Mind Your Own Business

Most of us live our lives as though it’s nobody’s business what choices, what life decisions we make. After all, it’s a free country, right?  The heart wants what it wants and why shouldn’t our own happiness be our goal? It’s nobody’s business what we do. Everybody has the “right” to do as they please—or is that true? Even our nation’s constitution guarantees our rights only to the point they infringe on others’ lives.

When I was young, I thought the Old Testament was basically a history of the Hebrew nation.  Like the comic books I read, there were monsters and superheroes that put the welfare of others first and saved the day. It was thrilling to imagine there could be heroes like that alive today, to save us from monsters like Hitler. How could these stories pertain to our world today?  Maybe the Old Testament is more than a history of the Hebrew nation.

As my understanding of this world and the next grew, I learned that the heroes in the Bible were not a separate breed of men with super powers, but ordinary men who sinned, doubted themselves, then trusted in God’s guidance and made themselves available to Him, resulting in miraculous changes in their lives and the lives of those around then. Doesn’t that mean it’s as current as the daily news program on radio or TV?

Today Dr. Charles Stanley talked about two such men—one a king over a wealthy country, who believed he had divine right to take what he wanted and a man raised in Egyptian   royalty, exiled for murder, a fugitive who had lived 40 years as a shepherd far away. God arranged for his return to rescue some two million Hebrew slaves. Why didn’t God pick someone who could command the respect of his adversary, someone well known, someone so powerful that pharaoh would listen to him?

No contest surely. Through Moses, God gave pharaoh many warnings of great trouble which would affect the lives of those ruled by pharaoh, which he felt free to ignore despite the danger to his citizens.  His comfort, his wealth, his international fame were his goal. And despite fulfillment of a series of increasingly painful plagues suffered by his people, his heart was hardened against this Moses upstart, this nothing little shepherd who dared to defy him, and this God he spoke of. Until the death of his own son—then he was suddenly eager to have this pesky group of slaves gone. God made it clear, by choosing Moses, that the results of this battle would bear witness to His all-powerful hand raised against this evil king, not that of any man.

Pharaoh’s pride and greed were his choice, but his people paid the price in pain. most of us  have at least one sin we cling to, believing it is no one else’s business—just between us and God. He knows his children will stumble as they go and is ready to forgive, but any sin we refuse to give up stands between us and God, at our peril.

But each of us has someone watching us, perhaps heartbrokenly watching and loving us, or God forbid, following our example in life. Do we really want to carry to Judgment Day the additional burden of their pain or loss of faith?

Yes, Lord

The most important words I ever said. And blessings poured into my life day by day, year by year from His bounty without measure, often unnoticed, always at the best time and never too late, regardless of how impatiently I waited, as I gradually learned saying yes saves a lot of heartache and wasted effort.             God blessed me with a memory equipped to recall many decades of situations which could have been crushing and seemed to hover far too long for comfort and although unseen then, cleared the way for more blessings. Perhaps not a solution I desired at the time, but often now I can see the delicacy of His loving hand adjusting bits of my life, perhaps taking away some bits I’m better off without, or the occasional ‘pop quiz’ just to prove I’m listening, as He taught me I can trust Him. Completely. All the time. Always.             Time and distance often help us to understand God’s planning—not always though. Sometimes, reminding us He’s King, Master, Father, He does not explain. (His world, His rules.) Remembering and enjoying beauty and love in all the good things I know about Him, I can accept that I have no right to demand answers. I just remind myself to say daily “Yes, Lord”. I trust in what I know about Him; I can trust the unknown to His loving, all-powerful hand.             Anytime I tried to handle trouble by myself, bitterness took root. Yet seen from a great distance, no anger or bitterness remains from the past, all seen through eyes filled with His love. The only sadness I feel is regret over how slowly I grew as I gradually, so painfully slowly, and the opportunities I missed along the way.             I’ve had my ‘last word’; I pray whenever you reach your last brief time in this world, you can look back at a lifetime filled with God’s blessings.

