DON'T BE SO PERI-PATHETIC!

My high school English teachers encouraged correct spelling and vocabulary-building. That involved expanding the typical teen lingo from “yo!” and “hey” to multi-syllable words. Well, just kidding on that exaggeration. But if you want to increase your word (or weird?) power, just check out some common prefixes or suffixes. Or get a book like Rodale's Synonym Finder.

I was thinking about that lately in re-encountering the word peripatetic. Its meaning (“to discourse while pacing”) takes you back to Aristotle's era, when the local “great-deep-thinkers” would pace around while they exposited on their latest twist to philosophy. I experienced a few pastors like that, who used the whole platform to preach, gifted either with a huge, booming voice or that great invention of a wireless microphone that kept up with their pacing!

That weird word (peripatetic) also brought to mind those who meander through life. For whatever reason—physical, emotional, situational—they're pacing around life's stage without going anywhere, or stuck in pathetic habits. That is to say, adjusting the word with an “h”: peri-pathetic. **Disclaimer: I'm NOT pointing any fingers at anyone in particular; we all stand in need of the grace of God!**

This certainly wasn't true of the apostle Paul. Blind-sided (literally) by a life-changing vision from the risen and heaven-returned Jesus, he went out in full-force with a new agenda—to preach the Christ he once rejected. Instead of persecuting Christians, he left all that behind to take on the label “Christian” himself. This was what they call a 180-degree turn, as Paul's “before Christ” life had all the “perks” of Jewish leadership. He was properly circumcised, a card-carrying member of the tribe of Benjamin, thoroughly trained as a Pharisee.

But from the moment Christ took over his life, Paul had a new agenda: I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have lost all things. (Philippians 4:8). His conversion took away everything valued by the world (status, reputation, ambition) and replaced it with the righteousness and godly passion from God, through faith in Christ (Philippians 3:9).

Which is to say: he went from a “pathetic peripatetic” non-believing Pharisee to someone “perfected in Christ.” He went from choosing violence against Christians to victory in Jesus, able to say: “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13).

What a life-changing truth—for us, too! As a Christ-follower, I don't have to pathetically wander all over life's stage, getting nowhere (being “peri-pathetic”--my invented word), hoping something I did pleases God and includes a “ticket” to Heaven. My ticket's been issued, stamped with a cross-shaped symbol. Trip and entrance, confirmed!

NOT A ROSE GARDEN...

As I write this, some really challenging things are happening among those I care about, keeping me prayer-aware throughout the day. The other day as I prayed, a surprising thought came via recalling a country singer's pop-song, “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden.” Released as a “single” in 1970, it soon became a "hit."

This rose, surrounded by "lifted-up" blooms
to come, reminded me of Jesus' prediction of His
 death, being "lifted up" upon a cross.

Though the pop song's title and snatches of its tune came to mind, those were soon replaced my trying to imagine Jesus' last night in the Garden of Gethsemane. It wasn't a lovely rose-garden stroll, but a thorny and anguishing prayer-time with His Father, knowing He would face horrific abuse and death. Hardly an hour before, sharing the memorial supper for the Passover with His disciples, He'd said:

“I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome the world.”(John 16:33 NIV)

Yes, I have a rose garden at my home. When I tend it, snipping off dead blooms and watching for aphids, I think of the analogy of “trouble”--although my rose-care analogy doesn't begin to revere the spiritual agony that Gethsemane poured out on Jesus. Sometimes I recall the liturgical church of my childhood, built in the traditional “cross” layout with visual emphasis on the altar and a cross hung above it. The sanctuary cross was artfully built, sanded, painted--not splintered wood and blood-stained, as were those of Jesus' time, used as an execution method. But the ancient, stark symbol of death was there amid the church's flowers, pews, pulpits, and musical instruments.

Decades later, attending a friend's funeral, I entered a huge sanctuary of a church that has another long liturgical history. As I started down the aisle, I paused briefly as I saw a behind-the-altar, life-size sculpture representing Jesus. It wasn't “just Jesus” with His hands outstretched, like I envision Him welcoming the children to Himself. Instead, this image was a mortally wounded man, cross-impaled, head bent down, thorn-crowned, with red paint for blood coming from the wounds in his head, hands, feet, and side. You can be sure I didn't think of the country singer's “rose garden.” Instead, it was Isaac Watts' 1707 hymn, “Alas, and Did My Savior Bleed” https://hymnary.org/media/fetch/137189.

My briefly-blooming roses also remind me of another flower called “Rose-of-Sharon.” Contrary to its name, it's not a traditional rose, but a member of the hibiscus family. One of its features is its ability to produce big, colorful flowers in late summer, when the heat has exhausted most other garden plants. There's a message here, too, I think, out of the apostle Paul's prayer-wrestling with his disability (“thorn in the flesh"), which some scholars surmise might have included poor vision. Whatever it was, it made his strenuous, often dangerous ministry hard. God's answer to Paul was this: “My strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

I don't know about you...but I needed that message. To stay strong. To keep blooming for HIM, who shed His blood for me.

THOSE MIGHTY PANSIES

Pansies—they're kind of like those good, behind-the-scenes people who do their jobs faithfully but don't get much notice. Despite their fun faces and brilliant colors, pansies are not high-brow like roses or other fussy-to-care-for plants. I just keep mine watered, dead-headed, and leave them be. They die at the first heavy frost, but some struggle back in the spring, soon joined by fresh bedding plants from a local garden center..

I've learned that pansy petals can be used in salads, desserts, and drinks, though I've never tried that. I can just imagine placing a lovely bowl of salad on the table, boiled eggs and pansies crowning it, and my guests raising their eyebrows, like, Are they poisonous? Are you really a friendly person? Just kidding on the life-threatening “what-ifs.” But the word “friendly” is really good adjective for pansies, as their job description includes "attracting bees, butterflies, and other beneficial insects."

