GOOD NAMES

Her name tag said “Edna,” and I was impressed by the joy and courtesy this clerk at my local hardware store showed as I hunted items in the garden section. Immediately, I thought of another “Edna,” who lived across from my childhood home. She faithfully practiced a “religion” of lodges, achieving in her old age the rank of “Grand Worthy High Priestess” of her particular lodge.I couldn't help but contrast their personalities. The local Edna treated me like I was the most important customer of the day. All I bought was rose food and shredded bark. But her customer service was tops. I commented on her name, saying I'd only known one other Edna. Neither of us knew the name's meaning.

When I got home, I did two things. The bottom of my sales slip said I could comment online about my store visit, so I logged in and praised her customer service. Survey done, I looked up the meaning of her name. I learned that women named “Edna” were found in old Bible-times writings.

One was the wife of Enoch, the great-great-great-great-great grandson of Adam, and great-grandfather of Noah. We're told Enoch lived a holy and faithful life for more than three centuries, then was taken straight to heaven without earthly dying. The other “Edna” was a wife of Isaac's hunter-son Esau, known for conflict with his twin brother Jacob, who cheated Esau of his birthright.

The Bible doesn't tell us about the character of these women, but the name means “pleasure, delight.” And who wouldn't want to have such a reputation associated with our names? On a return trip to the hardware store, I took a 3x5 card on which I'd written out the meaning of Edna's name. She'd never known its “meaning,” and flashed an appreciative smile.

My little “name hunt” reminded me of the truth expressed in Proverbs 22:1: “A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.” I'm not saying that a particular name guarantees a blessing, but a person's good character certainly honors it.

My name, Jeanne, is a French feminine of the Bible name, John. My dad was named “John,” and I've learned it means “God is gracious.” Since I wasn't “John Jr.,” perhaps the “Jeanne” etymology from “John” influenced my parents in choosing my name.

Researching names can be quite interesting. I know I have a “name twin” (first/last) in this state who has served faithfully in her city's government. Some years ago, we met when she passed through my town. I'm grateful for her good reputation!

But this whole “name-thing” makes me think twice about people who don't live up to the meanings of their names. Or, birth names aside, they call themselves “Christian” and don't reflect the love and care of the Lord Jesus. A good relationship with a good God is a very good thing! Through the prophet Isaiah, God expressed how special Israel was to Him. He created the nation, one person at a time, and called them out to settle Canaan:

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; you are Mine. (Isaiah 43:1)

The principle still applies. Those who are called out by God—those who wear the faith-name “Christian”--are to conduct their lives in a manner worthy of Him. Our testimony may show up in the most unusual places, like the “garden center” at a local hardware store.

QUICK GOLD

 

When winter's grays and browns yield to the warmer days of spring, our landscape is quickly splashed with bright yellow, among the first vibrant hues of new vegetation. Without intending to insult lovers of tulips and daffodils, you have to admit that dandelions burst in happy profusion after their long winter's nap. I can remember when my then-toddler children went out to the lawn to pick “bouquets” of the lawn's dandelions for Mommy. Beauty to their little selves, to the world they're weeds. The other day I drove by one of our schools and noticed the lawn a mass of yellow, soon to be mowed and tossed away.

American poet Robert Frost (1874-1963) noticed the same thing when he wrote of how “spring's first green is gold.” Fall has its gold, too, when the season turns the green leaves gold, russet, red and brown. But spring's gold is vibrant, alive. A yellow that's short-lived.

I confess to being guilty of making unlikely “connections,” and this time spring's abundant display of dandelions brought to mind a little old faith-song, “Brighten the corner where you are.” Probably my mother (born 1919) sang it, as did her her mother, and who knows how far back. Hymn histories credit the song to Ina Ogdon. (“Ina” is an Irish form of “Agnes,” which means “pure.”) Ogdon lived 1872-1964—just about the same interval as Robert Frost. She is credited with more than 3,000 hymns, anthems, cantatas, and miscellaneous verse. But she shirked publicity, saying God gave her the songs and without Him she could do nothing. No doubt, if you went to church or Sunday school as a child, you sang its chorus:

Brighten the corner where you are (2x)

Someone far from harbor you may guide across the bar;

Brighten the corner where you are.*

Probably like me, you've run across people who don't brighten the corner of our lives. They're touchy or prickly, like thistles. (Hopefully, none of us could be compared to the infamous “corpse flower.” It blooms once a decade with a putrid, rotting odor! See: Why Titan Arum, the Corpse Flower, is so Popular | Nature and Wildlife | Discovery )

I'd rather be a dandelion. Though short-lived, they're cheerful as our long, gray winter welcomes the change of seasons. And they remind me, as Ina Ogdon wrote, to brighten the corner where I am.

*Review all the verses and Mrs. Ogdon's biography here: Brighten the Corner Where You Are | Hymnary.org

SPARED TO SING

 A monthly feature on a hymn of the faith.

Since this is the weekend that many hurry to finish their income tax returns, it might be worth mentioning that one of history's most famous Gospel-song musicians, Ira Sankey, had ties to the Internal Revenue Service. But just briefly. President Abraham Lincoln had appointed his father, David Sankey, as “Collector of Internal Revenue.” The younger Sankey joined his father in government service after his own stint in the Union Army where a song saved his life.