On the Rarity of Boldness

      

          I remember when I was a small child in church that a preacher often got so excited, so filled with passion, that his voice rose to a shout as he paced back and forth with such urgency in his voice, such emotion, that even so small a creature as I could not ignore what he was saying. In fact one preacher (J.. Frank Norris, a local fire-and-brimstone preacher in the 1920s-1930s, whose church grew to fill a city block ) inspired such emotion in my own father that his strong feelings led to rebellion and he rose mid-service, grabbed my hand and dragged Mother and me out of that church, never to return. 
            My dad rebelled at hearing the fate of a sinner described so vividly and darkly. His view of God was purely love toward mankind. So far as I know, Daddy stayed away from church services for the next decade. Years later, he said he couldn’t sit and listen to someone talk about a God who said He loved us and yet condemn sinners to such an eternal, infernal fate. Yet Jesus spoke of Hell three times as often as He did Heaven. If God the Father is real, so is God the Judge, who will sentence any who refuse to accept His pardon, given at the expense of the Perfect One, who sacrificed Himself, accepting the death penalty our sin requires. Both Heaven and Hell are real or Jesus was not who He said He was and there is no Heaven, indeed no God! 
            I wonder whether as time went on many pastors, seeking popularity perhaps, had trouble explaining away this truth and began to avoid this aspect of God and rather began to emphasize in their teaching discipleship, a form of self-improvement intended to bring us closer to a loving Father.  Even while telling us we were saved by God’s grace through faith He planted in our hearts, I wonder if we listeners hear only that we need to improve to enter Heaven, not hearing the part about no one ever becoming good enough without Jesus paying our penalty. 
           We often seem to think of Holy God as dispenser of Good things, a doting Grandfather and less often remember He is a Judge who hates any sin (He doesn't grade on the curve) and who dispenses final judgment. One day His patience will end and His invitation will be withheld, Heaven's gate will be shut, leaving us to our choice: an eternal future without Him and an eternal penalty to repent, without hope. 
            A precious few preachers now seem to sense that time is short; there is a boldness in their message which demands our full attention. Self-improvement is not why God left us here in this sin-filled world—if we loved others as we do Him, we would be shouting about the dangers ahead for those who deny Him as Lord. This is not the time for timidity, tolerance of evil around us.
            One has described our behavior as that of a surgeon who could heal our disease, but fears bad news would offend his patient, fails to offer the cure or even tell us there is a cure, and lets us limp forward with a prognosis of sure death. Yes, surgery is painful, but better than the alternate. Or a fireman sitting in the firehouse, ignoring the blaring alarm which signals imminent death for some unknowing victim, or a highway repairman failing to signal a collapsed bridge ahead. 
            The one thing we can do today which cannot be done after we leave this world behind is to share God's love and warning to those around us, whose coattails are already smoking. 

                                   

Ever get stuck in the mud?

            It somehow happens to all of us one day or another. Messy at best, dangerous at worst; usually we’re caught unaware.

            As little children, it was a pleasant way to pass time, playing in the mud, making mud pies and pretending they’re real. At suppertime we craved resl food but before letting us come in, our mother or father would carry us inside for a bath and gently scrub away all the dried mud and bring us, spotless, to the family dinner able.

            As we grew, we loved to splash in rain puddles along the roadside. Parents taught us the dangers of getting so close to traffic. They reminded us we needed our shoes, dry and shiny, for school the next day. One day after a storm, my path home became a slip-and-slide of gooey mud, with no way around it. As I slipped and slid, my foot became trapped! I struggled and finally wrestled my foot free, but left my shoe behind.  I was freed, but at a cost.

            One boring afternoon Mother was frustrated to stay home. Daddy parked the car at the airport and spent the sunny weekends taking pilot lesson. She and I took a bus to the airport, found the car and drove away. I knew trouble was just around the corner—nobody drove his car, ever! After a mile or so, we found ourselves on an unfamiliar road, a deeply muddy road. We got out, walked to a bus stop and went home, leaving the car firmly held prisoner up to its hubcaps. I thought it was gone for good but the next day it was in its driveway as usual and clean! I never knew how—Daddy must have had helpful friends who pulled and pushed to set it free.

            Even though we outgrow mud pies, we’re naturally drawn to the dangerous path, getting our feet muddy, The farther down this path we go, the less we realize our danger--it begins to seem normal. We no longer recognize the filth of our path—after all, there are crowds of people slogging through the street with us and nobody seems to notice they are sinking lower with each unheeding step. Eventually the struggle seems hopeless and we look up and see Our Father’s hand, reaching down from Heaven to scrub away all the mud and bring us to His family feast.

        His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our                           acknowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.
                                                      2 Peter 1:3, NIV

           

           

Importance of Vehicle Maintenance

Once I had a shiny, new automobile I was thrilled with—at first. A few months later, not so much. It grew fond of dying in an intersection, seeming to enjoy the attention of other cars, whose horns loudly brayed their ridicule as they edged around us.

Eventually Wheels, as I had named her, grew tired of the game and would meekly cough and resume her sedate path homeward. Sometimes she behaved even more erratically: for no apparent reason, she displayed a streak of anger in a fountain of hot water shooting from her radiator.

