Empowered for Service

“Does anyone have any suggestions for study topics for our future small group meetings?” we were asked at church the other night. Several ideas were mentioned, from Finances and Marriage to the study of Revelation. I suggested that, as we had had so much teaching already, we have a time of actual prayer, or an intercessor group, at the church. Then my husband, who had been rather quiet, raised his hand.

“I just want to tell you a story our son told me about something that happened to his pastor,” Howard said. He began to share that the pastor of Jamie’s church in Houston had recently come back from a mission trip to Pakistan. Somehow he and a team of several people were involved in an evangelistic meeting in this Muslim country. A large crowd had gathered, and for security purposes, armed guards carrying machine guns were posted around the American church workers.

As God’s presence began to be evident, with some being healed and touched around the platform, the crowd began to surge forward in an unmanageable mass. Suddenly there was a thud on the platform. A baby was tossed onto the platform by desperate parents who could not get there themselves. The preachers found themselves being rushed out of the building for their own protection and escorted by armed guards to their quarters.

As they sat in their rooms in disappointment, the ministers questioned how they could fulfill their mission and do what they had been called to do. Later, they found out that, even though they had been forced from the meeting, God had not left. It was told them that people continued to be touched and healed even after they were gone. The presence of God had lingered in such a strong way that their needs were met, despite their limited understanding. Perhaps they prayed, even as the man in the Bible prayed, “Lord, I believe. Help Thou mine unbelief.”!

Howard said he was amazed at how the Holy Spirit works, so his suggestion was recorded as the topic, “Works of the Holy Spirit.” Hopefully, this will be an open-ended class, as interactive as the title of the New Testament book, “The Acts of the Apostles, ” implies.

Shut In, but not Shut Out

“A picture is worth a thousand words.” And how! I was having a telephone conversation with my 4-year-old granddaughter, Anne-Marie, and she was describing something she wanted from the toy store. As she talked in and out of the phone, I couldn’t make out everything she was saying--something about Rapunzel’s hair (from the movie, “Tangled”)--evidently a wig for pretend play. Finally her daddy got on the phone and told me she had said the hair was 4 units long. Not only could I not understand her, I couldn’t understand what she was talking about! My son told me that meant the hair was about two feet long.

Her twenty-two-month-old sister, Maddie got on the phone, and though I loved her babbling, I didn’t get what she said. Finally, I suggested that Jamie put them on Skype, something we hadn’t done in several weeks. He said he would call me back in a few minutes, and I went to look in the mirror and smooth my hair. They always looked adorable, but tele-viewing works both ways!

When the phone rang on the internet, I connected and saw my grandchildren in glorious, living color and animation! How beautiful! Anne-Marie’s darling face filled the screen with her muss of blonde curls, and I could see she was dressed in a taffeta-like Rapunzel costume with a criss-cross bodice, puffy sleeves and full purple skirt. I could understand every word she rattled off to me, and saw every toy she held up--mainly, her Prince Flynn doll.

I caught my breath when I saw Maddie, a red-haired, miniature version of her mother. If only I could kiss those loveable cheeks! She was a vision of spun cinnamon-sugar, wriggling off her daddy’s lap and waving at me. This would never do! They were more tantalizing than ever! We set up a tentative date for a visit to their house in the near future. When I saw them briefly at Thanksgiving, the girls had been recently sick and not quite themselves. I could see they had grown and were now bursting with health and energy and I couldn’t wait to hold them.

On this holiday-feeling snow day, I caught up with grandchildren in Georgia panting and gasping as they played in the snow. 13-year-old Corrin’s comments were descriptive, but her mother promised to post pictures later. She was having her own snow day, getting frustrated trying to work from home with an uncooperative computer. Atlanta was virtually at a standstill with icy, snowy roads.

