DSC01490_crop

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)

Old Habits Are Difficult to Break

| Faithfulness, Love, Patience, Peace

I mentioned, a few weeks ago, that I’ve “retired” from teaching preschoolers at church. And, since we’ve not yet had a routine sort of schedule for Sundays, I haven’t yet had an opportunity to find a new niche for myself on Sunday mornings. I’ve absolutely determined to stay out of the preschool realm, and am completely confident in the capabilities of the people who are going to be the Sunday School teachers, at whatever time Sunday School starts up again.

However, I do find myself falling into some previous shopping habits. I’ve caught myself, when shopping, distracted by the sorts of things I used to purchase for church.

And then there is this old friend.

Right before Thanksgiving, in 1979, a friend called me. She was the Preschool Minister at a large church in Waco. They had a weekday program, and one of her teachers had abruptly quit. She was desperate. Was I interested in taking the job? I said, no, I really couldn’t take the full time job, but I could help her out, in the mornings, for December and January, and give her time to find a new teacher.

As I tried to get organized, which included getting breakfast done, lunches packed, and two-year-old Jeremy to a friend’s house, I realized I needed some additional resources. I bought this canvas bag to have a place to put things like books, games, and other supplies, so that I could just pick it up on my way out of the house.

After my time at that church, this bag became my “church” bag. It gave me a place to drop in, during the week, items that I wanted to use at church that Sunday. It has been incredibly sturdy! It has been laundered a few times over the years, after one thing or the other has been spilled or squashed down in the bottom. I’ve replaced the handles at least twice.  You can see the tattered upper edge on the right side. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it now. I might frame it: “Best bag ever!”

 

 

I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.

1 Corinthians 3:6 (New Revised Standard Version)

We Gave Thanks

| Joy

We don’t usually have a big blowout Thanksgiving dinner, with adding all the leaves in the table and scouring all over the house to find enough chairs for every one to sit in. It’s usually a small affair, and it was this year, also. I got Peter from school on the Friday before the holiday and Kevin and April came on Wednesday. We are careful, as are they, and we’ve been together a few times over the summer and fall and felt comfortable being together.

I was trying to get ahead of all the baking, etc. Monday, Peter and I measured out bread dough ingredients and put them in the bread machine and pressed  the “dough” button.

 

Listen! A virgin will be pregnant, she will give birth to a Son, and he will be known as “Emmanuel,” which means in Hebrew, “God became one of us.”

Matthew 1:23 (The Passion Translation)

 

 

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel,

that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Come, Ye Thankful People, Come. Or, Shelter, Ye Weary People, Shelter

| Love, Patience, Peace

From all the childhood photos I have, this one on the left is the only Thanksgiving photo I can find. The across-the-street neighbors have come to celebrate with us. On Christmas Day, we went to their house for our holiday meal.

When we were first married, friends invited us to their home for Thanksgiving Dinner. The next year, I cooked and baked for the two of us.

 

 

A few years later, we went to David’s grandmother’s house, in Tennessee. We arrived a couple of days before the rest of David’s large family got there. When we walked into the house, Nanny (David’s grandmother) put me to work. I made pie crusts and filled them, I peeled potatoes, I baked yams, I never left the kitchen for the next three days.

In this charming photo of Nanny and her great-grandchildren, no one wants to have their picture taken. Except Kevin, who is smiling charmingly at the camera.

 

 

And a few years after that, we convinced David’s mother to come to Texas for Thanksgiving, because there were some great-grandchildren that she hadn’t met. Those two nieces (from those photos above) came with their husbands and their babies to Waco. It was a wonderful visit.

 

 

 

The holiday will be different for lots of folks this year. Often, coaches and sports teams will say, after a less that perfect season, “Just wait until next year. Things will be better.” I think most of us are counting on things being better. Much better.

 

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

Psalm 30:5,b (New Revised Standard Version)

 

 

 

Let it be so.

 

 

 

 

Fall: The Good Parts

| Joy, Peace

I don’t want to believe in Global Warming, but some days make it rather difficult to deny. Friday and Saturday this weekend have projected temperatures of 79. Thanksgiving Day is predicted to be 75. I don’t want it to be freezing, but a little crisp in the air seems more appropriate. Or, rather, it used to be appropriate.

