“Does your package contain anything liquid, fragile, perishable, or potentially hazardous?” As I contemplated this question carefully, I was momentarily distracted by a woman mailing her package at the next register. There was an obvious problem and finally she asked exasperatedly “where am I? “ I wanted to see what kind of woman would be in such a state of confusion as not to know where she was. As I signed off on my own parcel, I sneaked a glance to my left. By all appearances, the flustered woman was much younger than I and quite a bit more put together. Turns out she was trying to do a UPS transaction at a USPS office. I commented as she quickly fled the scene that I sometimes have to ask myself that same question. Where am I? The postal clerk smiled and replied, “Honey, we’ve all been there.”
     Let’s face it. It’s hard to stay on track and sometimes the busy train (especially around the holidays) can derail us.
     My husband and I hadn’t been to Kings Island amusement park in years, so we truly appreciated his company picnic held there in October. We opted out of the roller coasters but figured the antique cars would be more of our speed. As each car pulled up, we watched the little kids get behind the wheel and promptly drive away thinking they were in control, and some degree they were. The steering wheel actually turned the axles and the gas did accelerate, but both were limited for safety. If you veered too far to the right or left, you were kept on track by a steel guide rail in the middle of the road. If we only had something like that in real life to keep us on track! Turns out we do – the Bible contains words to guide us. And when we accept Jesus as our savior, we gain the Holy Spirit’s help. Isaiah 30:21 “And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee saying this is the way, walk ye in it. When you turn to the right hand and when you turn to the left.” Sounds like the perfect guide rail to me.
     Back at the antique car ride I recognized apprehension mixed with the joy on the kid’s faces as they climbed behind the wheel. (As an adult I know it well but the car is now the next big project.) Growing up on a farm, we girls begin driving trucks and tractors and at the age of eight particularly due to necessity and because mom and dad knew the more experience we got in the safety of the hayfield the better we‘d drive once we graduated to the main road. Muscle memory of sorts and an awareness of our surroundings and our placement —where we are.
    Imagine if while we are trying to stay on track, we were actually tracked like a mailed package. We trace the paths of birds, wolves, black bears and I even have a phone app that tracks sharks so I can entertain kids at the beach. There are also optional trackers on our phones to tell loved ones where we are for safety reasons. If I consider a map of all the places I was this past year, what would it look like? I’m guessing it could have been improved had I listened better the prompting of the Holy Spirit.
     So as the holiday frenzy of sending cards, shopping, baking, crafting, or traveling tries to derail us, let’s make sure we end up at the right place—respectfully in front of a manger with Jesus. Because honestly life is fragile, perishable, and potentially hazardous…and it’s important to know where we are. Mom knows best and she has always warned us about distractions telling us girls (ok, mostly me) “Keep your mind on your business”. In other words, stay on track.
 

     Obviously, chickens have always had a special place in every sane person’s heart since the beginning of time, but I’m finding with each new calendar hung on the wall, my bird obsession grows. There was that little set back during my high school years when Mom and Aunt Hilda dressed up in giant turkey costumes and performed a dance at the family reunion that nearly shut down the whole bird thing for me, but miraculously an ember of fascination still burns within.
     When we were young and in 4-H, our club, The Holly River Hillbillies, took on the task of making housing for Eastern Bluebirds. The dads got involved and the sound of many hammers and wails of kids hitting their thumbs instead of nails filled the valley. Everywhere you looked you could see one of our bluebird boxes attached to a fence post. It was quite probable that through our efforts the bluebirds got off the endangered species list and to this day I feel a little sense of pride whenever one is seen flying around the farm. Another time our 4-H club built wooden bird feeders,  which proved incredibly rewarding as we watched birds come and eat outside our kitchen window when the snow covered the ground.
   In recent years mom and dad began sitting on the front porch during lunch and would count how many different kinds of birds they could spot. Now the entire family has joined the quest.  A kingfisher’s stuttering, hyphenated screech, and a charm of goldfinches flying against the backdrop of dark green Hemlocks are special treats. The occasional majestic yet casual flyby of the resident Blue Heron as it makes its way down the river is exciting, as is the new arrival of a Common Merganser Duck family!
