LAUGHABLE

“Elmo” has been a part of our household for more than three decades. He's had a few battery “transplants,” but remains a dependable source of laughter. Just tickle his tummy. HA HA HA HA HA.....He's a good way to pull a grandson out of a funk. Ditto, me.

I'm not saying that a toy is my path to joy. Far from it. To be honest, this toy reminds me of a piece of art--the one in Proverbs 31 that we call a portrait of a “virtuous woman.” Her resume: hard-working, resourceful, wise, kind, generous, compassionate, strong with dignity, confident, joyful. Especially her confidence and industriousness inspire me. She doesn't go around blaming people and circumstances. Bad things happen to all of us. Some keep sucking on lemons and are known as complainers. The others make lemonade, knowing the “sweetening” to make the sour tolerable will come from a close relationship with Jesus.

I've thought a lot about the phrase in verse 25, “She laughs at the future,” the word “laugh” chosen for some English translations from the Hebrew word sachaq. In our culture, that word choice can easily be misconstrued as, “Are you kidding? Can things get any worse?” But sachaq has this range of meanings: “laugh, deride, play, rejoice.” In Proverbs 8:30-31 it expresses God's delight in creating the heavens and all the earth.

This is no tickle-the-red-fuzzy-creature laugh. It's one connected to wisdom and confidence. Some Bible translations use “rejoice,” as “She rejoices in the time to come.” And there will be time to come—or at “our” time on earth to end—for God's something more. I think that's the key to unlocking this verse. This chapter's description of “The Virtuous Woman”--who is the ultimate homemaker, supportive spouse, wise mother, and part-time businesswoman--has a God-focus. She's not bitter about her circumstances, but rises above complaint to do the best she can, Quite frankly, in our culture, I think she'd shove her television in a closet and guard against time-wasters on her computer or smart phone. (I smile to think of a smart phone in a Bible-times clay house...)

Would she keep a laughing Elmo toy on the shelf? If they'd had batteries in those days, maybe. But batteries deplete. The joy-of-the-Lord has a limitless source of power.

PEACE

Some of the last buds of summer at my home were this duo or roses, one which graced the bush for a few days, and one bud nearby, ready to take its place. A few weeks after this, I pruned all our roses to prevent snow breakage. Our rose beds edge the driveway, meaning snow shoveling can damage them. But I have no other options when I wake up to a foot of snow and need to clear the driveway.

The prophet Isaiah had similar observations, though certainly not with “snow load.”

The grass withers and the flowers fall. (Isaiah 40:8a)

Well, duh. It's called the cycle of life. It works for both the plant and animal world. But the opposite is this, in the very next verse:

But the word of our God stands forever. (Isaiah 40:8b)

There's another verse in Isaiah that gets repeated exposure during the Christmas season:

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given,

And the government will be on his shoulders,

And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and peace

there will be no end...(Isaiah 9:6-7)

Prophecies are glimmers of hope, reflections of God's good and just character. This one reminds us that Christmas is not just about a miracle Baby, destined to be a Savior, swaddled and put for safekeeping in a feeding trough. It's about the King of Kings, the Prince of Peace. “Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end” (v. 7).

I could be wrong—I'm not the world's greatest authority on roses—but I think the bloom I photographed is the “Peace Rose.” I didn't plan it that way, but it's a fitting illustration for our longings for the Prince of Peace—the Lord Jesus---to infuse this broken world with healing and peace. It's God's long-range plan.

Will He come Monday, which our calendar (though not historically true) assigns to the celebration of His birth? Or in about a week, when one old year bows aside to welcome the new? Only God knows. His Word tells us it will happen in the twinkling of an eye (1 Corinthians 15:52).

So yes, summer's flowers will wilt and their petals drop Their canes will blacken and die as cold sets in. But Peace, real Peace through the Prince of Peace, is in God's plan for this battered world. This is Hope worth celebrating. No presents, cards, trees, feasts, Black Fridays, or fancy decorations required. Just pure, worshiping hearts.

PINING FOR PINES

Dying--not dyed--needles

Proud of his German ancestry, at Christmastime my dad delighted in belting out that culture's legendary circa-1550 holiday song, “O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum” [O, Christmas tree, O Christmas Tree]. How fractured his German was, we kids never knew. But he sang it with gusto, typically when he brought home a tree from the local tree lot for us to decorate. Some years, by the time he went tree-shopping, just the scawny “Charlie Brown” trees were left--cheap! Besides, with enough of the family's eclectic decorations, who would discover the tree's emaciated state?

Now, in a revival of those years-ago trends, we're seeing more color-flocked trees. Excuse me, but they remind me of the current hair-dye fad that has men and women sporting “do's” in neon colors of the rainbow. Please, no garish holiday trees. Evergreens should be....green.

Sadly, some trees in my yard are exceptions, random branches turned orange by a fungal scourge called “blight.” Researching cures for that problem, I realize I'm no tree doctor. But my battle with the yard's ailing trees also makes me think twice whenever I read Psalm 1. Now, there's a tree ready for a nature's beauty pageant. It's been nourished well by sun and water. It produces great fruit and is a symbol of prosperity. In contrast would be the tree representing the ungodly, as useless as wind-blown chaff. For a Christmastime analogy, it would be a Charlie Brown tree: just a few scraggly limbs on a wimpy little cross-bar stand.

Another Biblical tree that I find hard to understand is described in Revelation 22. Just what wonder of nature could produce fruit every month (v. 2)? And have leaves full of the medicine to heal nations? With symbols so mysterious and wonderful, we'll have to wait and see until that Day.

Trust me, when that happens we won't be belting out “O Tannenbaum!” No, we'll sing wonderful hymns of praise to God. For He created this marvel called “tree.” During His tenure on earth, His Son walked among them, enjoyed their shade, picked their fruit, and used them for sermon illustrations. Oh, any tree—how lovely are thy branches as they reminder us of our Creator-Provider God!

'EBENEZER'--REVISITED

I find our local newspaper's birth announcements a primer in trendy names. I don't find my name very often, but lots of name blends and interesting spellings. But I don't come across a famous name of history and literature, which has (thanks to Charles Dickens' fiction) become synonymous with Christmas. Surely, you have heard of Ebenezer Scrooge.