Many years ago, when I was a teen-ager, we’d made a summertime visit to my Dad’s family, who lived in northern Ohio, quite close to the Michigan border. I was trying to explain Texas weather to a couple of cousins.

“Well,”  I said, trying to find a comparable example, “what clothes do you wear on Thanksgiving Day? We’d wear slacks and a shirt and a sweater.”

“That’s what we’d wear,” they said, as though I’d made some sort of ridiculous comparison.

“Outside?” I asked.

“Well, no,” they replied, a little taken aback. “Outside, we’d wear a heavy jacket and probably a hat and scarf.”

“That’s the difference,” I said.

(I’ve checked the Wauseon, Ohio, forecast, and Thanksgiving Day has a predicted high of 52 (low-39). However, on the Sunday and Tuesday before Thanksgiving, snow is predicted. So, sounds like jacket, hat, and scarf weather for those folks.

Last Saturday, the weather was just right. I was going to read for a while, and when I stepped out to get the mail, before settling down, the weather seemed perfect. I could read outside. Well, I did get a sweater. And then I sat down, with my enormous book, on the pew that’s on the porch.

I’ve watched the musical Hamilton several times, being a fan of Mr. Hamilton, and I do realize that Mr. Manuel-Miranda took some creative liberties with the story. Also, I’ve read a couple of novels, recently, about parts of Mr. Hamilton’s life, which contain scenes that I know aren’t exactly accurate. So, I thought I really must read Ron Chernow’s exhaustive biography of Alexander Hamilton that inspired Lin Manuel-Miranda to create the musical.

The day was fabulous, the breeze gentle, the temperature just right. Sometimes there was sun; sometimes, the sky was overcast. Every now and then, a small gust of wind would blow by, scattering the fall leaves along the street. Some of my across-the-street neighbor’s leaves would skitter over into my yard. A few minutes later, a gust would come from the other direction, tossing my leaves over to her yard.

At one point, I heard an amazingly loud ruckus from behind the house, either in our back yard or from the house behind us. Then, suddenly, a group of crows swooped over the house, in a formation that the Air Force Thunderbirds would find impressive. And they were just about as loud as the Thunderbirds. They raced across the street and over those houses, and off to who-knows-where, searching for who-knows-what. And then, several seconds later, one last, late, crow zipped over, too. I bet he got into trouble, late like that.

I spent several hours reading, out there on the porch. I read and read and read. I must admit that I skimmed over, quite a bit, the Federalist Papers part. Mr. Chernow described the contents of every single one of them; there are 85. If you’re interested, you can read all 85 of them here. Or, you can check out, from your local library, a copy of Mr. Chernow’s book, and get his synopsis of each one.

I’ve still got quite a ways to go. Library books are checked out for three weeks. I can renew a book twice, as long as no one has put in a request for it. The library has a few copies. So, I can have as much as nine weeks to finish a book. I believe, this time, I’ll have to turn it in, and then check it out again, later, for another round.

This is what my front yard looks like, now. Several homes on our street use the same lawn service. I told them, last week, that I thought I was done with them until next spring. The first year I said that, they said, “But you’ll have leaves that the mowers will shred up for you each week.” And I said, “I like to rake.” Which is true. Plus, I use those leaves for compost. But, also, I’m a senior adult woman who needs to stay active, and raking is perfect.

So, the across-the-street neighbor’s yard is all nice and neat, because the yard guys have come. Last Saturday, my yard was a carpet of leaves from the red oak tree. I raked up a couple of trash bags worth of leaves, much of which will go into our green bins, which get recycled with other yard waste. And, though you can’t see it, this tree still has lots of green leaves left on it. I’ll be raking for many more weeks.

 

 

Let everything alive give praises to the Lord! You praise him! Hallelujah!

Psalm 150:6 (The Living Bible)

 

Maybe that’s what those crows were cawing about.

