"Mom, are you guys okay?" my son Greg said over the phone.
"Yes, why?" I responded brightly, to which he surprised me by saying, "Well, the school called and said you didn't pick up the girls." What? We had gone to the school to pick up our grandchildren, but their big brother was there getting out of his car. We alternate days with him and his older sister in picking up the little kids. He was uncertain of his new semester schedule, so we had arranged to get them.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him, "Nobody called us to change the schedule."
"Well, I was free, and since Tuesday is my day..." he began, when I said, "Today is Monday!" Then I smiled, waved and said, "Well, you got 'em," and we started toward home.
As we turned at the corner, I looked over my shoulder and said, "Where did he go?" not seeing his car anywhere. "I guess he for sure heard me," and Howard said of course he did. Just then I spotted his car in the pick-up line and said, "Oh, there he is."
Evidently, that was a look-alike car, and he had gone home, thinking we were picking the kids up! Unbelievable! Their mom left work and got them immediately.
A few days ago, Howard and I had invited some friends over for Thursday evening to watch a beautiful video of a family of Christian musicians, violinists and singers. I reminded my husband that we had left the video at our son's house when we were sharing it with them at Christmas. He assured me he would retrieve it in plenty of time.
Guess what! No one could find it! Our evening was still enjoyable, but I felt bad when our friends came over expecting that and we played Scrabble instead!
Plans change, and the unexpected is to be expected, it seems. I should have double-checked to see the children get into the car. I should have followed that nudge of uneasiness, which was no doubt the Holy Spirit, when I first didn't see our grandson. And my husband should keep up with his videos!
Friday, January 11, 2013
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Our Father's World
"Look at the ripples they make," I said to Howard as I pointed to the small armada of ducks on the pond. "Like little motor boats," I mused, then, "or paddle boats, I should say," realizing little webbed feet were pumping madly under the water to produce their rapid progress.
Suddenly I spotted more ducks hidden in the small cove at the end of the pond. They must have spotted us at the same time, and as dozens fluttered skyward, I could see the regal green helmets of Mallards, the band about the neck a royal circlet above the velvet brown of breast feathers. What a beautiful sight!
Glimpsing something white at the other end of the long pond, I used the binoculars to see three unusual ducks with bright white bodies, glistening black heads and black tail feathers. Perhaps the Tufted Ducks or Scaup Ducks I found when I tried to look them up, they were different from the ones ordinarily at the pond,
The temperatures have moderated the past few days (even if the clouds and dampness of possible rain make them uncomfortably chilly to me!), and with the disappearance of ice from the water's surface, the ducks are back. Yesterday Howard and I hiked to the top of the levee for an up-close-and-personal view, although there weren't more than a handful ducks that day. They had found a small pool of ice-free water at the bank's edge. Today they have "elbow room."
We had been exploring the "valley" at the bottom of the property, picturesque with huge boulders and the stream below the pond. We could see the goats, horses and burros across the dividing fence on the hillside of the adjoining farm. Climbing up toward the stacked shelf of huge, flat rocks behind a shed, we noticed a set of recently placed stones on newly excavated earth, a stairway in the making. Evidently a project by our kids for easy climbs in the future.
At the top of the rise among winter-stark, gnarled trees that line the pond is one I call the "Lover's Knot" tree--two trees, really. Their trunks are intertwined in an embrace, the botanical hug giving way to arm like branches lifted to the sky as in joyous celebration.
Isaiah 55:12 speaks of praise, even in nature, when it says, "For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands," looking forward to the time when Jesus returns and things are like in the beginning. Until then, I can still enjoy nature!
Suddenly I spotted more ducks hidden in the small cove at the end of the pond. They must have spotted us at the same time, and as dozens fluttered skyward, I could see the regal green helmets of Mallards, the band about the neck a royal circlet above the velvet brown of breast feathers. What a beautiful sight!
Glimpsing something white at the other end of the long pond, I used the binoculars to see three unusual ducks with bright white bodies, glistening black heads and black tail feathers. Perhaps the Tufted Ducks or Scaup Ducks I found when I tried to look them up, they were different from the ones ordinarily at the pond,
The temperatures have moderated the past few days (even if the clouds and dampness of possible rain make them uncomfortably chilly to me!), and with the disappearance of ice from the water's surface, the ducks are back. Yesterday Howard and I hiked to the top of the levee for an up-close-and-personal view, although there weren't more than a handful ducks that day. They had found a small pool of ice-free water at the bank's edge. Today they have "elbow room."
