would muse over how her heart leapt when Torie asked that simple question.. How it pounded with hope as it hadn’t done in months, maybe years. And why she answered her as she did when only a few moments before she had been droopy as a wet sheet. “Yes, I think I would. And read it aloud to me, if you don’t mind.”
The letter began with a greeting from Pastor Tom, his family, and the members at large. After that came something that left Sylvie dumbfounded: Pastor was thanking her for her many years' service to the church and inviting her to a special banquet to be held in her honor next Sunday. And if that weren't enough, he wrote, “if you feel up to it, would you consider heading up the new prayer chain the church is forming?” The council had been unanimous in naming her as their first choice.
Would she? My limbs may not be what they used to, but there’s not a thing wrong with my pray-er. And after all, since the chain-stitch has always been my favorite, how can I refuse? ”
A New Beginning for Sylvie
Sylvie sat near an open window staring out at the front lawn, unmindful she had massaged her knuckles until they were nearly raw. In her lap lay an officious-looking letter, unopened. She hadn’t been able to attend her church for some time now and her giving was next to nothing. For that reason she feared the letter had to do with removing her from the church roster.
As she watched, a few dispirited, brown leaves circled in their own personal, small tornado before an instant gust of wind sent them scooting across the lawn. “Just like me,” she thought, dry and useless as an old, dead leaf, spent and good for nothing but the burn pile.”
The elderly lady’s birdlike features pinched into a knot as she sought to hold onto the flood of weeping mounting in her throat. “Oh Lord, just take me home,” she sobbed, bending nearly double into her lap. “What good am I to a blessed soul on earth? What good am I to You Lord, for that matter?”
“Ma’am?” It was Torie, Sylvie’s care-giver. “I got the soup all heated up now and don’t it smell good! And if you want we can have some of those nice oyster crackers you like so much! C’mon now sweetie, you hadn’ had a bite all day,” Torie’s narrow, plain face widened in a smile of encouragement.
Ashamed to be caught in such an emotional display, Sylvie righted herself, pulled a tissue from its container and began to dab at her face. Then with some difficulty, she sought to release the hand-brake on her wheel-chair. “At least I can still do that,” she chirruped in an attempt to sound more upbeat. But as sharp pain stabbed through her arthritic fingers she winced and had to stifle a moan.
---
For over half a century, Sylvie had been the unofficial seamstress for her church. Over the years she had stitched her way through mountains of sewing projects: choir robes that needed hemming or altering; velvet covers for the kneeling pads at the altar; curtains for Sunday School rooms and tapestries for the vestry; more kid’s pageant costumes than anyone could keep track of.
Her church pals used to stand in amazement, “Sylvie, you hop around like a flea – don’t know how you get a thing done. But if you don’t accomplish more than all the rest of us put together my name isn't (and here you may place whoever's name it was that was poking harmless fun at Sylvie)! Must be your gift!”
Sylvie was certain they were right; and what joy to one whose only family had been her church sisters and brothers. Sylvie was an orphan and had never married.
But now her gift and the days of her usefulness were all behind her. What with that new, young man they had hired as a pastor, and most of her friends having passed over, Sylvie felt very few even knew who she was: much less the role she had played in the life of her church.
--
“Would you like me to open your letter for you?” Torie broke in on Sylvie’s gray thoughts.
In days to come Sylvie would muse over how her heart leapt when Torie asked that simple question.. How it pounded with hope as it hadn’t done in months, maybe years. And why she answered her as she did when only a few moments before she had been droopy as a wet sheet. “Yes, I think I would. And read it aloud to me, if you don’t mind.”
The letter began with a greeting from Pastor Tom, his family, and the members at large. After that came something that left Sylvie dumbfounded: Pastor was thanking her for her many years' service to the church and inviting her to a special banquet to be held in her honor next Sunday. And if that weren't enough, he wrote, “if you feel up to it, would you consider heading up the new prayer chain the church is forming?” The council had been unanimous in naming her as their first choice.
Would she? My limbs may not be what they used to, but there’s not a thing wrong with my pray-er. And after all, since the chain-stitch has always been my favorite, how can I refuse? ”
Friday, December 29, 2006
The Sacrifice
Opening a page from the past.
I stood watching from the kitchen door, knowing I wanted no part of it. Mother was gathering materials to wash my hair. Like a pet wary of a bath I knew the routine and arrayed myself to resist.
