TOUGH TOOLS

Most household toolboxes or workbenches have tools like these, and they're helpful in building and repairing. But when their behavioral counterparts are used, watch out. If you've ever been unfairly criticized or demeaned, you've probably experienced the resulting emotional wounding. Maybe you've asked if God noticed or even cared. From the opposite perspective, maybe you endured the “blows” of shaping and correction when your behavior slipped from God-honoring choices.

When those questions have come to my mind, I've had an “attitude correction” from a quote I heard years ago by A.W. Tozer (1897-1963). An American Christian pastor, author, magazine editor and spiritual mentor, he was best known for writing The Knowledge of the Holy and The Pursuit of God. These are not “lite-fare” reading. They're chewy, soul-searching. What's more amazing is that Tozer, born into poverty, was self-educated through university level studies.

One quote that has stuck with me through the years is this:
It is doubtful whether God can bless a man greatly until he has hurt him deeply.

One of the misconceptions about the Christian life is that after asking Christ into one's life, everything should be sweet and easy. Not so. We're “messes” that need a lot of shaping and hammering—often through unwelcome adversity—to pound out the spoiled attitudes that whine “it's all about me.” To continue Tozer's quote:
God actually rises up storms of conflict in relationships at times in order to accomplish that deeper work in our character. We cannot love our enemies in our own strength. This is graduate-level grace. Are you willing to enter this school? Are you willing to take the test? If you pass, you can expect to be elevated to a new level in the Kingdom. For He brings us through these tests as preparation for greater use in the kingdom. You must pass the test first.

In a few days, we'll flip our calendars over to not only a new month, but a new year. We cannot know what will happen in 2025—but God does. We might be tempted to pray, “Bless me bunches,” thinking of material things or happy relationships. But God may have another agenda, a better one, maybe a painful one, to shape us into the image of His beloved Son.

TRADITIONS!

 “Traditions”--that song from the 1964 Broadway musical “Fiddler on the Roof” comes to mind as I watch the world unfurl the yearly holiday expectations. Every November through end-of-December, they fill our short, dark, and cold (at least in my area) days with huge to-do lists. Parties, gifts, silly sweaters, shopping, greeting cards...and don't forget to put the manger scene in the front yard along with the blow-up Santa and save out a dollar for the store-front kettle where somebody's ringing a bell.

Do you get dizzy thinking of all that? I do. For those for whom a family death or serious health issue has changed family dynamics, the things that have become “Christmas” start sounding a little “tinny.” To adopt an amusing phrase of our times—usually reserved for somebody with a difficult personality or circumstance—it's a bit of a “hot mess.”

For some odd reason, I recently thought of my late mother's hobby of collecting novelty salt and pepper shakers. This had become a “thing” among many in the 1940s and 1950s. She had so many that most sat hidden in an upper kitchen cupboard. The “tradition” that made those little containers the “must-have” hobby simply faded. Yes, there are folks around who still “collect.” My quick online check revealed someone selling 101 salt-pepper pairs for $475. But far fewer are enchanted than were a half century or more ago.

Maybe this is too big a stretch, but I wonder if some of our holiday must-dos are as compulsive as stacking pairs of novelty salt-and-pepper shakers in a display cupboard. At the bottom line, how much is really necessary? How much truly honors the true reason for the season: the fulfillment of God's promise to send His Son as a Savior?

Yes, I admit to embracing some “traditions” in my holiday celebration. One is sewing pajama pants for my grandsons, along with the trip to the fabric store so that they can pick out their favorite print. This year, as they scrambled up and down the flannel and fleece aisles, the cutting-table clerk watched them in wide-eyed disbelief. What can I say? At 8, 10 and 12, my grandsons can explode with energy. By the time Christmas morning comes, they have figured out which package holds the “jammies.”

It must run in the family genes. In my childhood Christmases, one of my “traditional” gifts would be a new nightgown that my mom sewed. But we had another tradition before opening gifts: that of my dad reading the Christmas story from Luke's Gospel. I'm glad he did. Although I was probably as itchy as my grandsons to dive into the packages under the tree, I needed that Biblical reminder that the holiday's real name was not “Giftmas,” but Christ-mas.

THE OPPOSITE OF SNARKY....

The English language has some fun onomatopoeic words—meaning they “sound like” the action. I thought of that as we go through the holiday season with its rush-buy-party-etc busyness, and people can tend to get short-tempered. Or to use the “sound-like” word, snarky. It's defined as “bad-tempered, irritable, sarcastic, critical, indirectly mocking.” It dates to 1866 when “snark” also described how people “snorted” to express their displeasure. You get the picture.

Actually, we don't have to wait for December's holiday rush and frustrations for that personality transformation. Some people, sadly, are just that way, even past adolescence when the egotistic “everything's all about me” tends to surface in many. Whether through “attitude” or negative words, “snarkiness” wounds and often doesn't care.

My run-ins with snarky people probably have sensitized me to its depictions in the Bible. Surely that was true of the Pharisees in their reaction to Jesus. Or others who couldn't figure out why this carpenter's son from a little northern town was making such a big splash.

I suspect the apostle Paul struggled with that attitude when he was a good-and-proper (and negative) Pharisee. Then Christ stopped this hate-filled man in his tracks with a blinding, get-your-attention encounter. I “sense” the memory of this life-changing encounter in Paul's writings, like these naming "snarky's" opposite--gentleness--a word which in English carries a soothing feeling in its pronunciation:

Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. (Philippians 4:5)

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. (Colossians 3:12)

Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. (Ephesians 4:2)

I'll keep this blog short. I think “gentleness” is best spoken of quietly. And I'll end with hopes that you will visit this gentle You-Tube of Bill Gaither singers sharing “Gentle Shepherd." As you listen, remember the One who called Himself the "Good Shepherd" and whose first post-birth visitors were....shepherds.

