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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)

I Think I Might Have a Stalker

| Gentleness, Kindness, Patience, Peace

I like to work outside. The weather’s nice right now, and there are fall-ish things to do, and I think that working in the yard is good for me, from a physical standpoint and a mental standpoint, too.

I enjoy the flora.

 

I like the fauna.

Last week, I was working in the back yard, trimming some lower hanging limbs in a space where I have a garden bench.

This is a nice shady spot and is particularly pleasant this time of year, when the temperatures are lower (much less sweatier) and I can sit and read. As I was trimming and neatening up the area, a bird flew by me and landed on that larger limb that’s running across the top of the photograph. Yes, right there in front of me. I took a step toward that limb and the bird just sat there, as if challenging me to bother him. I was amazed. I took another step forward. He cocked his head and turned and flew . . . to that next limb, as if to imply that, yes, he saw me, but he wasn’t at all bothered that I was right there!

He wasn’t somebody’s pet parakeet. He was a wild bird. He should have, I thought, been much more reluctant to be anywhere near me. Maybe someone else in the neighborhood feeds birds, and he just assumed that all of those big folks are regularly handing out treats.

I lopped off a couple more limbs, then gathered up my tools and walked up to the patio at the back of the house. And then, and I am not making this up, he followed me.

 

 

Apparently, he’s gotten bored with it all. I’ve been outside a couple of days this week, and I haven’t seen him. Maybe he’s marshaling his forces and planning to return at some point, with reinforcements. I’ll send updates if he shows up again.

 

How lovely is your dwelling place, Lord Almighty!

My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.
Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young—
a place near your altar, Lord Almighty, my King and my God.

Psalm 84:1-3 (New International Version)

Hmmm. I’ve been saying “him,” but it might be “her.” Maybe I should be more charitable, and remember that having a home, a nest, a safe place, is universally important.

Four New Friends

| Joy, Kindness

Actually, not exactly new friends, but four new folks that I’ve been able to converse with, while all masked up.

I wrote, a few weeks ago, about my homemade, folded-up type of mask. I had two of them, and they were sort of warm, and, as summer approached, I looked for another option. I’d seen, on Facebook, a mask that I wanted. I ordered two of them.

I was grateful for the instructions, which included helpful illustrations. There were those two barrel-shaped things that I could attach to the elastic loops to make those loops fit my face. And, thank goodness, they included the very important paper clip, which I could use to pull the elastic through those barrels. I guess there are people who don’t have paper clips on hand. I have scores and scores of them. Of course, once you unbend one, they’re a little difficult to bend back into shape. I was, however, able to use the first paper clip to also adjust the second mask, so, at this point, I’m a paper clip ahead.

 

On Thursday, I met the fourth person who pointed to my mask and said, “University of Hawaii.” Not a questioning, “University of Hawaii?” But an assured, “University of Hawaii.”

 

The first person who said, “University of Hawaii,” was a pharmacist’s assistant at the Target pharmacy. “Yes,” I said, surprised, as it’s not a logo that most Central Texans easily identify.

He said that he’d lived there for a few years, when he was growing up. His dad was a career Air Force member. I said that my husband had also been in the Air Force, and that’s where I had finished college.

“You must have lived some interesting places,” I said.

“I was born in Iceland,” he said.

The next place that the mask got recognized was at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I was removing a cart from the row outside the door and was watching a little kid who was playing by the carts.

“It looks like you’re having fun today,” I said (as I cannot stop myself from talking to little kids, but when I do, I’m careful to keep my distance and keep my hands on my cart’s handle). A man with him (who I thought was his dad), said, “University of Hawaii.”

“Yes,” I said. And then a friend of theirs walked up, and I didn’t have an opportunity to talk more.

A couple of weeks ago, Jeremy came for a visit. We weren’t able to visit the restaurants that we might have chosen, in a less pandemic-type time, but we could order things and go, all masked, and pick them up. As we were leaving a sandwich place, to take our lunch home, a young man walked by and said, “University of Hawaii!”

I said, “Yes. How did you know?”

“My sister has just enrolled,” he said. “I went with my family to take her there.”

“That’s where I finished school,” I said.