She placed a clean, white folded towel on the drainboard, opened the cabinet door and took out the shampoo bottle and set it down. The liquid inside was pearly green and on the outside were letters I understood: P-R-E-L-L. I had asked Mother once to use HALO, certain it had power to produce shiny ringlets like Sydney’s, the prettiest girl in class at school. But she told me it was ‘too high.’
Before she could open her mouth and say, “C'mon honey, let’s get that dirty head scrubbed,” I started to whimper and edge away. She glided over and swirled me up.
“It hurts!” I was well into waterworks now, and kicking.
“Oh, it doesn’t hurt that much!” Now she was transporting me across the room.
“Yes, it does, it pulls! Your fingernails scra-a-a-atch!” I struggled but not too violently as I was under authority.
I tobogganed from her grasp onto the drainboard by the sink. My bottom made contact with the cold counter-top; my legs flopped against the wood door beneath.
She pushed my head back, “No!!” and stretched me out, “Puleeze!!”
Lamb for the slaughter.
I stood watching from the kitchen door, knowing I wanted no part of it. Mother was gathering materials to wash my hair. Like a pet wary of a bath I knew the routine and arrayed myself to resist.
She placed a clean, white folded towel on the drainboard, opened the cabinet door and took out the shampoo bottle and set it down. The liquid inside was pearly green and on the outside were letters I understood: P-R-E-L-L. I had asked Mother once to use HALO, certain it had power to produce shiny ringlets like Sydney’s, the prettiest girl in class at school. But she told me it was ‘too high.’
Before she could open her mouth and say, “C'mon honey, let’s get that dirty head scrubbed,” I started to whimper and edge away. She glided over and swirled me up.
“It hurts!” I was well into waterworks now, and kicking.
“Oh, it doesn’t hurt that much!” Now she was transporting me across the room.
“Yes, it does, it pulls! Your fingernails scra-a-a-atch!” I struggled but not too violently as I was under authority.
I tobogganed from her grasp onto the drainboard by the sink. My bottom made contact with the cold counter-top; my legs flopped against the wood door beneath.
She pushed my head back, “No!!” and stretched me out, “Puleeze!!”
Lamb for the slaughter.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Paradox of God
Have you ever given thought to, or viewed God and/or the things of God with an eye to discover a bit of paradox? I have in the past at various times, but it seems lately He is placing this concoction of confectionery before me almost daily, saying, “Here try one!” or “How about this kind?”
Some years ago now, I first read Philip Yancey’s book, “The Jesus I Never Knew.” In it each chapter is prologued with a quote from a famous person, one being from Napoleon where he begins, “Everything in Christ astonishes me. . .”
The proclamation itself astonished me! Because while I had chronicled many wonderful things about Jesus, astonishment, or surprise had never been one of them. I guess I must have been awfully stodgy back then, but that is the profane truth.
In the ten or more years that have passed since that time I have learned to count on Jesus' surprises. He has never disenchanted me. Sheer numbers, paradoxes in Himself unveiled, are one of the mechanisms He employs to amaze.
The paradox of strength in weakness has been a recent confounding of mine. At church I opted for a ladies bible study with the dubious title, “Confident Weakness.” The springboard scripture, II Cor.12: 9, was like a Russian nesting doll in reverse. For example inside one babushka named "Weak Christian" might have been another called "Strong Savior." Each revelation became more glorious than the previous.
But then last Sunday the buzzword came flying at me again, this time from Pastor’s Christmas sermon. Hearing his comments on the great paradox of the Incarnation, I began to recognize a pattern. “The Lord is trying to tell me something,” I said in my spirit; and I began riffling through mental archives.
What a throng came swooping down! Scriptures, passages, and persons from the Old and New Testaments. Parables and principles. Attributes of God the Father, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. And I feel certain there are hundreds, probably thousands more in the stands, watching. I delight to share but a few.
Paradox I, and so forth:
If you want to have a lot of faith, have a little.
“. . . assuredly, I say to you, if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you." Matt 17:20
If you want to save your life, lose it.
"He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for my sake will find it. Matt 10:39.
If you want to be strong, be weak.
“And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me,” II Cor. 12:9
If you want to be master, be servant.
"But he who is greatest among you shall be your servant. And whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted. Matt. 23:11-12
If you would be rich, be poor. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, For theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Matt. 5:3
If you desire to rejoice, be sad.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Matt. 5:4
If you want to be full, be hungry.