The story was told in the Dec. 24 entry for Mrs. Charles Cowman's classic devotional compilation, Streams in the Desert, Vol, 2. That entry shared the story of a night in 1862 when Sankey, then a Union Army member, was on military watch duty. Unknown to him, out in the darkness, a Confederate soldier had aimed his musket right at Sankey, a sure target. Unaware of this danger, Sankey had looked to the sky—the heavens—and began singing the 1836 hymn, “Savior Like a Shepherd Lead Us,” in his rich baritone voice. The enemy put down his musket, thinking he'd let Sankey finish singing the hymn. But the hymn's words and music gripped the would-be killer:

We are Thine, do Thou befriend us,/ Be the guardian of our way.

The man never fired his weapon at Sankey. And he never forgot that moment.

As time went on, Sankey finished his commitment to military service. He married, worked briefly in government service (the early “IRS”), but soon came to the attention of evangelist Dwight Moody, who needed a song leader for his crusades. Moody challenged Sankey: “Come join me.”

From then on, Sankey built a reputation as a Gospel singer (accompanying himself on a little reed organ) through Moody's evangelistic campaigns throughout United States and two tours to Great Britain. In London, Queen Victoria and statesman William E. Gladstone heard Sankey sing. He also compiled a hymnal, “Sacred Songs and Solos,” that sold extremely well, and introduced the Christian public to emerging Gospel poets and songwriters, like the prolific Phillip Bliss and Fanny Crosby.

But here's the rest of the story of “Savior Like Shepherd Lead Us.” On Christmas Eve, 1875, he was traveling on a steamboat up the Delaware River. Passengers gathered on deck asked if he would sing. He intended to do a Christmas song, but instead obeyed an impulse to sing “Savior Like a Shepherd Lead Us.” That hymn, the words by Dorothy Thulip and music by William Bradley, was long a favorite. It was also the song he had sung on his lonely Civil War guard watch thirteen years earlier.

Afterwards, a man with a rough, weather-beaten face came up to Sankey and asked if he'd ever served in the Union Army. Sankey said yes. The man probed further: “Can you remember if you were doing picket duty on a bright, moonlight night in 1862?”

To Sankey's surprised affirmation, the man revealed he almost killed him that night, but the song caused him to put down his weapon. Especially convicting were the lyrics, “We are Thine, do Thou befriend us, Be the guardian of our way.” Stricken by the hymn's message, the man asked Sankey to help him “find a cure for my sick soul.” That night, Sankey's former enemy became a Christ-follower.

As Sankey aged, the intense pace of crusade and singing ministry strained his voice and compromised his health. Moody and Sankey conducted their last campaign together in Kansas City, just a month before Moody's death the end of 1899. Sankey's own health suffered more after solo campaigns to Egypt, Palestine and Britain. He lost his sight to glaucoma, finally dying in 1908 just short of age 68. By one report, just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he was singing an 1891 hymn by his contemporary, blind hymnist Fanny Crosby:

Some day the silver chord will break/And I no more, as now, will sing;
But oh! The joy when I awake/Within the Palace of the King!

*Among the hymn texts (by others) for which Sankey wrote the tunes were: “Am I a Solider of the Cross,” “Beneath the Cross of Jesus,” “God Will Take Care of You, “Under His Wings,” “There Were Ninety and Nine, “Thou Didst Leave Thy Throne,” “Hiding in Thee.”

Here's a rare recording of Sankey playing and singing: Bing Videos

OUCH!

 A dozen-plus roses—some of them forty-plus years old--fill a planting area next to my driveway. My youngest grandson has a naughty habit of taking the quickest route from Mom and Dad's car to the front door, which puts him at risk of lots of thorns grabbing his clothes. He just doesn't listen to his Nana's warning, “Go on the driveway pavement, NOT through the roses.” Well, he's six. What more can I say? Each spring I tend to each bush, carefully cutting away dead stalks and trying to achieve a “bowl” shape with the remaining healthy stalks. If I have done my job correctly, by May I will have a lovely bouquet to pick from the new branches.

But, oh, those thorns! I have a sensitivity to thorn pricks in my hands. If one gets through my thick leather gloves, I head to the kitchen to make a paste of water and MSG (used for meat tenderizing), which seems to help the allergic reaction. The other day when this happened, my thoughts randomly went back to my high school days and that troubled era when some of my classmates were shipped off to the Vietnam War, some never to return. My husband's family had a relative who joined the military and died shortly after landing in Vietnam.

We don't talk much about that conflict. Hopes of liberating Southeast Asia didn't work out. Their fighters' primitive assault strategies helped turn things in their favor. My roses, with their mean thorns, remind me of some of the “weapons” the enemy used: like camouflaged holes in the jungle trails which sent any who stepped on them into deep pits of lethal spikes, grenades, poisonous snakes, or scropions. If you're curious, just search “booby traps” on the internet. You'll learn more than you want to know.

Sadly, booby traps aren't limited to national warfare. They're all around us through social interactions with folks whose minds aren't working as the Lord intended. Instead of loving and affirmative, they're mean-spirited and bitter. Their words—spoken or written—are like booby traps, apt to trip you up and hurt you when you least expect it.