And, then, the most recent recognizer, a guy at Wal-Mart.

“University of Hawaii,”  he said, as I walked by him. “Rainbow Warriors.”

“Yes,” I said. “How did you know?”

“I follow college sports,” he said.

“You must follow lots of teams,” I said.

“Well,” he said, “I’m from Los Angeles,” which explains why he might be well-versed in West Coast teams.

“I grew up here in Waco,” I said.  “My husband was in the Air Force when we were first married, and he was stationed at Hickam Air Force Base. Our two years in Honolulu were so very interesting. It broadened my horizons considerably. And I finished school there. So, yes, I am a Rainbow Warrior.”

He was now the local Coca-Cola distributor guy, and was checking on all the Coke products, which are numerous.

“Thanks for talking with me,” I said, after we chatted a few more minutes. “Welcome to the area.”

 

That’s why you must encourage and help each other, just as you are already doing.

1 Thessalonians 5:11 (Contemporary English Version)

 

I realize that, in Texas, people may be a little chattier than in some other places. But a nod and a smile aren’t difficult ways to make a brief connection. And, these days, it seems as though most folks are feeling a rather “we’re all in this together” sort of kinship. (Smile big, since it’s only your eyes that are showing.)

Shortly after I got the masks, grandson Peter came for a visit. After we’d run a few errands one afternoon, he said, “What’s that ‘H’ for, on your mask?” I said, “It’s where I went to college. Where I graduated from.” I held it up and said, “University of . . . . ” (I thought he might know, since his dad was born in Hawaii, right before we came back to Texas, and he knew that’s where Kevin was born.) Peter thought a moment, and said, “University of Hillsboro?” (Hillsboro, for you non-Texans, is a small town between Fort Worth and Waco, where we sometimes stop if we need gas or a bathroom break. Reasonable guess.)

 

 

I Think It’s Supposed to Rain Soon

| Patience

Since it’s on most folks’ minds these days, I looked up some quotes about fire.

The most tangible of all visible mysteries – fire.
Leigh Hunt

Fire is a natural symbol of life and passion, though it is the one element in which nothing can actually live.
Susanne Katherina Langer

A small spark can start a great fire
Emmet Fox

Fire will attract more attention than any other cry for help.
Jean-Michel Basquiat

People who fight fire with fire usually end up with ashes.
Abigail van Buren

How can we extinguish a fire if we don’t first cut off the fuel that ignites the inferno?
Arun Gandhi

Fire has always been and, seemingly, will always remain, the most terrible of the elements.
Harry Houdini

Burn not your house to rid it of the mouse.
Latin proverb

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
Latin proverb

It also concerns you when the nearest wall is burning.
Latin proverb

I guess if we (or someone with “know-how”) really could make it rain, some folks would be thrilled and others would be angry/disappointed/frustrated. But for now, the folks in Oregon would be in the “thrilled” category. And we would be thrilled for them.

 

For lack of wood the fire goes out,
    and where there is no whisperer, quarreling ceases.

Proverbs 26:20 (New Revised Standard Version)

 

When situations become tense and out-of-one’s-control, quarreling often ramps up. How frustrated and scared and anxious they all must feel–the homeowners and fire fighters and local officials and friends and family members, close and distant.

My sister, in the Seattle area, says that, while they are safely at a distance from the fires, the skies are yellow and dystopian, and the sun looks like a drawing that a young child might draw of a big red ball.

I Am NOT a Shoplifter!

| Faithfulness, Self-Control

I’m really not, at all, a shoplifter. I just thought, for a short while, that I might be. Inadvertently, but still, maybe.

After using a particular brand of skin care and makeup for many, many years, I changed brands. I’d talked with my sister about what I was using now. I’d purchased the cleanser and moisturizer, and that sort of thing, but I’d not been able to find the makeup. I asked what she’d used and what color worked best for her, and I got helpful advice. I had looked for the makeup at a few stores, but without success. And I thought it might be a product that had to be ordered, instead of just picked up in the cosmetic aisle.

