Scarlet Garland/Scarlet Cord

Back in early October, 2008 Dean and I went on a “Foliage Tour” of the New England states.  We hit the right time that year because the colors were glorious. As we travelled from Boston to Lexington, I noticed a most unusual “decoration” on many of the evergreens along the highway. It appeared that red garlands had been draped on the trees. After questioning someone about the strange sight, they said it was holly, which is a parasite, the leaves of which had turned a brilliant red.

When I read the chapter in Ann Voskamp’s book, The Greatest Gift, about Rahab’s scarlet cord, I was reminded of the holly bedecked trees alongside that Massachusetts highway. The reason for that comparison will become more apparent further on.

Rahab’s story found in Joshua ­­­­chapter 2 is an awesome one of faith in the face of imminent death. To cut to its essence, the Israelite spies whose lives she saved gave her the following life-saving instructions: she was to hang a scarlet cord out her window to save herself and her family when the walls of Jericho fell before God’s power, giving Israel the victory

This pagan prostitute-turned believer obeyed and survived. But that’s not the end of her story—or of God’s. She married a prince of Judah named Salmon, they had a son named Boaz, and two or three generations later, her great-great grandson David, became the mighty king of Israel.

But still God’s story was not finished because Jesus Christ, the Messiah, came from David’s lineage which means that Rahab was the many-times removed grandmother of the Savior. How awesome is that!

This paragraph from The Greatest Gift is wonderfully descriptive. “Rahab, the scarlet woman, flings a scarlet cord out her window—that one thread everything’s hanging on. And that scarlet cord is her identity—that scarlet line running from the animal sacrifice covering Adam and Eve’s nakedness in the Garden of Eden to the crimson markings of blood on the doorframes of the first Passover to the willing drops of blood in the garden of Gethsemane—and Rahab is delivered by that singular scarlet cord and tied into the Jewish family.” As are we who believe.

Those beautiful swags of brilliant red festooning the evergreen trees we saw alongside the Massachusetts highway would eventually become the means of death for the trees. That’s exactly what our sins (the Bible speaks of them as being like scarlet) will do to us unless we’re willing to accept a very expensive remedy—our Savior, Jesus Christ, dying in our place to pay for our sins.

Red garland on a Christmas tree will have a different meaning to me from this time forward.

12-13-14

December 13, 2014. Such numbers in a date beg to be written about in some fashion because they will not occur again for another hundred years. And, strangely, this makes me think of my grandmother whom I’ve written of before.

Looking back at the year 1914 as inhabitants of the US, records tell us that Charlie Chaplin made his film debut, Babe Ruth debuted with the Boston Red Sox and the Panama Canal became a reality. For those living in Europe during the year 1914, it was not a good year as what became known as World War I began in August with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand.

However, in the USA, that probably didn’t stir much interest as the US didn’t enter the war until 1917. I’m pretty sure the farmers of northeastern MO were more interested in their corn crop yield, etc. and their young daughters were interested in how they might renovate their shirtwaist so it would appear they had a new dress for the Christmas play party at the neighbor’s house.

My grandmother turned 20 in 1914 and although I have none of her diaries, this new decade in her life may well have been quite a rite of passage. Her circuit-riding Free Methodist preacher Grandfather Reber had died in January, she turned 20 in May and it’s anyone’s guess how much trickle-down of political doings reached the attention of an attractive 20-year-old.

So I have to imagine how my Grandmother Tillie, her older sister, Anna, and her parents might have spent 12/13/14 one hundred years ago. Possibly Anna was still attending business college in a city about 30 miles away. The train ran daily between Palmyra (a town about 7 miles awayfrom the Reber farm) so transportation wasn’t too much of a problem. Grandmother may well have been teaching at a country schoolhouse although I have no way of knowing the exact years she spent teaching prior to her marriage in 1919. Her transportation would have been by horseback as both girls are pictured with their mounts in several snapshots. Given those guesses, the weekends were probably busy ones of sewing presents and baking any desserts, etc. that could be prepared ahead of time for the coming Christmas festivities with family and friends.

As I think of the likely unawareness of John and Jane Q. Public regarding what was happening across the ocean on December 14, 1914, I wonder if I am somewhat the same. Not because of the lack of media information but perhaps because the deluge of news and pictures have desensitized me. At any rate, I can’t imagine any British newspaper reporting the 1914 Christmas Truce ever reaching Marion County, Missouri.

The YouTube video of the 1914 Christmas truce between the German soldiers in the trenches and their British counterparts is such a bittersweet example of the peace and harmony the Babe in a Manger came to earth to effect. How sad that a generation of young men perished for mere political reasons. And how sad that our world has learned nothing from that loss in one hundred years.

Giving Thanks for Unusual Happenings

Thanksgiving Day had some interesting twists this year. We had friends over and enjoyed eating together--not unusual. Then I got to show my friend how to make applesauce from scratch so both her family and Brian will get to enjoy the benefit of our labors--also, not particularly unusual.

Company gone home, Brian gone to the golf course, one dishwasher load clean and put away. As I was rinsing dishes and filling the dishwasher a second time, I heard a thump—and the water stopped coming out of the sink faucet. Puzzled, I walked to the laundry room where the hot water heater is located and saw water gushing all over the floor. I couldn't remember how turn off the heater, so I called Brian in a panic and he rushed home. 

 By his arrival time, the  laundry room floor was covered with 1-2 inches  of water and flowing on to the wood laminate hallway. He discovered that the water intake valve had broken so he attached a garden hose to the pipe so the water would be directed outside onto the concrete patio. The next step was turning off the water to the house which is located in the driveway. After all that adrenalin rush came the clean-up. Thank you, Dean, for the Shop-Vac. Fans ran all night and today the flooring apppears to be dry. 