For many years, I figured he got that name because “Ebenezer” rhymed with “geezer,” and he was all of that besides being a miserable, tightwad merchant who only cared for himself. Early in the story, Dickens gives this description of Scrooge:  "The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice." After visits from the three “ghosts” (spirits) of Christmas past, present and future, Scrooge changes his ways. He turns into a better, more generous man.

Thanks to this tale, our English language now has “scrooge” as a handy synonym for “greed” or “misanthropy.” People scoffing Christmas traditions are apt to borrow his phrase, “Bah! Humbug!” But we see little written about his first name, Ebenezer, which actually has a solid Bible story behind it.

The story begins in Israel's early history in the book of First Samuel. The Temple's “ark of the covenant,” a gold-covered box containing the tablets of the Ten Commandments and other sacred items, had been confiscated by the enemy Philistines. They transported it from Jerusalem to their territory--a bad idea. God punished them with physical misery (the NIV calls it “tumors in the groin”) and they returned the ark to a halfway point, not the Jerusalem temple. More battles ensued between the Philistines and the Israelites. In one, God intervened by sending thunder so loud and fearsome that the Philistines desperately retreated and lost the battle.

And that's where the name “Ebenezer” enters Biblical history:

Then Samuel [Israel's prophet-leader] took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, “Thus far has the Lord helped us.” So the Philistines were subdued and did not invade Israelite territory again. (1 Samuel 7:12-13a)

So, yes--”Ebenezer” is a real name. My online search showed it especially popular these days among prominent citizens of Ghana! In the past, the name was shared by American and English leaders of all stripes. (1)

But what happened to that memorial stone, believed somewhere between Mizpah and Shen? Some researchers think it's one located about seven miles north of Jerusalem. (2)  But the actual stone (which could become like an idol) doesn't matter as much as the principle of this story in Biblical history. Sometimes we have to go through really tough battles. Our enemies don't carry actual swords, knives, or arrows. But they pierce us in our vulnerable spiritual places. We're left helpless, except for the sometimes surprising intervention by our Heavenly Father.

In that sense, we all can recall “Ebenezers,” or times when we relied on the rock-solid trustworthiness of God. When we are helpless and call out to Him, He hears. And later on, in time's perspective, we will be able to declare (as did the Israelites): “Thus far has the Lord helped us.” I recognize such times in my life with a few stones I keep on the window ledge in my office. Could a reminder rock be your gift to someone? Or yourself?

1) Ebenezer (given name) - Wikipedia

(2) Eben-Ezer - Wikipedia

UN-DECORATING FOR CHRISTMAS

The famed above-kitchen-sink "toe"

A family tradition as the calendar turned to “December” was retrieving our family's Christmas décor for its brief holiday “run.” That included the bin of wreaths and garlands, a long string of lights, the 40-year-old childproof creche, fireplace socks, and the fake Christmas tree and ornaments. I didn't have to hang the mistletoe: it was a year-round decoration on the ceiling above the kitchen sink.

But that was years ago. With nest-emptying and aging, and now a grandkid-toys-and-books “decor” cluttering our small home, my holiday decorating fervor faded. Last year I put up only the door wreath, creche and two socks—“mine” and “his.” My husband had only one wish on his “wish list”--to come home from the hospital after his heart attack. And he did—on Christmas afternoon.

I can't remember, but we may have shared a “welcome-back” kiss at the kitchen sink, under a sprig of mistletoe tacked there forty-some years earlier. Okay, when I was silly new bride, it was a reminder that “kissin' don't last, cookin' do.” Marrying (for the first and only time) in our mid-thirties, we had some catching up to do in that department.

With his death early this summer, I needed to make some changes. So the mistletoe came down. But not before I did a little research about this strange little “kissing” custom that seems highlighted every holiday. The brutal truth: mistletoe is a parasitic plant that latches onto a host plant and sucks the life out of it. Not very romantic! Mistletoe berries are also toxic—even can be deadly—if eaten. (That's why you never see “mistletoe jam” sold at Christmas!) In some pagan cultures, mistletoe was connected with human sacrifice. Folks in some ancient lands hung mistletoe over their doors to ward off demonic influences.

To all this, I say, “Oh, my.” I was way, way overdue to remove that ribbon-tied, withered sprig from our ceiling.

Enter new traditions. Like reaching out in quiet, small ways to those who mourn. I was touched when another recent widow started sending me 3x5 cards on which she'd printed encouraging Bible verses that were apparently meaningful to her in her loss. I clipped them to a stand below my computer screen. Four months after the flood of post-death sympathy cards, I was also encouraged by simple notes that said, “Still praying for you.” Trust me: at holidays, the grieving especially need gentle hugs and kind words,

Christmas can be such a hectic, even garish, time--hard for those pummeled by loss to endure. It's okay to counter the culture and simplify, to focus on the Light of the World more than the thousand-lights-Santa-manger yard setups.

Jesus' birth wasn't heralded by a searchlight guzzling 60,000 watts of electrical power. Heaven sent its own signal, enough for grubby, uneducated shepherds to discover the Greatest Gift. There was no mistletoe over the manger. But in that rough, manure-aroma stable, the world was kissed with God's love. We couldn't ask for anything more....

GLORY!

 A monthly story on a hymn of the faith.

Whenever Gospel musician Charles Gabriel was around Ed Card, he was boosted by the Card's joyful demeanor. It wasn't what you'd expect from a man who ran a rescue mission in St. Louis, Missouri. Yet Card was known for his ready smile and how he seemed to bubble over with the joy of the Lord. The man would explode with a “Glory!” during a sermon or prayer, and often closed his own prayers with a reference to heaven and the remark, “And that will be glory for me!” Card's joyful countenance caused others to nickname him “Old Glory Face.”

Inspired by Card's expressive faith, Gabriel combined verse and music for a hymn titled, “O That Will Be Glory,” first published in 1900. Surprisingly, one critic complained, “That hymn will never go. It has too many quarter notes.” In other words, it didn't have a catchy tune. But it definitely “caught on,” becoming one of the most popular hymns sung at large evangelism meetings from the U.S., to around the globe, including Australia and Great Britain. Before Card died, he'd learn that his Christian walk was widely recognized by Gabriel's Gospel song.