When I've been wounded in such a situation, I'm grateful for God's assurances that He is in control. There's nothing such people can do, as mean as they may get, to separate me from His love. In my young adulthood, when I was dealing with some negative people and situations, the Lord prompted me to memorize some scriptures about victory and perseverance. One was the end of Romans 8:

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or sword? As it is written, 'For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.' No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us” (vv. 35-37).

God's Word says it. I claim it. If I am in right relationship with the Savior, no traps of human deceit, lies, or unfounded accusations can separate me from God's love. The going may get rough at times. But He knows what's on the path ahead. Sometimes He'll warn me to stay away from emotional danger pits. Other times He shows me the safer detour. In this life, I won't escape thorny relationships or hurtful circumstances. But I remember that at the end, God will redeem my pain.

My favorite quote regarding this comes from George Matheson (1842-1905), a Scottish pastor who was blind and single all his life: “My God, I have never thanked Thee for my thorns. I have thanked Thee a thousand times for my roses, but not once for my thorns. I have been looking forward to a world where I shall get compensation for my cross: but I have never thought of my cross as itself a present glory. Teach me the glory of my cross; teach me the value of my thorn.”

CROSS-PURPOSES

Like many, I have a cross necklace

A monthly feature on a Christian hymn.

Sometimes, the histories of old, familiar hymns turn down detours we don't expect. That's the case with “In the Cross of Christ I Glory,” written in about 1825 by a brilliant Englishman named John Bowring. Ten years after he penned the words, halfway around the world, Macao (near Hong Kong) was hit by a typhoon. The winds and a fire destroyed the city's impressive St. Paul's Church, leaving a wall of sculptures and a cross. In 1849, Bowring would come to Macao on a British political appointment as its “consul.” That's when he would have seen the ruined church whose condition illustrated his earlier poem, which begins:

In the cross of Christ I glory,/Towering o'er the wrecks of time.

His poem was meant to echo Galatians 6:14: “Far be it from me to glory save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

But Bowring's life path prior to government service did not unfold as one might expect. As a young man he felt called to preach in the ministry of the Unitarian Church, whose theology conflicts with Christian denominations that emphasize the atoning death of Jesus Christ. His father encouraged him to pursue other life work, probably realizing his son's brilliance would take him far. By one biographical account, Bowring could speak fluently in twenty-two languages and converse in nearly a hundred more. A prolific author, he edited a magazine; eventually some 36 volumes of published works bore his name. He was a biographer, naturalist, financier, statesman and philanthropist. He also served in the House of Commons and was eventually knighted by Queen Victoria. He would die at age 80 in 1872.

Bowring's lyrics (more Gospel-oriented that his later beliefs) would have been lost to time without the inspiration of a frustrated organist and choirmaster at Central Baptist Church in Norwich, Connecticut. One rainy Lenten Sunday in 1851, only one choir member showed up to sing at the worship services. Profoundly disappointed by his choir's unfaithfulness, he turned off his organ after playing the prelude and left the church building, leaving the minister without music support for the rest of the service!

That afternoon, remorseful for so abruptly leaving the service, he recalled a hymn assigned to that day. It had a dull tune. He was inspired to compose another tune for it, naming it after the one choir member who showed up that morning: 24-year-old Mrs. Rathbun. That's why in hymnbooks today the tune is identified as “Rathbun.” Dying just five years later, she would not live to learn of its widespread use.

As for Bowring, his literary and government credentials are rarely remembered today. But on his tombstone are inscribed the words to “In the Cross of Christ I Glory.”

Vocalists and an artist sing and illustrate this classic hymn (link to click):

Bing Videos

 

"WELL"-DONE

Sometimes I have to push my chin back up to close my mouth over the dating-life excesses of our media-fueled, love-weary culture. I'm not talking only about the “bachelor” or “bachelorette” television episodes (which I never bothered to watch) which (assuming by their previews) were likely grounded heavily in sensuality. A few years before that, one television show featured a woman “choosing” to date one of three men hidden behind a barrier. All she had to go on were their voices and answers to some inane questions. When her choice was revealed, her reaction was...well, let the audience decide.

Maybe the problem was the media in charge. Not the Master.

One of the most faith-challenging romance stories of the Bible gives a more God-dependent perspective on man/woman match-ups. Flip to Genesis 24, about the unlikely “romance” of Abraham's old-age miracle offspring, Isaac. Abraham's wife Sarah had died. Isaac was an aging bachelor, with no wife in sight. Before Abraham died, he wanted to check that box for his son. Most important, he wanted Isaac's wife to come from his own family line—days and days of camel-travel away.

No internet. No smart phone. No easy way to check things out beforehand. And no, Isaac wouldn't go along. No way would Abraham risk losing his son to unknown wilderness travel and wife-shopping.

And so Abraham's old, devoted servant left. No jet airplanes in those days. No nice highways. Instead, camels plodding over wilderness and sand, both left feet forward and down. Both right feet forward and down. Over and over. About 3.5 miles an hour. A journey of some 300 miles to Mesopotamia where Abraham's kin originated. Even more tricky, Abraham wanted a woman from his clan of the many living back there.