I write all that in order to list the things I realized were blessings. First of all, Brian was here to help with the problem. Secondly, the weather was downright temperate, even in late afternoon so dealing with hoses and turning off water to the house in the hole of our driveway didn’t mean contending with icy surfaces and frigid temperatures. Next, we had clean dishes to eat from (and I had clean clothes to wear the next day because I had done my laundryJ. And of course, we were grateful this happened after we had had dinner. Additional thank you’s for water given by a next door neighbor and offers of a place to shower if that became necessary. The blessed end of the story was that Mr. Fielder, the plumber, had not gone out of town for the holidays and was able to fix the problem Friday morning.

We had begun our day with, among other activities, reading from Jesus Calling, a wonderful book of one-page devotional thoughts straight from our Lord, paraphrased by Sarah Young. Thursday's “phone call from Jesus” as Brian puts it, was talking about letting thankfulness rule in our hearts. As our eyes are opened to the blessings around us, Jesus just keeps making more blessings apparent.

“Each time you receive one of My (Jesus’) golden gifts, let your thankfulness sing out praises to My Name. ‘Hallelujahs’ are the language of heaven, and they can become the language of your heart.”

One of the Scripture passages that accompanied this paraphrase was Revelation:19:6. “Then a voice came from the throne (of God), saying: ‘Praise our God, all you his servants, you who fear him, both small and great!’ Then I heard what sounded like a great multitude, like the roar of rushing waters and like loud peals of thunder, shouting: ‘Hallelujah'  for the Lord God Almighty reigns.”

As I came to the end of that verse, it was like I’d been zapped with electricity, for I realized that Dean was part of that multitude, doing exactly what that verse said—praising God, shouting “Hallelujah.”

At that instant I so much wanted to be with him, joining that huge group of people shouting, “Hallelujah.” Then I realized I can do that while I’m still earth –shackled--I can't hear the sound of the multitude, but I can praise Him. So I was shouting hallelujah at that point, not realizing how many more opportunities I was going to be given in the next few hours:)

“Thank You, Lord! Hallelujah!!"

Is Cloning the Answer?

No, this is not an opinion piece on cloning or anything scientific at all. This past week I nearly managed to schedule myself at two places at the same time—more than once! I realized what I had done ahead of time so that gave me more than enough time to stew about my predicament because if the times didn’t dovetail correctly, I would be double-booked. Mind you, these were all “good, helpful activities. Nothing frivolous, nor especially for me.

First of all, the Lord reminded me “to be anxious in nothing…” and that He was marching along with me through this morass of activity. Day one went fine but I had two more to go. It’s so awesome to see how God can get His message/assurance across. He used my friend, Allison, who shared with me her own story of time stress for the week, to encourage and bolster my trust in the Lord to navigate smoothly through this flurry of appointments.

The story in the Old Testament of Elisha and his servant in 2 Kings­­­­­­­ 6:15-17 shows the servant absolutely terrified at the number of Syrian raiders coming against Israel (it was a divided kingdom by this time).

Elijah told his servant not to fear. “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.” When Elijah asked God to open his servant’s eyes, he saw “the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around.”  The story had a miraculous, favorable ending for Israel--and I had three days of busy-ness that dovetailed together beautifully.

I use that story to say, I don’t know how the Lord does it, seemingly stretching my time in a day or showing me little nooks and crannies of time to use, but I praise Him for however He does it. He IS after all, the Creator of time and space, which makes Him the ultimate time management Teacher.

We have been using Ann Voskamp’s book, The Greatest Gift for our Discipleship class on Sunday mornings. This week one of the devotionals was about Jonah, God’s prophet who didn’t want to give his murderous enemies, the people of Nineveh, a chance to repent and turn to God.

 Jonah decided he would run from God (he had a lot to learn, huh), so he boarded a ship for Tarshish, traveling the exact opposite direction. In the ensuing storm which Jonah came to realize was for his “benefit”, he also realized he needed to vacate the ship to save his innocent shipmates. Here comes the part I love.

At that moment, God took “hold of Jonah’s wet, disoriented face and flat out startles him with the gift of utter dependence. Jonah-days chase your for tender reason. The Hound of Heaven storms after you till you have the gift you need.”

This is merely one life lesson we can extract from Jonah’s story, but it’s one for which I’m grateful to be reminded. Jesus is interested in my moment by moment focus on Him, rather than my worry about details. Not that the details are unimportant, but dependence on Him smooths the way for all the details to fail into place, seamlessly. 

Leaky Gut—What???

This past week I have spent my unscheduled time listening to a free webinar called The Autoimmune Summit. What an eye-opener and what a wealth of information!

The medical experts giving presentations at this Summit are active caregivers intent on finding the cause of the diseases their patients are suffering from rather than treating the symptoms as so many doctors do, hoping the disease might go away or at least stabilize with drug therapies.

I listened to several presentations about “Leaky Gut” and still can’t give a summary meaning of it other than I don’t want to have it. The great crux of the matter is that if your intestines aren’t healthy, you are not going to be healthy either. A general “fix” is dietary changes, adequate rest, and lessening stress factors. Sounds so easy. Not.

However, the most awesome thing I came away with from these presentations is how wondrously God has made these bodies we walk around in—as one friend describes it—our earth suits. Hearing about the cellular make-up of our bodies, the chemical and electrical actions that take place and the natural protection which is prepared to ward off dangerous intruders (if we are healthy) is almost too much to fathom.

I remember when I first discovered I had macular holes in my retinas, I did a lot of research on the structure of the eye to try to understand what was happening to mine. In the course of all my studies, it was soon apparent to me how wonderfully intricate just this one organ of the body is. Then to think of all our other body parts and how they work together—wow. What an awesome God we have!

In addition to all this information about our physical make-up and how inflammation can start these possible deathly spirals of autoimmune disease, was information about the foods, and herbs that can help heal our bodies. This information came with more fantastic descriptions of the marvelous structure of the plants God made for us to eat. That would include their cleansing properties as well as a vast array of vitamins and minerals plus a lot more scientific informational wonders that I’m not smart enough to regurgitate.