     One of my favorite birds of all our WV farm visitors is the Barn Swallow. I know they are dirty birds and the barn floor under their mud nests is always messy, but their ability to control the insect population and the way they enjoy sitting on a fence in a misty rain are irresistible. I dare anyone to look away when they gracefully flitter about like little acrobats maneuvering unexpected turns and then dipping down to make ripples in the still places of the river…or when they swarm in harmony behind the farm machinery in the hayfield catching bugs that get stirred up.  And anyone who owns a farm cat has smiled watching it get put in its place by a parental barn swallow. 
   With melancholy, I recognize it’s the normal cycle of life that this time of year the barn swallows have all headed south for their long-distance migration from West Virginia to Central and South America where they can eat their fill of insects during our colder months before they return in the spring.  If the mere sight of birds doesn’t leave you in awe of their Creator, the feat of migration really should. Birds obey what God tells them to do and could not succeed otherwise (and neither can we.)  Jeremiah 8:7 “Yea, the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times; and the turtle and the crane and the swallow observe the time of their coming; but my people know not the judgement of the Lord.”
     The birds know their appointed times. The days get shorter, the weather gets cooler, and their food source gets scarcer. How will we know our appointed time?  Scriptures say “…now is the time of God’s favor, now is the day of salvation.” (2 Corinthians 6:2) Even if birds know the time--how do they know the way?  It’s wired in them to know the way…similarly, it’s wired in us to know The Way.  Jesus says in John 14:6 “I am the way.”  May we listen to our Creator and migrate towards Him. Birds aren’t really “bird brains” and we shouldn’t be either.

     Licking our friends is not being nice to them. Keep your underwear inside your pants; we don’t need to show them to our friends. I know you didn’t stick your head in the toilet by accident! I’m sorry, I pooed on the floor. These were all quotes I heard and recorded during my surreal one-year stint teaching preschool and part of the reason I gave up that career altogether. Even the good kids licked the bottom of their shoes! I cried when my husband said I didn’t have to go back. God bless the teachers who never give up.
     I’ve given up a few other times in my life. There was the guitar I always wanted to learn to play but it sat around silent for years until someone finally stole it. And there were dozens of small appliances I optimistically disassembled like I’d seen Dad do to hundreds of broken things, but I had to trash them when parts wouldn’t fit back together.
     If something dies or we have to abandon our mission, we often refer to it as giving up the ghost. For example, after racking up 300,000 miles, our old pick-up truck finally “gave up the ghost.” Now I don’t particularly like ghosts, goblins, or anything Halloween for obvious reasons, but I do have a funny ghost story. It was told one dark night in the farmhouse living room where a few of us had gathered after dinner.
     Back in the day youngsters had to walk from house to house to trick or treat. We rural kids had to earn our candy, often traveling great distances and then being required to enter the house and sweat a while behind our toxic rubber or plastic masks while the friendly neighbor would try to guess who we were. After an eternity we would eventually be rewarded with a handmade popcorn ball wrapped in cellophane or a few pieces of hard candy, or a Tootsie-Roll. The night in question happened on Boggs Mill Road in Hacker Valley where Trick or Treaters walked miles between houses. One ornery uncle who will remain anonymous except to say his last name was Lake, which could reveal quite a bit if you’re familiar with the area, decided to prank scare the kids. He ran ahead of them and climbed up in the hay loft of a barn near the road he knew they’d be passing by. He sat in the quiet darkness anticipating their arrival until finally he heard them laughing as they walked along using only the light of the full moon. As they got closer he put a sheet over his head and stood in the open door of the hayloft and sort of swayed ominously back and forth much like he thought a ghost would. He got the reaction he’d hoped for as they screamed in terror, “There’s a ghost!” He didn’t get to enjoy his success long however because before they all broke into a run, one kid pointed up at the open door and yelled, “There are two of them!” In a flurry of flapping arms, he shed his sheet and fled too. To this day they are not sure who the second ghost was or who was more scared—the uncle or the kids.
