Author Archives: Connie Pease

The Salt and Light Perspective

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Salt can make things taste good, but it can also make your dog throw up. And, frankly, any kind of meat doesn’t taste that great (to me) without seasoning of some sort. Maybe that’s why some people don’t like vegetables. They don’t put salt on them. I confess I put garlic salt, tumeric, and olive oil on my salad. Though salting a salad seems counterproductive, it’s not against the law. Yet.

Living in an area where snow and ice aren’t uncommon, I don’t rejoice like people in Texas did this week when I see those little flakes falling. But I am grateful if I see sand or salt being scattered on the roads and sidewalks, because I know then that I’m less likely to slip and fall, crash, or end up in the ditch.

If you’ve ever had a bright light shined smack in your face, you know that it doesn’t help you see. It blinds you. If the person holding the light is a police officer, that blinding light helps you understand that you’re not in charge just then. But if you’re walking somewhere dark, you are very grateful for even a little bit of light. You don’t feel as vulnerable as you did before it appeared. Unless, I suppose, you believe in UFOs.

Salt has a lot of uses. Some people are glad for salt, but maybe, for some, it makes them want to throw up. Light is usually welcome, but not always. And I’m thinking just now that it doesn’t matter how it’s received; only that it’s there. It isn’t meant to be restricted to one thing or area, but every single area. The world, in fact.

This last paragraph is directed to Christians. We sometimes fall into the trap of thinking our faith needs to be present in some places, but stay away from certain areas: Like pornography or trafficking or politics. The world is the world and everything in it. God put us in charge. He uses us in the world and everything in it because that is His intention. He intervenes sometimes, but He doesn’t expect us to stay out of the fray. And if we do and pat ourselves on the back for it, I believe He’ll be shining a blinding light in our faces very soon.

Images: pexels-kaboompics-com-6401-scaled.jpg; pexels-emre-kuzu-4820763.jpg;  Matthew 5:13-18  “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

Typing Lessons

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Some of you might be amused to learn and some of you remember that there was a high school class called “Typing”. This was back in the day when we learned about the Cold War and wondered how people in communist countries could actually believe what Pravda was selling them. We couldn’t visualize the struggle of nations under the thumb of tyrannical governments. We wondered if it had always been that way or how it became so. We struggled with the picture of empty churches but for a few old women listening to government-approved sermons. We wondered how in the world citizens would accept such a life.

We sat at typewriters with white paper in each cylinder and typed to the cadence of our typing teacher’s voice. F F F space J J J space F space J space F J F J and so on.

We typed sentences that used all of the letters on the keyboard. One such sentence was “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” Not terribly inspiring, I grant you, but helpful in learning where the letters on the keyboard are.

There was another such sentence. This one was inspiring, though we didn’t pay much attention to it at the time. “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.”

It’s time to pay attention to it now.

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The Strip Search of 2020

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I was originally going to entitle this post “The Gifts of 2020”, but then I just – didn’t. I would’ve, mind you, twenty years ago. Or ten. Or maybe even five. But not now. Speaking gratefulness into dark times is the right thing to do, but it’s not the only thing.

I was thinking of lessons learned over the past nine or so months (strangely the amount of time it takes from the little blue line to birth pangs). Even five years ago we were praying II Chronicles 7:14, keeping our eyes open for forgiven sin and healed land. By now we have that thing memorized forwards and backwards, and have moved from uncertain voices decreeing and declaring for evil to be crushed and righteousness to rise, to fasting and praying and calling for demonic strongholds to be broken. We have begun to understand the intense spiritual battle we are unwittingly a part of and the pervasive deception Satan spreads.

Some people got mad and said they were tired of “thoughts and prayers”. Maybe God is, too. Maybe He’s looking for something more. Not in place of, but more.