You probably recall the rest of the story. After nine to ten days of weary travel, the entourage stopped at a well to water the animals. The servant put out one of those risky “fleece” prayers, asking for a miracle sign. (That's not typically how God works.) He asked for a lovely virgin to offer him and his camels water—no easy job for those humped H20 guzzlers. Out came a beauty queen who just happened to be single, from the right clan, and happy to help the weary travelers. Imagine her surprise when the servant honored her with jewelry and asked to meet her family!

Where am I going with this? To the servant's statement of amazement; “I being in the way, the LORD led me to the house of my master's brethren” (Genesis 24:27 KJV). In our times, “in the way” implies something negative, like you're not needed or impeding a project. But here in King James grammar-era, “in the way” meant that as he was progressing on his way in need of a miracle, God showed up. The rest of the story involved some conversations with the young lady's family and her eagerness to get on her way to meet her future husband. Sight unseen!

This story of God-at-work may be interpreted by some as showing “prayer-answers-on-demand.” But God doesn't always work that way. His ways are higher than our ways. Our call is to be “in [or "on"] the way,” trusting God to lead us to answers or solutions, or even to closed doors when something is not right. Or maybe “not yet”--coming as slow as camels, right feet/left feet/repeat over endless sands, the destination in His timing.

WHEN GRATITUDE'S HARD...

My baby photo--probably one year old....
My name means "God is gracious."

One discipline my parents tried to instill in me was gratitude, my childhood lessons happening around birthdays and Christmas. Before too many days ticked away, I was to sit down and write a thank-you note that “gifted” the “gifter” with appreciation for their effort and thoughtfulness. In the long-range view, this was more than an etiquette thing, especially when the gift we opened was, well, disappointing to a young child. Maybe the gift was socks instead of a new toy. Or an ugly sweater instead of that “cool outfit” everybody else was wearing. Such “thank-you” notes were basic training for bigger things—like trusting God for life's unwelcome turns.

Friends who shared my grief in my husband's recent death helped me see “thanks” in a new way with their sympathy gift of a book, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy* by Mark Vroegop, a pastor and conference speaker from Indianapolis. My husband's packed memorial service, the kind words, the hugs, the baskets of cards, the meals—all brought comfort. But they didn't address the ache in my heart that asked, Why him? Why now? What next?

Long ago I'd memorized Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.” Grief—times of silence and stillness--tested me to the core. It also sent me deeper into scriptures, with this book as a helpful guide.

Vroegop wrote from his own deep pain of holding his just-born but lifeless nine-pound daughter. His and his wife's heartbreak in this inexplicable loss eventually led him to understanding Biblical “lament,” a different emotion from what we understand as “sorrow.” Lament, he said, “is how you live between a hard life and God's promises. It is how we learn to sing and worship when suffering comes our way” (p. 84).

How many years had I read and studied psalms without realizing the “sad ones” had messages for my own sorrows? Vroegop described these “lament psalms” as ways to “turn to God in prayer, lay out our complaints, ask boldly, and choose to trust.” It's not gritting-one's-teeth and thinking somehow you'll get through this. It's banking on the Bible's promises and God's character to learn and grow through pain. It's forging through mourning platitudes to God-directed gratitude.

I'm still on this journey. It actually began decades ago when my parents died six months apart the year I was 31. Then still single, I was tasked with the emptying their home. I tried to be brave, do the “post-death” work. But I didn't grieve well. I'm trusting God to show me renewed hope and healing as I embrace scripture's “lament” passages in fresh ways. To be able to say thank you, even from a broken heart.

*Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy (Wheaton: Crossway, 2019, 223 pages)

ONE BULB AT A TIME

I spent most of my growing-up years in Washington's Puyallup Valley, which for decades has celebrated spring with a “Daffodil Festival,” complete with royalty, a parade, and many other events. Now I live about 150 miles away, but I acknowledged my “valley roots” by planting a few daffodil bulbs at my home. However, my “patch” was a pittance—especially after I learned of “The Daffodil Garden” near Julian, a town in the mountains above San Diego. And that garden was originally no commercial venture. It was the love-labor of one woman, planting one bulb at a time, until the region exploded in the hues of yellow, orange and white of some 80,000 daffodils.

She began in 1958 by planting a couple dozen bulbs around her A-frame home, its shady trees and garden. The collection grew over the next half century, one bulb at a time, until plethhora of blooms became a local tourist attraction that survived her death. The plantings even survived the devastating 2021 month-long “Willow Fire” which scorched nearly 2,900 acres—because the bulbs were resting after their bloom cycle underground.

Did you catch that phrase, one bulb at a time? Her quiet dedication inspired a book with the bigger life principle of starting and steadfastly pursuing a big goal. Like planting bulbs, life goals happen one action at time. This link takes you to a narration of the book:

The Daffodil Principle (abundance-and-happiness.com)

So what? Well, so what of your goals? Maybe an educational or health goal. Or cleaning up your room or home or yard. Or garage! Or tackling a new skill. Nosy question: do you have goals?

I don't know about you, but I faced goals I thought impossible to achieve. Some were financial, others educational and relational. Transforming a goal to reality took tools requiring courage to start and sustain. When I talked to God about them, I was taken back to the advice shared by one of his most energetic, sold-out followers, Paul. He had many strikes against him: health, enemies, folks who didn't really care about the “Jesus story.” Not to mention financial (but he wasn't too important to sew tents for food and housing). He shared his secret: “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13).