We had been exploring the "valley" at the bottom of the property, picturesque with huge boulders and the stream below the pond. We could see the goats, horses and burros across the dividing fence on the hillside of the adjoining farm. Climbing up toward the stacked shelf of huge, flat rocks behind a shed, we noticed a set of recently placed stones on newly excavated earth, a stairway in the making. Evidently a project by our kids for easy climbs in the future.
At the top of the rise among winter-stark, gnarled trees that line the pond is one I call the "Lover's Knot" tree--two trees, really. Their trunks are intertwined in an embrace, the botanical hug giving way to arm like branches lifted to the sky as in joyous celebration.
Isaiah 55:12 speaks of praise, even in nature, when it says, "For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands," looking forward to the time when Jesus returns and things are like in the beginning. Until then, I can still enjoy nature!
Monday, January 7, 2013
A Little Bird Told Me
"Lord I lift your name on high, how I love to sing your praises," the song came from the radio as I listened while my husband was in the store on an errand. A flock of gulls caught my eye, as they soared, dived and turned glistening wings in a sychronized movement that changed to a new pattern in an instant. As the notes of the praise song rose, so did the billowing gulls, as if lifted on the strains of the music.
"Let everything that hath breath, Praise the Lord," the scripture says, and it didn't take much imagination to see this in God's flying creatures. They were doing aerobatics of joy as I watched in awed appreciation.
"Look!" I said to Howard as he got back in the car. But by that time the birds were disappearing from view over the car, and the song had ended. "You missed it," I said, and tried to tell him about the aerial display.
We had been noticing long strings and Vs of ducks and geese flying over and wondered if they were headed to the farm pond. But of course, it was frozen over, as were all the other inland bodies of water locally. "We saw a few ducks that had landed on the ice on our pond today," our daughter-in-law, Joanna, said over Sunday dinner yesterday. "The walked a few steps back and forth, then they flew off."
"It sounds like Noah's dove and raven looking for a place to land," I quipped. Only in reverse, I thought. The were looking for land, not water.
In Matthew 8:20, Jesus said, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head." He was trying to present to would-be followers what they would give up to follow Him.
Many today are searching for they know not what. Nothing seems to satisfy--not possessions, careers, leisure or entertainment. It is amazing to see the offerings on television that have grown ever more crude and debased. The "reality" shows are "where it's at," but not just the novelty of huge families or multiples, but now it seems we must laugh at less-cultured people and find hilarity in their off-beat (contrived?) humor. We gasp at their daring exploits and take vicarious pleasure in their ribald language and expressions.
Many shows present what can only be described as the downright exploitation of children. Whether in pageants, dance performances, or now, a culmination and combination of ignorance, sin, and coarseness in a family held up for ridicule and amusement for their uncouth and irreverent ways, especially painful to see in the six-year-old daughter of a particular reality show.
We would do well to follow the injunction of Phillipians 4:8 where Paul says, "Finally, my brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." Good advice to lighten your load and make you feel as free as a bird!
"Let everything that hath breath, Praise the Lord," the scripture says, and it didn't take much imagination to see this in God's flying creatures. They were doing aerobatics of joy as I watched in awed appreciation.
"Look!" I said to Howard as he got back in the car. But by that time the birds were disappearing from view over the car, and the song had ended. "You missed it," I said, and tried to tell him about the aerial display.
We had been noticing long strings and Vs of ducks and geese flying over and wondered if they were headed to the farm pond. But of course, it was frozen over, as were all the other inland bodies of water locally. "We saw a few ducks that had landed on the ice on our pond today," our daughter-in-law, Joanna, said over Sunday dinner yesterday. "The walked a few steps back and forth, then they flew off."
"It sounds like Noah's dove and raven looking for a place to land," I quipped. Only in reverse, I thought. The were looking for land, not water.
In Matthew 8:20, Jesus said, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head." He was trying to present to would-be followers what they would give up to follow Him.
Many today are searching for they know not what. Nothing seems to satisfy--not possessions, careers, leisure or entertainment. It is amazing to see the offerings on television that have grown ever more crude and debased. The "reality" shows are "where it's at," but not just the novelty of huge families or multiples, but now it seems we must laugh at less-cultured people and find hilarity in their off-beat (contrived?) humor. We gasp at their daring exploits and take vicarious pleasure in their ribald language and expressions.
