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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’ve Heard that Nature Abhors a Vacuum*

I worked in my yard the first couple of weeks in May. Then, I got sick. Not horribly. But, a cold that refused to run its course. Then, I had to prepare for, and teach, Fun with Friends. Peter was here, too, and went back to Fort Worth last Sunday. On Monday, I put on my gardening gloves and went to check things out.

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We Thought We’d Always Need That Thing

My children are confounded by the things we think that we should hang onto, keep on using, never get rid of. Like a land line (and I’m rather with them on that one). Like a television. Those sorts of things.

Kevin is convinced that, by time Peter’s ready to drive, everyone will have self-diving cars, and Peter won’t need to “learn to drive.” He’ll just get in a car, and it’ll drive him off wherever he wants to go. Only old fogys like me will still have a car that needs a “driver.” (And by that time, I most likely shouldn’t be driving anyway.)

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Cough, Cough, Wheeze, Wheeze, Ohhhhhhhh

Saturday before last, I was feeling a little, um, bad. My eyes hurt. I’d been working in the yard all week, and I thought maybe it was allergies. I don’t have bad allergies like some folks do, but every now and then, I seem to have an allergy-ish reaction to pollen or dust or leaf dregs, or something.

I went to church Sunday morning, still feeling a little bit not-quite-good, and, as I was getting the room ready for Sunday School, my throat starting hurting. I really don’t want to make a bunch of little kids sick (and neither do their parents), so I went back home. Monday and Tuesday I felt really bad and spent those days lying on the day bed and watching Extreme Hoarders (which made me feel amazingly well-organized) and Escaping Polygamy (which made me feel really grateful for parents who let me make my own life choices). Then I felt better, but developed a wracking cough, which made my voice sound strange and flat.

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In the Backyard

Summer’s truly here; the air conditioner’s been running regularly for a couple of weeks. I’ve done quite a bit of work in the yard, trying to get things done before the heat sets in. Things look pretty good. Of course, a garden is “a thing of beauty and a job forever,” which is a quote I have on a little plaque that sits on my garden bench.

Before we went to Tennessee in April, I carefully rearranged the potted plants on the patio into spaces around the yard, trying to be sure that they got the appropriate amount of sun or shade they each needed, and were placed where the sprinkler system would keep them hydrated. We were away almost two weeks, and when we pulled into the driveway, home again at last, I was taken aback at how awful the lawn looked. I went straight to the system’s controls in the garage and discovered, to my horror, that, while I had set the timer correctly, I had not actually turned the system on. EEEKKKK.

The patio plants all looked pretty poorly. The lavender looked dead (and it was). But, with some care, everything else came back fine.

 

 

I’m excited to see the big, fat berries on the holly bush.

There will be pretty red berries for Christmas!

 

And, the crape myrtle tree has lost a branch!!

 

 

 

 

But the most interesting, and a little bewildering, thing that I discovered in my yard this spring—

I was out in the yard a couple of weeks ago, and, as I rounded the corner from the back yard to the side where the ferns grow, I looked down and saw . . . yes, a hot dog. I looked at it long and hard. It’s a hot dog.

I’ve not ever seen a dog, or dogs, roaming around the neighborhood. Every now and then I see a cat (or rather, what’s left of a bird in the yard). But, really, do cats eat hot dogs? Maybe. Anyway, I left it where it was and went on with my yardwork. Then, I went inside for some lunch.

 

 

When I went back outside, to work some more, I checked on the hot dog. As you can clearly see, the space was empty. Really? The hot dog noshing dog/cat/whatever was waiting, quietly, observantly, cautiously for me to leave. Then they returned and retrieved their lunch? Seriously? Do squirrels do that sort of thing? (And really, I wouldn’t put anything past a squirrel.)

 

 

Anyway, no other aberrant food items have been deposited in the yard, at least none that I’ve noticed. Rain poured down last Sunday; if I had a gully, it would have been washed out. I hope it’s not the last of the good rainfalls.

 

 

Shout praises to the Lord, everyone on this earth. Be joyful and sing as you come in to worship the Lord!You know the Lord is God!

He created us, and we belong to him; we are his people, the sheep in his pasture.

Be thankful and praise the Lord as you enter his temple. The Lord is good! His love and faithfulness will last forever.

