Are You a Poet or a Politician?

Recently in an English class on poetry I read aloud "The Willow and the Gingko" to the students. Here are the last two stanzas:

The willow is like a nymph with streaming hair;
Wherever it grows, there is green and gold and fair.
The willow dips to the water,
Protected and precious, like the king’s favorite daughter.

The ginkgo forces its way through gray concrete;
Like a city child, it grows up in the street.
Thrust against the metal sky,
Somehow it survives and even thrives.
My eyes feast upon the willow,
But my heart goes to the ginkgo.

 

 

Then I asked the students, "What is this poem about?"

"Trees," answered my scientific, logical student.

"It's about not judging appearances, but looking at character," piped up the class poet.

 

And my year long or more struggle with the concept of what is valuable and important was once again pricked.

You see, God made each of us the way He wants us. Not that He doesn't want us to change, if I am a liar, He wants me to stop lying and become honest, but my quirks, likes, dislikes, personality. . . God made me this way. God likes me this way. So why do we fail to recognize, or not so much recognize, but why do we fail to VALUE the poets, artists, teachers?

 

I remember while student teaching first grade a little girl, Alana, who was very, very talented at drawing. Once she drew a picture of a horse with flowing mane, and her six year old fingers drew life into the horse in a way that my twenty-something year old fingers could never imagine doing. But Alana was not academically gifted, in fact she struggled mightily.

"What will become of her," I asked my lead teacher.

"She will be lost in the system. If she makes it to high school, she may get to take some art classes, but her parents can't afford to get her professional lessons," replied my mentor.

 

Why do we place so much value on Math, Science, Medicine, Law, and forget the beautiful in life? Why do we hear of starving artists and musicians, but not starving rocket scientists? I think it is because we have forgotten the wholeness of God. Sounds like a leap, I know, but hear me out.

 

God made the world with all of its intricacies requiring mathematics and science, but He also created all of the beauty found within the creation. I don't think He glorifies one over the other. When the Israelites were wandering in the desert and required a Tent of Meeting to house GOD, He asked for the artisans, the seamstresses and tailors, the painters, the weavers, the carpenters. He used the military geniuses to help take the land, but He also used the creative geniuses to lead the people to Him.

 

I'm still working through it. I don't know how you change an entire society's values, but I think I can start one person at a time right here at home. As for me and my students, we will serve the Lord of Science and Beauty.

Who's In Charge?

I have a confession to make. I am a control addict. I don’t have to be the one in control; I just need there to be someone in control with a plan. I used to tell my husband that anything can happen as long as I know it is going to happen. I only need to know what the next fifty years look like; then I can handle whatever comes my way. He always replied that if I knew the events of fifty years, I would need to know the next fifty as well.

When I was in high school I wanted to be the one in control. Everyone else seemed to be holding the reins, parents, teachers, boyfriend. So I took control of the one thing no one else could control- what I ate.

I drank apple juice for breakfast, skipped lunch or sometimes had a small salad, apple juice for a snack after school, and then a pick-it-apart dinner at my mother’s table. I didn’t consciously say to myself that this was the way I was practicing being in control. That was something I wouldn’t figure out for many, many years. What did I think I was doing? I had a goal- weigh 100 pounds at graduation. I was 5’7” tall.

I still remember the disappointment graduation day when I weighed myself at 103 pounds. Obviously I had no self-control, I thought. I would continue to search for continuity and control over my own life.

I went to college and finished in 3 ½ years because I didn’t want anyone telling me I couldn’t do it. Having trouble securing a job after college, I worked two jobs. Even after getting a full-time teaching job, I continued the second job because I didn’t want to be in the position of joblessness ever again.

I tried to have control over my body, my money, my future. Then I started losing control at a faster rate. Children came at unexpected times, bringing me utter joy. My husband couldn’t find work, found it and lost it, and we survived miraculously every time. And slowly, over many years and through many more experiences, I realized that I don’t actually want control. What I want is assurance. No, not insurance- assurance.

