AUTOGRAPHED

I'm not an autograph-collector, but when I heard that Edith Schaeffer was to speak at my Bible college's weekly assembly, I grabbed my copy of her book Hidden Art and took a seat in the front row. What a privilege to see and hear a woman who with her husband, Francis, carved an indelible place in groundbreaking Christian apologetics. She also brought dignity to the simple arts: of personal pleasure in music, art, gardening, hospitality and homemaking. As the assembly ended, with unusual boldness on my part, I hurried up on the stage with my copy of her book, the cover open and pen in hand. She knew what that meant, smiled, and signed it. That was it. I faded away as others came behind me.

This was the late 1970s when the apologetics ministry of their Swiss compound L'Abri was becoming internationally known. Francis rose to worldwide prominence as a defender of the faith against existentialism and liberal theology. L'Abri welcomed spiritual seekers who jammed the alpine site. Her visit to my campus in 1977 was a big deal. Francis would die of cancer in 1984; Edith would live to 98, dying in 2013. This was one of her twenty books.

Whenever I open that book and see her handwriting, I'm reminded of something else: that we represent the handwriting of God on this planet. Yes, “handwriting” is a metaphor, but it's found in the Bible, as in Isaiah 49. There, through the prophet, God says He will never forget his people, any more than a loving mother forget the baby she nurses. It goes on:

See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.(v. 16)

These days, people short on paper might ink a reminder on the hands, to be washed out later. But here the Hebrew word describes cutting--something more permanent. God has permanently autographed His hand with my name.

To look at it another way, most authors are glad to sign books they have written. I had the privilege of having several Christian living books published about patience, encouragement, and trusting God in life's hard places. When I spoke somewhere, I took books along—as most speakers do—and people asked me to sign them, usually with a “to” somebody before my name. I was glad to do so, identifying myself with the message.

Here's the bigger truth: each of us begins as a blank book. Our thoughts and actions –good and bad--fill their pages. The book that Edith Schaeffer autographed celebrated God's amazing works in the ordinary processes of life. She explored creativity and creation with robust thanksgiving to God. As I went through an emotionally and creative “lean” time in my life, I needed its encouragement for my own future with God.

As a new year opens, maybe that's the message many of us need. We're encouraged to put off the old past and embrace a new future: “Forgetting what is behind...straining toward what is ahead” in God's plan  (Phil. 4:13). We're given a blank book. What fills it up this year depends on each of us—and whose Name we choose to inscribe on its cover as the co-Author.

P.S. In researching “autographs,” I came across this site by a sports card collector. He featured sports personalities whose collector cards included a favorite Bible verse. What a way to witness!

Bible Verses on Autographs - TTM Autograph - Through The Mail Autograph Collecting

IMAGINATIVE

Oh, the land of make-believe! You know: the tales of a lovely, kind young woman being mistreated, and then fate bringing to her the prince who falls in love on the spot and marries her! I thought of that fare when I saw this Cinderella-type quilt at our county fair. Oh yes, in my girlhood I had a small collection of fairy tale books—thank you, Disney. I dreamed over its drawings of magnificent castles and voluminous ball gowns (accenting their wearers' teensy waists!). Someday, would my prince come and whisk me away to a castle?

Now my little five-year-old granddaughter is going through the “princess” stage. On our last visit, I started reading to her from her stash of fairy tale books. One about Cinderella was the same edition as I had as a child—an antique, for sure! But as soon as I read the last word, off my lap she jumped, running to her room. A few minutes later she emerged in her Cinderella costume. I knew she had the one for Queen Elsa (from “Frozen”) as she had paraded in that (with its filmy train, sparkly crown and wand) soon after we came to visit. Probably by now she has the costume for “Snow White,” her reported latest princess “thing.”

Imagination. Dream worlds. You'd think they'd be confined to children, but not so. When I open the “home page” of my computer, there's inevitably an ad promoting some imaginative-land computer game with the claim, “Try this and you'll be hooked.” I won't even start in on the prolific array of video games that range from woodsy-fairy-stories to the brutal and ugly. They do not feed the soul. They gorge the users with twisted ideas of reality and ungodly values. They fill the pockets of their manufacturers and leave their users spiritually impoverished.

Yes, it's a long ways from children's fairy tales to the utterly base or fake fare some people invite into their minds. But the temptations present an important question, popularized years ago with the revival of a classic Christian book that asked: “What would Jesus do?” Would He waste time following enchanted forest animals or a stern warrior princess or adrenaline-pumping interplanetary warfare as these spill across a television or computer screen?

Though not altogether true about real world systems, there's value in classic children's “hero” tales. They clearly show the difference between good and evil. Snow White is a pure maiden, only wanting to do good. Her life spared (despite the intents of her evil stepmother), she finds new purpose in serving a hidden-away conclave of miniature miners. But the jealous stepmother is their contrast: arrogant, self-centered, bitter, given to rages of anger.

Wait! Aren't the stepmother's problems also the values of today's world powers bent on destruction, responsible for incomprehensible human suffering? Perhaps in their own way, these little fairy tales prepare young minds for the greater conflict of good and evil with which Faith wrestles. And lest we forget: Jesus was called the “Prince of Peace.” His story was not of rescuing some damsel in distress, but redeeming a wounded world. A feeding trough for a crib isn't very royal, nor is an executioner's cross on a hill a romantic-castle-ending. But our story as Christians has the best ending: “He is risen! He is risen indeed!” This is no fairy tale. It's the real story of a God who created us, grieved our sin choices, and offers hope through a Savior amidst the world's darkness.

“Watch yourself,” Paul warned the Galatian church about getting caught in sinful choices, “or you also may be tempted” (Galatians 6:1). In other words, be very careful about the world's trendy entertainment choices. We have only a limited amount of time to live. Why waste it on what won't matter eternally?

THOU DIDST LEAVE THY THRONE

A monthly series on a hymn of the faith.
You've probably heard the question, “Can anything good come out of”—and then, they give the name of the town. In Jesus' time, a guy named Nathaniel famously asked this of an amazing Teacher in his area known as Jesus, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (John 1:46). There are two questions like this connected to this month's hymn. One is, “Can anything good come out of Brighton, England?” This British city on the English channel, about two hours' drive south of London, has actually been the home address of many celebrities, including author Rudyard Kipling. Lesser known names are connected to Christian hymns, including Charlotte Elliott, who wrote “Just As I Am,” and her niece Emily Elliott, an Anglican minister's daughter. 