A few days ago, while doing shopping for arriving company, I turned the corner at my grocery store, and TA-DAH! There was a stocked supply of the brand I was searching for and a variety of hues of makeup. I spent several minutes looking at the bottles, comparing colors, putting bottles next to the inside of my wrist (which is how and where one is supposed to do that sort of thing). I finally chose the one I thought was best. The bottle was slender, and I was careful about where to put it in the basket, lest it roll around and possibly slip through the spaces of the cart and get lost.

“Maybe I should put it in my purse until I get to the checkout,” I thought. (Foreshadowing? Possibly.)

I did a bit more shopping, then waited, at a six-foot distance, for my turn at the checkout, and unloaded my groceries onto the conveyor belt. I helped bag up my groceries, plopped them back into the cart, and wheeled them out to my car. I unloaded the cart and drove back home. I’d made several stops during the morning and needed several trips into the house to empty the car. I was weary and only removed the cold and frozen stuff from the bags, to put away. Everything else could wait until later, to be stored on cabinet and pantry shelves.

The next morning, I cleaned and freshened up my face, ready to apply that brand-new makeup.  I went back to the kitchen and began digging in the bags that hadn’t yet been unloaded. No makeup.

“Nooooo,” I thought. Had I, after all, put the makeup in my purse to stay safe, and forgotten to remove it and have it scanned? I retrieved the receipt for my shopping trip. Oh, no. There was no makeup on the list.

“I’m going to have to go back to HEB and confess my problem and pay for it,” I thought. I would need to go back as soon as possible, in the event that there were cameras (and, surely, there are cameras). I dug, carefully and diligently, through my purse. Hmmmm. No makeup.

So, if I hadn’t put it in my purse, and I hadn’t taken it from the cart, then where was the makeup? Either I hadn’t noticed it in the cart and neglected to remove it, or it had actually done as I feared, and fallen out of the cart, after all. Whichever was the case, I was not a shoplifter, accidentally or purposefully.

But, I was going to need to go back to the store and get that makeup that I wanted to use. And, of course, there were a few things that I’d thought of that I should get, too.

 

No! For unless you are honest in small matters, you won’t be in large ones. If you cheat even a little, you won’t be honest with greater responsibilities.

Luke 16:10 (The Living Bible Translation)

 

 

And I object to folks who walk through the produce department and pull a few grapes from their stems and walk away, munching on them.

You Are NOT Going to BELIEVE What Happened!!

| Patience

It rained.

That may not seem terribly amazing to you, depending on where you live. Where I live, rainfall is pretty scarce in the summertime. And, yes, I do know that it’s September now, but summer isn’t done with us yet. Not by a long shot.

So, when rain is predicted at this time of year, we’re skeptical. Really skeptical. Oh, yeah, sure, the sky might cloud up a little. The sidewalks might get a little damp. But we’re not going to stop watering the outdoor plants.

And, rain was predicted this week. I was not particularly excited Tuesday evening, as I crawled into bed and pulled up the covers and went to sleep. Briefly. Then it really did rain. And, not just some rain. Enormously loud thunder, crackling lightening, and wind whipping rain against the windows. Really. It happened. Check the weather data .

I was so excited. I’d gone out a few days ago and scouted out all the pecan trees that were growing around the yard. Not, of course, trees that we had planted. Trees that had come up because the squirrels had planted them, back last fall. I’ve mentioned that before, I’m sure. When the pecans fall, in the autumn, squirrels pick them up and bury them, so that they will be able to get them in the dead of winter, for holiday feasting. But, because they are squirrels, and have teeny, tiny, little brains, they have NO IDEA where those tasty pecans are. So, when the springtime rains come, those pecans, which are, essentially pecan seeds, begin to sprout and grow. ALL. AROUND. THE. YARD. In flower beds. In potted plants. In the garden with all the thyme plants.

EV’RYWHERE!

And here you go–the beginnngs of several pecan trees, who will NOT live to see another day.

 

 

 

After the giant rainstorm in the early hours of Wednesday, and heavy and light rainfall all day, I was pretty sure that the ground was soggy. All Thursday morning, I checked to see if the rain had stopped. It was lighter, but still constant. Finally, mid-afternoon, no more rain. I put on my overalls, rushed out of the house, grabbed the Sharp-shooter shovel, and went to work. It was soooo easy. Quick work.

