AGE IS AN ILLUSION

If you have followed my ravings for the last couple of years, you will know that, in spite of approaching my 84th birthday, I refuse to think of myself as being old.  I declare, with vigor, that my mind is young. My heart, with a pacemaker, is still working, and my attitude is positive.

However, the very kind caregivers, in the rehab center where I was held captive for three weeks, did their best to convince me that I am old.  The first night I was there, a young gal came romping into my room announcing that she had come to change my diaper.

“My diaper,” I yelped!

“You don’t need your diaper changed,” she asked?

“No! I don’t have a diaper, and I’m not planning to have one,” I told her.

“Oh,” she said as she quietly left the room.

This scenario was replayed over and over again much to my chagrin.

Please understand.  I want to be honest with myself, and with you, about this whole thing.  I need to be realistic, so I reluctantly admit that more and more I am recognizing little signs of aging.  Oh, not physical signs. That’s been going on for a long time. Anyone can look at me and know I am old. I am thinking of mental processes.

Much to my frustration, my memory sometimes fails me, and I am a little more cantankerous and determined, if that’s possible, than I used to be.

Before my scheduled surgery at the end of July, I had some work done on my house.  Because of unexpected delays, the work was not finished by the time I had to leave. Consequently, I allowed the workmen to install a lockbox, so they could finish the project while I was gone.

I couldn’t take my purse, money or other valuables to the hospital, so at the last minute, I decided to keep them safe by locking them in my file cabinet.  Good idea! Right?

Upon my return, I was anxious to retrieve my stuff, so I went to the drawer where the file key should be, but it wasn’t.  Truth is, I had no memory of having put it there or anywhere else. I looked the house over from stem to stern. No key! What to do!  I tried my best to jimmy the drawer open. I used every other key in the house. I called friends. I went to the office supply store where I bought the file.  They couldn’t help me.  

Somewhere during that time I thought about my rings.  They weren’t in the drawer where I keep them. Surely a worker didn’t take them.  Did I put them in my purse before I locked it up? I didn’t remember. That morning was a blur.

Finally, I called a locksmith.  Oh, I knew to do that all along, but I was so determined to save some money and take care of things by myself.

I was relieved to find my rings nestled safely in my purse.

So memory is sometimes a problem, and there are other things to be considered.

What do I do when I can no longer take care of me and my house?  Already I am forbidden to climb a ladder, so how do I change a light bulb or an air filter.  How do I retrieve that bowl on the top shelf?

I can’t afford not to think about these things, neither can I afford to be obsessed by them.  So, I am taking it one day at a time constantly reminded that, if my mind is centered on Jesus, my heart will be at peace.

In Psalm 37:25 David said, “I have been young now I am old, yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken or his descendants begging bread.”  God is faithful!

Isaiah 46:4 declares, “Even to your old age, I am He, and even to gray hairs I will carry you!  I have made and I will bear; even I will carry you and deliver you.” He is talking about Israel here, but I believe this also applies to the individual.

This just simply means that even when the hair is white, eyes grow dim, and the teeth are falling out, God will take care of His own. 

Psalm 92:14 tells us, “They shall bear fruit in old age; they shall be fresh and flourishing.”  That’s God’s promise.  That’s what I want to be.  Even at an advanced age we don’t have to throw up our hands and quit.  We can still make a difference.

Age is an illusion!  That’s what they say.  To me that means even though my body betrays me, I will guard my sense of humor, live with a positive attitude, and try to make a difference in this world as long as I am here.

My best advice—“Don’t give up on something because you think you are too old or too young.”

 

REMEMBER, THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW!

 

THINGS THOUGHT IMPOSSIBLE

I was born with the wanderlust.  I inherited it from my father.  He never saw much of this world, but when he became restless, we just moved across town.  In fact, we lived in seven different rentals, in the same small town, between my second birthday and kindergarten.  We always paid the rent, so we weren’t running from the landlord.

I have seen a lot of the world and yet, at the age of eighty, I still long to fly away to some distant land to see new faces and experience new places.

When I was four years old, my father decided to move the family to Colorado.  Someone told me it snows there, and Colorado was colored pink on the map, so I put it all together and decided that the Colorado Mountains were covered with pink snow.  I was excited.

The day came when the seven of us, mama, daddy, and five kids, piled into our 1934 Buick and started across the Arizona desert towing a large four-wheeled trailer filled with our early poverty belongings.

For some inexplicable reason, my father chose the month of August for this family adventure.  In 1939, there was no such thing as air conditioning in an automobile, but not one of us died from heat exhaustion.  

Zipping along through the burning desert, at 40 miles per hour, we made good time until we turned north toward the mountains.  Yarnell Hill was our first challenge.  To my father’s dismay, the Buick balked unable to pull the weight and make the uphill grade.  Again and again, he tried to no avail.

