Posts Categorized: Kindness

I Haven’t Counted Them and I’m Not Going To

| Faithfulness, Goodness, Joy, Kindness, Love, Patience

I mentioned  before that David’s mother passed away in July. In the weeks and months before that, David and his five siblings began to decide how to divvy up a big household’s worth of belongings. There was furniture and dishes and silverware and books and jewelry and clothes and a big assortment of all sorts of stuff. There were things that several folks wanted and things that NO ONE wanted.

David went back again a couple of weeks ago. He brought home his parents’ college yearbooks and some documents and photographs. He packed up a nice sewing machine that his aunt in Memphis thought would be nice to have. He left it at her house on his way back home. And, he brought home some yarn.

A couple of David’s sisters, who live in the area, worked (and worked and worked and worked) to organize the house’s material goods. There were a lot of bags of clothing that went to helping agencies in the area. They bagged up pieces of jewelry that no one had already asked for (each sibling is supposed to take a bag, to dispose of how they wish). And they bagged up some yarn.

If you don’t participate in the yarn-based arts (knitting, crocheting, weaving), then you don’t quite understand what yarn workers are like. And what yarn workers do like. We like yarn. We might purchase some yarn that is perfect for a new project. We also might purchase some yarn that we just like, even though we don’t necessarily know what we might use it for. Or when we might use it. Some of you might suggest that we could have an obsession with yarn. We do not plan to pay attention to you.

David didn’t want very much from his parents’ house. We have a house with plenty of furniture. We have dishes and pots and pans and lamps. I don’t wear much jewelry (David did bring home the required bag of jewelry, and I have offered it up to some friends. Some of it is going to church for the preschoolers to pretend with.) I did bring home, when we were there in July, a few small Corning Ware pans. I already had a couple and they’re pretty useful. Beyond that, we didn’t collect very much. But, before he left for his most recent trip, I said, “Bring yarn.”

My sisters-in-law said that they unearthed LOTS of yarn. I think there were 60 white trash bags full of yarn. Seriously.

I belong to a knitting/crocheting group that is very helping-oriented. They create items to make chemotherapy patients comfortable, they make shawls and lap afghans for people in nursing homes, they craft handmade hats for children in a low-income child development center in town, they knit and crochet items for homeless folks. These are yarn workers on a mission.

So, I said, “Bring yarn.” He was able to pile 20 bags in the car. Here’s what 20 bags of yarn looks like:

Actually, there’s quite a bit missing. I invited a yarn-desirous friend over a few days ago. She carefully went through several bags and took a couple of bags’ worth home. I’m pretty confident that I’ll be able to find loving homes for all the skeins. It may take a few weeks; there’s a limit to how much I can transport to the knitting/crocheting folks at a time.

Some of the yarn won’t really work well for places where the hats, shawls, etc. will need to be machine washed and dried. My mother-in-law purchased some really nice, quality yarns, like wools and cottons whose care tags read: “hand wash and lie flat to dry.” But, I think there will be enough to go around for whomever and whatever and however. I might even keep some for myself.

 

She opens her hand to the poor,
    and reaches out her hands to the needy.

Proverbs 31:20 (New Revised Standard Version)

Not all the members of my yarn group are “shes.” But they are all pretty much on board with that helping and reaching out business.

 

Enough Excitement to Last Me for Weeks

| Kindness, Patience

At the end of Peter’s visit with us, a couple of weeks ago, I’d washed all his laundry and packed it up. We’d made a list of all the errands we needed to run, before I took him to meet Kevin so they could return to Fort Worth. I’d loaded all his stuff in the car. We gathered all the videos and books that needed to go back to the library. And, just before I said, “Let’s get in the car,” Peter came to me and whispered, “I heard a sound. I think there’s a bird in the house.”

I thought we had time to play a pretend game, and I said, quietly (because we don’t want to alarm pretend birds in the house), “Where is the bird now? Is he still in this room?”

“No,” said Peter. “I think he flew into your room.” So, we tiptoed to my room, walked quietly in, and …

 

 

THERE WAS A BIRD IN MY ROOM!!!