Psalm 100 (Contemporary English Version)

And the Photo Is, Of Course, Just Awful

A few weeks ago, I got a letter from the Texas Department of Public Safety, explaining to me that I was not eligible to renew my Texas Driver License online. Apparently, twelve years is the limit, and after that, folks have to show up in person to update their photo, signature, and fingerprints. The letter also explained that, to “enhance security, reduce the risk of identity theft or fraud, and protect the integrity of the issuance process,” I would need to verify my “social security number, identity, citizenship, and residency,” by bringing the appropriate documents with me.

The letter said: “In addition to a DL or ID, you may be required to provide other documents to verify your identiy, SSN, citizenship, and residency.

The following are some example documents you could bring as proof.

  1. For identity, your unexpired passport or birth certificate is recommended.
  2. For SSN, your social security card is preferred but a DD-214 or college/university transcript is acceptable.
  3. For residency, your Texas vehicle registration or vehicle title are examples of acceptable documents.

So, I started gathering documents. First, I knew exactly where my Passport was. I went to the drawer and, Ta-Dah! There it was. All safe and secure…and expired. I dug out my birth certificate. My social security card wasn’t in the first place that I looked, but it was in the second. And, I couldn’t find the vehicle registration or title, but I took my vehicle insurance card, which has my name, address, and the VIN numbers of the cars. And, I also took my voter registration card.

I clipped everything together (well, not the expired Passport), with my old Driver License (DL) on the top. I put them in a big envelope, to be sure I didn’t lose one of them on the way. I put them in my purse, along with a book to read while I waited. And went off to the Texas Department of Public Safety.

I got there pretty early, 8:30 or so, and the place was already filled. There were maybe 30 people, sitting in rows of chairs, waiting for their turn. It turns out that lots of stuff happens at the DPS. There was a check-in computer at the door with a list of possible reasons I might be there. Look for a Criminal Record, Schedule a Road Test (for getting a DL), Getting Forms, Reporting a Crime, and Renewing a DL. I punched my choice, and a slip of paper came out with a number (3027). And the computer said to go to the “Form Area.”

I had to ask a polite young man where the “Form Area” was, and and he pointed to a circular organizer with forms in it (that was right next to us). There was a very small sign on top that actually did say “Forms.” So, I got my DL form and began to fill it out. While I was working, a voice over the loudspeaker said, “Number 3026,” and gave a counter number. And I thought, “Hmmmm. Possibly I’m taking too long.” And, indeed, a couple of minutes later, they called my number and the space where I should go.

“I’m not quite done,” I said to the young woman there. “Oh, that’s OK,” she said. I pulled my nicely clipped together documents from the envelope, and she took my old DL, and began to punch keys on her computer while I finished up the form. Then, she looked at the form, verified a couple of things, then asked me to look into the eye test box and read line 5. Then I had to put my thumbs on a box which was supposed to capture my thumbprints. I had to try several times, but finally, we got me all printed. Then, she said, “Stand in front of the blue screen.” And she took my photo.

She printed out my temporary DL and handed it to me. And that was that. She didn’t ask for anything else I had brought. I’m sorry I didn’t time it. I don’t think it was ten minutes from the time I walked in the door until I walked out.

I’m assuming that, when she put my information into the computer, it showed that I was a resident of Texas/McLennan County/Waco, that my driving record was clean, and that I did not have a Criminal Record or any Outstanding Warrants against me. So, I guess I’m good for another twelve years. As long as I stay out of trouble.

 

Pay attention to advice and accept correction, so you can live sensibly.

Proverbs 19:20 (Contemporary English Version)

When the boys were growing up, I often said to them, as they were leaving the house, “Make good decisions.” I don’t know if my words, echoing in their ears, made a difference, but they have grown up to be very nice men. So I’m going to take at least part of the credit. And, actually, I sometimes say it to them even now, just in case they were thinking of making a bad decision. If you ask them, they might say that I said it to them every single time they left the house. And, sometimes, when they were walking around inside the house. (You just never know when a really bad idea might come creeping into one’s brain.)

And, a habit of making good decisions might just smooth one’s way through some transactions, like getting a new Driver License, without any hassle.

 

 

It’s Remote

First of all, when we were in West Virginia, I put down my glasses (which are just readers, available at all sorts of stores). Someplace. On some table at some restaurant. Some shelf in a gift shop. Some counter at some museum. When I searched for them to be able to read something, they were nowhere to be found. My cousin said she had a pair of readers that were 2.50 that I could borrow. I used them the next day and they were just right. When we stopped to get gas that afternoon, I went inside the store that big gas stations have these days, and, sure enough, located a rack of glasses. I found a pair of 2.50’s and bought them. They were perfect. That was about two weeks ago.