Like many church women of the Victorian era, Emily was involved in service to rescue missions and Sunday school roles. That included editing a magazine for Sunday school workers, and writing poems and hymn lyrics. A collection of 48 of her hymn lyrics was published under the title, Under the Pillow, intended as bedside reading for the sick in hospitals, infirmaries, or at home.

Perhaps the second question would be: "Can anything good come out of Bethlehem?" The answer is a resounding, prophecy-fulfilling YES! This hymn grew out of her desire to express Biblical truths to children in simple ways. That included the amazing theological truth that God sent His Son in the form of a baby to eventually die as our Savior from sins. She captured those opposites in the hymn's opening lines:

Thou didst leave thy throne and thy kingly crown,

When thou camest to earth for me;

This is the hymn of “buts”--

“But in Bethlehem's home was there found no room...”

“But of lowly birth didst thou come to earth....”

“But thy couch was the sod, O thou Son of God...”

“But with mocking scorn and with crown of thorn, they bore thee to Calvary.”

Her hymn covers birth to eternal life--with the last line an invitation:

When the heavens shall ring and the angels sing

At thy coming to victory,

Let Thy voice call me home, saying “Yes, there is room,

“There is room at My side for thee.”

And my heart shall rejoice, Lord Jesus,

When Thou comest and callest me.

The hymn tune for her lyrics was composed by Timothy Matthews, an English clergyman and one of the leading organists of his day, responsible for some one hundred hymn tunes.

A Christmas song? Yes, and it's often placed among hymns celebrating Jesus' birth. But its lyrics remind us that we not only celebrate a baby in a manger, but His purpose as a Savior.

This link goes to a choral performance of the hymn's first verse:

Thou Didst Leave Thy Throne - The Majesty and Glory Performers [with lyrics] - Bing video

NEIGHBORHOOD

This quilt, featured at our county fair this fall, prompted me to stop and reflect on so much housing crunched together. I thought of cities where I'd lived or visited. Some had tucked-tight yet immaculate historic row townhouses. Others, shabby slum apartment buildings. I'll never forget sitting in a worn seat on a clattering elevated train in downtown Chicago as it passed derelict apartment buildings splattered with graffiti. I had no desire to get off at the next stop and tour the area!

Yet people lived there, likely amidst pain, poverty and crime. I was surprised recently, in reading a biography of prolific blind hymn-lyric writer Fanny Crosby (1820-1915), to learn that she lived in such housing in a New York slum. Nearby were neighborhoods known by such unsavory names as “Hell's Kitchen.” She couldn't see the crumbling housing, of course, but had chosen to live there so that she would be within walking distance of rescue missions where she could talk to people about Jesus.

It wasn't that she didn't have enough money for a better place to live. But she chose to direct royalties from her 8,000-some hymn lyrics to ministries for those in need. The Lord saw her generosity, and also provided her practical needs. One of her faithful friends was a well-to-do Christian lady who, I'm sure, helped Fanny with things like food and clothing. Remember, Fanny was blind! Pictures show her dressed in all black with tiny black spectacles covering her eyes, blinded in infancy from a quack medicine. Fashion didn't mean much to her. Her passion was writing Christian poetry.

For some reason, her story came to mind as I recalled how the late Eugene Peterson, in his scripture paraphrase called “The Message,” expressed John 1:14: “The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.” The KJV puts it: “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.” And NIV: “The Word became flesh and lived for a while among us.”

“The neighborhood.” The term comes with all sorts of connotations today. Some have mansions with views, lovely yards...and doors and windows buttressed with alarms, multiple locks, and security cameras. Others consist of crammed, dirty dwellings with few safety measures.

The one Jesus entered was the latter. His newborn cradle was a feeding trough; the floor, manure and straw. He grew up in a family with its own humble home, but itinerant ministry meant sleeping outdoors or as someone's guest on a borrowed cot or ledge. No security men with walkies talkies or karate skills surrounded Him as He became famous, just ordinary fishermen and tax collectors who risked all to follow Him.

He left the splendor of Heaven...and moved into earth's humble neighborhoods. Back to the quilt—could this be another symbol of Christmas? Of the One who moved into “the neighborhood” on planet earth with the most humble beginning possible?

My son and daughter, now parents themselves, have children who watch the reruns of the late children's show “Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.” His signature song included the line, “Won't you be my neighbor?” He taught his viewers about his neighbors' occupations. He greeted the mailman with special enthusiasm. The tone of his show was “kindness.”

Maybe that's the key to seeing this quilt as a Christmas symbol. For another scripture about “God moving into the neighborhood” goes like this: “Because of His great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved” (Ephesians 2:4-5). He moved into earth's sin-stained neighborhoods to gift us with saving grace and kindness. And that's a Christmas “story” that can be told all year around.

DISCOMBOBULATION

Welcome to the fictional Very Long Words Dictionary with today's 16-letter featured word. It means “confusion or disorder.” Maybe like the pile by my washer when dirty clothes are dumped there to sort and wash. Or maybe for those mixed-up times in life when nothing makes sense. When admiring quilts at our local county fair, this “discombobulated” one—a “Crazy Quilt”--got my attention!

With their haphazard designs, crazy quilts are a lot like life. Lucinda Secrest McDowell, in her book Quilts from Heaven (Broadman and Holman, 1999, p. 129), explained that such quilts became popular just after the 1876 Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. That's when quilters took a liking to Japan's asymmetrical art. Scraps of velvet, silks and brocades, joined by fancy needlework, became lap robes and such for fancy parlor décor.

Until reading her book, I didn't know that! I have something of a “crazy quilt” my late mother created of random triangles more than half a century ago—places of it now rotting--as she used up scraps from her prolific sewing hobby. I just figured her quilt showed thrift in action. The idea of impressing others never came to mind.

But then...aren't there times when people might put on airs or use fancy words to try to impress? I admit, people don't usually throw around high-brow words, like “tumescent” (used of pompous or pretentious language) or the similar “altiloquest” (basically the same definition). But I've experienced situations in which someone embellished common words with prefixes or suffixes, creating highfalutin “non-words” whose intent and effect was to wound the reader or hearer.