There it is. Sitting on the blinds. I tried to get some video, but the bird was way too quick for me (and probably really fearful, too).

Then I told Peter, “I know exactly what to do.”

I did know exactly what to do, because, several years ago, we had a bird in the house. David had left early to go to church one Sunday morning. He lowered the garage door when he left, and a bird, who flew in the garage for some unexplained reason, and unknown to me, got stuck. When I opened the door to leave for church, the bird flew in. At that point, I had no idea what to do, so I just went on to church.

When I got back home, I called Animal Control. Turns out, they do not come and remove birds from people’s houses. “How do I get the bird out, then,” I said.

“Close all the doors in the house,” the guy said. “Of course, you’ll leave open the door of the room where the bird is. Then, open a door to the outside, being sure that you’ve left a way for the bird to leave. He’ll fly out.”

I found that a little bit incredible, but I followed the instructions, and, indeed, the bird flew out the front door.

I told Peter what we needed to do, and we got to work, closing doors and turning out lights in spaces that didn’t have doors. I opened the front door and put a flowerpot by the storm door, to keep it open, too. I went in the bedroom and rattled around to make the bird uneasy, and, Ta-Dah, the bird flew right out the open front door. Whew! Peter’s idea was that we should leave all the interior doors closed, to keep out birds that might fly in at some other time, but I said, no. Birds don’t usually fly into people’s houses. I thought we’d be all right.

So then, we were getting things together to leave the house and Peter said, “Mimi. I think there’s another bird in the house.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s not very likely that another bird has flown in.”

Hmmmm. There was another bird in the house. In the living room. So we went back to closing up rooms, and I opened the door, and ZIP. The bird flew out so fast that we barely saw him.

Here’s what we think happened:

The garage door was down, and I was taking Peter’s bags and suitcase and backpack, etc., to the car. We’re assuming that the birds either got caught in the garage, when David closed it when he left the house to go to work. Or, they may have just wiggled in the spaces at the bottom of the garage door. We know they are able to do this, because the baby birds who were in the nest that was in the garage, did not die in the two weeks we were gone. The nest was empty when we returned.

However they came to be in the garage, we’re thinking that they were alarmed by my walking around in that dark space, and flew into the house, which I had left open, and was substantially brighter than the garage, hoping to escape. I didn’t see them go in. Peter didn’t see them go in. But … they were in. And apparently, pretty anxious to get out.

 

Lord God All-Powerful, your temple is so lovely! Deep in my heart I long for your temple, and with all that I am I sing joyful songs to you.

 Lord God All-Powerful, my King and my God, sparrows find a home near your altars; swallows build nests there to raise their young.

You bless everyone who lives in your house, and they sing your praises.

Psalm 84:1-4 (Contemporary English Version)

Bible commentaries say that this psalm writer was envious of the birds that made their nests under the eaves of the temple, because they, basically, lived at church. I know that the birds I’ve had in my house were always looking for the light. A good example for me.

 

Out With the Old, and the Older, and the Older, and the Even Older . . .

| Goodness, Kindness, Patience

A while back, a few years, maybe longer than a few (I lose track), I bought a new ironing board cover. And, I bought a pretty one. For many, many, many years, I just got the regular, silver-ish, plain old ironing board covers. But the most recent time (however longish or shortish it was), I saw a lovely, red-with-flowers ironing board cover. I thought it would look nice in the room where I iron (and sometimes sew). It did. But, ironing board covers don’t last forever (at least they don’t if people keep ironing on them). A little hole developed in the middle of my pretty red ironing board cover. The more I ironed, the larger it got. I needed a new one.

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Travelogue, Part 2

| Kindness, Love, Patience, Peace

Years and years ago, when Kevin was in elementary school, he misplaced a cassette tape we had borrowed from the library. It was overdue, and, believe it or not, at that time our library did not charge late fees. But, we did need to find it. While he was at school one day, I meticulously went through his room, searching for the missing tape. He had some shelves along one wall, with bins that held various toys and games and supplies. He had a bookshelf, a chest of drawers, and a desk. I went through every single one of the spaces, searching for the tape. I did finally find it, in (and I am not making this up) the last place there was to look. He had a chair desk with a shelf underneath the seat, and that’s where the tape was. But, before I got there, as I searched all the other places, in every single space I pawed through, I found:

In every single space!!