I have not ventured out into our 2-inch snow, and I have learned the meaning of the word, “house-coat.” It’s a coat you wear in the house to keep warm, and I have worn mine all day. A pot of homemade chicken soup simmers on the stove, the fireplace glows cheerfully, and electronic communication keeps loneliness at bay. Howard has been at his books, only just now going out to start the car. A cup of hot chocolate is starting to sound appealing on this winter-quiet, first-snow-of-the-season day. Truly my cup runneth over.

Who Knows What a Day May Bring Forth?

We had a full house at church yesterday! The warmth and camaraderie and close proximity of our neighbors created an almost gala atmosphere. The worship seemed to have a new intensity, the joyful songs and hymns ringing out loud and clear, contrary to the normal pattern of thin voices on Sunday morning. Did we set an attendance record? No, our finicky heating system in the sanctuary had chosen this frigid morning to act up, and we had no choice but to meet in the upstairs fellowship hall (the original auditorium of our bi-level church).

When my husband took the podium to lead in prayer, he was awed by the “coincidence” of similarity of the scriptures he had prepared to read and the theme of the song service. The scriptures from Psalms 33:18 -20 coincided with the words sung from “He is Mighty to Save” and others dealing with courage, mercy, trust and rejoicing. The refrain, “He has conquered the grave” resounded with the thought of v. 18-19: “Behold the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy; to deliver their soul from death, and to keep them alive in famine."

“How many of you are on Facebook?” the pastor asked as he came to the pulpit. As several raised their hands, he went on, “How many of you looked at it this morning?" Fewer raised their hands this time. “I just want to read you what I posted early this morning in my announcement before I knew about the heating system: ‘Come expecting…It’s a new year with a new focus, but it’s the same unchanging God who has promised to meet us here!'”

And meet us He did! Last night at our Round Table study/discussion group, we were remarking on the morning service. “It turned out to be almost a treat!” I observed about the inconvenience. Our pastor’s wife gave a testimony: “I found myself saying, ‘What just happened?’ With all the realigning that had to be done, I had been stressed over whether it would get done in time. Chairs had to be set up, the musicians’ instruments had to be moved, and songs had to be gone over.” (We had heard chairs scraping, the scrambling of feet and ominous noises overhead from our Sunday School room below. She had been supervising the frenetic activity.)

“Then suddenly, it was all finished with time to spare!” she went on. “The songs had been smoothed out, everything was set up, and we were waiting on the congregation!” (Not only that, but when everyone arrived, we found a spread of donuts, rolls, coffee and other drinks set out in welcome!) We had to agree that God had intervened. The whole service seemed orchestrated by God.

It reminded me of something I had read once, called “A Modern-Day Parable.” In it, a young man had made his plans for the future, praying that God would give him a wife with brown eyes and black hair, let him live in the country, and have a boy first and then a daughter. As he looked back on these youthful thoughts from a distance of many years, he recognized that he had had a very happy life, but with a blonde, blue-eyed wife, a city dwelling, and a daughter born before his son. He asked God why He hadn’t answered his prayers in the way he had prayed. According to the parable, God answered, “I wanted to surprise you.” I think that says it all.

Writing for Reading

Sliding out of the booth in a restaurant where we had enjoyed a late supper, as I gathered my purse and coat I noticed a dollar bill on the floor under the table. I picked it up, thinking it may have fallen out of my purse. When we paid, I showed it to the cashier. She said it was probably dropped by our server, so I asked her to give it to the waitress. Just then the waitress approached me waving something in her hand: one of my good black gloves! My good deed had been rewarded! And so quickly! I found the other glove under our table and left the restaurant with a good feeling.

I needed a good feeling and a confirmation that Someone cared after the past disappointing couple of hours. Several weeks ago, I was invited to bring my books for a book signing at an estate sale. They had seated me very conspicuously, we thought, right at the entrance to the sale in a little breakfast nook, so the people would be sure to see my display. My granddaughter, Allison, and I had gotten there in plenty of time, and we enjoyed seeing the crowd of people gather outside the window, waiting for the doors to open on this first, and busiest, day of the popular sale.