This year has been akin to a strip search. The onion has been peeled. First we repented for our nation of its many and varied sins, but it wasn’t enough. So we looked at our churches and were dismayed to more deeply realize our careless leadership and undisciplined holiness. But it wasn’t enough. And it was there that we began to see our true nature, a nature that needed an amazing amount of renovation. CH Spurgeon said, If any man could see his own heart as it is by nature, he would be driven mad: the sight of our disease is not to be borne unless we also see the remedy. We began to open our eyes.

We discovered Proverbs was right. Our speech really can kill or give life, and the consequences of either lie at our doorstep. If you don’t believe me, have a gander at social media. Better yet, consider the lives lost from governors’ orders and big pharma and medical organizations’ changing claims.

We found, to our surprise and demise, that fear is a national epidemic. It wasn’t just you worrying about one thing or another. (Are you just a little relieved you’re not the only one rehearsing catastrophes in your imagination?) It was everyone! We couldn’t seem to get past worrying about our health or someone else’s health. Fear was the heavy chain we wore night and day.

During times of introspection, we realized the toxic blend of selfishness, self-centeredness, arrogance, laziness, cowardice (is seeking anonymity a form of cowardice?), immobilized faith – oh I could go on all day, but you get my drift – that we’ve allowed to fester in who we actually thought was a pretty good person. Ourselves!

God was waiting for us to get there. Well here we are. Stripped bare. We’ve got nothing. Not one thing to show for our blessed lives. Laodicea has nothing on us.

And here is the place, yes, this is the part where we look around our diseased existence and discover the way out. Our true power begins with faith in Jesus. Not the little stuff of small prayers uttered while we’re distracted with something else, but the big stuff of struggle and tears and crying out to God. We manifest what we say and believe. If fear, well, we’ve seen how that’s worked out. But if faith, my friends, oh, if faith there’s a glorious ending to all of this! Not right away. But through. Take courage! Maybe terrible, horrible, no good, very bad 2020 really was a gift.

“If my people who are called by my Name will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” II Chronicles 7:14; Many and varied sins of the USA: abortion, unfaithful relationships, fornication and adultery, sexual perversions, gossip, lies, pornography, pedophilia, corrupt dealings, etc. “Although they know God’s righteous decree that those who do such things deserve death, they not only continue to do these very things but also approve of those who practice them.” Romans 1:32; “Life and death are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit.” Prov. 18:21; “You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” Revelation 3:17 Images: NathanDumlaoforUnsplash; AaronBurdenforUnsplash; ZacDurantforUnsplash; ToaHeftibaforUnsplash; Phrase: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst, 1972.

Footprints

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The church was dark except for a battery-powered candle someone had accidentally  left on. It was Christmas Eve, a night when church congregants left their various entertainments and present-opening and buffet tables and came as one to celebrate the holy birth every year. But not this year. This one was online with more music, more varied backdrops, and the comfort of a laptop and a couch. And less, she thought. Less intensity, tenderness, and prayer.

It was nearing midnight when, on impulse, she’d driven the empty streets alone to the dark church for a service of one. Her footfalls resonated a barely audible sound on the carpeted aisle, and the air – the air had that familiar indefinable scent and sense that is part of churches everywhere who welcome Jesus. She often thought you could sense if the Holy Spirit was welcome in a church the minute you crossed the threshold.

Sitting at the piano, she allowed her fingers to play up and down the keyboard. Pretty notes evolved into a few hymns, then Christmas carols, and one last song. Silent Night. They had sung it together every year as candles held by hands young and old lit the room one by one. She missed it. She swallowed hard, and began to play in the darkness.

Wait. What was that? She stopped mid-song and listened hard. A slight sound. She frowned, then rose from the bench and squinted, peering down the darkened aisle. Footprints? Not possible. The sound was barely a whisper, but she could hear them! She closed her eyes and listened as they lined the sanctuary. Such a thing should bring fear, but all she felt was inexplicable warmth.

Opening her eyes, she heard her own intake of breath as bright starlight quietly began to flood through the church doors and windows, lighting the room more brightly than any candlelight service ever had. She shook her head in disbelief. And yet. And yet this was a night for faith. And miracles.