 

The bookmark in the book is my favorite one. It has a Groucho Marx quote:

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”

 

The Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands (Isaiah 55:12)

| Faithfulness, Patience

I’ve been spending lots of time outside. I like to work in the yard, and I certainly need to keep active. I might spend three or four hours a day at yard work. Of course, a much younger woman might be able to do what I get done, in an hour, or less.

A few weeks ago, I spent several hours cleaning up the space at the back of the yard where the compost bins are. There were still some of the leaves I’d raked up last fall, in addition to leaves from other trees in the area that had fallen and blown in. It’s pretty boggy back there. Also, I found something a little startling.

 

At first glance, I thought it was a toy. I don’t know exactly who lives behind me, on the other side of the wooden fence, but I guessed kids might have been playing and were tossing things around, and this ended up on my side of the fence.

Then, I put my glasses on and looked a little more closely. You can tell by the nearby leaves that it’s pretty small. And, as you might have guessed, it’s a little bitty mushroom. I don’t know what has caused the black spots, but I took the photo to send to Peter, because I thought it was looked like a Star Wars character. He thought so, too.

 

These are the compost bins. I take out the kitchen vegetable waste and tea bags when the countertop bin is full. Right now, that goes into the left-hand bin.  After dumping in the contents, I add a layer of leaves. The right-hand bin’s contents are decaying, at this point. I put the rocks on the top to remind me not to put new stuff in that one. When the left bin gets full, I’ll move the rocks over, and it will be time to empty the other bin, which should have some nice compost that I can put on the garden.

 

I learned a few years ago that the pecan leaves aren’t the best choice for making compost. I use the oak leaves from a tree in the front yard. Those are leaves. The pecan tree has leaflets. The pecan leaflets have a heavier central stem and there are leaves all along that stem. When the oak leaves decay away, they decay pretty completely. When the pecan leaflets decay, there are those heavy stems left. They don’t make very good compost.

I’ve spent lots of time the past few days, raking up all the oak leaves and carting them, in a yard waste bin, to the back of the yard. I swept up the leaves that had fallen over the curb. I raked the leaves, from my tree, from my next-door neighbor’s yard. (She does not at all complain about the leaves in her yard. She’s a lovely neighbor. I just want all those leaves.)

 

Now I have a wonderful, if gargantuan, pile of nice oak leaves, all ready to add to the bin.

 

I also raked up lots and lots of pecan leaves. That tree is in the back yard, and has been dropping leaves for a while, but it’s not done. I’ve put those leaves in our green recycle bins. We have a large bin and a small bin. As of this afternoon, they are both full to the brim. Monday is our trash pickup day. But, this coming Monday, it’s blue bin day (recycling). Our green bins won’t be emptied until the next Monday.

I’ve looked up into the pecan tree, and there seems to be quite a few leaves up there, still. I’ve got a couple of bins where I can temporarily keep leaves, but I’m not sure they’re big enough for what’s left on the tree. And, they always seem to take up more space that I thought they would.

The oak tree that’s shed its leaves is at the front of the side yard. In the center of the front yard, there’s a red oak tree that has just barely begin to drop leaves. The year we moved into this house, in the fall, that tree still had its leaves, and kept most of them, through the winter. I was afraid the tree had died. But, in the early spring, it dropped the leaves and quickly began to put out new ones. That was more than ten years ago. It’s still strong and sturdy. It’s dropped a few leaves, but it’s certainly not done.

 

Bring your melody, O mountains and hills; trees of the forest and field, harmonize your praise!

Psalm 148:9 (The Passion Translation)

 

I like to think about my trees working together, harmonizing.

I Said I Didn’t Want It, But No One Paid Any Attention

| Faithfulness, Kindness, Love, Patience, Self-Control

I’ve been doing stuff with kids at church for quite some time: Children’s Choir, Preschool Choir, Wednesday night activities, and, finally, Preschool Sunday School.

I’ve had different configurations of groups. At the beginning, it was 4-year-olds. Then, we grouped Threes into the mix. Then, it was just Threes. Then it just varied for a few years, based on how many kids and how many adults and what sorts of spaces. For the last several years, it’s been Three-year-olds, Pre-Ks, and Kindergartners. A few years ago, I thought: “I’ll keep teaching Sunday School as long as I have Peter in my room.”

