“Be mindful of the sharks!“ My mother-in-law shouted as we headed out the door to the beach. While our kids never set foot in the ocean that vacation, her cautionary phrase has become a family favorite. It reminds us to be intentionally aware of danger. Growing up on a farm teaches you a lot about being mindful... bees when you are weed-eating, poison ivy, rushing water, and copperheads around the edge of the barn. Cows are also worth their weight in deserved caution. You must always be mindful of the bull’s location and when walking close to a cow, stay away from her back legs, which can kick you into tomorrow. These days it seems like much of culture wants us to be mind-less instead of mind-full. Laws are even being passed to promote yet another substance to dull our thoughts and feelings. Furthermore, the practice of emptying our minds as some religions or philosophers encourage might simply open the door for evil to come in and fill it. Instead scripture tells us in Philippians 4:8-9 to FILL your mind with things that are good and deserve praise: things that are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and honorable...and God will give us peace. Being mindful is harder than you think and occasionally things go awry. A recent magazine photograph showed several individuals lying on mats in a botanical garden. The caption said the establishment, which I’m sure is run by intelligent people, offered “mindful forest bathing“. I chuckled to myself at the absurd idea and then wondered if I could make mindful forest bathing profitable in rural West Virginia when I move home. I was brought back to reality when I heard my mother-in-law‘s words echo through the fancy botanical branches “be mindful of the sharks!” Early this summer Mom and I strolled through the Vineyard on Balli Mountain checking grape status and became cautiously optimistic. The vines were loaded with more pods than we’d seen in years! But—some had already gotten that tell-tale black spot. We’d seen it many times: the black spot fungus gradually overtakes the grapes until they are nothing but shriveled up hard “mummified” ruins. Admittedly, part of the problem is a huge pile of pruned, discarded (and diseased) vines left at the edge of the Vineyard. Regardless, Mom and I vowed to spray the grapevines faithfully throughout the summer and see if we could save the grapes. Interestingly, God knew he had my attention and I realized a life lesson would come through this year‘s harvest OR a failed crop. Being mindful of our “shark” (the black spot), we called a higher authority – the Department of Agriculture who recommended a specific fungicide. Then mom and I intentionally took action. We sprayed diligently, sometimes working so late into the night we used tractor headlights to guide us. The black spots seemed to be held at bay, and before we knew it the grapes were ripe. My daughter, Mom, and I got 345 pounds and made juices and jellies. Relatives picked, friends picked, and community members picked. Facebook posts told stories of multiple generations blessed to be in in the vineyard harvesting together. 1,701 pounds of grapes later I am left shaking my head in amazement of God’s grace. The life lesson is: if we are mindful of dangerous “sharks“, then maybe we should be proactive to make it better before it gets worse. Do we notice a child or friend going down and unhealthy path? Do we need to stop a sin “fungus” that will gradually destroy our marriage? our body? or our relationship with God? Is it time to call a Higher Authority? Despite our piles of imperfections, or sin in the world at the edge of the vineyard, through God’s grace we are able to bear fruit, and there can still be a glorious harvest!
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One of the first thrills we experience as a child is being spun around as an extension of a loving parent or cousin with strong arms. We don’t even fear that person will lose their grip on us, we just enjoy the whirl. Those of us who were toddlers in the 70’s, remember the classic “Sit ‘n Spin” toy, which allowed us to sit down and control the spin ourselves. We could go fast or slow. And while Playskool labeled the box with a 42 lb weight restriction, everyone in their right mind still gave it a whirl way beyond that. The older you got, the easier it was to spin it so fast it reared up in the air until you fell over in a fit of laughter. The most popular structure on the elementary playground, except for the swings which were always occupied, was the merry-go-round. At our school it was an ancient contraption with metal grip handles secured to a wooden platform encircled by a well-worn dirt trench that filled up with water after it rained and gave us more incentive to hang on. Usually the dare-devil boys pushed and then jumped on mid-spin. It was a rite of passage, as a teenager, to experience the Rotor at the county fair or amusement parks. Some places still offer this ride, which is a giant rotating barrel that spins so fast that when the bottom floor