Finally, daddy decided that he would offload part of the weight, take the rest to the summit and come back for another load.  Part of what he offloaded was My Mother, my sisters, and me.  The boys would be his helpers. 

We have a picture of my twelve-year-old sister standing in the skinny shade of a saguaro cactus. 

My Dad has been gone for many years, but I can still feel his frustration, disappointment and sense of failure as he tried time and again to find a way to get his family to Colorado.

At the end of the day, hot, tired, dirty and disheartened, we turned around and headed back to Wickenburg.  There we found a place to camp for the night.  Daddy went to a nearby grocery store coming back with supper – bread, bologna and a big bucket of ice water.

Setting the icy water down by the car running board, where I rested my four-year-old self, my father turned to other chores, and I lifted my poor tired, dirty, disappointed little toes and plunged them into that deliciously frigid bucket.  To this day, I cannot remember the consequences of my precipitous action, but there had to be some compensation for the loss of pink snow, right?

The next morning our tired and wiser family headed back to the valley where my parents were at home for more than fifty years.

The mountains defeated us.  Had we conquered the first rise, which was not much of a mountain at all, I wonder what we would have done when we reached the Rockies. 

Years ago we sang a little chorus:  

“Got any rivers you think are uncrossable.

Got any mountains you can’t tunnel through.

God specializes in things thought impossible.

And He can do what no other power can do.”

Mountains often defeat us.  Too frequently we are faced with insurmountable problems to which there is no discernible solution.  Like my father, we exhaust ourselves trying to get over, around or through the problem. 

2500 years ago, a man named Zerubabbel faced just such a mountain.  

After seventy years in captivity, he led 50,000 Israelites back to Jerusalem, where they anticipated rebuilding the temple and their treasured city.  He was no doubt discouraged when he saw the extent of the work, his feeble resources, and the formidable opposition. This was a mountain he could not cross.

In Zechariah 4:6 – 7 we read:  “…This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit, says the Lord of hosts.  Who are you, O, great mountain?  Before Zerubabbel you shall become a plain!”   

I like the way the Message says it.  “So, big mountain, who do you think you are?  Next to Zerubabbel you are nothing but a molehill.”

You may be facing an unscalable mountain today.  Remember, it is not by your efforts, but by the power of the Spirit of God.  When you stand shoulder to shoulder with Him, that mountain is nothing but a molehill.  He can do what no other power can do.

THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW!

WHAT AN EXAMPLE

WHAT AN EXAMPLE

            I am thinking this morning of the well-publicized University Scandal.  That it is a disgrace, most people agree.  Yet, I cannot help but wonder about the children involved.  Did they know about the deception?  Were they party to the dishonest deals?  Then I am tempted to think, “Oh well, they are children of well-heeled parents, spoiled, privileged kids, who have been given everything their heart ever desired.  So, why not four years of partying at Stanford or Yale?”

However, I must consider the hurt and embarrassment these young men and women may be suffering.  Their parents may pay fines, and some may spend time in prison, but the kids now have a black mark on their reputation, and their chances for a quality education in a fine institution, if that is what they really looked forward to, are damaged, perhaps beyond fixing.  What a wonderful example their parents have set for them!  If you don’t qualify for it—if you don’t want to work for it, just steal it!

I am the first and only one in my immediate family to graduate from college earning an advanced degree.  My brother Lincoln was Full Professor at Florida State University, not because of his college education—World War II deprived him of that, but because of his many years of experience and diligent work in the World of Opera.  My brother Paul was a wonderful pastor for more than sixty years, but not because of his college education, for there was no money for such a thing.  He studied as long as he could, working as much as possible, but never able to finish.  He was self-taught digging in and working hard becoming one of the best preachers in the country, but without a degree.

Our parents were God fearing, hard working, and intelligent people with little formal education.  My Mom graduated eighth grade, but my father, who was needed on the farm, only had three years of schooling.

Three things were important to my Daddy—hard work, honesty, and his faith.  It wasn’t so much that my parents disdained higher education they just couldn’t pay for it.

When I decided I was going to college, my parents didn’t discourage me, but I knew I would have to make it happen.  So, after high school, while my classmates went off to college, I went to work.  I worked in a factory for a year making pajamas for SEARS.  I was guaranteed seventy-five cents per hour, but I was fast, so I doubled my earnings, $60.00 a week.

Sewing pockets on pajamas for an entire year was boring, believe me, but I was determined to get to “Southwestern,” one of our church colleges in Waxahachie, Texas.  I gave my Mom and Dad $15.00 a week to help pay bills, and I saved almost every nickel of the rest of my income. Wow, a $1,000.00—my savings for the year!  Though it wouldn’t get you around the corner in today’s economy, it was a good chunk of money in 1955.