People jostled and crowded in the increasingly cold late afternoon, and finally they were allowed into the garage where they waited expectantly still more tantalizing minutes. When maybe a dozen names were read off, those early-to-register customers burst through the door with empty cardboard boxes for their loot and passed right by us in their hurry to find the goodies. This went on repeatedly-- impatient and excited shoppers who had been held back dashing past us in a frenzy of bargain hunting. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, or maybe we should have been closer to the exit than the entrance, for most of the customers filed out the front without ever passing our table again.

Allison and I tried to speak to most of the customers, indicating the book, and one said, “Oh, I wondered why you were sitting there and not shopping!” I recognized one lady who had passed us and said hello to her. “Oh! I didn’t even see you sitting there, I was so focused on getting inside!” she said. Another prospect said she didn’t read (a lot of them said that), and one who perused the book briefly said she was a voracious reader, getting shopping bags of books from the library, but she couldn’t afford to buy a new book. A small boy approached us, looking at the poster with my picture on it, and said, “Are you a real author?” I showed him the book, and he intently read the back cover. Only nine years old, he assured me he was a good reader, but that he was awfully busy. So cute. One of the highlights of the evening.

Well, whether anyone buys any books or not, I enjoy writing them. And those who have read this first one and my blog have given me good feedback, saying how much they like them. So I’ll keep writing, if only for my own pleasure, but it is good to get a feeling of affirmation sometimes, especially when I know the Lord is pleased!

Sleuthing Scenarios

Wow! I didn’t know there was so much information on genealogy sources today! And that’s without even joining a formal search! Just public records, obituaries, and other people’s research on line. I have found family names going back to the 1600’s, and familiar names mentioned by my mother in the not-so-distant past linking us like a biological road map to our past. I’m beginning to realize that everybody is related to everybody else! Some of the searches trace lines of ancestors to upwards of a thousand people!

But the personal, more intimate details revealed in obituaries and notations are more meaningful to me. I didn’t know that my Uncle Robert, who had caddied for golfers as a child, became such an important golfer that the military sent him all over the world to represent them in tournaments! Nor did I know that my Uncle George (on my mother’s side) was known as “Hook ’Em, George”, due to his sports enthusiast bent, an alumnus of the University of Texas, and that he was a bee keeper!

On my father’s side, which is harder to trace, most inquiries were concerned with tracing Indian heritage. Nearly all stated a grandmother as being ¼ Cherokee Indian. (That’s what I’d always heard about our family, too.) Only it was probably more, as both my dad and grandmother had strong Indian features. Ruefully, one comment was that most in that line of the family had huge noses! And that that was their cross to bear! Is that from the Indians? I’d always thought it was from an Irish grandfather, who, judging from a grainy home movie some 60 years old, had a pugilist nose like a prize-fighter.

I’d heard my mother say many times that she was related to the founders of Branson, Missouri. And sure enough, that name, and a varied spelling of it, showed up many times on her genealogy records. Current data I read said it was founded by a Reuben Branson who opened a general store there. My mother’s uncle operated a general store when she was growing up (a stretch, I admit, but who knows?) .

More surprises are in store as I refine my search, I’m sure. It is very easy to spend hours just looking at what’s on line, so I’m in no hurry. But, as I said before, we really are related to all of the family of man, and that, of course, stretches back to Adam. Ephesians 3:14 says, “For this reason I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, from whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named.” Family was God’s idea, and He is Head of the House!

Out of the (Linen) Closet

I laughed when my daughter, Amy, told me her kids all had satin sheets on their beds, thinking that was the high point in pampering children. But when I was there at Christmas and saw the soft, luxurious shimmer on the 13-year-old’s pillow, I knew I had to have some. Especially when I found out they were only $11.99 at Ross. I had known that sleeping on a satin pillow is kind to hair-dos, and probably to complexion, as well.