drops down, the people stick to the walls because of crazy physics magic like inertia or centripetal force. It had soothing names like Barrel of Fun or Hell Hole. As an adult I’m finding I don’t seek out the spinning motion so much anymore. The traffic roundabouts they are installing everywhere in the suburbs are enough for me. If I want to go around and around, I can just drive my car to one of these intersections they swear are more efficient, and drive in a circle until it flings me out. My sister had a similar experience on vacation and it took her four laps before she was able to take her exit, which her husband would lovingly and patiently point out each time they passed it. Impressively, my hubby is the king of roundabouts because he grew up in NJ, which is completely different. Drivers there are pretty assertive (also seemingly tense) so you learn to navigate or be eaten alive. It was there in a roundabout our children first learned about the hand gesture we call the “Jersey wave”. Life might seem at times like we are driving on a roundabout with no good choices to exit. Or maybe life’s spinning out of control with the bottom about to drop out. While it’s a common reaction to shut our eyes when we get scared or dizzy, at least two places in scripture God opened people’s eyes to regain their balance. Hagar was crying when she and her son ran out of sustenance, and God opened her eyes so she could see a well of water. The solution was right before her very eyes. (Genesis 21:19) The second reference is 2 Kings 6:17 “And Elisha prayed, ‘O Lord, open his eyes so he may see.’ Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.” Sometimes the situation seems dire, but I pray we too, like Elisha’s companion, have our eyes opened so we may see the power God is giving us to fight the enemy. Loss of control is fun as a toddler, frustrating as a teenager, appealing for college kids, and respectfully scary to a responsible adult. One of the biggest hurdles in a life is giving control to God, but it’s also the deepest peace amidst the whirling, knowing He is ultimately in control. He has strong arms and He won’t let go. The Hoo! Hoo! Hoo-Hoo! of a great horned owl floats across the soft gurgles of the Holly River into my open window and reminds me of my youth. Some evenings when the family sat on the porch Dad would call out into the blackness and an owl would respond, and they would have a little “talk”. We even adopted the call as our long distance communication. When one of us was out of sight and needed to check in, we'd give a loud Hoo! Hoo! Hoo-Hoo!” and the other person would echo it back. FYI: This only works in the country. If I started hooting loudly in the suburbs, someone would most likely complain and we'd get another letter. There seems to be a universal affection for owls. People collect them, and large companies incorporate them in their logos. (My 22-year-old nephew sheepishly offered up the example of a certain restaurant chain named after an owl hoot, but then redeemed himself with Trip Advisor whose logo is an owl face.) The owl's popularity is largely due to its status of the unchallenged animal symbolizing wisdom. Stick with me here but I'm going to throw down a radical idea. Might we consider the lowly snapping turtle as a more realistic symbol for the wise? Proverbs 9:10 says “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom...” Much can be learned if we have realistic fear as a starting point. Once we were stopped in a traffic jam on a busy road and we all watched in dismay a woman who had gotten out of her car and was attempting to move a large snapping turtle. Her chosen method was to carry the beast between two flat pieces of slick cardboard like a bad sandwich. The unsuspecting woman didn't know the level of danger she was in. We've all been there, but once we know the danger, however, we can form a more effective strategy. In the case of the snapping turtle, we need to know their necks can stretch back farther than you think, and their bite has been compared to that of a Bengal tiger (animalhype.com). Nobody in their right mind would carry a Bengal tiger between two pieces of cardboard! Like the Proverb says, “fear is the beginning of wisdom.” Specifically it says, “Fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom.” A critic might ask why worship a God you're afraid of? But when we understand how a loving God has perfect judgement, and our sins and imperfections, when left uncovered with the redemptive blood of Jesus, end in death, well, that's the beginning of wisdom. It's easy to see the possibilities of loving and fearing something simultaneously in a healthy way. Fire is wonderful to warm us and to cook over, but as with the forest fires in the news recently, it is wise to fear its power. We love a cool breeze but are wise to respect tornado warnings. And water is life-giving but also deserves tremendous caution. Fear is the beginning of wisdom... This past week I've been observing my great nephew play in the river at our