 

I had a very similar experience while we were in Tennessee. David’s mom (who celebrated her 95th birthday while we were there), is in a rehab center now. I spent a couple of days working in her bedroom, straightening up and cleaning up the space. She had several purses. Actually, twenty-five of them; I counted. I went through every one, making sure she hadn’t accidentally left cash or credit cards in them (or who knows what). They were basically empty. Nothing valuable. But in every purse (every one of them) I found:

In every single one!

It was a little deja-vuish, reminding me of the search from years before.

I also found these interesting items in my mother-in-law’s room:

If you’re not old enough to recognize them, here’s how those things were used:

Then, for fun, I got to go to North Carolina to have lunch with friends in Black Mountain, and go to the Appalachian Folk Art Center in Asheville. And then, for more fun, David and I went to West Virginia to visit my cousin, Nancy.

We went to the Monocacy National Battlefield, in Frederick, Maryland, which was interesting, and a place we were unfamiliar with.

 

 

Kevin took me to task last week for including the fact that, when we left town, there were baby birds in a nest in the garage, and, upon returning, we didn’t immediately check on them. You’ll be relieved (or, absolutely unconcerned) to know that there was a completely empty (no carcasses) and clean nest up there. Apparently, the parent birds did a lovely job of sidling in the space at the bottom of the garage door with food for their kids, and shepherding them through their childhoods until they were ready to fly away.

 

 

 

 

Live under the protection
    of God Most High
    and stay in the shadow
    of God All-Powerful.
 Then you will say to the Lord,
“You are my fortress,
    my place of safety;
    you are my God,
    and I trust you.”

Psalm 91: 1,2 (Contemporary English Version)

Traveling is great! Seeing family and friends and visiting new places are invigorating! Now, I’m about ready to rest in my (physical) place of safety for a while.

I Really Never Know What to Do at Times Like This

| Kindness, Love, Peace

Here’s what happened to me last weekend. The doorbell rang and there was a man I didn’t know standing on the porch. He explained that he was the son of a lady up in the next block. “You know, the one with the little dogs.”

“I don’t really know anyone in the next block,” I said. And he told me his story.

He was visiting his mother (up in the next block), and she’d left the house on some errand, and he needed to go get his daughter in Waxahachie  (a real town in Texas, up near Dallas-you can look it up).

“I lost track of the time,” he went on. “When I realized I was running late, I picked up my keys and rushed out the door and pulled it shut. It locked behind me before I realized that I hadn’t picked up my wallet or my phone. So I don’t have any cash or credit cards or ID, and I can’t call anybody. I need gas for the trip. Can you help me out? I need about $25.00.”

Hmmmmmm.

I understand that, because I am an honest person, I’m inclined to think that other folks are honest, too. And sometimes I’m right, and sometimes I’m wrong. Really wrong.

So now, what to do? What to do?

I’m sure I looked skeptical.

He pointed to the car parked across the street.

“That’s my car. I can give you my license number. I sure hope you can help.” (Insert sad-looking but hopeful face here.)

Of course, later, I thought of all the questions I should have asked.

Do you live here in Waco? I can call a friend for you.

Has your mother lived here a long time? Did you grow up in that house?

What’s your mother’s house number?

How many miles is it from here to Waxahachie?

Can you spell Waxahachie?

 

I’m am also aware that it is exactly the sort of thing that I might do.

So I gave him $25.00.

“I’ll bring you the money, when I get back into town,” he said, oh so earnestly.

I waited a few seconds. then I said, “You know, why don’t you just pay it forward.”

“Oh, no!” he said. “I’ll bring it back. I’ll put it in an envelope and put it in your mailbox.’

“No,” I said again. “You just go ahead and pay if forward.”

So I’ll never know, will I, if he’s an honest man or not. I’m willing to choose to think the best.

 

Give to the one who asks you, and don’t turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

Matthew 5:42

 

I will admit to checking the curb the next morning, to see if there was some sort of graffiti that might signify “gullible lady lives here.” The curb was clean.