And, really, you can’t just clip those entrenched trees off at ground level. They are determined to LIVE! Those roots are pretty sturdy, and they’ll just keep on putting out leaves. You really have to dig them up. I did my best.

It’s an important matter from a foundation standpoint. Those little pecan saplings, if left to grow, will grow. If left unchecked, they’ll damage the foundation.

If only we could teach the squirrels to plant their pecans in appropriate places in the yard.

 

There is an occasion for everything, and a time for every activity under heaven: a time to give birth and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot …

Ecclesiastes 3:1,2 (Christian Standard Bible Translation)

 

If we lived in a cabin in a forest, then we could let lots of pecan trees grow. But we live in a house in a city, so we’re working to make good choices for our flora, without trying to make life harder for the furry fauna.

My Tire Was Tired

| Patience, Self-Control

Back in June, Kevin and April and Peter came for a Father’s Day visit. We had talked with them about the problem of our out-dated garage door opener situation and the suspended shelves that would, eventually, have to be removed in order to have the newer-type of garage door openers installed. They offered to take on the task of removing those shelves. They spent a couple of days taking down boxes that contained some of Kevin’s things and some of Jeremy’s things and some of our things. And, then, the more complicated process of removing the shelves themselves, and the supports from which the shelves were suspended.

It took a while.

We found places (some temporary) for the boxes that came down. But there was quite a bit of lumber, scraps, large nails, etc. that we couldn’t really reuse. April and I took the usable wood to Waco ReStore, a place where donations of new materials are used for Habitat for Humanity homes, and usable recycled materials are sold at discount prices, enabling people to work on their own homes and also keeping those things out of the local landfill.

Still, there was quite a bit of junky debris that we loaded into their car and my trunk and took to the local citywide recycling center, which also takes scrap and junk that might be too bulky to fit in our regular trash containers. We tossed that stuff into large metal bins

All that happened on Thursday and Friday. Saturday morning, I went out to run some errands and restock the cabinets and fridge.

My car has a space on the dashboard where I can see what my speed is. But, it’s also a sort of information center. If someone gets out of the car and doesn’t completely close the car’s door, an alert pops up, as I might be driving away, that says, “Door Ajar,” and the little diagram shows me which door isn’t closed properly. If the temperature drops, it will warn me that there might be ice on the road, due to the cold. It doesn’t, however, realize that there hasn’t been any rain, so, no ice. Still, if there ever is rain and freezing temps, I’ll be glad for the information.

This is the tire track that the flat tire on the car made. I took this photo a couple of days ago, in other words, it’s been there for two months. We’ve had rain, some of it quite heavy. And, there have been lots of intense sunshine. And still, the tire print is still there. Quite clearly.

It also tells me if a tire is low, and it identifies which tire needs air. That is what I saw while I was out on errands. It said, “Tire pressure low.” So, I realized that, when I was done with my errands and got back home, I should let David know, as he is the tire guy for us.

I made several stops, the last one being Target, close to home. As I drove that last mile home, the car seemed to be driving rather rough, and when I got home, I drove the car into the driveway, stopping before going into the garage. When I got out and looked, that tire seemed, rather, sort of, quite flat.

I fetched David. And said, “The car always gives me plenty of warning. It said, “Tire pressure is low,” not “Tire is completely flat!”

So, the jack has to come out and lift the car. The lug nuts have to come off and the very flat tire removed. The doughnut tire has to be attached. And the car has to go off to get a new tire.

During all this, Kevin says, “Remember yesterday, when we were at the local recycling place? And April said, ‘There are lots of nails lying around here.'”

Yes, we did remember that. So, I’d been driving around all morning on a tire that had a nail. And the accompanying hole.

 

 

Our counsel is that you warn the freeloaders to get a move on. Gently encourage the stragglers, and reach out for the exhausted, pulling them to their feet. Be patient with each person, attentive to individual needs.

1 Thessalonians 5:14 (The Message Translation)

 

A few days after Kevin and April got home, Kevin called me. Seems like April also got a nail in one of her tires, too. Fortunately, they discovered it before she drove it to death; it must have been a pretty small nail. And, I’m grateful that people in my family treat me with patience.