“Blessed are those who do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled.” Matt. 5:7
If you want to slay a giant, call a child.
“And Saul said to David, "You are not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him; for you are a youth, and he a man of war from his youth." I Sam 17:33
“Then David put his hand in his bag and took out a stone; and he slung it and struck the Philistine in his forehead, so that the stone sank into his forehead, and he fell on his face to the earth. I Sam 17:49
If you have a sacrifice to ignite, pour water on it.
“Then the fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt sacrifice, and the wood and the stones and the dust, and it licked up the water that was in the trench.” Elijah before the priests of Baal in I Kings 18:38
For want of paper I leave this last as summation of all former. If you crave to hear a word from the Almighty, listen for the still, small voice.
“Then He said, "Go out, and stand on the mountain before the Lord." And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. So it was, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave. Suddenly a voice came to him, and said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" 1Kings 19:11-13
Some years ago now, I first read Philip Yancey’s book, “The Jesus I Never Knew.” In it each chapter is prologued with a quote from a famous person, one being from Napoleon where he begins, “Everything in Christ astonishes me. . .”
The proclamation itself astonished me! Because while I had chronicled many wonderful things about Jesus, astonishment, or surprise had never been one of them. I guess I must have been awfully stodgy back then, but that is the profane truth.
In the ten or more years that have passed since that time I have learned to count on Jesus' surprises. He has never disenchanted me. Sheer numbers, paradoxes in Himself unveiled, are one of the mechanisms He employs to amaze.
The paradox of strength in weakness has been a recent confounding of mine. At church I opted for a ladies bible study with the dubious title, “Confident Weakness.” The springboard scripture, II Cor.12: 9, was like a Russian nesting doll in reverse. For example inside one babushka named "Weak Christian" might have been another called "Strong Savior." Each revelation became more glorious than the previous.
But then last Sunday the buzzword came flying at me again, this time from Pastor’s Christmas sermon. Hearing his comments on the great paradox of the Incarnation, I began to recognize a pattern. “The Lord is trying to tell me something,” I said in my spirit; and I began riffling through mental archives.
What a throng came swooping down! Scriptures, passages, and persons from the Old and New Testaments. Parables and principles. Attributes of God the Father, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. And I feel certain there are hundreds, probably thousands more in the stands, watching. I delight to share but a few.
Paradox I, and so forth:
If you want to have a lot of faith, have a little.
“. . . assuredly, I say to you, if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you." Matt 17:20
If you want to save your life, lose it.
"He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for my sake will find it. Matt 10:39.
If you want to be strong, be weak.
“And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me,” II Cor. 12:9
If you want to be master, be servant.
"But he who is greatest among you shall be your servant. And whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted. Matt. 23:11-12
If you would be rich, be poor. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, For theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Matt. 5:3
If you desire to rejoice, be sad.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Matt. 5:4
If you want to be full, be hungry.
“Blessed are those who do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled.” Matt. 5:7
If you want to slay a giant, call a child.
“And Saul said to David, "You are not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him; for you are a youth, and he a man of war from his youth." I Sam 17:33
“Then David put his hand in his bag and took out a stone; and he slung it and struck the Philistine in his forehead, so that the stone sank into his forehead, and he fell on his face to the earth. I Sam 17:49
If you have a sacrifice to ignite, pour water on it.
“Then the fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt sacrifice, and the wood and the stones and the dust, and it licked up the water that was in the trench.” Elijah before the priests of Baal in I Kings 18:38
For want of paper I leave this last as summation of all former. If you crave to hear a word from the Almighty, listen for the still, small voice.
“Then He said, "Go out, and stand on the mountain before the Lord." And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. So it was, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave. Suddenly a voice came to him, and said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" 1Kings 19:11-13
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Epiphany for all Seasons
This is an updated, renamed version of "My Christmas Wish." I submit it with many thanks to one who took time for helpful critiquing.
The ladies were a small group, but deeply affected. Word had reached them that yet another famine was rampaging in East Africa. And though the wretchedness raged far away, yet it seemed to the women right there in front of their faces every hour. How they yearned to go there and minister to the people! But the little band had few resources and they knew there wasn’t much time. These people were starving. They needed immediate help.
