Back in the day, before us girls had any self-awareness or dignity, Mom and Aunt Hilda easily talked us into their wild plans for “fun and spreading Christmas cheer”.  It was an unnecessary torment, but we complied since cell phones weren’t invented yet. Multiple years we dressed up like santas and visited locals, who were usually elderly and held low expectations. There was always a shortage on costumes because we needed six! None of the masks were any beauties, some were cracked, and most smelled like they’d been stored in the barn for generations, but they got the job done of covering our faces, an absolute necessity for our extremely shy little troupe. I recall the year we came up one mask too short and our mothers made a desperate move nobody had permission to talk about for many moons. They marched into the bedroom, grabbed a pair of peach colored silky drawers, cut out eye holes, and put some blush where they imagined the cheeks would be! Aunt Hilda (a statuesque 5’8”) confidently wore those underpants on top of her head, thinking nobody would notice. Now while they were distracted crafting her “mask”, I was busy stuffing my Mrs. Santa dress with pillows to make it look like I was pregnant, which we girls thought was ridiculously funny. Finally, away we went to spread Christmas cheer. Now imagine six haggard-looking santas getting out of a truck and walking up to your front door. Times were different then, so the couple opened the door and welcomed us into their warm cozy one room house. They sat on the bed across from us as we all squeezed together on their couch, a task even more difficult with my now protruding belly. Turns out our hosts were just as shy as we were, so nobody said a word. They sat and looked at us, and we sat and looked at them. I’m certain we had the better view. Imagine staring at a couch full of unsightly santas; the fidgety one seemed to be pregnant which was confusing, and the tall one’s eyes blinked through holes in underpants she wore on top of her head. Once we figured our hosts were about as full of Christmas cheer as they could be, and we began to sweat from the abundant heat emanating off the coal stove, someone mercifully pushed a gift towards them. The transaction of cheer completed, we rose in unison and walked out the door, hearing one of them say behind us, “Well, you don’t see that every day.”
        I wonder what moments of amazement surrounded the arrival of Jesus on that silent night in Bethlehem. First of all, Mary and Joseph would have been filled with awe when Baby Jesus arrived as a result of a virgin birth. The Innkeeper probably was shocked to discover a human baby had been born in his stable. The shepherds would have been blown away when the angels appeared and lighted up their corner of the dark pasture.  And the Magi, who were Gentiles seeking truth, pushed their gifts across the room to the Christ Child and were captivated.
     Fast forward 2000+ years and Jesus is still greater than our comprehension. He came to Earth as a human baby, fulfilling numerous prophecies so we would know He’s the real deal; a baby who would 33 years later provide the only way for us to get to Heaven when we step out of this life into eternity.  All we have to do is accept the gift. It can be done in serene silence or with lights of a thousand angels.  “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith, and this is not from yourselves; it is the gift of God, not by works, so that no one can boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9 It’s such an unparalleled gift you could say, “You don’t see that every day!”

If  he arrived early, he would put the bus in park, walk down the hill, and carry us. We knew he loved us. Once he let my best friend Paula and I get out and attempt to catch a bird. And there was the time he opened the bus door and let a goat climb aboard! We would sit in the back seats, and when we rode over the Replete bridge, we’d yell “Faster!” with the goal of our little heads touching the ceiling. Somebody would probably complain nowadays, but that elementary school bus held some of my fondest childhood memories. And something I’ve come to realize is that it really matters who’s driving the bus.
     This past month I had the pleasure of accompanying mom, a family friend, and a cousin on a senior citizens bus tour to Chattanooga, Tennessee. The trip started out a bit rough as one dear woman tripped, breaking her glasses, and cutting her head open in the parking lot before we even got on the bus…but she still went on the trip! We all received ID lanyards, which apparently make you have to go to the bathroom every 2 hours. Our tour director gave an introduction pep-talk about important things like the bus would stop every two hours for a restroom break. It was mandatory that everyone exit the bus as not to get a blood clot and die like so-and-so did (She mentioned a specific name and it was at this point, cousin Rebekah and I made a new goal not to become part of future tour intros.) We were also informed that the bus we were on was not the scheduled one, we had a new bus driver, and we were all to note the crack in the windshield happened before our tour began. When the bus driver introduced himself, he comically added he was not actually a new bus driver, but had 30 years driving experience and was much better than the driver originally scheduled. 