Alas, some people have sullied the good reputation of this bright little flower, by applying its name as slang for someone who is weak, timid, lacking in courage, or not masculine enough. Good grief. I'm just glad that God's Creation Manual didn't stop at “plain plants.” Though not stout, striking, or huge like some of the plant kingdom, these little flowers (compared to monkey faces) certainly have a rightful place in horticultural life. They're not like the bad-boy flowers on botany's “nightshade” family—whew! (You can do your homework about bad-boy plant relatives at this site: dangerous common flowers in the nightshade family - Search )

I can see some spiritual analogies as I read about their care. They need full sun to partial shade, just as I need the full sun of God's love, and the partial shade of God's protection. They do best in well-drained and slightly acidic soul, just as I don't want to be flooded by negativity or wilt under potent, acid accusations. Slightly acid, sprinkled in love—okay. Who of us doesn't need the “brace” of deserved, loving spiritual correction?

Their best soil conditions are moist but not soggy. Just as I need the water of God's love and Word sprinkled into my life, I have to be sure my pansies get regular water. Not floods, not an arid desert, just enough for their “makeup” to keep growing and blooming.

Oh yes, their flowers are short-lived and need dead-heading. That compares with my “spiritual pruning,” known as confession, allowing God to take away that which doesn't contribute to “blooming for Him.” Withered habits and weary attitudes need snapped away and dumped to make room for new, healthy personal growth. Who of us hasn't been in need of that?

Otherwise, these little flowers do a decent job of “Bloom where you are planted”--  which, of course, is a phrase still used in conversation and apt to show up on a mug in a souvenir shop. And, thanks to pansies, a saying that continues to come to mind as they smile from the soil. 😊

THE LOVELY 'LONER'

Roses have cycles of blooming and rest, and those in my front-yard rose garden are no exception. Some are more than four decades old; one, just a year old. They're a symphony of color in spring to fall, somehow surviving my amateur horticultural skills.

The other morning, this lone red rose caught my attention. And for some reason, the contemporary worship song, “In Christ Alone” (Keith and Kristyn Getty, 2006) started playing in my mind. Full lyrics of the 2006 song are here: Bing Videos. (I won't publish them here verbatim, in respect for copyright laws, but I hope you'll click on the link.)The lines that replayed in my heart proclaimed that until Christ returns to earth, or if He calls me Home beforehand, I'll still stand in His power. Its truths mirror what I have chosen as my life verse:

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now life in the flesh, I live in the power of the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me. (Galatians 2:20).

In some ways, the spiritual walk is like the annual life cycle of a rose. There are times of glorious blooming, but also times of temporary rest in fall and winter. About November, as I prune back the frost-blackened stems, they're not any less a “rose.” It's the cycle God planned. Bloom. Rest. Renew. Re-bloom.

Similarly, there are times when my faith walk is expressed in more “outward” ways, but I also need the “down time” to rest and spiritually refuel. The priority of a daily “God-time” in reading scripture and trusted devotional materials, plus prayer, are that re-fueling. Maybe I don't bloom gloriously every day—hardship and sadness are like aphids or damaging winds. But that doesn't take away God's purpose for my life: to glorify and serve Him with the attributes He embedded in me. He intended me to be as a lovely rose, bringing Him glory....not a human stink-weed (which, by the way, I fight in another flower bed every year!).

So let's hear it for roses....for all the enjoyment their beauty provides. For the messages they convey when cut and gifted to someone. For the reminder that I'm to “bloom where I am planted” by the One who came up with the idea of “roses” in the first place!

GOD'S CANVAS

One of my favorites of Mother's oils

My mother's childhood and youth provided little opportunity for creative growth. She was the oldest of nine born (in a log cabin!) in arid eastern Montana to an impoverished immigrant farmer and his polio-disabled wife. Relatives with “means,” seeing she had little hope for a better future after finishing high school except to help with the large brood of siblings, asked her parents to send her to them—all the way from Montana (near North Dakota) to the southern border of Washington state.

The relatives promised to take good care of her—which they did in helping her attend a local college (for secretary skills) and—more important—a church. There she met a young man from the other side of Montana (Missoula) who had headed to the same town to begin the career in forestry for which college prepared him. He saw a jewel and put a jewel on her finger with the “death-do-us-part” wedding vow.

Their marriage bloomed with his nurturing love. She had untapped art skills, which he encouraged her to develop with lessons and equipment. As a result, our home became the museum for her works, many of them picturing the mountains that my dad, raised in the shadow of Montana's Rockies, loved. I wonder if, while painting this one, she imagined the fish under the waves that he would have hooked to bring home for supper!

The two daughters that their marriage produced didn't result in more artists (rather, a teacher and an editor). But upon our parents' deaths we had canvas reminders of their roots. When my sister and I divided the family artwork after their deaths, this artwork was one I wanted to keep. Not just for the raw beauty of the mountains, but also for how it reminded me of this scripture:

I will lift up mine eyes until the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1-2)

The rest of the psalm affirms God's protective and preserving power—attributes I clung to when, at age 31, I found myself orphaned. Mom died of cancer, and six months later, Dad of a heart attack. As I moved into their home to empty it and prepare it for sale, that meant all my mother's artwork needed re-homed. My sister and I kept some and offered others to interested relatives. Hard to believe, now, that this happened nearly five decades ago.

Art is such a strange occupation. At one time, there were true craftsmen whose works almost replicated photographs (unheard of in their centuries!). Then came an era of scribbles and scrabbles that the artist claimed, “This shows what I felt inside.” I'm glad Mom chose to represent God's creation “as is,” in all its splendor. I must add that my Dad—the more “left-brained” of their marriage (meaning logical) was definitely the contrast to mother's “right-brained” (creative) side.