Alexander!

| Joy, Patience

I’ve been a fan of Alexander Hamilton since high school. Part of our Junior year curriculum included American History. At some point, we got the assignment to write about an American Revolutionary figure. I don’t know if I chose Alexander Hamilton, or if my teacher made the assignments. However that happened, he was my guy. And this wasn’t a huge research project, it was just a report, a couple of pages or so long.

When I was just three years old, my parents purchased a set of encyclopedias, thinking that they would be a great help to me and whatever sibling came along (turned out to be JoAnne). And the encyclopedias were helpful. For example, at some point, when I was in elementary school, I awoke in the night with the panicky realization that I’d forgotten about a report I was supposed to write a about the sun or moon, or something spaceish. I crept into the den, pulled out the appropriate volume, and sat in my closet (which, thank goodness had a light in it), and wrote the report. So, really helpful.

Years later, when I got the Hamilton assignment, I started with the encyclopedia, reading the entry and then making an outline (as English teachers for a couple of years, or more, had drummed into us). Because my dad had a love of books and a love of history, there was also a one-volume History of the American Revolution, sitting on the built-in shelves, and, I think, another book, whose title I can’t recall. I read through all those, made notes, plugged the information into my outline, and wrote a rough draft. The next evening, I went through it again, and then wrote the final draft to turn in the next day in class.

The day after that, we all trooped into the classroom and sat ourselves down in our chair desks. I was in the second chair in my row. Our teacher walked over to me and handed me my Hamilton report.

“Would you please come up front and read your report,” she said. Hmmmm. It had an “A” on it, so I didn’t think I was in trouble. But of course I did what she asked. I read it all and then sat down.

The teacher stood up and said, “THAT is what a well-researched report should sound like. Copying an entry from an encyclopedia is NOT what I assigned.” And she stalked back to her desk and snatched up the other reports and handed them back. A friend who sat in front of me leaned back and whispered, “What did you do?”

I leaned forward and said, “I had a few books, and I read about Hamilton. And then I made an outline and used all the information I’d read and wrote the report. What did you do?” I asked.

“I copied it from the encyclopedia,” she said.

I like to read, and I like to write. For many years, I wrote preschool Sunday School curriculum and Missions curriculum, and articles and support pieces. That friend, whom I occasionally see at a local sandwich shop, is a CPA. A ‘way different skill set from mine.

 

 

Put your heart and soul into every activity you do, as though you are doing it for the Lord himself and not merely for others.

Colossians 3:23 (The Passion Translation)

 

When I learned that there was going to be a Broadway musical about Hamilton, I really wanted to make a trip to New York. But I suppose that those shows would have been sold out for, possibly, longer than I might still be alive. So when I heard that they had actually filmed a version, and that it was actually going to be televised, I was pretty excited. Kevin and April have Disney+ and I thought that they might let me come up on July 3 and watch it. Then I looked and discovered that a month’s subscription to Disney+ was about $7.00 or so, which is less than the cost of a tank of gas to Fort Worth and back. Of course, I subscribed. I’ve watched it three times. So far.

Meanwhile, back to that set of encyclopedias. When JoAnne, who was five grades behind me in school, needed to write a report about satellites, she went straight to them. The entry said that, “The moon is a satellite of the earth. And the earth is a satellite of the sun.” Not exactly what she was looking for.

Distracted Thinking

| Patience

We’ve heard about distracted driving, that lack of concentration while driving a car when we should most certainly be paying attention to the car, the road, the signs and signals. Of course, on a long, cross-country trip, we might have a lesser level of concentration, and we should STOP IT!! We should STAY CONCENTRATING.

My problem is more of an “at home” problem. I sometimes, often, or maybe usually, get lost in thought. Not important thought. Just … thought.

Maybe … when I’m working in the yard. I start out pulling weeds from the front flower bed, for example. I might also be listening to an audio book. Then, at some point, I realize I’ve completely lost the thread of whatever plot points have been flowing into my ears in the last ten to fifteen minutes. And, when the story’s next sentence is: “Margaret came back into the room and said that dinner was ready,” I might think: “Margaret? Who’s Margaret? When did Margaret join the plot?”

