Memorize:

"But My God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus." Phil. 4:19 (KJV)

Monday, May 28, 2012

Old Treasures

You know it, I know it. Everybody always finds an old treasure when they decide to clean the laundry room...or the attic, or that-other-place-you-stuff-things-just-because... Here's my treasure:

Written by me, in 2007...are you ready?

The Candy Report

"Oh, the delectable smell of the Snickers bar! What a rich aroma pervaded the air! Sometimes I wonder what it is about the bewitching smell of chocolate that makes one want to gobble the candy up.

"The perfectness of the Snickers bar was beyond belief. The careful precision of the chocolate ridges on top. The wonder of the oozing insides made it more than perfect!

"And the taste! So carmelly, just as flexible as taffy! and the nuts! so crunchy and good. While the chocolate melted and left delicious brown stains on your finger! Mmmmm!"

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Day By Day

I love the lyrics to the hymn, Day By Day. They're beautiful. And, it's something I've been learning in the last year or so; to take things day by day, moment by moment.

I've always been a planner. Well, actually, a dreamer-planner. As in, I dream up plans for years into the future and never actually have a real, usable/doable plans. But often, when my dream-plans get upset, it feels as though a real plan has been upset. It's kind of hard to explain.

If you've been reading my blog for the last year and a half, you probably know that after I graduated high school, I had lots of those dream-plans; plans that took me a long time to give up. They were times of uncertainty. Not the first such times, and certainly not the last. But I feel as though I have learned, or rather, progressed, in learning the lesson of living day to day. And somehow, as I face a new time of uncertainty, I find that my new perspective frees me to be, weirdly enough, excited about the unknown future. I feel the suspenseful, exciting anticipation of a great treasure at the end of a dark tunnel.

I don't think it's wrong to plan a little. For instance, this weekend, I plan, God-willing, to go to a lovely violin recital followed by a party for a friend and a day in Leavenworth. Every week, I plan to keep my once-a-week babysitting engagement. I plan on going to church on Sundays, and to Bellevue to witness on Tuesdays. But, these are real plans, not dream-plans. And they're qualified by the statement, 'God-willing.' Living day by day makes it easier to qualify my plans. It makes me more flexible, more excited for the revealing of the unknown.

It's kind of weird, really. I've never had this perspective before. But, I guess it makes sense, because God never promises strength for tomorrow until tomorrow becomes today. His grace is sufficient. Of course, if you think to pray that God will reveal the next part of my future, go right ahead. ;)


Day by day, and with each passing moment,
Strength I find, to meet my trials here;
Trusting in my Father’s wise bestowment,
I’ve no cause for worry or for fear.
He Whose heart is kind beyond all measure
Gives unto each day what He deems best—
Lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with peace and rest. 

Every day, the Lord Himself is near me
With a special mercy for each hour;
All my cares He fain would bear, and cheer me,
He Whose Name is Counselor and Power;
The protection of His child and treasure
Is a charge that on Himself He laid;
“As thy days, thy strength shall be in measure,”
This the pledge to me He made.

Help me then in every tribulation
So to trust Thy promises, O Lord,
That I lose not faith’s sweet consolation
Offered me within Thy holy Word.
Help me, Lord, when toil and trouble meeting,
Ever to take, as from a father’s hand,
One by one, the days, the moments fleeting,
Till I reach the promised land.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Attack of the Bumblebee

Nose pressed eagerly against the glass, I watched enchanted as the shiny white paint was brushed onto the deck railing.

I tugged at the glass door, and stepped out in my bare feet.

"Can I help, dad, please?"

"No, honey, not this time, you'd only be in the way. I don't want you to come out here now."

Disappointed, I returned inside. Once there, I looked back out and saw that my brother was out there. It didn't seem fair.

To understand that, you have to realize that my brother and I are only a year apart. Also, that I had always considered myself completely equal with him. And yet, occasionally, evidence that he could be allowed privileges that I was not would shock my small world.

It was a beautiful sunny day, and the deck was a regular pathway to the green expanse of grass beyond. It wasn't the reason, but it was a reason to be tempted to disobedience. From the context, I knew Dad had only forbidden the deck, and yet, how could he?

"Surely,' I thought, "Dad had only meant that I couldn't stand on the part he was working on. It would be perfectly fine just to watch him from the other part of the deck. He hadn't said I couldn't watch! If I got tired, I could cross the deck and play in the grass."

I returned to the glass door and looked out again. The activity outside was fascinating and irresistible.

Opening the door again, silently, cautiously, I stepped out again. I knew fully that I was being disobedient, but couldn't I just watch? I hadn't taken ten steps when I cried out in pain. A bee had stung me on the heel.

Dad turned around and saw me. He told me to go inside to Mom for the bee sting, and then said quietly, "I told you to stay off the deck."

I knew without his words that the bee sting was a direct consequence of my disobedience.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Wisps of Memory

Five children came rushing tumultuously out the front door and down the brick steps. Each held in their hands the much coveted special summer treat; an ice cream cone.

"Race you to the Story Rock." Paul yelled and took off. John was on his heels, and four year old Peter toddled gamely behind. Such a boy.

Always up for a challenge, Katie and I followed also, but more slowly. I knew what would happen to the precious Ice Cream if one went too quickly.

Naturally, we reached the rock last. John and Paul had already clambered up, careless of small scrapes. Katie and I were next, searching carefully for good handholds. Then, we reached down and hauled Peter up the tall face.

