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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)

The Royal Purple

| Joy, Patience

I’ve mentioned before (a couple of years ago) about the amount of yarn that I got when David’s mother passed away. She was quite a yarn shopper and yarn hoarder. And also quite a knitter.

Over several weeks time, I took bags of yarn to my knitting group until almost all of it was carried away by delighted knitters and crocheters. I did keep a little bit of it for myself. I have several skeins of beautiful green that I cannot decide, still, what to do with. And there’s some blue I like. And, there’s some purple.

A friend of mine really likes purple and I thought I’d make a cowl for her. I had two kinds of purple yarn. One was lovely and soft and wool, and, therefore, a little itchy. When I held it up to my cheek, it was rather uncomfortable. It went into the Goodwill bag. The other one was just as soft and just as beautiful, but was acrylic and not at all itchy, so that’s the one I went with.

I found a pattern that I liked in one of my knitting books. I checked the suggested needle size and, of course, didn’t have the right one and had to go buy one. But, now, if I get another beautiful piece of yarn, I can make a cozy cowl for someone else. Or for me.

The nice thing about knitting is that I can sit around watching movies or television programs and not feel like I’m wasting time. I’m knitting!! I’m making a gift! The pattern is easy, and, since it’s a cowl, it’s just pretty much knitting around and around and around, without having to think, the way one has to if they’re making a sweater, for example. Those things have necks and armholes and you have to make sleeves, too, and, really, a cowl seems like the way to go.

I knitted my way through Hamilton and, yesterday, I discovered a movie, Downfall, about the last days of the Third Reich. I thought that sounded like something that would be interesting while I was trying to knit my way through to the end of the cowl. I started the movie and discovered, to my dismay, that everyone is actually speaking German. Yes, German. Which meant subtitles. Fortunately, I was just knitting around in a circle, and I managed. Except that I became more and more infuriated by those Nazis. But, I did finish the knitting.

I did have to weave in some ends, as there were two small skeins of the purple, and so I had to weave in the ends of those and the beginning and end of the berry stripes. But, now, TA-DAH, I’m done. It’s all ready to pack up and mail off to my friend. It will be a few months until the weather’s chilly enough to need to wear it. Maybe she’ll send me a photo of herself on a blustery, cowl-wearing day!

 

During the night, Paul had a vision of someone from Macedonia who was standing there and begging him, “Come over to Macedonia and help us!” After Paul had seen the vision, we began looking for a way to go to Macedonia. We were sure that God had called us to preach the good news there. We sailed straight from Troas to Samothrace, and the next day we arrived in Neapolis.  From there we went to Philippi, which is a Roman colony in the first district of Macedonia. We spent several days in Philippi.  Then on the Sabbath we went outside the city gate to a place by the river, where we thought there would be a Jewish meeting place for prayer. We sat down and talked with the women who came.  One of them was Lydia, who was from the city of Thyatira and sold expensive purple cloth. She was a worshiper of the Lord God, and he made her willing to accept what Paul was saying.  Then after she and her family were baptized, she kept on begging us, “If you think I really do have faith in the Lord, come stay in my home.” Finally, we accepted her invitation.

Acts 16:12-15 (Contemporary English Version)


From the History web site:

“The reason for purple’s regal reputation comes down to a simple case of supply and demand. For centuries, the purple dye trade was centered in the ancient Phoenician city of Tyre in modern day Lebanon. The Phoenicians’ “Tyrian purple” came from a species of sea snail now known as Bolinus brandaris, and it was so exceedingly rare that it became worth its weight in gold. To harvest it, dye-makers had to crack open the snail’s shell, extract a purple-producing mucus and expose it to sunlight for a precise amount of time. It took as many as 250,000 mollusks to yield just one ounce of usable dye, but the result was a vibrant and long-lasting shade of purple.

The royal class’ purple monopoly finally waned after the fall of the Byzantine empire in the 15th century, but the color didn’t become more widely available until the 1850s, when the first synthetic dyes hit the market.”

So, these days, we’re saving the lives of those little snails. And possibly, we should be spending more time down at the river. Who knows who might turn up.