And that's also a reminder that “labels” about our personality aren't always accurate. God made each of us unique blends...there's not another like us on the planet. The same could be said for the untold number of landscapes (or portraits) that artists have attempted to transfer onto canvases, to “freeze” the moment of beauty. None are the same.

I've heard it said of someone who struggles with life, “Well, he (or she) is really a 'work in progress.'” But isn't that true of all of us, especially those who believe in, trust in, and desire to follow God's ways? The best part of it is this: He holds the brush, we are His canvas, waiting for His amazing plan to be brought to life.

My dad, born in 1915, would have been 111 this past week. He died at 63. Here's a fun fact of their courtship. After a date, they'd be sitting in his car as the night (and curfew) came. The relatives she stayed with would send out a little daughter to sing under the car window, "Good night, Irene, goodnight"--a song of that era.

STEPPING ON SHORE....

The words in this blog's title have been in-and-out of my heart lately. One reminder is an oil painting hanging above my guest-room bed, featuring a seascape at either dawn or sunset. From my perspective of living on the West Coast, I think “sunset” (over the Pacific) is correct. But each time I see it, the lyrics of a contemporary song about heaven come to mind—the one that urges us to think about stepping ashore somewhere, and finding it heaven. Having said those “earthly goodbyes” to dear loved ones—parents, in-laws, spouse, other much-loved people—the song is especially poignant to me.

So how did I acquire such a lovely painting? Well, it was a gift, a very unexpected one, from a block-away neighbor with artistic talent who also had a studio to teach others in her home. Now, she is “on her way “Home,” her skills eroded by the inevitable decline of body and brain, living out her last days in a care home.

But memories remain, and some of them are quite fun. When that neighbor and her husband went away on vacation, they looked around and decided my kids were the best candidates for “house-watching.” So the very important key to their lovely home came to us, along with instructions of how to test the in-ground pool's water and add chlorine. She wanted the water “stirred up” once in a while, which was a euphemism for “go ahead and swim, just make sure an adult is there with kids.” My then-early-teen kids were thrilled.

Did I mention our duties also included kitty-cat care, twice a day? My son, the ultimate cat-lover, assigned himself that task, gaining the affection of their fluffy alley cat, named “Ninety-nine” for getting to be so old. She didn't just want to be petted. When my son pulled off his tee-shirt to “stir up the pool waters,” the cat was soon thoroughly sniffing his shirt with all its wonderful youthful perspiration odors. Not just sniffing. Rolling herself all over it with somewhat warped enthusiasm. It was a good, fun memory.

Someone else now lives in that house. The former owners are in a care facility, a safe place for those whose minds and bodies are fading. Soon to step on the “spiritual shore” of Heaven. Thus I recall the music and lyrics to a 50-year-old hymn named “Finally Home,” which begins, “when engulfed by the terror of tempestuous sea.” Don Wyrtzen and L.E. Singer are credited as the musician and poet for the song, copyrighted in 1971. Here is one online video of its performance: Bing Videos

What will happen to this lovely, framed gift when I've stepped on that “shore”? I don't know. I'm just grateful that for many years, it's provided a quiet reminder that there's something more when we “sleep in death.” And how ironic, that its place of honor is above....a bed.

FACE TO FACE....

The amazing story behind a beloved hymn.

At that last breath that separates “now” from eternity—what will we behold? Those of us who've had loved ones pass through that sacred curtain consider that question. My own family losses have made one particular hymn especially poignant: “Face to Face.” Its title references the apostle Paul's teaching at the end of his “love chapter” (1 Corinthians 13) about changes in eternity when we will know the full expression of God's love:

Now we see but a poor reflection; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part, then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. (v. 12)

The phrase “face to face” also deeply touched a homemaker and mother of five, Carrie Breck, who in her precious spare time in those days of labor-intensive homemaking (imagine life without your kitchen and laundry appliances!) managed to compose the lyrics to between 1,400 and 1,500 hymns! Oh yes, add in a giant move from her “roots” in New Jersey to Portland, Oregon. Did I mention when she lived? Her life spanned from 1855 to 1934—long before modern appliances that speed the chores of home and family.

Unknown to Mrs. Breck, some friends had invited a young music evangelist, Grant Tullar, to their home for a quick super of leftovers before he continued revival meetings at their church. The hosts knew Tullar loved jelly, so passed the jar to him. Smiling, he said, “So, this is all for me, is it?” Just like that, the idea for a hymn started coming. Going to his hosts' piano, on the spot Tullar composed the words and melody for a hymn that began “All for me the Savior suffered;/All for me He bled and died.” That night he reportedly sang that new hymn at the services he was leading.

Hang on...talk about timing. The next morning's mail brought him a packet of poems by a Mrs. Beck. One began, “Face to face with Christ my Savior;/Face to face what will it be?” As he read her poem, he realized its poetic cadence fit the same music score that he'd written (with words beginning “All for me”) the day before. At services that night, he sang her words to his hymn melody instead of his own. As they say, the rest is history.

This amazing story of timing, and of lyrics and poem matching—well, it had to be a God-thing. And I also think of how, someday, in what Mrs. Breck called “the by and by,” I too, will face Him in all His glory. Face to face! I can't even imagine it—yet.

Sing along with this You-Tube: Bing Videos

BLUE GOLD

I don't have much of a green thumb—my small food-growing space has no rows of carrots, corn, or even kohlrabi. (What's kohlrabi? 😁Enlarge your knowledge of vegetables here: What Is Kohlrabi? Everything You Need to Know ). But my yard does host some wonderful edibles: namely, blueberries. Planted several decades ago, this year five of my seven plants have “earned their keep” with a good crop.