Bill & Gloria Gaither - Gentle Shepherd - YouTube

INEDIBLE!

Lots of tree shade and a soil acidity change combined as a “welcome mat” for some unwanted visitors late this fall. I woke up, looked outside, and behold—lots of little white “umbrellas” under the backyard fir trees, which have a thick rug of moist needle “mulch” underneath them.

Forget the cutesy drawings of little fairies or gnomes pulling a mushroom out of the ground for a quickie umbrella. Some mushrooms are edible, but many are not. In fact, they can make you very sick or even kill. They have lovely names like “Death Cap” and “Destroying Angel.” Not savvy enough to know what these were, I went the safe route. Donning my garden gloves, I pulled up each mushroom, dumped it in a bag, and then dropped the bag in the trash.  Not one to take chances, I'll reserve my “mushroom hunting” to the little cans at the grocery store!

If you research “mushrooms” on the internet, your blood may run cold from the warnings of toxicity of many varieties. But the edible ones are there, too. One ad promoted a pound of dried morel mushrooms for $222. Re-read the amount: a pound! I understand why: hard to find. But they're free to foraging animals—bears to boars—who find them in the wild and go yum yum.

It's okay if, after reading a bit about mushroom hunters, you read Jeremiah 15:16 (KJV) with a different perspective:

Thy words were found, and I did eat them; and thy word was unto me the joy and rejoicing of mine heart: for I am called by thy name, O LORD God of hosts.

And maybe a chorus from the 1970s-or-so will come to mind with its music to these verses in Psalm 19:9-10 (KJV):

 The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.

I'm not implying any connection with the Bible and mushrooms, other than that the Bible often uses very ordinary comparisons to help us understand heavenly truths. Yes, finding honey was a big deal in Bible times. As for me, I don't think I've ever eaten a morel mushroom. The cheap canned stems and pieces on the grocery shelf, yes. The common fresh ones in the produce section (great for stir-fry), yes.

And maybe here's another lesson. God sometimes uses earthly analogies to help us understand heavenly realities. Even as we eat food (including “safe” mushrooms) to sustain our earthly bodies, our “spiritual nutrition” needs to include scripture. What's written there didn't suddenly pop up overnight. But it's pure enough and “nutritious enough” to keep us growing closer to God.

SOOTHING

I found myself encouraged recently by little slips of paper—the ones that wrap cough drops. A siege of illness (bad stuff: pneumonia) found me grabbing both cough syrup and cough drops while the “big gun” of antibiotics worked on the real bacterial culprit inside. Cough, cough, unwrap, plus a smile from wrapper messages like these:

Be resilient. Be unstoppable. Conquer today. Don't wait to get started. Dust off and get up. Elicit a few “wows.” Fire up those engines! Get back in the game. Get through it. Go get it! High-five yourself. Keep your chin up. March forward! Put your game face on. Turn “can do” into “can did.” You got it in you.

Whoever gave cough drop manufacturers the idea of turning wrappers into encouragement notes deserves some high-fives. We all need verbal boosts, whether written or spoken.

Trust me, I've also experienced discouraging words in the past. Like the day I answered the phone to hear the caller say, “I hate you!” Recognizing the voice, I told the caller I sensed this would be a negative call, and I was hanging up. Seconds later, the phone rang again. I decided not to answer, and quickly erased their ensuing negative recorded message. Similar messages showed up in my E-mail box--and again, a quick “delete.”

To complete the story, I need to mention that years later I received from this person a postcard with the brief message, “Please forgive me for being unkind to you in the past.” Yes, a generic admission, but it was at least some “ownership” of wrong-doing.

In day-to-day life in our fallen world, we'll all endure unfair “discouraging words.” In some cases, we need to avoid regular contact with that person. But there is a “contact point” to never, never skip. That's the link between earth and heaven available with prayer. Persistent “word-wounding” represents a problem needing the healing touch of Jesus.

Yes, Jesus--the innocent One who endured a grueling death while passers-by mocked and insulted Him on that notorious skull-hill of execution. Where the perfect One gasped, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” The One who is our model and source of spiritual healing in a broken world deeply needing encouraging words. Not cough-drop sayings, but God-infused words of love, trust and hope.

FLEETING GOLD

 A few weeks ago, green leaves on my neighbor's willow tree swung in the breeze. Then, almost overnight (it seemed), they yellowed, then flicked off the branches to cover her lawn and roof, causing quite a cleanup chore. A few found their way over the fence to my lawn. I don't mind raking them up, savoring this harbinger of the “changing of the seasons.” Sometimes the scattered leaves remind me of a classic poem, Spring's first green is gold—which, the poet Robert Frost added, is “its hardest hue to hold.”

Frost took a phenomenon of nature (for one, how the first spring blooms of a willow are actually yellow before maturing into leaves) to build a quiet symbolism of life's transitions—when those green leaves turn golden again in fall and drop. And every fall, watching this happen, I remember Frost's veiled message of life's transience.

Then I open my Bible. The apostle Paul was no “Frost,” but he wrote some things that blossom in amazing ways. One is the doxology he quoted as part of his letter to the Ephesians. It followed a section in the letter that pushed the saints to consider the incomprehensible dimensions of the love of Christ: its “width and length and depth and height” (Ephesians 3:18). One thing I never noticed about the verse (until reading this is a commentary) was how Paul used a pyramid construction to list the superlatives of God's blessings. In some ways, it's shaped like a tree with an apex at top and broader limbs on the ground. Paul wrote that God is:

Able

Able to do

Able to do what we ask

Able to do what we think

Able to do what we ask or think

Able to do all that we ask or think

Able to do abundantly above all that we ask or think

Able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think

according to

the power

that works in us.

