There is a little white chapel on the grounds of a beloved church camp. It rests near the road with a line of trees protecting it from the infrequent traffic of a nearby highway. Windows line the sides, and a large window reaches across the front.

I love that little white chapel. It’s heard a lot of inspiring sermons and music; seen hand-holding, laughter, and tears; and witnessed quiet prayers when no one was there but the one praying. I’ll bet I’m not the only one who’s done that.

Pine Haven Christian Assembly’s 75th Anniversary Celebration was held just this past weekend. We had more people than that little chapel could hold. We’d planned for an all-out rip the seams kind of Saturday with activities of all kinds and a hog roast and an outdoor service. People had come from all over the place. They were returning to a camp that had touched them and made an impact on their lives.

Saturday morning I walked past the flatbed in place for our outdoor service. I walked past the folks who’d risen in the early hours to put tents up for our 7:00 service that evening. And I walked over to the camp manager who told me there was a 100% chance of rain at 6:00 p.m. Sure enough. I could see that red storm cell headed straight for us. We were given the terms. Not 90%. Not 99%. One hundred percent doesn’t leave much wiggle room; but you know and I know that plan B is never as good as plan A.

Don’t you just love a challenge? I told the campers about the forecast and asked them to pray. And they did. It’s what Christians do. I don’t know what they prayed, but I’ll tell you a little about my prayers. I reminded God about His parting the Red Sea and the Jordan and all those things He’s done – big ones that everybody knows about and small ones that hardly anybody knows about. I asked Him for a favor. I told Him we’d go with what He preferred, but I preferred plan A, and if He’d be willing, we’d love it if He’d help us out and hold back the rain. Please. Please, please. I reminisced with Him about the time when there was a drought and He sent a gully washer because Elijah asked Him to. I reminded Him about how He loved this place. I suggested it could rain on the town, it could rain on the nearby cabins, it could rain everyplace else but this spot. Please just pass over this place. He knows something about Passovers, after all.

That afternoon the manager showed something to me on her very spiffy phone. The storm cell was splitting in two and going above and below our little camp. After we both stared at it, I commented, “Asked and answered” and she, being a woman of faith, agreed. And then the first raindrop fell. Really??!!!

But God was just having a little fun, a little teasing, a little question – even in the face of appearances to the contrary, do you still believe?

The rain stayed long enough for the baseball game hold-outs to get soaked, though I don’t know if they used a PA system to announce the game or had the Caribou mascot or drone for a “fly over” or bat spin race between innings or raffle or softball bingo (I did say rip the seams kind of plans, remember?) . . . The rain stayed long enough that we didn’t get to do wall-climbing or some of the other afternoon activities. But everyone did get in some really great re-connecting and visiting. And then, oh yes, then. Then. It. Stopped.

We just watched fireworks not very many days ago. Some of us watched them while lying on our backs in a park with a crowd of people around us. Some of us sipped something from a cup while nestled in a lawn chair near the shore and saw the result of someone’s magnificent efforts across a lake. Some of us crowded around a small stash of tiny fireworks and enjoyed their valiant sparks as only family members can.

We oohed and we ahhed. We clapped at our favorites. Maybe we remembered the initial idea – that these explosions were reminders of “the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air” and how our flag, the symbol of our free nation, was still there at the end of it all.

But while we watched those fireworks, more likely than not we forgot one thing. We didn’t think about who was setting them off. Unless there was an error, it’s likely we didn’t notice much about the initial spark that started them. We couldn’t trace the outlines of those folks. It was too dark. They were too far away.

I love 4th of July fireworks. At the end of the show, though, I always feel a little overwhelmed. There are eventually so many explosions, it’s hard to take them all in. Look at that one! See the one there! I think that one’s the most astounding of all! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

That feeling I get after fireworks is now part of every day life. The climate is too cold! It’s too hot! We have to stop the changing temperature by doing this! No, that’s not right; we have to do that! If we do this it will adversely affect that – which anyone with half a brain knows would be terrible! Someone was shot! Oh no! Now a lot of someones were bombed! We should do this! No, that thing would be much better! We shouldn’t eat that thing anymore! Wait! It’s actually good for us! We should really stay away from that! Someone cheated! Someone lied! Someone shouldn’t be blamed for his own behavior since he had a tough childhood! Someone should be blamed not only for his behavior but that of those around him! A woman should have the right to abort her baby if she doesn’t want it! Spanking children is wrong! Sex can be decided by a person, not nature! Marriage should have parameters! Marriage should be available to everyone and everything – it’s about love! What people do in the privacy of their own homes is their business! We should limit privacy to protect ourselves! Someone offended someone else! Now more people are offended! Truth is relative! Just because you believe something doesn’t make it true for someone else! There is no truth and you’re not only insensitive, but all kinds of nasty things if you say there is!