Today, they broke. I guess that $9.95 is not quite enough to pay for a pair of reading glasses that one expects to last for any length of time.

 

So, this evening, I’m struggling along with a pair of real, prescription glasses that I got several years ago. They are bi-focals, and I really, really tried hard for several weeks. I just could not get the hang of them; whenever I looked toward the ground, to go down stairs or step off a curb, or up a curb,  things were out of focus. I finally gave up and went back to the “readers.” I will say, though, that when you purchase your reading glasses at the dollar store, you are getting your money’s worth. Or, apparently, at the gas station, also.

This evening, then, to be able to see somewhat, I rustled up the old prescription glasses and that’s what I have on now. I also have a headache.

That’s just an explanation in case there are typos and bad punctuation, I am trying to hurry through this.

Remotes–

I’m talking about cars. When David’s car refused to leave the driveway, due to extreme old age, a few years ago, he got a new car. A new-to-us pre-owned car, that was only a year or so old. It’s a nice car with heated seats and electric seat controls (up/down, back/forth, reclining/upright). He drove it all the time, unless I was going to Fort Worth to get Peter, since I lobbied for the idea that the newer car should be the one on the highway. And, as soon as we got to town, he would move the car seat over to my car.

Until summer. I lobbied then for using his car for Peter’s and my adventures around town, particularly the zoo. We got a Grandparent Pass for the zoo, which opens up at 9:00 a.m. I said I needed his car for trips to the zoo because I could start the car remotely. One of the best features of a remote start is that, whatever climate control you’ve had the car set at, that’s what will come on when the car’s started. In August, it’s pretty warm, but not horrid until noonish or so. Peter and I would arrive at the zoo parking lot at 10 minutes or so before 9:00, in the hopes that we could get one of the very few parking spaces with some shade. We’d park, get out the stroller (Peter was two, and still content to ride through the zoo), get sun-screened, and be rolling up to the zoo entrance at 9:00. We’d be back at the little cafe at the zoo entrance at 11:00 or so, have a grilled cheese sandwich, and leave.

“If we’re in your car,” I said to David, “then I can start it remotely right when we leave. By time we get to the car, it won’t be really cool, but it won’t be so scorching hot.” (Even if there was shade when we got there, in those intervening hours, most of the shade had moved on.)

It was a hard argument to refute, so I got to drive Peter around in the “good” car. After we got that car paid off, we got another new car for me to drive. It’s not quite as nice (I have to move my seat manually) and it’s smaller. But, it was a brand-new car. With a remote start feature.

I find that really helpful. I can start the car and have it be at least a little bit cool (or warm) when I get to it. But, more importantly, I can find the car. It’s white (actually pearl), and looks very much like every other white/pearl car in the parking lots of the grocery store, the drug store, Target, Wal-Mart. I do know the letters on the license plate, which also helps. The problem, sometimes, is that I have driven up and down several rows at some of these places, looking for a nice, empty spot for the car. So, by time I shop for an hour or so, I’ve long forgotten exactly where I ended up parking the car.

Both car keys look exactly the same. I know which one is which by the *other* keys that are on each end, which does not at all keep me from sometimes using the wrong key/remote to start/open a car.

I have, on more than one occasion, walked confidently up to a white/pearl car, pointed my remote and punched, and the car did not start. Of course, it might be that I’m punching the buttons on David’s key, instead of mine. Or, more likely, I’m pointing and punching at the wrong car. Hmmmm. After checking the license, or, really, just the car itself, for example, is there a car seat in the back of the car I’m punching at? No? Then, it’s not my  car, which does have a car seat in the back.

Once, in the Target parking lot, I aimed my key at a car, several spaces away from me, as I walked toward it. Off in the next row over, I heard a car start. And, yes indeed, that one was my car. It’s so helpful.

 

Hearing and seeing are gifts from the Lord.

Proverbs 20:12 (Contemporary English Version)

 

 

 

Although the exact date is in dispute, it is generally agreed upon that the first pair of corrective eyeglasses was invented in Italy sometime between 1268 and 1300. These were basically two reading stones (magnifying glasses) connected with a hinge balanced on the bridge of the nose. (Google)

Miraculous.

 

Travelogue, Part 2

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.

Traveling Time!