This growth in spiritual character is the work of His Holy Spirit in us. He shows us our sin, helps us turn to prayer and confession, teaches us to worship, and brings opportunities to “bear fruit” through service to God.

Our time to do so is brief—so brief. It's so easy to sit in the soil and doing ordinary “living things,” yet failing to see the bigger purpose of life on earth. As the Westminster confession puts it: “Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.” Our years to do so are limited. Even willow trees eventually die after years of their green-to-gold seasonal cycle. But notice the verse's “trunk” in this illustration: “According to the power that works in us.” It's our roots, reaching deep into the soil of God's love, seeking to “bloom” and serve as He intended. Because...HE is able.

RING AROUND THE WHAT?

This is my rubber-glove chore about twice a year, when our area's “hard water” (with its calcium, magnesium and iron) advertises its prevalence with rings in our, uh, “porcelain throne.” I wet down a now-well-used block of pumice (essentially “volcanic foam”) and carefully scrape away the hard-water crust-lines. It's not my favorite task, but it needs to be done and just takes a few minutes.*

The word “rings” has so many meanings. Trees have rings of growth. Brides and grooms exchange rings of pledge. Big ornery bulls may have rings in their noses. Circus clowns juggle rings. A stone tossed in a lake produces rings from its impact. But how many times in childhood (or with your own children) did you sing “Ring around the Rosie” without a clue to the ditty's meaning?

The rhyme sung in a child's circle-round game actually has a grim connection with the Black Death pandemic that ravaged Europe 1347-1351, killing an estimated 25 million people. Historians and scientists believe it was spread by infected rodents to humans through flea bites. One historian believed the “ring around the rosie” jingle referred to the round, red rash that was the first sign of disease infection. “A pocket full of posies” alluded to idea that flowers stuffed in one's pocket would ward off the disease. (Not so!) The song's line “ashes, ashes, we all fall down” has two possible explanation. One is that it alludes to death: “ashes, to ashes, dust to dust.” The other notion is that instead of “ashes” (as in burnt wood) the word is “Atishoo,” referring to sneezing and sickness. Finally, “we all fall down” references death.

So now you know—and it's not a very pretty story for what most people consider a must-learn, innocent child's game song. Yes, I know, hard-water rings in a household “device” doesn't quite match the idea of a child's circle-song. But maybe there's a truth here. Just as poor sanitation practices helped spread this virulent disease many centuries ago, failing to cleanse our minds of the world's mental and spiritual pollution can leave an ugly, hard-to-remove mark.

Maybe this is a good time to point out one of many proverbs that speak to self-examination to identify the roots of sin-choices: “He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy” (Proverbs 28:13). “Confesses”--sees the spiritual problem (like my hard-water lines). “Renounces”--seeks ways to scrub them out of one's life. Nobody said it would be as easy as putting posies in your pocket. The Enemy is out there, spreading His viral lies. He'd like nothing better than for us to fall down, and drag others with us.

A better choice: ring around the Cross, in praise to the One who conquered death.

*Click here for everything you always wanted to know about this household chore:

How to Easily Remove Hard Water Stains in Your Toilet (savvyhousekeeping.com)

WATER TORTURE

Two of my swimmer essentials in college.....

For whatever reasons (maybe that I was a sickly child), I bypassed the usual early-life-skill rung of “learning to swim.” I chose my college for its good music program (I played violin), not for its general education requirements, which included a brutal three-quarter, seven-credits-each curriculum in world history, literature, and culture. I also hadn't anticipated its insistence on three physical education classes before you could walk across the stage and get your diploma. One of the p.e. classes involved the college pool, and what class you took depended on the results of a swimming test.

Therein floated my problem. I had never learned to swim. (Yes, I know, that sounds odd.) Perhaps being a puny child (I purportedly had rheumatic fever and heart damage), physical exertion wasn't emphasized in my lifestyle. I was, in fact, because of this medical concern, excused from the “participation” part of high school gym classes, though I still had to dress “down” into the funky red shorts/white snap-close shirts required as p.e. attire, and watch the others run and jump. Oh yes, also swish through the showers at the end of class for “shower credit” toward my grade. Okay, this was a long time ago.

Then came college, which wasn't as lenient at that time toward folks who had so-called invisible disabilities. Graduation required three p.e. credits. Two that I took were low impact: “movement fundamentals” (basically slow, isometric exercises) and “beginning folk dancing.” The girl-to-boy ratio of the second class was understandably off-balance as the guys who opted for folk-dancing were—well, I'll let you figure it out. But a swimming class was mandatory, and when the tester realized I was telling the truth about being a non-swimmer, she graciously qualified me for beginning swimming.

Thankfully, the shallow part of the pool only came to my armpits, but by the end of the 10-week term I would have to pass a test that included jumping from the lower diving board into the deep end, coming up alive (well, that part wasn't specified in the rules), and then swimming several laps of the pool, one of which had to be entirely the crawl stroke. I decided I was facing “Mission Impossible.” Thus, at nighttime “free swims,” I was there in the tepid water for practice, trying to strengthen my skinny limbs for the inevitable “final.”

The scariest part for me was diving. Recently, watching the summer Olympics and divers who jumped, flipped and twisted at warp speed into the water, I recalled my own carefully aimed hands-first pose at the deep wet monster. No twists or tricks. Just “down.” And when I jumped in for my “final,” and my hands hit the bottom of the pool, I feared I'd run out of air before I returned to civilization. Whew, I surfaced, and then began my required “laps,” wondering if I'd be able to finish. Well, it was finals week, and those late nights of studying were taking their toll.