God, who granted us the gifts of verbal and written communication, is honored when we use those gifts well. But abuse of language isn't new. As I read Paul's epistles, I notice how often he had to remind folks to watch their words. Like this: Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen” (Ephesians 4:29). The King James version ends it: “... that it may minister grace unto the hearer.” Grace: a simple, strong word for doing what honors God.

More often than we want, life will seem “discombobulated,” like the mishmash of fabrics in a crazy quilt. In this imperfect world, we endure the ragged pieces of sorrow, hurt, disappointment and grief. But there's a better plan ahead, in Heaven. The aging apostle John, given a vision behind the curtain hiding God's restored --recombobulated--future, saw the praise and glory of dwelling in God's presence forever (Revelation 21:5).

By the way, if you're driven to impress, here's the 2020 winner of the longest English word:

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.

It refers to lung disease caused by silica dust. Not something I'd use in everyday conversation.

FAIR MESSAGE

 

Our local county fair—like many—has one building dedicated to the community's agricultural life. We can always count on seeing at least one gargantuan pumpkin, plates of prime vegetables, and brilliantly-hued cut flowers. In past years, there were also displays by local Granges (associations of farmers), showing off their particular area's products and achievements. This year, there were just a handful of displays—perhaps victims of rural attrition and the clampdown of public events from Covid-19. But I had to take a picture of these Grange-sponsored folks who didn't need my reminder to smile. Their sign read, “Pride in the Past.” A smaller one to the side said, “Hope in the future.”

Because of my studies of hymn stories, the signs brought to mind this title: “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.” Sometimes, the historical circumstances behind classic hymns get quite complicated. This one, written by Isaac Watts in 1714, came at a time in English history when people were uneasy about the nation's political future. (Sound familiar?) Watts, a child genius who would write more than 600 hymns (some say as many as 700), had been born himself into a time of political turmoil. His father was imprisoned under the previous regime because of his political views, and his mother would nurse him on the prison steps so his father could could see his baby boy.

Now, another royal was in charge: Queen Anne. But she'd endured poor health all her life. She'd had twelve stillborn children, and five live births. But four of those died before age two and one died at eleven. She would die at 49 with no heirs. By a 1701 rule, she was succeeded by her second cousin, George I. Nobody knew if he'd be as strict and intolerant as previous kings.

In the midst of those politically trying times, Watts turned to Psalm 90 for inspiration: “Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations” (v. 1). His quill began scratching the lyrics: “O God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come; Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home!”

Maybe not “pride” in the past, but faith based on God's faithfulness and trustworthiness. And yes, because He is God, hope in the future. Four hundred years since Watts' hymn, that message hasn't changed. From everlasting to everlasting, He is God (90:2).

When the fair was over, these smiling stuffed folks were either disassembled or taken to somebody's porch for autumn décor. But for whatever smiles they provided the fair's visitors, they offered this message for me. Without God, we're no better than stuffed clothes in a display. With Him, there's truly hope in the future He has planned.

From the fair, go to historic Westminster Abbey in London, for congregational singing of this hymn:

Westminster Abbey - Oh God Our Help in Ages Past (glitch free) - Bing video

FOUNDATIONAL

 A monthly feature on a great hymn of Christianity.

November is the month of considering spiritual reformers--thanks, largely, to the day (Oct. 31, 1517) a monk named Martin Luther defied the traditional church by nailing a list of 95 “theses” or objections to church doctrine on the door of Germany's Wittenberg Castle church. With the pounding his hammer, the Reformation began. And from Luther's pen also came the rally hymn of the reformation: “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.”

But three centuries later, another church-splitting theological dispute would birth yet another classic and beloved hymn, “The Church's One Foundation.” It happened across the North Sea, in England, where theological differences rumbled in the established Anglican Church. Some of its leaders had embraced ideas from liberal German theologians that challenged the divine inspiration of the Bible. That included a bishop in South Africa who questioned whether Moses really wrote the first five books of the Bible. They also disputed Paul's stance in the letter to the Romans about eternal punishment.

Enter a 27-year-old minister Samuel Stone, who served a London parish with many poor and underprivileged members. It was said of him that “he created a beautiful place of worship for the humble folk, and made it a 'center of light in the dark places.'” Though humble toward his parishioners, he stood up with courage and grit against the philosophies that were eroding the historic Anglican church.

Stone also wrote poetry and music, and into this time of theological controversy he brought a  number of hymns, including a twelve-hymn set based on the twelve articles of the Apostles' Creed. The lyrics opposed the liberal teachings he felt might divide and destroy the church. One of the hymns, based on the Creed's ninth section about the church as the body of Christ, was the hymn “The Church's One Foundation.”

That hymn quickly became popular throughout Great Britain. Two years later, when all the Anglican bishops gathered known as the Lambeth Conference—an all-Anglican-church-leaders theological conference still held every ten years in Britain—Stone's hymn was chosen for the processional and theme of the historic meeting.

The hymn's tune is connected with another famous name: Samuel Wesley. He was the son of Methodism's hymnodist Charles Wesley and nephew of Methodism founder John Wesley. Samuel received his doctorate in music from Oxford when only twenty-nine years old and went on to compose many church service and hymn tunes. Some still sung today include “Christ the Lord is Risen Today,” “O For a Thousand Tongues,” and “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”

As you sing along, think of a solemn procession of robed church leaders coming up a historic church's center aisle as they sang. Pay attention to the words and hear the passion of a humble pastor who wanted his church to remain true to historical Biblical teachings.

The church's one foundation - YouTube

The Church's one Foundation - The Choir of King's College Cambridge - YouTube

BANNER

 My husband likes to glean fruit (to have and to share) after workers have gone through an orchard. He always calls the owner or field man ahead for permission. And that's what happened one early fall day when he told me, “The apples are calling my name.” As a shortie, I'm not much of an apple picker, so I rode along for the outing (a break that we all need in these Covid times) planning to wait in the truck. As I looked out the truck's window down the row of trees, these words came to mind:

His banner over me is love. (Song of Solomon 2:4)

Backstory: The king (presumably Solomon) had found a beautiful commoner whom he wanted to marry. Let's say the hormones bubbled! Don't worry, I won't get into all the veiled (and R-rated) “love” metaphors in this book about human love. But because it's also an analogy of God's extravagant love for me (us), it has phrases worth thinking about it. This is one.