Not quite the “Daffodil Principle.” But similar. There's no reaping without sowing. No daffodils without bulbs. No spiritual fruit by avoiding what God calls us to do.

Challenge question: Are you planting bulbs to bloom where God has planted you?

Be inspired by this montage of daffodil photos:

"the daffodil garden" in julian, california - Search Images (bing.com)

ALL SPICED UP....

Articles that start “How to” often grab my attention, and this time the “how-to” was about when to cull the kitchen spice collection. Those little bottles and cans of flavoring aren't like cheese, which sports a white and blue overcoat if neglected a week or so too long. But like any organic matter, spices are vulnerable to growing “old.” The article said dried, ground, whole herbs and spices react to air around them. Thus, they oxidize and degrade every time they're opened. The article also said anything sold in a can (versus plastic or glass) probably dates back almost to the pyramids, and needs a decent burial.

Could I be so neglectful and guilty? The answer: yes. I kept my spices on a two-tier round turntable, one level baking spices, the other “cooking” ones. The contraption fit nicely into the hard-to-access corner cupboard. Pulling it out, I discovered—gasp!--several canned spices. Some even had stamped “use before” dates, which took me almost back to President Herbert Hoover (sorry, just kidding). I couldn't even remember when I last used them. As each can or plastic bottle was scrutinized for date or usefulness, the eliminations brought me to just a handful of finalists. I wiped down the turning-shelf, reloaded them in alphabetical order (all right, go ahead and tag me as somewhat of a perfectionist, but why not?), and pushed Ms. Turning-shelf back in the cupboard.

Okay, this is not a homemaking advice column, although I did write something of that nature way back in the 1970s as the “Home and Food Editor” of a small-town daily. But the Bible does speak of salt and spices in negative and positive ways.

The negative was the “extreme tithe” practiced by the religious leaders of Jesus' time. The Lord had to be frowning when He declared:

Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of our spices—mint, dill and cumin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law—justice,mercy and faithfulness. (Matt. 23:23)

Woe to you, Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. (Mark 11:42)

I can't even imagine them counting their seed collection to make sure they had one-tenth to put in their offering baggy!

And don't forget salt! Ancient Hebrew priests sprinkled salt on offerings, symbolizing purification, preservation and dedication to God. Likewise, Jesus used salt as an analogy to true spirituality, suggesting positive flavor and the purifying influence of godliness.

You are the salt of the earth. (Matt. 5:13)

Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with each other. (Mark 10:50)

But wait, what about Bible verses about salt (meaning believers) losing its saltiness? (See Matt. 5:13-16 and Mark 9:49-50.) Scientists tell us that over time salt can absorb water molecules, which diminish its power. Can our faith be likewise diluted? Yes. There's a term for it: “backslide.” We get bland like the God-rejecting culture around us.

Regarding my turntable graveyard of old, old spices: I culled its contents to the ones I really used, and replaced two that went back to horse-and-buggy days (well, not quite). And I reflected on how the “old, old story” of Jesus and His love will never expire!

 

OF REEDS & WICKS

This isn't wheat (it's lavender) but just imagine
it to be wheat, for the sake of this blog!

 As the political scene starts heating up with Presidential hopefuls, we're apt to witness a lot of shaming and bravado. “My opponent is a loser.” “Here's some dirt I dug up on him/her.” “I'm better qualified because of this-and-that.” “I can be trusted.” Such propaganda (practiced in everyday situations besides the political arena) prompts me to remember a little passage in Isaiah's prophecy that's easy to skip over.

Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight. I will put my Spirit on him and he will bring justice to the nations.(Isaiah 42:2)

Unlike most rulers of that era, who wanted thrones, opulent living quarters, adoration, and the best horse in the stable to ride, Isaiah looked to a Messiah like this:

He will not shout or cry out, or raise his voice in the streets. A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. (v.3)

Isaiah's ancient, agrarian audience understood these analogies. The spiritually broken and bruised were like a storm- or human-damaged crop stalk. The spiritually “burned out” could relate to a primitive oil lamp with its nearly spent oil basin and sputtering wick. In contrast to their era's proud and position-grabbing rulers, the future Messiah would teach of God's justice and reach the needs of the poor and suffering.

The phrase “a bruised reed” always fascinated me. Sometimes it brought to mind a mid-1950s family trip to my mother's aunt and uncle's farm in Eastern Montana. Think: windmill pump for water, an outhouse, and wood-stove/kerosene lanterns if a wild storm knocked out electricity. Big changes for a little kid from Los Angeles!

During the trip, my mother wanted to photograph her uncle in his prize wheat field. Although a bit reluctant—perhaps not wanting to waste some beaded wheat stalks by walking over them--he obliged her. I was reminded of this incident in reading Judith Couchman's One Holy Passion (Waterbrook, 1998, p. 84). Of the same Isaiah passage she wrote:

To be spiritually useful to God we must periodically travel the wasteland of brokenness. In this desert God tenderly picks up our shattered pieces and remolds them into the image of His Son. During the redesign He promises, “A bruised reed [I] will not snuff out”....No matter how broken we feel, God won't allow the pain to destroy us.