To dive (pun intended) to the end of the story, I passed. Without passing out. And with the help of one part of my story I haven't yet shared: prayer! I'm glad I learned to swim, but learning so was hard and fast. I was no mermaid, just a skinny late-teen who faced her fears (with the Lord!) and came out the other side (or maybe I should say, “surfaced”) with success (more or less).

Whether or not we'll admit to it, we all have fears, some afflicted more than others. And we have plenty of company in history, as well as “overcomers” who cheered us on with their own lessons. Like Paul, who said, “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Remember, the apostle Paul swam, too, in a storm, after a shipwreck. Makes my diving board fears seem pretty puny.

 

WHAM!

I didn't expect to encounter a “casualty” when I stepped off the front porch that day. Right below a large window lay a little bird. I picked it up and touched it, hoping to discern if it was breathing. But there was no reaction. Apparently a collision with the sky-reflecting window took the little bird's life.

 I guessed it was a sparrow—I'm not a bird expert but certainly know crows from robins!--and thought of how common sparrows were in Bible times, too. They built nests in the temple precincts. They could be purchased cheaply for temple sacrifices. In Jesus' time, a penny bought two. Yet, despite their “cheapness,” Jesus remarked, “Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:29-31).

 Elsewhere, the Lord admonished His followers not to worry about everyday life and the need for nourishment and clothing. Life is more than that, He said. Then He added (and I wonder if His hand swept across the sky): “Look at the birds. They don't plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren't you more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?” (Matthew 6:25-27).

It's a bit of a jump from common birds to lambs, but I thought of lines penned by English poet William Blake (1757-1827). Writing as if a child talking to a lamb about its Creator, his poem begins:

Little lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee,

Gave thee life, and bid thee feed...?

 It had been years (a college English lit class) since I first read those words. But as I scooped up the little bird and decided where to bury it, the lines returned, but with adjustment: “Little bird, who made thee?....Gave thee life, and bid thee feed?”

As I dug a hole under a nearby azalea, it was a sad but holy moment for me. Dust to dust we all return, people and creatures—except for those still alive when Jesus returns to earth again. But in my minutes-long bird-burying role, I answered Blake's poem. Do I know Who made me? Absolutely! Gave me food, clothing, voice. Blake's poem ends with a reference to Christ as the “lamb of God.”

He calls Himself a Lamb.

He is meek, and He is mild,

He became a little child

I a child, and thou a lamb,

We are called by His name.

Little lamb, God bless Thee!

Little lamb, God bless thee!

 And little bird, now blanketed by soil under the azalea, you mattered to your Creator. Hard to comprehend in this big world, but true.

SPIRITUAL SQUEEGEES

Every spring and fall, I dig out my squeegee to take the layer of dust off the home's windows. I use a mixture of warm water-vinegar or water-ammonia to wet the windows, then squeegee them dry. When I bought this tool, I was reading some homemaker books that extolled the superiority of janitor-grade squeegees, as opposed to cheapies sold in regular stores. Truly, quality matters, and this one has lasted for decades and still does a clean “sweep” of a wet window.

In our spiritual lives, too, we need high-grade “sin-detecting” squeegees. When our spiritual windows, as it were, get clouded by sin-dust-and-grime, rubbing them with a quick “sorry-I-messed-up” rag just won't do the job. Cutting through the negative grime that sin leaves takes more than a spiritual shrug.

I have appreciated the insights about a holy life offered by Jerry Bridges (1929-2016) in his several Christian living books. He was affiliated with The Navigators, whose emphasis is discipleship and Christian growth. In his book The Pursuit of Holiness (NavPress, 1978, 1996), he wrote about the “daily battle” of resisting sin and living for Christ. It's a struggle that mandates honest, humbling self-reflection to “see” through the grime of our daily lives to the purity of Christ. Bridges remarked:

The Holy Spirit strengthens us to holiness first by enabling us to see our need of holiness. He enlightens our understanding so that we begin to see God's standard of holiness....Even Christians taking in the teaching of the Bible can be deceived about their own sins. We somehow feel that consent to the teaching of Scripture is equivalent to obedience.(p. 72)

When we allow our “spiritual windows” to be scrubbed by the “squeegee” (as it were) of God's cleansing Holy Spirit, then we realize how dirty our thoughts and actions really are. Maybe we can still manage life through the grime of sinful attitudes and poor choices, but it's not what God intended. Bridges continued:

As we grow in the Christian life we face increasing danger of spiritual pride. We know the correct doctrines, the right methods and the proper do's and don'ts. But we may not see the poverty of our own spiritual character. We may not see our critical and unforgiving spirit, our habit of backbiting, or our tendency to judge others (p. 72).

When that happens, he added, we're like the Laodicean church described in Revelation 3:17, thinking they were just fine spiritually, not realizing they were “wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked.” In other words, mud-covered windows obscuring the purity of God, needing deep spiritual cleaning.

My windows look a lot better after I give them some squeegee-TLC. But my washing task isn't perfect—or so I see when the afternoon sun glares through them and I see every little swath that escaped the squeegee's blade. I'm grateful that God still accepts me—streaks and specks and all—because He hears my confession and sees me through my faith in Jesus. And I think of that promise we're given in Revelation 3:2—that someday “we shall see Him as He is.” What a glorious-perfectly-clean-window promise follows that: “ And every man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself, even as he is pure.”

LABOR OF LOVE

A vintage two-headed hoe in my yard
shed reminded me of Bible-times 
agriculture--shown with a drawing of
 Ruth in my childhood Bible.