Commentators have a lot of ideas of how to explain the symbolism of this book. Here's what I've decided. Brought to the palace, she felt out of place among all the beauty and finery there. But he tried to assure her that this was to be her rightful place. As he took her to the banquet hall (where all the extravagant celebrations were held), she felt unworthy. But quickly she realized that her connection to him—that he had chosen her—gave her the right to be there. “The banner” could have been the canopy over his throne or as the accepting gesture of his arm over her shoulders. It has a double meaning of the canopy commonly held over a bride and groom in a Jewish wedding.

But Solomon's “song” doesn't stand alone. Jesus said His bride would be the church. He covers us with His amazing love. He pulls out the chair for us to sit at His banquet table. Who'd scoot the chair away from the Master's table and run for the nearest exit? Yet people do.

Back to the apple orchard. As late afternoon came, darkening the shade of the tree canopy, it was harder to see to the end of the row. But the banner of limbs and leaves did not obscure the destination. Along that path there was still work to do—at least for my husband who spotted and plucked the left-behind apples.

Jesus said the harvest is plentiful but the workers are few (Matthew 9:37). We don't have to go to a foreign mission field to locate a harvest. It's all around us, even in places where it seems the harvest for souls is done. It's not. Wounded, broken people abound, still needing to experience His banner of love.

===========

Perhaps in reading this you're remembering a children's Sunday school song that uses hand motions. Children may not understand the depth of the words they sing, but in time their faith can mature--like those apples on the tree. Here's one based on the Song of Solomon passage:

his banner over me is love - Bing

FOLLOW

 A classic old toy—a pull-along plastic dog with moving parts—still often gets dragged around the house by my three grandsons, ages 4 to 8. Usually they pull so fast that its “leash” gets caught in the moving limbs and it's soon bumping along on its head or side. That's when Nana has to remind them that puppy can't move all its legs that fast. Quickly they lose interest and find another toy.

The phrase “where He leads me” came to mind as I watched this little toy scuttle behind my grandsons. That phrase, highlighted in an old hymn, reminds us that God created us for a purpose. Not to be flailed about in life's play, but to focus on His plan for our life's journey.

The hymn begins “I can hear my Savior calling” (repeated thrice), ending, “Take thy cross and follow, follow Me.” The quote is from Matthew 16, when Jesus had just explained to His disciples that His suffering, death and resurrection were just ahead. Peter—typically abrupt--rebuked Jesus for that statement. Jesus replied with His own rebuke: “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24 NIV).

The hymn was believed to be written about 1889 after Ernest W. Blandy (also spelled Blandly) immigrated to the United States from the United Kingdom. He had affiliated with the Salvation Army and could have taken a comfortable post with an established church. Instead, he chose the inner city. The toughest inner city. A place in New York called “Hell's Kitchen” for its poverty and crime. Many living there were Irish Americans. Perhaps his roots in the United Kingdom helped him connect with these people. Little is known about his hidden years of ministry. He died in 1915, about age 65.

The hymn's simple tune, which has the feel of an African American spiritual, was either composed or arranged by a Methodist pastor in Canada, John Norris. It would appear in 719 hymnals.

The hymn's first verse repeats, “I can hear my Savior calling” and concludes “Take thy cross and follow, follow me.” The second simple verse repeats, “I'll go with Him through the garden.” Finally, “He will give me grace and glory....and go with me, with me, all the way.”

It's so easy to get knotted up with various spiritual imperatives: Read this book. Witness this way. Worship only this way. Follow this spiritual leader. Use this Bible reading program. We're apt to flail about like a little doggy toy pulled too fast. Jesus offers the steady pull, just right for us, as He guides us on our life's journey.

The end of this website has the music score and lyrics:

Where He Leads Me | Hymnary.org

Sing along:

Where He Leads Me (I Can Hear My Saviour Calling) - Bing video

BLOOM AWAY

During my lifetime I've watched the coming and going, and coming back, of this phrase often put on decor plaques: “Bloom where you are planted.” I was reminded of it the other day as I snatched random weeds growing under the hedge of “Knockout Roses” in our front yard. My husband planted a long line of these brilliant pink roses by the sidewalk in front of our house in honor of his late mother, who loved pink and filled her life and home with that color.

I'm always amazed how desolate they look in the winter. We add further punishment by taking a hedge clipper to the top and sides to shape them. But they roar back, providing color the whole summer. They're not finicky like the “tea roses” that I have to carefully prune and daily deadhead. They just bloom away where they've planted.

Curious about where the “bloom where you are planted” slogan came from, I was surprised to trace it back to St. Francis de Sales (1567-1622), who served as the bishop of Geneva and was respected for his leadership and spiritual walk. He is recorded as saying this: “True charity has no limit; for the love of God has been poured into our hearts by His Spirit dwelling in each one of us, calling us to a life of devotion and inviting us to bloom in the garden where He has planted and directing us to radiate the beauty and spread the fragrance of His Providence” (emphasis added).

The Bible has several commands to be fruitful. The first is God's command to Adam and Eve after Creation (Genesis 1:28). Another compares a fruitful tree to a believer whose trust in God frees him from worries and who never fails to bear fruit (Jeremiah 17:7-8). Psalm 1 has a similar message.

The “bloom” idea goes deeper—against our natural inclinations—later in Jeremiah, where the context is the exile of the Israelites to Babylon. Here they are—captives, far from home, dumped into a foreign land, despised and stripped of hope. There seems no way out. But God tells them: build houses, plant gardens for food, let your kids marry and build families, and....”seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper” (Jeremiah 29:7-8).

That's the same chapter that has the more famous quote about God's plans to prosper them and give them a future and a hope (v. 11-13). But it wouldn't happen if their motto was “gloom where you are planted.” They had to bloom where they were planted. They weren't living in pleasant little bungalows in their native land. They were slaves. But this was what life had to be, now. And their response to bloom instead of  "gloom" would make the difference.

Funny, that advice still makes sense in our thorny world.

NESTED

Years of putting off trimming the arborvitae had turned it into a monster hedge probably fifteen feet high. Our servant-hearted son came by to help his dad finish the arduous task. In doing so, they pulled out a small nest, carefully wound with twigs and plastic strips, well glued with mud. Sturdy, hidden, it had served its purpose as a bird's nursery.