Early in September that year, I packed my footlocker, boarded a Grey Hound Bus, and made my way to Waxahachie.  I subsidized my $1,000.00 by working part-time on campus first in the laundry and then in the Choir Director’s Office.  My savings almost got me through two years of college.  Today, at that same school, tuition and living expenses on campus is close to $35,000.00 per year.  Even that doesn’t compare to Harvard’s costs.

At the end of my second year, I was in debt to the college for $200.00.  I couldn’t go back until that debt was paid.  Try as I might, I couldn’t find a summer job.  My heart was broken.  I wanted so much to return.  Mama knew my sorrow.  One morning she disappeared for a couple of hours.  When she returned, she put her arms around me, and, with tears in her voice, said, “Pack your suitcase. You are going back to school.”  After a good cry, I did just that.

Mama had been to the bank and based on her good name only, she borrowed $200.00 to get me back to school.  She paid it back by hard, sometimes backbreaking work, but she never regretted her sacrifice.

My Master’s Degree Certificate hangs on the wall above the desk where I am now writing.  I am grateful for a good education.  I am grateful that it wasn’t handed to me on a silver platter, nor was it stolen.

Honestly, I don’t know if I would entrust a child of mine to one of these prestigious universities that have become more like a four-year summer camp, where courses meant for those living in fairytale land are offered.  Courses such as “The Amazing World of Bubbles,” “The Unbearable Whiteness of Barbie,” “Lady Gaga and the Sociology of Fame,” “Pattern Making for Dog Garments,” “The Joy of Garbage,” “What if Harry Potter is Real?,” and many more such ridiculous  offerings.

I have discovered that you don’t have to go to Princeton or Brown to receive a good education.  You can go to a small college in a Podunk town, where qualified professors care about students mentoring and encouraging them to rise to their highest potential.  That’s the kind of undergraduate education I was exposed to.

Yes, I am thankful.  I’m thankful for the example my parents set for me.  From them, I learned hard work, sacrifice, and honest living.  They gave me everything I needed and more.  I would not be where I am today were it not for their exemplary, sacrificial life.

In 2 Corinthians chapter 9, the Apostle Paul commends the cheerful giver.  In verse 10, he says, “Now may he who supplies seed to the sower, and bread for food, supply and multiply the seed you have sown and increase the fruits of your righteousness.”

In 1955, my Mama sowed $200.00 into the soil of my life.  Her seed multiplied.  It grew into more than forty wonderful years of active, full-time ministry, and it still multiplies today, through my Bible teaching.

I AM THANKFUL FOR THE EXAMPLE OF HONEST, HARD WORKING, GODLY PARENTS.

 

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

GOD BLESS AMERICA

GOD BLESS AMERICA

No, it is not the 4th of July, but I am thinking about my beloved country today—no longer beloved by many, much to my sorrow.

Our President is in Viet Nam negotiating with Kim Jung Un about denuclearizing  North Korea while, at the same time Congress is in session trying desperately to find reason to impeach him.  Celebrities are fabricating stories about being personally terrorized, and politicians are promising to turn everything green and give away the store, while Americans are approving the murder of newborn babies.

I am thinking of those who sacrificed to make America a great country—a country once admired throughout the world.  From the Pilgrims, who made that perilous journey across the Atlantic to the boys who died in the Iraq War, and are still dying to defend our land, untold sacrifice has been made.

I was three weeks shy of my sixth birthday when Pearl Harbor was attacked and The United States of America declared war on the country of Japan.

I was much too young to understand the enormity of things that were going on in our world, but I did know there was concern in our home.  Mama was afraid her boys would have to go to war, and they did.  Three of my brothers served our country during that long, drawn out nightmare.

For the most part, I was a happy carefree, uninformed child during the war years, but there are things I do remember.  For example, there was V Mail or Victory Mail.  The morale of our military depended, to a great degree, on news from home, so mail was important.  V-mail letters were written on a thin, blue, 7 X 9 1/8th inch page, which, when folded properly, formed its own envelope.  Our V-mail letters were censored, removing any sensitive information, copied to film and printed back to paper, reduced in size by 60%, upon arrival at its destination.   Thirty-seven mail bags were replaced by one single sack, and 2,575 pounds of mail was reduced to a mere 45 pounds.  V-mail also deterred espionage communication.  Small and brief though it was, we anxiously watched for and devoured every letter from our boys.  It wasn’t unusual to receive a letter with parts missing. “LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS,” was a well-worn slogan during the war.

I remember the British Air Cadets who trained at Falcon Field just northeast of our little town.  My high school sister, who worked at the corner drugstore fountain, fell in love with Jimmy.  In time, Jimmy was shipped back to England to fight the war in Europe, but letters arrived faithfully until they didn’t arrive at all.  What happened to Jimmy?  He either fell out of love or was shot down over Germany.  My sister was truly one of the wars wounded.  She often sang to me:

There’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover,

Tomorrow, just you wait and see.