But Gabriel was far from a “one-hit” composer. More amazing, he began life in an Iowa prairie farm shanty in 1856. As a youth, he taught himself to play a small reed organ his parents bought. At age 16 he was leading singing schools. His mother discerned his unusual talent. When Gabriel told her that one day he'd write a world-famous song, she remarked, “My boy, I would rather have you write a song that will help somebody than see you President of the United States.”

Around age 30, he moved to San Francisco, Calif., to serve in a Methodist Episcopal Church. When the Sunday school superintendent asked him to come up with a missionary hymn for Easter, Gabriel composed “Send the Light.” A visiting mission representative took the hymn back East with him. Two years later, Gabriel was writing and publishing hymns full-time. Some of his well-known hymns included “Higher Ground,” “My Savior's Love,” and “More Like the Master.” He also composed the music for others' lyrics, including Civila Martin's “His Eye is on the Sparrow” and Ada Habershon's “Will the Circle Be Unbroken?”

In all, he'd edit 35 Gospel songbooks, eight Sunday school songbooks, seven books for male choruses and six for women's voices, ten children's songbooks, 19 anthem collections, 23 choir cantatas, 41 Christmas cantatas, 10 children's cantatas, and many books on musical instructions. For two decades he was part of Homer Rodeheaver Publishing Co.

Gabriel would die in 1932, in Hollywood, leaving an estimated legacy of 7,000-8,000 songs. Among his songs, “I Stand Amazed in the Presence,” which includes the line, “How marvelous! How wonderful is my Savior's love to me.”

The same singer takes all four parts in this rendition of “O that Will Be Glory”:

Bing Videos

Then, he takes all four parts of “Send the Light”:

Send the Light - YouTube

DILIGENCE

When culling my husband's desk files after his death, I came across many pocket calendars in which he kept track of his substitute teaching commitments. To me, they shouted the character quality of “diligence” in providing for our family. His elementary teaching career spanned fifty-five years, from college graduation to one year before his death at age 77. Nearly half of that was the high-paced calling of an elementary physical education teacher, the rest the challenges of substitute teaching. His “career change” within education came after we were nearly killed by a drunk driver. The trauma and stress of that accident mandated a lifestyle adjustment.

So what of the pocket calendars? When he turned to substitute teaching with its lower wages, he still had plenty of work. We'd always lived frugally, so managed. The “less-stress” was worth it. Some jobs came by the automated substitute calling system. Sometimes teachers called him directly. Other times, they'd catch him in the hall and say, “I want you for these days.” He'd whip out his pocket calendar and, if he wasn't already committed, they'd have their favorite sub.

To say he was popular would be understatement. He controlled his classes. He added fun to learning via a rolling suitcase full of games and rewards. For example, he boasted that he had special pencils only for students who were left-handed, like him. Of course, they were generic pencils—either hand—but it bonded those “lefties” to a beloved teacher.

If I could characterize his teaching life, I'd use the word “diligent.” In both sides of his career—the elementary p.e. teacher and the jack-of-all-trades (preferring elementary) substitute—he could be relied on to step in and keep a class going. Back at home, my work (besides freelance writing) was raising our two children to responsible (and academically stellar) adulthood, practicing frugality to help us live on one income, and helping care-give his ailing parents, whom we moved to a home next door to us. We were a team.

When his health started failing around age 75, and he had to phase out subbing, we were still a team. When I come across scriptures that commend diligence, I think of his example:

The soul of the sluggard craves and gets nothing, while the soul of the diligent is richly supplied. (Proverbs 13:4)

Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men. (Colossians 3:23)

One common thread in our backgrounds was the expectation that we would work once we reached adulthood. Before that, in childhood, we had chores that weren't fun but expected of us. Plus school was a priority. So was respecting parents and adults in our lives. (They practiced Proverbs 29:15!)That wasn't just a “parent command.” It represented the desire of God, speaking through the apostle Peter:

Make every effort to add to your faith goodness...knowledge... self-control... perseverance... godliness.. brotherly kindness... love. (1 Peter 1:5-7)

Peter added that developing these spiritual traits would keep us from being “ineffective and unproductive” in living for Christ (v. 8). Like those substitute assignments my husband wrote down in his pocket calendars, character development is a God-calling that takes diligence. Shirking it dishonors the Lord.

(1) Among websites about biblical diligence is this link: 20 Bible Verses on Diligence (adiligentheart.com)

UNRELIABLE

How many months—no, make that years—had these stilts and pogo-sticks knocked around our storage areas and yard? I can't remember. When my grandboys tried to walk or jump on them, the results weren't pretty. Let's just say that I wasn't ready to stock up on a bushel of bandaids. Finally, I posted this photo (FREE! FREE!) on a local internet selling site.. A few days later these instruments of torture (for a grandma trying to keep her grands safe) were gone. Whew. 

The stilts' final “re-homing” got me thinking about folks whose egos exceed their actual abilities. The apostle Paul had something to say about that: “Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you” (Romans 12:3). To paraphrase: Don't act big when you're not big. Be humble and realistic in accepting your strengths and weaknesses.

As for the pogo sticks, they reminded me of people who bounce around in life without really getting anywhere. It may involve bad friends, abandoned attempts at education or jobs, or physical and mental health issues that never get resolved. They just can't stick with a program and finish it. The apostle James, talking about perseverence as an essential lesson in faith, nailed it with this about indecisiveness:

He who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all he does. (James 1:6b-7)

The apostle's sea-worthy analogy certainly described my grandboys endangering life and limb on the pogo stick. And it “nailed it” for doubters, can't-make-up-their-minders, and those who weave from one bad choice to another instead of steadfastly following God's paths.

Paul urged the Ephesian believers to “walk worthy of the calling with which you were called.” That included “lowliness, gentleness, longsuffering, bearing with one another, striving for unity in the body.” (Ephesians 4:1-3). Later to the Colossians, he urged walking “in a manner worthy of the Lord,” bearing fruit for God and growing in the faith (Colossians 1:10-11).