I don’t remember myriad details; I do know the ladies set themselves to pray. And I know that God answered their prayers in part by providing travel arrangements, possibly free passage on a multi-purpose cargo steamer or other type ship. However, the primary goal to provide food and medicine to make available to the sufferers failed of its consequence in the time allotted. In spite of this the ladies made their decision to move forward, leaning upon the Lord’s will. Why He chose to send them empty-handed they didn’t understand just yet, but certain they were that He would reveal all in His good time. If not in this life, in the next. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and look not to your own understanding." Nevertheless their hearts remained burdened throughout their voyage.
At last the day came for de-boarding at a foreign port and the travel-worn company made their way to the appointed meeting place. That they were months late and supplies short weighed heavy upon them. How they dreaded the blow that was bound to cloud their reception! After all, these folk had been through so many hardships already. How could they stand up to one more disappointment?
As the mission group had feared, famine and disease devoured too many. The signs of this lay all around. Still, a hopeful, small flock gathered to the pilgrims that day. When the would-be benefactors mingled tears with their apologies, "Chakula, dawa! La! we’ve no food to offer you, no medicine!" the tentative thrust in Swahili hit its aim. And when black arms enfolded their more pallid counterparts, it seemed weeping must reach universal mass.
But it was not as one might suppose. African tears had a wholly different source. Theirs had erupted not from grief, but from gratitude, "You came! You gladdened us with your presence! It is of most importance. Because you come to us, so far! Just to see us, to be with us! We know your heart is truly in love with us!"
For weeks afterwards, the ladies were stunned at such generosity of spirit! But were they not, after all, His handmaidens, and as such given to much contemplation upon His mysterious ways? Could it be the Lord was here revealing a vault of wisdom? Hard though the lesson might be in terms of human suffering, had the Master sensed a need for honing in the tools at His workbench?
Like Mary and Martha of Bethany - losing then regaining their brother - the women eventually came to see they had needed to lose something, in order that a better something might be gained. While the westerners were grieving empty hands, their African neighbors had already, instinctively, apprehended a greater excellence. What more unfathomable love was described for these than that someone was willing to leave their homes and come so far, expend so much just to be with them, to participate in their predicament!
What I see here is a solid match for the heavenly pattern. But before we go there, I would like to preface by restating something said in an earlier paragraph. We may not fully understand in our lifetime the reason for human suffering or why God allows certain tragedies to take place in our world. But we can know with Abraham, "Will not the Lord of all the earth do right?" Yes, He will! With all my heart I believe that all will come clear when we see Him face to face.
And now for the heavenly epiphany we can glean thus far. When the Lord came to us that first Christmas, His journey tapped so much more than mere furlongs in space. With His coming alone He taught us so many things: about heart, about stooping, about bridging, and about His Presence. Though it was with all the elements of salvation encapsulated in one tiny frame that He arrived, Jesus employed a mighty leap to do it. What a descent He took from glory, power, and majesty - into human flesh!
And so it is with this in mind, I offer a Christmas prayer to share,
"Lord, enlighten me as you did the missionary ladies; gladden my heart as you did my dear African brothers and sisters. With the central and elemental goodness of Your coming, consume me in every season! For yes, I know You came a man of sorrows and to suffer. And yes, I know You came to die. I know You came that my sin might blister Your sinless being! I know that for a thousand reasons, You came; and for those thousand reasons, I love You! But please, before I hymn of nails piercing tiny feet, allow me to stand here and gaze awhile at You, this little baby Jesus in the manger, who came so far."
"And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men!"
The ladies were a small group, but deeply affected. Word had reached them that yet another famine was rampaging in East Africa. And though the wretchedness raged far away, yet it seemed to the women right there in front of their faces every hour. How they yearned to go there and minister to the people! But the little band had few resources and they knew there wasn’t much time. These people were starving. They needed immediate help.
I don’t remember myriad details; I do know the ladies set themselves to pray. And I know that God answered their prayers in part by providing travel arrangements, possibly free passage on a multi-purpose cargo steamer or other type ship. However, the primary goal to provide food and medicine to make available to the sufferers failed of its consequence in the time allotted. In spite of this the ladies made their decision to move forward, leaning upon the Lord’s will. Why He chose to send them empty-handed they didn’t understand just yet, but certain they were that He would reveal all in His good time. If not in this life, in the next. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and look not to your own understanding." Nevertheless their hearts remained burdened throughout their voyage.