 

Rock-a-bye Baby

| Joy, Love

Kevin was born just a couple of months before David got out of the Air Force. We were living in a furnished apartment at the time. Some people had, a few months earlier, given us a bed. The couple had a king-size bed in their bedroom, but, in their guest room, there was a double bed. They’d recently taken a vacation and visited relatives, who also had a double bed in their guest room. The couple found that bed absolutely too small and uncomfortable. When they got back home, they went and purchased a queen-size bed for their guest room. At church choir rehearsal one evening, the husband told people that they had this bed they were giving away, and did anyone want it. David immediately said, “Yes, we could use a bed.” It wasn’t a new bed, but it was a bed that had hardly been slept in, and we were accustomed to sleeping on a double bed, anyway.

I think we took the bed frame from the bed we had and the new bed’s frame, and leaned them against the wall in our bedroom. And then we stacked the box springs from the bed in our apartment and the hand-me-down bed, and then put the two mattresses on top of that. It was a wobbly few months. When Kevin was born, he slept in a car bed sort of thing we had purchased. Another church friend had given us a used crib, but we didn’t have space to set it up. It was in pieces in a storage space in under some stairs. The only other furniture items we owned were a couple of stools.

On David’s last day in the Air Force, packers were scheduled to come and put all our belongings into boxes to ship to Waco. It took much less time than usual for them, as they typically pack up whole houses of furniture and all the household stuff. We had household stuff, like kitchen stuff and a couple of sets of dishes. When we first moved in, we’d bought a set of plastic dishes, and those movers wrapped every single piece of that stuff, individually, in paper. They were very careful packers.

We did have a broom, and the packers carried it around for a while, not having a good place to pack it. “We’ll figure it out,” they said. Then they labeled all the boxes, checked them off, gave me a list to check, and I signed the form, and they carried all those cartons down the stairs and into their truck.

David came home from work a little while later, walked into the apartment, took off his uniform and put on civilian clothes, and went downstairs to the trash cans, and threw away that uniform. Then we picked up the suitcases and the baby (and the baby stuff) and went to the airport and flew away home.

We lived with my family for a few weeks. We rented an apartment, but had to stay with them until our stuff came. We finally got the phone call from the moving company and I met them at the apartment. Our shipment of household goods was pretty paltry in that great big van. The movers brought in all the boxes and then gave me the official list to sign. All the boxes were there. As we were finishing up, I noticed, at the bottom of the list of numbers representing all the boxes, the word “broom.” I pointed that out to one of the movers.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, there is a broom out there in the van.” So, our broom made the long trip, across the ocean, across half the country, lying loosely among the crates, all the way to Waco. There was a piece of masking tape around the handle that had our shipping number on it. It was definately our broom.

We had a bed and a crib. My parents had purchased some new pieces of furniture for their den, but had saved the sofa and chair for us. An aunt and uncle, who had recently moved to Waco, had a kitchen table and chairs that didn’t fit in their new home, and they gave us that. Mother was also ready to redo my bedroom, and gave us the desk and the chest of drawers from that room. She’d planned to buy us a crib, but, since we’d been given one, she bought a chest of drawer for Kevin’s things, instead.

We were all set, except for that piece of furniture that all new parents need. A rocking chair. We bought a rocking chair for rocking our new baby.

As essential as that rocking chair has been for us, I was surprised to have difficulty actually finding photos.

 

 

We wondered how much it would cost to find a similar rocking chair to put in this space. We talked about trying to find someone to repair it, as my sister and brother-in-law have moved to Seattle. And I brought up the fact that we have another rocking chair. “It’s too big,” he said. We measured all the parts of it, and it’s only a smidgen larger. It came from my paternal grandmother’s house. It’s really sturdy.

And, because I never thought about asking, I’m sad to not know if they bought the chair, if it was a gift, was it handed down from other family members. I never thought to ask the questions. I’d like to know. But, I guess it’s more important that it still does its job as a rocking chair, even with its secret history. And, even if it is only I who rocked a sad toddler, who sat and read a magazine article, who relaxed while the pasta was cooking, who took a moment to thank God for a warm home in winter and a cool home in summer, and a place to rest and relax, even for just a few minutes at a time, that’s enough joy for me.