      I could tell this bus ride was going to be drastically different from both my elementary and high school busing experiences. During our one-hour, three-to-a-seat, ride to the county high school our legs would go numb from the heavy textbooks and backpacks stacked on our laps. The bus driver carried a giant wooden paddle with holes in it which he’d bang on the floor to calm everyone down when it got too rowdy. By rowdy I mean the high school boys blaring “Bang Your Head” or throwing all the windows down in freeze-outs when one of them had eaten beans or ramps the night before.
     The recent senior bus trip to Chattanooga was much calmer and allowed several life lessons to be illuminated. I realize I need to step up my game when it comes to resilience. Sometimes there are unexpected prizes IF you can just stay awake and finish the bus bingo games. Bus drivers are a lot like shepherds leading their flock from one pasture to the next. The flock has to trust the bus driver. (There were times we didn’t know where we were going but we all lined up and got on the bus anyway!) And being punctual means being 20 minutes early.
      I see signs all the time saying “Bus drivers needed. Will train”. Are we being asked to lead and are we willing to be trained? What a blessing it is to have a bus driver/Shepherd who loves us and steers us in the right direction…one who will carry us when we are tired from climbing the hill. “Even to your old age and gray hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you” (Isaiah 46:4) The most important question we can ask ourselves is “Who’s driving the bus?”
 

I miss the old screen doors, the kind we ran through as kids to play outside, hearing the spring jerk it closed approvingly behind us. If you weren’t careful, it was an unnecessary torment to get your arm hair yanked out by that door spring. In 1986 a revolutionary torturous hair removal device was marketed called the Epilady, which I’m sure was inspired by an old door spring… but alas I’m easily distracted.
      Apparently, most people suffer from the same shortcoming. Studies show the average human attention span is a mere 8.5 seconds! (For reference, a goldfish has an attention span of nine seconds…) It’s no surprise, then, that Mom is constantly telling me to “Keep your mind on your business “. 
      Everyone who grew up in a home equipped with screen doors, knows that overtime holes got worn into the screen. Dad used to tell the story how their old screen door had many holes in it allowing flies and critters to get in the house. One memorable evening all the kids were gathered around while Grandma Cowger read from the Holy Bible. Her voice faded into the cool evening air as their eyes concentrated on the scene unfolding before them. A fly had landed on grandma‘s bear shin, and a toad that also made its way through the screen door was stalking the fly. Suddenly, the toad seized the moment and shot its long wet tongue onto grandma‘s leg. This was quite a surprise so she threw down the Bible and began to stomp and holler in such a spectacle an outsider might’ve thought the scripture had moved her deeply.
      A similar thing happened at the Buckwheat Church one summer. During the sermon, a mouse that built its home in the non-functional, ornate potbellied stove in the center aisle came out to see what all the ruckus was about. One by one it stole the congregants’ attention away from the words of the preacher. 
      The question worth asking is, while it might not be a toad or a mouse, what is it that is currently distracting us from God and His word? Is it a church or Christian that caused pain? That wasn’t Jesus. Do our hands hold our phone more than our bible? Are we too busy, too tired, too prideful? The enemy uses a number of distractions to keep us from a meaningful relationship with Jesus, and it’s been said the first chapter in his playbook is Distract (followed by Deceive, Discourage, and Destroy.) Lot’s of times we are aware of the holes in our screen door and what has gotten through, but don’t do anything about it.
      When the plague of frogs invaded homes in Old Testament Egypt, Moses asked the pharaoh, “ When do you want the frogs to go away? Pharoah said “Tomorrow.’ (Exodus 8:9-10) Tomorrow?? Why not today? Why not right now? I’ll bet God is asking the same questions concerning us booting the distractions out of our houses! Why not today? Why not right now? Changes we need to make are often easier to put off until tomorrow, but scripture encourages us not to wait. “Don’t put it off, do it now. Don’t rest until you do.” (Proverbs 6:4) and “If you put off until tomorrow the work you could do today, tomorrow never seems to come.” (Proverbs 24:33-34)
      One of the best examples of dedicated focus and zero distraction is the skill of the men and women who make up the Blue Angels, the US Navy Flight Demonstration Squadron. Some of their high speed ultra-tight formations involve their plane wings overlapping each other only 18 inches apart while flying 700 mph! Do you know how they are able to achieve this level of focus? Training. When it comes to avoiding distractions, let’s train in God’s Word, be focused like the Angels, and fix the metaphorical holes in our screen doors.