Such behaviors are far from wobbling all over the place like novice stilt-walkers and pogo-stickers. And maybe there's a message here about any worldly play-things (like unhealthy relationships, internet/drug/alcohol addictions, wasteful spending) that distract us from walking steadfastly with the Lord.

ENOUGH

I can't recall when this beleagured bird bath became a part of our yard. Perhaps it was a freebie somewhere because it already had a notch missing from its hard-plastic basin. But there's still enough of a “bowl” to hold bread crumbs, and when I get to the hard heel of a loaf, I usually break it in there. Within minutes, birds—typically sparrows—are feasting and spreading the word. It's almost amusing to watch the landings and departures escalate and then fade as the supply is picked clean.

Jesus noticed that, too, bringing a lesson recorded in Matthew 6 (The “Sermon on the Mount”):

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?

Although I've lived through lean times, when there wasn't much food on hand, I have never gone hungry. And in this season of “aging” and now being alone, I feel a kinship with the birds that swoop down for a few bread crumbs. It's not just about what's in my cupboards and refrigerator (I have plenty--and that includes the cookie jar with granola bars for growing grandboys), or what I pump into my car's gas tank. Or the wires going into my house for electricity, phone and internet, or the pipes that bring water and remove our sewage. I've always lived more simply, but do pause at times and thank the Lord for these conveniences.

More than that, I want more than enough of His love and assurance, of which He has an infinite supply. Paul reminded those who came to Christ through his ministry to make sure they were “givers” as well as “takers.” As someone living on “love offerings,” he never was sure of where his next meal would come from, or what Mediterranean culture where he preached would influence the menu!

I love how the book of Philippians ends with thanksgiving. Paul talks about contentment and generosity. Plus, how he learned that “our God will meet all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19). Not the wants (not a perpetually-full bird feeder) but the needs. There's a huge difference—a divine difference—between those extremes.

COMFORTING

Within a few days of my husband's death this summer, a close friend was at my door with some unusual tokens of comfort: a framed saying and a little glass vial. “These are on loan for a few months,” she said, knowing I was feeling overwhelmed by “too much stuff” in the aftermath of a loved one's death. But they revealed her compassion toward how I'd travel my grief journey.

One “loaner” was this framed saying about the Author of my life. As one who's written books, I understood the comparison. How I needed the reminder that this event was so big that I desperately needed to listen to the Author of life through His book, the Bible. The little ribboned corked glass container referred to an ancient Jewish custom of saving one's tears (in a vial) as proof of the depth of grief. The custom was even mentioned in a psalm:

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8

Of course, that custom is not part of my culture. But reading about grief and the need to weep reminded me that God sees my tears and it's okay to let them flow when needed. Death is a deep, life-changing loss.

One week at church I was sitting next to another recent widow. One of the worship songs hit both of us in the tender parts of our loss. She started wiping tears first and asked if I had a tissue. (I didn't—just a crumpled handkerchief that I passed over with a look of apology.) But her tears started mine coming. People behind and on the side of us, who know us, understood.

This same widow, upon my loss, started mailing or handing me 3x5 cards on which she had written encouraging scriptures or quotes. My communication strength is “written words,” so that was right up the road to my heart. I posted them on a clip under my computer screen. How often had I read the same scriptures? But now they revisited—via the hand of a caring friend—to comfort and renew again.

Know someone who's grieving? Send notes—even after the first few weeks of loss when the cards fill the mailbox. Keep them simple. Visit briefly. Share their tears. Be sensitive to any saying or token that will remind them of God's care . Like these. Or a Bible bookmark. If a “larger decor” item, clarify you're loaning it for a certain period of time so that they aren't burdened with later getting rid of it.

Embarrassed by my lack of clean tear-soakers that Sunday, I went to the dollar store and got some of those mini-packs of tissues. I'll give one to her, and show her (with a peek into the cave of my purse) that next time I will be prepared. Bring on those heart-tugging hymns and choruses. It's good when worship music reaches our hearts and leaks out through the tear glands. God understands. When loss hurts so bad, it's how He reaches His arms around us (sometimes through another “real” person) to let us know He cares. More than we can comprehend.

FILL MY CUP

A monthly feature on a hymn of the faith.

A couple scheduled for pre-marital counseling was late for their appointment with Rev. Richard C. Blanchard Sr., at his church in Coral Gables, Florida. Wanting to make better use of his time, the Methodist pastor told his secretary that he'd be in a nearby Sunday school room that had a piano. Within six minutes of sitting at the piano, he'd composed words to a hymn based on Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman at a well (John 4), Twenty minutes later, he had a tune to it. And that's how “Fill My Cup, Lord” came to be, in 1953. He later said of that song: “It came from God. There is no other way to explain it.” The song would reach a larger audience through the ministry of his friend who was a musician and evangelist.

Born in China in 1925 to Methodist missionary parents, he grew up in Indiana and North Carolina. His mother taught him piano and he learned to play trombone in school band. He also earned to play anything by ear, including music of the Big Band era, and had a beautiful tenor voice. Blanchard attended college one year and then enlisted in the U.S. Navy. But lung problems (after two surgeries, he'd eventually be reduced to one-third of his lung capacity) led to his medical discharge. Finishing college, he married and had three children, and after a degree in theology was ordained to what would be 40 years of ministry in the Methodist Church, mostly in Florida.

Despite his health challenges, he was a man of many interests: boating, dining by the water, traveling (he visited more than 75 countries), fine art and art museums, sports, word games like Scrabble ®, stamp- and coin-collecting. He also wrote many Gospel songs, a musical titled “Francis of Assisi” performed before 600, a weekly regional church paper column, and a story published in the popular “Ideals” magazine. He also wrote the official biography of a Methodist bishop, John Branscomb, for whom he was an assistant minister in the 4,000-member First Methodist Church in Orlando, Florida.

Blanchard's family also faced challenges. Two children would precede him in death: a son left a quadriplegic after an accident at age 17, and one of his two daughters. Those experiences led him to value hospital visitation. In retirement and declining health after 2000, he found a new ministry from his bed through telephoning members of former churches. He died at age 79 in North Carolina.