My childhood Bible included several pages of Bible-story art which, as a kid, I enjoyed looking at instead of (sorry!) trying to follow the more-adult-focused sermon. The glossy full-color pages helped me picture many stories I'd heard in Sunday school. One that always saddened me showed a tired-looking woman in a Bible-times field. I knew that people in Bible times didn't have modern tractors, and harvest depended on human hands with primitive tools. I'd learned that this woman was a poor foreigner, not a hired worker. She was picking up the stalks of grain workers left behind to take home to her elderly mother-in-law for them to eat. What they made, I don't know. Maybe it was ground up, then mixed with water for a mushy cereal to ward off hunger pains.

Years later, I learned how that sad, solitary woman had made several difficult choices. A widow from a foreign country, she'd chosen to leave her homeland out of love and concern for her widowed mother-in-law, who'd lost husband and both sons and wanted to return to her own homeland. In so doing, this younger widow also embraced a new religion, very different from the idolatry of her homeland. She also turned her back on whatever extended family she may have had in her homeland to venture into an unknown future as an impoverished, vulnerable older woman.

Add in a difficult journey—probably by walking. The Bible doesn't tell their “mode” of transportation but they certainly didn't catch a bus and probably didn't hitch a ride on the back of an old wooden cart. The journey—about fifty miles of danger and unknowns, with overnight stays (probably in the open) along the way—was not easy. Probably the older woman needed many rest stops. Somewhere they had to find water to drink.

Finally they got to the mother-in-law's original hometown, called Bethlehem. I can't even imagine the daughter-in-law's thoughts as she watched the old woman glimpse the village she'd left long ago when famine hit. But whatever concerns the daughter-in-law felt, she knew she'd committed to this change when she weeks earlier declared to her bereaved mother-in-law, “Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God” (Ruth 1:16-17).

As this Bible story continues, a number of “just-happens”--happen. You probably have guessed by now that this is the story of Ruth, daughter-in-law of Naomi, whose choice of a field to glean “just happened” to belong to Naomi's relative, Boaz. This man could marry Ruth to continue the family line and thus also the inheritance of Naomi and her late husband and sons, buried in Moab. Naomi and Ruth were lifted out of terrible poverty and given a future and a hope.

There are numerous symbolic levels to this Old Testament incident. One that rises to the top if the concept of a close relative who can preserve a family inheritance and through progeny continue a family line. This person is called a “kinsman-redeemer.” Hundreds of years later, in that same little town, the greatest “Kinsman-redeemer” would be born to a virgin young woman. A miracle birth, God-planned. Jesus.

What Boaz represented many years earlier, came in God's perfect plan in sending Jesus. No matter our troubles or tragic circumstances, He is able to help and give us a future and a hope. The artwork in my childhood Bible is the sad “before.” But this old, old story also reminds me of new hope through Jesus Christ: “'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'” (Jeremiah 29:11).

PERSPECTIVE

I've worn eyeglasses since a teenager. Oh, my—back in the 1960s, the styles included frames that swooped up at the outside of the eye, like the taillights of luxury cars. (Other comparisons: a crow taking off from a tree. Or the odd upturned eyebrows of “human-Vulcan” officer “Spock” of movie Star-Trek fame.)

The other day, as I dug out my eyeglass collection—planning to donate the oldies to the little recycle box at my optical shop—a Bible verse came to mind. (Yes, it really did!) It's tucked into John 12, a chapter that's packed-full of events and truths as Jesus approached the dark hours of His death. First, there was a dinner in His honor, one full of awestruck guests (and outside-the-room looky-loos) because the co-host was his friend Lazarus, there breathing and full of life after being raised from the dead.

Though popular with the common people, Jesus was public enemy number one for the chief priests, who wanted Him gone. Jesus was a threat to their life work in the temple, and Lazarus' miracle coming-back-to-life didn't help! Worse, the next day, He was the featured rider of an impromptu parade, complete with celebratory palm-branch waving. The religious leaders were livid.

Enter some Greeks (not Jews) who wanted to know more about this Jesus. They came to one of the disciples, Philip, and said, “Sir, we would like to see Jesus” (John 12:21). Philip didn't lead them to Jesus right away, but instead told Andrew, and together they went to Jesus. His answer wasn't a “sure, bring them to Me,” but a prediction of His death.

Two millennia later, people are still saying, “We want to see Jesus.” The Bible accounts of His life and death aren't enough. They can't make that faith-leap of embracing the One who was both divine and human. They hesitate to respond to the call that Jesus made in beginning His ministry, telling the fishermen who'd hung around him to “Follow me.” As He asks the same of us, we realize this is no glib, sentimental poem-hymn. It's a serious life-changer. We either choose to be blind to His claims, settle for less than perfect spiritual vision, or see clearly that Jesus is indeed the Son of God, and that believing in Him, and following His teachings, will radically change our lives.

And maybe there's another hidden message in all these old glasses I need to recycle. As we grow in faith, our “vision” or perception of spiritual things should sharpen. And someday, as citizens of Heaven, we shall see Him face to face—no “corrective lenses” required!

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The hymn “We Would See Jesus” was written by an Irish-born scholar and Presbyterian minister, whose life included pastoral service in lumber camps and city churches and seminaries, and nearly two decades as a Christian college president. Here's a link to a You-tube performance:

Bing Videos

TRUE REFLECTIONS

Funny thing about mirrors: you both see what you want to see, and what you don't want to see. They're a given in our times, from the cheap hand mirrors you can buy at a dollar store (well, thanks to inflation for a little more than a dollar...) to fancy room mirrors costing hundreds. What would we do without them in our grooming routines! And what would have Fairy-Tale-World have done without the evil queen Grimhilde (whose name means “masked in battle” and implying someone grim and fierce) who consulted her magic talking mirror about who was the loveliest person in the world. It wasn't her, but a maiden named Snow White. And on that the tale (which emerged in Norse mythology), through the animation artists of Disney Studios, came the classic portrait of reflected personalities..