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I was puzzled; she had always received tender, loving care—Saturday afternoons were spa day, up to and including a cooling spritz of floral-scented air freshener.  Why was she becoming so finicky, xo  temperamental?

A kind mechanic at the dealership helped me understand her behavior was a cry for help, which I hadn’t understood. Her outbursts of hot water, he said, were her plea for a cooling drink of anti-freeze. And her capricious stops and starts were solved by looking under her hood. A cable was hanging onto the battery by a thread, causing it to become unstable. The battery connections were corroded so her connection to power was corrupted. Simple to fix but unnecessary if she had been properly maintained.

My fault, my responsibility.

Come to think about it, a little like my spiritual life, neglected and ignored, despite my best intentions. Corrosion between my heart and my Source of Power affect my performance—sin is corrosive and divisive, distracting me, separating me from my Heavenly Father. And spending more time reading the Owner’s Manual for my life, living water nourishing my soul—the Holy Bible--should keep me from stalling out in heavy traffic, those urgent times when I feel so out of control.  Simple to fix, but requiring my diligent attention, my earnest effort to follow my Lord, my Leader, all the way Home.  Effort well rewarded by a smoother path ahead.

Truth?  "Wheels" existed only to illustrate an important point, although I did once own a car that spent more time at the shop than its own garage.

Our spiritual growth is at risk when we try to "wing it" instead of daily checking with our Master Mechanic and learning all we can from His Instruction manual. All the info is right there,  readily available because He loves each one of us.

Appreciating God's Presence

It used to be years ago when I was young, that Wednesday night at church meant a short Bible study and then a good testimony hour or so, when many folks took their turn up front telling something special the Lord had done for them the prior week. (They didn’t need to go back farther, because they probably had already testified to last week’s blessings.) Most of their tales were not what some people might call a traffic-stopping miracle but a kind remark from a boss, some kindness from a stranger, a temptation they had avoided, repairing a broken friendship, or finding a better job after a long search.

And you can be sure, nobody wanted to sit on their hands and listen to everybody else brag about their special attention from God that week without taking your turn—heaven forbid you couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than all  your neighbors said about all God was doing for them--you might be tempted to make up something good so the others wouldn’t think you’d fallen away from the faith or were caught up in sin so God stopped talking to you. Talk about plain old red-faced blushing! That would tip them off for sure that your heart wasn't in the battle.

That's the kind of peer pressure this world needs now, challenging each other to be the best we can be.

Seriously though, it was actually a sweet time of rejoicing and sharing about God’s active presence in our little congregation. The point is, when you’re looking for it, you can think back and see God’s hand smoothing your path. Practicing awareness of God’s daily presence builds faith for those inevitable difficult times when you can expect your faith to be tested and tests are usually uncomfortable; some are life changing.

God never takes a day off, leaving us on our own when trouble comes. He certainly is due for praises as we recount to one another what God has done and is doing in our own lives. He certainly appreciates a thankful heart in His children as we give Him credit for good things happening instead of bragging as though we alone are responsible for our successes or even worse: our “good luck”.

Practicing the presence of God means acknowledging His presence, talking to Him as you go through your day, as you would speak to friends or co-workers.  Is that what it means when the Bible tells us to "pray without ceasing"? Nothing much going on this particular day? There’s always the weather to talk about, the sunshine warming your face or the cool breeze and fresh smell after a rain shower. Or what about the traffic jam this morning? No one got killed, and you can thank Him for that less traumatizing outcome and ask Him to provide quick healing for the stranger in the ambulance as it passes you.

On a plain, boring day, talk to Him about something He created that you particularly enjoy or contemplate with Him the beauty and complexity of His various creations for our pleasure or use. Sharing some of the good things you experience with God could strengthen someone else's faith or encourage the to be more aware of His presence. He's here, right beside you--don't ignore Him. Enjoy the companionship.

Facing the Tough Stuff

                                             

            For decades I never told anyone about my biggest, most intense fear: a tornado. When did it begin? It wasn’t always there but serious thinking back failed to reveal its beginning. When I was a very little girl, my mother told me about her family being in a tornado and that she was scared, but that seemed like a “once upon a time” story, happening long before I was born. She was very young herself at the time, so that didn’t really seem real to me. The tornado that carried Dorothy and Toto to the Land of Oz landed the girl in a Technicolor wonderland, so that didn’t seem like such a bad thing. 

