This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118:24)
# # # #
It is pouring rain outside my window. Not drizzling, not showering, not lightly falling. No, it is pouring buckets, raining cats and dogs, pick your cliche'.
And I am loving it. Oh, here comes another cloud burst. The winds rattle the window panes, the pine needles peck the skylight as they plummet toward the plexiglass. And on and on it rains. And now, in addition to water and wind, we are also being treated to a thickening fog, delicate and mysterious among the tall pine trees that surround our house.
We are so thankful, here in Northern California, after more than four years of an historic drought to see the lakes and reservoirs filling up. We watch the local and state rainfall measurements with all the fascination with which a teenager watches You Tube or MTV. We are, in a word, delighted.
In my own case, I am further delighted when I reflect upon what a day like this would have meant for me just a few years ago.
How I hated waking up to a downpour. It meant that my commute would be more treacherous than usual. It meant that I would arrive at my office building to find all the usual parking places filled with vehicles that were not necessarily authorized to park there. People were willing to dare breaking the parking rules when being drenched.
Consequently, I would need to dash through the deluge, battling umbrella, briefcase, and electronic key card, hoping none of them got away from me before I made landfall at the great glass doors of the employee entrance.
By that time, my shoes were soaked, my hair was a mess, and my bones had already begun to ache. By evening I would be visibly limping, and by the time I arrived back home, I would be headed for the medicine cabinet in jig time to quickly down something to take the edge off my aching arthritic knees ... and back ... and hands.
A warm rain can be a wonderful thing. But winters in Nor. Calif. generally involve cold, wet, windy storms that can chill you right down to your very last proverbial bone. Such weather cries out for the electric heating pad to be set on the highest temperature. Cups of hot tea must be consumed in quantity.
And during those days of yesteryear, such weather also meant that twice each day - coming and going - I could expect to find myself chilled, damp, and thoroughly miserable.
# # #
Today, I sit here in my little rocker recliner pecking happily away on my laptop like a robin pecking for worms in springtime - while outside it pours. There is a baseball game on TV, a pot of tea on the counter, and peace in my heart.
I smile when I think of how worriedly my former boss asked about whether I had truly considered the implications of resigning from the well-paying position I held in order to retire. Was I sure we had enough saved? Did I really think we could maintain our standard of living? What about the stock market gyrations?
# # #
Tell you what. I happily traded that paycheck, that came with a crazy commute and crazier schedule, for a warm and cozy room with a great big window from which to watch it rain like crazy while I smile in quiet gratitude. I would do it again in a heartbeat.
I am also keenly aware that not everyone gets to make such a blessed choice. So today, I simply say a prayer for mercy and strength for those who must still brave the elements to earn their way. I am so everlastingly grateful to be where I am; as Jan Karon recently put it, to be Somewhere Safe with Somebody Good.
# # #
Hope you are in a good safe place today - warm and content. If you are not there yet, I hope you are headed in that direction. Until next time ~ Marsha
Monday, March 21, 2016
Friday, March 18, 2016
On Being Robbed At a Funeral
The other morning I was in a meeting with a group of good women who had gathered to do some of the Lord's work. But we got distracted.
Before we had been gathered ten minutes someone mentioned the distressing item from the previous evening's local news broadcast. Someone had slipped into our church offices (right next door to the very room in which we were meeting) and, while the office was briefly unattended, had stolen some one's purse.
The thief had been clearly caught on the church security cameras, and this video was broadcast the next evening on the local news. We were all fairly disgusted and decidedly perturbed, when one of our group said quietly, "Yes, it was my purse she stole, and it was during my mother's funeral services."
What!
The questions then flew fast and furiously. Has she been caught yet? Did you get your purse back? Did you have any money in it? What about your debit and credit cards? Are you pressing charges?
The gentle soul whose purse was taken, just smiled and said that she and her husband did not care too much about the money, although yes, some was taken. She was paying attention to her mother's home-going celebration at the time of the theft, and now they were letting the police handle the robbery. She said they did not plan to involve themselves any further than was necessary.
The clear message was that while unfortunate things happen - and sometimes at the most inopportune times - she was paying attention to more important matters. She made this clear without bitterness or self-righteousness. Her focus was simply elsewhere.
Her whole attitude blessed me. She was paying attention to what mattered.
