ENOUGH

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

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

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

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

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

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

COMFORTING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FILL MY CUP

A monthly feature on a hymn of the faith.

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

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

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

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

Sing along with this video:

FillMy Cup, Lord - YouTube

BYOODE-FUL

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

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

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

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

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

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

Howbeautiful by Twila Paris (Lyrics) – YouTube

Howbeautiful by Twila Paris (with lyrics) - Bing video

HIGHFALUTIN V. SIMPLE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

EnLIGHTened

The card cover & the bug book's text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MESSENGER AT 'THE STUPE'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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