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.”
 

  “Let’s go in—it’ll be fun!” my husband said enthusiastically. Totally forgetting about the time he (along with our beagle) almost turned the family walk into a rescue mission, I grabbed the back of his shirt and we entered the house of mirrors.  It was fun in the beginning, looking at endless choices of decorative arched hallways in every direction. We bumped into a few mirrored walls and laughed as we kept turning around, trying different paths. But the fun wore off in five minutes and I began to get claustrophobic. The only thing saving me was holding onto my husband’s shirttail and trusting him to get us out.  Him…and the little kid we started following. We’d see this curly blond head flash past one mirrored panel and then pop out from behind another. He was quick, but once we realized he was our only chance of exiting this hell hole, we matched our pace to his.  Jeff called to the boy, “We’re following you!” which I told him wasn’t appropriate to say. We were at a frantic jog when Jeff shouted, “We lost him! Oh there he is!” As we stumbled out of the exit, the kid was looking back to make sure we were still following, which I thought was really nice of him.
     Love is sometimes like that house of mirrors. It can be difficult to discern what is real vs. what’s an illusion. When I hear a true love story, I’ll often confirm the heart of it by declaring “That right there’s love!” For instance, my friend told how her new husband talked her into going on a ski trip for their honeymoon. She didn’t know how to ski but she was in love so they went to the big serious slopes in Colorado. She nervously rode the lift to the top of the mountain and as they were about to dismount, her beloved shouted “Pole! Pole!”  She looked down and realized she’d dug her ski pole into the snow between his skis. Thankfully that got corrected and away they went.  As they barreled down the steep death slope, her beloved yelled “Pizza!  Pizza!” and laughing little kids whizzed past, holding their bent arms in the air like they were serving pizza. My friend went to ski school the next day and for the rest of the honeymoon, while her husband skied the black diamond Devil’s Crotch, she was perfectly happy staying on Frosty’s Freeway. “That right there’s love!”
     Another friend relayed how love made her go on a hunting trip with her husband. They weren’t allowed to shower for a week prior, and once they got their camouflage on and entered the woods, her husband sprayed deer urine on her boots and told her to walk around.  “That right there’s love.”
     Examples of true love are all around us. We know selfless people who take care of sick loved ones.  I also heard of a woman whose husband spontaneously bought her goats on their vacation, and hauled them across three states inside their minivan. And there’s a local grandmother who declared she was at a point in her life where she was done raising a garden and done raising animals…yet when her granddaughter came to live with her, they canned more garden vegetables than she had in 10 years. Nanna even used her hard earned money from selling homemade baskets to buy Neigh Nibblers for the three miniature donkeys they got last fall! “That right there’s love!”
     May we all have someone who talks us into fun adventures and whose shirt tail we can grab when we need help finding our way. And if we ever feel stuck in a metaphorical house of mirrors, may we find clarity and guidance in the greatest love story ever: Jesus said “I am the way, the truth, and the life…” (John 14:6)  That right there’s love!  Happy Valentine’s Day everyone.

 The Super 8 where Mom and I stayed during the annual Forest Festival had a breakfast room, and all the weary travelers gathered there to make a waffle or dip out a steaming ladle of delicious sausage gravy to drown a stale, but well-intentioned, biscuit. Mornings were a time to mingle and find out everyone’s purpose and assess how well or haggard they looked at the start of a day on the road. We struck up a conversation with one fine looking group of people connected to the pristine Model-T cars in the parking lot. They were from Michigan and took joy rides around the country, usually accumulating 100-150 miles per day. I asked, “How fast do the Model-T’s go?” and the man with a great white mustache replied 65 mph. He commented, “That’s the question everyone wants to know, but the more interesting challenge isn’t speed, it’s stopping the car! Because of mechanical brakes instead of hydronic ones, it takes a lot of effort to slow down and actually stop.” And I thought…yes, isn’t that often the case!
     This month so many people will make New Year’s resolutions to do this and that…eat better, go the gym, etc. But instead of doing something, what if we consider stopping something? It’s a resolution with a twist. But what on earth would we want to stop???
     The Bible gives us lots of suggestions but I’m only going highlight three that I think could make our new year healthier, and happier.
     In Matthew 6:25-34 we are told to stop worrying. Easier said than done, right? But what a freedom if we can learn to give our worries (and the people causing the worry) to the Lord. This might need to be a daily giving. Mom and dad were such a beautiful example of how to handle worry. Mom used to joke with Dad as she pushed his wheel chair into the bedroom for the night, “Well, Den, I guess we’d better go to bed as tomorrow will have its own worries.” And then they’d both laugh. She must have been onto something, because verse 34 says “Stop being anxious about tomorrow, tomorrow will have its own trouble.”
     Another suggestion of something we could stop doing is being bitter. There is a bad spirit of offense that seems heavy but must not be because people seem to pick it up so easily. John Wesley once said, “People who wish to be offended will always find some occasion for taking offense.” And I’ve heard it said that another person cannot ultimately offend us, but it is our reception of the insult that makes us offended. Dad used to call it having a thick skin. Ephesians 5:18 instructs us to “Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you…”
     The third STOP challenge is from Isaiah 1:16, “Wash you, make you clean; put away the evil of your doing from before mine eyes; cease to do evil…” Simply put, wash yourself and stop doing wrong. Ever camped for a few days and forfeited a shower? Or sweat so hard putting up hay so hard you had a dead spider in your belly button? If so, then you know the glorious result of a good “washing”. If we want a list of things we need washed off, there are several things in the Holy Scriptures that are abominations to God. God gives us help and promises when we are tempted, He always provides a way out (1 Corinthians 10:13). It’s just our job to take it.
     Another interesting facet to Model-T cars, according to our hotel breakfast companion, is that while they struggle to get up the hills, they certainly go downhill fast. Before we follow suit, we might want a model of perfection to pattern our lives after…and Jesus “fits that to a T”.

     “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.