There’ll be love and laughter and peace ever after,

Tomorrow, when the world is free…

And Jimmy will go to sleep in his own little room again…”

 

Then there was rationing.  So many resources had to be reserved for the military, mail from home and good food encouraged our boys, while at the same time, making many things scarce to the general public.  Sugar, tires, gasoline, meat, coffee, butter, chocolate, canned goods, shoes and many other things were difficult to come by.

Every person, from the youngest baby to the oldest grandpa, had two rationing books—blue for processed foods, and red for meat, fish and dairy products.  The rationing books were filled with stamps that must be presented at the store when any of these items were purchased.  No stamp, no purchase!  When the stamps for a certain item were used up, you couldn’t buy anymore until next month’s rationing books were issued.  Everyone was allowed only two pairs of shoes each year.

World War II was the backdrop for the world debut of Margarine.  Margarine was a glob of white stuff accompanied by a capsule of yellow food coloring.  Mama put the white stuff in a bowl and mixed the food coloring in.  It looked like butter, but in our home, “fake” butter created somewhat of a crisis.  Daddy would have none of it.   There were farmers in the church, where my father was pastor.  They often brought us real butter and other dairy products.  Daddy always bragged to visitors about our real butter, but sometimes it was not real at all.  Mama got a big laugh out of that.

We saved cans and planted Victory Gardens.  Women went to work in factories doing the jobs vacated by our men, who were fighting on the foreign front.  Everyone sacrificed in one way or another.

For a six year old the scarcity of bubble gum was probably the greatest sacrifice, and I did miss my brothers.

In some ways, those war years were good years.  Americans came together.  We were one united family loving the same thing, working for the same thing, and fighting against the same enemy.  We had one great purpose—keep our country free and bring our boys home.

The majority of people went to church, and even if they didn’t believe, there was still a sense of respect for God and the rule of law.

I look at my country now and see how things have unraveled.  It seems there is no longer any respect for anyone or anything.  Judges 21:25 says, “In those days…everyone did what was right in his own eyes.”  That sort of describes what is going on today.

I do want America to be great again, but in spite of how hard our president is working, and the good things he is accomplishing, I believe there is only one way that is ever going to happen.

Psalm 33: 12 says, “Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord…”  America will never be great unless God is great among us—unless He is our Lord.

 

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

AND THERE WAS LIGHT

 

Although Thomas Edison was not the inventor of the electric light bulb, twenty others came before his, he did produce the first commercially viable one – the first practical one, and literally changed the way we live after dark.

Prior to the light bulb, folks burned lamp oils or used natural gas (rather dangerous) for illumination.  I still have my mother’s old kerosene lamp, from nearly a century ago, when there was no access to electricity in rural areas.  Mama’s lamp is made of clear glass.  It consists of a bowl on a pedestal.  The bowl serves as a reservoir for the kerosene.  The lamp is equipped with a wick protected by a glass chimney.  The cotton wick dipping down absorbs the fuel, and produces a light when ignited.

I love the lamp because it was Mama’s and there’s something romantic about it, but never would I trade it for the light switch on my wall and the bulb it illumines with one touch.

Truth is we cannot live without light.  Oh, there are some parasitic plants that can live in complete darkness for a time, but no plant can live forever without sunlight, and there are some pale, furtive, multi-legged, eyeless animals that live in the dark of caves.  However, aside from a few exceptions, life demands light.

I live in Arizona, in the “Valley of the Sun.”  This valley gets 211 days of full sunshine each year plus 85 days of partial sunshine.  Yet, my doctor tells me that I must take Vitamin D capsules, because I don’t get enough sun.  I must admit that I actively avoid it, particularly in July and August, but to be healthy, I must be exposed to light.

Also, to be safe I need light.  I have never used a night light.  I just didn’t think I needed one.  However, a few months ago, I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and fell over my recumbent bike that sets in my bedroom floor.  The bike hadn’t moved, but somehow I had strayed off my beaten path and nearly broke my neck.  Now, with the bathroom light on, I leave the door open a crack.  That makes all the difference.  Fact is we must have light in order to be safe.

To dispel the darkness- to find our way we need light.  We use flashlights, headlights, lighthouses, spotlights, floodlights, strobe lights, and for some reason, I think of the torch lifted high by The Statue of Liberty, and the words of Emma Lazarus.

“Give me your tired, your poor huddled masses yearning to breathe free…

Send these, the homeless, tempest tost to me.

I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

 

For well over one hundred years, that torch has been a symbol of light to immigrants from all over the world saying, “Welcome!  You have found your way home.”

Not only our physical and mental being demand light in order to survive, but that spiritual part of me must also be illumined.