With its arid climate, my hometown isn't real friendly to thirsty blueberries. But this past year I followed a hint to spread at their roots the used grounds from my morning coffee “brewing.” Between that, and a healthy “bee visitation” for pollination, I held hopes for my best yield ever. I also spread a net over the bushes to keep the robins from beating me to the ripening “blue gold.”

I wasn't disappointed. Now, when I lift that net and pick blueberries in the cool of the morning or early evening, I can usually harvest a couple or three cups at a time. While picking or packing away in the freezer, I sometimes think of the spiritual lessons my blueberry patch offers. One, of course, is their inherent “goodness.” Just one cup (84 calories), besides being high in Vitamin K1 (for bone and heart health), also boosts immunities. The analogy: a regular intake of scriptures is “blueberries for the soul.” Also, several fruitful plants are better than one. God created us to live in community, to help and bless others. We were created to bear spiritual fruit (the whole point of John 15), not just be woody old branches sittin' there.

Oh yes, my plants have some “woody old branches” from their original planting, but they are supporting the new growth of leafed, fruit-bearing limbs. This reminds me that you can't just stagnate on an old original “planting” (as in a long-ago spiritual "decision"). Those early stems must reproduce more living twigs to support the plant's future blossoms and eventual berries. There's no tolerance for the attitude, “Well, I prayed the conversion prayer back a few years ago and that should be good enough.” Spiritual growth means expansion and fruit-bearing.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get some breakfast. I make my own granola cereal. With fresh blueberries and some milk, oh my—breakfast is the best.

BALANCING ACTS

How do they do it—I mean, birds, able to outshine human circus performers with their ability to balance a big body (relatively speaking) on a tiny branch? Or even that precarious ledge of a bird feeder? I am challenged to balance on a bike. If you really want to get into the anatomy of balanced birds, hold on:

*They have anisodactyl foot structure. Three toes point forward, one (called the “hallux”) back. That gives them a better grip and balance on a branch.

*They have a flexor tendons that tighten when they land and bend knee and ankle. The tightening is enhanced by tiny ridges, “tubercies,” and other things that secure the grip.

*They have scutellae (this is really getting into scientific terms!), which are rough scales on their toes and feet that help them grip on smooth or narrow perches.

*They have a tail (well, duh!) that acts as a counterbalance adjustment for the bird's center of gravity.

Caution: don't try this yourself on a local tree. You lack some of the necessary anatomical equipment. But maybe there's a picture here of how we can “get a grip on life” when we land precariously in a tough place. Or how we want to be really close and personal with God—depending on Him and trusting in Him.

I'm grateful God didn't put “bird legs” on humans but an amazing complex foot that can do all sorts of wonderful stuff (although clinging to a narrow tree branch isn't in the list). “Clinging” (not the bird type) is a very Biblical concept. In the original Hebrew, it's dabeq, which means “to cleave, to adhere to.” David used the term in Psalm 63:8. In the King James version, it's rendered, “My soul followed hard after thee.” The NIV translates: “I stay close to you; your right hand upholds me.” We might paraphrase, “God, I've landed in a precarious place. I want to be really close to You, depending on You and trusting in You.”

That psalm's background adds perspective to that sense of agitation in the midst of trust. David probably wrote it when he was the wilderness of Judah, likely in a lot of personal distress in his long siege of avoiding King Saul's wrath and murderous search for him.

It's been said of super-busy or super-desperate people that they are “trying to find balance.” And maybe that's where the little bird (whose top-heavy body somehow achieves “balance” with those thin, spindly legs) can teach us something. It's not all about our effort when we find ourselves in a precarious position. God has equipped us to find the right grip in places that defy our spiritual balance. We don't have a bird's amazing anatomy, but we do have God's presence and Word. He can strengthen our “grip” on the fragile branches of life. And He can help us find the balance to stay steady when, instead of flying high, we're to sit and wait for His next instruction.

NO WOUND, NO SCAR?

Keep reading about a woman who wanted a bird bath over her grave. (This isn't hers—but the one in my front yard, just for illustration .)

When people encounter what they consider unfair remarks or relationships, they're apt to use these four words: Why me? Why this? But a selfless woman of a century ago provided the probing reply: “No Wound? No Scar?” Those familiar with the life and works of Amy Carmichael will immediately recognize them as from her writings. For those not aware of her: she was an Irish Christian missionary to India, who in 1901 founded the Dohnavur Fellowship. This was a sanctuary through which she would rescue more than 1,000 vulnerable children and young women from Hindu temple prostitution rites.

In addition to supervising the daily housing, feeding, and emotional care of her “rescued,” she formed a Protestant religious order to assist her.

In 1931, she prayed, “God, please do with me whatever you want. Do anything that will help me to serve you better.” That day she fell, suffering fractures of her leg and ankle, and badly injuring her hip and back. Those injuries, plus neuralgia, left her bedridden for the rest of her life. Yet she continued to run the rescue mission from her bedroom. Her “children” and staff affectionately called her “Amma” or Mother, although she never married or had children herself. Her work eventually led, in 1948, to the outlawing of child prostitution in India.

Before dying in 1951 at age 83, she'd requested no stone to mark her burial place. Instead, those she'd rescued put over her grave site a birdbath engraved with her endearing title, Amma. But her faith and spirit continue to teach through her writings, particularly a poem about spiritual sacrifice titled “Hast Thou No Scar?” It's put to music in this You-tube video: Bing Videos

The heart-piercing line in her poem is this: “Can he have followed far who hast no wound or scar?”

The Fellowship still exists, with about 500 people on 400 acres, 16 nurseries, and a hospital. A recent website about the mission is here: Bing Videos For a deeper look into her life and mission, there is her biography A Chance to Die, by the late, honored author Elisabeth Elliot.