At last the day came for de-boarding at a foreign port and the travel-worn company made their way to the appointed meeting place. That they were months late and supplies short weighed heavy upon them. How they dreaded the blow that was bound to cloud their reception! After all, these folk had been through so many hardships already. How could they stand up to one more disappointment?
As the mission group had feared, famine and disease devoured too many. The signs of this lay all around. Still, a hopeful, small flock gathered to the pilgrims that day. When the would-be benefactors mingled tears with their apologies, "Chakula, dawa! La! we’ve no food to offer you, no medicine!" the tentative thrust in Swahili hit its aim. And when black arms enfolded their more pallid counterparts, it seemed weeping must reach universal mass.
But it was not as one might suppose. African tears had a wholly different source. Theirs had erupted not from grief, but from gratitude, "You came! You gladdened us with your presence! It is of most importance. Because you come to us, so far! Just to see us, to be with us! We know your heart is truly in love with us!"
For weeks afterwards, the ladies were stunned at such generosity of spirit! But were they not, after all, His handmaidens, and as such given to much contemplation upon His mysterious ways? Could it be the Lord was here revealing a vault of wisdom? Hard though the lesson might be in terms of human suffering, had the Master sensed a need for honing in the tools at His workbench?
Like Mary and Martha of Bethany - losing then regaining their brother - the women eventually came to see they had needed to lose something, in order that a better something might be gained. While the westerners were grieving empty hands, their African neighbors had already, instinctively, apprehended a greater excellence. What more unfathomable love was described for these than that someone was willing to leave their homes and come so far, expend so much just to be with them, to participate in their predicament!
What I see here is a solid match for the heavenly pattern. But before we go there, I would like to preface by restating something said in an earlier paragraph. We may not fully understand in our lifetime the reason for human suffering or why God allows certain tragedies to take place in our world. But we can know with Abraham, "Will not the Lord of all the earth do right?" Yes, He will! With all my heart I believe that all will come clear when we see Him face to face.
And now for the heavenly epiphany we can glean thus far. When the Lord came to us that first Christmas, His journey tapped so much more than mere furlongs in space. With His coming alone He taught us so many things: about heart, about stooping, about bridging, and about His Presence. Though it was with all the elements of salvation encapsulated in one tiny frame that He arrived, Jesus employed a mighty leap to do it. What a descent He took from glory, power, and majesty - into human flesh!
And so it is with this in mind, I offer a Christmas prayer to share,
"Lord, enlighten me as you did the missionary ladies; gladden my heart as you did my dear African brothers and sisters. With the central and elemental goodness of Your coming, consume me in every season! For yes, I know You came a man of sorrows and to suffer. And yes, I know You came to die. I know You came that my sin might blister Your sinless being! I know that for a thousand reasons, You came; and for those thousand reasons, I love You! But please, before I hymn of nails piercing tiny feet, allow me to stand here and gaze awhile at You, this little baby Jesus in the manger, who came so far."
"And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men!"
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Poem - The Cottage
I’d like to live in a stone cottage some day,
And keep house like a maiden aunt:
There’d be lots of arches and corner niches:
And in every window, a plant.
My garden would grow right up to the stoop,
With paths going nowhere at all:
And a bench, and a pond, and a bath for birds,
And creatures great, and small.
Inside would be paintings of ships in storms,
And a rowboat with oars, at the shore:
And a gray cat would curl in front of the hearth
And a tabby tom crouched 'neath a chair.
My floors I would cover with rugs I had hooked,
My tables embroider with lace,
And beeswax and candles and tins of tea
Would be ever so nice in this place.
My bed would stand high, way high off the floor;
It’s the kind that I’ve always wanted:
And when I’d lie there I’d look up at the stars
Out a window strategically slanted.
On its shelf each sheet would be folded neat
With lavender tucked inside,
And pillowslips starched and pressed and stashed
And tea towels stacked beside.
In my larder you’d see e’er so bounteous a lot:
I would stock it with wonderful things:
With crackers and noodles and Parmesan cheese
And tomatoes and sausage rings,
And a crock for cookies and one for butter
And a basket of bagels and biscuits
To say nothing of pickles and apples and herbs:
There’s really too much there to mention.
One thing though that I’d like you to know,
When writing of cottage perfection,
That first must come prayer, possessions behind -
When finding one’s true satisfaction.
So I’ll pray for you and you pray for me,
For foes and the wide world outside,
For people beyond mere stone cottage walls. . .