Remember when we knew we didn’t have all the answers? When we prayed over big and small problems during prayer meeting on Wednesday nights and every day at home? When our president would use God’s name with reverence rather than as a prop? When the eyes of a majority were fixed on Jesus? Fixed: meaning focused.

If you ask me, someone’s doing a brilliant job of distracting us. Next time – and there will be a next time before you blink – you hear a new thing on the news, or see it on your computer or phone, or read about it in the newspaper, or listen to those around you talk about it; think about the thing no one else is seeing. Think about the *source.

Video: Youtube, Fireworks filmed with drone, drone hub; *John 8:44b, *Romans 1:25-32

You know how when you’re under 30 and you have a pretty good idea about what your life will look like and what it won’t look like? What you will look like and won’t look like?

Regarding those little things in life: I was going to wear make-up every day and my hair would look good. I would wear clothes that matched. Wearing slippers in the middle of the day hadn’t occurred to me, and if it had I would have scoffed. I would maintain self-discipline and be healthy.

I started strong. I used to do a pretty impressive set of calisthenics every morning when I woke up and every evening before I went to bed. I had energy! I was slim! I could run 5 miles with only a little spitting!

But then, well, you know how it goes. Earlier this year I pulled a back muscle that had been taxed over the years with sporadic heavy lifting and shoveling. This time it led to back spasms and middle of the night deliberations on whether inhaling or turning was worth the price.

I can’t complain. After all, as I write, my mother is sitting in my living room in a back brace (for her compression fracture) watching Dr. Phil.

However, something needs to be done before I end up like the dear one in my living room. Don’t you think we should make the effort to be strong? To strengthen the weak? Lift up the fallen? I’m sure Jesus wants it of us. Those kinds of thoughts drifted through my mind as I lay on my back on a Pilates reform bar trying to see if the trainer was kidding when she said to put my feet into two small black cuffs. It was enough of a challenge to remember whether I was supposed to breathe out or in. The cuffs weren’t by my feet. They weren’t even by my knees. They were above my head. Above my head. 

I managed to do it (applause here). Apparently not as well as I thought, because we didn’t continue that exercise very long.

They say that the benefits of Yoga include better spatial memory, but I’m not a Hindu and I can remember where I put my car keys. Pilates, though? I really did like my free consultation. The lady was very nice to me and laughed only once. It was when I said “Good luck to me” just before the cuff effort. I might go back. I’ll keep you posted. I’ll tell you one thing, though. It’s easier to breathe when you’re driving home.

Image: smiling winter girl, public domain

I recall a time years ago when my mother remarked about someone who wasted his time just gazing into a fish tank, talking to the fish. It wasn’t a comment of admiration. Enter Chub Chub.

My son’s university biology class offered its goldfish to whichever college students wanted them. At Easter, he brought his college-educated fish home until such time as he can offer it more luxurious accommodations than a cramped dorm room.

Little Chub Chub was apparently highly influenced by his initial surroundings. He doesn’t seem content to just swim around as I would think fish the wide world over do. Perhaps he grew used to the noise and conversation of a college class or the activity of a dorm room, because whenever someone enters the room, he rushes over to the front of the fish bowl, looks like he’s reciting Ronald Reagan’s “Remarks at the Brandenburg Gate” with great gusto, and dances up a storm. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Yes, I’ve begun talking to the fish. Honestly, it seems rude not to.

I happened to mention it to my mother the other day, knowing what was coming. Even though she is currently laid up with a compression fracture, even though she very recently lost her husband of 64 years, even though there is not much joy in Mudville just now, she managed to convey a degree of disdain and long-suffering that held in it a number of the unspoken thoughts of someone who, frankly, has a right at this point in life to have. She’s right, of course. But . . .

Oh Chub Chub. If only you weren’t so highly animated I could ignore you. However, on one point, let me be clear. No matter how much I admired Reagan, I will not “tear down this wall”. After all, conversation between species notwithstanding, there are some lines that cannot be crossed.

Image: By Pogrebnoj-Alexandroff (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons; reference: Casey At The Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer; reference: Remarks on East-West Relations at the Brandenburg Gate in West Berlin by Ronald Reagan, June 12, 1987.

A thoughtful driver waved me ahead this week. Other than the fact that I was turning left and she was going straight and we were both in the middle of Hennepin Avenue without a stop sign in sight, I would have been glad for such a kind gesture.