And she slowly settled onto the bench once again to play the carol as heaven’s stars and silent voices of congregants from years’ past joined together in a poignant Silent Night.

Images: pexels-nikko-tan-133699-1-scaled.jpg; pexels-bryan-geraldo-586415-scaled.jpg; pexels-ave-calvar-martinez-5109666-scaled.jpg; featured image: tim-umphreys-An_j14lRl5k-unsplash-1.jpg. Scripture: Job 38:7; Isaiah 9:6; Luke 2:1-20

Christmas From Another View

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“Wow! Oh wow oh wow oh wow!”

“I know. It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

“Not in my wildest dreams could I have ever imagined . . .”

“No, nor in your waking hours either. Christmas celebrations on this side of the veil are amazing!”

They momentarily glanced below, then she knelt and peered into a particular room with great interest.

“During the tribulation, after the rapture, that is; my auntie has been doing the best she can. Look at her,” Cecile pointed.            

The woman below rocked herself back and forth as she sat on the floor. She had found a place to live – she wasn’t allowed to own anything now – but she was glad for shelter and a little food.

“She used to love the Christmas movies on TV – you know the love stories,” Cecile commented affectionately.

Her companion nodded.

“She loved the sparkle and glam of Christmas. But,” Cecile continued thoughtfully, “she didn’t have much time for the main thing. The real thing. I once asked her why. Oh, I know. It was rather smart-mouthed of me. She was offended, of course. She scolded me and told me I should go to the concert at her church. Maybe I’d learn a thing or two. The music was . . . I think she described it as ‘heavenly’.”

The companions smiled in amusement.

“Funny. She scoffed at the simple account when we were together, but now . . . now it looks like there might be a chance. I saw her get this on the black market.”

An open Bible rested before the woman as she read and re-read some passages. She closed her eyes, but a pained expression remained.

“It’s so hard to let go of old paths. Come on, Auntie. You can do it.”

“You can do it,” the two companions shouted together.

The woman frowned and looked over her shoulder as though she’d heard something. A thoughtful expression flitted across her face and she turned back to the book in front of her.

Her niece returned alone later to see her aunt asleep on the floor. Her austere surroundings were so different than years past. Maybe, thought Cecile, they were closer to the first Christmas. Just maybe her dear auntie would see a little more clearly the baby in the manger.

An instantaneous flash of light shone from the old book’s pages, but only for a moment. The woman’s sleeping expression grew softer, and Cecile repeated an oft’ prayed request. Perhaps tonight.

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The Cabin on Buck Creek

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It had been, oh, how long? More years than he cared to think about. Life had taken him away from familiar places and people into a world they and he knew nothing of. It was a world of tall buildings and bridges, masses of people and multi-course meals.

He had faced      a steep learning curve; one that had kept him stimulated and focused during most of his waking hours and dreaming of fenestration, tartan grids, and plans during his sleep. It was only a few years ago that his engagement had slowed, then slowed some more until what were once challenges were now no more than mundane tasks. His schedule was so dependable, he could set a Times Square clock by it. Coffee at 6:00. Stepping over the threshold of his office by 7:00. A working lunch at his desk or a quick walk to clear the cobwebs at noon. Home by 7:00 and repeat ad infinitum. His restlessness increased.

One day he looked up from his work, past the steel and glass outside his windows, and acknowledged to himself that something had taken the place of the former puzzles floating through his consciousness and had instead filled his dreams with increased yearning. He couldn’t quite believe it, but it had grown until its undeniability filled the room.

So it was that he found himself back in a familiar place, now slightly changed. There was no decent road in. It was a place only off-road vehicles could manage, and even then, the trees blocked most paths. He scuffed through dried leaves on the track to the shaded snowpack near his Grandpa’s old place. Little animals scurried to hide. The cold walk filled his lungs with crisp, fresh air. He dug his hands into his coat pockets, and the vapor from his breath increased with the distance. He used to pretend it was pipe smoke when he was 5. He wanted to be like his Grandpa. And God. For somewhere in his little boy imagination his Grandpa was pretty near as close to God as anyone. He wouldn’t have been surprised if God smoked a pipe.