farm. He steps in the muck at the edge without fear of leeches or snappers, sticks his hands under rocks to turn them over without fear of snakes, and swims in water over his head. We keep a watchful eye. After all, don't we always do everything we can to keep our loved ones safe? Sometimes that might mean alerting them to the dangers when it's no longer child's play. They always told us that if a snapping turtle bites you, it won't let go until it thunders. This may or may not be true, but what we do know for certain is that fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and that's a truth we can latch onto and never let go of, even if it storms. America is the land of plenty…plenty of freedoms, plenty of resources, plenty of excess. In our land of milk and honey, it can be difficult to maintain a healthy balance, especially when it comes to food (and faith.) Because I’m weak and have been caught eating chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, I need people in my life to keep me on track. My husband, a heart attack survivor, is always asking “Is this heart healthy?” And our daughter’s philosophy of “we are what we eat” has our whole family thinking about portion control. Growing up on the farm we girls helped feed the cows, and my children did the same. The normal portion for each cow was one bale of hay, half in the morning and half in the evening. If we milked the cow or she had a calf, she got an additional one pound coffee can full of sticky sweet feed that smelled like molasses. It was believed the grain produced more milk and we doled it out in each of their feed boxes accordingly. The sheep were less orderly. During lambing season, their grain was poured into a long trough and when we threw open the door, they raced in like a Black Friday sale at Walmart, each one fighting for the portion they felt they deserved. I’ve told it before but it merits repeating that there was a time when possums were coming on the porch at night to eat the cats’ food and Daddy didn’t like it. So eager was he to protect the cat’s portion that he leaped out of bed and ran around the corner of the house with his shotgun with mom yelling at him “not to shoot the house again”. We would all benefit if we likewise had someone so determined to protect our portions. It’s tragic and alarming, but while we have been eager to get the most bang out of our buck, our portions have become reckless. Look it up. Bagels and cheeseburgers have doubled in size and calories! Everywhere you look they are trying to lure us in with supersized menu items. At an antique store recently I spotted a hamburger press from the 1950’s. At first I thought it was a toy for a child’s play kitchen but quickly realized their full size burgers were the size of our “sliders” today. Go measure your dinner plates…mine are 12” but in the 1950’s they were 9”! When it comes to portions, we’re out of control. When we shake the hypnosis of fast food, we know bigger isn’t always better. Quality over quantity should be our anthem. Sometimes we just want more though, right? Have you ever added water to the almost empty jar of salad dressing because you needed it to go just a little farther? Mom makes a delicious lemonade where she mixes 2 lemons, 1 orange, 1 lime if she has one, and ¾ cup sugar in a half gallon mason jar of water. She tries to get some extra mileage out of the fruit so when the lemonade is gone, she will refill the jar with additional sugar and water. This “second round” isn’t nearly as flavorful and I’ve seen the disappointment in peoples’ eyes when they took that first sip. When you’ve tasted the real thing, you recognize when it’s been watered down. And this brings me to my conclusion that faith is a lot like our food intake. Our lives might look like an all you can eat buffet, but what are we eating? Is it a watered down Gospel? Are we consuming “food substitutes” instead of the real thing? And when it comes to “portion control”, are we compromising? The writer of Psalm 73:26 was not a nutritionist but shows us a true recipe for health and happiness “But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Now that’s heart healthy! In 1962 there was a little house near the top of Miller Mountain whose yard was bursting with stunning gladioli. My dad and his soon to be mother-in-law appreciated them as they drove to and from Webster Springs as they took garden produce to sell in town. With the wedding only a few days away, they stopped and asked the homeowner if they could buy some of her beautiful flowers. Miraculously, she said to take all the flowers they needed for free and when dad returned home he presented mom with a colorful gladiolus serenade. It was music to her ears! Serenades are usually expressions of love to draw one closer to making a vow but Mom recalled an old tradition of a post-wedding serenade. About a week after their wedding, neighbors and friends came down the driveway banging on pots and pans and making a loud ruckus. The newly-weds got carried around the house, Mom in a