Examining my city-slicker hands and feet, I notice the blisters I earned a few weeks ago weed-eating at the farm have turned into callouses, just in time for me to jump back into the work now. It got me thinking about how the first butterfly sighting of spring always ushered in the barefoot season, so by the time we hit mid to late summer, our feet were so tough even sharp rocks didn’t slow us kids down.  I’ve noticed people don’t go barefoot as much as we used to and it’s a crying shame. One might say we’ve gone soft and can’t survive shoelessness. My recent blisters were the result of wearing rubber boots that were a size too big.  My body simply reacted to pressure and friction.
     I love object lessons and metaphors, and my blisters and callouses provide me the opportunity.  Sometimes we blister, reacting to ill-fitting boots…or things in life not meant for us…New things can cause pressure and friction. We must intentionally address the point of friction.
    Unwelcome blisters come when we are ill-prepared, but some people like callouses. Where callouses have formed, we become less sensitive, aiding musicians, athletes, and artisans who labor with their hands. Mom gets callouses from making baskets and I get them from working leather. Fresh in my memory like it was yesterday are the large-knuckled hands of my great aunts, the Balli Sisters, evidence of years milking cows, chopping firewood, hoeing a garden, raking hay,  mending fences, and making Swiss cheese. As a kid, I thought those strong calloused hands could conquer the world.
      I have a friend who has the uncanny ability to grasp a hot log and rearrange it in the fire pit, or grab a pan straight from the oven with his bare hands. Hands that have become so tough he can’t feel much anymore.  Back in the day, an old woman advised us 20-year-old girls to look at a man’s hands to determine if they were capable of taking care of us. The more work-worn they were, the better. A few blisters showed they were trying, a few callouses meant they were succeeding.  Mom used to say so-and- so has thick skin but she wasn’t talking about their physical selves, she meant they were tough and nothing bothered them. Thick skin is helpful in a culture where everyone is offended about something.  I heard once when an unwelcome comment rains down you, simply “be a like a duck and let it roll off your back.”  Sometimes I’ve had to say “Be a duck….Be a duck.”  It’s best to just say it in your head, but if the words slip out audibly with a determined fierceness, it just might ward off your offender.
     Not being sensitive might be the best thing about callouses, but it’s also the worst thing about them!  If we loose our sense of touch and feeling, our natural instinct to react to danger goes out the window. Several scriptures warn us about this:  “For this people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes…”  (Matthew 13:15) “But because of your callous stubbornness and unrepentant heart you are storing up wrath for yourself…” (Romans 2:5) and “They became callous and gave themselves over to promiscuity for the practice of every kind of impurity with a desire for more and more.” (Ephesians 4:19) A heart that continually refuses to repent and surrender to Jesus becomes hardened—calloused. Much like a toughened calloused hand grabbing a burning log on fire, a hard heart doesn’t feel the danger it’s in and “wants more and more”. If callouses have already started forming, I know a Perfect healing balm and His name is Jesus.
     So let’s put on those metaphorical muck boots…Things might get messy and we might get blisters, but the reward will be great if we’re willing to put in the “work”.         

  Shelter. It’s one of the basic human needs along with food, and water. Clothes are also on the list (thankfully).  If you’ve ever watched a show where people are dropped in a harsh environment in the middle of nowhere to fend for themselves, the first thing they usually do is build a shelter.
     A fond childhood memory is my best friend and I building a clubhouse. “Build” might be an exaggeration. We mostly just turned a giant cardboard box upside down and hid under it. When an airplane flew over we’d race to the safety of our shelter so as not to get bombed. Maybe it was simply child’s play? Or maybe it was from watching the war drama series MASH which aired on our single channel TVs? Or maybe we’d seen a history video at school? Some of you might remember school drills in the 1950’s called “Duck and Cover” where students dove under their desks and covered their heads in case of an atomic bomb attack. The education system had stopped training that survival tactic by the time Paula and I went through elementary school, but the point is, for whatever reason, we two little girls with big imaginations recognized the basic human need for shelter and leaned into it. Psalm 55:8 “I would hurry to my place of shelter, far from the tempest and storm.”