Jesus takes special note of bruised and sputtering lives. When I feel broken or burned out in my spiritual life, He is able to gently pick me up and help me get going again. When I languish, He waits in love for me to reach out or turn around and see Him, Ready, waiting, loving.

Does that encourage you in your hard times? It does, me.

.

GRATITUDE ATTITUDE

Maybe it was their childhood of growing up in the Depression, when you learned to be thankful for everything, but gratitude was one character quality my parents tried to instill in me and my sister. We hadn't experienced the death of a parent nor extreme economic deprivations, as they had. But we were taught to be appreciative. One discipline connected to that was saying “thank you” and writing “thank-you notes.”

I tried to instill that in my kids, especially at gift-time. Even when they were too young to write, I encouraged them to draw a picture of the item and coached them on signing their names. With maturity came an expansion of what to be thankful for. Not just material gifts, but also the intangibles like the love, family connections, and hope that we have in Jesus Christ. Whenever I encounter a bitter person, I wonder, what would happen if they sat down and starting writing a thankful list. Would it open their eyes to the poverty of their life outlook?

G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936), an English apologist, literary/art critic, and author (also known for influencing fantasy writers C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien), toward the end of his life tried to express his most important life lesson. He decided it was this: whether we take things for granted or take them with gratitude.

Of that, Christian pastor and author Gary Inrig, in his study of Jesus' parables, remarked that when people live with a sense of entitlement instead of gratitude, such attitudes grow thin with those around them. In contrast, living out overflowing thankfulness is a prime clue to one's relationship with God. He explained: "When gratitude is lacking, grace has either not been received or not been understood. The state of our relationship with God is revealed clearly by our gratitude towards him."(1)

Not surprising, the etymology (word derivation) of “gratitude” is the Latin gratus, meaning “thankful, pleasing, agreeable.”

Every year I try to choose a focus word for the year. I post it at the bottom of my computer screen as a daily reminder of that quality. This year's word may be a repeat, but it's “gratitude.” Last year was tough with my husband's final illness and death. But even through that journey and its aftermath, the support of friends and loved ones has reminded me: be grateful in words, actions, and prayer. Quietly, through these choices, we'll sense the hug of God.

(1) Gary Inrig, The Parables: Understanding What Jesus Meant (Discovery House, 1991), pp. 45-46.

ROBED

I'm not one to wave a wish-list at Christmastime, but when my daughter-in-law asked what I might like, I thought of my, uh, very pilled, tired plush bathrobe. About thirty years ago, it was a soft and quite cozy. But now it was, well, ratty instead of royal, the “plush” spiked and thin.

I'm not fussy about robes; probably that old one came form a clearance rack. But its “aging” condition got me thinking about the history of robes and their spiritual connections. In reading the book of Isaiah, I always pause at the beginning of chapter 6. The prophet Isaiah wrote: “In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted, and the train of his robe filled the temple” (Isaiah 6:1). Isaiah goes on to describe heavenly beings (seraphs with six wings) whose praise of God was so great that the temple's doorposts and thresholds shook, and the temple was filled with smoke.

Shaken greatly by this vision, Isaiah exclaimed, “Woe is me!” Then God commissioned him to prophesy to his wayward nation. That included advising King Uzziah, who would die of leprosy as a divine punishment for burning incense in the temple—a rite strictly belonging to the priests. So yes, pride led to the king's fall.

That whole thing of “pride” figures in other parts of robe history. Think of the Genesis account of teenage Joseph strutting about in his daddy's gift of a richly ornamented robe, to the disgust of his older half-brothers. That story didn't end happily for many years.

As history continued, the length and “drag” of a robe came to represent wealth and status. Robes of expensive material with lots of “drag” denoted that the wearer was either wealthy, distinguished in some way, or royalty. When King Charles was crowned last year, he entered Westminster Abby wearing the historic 14-foot-long “Coronation” robe which his mother had worn in 1953. He exited wearing the 21-foot “Imperial State Robe,” fifteen pounds dragging from his shoulders.

Not something you'd wear to wash the dishes or change the oil in the car....

Back to Isaiah's vision of Heaven and the enormous train from the throne of God. Remember, it was a vision, a way that God communicated concepts too great and wonderful for our human language. That's also true of how the apostle John, in an incredible vision he had of heaven (now our Biblical book of “Revelation”), described celestial garments of martyrs. They were white, “washed...in the blood of the Lamb” (Rev. 7:14).

I can't wrap my mind around that. But I gladly wrap my (new) robe around me these cold nights. At times I still pull on my late husband's old robe, generous and warm. It's all that's left of his once-full closet, the rest of his clothes now given to people in need. I miss his hugs, but the robe reminds me that now I am wrapped in “the hug of God.” And knowing that brings great comfort.

WELCOME?

My home's welcome mat: traditional!