For some reason, that fairy tale recently floated back in my thoughts. Maybe it was scriptures warning about vanity and how the older “me” I now see in the mirror certainly isn't the “me” of my youth. Without broadcasting my age, let's just say my youth came in the dawn of the space age when the Russians launched the first satellite into orbit.

So yes, we've come along ways from the world's first mirrors. Think of times even before Job of the Bible (believed to have lived 2100-1800 BC) and whose friend Elihu (offering him a perspective on suffering) described the mirrors of their time: “Can you join him [God] in spreading out the skies, hard as a mirror of cast bronze?” (Job 3:18).

Thank goodness we don't have to squint into primitive mirrors, like those of brass or of a polished volcanic rock, obsidian (about 6,000 BC). Quite a while later came polished brass, silver, and gold, before our current glass with a very thin chemical coating (typically silver).

What's a takeaway from this little science lesson? Maybe the truth expressed by Pope John Paul II: “We must reflect the light of Christ through lives of prayer and joyful service to others.” Another way of looking at it (pun unintended) is this: when we look at our lives, are we seeing someone slowly being conformed to the character of Christ? Or are we stuck in our distorted life perceptions? Romans 8:29 is a blunt reminder of Who we should reflect:

For those God foreknew, he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son.

The character Jesus fleshed out during His tenure on earth wasn't selfish or suspicious. He wasn't demanding or demeaning. He reflected the goodness of the Father as a role model for us. And that's worth reflecting about—and putting into practice.

JUST DROPPING IN....

I learned a new word today: hydrophobicity. It's defined as “the physical property of a molecule that is seemingly repelled from a mass of water.” For a quickie illustration, check out plant leaves after a heavy dew, watering, or rain shower—like this photo of rose leaves. I find that when I slow down to just observe, I have the reminders of an amazing, inscrutable Creator who included such beauty for me to enjoy. Thus, I see transient diamonds right there in my front yard, quivering on a velvet bed.

Okay, if you're a scientist, you're thinking of an attribute of molecules that takes many words to explain. But I'm satisfied with just seeing beauty in the ordinary, little reminders to worship the Creator, whose handiwork has mandated centuries of awe-filled study.

Sometimes, life grinds on at such a pace that I forget to pause and just look. Reflect. Be in awe. Scripture says the heavens declare the glory of God, and the earth shows His handiwork (Psalm 19:1). I'm learning to look, listen, linger. One night the sunset cast such a brilliant orange on the horizon that I couldn't keep from sharing it. I called a close friend and said, “Quick, look out the window at the sunset,” then hung up. The color didn't last long, but she called back and thanked me for alerting her to it. To my surprise, she later gave me a photo print of that sky. She'd grabbed her camera for an “image” that lasted longer than a few minutes. I have it on my refrigerator along with coupons and photos of my grandchildren.

A much quoted thinker of the 1800s once said, “All I have seen teaches me to trust the creator for all I have not seen.” I hesitate somewhat to use this quote—by Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose theology wandered into Eastern religions outside Christianity—but I think it says what he probably didn't intend. It's this: that the heavens and earth are so amazing, so diverse, to interconnected, so beautiful—well, the “so's” can go on and on—that failure to consider their Creator is a travesty.

It is so right that the Bible's first words are: “In the beginning God created....” Not, "God called together a committee to plan this project.” God created. And His decision after creating beauty was to create people to enjoy it.

Of course, we know the Genesis story went sour...and so here we are. But God's Big Story will come to an ending chapter of magnificent redemption. In the meantime, I savor the reminders of His perfect creation, His delightful delicacies of plant and water, His gifts right in front of me—if I just stop and look.

So what if we name it “hydrophobicity.” I call it a fingerprint of the Creator.

IT'S NOT THE 'MATTRESS HYMN'!

The story behind a hymn of the faith.

Jokes aside, the hymn “How Firm a Foundation” is not about mattresses or the undergirding of a building! Instead, with noble words and tune, this well-known, well-loved hymn identifies our spiritual foundation as Jesus Christ.

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,

Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word.

What more can He say than to you He hath said,

To you who to Jesus for refuge have fled?

Despite the endurance of this stout hymn through more than two centuries (first published 1787), its true authorship has remained a bit confused. It's been attributed to a George Keith (1639?-1716), who worked in publishing. He was the son-in-law of a Dr. John Gill (1697-1771), an English Baptist pastor and scholar. However, another person connected to the hymn is “Robert Keen” (also known as Keene” or simply as “K”) who was cantor (music leader) at the Carter Lane Baptist Church in London under John Rippon, who pastored two London congregations an incredible 63 years until his death at 85.

Rippon's name is most connected with the hymn because he helped compile a Baptist hymnal to augment the already-existing hymnal by prolific hymn-writer Isaac Watts (1674-1748, credited with some 750 hymns himself).

“Fear not,” the second verse begins. Verse 3 uses the analogy of deep waters, verse 4, fiery trials. The conclusion declares:

The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose,

I will not—I will not desert to His foes;

That soul, though all hell shall endeavor to shake,

I'll never—no, never—no, never forsake!

Last but not least, consider its scriptural allusions:

1 Peter 1:23 (KJV): “Being born again, not of corruptible seed, but of incorruptible, by the word of God, which liveth and abideth for ever.”

Isaiah 41:10: “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.” This was the beloved hymn of General Robert E. Lee and has been performed at the funerals of several US politicians, including Presidents Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson. On Christmas Eve 1898, American units engaged in the Spanish–American War joined together to sing the hymn. The members were from the North and the South.

Why its diverse popularity through the centuries? Perhaps because it express with a stout but joyful tune the assurance and joy of our salvation through Jesus Christ.