And it’s not like pulling weeds is that distracting. I just end up thinking about how I need to call my sister. That sort of thing.

Sometimes, I make a nice list of what’s for dinner for the week. Sometimes, not. In that case, I look through the stuff in the freezer and think, “Tonight, this, and then tomorrow night, that.” In the meantime, I’ll have thought about a score or so of other things I need to do, and some of them get done, and some have to be shelved. And then, when tomorrow night comes, and I’ve thought about a dozen other important things, I think, “Dinner? What was the plan?” And I have to dig through stuff in the freezer all over again.

Peter was here for several days. Many of the things he’s accustomed to doing, especially on weekends, haven’t been available recently. We ran our errands, all masked up. We made cookies, he got to play with a kid next door, we watched some favorite videos, and he read whole lot. He and David went to a nearby park, early in the morning when it was cooler and only one other family was there. And, on Saturday afternoon, they were able to visit a local museum, which had been closed since March. Masks, limited people, and many favorite, hands-on type activities weren’t available, but, they got to go.

On Monday, we’d gone (all masked up) to Big Lots to purchase items for a Family Resource Pantry that our church helps stock. We had a list, we checked things off, and we also bought several other things that caught his fancy that he wanted, snacks for us, tea for his mom, and a small Transformer vehicle. After everything had been bagged up, we pushed the cart out to my car and put everything in the trunk. Where it stayed, because we take turns with other churches, and our week was the next week. This keeps the space in the church that distributes the items from getting too overwhelmed with stuff. But I wanted him to take part in the helping aspect of this ministry.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” I said. “Right before we leave Waco next Monday, we’ll go by the place where all these things get dropped off. Then, we leave town and go to Fort Worth. That’s the plan.”

All the rest of the week, we hauled all the cereal boxes, bags of rice, bags of beans, cans of vegetables, soup, meats, bottles of shampoo, detergent, dish washing liquid, sticks of deodorant, etc, in my trunk, as we went around town.

Last Monday, I washed and dried all his clothes. We packed up all his stuff, and put the bags in the back seat, next to his booster seat (as the trunk was full of that Family Pantry stuff). We had to drive by the book drop at the library, and he returned the videos and books he gotten. Then, we went to the post office to mail a package.

“Now,” I said. “Here we go!” I drove off to get to the Interstate, and it wasn’t until we were just ready to get on I-35 that I said: “Oh, No!”

“What?” Peter said.

“The Family Pantry!” I wailed. “I completely forgot about the Family Pantry stuff.”

And, because of the epic highway construction that’s happening just a ways back towards town, it would have taken at least 20 minutes each way to get to that church and back to where we were.

So we went on to Fort Worth. I dropped Peter off at his house and visited for a short while, then got back on the road, and drove all that stuff back to Waco. Wednesday, I dropped it off at that church, where it will all get sorted and boxed up and delivered to families.

 

Never give up. Eagerly follow the Holy Spirit and serve the Lord.

Romans 12:11 (Contemporary English Version)

Wen time fo work hard, no be lazy. Make shua yoa heart show dat you go all out! Work fo da Boss.

Fo Da Rome Peopo 12:11 (Hawai’i Pidgin)

 

As we were checking out at Big Lots, another employee came over to help bag up our stuff. Just as the checker was almost done, I pulled out my wallet and retrieved a coupon I’d gotten online. “Oh!” she said. And the other guy looked a little startled, too. “I got it online,” I said, wondering if I’d not paid attention to a date or something. But, it seems that I should have presented the coupon at the beginning of the checkout process.

“We’ll just take everything out of the bags and rescan them,” they said.

“Oh, no,” I said. “We’re not going to do that. That’s ‘way too much trouble.” But they insisted. And I insisted. And I checked the expiration date on the coupon.

“This is good for a couple of weeks, still,” I said. And I explained that I would be back in a couple of weeks to purchase these same things, again.

“This is for a Family Resource Pantry that my church participates in. When I come back, this coupon won’t have expired. I’ll use it, then.”

And they agreed. And I’m sure they were really relieved, to not have to re-scan ALL THOSE CANS! ALL THOSE BAGS! ALL THOSE BOXES!