-and if they all show up at my door I shall invite them right on in!
And keep house like a maiden aunt:
There’d be lots of arches and corner niches:
And in every window, a plant.
My garden would grow right up to the stoop,
With paths going nowhere at all:
And a bench, and a pond, and a bath for birds,
And creatures great, and small.
Inside would be paintings of ships in storms,
And a rowboat with oars, at the shore:
And a gray cat would curl in front of the hearth
And a tabby tom crouched 'neath a chair.
My floors I would cover with rugs I had hooked,
My tables embroider with lace,
And beeswax and candles and tins of tea
Would be ever so nice in this place.
My bed would stand high, way high off the floor;
It’s the kind that I’ve always wanted:
And when I’d lie there I’d look up at the stars
Out a window strategically slanted.
On its shelf each sheet would be folded neat
With lavender tucked inside,
And pillowslips starched and pressed and stashed
And tea towels stacked beside.
In my larder you’d see e’er so bounteous a lot:
I would stock it with wonderful things:
With crackers and noodles and Parmesan cheese
And tomatoes and sausage rings,
And a crock for cookies and one for butter
And a basket of bagels and biscuits
To say nothing of pickles and apples and herbs:
There’s really too much there to mention.
One thing though that I’d like you to know,
When writing of cottage perfection,
That first must come prayer, possessions behind -
When finding one’s true satisfaction.
So I’ll pray for you and you pray for me,
For foes and the wide world outside,
For people beyond mere stone cottage walls. . .
-and if they all show up at my door I shall invite them right on in!
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
I'm Back
I can't believe how long its been since I've posted anything on my blog. Since the few (two) folk who used to visit ne here have probably long since given up on me, I guess I'll have to give them a heads-up for the latest enty.
What happened is that I joined an internet Christian writers' group and it has been guzzling all my blocks of time set aside for writing. (sounds organized doesn't it?) In addition for the past 2 weeks I have been participating in two Bible Studies at my church, both of which have been fairly demanding, though well-worth the time and effort expended.
The writing group is faithwriters.com and it is absolutely great. In fact I was just thinking I could kill two birds with one stone (unfortunate apropros term though that may be), by posting some of my faithwriters submissions right here on my blog.
.Well, anyway, as the Jewish mother told her son when he was contemplating violin lessons, "Can't hurt!"
This one was submitted in last week's writers challenge. The challenge word was LIFEGUARD.
I called it "The Breaking"
Tobias sat atop his scaffold perch viewing the flat stretch of sandy beach, cut horizontally by the gray-green expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The beach was deserted, the wind rising. The sky, heavy with moisture, diffused all light. Scattered waves erupted in whitecaps, but mostly the water was calm.
The day was drawing to a close, as was the season for ocean bathing. And yet he stayed. Would she come? His expression was composed, serious. Waiting, his eyes pierced the distant waters for someone in trouble. And then he saw it, an erratic dot jiggling on the horizon. He lifted his binoculars, quickly adjusting his sight. Yes, it was who he had instinctively sensed it would be.
Nimbly he climbed down, wasting not a single motion. Within seconds he had crossed the strand and was in the water, swimming with long, even strokes toward the object of his ardor. Marissa. He had first noticed her on a day when the sun and sand were warm, the beach splashed with laughter and the color of towels, hats, umbrellas, and people dressed in bright swimwear. When his eyes picked her out of the congregation of light-worshippers, she was alone.
A stunning beauty she was not. She was too thin and her hair too dishwater; her swimsuit, outmoded and out-worn, did nothing to enhance her form. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Stretched out with nothing to shield her pale limbs from the elements, she was on her stomach in the sand, her forehead resting on one arm lying across the open pages of a book.
He had thought the girl drowsing there in the sun, but suddenly, as if his gaze had sent a verbal message through the back of her head, she lifted and turned to look his way. After that she ignored him the rest of the day - and for many days thereafter.
On a midsummer Wednesday afternoon, he walked toward her little spot of beach. She was lying again face down just as she had been the first day he saw her. Kneeling in the sand, he reached out and touched her hair. For a moment she didn’t move. Then she turned her head and looked him full in the face. He saw her eyes belied the plainness of the rest of her. They were gray-green ocean, flecked in white seafoam. And they were every bit as troubling as any ocean can be when brewed by storms. He knew her past had deeply wounded her.