big galvanized wash tub and Dad straddling a fence rail. Then, as expected, Mom treated the women to candies and Dad gave the men cigars. Entertaining is a healthy part of marriage as long as you don’t get carried away. In the spirit of nuptials, here are other fun lessons I’ve learned over time. When my grandpa’s sister, Lucy, got married, she and her groom, Dencil Craig, rode horses to the parsonage where the preacher came out and married them whilst still sitting atop their steeds! Spontaneity is good in a marriage. When it was Pap’s turn to marry, he and my grandma Olga held their “ceremony” in the front yard at the Balli Farm with a makeshift altar table decorated with dahlias. There, a more recent bride and groom opted for a panoramic cow-pasture setting instead of the yard, but first had to implement Operation Manure Removal. As any seasoned spouse will tell you, a key to a happy marriage is learning how to get rid of “it” as best you can. Years ago, in a baking frenzy prepping for my cousin’s wedding, we ran out of salt, and one of the guests (Mrs. Ramey) went to the bedroom and retrieved an entire pound container of salt from her suitcase?? Also true; two of the guests got new false teeth for the wedding! And the river was high, rendering the ford impassable, so the tent poles and boards for the dance floor had to be carted across the swinging bridge in a wheelbarrow… Marriage begins with plenty of salt, a good smile, and balance. For my sister’s wedding cake Mom made traditional sugar bells. It’s a delicate process of taking egg whites and sugar (with a little food coloring to match wedding colors), pressing the mixture into bell molds, drying them upside down, and finally hollowing them out ever so tenderly to about ¼ inch thick. From this we might be advised marriage likewise is fragile. Also at my sister’s wedding we stretched a large banner from tree to tree across the road proclaiming “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Miller!” Banners of declaration are actually biblical. Songs of Solomon (one of the best serenades ever written by the way) states, “He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.” (2:4) Ancient people fully understood the purpose of banners, which they carried into battle to rally the troops. The signs lifted up high boosted their morale and reminded them who they fought for and why. In some of my friends’ homes they have framed photographs on their walls from their weddings, which to me are like banners, reminding them daily of the Who? and Why?. Jesus says in John 12:32 “I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.” Would you like to live forever under that banner of perfect love? Can you hear Jesus calling your name in the sweetest of all serenades? “I do”. It was so windy the day we laid my dad to rest the tent at his gravesite nearly blew away. Funeral home representatives and a few tall cousins literally had to hold onto the four poles and even then I think I saw one of them lift into the air with their feet off the ground. A pastor suggested the weather phenomenon could be a thousand angel wings carrying Dad home, and asked if we could feel them. I could. God’s presence was felt on that hill top even though our hearts were in a valley shadowed by death. After the service I overheard two country men, who’ve always lived close to the earth, comment they’d never seen the wind blow hard and steady all day like that. Could it have been the presence of God? I get teary-eyed thinking about how God comforts us. John 14:16 reminds us of Jesus’ words, “I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may be with you forever.” The Helper is the Holy Spirit (aka the Comforter), who has arrived before on the wings of the wind. Acts 2:2 describes the arrival of the Holy Spirt, “And suddenly there came from Heaven a sound like a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting.” I recently heard a story about how sheep in the dry desert appear to be grazing on rocks, but upon closer investigation, they are actually nibbling small blades of grass. There is a wind that blows off the Mediterranean Sea carrying moisture into the desert causing vegetation to grow enough to provide substance for the sheep. Every afternoon the hot sun destroys any remaining blades, and every morning (like with manna) the wind once again brings moisture thus producing substance just for that day. May we likewise be sustained, one day at a time, by God’s comfort and love. A few days after the funeral, we were writing notes of appreciation and recording all the ways people have blessed us during this difficult time. If someone gave us flowers or sympathy cards, their name got written in a memorial book we received from the funeral home. My 6-year-old great nephew took great interest in the process and was determined to get his name in the book. He borrowed some paper and crayons and after a few minutes returned with a card he gave Nanna that read, “I love you no matter what.” Then he stood there waiting, until she wrote his