Is it any wonder that the Genesis account of creation states that God looked upon what He had made and “saw that it was good?” Humanly speaking, the description of His handiwork was vastly understated.

Tucson Trek

I would wish for all who attend family reunions the joy that we receive when our family(s) get together. Every Fall we migrate to Tucson from Nevada, Illinois, Wyoming, Texas and sometimes Colorado. The magnet is our family treasure, Dorothy, her husband J and their daughter and her family.

Our personal trip was broken into two easy sections as we stayed with our friends in Las Vegas. We had to hurry on to Tucson the next morning as son Jeff’s plane landed there about 1 PM and we would do well to get there by 2 PM.

Jeff picked up, we ate lunch, got a room at Motel 6 (since Linus was with us) and then put in a surprise call to Aunt Dorothy. We were soon on their doorstep and had great fun visiting with them as well as eating pizza. 

Sunday morning we ate at the Waffle House and got ready to go to cousin Brenda and Rick’s church so I could get my annual pipe organ and handbell “fix”. (I know that I will always enjoy glorious music at their church.) We ate together at Beyond Bread for lunch and soon it was time to go to our rental vacation house which would be our home for almost a week.

This is the 3^rd year we have stayed at this house and after trying various houses in previous years (some of which are former blog posts), this house fits our “family” best. In fact, at Dean’s request last year, the manager installed a pool table in the living room (which didn’t crowd it a bit). The house is close to Dorothy and J’s and even closer to an Albertson’s grocery store, so we feel we’ve found the best place for us.

Sunday was a hot day for Elkoans so Brian was first in the pool and I was close behind. Jeff’s allergies were bothersome so he just “basked” in the shade. 

Cousin Brenda brought a delicious meal as we had all arrived by dinner time except for the Chicago crew. By bedtime everyone had arrived and were situated, ready for Monday which was a trolley ride and shopping downtime. Cousin Brenda fed us sumptuously once again that evening as Jeff had to leave Tudesday afternoon.

Wednesday was shopping in Oro Valley for most of the ladies and lunch at a Greek restaurant. Brian played golf and Todd did his best to bike up a mountain. He discovered that running the Chicago Marathon just doesn’t prepare your lungs for mountain biking at a higher altitude with greatly diminished oxygen level.

Ryder, who was our center of attraction, and definitely the smartest, cutest 2 year old in history went to the Pumpkin Patch with assorted relatives and then went trick or treating in his fox costume on Friday night.  

Besides great meals, part of the time was spent making candy/cookie witches hats and turkeys. Needless to say, we all returned home heavier than when we arrived.

 All too soon it was time to leave, the TX contingent having already left on Tuesday, followed by the Chicago Crew early Saturday morning, with WY, MT and NV straightening up the house  for a final walk through by the manager.

What a blessing to have family and friends with whom to share stories and food. Our Tucson Trek was actually an early Thanksgiving celebration. And for that we are all grateful.

Second Chances

I’ve remarked in an earlier blog about how things that happened 100 years ago were either real world shakers or just interesting personal happenings. Seems difficult to imagine that my grandmother (my mother’s mother) was a young adult in 1914. She would truly marvel at life today if she were still here, particularly as she turned 20 years old in 1914. To put that into a personal perspective, my sons are now a generation older than 20. Since the decade marker-years seem to be noteworthy, I imagine Grandmother looked back on 1914 with wonder from the vantage point of several additional decades.

CBS Sunday Morning, the TV news magazine, aired a segment on World War 1, later known as the "War to End All Wars" which began in 1914. Oh how wrong that title phrase was. Americans generally credit President Woodrow Wilson with the phrase, but it actually came from H.G. Wells’ pen. Such intelligent fellows should have thought a bit more about the phrase before using it. Unfortunately, as long as this particular earth exists, inhabited by fallen man as it is, whenever one group of people has something another group wants, there will be war.

However, this post isn’t principally about war—it’s about happenings of significance, at least to someone or something, 100 years ago. Another segment aired on the above-mentioned TV show was the demise of the carrier pigeon, once the cheapest source of protein available in America. Martha, the last carrier pigeon, who was carefully housed in a zoo, died on September 1, 1914. She was encased in a block of ice and shipped to the Smithsonian where I suppose if you are so inclined, you can view her in her lonely, stuffed splendor.

Because of the birds’ tendency to clump together on a branch it was easy to pick off carrier pigeons for supper using your trusty rifle. Additionally, the telegraph made communication easy and telegraphers could easily let hunters know where the migrating birds were roosting for the night, thus making the extinction of this breed possible in an eye-blink, historically speaking.

At any rate, now that DNA testing, gene splicing, etc. has come so far, scientists are considering a method of  infusing some carrier pigeon DNA (from Martha) into a cousin-type pigeon. They hope to eventually breed a carrier pigeon back into existence. If that is possible, what’s next? A woolly mammoth/elephant or a tyrannosaurus rex/iguana?

Butterfly Showers

This blog is a tribute to my dear friend, Sandy, who died of a massive heart attack Friday evening. All of us who are left here, mourn her passing, but I can imagine her big smile lighting up whatever corner of heaven she finds herself—and enjoying butterflies.

Sandy shared this story with our Sunday School class several years ago. It’s about God’s miracle of butterflies in her life. She gave me permission to revise it slightly and submit it to Guideposts. They didn’t buy it, so now I am free to share Sandy’s story of  “Butterfly Showers.”

It is a 300+ mile trip from Reno to Elko, Nevada and I was driving it alone.  I had been told that morning an angiogram revealed an aneurysm and I needed open-heart surgery.  The fear and uncertainty of that diagnosis finally got the best of me when I reached Emigrant Pass (still an hour from home) and I began literally crying out to God.