Angels Unawares*

| Kindness, Love

A stranger was kind to me a couple of days ago. I thought it might make a blog post, and I thought of the quote “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

I looked up that quote, to be able to attribute it correctly. I put “kindness quotes” in the search engine, and got a page of poster-like things containing various quotes written in cute scripts and fonts, all attractively portrayed. The quote I was searching for appeared several times. It’s by Tennessee Williams from the play A Streetcar Named Desire, spoken by the character Blanche DuBois. When I looked for the context of the comment, I decided it wasn’t what I was looking for.

I found this: “You cannot imagine the kindness I’ve received at the hands of perfect strangers.” Somerset Maugham. This quote is from the novel The Narrow Room, and I can only find the briefest blurb about it, so, with no real context, I’m not sure it’s what I’m wanting, either.

I kept on looking at the quotes, which seem to be basically screen shots of posters. I found a couple I liked:

“The unexpected kindness of strangers when you’re having a stressful day just makes everything easier.” Lacey Chabert (actress, voice actress)

“At this point, the only reliable resource is the kindness of friends and strangers.” Robert Hayes (actor in such productions as Airplane and Sharknado 2)

“If you rely on the kindness of strangers, be prepared one day to pay them back.” Linda Poindexter

I’m unfamiliar with Linda Poindexter, and when I searched for her, I found that there are several ladies who share that same name. I think she’s the one who was an Episcopal priest.

I also like this non-stranger-related quote from her:

“If one drop of rain can find its way to the ocean, then one prayer can find its way to God.” Linda Poindexter

But, on to the stranger issue. I’ve mentioned before about how I occasionally embarrass Jeremy in New York by trying to chat (in a friendly way) with people in the grocery store, the way I do in Waco, Texas. Earlier this week, I said, “Oh, excuse me” a couple of times, when I rounded a corner from one aisle to another, and came cart-to-cart with another shopper. We smiled at each other and went on. Someone barrelled out in front of me and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” And we smiled at each other. We just interact more, and in friendly ways, here in the Lone Star State, even though we are pretty much strangers to each other.

Which brings me to the kind stranger I met earlier this week. I was heading into church Wednesday morning, to help clean out a supply room. The wind was howling and I was shivering as I walked across the parking lot. I did have on a dress and extra shirt, a sweater, and a jacket (all buttoned up to my chin). A few people were walking in, too–leaders for the community college-staffed English and GED classes that we provide space for, Monday-Thursday mornings.

My heavy knit jacket–
I replaced the buttons recently. The button holes had stretched a little bit, and the buttons kept popping out.

The back of my jacket–
This is how the tie belt was tied when I bought the jacket, and how it usually stays.

A woman was walking a few feet ahead of me, and as we walked into the building, we were commenting on the chilly, blustery day. There are two sets of doors at the entrance, and as I walked through the second one, I realized there was another lady behind me. “Oh, exucse me,” I said. “I didn’t see you there.” We smiled at each other and walked on in. A few feet further, there are a couple of steps up into the main hallway.

“Oh, wait! Wait!” She said. I stopped and turned around, but she went on toward my back. Her arms were full of her teaching supplies, but, one-handed, she untied the fabric belt at the back of my jacket. She reached around and pulled one end of the belt and the other around my waist.

“Tie it,” she said. And then smiled in satisfaction when I’d had it snugly around my waist. “It’s warmer now,” she said. And I said, “Thanks.”

She went happily along to her classroom, and for the rest of the day, I made sure my belt was tied when I was out in the wind.

Maybe in Brooklyn, or other places, someone might have said, “Mind your own business!” Maybe in Brooklyn, she’d never have been so bold. And while I was a little startled, I took it in what I’m imagining was a loving concern. A kindness from a stranger.

 

Don’t neglect to show hospitality, for by doing this some have welcomed angels as guests without knowing it.

Hebrews 13:2 (Christian Standard Bible)

One of the poster screen shots had the “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers” quote, but attributed it to W.E.B. Dubois. Hmmmm. No, I didn’t think so. I looked up Mr. Dubois and found several quotes (none, however, related to strangers). I liked these:

“Children learn more from what you are than what you teach.”