            Once during my high school years, I remember standing with neighbors in our front yard watching an eerie wall cloud rumble across the sky above. One of the neighbors (raised in Tornado Alley, Oklahoma) proclaimed it was the classic cloud carrying a tornado ready to dip down at any moment, anywhere along its path, whenever it chose. Impressive enough to take seriously, but it was nothing to cause heart-stopping terror. That came later, gradually; over time it grew from normal caution and respect into a panic response at the mere threat of a storm anywhere in the county. 

             My sister and her husband encountered a small twister while driving along a Missouri highway and left their car and sheltered in a ditch, then, unharmed, drove on their way. I knew they are survivable, but not for me.

My imagination was fed generously by television newsmen and their detailed reports of storms hundreds of miles away—they looked so close on the map and stern warnings issued as the storms developed demanded serious attention. Then one spring storm season, I found myself at home with two small children, a husband working the night shift. I soon formed the habit of sitting up in bed, lights on, waiting for each storm warning to be declared “all clear”, making the next day at work extremely tedious as I sleepwalked through my job. If the storm was particularly close and turbulent (according to my television friend’s warning), on those nights I sat up until the storm passed our area, fully clothed, purse, car keys, flashlight at my fingertips. In case I dozed off, I kept the television on, even though the channels had signed off around midnight, because I knew my faithful protector at Channel 5 would (at full volume) broadcast news of any secondary storm fronts passing by.

            Somewhere along my journey I began to have nightmares about cyclones, usually taking the form of my joining a line of many people standing helplessly, watching a huge tornado approaching from miles away, headed directly for us. Paralyzed with terror, we awaited our doom, making no attempt to escape. Thankfully, in none of those dreams did the storm ever arrive before I awoke. The thought of being buried under what’s left of a house gives a whole new insight into the vengefulness of the witch in Munchkin Land when her sister was squashed by Dorothy’s house arriving suddenly from Kansas.

Yes, when we’re awake, we remember all the warnings to run from them, take cover, promising we can, if caught outdoors, safely outrun a storm and should head at right angles to their path. On the other hand, we also have seen television films showing the erratic hop-skip-jump path they take, leaving debris or clean foundations where a community of homes was an hour earlier, leading me to take those guarantees of safety with a grain of salt. 

Then came the day I learned a lot about myself. 

On an early spring day while I was at work, at Abbott Labs in Irving, there were reports of hook clouds in multiple locations in the immediate area but none had touched down so far. When I left for home at 4:00 the wind was blowing leaves and trash almost horizontally to the road and I could look to the north and west and see several of those hook clouds all around DFW airport, which raised goose bumps and whitened my knuckles on the steering wheel. Then, as though that wasn’t enough to panic me, as I headed south, I passed a police car parked on the median strip of Belt Line Road in Irving, facing north with the driver’s door open and a uniformed policeman standing facing north, his radio to his lips, staring straight at the sky.behind me.

Later that day the TV news reported hanger and small aircraft damage at DFW Airport, less than three miles away, proving I hadn’t overestimated the danger I had avoided. However, still hoping for the best, I turned off Belt Line Road onto the service road to Airport Freeway. Once I entered the freeway the wind accelerated, still horizontal, blowing straight to the south, broadside to my car, carrying such dirt, leaves and small debris that the road almost disappeared. I pulled onto the shoulder and stopped, hoping rain would follow and the wind would die down so I could proceed home. The wind seemed to come in gusts, like a powerful heartbeat, and my car rocked hard with each gust as though my right wheels would leave the ground with the next blow.             

I had recently attended a week-long revival preached by evangelist Jack Taylor and now understood what a shallow, powerless, fearful Christian I had always been. More important I had become convinced that Christians are not limited to their human strengths and are not supposed to live that way. As I sat in that rocking car, I looked across three lanes of traffic to my left and prayed. I recognized that beyond the next few minutes my next sight would likely be heaven or a hospital and prayed my rolling car wouldn’t hit and injure someone else on the freeway. Now calm, the thought came to me; “I need something to hold this car down.” Immediately a song we had sung all week in church came to mind and I began to sing “He’s my rock, He’s my deliverer”. The car heaved mightily once more and then sat glued to the road, stable as the Rock holding it in place. I sat for a while watching the wind still sending dirt, leaves and debris flying across the road yet my car never quivered again. 

If we’re lucky, we may receive such direct assurance of our destiny a few times in a lifetime. This was one of perhaps half dozen great revelations over my eight decades.  His Holy Spirit had physically held me on my feet at my mother’s graveside some twenty years ago. A few years later I watched His loving care through Kathy’s long illness until He opened Heaven’s door for my daughter. His presence was so tangible I felt it would be sacrilege to mourn my loss, knowing her body and speech were now restored and she was singing freely once more, this time directly to the subject of her music: her Lord and God.