He’d spent every summer of his boyhood in the sturdy three room log cabin filling his days chasing frogs, swimming in the creek, and climbing trees. And every other winter, he’d been allowed to spend his Christmas vacation from school with his Grandpa. The crunch, crunch, crunch underfoot stopped as he pulled the key from his coat pocket and unlocked old, forgotten memories.

For a few hours he swept and scrubbed dirt from neglected surfaces. He started a fire in the fieldstone fireplace, then sank down in the chair his Grandpa had favored. His mind wandered back to evenings by the firelight and wisdom the world he had come from couldn’t touch. He closed his eyes and wished – oh how he wished . . .

A sigh escaped his lips. So many years. Had he chosen the right path or was the simpler one his Grandfather had taken the better one? Was money, hobnobbing, and status the best reward? After all, they had their merits. Were those years he could have had – of rewards from physical labor and homey leisure – now lost? Probably.

He recalled the last Christmas he had joined his Grandpa at the cabin. His parents had died within a year of each other, and he hadn’t wanted to bear the season alone. But his Grandpa was stubborn about one thing. That cabin. He never left it. Something about his lost dog returning, though it never did. He claimed he always wanted it to know where to find him. And they had spent a wonderful week together. That was before his choices. Before the city. Before.

He hadn’t come here to sulk. He grabbed an axe – the one that was always in the corner by the door – and walked out to find a tree. It was just the right size, and when he had decorated it with pinecones and berries, it was perfect.

He sat in the dark, firelight and shadow playing over the walls and floor, and he prayed. He prayed for forgiveness of false equivalencies and shallow goals. And he prayed for a miracle. Right here. On Christmas Eve. He didn’t want a fancy dinner nor a Tesla nor even a house in the Hamptons. No, tonight he made a different choice. He wished for one more talk with his Grandpa who so reminded him of the Good Lord, Himself.

And the sweet scent of pipe smoke filled the room.

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We Will Not Stop: A Prayer of Thanksgiving

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Dear Father of Creation and our Hearts and our Salvation,

We bless Your Name for all You have done. For forming the world – from enormous unexplored outer space and underwater mysteries, to the intricate stripes of a caterpillar and amazing atoms and cells. For providing food from Your bounty and rest from Your peace. For Your expansive mercy and Your encompassing love to each one whether or not they know it. And all of that creation and mercy and love doesn’t stop. It continues minute by minute and century to century. We love that about You!

                             

We praise You for the knowledge of Your great power in parting the Red Sea and in making a path for us to navigate through the trouble and evil of this current world; in walking in the fire with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednigo and in standing firm with us despite the fires of sickness, threats, and political unrest. We are grateful for our nation’s founders and their discernment that without You any nation would fall, but with You our nation would know freedom not otherwise found. You were with us then and have not stopped. You are with us as long as we acknowledge You and invite You. We do! We are so very grateful for the ability to examine history of every era and see Your hand there. Always there.

We thank You today, this day set apart to give thanks, for freedom from want. Though times have been better, You provide what we need. We give thanks for family and, if we have no family, for friends; and if we are friendless, for a friendly smile. We thank you that though we might not know safety, we know Your protection and deliverance when it is most needed. It never stops. It never goes away. We know the promise of heaven.

There is so much to be grateful for, Dearest Father. And today we give thanks, but we will not stop. No, tomorrow we will give thanks. And all the year through. And all our lives because You – You are the source of all that is good and light and beautiful and hopeful.

In Jesus’ Wonderful Name,

Amen.