Amy Carmichael's biography still inspires, with its message of generational faithfulness. That's also the message behind a song by a well-known contemporary musician, Steve Green. Listen to it here (and reflect on your own calling): Bing Videos

MORNING'S GLORY

It's all through my front lawn, the invasive weed called “Morning Glory.” Yes, “buddies” with the dandelions. And no matter how hard I try to keep up, these “natural invaders” hang around. I'm not chained to the ideal of a weed-free lawn, nor of the perfect life. This side of Heaven, there will be imperfection. Trouble. Financial challenges. Grief and mourning. Unwanted relational weeds. But Jesus put perspective on it: “I have told you these things : “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

When did He say that? Right before His arrest, hours before His crucifixion! Did His disciples remember those words in the midst of that commotion? Not very well at that time, as they scattered in the surprise visit of an arresting posse. But John never forgot the promise, including it in his account of Jesus' life and teachings.

Sadly, it was the next morning (after a sleepless night being pushed around to a farce of an alleged criminal court), that Jesus writhed in dying agony on an execution cross usually reserved for the worst of the worst among criminals.

Then came Easter morning, at the tomb where He was hastily interred, and the melodious voice of an angel (I wonder what it sounded like!): He is not here. He is risen, just as He said! I'm grateful that breathtaking announcement was included in all four Gospels. The nightmare of the night turned into the glory of the morning!

Even before Easter gave special celebration to the time-frame called morning, those whose inspired writings became our Bible gave special attention to morning.

*As a way to start the day with prayer and trust: “In the morning, LORD, you will hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly' (Psalm 5:3).

*As a reminder of God's mercy, and joy after hardship: “Weeping may last for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).

*To celebrate God's never-failing compassion: “Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22-23).

What more can I say? Except: “Glory!”

FOLDEROL!

Remember the plastic flutes (also called "tonettes" or "recorders") for many music classes in elementary school? I still have one in the “toy stash” I keep for my grandsons. Oh, so squawky and primitive! Wonderful play item! Seeing it in their toy bins (oh, does it bring on the little-grandboy- giggles!) reminds me of an old-fashioned reed flute of long-ago, and its owner playing a nonsense song called a falderal or folderol. When a singer needed to inject some whimsy into his or her song, the choice was a frivolous interlude, like la-la-la-la. The “o” version (“folderol”) is now more commonly applied to sayings about actions or words that make something seem to be more important than it really is.

Its earliest known use in literature was a 1701 play (Farquhar's Sir Harry Wildair). Today, the old name "folderol" carries the idea of nonsense or foolishness. Besides the spontaneous speaking or singing in silly old songs (like “tra-la-la”), the term "folderol" is used for describing cheap knickknacks (also called “trifles” or “gewgaws”) or celebrations that go overboard with decorations and refreshments.

If you want to adopt that word into your vocabulary and sound sophisticated, you can learn more about it at this site: FOLDEROL Definition & Meaning - Merriam-Website . But I lean toward “simple”--and so did Jesus. In His Sermon on the Mount, He taught in plain language. He used everyday examples to convey deep spiritual truths: “The Kingdom of God is like.....” He didn't make a big show of ministry, not even His miracles of healing people or raising the dead. No folderol. Just mercy and a miracle.

“Folderol” can have its negative implication, too, when someone speaks loosely and/or negatively to or about someone else, without considering the repercussions of that wounding. Instead, Colossians 4:6 counsels, ”Let your words be seasoned with grace”--meaning kindness, wisdom, thoughtfulness, and reflecting Jesus. “When there are many words, transgression is unavoidable,” says Proverbs 10:19, “but he who restrains his lips is wise.”

Thus, not the negative “grr-grr-grr,” but conversations continually passed through the screen of “what would Jesus do?” Not wounding, empty or worthless “folderol,” which can come across squawky, like those old plastic recorders we had in grade school. Instead, words that reflect the harmonious grace and mercy of our Savior, worthy of Heaven's audience.

MORNING 'JOY MEDICINE'

Need a boost? Check out this old video of the song “Zippity Do Dah” from a 1946 Disney animated film (skip any preceding ads): original zippity do dah disney song - Search  Also, multiple renditions at Bing Videos . This selection featuring one quick cartooned clip always amuses me: Bing Videos. It's enjoyed a renewal in other Disney promotions and even a Muppet Show airing. Though the film version of the real “Johnny” (real name, John Chapman, 1774-1845) bent a lot of facts, it still provided a message of “joy in nature” that is common in American folklore.

This classic little song came to mind recently when I found a negative message in my daily E-mail. In putting it up to the "truth test," I  thanked the Lord that He fully knew me, that the message was warped, and that His love was big enough to cover me and help me pray for the unhappy sender. I can't stroll through an orchard singing like an animated “Johnny Appleseed,” but I can seek reminders to invite joy into my life. And in that journey-to-joy, the Lord lovingly reminds me that He is pleased with me.

I guess it's the difference (as one writer put it) between “Good morning, Lord” and the negative, “Grr, morning again.”

I tend to awaken early, and in warmer weather when the window is open, I savor the sounds emerging with day's beginning, especially the local birds chorusing to each other from nearby trees. I ease into my day. I don't pop on the radio or television, or quickly scan E-mail right off. I remember of Matthew 6:26: “Look at the birds of the air. They do not sow or reap or gather into barns—and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” My day begins, quietly, with Him--"fed" by scripture and prayer.

Here's a little-known fact about the apple trees Chapman (“Johnny Appleseed”) left in his planting journeys. He adhered to a religion outside of orthodox Christianity, and he didn't believe in techniques like grafting to improve his apples. Thus, the trees he planted reportedly produced small and bitter apples, useful only for cider, not the sweeter apple dishes like pies. However, his trees' cider was nutritious, and lots safer to drink than local water available in the late 1700s/early 1800s.