name in the book. It blew me away. I wondered if that’s what Jesus meant when He said we need to come to Him as the little children do…We need to do all we can to get our name in THE Book. To be clear, I don’t believe for one minute we get in that divine registry by our own works…but it does require our response to Jesus. We’re not perfect, but Jesus fixed us a way into salvation. As a side note, my dad understood fixing things. He fixed a chimney top using a hubcap. He fixed a hole in a muffler with a soup can that had both ends cut out. And I even saw him fix Nanna’s broken toe at the beach with a pair of underwear and two Popsicle sticks! And Jesus—how did He fix our imperfection problem? He paid the price for our sins on the cross. Maybe we have a sordid past, are in a current lifestyle we weren’t designed for, have an unhealthy pattern of returning to a vice, or are broken by the loss of someone who was a big part of us. Some things are hard to talk about, but I thought maybe someone else needed to hear this. Whatever our brokenness is and whichever way the wind blows, Jesus’ response is always the same, “I love you, no matter what.” A steady stream of cars and pedestrians pass by Metrobot every day without so much as a glance. The large robot-like statue stands on the corner of 6th and Walnut Street in Cincinnati and seemingly leaped out of the pages of my college art history book and my memory. I recall Dr. Gillespie telling us how it was created by Nam June Piak, one of the first cool artists to utilize technology in his creations. Even though Metrobot is 27 feet tall, throngs of people are just too busy to notice him. Busyness isn’t always the problem. Sometimes we can just be standing around and still be oblivious. I discovered this when I darted into the Scripps Building downtown hoping to powder my nose. While the security guards were conveying they had no public restrooms, a large painting at the end of the lobby caught my eye. Forgetting my mission, I asked them, “Is that a real Lichtenstien?!” They shrugged as if to say “Don’t know. Don’t care.” So obviously I had to investigate. As I left the building, I told the guards it was indeed the real deal and commented jokingly “Sometimes we’re in the presence of greatness and don’t even know it.” It’s safe to say occasionally we have identity issues. One source growing up that taught me a lot about identification was 4-H. We learned about various plants, trees and bird species. There’s bedstraw, used by the pioneers to make mattresses because it has a natural insect repellent. Those are touch-me-nots, which means, of course, you have to touch them and watch the fun way seeds disperse. And have you ever heard the legend around one of my favorite wild flowers, the Queen Anne’s Lace? Usually, the more we learn about something and gather details, the greater the appreciation. This becomes even truer when we consider people. I’m convinced everyone has an interesting life story and often the seemingly ordinary people who cross our path might just be the real deal so to speak. Hebrews 13:2 tells us, “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers; for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” What if we treated everyone as though they might be angels? We’d probably be more patient and hospitable and more humble in our responses. When my sister, Cindy, was a high schooler she worked as a waitress in the restaurant at Holly River State Park. During an annual Youth Conservation Day held there, she actually knew she was in the presence of greatness because her customer was none other than the great Maxine Scarbro. Her name sounds like a superhero, and to us 4-H kids she sort of was. She was the director of the WV Youth Conservation Program, sponsored by the State of WV Department of Natural Resources and The Sears and Roebuck Company. Out of the 3000+ people in attendance that day, Maxine Scarbro ended up at Cindy’s table…and in her awestruck adoration, Sis poured her a cup of coffee…and kept pouring and pouring until it overflowed onto the table. Like the end of Psalm 23:5, her “cup runneth over” I propose our cup too will runneth over when we recognize we are in the presence of Greatness. We just have to open the Bible and read scriptures which will teach us identification. Instead of various leaves and plants, we’ll learn to identify God’s character and our purpose. And we learn the greatest things around us aren’t statues or paintings…There’s 100 percent probability that even right now you’re in the presence of Greatness. Joshua 1:9 “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” I pray we’re not too busy or too carefree to notice Him. In the suburbs restless and wayward kids play a game called Ding Dong Ditch where one of them is dared to approach a house, ring the doorbell and then run away unseen. The homeowner opens the door puzzled to find nobody there. If it’s repeated, it quickly becomes annoying. This game was certainly not part of my childhood growing up in rural WV. First of