 

 

Who Touched My Clothes?

| Kindness, Patience, Peace

To my contemporaries: Remember when we used to really dress up when we went to church? We had Sunday clothes and Sunday shoes and almost all the men wore suits and ties, and the women wore stockings and high heeled shoes. And hats!!

Thank goodness we’ve moved on.

Maybe in some churches, things are still rather formal. At our church (and in most churches I’ve been in over the past few years), we are a place where church folk can be comfortable and feel at home in more casual clothes. Clothes that are comfortable. Clothes that might cost less than dressy outfits and shoes. Clothes that do not have to be dry-cleaned. I can’t recall the last time I saw a man with a tie.

And, if I wore clothes that had to go to the dry-cleaners regularly, I would not be able to be a Sunday School teacher. A preschool Sunday School room is ‘way too messy for the wearing of silks and woolens.
Over the years, I’ve had the experience of looking down at my skirt, moments before walking up to the platform to read Scripture, and noticing a swath of purple paint across the hem.

I have sat in a pew and reached up to straighten my collar and felt the crusty, dried, results of a runny nose, wiped across my shoulder, deposited by a weeping child who felt left behind when her Mom and Dad went on to their own Sunday School room.

I have held, in my lap, a kid who seemed to be feeling a little poorly, and then felt the warmth of that “feeling poorly” run down my back.

I have, in a pale yellow dress, backed up to our drying rack, which held a painting that, in Early Childhood terms, is called Preschool Brown (the result of painting with great exuberance, using all the colors of paint available).
What’s happened to my clothes?!?

Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse.  She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak,  for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.”  Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?”  And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’”

Mark 5:25-31 (New Revised Standard Version)

 

Getting close to folks means that we make a difference in their lives. These days, getting “close” can be more difficult. I feel frustrated by not really being able to smile at people. I’m nodding to people, and sometimes even saying, “I’m smiling at you,” to someone who holds a door for me or nods as we pass.
I was hurrying into Walgreens this morning, wanting to pick up a photo I needed. As I walked from my car, I saw a woman coming out of the store. With her mask on. MASK! I’d rushed out of the car and had forgotten mine. I turned around and went back for it. She’d had several bags to put in the car and was just getting in as I passed her car on my way back. I stopped a second to say, “I’m so glad I saw you coming out. I’d forgotten my mask!” She laughed and said, “Yeah. It’s different now.”
“Who touched my clothes?” “Who touched me?” Those questions seem harder to respond to right now. We’re not supposed to get quite so physically close as we might have a few months ago. No shaking hands. No hugs. Six feet apart seems like quite a distance. We’re being challenged to find ways for contact that are different from the usual. And aren’t we looking forward to the time when we can look back and say, “Wow. That was something, wasn’t it! But we made it through.”

 

Not Helpful/Helpful

| Kindness, Patience, Peace

I needed a new phone. I liked my phone, but it was becoming more and more erratic. I’d plug it in to recharge overnight, when it might be at 17% power, or so. Then, when I got up in the morning, it might be at 20% power. Or, 15% power. I’d assume that I’d just not pushed the charger end in adequately, and I’d try again, even though I’d been counting on its being fully charged, as I was headed outside to do some yard work and wanted to listen to a book. Some days, it would charge completely, and other days, not much at all.

Kevin and April and Peter came for Father’s Day (and a few days early, to work on that garage storage stuff). I talked to Kevin about the problem, and he said it sounded like I needed a new phone. And, his idea was that, when I brought Peter (who was staying with us for several days after Kevin and April went back to Fort Worth) back home, we could go to the Apple store.

April said why didn’t we just go to the AT&T store, right here in Waco. Kevin said that the Apple store was so wonderful and had so many interesting, exciting things to see, and, as long as I was coming up anyway, we might as well go there. That’s the plan we made.

Kevin called me a couple of days before I was bringing Peter home and said that the Apple store requires making an appointment to come in, and would that be all right, and I said “sure,” so he said he’d make the appointment. Then, when I took Peter back, Kevin said that, well, you can’t actually go into an Apple store unless you have a problem or need a repair, and, yes, we were going to have to go to the Fort Worth AT&T store to get the phone. And, yes, indeed, April was right. We did go to the Fort Worth AT&T store, where I got a new phone.

