One Day

It’s quiet here beneath the boughs;

The grasses ripple in the breeze;

Azure sky’s loose caress of

Blue-white clouds and sun’s warm rays.

 

 

 

It wasn’t so in days gone by;

Those days – loud ammunition’s fire,

Behind you! shouts or calls for help,

The dust, the heat, and chaos dire.

 

One day my last, a sudden shock

And one last look at skies of gray;

Silence save for sight and sound of

A buddy’s tear and plea to stay.

 

But now? God holds me in His care

Because for those who, brave and true,

Sacrifice for righteous cause

He knows, because He did so, too.

 

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My Neighbor (conclusion)

We looked at each other for a good 30 seconds before it occurred to me they needed towels. I hurried to the bathroom and came back with five: two for each of them and one for the floor.

“Please. Sit.”

“Oh no,” Thing 1 shook her head. We’ll soak your lovely furniture.” Score 1 for the complement.

“Tsk. Doesn’t matter.”

They sat gratefully and I went to get 2 more cups for tea. Thing 1 was visibly shivering and I pulled the afghan from the back of my couch and put it around her shoulders. I evened the score with the gesture.

After they were settled in, they told me what happened. They were going to try out a new restaurant for brunch. Thing 1 had left her keys inside the house and Gordy had locked the door. As they headed to their car, Gordy spotted a little toad in their new rocks and motioned his wife over to look. In so doing, he dropped his keys and couldn’t find them though they had looked and looked.

“So we can’t get into the house!” Gordy sputtered and his wife patted his knee.

“Or car,” she added.

“I’m so sorry! I just came back from a restaurant . . .”

“Heddy’s?” they said in unison.

I nodded and they explained that was where they had been headed.

“We heard they have great waffles.”

“I thought you both were glutton-free.”

“Well you see . . .” Gordy started.

“He thought I was glutton intolerant since I’d gone to the doctor to check out that sort of thing. I wasn’t, but by the time I returned home, Gordy had this whole story about how he’d found out the week before that he couldn’t tolerate glutton and hadn’t told me. And I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was fine.”

Gordy picked up the story. “So she said she told me it was just as well because we could be glutton-free together.”

“Then I caught him eating one of your cookies.”

“They’re very good,” Gordy interjected.

“And I raised my eyebrows and him and he raised his eyebrows at me and the whole ridiculous story came out.”

“We were glutton-free only from love!” Gordy laughed and squeezed his wife.

“For three long years!” she added.

Laughing (I was able to laugh with them, if you can believe it, although the flowers still bothered me. And, of course, the house color.) I went to the kitchen and heated up the two waffles I’d brought home. They were thrilled.

What is it they say? Confession is good for the soul? I believe it, and the Good Lord has heard more than His share from me (even confession of wrong thinking – if someone could hear my prayers, they would think I was truly a terrible person), but it was my turn to just listen. I learned Thing 1 was allergic to spring flowers and although they hated it, they’d dug up the flowers next door because they didn’t want to chance a wheezing episode.

“I hope the rocks are doing their job to keep water out of the basement,” Gordy said.

I nodded slowly. “I guess you’ll find out when you get into the house.”

“If. If we get into the house,” added Thing 1.

“Don’t worry, Lil, we can always call a locksmith.”

“Lil?” I asked. “What a nice name.”

“It almost rhymes with Mel,” she said, then added, “It’s short for Lilac.”

“Lilac,” I whispered to myself.

By the time the storm had cleared, some of my misconceptions about my new neighbors had cleared, too. I found them to be quite nice. And I found their key! It was in the grass, halfway between their driveway and the spot the little toad had been. The toad? He must’ve loved the rain, for he sat in a puddle of water near their bottom step.

I’ll stop in and explain everything to Herb next Monday. This world has enough misunderstandings to add more to the mix, and by more, I mean mine.

The three of us plan to get waffles at Heddy’s Cafe next Saturday. I will have no problem waiting for mine last.

Image: mai-emoto-qYYJIIPUav8-unsplash-scaled.jpg; aroma-black-coffee-caffeine-327120.jpg; story based on the construction projects that have taken place on my street since neighbors moved in two – or is it three – years ago but I’m sure there’s a good reason; and also Luke 10:29-37

My Neighbor (cont. 1)

“Texas has some deal about purple.”