Would she trust him? She rose slowly, brushing with a slim hand at the dusting of sand on her suit. Then she gave him one quick glance, turned and walked away.
He was mid-point now and the swells were rising, the troughs deepening. The tide was coming in, but the current was pulling her sidewise, away from him. He could see her struggles were slowing; several times the waves washed over her head, obscuring his view of her. Increasing his efforts, he willed her to hang on.
He remembered that from July through August he mourned her. Every day he scanned the beach, hungering for a mere sight of her. But she didn’t come. His summer job as a lifeguard technically over now, he came this one last day.
He swam on, hope piling on hope; he prayed, he believed. And then just when he felt he could not lift another heavy arm, new strength surged through him. And then he was there, reaching for her as she reached for him. The enemy had not won.
As soon as her head cleared the surface, she wheezed, gurgling seawater our her nose and mouth. She opened her eyes, and squinted at him through dripping, scraggly, seaweed hair. He was strong, she was weak. She had no choice now, but to give in and trust him. Where most drowning victims fight their savior, she knew all the fight had gone out of her.
As yet Tobias and Marissa had not exchanged a single word. But that was okay. There would be plenty of time for that, later. Then she could tell him all about how she came to such an impasse. But the telling would be for her benefit, not for his. He didn't need it. He had her, and that was enough.
What happened is that I joined an internet Christian writers' group and it has been guzzling all my blocks of time set aside for writing. (sounds organized doesn't it?) In addition for the past 2 weeks I have been participating in two Bible Studies at my church, both of which have been fairly demanding, though well-worth the time and effort expended.
The writing group is faithwriters.com and it is absolutely great. In fact I was just thinking I could kill two birds with one stone (unfortunate apropros term though that may be), by posting some of my faithwriters submissions right here on my blog.
.Well, anyway, as the Jewish mother told her son when he was contemplating violin lessons, "Can't hurt!"
This one was submitted in last week's writers challenge. The challenge word was LIFEGUARD.
I called it "The Breaking"
Tobias sat atop his scaffold perch viewing the flat stretch of sandy beach, cut horizontally by the gray-green expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The beach was deserted, the wind rising. The sky, heavy with moisture, diffused all light. Scattered waves erupted in whitecaps, but mostly the water was calm.
The day was drawing to a close, as was the season for ocean bathing. And yet he stayed. Would she come? His expression was composed, serious. Waiting, his eyes pierced the distant waters for someone in trouble. And then he saw it, an erratic dot jiggling on the horizon. He lifted his binoculars, quickly adjusting his sight. Yes, it was who he had instinctively sensed it would be.
Nimbly he climbed down, wasting not a single motion. Within seconds he had crossed the strand and was in the water, swimming with long, even strokes toward the object of his ardor. Marissa. He had first noticed her on a day when the sun and sand were warm, the beach splashed with laughter and the color of towels, hats, umbrellas, and people dressed in bright swimwear. When his eyes picked her out of the congregation of light-worshippers, she was alone.
A stunning beauty she was not. She was too thin and her hair too dishwater; her swimsuit, outmoded and out-worn, did nothing to enhance her form. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Stretched out with nothing to shield her pale limbs from the elements, she was on her stomach in the sand, her forehead resting on one arm lying across the open pages of a book.
He had thought the girl drowsing there in the sun, but suddenly, as if his gaze had sent a verbal message through the back of her head, she lifted and turned to look his way. After that she ignored him the rest of the day - and for many days thereafter.
On a midsummer Wednesday afternoon, he walked toward her little spot of beach. She was lying again face down just as she had been the first day he saw her. Kneeling in the sand, he reached out and touched her hair. For a moment she didn’t move. Then she turned her head and looked him full in the face. He saw her eyes belied the plainness of the rest of her. They were gray-green ocean, flecked in white seafoam. And they were every bit as troubling as any ocean can be when brewed by storms. He knew her past had deeply wounded her.
Would she trust him? She rose slowly, brushing with a slim hand at the dusting of sand on her suit. Then she gave him one quick glance, turned and walked away.
He was mid-point now and the swells were rising, the troughs deepening. The tide was coming in, but the current was pulling her sidewise, away from him. He could see her struggles were slowing; several times the waves washed over her head, obscuring his view of her. Increasing his efforts, he willed her to hang on.
He remembered that from July through August he mourned her. Every day he scanned the beach, hungering for a mere sight of her. But she didn’t come. His summer job as a lifeguard technically over now, he came this one last day.