Well, every history story has its darker side, this one included. But this real-life yet legendary man was out there doing something to help others. And history took note. Which is to conclude: how will my life have made a difference? At my funeral, will people mention “fruits” (the spiritual type, not apples!)? Will they say that I tried to lift up Jesus? Or, to borrow from Disney's song, had I invited the bluebird of Christ-joy (“the truth, exactly”) to come along on my shoulder?

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To recall the song, try these links. Skip the sandwich ad beforehand at Bing Videos . There are multiple renditions at Bing Videos

WONDER-BREAD

 “God will provide”--how often have your heard someone say that, maybe glibly or with the strain of unbelief from being in a tight spot? Or maybe that phrase brings up the Biblical account of Jesus feeding the multitudes without any supermarket or even a carnival-style food circus nearby.

Sometimes such questions lead me to a quest to find answers—and this was one. Basic truth: there were two occasions when huge crowds who'd come to hear His teaching found their stomachs rumbling and no fast-food places nearby. And Jesus delivered—not with a little car sporting a “pizza” bonnet on its hood. He acted with divine compassion and provision, miraculously multiplying meals shared in the crude woven baskets of that time.

Both “feedings” occurred in the vicinity of the Sea of Galilee, but here are some of the differences.

CIRCUMSTANCES

#1 (5,000)--Jesus had just learned of the execution of His cousin, John the Baptist. Understandably, Jesus and His disciples got away to a deserted place. But even before modern communications, human word-of-mouth traveled like electricity. Soon, multitudes (mostly Jewish) followed, hoping for healing and teaching. Soon, they were hot and famished.

#2 (4,000)--This event took place later in Jesus' ministry, and occurred in a predominantly Gentile region. After three days of healing and teaching, the large crowd was famished with no local provisions.

LOCATION

#1: The 5,000 were fed near Bethsaida, the north end of the Sea of Galilee Just west around the road a bit is Capernaum, where Jesus spent a lot of ministry time. This was also considered Jewish territory.

#2: The 4,000 were fed in a desolate region of Decapolis, southeast of the Sea of Galilee. The crowds here were mostly Gentiles. That general area is where He healed a demoniac plus a deaf-mute man.

FOOD VENDOR

#1. Thanks to a little boy offering his lunch, the disciples had five little barley loaves (typically the size of a hand, weighing 2-3 pounds and one-fourth inch thick) and two small fish among them, barely enough for their own snack. Certainly not enough for the multitude that had swelled to 5,000, sweating and famished in a desolate area.

#2. This time, the disciples had seven loaves and a few fish that Jesus miraculously multiplied.

LEFTOVERS SYMBOLS

#1: From five small loaves/two fish, twelve baskets of leftovers were gathered. Some have noted that those numbers match the five books of the law and the twelve tribes of Israel.

#2. From the seven loaves/a few fish, there were seven baskets of leftovers. Possible symbol: seven days of creation, and the “completeness” of God's work.

DEEPER SYMBOLISM

The events were powerful demonstration of Jesus' compassion, divine authority, and mission to a needy world, including Jews and Gentiles. As the bread and fish were broken apart, they also foreshadowed His own broken/wounded body when crucified to be our new Provider and Sustainer.

My little “digging” about the background of this miracle led me to reflect about how easily we skip over deep truths revealing the power and love of God. Yes, even how a little boy's lunch made history. And--what could He do with my "little," given up?

'SOCK' IT TO ME....

No, all these socks aren't mine. I brought them home from my son's home while they were away for a few days. As a good “house-watcher” for a super-busy family, I add a few “helpful touches” when I go to their house to bring in the mail and check on their pet cat and bunny. Cat is happy if I scoop food into its bowl and “gifts” out of its litter box. Bunny is happy if I reach in his cage, scratch his head, and make sure he has fresh water, enough bunny food, and a quick snack (carrot or celery) from the family refrigerator for a “comfort treat.”

My full-service Mom-Grandma-House-watcher role also extends to sorting baskets of just-washed-and-dried laundry brought up from the basement washer-dryer.  My “rule” when house-tending when they're away is NO going down the steep stairs to the laundry area itself. A fall resulting in a bone-crunch (things you think about as you age) would not be a happy scenario for an all-alone house-checker. But freshly-washed-and-dried laundry, waiting in the living room, is fair game for doing a helpful chore.

This time, as I started in on a full bin of socks, I realized they were still a bit damp. So, I brought them home and hung them on my outdoor clothesline to get “nature's dryer” at work. While doing that, I smiled to think of the colloquial saying, “Sock it to me.” The common meaning is “prove it to me” or “bring it on.” It implies that you're ready for a challenge, or maybe a “course correction” that might not be pleasant but worthy of a kind rebuke to improve your outlook or behavior. Of the latter, Proverbs 17:10 (ESV) observes:

A rebuke goes deeper into a man of understanding than a hundred blows into a fool.

That is to say: consider your response to correction and guidance. Do you bristle with defense of your challenged behavior? Or are you willing to consider a necessary change? Another thought: is the person who is pointing out a “soiled” attitude or behavior, a godly example themselves? Are they reaching out in love and care as opposed to selfish offense?

One more thing about line-pinned laundry (the clean type). When I've hung out laundry on a sunny, breezy day, there's a special sense of inhaled “freshness” when I gather the dried results. I usually pair-up socks when I pin them to the line, saving a step when they're dry and taken down. What if I can't find a “match”? Well, orphans happen in a busy household. That's why they have a special basket for the all-alone socks to hopefully someday reunite with its mate. And maybe there's a lesson here, too, about patience. Or letting-go.

THEFT PROTECTION

I think one of my grandsons is a blueberry fan. He recently inspected my half-dozen berry bushes behind the garage, asking when he could eat some. I told him later this summer, when green berries turn blue! Oh, disappointment. The bushes are currently draped in netting to discourage birds from early sampling. Last year I had a pitifully small crop. This year will be better—if the robins pay attention to the net “barrier.” One year the birds were so eager for a taste that they wiggled at ground level under the net to steal!