I was waiting for my waffle the following Saturday at Heddy’s Cafe and had just told Herb about my new neighbors’ new paint color.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh yea. Purple Paint Laws or something. It’s like a no trespassing sign.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope,” Herb laughed as he walked away and a waitress placed a waffle in front of me. I ordered two more to go. I felt I deserved something to soothe my nerves that were fraying from having what looked more and more to be awful neighbors. First their sugar cookie rejection which, okay, isn’t terrible; even though I spent time that could have otherwise been useful mixing, baking, and sugaring, not to mention chilling in between. And ingredients. And a paper plate. But how could they dig up the flowers? Flowers I had generously watered? For them? Which I didn’t mention to Herb, but the rocks they put over where the flowers had been. They weren’t even white. They were brown. And not to belabor the point, but a purple house? They were probably from Texas which meant they darn well knew what they were intimating. No trespassing? Really?

I arrived back home to see Gordy and his wife (she still hadn’t told me her name – I’d begun silently calling her Thing 1) on their hands and knees in their yard. What were they doing now? Poisoning worms?

I got out of my car, careful to not step on their lawn. I wouldn’t want to trespass now, would I? I waved in order to push back the resentment that threatened to build, but they must’ve been too intent on whatever it was they were doing to see me. Whatever it was they were doing, they’d better finish up soon – black and purplish (the shade didn’t match their house what a shame) clouds were rushing across the sky which grew darker with every minute.

I barely escaped the first raindrop and closed my door.

There’s something cozy about storms. I put water in my tea kettle – the one with the delightful whistle that is like a little bird calling me to the kitchen at the proper time – and rummaged around for something herbal along cinnamon and cloves, of course.

I was about to open the to go box from Heddy’s Cafe for a waffle to go with it, when a loud pounding on my front door made me jump. Hurrying to look, a quick peek revealed Gordy and Thing 1 drenched to the skin. I pulled open the door and they rushed in, apologizing to my now puddled floor.

to be continued . . .

https://www.sll.texas.gov/faqs/purple-paint-trespassing/; Image: chris-robert-EXN7ejfq9OQ-unsplash.jpg;pexels-jplenio-1118869.jpg

My Neighbor

They moved in quietly; he, wearing denim overalls and directing the movers as though he, himself, was doing the heavy lifting; she, wearing sweatpants and a terrycloth short-sleeved v-neck, hunting through the backseat of their car and carrying in boxes of what looked to be files and pictures.

I had watered their plants once a week after my neighbors moved out because I didn’t want whoever was coming after them to lose the beauty of peony bushes and spring flowers.

The day after the moving van, I rang their doorbell, plate of sugar cookies in hand.

“Hi, I’m from next door. I thought you might like a welcome to the neighborhood pick-me-up!”

The woman took the cookies and peered at them.

“I’m Mel.”

“Mel.”

The woman cleared her throat and her husband came from the other room, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Mel, is it? Name’s Gordy.”

“We’re glutton-free, both of us,” the woman said.

I took a step back. “I . . . I’m sor…”

“We can take them to work!” the man interrupted with a smile.

I nodded, tried to smile and went back home, glad I’d put them on a paper plate and not something I valued.

The next morning I chewed on my toast and thoughtfully sipped my tea with cloves and cinnamon as I watched out the window at my new neighbor digging up the peony bushes and spring flowers I’d watered before they’d moved in. They owned them now. They could do what they wanted. It shouldn’t matter, right?

I didn’t see either of them go to work – only putter around their house and yard, removing what I considered vestiges of beauty I’d grown accustomed to but didn’t own. I can’t say with complete confidence that they didn’t go to work, because I did and was only witness to changes that occurred at the house next door before I returned home. I started closing my curtains on that side of the house. Out of sight, out of mind. It didn’t help.