WORN DOWN

A, S, M, N—on my computer's keyboard, those letters are “no more.” Years of typing have worn off the lettering, so I pressed on "substitutes" cut from adhesive labels. But that's okay. Other than to make sure my index fingers are on the “home keys” of F and J when I start typing, the process has become quite automatic.

I have a fun story about anchoring “typing fingers.” One year during college I lived on the same floor as a blind student. She had some shadowy vision, we understood, and could find her way around the campus. Yet we “floor-mates” sometimes took turns making sure she navigated okay. That was especially helpful at meal time when she needed to choose a la carte foods she couldn't see and then find her way to an empty chair. Our “assistance” was rewarded by her gracious presence. As for typing—yes, she typed on a regular typewriter. But if she got her anchor fingers on the wrong keys, the result was gobbledygook. She also had a Braille “typewriter” that punched out the raised letters she could read. For quick note-taking (without dragging the heavy Brailler around), she had a special punching slate. I ordered one and wrote her in my primitive Braille a few times after college years. I still have it along with my 3x5 how-to card (the symbols in reverse for punching).

My Braille "writer" and ABC guide

Where am I going with this? Maybe that we need to be sensitive to communication styles. A regular written or typed message was hard for our college floor-mate to read. But she responded well to verbal commands or a hand on the forearm--done with grace and care.

More recently I've watched situations where one or both persons in a relationship don't see “eye to eye” or are blinded to their own faults. The same-old complaints or demands upon someone are like worn-down computer keys. In anger, someone might just stab at an emotional “key”--and the result does not spell “love” or “grace.” Knowing someone's “communication style” helps a lot. Few people respond positively to being worn down by nagging or demands. More are amenable to “appreciation” and “us” messages like, “How can we work together to achieve this?” This is how we obey the Bible's command to strive for peace with one another (Romans 12:18).

I've had my little Braille stylus and punch for more than half a century. It's one of those odd things rattling around in my desk drawer. I guess I hang onto it because it reminds me of my blind friend's determination to persevere and succeed. (I heard that she became a physical therapist and later married.) As such, she inspired me—more than she may ever realize.

PUSH-POWER

My son and family were over to help me with some yard work, and the oldest grandson gave mowing a try. Let's just say he needs to grow a bit and develop those leg and arm muscles. But he gave it his best effort! I snapped this photo because the incident reminded me of one of my go-to verses when I feel overwhelmed: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:13)

I know of folks who twist that verse into claiming God's empowerment for unworthy, self-serving, and even God-dishonoring goals. But when this verse planted itself in my heart, I took it within the context of Paul's “writing office”--a Roman prison. He didn't write, “Hey, loving the vacation! Beautiful view, incredible food, sparkling swim pool.” Far from it. He was in unwanted, unsought, primitive circumstances. But he was making the best of it. And this letter, centuries later, would be known as the “epistle of joy.”

Ironically, a lot of negatives framed this particular letter to the church at Philippi. Paul would rather be traveling and preaching than sitting in a Roman prison. He felt a special bond to this church, a Roman colony in current-day Northern Greece (then known as Macedonia). He sought to remind them of his own life lessons: to expect to suffer for Christ. To be humble. To pray. To let God stretch and grow their faith. To overcome opposition inside and outside the church.

Perhaps it's the undergirding message of “persevere” that made this book of the Bible so special to me in my young adult years. I'd gone through a lot of challenges and turmoil in my twenties. I won't bore you, but there were a lot of disappointments and humbling experiences. Times I felt like asking God, “Did I make the right decision? Am I pushing faith too hard? Is this goal really bigger than I can really handle?”

So, like my grandson straining against a too-heavy lawn mower, I was wondering if I wasn't big enough or smart enough for tasks I'd envisioned as my life work. Once God had shrunk me down to size, my song changed from “I can do all things—I'm smart and clever” to the more realistic “I can do this through God who strengthens me, because I sure can't do it on my own.”

God doesn't excuse us from making big goals, as long as He's part of the process. The end result may be something we never anticipated. Like little-kid-big-mower, I needed to grow strong in some areas before God could entrust me with bigger things in His plan for my life.

So yes, my grandson's dad (my son) took over the mower and finished the lawn. Give us a few years and that grandson will grow like Kansas corn in the summertime. His limbs will muscle out. His voice go down a few pitches, and that bare little chinny-chin-chin will sprout hairs.

Isn't that a picture of us as growing Christians (puberty's progress aside)? God has His best plan, His best time, and His best purpose—to grow us up as Paul wrote the Philippian church: “That he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6).

REMEMBER....

I was leaving an early-summer family potluck when a relative handed me a bag that reduced me to tears. Packed in it was a “memory quilt” she sewed to honor my late husband. It was filled with photos of him and our grandchildren that she had solicited from my son and daughter, and had transferred onto fabric. Memories washed over me as I, too, “remembered” the featured moments and experiences . I was overwhelmed by her planning and painstaking work.

Remember....it's a word full of the past while it looks to the future. In the Bible its Hebrew equivalent zakar is defined as “to remember, imprint.” Over and over, Moses and others admonished the Hebrew people to remember. The miracle of the Exodus from slavery in Egypt. The daily provision of manna as they wandered in the desert. Miracle sources of water. Victories over enemies as they claimed a new homeland. The word zakar keeps coming up as Jewish history marches on through kings, national corruption, exile, and a remnant returning to their homeland.

I think all of us have memories we'd like to erase, but they hang on like burrs on our clothing. Many are not our fault at all, but the consequence of living in a fallen world. Like the traumatic night my family was almost killed by a drinking driver. Or the times someone disappointed me with poor choices or verbal abuse. But I trusted that God, who knew me best, would help me see Him past the temporary pain.