He swam on, hope piling on hope; he prayed, he believed. And then just when he felt he could not lift another heavy arm, new strength surged through him. And then he was there, reaching for her as she reached for him. The enemy had not won.
As soon as her head cleared the surface, she wheezed, gurgling seawater our her nose and mouth. She opened her eyes, and squinted at him through dripping, scraggly, seaweed hair. He was strong, she was weak. She had no choice now, but to give in and trust him. Where most drowning victims fight their savior, she knew all the fight had gone out of her.
As yet Tobias and Marissa had not exchanged a single word. But that was okay. There would be plenty of time for that, later. Then she could tell him all about how she came to such an impasse. But the telling would be for her benefit, not for his. He didn't need it. He had her, and that was enough.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
My Aloe
It was late summer, our Texas Hill country was sizzling and I had a nasty burn. Not from the sun though and not all over - just a small spot on the inside of my left arm. Burns don't heal very fast on me, and aloe is about the only thing that can save me from weeks of having to take special care so that they don't get infected.
Usually I have an aloe plant around from which I can cut a leaf for gel to apply to superficial wounds. But this year I hadn't wintered over any in the greenhouse and I had failed to purchase a new one in the spring. So I was desperate to find a nursery that still had aloe stock this late in the season. "Ah-ha! I thought. I bet anything South Texas Growers will have one."
So I got in the car and drove the 15 miles, happy to see they were still open. I asked the lady and she led me to a shady area where she pointed out several giant male aloes (they are the kind with the stickery spines on the sides of the leaves). These things had seen better days; they were untended - looked as if they had been dumped there and forgotten. Some were lying on their sides, some upright, some scattered about; all looked dry and vastly overgrown in their pots. The plants had mushroomed above their gallon-size containers, appearing like tall fat men shod in tiny shoes. I didn't care. They were beautiful and I picked a large multiple one thinking I could divide it into several individual plants at home.
Just as I remembered, the gel helped my burn almost immediately. For that reason alone, I hoped never again to find myself without an aloe. But I never knew they made flowers, or how beautiful the blooms are. One day a month or so later I was standing at my kitchen sink looking out the window. I blinked when I saw my aloe had put up a long slim stalk with a desert-like unopened bloom at the top.
Taking daily note of it, in about a week and a half I saw the bud had matured to reveal a beautiful red blossom, similar to the one a firecracker plant forms. I knew when it peaked I had to have a picture and so yesterday I snapped it from various angles. The three shots above I thought turned out best.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Jerry tries his camera hand
I like this one my husband took early one morning from the front of our house looking out tow
ard the street
ard the street
Say Hi to Pierre
Peirre lives at Independence Hill in San Antonio where my mom has a retiree's apartment. He is the darling of all the little old ladies.
Even though fish-feeding is forbidden the residents, the fish don't know it. When any human form bends over their pond home, they come swimming eagerly to beg.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Disturb - to stir, to move, to turn
Who is the last person, or kind of person, you would ever guess might fear themselves falling into indifference, apathy, complacency? How about the intrepid Sir Francis Drake, explorer extraordinaire?
Hear his prayer, 1577, written on a voyage around the earth:
Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well-pleased with ourselves
When our dreams have come true becuse we deamed too little,
When we arrived safely because we sailed too close to the shore.
Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst for the waters of life.
Having fallen in love with life, we have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth, we have allowed our vision of the
new Heaven to dim.
Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly
To venture on wilder seas where storms will show Your majesty;
Where losing sight of land, we shall find the stars.
We ask you to push back the horizons of our hopes
And to push into the future in strength, courage, hope, and love.
This we ask in the name of our Captain, who Jesus Christ.
Confident Weakness Bible Study, week 1
Hear his prayer, 1577, written on a voyage around the earth:
Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well-pleased with ourselves
When our dreams have come true becuse we deamed too little,
When we arrived safely because we sailed too close to the shore.
Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst for the waters of life.
Having fallen in love with life, we have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth, we have allowed our vision of the
new Heaven to dim.
Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly
To venture on wilder seas where storms will show Your majesty;
Where losing sight of land, we shall find the stars.
We ask you to push back the horizons of our hopes
And to push into the future in strength, courage, hope, and love.
This we ask in the name of our Captain, who Jesus Christ.
Confident Weakness Bible Study, week 1
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