     Caves and rocks, used as shelters since the beginning of time, have proved notably more substantial than cardboard. My ancestors actually lived in a cave until their house was built. And when my mom and her mother, who was also her teacher, walked three miles to Beulah School, they’d take shelter under overhanging rocks to get out of the rain. Job 24:8 “They are wet with the rain of the mountains, and cling to the rock for want of shelter.”
     One year, Uncle Jack made a gigantic tent to shelter two families because we all wanted to be together and save money while vacationing at Kings Island amusement park. He sewed several yards of canvas on an industrial army-grade sewing machine, and while the structure itself was sound, it had no floor. All eight of us slept directly on the ground. During the night, my mom kept fussing with bugs and she was sure we would all be infested with ground fleas, but in the morning light she discovered her pillow was squarely in the middle of an ant trail! Overall we were grateful our tent had provided some protection, as the writer of Psalms 61:4 understood on a grander scale—“Let me dwell in thy tent forever! Oh to be safe under the shelter of thy wings.”
     And there was biblical Jonah. He reluctantly delivered a plan of salvation to the wicked people in Nineveh… and in Jonah chapter four, we see him still stewing. He went to the outskirts of the city and made himself a shelter to sit and watch for the destruction he hoped God would send. The sun was scorching hot so God had a vine grow up over the hut and provide cooling shade. This vine became a tool God used to teach Jonah about His compassion. God’s shelter is always better.
     When the enemy attacks like a prowling lion, the cardboard box some of us have been hiding in is not going to be enough. Not even a tent or roadside rock is a match for some of life’s “bombs”. The good news is: God, Himself, is a shelter for us to run to for protection when the storms of life rage, or the heat of the moment is scorching us, or if we are afraid.  Isaiah 25: 4 describes the Glory of God as a refuge for the poor, a stronghold for the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat. May we all find that kind of Shelter.
 

       My feet were planted in thick sticky mud, while the gym bag and heavy backpack cut into my sunburned shoulders. I was positioned at the finish line of a Spartan race waiting for my niece and her boyfriend to come into view. There was already victory in the air for those who dared even enter this grueling 5K endurance course, which involved difficult obstacles and excessive amounts of mud. The final obstacle was a row of fire, occasionally stoked with a spray of orange flammable substance some guy squirted out of a plastic water bottle. I watched as some finishers crossed the fire as a group holding hands. There were father/son,  mother/daughter, or couple duos. Others were alone. A few came limping in, barely able to lift their feet one last time to clear the flames. There was an impressive young buck who amazed us cheering spectators by doing a backflip over the fire with a big grin! It might have been the heat from the sun or the fire, but as I watched the endless stream of mud-covered weary warriors straggle in, I began to think about the FINAL finish line…how are we running the race of life and how will we cross the finish line at the end of it…
     Admittedly, I’m not a big fan of running. When farm life required running, it was seldom enjoyable. We desperately raced to get hay bales in the barn before the sky came through on its threat of rain. And we ran when the cows got out or we had to move wayward sheep. My most impressive sprint occurred when the water snake we threw rocks at chased us. There was minimal satisfaction running around the perimeter of the cow pasture listening to Prince on my store brand “Walkman”, conditioning for the high school track team. Watching where I was going and dodging cow patties was in itself a good life lesson…
     In the car coming home from the Spartan, my niece and her boyfriend shared details about their race experience, which I wrote down immediately because they were so good!. For example, they said “Those sand bags we had to carry were as heavy as sin!” Prophetic words! Sin is actually heavy. “Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us.” (Hebrews12:1)
     They also explained how if you chose not to do a difficult obstacle challenge, then you did the designated penalty. There are consequences for our decisions. Galatians 6:7 says “Do not be deceived. God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.” 