Many shows present what can only be described as the downright exploitation of children. Whether in pageants, dance performances, or now, a culmination and combination of ignorance, sin, and coarseness in a family held up for ridicule and amusement for their uncouth and irreverent ways, especially painful to see in the six-year-old daughter of a particular reality show.
We would do well to follow the injunction of Phillipians 4:8 where Paul says, "Finally, my brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." Good advice to lighten your load and make you feel as free as a bird!
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Divine Assignment
"To be a disciple is to be a learner," the speaker said on the cd we were listening to in the car. "And after a period of time, the disciple begins to do and talk and act like his teacher." Howard had gone into the store, and when he came back, I made an announcement.
"We have raised six disciples!" I said. "We lived with them day after day, and they saw the real us, for better or for worse," I explained. It was true. Little by little, and mostly unconsciously, they absorbed our values, our world view, and largely our life style!
The years of taking our children to church became such a habit that that is the way they raise their own children! Now they are making (or have made) disciples! And some of those disciples are making little disciples, as the great-grandchildren come along!
"I'll be glad when they reach the exponential curve," my husband said, half joking. Well, they will. Counting spouses and the two new adoptions, our family now has 40 members. That's one way to disciple and build the kingdom of God!
Not that they're clones or don't have their own personalities. Each one is different, has different interests, likes and abilities. But they are grounded in their faith and are salt and light in their communities. Jesus's disciples couldn't have been more different. He said to them in Acts 14:12 that believers would do the works He did and even greater ones (don't you love it when your kids out do you?) because He was going to the Father . I think that meant that He would send the Holy Spirit to empower them.
Many Christians desire to go to the mission field, wherever that is, but our own children are our first mission field. The seeds planted in their childhood are like the mustard seed mentioned in Matthew 13:31-32. Jesus said, "The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field: (32) Which indeed is the least of all seeds: but when it is grown, it is the greatest among the herbs, and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof."
Psalm127:3 tells us that children are an heritage of the Lord. Verse 4 compares them to arrows, and in verse 5, the scripture says, "Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them." Like arrows, our children will go into places we will never go and into a future we may never see. How wonderful if they carry the gospel with them!
"We have raised six disciples!" I said. "We lived with them day after day, and they saw the real us, for better or for worse," I explained. It was true. Little by little, and mostly unconsciously, they absorbed our values, our world view, and largely our life style!
The years of taking our children to church became such a habit that that is the way they raise their own children! Now they are making (or have made) disciples! And some of those disciples are making little disciples, as the great-grandchildren come along!
"I'll be glad when they reach the exponential curve," my husband said, half joking. Well, they will. Counting spouses and the two new adoptions, our family now has 40 members. That's one way to disciple and build the kingdom of God!
Not that they're clones or don't have their own personalities. Each one is different, has different interests, likes and abilities. But they are grounded in their faith and are salt and light in their communities. Jesus's disciples couldn't have been more different. He said to them in Acts 14:12 that believers would do the works He did and even greater ones (don't you love it when your kids out do you?) because He was going to the Father . I think that meant that He would send the Holy Spirit to empower them.
Many Christians desire to go to the mission field, wherever that is, but our own children are our first mission field. The seeds planted in their childhood are like the mustard seed mentioned in Matthew 13:31-32. Jesus said, "The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field: (32) Which indeed is the least of all seeds: but when it is grown, it is the greatest among the herbs, and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof."
Psalm127:3 tells us that children are an heritage of the Lord. Verse 4 compares them to arrows, and in verse 5, the scripture says, "Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them." Like arrows, our children will go into places we will never go and into a future we may never see. How wonderful if they carry the gospel with them!
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Tribute
"I never heard Melvin say a bad word, nor a bad word about anybody," Howard remarked in his eulogy to his friend at the graveside services today. "He was a kind and caring man," he went on. I reflected on the times we visited Melvin in the nursing home where he was suffering from Alzheimer's, that his manner was always gracious and polite, even though he may not have recalled who we were. "You all come back, now," he would smile as we took our leave after singing to him while my husband played the guitar.
As a minister, Howard was speaking at the 85-year-old's funeral. Not many people were there, since the few relatives they had were scattered across the country. However, with the warm and engaging memorial he was giving, my preacher husband made us forget the cold weather and picture the younger, happier days when we had known the departed, whose widow in the row of chairs in the funeral tent was leaning in to hear his words.