Saturday morning I decided to treat myself at Heddy’s Cafe. I got there early enough to get my waffle without much of a wait. They had only one small waffle-maker, and if you were there with a friend, you wouldn’t get your waffles at the same time. One of you would have to wait. But they were the best waffles I’d ever tasted. Herb, the owner strolled over to my table to chat and I told him about my new neighbors. He nodded, then winked, and wished me good luck. Maybe he thought I’d had enough bad luck that he should make certain I knew what kind of luck he was wishing me. And it wasn’t exactly bad luck, I’ll admit. It shouldn’t have even felt like an offense. It was just – unexpected.

As unexpected as, say, the light wash purple they were painting their house upon my return. Gordy waved his paintbrush my way and I waved back. The woman who still hadn’t given me her name ignored me and kept painting.

to be continued . . .

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With A SHOUT

Death often comes in a whisper, and the bedside of someone who is dying is typically quiet.

Jesus’ response during the sham trial was quiet and silence. And after the scourging, taunts and accusations, and slow and painful crucifixion, Jesus had some things to say from the cross. But when He died, he called out in a loud voice.

The earth wasn’t silent either. The temple veil was torn in two. There was an earthquake. Rocks split. Tombs broke open, and some of the saints within them came back to life and were seen walking around.

And then silence reigned, but the silence was brief. The first day of the week brought a proverbial shout to trump all shouts. He lives?? He lives!!!

We’ll hear that shout again one more time. And soon. Be ready.

Matthew 25:50 And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit.; Matthew 27:51-53 At that moment the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth quaked and the rocks were split. The tombs broke open, and the bodies of many saints who had fallen asleep were raised. After Jesus’ resurrection, when they had come out of the tombs, they entered the holy city and appeared to many people.; I Thessalonians 4:16 For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a loud command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will be the first to rise. Image: 17041243732_7619819836_b-tpswww.flickr.comphotoscoconutphotos17041243732.jpg

Good Friday Confession

We take time to confess our pride and arrogance. Our self-centeredness. Our selfishness. Our expectation that others should do or be what we, ourselves, are not. Putting ourselves ahead of others instead of following our Savior’s example of service.

Father, You are first, not us. Our desires are not centered on ourselves, but are rooted in Your kingdom.

We take time to confess sins of omission: Good or helpful things that were in front of us that we could’ve done and didn’t. Praying fleeting prayers where intensity was required. Withholding good words. Living lives of careless indifference.

Jesus, although You are God’s Son, You spent Your time here on earth in healing, loving, and showing what God is like. We will do the same.

We take time to confess our sins against ourselves: Our addictions, even seemingly harmless ones. Our self-condemnation. Our negative self-talk. Holding onto the shame of things that Jesus has forgiven.

Jesus, we thank you for Your blood that removes Satan’s accusing power over us.

We take time to confess our sins against others: Gossip. Lust. Harsh speech. Unkindness. Holding a grudge. Having an unforgiving spirit. Using God’s gift of grace as a license for immorality.

Connecting the Disconnected

I’m not saying we’re living in Egypt. I’m NOT. Everyone who knows me knows my spatial aptitude is less than stellar. I don’t want to go into it here, but let’s just say proof abounds.

But the fellow next to me was getting on my last nerve . . . Okay, let me give you some background. I was in a geography class at the University of Write My Opinions On Your Test to get an A, and had slid into my seat at the last minute; having a weakness for Burger King bacon, egg, and cheese croissan’wiches, and convincing myself I had time to get one; going into the restaurant because the drive-through line was too long, and dropping some quarters on the floor which I then had to retrieve, slowing down the line. I know.

Anyway, my being barely on time is why I was seated next to a Mr. Know-It-All. All the back seats were taken by early arrivals. I hummed the chorus of It’s A Little Too Late – the one by Keith, not Chesnutt, as I passed each full chair until I found a place in the second row. I unscrewed my thermos lid, took a sip of coffee to show the people behind me I wasn’t in a hurry, and burned my tongue.

We were supposed to be talking about Pangea and this guy kept mumbling about how Palisades Park, New Jersey was Morocco which, let’s be clear, if Morocco was anything, it was in New York, maaybe Boston. NOT that it should matter now, mind you, since we clearly have the Atlantic Ocean in between anything that might’ve been something but now isn’t. See how irritating it is? I mean, think about it. Were we learning names of cities, nations, and continents only to have a switcheroo thrown at us by the time my descendants turned 80? I was getting a headache.