   While everyone had to carry their own individual sandbag in the Spartan, my niece’s boyfriend often helped pull struggling racers up the slick muddy A-frame obstacles. He would also grab hold of the structure and once he was stabilized, my niece who was a few steps higher, could rest on his shoulders. It reminded me of how we need to stabilize ourselves and “bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2)
     When people ran in the Bible it was usually soldiers running into battle, messengers carrying news, or people fleeing danger. Peter and John ran to the tomb after the resurrection. And in Luke 15 a father ran to greet his prodigal son in an act of love and forgiveness. Likewise Jesus takes our shame and offers us forgiveness when we repent. Sin (imperfection) is a huge obstacle, but God makes a way--one way-- over it.
     We will all cross the finish line one day, maybe limping or doing a backflip. As we run, if we can keep our eyes on the Prize (Jesus), we might even get to say my Grandpa Nelson’s favorite Bible verse:  2 Timothy 4:7 “I fought the good fight, I finished the course, I have kept the faith.”
 
 
 

       I only saw one glorious pink lady slipper in my first 50 years and I still remember the spot down Hemlock Lane where it was, so you can imagine my delight a few years ago when we discovered a woodland patch of about 100!  I felt like an Appalachian Cinderella looking at all those extraordinary slippers. Except it wasn’t a fairytale—it was God giving us unexpected blessings, once again in abundance.
     The older I get the more I say “It’s amazing how....” Things that fill me wonder are: My grandma Olga Balli Harris walking three miles each way to teach school-- when she was pregnant! And how God organized a beautiful and unexpected love story between two of my good friends, and He strengthens the faith of a cousin who is fighting cancer. I recall my dad using water to demonstrate how a coal miner’s carbide headlamp could be lighted! (Calcium Carbide generates acetylene gas when reacting with water, which is still amazing no matter how old you are.)
    Remember the old-time Continuous Cloth Roll Towel Machines that used to be in every school or gas station bathroom? I was telling my kids about them and with each detail their eyes widened in amazement.  The contraption involved about 100 feet of actual cloth fed through a little slot. Most of us assumed the 4 feet visible loop was recycled through instead of replaced periodically with a new clean one. You had to avoid the brown stains and the middle part of the dangling loop which was always wet. We didn’t question the possibility of mildew accumulating up inside the metal germ box, and we didn’t know what to do with the inevitable 8 foot loop that occurred when the roller gears broke, but I’m pretty sure some kids swung on it.  At the end of the day, it probably boosted our immune systems…and was probably more planet friendly than using paper towels.  Good or bad, it was still amazing.
          Things can also be amazing that are not at all wonderful but are merely surprising:  I’m amazed I met a person recently that is in their 30’s and has never heard any semblance of the Gospel or good news of salvation through Jesus. I’m amazed that people throw litter out their car windows.  And just this week I was astounded by a headline telling how a drunk man accidentally became part of a search party and was hours into the hunt before he realized the man they were looking for was actually himself! 
     Scriptures hold many truly amazing moments.  Imagine the Israelites after crossing the Red Sea:  “You should have seen it!  Great walls of water were on each side of us and the ground beneath our feet was dry! And the crowd assembled watching Elijah prove Yahweh was the one true God:  “First the old man taunted the prophets of baal, and said they might want to chant louder as perhaps their god was sleeping!  Then he poured precious water on the altar –in a drought nevertheless! But then it got even more spectacular—he prayed to his God and fire fell from Heaven and decimated the drenched altar and sacrifice!  And then rain came.  It was incredible!”
    Scripture records Jesus feeling amazement two times.  Imagine the God of the universe being amazed!  One time was in Matthew 8:5-13 telling about the faith of the Centurion and the other time in Mark 6:1-6 describing the lack of faith of the people living in Nazareth. Our faith and our lack of faith amaze Him.
     Luke 18:8 poses the question, “…when the Son of Man cometh, shall he find faith on earth?”  Midnight is coming but it’s not a fairytale, and this Appalachian Cinderella has to wonder if Jesus will be amazed at our faith? Or will He be amazed that we are still stumbling around like the drunk man looking for ourselves? 
 

 Sometimes it’s easy to take things for granted --like running water for example. When my mom was growing up, they had to use the hand pump on the back porch to get their water. They kept a bucket inside on a little table with a ladle in it. Family and even guests would all drink from that same ladle. Water leftover from the drink would get poured into a basin next to the bucket that would later become a place to wash their hands. Mom shared a story about their uncle John Balli who stayed and helped with farm work for a time. As was common he used the ladle and basin method to wash his hair. Mom and her sister Hilda would run up behind him and tip the ladle so water would run down his back and get his shirt all wet. While they thought it was hilarious, he did not. They didn’t heed his multiple warnings and they eventually got spanked, after which Mom said they didn’t do that trick anymore.