I’ve silently ranted about this issue for a couple of years now, but it’s only getting worse. What issue? Rules. In this instance, rules of the road. As far as I know, the person going straight goes first (unless it’s a four-way stop, but let’s not muddy the waters just now). A person making a right turn makes that turn unless the person opposite him has a green arrow, and then he needs to wait. Left is last. Left is always last.

But in the past several years, I cannot tell you the number of times a person opposite me at an intersection and going straight has waved me ahead when I’m turning left. This has happened with little cars and big cars and, yes, even a school bus.

The problem with an apparent lack of rules or rule-following or even knowledge of rules is that it leads to confusion. At intersections. And in life. If we don’t follow very basic rules or even know about them, we leave ourselves vulnerable to crashes. Some will be just fender benders, but others will have considerable consequences.

Being lackadaisical about very simple things; calling something by its proper name, using end punctuation, being honest about what happens when we add and subtract, following the rules of the road, staying on pitch if it’s at all within our power (okay, never mind about that last one – that’s just me rambling) eventually leads to a state of affairs where no one understands anyone else and logic is impotent because no one uses it. It reminds me of the Hindu teaching that all roads lead to heaven. They don’t.

So if you should see me at an intersection, I promise you that if I am going straight I expect to go first. If I am turning left, I will wait for you to go first. Let’s get out those basic building blocks of society so the road we travel is a safe one.

Image: httpspixabay.comenbuilding-blocks-toys-play-abc-123-397143-public-domain.jpg

I recently was a guest blogger on my fellow author, Teresa Pollard’s blog, “Teresa Talks Taboo”, where she addresses touchy topics. I wrote about gun control. Let me know what you think!

TABOO TUESDAY TOPIC: Gun Control

“I wanted to protect you.”

That’s what my husband answered when I asked him why he insisted on going as we crawled into bed at 3:15 a.m. after a very long trip to get one of the kids back to his university after Christmas break. (His car’s transmission chose Christmas break as the time to hand in its resignation.)

Instead of making the trip by myself on Thursday with maybe a layover until the return trip on Friday, we made the whole thing on the day some touchy weather hit. A trip including a bit of snow, slippery roads, numerous cars in the ditch, and a very exciting episode of a big, beautiful truck right in front of us spinning every which way made for a longer than anticipated drive. You want to know about the truck? I was the driver at the time, and after it had come to a rather breath-taking stop, and I had avoided even a hint of a connection between our two vehicles and driven around it as it faced sideways, there was a traumatized silence in the car from my husband and son. I pumped my fist and yelled “Yea, Mom!”. Motherhood has taught me that sometimes you have to thank yourself if others near and dear are slow to do so.

I’ve been thinking about my husband’s answer (given by someone who in the dead of night, despite loud tromping sounds and glass shattering would insist it was only the wind) and have concluded that definitions from the dictionary aren’t necessarily the ones we use in real life.

Who was the prince who fought through the briars to get to his princess? Was it the guy in Sleeping Beauty? Raise your hand if that’s been your experience. However, all my life I’ve watched my dad pull the car up to the door of wherever my parents happened to be, and go around to open the car door for my mom. All my life I’ve watched this. Even when I started filling the role of chauffeur and my dad had to resort to using a walker, he’d still pull the car door open for my mom, one hand on the walker and one on the door. That’s kind of a princely thing to do, isn’t it?

What about the prince in your life who keeps your gas tank filled (no, really, I’ve heard of that happening), or carries your very heavy sleeping toddler as you walk through the mall, or mows the lawn after a long day at work? I heard of a guy who was too exhausted to keep driving and pulled into the rest area so his wife could take the wheel. He instantly fell asleep, his tired wife drove around the rest area, woke him up and told him it was his turn again. And when, miles down the road, what she’d done finally dawned on him, he didn’t blink – he just kept driving. Just to be clear – it wasn’t me. Do you think a fellow with a farmer’s tan who keeps going despite his own exhaustion is in truth more of a prince than the animated hero of great fairy tales?

I very often feel like a princess. Her name was Cinderella before she had those glass slippers. The castle where you live might not have servants. It probably doesn’t have servants. Okay, it doesn’t have servants. But there’s something to be said for good intentions and doing what we can despite not having a white horse or ball gown.

Often the protective thing to do is to be there just in case. Thanks for protecting me, honey. You’re a prince!

Image: en.wikipedia.org Cinderella_1950_Disney”Cinderella 1950 Disney” by Walt Disney – Original Trailer (1950). Licensed under Public Domain via Commons – https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Cinderella_1950_Disney.jpg#/media/File:Cinderella_1950_Disney.jpg