“The most important thing to remember is this: To be ready at any moment to give up what you are for what you might become.” W.E.B. Dubois, PhD.

* The King James Version translation of Hebrews 13:2 says: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” When I was growing up, I always thought that “unawares” was a word that modified the noun “angels,” instead of the verb “entertained.” I didn’t really know what “angels unawares” were, but it sounded lovely.

 

Christmas Perfect, or Christmas Memorable

| Gentleness, Goodness, Joy, Kindness, Love, Patience, Peace

If all your Christmases run smoothly, and everything’s perfect–just like it was so carefully planned, how do you remember one Christmas from another? Do they just blur together, in one big holiday collage of red and green and a tree and lights?

Not at our house. We live in RealWorldLand, where the best laid plans stay lying around, being balky and uncooperative, which means that we are often, at holiday time, remembering previous disasters/missteps/etc. Like, “Remember the time Mom put Snickers bars in the toes of our Christmas stockings, and we had the fire going on Christmas Eve and on Christmas morning, and when we dug the candy bars out, they were all melted in their wrappers?” Stuff like that. Nothing particularly serious. Just memorable.

Jeremy and Sarah arrived the Friday before Christmas, from New York. They rented a car and drove to Waco from DFW airport. (Even though Jeremy really appreciates the public transportation in New York, he seems to have missed, a little bit, being able to drive.) We had a pretty relaxing time, doing some cooking (there were still some apples left over from Halloween, and they crafted some homemade applesauce, which was yummy, and for Christmas dessert, they made Apple Crisp). Memorable.

Jeremy dug through the game closet and pulled out games to play.

Jeremy and Sarah and I played a round of Ticket to Ride. Then we played again with David. I was in last place, seriously in last place, both times. Then, we played again with Kevin. I won. By a lot! Which proves that, while a little bit of skill is important, luck plays a significant part in this game. Memorable.

Also memorable this year, April wasn’t able to come. Peter had been sick, but was well enough to come (if you don’t count that fact that his ears were still stopped up and he often appeared to be ignoring us). April, however, was pretty sick, missed her own family’s celebration, and stayed in Fort Worth. We’ll remember that Christmas without April, but we hope it doesn’t happen again.

As I planned and prepared for Christmas dinner, I kept thinking, “Oh, I should have  . . . .” And I bought the ingredients. (And, I had actually baked and sliced two small turkey breasts for Christmas dinner ‘way back right after Thanksgiving, and put them in the freezer. Unusually ahead of time.) Quite memorable.

Kevin and Peter were arriving late afternoon on  Christmas, and we were cooking and getting ready for a good part of the day. The counter just kept getting more and more crowded. Just as I was putting some of the final dishes out, I suddenly felt really weak and shaky. I plopped into the rocking chair in the kitchen and said, “My blood sugar’s low.” “What do you need? What do you need!” “Juice,” I said. “There’s white grape juice in the fridge door.” They brought it over, and kept putting out food and arranging things. The turkey was heating up in the oven, and they kept asking what else was supposed to be out and where was it. Finally, it was just the turkey that needed to come out.

Some nice, sliced turkey pieces, lying artfully amid the glass pie plate shards.

 

Jeremy picked up the glass pie pan that was holding the turkey slices and carried it to the serving area. About three inches away, the pan slipped from the pot holder in his hand and crashed to the floor. Turkey and glass shards everywhere. Fortunately, some of the turkey was still in the oven. On another pie plate.

Jeremy looked down at the mess and said, “Was that plate special?” “Well,” I admitted. “It belonged to my mother … but I have the other one. There’s another one!” There was enough turkey for everyone (well, for the everyone who’s not vegetarian). Pretty memorable.

 

The kids worked on a desk/bookshelf for David’s office. Then they erected a small enclosed (plastic) greenhouse sort of thing, for me to use to keep my plants safe during the winter. Mem.Or.A.Ble!

And some things aren’t all that memorable; they’re just traditions that we like to keep up!

We went to the Christmas Eve service. Maybe we won’t remember the exact details a few months from now, but it was good to see family members who have come back for the holiday to visit. It was good to sit in the dark with my own family, and hear the songs and the story. It was good to see the candlelights all around the room. It was memorable.