This is where things went slightly askew.

The professor pointed to me (ME! As though I was the one mumbling – which I wasn’t, other than to tell Mr. Know-It-All he was giving me a headache.) and asked for my opinion about Memphis. All I could think of was Memphis, Tennessee which he probably didn’t mean (did he?) which prompted me to say a little too loudly, Egypt.

What?

Our country could’ve been Egypt years ago. Yes, I KNOW. Spatial aptitude, remember? Silence descended over the class. I have never considered silence particularly comfortable, but I’d backed myself into a corner, so I kept talking. Was that a mistake? Of course it was.

Yes, Egypt.

At this point, I decided to take a distraction tactic.

And thinking about it, Brazil and the Congo, I pointed to the map at the front of the class, were a little too cozy. No wonder they parted ways. I don’t blame Australia for wanting nothing to do with Antarctica and just wanting to be left alone. I feel that way sometimes, myself. At this point, I glared at the fellow next to me, and added just to irritate him further, And I can’t imagine Anne of Green Gables in Halifax would have wanted anything to do with Play It Again, Sam in Casablanca. Well, maybe. She certainly wouldn’t have gone for Rick, at any rate. Unless his “We’ll always have Paris” line lured her in. But – no – I don’t think so.

The professor wasn’t keeping up. Egypt?

At this point, I thought it best to give in to the silence. I folded my arms, and to my surprise, Mr. Know-It-All said, Well . . . Memphis, Tennessee was named after the Memphis of Egypt. He shrugged his shoulders in a sign of solidarity.

I stared into space the rest of the hour while the professor waxed on about this and that. I couldn’t believe I’d said what I said. I couldn’t even remember what I’d said, but I knew it wasn’t terribly scholarly.

I never liked puzzles anyway. I do, however, have a predilection for country music, which is good because after class Mr. Know-It-All asked me to a Luke Combs concert scheduled the next Saturday, and, still being in space-out mode, I accepted.

And you know what? It was nice. Fun, even. And as we walked into a Burger King after the concert and he took my hand, I began to think that maybe this world is a little more connected than I thought.

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Rats

I should have had my suspicions when I was shown the house by a realtor. (Upon reflection, perhaps it was the reason I got such a good deal.) I eventually concluded the previous owners surely had more than suspicions, but it apparently didn’t bother them. The house, itself, though clearly run down, had good bones. There were transoms above the front and back doors as well as the center window of three in the dining room. The doorknobs were those old glass ones, and even though they had lost their clarity, I dreamed of possibilities which included more than a swipe of Windex. The house boasted five fireplaces which added insurance costs despite the fact that they were unused and would remain so for the time being. But even though the cost of such things should’ve brought me to my knees, I love the thought of fireplaces. They would stay put. The hardwood floors weren’t as stained as you might imagine, probably thanks to the carpet tack holes around the perimeter of the downstairs rooms. I say it again: it was – is – a house beautiful enough to throw caution to the wind and sign a purchase agreement followed quickly by a sale. I moved in as soon as I received the keys.

The kitchen was equipped with a gas stove, an unremarkable refrigerator that would eventually need to be replaced, and a copper single bowl sink. Rubbing tungsten oil into its wooden cupboards could’ve taken the place of any gym workout. At least, that’s the excuse I used. Those cupboards, though. They included a bin that was part of the bottom row, and I felt like a Disney princess when I placed my bread and crackers in it. Charming!

I’d been in my new house for about two weeks when I noticed the crust of a piece of bread was partly missing. It’s hard to find good help these days, I reasoned, thinking of the bakery I’d begun frequenting.

A few days later I couldn’t ignore cracker crumbs piled in the bottom of the bin and scattered on the floor in front of it. The day after that I found myself sweeping away some not so small black specks from the counter; and that night I realized the irritating noise in my dream was the sound of scurrying. In what, I wasn’t certain. The walls? The floor?

The next morning, I put all of my food that couldn’t be canned or frozen into plastic bags and put those in airtight containers. The varmints would have to look somewhere other than my house for their treasure. No more free stuff! I yelled into the air.