Fall, a year ago, Peter, as a first-grader, moved up to the Younger Elementary class. But, I had looked at the incoming Threes, and they were so very cute that I thought, “Okay. One more year. And THAT’S ALL!” They were just as charming as they were cute, and things went along quite nicely until mid-March, when everything came to a halt.

Each week, I would mail them the pages that they would have taken home from church, along with a note, or a game, or some cookies, or some crayons, or some stickers. At some point, I told the Children’s Minister that I would be done at the end of August. “Every part of me hurts,” I said. “My hands hurt. My knees hurt.” And, truly, I felt like I would soon be a liability instead of an asset. I also said that I didn’t want a deal, or a thing, or anything or the sort. I would just be done. She thought that the members of the Children’s committee should know, and I thought that they really didn’t. Because, I didn’t want a deal or a thing. And I thought that was that.

That was NOT that.

I got an e-mailed Agenda for an upcoming ZOOM Children’s Committee meeting which included an item “Gayle’s Announcement.” So, not exactly a private thing any more.

Someone at the meeting thought I needed a deal. The first thing that popped up was a post on Facebook, with a rather LARGE photo of me and the line “Shhhh. Don’t tell! We want to thank Gayle Lintz for 42 years of teaching Preschool Sunday School, by writing her letters, which we will give her later.” (Or something like that)

I e-mailed the Children’s Minister and said, “I AM on Facebook. FYI.”

My nice book of appreciation.

So, it wasn’t quite so secret after all. Then, the next plan was that the letters would be received and collected and given to me. The Children’s Minister recently contacted me and said that they’d like to give those to me during an upcoming worship service. At this point we’ve not been having worship services with a congregation. The staff comes and opens up the place on Sunday morning. There are instrumentalists (piano, organ, guitar, drums/percussion, and horn). There are four choir members who sing (all masked up) from the sanctuary platform while we participate from home via video. There are Scripture readings and a sermon and announcements and prayers. Last Sunday, we went, too. Kevin and April and Peter came for the weekend, also. We sat on one row, towards the front, all masked up. At the end of the service, I went up front and got a lovely book that had all the kind things that people had written for me.

 

 

 

 

And then . . .  I got this. And, for real, I was horrified. Because, over the years, various people have lobbied for just such a thing for one nursery teacher or elementary teacher or preschool teacher or another, and the general attitude as been that there have been many competent, capable, loving teachers through the years and we just cannot cover the walls with all of their names. So, I’m setting a precedent? I believe my response, when they picked it up to show me, was NOOOOOOOO. They were unmoved.

They said it went through the Children’s Committee and the Coordinating Council and I don’t know who all else. And it is a done deal.

 

 

I had insisted, when they said they wanted me to show up (to get those letters), that I wanted to speak. And, boy, did I speak. I talked about how, just because I’ve done the same thing for so many years, it doesn’t seem extraordinary, because so many people in the church have done a variety of things for many years, the sum total of which are just as significant as doing one thing for years. “Everybody does something,” I said. And I gave examples of the sorts of things that members of our church family have done, such as serving on committees, being deacons, being part of the choir (which means Wednesday night rehearsals and Sunday morning anthems), giving financially, praying diligently, and more. “Everybody does something,” I said. “EVERYBODY does something.” And I meant it.

 

 

 

 

Kevin took this photo, after everything was finished, to send to Jeremy, to show him how I feel about this. It’s so large I don’t know exactly where they plan to put it. Maybe they didn’t get that far in their thinking.

As we were leaving, Kevin pointed out the plaque that is on the organ, that honors a long-time organist. (You can actually see the edge of it in the photo above.) Then, in the hallway, he also reminded me of the photo hanging there, that recognizes a church member who, for many, many years, would cheerfully greet everyone who walked into the church and give them a hug.

Across the hallway from that photo, there’s a large plaque honoring the church’s first pastor. And, down in the Fellowship Hall, another portrait honoring a man who donated the money to renovate the that space. And, a large photo recognizing a beloved Minister of Education is upstairs in a meeting room.