And assurance is what God has given me. Whenever my world looked like it was falling apart, God sent blessings. Not right away, mind you. Sometimes I wondered if God even knew my situation. I remember once telling Him in no uncertain terms that I did not find this funny, and if He was just trying to pull my strings He could go jump in the lake.

Instead of jumping in the lake, God threw me in and told me to swim without Him. Before I drowned, though, there He was pulling me above the surface, helping me breathe again. He pulled me to shore, dried me off, and put me in the back seat of His car.

Then I realized, only God can be in control, but that’s ok; He is the perfect one to hold the wheel and make the turns around the curves that I can’t see. He looks at me in the rearview mirror, gives a smile and a wink, and drives on ahead. And less and less often do I grab the door handles and scream as I anticipate the slam of metal and crash of breaking glass.

God is in control and He assures me that he knows the way. He can see the obstacles, the road construction, the other drivers, and He is still in control. And the final destination is within reach as long as I let Him drive.

“Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.” Psalm 73:23-24

“Many are the plans in a (wo)man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” Proverbs 19:21

Do You Hear What I Hear?

The following is an excerpt of a longer essay I am working on. I have deleted some information to protect my sweet sister and friend.

I have a sister who has lived a hard life. Sometimes the blows that life dealt her had nothing to do with my sister, but other times the consequences of some really bad choices were her own fault.

“Cece” was a foster child, abused and neglected by the people that took her in. Though she knew of Jesus and His love, Cece lived outside the fence of protection and peace. Already forsaken by family members, angry Cece grabbed life by the horns and gave it a good shaking. As Cece grew, so did her rebellion. By age twelve, verbal fights on the school bus turned --------, a few years later drugs and alcohol were involved, and soon ------- and worse followed. Cece bore children, and they were taken from her. She spent time in prison. She was an alcoholic. To all appearances she was a “lost cause”.

When Cece was about 40 years old, she found herself placed in a domestic abuse shelter. Every Friday a couple of women would show up at the shelter with a hot, homemade meal and then stay to talk, eat, and pray with the women. One Friday Cece accepted an invitation to come to church with these crazy women on Sunday.

Much time passed and Cece became a regular at the church. She even came to other church events and classes. Cece was welcomed into our homes, accepted into our hearts. Cece renewed her faith in Jesus and decided to try again to serve Him as Lord.

Then Cece failed. She ran with the wrong crowd, accepted Temptation’s luscious apple, and left Jesus sitting by the road. But Jesus got up and walked into her apartment.

“Clean yourself up. Stop your crying. Come on, let’s you get you taken care of.” The women of our church refused to let Cece fail for long.

Time does not heal all wounds, but God does. God blessed Cece with a new chance at life. She has been sober for years now. She has married, reconnected with her children, and most importantly committed her life to Christ.

I was raised in a church-going family. When I was very young my family raised sheep, and not surprisingly I was happy to stay in the pen. Surrounded by parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, there was never a time that I was forsaken, neglected, or abused. I made a few teenage choices that had my young legs leaping the fence walls, but nothing that lead me far from my Lord and Savior.

Finding the perfect mate while attending college, I married at age nineteen. I finished college, got a job, bore two children to my faithful husband, and lived the “perfect” life. Now I am a preacher’s wife, a role which I happily embrace.

Serving communion Easter Sunday, I stood at the back of the aisle waiting to walk down and pass the plate of bread. I stared out the back window trying not to hear the gruesome details of a crucifixion. I don’t deal well with medical gore so instead of listening I began thanking Christ for his willingness to make a self-sacrifice. Then I heard soft sniffling to the right. As the description of torture and slow, agonizing death continued, the sniffles turned to weeping. Rising from her seat, Cece fled the sanctuary.

I finished serving the bread and wine, and then I headed out to find my sister. Loud sobs and cries had penetrated the walls of the bathroom, hallway, and sanctuary. I knew where she was.