# # #
Eugene Peterson, the author of The Message version of the Bible, wrote an excellent book entitled A Long Obedience in the Same Direction: Discipleship in an Instant Society. In it he says,
"Christian discipleship is a process of paying more and more attention to God's righteousness and less and less attention to our own; finding meaning of our lives not by probing our moods and motives and morals but by believing in God's will and purposes ...".
Well, hello and hallelujah!
When we focus on God's will and purposes we find ourselves relaxing in ways we never imagined. We have less need to demonstrate our own righteousness (as if we ever really had any) and more and more willingness to depend upon His.
That is my idea of both blessed assurance and blessed relief all at the same time. And it comes to us as we pay attention to the right things and to the Righteous One.
When we do this, we are less distracted and distraught by unforeseen circumstances, unanticipated griefs, and unplanned detours. It is not that we ignore such things in our lives, but rather it is that we are paying attention to something more important.
When we do that, we are not daunted not even by being robbed at our own mother's funeral. Yes, it is a hard world in which we live. But aren't we glad that there is One who is over it all, has it all under His watch care, and will never leave us nor forsake us?
# # #
I want to pay attention to the better things. Hope your attention is fixed on good things, too. Until next time ~ Marsha
Before we had been gathered ten minutes someone mentioned the distressing item from the previous evening's local news broadcast. Someone had slipped into our church offices (right next door to the very room in which we were meeting) and, while the office was briefly unattended, had stolen some one's purse.
The thief had been clearly caught on the church security cameras, and this video was broadcast the next evening on the local news. We were all fairly disgusted and decidedly perturbed, when one of our group said quietly, "Yes, it was my purse she stole, and it was during my mother's funeral services."
What!
The questions then flew fast and furiously. Has she been caught yet? Did you get your purse back? Did you have any money in it? What about your debit and credit cards? Are you pressing charges?
The gentle soul whose purse was taken, just smiled and said that she and her husband did not care too much about the money, although yes, some was taken. She was paying attention to her mother's home-going celebration at the time of the theft, and now they were letting the police handle the robbery. She said they did not plan to involve themselves any further than was necessary.
The clear message was that while unfortunate things happen - and sometimes at the most inopportune times - she was paying attention to more important matters. She made this clear without bitterness or self-righteousness. Her focus was simply elsewhere.
Her whole attitude blessed me. She was paying attention to what mattered.
# # #
Eugene Peterson, the author of The Message version of the Bible, wrote an excellent book entitled A Long Obedience in the Same Direction: Discipleship in an Instant Society. In it he says,
"Christian discipleship is a process of paying more and more attention to God's righteousness and less and less attention to our own; finding meaning of our lives not by probing our moods and motives and morals but by believing in God's will and purposes ...".
Well, hello and hallelujah!
When we focus on God's will and purposes we find ourselves relaxing in ways we never imagined. We have less need to demonstrate our own righteousness (as if we ever really had any) and more and more willingness to depend upon His.
That is my idea of both blessed assurance and blessed relief all at the same time. And it comes to us as we pay attention to the right things and to the Righteous One.
When we do this, we are less distracted and distraught by unforeseen circumstances, unanticipated griefs, and unplanned detours. It is not that we ignore such things in our lives, but rather it is that we are paying attention to something more important.
When we do that, we are not daunted not even by being robbed at our own mother's funeral. Yes, it is a hard world in which we live. But aren't we glad that there is One who is over it all, has it all under His watch care, and will never leave us nor forsake us?
# # #
I want to pay attention to the better things. Hope your attention is fixed on good things, too. Until next time ~ Marsha
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
A Necessary Father
This week, the famous and very talented writer, Pat Conroy died. He is best known for his books The Great Santini and The Prince of Tides, among others. In particular the novel The Great Santini, about an abusive military father and his relationship with his family, was largely autobiographical. Conroy's father, a decorated marine fighter pilot, was a great soldier and a bona fide war hero.
But he was also a terrible husband and an abusive father, who scarred Conroy for life. One of Conroy's later novels was entitled South of Broad. It was set in Charleston, S.C. and one of its main characters was a loving and lovable father.
This was uncharacteristic in his stories. In one of the articles I read after his passing, Conroy had commented in an interview about developing this story with a good father in it by saying, "I always needed one, so I created one."
How sad.
He always needed one so he created one in his fiction.
Some of us had loving and wonderful fathers. Some of us did not. But everyone needs such a father, whether they realize it or not.
Here is what Conroy apparently did not know; we each have a loving father and we do not have to "create him" because He first created us.