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ENOUGH

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She spread her hands over the festive tablecloth, smoothing it. Now for the china! It had been her grandmother’s, passed down to her mother, and now to her. Tiny flowers and vines in varying shades of pink and green graced each plate’s surface. She arranged a centerpiece of flowers, pinecones, and pumpkins in the middle of the table; carefully placed a crystal goblet at each place, the silverware – just so, and cloth (cloth!) napkins folded into the shape of a rose. A slight smile crossed her face as she stepped back and admired her work.

The scent of baked turkey and dressing, sweet potatoes, cranberry relish, and a plethora of side dishes wafted through the house. Her faithful dog, Cam, trotted up and stood beside her, and she scratched the top of his head as they stood together taking it all in.

She walked slowly to her bedroom and, after some time, came out dressed in her Thanksgiving best. Cam joined her as she gazed out the front window for a long time. She shook herself, and got busy dishing up the feast and placing it all on the beautiful table.

She glanced at the clock and took her place at the head of the table. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at each empty chair in turn. Then she bowed her head and prayed. She prayed for each dear soul who should be at the table with her; for their fears and their trials and the way they blessed the world. She thanked the Good Lord for so many good things despite privations of job loss, loss of friends, and confusion. For there was much for which to be grateful – for food and shelter, well-being and contentment, faith and hope.

Then she paused, and thought of the governors who restricted families from gathering; the very ones who were probably gathered with loved ones at groaning tables and in lovely homes or, perhaps, mansions. She did not pray for them, though she thought she should. She just considered them. Considered who they had started out to be and who they had intended to be and who they had become.

She patted Cam’s head, and reached for the turkey.

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Thanks for Nothing

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I would like a simple large sign to lean against my house just outside my door. I want it to say something like “Thanksgiving” or “Give Thanks” or something similar. I don’t feel like I’m asking too much. Apparently I am.

Michaels? JoAnne Fabrics? JC Penney? Kohls? Von Maur? Macy’s? HOBBY LOBBY? Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. And, yes, I looked at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, too. I just didn’t want to admit it. There are still markdowns from Halloween, mind you. And Christmas decor is exhibiting some splendor this year if you can ignore the black and white buffalo check (black and white?) and red trucks. Okay. The red pickup trucks can stay, but they don’t get top billing.

For those of you who quietly think to yourselves that this year is honestly a battle between heaven and hell, the Halloween decorations next to Christmas decorations might just send you running out the door in search of a pumpkin latte to calm your nerves. I’ll be right behind you.

If life has taught me anything, though, it’s taught me when the going gets tough, the tough . . . well you know the rest. I’m oh so well aware my cheerleader outfit would not fit me now and I’ll leave that cheer for your to finish – if you can talk yourself into it after the year from – nope. Not gonna say it. I would have to make my own sign. Who needs a rustic artisan? (Well, okay, actually I’m someone who does.) Who needs shiplap? Who needs to spend money?

I went outdoors to scout around. Near our fire pit wood stack, I found something that might work. I grabbed it. Then I stepped back to assess a pallet we’d saved, thinking it could be used for a rustic wedding picture thingy. My husband and I (really just me) were the only ones with that idea, however, and there it still rested against the garage. It’s a bit larger than I’d imagined using for my thanks sign, but there were possibilities. I hauled them both into the kitchen. Then I went back out and grabbed a block of wood we use for a back door doorstop, and stopped in the storage room for some Sharpie Paint pens. Who cares that they’re not my chosen colors? I wouldn’t have to spend a dime!

Then some icy snowflakes started falling, which led to plenty of time raking and bagging our maple leaves (the tree always dilly dallys about letting the leaves go until the very last minute). But it was fortuitous. For as I was looking for something in the garage, I stumbled on the answer to my situation. Yes, I really did stumble. Sometimes the Lord has to do that with me. Or maybe it’s my long-suffering guardian angel with a sense of humor. It’s fine. I’m actually kind of used to it by now.

And that’s the story behind the pallet in my kitchen, a doorstop on my counter, and a dear little signpost by my front door, a beacon of direction to us all.

                                       

 

STAND

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