Sing along with this video:

FillMy Cup, Lord - YouTube

BYOODE-FUL

I'm blessed to be a grandma of four, three boys (my son's) and one girl (my daughter's). The grandboys are in town, so often visit. But the granddaughter, Eleanor, lives four hours' drive away and I don't see her often. Yet she touches my Nana's heart with her drawings and first-grade-prose. Yes, I like hydrangeas, too, Eleanor. I agree: they are a "byoode." I carried a freshly picked hydrangea pompom as a simple, homemade bridal bouquet at my wedding.

Because my husband died just weeks short of our 42^nd anniversary, the wedding memories are especially tender. We were older—34 and 36—and never-married-before when our wedding day came. It was a simple, small ceremony, right down to a home-sewn dress, garden-picked flowers and a potluck reception. A year or so ago, Eleanor's mom posed her holding a “bouquet” of hydrangeas, and I have that photo posted by my kitchen sink. Her recent drawing (with its original spelling—how precious) lifted my heart as I realized this little detail was revived to comfort me. The same for the hydrangea bouquet they left on my table before returning to their home on the other side of the state.

Often when I look at this drawing, now prominently posted in the kitchen, I recall a contemporary Christian song that has come to widespread recognition through singer Twila Paris. She defines “how beautiful” through remembering the earthly ministry of Jesus Christ, and how that has translated through the centuries through those who now call themselves “Christian”--followers of Jesus.

The song's rhymes are simple, but profound. Sacrifice. He paid the price. The singer reminds us of Jesus' tender eyes, hands that healed, and a heart that bled. My prose doesn't do justice to the song. It's best just listened to, maybe sung along in the heart in a quiet and tender time.

Will there be “byoode-ful” hydrangeas in God's Perfect Place, Heaven? Why not? Or why not something even more amazing in the eternal place God is preparing for those who followed Jesus?

Here are two videos (of many on the internet). In the “YouTube” one, the background is a sunset on the sea. In the other (“Bing”), images of an actor playing the role of Christ, serving, and dying on the cross. Keep a tissue handy and consider watching both.

Howbeautiful by Twila Paris (Lyrics) – YouTube

Howbeautiful by Twila Paris (with lyrics) - Bing video

HIGHFALUTIN V. SIMPLE

Well, how would YOU illustrate
"highfalutin"? This fun figure
 humorously illustrates its opposite.

Back to school time!  And though that's in my distant past, I still remember the dread and agony of jumping through college admissions exams like the Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT).  I had a “Top Ten” GPA in high school (my B's were in my nemesis, P.E.) so didn't think those standardized tests for college admissions would be too worrisome. Until I opened the test booklet. Math! Why had I avoided advanced calculus! I guessed. And guessed again! Not surprising, my math scores were more Death Valley than Mount Everest. Vocabulary! Were those test words ones that people actually used? Or were they borrowed from some tribal language?

Just for fun, I recently started a list of highfalutin words (oops, there's one) that  aren't part of ordinary language. Okay: “highfalutin” denotes “pompous, pretentious or overly complicated.” It's typical of people who flaunt (“to display ostentatiously on impudently, to parade”) with allegedly “highfalutin” diction (even invented negative words) to project a bogus superior image. And speaking of speaking styles, some highly-educated folks are apt to fulminate (“express vehement protest”) against some teenage slang (“like, uh, hey, yo!”). In doing so, they fustigate (“beat with a club, or punish or criticize severely”) when clear and proper language disintegrates into cliches or idioms. (Am I really using these hundred-dollar-words correctly?)

Sometimes we make simple things too complicated. The Gospel, for example. In 1962 renowned Bible teacher Karl Barth was on a lecture tour of the U.S., speaking at a chapel at the University of Chicago. When a student asked Barth if he could summarize his life's work in a sentence, Barth replied, yes, then quoted a song he learned as a child: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”(1)

Another life-skill needing simplification is showing that Jesus loves us and those around us, even those tied in knots over confusion of what it means to love like Him. The aged apostle John, despite all the teaching he heard and preached himself, wonderfully distilled the Christian life to this simple yet profound command:

Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. (1 John 3:18).

There it is—the Bible's SAT: Simple Actions & Truth.

(1) Did Karl Barth Really Say “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know….?” | Roger E. Olson (patheos.com)

EnLIGHTened

The card cover & the bug book's text

It was one of my husband's last random “love notes” to me. I found it on the kitchen table. The cover was a drawing of seven lightning bugs. (I took note of the number seven—the so-called “perfect” number.) The printed text inside: “Every thought of you puts a little sparkle in my day.” He had added: “I remember when you introduced me to fireflies. They lit up my life then and you still light up my life. Your enlightened Favorite Fellow.”

The story behind his comment. When he proposed marriage (after we'd resumed courtship after a gap of some seven years), he was living in central Washington and I was near Chicago. When he flew to Chicago to help me drive back for our wedding, it was summer and “firefly” season in the Midwest. The tiny critters fascinated them with their luminescence.

Throughout our marriage, when we shopped thrift stores, he often gravitated over to the card racks for something that seemed “just right” to keep the romance going. I appreciated that. I didn't care that they maybe cost a quarter instead of the inflated card store price. I'd find notes on the kitchen table or on my pillow. What a guy. After his death, I found his “stash” of future romantic, birthday, or anniversary cards in his desk drawer. Oh, pass the tissue box. Some of them were pretty heavy-duty, but enabled him to express his heart in my love language, which is “written communication.”

That last love note was so precious that I tucked it in the flyleaf of my Bible. Shortly after his death, I was reading a book about bugs to my grandsons. I came to a page about fireflies. The text said: “Did you know that a firefly is a type of beetle? Fireflies are also called lightning bugs. A male firefly will light up when he wants a female to see him.”

Oh, pass the tissue box. Yes, instead of the flickering “male” firefly, this female” “lit up” when I got his love notes. Even after nearly 42 years of marriage, those little perks still meant a lot.