They didn’t have much of a variety of phone cases for my phone, so I didn’t get one there. When I got back to Waco, I stopped at Target, where I’d gotten the case for my previous phone, which was a lovely pink, and the case was clear on the back, so the lovely back showed. At Target, there was only one case labeled for my phone, and it was really unattractive. The next morning, I headed out to look other places. April had said that she’d sometimes gotten phone cases at Best Buy, so I tried there. They had lots and lots of phone cases, but I couldn’t find a single one that was labeled for my phone. I walked around, all bent over, because nothing was at my eye level, and, while there were several staff people there, no one seemed available to help me find what I needed. And, there was a guy doing some repairs, or maybe changing lightbulbs, on a scissor lift, and every time he had to move the lift, he was (I suppose) required to sound a warning beep, to let nearby folks know he was moving. It was a LOUD warning beep. And it was going off every three or four minutes. And I finally had to leave. Too much noise. Not enough employees to be able to help. No cases for my phone.

I left and went next door to an Office Depot store. It was much quieter there, and the employees were just as helpful as the ones at Best Buy. And, I couldn’t find any cases that were labeled for my phone. As I left the store, I thought that I should just go over to the Waco AT&T store, where I thought there were would at least be the same couple of cases that had been available at the Fort Worth store.

But, first, I needed to go to Wal-Mart, which was on the way. I had a variety of items on my list, and, before I headed to the grocery area, I walked past the electronics area at the back of the store and thought, maybe they have phone cases. And, of course they did. I went to one of the cases labeled “iPhone” and bent over to start looking. Before I had read the label of a single case, an employee was at my side. “Can I help,” she said. I said I needed a case for my phone, but I’d not been able to find one identified as being for my phone. And she said, “Oh, these cases here will work with your phone,” and she pointed to a whole row of cases that, while labeled for one kind of phone, would also work with mine. “Which one do you like?” I chose one of the several cases there.

I said, “Great, I like this one.” And she said, “Are you comfortable checking out back here (in that department)?” And I said, “Sure.” And in about three minutes we were done. I guess I’ve been selling Wal-Mart short when it comes to customer service.

 

She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night.
She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

Proverbs 31: 18, 26 (New International Version)

 

Standing on your feet all day, trying to help a wide clientele of shoppers, knowing all the characteristics of all the products, staying happy, engaged, and informative, well, it just cannot be all that easy. I certainly hope it’s fulfilling.

Hoardette

| Joy, Peace, Self-Control

I do keep things. And, just possibly, there are spaces in my home where there are things that I don’t necessarily need, but that I think I should hang onto. For a while. Maybe.

And, while all this staying at home, and not going out unless you absolutely must, and staying away from people, is important, it’s also not much different from the normal and usual for me. I’m not as likely to browse in stores any more, and, while we rarely went out to eat, now that’s pretty much become never. But my life has been much less restricted than most folks, simply because I wasn’t out and about that much.

I have noticed how full the parking lots at Lowe’s and Home Depot have been, as I shopped there for plants and gardening supplies. It seems that people have been using their stay-at-home time for projects that might have been put off and delayed for various reasons. And I’ve thought hmmm, maybe I should be thinking about some home improvement pursuits, myself.

I started with the linen closet, tossing out old towel sets (that were too embarrassingly worn to even be used as rags), rearranging some things, and trying to make it easier to find those things that guests might need when they’re staying over. Stuff went to Goodwill, stuff went to the trash, stuff got moved to different locations. The flashlights that were stored there were nonfunctional and got replaced. I occasionally open the linen closet door, just to see how nice and neat it looks.

I got my own closet better organized.

In the kitchen, my Christmas dishes take up quite a bit of room. We use them for a few days a year. But, they’re my CHRISTMAS dishes. So, no culling for that kitchen cabinet. Just this evening, we were looking at a chunk of chocolate that was the result of a recipe that Peter and I tried that went really wrong. Peter was thinking that, if we had a grater, we could at least turn it into smaller pieces. “Do you have a grater, Mimi?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I was thinking about a lemon grater.”

“Nope, sorry.”

Peter opened several drawers and searched through them. No luck. I looked in cabinets. Aha.

I have a small food processor.