 

The Cinderella Bags

| Peace

Several months after my mother passed away, my dad moved to a retirement residence. My sister, JoAnne, came and we started the work of getting ready for an estate sale. As we pulled items from cabinets, we’d look at a thing from our growing up years and one of us would say: “Do you want that?” And, as often as not, the other would say, “No, I don’t want it, but I want you to want it.” Getting rid of so many items that had our histories attached was difficult. But, neither of us had space in our homes to bring in, say, two more sets of dishes, the pots and pans that we grew up using as we learned to cook and bake, and a whole house full of furniture. Daddy had taken some things to the retirement residence, but nowhere near what we found ourselves left with.

We certainly did keep some things, and we used the proceeds from the estate sale to rent a U-Haul to take things that JoAnne did want. She did take some furniture, as did I. She took some of the dishes, for her son who was living in an apartment and actually needed some dishes. But much of the U-Haul’s space was cluttered with the Cinderella bags.

When we were first going through the house, after Daddy moved, we opened up a couple of large, lidded, rattan containers in the master bedroom. They held plastic bags. Not the grocery store kind, but, for example, dry cleaning bags. I supposed Mother meant to (and maybe did) cover other clothing items, like rarely used heavy coats or nicer dresses that she wanted to protect. There were also bags from department stores where she shopped. Some had handles, which would have been useful for toting things for an overnight trip or back and forth to church; that sort of thing.

Cinderella was a very nice ladies store in downtown Waco. They carried clothes, lingerie, probably hats, and . . . shoes. For most of my growing up years, we didn’t shop at Cinderella. Too expensive. But later, in my late teens, we did go there. I remember, clearly, the first pair of shoes I got at Cinderella. They were white, with a rather chunky heel, and the leather in the toe area had been woven. I loved those shoes. When you purchased something at Cinderella, you got a good, sturdy, pink-and-white striped drawstring bag, for carrying your purchase(s) home. My mother, who even saved dry cleaning bags, was most certainly not going to get rid of a Cinderella bag.

In addition to all the other stuff we had to go through in my parents’ home, there were the documents, paper stuff, memorabilia, photos, et al. And we just didn’t have time to make careful decisions. So, when we found things that looked important, we took them with us. In the U-Haul, in sturdy plastic bags. Many of them were genuine Cinderella bags.

As we traveled, at every gas stop, JoAnne would say to me and her daughter, Natalie: “Get some Cinderella bags from the back.” We’d put them up in the cab and go through the papers/documents/stuff, and decide if we could get rid of them or should they be kept. Then, at the next gas stop, we’d dump the rejected papers in the trash bin by the pumps. And we’d put the “saved” papers back in the truck’s rear space and retrieve a few more bags. And the bags, all of them, no matter what sort of bag they were, began to be referred to as “Cinderella” bags.

All the way from Waco, Texas, to Seattle, Washington, we went through the Cinderella bags. In one bag, we found Daddy’s speeches. For many years, he was a very active member of a Toastmaster’s group. There were lots of speeches. Natalie and I pulled out a couple of them to read aloud. One was about how he always liked suits with vests. He talked about the suits he’d had and how he wanted to be sure to be buried in a vested suit. We put the speech folders in a “keep” bag.

In Seattle, JoAnne’s family helped move all the furniture, saved items, and the Cinderella bags into the house. I stayed to visit for a few days and then flew home. Over the next few years, JoAnne and Jim made a few moves. At some point, she mailed me two Medium Flat Rate boxes, which were full  of documents and photos and stuff from the Cinderella bags. Then, when she was living in Texas, she brought me a couple of large bags, also full of documents and photos and stuff.

Last week, I opened up those boxes and went through those bags. And I tried to put all sentimentality aside. We have a significant amount of papers, photos, documents, etc., in our house. I don’t have room for another whole set of papers, photos, documents, and stuff. There was shredding.

I’m not quite done. There were three large folders with information from Daddy’s family: civil war records, family trees. When I looked over all those legal-size papers with long lists of folks, my eyes got blurry. But all this looking at papers and invitations and gobs of photos makes me realize that I need to be culling out stuff that I’ve kept that will just be stuff that my own sons will have to deal with. So, it’s made me think more carefully about stuff and is all of it really important to me? Hmmm. Maybe. And maybe not.