Genesis 1:1-3, tells us, “… God created the heavens and the earth… and darkness was upon the face of the deep…Then God said, “Let there be light, and there was light.”

Genesis 1:16, “Then God…made the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night.  He made the stars also.”

Now, for all these years, since creation, people and animals and plants have grown and flourished in the light of the sun, moon, stars, and the God given ingenuity of men.  I can’t imagine living without that marvelous light.

Sadly, though, I must admit that we live in a darkened world today.  Oh, the sun, moon, and stars are still functioning, but our world is darkened by hatred and bigotry, by strife and politics and greed and dishonesty.  No lighthouse or floodlight, however powerful, can dispel this kind of darkness.

The only antidote to this darkness is Jesus Christ Himself, who said, in John 8:12, “…I am the light of the world.  He who follows me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

            Jesus, the Son of our Creator, Jesus, who was there with the Father, when light was born, declares Himself to be the “Light of the World.”  He is ready to come into your life, any willing life, and dispel the darkness that lurks there.

If you are a follower of Christ, you need not fear the darkness for you have the “Light of Life,” and according to Matthew 5:14 & 16, “You (also) are the light of the world.  A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.”  So—“Let your light shine before men…”

Can you imagine what a faithful, shining army of Christ followers could do to push back the darkness that rules our world?

LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE!

 

REMEMBER, THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHAT CAN I BRING HIM

 

Just so you know.  I have not abandoned ship.  However, I am only steaming ahead at about 3 knots per hour, certainly far from full speed.

2018 has been a difficult year.  In July I had a complete knee revision.  When that did not relieve the terrible pain I had suffered for many months, I underwent a total and successful hip replacement.  Thank God, the pain vanished, and I was home free.  Well, not quite!

It seems that the wound was not healing as expected and I had a swelling on my hip the size of a cantaloupe.   A wound vacuum would take care of the drainage promoting a speedier recovery.  So—I was hooked up to this little miracle worker.  That was five weeks ago, and I am still hooked up with no end in sight.

My comedic home health nurse, who interjects scripture at appropriate or inappropriate places, in our conversation, comes three times a week.  When I asked, “How long,” he answered, “Two weeks.”  A week later, I asked again, and the answer was, “Two weeks.”  Did you lie to me I asked?  Truth is he has no idea how long it will take to heal.

Now, I love Christmas and almost everything about it, but this heavy device with its long ugly tubing greatly hampers any preparation I might make.  So, I just figured there wouldn’t be any Christmas this year—not at my house.  Did I feel sorry for me?  Absolutely!

Then a quiet voice whispered.  “You’re too late.  You can’t cancel Christmas.  It happened two thousand years ago with that baby in the manger.  Christmas is perpetual.  It is an ongoing miracle.  Just because there is no wreath on your door, and the aroma of baked goodies does not fill your house, still, Jesus has come and Christmas is here.  Get over yourself.

Mulling this thought over for awhile and deciding that it took too much energy to feel sorry for me I hung this monstrous contraption on the handle of my walker and wheeled to my Christmas closet.  Stacking the walker seat high with Christmas stuff I turned the TV to a Christmas music channel, and when I put the red cloth on the table and placed the poinsettia pillows on the sofa, I knew I could do this.  It would be a little late and not quite so elaborate this year, but you can’t stop Christmas, because Jesus has come.

I thought of this wondrous gift God gave to a dark and sinful world—a gift He gave to me—a gift that surpasses all others.  Then, the question came.  What can I bring Him in return?  What do I have that is worthy of Him?

Reading through the Old Testament almost to the end I came across Micah 6:6-8.  “With what shall I come before the Lord and bow down before the exalted God.” (Shall I bring Him a burnt offering, a year old calf, a thousand rams, rivers of oil, or the fruit of my body?)  None of that seems adequate or worthy of Him.

WHAT SHALL I BRING HIM?

Micah asks, “What does the Lord require of you?  To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”  That’s what He wants from me.

I figure, if I can give this gift back to Him, even without all the familiar trappings, 2018 will be the most spectacular Christmas I have ever experienced.

Think about it.  The tree is gorgeous, packages are lovely, baking cookies smell great, but the reality of Christmas is Jesus’ advent 2000 years ago.

He is your ultimate Christmas gift.  What will you give Him in return?

So, dear friend, I wish you a joyful Christmas and a heightened awareness of His presence in your life.

 

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow

THE BEST OF FRIENDS

THE BEST OF FRIENDS

The Jones girls and I have been friends for seventy-five years, a quarter of a century.  Think about it!  I received calls from both of them this past week—one from Oklahoma City and the other from Salinas, California.  Those calls started me thinking about friendship and what a true friend really is.

I remembered a song from the show, “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.”  It says:

“A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,

But diamonds are a girl’s best friend…

Men grow cold, as girls grow old,

And we all lose our charm in the end.