     In bible times “give up the ghost” referred to the more serious and literal surrendering of one’s spirit to the Father upon death. Luke 23:46 tells us “And when Jesus had cried with a loud voice, he said, ‘Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit’: and having said thus, he gave up the ghost.” And John adds an important detail in John 19:30. He recorded Jesus saying “It is finished”.  Aren’t you glad to have someone ready to save you who finishes things?  He didn’t give up on His mission and, regardless of how broken we are, He won’t give up on us either.

     We’re in a dry spell. As I write this, rivers and streams are down to a trickle. There are brown spots burned into Mom’s yard where huge rocks underground have baked the grass roots. And the lawn mower blades are finding new rocks that were never there before but are surfacing now because the ground is so dry and compact.
     I recall one summer it was so dry the water in the cistern on the hill went too low and debris got in the line causing us to “run out of water”. Dad’s go-to solution was blowing out the debris with an air compressor. Mom really encouraged him to fix it because we happened to be hosting a family reunion that weekend,  and 100 cousins had to have someplace to relieve themselves! So when the air compressor method failed, he wrestled with a huge fireman hose. It tried to get away from him a few times but finally surrendered and allowed him to pump water from the nearby river into a 500 gallon tank sitting in the bed of his old pickup truck. From there we ran a hose through our bathroom window and into the back of the commode. It wasn’t pretty, but we didn’t hear anyone complain.
     The chore of carrying water is a constant on the farm. Growing up we had a giant old box freezer to collect rain water out behind the sheep house, giving us a nearby water source. And we were always checking on the cows, each one of which can drink about 10 gallons a day! One cold winter while making sure the many springs on the Balli Farm had not frozen over, mom saw fresh huge cat tracks in the snow atop the ice. She took flight, saying to herself there were plenty of other springs the cows could access that week.
     Recently we had guests staying at the Balli Cabin and we got the dreaded call-- they didn’t have water. It was a conundrum trying to get the water turned back on. Fortunately, the visitors were patient and understanding, even saying they could do without water for a while but “might need more to get ready for church.” We thought maybe the water filter needed changed, or feared somehow the 300 foot well had gone dry. Eventually we learned the problem was a faulty pump saver.
     Many times in the Bible God used dry spells to get His children’s attention to turn from sin and write new chapters. Droughts happened with Joseph, Elijah, and Naomi and Ruth, just to name a few. In Jeremiah 5:1 God told the prophet to search high and low and if he could find just one person who “deals honestly and seeks the truth” He would forgive the city and spare them from the drought. One person! It makes me wonder if my own city would be spared… Am I completely honest? Do I seek truth other than God’s?
     I’m not saying our dry spell is from God, but He who has the power to make it rain, is able to teach us something while we grab our umbrellas and wait. When we are in a spiritual drought, we need to check for debris or replace our filters. What requires repentance or removal? (Some debris might require an air compressor or firehose).
     And secondly, we need to check our water source. We might think we can do without water for a while, but trust me we’re going to need it. Good news is we have access to the Living Water mentioned in Jeremiah 17:7-8, “For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit.”

     As I came through the door, the stench nearly knocked me down. Did the sewer back up? Did an animal die and we somehow missed it until now? I yelled out “What on earth is that awful smell?” To which my lovable husband offered up a joyful “I made dinner!” I was pregnant at the time and smells hit funny when your hormones are out of whack, so the delicious sauerkraut and sausage he’d made for our traditional New Year’s dinner really put me through the fire. I’m not saying he quit making dinners after that but my unenthusiastic reaction sure slowed him down…
     It’s amazing how our olfactory senses can dictate our emotions or trigger a memory. We can even enhance our awareness to various scents if we just slow down and purposefully focus. For years we’ve been saying to stop and smell the roses, but are we?
     When we moved my daughter to NYC I made the following observation: “It’s a dirty place, but they’re trying. I was awakened by a street sweeper last night so I know they are at least putting forth some effort. On garbage day sidewalks are piled high with garbage bags, some of which fall off into the street where cars run over them and scatter pieces everywhere. Wind constantly blows through the skyscrapers and churns up the loose trash so if you’re particularly lucky you can witness little trash tornados in corner nooks. As we went exploring in the sweltering 90 degree heat, I felt a piece of trash waft up and get stuck on my sweaty leg, but in true New Yorker fashion, I just kept walking. Amazing thing is, the people here smell pretty good and this surprises me. Maybe they recognize the fact that they work and live in very close proximity to other humans, or maybe they feel bad how their city often delivers up odors like sewer, hot trash, or street urine…either way—thank you to everyone who sprays a little extra perfume on in the morning. As in life it makes a big difference who you stand behind.”