 

Mary, too, pondered all of these events, treasuring each memory in her heart.

Luke 2:19 (The Voice)

Wishing you many memorable moments to treasure in your heart.

 

Autumn Update

| Faithfulness, Joy, Kindness, Patience, Uncategorized

The first time I handed out apples for Halloween, was, I think, the year before Jeremy was born. David was taking Kevin around to family and friends, and I was home with the porch light on and apples in a bowl. Most kids seemed happy about the apples, but not one. He knocked on the door and I opened it and held out my bowl of apples. He looked down at it and said, a little angrily, “Apples! I don’t want an apple!”

“Well, that’s all I’ve got,” I said. And he turned around and stalked back down the sidewalk to his dad, who was waiting at the curb.

“What did you say to her?!?!” Dad yelped. And I shut the door with a bit of a smile. Halloween is a nice time to learn manners and appropriate behavior.  And I’ve persevered.

This year, I bought four bags of apples for Trick-or-Treaters. I emptied three of the bags into a basket to take to the door. I didn’t count the apples, but it seems like I maybe gave out about one-and-a-half bags worth.

The weather forecast was dreary, but the rain had fallen late in the afternoon, and by time kids came, things were just damp. I think our house might have been the only one on our block with the porch light on.

A group of three or four came early, and then there was quite a lull. But, later, there were several doorbell rings and small groups of children, all ages, and all dressed up.

I’m still a little amazed that most kids think that apples are a cool thing to get for Halloween (and I’m determined to be the lone voice of reason in a sea of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups–which I would eat six of every day, if I was allowed that sort of thing–the Reese’s, not apples).

One little fellow, the smallest of his group, the ‘way smallest of any group, stood solidly by the door as his companions reached, one by one, into the basket for their apples. For every apple they put in their bag, he put another apple in his little plastic pumpkin, saying, rather zombie-like, “Apple! Apple! Apple! ” with every one. I finally stopped him, because I was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to get safely down the steps without falling over sideways from the significant weight of his apple-filled pumpkin.

Lots of apples remain, which is not as much fun as an apple basket full of Butterfingers, but better to have around. We may need to make applesauce in Sunday School.

Meanwhile, the fall plant report.

As long as the earth remains,
there will be planting
    and harvest,
    cold and heat;
winter and summer,
    day and night.

Genesis 8:22 (Contemporary English Version)

 

 

And, I suppose, squirrels.

 

…By Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

| Faithfulness, Gentleness, Goodness, Joy, Kindness, Love, Patience, Peace, Self-Control

Possibly there are folks out there who don’t recognize this partial quote. (The title of this post) It’s Shakespeare, from the play Romeo and Juliet. The longer quote is:
“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;”

The speaker is Juliet, and she’s unhappy that the young man with whom she’s recently fallen in love is from a family on the outs with her family. Her point being that his last name doesn’t matter; she loves him anyhow, in the way that the scent of a rose is going to smell just as nice, even if we called it, for example, “stench-plant.”

The name “Romeo” has come to mean a lover, a ladies’ man, etc. (you can look it up). I don’t know what Shakespeare meant by it; maybe it was just a common name in those days.

But … moving on. A while back, I kept reading in the newspaper’s television page about the program TURN, the story of George Washington’s spy ring during the Revolutionary War. Like: “Tonight on TURN, the spy ring finds a new ally.” That sort of thing. Finally, during season 4 (the final season), I got interested and discovered that the library had DVDs of the first three seasons. (Yes, I know. We’re archaic. My kids think we’re ridiculous because we don’t have Hulu.) I watched all those videos and then watched the fourth season on the AMC website.

Then I found, also at the library (how old-fashioned am I!), an audiobook edition of the book Valiant Ambition: George Washington, Benedict Arnold, and the Fate of the American Revolution. I’m listening to it. All 13 hours and 19 minutes of it. I’m a little more than halfway through it, but sometimes I have to go back and start a chapter anew. When I’m listening to an audiobook, I’m almost always doing something else, like working in the yard or doing housework, and, at some point, I realize that I’ve been thinking about herbs and not paying attention to patriots, and I have to skip backwards a little bit. And, for this one, a book of Revolutionary War maps would have helped. And a complete list of all the characters. And which side they were on.