Patiently waiting outside the bathroom door, I met Cece with the bread and wine. Our communion that Easter day would be between two sisters of the Risen Lord. “I can’t believe He did that for ME,” Cece trembled.

“He did it for me too. I love you, Sister.” I hugged and kissed my friend.

Christ had me penned in and safe when he left the fold to go find Cece. Leaving me in safety to find His Dear One was not a rejection of me. He doesn’t love her more than He loves me, nor does He love me more than her for leaving me in safety.

He brought her home and put her in my corner of the pen. Then He stood guard outside the fence waiting to attack any wolves that might creep in. He sacrificed for both of us equally.

But sometimes it is difficult for me to remember that sacrifice since I so seldom leave the fold now. Breaking the bread and drinking the cup serve as reminders that I do actually need Christ’s body and blood to clean me up and keep me safe. Sure, I don’t do any of the “biggies”: adultery, murder, theft. But I am guilty of the really big ones, the kind that sneak in and jump an unsuspecting sheep: pride, jealousy, complaint.

To a God so HOLY that we can’t even say His name, what appears to humans as minor personality flaws look to Him like black holes of putrid filth. And even so, He gave His all for me.

 

“I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me- just as the Father knows me and I know the Father- and I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also. They too will listen to my voice, and there shall be one flock and one shepherd. The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life- only to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again. This command I received from my Father.” John 10:14-18

“Therefore no one will be declared righteous in his sight by observing the law, rather through the law we become conscious of sin. But now a righteousness from God, apart from law, has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets testify. This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus."

 Romans 3:20-24

 

 

New Address, Same Location

I can't find my black sewing scissors. I have had them since I was twelve. I am sure I still have them, somewhere; I just can't seem to locate them. I told #2 yesterday that the scissors are just waiting for us to move. I will find them in something when we move.
Now before all of my friends and family get in an uproar, no, I have no current plans for moving. It is just the way I live. Hubby and I have moved so many times that moving is a part of me. I remember moments and events based on where I lived at the time. I remember my friends in the living rooms we inhabited when we were together.
Oddly, though, I consider home the family farm where I mostly grew up. Purchasing the farm from my grandparents when I was six, my parents have been there ever since. It is where I go when I want to feel at home. It is the place of family celebrations, memories, quiet times, and me. It is who I am.
Last night I discovered that the address for my home place has changed. In order to aid the 911 emergency system, roads had to be given names, and houses had to be given numbers. Before a rural route would suffice, now it no longer works.
The coal mines have moved into the area as well ,and I am told that the long, rocky drive to the house is completely remade. It is suggested that I won't even know it when I get there this summer. But I don't believe it.
Times change. People move. But home is home forever. Perhaps people need new help finding it, a new address, a new roadway. Still there is only one way to the Father and Mother, and it leads Home every time.

National Hope Sunday

Standing in a green pasture with a fence post behind me is a childhood memory I cherish. I was blessed to live an idyllic childhood. My parents worked hard and were able to supply all of my needs. I was surrounded by family, literally, and was never afraid for my safety.
This is our daughter, O. I call her D1 on the blog. D1 has been a part of our family since November 30, 2012. We aren't blessed enough to have her live with us, but we get letters from her and know that she is safe.
D1 has a family who loves and surrounds her. They do their best to take care of her, but sometimes there isn't enough money to go around. Clothes may need to last an extra season more than they should have to. School is not an option. Food is scarce.
So, taking the Christian directive to heart, we support D1 as if she were our own. We love her as we want to be loved. We send money every month through World Vision. We pray daily for her to grow strong and healthy and to know the Lord. We send presents every couple of months trying to imagine what fun things our daughter would enjoy getting.
Today is National Hope Sunday - a special day designed to connect more people with children who are suffering and still waiting for a sponsor. It only costs $35 a month to sponsor a child, and it makes a huge difference to the children. Show a child the love of Jesus.

www.worldvision.org

Good Karma

 “For the foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man’s strength.” 1 Corinthians 1:25

Philadelphia is not a cheap place to live, so while my husband was there in graduate school, I would grocery shop at Aldi. Aldi’s is often located in poor neighborhoods. It is not a high class market, but it provides all of the basics and fresh produce that you can ask for without all of the high prices.

In order to keep prices low, Aldi has initiated several changes to the shopping experience. For instance, you will need to bring your own bags. The cashier scans your items and tosses them back into the shopping cart; then you can either toss them in your trunk that way or bag them yourself.

Another price reducer is the way you get your shopping cart. Place a quarter in the chain slot and unlock your cart from all of the other carts. Aldi figures everyone wants their quarters back, so they return the cart. That way there aren’t any “lost” carts, and there aren’t any car bang-ups in the parking lot.

So now we live in Greenville, NC, and though the Aldi here isn’t in a very poor section of town, it is again located near the lower class. And I still shop there even though we aren’t on a graduate student’s income. But, it means I must have a quarter with me when I go to shop.

I keep quarters in my van so that I can always get a cart, but in order to help those who may not have a quarter, I leave my cart parked with the others, but not locked. I THOUGHT I was doing this out of the kindness of my heart. Boy was I wrong!

The last couple of times I shopped, I was driving the car. I don’t keep quarters in the car. I also didn’t have quarters in my purse. Certain that I would be taken care of as a reward for all of the times I left a cart for others, I happily walked up to the cart line to unhappily find them all locked. So I grabbed an empty box and filled it with the few essentials I could get by with for the week and checked out. That was last week.

This week, I drove the car again. I searched through my purse, certain that I had a quarter, but alas, I did not. Again, I approached the cart line just certain that I would find an open cart there. I mean, come on, I have left LOTS of carts for other people. Surely God would reward me for my previous blessing of others. Nope.

I did, however, have some folding money. So, I walked down several aisles until I was in the check-out line. I waited for my turn, and then asked for change. Granted it was only a small inconvenience, but what in the world?! I deserved to have an unlocked cart!

I finished my shopping, buying anything that I wanted, unconcerned about the cost. I packed up my groceries in my many fabric shopping bags. I loaded the groceries into the third car that I own. And then I had a decision to make.

It was time to return the cart. I was still miffed that there hadn’t been an unlocked cart before. Should I return the cart and lock it to retrieve my quarter to have next time, or should I leave the cart unlocked?

My half-sorry heart noticed the couple headed toward the cart line. The elderly lady was searching through her change purse. I left the cart.

As I walked back to my car I heard the couple exclaim over the unlocked cart. They were temporarily blessed, and I was humiliated and humbled.

I had been working under the assumption that God would take care of me if I took care of others. Phooey! God takes care of me and everyone else no matter what. Nothing I do can make God do what He doesn’t want to do. The reason I need to be kind and thoughtful is because I want to be like God. No other reason.

I told this story to my husband as we walked the trail yesterday. When I got to the part about making a decision I asked him what he thought I did. He got it right, but his next remark is what hit home. “I think you’re nuts to think that you can get Karma off of God!” He was right.

 

“Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world, and the despised things – and the things that are not – to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God – that is, our righteousness, holiness, and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: “Let him who boasts, boast in the Lord.” 1 Corinthians 1:26-31 NIV

 

Battle of the Birds

Reading my morning devotionals in bed is a luxury I enjoy about once or twice a week. Yesterday was one of those days, though I had no idea it would end so violently. From the corner of my eye I noticed fast, furious fluttering. Two Southern Mockingbirds were going at each other like two brothers in a rock war. Yes, brothers have rock wars.

 

A large River Birch tree grows outside my bedroom window. Rising from my comfy spot I saw the two male birds facing off on the ground. They were two Sumo wrestlers looking for the right angle and opportunity to attack. One hopped left and the other faced him off. Then that one would circle the other and off they would go, flying, jumping, attacking. Several times I cringed and cried aloud as the aggressor would peck its beak into the throat or chest of the other bird.

 

After ten minutes or so of chasing each other around the birch tree and into the side of the house, I noticed a female mockingbird perched on one of the branches. She watched the fight taking place, but never seemed to cheer in one direction or another.

Finally, it seemed there was a winner, and he flew off to the nearby holly tree while the “loser” recovered on the ground. But wait, no, he wasn’t done for yet, and the apparent loser flew onto a branch near the female bird.

Before I could blink, the bird in the holly tree had flown back to the birch and was attacking the trespasser once again. I could see the birds were perspiring, their feathers growing wet and wispy with exertion. The battle continued until finally the winner smashed the loser to the ground and made a nearly fatal stab at the weaker bird.

 

The winner flew back to the holly tree, and the female, taking one last look at the loser, flew off to the holly tree to be with her knight in shining armor.

 

This battle rages in the spiritual realms, and occasionally I get to sit on a branch and watch. Mostly though, I am an unsuspecting girl oblivious to the rescue occurring right before me.

“For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places.” Ephesians 6:12 NLT

“But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served beyond the Euphrates, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” Joshua 24:15

Evening Walk

The two stand sentry at the edge of the wood, their stance strong and watchful. The wheat field between us shrinks in size as my dog, Captain, and I near the year old deer. The dark green of the foot tall wheat is not a safe enough barrier, and the guards desert their post to escape in the wood.

Turning left down the trail we disappear into the shadow of the loblolly pines. Pines to our left and more wheat on the right envelope the sounds of evening, and a hushed holiness surrounds us. The Earth rejoices one last time before the darkness of night shrouds the beauty of creation.

A hawk screeches a final warning before settling in the trees above, and two geese wing their way to the water to settle down for a rest. The hunting hounds, caged in kennels around the bend, bark their thanks for dinner and then howl their discontent as the owners drive home for the night.

Travelling along the path, we turn onto the dusty road long forgotten, but not yet overgrown. Trees embrace us with their lengthening shadows and the dusky light shines between the bare branches. Tiny, gray leaflets dot the tips of the trees promising Spring is on the way. The sun sinks lower, and light filters through like smoke from an autumn leaf fire.

Turning one last corner, a lone woodpecker taps in the distance. The light here is stronger and makes the last part of our trek more comfortable. Suddenly the cries of several coyotes shred the peaceful worship, and I look over my shoulder. They now stand at the edge of the wood deserted by the deer just twenty minutes ago.

I pick up my pace, not anxious to lose the dog to some hungry mongrels, and set my face toward home. A light in the distance assures me all will be well. The evening star twinkles hello, and the God of the Day is the God of the Night.

Learning Something New

I use Mary Kay products, have for about twelve years or more. I, however, do not use nail polish very often and only apply on my toes. In fact I was still using the same original polish I started with twelve plus years ago when I decided this winter during a cleaning frenzy that the jar should probably NOT look that color. I threw out the polish without thinking that I would not make a MK order before toe nail season arrived.

So as Hubby and I looked around for articles to fill the boys' Easter baskets, he asked what I would like. Passing the nail polish section in WalMart I remembered my dilemma and commented that I could use some new polish. Together we perused the selection, and I politely asked which color he preferred. I was leaning toward a soft pink.

"Red," he said immediately.

"Really? You like red nail polish?" I was flabbergasted. I never would have imagined that he would choose red. He's a PREACHER for goodness sakes! So we kept looking at the multitude of red shades and chose "Diamonds and Rubies". Just for fun we also picked out a bright pink and a purple.

 But then I kept wondering, what else do I not know about this man with whom I share everything?
We have known each other for about 25 years, married for over 23 of them. We have a mortgage, car payments, health information privileges, two kids and a dog. I know what he likes to eat, often finish his sentences, and read his mind through his eyes. So how did I not know he likes red nail polish? Evidently I don't know everything there is to know about this man.

I teach an elementary class of kids at church. They are around 8-10 years old, and I have been stressing to them the importance of reading God's Word, the Bible. How will you ever know God if you don't read what He has to say, I ask them. So recently one of the kids was telling me what he was reading. Then I told him what I was reading at the time.
He was shocked and burst out with, "Haven't you read that before?"
"Why yes. In fact I read the New Testament three times this past year," I stated, hoping to encourage him in his own endeavors.
"But if you've already read it, why are you reading it AGAIN?" he asked.
"Because I keep noticing things I never saw before."

I have a great marriage. We have fun together, support each other, talk and play together. But even with all of that togetherness, I missed out on nail color preferences. Obviously it isn't the most important detail to know about a man, but it does seem sort of basic. Unless I spent more time with Hubby asking him these questions, listening to his comments, thinking about what he wants, I would never get to really, really know and appreciate my husband.
As a Christian I am the bride of Christ, part of the church. Unless I spend time with him, how will I ever know what he likes, what he wants me to know, what he cares about? Maybe he can forgive my pink nails, but what if he would really like them to be red?

". . . as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you." Isaiah 62:5

Growing Up

 What is this sweet little boy doing? Taking some of his first steps to manhood! Last week he asked if he could please shave the dark hairs off his lip; he found them embarrassing. I cried. Yes, I cried. I didn't cry when the first one shaved, but this is my baby. There aren't any left after him.
But the Easter Bunny remembers being embarrassed in the Middle School locker room, so s/he put razors and gel in the basket on Sunday. He shaved this morning while I was out of the house. His father was wise enough to know that I would need pictures.

He looks so much like his father when we met. Just a few more inches taller and darker hair, and his father would be standing before my eyes. I don't want him to stay little forever, but I am not quite ready for what is about to happen.

A New Story

Holiday timing says that this past weekend last year was the death of my dog, Kelly. She died the Saturday before Easter, though that was April 8^th last year. This time it wasn’t a dog, but a chicken that died on Saturday.

Ironically, it was the “Easter Egg Chicken”, an Aracauna breed that laid blue-green eggs. She was actually quite old for a chicken, perhaps six years old, and the eggs had come very infrequently the last year or so. Still she had been with me for a while, and it was surprising to find her in the coop, stiff and lifeless.

Death is a natural part of life. Accidents happen, dogs and people die. Age corrupts the body of everything, and Death captures its prey. It is a story that has been told millions of times.

Even God authored one of these tear-jerkers, though in a more intense and intentional manner. He was not the victim of an accident, nor did he give in to the natural cycle of birth, life, and death. He was hostilely accosted in the middle of the night, beaten and tortured, mocked and scorned, and hung out to die.

Like any of us experience today, the death of a friend was overwhelmingly sad, distressing, and unexpected to those who loved him. It was such a slap in the face that His disciples slumped into a dark room and wept together over their great and unexpected loss. His mother tore her robes and cried unceasingly, her heart pierced as with a sword.

Sleep evaded their weary bodies and brains. Food held no interest. Tears flowed involuntarily down the cheeks of His family and followers. The sad sound of weeping and wailing filled the darkness until some could stand it no more. Death may have extinguished their hope, but it would not hold them back from the one they loved.

Rising early to care for the body of their loved one, the women walked through the dusky, quiet streets holding hands for encouragement and strength. Leaving the town behind, they tripped over roots and ruts as they walked to the tomb, burdened with spices and wash rags to properly prepare Jesus for eternity.

Great despair had seized their hearts and minds. They could not comprehend what happened next. Angels met the women and told them their journey to the tomb was over, but the adventure was just beginning. Jesus revealed himself to his loved ones as the living, resurrected Righteous One.

In that one moment, the last page of the Book of Death was turned, and a new book, the Book of Life, was begun. Life before was a prequel of an adventure sequel that still keeps us on the edge of our seats. But unlike the readers of Jesus’ day, we have already flipped ahead and know how this one is going to end. Rest assured, the only tears at the end of this story are tears of joy! Long live the King!!