     2 Corinthians 2:15 reminds us “For we are unto God a sweet savour (aroma) of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish.” It causes me to assess my life—Do I have the sweet aroma of Christ on me so that when others are around me they are reminded of Jesus’ love, grace, and truth? And do I metaphorically smell good regardless of my circumstances? Is my attitude pleasant even when my surroundings are difficult? Answers may vary. Not everyone agrees on what smells good, just like I was repulsed by the sauerkraut odor when I was all hormonal but hubby Jeff was proud of it. We can try to be the sweet aroma of Christ but we are told in 1 Corinthians 1:18 “For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God.” Keep making an effort anyway.
     Whatever circumstance you’re in right now, filtering it through Jesus is the ultimate purifier. I am always in awe with Shadrach, Meshack, and Abednego who in the third chapter of Daniel are recorded as being thrown into a blazing furnace for standing firm on their faith. God saved them from perishing—but get this—their hair and clothes were not even singed, “nor had the smell of fire passed on them (vs 27)”. It’s good news that we don’t have to smell like the fire we go through.
     Be fragrant because we are in a dirty place with people who need encouragement. And slow down to enjoy what’s around you. Here are suggestions to consider stopping to smell: a hayloft, rain on hot concrete, grapes waiting to be picked, warm chocolate chip cookies, lanolin from the wool of a wiggly lamb, and of course sauerkraut, and roses.

The year was 1987 and somehow I ended up with free concert tickets at the Charleston Convention Center. It was not necessarily my style of music but free was free. The opening band was Ratt, a heavy metal rock band and the headliner was Poison, a combination I’m sure was orchestrated solely for promotional purposes and the hilarity of seeing the words Ratt Poison together on posters. Regardless, I teased my permed hair up as big as I could get it and saw this as a chance to finally wear the bright green leather mini-skirt that was hiding in my closet—after all there was no way I was going to see anyone I knew at this concert. You can imagine my surprise when I was walking through the arena and heard “Miss. Cowger”? I slowly turned, and locked eyes apologetically with a few shocked teenagers from the high school where I was student teaching. Turns out sometimes you get lost in the crowd and sometimes you can’t’ even if you try.
     Recently we attended my son’s college graduation. He was one of over 7,300 students crossing the stage during two days of celebration. Now imagine the ocean of parents and family attending each ceremony, with everyone then trying to find our specific graduate afterwards. We were all adrift in a sea of humanity. Packed together shoulder to shoulder, in one mass taking baby steps to places we didn’t know. It was so easy to simply get caught up in the flow, going off course, farther and farther away from our meet-up location. We held tightly to our family members as we shuffled along afraid of becoming separated and lost, never to be found again. The experience showed me how easy it is in life to mindlessly get caught up in the crowd because it takes less effort than being purposeful and intentional. Truth be told, that graduation day, very few of us actually knew what direction we were even supposed to be going. It made me wish we had formulated a plan beforehand.
     One person I admire for having a plan of action when it came to navigating a crowd was the woman who needed healing and whose story is recorded in all three Gospels: Matthew 9, Mark 5 and Luke 8. Imagine the scene: she had “bleeding issues” for twelve years and none of the treatments had worked. Could this Jesus really help? She believed it was worth the effort to try. She was desperate to get close to Him. All those years she had told people she was “unclean” so they wouldn’t get close to her as was the law—could this be the moment she would finally be clean? If she could just get close enough to Jesus! Have you ever felt like that? Tears sting my eyes as I write this because I know how badly I want to get closer to Him. Every single day I know I need him. As the woman wove her way through the moving crowd, closer and closer to Jesus, I wonder if the defeated words of imprisonment were still swirling around in her head…or maybe she said them softly under her breath barely audible as not to break the law completely. “Unclean. Unclean. Unclean.” And then finally she got within an arm’s length of Jesus and bravely reached out. When she made contact with Jesus, she knew immediately she was changed.
