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.