Maybe there is a correlation between my net to discourage robins from sampling my berries, and the mental and spiritual “net” of scripture memory I try to use in my own life to discourage "spiritual-fruit-robbers" and to encourage spiritual growth. From the beginnings of “memory verses” in childhood Sunday school class, the practice took on deeper meaning when, as an adult, I was exposed to the scripture memory disciplines advocated by The Navigators ministry. 

This ministry began in 1933 after a California lumberyard worker named Dawson Trotman experienced a personal conversion to Christianity in his late teens. Leaving behind habits of theft and alcohol, he took his new faith seriously, focusing on evangelism among teenagers and U.S. Navy sailors (hence the ministry's “Navigator” double-meaning name). His Bible studies, emphasizing mentoring and spiritual multiplication, would spread throughout the world. One distinctive ministry tool was its business-card-size plastic pocket containing verses to memorize and review.

Two ways to do it: 3x5 cards or
smaller cards in a pocket packet

Trotman eventually worked with many other evangelical leaders of his day. His life ended in June 1956, at age 50, at a conference at a New York state lake. A camper who'd tried to water-ski began drowning. Though not a swimmer himself, Trotman plunged into the lake to save her but drowned himself. As his wife Lila suddenly came on the scene, a close friend shouted, “Oh, Lila...He's gone. Dawson's gone.” Instead of breaking down in shock and sorrow, she replied calmly with the heart-guarding, memorized words of Psalm 115:3: “But our God is in the heavens; He does whatever He pleases.”

My observation: like that blueberry net, “spiritual theft protection.” Not a life lost, but a redemptive life lived. A mature fruit, picked, used by God, for nurturing others to spiritual maturity. A man who practiced “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:15-16).

*This web page about The Navigator has a biography and photo of Trotman: History of The Navigators

LABELS

I still chuckle over certain scenes from the 1965 film, “The Sound of Music,” featuring an inexperienced but perceptive novice-turned nanny, “Maria,” played by Julie Andrews. She's come to the mansion of a widowed military captain and his seven children, who are are summoned (by military whistle) to line up like soldiers, by age, to meet her. 

One by one, they step forward to announce their name, plus the behavioral labels either their father or previous nanny had given them.(1) One of the boys says, I”m Friedrich and I'm impossible.” Another says, “I'm Kurt, I'm eleven and I'm incorrigible.” Then he asks the new nanny, “What does 'incorrigible' mean?” The new nanny replies that it's a term for “someone who wants to be treated as a boy.”

In viewing that movie clip recently (oh, the warm fuzzy memories of that film) I found myself remembering labels others gave me. Graduating high school in the top ten of my class, I glowed under the labels of “scholar” and “concert-mistress of the orchestra.” As the years progressed, with more education and jobs, I was encouraged and motivated by those who recognized my passions, hard work, and desire to work as a “team member” in the company or academic setting.

But God wasn't finished with me. He led me into other chapters of life around people who couldn't push past life's difficult places, and who unfairly blamed others for their failures and unhappiness. I wearied from dealing with their anger issues and blaming behaviors. These trials also pushed me closer to my Heavenly Father, Who knew my heart and also heard my continuing prayers for such people. His Spirit's role as “Comforter” became more real.

This topic has recently returned to my heart as I re-read a classic Christian “journey” book. Most people know about John Bunyan's allegory, “Pilgrim's Progress” (first published 1678) and its main character's refining trials on the journey to the “Celestial City” (Heaven). The book I read, Hinds' Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard (copyright 1955), is much like it. The main character named “Much Afraid” journeys through danger and hard terrain to the “High Place” that is an analogy for Heaven. “Much Afraid” doesn't travel alone, but with two companions named “Sorrow” and “Suffering.” After she reaches the summit, conquering her many fears, she returns to her valley of service, transformed by her trials and now given a new name by her loving Shepherd.

As you might guess, the Shepherd is symbolic of the Lord Jesus, and her journey up the mountain (to grow in faith through trials) is simply preparation to return to her valley in service to Him.

If you've never read these books, consider doing so. Allegories about the Christian walk are powerful teachers—and incentives for our own “pilgrim's progress” which may push us onward through the tedious spiritual journey of “this world” to the heaven-pointing “High Places” closer to God. It's what turns “incorrigible” into the “possible” of a mature relationship with God. To a someday celestial scene where we can step forward and say, “I'm (name), and I am beloved in His sight.”

Speaking of names, don't forget the golden clue Revelation 2:17 gives us about names in Heaven: “To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna, and I will give him a white stone with a new name written on it, which no one knows except the one who receives it.”

By the way, the main character of Hinds' Feet on High Places, at the end of the book is given a new name. No longer known as “Much Afraid,” she becomes “Grace and Glory.” How fitting, How beautiful.

(1) Enjoy this memorable “Sound of Music” movie scene again online: Bing Videos

HOW BEAUTIFUL...

Yes, how beautiful, the first roses of spring in my yard. Each a unique creation, with delicately painted petals that display water droplets like diamonds.

I guess I'm in a poetic mood this morning, surveying the flowers and grass, noticing the gray sky will probably provide the “watering” today instead of my yard hoses. I've lived or worked earlier in life in what would be called the “concrete jungles”--the packed together office buildings, crowded sidewalks and congested, grimy streets. Now, I'm grateful for dirt and grass...and flowers.

It's not perfect. Vermin—rats--have dug under my house and I'm diligently trying to get rid of them. Yes, it was unnerving to realize this—when I heard “skittering” in the hall ceiling and then a stampede up the wall between the bathroom tub and kitchen sink. The battle of “bad bait” began. It seems to be working.