So, while it does feel rather awkward, really awkward, I’m trying to become accustomed to the idea.

 

“Wonderful!” his master replied. “You are a good and faithful servant … Come and share in my happiness!”

from Matthew 25:21 (Contemporary English Version)

 

In an interesting, and amusing, mixup, three or four weeks ago, at the end of the video worship service, the Associate Pastor reminded people to send their letters to the church to be gathered to give me in a few weeks. And, again, I thought that they’ve just completely given up on any idea of those being a surprise. This past Sunday, he told me (in case I hadn’t heard it for myself) about that gaffe. He said that after the video streaming was shut off, other staff members came up to him, wide-eyed, to ask why he’d made that announcement, reminding him that is was supposed to be a surprise. He reminded them that there had been announcements and reminders in the church’s e-mailed newsletter for several weeks. Unbeknownst to him, the office staff had been creating special, sans-surprise, newsletters to be e-mailed to both me and David. And I, as always, very much enjoy a good, funny story. So, it all worked out.

In Which I’m Getting Stuff Done

| Patience, Self-Control

I’ve been cleaning out some spaces. The closet in the room that’s also my office has been pretty packed. First, there’s a filing cabinet on one side. My dad bought it from his workplace when they were replacing older ones. This one has deep, sturdy drawers. When my folks got new carpeting (quite a few years ago), the carpet layers moved furniture from one room, laid carpet, then replaced the furniture. Things went fine until they got to the closet with the filing cabinet. They were unable to budge it, and said it would have to be emptied so they could lay the final bit of carpet. The difficulty was my dad’s deep and abiding interest in pennies. He’d been a coin collector for years and the bulk of his collection was in safe deposit boxes at their bank. But, he’d kept the pennies in the filing cabinet, along with copies of his speeches from Toastmaters and various and sundry other things. Daddy and I hauled bank bags of pennies from the cabinet’s drawers and stashed them around the room, which, by then, had been re-carpeted and the furniture replaced. The carpet layers were able to move the much lighter filing cabinet, lay down the last bit of carpet, and replace cabinet. Daddy and I put all those pennies back into the filing cabinet, where they stayed for many more years.

After my parents were both gone, and my sister and I had gone through the house, deciding what each of us would keep and what would be part of an estate sale, David and I moved in. I kept the nice big filing cabinet in the closet and used it for my own files. I also store all my other office stuff, like paper and file folders and index cards and things like that on shelves on the opposite side of the closet. There’s a small chest on that side, too, which has rolls of contact paper and empty picture frames in the drawers.

The space has been crammed with stuff I used for teaching everyone from community college students to Sunday School teachers to preschoolers. I’ve been going through things. Rigorously.

I can now see the closet’s floor. Yes, I can. It’s been quite a while. Maybe as long ago as when the closet was re-carpeted.

When I look at the bags and boxes of things I’ve removed from the closet, it’s immense. I’m not quite sure if I could put it all back in there. But, I’m not going to try. What has come out is staying out. The closet rather reminds me of the Tardis, which is the blue telephone booth that Dr. Who travels around in. Everyone who goes into the Tardis is astonished by how much bigger than a phone booth the place is. The official explanation that the alien Doctor gives to puzzled companions is that the Tardis is “dimensionally transcendental.” That means that the inside and the outside of the ship exist in separate dimensions. Dimensions allow scientists to locate something in space and time.

Dimensional transcendentalism was the state wherein an object’s interior was bigger than its exterior, an effect made possible by transdimensional engineering. I don’t understand any of that. I’m just pretty sure that I couldn’t possibly get all the stuff that came out of the closet back into the closet. And I do not plan to try.

 

There is a time for finding and losing, keeping and giving …

Ecclesiastes 3:6 (Contemporary English Version)

 

 

And, in other news:

Squirrels. Again.

| Patience, Self-Control

I’ve talked about squirrels before, including a comment from an exterminator that people only think squirrels are cute because of their bushy tails, and, without those cute tails, they’d just look like big rats.