When he had finished speaking, Howard strummed the guitar and led in singing Amazing Grace. The voices lifted sweetly in the open air as the pastor came forward to pray, comfort and lead in the Lord's Prayer.
After all the words had been said, the two military personnel who had been standing at attention outside the shelter saluted, turned, and one began playing the plaintive notes of taps, her trumpet a sharp silhouette against the dark clouds behind her.
In military cadence, the uniformed pair walked in single file toward the flag-draped casket, removed the constraining band and snapped the flag smartly above it. Then in perfect synchrony, they carried it horizontally to halt in front of the widow. A mesmerizing ceremony followed as the colors were transformed into a triangle of 13 folds, the end tucked snugly into a firm, final triangle before the presentation to the bereaved mourner.
The young female soldier knelt respectfully on one knee before her and said in a soft, clear voice, "Ma'am, on behalf of a grateful nation, may I present this flag as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your loved one has rendered this nation." You could have heard a pin drop as we sat in awe at the solemnity of the moment.
The casket was opened, and a bent, stooped, solitary figure kissed her fingertips and pressed them to his lips, kissing him again on the cheek and the top of his head, bidding her husband farewell. From somewhere a voice began quietly singing. The strains of "I'll meet you in the morning, by the bright riverside," rose outside the tent as others, facing the open bier, joined in with "You'll know me in the morning by the smile that I wear, in that city that's built foursquare."
It had been an intimate, meaningful service, a closure for the "long goodbye" of Alzheimer's that clouded the last several years. The clouds parted, and the sun began shining as we left the cemetery, knowing that a soldier had gone home where he would have no problem in recognizing anyone!
As a minister, Howard was speaking at the 85-year-old's funeral. Not many people were there, since the few relatives they had were scattered across the country. However, with the warm and engaging memorial he was giving, my preacher husband made us forget the cold weather and picture the younger, happier days when we had known the departed, whose widow in the row of chairs in the funeral tent was leaning in to hear his words.
When he had finished speaking, Howard strummed the guitar and led in singing Amazing Grace. The voices lifted sweetly in the open air as the pastor came forward to pray, comfort and lead in the Lord's Prayer.
After all the words had been said, the two military personnel who had been standing at attention outside the shelter saluted, turned, and one began playing the plaintive notes of taps, her trumpet a sharp silhouette against the dark clouds behind her.
In military cadence, the uniformed pair walked in single file toward the flag-draped casket, removed the constraining band and snapped the flag smartly above it. Then in perfect synchrony, they carried it horizontally to halt in front of the widow. A mesmerizing ceremony followed as the colors were transformed into a triangle of 13 folds, the end tucked snugly into a firm, final triangle before the presentation to the bereaved mourner.
The young female soldier knelt respectfully on one knee before her and said in a soft, clear voice, "Ma'am, on behalf of a grateful nation, may I present this flag as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your loved one has rendered this nation." You could have heard a pin drop as we sat in awe at the solemnity of the moment.
The casket was opened, and a bent, stooped, solitary figure kissed her fingertips and pressed them to his lips, kissing him again on the cheek and the top of his head, bidding her husband farewell. From somewhere a voice began quietly singing. The strains of "I'll meet you in the morning, by the bright riverside," rose outside the tent as others, facing the open bier, joined in with "You'll know me in the morning by the smile that I wear, in that city that's built foursquare."
It had been an intimate, meaningful service, a closure for the "long goodbye" of Alzheimer's that clouded the last several years. The clouds parted, and the sun began shining as we left the cemetery, knowing that a soldier had gone home where he would have no problem in recognizing anyone!
Guidance
"Look what I found for you!" I said as I took my intended purchase from the cart and showed my husband.
"Well, I'll say!" he responded in pleased surprise. Only yesterday, Howard had remarked in the kitchen that he would like to have an old-fashioned juicer, the glass kind with the molded pouring lip, so he could squeeze oranges or grapefruit in the mornings. I told him I hadn't seen one in years, then here it was in the kitchen gadget aisle in this upscale outlet store. On sale, too!
I also picked up a novelty shopping bag that said, "Plastic or Paper? NEITHER," then in small print something like "I'm using my recycled shopping bag, thank you." I thought it might make a bright accent in my kitchen.
"Do you want to use this bag today?" the clerk at the check-out asked, pausing and pointing to the sturdy, new bag. I told her no, and she put it in with our other purchases. Taking the things from the cart to put in the car, I had my hands full and felt a slippery plastic sack slip from my fingers to the pavement with an ominous thud.