For all the decades I've lived in this small city, this is my first big experience with the “yucks” of rodents. At one time, there was a huge vacant lot behind my home. No doubt “critters” abundantly homesteaded there. Our cat nabbed a few! Then the land was bulldozed to put in stacks of townhouses. Guess where the disturbed vermin migrated.....

Yes, I sense a lesson in this. How we want our lives perfect, free of care and danger that “chew” at our well-being and leave emotional debris behind. But we live in a word tainted by sin and people who chew at what we value: our “person-hood” and self esteem, our safety, our hope. We want full “eradication” of such spiritual enemies. It's in the Divine Plan—but not yet. Only in the perfect spiritual timeline when Jesus returns to reign.

From time to time, science and photography provide us with breathtaking photos of our home planet, like these: photos of earth from space - Search Such views were unimaginable to people among whom Jesus lived during His earth-time, eking out a living in a mostly-barren landscape.

Our globe still has places where few can live: deserts, dangerous swamps, and places destroyed by war.

But we still have places where we can plant beauty. Not just flowers and crops (ever marveled at the wind pushing waves across a field of grain?), but the everyday living of kind words and actions. Refusing to let the “vermin” of ill will or unrealistic expectations spoil the possibility of peace and harmony. And then—how beautiful, the family of God.

Listen to Twila Paris sing “How Beautiful” here in a 2011 recording (skip through the first unrelated ads):

Bing Videos

GOT GUTTATION?

Unless you're a biology whiz, I'll bet you've never heard the term “guttation.” It has nothing to do with cleaning the innards (“gutting”) of a freshly-caught fish, in preparation for cooking it for dinner. Instead, “guttation” is the releasing (the scientific word is “exudation”) of drops of fluid from the tips or edges of leaves of some “vascular plants” and fungi. The “vascular plants” are so called because they have tissues that help a plant transport water, minerals and nutrients—something like the human body. These include species like club-mosses, horsetails, ferns, and some seed plants. If this subject gets you excited, you can learn the basics at this web site: typical vascular plants - Search

This photo doesn't nail it for illustrating “guttation,” as the plant shown didn't necessarily have the “veins” to release all this hydration—just a waxy surface to hold rainwater droplets for a while. But “guttation” is a real thing in the plant world. It's also somewhat of an analogy of a Biblical principle, that giving from overflow reflects God's abundant blessings and generosity.

Probably the best-known Bible verse of abundant giving is this:

“Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this,” says the Lord Almighty, “and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it.” (Malachi 3:10)

Others:

“Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” (Luke 6:38)

“God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” (2 Corinthians 9:8)

“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us.” (Ephesians 3:20)

My head spun a bit to learn about circulation systems in growing green things. I took biology in high school and college, but the facts I absorbed didn't apply to my vocation. They got buried (like dead plants!) Still, there's a whole world of discovery out there regarding God's immeasurably complex and delightful creation. Like plants that have “transport systems,” akin to the veins and arteries threading through our own bodies.

To bring this to a spiritual close--”Got godly guttation?” Am I responding to God's overflow of blessing, hope, and ability by reaching out to my parched world?

NATURE'S PARADE

Azaleas in my yard

As I write (early May) it's festival time in my valley. Every year, in celebration of spring and my home valley's orchard industry, promoters put on an “Apple Blossom Festival” with teen “royalty” and three parades (classic cars, youth-focused entries, and the grander 100-entry state-wide floats and marching bands). Oh yes, also a food festival which takes over the huge, well-groomed courthouse lawn for a couple weeks. (It recovers, thanks to diligent groundskeepers.) The influx of tourist dollars helps the economy. And yes, it is a sort of “whew” that bids goodbye to winter's chill and hello to spring and summer delights.

I smile to see my son continue some family festival traditions from his childhood. One is buying his family the finger-dusting pastry creation that's basically a glob of dough dribbled into hot oil, then sprinkled with powdered sugar. We know it as “funnel cakes”; it's a variation of the Italian chiacchiere-- messy to eat, but who's to quarrel with an annual tradition​?

It's sensory overload—all the classic cars, floats and their waving community “queens,” bands, drill teams, horses, carnival food, plus a real visiting “carnival” at one end of town with its classic array of noisy thriller rides.

Our local event reminds me of the first parade I remember attending, probably around age five, in the early 1950s. My family at that time lived about an hour's drive from the famed Rose Parade in Pasadena. My dad was able to buy reserved bleacher seats, which enabled us “little ones” to really see the parade going by. I have dim memories of my television Western heroes—Roy and Dale Rogers—waving while riding the same beautiful horses used on their then-black-and-white TV Western adventure show.

Yes, parades are exciting and glamorous. But there's a quiet parade I enjoy even more. It happens every spring in my yard when the grass, shrubs and flowers awaken from their winter naps. Color returns—not just green, but red, orange, pink, yellow. I recall this quote by Thomas Merton (1915-1968), an American Trappist monk, mystic, poet, and author:

Let us come alone to the splendor that is all around us, and see the beauty in ordinary things.

Rhododendron in my yard

Those “ordinary things” include nature's floral beauty....plus things like the morning light, a bird singing a greeting to the sunrise, a shared meal, and quiet connections. It's simpler life without the television blaring or fighting rush-hour traffic on the highway.

It's okay to come together as a community and celebrate. Besides my city's festival, another city about 30 miles west celebrates even more. Leavenworth has a spring “Mai fest” with the ribbon-winding pole dance. Its “Oktoberfest,” besides the ooh-and-ah of mountain landscapes turning yellow and red, amps up the Bavarian music with performances of the long alpenhorns. Its “Winter Karneval” with half a million downtown lights marks a German tradition back to the 13^th century.

Community spirit is a good thing. But beyond such celebrations, we should never lose sight of the ability to celebrate heaven's blessings. All around us are good and celebration-worthy gifts: sky, water, plants and trees, friendships and family--generously God-provided.