And as I John tells us, "We love because He first loved us."
# # #
Hope you are safely at home tonight, with the Father who loves you and created you. There is no need for any of us to create one for ourselves.
Blessings to you ~ Marsha
But he was also a terrible husband and an abusive father, who scarred Conroy for life. One of Conroy's later novels was entitled South of Broad. It was set in Charleston, S.C. and one of its main characters was a loving and lovable father.
This was uncharacteristic in his stories. In one of the articles I read after his passing, Conroy had commented in an interview about developing this story with a good father in it by saying, "I always needed one, so I created one."
How sad.
He always needed one so he created one in his fiction.
Some of us had loving and wonderful fathers. Some of us did not. But everyone needs such a father, whether they realize it or not.
Here is what Conroy apparently did not know; we each have a loving father and we do not have to "create him" because He first created us.
And as I John tells us, "We love because He first loved us."
# # #
Hope you are safely at home tonight, with the Father who loves you and created you. There is no need for any of us to create one for ourselves.
Blessings to you ~ Marsha
Monday, March 7, 2016
Of Atoms and Archangels
I was doing my morning devotional reading this morning when I ran across this phrase from The Message version of Psalm 89:11.
You own the cosmos - you made everything in it,
everything from atom to archangel.
Now that woke me up and got my juices flowing.
As busy, hopefully productive, people we like to spout phrases such as -
"full capacity"
" significant bandwidth"
"span of control"
All the "words" we use to try to indicate that we think - or at least hope - that we have some range of knowledge, influence or competency.
We often delude ourselves.
Sometimes about the only thing I can operate at full capacity is the vacuum cleaner. My bandwidth consists of the daily dietary challenges related to my waistline, and as for span of control; good heavens, I gave that up as a lost cause years ago.
Nevertheless, there are still times when I kid myself that I "have it all together", that I am in control ... of something. I am just not quite sure what it is.
Then suddenly I am confronted with the eternal reality that is Him who knows no beginning and no end. Who is self-existent, who needs nothing, lacks nothing, but who is eternally generous with all that He is and all that He chooses to bestow upon us.
It is He who runs the universe from "atom to archangel". Isn't that just mind-boggling?
As Colossians 1:17 states
" ... [He] is holding it all together, right up to this
very moment." (MSG)
# # #
So, news flash for allyou us control freaks, and get-it-together-junkies out there. We can all relax a little, because the One who owns the cosmos, all of it, from atoms to archangels, is holding it all together.
# # #
So let's unclench our jaws, our minds and our hearts, and try to relax a little. Maybe just trust Him with today. Just a thought.
~ Marsha
You own the cosmos - you made everything in it,
everything from atom to archangel.
Now that woke me up and got my juices flowing.
As busy, hopefully productive, people we like to spout phrases such as -
"full capacity"
" significant bandwidth"
"span of control"
All the "words" we use to try to indicate that we think - or at least hope - that we have some range of knowledge, influence or competency.
We often delude ourselves.
Sometimes about the only thing I can operate at full capacity is the vacuum cleaner. My bandwidth consists of the daily dietary challenges related to my waistline, and as for span of control; good heavens, I gave that up as a lost cause years ago.
Nevertheless, there are still times when I kid myself that I "have it all together", that I am in control ... of something. I am just not quite sure what it is.
Then suddenly I am confronted with the eternal reality that is Him who knows no beginning and no end. Who is self-existent, who needs nothing, lacks nothing, but who is eternally generous with all that He is and all that He chooses to bestow upon us.
It is He who runs the universe from "atom to archangel". Isn't that just mind-boggling?
As Colossians 1:17 states
" ... [He] is holding it all together, right up to this
very moment." (MSG)
# # #
So, news flash for all
# # #
So let's unclench our jaws, our minds and our hearts, and try to relax a little. Maybe just trust Him with today. Just a thought.
~ Marsha
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
The Dangers of the Woodpile
Some people just will not learn, cannot be bothered - they are not sure about what they know but are surely determined to do something anyway. ~
The above is called "blithering". The blitherer would be me. The untoward provocation that resulted in said blithering would be the *LOC falling over the woodpile. I suppose it would not be so upsetting if I did not care about the old coot but ....... here is what happened.
# # #
The other afternoon I heard faint cries for assistance from down the hall, so I went to investigate. Given that there are only two inhabitants in our little domicile, it seemed fairly certain that the whimper was likely emanating from the LOC.