Ruth Bell Graham, the late wife of evangelist Billy Graham, was, well, “a kick.” Her serious side chose for a family home a location that was hard to get to—away from prying eyes and looky-loos—to help preserve some sort of privacy for the five children she often raised alone while Billy traveled. But you only had to step on the porch to realize she was no marble statue but a fun-loving lady. The front doormat read, “Oh, no, not you again.” You can actually buy those mats today—they're available at least online. Inside the home, in her kitchen, she hung this sign: “Divine service will be conducted here three times daily.” She wasn't talking about some high church liturgy, just the nitty-gritty of caring for a large family. Her sense of humor went all the way to the grave. One day while traveling, she took note of a road improvement sign that said, “End of construction. Thanks for your patience.” She said, “I'd like that on my gravestone.” And yes, it's engraved there on her slab next to Billy's grave.*

Back to that welcome mat...I have a traditional “welcome mat” on my porch. My son bought it for me to replace an aging one that was quite worn. He also also pulled up the porch's threadbare outdoor carpet and replaced it with new.

Porches can say a lot about your home. My 1950s-era childhood home in a Los Angeles suburb had a covered porch draped with a red climbing clematis—quite a romantic setting except on Halloween. Our mail was pushed down a chute on the porch that emptied into the dining room. My dad would shove our vacuum cleaner hose up that chute to vocalize a real scary “ooOOOOOooo” to arriving trick-or-treaters. That scared some off the porch!

Okay, fun aside, our entryways often do reflect who we are. If they're dirty or neglected, that's one message. If there's a sign that says, “No solicitors,” that's another. If crowded with plants, another subliminal message. But, mats like Mrs. Graham's teasing "Oh, no, not you again"?

When I knock at heaven's door through prayer, I'm glad I don't sense God saying, “Oh, no, not you again.” I'm glad He doesn't yell, “No trespassing.” Or that He doesn't peer through the peep-hole to see if He wants to open the door. Or, to turn the main analogy inside out--with Jesus knocking at the door of my heart--I'm taken to Revelation 3:20: “I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.”

That's a verse that many (including Billy Graham) have quoted to invite people to come to faith in Jesus. To begin a time of “spiritual reconstruction” to become who God always intended them to be. To be able to say, as does Ruth's tombstone, “End of construction. Thanks for your patience.”

*Zoom in on this link to read the humorous saying she wanted: Headstoneof Ruth Bell Graham, wife of Billy Graham, at her burial site in theMemorial Prayer Garden on the grounds of the Billy Graham Library inCharlotte, North Carolina, that tells the story of the life and"journey of faith" of the famed evangelist - originaldigital file | Library of Congress (loc.gov)

THE BLESSING APRON

 After my husband's death, a friend asked for one of his dress shirts for a special project. He had many nice shirts that he wore to church or formal occasions, or to substitute teach. In the public school classroom, his shirt-and-tie attire wordlessly communicated higher expectations for the students. (And yes, after decades of dealing with classroom behavior, he was a pro about class control.)

My friend's project? Transforming a nice collared shirt into a memory apron for me. The day she delivered it, I cried as I pulled it on. For the sweet memories of my late husband associated with that garment. And for her loving work in giving it a new role.

I hope I'm not stretching this love-gift too much by associating it with another apron involved in a love-gift. Instead of what we consider an “apron,” it was a First Century towel that Jesus tied around Himself to lovingly wash His disciples' feet before their last supper together before His crucifixion. Though this meal was described in all the Gospels, only John included the foot-washing detail.

Having visited a Third-World country, I “get it” about dirty feet. In Bible times, the street dirt contained human and animal waste, soiling their feet and primitive sandals. Hygiene and “good manners” mandated removing one's sandals near the door and washing feet.

Somehow, that nicety wasn't observed when the disciples secured someone's large second-story room for their observance of the Passover meal. Maybe they thought a servant would show up and do it. They never imagined Jesus doing such a dirty job. None of them “stepped to the plate” (to borrow a baseball saying for this dining room) for this humble duty. Instead, they focused on their plates of food as they lay on their sides at the low table, one pair of filthy feet after another fanning out behind them.

Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. (John 13:3-5)

My old aprons bear the stains of many meals I prepared for my family or delivered to share with those in grief or need. Others blessed me that way, like the year I royally broke my ankle and was recliner-bound for weeks. A dear older friend symbolically “washed my feet” by bringing delicious meals while I was laid up. Years later my husband and I still talked about that, especially her famed roast beef sandwiches with dipping broth.

That amazing, generous cook was my apron-friend's late mother. Mom to daughter, daughter to me....what a legacy of grace and giving. What a practical reminder of Jesus: “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45).

COLD PEOPLE

The neighbor boys (grade- and middle-school-age) created these “extra residents” for their front yard after our first significant snowfall. How cool, I thought, then I realized that “cool” could have several meanings: “entertaining,” “temperature-challenged” or “vulnerable to heat.” This pun also came to mind (forgive me!): “God's Frozen People” (from “God's Chosen People,” of course meaning the nation of Israel back to Bible times). Well, these neighborhood “frozen people” didn't last more than a couple days as temperatures warmed up. But they got me thinking about how God has been teaching me to “chill”--the lingo for “accept, don't get all bothered over”--regarding things in life that don't go as I want.

For many years I've gone through a spiritual learning curve of dealing with unhappy, angry people. My natural tendency is to try to “fix” things. But these situations were way beyond me. Then the Lord showed me that the answer wasn't in my trying to “fix” them, but in my seeking His Face, and behaving in ways that He wanted me to behave. His way was the true chill.