But square-cut or pear-shaped

These rocks don’t lose their shape.

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.

 

I have never owned a lot of diamonds, but I suppose if I had an endless supply, I could purchase the things needed for a comfortable life.  Alas, not even the “Hope Diamond” can buy acceptance, warmth, companionship, and love—those qualities indispensable to true friendship.

Dogs are often referred to as “Man’s best friend.”  My brother inherited his dog from his granddaughter.  Lani grew up, got married, and left Snuggles behind.  I never believed my brother would become so engaged with a dog, but when he lost both his wife and daughter within a year of each other, he was terribly alone except for Snug.  This “gentleman pup,” as my brother calls him, was there.  He was there to listen, to offer a warm paw, and a companionship unlike any other.  He was something to love and care for, and a perfect sleeping buddy.  This sweet little creature, with an indomitable spirit, exuded a sense of warmth, loyalty, and kindness, regardless of my brother’s demeanor.  The reason we call dogs “man’s best friend” is simple.  Dogs allow us to be their best friend, and yet, that is not enough.  There is still something missing.

Only another human being can fit perfectly into that space existing in every person—that space labeled “best friend.”

I thought of the Jones Girls when I read this quote from C.S. Lewis.  He said:

“For a Christian, there are no chances.  A secret Master of Ceremonies has been at work.  Christ, who said to the disciples, “You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you,” can truly say to every group of Christian friends, “You have not chosen one another, but I have chosen you for one another.”  The friendship is not a reward for our discriminating and good taste in finding one another out.  It is the instrument by which God reveals to each of us the beauties of others.”

 

So meeting Patsy Ruth was not by chance.   God must have been involved when she showed up in my third-grade classroom so many years ago.  Her middle name was Ruth and my middle name was Ruth.  Don’t you know that was enough for two little girls to decide, “Our friendship was meant to be?”

Throughout our elementary years Pat and her older sister, Wanda, came and went.  I had no idea the Jones family were itinerated farm workers.  They followed the harvest from Texas to Arizona, to California and back again.  I didn’t know why they were gone, but when they came back, we came together again as though they were never absent.

I spent a lot of time with the Jones family.  Buck and Inez were like second parents.  When we were in high school, the family finally settled in Salinas, California.  Though we never lived close again, we did not lose each other.  The girls and I boarded Grey Hound buses and visited back and forth.  We went to college together.  I sang at their weddings and loved on their babies.  We grieved at our losses and celebrated our victories.  These days, we don’t get around as much as we used to, but we still keep in touch by phone, and I plan to live next door to them in heaven.

Friends come in all shapes and sizes.  A true friend really gets you.  They like you flaws and all.  They fight for you, respect you, include you, encourage you, need you, deserve you, and stand by you.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 tells us “It’s better to have a partner than go it alone.  Share the work, share the wealth. …if one falls the other helps…Two in bed warm each other.  Alone, you shiver all night.  By yourself you’re unprotected.  With a friend you can face the worst…”

The Jones girls walked into my life and said, “We’re here for you and proved it

So take your pick—diamonds, dogs, or someone like the Jones Girls, and if none of these work for you, Proverbs 18:24 assures us,

“… there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”

            That friend is Jesus.  Best friends sometimes fail, but He will never fail you.

When we come to the end of ourselves, God has just begun.  The song writer put it this way.

“His love has no limit.  His grace has no measure.

His power has no boundary known unto men.

For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,

He gives and gives and gives again.”

 

WHAT A FRIEND WE HAVE IN JESUS!

 

 

REMEMBER, THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW!

 

BLESS THE LORD, O MY SOUL

 Gerald Brooks couldn’t read a lick of music, but he had a strong voice and an enthusiastic, positive attitude, so he became our church song leader.   That was in the days before worship teams appeared, and organs and pianos, choirs and soloists disappeared.

There Gerald was, behind the pulpit on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday evening, energetically pumping his arm up and down or back and forth, not always in time to the music.  He chose the songs (his favorites) from our “Melodies of Praise” hymnal, so we often sang the same ones over and over—“There’s Within My Heart a Melody,” and “Since Jesus Came into My Heart.”  We always sang three songs, and whether the song had three verses or thirty, we sang only three verses.

When I was very young, the choir was made up of those in the congregation who wanted to sing. It was as simple as that.  When the pastor opened the service, he invited anyone, who wanted to be in the choir, to make his way to the platform.  They came all ages, with broad smiles and lusty, not necessarily good voices, ready to worship.

There were no auditions.  The choir was not trained.  It was not practiced, nor did they know which songs they would sing.  They were there to back up the song leader and, by example, encourage the congregation in worship.