“This might work,” I said, and put it together and plugged it in. After cutting the chunk of chocolate into pieces that would fit into the little processor, I attached the lid and turned the thing on. It worked well. So, I’m thinking that I don’t actually need a grater.

The place I’ve been putting the most energy on right now is my office, which is also a guest room, with a twin bed and trundle, and also the place where my treadmill is. And it’s the smallest bedroom in the house. The closet has a large filing cabinet in it. There are two long shelves across the top, and on the side opposite the filing cabinet, there are a couple of short shelves. Under those shelves is a small chest of drawers, which, at this time, holds a drawer full of clear and patterned Contact paper and two drawers of picture frames.

I found the grade book from when I taught at the local community college.  I glanced over the pages and then shredded them all. I also found folders with copies of student evaluations. I looked at a few of them. They’re mostly quite positive. Maybe I’ll keep a few of them. There are folders with handouts that I’ve used, and folders with colored paper that I use mostly for Bible-related games at church. There are folders with copies of periodicals that contain things I’ve written. Lots of things can go. Lots of things can stay.

 

On the floor-things to use up, things to give away, things to keep, maybe, things to throw away

There’s that old adage that says, “As soon as you throw something away, you apt to discover that you needed it after all.” Maybe, for some things, but not for most things. I’m trying to make good decisions. I do toss old pens that don’t work and wooden pencils that are too short to hold on to. I get rid of clothes that I don’t wear any more (the trash if they’re tattered, a helping agency if they’re wearable). I toss the newspaper out every day and don’t keep magazines I’ve read. (But there can be a problem if I’ve not gotten around to reading those magazines. Sounds like I shouldn’t subscribe to them, huh?) And I do have every painting that Peter has made at our house. But, one step at a time, right? I’m trying to discern between “Oh, I really like this,” and “Oh, I really (yes, really, honestly, completely) need and use this.” One closet at a time.

 

 

 

 

For it was only through this wonderful grace that we believed in him. Nothing we did could ever earn this salvation, for it was the gracious gift from God that brought us to Christ! So no one will ever be able to boast, for salvation is never a reward for good works or human striving. We have become his poetry, a re-created people that will fulfill the destiny he has given each of us, for we are joined to Jesus, the Anointed One. Even before we were born, God planned in advance our destiny and the good works we would do to fulfill it!

Ephesians 2:8-10 (The Passion Translation)

 

I love this passage, and I love this translation of the passage. Our lives are sometimes extraordinary and sometimes mundane. But we have become his poetry! Even when I’m ironing, or cleaning the bathrooms, or going with Peter to purchase food items for the Family Pantry, I’m God’s poetry. Even when I’m just cleaning out a closet.

Before and After

| Patience, Peace

Oh, those compelling photos of the “Before” and “After” scenarios …

You know the ones:

The skinny guy who started working out and now is a buff, body-builder type.

The plain Jane lady who gets a make-over and is now lovely and confident.

The dilapidated house that is now a showplace.

The yard that was an overgrown jungle that is now beautifully landscaped.

And so on.

My photos are not quite as spectacular, but they’re making me smile.

I’ve mentioned the Caladiums, and how I planted the tubers too early and guys at a nursery (when I said I’d put them in the ground in mid-March) told me that they were most likely dead. But, then a couple of weeks later, one came up. Then, a week or so later, another one came up. I knew I had planted 15 tubers, so when there were 15 Caladiums, I thought that was it. That was not it. Apparently, one tuber can make quite a few Caladiums. I’ve been amazed and delighted and overwhelmed. When I counted this morning, there were almost 50 Caladiums. And, there are more little shoots.

(This from the Gardening Know How website: Blooming on caladium plants isn’t common, but tubers planted in favorable locations tend to produce small flowers. These inflorescences aren’t as impactful as a rose or dahlia but have their own charm and, sometimes, a strong pleasant scent. There are several schools of thought on what to do with caladium flowers. While some growers believe pinching them off helps force energy to the tubers, others leave the small blooms with no ill effect on the plant.)

They certainly don’t detract from the lovely leaves.

The whole Caladium experience has been worth the effort on that drizzly March day when I was slogging in that muddy space, trying to get those tubers in the ground in a sensible, well-planned effort that ended up with my strewing the things around and trying to get them covered with dirt (more like mud).