One great text advocating “chill” is in Paul's letter to the Ephesian church. This church, located in today's Turkey, was a commercial seaport with a primary religion devoted to the goddess Diana. This letter got down to specifics of how a Christ-follower should pull away from society's idols and live out the attributes of Christ. In a nutshell, those in Ephesians (4:25-5:2) include:

*Truth-speaking

*Controlling anger

*Giving instead of stealing

*Wholesome speech that builds others up

*Being on guard against grieving God's Holy Spirit

*Forsaking negative emotions (bitterness, rage, anger, brawling, slander)

*Practicing kindness and compassion

Probably like me, you've known folks whose lives are characterized by the negatives of that list. Yet whenever I read this passage, I am compelled to ask, Which behaviors characterize me? Where can God do some remodeling of my spirit?

Unlike the neighbors' snowmen, we're not vulnerable to the next day's rain or temperature rise. And unlike packed snow created as “art,” we're living, changing, growing creations of the Heavenly Father. Sometimes in life we need to “chill”--as in forsake anger or resentment—but in so doing seek the Sun-shine of the Savior, who is steadily and lovingly shaping us into real, warm-blooded vessels of His love and peace. Chosen people, not Frozen People.

LAVISH!

My hardy front door flowers--in snow

Whew! We have gotten past Kommercial Kwis-mas with all its alluring advertisements to give the world's very most and very best. The latest and the most lavish. A year ago, just before Christmas, I shook my head in disbelief at the full-page newspaper advertisements for a woman's diamond pendant necklace. Of course, the picture showed just her petite chin and smiling lips, and the masculine hands carefully draping the jewelry around her neck. I wondered how many diamond necklaces the company had to sell to pay for that ad and the models' fees. Hmm, they didn't call me to be the photo model for this ad. But then, jewelry hasn't really been my “thing.” And my chin is no longer model-worthy.

But I like that word—lavish. Our English word comes from the French lavasse or lavache, meaning “a torrent or rain, deluge.” Or it may derive from Italian, just across France's border, where lava also means “a torrent or stream” from the Latin lavare, “to wash.” If you're thinking about the Italian volcano Mt. Vesuvius, you're on the right track.

On a more ordinary level, in late summer and fall, a lavish perennial blossom clump sprouts in the barrel planter by my front door. Well, “lavish” for my poor gardening skills. But when new blooms come up each spring from the soil where last year's flowers die, I am reminded that God delights in such displays of creation.

I started to do some thinking about our English word “lavish.” We connect it with profusion, like “lavish spending” or “lavish giving.” (Cue up the holiday mall music.) It also might ring a bell of the uncontrolled spending (“lavish living”) of the Prodigal Son. Or of his father's over-the-top celebration (a party complete with the fatted calf) for his son's return. And, below that story line, an illustration of God's lavish love for us, His wayward sons and daughters.

But there's another Biblical word about “above and beyond” that recently got my attention. It's the Greek perisseuo, which means “over and beyond.” Think: Jesus' miracles of feeding the multitudes in Luke 9 and John 12. The crumbs of bread and bits of fish fed thousands, and when the leftovers were collected, they amounted to a miraculous heap. The feeding was a perisseuo—over-and-beyond—miracle of God's care and provision.

How great and deep is the Father's love toward us? We cannot measure it. All our materialism and gifting are a pittance in comparison to all God does to show His love for us.

Take a minute to sing along with this contemporary praise song by Stuart Townend (b. 1963) about God's lavish love:

HowDeep the Father’s Love For Us - Lyrics, Hymn Meaning and Story(godtube.com)

UNDRINKABLE

My front-loading clothes washer recently reminded me of a Gospel presentation that happened so long ago in my life that I can't even remember my age at that time. But I do recall its “magic” with chemicals. The traveling evangelist (er, chemist) presented a glass of black water. (No, it wasn't extra-strong coffee!) He explained that the black water illustrated our sinful hearts. Then he added some red liquid (representing the blood of Christ) and—magic!--the water turned clear again.*

Back to the washer. The bottom front of mine has a little trap door.Without bothering to read the owner's manual, I decided to do some experimenting. Behind it was a screw-out filter and a clamped nozzle. The filter held gooey gunk and a pieced earring (not mine, maybe from someone whom I helped by doing their laundry). The nozzle dribbled disgusting black liquid (what you see in the drinking glass). When I got around to reading the owner's manual, I learned the little mouse-size door was the guardhouse for the "Drain Pump Filter." It's to keep excess lint and foreign objects (buttons, keys, rings) from damaging the pump.

What? Are you guessing at my analogy? Maybe that of allowing the Holy Spirit and scriptures to “filter” our sinful or even edgy choices that impair us spiritually? The Bible put it this way: “Let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God” (2 Corinthians 7:1).

You probably see where I am headed with this. Left without spiritual filters, my life would easily clog up with grudges, bitterness and other things that don't befit a follower of Jesus. But through scripture reading and application, prayer with a tender heart, and sometimes through difficult life events, God helps me “filter out” the attitudes and actions that don't belong in my life.

* Don't try this at home: I think bleach is involved. Here's a You-Tube about the illustration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Z_SMrnEiaI)