Let's just say that if God had a “Memory Quilt Factory” to produce love-blankets, He would choose to showcase the best of His true children. When we accept Christ as Savior, all the icky things of our “old life” were nailed to the cross where Jesus died. Discarded as unworthy of the “quilt of life.”

With each day's “happenings” and choices, our heavenly “memory quilt” is taking shape. Some negative life choices need to be confessed, forsaken, tossed aside. But every day brings opportunity to bring new and lovely “raw materials” to the Master Craftsman. We can only imagine....what our final “life quilt” will look like.

THE GREEN-MATO EPISODE

I was in junior high—that awkward age of growth spurts and hormone-stoked self-consciousness—when my home-packed, brown-bag lunch knocked my day off-kilter.. All right, you know how BIG a deal it is for some kids on the cusp of the teen years to be just a bit “different” from the stereotype of his or her peers. For me, the crisis was the sandwich I pulled from the lunch bag that my mother had packed.

Okay, backstory. This was January, and Mom was using up the last of her holiday-hued “fancy breads,” which included some to which she'd added green food coloring to mark the colors of Christmas. My standard peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, usually slapped together on whole wheat bread from the store, had a new look. Green.

I don't know why—maybe she was low on store bread?—but that day I had my PB&J on homemade green-speckled bread—probably the zucchini bread resulting from our garden's ultra-productive zucchini vines (harvested/frozen). The ultimate old-time homemaker, Mom also rescued tomatoes still green at the first frost, turning them into “green tomato preserves.” My sandwich combined both very “uncool” green products.

Hoping nobody had seen my unique (and embarrassing) sandwich, I slipped it back into the sack and survived the rest of the lunch break with just apple slices and cafeteria milk. I would go hungry rather than risk the ridicule of my “cool” friends who were letting me sit at the “cool-kid table.”

I snicker now over the self-consciousness of my pubescent-self, way back in an era when boys and girls somewhat dressed-up for school, not wore ragged jeans and funky tee-shirts. When even what you pulled out of your lunch sack marked you as a winner or loser. (How times have changed...) But I wonder if, when it comes to our faith in an almighty yet compassionate God, we're apt to keep Him in a sack with a tightly rolled top. Got to be careful about “cool” faith, you know.

Perhaps we need some reminders. Like those offered by the Bread of Life. Jesus. Who said, “I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry” (John 6:35).

Which brings me back to an uncomfortable analogy—of our tendency to “hide” our faith when it defines us as different from the world around us. Jesus denounced our tendency to be “ashamed of Him” (Mark 8:38). In earnest and robust words, the apostle Paul essentially scolded those who were timid about identifying with Christ:

I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of every one who believes, first for the Jew, then for the Gentiles. (Romans 1:16)

Powerful words, recalling that he once went town-to-town and persecuted Jesus-followers himself until his own dramatic vision-encounter with Jesus. After that, for Paul there was no finicky check-the-lunch-bag-for-possible-embarrassment religion. He was all out for the One who called Himself “The Bread of Life.”

In recounting my junior high episode, I'd led to ask: Would Jesus eat peanut butter with green tomato preserves on dyed-green bread​? I think He would, and maybe laud whoever prepared it for injecting fun into an ordinary life event.

Got an abundance of green tomatoes? Check this link:

https://www.acouplecooks.com/best-green-tomato-recipes/

GRANDMA'S BARBER SHOP

For more than forty years I've cut hair. Untrained, unlicensed, unpaid, with the warning, “Results guaranteed or your hair back in a bag.” Definitely not a career. Maybe this photo of my “shop” (the kitchen stool in front of the kitchen sink) will confirm my truly amateur status. But it was good enough for my husband, who realized my minimal skills were adequate for his minimal (buzz) hair cut. With the money I saved, we could even eat out for dinner (well, maybe drive-through take-out). And home-brew haircuts worked out great for my son and grandsons, whose busy lives meant trips to the barber were not only expensive but hard to slice into their family's packed lives. A cheap cape and a clipper set kept my clientele coming every few months.

The scenario, of course, wasn't perfect. A couple grandsons are not the perfect haircut models. One hates to have his head handled. A money bribe usually helps. But then his little brother thinks he needs a bribe, too. After all, there's a Lego (c) set he's saving toward. My insistence that they should be paying Grandma seems to float over the top of their financial figuring.

Somehow we get through the quick cuts with their eyebrows reappearing, necks cleaned up and ears still intact. They're fascinated by the amount of hair collected from three little boys and a dad. I offer to bag it up so they can put it out for the birds to build nests. How true that is, I'm not sure, but it is something of consolation for the “I-hate-haircuts” kid who needs an altruistic goal for his trimming.

Just a caution: I do only kitchen-stool family haircuts. No “chemical services” around here. And I see a real hairdresser for myself—an every-two-months cut-only pampering. My hairdresser is great, skilled at the basics and even with the exotic. Last year or so she told me about a call from an out-of-towner who wanted a Cruella DeVill hair dye. If the name doesn't ring a bell, that's the wicked lady in the cartoon “101 Dalmatians” who sported a “do” that was bleached white on one side, and black on the other. Imagine being the hairdresser who achieved that! (My hairdresser did meet the challenge.)

My family “cuts” are pretty simple (besides being free). Easily scheduled, too—often after having a dinner at Grandma's house.

Oh dear, can I pull out a spiritual lesson of all this? Maybe the example of Jesus, who came not to be served, but to serve and to give His life as a ransom (Matthew 20:28). Sometimes God calls us to ordinary tasks—like helping someone with yard work, mending clothes, taking a meal, or sitting down to listen. Or giving a busy family “kitchen stool” haircuts when “not perfect” is okay...and helpful.