Anyway, I’m not all that fond of them, and, as of Thursday morning, I’m not fond of them at all.

They’ve been racing around the back yard, frantically searching for pecans. They stop, mid-race, and begin to burrow for buried pecans. There are no buried pecans. This is, apparently, a non-pecan year for us. Last year, even with marauding squirrels, we had some pecans. Not tons. But some. This year–nothing. Nada. Nary a nut. The squirrels haven’t noticed. Or, they just don’t believe it’s true. No nuts this year.

Which does NOT keep them from gamely trying. After rummaging around in the yard, they’re now trying the patio plants. Where there are also no pecans. I purchased, from the nursery, some spray that’s supposed to be a squirrel deterrent. It’s a safe product (won’t harm humans, or, for that matter, squirrels); it’s just supposed to be obnoxious to them. It doesn’t appear to be all that annoying to them, but I keep trying. I spray it on the patio plants. I spray it around the perimeter of the patio. It smells bad to me, but it seems not to have that effect on squirrels. But I was particularly irritated yesterday morning when I walk outside and found . . .

The Before Photo

Oh, no. There’s NOT a “Before” photo. Only an “After” photo.

 

There are pits in the dirt of many of the patio pots, where squirrels have been digging. You know, just in case there might be a crunchy pecan in there.

 

And don’t even say, “Well, they were there first.” No, they were not here first. When all the houses in this area were built, it was pretty much prairie. There wasn’t a tree anywhere near, and certainly not a pecan tree. And, I suppose you’ll say, well, when your dad dug a big ol’ hole into which he planted a pecan tree, he was just asking for it. I’m pretty sure that, when he planted that tree, there weren’t any squirrels. Yet.

I wonder if, next fall, I could get ahead of the game and strew a bunch of peanuts around the yard, the squirrels would be preoccupied with them, and leave alone whatever pecans there might be. It could work out for the squirrels, as getting peanuts out of a peanut shell would be much easier than pecans.

 

God made all sorts of wild animals and cattle and reptiles. And God was pleased with what he had done.

Genesis 1:25 (The Living. Bible)

 

I guess this means that I should be pleased, also. I’m trying.

Apparently, I’m Trendy

| Joy, Peace

As a senior adult lady, I’m not exactly trendy. My clothing is pretty dull and unexciting, and I shop for comfort and durability. I used to love shoes. Now, I have old lady feet and have to wear old lady shoes.

I don’t buy lots of new clothes, but, what I do buy, I often get at Target. I don’t get lots of stuff. I’m not wearing out or outgrowing my clothing.  I do, however, keep my eyes peeled for overalls. I find them in the clothing department for teens. Those teen-agers are buying them to be cool. I am buying them to work in the yard. They often have rips and tears in them, as a fashion statement (which I am unable to translate). I buy those ripped denim overalls anyway, because I’m going to be working outside in the dirt and with tools, and rips and tears are pretty much inevitable, anyway. I do always check the pockets. The overalls that are in Target right now have pockets that are just for show. They’re about 2 inches deep. I’m not interested in those. I need pockets that will hold my phone, my glasses, my gardening gloves, and, often, a hand tool or two. I need two ample rear pockets, two ample side pockets, and a large front pocket.

I’ve talked before about my first pair of real overalls. They lasted quite a while. The next pair weren’t quite as roomy, and the pockets weren’t quite as great. I got them in the spring of 2013. Since then, I’ve bought more overalls, which must mean that that second pair wasn’t exactly great. I’ve purchased two pairs of short overalls and two pairs of long overalls. One long pair is okay, has no rips, but lacks that roomy front pocket. The other pair is FULL of rips, but has better pockets and is roomier. I’ve not worn them, yet, but I may need to make some attractive patches for the ripped portions, because the wind from cooler weather is going to whip right through them, I’m afraid.

All that to say, I do sometimes wander through Target and into the clothing department meant, primarily, for young ladies quite a bit younger than I am.