All that they had at Ross’s was one set in chocolate brown, which I would have chosen, anyway. It was the same color grandson Reid had on his bed. 11-year-old Rachel had decided she didn’t like the sheets. “If your fingernails aren’t smooth they catch on them, or if your skin is rough they sound scratchy,” she explained. Her mother told me Rachel had already imperiously announced, “Tell Arlene (her mom’s household help) to put my regular sheets back on.” (She isn’t really spoiled, it just sounds like it!)

I managed to squeeze them into our carry-on by removing them from their packaging, and I must admit when I put them on the bed they were quite impressive. I couldn’t wait to slip into their satiny comfort. This promised to be better than the highest thread-count sheets. I drifted blissfully off to sleep, only to be awakened by feeling chilly later on. The comforter was still in place, but the blanket next to the sheet had slid off the bed. This morning, everything was in a tangle, and I’m second-guessing my good idea. I remembered Amy told me that when her husband’s visiting aunt and uncle slept on Reid’s bed, the man slid off into the floor!

Satin sheets probably work better for a single sleeper who doesn’t move much. Or maybe they are better in the summer time when their cool, smooth surface would be more welcome. They definitely don’t work for a cover-pulling mate, especially since we prefer to sleep in a cold room and turn off our heat at night. If things don’t improve, I’m going to pull out our plaid flannel sheets again. I’ve been hoping to find nobility in ancestral genealogy records, but maybe I’m not ready for living (or sleeping!) in the lap of luxury yet! Come to think of it, those simple Tennessee farmers who may have dwelt in log cabins probably slept on flannel (or homespun) too!

Forebears

“Mama, what town in Tennessee was Grandma born in?” my daughter asked over the phone. When I told her the name of the small town, which I really didn’t think was even a town anymore, she said, “I thought that was it! I saw it on the map. That’s close to the place where the ambulance took the kids after the wreck last week!” Thankfully her children are recovering well from an accident that happened over Christmas when we were all together in Tennessee.

“Really? You mean it still exists?” I exclaimed. I had looked for it on the map many times, but it didn’t show up. She told me she wrote in the name on a Google search, and there it was. I knew that Mama and some of her siblings had gone there to look up an old family cemetery many years ago, but I remembered little about it. We kids had grown up listening to our mother reminisce about her beloved Tennessee, from which she had moved at the age of 12 when her family relocated to southwest Texas at the urging of an uncle.

I promptly clicked on it, and Google brought up the name of the cemetery and a picture of the landscape. A beautiful view of rounded mountains loomed dark green in the background of a grassy expanse, and I was instantly transported to Mama’s remembered environment. What a strange, familiar feeling I sensed; it almost brought tears to my eyes. She had always talked about the mountains, and preferred to raise her family in the country, just as when she was growing up. As I scrolled down the page, one picture in a set of photographs showed a headstone. Dalton! That was the surname of Mama’s step-mother before she married my grandfather when my mother was three years old. The commemorative stone was honoring the family as the longest residents of the area--200 years!

As I looked at the map, I saw familiar names of towns I remembered from genealogy papers I used to have as places of marriages, births, and deaths of members of her clan: Tazewell, Sneedville, War Creek! Then I saw something wending near the cemetery that surely must have meaning--Old Mill Creek. Mama had entertained us many times with stories of her idyllic-sounding life as a child, harvesting apples from their mountain-side orchard, going to the country store owned by her Uncle Robert on a horse, and riding her horse to take corn to the mill to be ground! This must have been the mill the creek was named for!

I couldn’t find out more without joining a genealogy site, but my interest is surely piqued! I can’t believe we actually lived not more than a hundred miles from my mother’s early home for several months a few years ago and didn’t explore it. Our daughter lives there still, so on our next visit, I definitely intend to do some ancestry searching of my own. Mama always said her (step) mother was society-minded, and maybe she had a reason! As one of the oldest families in the area, they were probably quite prominent before moving away to Texas. Just one more reason to go delving into the dim, distant past. After all, if you don’t know where you came from, you can’t know where you’re going!