Kind words are not just for lovers. They are the lubricant for all relationships, personal and business. Intimate and casual. I've known the sting of mean words—even invented words, embellished with extra prefixes and suffixes that made them sound erudite and highfalutin. I considered “the source” and tried to move on. But those hurtful times just reinforced my desire to be more proactive about building people up, expressing appreciation, and asking God to help me see opportunities to be more Christlike through my words.

Maybe it's reminders of wounding words I endured in the past from unhappy people, or this difficult grieving time. But in this season of life, I'm asking the Lord to make me more sensitive to kind words. Yes, words that point to Jesus, who connected heart and mouth (or penmanship!): “The good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks” (Luke 6:45).

See more at this website: What Does the Bible Say About Kind Words? (openbible.info)

MESSENGER AT 'THE STUPE'

Some might have called her an angel in disguise. I can't even remember her name. I just remember her kind, welcoming smile when I walked into the college coffee shop looking for a place to study between classes. As I looked around for an empty spot in the busy room, I noticed her alone in a booth. Graciously, she waved to me to join her.

I was then a graduate student at Wheaton College, near Chicago, Illinois. I'd started there the previous year on funds I'd saved from working, but both my parents had died months apart. As their still-single daughter, it fell to me to move back to Washington state to empty their home and handle probate. The task would have been impossible for my married sister with her young family and job, living on the other side of the state. Nine months later, the house “empty” but still unsold, caring people urged me to quit waiting around....to resume my studies and to trust God for its sale in a depressed economy. So here I was, pursuing an educational and vocational dream, early thirties, single and very much alone, taking temporary jobs like babysitting and filing to help cover expenses beyond my depleting personal savings.

The coffee shop was known as "The Stupe”--yes, strange, but an acrostic carryover from its former location close to the physical education department: STudent Union Physical Education. The high-backed wooden benches had a classic aura that reminded me of alumni legends like missionary martyr Jim Elliott and famed evangelist Billy Graham. As I slid into her booth, we exchanged names and told about our fields of study. I shared how I'd returned to graduate school after my parents died, hoping to land a job with nearby Christian publishers. She said, “I'll pray for you.”

A week or so later, I returned to “The Stupe” for a study break. There she was again, beckoning to me. As I sat down, she said, “I have a verse for you. It's Hebrews 6:10: 'God is not unjust so as to forget your work and the love you have shown toward His name, in having ministered and in still ministering to the saints'” (NASB).

I can't recall if she just gave me the reference, or a card with that verse written out. But it was as if someone had summoned a wind to fill my drooping sails. She was God's messenger to remind me that despite the negative circumstances that had dragged me down, God was still on the throne. He remembered what I had done and what I hoped to do to honor Him.

Our “encounter” came in wintertime. I don't recall seeing much of her the rest of the school year. But that verse she shared kept coming to mind as I struggled through reading lists and piles of assignments, wrote my graduate thesis, and sent out resumes that brought disappointing “thanks, but no thanks.” And finally, just three days before I had to vacate college housing with nowhere to go, I got a phone call from a prominent editor offering a job I'd thought impossible to land--along with the editor's plan for my temporary housing.

God had not forgotten me. Hebrews 6:10, come true. Shared in a booth at a campus coffee shop by His unexpected messenger.

TEACH ME....

"Teach" in the title, a ruler.... reminders for
a hymn about learning God's ways

A monthly feature on a hymn of the faith.

Some big media names in our times include Gordon Ramsay, the outspoken television chef (his name spelled with two A's), and Dave Ramsey, finance advice personality (his name with an A and E). But does the name “Benjamin Mansell Ramsey” ring a bell? Probably not. Maybe the title “Teach Me Thy Way, O Lord” does.

The history of hymnody includes many who wrote just a few hymns, and one rose to the top. Such is the case for Ramsey's “Teach Me Thy Way,” Born in 1849, he was known as an organist and amateur composer in his hometown of Chichester, in England's southeast coastal county, Sussex. Hugging the shoreline of the English Channel, the city had a colorful history going back to medieval and Norman times, as a Roman and Anglo-Saxon settlement. It was also the seat of the Church of England's Diocese of Chichester, boasting a cathedral that hailed back to the 12^th Century.

Ramsey spent his life in that area, moving in music circles. He taught music at a local school, served as an officer in the local music association, and conducted local orchestras, one of which he helped establish. His musical output included a children's cantata about Robinson Crusoe and another titled “Clouds and Sunshine: A Fairy Play.” His other hymn to become better known was “Lord, Bring Some Wanderers Home.”

Little was written about his private life. His daughter Lillian was a published writer of children's books.

But what of this hymn? Perhaps its endurance is its meditative tune, and how it expressed the teachings of several Bible passages. One is 2 Timothy 4:2, Paul's last known “goodbyes” to various friends who helped him and is charge to Timothy to persevere in preaching and living out the Gospel:

Preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all long-suffering and doctrine.

Maybe these verses also influenced this hymn's lyrics:

Teach me thy way, O LORD, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies. (Psalm 27:11)

Teach me thy way, O LORD; I will walk in thy truth: unite my heart to fear thy name. (Psalm 86:11)

Thought he suffered poor health in his old age, he organized and conducted a choral society in Chichester before dying at 74. It's worth noting that “Teach Me Thy Way” ends as he lived:

Until the race is run, until the journey's done,

Until the Crown is won; Teach me Thy Way.

Stunning photography accompanies this YouTube featuring “Teach Me Thy Way”:

Teach me Thy way, O Lord - with Lyrics - Bing video

BAA, BAA....

That's me--20 years ago--with a friend's black lamb

My home has a reproduction of Warner Sallman's famed painting, “The Lord Is My Shepherd.”* Because of copyright laws, I won't include a copied image in this blog. But you know the one: white-robed Jesus, holding a lamb, other sheep around him. See an image and discussion at this link: TheLord is My Shepherd | The Warner Sallman Collection Notice the rocky hills and “still waters” in the background. Then, to the left of Jesus, a little black sheep, nudging the folds of His robe, as though saying, I want to stay close to the shepherd.