“Even the sparrow has found a home,” wrote one of the temple musicians, “and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young—a place near your altar, O LORD Almighty, my King and my God” (Psalm 84:3). It's a beautiful set of words to inscribe on sacred art. It's also a beautiful reminder how God cares for even the humblest birds.

First: context. It's believed this psalm was written by one of the temple workers (“sons of Korah”) who had to be absent from his duties in Jerusalem for a while. While we acknowledge that God doesn't dwell in the structures we call now churches, for ancient Jews the temple was revered and respected. From the rituals for sacrifices to even the places where its janitors served (the “parbar” or western colonnades), everything was prescribed and honored.

Yet birds came and found homes. As they chirped and flittered about, carrying on bird life, they had protection and purpose. Notice: these were not powerful birds (like eagles) or beautiful ones (like peacocks). They were ordinary bird life. Sparrows symbolized something almost worthless. Bible-time boys who caught sparrows to sell worshipers for sacrifices could earn two farthings (the smallest, least valuable copper coin) for five birds. Swallows are known for always flitting about. Yet when it comes times to nest and hatch eggs, they settle down. What an image of finding our peace and purpose in God. Such was the observation of St. Augustine (A.D. 354-530) in his famed quote: “Our hearts are restless till they rest in thee.”

This whole psalm throbs with a yearning for authentic worship: “Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you” (84:4). But the psalm doesn't stay inside the temple:

Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage. (v. 6)

In those days, a trip wasn't as simple as filling the car with gas and hitting the highway. Travel was by cart, animal or sandaled feet. It was hard and hot. It took days and days. But the traveler to Jerusalem kept his eye on the goal: the temple, a divinely-planned, human-constructed worship center. A place to come apart and focus of God's holy character, divine plan and perfect purpose.

The psalm ends with this encouraging word:

The Lord bestows favor and honor; No good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless. (v. 11)

This is not some paste-on-every-situation verse. It's a statement of the character of God. Even in pain and loss, we will eventually learn the “good thing” He could bring of it—if we strive to walk close with him, with “blamelessness.” It's the same principle as Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.”

We don't always have those blessings in our line of vision. Sometimes, like a little bird nest, they're tucked away behind layers of ordinary branches and needles. But if God could give perches and protection to birds, can He not also take care of me? Jesus affirmed that truth: “Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” (Matt. 20:31). Even abandoned nests attest to that.

SEARCH ME

A monthly series on inspiring hymns.

A hundred years ago in Ireland, a little nine-year-old boy prayed to become a Christian. His life would end at age 75 across the Atlantic in Asheville, N.C., where the next day he was to speak at a Southern Baptist convention. By then James Edwin Orr was known world-wide as an evangelist and historian of revival movements.

But first came his youth and the death of his father and older brother. Forced to leave college, he worked in a bakery to support his mother and siblings. At 19, he and a friend began open-air evangelism in Belfast. At 23, he believed God was calling him to be a traveling evangelist, and was soon preaching across Britain. Then he sailed to Canada for meetings, held more in the United States, and then went on to New Zealand, Australia, and Africa, concluding with meetings in Norway.

By then, he felt he needed to rest—and also needed a helpmate. He telegraphed a young woman he'd met in South Africa and proposed. She agreed. They held an evangelistic meeting at their wedding reception.

Orr's evangelistic travels (including a stint as a chaplain in the Air Force, seeing service in the South Pacific) would take him around the world—150 countries including the Soviet Union. Said another way, he preached in two-thirds of the world's 600 major cities. He was also a scholar, with earned doctorates from universities in Europe, Asia, Africa, and America—including a Ph.D. From Oxford, and a Ed.D. From UCLA. He became known as the foremost authority on the world's great revivals, with his doctoral dissertation on the Second Great Awakening in England in the mid 1800s. He wrote numerous books, sometimes two a year.

His studies pointed to one major fact of revivals: they had to begin with prayer. He once wrote: “Little by little, the church loses its grip on essential things, becomes a social club, goes to sleep or flies off at a tangent. All over the world we find sleeping churches, and all around them are the gospel-starved masses. Instead of performing the first things of importance, evangelizing the masses, they are engaged in a bewildering variety of pastimes—anything but the real thing.”

Located on the north island of New Zealand's up-side-down
"boot," the town where Orr evangelized was named
for a 17th century tribal-healing wedding reception

Yet for all his scholarly and evangelistic work, Orr is best remembered for a simple hymn that grew out of revival meetings he held in Ngaruawahia (N-gu-ru-WAH-hee-a), New Zealand when he was only 24 years old. Covered by intense prayer, the meetings resulted in huge numbers of conversions, reconciliations between believers, and hearty singing in services.

When Orr prepared to leave the country, four Maori girls approached him with a beautiful indigenous song of farewell. He couldn't forget the beautiful melody, and English words for it starting coming to him, based on Psalm 139:23-24. Quickly he jotted them down on the back of an envelope. Eventually, that hymn would become popularized throughout Australia in the 1930s and through the English-speaking world.

It was said of him: “Some men read history, some write it, and others make it. So far as the history of religious revivals is concerned, J. Edwin Orr belongs to all three categories.”

A longish commercial precedes the music video. Click on "skip ad" to hear this inspiring hymn sung by an all-men chorus:

The Cathedrals - Search Me O God (Live) - YouTube

Considering reading through the uplifting comments by listeners below the video.

TEAR-JERKER

Oh, the tears that flow when I peel and chop an onion in food preparation. There's an explanation for that! When cut, onions release “syn-Propanethial-S-oxide,” a chemical irritant that stimulates the eyes' “lachrymal glands,” releasing tears. Next time you're experiencing buckets of tears while chopping onions, impress somebody with that explanation!

But there's another way to look at onion-peeling, one that's really personal. Prayer-centered monk and author Thomas Merton (1915-1968) compared the misery of onion-peeling to God's refinement of our character. Layer by layer, He peels away our self-centered spirits until the real-”me” is revealed. It's the idea expressed via another ancient spiritual spokesperson, Jeremiah, who gave this word from God: “I [God] will bring adversity on all flesh” (Jeremiah 45:5 NKJV).