     One of the most interesting elements of that story is that everybody drank from the same ladle. On this side of the COVID-19 pandemic, it’s unimaginable to share a drinking vessel. Besides the possibility of saliva residue causing a plethora of sicknesses like the cold, hepatitis, strep throat, mumps, mono, cold sores, and meningitis, there is always the probability of dreaded backwash. I still get backwash shivers from when my kids were little. They ate a lot of crackers which made them thirsty, and they always asked to share my water!  After their first swig, the water would be polluted with bits and pieces of half-chewed crackers. And one time when I took a water break from being a nurse to my daughter who had the flu, I suddenly realized I was drinking from her germ-laden water glass. You can imagine the depth of my despair and sensitivity about sharing drinking vessels.
     It seems like as I get older I’m thirstier than I used to be. Most studies agree that older people do need to drink more water to help regulate changes in body temperature. (Can I get an amen from anybody on that one?)  Staying well hydrated also helps keep you regular, helps with various medicines, and prevents muscle pain, tiredness and heat exhaustion. When I was growing up, we only drank when we were thirsty. But in today’s world, health institutions recommend we drink eight glasses or up to a gallon every day! Carrying around a water bottle, even though it’s inconvenient, is now so commonplace some people call them their “emotional support water bottles”.
     The most important water we need a good daily dose of is the living water Jesus offered the Samaritan woman in John 4.  It was in the heat of the day when the shunned woman had to go get water alone. By all cultural norms Jesus should never have been talking to her let alone ask her for a drink –she was a female and worse yet a Samaritan. Not only did he lift her up out of her shame like her bucket of water coming out of Jacob’s Well, but He chose her as the first person to whom He actually revealed his identity as Messiah! And much like sharing the back porch water bucket, He showed He loved her enough to drink from the same ladle. She then went and told the townspeople about Him and many of them believed. Imagine a personal encounter with the Messiah and being excited about your faith like a wellspring inside you bubbling up and refreshing others. John 4:14 “but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” Let’s all drink more Water…

 Springtime of my youth meant there would be little girls and pet lambs running through the house, much to the delight of my grandpa who sat alert at his post on the couch guarding a spittoon between his feet.  We were quite a sight in long prairie dresses mom made with flouncy ruffles at the bottom.  The fabric had a patriotic bicentennial pattern of liberty bells and eagles and my cousins were so proud of theirs they even wore the matching bonnets to school on picture day, because nobody told them years later they might regret that. Sometimes we’d dress up the pet lambs too but they weren’t nearly as fancy. One can imagine active little feet and bouncing lamb hooves galloping deliriously back and forth from the kitchen to the living room and how naturally Pap’s spittoon would get spilled occasionally. It wasn’t long before mom quickly made Pap trade his proper brass one for a more practical one repurposed from a big Maxwell House coffee can, complete with a plastic lid that had to be placed on when he got up from his post. I’ve been seeing several of those blue coffee cans with bold letters at antique shops lately and the memories of Pap and his springtime spectacle are welcomed back in an instant.
    Another caffeinated memory is getting up early before dad went to work and there would be coffee gurgling in the stainless steel percolator.  Occasionally the hot brown nectar would bubble up into the clear glass knob on the lid. Mom and dad would enjoy a cup and then she’d pour the rest in his beat up green Stanley thermos to revive him later when he and the other woodsmen took a much needed break.  It’s amazing how I can still imagine the comforting smell of Dad’s lunch box…a blend of sandwiches, coffee, freshly dug ginseng roots, and chainsaw grease.
     The legend of coffee goes way back to ancient Africa where a goat herder saw his goats having erratic behavior after spending time in a patch of coffee bean bushes…and then decided to try them himself.  His experiment seems risky, but look at us today! There is a coffee shop in every respectable town. And just imagine if the ten virgins awaiting the bridegroom in Matthew 25: 1-10 had been drinking coffee they might have all stayed awake and realized five still needed to obtain more lamp oil.  And if the disciples had tried taking a thermos of coffee with them to the Garden of Gethsemane that night, maybe they would not have fallen asleep when Jesus told them to stay awake and keep watch with him and pray as recorded in Matthew 26:36-46.  “And he came and found them asleep again: for their eyes were heavy.”  