The scene reminds me of the 1874 hymn “Close to Thee” by prolific (and blind) hymn-writer Fanny Crosby:

Thou my everlasting portion, more than friend or life to me,
All along my pilgrim journey, Savior, let me walk with Thee.

Refrain:Close to Thee, close to Thee,/Close to Thee, close to Thee;
All along my pilgrim journey, Savior, let me walk with Thee.

“Black sheep” have gotten something of a bad rap in our English language. The term has come to mean someone who doesn't “fit in” with society or family. Crankiness, conflict, criticism—the negatives of human relationships seem to dominate their personalities. Why “black sheep” came to be associated with this, I don't know, except that the color “black” is often associated with sin. But real, woolly “black sheep” aren't that way because of any personality issue. Their “blackness” is a genetic thing. Sheep carry one recessive gene which provide a one-in-four chance of emerging black. If both parents have this one-in-four gene, and both “go-black” genes randomly end up together, the lamb emerges black.

But are they loners like their human namesakes? Not really. Sheep are actually social animals, comfortable in groups and generally getting along. Even the black ones can be found in the midst of a white woolly crowd. The greatest social attribute of sheep is a “herd mentality.” They stick together.

As for the black wool, go back to the nursery rhyme about “Baa, baa, black sheep.” The speaker wanted to buy the black wool which, according to what I read, was valued for the dark color woven into plaids. But the white wool was more versatile as it could be dyed into other colors.

But what of the little black sheep in Sallman's art, leaning into Jesus? The more I think about it, that's where the black sheep belonged—as close to the Savior as possible. That's true of us, too, regardless of whether we tend toward the rebellious or antisocial behavior that humans now label “black sheep.” All of us need to stay “close to Him.” Some for correction of behavior. Some for comfort. Some for simple companionship. And the Shepherd still speaks to His flocks. His Words are now in a Book. One in which He called Himself, “The Good Shepherd” (John 10). In staying close to The Book, I stay close to the Savior.

I'm reminded of a little poem by England's William Blake (1757-1827) which begins,“Little Lamb, who made thee?” The poem probes the spiritual symbol of lambs, God the Creator, and Jesus, the Lamb of God. This gets into heavy theology—a surprising thing packed into a seemingly simple verse. But it reminds me that Jesus, the Good Shepherd, also the Lamb of God who died for my sins, still beckons me to the safe place by His side. And sensing, as it were, my head nudging His robes, I am content to be “close to Thee.”

CHOICES

My Grandma “thing” when my grandsons have birthdays is to sew them pajamas of flannel fabric they choose. A few weeks ago, that meant our local fabric store rocked with excited boys going up and down its flannel aisles.

I could predict the soon-10-year-old's choice: cats. The third-born (6 the end of September) usually followed his middle brother's choice of dogs. (Grandson #2, born in January, will get his shopping trip later this year.) But this time, to my surprise, #3 insisted he wanted the fabric that showed the sun and the planets of our solar system! I matched the PJ bottoms fabric to ready-made tee-shirts. Oh my, the grandson who chose the SUN chose a blinding orange shirt.

Choices! Not all of life's choices are as easy as the favorite flannel for pajamas. But because God gave us free will to choose—not wanting us to be celestial robots—our history has rocked with bad choices. The ones that His Son visited earth to die for. Whenever I read First Corinthians, I can imagine Paul gritting his teeth in sorrow over the sin prevalent in that city. Sexual immorality flourished and new believers were having a hard time separating themselves from that lifestyle. 1 Corinthians 5-6 record the debauchery of that ancient city: immorality, greed, swindling, idolatry, drunkenness, excessive lawsuits, cheating.

Are we much different? Does our culture run by the rule, “Everybody's doing it, why not?” Paul answered (especially in regard to immorality): “Flee it” (1 Corinthians 6:18). The problem is...the problem is all around us. We're fed it in the media: movies, television, public performances, the entertainment and connections offered in privacy via the internet. Subtly, they shape our thinking.

We make choices: to indulge or reject. Paul's advice 2,000 years ago still fits. He emphasized that while we have free will to make choices, not everything in our fallen culture is right for us. “I will not be mastered by anything,” he wrote (6:12). I think of that when I read how those who idolize high-profile entertainment figures are so crushed when a concert is sold out or canceled. Or even how social media can encourage attitudes and reactions that are far from “what would Jesus do?” Paul's long-ago warning still applies: “Not everything is permissible for me [as a Christ--follower]--You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body” (1 Corinthians 6:19b).

Oh my, from kid choices for pajamas to life choices in the bazaar of life's bizarre stuff. I did get off on a tangent. My grandson's flannel choices for PJs will last them about a year as they grow. But the big life choices they make—between good and evil—will have years-long, even life-long, consequences. So this grandma prays as she sews, that they will sow choices that lead to righteousness, in all they do and say.

ABOUT CORRECTION FLUID....

One of the marvels of my computer is how spell-smart it is. I'll be typing along, my fingers flipping over to wrong keys and noticing those “oops” are automatically corrected before I can blink. If not, I just have to go to the “check spelling” command, which sleuths out all my typos and tells me it will fix them without charge.

I'm so glad to have survived the Dark Ages of typewriters, when any typos required special camouflaging. At first it was those white strips that you poked onto the typewriter roller, over your error, then struck the “bad stuff” to create a white surface (flaky as it sometimes was) over which you could type your correction. Then came a paint-on correction fluid--the invention, I learned, of a typist who concocted it from some paint she had around. Later, I got a typewriter with an extra sticky-white reel that did the same magic.

I once heard someone quip that Jesus is like white correction fluid: He covers over our sins. In a sense that's true, and somewhat biblical. First John 1:7 is probably the best known verse on that, declaring “the blood of Jesus, the Messiah, cleanses us from all sin.”

But comparing “correction fluid” to Jesus' sacrificial death on the cross to cover over the mess of a sinful world is a paltry analogy. The idea of “blood,” of course, is connected with the sacrificial system of Old Testament days. In slaying a perfectly good goat or lamb for a prescribed temple rite, the family was letting go of valuable property. On the other side of all this ancient practice—knowing now that it pointed to Jesus' death on the cross for the whole world's sin-debt—the “covering of blood” makes sense. It is powerful symbolism that was even carried into the mysterious proclamations of “end times” in the book of Revelation (Rev. 12:11).