Which brings me to Benedict Arnold. The only thing I knew, and pretty much still know, about Benedict Arnold is that he was a traitor during the American Revolution. I think that may be all that most of us know. And some of us probably don’t know that much. But the name means “traitor.” As in: “That which we call Benedict Arnold, by any other name would still be a traitor.” Even knowing more about him and the positive things he did during the Revolutionary War (before he changed his mind about us), he’s still famous/infamous for trying to sell us down the river, almost literally, and would have, if the plot hadn’t been discovered. And the British guy he was working most closely with, John Andre, got captured and hanged. Arnold slipped away and got himself to a British ship and fought with those guys until the end of the war. And then, afterward, in England, tried to stir up things anew! Give it up, Ben!

It’s interesting, at least to me, maybe you, too, that there are names out there, that, when bestowed at birth may just have been names that parents liked, but they’ve come to mean something that no one might have imagined. Like Benedict Arnold. Like Adolph Hitler. Like Benito Mussolini. Like Josef Stalin. Like Caligula.

And there were other names, that have come to mean something that the name-givers (or name-takers) might not have expected. Or, maybe they thought, all the time, that those named would become so significant. Like Mother Teresa. Mohandas Gandhi. Martin Luther. Marie Curie. Johann Sebastian Bach. Alexander Graham Bell. Anne Frank. Francis I.

A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold. (New International Version)

A good reputation and respect are worth much more than silver and gold. (Contemporary English Version)

Proverbs 22:1

 

I guess “a good reputation” is what scripture means by “a good name.” Our actions, our behavior, and our attitudes, are what make our “names” good.

 

 

Oh, They Tell Me of an Uncloudy Day

| Kindness, Love, Peace

Many, many years ago, I went to San Antonio as part of a team doing Sunday School leadership training. I was also asked to be a driver, picking up a woman from the Waco area and also a woman in Austin, on the way down. We arrived Friday afternoon, taught a session on Friday evening and another one on Saturday morning. Lunch was provided for all the team members before we headed back home. There was a storm approaching the coast, but things were all sunny in San Antonio, so we stayed, too, and had lunch. As we left the church where the training had taken place, the sky was darkening. It wasn’t a hurricane, by any means, or even a tropical storm. But there was a lot of rain. A whole lot of rain. Pouring, drenching, buckets of rain. We crept along, in a line of cars, cautiously and carefully, all the way from San Antonio to the north side of Austin, almost 100 miles. The rain was only marginally less when we let our Austin passenger out. And, the rest of the way to Waco, my remaining passenger and I relished the idea that we’d be getting some needed rain, too. It was one of those “almost no rainfall all summer” years.

We drove on towards Waco, and, about five miles away from the city limits, the rain stopped, the clouds dissipated, and the hot summer sun shone down on us. We were so disappointed!

This past weekend was, of course, quite different. We got two days of steady, gentle rainfall. The temperatures (which really haven’t been horribly hot) dropped fifteen degrees or so. The weather was great. I sat on the front porch and read. And, when the rain stopped, early this week, I worked in the yard, every day. And I felt guilty the whole time, because I know exactly why we are having such nice weather.

Everyone I know who lives in coastal Texas is doing all right. There’s been some inconvenience, some necessary traveling, some lost trees, some spoiled food because the power was out. But they’re all doing okay. No one I know has lost property, lost vehicles, lost pets, lost loved ones. And here’s the scripture that accompanied the devotional I read Thursday morning, the verses under the heading: “Rules for Christian Living”

 

Let your hope make you glad. Be patient in time of trouble and never stop praying.  Take care of God’s needy people and welcome strangers into your home.

Romans 12: 12,13 (Contemporary English Version)

 

Timely words, as we pray for some uncloudy days.

 

 

At the end of last week, Peter came for a visit before starting Pre-K this Thursday.

 

Here’s the Wikipedia reference for the song Uncloudy Day

Here’s a video of the song, refered to as Unclouded Day