What! Isn't God the grandfatherly type who answers every prayer for health, wealth and happiness? Sorry, but no. He uses hardship, tears, misery, of our fallen condition for good—if we let Him. One writer, commenting on the Jeremiah passage, put it this way:

God says that when he brings great disaster upon you there will be no time to pack a bag filled with ego, self-centeredness, lust, or materialism. He'll let you escape, but only with the Jesus clothes on your back. What you're left with is your real life in Jesus (Colossians 3:4). A life that is filled with God's purpose and a life in alignment with God's heart and mind. In this real life, we enter into the abundance of life promised by Jesus (John 10:10). (1)

Every layer of selfishness and “entitlement” that's peeled away, like an onion, is apt to produce angst and tears. But it's the process that brings us to the heart of God. No matter what hardship or discipline we endure, there's a bottom line—that nothing “will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39).

Our spiritual journey will involve trials and tears, all part of God's way of peeling away layers of the self-focused life. Tough times may result from our own bad decisions, or from the negative actions of others toward us. Such times—it's often said—can leave us bitter or better. “Better” happens when hardship presses us closer to the heart of God.

And I remember: God's own Son wept. Over the pain of a sin-soaked world. But in His divinity He knew the rest of the story, in heaven:

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. (Revelation 21:4)

Such hope sometimes brings tears to my eyes—good tears, not the onion type.

1. God Peels Back the Layers until the Real You is Revealed | Devotional by Jon Walker (thoughts-about-god.com) Oct. 19, 2019, accessed Aug. 24, 2021.

GONE

I write at length this week to remember some remarkable friends. God teaches us through wonderful people we have known.

We hadn't driven west of our neighborhood for a while—east is the route that takes us to “town”--and were shocked by a gap just a block west away. An old house in that block was gone—torn down, most of the debris removed, only a derelict “free” refrigerator by the sidewalk. A couple decades ago it had been replanted there by house-movers who lugged it about a mile and a half from a high-profile spot near the town's major health clinic. Now, it was gone.

The symbolism of that neighborhood loss was stark for me, as within days three dear Christian friends died. Gone....to Heaven. But gone from earthly contact. All were role models for me. As I have processed their deaths—correction, their Home-goings—I have reconsidered the words of Moses in Psalm 90 as he anticipated his own death at age 120:

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom....Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days....May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us—yes, establish the work of our hands. (Psalm 90: 12, 14, 17)

Longtime friends from our church, Al and Georgia Burgener were 95 and 90 when they died within a short time of each other on Sept. 15. Their daughters were with them as the end came in the comforting surroundings of their neat, cared-for home. Al was a worker-bee who lived quietly and diligently. After a career delivering milk, he went to work as a church janitor, serving way into retirement years. He kept their home's yard immaculate, even into this last year—with the concession of hiring out the lawn mowing. He also loved sports and sometimes shared watching games with my husband.

Georgia was the complement to Al's quiet demeanor. Outgoing, social, she made friends wherever she went. Neither she nor Al were Christians when they married. Four daughters came in rapid succession, and in the busyness of mothering Georgia felt her spiritual void. She visited a church—daughters in tow—and had a follow-up visit that led to her accepting Christ as Savior. She kept praying for Al, and in time, he, too, decided to follow Christ. A quiet man, he honored the Lord through his diligence and steadfastness.

As their daughters grew into beautiful, talented teenagers, the boys came around. She insisted that their dates be Christian young men. That meant that some heard her present the “Four Spiritual Laws.” As a result, lives were changed. Some ended up in ministry vocations. Her nest empty, she still impacted her world and growing “grand” family. Her outside-the-home interests—including “senior swims” at the YMCA and a weight-loss group—became platforms for her faith. I remember her joy when one of her swim-partners started coming to church.

I was about a decade older than her daughters, but she still scooped me into her friendship circle after my marriage. She modeled good people skills for me. She also modeled service. When I broke my ankle at a terribly inconvenient time (I was care-giving my mother-in-law, slipping into dementia), Georgia was among those who showed up with beautiful meals to help carry us through the worst of being “laid up.” Later I returned the favor a few times when they went through illness. By her reaction, you would have thought my plain cooking was something a gourmet chef whipped up.

For several years we exchanged the same silly “old-age” birthday card featuring birds known for their longevity. For example, the Algerian condor, 106 years. We'd add an appropriate note each year as we sent it back and forth. Georgia also did something nobody else had done for me: she put on a surprise birthday party for my 65^th birthday. She was 81! But I came to her house to find many dear friends gathered to celebrate me! I cry to even think about it. She'd asked the guests to bring something (like fabric or gift cards) to support my ministry of sewing baby blankets I donated to local hospitals for families in need. Imagine, a party honoring that! In subsequent years, she'd always ask, “How many blankets are you up to?” (I got to 1,400 when she died.)

More important, Georgia prayed. She knew the burdens of my heart. She prayed and checked up on the requests. About two weeks before her death, when Al was struggling to live, I called and asked if we could have a “two minute porch visit.” With Covid concerns (even though we'd both been vaccinated), she sat in a chair on the porch and I had a chair in the walkway. She, the encourager, now needed encouragement. Two minutes went to fifteen. I broke the “no-contact” protocol and hugged her when I left. I had no idea that in the next two weeks a cancer diagnosis and major stroke would end her life. How sweet that Heaven called both the same night.

Three days later, I got word that an incredible friend, Dan Miller, died at 84, his polio-damaged body just worn out. Some thirty years earlier, I heard him speak at a banquet honoring church volunteers, and it was a WOW! event. He was one of the last victims of polio in North Central Washington in 1955, just weeks after he graduated from high school as a decorated athlete. Yet, despite profound disability, he headed for college determined to major in physical education! As he put his dream before his college advisor, the wise man said, “Let's see what you can do.” And Dan did it, becoming (like my husband) an elementary physical education teacher despite significant paralysis. Plus, he taught himself to play guitar (holding it backwards to accommodate his disability) and played in a band. And, later, he got his pilot's license and even flew an ultra light.