     I don’t like coffee but I do enjoy drinking tea…And when I needed to stay alert driving home from Ohio to WV after teaching school on Fridays, a Mt. Dew and a Three Musketeers bar were my go to.  (I’m not proud of that, but it was part of my story).  Honestly, now caffeine is not the thing I need to stay awake at this stage in my life…often it’s just self-control and willpower.  If I can put away the phone and stop scrolling on reels, I can get upstairs and have time to say meaningful prayers before bed.  If I can turn off the TV, I’ll have a better night’s rest and feel more refreshed in the morning…Can I get an amen?
     Of course the main lesson in Jesus’ parable about the unprepared virgins running out of lamp oil, and the recording of the disciples falling asleep in the garden was less about physically staying awake and more about being “soul ready” at all times because we don’t know the hour or the minute He will return.  Even now there might be something percolating.

      I love phrases from scriptures like “Saddle the Donkey!” which means to get ready, I’m about to go somewhere with purpose. And isn’t “resting with the fathers” a beautiful way to say someone has passed on into eternity? The latest phrase I’ve latched onto is “and you will always eat at my table.” 
     Its appeal is not merely because I love to eat, but rather the meaning behind the phrase. In 2 Samuel 9:7 King David comforts his best friend’s son who was lame in both feet. “And David said unto him, Fear not: for I will surely shew thee kindness for Jonathan thy father’s sake and will restore thee all the land of Saul thy father; and thou shalt eat bread at my table continually.”  …Protection and provision. David used this phrase again near the end of his life, giving his son Solomon political advice on how to rule the kingdom. He named some people who were to be eliminated, while others were to be shown kindness which he indicated with “…let them be of those who eat at thy table.” (1 Kings 2:7)
     Country folks genuinely appreciate sharing a table. It might be extended family around a giant potluck table 20 feet long. It might be enjoying hotdogs and s’mores around a campfire under the stars, or Sunday dinner when the pastor and family gather together at Nana's farmhouse. And on warm days the table can turn into a picnic blanket in the back yard or a rock down by the river. Recently the Jerry Run Church in Hacker Valley enjoyed a meal together. This time the menu was unique to go along with the sermon topic of “Wild Things” (sermon link is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-bJVUPgiaY.) Congregants enjoyed elk burgers, venison, buffalo meatballs, and cornbread made from homegrown and ground corn. More importantly, the table was shared by brothers and sisters in Christ and fellowship fed their souls.
     During one of my treasure hunting adventures at GoodWill, I picked up a book called My Last Supper featuring famous chefs, each one answering the same questions: What would your last meal consist of? Who would you eat it with? Where? Readers instinctively contemplate their own answers.  Some might say $1000 golden tomahawk steak at a ritzy restaurant in Manhattan. Others might choose fried bologna sandwiches, with homegrown green beans and tender new potatoes dug straight out of the dirt a little too early, or Mom’s homemade pies with mile high meringue. No matter what would be on the menu, you can bet we’d be dining with family and friends.
     Leonardo Da Vinci gave us a visual of the most impactful meal ever shared. On a wall in Italy he painted the scene of Jesus’ last supper with the disciples as recorded in all four Gospels. The meal took place in an upper room in the city of Jerusalem during Passover, and the guests were His closest friends. We’re not told what the menu was except for bread and wine, which Jesus shared with instructions to eat and remember His broken body and blood poured out for us. We do this when we take communion (Eucharist) …”and thou shalt eat bread at my table continually.”
     As believers we look forward to another epic meal.  In Matthew 22:1-14 and Luke 14:16-24 Jesus describes the kingdom of heaven like a wedding banquet. He is the groom, who in Jewish tradition went away to prepare a home and then returned for his bride. When he returns for us, there will be a celebration like none other. Each and every one of us has received a V.I.P. invitation but only those who are clothed in the symbolic redemptive garment God provides through Jesus to cover our sins will be allowed to enter. Oh how I long to hear those words spoken by The King, “Let them be of those who eat at thy table.”