Eventually, we had all settled down cross-legged on the cool, but sun-warmed surface of the huge, flat-topped rock. After a few licks, most of the boys chomped down on the ice cream, but John and the girls licked slowly, savoringly.

The silence was short-lived. I could not contain myself.

"Come on, Katie! Tell us a story! Pleeeease?"

"YEAH!!!!!" Enthusiasm galor from the male contingent.

Stalling for time, since she never told one before she had finished her ice cream, Katie answered slowly. We waited in anticipation for the loved, expected, predictable response.

"All right, what do you want in it?"

That was the game. Each of us were allowed to think of one thing that would be included in the story. Some were quicker than others to think of something. Others thought of something and then changed their minds. Everything originated from the wildest corners of our imaginations, and yet, each was characteristic.

Paul's choice was always militaristic.

"I want a huge tank, bigger than anything else in the entire story!"

John's was always mechanical; a logical and cool new invention, but also ranging alongside with a typical boys response.

"I want a clock that blows up the huge tank when it strikes 4:30."

My choice had two extremes depending on mood. It might be wildly impossible and magical, or it might be something a little more realistic and simple.

"A butterfly that saves the world."

Peter could always be expected to follow Paul's lead.

"I want a tank that's bigger than Paul's!" It was put forward that that would be impossible, so he changed it.

"Fine then, how about a big tree that the tank crashes into?"

From these objects, Katie would tell a story that would leave us sitting up on our knees and leaning forward, drinking in the tale eagerly. Sometimes, if she wasn't in the mood to tell a story, she would stall and be provokingly literal. But usually, she give in on our protesting demands to "tell a REAL story, Katie!"

"Once upon a time," she might begin, "there was a huge tank of water, so big that it acted as a roof over the world."

("KATIE! I said a TANK!"
"Of course you did, you didn't say what kind."
"I want to change it!"
"Sorry, you made you choice. Who's telling the story?"
Paul sat back a little disgruntled, but soon became interested again.)

Katie repeated her sentence.

"...so big it was like roof on top of the world. And it sat there and weighed the whole earth down, and down, and down, and everybody wondered why they were sinking. And then, one day, a little, tiny butterfly discovered the reason. She had been blown in a storm way up high and had seen the giant tank.

"When the storm was over, she flew back down and searched for a man she had once seen. After many days of looking, she finally found him.

"The man was an very old inventor who often came up with ingenious ideas, but no one ever paid any attention. He had discovered how to speak to four thousand different species, and that was how the butterfly was able to tell him.

"'Ah, small one,' said the old man, 'you have saved us all!'

"The old man set to work to make an itsy-bitsy bomb and a great long string, which he attached to a clock. Then, he called the butterfly and gave her careful instructions. She was to drop the bomb into the tank of water at it's steam hole. He would give her one whole day to get there, and one whole day to get back, and then he would set the clock and the bomb would go off and destroy the tank.

"When the butterfly got back, the man carefully set the alarm to 4:30 p.m.

"He told no one of his experiment, because he wasn't sure if it would work. But, it did. At 4:30, the bomb went off and the tank came crashing down in many little pieces and one giant piece. And the giant piece landed on a huge tree in the middle of the forest, and there it sits today.

"And one more thing, it flooded for forty days and forty nights, and some of the water got stuck in the clouds and that is why it rains sometimes.

"The End"

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Various and Sundry

It's been a while since I did a book review...this is not it. At least, not exactly. I was reading an interesting book however. It's called "Crazy Love" by Francis Chan. And he made two points that were very thought-provoking.

I'd heard a lot about this book, but when I finally got around to checking it out at the library, I was expecting quite a bit of the touchy-feely stuff. While there may have been a little of that, I was overall very pleasantly surprised. So, here's the two interesting points.

The first one was Chan's intriguing question: "Is what you're doing right now what you want to be doing when Jesus comes back? Is this what you want to be 'caught' doing?" Now, while I can't go so far as to say that all things that are pleasureful are bad because it's not witnessing or something (a point that seemed like it might have been loosely made) it is a very convicting question.

Interesting point number two was the author's observation regarding the American/western obsession with 'personal safety.' While he agreed that it was perfectly all right to ask for God's protection during a journey etc., he wondered if we were missing out. If we were so concerned with our own safety that we were stuck in a rut of never going outside of our comfort zone to witness/suffer persecution for the name of Christ.

That point ties into something I heard a few months ago. A young man of my acquaintance was giving a talk about complacency. Are we so stuck on our safety that we have become complacent with that role? It's time to move out. What's happened that world-changers are so rare? Our age has some great preachers, but where are the people who act on that preaching to the sacrificing of our selves?

I've been going to a nearby town to share the gospel with a group of other people. I am amazed at how lost people are. I have met people who are clueless as to the gospel, I have met people who are scornful, antagonistic, stubborn, and hating. But I have also seen people who are responsive.

Reading in John this morning, I read something about how those who are lost are incapable of hearing the word of God. I've seen this worked out. But guess what? The very fact that they are incapable of hearing us apart from the Holy Spirit's convicting power should embolden us to be unafraid of their automatically negative response.

Hmm, I was going to say a lot more about other things, but, I can't seem to form the words yet, so you'll just have to wait. I merely admonish you to do the right thing, because it is right and to love and follow God alone above all others, but to listen also to your spiritual authorities.

Toodle-oo!