They didn’t leave easily. If that’s the way they wanted it, that’s what they would get. This was war! And war brings sorrow. To my great sorrow, I gave my houseplants away. I emptied my wastebaskets every night and brought their bagged contents out to the garbage can which I had moved to the back of the backyard. I donated my countertop composter. It  was that gray green color that’s so popular, and I had received it as a housewarming gift, a favorite from the party thrown by an innocent, unsuspecting new homeowner – me.

I scoured every inch inside and out for tiny entry points, though, by this time, I was beginning to realize it wasn’t sweet little squeaky mice that were my roommates, but rats whose size was growing exponentially every time I thought of them. How in the world were they getting in? It was like a free-for-all. I sealed every crack and cranny I could with caulk and jammed steel wool into the rest. I would prevail!

Spring was peaking around the corner by the time I realized I didn’t just have a full-blown family, but a dark-hearted congregation whose members spread their good news to one and all with missionary zeal . . . Just a minute while I calm myself with another frozen donut. Life in my new house was fast losing its delight.

Determined to find their hiding places, I demolished a wall to the studs in my bedroom one day and cleaned out a large nest, including some little pink, hairless babies that I threw a towel over and stomped to death. When I mentioned it to a co-worker, she began to avoid me. Clearly, she had never experienced the trauma of infiltration.

My house began to smell like Christmas from the peppermint I sprayed throughout. It wasn’t difficult to convince myself to begin using all five fireplaces. If any of the monsters decided they were Santa Clause, the imposter would meet its fiery demise and I would have one less trip to the garbage can. I didn’t mention it to my co-worker.

I set all kinds of traps, and none of them included the humane kind. Do not cross me on this! If the rats had been sweet little things that sat by my shoe, tiny spectacles perched on their nose(s) while I read, I might have considered it. They weren’t. Not a one. They were unrepentant freeloaders and worse. I began to fear for my health.

By summer I had bought a cat, something I swore I would never do since I’m a dog person; but desperate times call for desperate measures. Kash didn’t need much food since there was plenty around my house for him to catch and eat. I had pity on him, though, and gave him tuna and Fancy Feast as often as he was willing to take it. But it had to be a kind of fast food delivery, since it couldn’t be left unattended. He’s not a finicky cat. I think it’s because he’s found his purpose in life, at least for now, and is happy being his rat-catching self. But the thing about cats is that sometimes they just want to leave you a gift. So many gifts. I began mumbling clean up in aisle one in my sleep. Another thing. You know how animals have quirks? Well I discovered Kash is a cat who loves an hour or two in front of the fireplace while I read aloud to him. And I wonder where his little cat thoughts wander while he listens.

It’s been a year since I first walked through my house, since I was swept away with its beauty and delightful potential. What. A. Year. But I’ve learned a thing or two about invasive pests. Firstly, you mustn’t and I mean not a whit allow any access to what they want or to your house in general. Secondly, traps are very useful as long as you’re not squeamish. And thirdly, find yourself a cat. Give him whatever he wants, do your best to share his joy with the disgusting blob he places in front of you, and read him stories by the fire.

I’ve now become somewhat contented as I look around at what I’ve done with the place – sparkling door knobs that hold promise of pleasure once opened, shiny brass, lustrous wood, and cozy rooms. I’ve even bought a few plants, although I have yet to bring them all the way into the house. And I can finally say with a degree of genuine sincerity, There’s no place like home.

Image: judah-wester-dQUpnO5CN9g-unsplash.jpg; annie-spratt-0u9JLHYSgxo-unsplash-1.jpg; tom-oneill-CcDZf8FgKnM-unsplash-scaled.jpg; Stories By The Fire https://amzn.to/3DRZbG3 ; http://bit.ly/3DZAfg5   

Sparkling Jewelry Worn with Work Boots

Graduate school was where I learned about and loved the writings of Victor Frankl, in particularly what he had to say about hope. Having spent time in Auschwitz, his words carried more weight than someone who just bought a lottery ticket. He made the case that those who survive desperate circumstances aren’t necessarily the physically strongest, but rather those who find some meaning in living despite trials. And meaning can be found through using creativity. It can be found in helping another person. It can be found in determining our own attitude about circumstances around us. People who survive are those who hold on to hope. You might say hope is the glitter on a dark painting. It is jewelry worn with work boots.