all, the hunting dogs would have announced your presence long before you even got to the house. Then there was the likelihood of getting shot for trespassing…so Ding Dong Ditching never really caught on. I have learned a thing or two about ditches though. Our driveway is steep and if the ditches aren’t kept shoveled out, the water will wash away gravel and erode the tire paths. For anyone feeling inspired to clean, we keep a handy shovel stuck in the ground next to the pieces of guardrail (open culverts) laid across the driveway. I’m always amazed how even a few tiny rocks can clog up the flow of water. It’s very satisfying to clear the path and see water diverted to a better location. My infatuation with ditches started when we were little and walked to church around the bend. On warm spring mornings we would stop on our way home and catch penny back newts hiding under fallen leaves in the ice cold ditch water. Where the ditch widened at the top of the driveway, there were usually spring peepers. During my teenage years that same beloved ditch stole one of my sneakers when we were chasing cows--and I had to keep running barefoot when the mud would not surrender the shoe. We never did find it! Daughter Alex got familiar with the ditch recently driving Nanna back from the post office and meeting an enormous log truck in a sharp curve on the one lane road. She bravely drove into the ditch (her only option), and when the truck passed, put the Jeep in four wheel drive and skillfully drove out of it. Her tracks were there two weeks later, reminding us of God’s mercy. One time my sister and her husband were driving back from town and something in the ditch caught her eye so they went back to investigate. It was a woman passed out amongst the leaves! She began to stir when they asked if she was alright and started to grab for a nearby, almost empty, bottle of whisky, which my brother-in-law quickly kicked it out of reach as they phoned for help. It’s interesting how sometimes when we find ourselves in a ditch, we reach for the very thing that got us into the ditch in the first place. I’ll conclude with a happy ditch story. The year was 1959 and Dad was driving Mom to meet his parents for the first time. Due to heavy rains, the dirt road had been carved into deep ruts and the mud pulled Dad’s 1950 green 4-door sedan into the ditch. “As not to get his shirt dirty”, he took it off, much to Mom’s embarrassment. Flustered, she remained in the car while Dad jacked it up and pushed it over, jacked it up again and pushed it over more, until he finally got it (and her) out of the ditch. What have I learned from all this ditch talk? Like my daughter with 4X4-Drive and Dad with his muscles and car jack, we need to be equipped to get out of the figurative ditch. Simply put, that preparedness comes from reading scripture and praying. We also need a friend (or be that friend) to help us out--to kick things that hurt us to the curb and tell us when we’re reaching for the wrong things. And I say this as much to myself as to anyone else, when it comes to “ditching”, don’t be a ding-dong! Family vacation is often the place where rubber meets the road. We discover who we are, growing in a rolling petri dish of personalities. One particular station wagon odyssey I remember my younger cousin grumbling and giving voice to all of our miseries, “Even my hair hurts!” she whined as she begged my aunt for a Band-Aid. Road trips are still part of our family tradition and I’m pleased how well my teenage kids travel without complaint--except when the dog’s digestive system takes a wrong turn. Without warning there will be intermittent expressions of putrid hell-stench, which causes us all to gag and grumble. My mom on the other hand gives us a proper example of tolerance for life’s minor inconveniences. It was the big family vacation at Kings Island Amusement Park and Campground. Uncle Jack had meticulously made a military-style canvas tent large enough to shelter two families. It didn’t have a floor, but we didn’t mind. In the morning when we all rose, Mom casually asked sweetly without angst, “Has anyone else been bothered all night by the ground fleas?” Nobody had, and when we returned from the bathhouse, we saw the problem. She’d placed her pillow directly in an ant trail! Poor thing swatted at them all night as they made their way determinedly over the treacherous terrain of a giant Mt. Rushmore that was her face. Now imagine an epic family vacation that lasted 40 years, required walking in the hot sun with 600,000+ cousins, and lots of pets. One might expect some grumbling. But God doesn’t give them a pass. Instead He uses His chosen people as an example to show us how complaining can be a serious offense. In His eyes it shows lack of gratitude and trust, which damages any relationship. If we think whining is merely annoying, we need to think again. On that desert journey, the Israelites initially complained and received substance of bread and water which was good (Exodus 16-17). But when they became