He was sitting atop our California king-sized bed with his left foot stuck out over the edge of the bed, apparently so as to avoid getting blood from his makeshift bandage on the bedspread. Upon closer examination, it was not actually a bandage at all, but rather a sizable swirl of TP wrapped around his toes with concerning blood stains seeping through.
"For the love of Pete, what have you done?" I asked in what could only be described as a "tone".
"I was out stacking firewood."
"And?"
"Well, I guess I sort of tore off a toe nail or something. I 'm not exactly sure as I can't bend over that far to see it very well. I thought maybe you could take a look at it."
Long story short, he had partially torn his little toe nail off while stacking firewood.
"How could that happen? I don't understand. How could it tear through your shoe?"
"Uh, well, uh, I didn't exactly have my shoes on."
"What? Have you lost your mind? Never mind - rhetorical question. You were stacking firewood barefoot?"
"No, of course not. I had my slides on." (His open-toed, rubber slip ons.)
"But I caught my foot with a piece that was stuck between some other pieces and when it came loose it swiped my foot and ...well..."
Hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin, bandages, moving on.
# # #
A few days later the LOC rose gingerly from his recliner and limped toward the kitchen. I happened to glance up from my reading and saw him moving haltingly across the carpet, placing each foot carefully as he went. I didn't even want to ask but decided to just get it over with.
"What's the matter? You look like you can barely walk? Did you hurt yourself?" (Please note: I charitably did not add "again.")
"Oh, nothing for you to worry about. Just a little sore, that's all."
"But you weren't limping yesterday. What happened?"
"I had a little fall. No big deal. I'm fine."
Sure. Fine and dandy. Just a few bruised ribs, a barked shin, a nearly dislocated shoulder, and a wrenched back. Those are the injuries we could identify. Who knows what else was tweaked, bruised or micro-fractured?
The culprit? Once again it seems the woodpile had jumped up and attacked him, out of the blue, with no provocation whatsoever. He was just stacking wood, a few pieces shifted near where he was standing, he attempted to jump out of the way, and in so doing he fell over the woodpile.
I bit my lip. I counted to ten. I took several deep calming breaths and then quietly asked what had to be asked.
"Were you wearing your shoes, at least?"
The LOC was clearly irritated that I should ask such a silly question.
"Of course I was."
# # #
So we had a talk. I thought I was finished having "talks" about inappropriate behavior when my youngest child became an adult. I had not counted on the LOC's penchant for risk-taking at this time of life.
We talked about the fact that we do have central heating, and thus, it is not necessary that we have a fire in the wood burning stove every single day. We discussed economy - the cost of a few dollars saved on the gas bill, versus potentially tens of thousands for a broken leg, or even worse, back surgery. We reviewed the fact that neither of us is exactly a spring chicken and the fact that some adjustments in our expectations of ourselves and our own bodies must be accepted.
We talked. Or as the Lord himself once said to someone in need of a talking-to, "Come now, let us reason together."
Finally, I thought we had reached, if not an agreement, something of an understanding. I must have been living on another planet where older fellows stack firewood made of marshmallows.
For as I left the living room to go to the kitchen, the LOC looked up at me smiling and cheerfully stated, "But honey, I really enjoy stacking firewood."
# # #
Here is the lesson I have decided to learn from all of this. (I do not know what the LOC has learned and I am not inclined to inquire at the moment.)
Perhaps it is better to keep doing a little more than is strictly indicated than it is to just sit down and bemoan the fact that we can no longer do "this, that, and the other thing." Maybe one's "ailings" do not have to become one's permanent "failings" - failing to try, failing to enjoy, failing to make an effort.
The fact that he admittedly could not bend over far enough to see his torn toenail, did not prevent him from working his self-appointed chore the next time. And the further fact that he limped a little as he started out the back door today, did not keep him from smiling as he approached the woodpile.
Maybe there are greater dangers lurking than the woodpile. Maybe a "sit and sulk" is a great deal more dangerous than a possible stumble now and then, while doing something you really enjoy.
# # #
Dear, Lord, help me to get moving and keep moving. Just saying ..... :)
Hope your toes are intact, your ailments are few, and your smiles are many. Until next time ~ Marsha
(*Lovable Old Coot)
The above is called "blithering". The blitherer would be me. The untoward provocation that resulted in said blithering would be the *LOC falling over the woodpile. I suppose it would not be so upsetting if I did not care about the old coot but ....... here is what happened.