The pink dress

A few months ago, I saw a dress that seemed perfect for me. It’s actually a sun dress, with straps. It buttoned up the front, was an attractive pink and cranberry and white plaid, and was long enough for me to feel comfortable. And, the deal-breaker, it had pockets that were deep enough to hold my phone. I went over (quickly) found my size and put it in my cart. At home, I put on a white t-shirt and then the jumper and was delighted. I loved it. I think I stayed wearing it for the rest of the day.

And I thought about Target.com. I don’t do much shopping on the Target web site, mostly because I find what I need in the store. I don’t do much clothing shopping online at any site. But, I so liked the dress that I wondered if there were other colors available. I did go, did scroll through the dresses, and did, absolutely, find that dress in a variety of colors. I most certainly did not need to purchase one of each color, but I looked over all ones they had, chose a pretty green and white stripe, and ordered it. I’ve enjoyed wearing both of them.

The green dress

Now, the amazing part. I was watching something on the television a few days ago, and there was a commercial for the Latuda medication, which is described on the website as a “prescription medicine for bipolar depression.” There are a variety of television ads for the medication. Recently, there’s an ad using art that people with bipolar depression have created. Towards the end of that ad, there’s a woman, who looks like she’s relaxed and enjoying herself, at an outdoor cookout. She’s wearing a green dress.  Yes, the same one I have. I imagine that some wardrobe tech did the choosing, instead of the actress. Still, some wardrobe supervisor said, “This is the dress we want.” I understand exactly how they felt. I want that dress, too.

 

 

 

And why do you worry about clothes? Observe how the wildflowers of the field grow: They don’t labor or spin thread.  Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these.

Matthew 6:28-29 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)

 “An da clotheses, how come you worry bout dat? Tink! Da flowers dat grow in da field, how dey can grow? Dey no work o make dea own clotheses.  But I telling you, even King Solomon, wit all his awesome stuffs, neva get awesome clotheses like da flowers.

Matthew 6:28-29 (Hawai’i Pidgin)

 

I am grateful, particularly these days, that I don’t have to worry about things that so many other people do have to worry about. I’m able to pay my bills and purchase things we need. I can buy masks for the elementary school near my church. I can talk with my family whenever I want to. I can donate money and food. And, I can buy a new dress. We are so fortunate.

Today Feels a Lot Like Yesterday, and the Day Before That, and, Most Likely, Tomorrow

| Patience

Early on, in this time of pandemic, as I talked with Kevin and Jeremy, we commented on how almost all of the newspeople, reporters, everyone, said, “Unprecedented.” “It’s just unprecendented.” “Completely unprecedented.” And so on.

And I said that there are surely more words that might be appropriate, and haven’t we used up “unprecedented?” So I went to Thesaurus.com, where I found words like  “remarkable,” “uncommon,”  and “unparalleled” (along with several others). But the word I like best (and which was at the top of the list of appropriate synonyms), was “bizarre.”

“There’s no more toilet paper!” “Bizarre!”

“I can only purchase two cartons of eggs!” “Bizarre!”

We just don’t feel comfortable going to (“the movies,” “a football game,” “our favorite restaurant,” “church” “add your own frustrating destination here,”). It’s just BIZARRE! The Thesaurus.com website has a brief explanation of the possible origin of the word, but it’s not very interesting.

One thing that I’ve found, well, maybe not “bizarre,” but certainly “different from usual,” is what’s happening at Target. I can understand how they, and really, most stores, had to put in their orders for back-to-school supplies many months earlier. And, there is most certainly a need for school supplies, but going back to school is different this year. Target did get ready for back-to-school shoppers, with school lists for different age groups, backpacks, lots and lots of pencils, pens, paper, composition books, rulers, scissors, et. al. And there indeed were shoppers. But there are also lots of school supplies still lying around. And, the space where school supplies have been is now being taken up by, of course, Halloween stuff.

 

 

Everything on earth has its own time and its own season.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 (Contemporary English Version)

I stopped by my church a couple of days ago, to drop off some masks, which will go to the nearby elementary school. As I was leaving, I saw a couple of friends in the parking lot. We chatted a few minutes (all masked and distanced) and I said, “How much longer do you think this will last?” And they said, “Maybe six more months.” Bizarre.