 

Then he said to the crowd, “Don’t be greedy! Owning a lot of things won’t make your life safe.”

Luke 12:15 (Contemporary English Version)

 

When Daddy moved into the retirement residence, we didn’t realize he was ill. He seemed tired, but, he was in his 80’s, and Mother had passed away a few months earlier, so it didn’t seemed too alarming that he would still feel weary. Eventually, he was hospitalized. When he wasn’t interested in the Detroit Tigers’ (a baseball team that he had supported for most of his life) being in the World Series, JoAnne knew things were amiss and came to see him. He went into a nursing home on a Monday. She arrived on Wednesday evening and spent all day Thursday with him. She and I went on Friday morning to have breakfast with him, and then went to run a few errands. We went back to be with him at lunch, and, when we entered the foyer, a nurse came to stop us and said he’d quietly passed away. We began the process of funeral arrangements, and went to his apartment in the retirement residence to get his suit for the funeral home. As we pulled it from the closet, we said, “the vest!” We needed his speech about his vests. JoAnne called home and talked Natalie through where to find the storage tote that had Daddy’s speeches. Natalie found it for us and read the first few paragraphs for us to write down to give to his pastor for the funeral. So I guess it’s maybe okay and useful to keep some things, after all. Some things. Not everything!

I Say Tomato; You Say Light Bulb

| Self-Control

I suppose life would be much less interesting if everyone had the same, exact, idea about how we ought to organize stuff. Easier, maybe, but less interesting. We all have varied ideas about how storage spaces should be organized. And, what exactly should be in those storage spaces

Clothes? Arrange clothing by season? By color? By frequency of wear? By when and where the clothes are worn? Or, the popular, whatever! style of closet organization. And what are you going to do with your shoes? Are you the kind of person who has so many clothes that you put the out-of-season clothes in a different closet. (And, do you really have an extra closet?) And, will you remember what’s in the other closet? Will you buy a winter coat, forgetting that you already have a winter coat, but you forgot about it, because it was in a trunk in the garage?

Games? Sort by the age group that plays the game? Sort by size of box the game is in? Sort by family popularity of the game? And would that mean that the Monopoly game would end up on the top, not easily accessible shelf in the closet?

Puzzles? Are you actually going to work a puzzle a second time, anyway? And, you could try to sell the puzzle in a garage sale, but who would be willing to purchase a puzzle that might have a few missing pieces?

Can you get in the closet where the games and puzzles are? I can get in my game and puzzle closet . . . if I take the vacuum cleaner out first.

And what about books? Should the cookbooks be in the kitchen? (I know, that does seem sensible, but . . .) If I have a holiday cookbook that only gets used a couple of weeks a year, should that one get shelf space in the kitchen if I’m only going to look at it in December. I know an interior designer who thought books should be shelved by color, which, I agree, would be attractive, but what if I’m wanting to do some research and I cannot recall what color the Thesaurus was. (Of course, that’s silly, who actually uses a real Thesaurus these days, when there’s one online.)

Do you have a junk drawer? And, if so, why? Really? Junk? Of course, it’s probably a miscellaneous stuff drawer (I don’t have any junk, do you?).

You might have a place where you keep your well-organized stash of fabric/patterns/yarn/knitting needles/crochet hooks/thread/needles and pins/and those sorts of things.

You might create wonderful photograph albums/memory books/scrapbooks. And where will you keep all the things you need for putting together the photograph albums/memory books/scrapbooks?

Christmas? The tree/the lights/the ornaments/the wrapping paper/the ribbon/the tape/the gift tags/the greeting cards/the tree skirt/the candles/the holiday tablecloth and napkins and placemats (I’m going to have to stop!)

And, of course, what I’m keeping, organizing, and storing is probably much different from what you’re keeping, organizing, and storing. Not necessarily better, just different.

 

Don’t hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and corroded by rust or—worse!—stolen by burglars. Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it’s safe from moth and rust and burglars. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being.

Matthew 6:19-21 (The Message Translation)

 

Hmmm. Maybe I need to be re-thinking what my storage areas say about me.