I began hearing bug-splats against the windshield and through my tears, I saw that they were butterflies.  (I love butterflies.  They are uniquely beautiful and they furnish such a graphic picture of transformation as the worm becomes butterfly—just as a sinner can become a child of God). 

There were hundreds and then thousands of butterflies – A BUTTEFLY SHOWER!  God showed me His presence on that mountain pass.  My tears were replaced with His peace and His presence was manifested through those butterflies.  His grace, peace, and healing remained with me from then on, and I came through the surgery, recovering in record time.

However, that is not the end of the story.  Within a year’s time, my husband, Jim, had become seriously ill and was in intensive care with septic shock.  The doctors were having great difficulty coming up with a definitive diagnosis and they couldn’t determine or agree conclusively about what was causing him to be so ill.

On the second day of his hospital stay, I had gone home briefly and was on my way back, over the Lamoille Summit, when again, I cried out to God, telling Him that I was scared and didn’t have any peace.

I said, “Lord, a butterfly shower sure would be nice…”  After I said it, I thought, “That was dumb!  How arrogant of me to ask for that special blessing again!”  When I got back to Jim’s room, I began looking through all the  books and cards his visitors had left.  I was overwhelmed as I realized that most of the Get Well cards had butterflies on them.  Truly, A BUTTERFLY SHOWER!

Isn’t God good!

Compared to those of us left behind, Sandy now totally understands all that metamorphosis means-- what a butterfly is compared to the caterpillar it once was. I miss you, my friend, but oh, what a glorious “butterfly” you have become!

It’s All About Me--Not

When Galileo began studying planet Earth in the 1600s, the understanding of most learned men was that the earth was the center of the universe. After all, Aristotle had declared this to be so back in 4 BC and Ptolemy, the Greek astronomer,  confirmed the idea 600 years later.

I am reading Galileo’s Daughter which is actually a biography of her father. His older daughter, Virginia, was a nun in an abbey near Florence and father and daughter carried on a voluminous correspondence during his lifetime. Unfortunately, all his letters to Virginia were apparently destroyed upon her death as Galileo was in deep do-do with the Inquisition fellows because of his scientific ideas, specifically that the earth moved around the sun. Hence, the title Galileo’s Daughter because much of what the biographer was able to deduce about Galileo came from the comments in his letters to which she answered.

All the above is chasing a rabbit trail but functions as an introduction of how I want to explore this earth-centered, me-centered idea that permeates our culture. Much better writers than I have written books and articles on the idea of “it’s all about me.”. But it all boils down to one word: Selfish.

At an earlier date I wrote about selfishness, but I ask you, tongue in cheek, could not this very ugly trait be blamed on that learned philosopher, Aristotle and his idea that the earth was the center of the universe? If this statement became ingrained in human intellectual DNA, would it not then be plausible that I am the center of my personal universe? (This is another disgusting characteristic of our culture: the Blame Game, but I’m not going there today.)

I think self-ish-ness could almost be classified as instinctive behavior per this example from my two-year-old son. He came home from the church nursery one Sunday morning proudly announcing, “Me seffish!” Apparently, he declined to share some toys and was reprimanded by the nursery worker. 

Unfortunately, self-ish-ness doesn't disappear along with  childhood and it goes beyond sharing our “toys”. I can remember my mother telling me I was selfish (this comment emerged during those dreadful teenage years) and I remember mentally shrugging off her words thinking “I don’t remember not sharing anything.” Obviously, I hadn’t matured enough to realize that self-ish-ness really means to be self-centered, not considering others. In other words,it’s all about me.

Jesus Christ, our Creator, our Savior and the One who loves us unconditionally, wants us to realize that our first priority is to worship Him. He tells us plainly in His Word, more than once, that He wants us to love Him with ALL of our heart, soul, mind and strength. That would mean total surrender and obedience, totally focusing on Him, leaving no room for self-ish-ness. 

So, swimming up the stream against a strong current of modern culture added to my personal self-ish-ness, I tell myself, once again, “It’s not about me. It’s all about Him.

Surrender

"OK, I give up!" 

"Hand over your weapons." 

Yield (road construction).

These commands all evoke scenes from a TV western, cop show or a vacation trip. It appears that agreeing to obey these phrases mean that the battle has been lost or someone's rights have been taken away.

We in America learn very early that we should be independent. Isn’t the truism “God helps those who help themselves” in the Bible?.(Nope, I think that saying came from Ben Franklin.) Consequently, “surrender” almost seems to be un-American.

One day this week, songs from the previous Sunday’s worship service kept cycling through my mind—particularly the ones about surrender. So, I decided the word would make an interesting topic to explore.

With respect to surrendering to God, the ultimate reality means to hand over the “reins” of your life to Christ, saying, “I trust You to guide me in the best direction, to make the best decisions, and to form or nurture the right relationships."

However, our Lord is also the ultimate Gentleman. He always gives us a choice, so we are free to take back the “reins” of our life if that is what we want—or not even hand them over in the first place. Then the not-so-smart decisions are made and as a result, we can either fall into the “Slough of Despond” or learn a life-lesson from our disastrous take-charge attitude, once again surrendering the reins of our life to the One Who knows best—and will never steer us wrong.

Surrender definitely has a component of vulnerability. That lends a negative aspect to it when it comes to us on a plain other that our relationship with Christ.  Actually though, I think He wants us to be vulnerable with Him, or perhaps transparent is a better word. 

At any rate, in spite of the negative connotation to the word, surrender, I have discovered that surrendering to my Creator is the very opposite of losing the battle. This type of surrender actually grants freedom—freedom from worry and stress, freedom from yielding (surrendering) to sin, itself. Paul says this so well in Romans 8:2, “For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ has made me free from the law of sin and death.”