I majored in music my first couple of years in college, so now I know. “WE DIDN’T DO IT RIGHT!”  However, the memories of those simple, unstructured, unmanipulated times of worship, when hearts swelled, voices were lifted, hands were raised, in unrestrained, joyous praise to the God of heaven, are indelibly etched in the corridors of my heart.

As a child, I was part of that worship.  I know we did not sound like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but in those moments, I am convinced God leaned over the balcony of heaven and savored every word of praise, every joyful shout ascending to His throne.  Our simple and sincere praise blessed Him.

We often speak of God’s blessing upon our life—His mercy and benefits to us, but you must know that we also are called upon to bless Him.  I just conferred with Mr. Webster.  I was surprised to see that most of his dictionary entry defining “Bless,” and “Blessing” refer to our blessing God not the other way round.

He says, “To bless is “to give thanks to God the Father in a special manner, to speak gratefully to Him for His kindness, to honor in worship, to praise or glorify His name.”

In his book of songs, King David set a wonderful example for us.

Psalm 34:1, “I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth.”

Psalm 103:1, “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name.”

Psalm 119:175, “Let me live that I may praise You…”

Psalm 150:6, “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord…

In essence, David is saying, “My purpose in life is to praise God by everything I do and say.  Therefore, I will praise Him continually with all that is in me, and if you are breathing, you must do the same.”

We ask for and receive His blessing, but I am wondering how often we thank Him for His kindness—how often we praise and glorify His name.  Not often enough, I would imagine.  Yet, over and over again in His Word, we are admonished to praise Him—to bless him.

Why does He command us to bless Him?  This God, who knows everything, can do anything and owns all that exists.  Does He really need our praise?  Surely He is not going to wither and vanish away if I do not bless Him.  Truth is I can’t make God any bigger or any greater with my praise.  So, why—

Actually, when I praise God, I am the one who benefits, and God knows that.  It is God’s way of lifting me out of my slough of despond, away from my impossibilities, above the cares of this world, and into His marvelous presence.  In His presence, there is fullness of joy.  In His presence, I am encouraged, my faith is renewed, and I am strengthened to continue the journey.

It is true.  Sometimes we are so obsessed with our needs that we cannot find a word of praise, and yet the scripture even asks us to sacrifice praise to God.

Hebrews 13”15-16, “…let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise…for with such sacrifices God is pleased.”

Our style of worship is not the issue.  Whether or not it is polished and practiced is not what counts.  It is the attitude of the heart and a grateful, loving spirit that attracts God’s attention, and causes His presence to inhabit our praise.

 

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

           

WHEN OPTIMISM FLYS THE COUP

 In my first blog, almost two years ago, I introduced myself to you as an OPTIMISTIC OCTOGENARIAN.  I’ve always thought of myself in those terms.  I’m the one who makes lemonade out of lemons, and I see the glass half full instead of half empty. “Nothing is ever as bad as it seems” “It will be better tomorrow. “ We can do something to fix this.”

I have been accused of being out of touch with reality because I refuse to see the hopeless side of things.  BUT—I must confess—lately, I have found myself questioning my own outlook.

Truth is the last five and one-half years have been the most stressful, traumatic time in my life—without a breather.  I have written about all of this, so I will not bore you with the details.

First, there was the unimaginable excitement and stress of marrying at an advanced age, then after only a few months, the death of my husband, and the unbearable grief that followed. When I could finally function again, I was confronted with my sister’s needs.  Things that seemed simple have become so complicated.  Nothing has gone smoothly.  There is one crisis after another, and I am tired.  There is always a knot in the pit of my stomach and I live with a sense of uneasiness, and at the same time, I live with a sense of hope that “this, too, shall pass.”

So, am I truly an optimist or have I been depending on my own innate strength.  I am a strong person.  I know that!  I’ve always been able to solve the problem in some way.  No more!  I am, now, at the mercy of others.

Is it true?  Have I, like the proverbial ostrich, been burying my head in the sand refusing to face reality?  If so, I find myself reluctant to admit it.  (By the way, the ostrich does not bury his head in the sand.)

In my moments of quiet contemplation, trying my best to understand all of this, I realize that my optimism springs from my relationship with God.

Everyone, whether Saint or outright heathen, suffers difficult problems. Many others face impossible, unsolvable situations.  How do they cope?  No wonder the suicide rate is increasing, and mental institutions are crowded with hopeless souls.

Realizing that my optimism is inextricably linked with my faith raises another question.  When optimism wavers, where does the fault lie?  Is my faith also wavering?

The Apostle Paul, in Philippians 4:6, told the people that they were “to be anxious for nothing.”  Then he gave them the cure for anxiety, “In everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.”

Still, I am anxious, which seems to say that I distrust God’s power and wisdom, and doubt the reality of His promises.  Yet, I know that is not true.  I do trust Him.  That is the reason I keep coming back.