It’s turned out so much better than I thought it might (especially after the nursery guy told me they were all probably dead!

 

Meanwhile, there was the issue of that log I ran over a few weeks ago. Here’s a recap of the photos:

 

My friend came by one day last week, for a six-feet-away visit on my front porch. And she brought me …

this beautiful candle holder. Yes, indeed, that is the log–the log in the photo above.

And the woodworker included, on the base of the candle holder, something to remind us of its provenance. (The log was a piece of hackberry, in case you’re confused.)

 

 

 

 

 

I looked for a descriptive word for my experiences. “Catastrophe” is how I felt about them, but, really, that’s too strong. I went to “Thesaurus.com” and found the word “debacle,” which I like, but again, seems wrong. I’m going with the phrase “bad luck,” because it seems more reasonable. Not a catastrophe, or even a debacle. They were small things, in contrast to the larger, more egregious things that happen to other folks.

 

 

Let the sunrise of your love end our dark night. Break through our clouded dawn again! Only you can satisfy our hearts, filling us with songs of joy to the end of our days.

Psalm 90:14 (The Passion Translation)

 

If It’s Not *One* Thing . . .

| Patience

Recently, David came into the house and said that one of the giant springs had come off the garage door opener. And, hadn’t I noticed that?

Well, no, I hadn’t noticed that. In general, I get in my car, press the door opener remote, and drive out of the garage. When I’m in the driveway, I press the remote again and the door closes. I’m not actually looking down on the garage floor, and I don’t/didn’t notice any really large spring sitting on the concrete. David did notice it when he came into the garage’s open door when I wasn’t at home, and, therefore, that big ol’ spring was pretty was easy to see.

He said that the springs had been replaced really recently. One spring had popped off and the garage door guy said that if one was getting replaced, then both of them should be replaced. I guess so they could work in tandem. I looked in my files and found that, yes, the springs had been replaced in January, so I phoned the garage door opener people and explained what happened.

They came and asked if just one spring was replaced or both of them. I went in and got the receipt and showed them that, yes, two springs had been replaced. And, it had been in January. And they said that they’d put a spring on each side. Then they said . . .

We were living on borrowed time. The replacement springs were used springs, because our garage doors are obsolete. They don’t make that kind any more.

Modern garage door openers require garage doors that are louvered, having four horizontal panels that glide up, instead of our solid doors that glide up as one static piece. And, they said, the whole apparatus is higher up, closer to the ceiling of the garage. They looked up at that ceiling and said, “All that storage has got to go.”

And there is lots of storage. Years ago, my Dad and David created some rather crude (but quite sturdy) shelving that is suspended from the ceiling. After my parents were gone and my sister and I were emptying the house, we found all sorts of old boxes/stuff up there, including a doll’s crib and high chair that belonged to my mother, a doll buggy,  well-used by JoAnne, that had been stored in its original box, and an old potty chair that a friend of JoAnne’s wanted for her antique potty chair collection. (I am absolutely not making that up. She has an antique potty chair collection.)

 

When David and I moved into the house, those shelves got filled up again. As David and I peered up at the storage boxes, I said, “Are those our things up there?” We thought that a couple of items might be, but the bulk of the boxes are filled with things that our sons had been storing in our other house. Things that got moved and stored here. And now, while it’s not imminent, we’re looking at trying to empty up that ceiling space that will be needed for the modern, up-to-date type of garage doors and garage door openers.

It seems that, when the garage door opener company replaces old, obsolete garage door openers with the new-fangled kind, they retrieve any parts that still seem functional (like big ol’ springs) and keep them at hand, for the old fogey garage doors that are still around.

 

No one pours new wine into old wineskins. The new wine would swell and burst the old skins. Then the wine would be lost, and the skins would be ruined.

Luke 5:37 (Contemporary English Version)

 

I guess that putting old springs on old garage doors is somewhat all right. And, just as well, any new spring might just rip the door off its hinges.

Who’s That Woman in the Polka Dot Mask?

| Patience

Well, that would be me. It’s not really, exactly, a mask. It’s a make-shift mask, but it works well. I suppose.