dissatisfied again, God rained down FIRE! (Numbers 11:1)…And when they grumbled yet again He sent a severe PLAGUE! (Numbers 11:33)…And when they were still whining impatiently a few chapters later, God sent VENOMOUS SNAKES and many Israelites died! (Numbers 21:4-6) It’s seriously offensive to Him. I am convinced the problem in our country is we have lost our fear of God. We have been a grumbling group of grouches for too long (some for the past four years and some ever since last November). The good news is we have a chance to recognize this flaw in ourselves and ask for God’s mercy and grace to rain down on us. In Chris Tomblin’s contemporary Amazing Grace he sings, “And like a flood, his mercy reigns, unending love, amazing Grace.” The song’s original version was written by a captain of a slave ship who converted to Christianity, became a minister and helped abolish slavery. His transformation came as a result of a violent storm at sea. I pray ours is less harrowing yet equally effective. One possible way to transform our negative thinking is called “rubber band therapy”. Simply place this unassuming office supply around your tender wrist and snap it smartly when a complaint is on the tip of your tongue or has already escaped. It’s called aversion therapy and is supposed to break unproductive thought patterns. I think it’s humorous but at least it’s effort. Perhaps more effective would be memorizing Philippians 4:8 “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, If there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” May we march on Christian soldiers to fight the good fight…like ants undeterred by obstacles in our path. And when it comes to complaining or whining, let’s try and avoid it like the plague! Snap! We arrived a few minutes early to our scheduled meet time and eyed every black truck suspiciously as the potential drop. It started a few weeks prior when my daughter and I were looking at home interior designs and discovered the popular Victorian trend of decorating with majestic peacocks often perched atop a grand mantle or cozy library bookcase. We quickly decided our home needed a peacock as well, but preliminary online searching had our wallets saying something else. $8,000-$10,000??? Who knew taxidermy was so expensive! Because of our Christmas budget ceiling, we lowered our expectations to a possum…and then to a squirrel. Lucky for me, Facebook Marketplace listed an affordable one and we arranged a meeting--Lowe’s parking lot at high noon. It was glorious when a perky little stuffed squirrel standing on wormy chestnut emerged from the drop-off truck. I handed the seller $30 and walked away with a big smile on my face. My daughter, who was filming the entire exchange from the back seat, commented “This is the most redneck thing we’ve ever done.” I’m generally okay with the term redneck. It’s evolved over time to mean many different things. Originally it described farmers working in fields getting their necks sunburned. Then in the early 1900’s in West Virginia, coal miners wore red bandannas as a sign of solidarity as they fought for social justice and a better life out from under the harsh (and armed) control of big coal companies. This helped identify who was on their side when gun fighting ensued. And now? Well, it depends on whom you ask. Comedian Jeff Foxworthy made it humorous and acceptable to laugh at our rural nuisances in his bits that began “You might be a redneck if ...” And while outsiders might use the term in a derogatory manner, there are many who proudly self-identify with it. The neck name we really need to be avoiding is “stiff-necked”. Neck stress is such a common issue these days with what they call tech-neck, which we get from looking down at our phones all the time. One of the finest husbands in the world who shall remain nameless was fussing about his aching neck muscles and happened to read that changing sleep positions would help. So he slept upside down with his head where his feet should be and his unsuspecting wife woke up to his big ole man feet in her face. They were also doing a rhythmic sleep jig on her lavish My Pillow which did not bode well either. While this situation might depict a pain in the neck, it’s not the kind of stiff neck the bible talks about. The scriptural stiff-neck which makes God angry was a term biblical people understood because they saw how a stubborn ox would refuse to turn its head and take a different path even at the coaxing of its master. Humans likewise can be difficult. Here are some clues: You might be a stiff-necked person if you:
If you find yourself suffering from “stiff neck” like I do from time to time, a remedy is in Proverbs 3:3. “Let not mercy and truth forsake thee; bind them around thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart.” Happy New Year everyone! May 2021 bring blessings to your neck of the woods!It just might be the year we Fliegels look into raising peacocks… |
Janet Cowger- FliegelArchives
May 2024
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