Of course, I pray, and others pray with me.  The problem lies in the fact that I know He hears me, but I don’t know, yet, what He is doing about it.  Could my impatience be part of the issue?

I have a way of wanting God to do it right now.  But, perhaps He is using this period to teach me a grand lesson—a lesson in patience.

In Luke 21, Jesus speaks to His followers about the terrible trials that will come in the last days, but He says, “Don’t worry for not a hair of your head shall be lost.  By your faith and patience, you shall have eternal life.”

James 1:3-4 says, “…the testing of your faith produces patience…that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.”

LACKING NOTHING!  WOW!  That surely puts a shot into the arm of my optimism.  Lacking nothing must mean that one day soon, I hope, all these awful, strength-sapping trials will be behind me.  I will heave a great sigh of relief and dance a joyful jig, and try to ward off the next onslaught.

I have been learning Christ all my life.  These years of pain have only served to reemphasize the truths already learned.  I KNOW that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.  I KNOW that He surrounds me with His loving care.  I KNOW that His Spirit indwells me and upholds me. I KNOW that He will cause me to triumph, and enable me to be faithful until death.

IN HIM I LACK NOTHING!

This truth ought to elicit a torrent of Thanksgiving.

If that isn’t optimism, I don’t know what is…

Remember, the sun will come out tomorrow!

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE LONG WAY HOME

 

The second time I went to dinner with My Cecil we took the long way home.  It was only fifteen minutes back to my hotel, but suddenly we were driving down a dark country road.

“Where are we going?” I asked.  “This is not the way home.”

Cecil grinned and said, “This is one way—the long way.”

I knew he wasn’t up to any shenanigans.  He wasn’t going to use the old “I ran out of gas” trick.  He just liked to “mosey along” taking his time—never really in a hurry.

I’m just the opposite.  Patience is not something I do well.  If there’s something to do, “Let’s get it done.  Now!  Though, at the age of eighty-one, I am retired, I am not idle.  When I awaken in the morning, I have an agenda.  I know exactly what I will do.  Now, I may change my mind, I have that prerogative, or I may not finish everything on the list, but at least I have a plan.

I don’t like it when someone takes a big chunk out of my time interrupting my plan.  I’m pretty intense about it.

The City of Brussels celebrated its one-thousandth birthday when I lived there.  It sort of grew up like Topsy.  Topsy was a character in Harriet Beecher Stowe’s “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”

When asked, “Do you know who made you?”

She replied, “Nobody as I knows on—I spect I grow’d.  Don’t think nobody ever made me.”

In ancient years, the City of Brussels grew up by itself without apparent design.  “I spect it just grow’d.” Parts of the old city were like a maze—a warren of dark alleys and side streets.  It was easy to get lost.

My friend used to say, “Let’s go down this street.  I think it’s faster.”

“No! No!” I always cried.  “Just go the way we know.”  I had learned early on you can “go around the block” in Brussels and wind up twenty miles from home.  I didn’t want to waste the time.

However, I have discovered that God’s timing is different from mine.  I don’t know who coined the phrase “Stop and smell the roses,” but I think it was God ordained.  The Psalmist says that our Father knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust.  He knows that we need to take time from our busy schedule to enjoy and appreciate the beauty of life.

It took some doing to convince Cecil of this truth.  Though he loved meandering about the country, he pretty much felt that most forms of recreation were frivolous and unnecessary, so it was fun to drag him away for a cruise on the lake or a train trip through the Verde Valley.

If I need to allow time for restoration and recreation of my physical being, so also must I care for my spiritual being.

I know God has a plan—a will for my life.  It is at one and the same time a daily work in me and a life long journey.  His ultimate will is that I become like Jesus

God is my Master Sculptor.  I see Him with his hammer and chisel forming me into the image of His Son.  Bit by bit He chisels away at the rough spots, the unlovely places, the hard unyielding parts of me, and little by little—very little by very little—an image begins to appear, but it is far from complete.  For, this is a long, sometimes painful journey that I travel with The Father.

Of course, being who I am, I want it done now.  I want it yesterday, but He is not in a hurry.  He is taking the “long way home.”

In Jeremiah 18:4, we learn the vessel the potter was making was ruined, so he had to start over and make another vessel.

This happens sometimes in my life.  When I am disobedient and unyielding, God’s work in me takes longer, and starting over in any area is painful.  However, I must tell you “I am determined—I’ve made up my mind.” I will yield to my Master Sculptor, and one day His work in me will be complete.

1 John 3:2 – “Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when He is revealed, we shall be like him, for we shall see Him as He is.”

Good things happen on this “long way home.” All the stops and starts and “do-overs, good or bad, on this journey have made me who I am today, and you should know, the night I took the long way home with Cecil, I learned for the first time he was interested in MORE than a friendship.

Remember “home” is our destination no matter how long it takes.

THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW!