The Bible Tells Me

I’m not the Bible scholar I should be. I know some verses; not as many as I ought. Still, I find most of my experiences can be framed or underscored, explained or illuminated, by Scripture. Or maybe a hymn or a worship song, a devotional or a testimony. Frequently, I have those “Oh, yeah” moments when I see God clearly in an event. Or realized that I should have seen Him.

These are the moments of “The Bible tells me.”

These essays reflect that. Do know that I can proof-text as well as anyone. I have a concordance, and I know how to use it. Well, truthfully, I do all of that online now, where I can quickly find a passage, see it in many versions, and choose the one I like best. I try not to be narrow, but instead broad, as I apply Bible words to my experiences. I know that your interpretations and understanding may be different than mine. But I also know that our God is big enough for all of us.

I have a friend who, in her prayer time, likes to tell jokes to God. “I know He knows the punch line,” she says. “But I tell them anyway. He likes it when I laugh.”

He likes it when I laugh. I’m going to hang on to that. It’s Biblical. The Bible tells me.

Our mouths were filled with laughter then,
and our tongues with shouts of joy.
Then they said among the nations,
“The Lord has done great things for them.”
The Lord had done great things for us;
we were joyful.

Psalm 126: 2,3 (HCSB)

Post #30. In Which I Learn a Lesson


I know, dear reader, that you’re feeling sorry for my sad little life, where I apparently spend all my time at the grocery store, and sometimes it seems like that to me, too. But, that’s where so many interesting things happen.

Saturday morning, I decided to go grocery shopping. The milk was going to expire on Sunday, and that really cold weather was on the way, and the temps for Sunday and Monday were going to be pretty low, for us at least, and the wind was going to be blowing, which makes even a nice day muuuuch colder than the thermometer says. I ended up not leaving the house until mid-morning, then went by the library to pick up a couple of books, and finally to HEB, where I wondered why ever would people choose to grocery shop on a Saturday morning if they could go some other time. So many folks can only shop on Saturdays, and here I was, in their way, when I could easily have come a different day.

» Keep Reading

Grow Old Along with Me-Oh, Come On, It’ll be Fun, Maybe, Probably

As I, um, mature, I find that it takes longer to recover from, well, everything. After a big weekend or a few days of having company, I used to need a couple of days to get back to normal. Now, it takes much, much, much longer. And I don’t always realize how long it takes until I wake up one morning, days later, and realize that I feel better, physically, and mentally. So, I expected to need significant down time after the big Thanksgiving to-do.

» Keep Reading

Fa, la, la, la, lah, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, laaaaaaaahhhh!

On Facebook last week, someone posted a link to a blog by a woman who said that her Christmases in the 70’s were better than now. She talked about the cool toys she got and cool things she wore and the cookies and cupcakes and the memories. And how she hoped that the Christmases she was crafting for her own sons would be magical and extraordinary so they would have great memories, too.

I feel that way about Christmas in the 50’s. The way the house smelled with the real tree and the sugar cookies. The faux fireplace that Mother and Daddy made by covering Daddy’s knee-hole desk with brick-patterned crepe paper, where our stockings were hung. The tree-shaped sugar cookies that were slathered with green frosting. The way we got to open one gift on Christmas Eve, before we went to bed.

Of course the Christmases of our childhoods were better than now.

» Keep Reading

Harried. Harriedier. Harriediest.

Seems like I spend a *lot* of time here.

Seems like I spend a *lot* of time here.

Thanksgiving, last year, I made a woman r-e-a-l-l-y angry at the HEB supermarket. It was a whole week before Thanksgiving Day, and I was buying as much of what I needed as I could, beginning to get ready for our guests–both sons, both daughters-in-law, my sister and brother-in-law, my niece, and one of her roommates.

» Keep Reading

I Know GIGO Means “Garbage In, Garbage Out.” It Could Just As Well Mean “GOOD in and GOOD out.”

My sister home-schooled her kids.

A house where kids are home-schooled often has a different sort of decor than homes where kids go off to school each day. I visited a home-schooling house once that had a historic time-line circling the dining room. My sister’s kitchen walls boasted maps, spelling words, and, among other things, a bird clock.

» Keep Reading

Oh, No, Honey. Not THOSE Toys

We didn’t have Sunday School for kids last Sunday morning because the bikers were coming. Every year at church, we collect new toys for the Mission Waco Toy Store. Several churches participate, and on Thanksgiving weekend, local bikers (some are members of “Riders of the Son”) ride from church to church and pick up the toys. (They bring a trailer, too, for the toys, which is efficient, but keeps drivers around Waco from being able to see bikers guys and gals roaring around with Barbie dolls and Lego sets tucked under their arms.)

This year, an adult Sunday School class sponsored a time for parents and kids during the Sunday School hour to talk about Advent and giving and about the bikers’ ministry, and then the bikers came. They thundered into the parking lot and the kids got to meet the bikers and get close to those motorcycles (which are turned off at the time), and even sit on a bike. Then the bikers packed up all the toys we had donated, and blasted off to the next church.

» Keep Reading

What Happened Next…

As I write this, on Sunday afternoon, it is FREEZING here. Literally. Well, right this minute it’s 33 degrees, but it’s supposed to mosey on down to 32 in an hour. I put on my heavy wool coat this morning, on my way to church. I put it back on when I left church at 12:30 or so. I ran errands until after 5:00 (you know, company’s coming!), and

» Keep Reading

Comments?!!?! BLAM!!

When I started this blog, I had a lot to learn. A lot. Kevin and Jeremy have pushed and led me through the process and helped me solve the problems that arise. One thing that didn’t come up at the beginning was the “comments” option. I knew that blogs had comments, but I didn’t think through how those things happened until my first posts went out. I got a couple of e-mails that said there was a comment waiting for my approval. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do nor how to do it. I phoned Jeremy to get help.

“I have to approve any comment anyone makes?” I asked, surprised.

“No,” he said. “You get to approve any comment anyone makes.”

» Keep Reading

Here. Feel My Forehead. Doesn’t It Feel Hot to You?


When I was growing up, the only thing that would keep us home from school was fever or throwing up. Well, that and chicken pox, but chicken pox wasn’t a recurring malady. Usually, one bout of chicken pox and you were done. Beyond that, no matter how we fussed, complained, and explained how bad we felt, Mother would squeeze some nose drops in our noses and off we’d go to school, whatever the weather. And we had to walk, yes, WALK. From first through third grade, I had to walk twice as far to school as my sister. Actually I think it was four times as far. JoAnne did all her elementary school days in our new house, the house where I live now. It was a good half-block walk to school. Our other house, where I started school, was at least two whole blocks away from that school, and even if it was raining, cold, windy, or broiling hot, I had to walk . No matter how I felt. And sometimes, I felt crummy.

» Keep Reading