We usually make the trip to East Tennessee to visit David’s mom in May. This year, because her 95th birthday was this week, we went in April, instead. There’s always lots of planning and packing and getting things in place (who’ll get the papers and mail, who’ll cover at church, should we run the water sprinklers, etc.)

This year, there was a special problem.

I heard them peeping, peeping when I came home from shopping and errands, the day before we left. I was panicky for them, thinking they would surely die while we were gone. David he’d seen the parents going in and out of the garage through a small space at the bottom of the closed garage doors. He thought they’d be gone before we returned. We haven’t checked, yet.

Spring happens later there than here.

David’s mom had surgery last November and has been living in a rehab facility since then. The birds that have usually relied on her careful tending with water and seed were somewhat scarce. David started putting seed out on her deck, and some birds returned, including the usual (or, unusual) springtime and summer guests, the peacock pair.

We did some more interesting things, but we just rolled back into Waco a few hours ago, and I need to go to bed.

At day’s end I’m ready for sound sleep,
For you, God, have put my life back together.

Psalm 4:8 (The Message)

I Really Never Know What to Do at Times Like This

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.

Sometimes, Adults Have Scabby Knees, Too

If you looked closely at my knees, you could see the scars of a childhood of running (and falling), leaping from swings, and careening across sidewalks on roller skates. And falling. Once (as a kid) while bathing, I noticed a strange round mark on my big toe. I rinsed away any soap and rubbed my fingers across the mark. Oh yeah, I remembered. I had stumbled and scraped the top of my toe, which developed a big scab, which had recently, finally, fallen off.

Many years later, as an adult, I was sick and stayed home from church one evening. David had moved our small television into the bedroom, so I could be entertained while recuperating. A comedian was on, and he was talking about childhood, and how he and his friends all had scabby knees all the time, but, thankfully, as adults, they were pretty much past that. I looked down at my knees, which were scabby. I’d had several tumbles and we finally realized it happened because the rubbery portion on the heels of my (inexpensive) sandals had worn away and the  newly revealed rear edges of those heels were indeed slick. I got rid of those sandals. And my knees healed up.

Which doesn’t mean that the rest of my life has been stumble free. But, for the most part, my knees have been scab-free.

Meanwhile, the weather has warmed up and I worked in the yard. Last Christmas, the family gave me a little plastic greenhouse. They had to put it together themselves, and it was a great space to protect my more tender plants throughout the winter.

Not everything made it through the winter. Bougainvilleas are just too tender. But everything else lived! I’ve been working the last few weeks, replacing things, buying new things, getting everything in place. And getting ready to take down the little greenhouse. I don’t start lots of seed early. Maybe next year I’ll try that, but for now, I’m just happy to have my old friends back out onto the patio.

I got the instruction sheet that Kevin gave me in December, when the greenhouse was up. And I’m thinking that I’ll just start at the bottom and take things apart in the reverse order in which they went up.

I pried up the stakes that held the bottom edges to the ground. I opened up both screen doorways and removed the supports at both ends. I went to work on the edge supports and the roof supports. Now, I really do know what’s going to happen when all the supports are out. But there are some around the front and back edges that don’t appear to be removable (the printed instructions don’t seem to mention those). So I’m just trying to wrangle (and wrangle does seem like the most appropriate word) the structure down to the ground.

And I do finally get it down, sort of. I accomplish that by falling out one of the doors onto the concrete patio, along with the structure itself. Remember that scene in the movie Jurassic Park where the scientist and the boy have been up in a tree and their smashed-up car careens down on them and they slide down to the tree roots, and the kid says: “Well… we’re back… in the car again.” That’s a little how I felt. “Well, I’m back in the greenhouse again.” I’m sorry there wasn’t anyone there to take a picture of the up-ended greenhouse with my sprawled-out appendages around the edges.

 

Which brings me to:

Yes, scabby knees. Well, a scabby knee. And, just above that tiny scratch on my shin, is a pale bruise and a very tender lump.

There is also a little sore spot on the inside of my elbow.

I don’t know. Do scabby knees keep you feeling young? Or do they make your family members think about going ahead and sending you to a retirement residence where nothing dangerous can possibly happen. I doubt it. I find that I can push the “nothing dangerous can possibly happen” envelope wherever I am.

Meanwhile,

You are the one
who put me together
    inside my mother’s body,
and I praise you
    because of
the wonderful way
    you created me.
Everything you do is marvelous!
    Of this I have no doubt.

Psalm 139:13-14 (Contemporary English Version)

Putting our bodies back together may be one of God’s most amazing miraculous deeds.