This blog post seems unfinished but it may be because surrender in the spiritual life seems never to be a “done deal.” As someone wrote regarding believers being living sacrifices to God, “the sacrifice keeps crawling off the altar.” In that respect, surrender must be a continuing attitude/mind-set until we get it perfect. By that time, we will be in Heaven:).

As usual, I would welcome any comments pro or con from readers--so thanks for reading to the end

Time Travel

I’m guessing there’s a certain strange tweak in the psyche of those of us fascinated by the idea of time travel. For some, it may be the idea of possibly going back and changing history (which could be sort of an oxymoron) or some other esoteric reason.

My imagination is fueled by the idea of such travel, whether it be forward—which probably fits into the science fiction realm—or backward, which my interest leans toward. I wonder: what exactly did they (the people) wear? What did they eat and how did they cook it? What sort of emotions did they have and how did they express them? What was their health like and how did they treat sickness, broken bones, burns, etc.? What did their homes look like and how were they furnished?

We know some of the answers to these questions, depending on how far back we research and depending on written records of varying sorts. But without imagination the people of those times—whatever historical era we’re interested in—cannot come alive to us.

Recently, I have enjoyed reading Randy Ingermanson’s first book in his trilogy “City of God”. With his background as a physicist,  his main characters travel back in time through a “wormhole” with ample scientific jargon to impress this reader who is totally lacking in any physics background.  Interestingly enough, Ingermanson's time travelers are aimed specifically for the first century AD. (You'll have to read the book to find out why.)

Diane Gabaldon, on the other hand, sends her time travelers through certain large rocks, I’ll call them “standing stones” for lack of a better term—like on a smaller order of Stonehenge. They also have to travel at specific times of the year. Her Outlander books are totally captivating and the time transport quite believable—if you have an active imagination.  However, her characters can never be sure what historical era they may end up in.

The Outlander (her first book in the series) has now been made into a TV show broadcast on Starz  and the first installment was available to watch on FaceBook, which I did. I thought it stayed true to the book and because of the history of Culloden and beyond (the 1700s) which is where Gabaldon sent her heroine, the series could continue on for several seasons if the show makes adequate money for the producers.

If any of you readers have favorite time travel authors/books/movies, please share with us. I have seen some time travel movies on the Hallmark channel and remember at least one story back when I was reading Readers Digest Condensed Book. But I don’t know of any authors of that ilk that have made names for themselves in the genre of time travel (other than the ones mentioned above) so I look forward to hearing from you.

The Last Time

“The last time I saw Paris her heart was young and gay. I heard the laughter of her heart…”

I’ve never been to Paris, France so the city itself means no more than an item of geography to me. However, I’ writing this post as a memoriam to my husband and when the idea first came to me, these lyrics were the next thing to enter my brain.

Dean went to sleep in his recliner in Elko, NV and woke up in Heaven. What a trip! As beautifully as the songwriter pictures Paris, the Bible’s picture of Heaven is much more glorious.

As the days have progressed since Dean left this planet, there have been many memories of “the last time” we did this or travelled there, etc. Even the trip to Salt Lake City and points east to Wyoming where we buried Dean’s ashes beside his folks was a reminder of “the last time” because we were together the last time I was on that portion of I-80.  In fact, for a while, anywhere I travel from Elko will be a reminder of  "the last time”.

It’s a no-brainer that birthdays, holidays and anniversaries of varying sorts will also dredge up memories of “the last time.” Those memories may bring nostalgic tears but that’s OK because they were celebrations of  joyous times, a time marker experienced together.

As I have thought about the various “last times” with Dean, the only regret I have in some cases is the fact that I didn’t know it was the last time. Life is that way and I don’t doubt that it’s a good thing when we have no inkling a shared experience is the “last time.”

Therefore, I would advise my friends and family members, as well as myself: Totally enjoy each of those together times and never take them for granted. Quoting a portion of Sarah Young’s devotional for August 13 in Jesus Calling, she urges her readers to “walk through [your] day with child-like delight, savoring every blessing.”

“The last time I saw Paris her heart was young and gay. No matter how they change her I’ll remember her that way.”

So my Sweet Babboo, whenever I experience something that makes me think of “the last time”, I’ll remember you the way you were then—and know I was blessed.

The Perfect Plan

In my family, one person’s plan was another person’s chance to tweak that plan. Almost inevitably during a family get-together, one family member would propose an outing or activity and as soon as it emerged from her/her mouth, someone else would immediately think of a different way to do that or an easier way to travel to the destination, etc. (Since I was the “in-law” I just sat back and grinned to myself.)

Actually, I like to make plans, mapping out a course, in order to feel like I am somewhat in control of my day or a situation or a project. I’ve read that if we fail to plan, we plan to fail. In some aspects this is true but when your life’s plan falls to pieces, what then?

In the Bible, Jeremiah, an OT prophet, tells his fellow Israelites what God has revealed to him. A lot of it is pretty unpleasant because Israel, on the whole, had been disobedient to God, worshiping idols, etc. But in chapter 29, Jeremiah shares a huge hope that God showed him (and it’s a promise that will continue for mankind as long as we inhabit Planet Earth).

Jeremiah 29:11 reads, “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.”

What an amazing promise—and it’s true for everyone who loves God. My fascination with this promise is the way God’s plan for family members/close friends /acquaintances, etc. must needs intersect. I’m thinking specifically of the particular piece of life’s journey my husband and I are living through right now as we deal with his cancer.

Somehow, God, in His all-knowing wisdom, is able to work out this perfect plan for each of His children without making a mistake anywhere along the way. I remember reading somewhere about how all of our lives are woven together in such a way that we, in our finite minds can only see the knots and wrong turns and re-tracings. Yet at life’s end, the “right side” of our lives reveal a beautiful mosaic—a work of art only God could have handcrafted.