# # #
The other afternoon I heard faint cries for assistance from down the hall, so I went to investigate. Given that there are only two inhabitants in our little domicile, it seemed fairly certain that the whimper was likely emanating from the LOC.
He was sitting atop our California king-sized bed with his left foot stuck out over the edge of the bed, apparently so as to avoid getting blood from his makeshift bandage on the bedspread. Upon closer examination, it was not actually a bandage at all, but rather a sizable swirl of TP wrapped around his toes with concerning blood stains seeping through.
"For the love of Pete, what have you done?" I asked in what could only be described as a "tone".
"I was out stacking firewood."
"And?"
"Well, I guess I sort of tore off a toe nail or something. I 'm not exactly sure as I can't bend over that far to see it very well. I thought maybe you could take a look at it."
Long story short, he had partially torn his little toe nail off while stacking firewood.
"How could that happen? I don't understand. How could it tear through your shoe?"
"Uh, well, uh, I didn't exactly have my shoes on."
"What? Have you lost your mind? Never mind - rhetorical question. You were stacking firewood barefoot?"
"No, of course not. I had my slides on." (His open-toed, rubber slip ons.)
"But I caught my foot with a piece that was stuck between some other pieces and when it came loose it swiped my foot and ...well..."
Hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin, bandages, moving on.
# # #
A few days later the LOC rose gingerly from his recliner and limped toward the kitchen. I happened to glance up from my reading and saw him moving haltingly across the carpet, placing each foot carefully as he went. I didn't even want to ask but decided to just get it over with.
"What's the matter? You look like you can barely walk? Did you hurt yourself?" (Please note: I charitably did not add "again.")
"Oh, nothing for you to worry about. Just a little sore, that's all."
"But you weren't limping yesterday. What happened?"
"I had a little fall. No big deal. I'm fine."
Sure. Fine and dandy. Just a few bruised ribs, a barked shin, a nearly dislocated shoulder, and a wrenched back. Those are the injuries we could identify. Who knows what else was tweaked, bruised or micro-fractured?
The culprit? Once again it seems the woodpile had jumped up and attacked him, out of the blue, with no provocation whatsoever. He was just stacking wood, a few pieces shifted near where he was standing, he attempted to jump out of the way, and in so doing he fell over the woodpile.
I bit my lip. I counted to ten. I took several deep calming breaths and then quietly asked what had to be asked.
"Were you wearing your shoes, at least?"
The LOC was clearly irritated that I should ask such a silly question.
"Of course I was."
# # #
So we had a talk. I thought I was finished having "talks" about inappropriate behavior when my youngest child became an adult. I had not counted on the LOC's penchant for risk-taking at this time of life.
We talked about the fact that we do have central heating, and thus, it is not necessary that we have a fire in the wood burning stove every single day. We discussed economy - the cost of a few dollars saved on the gas bill, versus potentially tens of thousands for a broken leg, or even worse, back surgery. We reviewed the fact that neither of us is exactly a spring chicken and the fact that some adjustments in our expectations of ourselves and our own bodies must be accepted.
We talked. Or as the Lord himself once said to someone in need of a talking-to, "Come now, let us reason together."
Finally, I thought we had reached, if not an agreement, something of an understanding. I must have been living on another planet where older fellows stack firewood made of marshmallows.
For as I left the living room to go to the kitchen, the LOC looked up at me smiling and cheerfully stated, "But honey, I really enjoy stacking firewood."
# # #
Here is the lesson I have decided to learn from all of this. (I do not know what the LOC has learned and I am not inclined to inquire at the moment.)
Perhaps it is better to keep doing a little more than is strictly indicated than it is to just sit down and bemoan the fact that we can no longer do "this, that, and the other thing." Maybe one's "ailings" do not have to become one's permanent "failings" - failing to try, failing to enjoy, failing to make an effort.
The fact that he admittedly could not bend over far enough to see his torn toenail, did not prevent him from working his self-appointed chore the next time. And the further fact that he limped a little as he started out the back door today, did not keep him from smiling as he approached the woodpile.
Maybe there are greater dangers lurking than the woodpile. Maybe a "sit and sulk" is a great deal more dangerous than a possible stumble now and then, while doing something you really enjoy.
# # #
Dear, Lord, help me to get moving and keep moving. Just saying ..... :)
Hope your toes are intact, your ailments are few, and your smiles are many. Until next time ~ Marsha
(*Lovable Old Coot)
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