Finally, when post-polio problems made his daily school-administrator-role harder and harder, he retired early, transforming his occupation into “inspirational speaker,” sharing through humor and honesty his life story of breaking barriers. Mostly through word-of-mouth, his opportunities exploded over the next twenty years. In more than 1,500 presentations, he spoke to thousands in 44 states and provinces. He had major appearances:

*8,000 at the “Million Dollar Round Table International Conference”

*6,000 at back-to-back services at Schuller's Crystal Cathedral

*12,000 at Gaither's 25^th Praise Gathering in Indianapolis. (Plus, featured in a Gaither Homecoming video.)

*13,500 at two California Christian school teacher conferences

Besides the mega-conferences, there were the smaller gatherings—like my church's “volunteer banquet.” After hearing him, I told my husband, I need to write up his story. Dan and his wife Judy were so gracious in that process, which eventually resulted in articles in major inspirational magazines. Then it went in a “Chicken Soup for the Soul” book. And finally, gathering together our notes, I helped him write his autobiography, Living Laughing and Loving Life. He self-published, selling or giving away an extraordinary 72,000+ copies. (The cover--reflecting Dan's sense of humor--showed his son cradling a fish like a baby and holding a granddaughter like a prize catch.)

Because of the friendship that developed through our interviews and contacts for the articles, it was a natural transition to help him prepare his autobiography—without charge. Asking for pay never was in my plan. I was simply glad to help spread his amazing life message. But Dan and Judy were givers. I needed a newer computer. He gave me his when he upgraded. Then came a traumatic year when we were nearly killed by a drinking driver. A few months later, Dan was speaking in our town and called our home. I was at the hospital with our son, who needed some treatment for his face scars from the wreck. My husband took the call; Dan told him to take me to a certain computer store. While in town, he had picked out a new system for me, paid for it, and told the salesman who to call. I wept over this extravagant gift—a boost to me and to our high school kids as the technological age took hold. For several years, they also sent unexpected/unsought checks of “appreciation”--sharing the blessings of his speaking ministry.

In our life journeys we will encounter difficult people and wonderful people. God knows we need the latter's encouragement. And as we have been blessed, we are in turn to bless others. How grateful I am for these “senior-than-me” folks who lived out in winsome ways the Lord's command to “love one another.”

I miss them. We will meet again. The house has left the lot. There's an empty spot on earth. But there's a new home, in Heaven.

BEHOLD

When storm clouds recently layered above our valley—in a brief respite between weather systems that pumped hundred-degree days into our valley—I had two thoughts. One: could these produce lightning, which could ignite more fires in our area? We'd had too many fires already. Two: there was nothing I could do about it.

That sense of helplessness reminded me of an event described at the end of Matthew's Gospel. Here was Jesus, risen from the dead, just as He predicted. His grisly crucifixion—a criminal's death for a sinless Man—was in God's eternal plan to reconcile a holy God and sinful people. Now this inexplicably “alive” Person was giving His followers some final teaching about God's kingdom and their role as witnesses in it. Then:

And when he had spoken these things, while they beheld, he was taken up; and a cloud received him out of their sight. (Acts 1:9 KJV)

Beheld. It's an old English word we don't hear much any more, but it was just right for this event. It meant to fix one's eyes on something, to look at it with attention and to observe with care. The disciples watched Jesus' ascension—probably in fear and awe—trying to absorb every mystifying moment. They didn't know what to make of this. There was nothing they could do to reverse the event! Then some “men in white”--angels--admonished them to quit gawking at the sky: “This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven” (v. 11).

How fitting—that this same Jesus whom they “beheld” in His exit, was earlier welcomed into His earthly ministry when his camel-hair-garbed, radical prophet cousin John declared from the Jordan River where he was baptizing: “Behold the lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29). It was a bold, radical statement!

In recent months, some exceedingly wealthy men have financed their own trips into the “clouds,” enjoying the awe and weightlessness of space for a few minutes. But gravity eventually pulled their space vessels back to earth. Christ's ascension defied all laws of the planet. He kept going....and why not? Earth wasn't His real home.

But what of Christ's second coming? What will it mean to return “in the same way”?

Our broken, bruised world—groaning with climate change, disasters, disease, despair, crime—keeps hoping for something better. Instinctively, we look up, our perception of heaven—wherever or however that is God's eternal plan. Someday, our visions will extend beyond our layer of clouds. Our Savior will return--”in the same way” as those followers saw Him leave some 2,000 years ago.

Another “John,” the ninety-something apostle John, when granted special visions of the future, wrote: “Behold [there's that word again] he cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see him” (Rev. 1:7)

How is that possible—total recognition around the globe? Well, did you watch the Olympics from the other side of the world? But who watched every event in its entirety?

Christ's Second Coming will eclipse that! Every eye will see--BEHOLD--Him!

PRAISEWORTHY

 A continuing series on hymns of the faith.

How many times have you probably sung these hymn lyrics, sensing a bubbling up of joy?

Praise ye the Lord, the Almighty the King of Creation!

O my soul, praise Him for he is thy health and salvation!

Ironically, the man who wrote these lyrics didn't always feel this way about his faith. Born in 1650 in Germany, his father, grandfather, great-grand father and great-great grandfather had all been preachers. But Joachim Neander was the rebellious pastor's kid. At twenty he and other students descended on historic St. Martin's Church in Bremen, established in 1229, to heckle the worshipers. But the pastor's sermon that day pierced his heart, leading to his conversion.

A few years later he became a headmaster of a school in Dusseldorf. While there he wrote more than sixty hymns. But his strong Christian witness and evangelistic work didn't go over with school authorities, and later he was dismissed.

Neander would become known for the long walks he'd take near his home. He used that time for private worship, often composing hymns as he strolled and singing them to God. At thirty, he wrote the hymn “Praise ye the Lord!, the Almighty.” That year he died of tuberculosis. But in that short decade of following God, he'd become a noted scholar in theology, literature, and music, also pastoring a Reformed church in Dusseldorf, Germany.

His life and hymns would have become just a fading postscript of Germany's religious history without the skills of an English woman who lived about two hundred years ago. Catherine Winkworth, daughter of a London silk merchant, became proficient in German and took on as a passion the translation of the great heritage of German hymns. Miss Winkworth, friend of many writers of her day including Charles Dickens, would have her name connected to almost 500 translated hymn texts. Besides Neander's, they'd include “Now Thank We All Our God” and “Open Now the Gates of Heaven.” She would also be remembered as a pioneer for higher education for women.