So, when my plans go awry, I need to remember that God, my Strength and my Redeemer, knows what is just right for me. All I need to do is trust Him and walk with Him in the moments of life, not worrying about the hours and the days. After all, there's no point in trying to out-plan the Perfect Planner.

Mystery Soap

“Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub.” For some reason that piece of a nursery rhyme seemed to fit nicely to the rhythmic motions of drying the shampooed heads of my little boys after bath time. And strangely enough, that ties in with another enigmatic fragment of a story from our local newspaper dated May 14, 1914.

According to this particular  article, a Judge Castle received a letter from a soap company in Marseilles, France requesting a sample of the natural soap found south of town. The article doesn’t state this, but one would suppose the Judge was the one who supposedly sent this firm a sample of this substance which they had not yet received, but were eager to see.

Judging by the newspaper article, this “natural soap” was just “found.” The phrasing leads the reader to wonder if it was found lying on the ground, waiting to be picked up or had some enterprising housewife or camp cook concocted a recipe?

When I researched soap making a bit, lye was mentioned as well as various oils. Our barren landscape has plenty of outcroppings of alkali and sagebrush is certainly plentiful in these parts so both of these items could furnish possible ingredients for soap.But how this “natural soap” came to be created is a fascinating mystery.

Whether anything ever came of a possible business transaction between Judge Castle with his “natural soap” and the French soap company is unknown, but I’m guessing no business deal was contracted (particularly if the mail service didn’t improve). As I write that, I realize that Europe was heating up for World War I although I doubt that conflagration would interrupt intercontinental mail as early as May 1914.

If any local Elkoans know anything about this interesting little tidbit, please post a comment on FB. I would love to know more about this story.

After doing the small amount of research related to this topic, it makes me think I either need to purchase natural soaps (some of which are available locally) or I need to learn how to make my own as there are “recipes”  to be found free of charge on the Net. Why? Because the additives in commercial soaps are downright scary.

Until next week, think about what kind of cleansing substance you’re using on your skin. Happy scrubbingJ

Please Pass the Mashed Potatoes

Remember that favorite stuffed animal or fuzzy blanket you had to take to bed with you when you were little? Our boys both had quilted blankets that were in tatters by the time the youngsters no longer deemed them necessary.

Our food favorites, judging by FaceBook, appear to be the "great blankie” for us in the 21^st century. That’s not to say that we all eat for emotional reasons, although many of us do. But the aroma of a favorite dish is bound to set the taste buds dancing. I can remember going back home for a visit with my family and my mom would fry bacon for breakfast. That delightful fried bacon smell woke me quicker than her call up the stairs that breakfast was ready.

Eating with a healthy appetite was not an unusual attribute when one grew up on a farm. One reason for the appetite was strenuous work that burned a lot of calories. Another reason was the women of the house were generally fantastic cooks.

I come from at least two generations of such cooks/bakers and the ability likely goes back further as my grandmother and her sister undoubtedly learned to cook from their mother, etc. Unfortunately, the culinary gift skipped me (although I was always able to feed my family satisfactorily and put on a “company dinner”) but enabled our son, whom I’ve nicknamed Chef Jeff. Interestingly enough, Jeff’s culinary concoctions often borrows from various Asian cuisines, none of which any of his grandmothers would even recognize.

But I digress. Recently, I read an article in a Sunday news magazine about recipes belonging to one’s mother and the thoughts they evoked. That brought on the food reminiscences in my mind—the yummy, asparagus-egg-cheese dish Mom would make for the family get-togethers, the buttery rolls that came from my Aunt Dorothy’s oven, and the interesting salads that Grandma T. would bring to such meals. I think she was the most adventurous  cook out of the four. Then, if we we were lucky, my Aunt Anna (Grandma T's sister) would bring an angel food cake for dessert. This was the cake I always requested for my birthday if we were going anywhere near her house during that time. Later, I discovered it took 8-12 eggs--of course she used her hens' eggs-- to make that cake which was lighter than air and wonderfully sweet.

All of these master cooks have passed on but have left some of their recipes behind. The interesting thing about many of these recipes, particularly my Grandmother’s is that only the ingredients are listed, but not many exact measurements. Perhaps in many cases, the way the batter or the dough handled (because of the humidity factor—this was the Midwest and they DO have noticeable humidity) governed the amount of flour or liquid used. At any rate, trying to re-create my grandmother’s recipes would be difficult, and my mother’s  or aunt’s, time-consuming. Unfortunately, none of Aunt Anna’s recipes made it to me, although I’m sure some were borrowed by other cooks in the family.

I must be content to remember those wonderful meals which were accompanied by laughter and many stories after the serious business of eating was finished. For my money, my mother was the best all-round cook--also the messiest but that’s another story. Her pie crusts were nearly as delicious as the fillings. In her later years, her cinnamon rolls were the star attraction. The time she forgot to add the cinnamon and sugar told us that an era had finally come to an end.

Remembering those wonderful culinary offerings and the words on a piece of paper from which they emerged is all a part of nostalgia. A recipe is a little like a magic carpet ride—it takes you back to a fondly remembered past and a host of wonderful aromas and delicious tastes and textures. And to think—there are no calories involved!

Meditation--but Not the Om-m-m Kind

Reflecting on meditation is probably a redundant phrase, but that's what I plan to do. As I've probably mentioned before, fascinating, ah-ha moments can come in the shower. I'm not sure such incidents can be labelled meditation, but if one stands under a relaxing stream of water, thinking, etc. until the temperature turns tepid, it could fit Webster's definition.

I had such a moment this morning as hymns coursed through my mind and the beautiful remembered harmonies of the old hymn I know as "O Love, That Wilt Not Let Me Go" ran through my brain. That may not fulfill the true meaning of meditation, but I certainly count it as a personal blessing from the Lord.