All I know is that since that spring day in Irving, I listen to storm warnings and take precautions, taking cover in a closet if need be, but otherwise remain calm. No more nightmares about cyclones, no more morbid fascination with storms, just a quick prayer breathed for any possible victims of the storm as it passed through and reasonable care when called for. .And just t prove it to me, there was a test!

At 3:30 a.m. April 10, 2008, my Father in Heaven again proved He cared for me beyond my safety; He protected me from any remnant of fear that might remain in a dark corner of my heart. You see, the power went out during the night before, keeping me awake for a few hours. By bedtime on April 9, I was exhausted enough to sleep through the strange-sounding wind that woke my neighbors and sent them to their hallway for safety. No chance of my worrying or being fearful, even though a few hours earlier I had seen on the television radar screen that a tornado, forming and dissolving and forming again, was on a path toward south Hurst. 

However, at 3:30 a.m. a monstrous crash and a ball of fire outside my window raised me inches above my recliner. I was convinced there had been a very close lightning strike because the flash of light and the booming noise were almost simultaneous. I knew the power was off, the phone and security system both dead, but after a couple of hours, dozed off again. Until a neighbor knocked on my door the next morning I didn’t know the huge cottonwood tree next door had fallen on my roof. Actually their elm tree fell on their kitchen and the cottonwood fell on their garage and my house, totaling their kitchen and denting their car through a hole in the garage roof. It took out a section of fence, totaled my air conditioner, and bent double the power pole holding electric wiring to my house, leaving my electric meter, telephone box and breaker box dangling. It left a hole in the roof, 3 damaged rafter tails with a half-moon bite out of the roofing overhang—about four feet from where I was sleeping.              

When I ventured outside that morning, the man next door said his mother had earlier called 911 but since no one came, an hour later he called and the Fire Department were there almost immediately, from their station two blocks away. They sealed the neighbor’s house and part of my yard with yellow hazard tape. His kitchen roof was now accordion-shaped and there were downed wires over both our back yards. The street was full of people talking, wondering what to do first. One woman looked up and waved at the news helicopter flying over and a man with a commercial camcorder on his shoulder followed me to the back yard to look at the damage, trying to interview me before I had washed my face or combed my hair. It was surreal—I felt like I was watching it unfold on a newsreel. 

The next couple of days were a blur of strangers tramping through my yard as I tried to figure out how to deal with the damage. The owner of the tree hired someone to remove both huge trees from both houses about three days later. (It took the crew three days to finish.) In the meantime my roofer put a temporary patch over the hole in my roof and I found someone to remove a couple of branches looming over the electrical wiring hash so a very obliging electrician could get his day’s work done. 

By the second day two neighbors whose power was still working brought extension cords to keep my freezer and refrigerator working. Other neighbors shared power with those across the street, where the entire block was dark for four days. The early spring nights were cold without heat, but I refused to go to a hotel and leave my home unlocked with an open door for the lifeline to my fridge and leave my precious dog alone and fearful. We kept each other warm, listened to KCBI FM on a battery radio for Christian music reminding me of my blessings. There was cereal and milk for breakfast, cheese and cold cuts for lunch and Celina next door brought me a hot dinner three nights.

Three of my phone extensions were working; three were not. During the week I left home briefly twice, for a hot meal and a few groceries. I was reluctant to leave the house for fear of missing a call back from carpenters, roofers, tree trimmers, electricians who could help restore my poor house to normalcy. Monday the electrician repaired the wiring and installed a new breaker box and called the City for inspection. The inspector arrived midday Tuesday and called Oncor to install a new meter and turn on power. It took four phone calls to get them there by Wednesday at 5:30 and there were thanksgiving and a hot meal that evening, six hours shy of a full week!

My insurance adjuster arrived from Chicago Thursday and had a check cut for the full amount of the claim, less my $1300 deductible, without holding back the depreciation portion until work was completed. My new air conditioner is installed and paid for, as is the electrician. Carpentry work took a little longer, but the estimate was well within the total claim amount. 

No one was hurt during this storm and inconvenience is secondary. A silent house in a long dark night is a great place to reflect on your relationship with your Protector, your Comforter, your Eternal Companion. Through His grace, I had the money for the insurance premium and the deductible, I was guided to competent, trustworthy workers for the repairs and met four very nice neighbors, one of whom was a new widow who could use a friend. God is good indeed.