     May we hold onto people who help us not get lost in the crowd, get as close to Jesus as possible, and be changed. Sometimes this means getting away from the noise of the crowd so that we might hear our heart pounding as in Revelation 3:20 “Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.”

“Is the Lord’s arm too short?”  Sounds like a silly question at first…but it’s one God asked Moses. The multitudes of Israelites were desert-hot, road weary, and hangry for meat. For reasons we don’t know, the livestock they took with them was off limits, so there was no optional food source in sight!  If you think it’s difficult to come up with a satisfactory menu for a family of four, just think about the seemingly impossible task Moses was faced with.  God, merciful God, met him in his despair.  “Is the Lord’s arm too short?” You will now see whether or not what I say will come true for you.” (Numbers 11:23)  Then God reached down and saved them once again.
     The Lord’s arms aren’t too short but mine sometimes are. It’s not uncommon for me to be standing in a grocery store aisle waiting for a tall person to come along and retrieve the last box of granola on a tall shelf just out of my reach.
   Pap used to tell a story about a dinner guest who rudely stretched his long arm across the table to get the butter. The man of the house asked, “Son, don’t you have a tongue?” To which the ill-mannered fellow replied, “Yes, but it wouldn’t reach that far.” 
     When I taught school, it was among my duties to chaperone the 7th/8th grade trip to Washington, DC.  I was in charge of the girl bus and as you would expect, there was an incident. Quite a commotion erupted when one crying girl got her arm caught in the reclining seats…and we weren’t even out of the parking lot yet! Kids aren’t as tough as they used to be. I remember when arm wrestling was a thing. And we suffered through violent games without complaint like Red Rover in which kids formed two human chains, and then dared one person to run as fast as they could and attempt to break through.  My scrawny arms suffered the most because the runner headed for the weakest link in the chain, which usually included me. 
   Arms are always flailing on the farm; swinging weed-eaters, swatting bees, slinging hay bales, or multi-tasking chores.  Imagine carrying rocks with one arm and carrying a sword in the other! This never happened at Red Gate Farm (as far as I know) but it did happen in Nehemiah 4:17. People who were building the Jerusalem wall did their work with one hand and held a weapon in the other because they were getting death threats.  Figuratively, the sword is part of the Armor of God we put on to fight evil.  It represents God’s word (the Bible).  Good idea would be to stay “read up” and ready for any surprise attacks. One arm should always carry a “sword”.
      A few years ago, a woman who runs a raptor rescue longed to acquire an ambassador eagle to use in her programs. But first she had to prove herself by holding the 6-10 lb eagle on her outstretched arm for two hours. I imagine her arm sure was tired, but God’s never is.  Psalm 136:12 “with a mighty hand and outstretched arm; His love endures forever.”   
   Sometimes our arms are raised in praise or surrender, or both simultaneously.  Sometimes they go up if we have a question or an answer.  My arm is in the air, excitedly waving around because I know the answer to “Where do we run when we’re faced with the impossible or the tiresome?  Jesus. He’s waiting with open arms. “Let the one the Lord loves rest safely in Him. The Lord guards him all day long.  The one the Lord loves rests in His arms.” (Deuteronomy 33:12)
     Here’s the deal-- nobody and nothing is out of God’s reach.  “Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save…” (Isaiah 59:1) And that’s an arms deal you don’t have to wrestle with.

Mom led us through the woods, leaves crunching beneath our feet, until we came upon a clearing-- the Coprio Place. They had been neighbors to my Grandma Balli’s family during the early 1900’s. Scattered rocks still formed a semblance of what once was the foundation of a house, and nearby, to our delight, there were daffodils blooming! The nodding colorful blossoms were no longer in rows but now grew in a swath  of yellow amidst  a sea of winter brown, telling us that this was once a home. Daffodils have the ability to self-propagate and create new bulbs each year, allowing one patch to grow and bloom for decades as a lasting testimony. And here they were deep in the woods on a remote WV mountain top telling a story.