We have been reading Jim Berg's book entitled CHANGED INTO HIS IMAGE and I found a sub-heading in chapter 6 particularly interesting. In "The Search for God Must be a Search for a Person" he says, "Meditation...is studying the Bible to learn more about a Person--God Himself. The principles you find along the way as you study are manifestations of His character." He goes on to talk about scheduling time to study/meditate on whatever Bible passage you are reading at any given point.

I remember participating in a fairly in-depth Discipleship course called "MasterLife" in which we were to plan a Saturday where we could be free for four hours. During those four hours were to pray, sing worship songs, and read the Bible, thinking deeply about how the passages were personally applicable and what they were revealing to us about God. I was certain there was no way I could do that for such a length of time. Surprise! And blessings!

Berg uses the New Testament illustration of Jesus feeding the 5,000 and remarks, "God did not put that account in the Bible as an example of how we ought to feed large numbers of people when we have a church picnic. It was given to reveal something to us about God's Son, Jesus Chris." For instance, it shows us Jesus' compassion for people and His miraculous ability to meet people's needs. The account also shows Jesus as a master teacher, leading his disciples in deepening their faith in God.

We need to remember that the Scriptures are about a Person. At this point in his chapter, Berg quotes an extensive portion of a chapter in C.S. Lewis' MERE CHRISTIANITY, which, coincidentally (?) we are also reading. If you have not read this book by Lewis, I highly recommend it. It's not one to scan, but to read thoughtfully, with pencil in hand to underline and make notes (if you own the book:)

I look forward to learning more about my Creator--studying and meditating on what His Spirit reveals to me. It should be an interesting week:)

Contemplating the Week Past

Meditation is a subject I’ve become interested in over the past few months but I intend to digress somewhat at this point. Recently, I’ve noticed friends mentioning that they do some of their best thinking in the bathroom—and that of course, includes the shower or bathtub with the calm, relaxing effect of the water at the exact temperature which each finds most delightful.  

Now to get to what the dictionary defines as meditation: to engage in thought or contemplation/to reflect.  As I reflect on the past week, I see a landscape project accomplished, a ministry project closer to completion and a delightful time with out-of-town friends—a fairly full week.

With nice weather forecast, son Brian decided it was time to call for a load of gravel to complete the landscaping design his older brother had visualized two months earlier. As we neared the final gravel spreading, it was obvious we had a rather large pile of gravel with no place to go. Thanks to FB friends, that pile will eventually find a home away from its present location. 

My friend Nancy and her family decided to spend her birthday away from home (Las Vegas). Since they have a fondness for northeastern Nevada, we were able to spend a full day with them plus a piece of another one. Two family members went with Brian to photograph the sights of Tuscarora on Saturday and Nancy spent part of her birthday working with members of our Small Group tying a quilt top to its backing. 

One of the members of our group had pieced the quilt top and will finish the binding. It will then be given to one of the homeless folks who live along the Humboldt River in our area.

Nancy finished celebrating her birthday by going to The Bookstore, sitting down and picking out her favorite songs from the Baptist Hymnal 

and singing them while I accompanied her on the piano. This was done in two segments so Brian was able to join in with his guitar on the second go-round. 

The final frosting on her “cake” was a meal at The Star (to which we were invited). Oh joy, what a way to end a birthday!

As I meditate/cogitate/reflect on the week, I say, “Thank You, Lord, for friends, for family and for the leisure available to contemplate these blessings.”

Number, Please

No, I' don't mean the number called by the clerk at the DMV or a busy Baskin-Robbins. In fact, the voice at the other end of the “wire” might have announced herself as “Central.”

Back in the days before dial phones and rotary phones were the rectangular boxes hung on the wall which we called telephones. They came equipped with mouthpiece, ear piece and the handle which you used to either ring up Central in order to connect with the outside world or use the code of one long, two short rings, etc. to call neighbors on “your line” (sort of like a neighborhood intercom).

All this nostalgia was brought to mind when I read our local paper’s Rewrite column last week. According to that information, it was 100 years ago this month that the Bell Telephone Company was building a line across Nevada and was expected to arrive in Elko before the end of the month.  I’m sure the city fathers had no inkling of what this would mean, nor of the communication marvels (or menaces) that would be invented in the next 100 years.

How I would have loved to visit with someone who experienced such an advance. My grandmother would have been 18 or 20 years old in 1914 and although I was blessed to know her until my 22^nd year, I never thought of asking her about such things as how she felt when she first used a telephone. (Not that she was a Nevadan. She lived in rural Northeastern Missouri, but the isolation factor would have been somewhat the same.)

Instant communication for the man on the street was a fictional idea when I was a child reading Dick Tracy when I visited my grandmother. Now most of us carry our “communicator” in our pocket, but the concept of that same little phone also being a camera and a computer (another unknown to a generation just past) would have been totally mystifying to my parents.

Just 100 years ago… Wonder what the next 100 years may bring?

Two Birthday Boys

My recent blog posts might as well be called A Letter to My Friends, but since I generally find myself in some sort of learning phase, I guess I’ll stick to the original blog name.

I’ll start with the most recent birthday in our immediate family, namely Brian, whose birthday has been celebrated from April 12 – April 19, in locales as far apart as Indianapolis, IN to Elko, NV—quite a stretch in time as well as geography. Sort of makes me think of the Chinese New Year (figure that one out).

Brian has pulled up stakes in Indy to move to Elko for the time being in order to help the old folks (that would be Dean and me). We were glad he made it to Elko in time to celebrate this birthday since it is ritually a rite of passage year for some—he completed year 40 on April 19 (looks like somebody was dyslexic). He was delighted to have a birthday so near Resurrection Sunday and it is meaningful to think of starting the next year of your life on that day.

 Friends from former years as well as friends of Dean and mine came to the birthday celebration and amidst reading and hearing the requested “Brian memories” , Brian also offered his improvised musical rendition of Dr. Suess’ “Oh the Places You’ll Go.”