The times of this uncertain world of ours are not a first or second or tenth to face an unsettled present and future. We are so far from alone in our anxiousness and confusion, it would be comical if not for the plane crashes that have become weekly breaking news.

To wit: The newly freed Israelites began a long tutorial on courage when they crossed through a sea which God’s invisible hand alone held back. I wonder who was more nervous – those in the front or those at the end of the line?

 

 

Christians from Peter and James to Polycarp and Tyndale faced persecution and death from emperors, kings, and bishops. I’ve always been touched by Polycarp’s response to the captors who came to get him. Would I have ordered a meal for them while I spent an hour in my room praying? I understand the prayer. The meal? I don’t know.

 

The pilgrims lived through a rough and uncertain voyage to a land they’d never seen.

Corrie Ten Boom and Anne Frank faced deprivations and uncertainty and horror.

Israeli citizens were kidnapped, raped, tortured, and killed.

Lately, too, some folks closer to home have met with trials and deaths of loved ones in East Palestine, Ohio; Lahaina and Maui; western North Carolina and the Appalachians; and the Pacific Palisades.

I’m leaving gaps, of course; gaps you can fill in yourself, remembering that not all uncertain times are on the news.

 

However, there is much good with the bad these days. We are watching an effort to restore (rather than reform) our government to its original state. It’s long, long overdue. We are watching more people turn to Christ. I anticipate changes in our nation’s food. We will see. We get to decide where we focus. We get to determine whether to weep or sing.

Romans 5 reminds us that we can experience peace despite tribulations, and those troubles provide a way for us to gain patience along with experience. And hope. Glorious, enduring hope.

Hope. It is the sparkling jewelry to our faith’s work boots. They, both of them, get us through the uncertainty of various threats, fires, floods, and more. I hope to see you, my friend, if not on the other side, next to me as we travel through.

Images: pexels-thatguycraig000-1467574.jpg; parting_red_sea-apha-141121.jpg; pexels-karolina-grabowska-4750319.jpg; pexels-pixabay-69934.jpg; pexels-pixabay-248077.jpg; Ephesians 6:10-17

A Valentine’s Connection

It was a tug somewhere near her throat and traveling down to her heart. It wasn’t always there – only sometimes. Like Valentine’s Day. Like today. Oh, she had friends; and they were the good kind; the kind she knew she could trust with her mistakes and dreams and everyday thoughts. But they had boyfriends or husbands. They knew what a lonely Valentine’s Day was, but their experience had become fuzzy with time and change of circumstance. They knew, but they had forgotten.

Maybe she’d watch an old movie? Or read a book.

woman reading a book beside the window
Photo by Rahul Shah on Pexels.com

After thirty minutes, she stopped and tilted her head. Had she heard something? Maybe it was a squirrel or raccoon. There had been four, maybe five squirrels all winter long nosing around by the bushes. And she’d caught sight of a couple of raccoons rummaging through the garbage three nights ago.

close up of a raccoon
Photo by Volker Thimm on Pexels.com

There it was again! Heart beating faster, she grabbed an old baseball bat she kept under her couch and tiptoed to the door.

“Augh!”

“Oh!”

He turned toward her as she threw open her door, bat held high.

“I’m sorry to have scared you.” He motioned to the street. “Car trouble. I was just searching for a connection for my phone.”

“Yea, it’s not great.”

She squinted. He seemed familiar somehow.

“Hey! Were you at the thing last week?”

It clicked. He had been one of the guests at a friends 30th birthday celebration.

“You’re going to be late,” she ventured.

“I was just on my way home from the grocery store.” His chuckle ended in a sigh. “I won’t be late for anything tonight.”

“I have wifi inside.”

Relief spread across his face.

“Let me grab something from my car.” He sprinted to the curb and came back with some cookies.

“I was going to watch an old movie and bought a Valentine’s treat to go with it.”

“I’ll put on some coffee.”

And suddenly Valentine’s Day lost its tug.

black ceramic cup with brown liquid with heart shape on black ceramic saucer
Photo by Oriana Ortiz on Pexels.com

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