     Daffodils, not native to North America, are the March birth-flower and symbolize rebirth and new beginnings. They are also called “Lent Lilies” because they bloom around Easter and nothing better represents newness of life more than a conquered grave and a risen Savior. 2 Corinthians 5:17 says, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.”
     Famous poet William Wadsworth took a walk in 1802 through an English wood and came upon a patch of daffodils, which he commemorated in a poem, “…And then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.” I can just imagine the little yellow blossoms tossing and dancing in the breeze. I am not a graceful dancer by any stretch of the imagination, but truth be told I have danced and it was not unlike a daffodil.
   Dancing is in my blood because my parents do-si-doed and promenaded on a float in the Strawberry Parade as members of a square-dance club, and we’re pretty sure it’s hereditary. Elvis died when I was in fifth grade and we’d stay inside on rainy day recess and dance to Elvis LPs on Mrs. Paul’s old record player. It’s unclear who enjoyed it more, Mrs. Paul who reminisced, or the new generation of us kids thinking he was cool for the first time. As expected, the dancing gene passed down and once at church my daughter was on stage in pink sequins dancing with a plunger. (I realize this raises valid questions about what denomination we attended but rest assured, it was truth-centered.) 
     My son also got his share of the inherited dancing trait and had the fortunate opportunity to show the world at a Quinceanera for one of his 15-year-old classmates. Afterwards he reported that most of the boys were a little shy about dancing so when he and some friends approached the mom to thank her for inviting them to the party, she forcibly corralled them onto the dance floor towards her twirling daughter. Gabe was the friend in front so as the others shrunk back he ended up getting sucked into the center of the vortex and amazingly found himself dancing with the guest of honor under a spotlight. Jack and the other boys watched in awe as Gabe brought out moves they’d never seen. They cheered him on! At one point he got so wound up he performed a riveting jig with his foot, twisting it around and around in the air. Back in the truck driving home the boys told him how impressive he’d looked and he sheepishly explained what they thought was a jig, was actually his foot getting caught in a tear in the hem of her expensive poofy dress and him trying to  free himself! 
     I conclude, on life’s big dancefloor, being graceful (Grace-full) might not have much to do with how we move but more to do with the One who moves us. In Jesus we will find freedom. He is the author of new beginnings… And sometimes reminders can be as simple as a daffodil or a walk in the woods…

 The whistle blew, steam shot forth from the massive Shay engine and a black cloud boiled out of the smokestack as the gears began to turn. It was awe-inspiring how a coal fire could move such a mammoth thing up a steep mountain.  An unexpected souvenir we took with us from Cass Scenic Railroad that day was a ton of gritty coal ash in our hair that took us several days to completely wash out.
     Like most of my West Virginia friends, I am well acquainted with ashes…especially coal ash. When my soon-to-be-husband wanted to make a good impression on his in-laws, he offered to do the routine chore of emptying the ash pan in the stove (which allows air to flow and the fire to burn brighter). Mom instructed him to carry the pan every so carefully as not to spill any on the vinyl flooring and then back out the door, pushing it open with his backside. Under my dad’s watchful eye, Jeff tried to do everything right and was concentrating so much on not spilling any hot coals that he heard wrong or was just showing off and walked backwards all the way through the house. He truly made an impression because years later his extra effort and backing skills are still talked about.   
     When our kids were little they’d roll down the mound at the side of the cellar in tire inner tubes but it wasn’t until recently I learned the mound had been one of Grandma’s ash piles. She would dump coal ashes there and over time built up a nice little hill that helped insulate the cellar and keep the potatoes from freezing! And apparently the ledge around the garden fence was also another one of her ash piles, purposefully constructed to prevent water from flowing into the garden from the pond. 
    About the only other use I knew for coal ashes  was before everyone had 4-wheel drive vehicles, we’d  scatter the ashes on the slick, frozen, steep driveway to provide friction and get cars unstuck. 