I don’t like it, not one tiny, little bitty bit. It’s uncomfortable. It’s hot. I can’t see over the top edge. It gets damp. But I wear it.

Actually, I have two of them. Each of them is just as uncomfortable as the other.

Here’s how they get put together:

My system of disinfecting my masks is my iron. Because the fabric is cotton, it’s sturdy. I use the highest temperature on my iron, and I fill it with water and use the highest temperature of steam to kill germs as I iron. It’s very hot. When this is all over, I might make a pillow out of these squares. Or, maybe I’ll be so weary of these two pieces of fabric that I’ll just throw them away.

As a senior adult with underlying health issues, I think I ought to wear a mask. Did I mention that I don’t like it? I don’t. If I knew how much longer I need to do this, I’d be counting the days. I hope I live that long.

 

Haven’t I commanded you? Strength! Courage! Don’t be timid; don’t get discouraged. God, your God, is with you every step you take.”

Joshua 1:9 (The Message translation)

 

There will come a day when we’ll all be sitting around saying stuff like:

“Remember when we were supposed to wear masks? Wherever we went?”

Remember when we didn’t go to church, but we had ‘virtual’ church, sitting at home and watching worship service on our computers?”

“Remember when kids had to finish the school year by having ZOOM class every week?”

“Remember when we were supposed to stay at least 6 feet away from each other?”

I’m sooooo looking forward to that day.

The New(er) Routine

| Faithfulness, Joy, Kindness

For many, many years, my Sunday morning routine would be to get up at a reasonable time, get ready for church, pick up my church bag, and leave the house by 8:00 a.m. or so, maybe as early as 7:30, depending on how much I would need to do to get the Sunday School room ready for preschoolers.

Sometimes, I might need to laminate pictures for a game (requiring turning the laminating machine on and waiting for it to heat up). I would probably need to return the past week’s puzzles to the resource room and pick up some different ones, instead. I would put away materials from the previous Sunday and put out new items. Just business as usual.

Our play dough might be getting stiff; we would need to make a new batch, so I’d need to get out the ingredients, measuring utensils, and the electric skillet. And a wooden spoon. Kids really enjoy stirring the play dough ingredients in the skillet. Sometimes I have to remind them that it will never be play dough if they don’t stop stirring and let me move the skillet to the counter where I can cook it.

These days, I’ve lolled myself into a new, lazy routine. Now, our church service begins, online, Sunday morning at 10:45. I don’t have to gather up stuff; I don’t have to tote anything to a different location; I don’t have to drive anywhere. I do get dressed, but, really, I could be attending church in my nightgown every Sunday morning.

It’s calm. It’s restful. But, it’s not as much fun as spending the Sunday School hour with a bunch of little kids. And, who knows when we’ll be back to a usual routine. In the meantime . . .

Here’s what I’m doing. I have the take-home pupil leaflets for each Sunday School lesson. From the beginning of “not going to church on Sunday,” I’ve mailed those leaflets to the kids, along with a little “I miss being with you” note. After a couple of weeks, I sent other things, too.

 

 

One of my favorite enclosures was a blank 4×6 index card. On one side, I had my mailing address, my return address label, and a postcard stamp. I suggested that the kids draw a picture for me and then mail it to me. Several children did that. Then, I took photos of myself, holding each individual child’s drawing, and I e-mailed them a thank-you note.

 

Getting mail is fun for them, and getting mail is fun for me, too.

 

 

Peter was here last weekend. On Sunday morning, we watched a video Sunday School lesson presented by his Sunday School teacher at his church. And, we watched an extra lesson recorded by his mom, who is the church’s Children’s Minister. Then, Peter watched the Facebook worship presentation from our church. And, later, at 1:00, he participated in the 1st-3rd grade Zoom Sunday School from our church. They had suggested that all the kids bring something from their kitchen. Peter took a large pot.

The Bible story was Jesus’ teaching from Matthew 25: “When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat, and when I was thirsty, you gave me something to drink. When I was a stranger, you welcomed me, and when I was naked, you gave me clothes to wear. When I was sick, you took care of me, and when I was in jail, you visited me.” The Sunday School teacher explained that doing kind and helpful things for others is like doing kind and helpful things for Jesus.