Put simply, Jesus' death wasn't “white correction fluid.” It was a new beginning. Fresh paper, error-free. A foretaste of the perfection being prepared for us in Heaven.

Before his death earlier this summer, my husband spent more than two weeks in the hospital. I'd wake up in the morning knowing my day meant going to his hospital bedside, holding his hand, and just waiting. And for what? One morning, God seemed to be giving me a gracious hint when a little radio in our bathroom automatically turned on. My husband had programmed it for 7 a.m., about the time when he showered and shaved. And what would come on that morning, from our local Christian radio station? A contemporary song about heaven, with the words, “I can only imagine.” I lay in bed and wept.

Yes, we can only imagine. Heaven won't be splotched with white correction fluid. It will gleam and glow with the perfection of a crucified, risen Savior and a loving Father-God. No errors, no sin, no sorrow. Just splendid and absolutely right.

VOCATIONAL U-TURN

A monthly feature on a hymn of the faith.

Son of an Irish lawyer, Thomas Kelly (born in 1769 in a town near Dublin) followed his father's vocational footsteps, studying law in Dublin and in London. But in London, he changed career paths and at 23 became a clergyman for the Church of Ireland. That didn't last, because he'd started reading works of William Romaine, a noted evangelical Anglican who de-emphasized that church's “works” teachings. Kelly's new evangelical convictions poured into his preaching, leading to censure from the established Irish church. Striking out on his own, he began preaching at various Irish chapels that had broken away from the mother church, gaining a reputation as a “dissenting” preacher. Besides his brilliance as a linguist, poet, and musician, he was known as a pious yet gracious man.

At 30, he married a woman from a wealthy but pious family. At age 33 he published the first of what would become his own 765 original hymns over the next fifty-plus years, included in about a dozen revised hymnal editions. That output led to his reputation as “Ireland's Charles Wesley,” alluding to the prolific hymn-writing brother of reformer John Wesley, author of some 6,500 hymns.

Kelly used his wealth to help the poor, especially those afflicted by the Irish fungus-caused potato famine of 1845-1852, in which an estimated one million died and another million-plus fled the country.Of his huge output of hymns, several still survive some 250 years later. The best known is probably “Praise the Savior, Ye Who Know Him,” which expresses dependence on Christ for salvation and daily life, and the hope of eternal life. Though his hymn lyrics were simple, Kelly's chose unusual rhyme schemes, that hymn being a good example:
“Charms us, arms us, nothing harms us.”
“Forever, never, sever.”
“Cleaving, believing, receiving”
“Would be, should be, could be.”
Most of his hymns expressed praise to the Savior and ended with encouragement about heaven. At a time of limited medical care, when people didn't live long, Kelly was still publishing hymns and preaching into his eighties. At 85 he suffered a stroke while preaching. A year later, as he lay dying, someone shared for Kelly's comfort the psalmist's declaration, “The Lord is my Shepherd.” Kelly found the strength to reply, “Not my will but Thine be done” and “The Lord is my everything.” He died a day after his 86th birthday in 1855.

Sing along with printed lyrics and majestic organ this You-Tube recorded at a large California church:
Praisethe Savior, Ye Who Know Him (Grace Community Church) - Bing video

P.S. This hymn came into my list of “beloved hymns” in the mid-1970s when I served at the Southern California headquarters of Wycliffe Bible Translators. (They've since moved their head offices to Florida.) I first heard that hymn in the office chapel services. I needed the hymnal to follow words and music, but around me, seasoned missionary-linguists joyfully sang it from memory.

FRONT AND BACK VIEWS

One skill I needed to learn as a beginning driver was checking the rear-view mirror. Besides helping with parallel parking (this before the wonderful invention of back-up cams), it kept me aware of traffic behind me for any lane changes or turns. In my spiritual “travels,” I also need a big front “future perspective” and a just-big-enough rear-view memory. That's how I might describe Paul's advice to the Philippians, written from a Roman prison where he had lots of time to reflect on freedom and bondage.

His key phrase is “press on.” Today we're more apt to use those words for finishing a personal goal, like a difficult project, job training or college. We know the steps we need to take, and one by one we tackle them. Paul had a different outlook, stuck in neutral in a foreign land because he followed and preached Christ. Yet his words still teach:

Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it [“it” meaning “that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me”–v. 12, to preach about Christ]. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:13-14)

His phrase, “straining toward what is ahead,” grips me. In the original Greek, the word is epekteino, meaning “to stretch forth.” This definition suggests a runner leaning forward with a last, huge effort to be the first to break the finish line tape. Indeed, Paul had a “finish line” in view: “the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus” (v. 14).

Aside from the historical and technology gap, I just don't see Paul sitting around with his personal electronics, cruising through web sites or checking social media. While such inventions have enabled us to spread the Gospel, they've also fostered an “all-about-me” mentality more focused on “earthly things” (3:20) that can cool spiritual passion.

Paul's focus was helping people become spiritually transformed through a relationship with the risen Christ. He “looked behind” (at his pre-Christ life) just enough to know the misery he was in, and that he caused for others. But he kept his eyes on what's ahead: eternity with His Savior and that personal audience with God to answer the question, “What have you done for Me?”

Today, getting one's driver's license seems to be the “coming of age” goal for 16-year-olds. I was closer to twenty when I got mine. Part of the reason was that we were a one-car family on a limited budget. My mother would have to take Dad to work (5 miles away) and later pick him up to be able to use the car herself for that day's errands. Having a “kid car” just wasn't in the family budget until years later, when I was almost through college and had gotten a job as a newspaper reporter to help pay college expenses. It required that I drive around to interview people. So yes, I learned to watch those rear-view AND side mirrors to be as safe a driver as I could be.

That still tends to be my spiritual style. I'm forward-looking in faith through Bible study, fellowship, and prayer. I stay away from spiritual distractions like unhealthy relationships. And I look briefly back, with gratitude, on the road of life I've already passed over, thanking God for the journey and the destination ahead.