Some extra history trivia:

*In tribute to Neander, the historic Bremen church where he once heckled worshipers now plays “Praise ye the Lord” on its bells every day.

*His first name, Joachim, is said to be the same as the father of the virgin Mary. It means “established by God.”

*One of his favorite walking spots was a valley that would be named in tribute to him: Neanderthal Valley, merging his last name “Neander” with the German term “tal” or “thal” for valley. In 1856, miners discovered caves with human bones. One scientist thought they might be in the missing link in Darwin's evolutionary theories. That theory was proven false; they likely were just an extinct people known for their strength. It's been said that Neander would have been shocked to have an evolutionary theory attached to a concept he would have rejected.

Sing along with words superimposed on beautiful scenery:

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty - YouTube

BLUE GOLD

It started—honestly--with an old-fashioned folding wooden clothes drying rack. My husband, who likes to fix/resell, found it somewhere, cleaned it up, and had me put it in the online want ads. There it sat for weeks until we got a call from folks about four hours' drive away. Could we hold it for their anticipated trip to our town? Sure.

Okay, here's the backstory that involves blueberries. Some of the sweetest memories of my childhood are the blueberries that came off about six bushes in our home's back yard. Our valley was infamous for hungry robins, so after a few years of unwillingly feeding the wildlife, my dad enclosed the blueberry patch in a “cage” he built of chicken wire. Oh how the flying critters fussed. But we got our blueberries, and, frozen, they treated us all year.

Fast-forward several decades to marriage, and knowing my love of blueberries, my husband planted several bushes in our back yard. Instead of the chicken wire cage, I just draped them with netting to ward of bird pecks when the berries started to form. Typically I got two big mixing bowlfuls a year off them. Popped in the freezer, they provided enough toppings for my breakfast cereal for the year. At other times, my husband knew that just buying a carton of fresh blueberries at the store meant more to me than a mink coat or high-brow perfume (neither of which I have owned or desired).

This year, something happened. I barely got a handful of berries. Major crop failure.

Cherry season came and my husband was invited to glean at an orchard. Oh, he went at it. He gave away bags and bags to friends, most of them older folks who appreciated the sweat equity behind such a gift. But his list was shorter than the supply, and we had a plastic dishwashing tub in the refrigerator left.

Enter the customers for the wooden clothes drying rack. Two women came as promised, fresh off hours of either purchasing or gleaning some of the produce of our valley. Right away, by their dress and hair style, I identified them as folks of the religious persuasion that advocated the “simple life.” One bought the clothes rack without quibbling on the price and then asked, “Do you like blueberries?”

She may have well asked, “Do you like fresh air? Giggling babies? Air-dried laundry? Words of appreciation? The hope of eternal life?” We didn't go through that list but she told me to get a container and she'd share some they had picked. I grabbed a small mixing bowl, thinking that was greedy. My husband hollered from the garage, “Give them that tub of cherries in our refrigerator.” Oh, her eyes lit up at the mention of cherries, whose harvest had just ended. I wanted to keep my plastic dishwashing tub, so found a cardboard box they could take and started dumping the cherries. As soon as I emptied my plastic tub, she brought out her huge box of blueberries and--to my astonishment--dumped them into the same tub! It was a summer's harvest for me—and more.

And then they left for their long trip home to presumably can and freeze their bounty for the year. I rinsed and bagged their berry gift, and tucked the blue bounty into our freezer. And I--blessed unexpectedly--cried.

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.” (Psalm 37:3)

“Celebrate [God's] abundant goodness.” (Psalm 145:7)

And finally, as we obey God in our finances and generosity, He says, “I will pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it.” (Malachi 3:12)

Blue gold. What a blessing.

ANTSY

Bathroom visitors...what were
they hungry for? Toothpaste?

 "Antsy”--the word means “restless, fidgety”--and we were definitely restless and fidgety a few weeks ago when they swarmed into the kitchen. Not two by two, either. Total battleground. We didn't stop to count them but grabbed the spray and poison disks to declare war on these minuscule black critters. It was my fault 😕. I had left on the counter a little ceramic honey dispenser shaped like a bear, with a slot for the serving twirler stick. It wasn't air tight. Or ant tight. What's that saying, “If you build it, they will come”? In our case, it was, “If you leave it out, they will come!” Not just the kitchen, either. They found their way to the bathroom, where I quickly left the poison disk to satisfy their appetites. “Be sure to take some goodies back to your queen,” I told them—not that they heard. As retirees who try to be thrifty, we tend to be do-it-yourself folks. The $70 professional spray is a hunk of money (which rhymes with "honey"). So we decided to do chemical battle and sanitize anything that might have had a scent of "follow me to the golden pot." A few days later, the battle was pretty much over.

I was amused by a recent public television show that featured people (bug scientists) who make a big deal out of ants. They love going to remote places where ants build condos taller than a person. They revel in the organizational abilities of ants—all somehow built into their DNA by our Creator God. No wonder they garnered commendation in Proverbs 30:24-38 with some other animals. “Cronies” (rock badgers) were praised for wise building, locusts for cooperation, and lizards about fearlessness. And ants, praised for their innate sense of preparation: “Ants are creatures of strength, yet they store up their food in the summer” (v. 25). Ants also got proverbial “ink” in chapter 6:

Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise! It has no commander, no overseer or ruler, yet it stores in provisions in summer, and gathers its food at harvest. (vv. 6-7)

That observation is followed by a rebuke to the “sluggard” to get with it! If tiny, seemingly insignificant ants scurry about with this internal work ethic without a boss man nearby—getting ready for the lean feeding times of winter—can we do less when God calls us to excellence in our tasks? Another commentator remarked about how ants carry loads far bigger than they are. I've witnessed that, too—and the lesson for me was 1 Peter 5:7: “Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.” When my daily burdens—concern for others, the daily drudge of life's tasks, health challenges and other things that “weigh on me”--get me down, well, God waits to carry that burden for me.

My scripture reading during this pandemic has repeatedly taken me to verses that I memorized or meditated on in previous times of trials. As they encourage or instruct me again, I find myself saying, “Thanks for the reminder, Lord.” I'm glad I “stored up” that spiritual food for these times when pandemic fears nibble at my faith.

“Look to the ant”?--oh yes. Except when they pollute my honey jar....