Here’s a picture of the two birthday boys taken on Brian's birthday.

         Dean’s Day was several weeks earlier on March 28. 

The celebration was quieter than Brian’s birthday bash, but we enjoyed the company of Dean’s sister and brother-in-law, Belinda and TC.

I have no particularly philosophical utterance to end this blog other than to say that I’m blessed to be the wife of one “birthday boy” and mother of the otherJ

A Son’s Spring Break

Usually Spring Break brings visions or memories of sunny, sandy beaches or long-awaited vacations. We are very grateful that our elder son was willing to give that time to us this year.  And not only that, he had some landscaping ideas tucked away in his creative brain.

I have been talking about a different landscaping plan for our front yard for several years. With stringent watering restrictions very possible this summer due to an extremely dry and warm winter, I really didn’t want to think about watering a front yard that has never been very pleasing anyway.

Once we were all agreed on a plan, Jeff started to work (and I helped as much as I could). We rented a sod cutter and a tiller and then Jeff started to work, cutting sod. Very soon there was no turning backJ  

I started rolling sod and he joined in when his cutting got too far ahead. It was soon apparent that we needed to find some recipients for the sod.Thanks to FaceBook and replies we were able to take care of that particular challenge.

Next Jeff had to till and contour the now-bare dirt. All I can say is it was a good thing he was in good physical shape. 

After using those two machines plus moving the decorative rocks he’d ordered into place—and then shoveling sand after rolling out the landscaping paper, Jeff was one tired fella’ each night. (So was his mama, but I was just two willing, but unskilled pair of hands).  

Turns out we weren’t able to get the gravel from the place we wanted, but Jeff  ran out of time anyway. The gravel spreading and finishing touches will make up a future blog post. 

The trees now have berms around them with an artistic snaking of rocky ribs joining them.

This was an interesting experience for me (however, not one I intend to repeat), a creative exercise for Jeff (as well as more physical exercise than he bargained for) and we can feel like we’re being good stewards of our water resources this year and into the future.

Nothing New Under the Sun

I wasn’t going to write a blog post this week since it’s not been a stellar week consisting of extra time nor was I feeling inspired. But as has been apparent previously, I sometimes read something in our newspaper’s weekly “archive” column that piques my interest. That just happened.

I don’t think anyone would disagree that our weather this winter has been freakish—from shore to shore. Our Ruby Mountains have very little snow depth and I have scooped snow twice this winter, consisting of 3-5 inches. That’s pretty puny snowfalls for us.

In contrast, I just talked to my son who lives in Ft. Worth. He was working in 80 degree weather yesterday and today it was 20 degrees! He had considered leaving his dog outside last night because it was so warm. Good thing he didn’t or he might have had a mighty big pup-sicle this morning L

So getting back to the archive’s news column.  One hundred twenty-five years ago on March 1, 1889 the Elko paper stated, “The weather continues fair and mild as May. There is very little snow in the mountains and the valleys are dry and roads dusty.”

It goes on to talk about a “ball” held in Deeth—which is now pretty much a ghost town—with 40 couples in attendance who were fed by a Mrs. McAdams who provided “all the delicacies of the season.” I’m really curious about what kind of delicacies one would find in March of 1889 in Elko County. (But I just threw all that in for free.)

So returning to my premise that there is nothing new under the sun, including our aberrant weather patterns, I’ll sign off with this thought. As far as I know, King Solomon was the first to make the statement that  “there is nothing new under the sun,” in Ecclesiasters 1:9. In reading the context of the verse, the Preacher (Solomon) reminds his readers that these things have happened many times before. So take heart, bundle up, or put on your rain boots and slicker, or whatever works for your part of the country. And stay thankfulJ

Finger Jam???

We’re all familiar with a traffic jam, a jam session, jam and jelly—but a finger jam?? Maybe I should call it a jammed finger. For me that brings memories of painful experiences incurred during playing softball or volleyball. Since I have not indulged in those sports for many, many years, I have to admit that my jammed finger occurred during “gouging” at a stubborn stain in a coffee mug preparatory to putting said mug in the dishwasher.

After one particular poke, I noticed a strange sensation and upon extracting my hand from the mug, discovered the middle joint of my middle finger refused to bend. After pulling on it a couple of times with no positive result, I showed it to Dean. I could use the adjoining fingers with some discomfort but that middle finger remained stuck, straight.  Dean thought maybe heat would help the joint so fetched his paraffin  “spa” down off the garage shelf and plugged it in.

Just before I stuck the dislocated finger into the warm paraffin, I called my nurse friend, Kitty for advice. Good thing I waited on the paraffin treatment. Her advice: ice the joint for 15 minutes, let it rest for 15 minutes, ice again for 15 minutes, let it rest and then pull the end of the finger GENTLY (not the action I’d used earlier) and hope that it clicks into place. Long story, short—it didn’t work.

I figured I probably shouldn’t let the joint remain in this fixed position, so I started calling medical offices, beginning with my doctor who wasn’t in that afternoon—of courseL The next two Urgent Care facilities weren’t taking any more walk-ins that day (it was 3 PM by this time.) So to the hospital ER we were headed.

Dean was driving and wanted a smaller water bottle than the one he uses at the house. I got it out of the freezer, showed it to him and then said, “Shall I try to put some water in it?” He thought that would be a good idea, so I headed back to the kitchen and within 4-5 steps realized I was grasping the bottle with curved fingers—all of them curled around the water bottle.

I started screaming, “Praise God! He healed my finger.” What an answer to an unvoiced prayer because we were scheduled to host a Bible study at our house that evening—at 6:30 PM and there was no telling what kind of wait we would have encountered at the ER. The Lord's intervention not only healed a jammed finger, but also saved us time and money. That abused finger is still a little sore, but every time I pick up something with my right hand, I remember how it felt to have that middle finger stuck, straight as a stick. The little “things” in life really are important.