    Treasured wood ashes on the other hand have many uses! According to an article by Claude Davis on askaprepper.com, you can sprinkle some in corners or areas you don’t want roaches, mice, slugs, or deer. You can use ashes to preserve seeds in clay containers, or fruits and vegetables in an in-ground ash pit. And water mixed with wood ash can make lye water which kills bacteria. (Numbers 19:17 possibly points to this when an unclean person is instructed to mix water with ashes in a vessel.)  Some homesteading websites also suggest you can brush your teeth with ashes made into a paste, but you have to draw the line somewhere…
     In the Bible they were always putting ashes on their heads and wearing sackcloth to show repentance. This year Ash Wednesday falls on Feb. 14—Valentine’s Day. What better way to fill our hearts than to lovingly repent (which can be symbolized by ashes).  Job 42:2 gives us an example as he tells the Lord, “I know that you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted.”  In verse three he admits he didn’t fully understand God’s plan and spoke of things he didn’t understand.  (Haven’t we all been there, done that?)  But in verse 6 he repents, “Therefore I retract, and I repent in dust and ashes.”
     In 1Kings 13:3 Jeroboam had one more chance for repentance.  “And he gave a sign the same day, saying, This is the sign which the Lord hath spoken; Behold the altar shall be rent, and the ashes that are upon it shall be poured out.”  Is there anything I can get rid of so the fire of the Holy Spirit could burn brighter in my life? I don’t know about you, but as for me, I’ve got some ashes to take out before the train leaves the station.

 We’re a month in from receiving cool gadgets for Christmas, and many of you have probably been guinea pigs for those “sharable” gifts. Growing up I recall a friend of my great-aunts who brought his new diabetic testing kit to Christmas dinner.  He considered it miraculous that once a drop of your blood was squeezed onto a strip of paper he could tell if you were a diabetic or not without the necessity of med school.  He wanted to test everyone but as the twinkle in his eye bounced off the pricking needle in his shaking hands, we all shrank into the furniture.  Finally a couple adults reluctantly volunteered as tribute. It was a Christmas I can never forget.
  This year my son received a diagnostic scanner for cars that when plugged in will tell everything malfunctioning on that vehicle. Imagine if we had one of those for our soul.  When our “check engine” light came on (and it would daily), we could immediately determine what needs worked on.  Some things require much work but occasionally the fix is simple.  Have you ever noticed how often an electronic problem can be fixed with unplugging it and then plugging it back in or flipping the right switch?
     While visiting Jeff’s mom in NJ we set up her Christmas tree and Christmas village with several ceramic houses and many many electrical cords. All was well until we decided to vacuum up the last of the fallen pine needles. When we turned on the vacuum cleaner everything went black. We “blew a fuse”.  And then later on the farm in Hacker Valley, we again tripped the breaker when the circuit panel just couldn’t handle lights from 25 Christmas trees and the air compressor needed to blow up a flat tire. We were flipping breakers back and forth like our well-caffeinated friends who got an espresso machine for Christmas. The power source is critical.
     I’m not a trained expert but being raised a country girl has taught me a thing or two about power.  Coal power is efficient and effective. Wood powered heat is rewarding and satisfying, speaking to a primal part of our soul.  Electric power is always appreciated but is not always reliable in the mountains. The power of prayer is undoubtedly real. Many strong little communities are held together by prayer chains, and it shows. Powerball is not actually power-full so don’t let it fool you. If you’re given the opportunity to take a power nap in the middle of the day between cutting filth and gathering wood, take it. And in church, when my Pap sang “There is power, power, wonder-working power in the precious blood of the lamb”, he meant it.
     There’s an incredible power source that people sometimes overlook but it sure needs tapped into! Multiple scientific studies have been done involving scripture connected with neuroscience. One tested people of all ages who read the Bible four or more times a week. After three days they noticed a transformation happening. Loneliness went down 30 percent. Bitterness went down 43 percent. Watching pornography decreased 60-100 percent. Anger went down 32 percent.  Yes, Grandpa Nelson, there is power in the blood of the Lamb! 
     Let’s challenge ourselves in 2024  to read more of the Bible. May it clean out some cobwebs in our internal breaker box, and keep us grounded so the power of God can work through us as we understand more fully the sacrifice of our Lord.  The stakes are higher than at a layman’s diabetic testing party.  Jesus gave His life and  shed His blood in our place so we could have life everlasting.  “But if we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin.” (1 John 1:7)  That’s a light that will never go out and a gift worth sharing!