Then she asked what kind and helpful things the children could do for other people. She waited for a moment, giving the kids time to think and answer. And, Peter said (without prompting), “Tomorrow, my grandmother and I are going shopping to buy things for, um, (prompt from me) the Family Pantry.”

That was, indeed, the plan we had made. Our church is partnering with several other churches around town and a couple of local helping agencies to provide a place where people who have lost jobs and have great needs and little income can get food and other supplies for their families.

(The kitchen items they brought to Zoom Sunday School were also a prompt for talking about ways to help people who are hungry.)

And, Monday morning, before Peter went back to Fort Worth, we made a trip to Dollar Tree. The helping agencies make a list each week of the needed items, and people from the churches shop for those things, as much as they’re able to provide. We then deliver them to a local church that has made its Fellowship Hall into a store for these families. (It’s a ring-our-bell-and-we’ll-come-out-and-get-your-stuff arrangement, so that no one’s too close, and we’re all masked up.)

 

I rejoiced with those who said to me, “Let’s go to the house of the Lord.”

Psalm 122:1 (Christian Standard Bible)

For now, the house of the Lord is my office space, where I attend worship service at Calvary Baptist Church of Waco each Sunday morning. I do put on clothes, and don’t stay in my nightgown all morning. Our service is live, and not a recorded video. Announcements, music, everything is live. Peter’s church’s service is recorded (which has its benefits, as church members can view it any time that’s convenient for them). Our service looks different, because it’s not taking place in the church’s sanctuary. Our preacher preaches from the living room, or even the patio (which Peter found amazing), now that the weather is warmer. I must admit, that, now that I’m at home . . .

I can knit while I’m at worship service.

Old Friends (cue the orchestra)

| Joy, Love, Patience

Down the street from us, behind the elementary school at the end of the block, there’s a park. There’s playground equipment, swings and slides and climbing structures. There’s a splash pad, too, for warm weather. And there’s a track; folks run and walk on it, parents push their babies in strollers, Peter rides his scooter around the oval. And, scattered about, there are park benches.

The park bench by the splash pad, where people of ALL ages sit, sometimes.

 

A couple of years ago, Peter and I went to the park. As we walked toward the splash pad,  I noticed a couple of men, senior adults, sitting, with their backs toward us, one on a bench, the other in a wheelchair. And, instantly, a song popped into my ears.

Simon and Garfunkel are the musical voices of my young adulthood. At seeing those men, the song “Old Friends” began to play in my head, and I was really tempted to surreptitiously take their photograph. (But it seemed intrusive.)

Meanwhile, in my head: “Can you imagine us years from today . . . sharing a park bench quietly? How terribly strange to be seventy.” I kept on humming, as Peter scootered over to the slides.

And, now, the song is back, wending its way around my hours and my days, even when I’m nowhere near a park bench, quietly or otherwise.

I’ve just turned seventy. And strange doesn’t even begin to describe it. Turning fifty didn’t bother me. Sixty didn’t seem inappropriate. Seventy is, actually, strange.

For quite some time, one of my knees hurts. It’s not excruciating, but, sometimes, it’s uncomfortable. My fingers are taking on a life of their own, skewing, swelling, refusing to bend. And my stylist doesn’t need nearly as much time to cut my hair as she used to. There’s just not as much hair there.  I’m consistently turning the volume up, on the computer, the television, and my phone. (My sons’ mantra has become: “Get hearing aids!”)

“Seventy, thy name is OW!”

Of course, the reality is that not being 70 doesn’t mean being 50 or 60 again. Not being 70 means not being, at all. And, I’d rather postpone “not being, at all.”

 

Meanwhile, back in the late 60’s, I purchased both the record and the music for Simon and Garfunkel’s album Bookends, so I can enjoy the songs whenever I want to. Well, I can play the songs, assuming my fingers will cooperate.  I don’t have a way to play the record. But, that’s what iTunes is for, right?

 

 

 

Listen to Me, house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been sustained from the womb, carried along since birth. I will be the same until your old age, and I will bear you up when you turn gray. I have made you, and I will carry you; I will bear and save you.

Isaiah 46:3-4 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)

 

Thanks be to God.