"Oh, I hope nothing broke!" I moaned. Not only broken, the juicer was in a jillion pieces, practically pulverized despite the sales girl's heavy wrapping! My husband was as sorry as I was! Such a little thing, to be so disappointing. He took it back to try to exchange it, but of course it was the only one. (They did refund the $3.99, though.)
Earlier, after we'd had a bite of lunch at our favorite place, I returned from the ladies' room to find Howard staring at some cash on the table. "I went up to buy this brownie," he said, indicating the half he'd saved for me, "and saw this folded money on the counter. I thought maybe it had fallen from my wallet as I went to pay, and picked it up, but now I think I have more money than I should."
We deliberated a few minutes, re-checking his wallet, then he returned to the cashier. I saw the clerk shaking her head, then Howard was pointing to a jar on the counter and putting the money in it. He said he had donated it to the poor, since no one had called for it.
A few days before, we'd gone to a place with lunch specials, and I noticed a man in an adjoining booth who was lingering an inordinately long time over a cup of coffee. "I think that man is hungry," I wrote on a napkin to my husband. He nodded, but didn't do anything. After a few minutes, a waitress came and offered the man a full tray of food, which he accepted gratefully. When we finished, I emptied our tray and Howard said, "Go on to the car. I'll be right out."
"I thought maybe you would give that guy a hand-out," I said reproachfully, as he got back in the car. He said he had gone to the counter and told the clerk that if anyone else came in in that situation, to feed them with the $5.00 he was giving her. "But what if they spend it themselves!" I fretted. He turned around, went back in and gave money directly to the man!
I guess I should stop trying to be the Holy Spirit with my husband's conscience, and start listening for myself. After all, He was probably telling me to use the shopping bag!
"Well, I'll say!" he responded in pleased surprise. Only yesterday, Howard had remarked in the kitchen that he would like to have an old-fashioned juicer, the glass kind with the molded pouring lip, so he could squeeze oranges or grapefruit in the mornings. I told him I hadn't seen one in years, then here it was in the kitchen gadget aisle in this upscale outlet store. On sale, too!
I also picked up a novelty shopping bag that said, "Plastic or Paper? NEITHER," then in small print something like "I'm using my recycled shopping bag, thank you." I thought it might make a bright accent in my kitchen.
"Do you want to use this bag today?" the clerk at the check-out asked, pausing and pointing to the sturdy, new bag. I told her no, and she put it in with our other purchases. Taking the things from the cart to put in the car, I had my hands full and felt a slippery plastic sack slip from my fingers to the pavement with an ominous thud.
"Oh, I hope nothing broke!" I moaned. Not only broken, the juicer was in a jillion pieces, practically pulverized despite the sales girl's heavy wrapping! My husband was as sorry as I was! Such a little thing, to be so disappointing. He took it back to try to exchange it, but of course it was the only one. (They did refund the $3.99, though.)
Earlier, after we'd had a bite of lunch at our favorite place, I returned from the ladies' room to find Howard staring at some cash on the table. "I went up to buy this brownie," he said, indicating the half he'd saved for me, "and saw this folded money on the counter. I thought maybe it had fallen from my wallet as I went to pay, and picked it up, but now I think I have more money than I should."
We deliberated a few minutes, re-checking his wallet, then he returned to the cashier. I saw the clerk shaking her head, then Howard was pointing to a jar on the counter and putting the money in it. He said he had donated it to the poor, since no one had called for it.
A few days before, we'd gone to a place with lunch specials, and I noticed a man in an adjoining booth who was lingering an inordinately long time over a cup of coffee. "I think that man is hungry," I wrote on a napkin to my husband. He nodded, but didn't do anything. After a few minutes, a waitress came and offered the man a full tray of food, which he accepted gratefully. When we finished, I emptied our tray and Howard said, "Go on to the car. I'll be right out."
"I thought maybe you would give that guy a hand-out," I said reproachfully, as he got back in the car. He said he had gone to the counter and told the clerk that if anyone else came in in that situation, to feed them with the $5.00 he was giving her. "But what if they spend it themselves!" I fretted. He turned around, went back in and gave money directly to the man!
I guess I should stop trying to be the Holy Spirit with my husband's conscience, and start listening for myself. After all, He was probably telling me to use the shopping bag!
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Whiter Than Snow
"Oh, look how beautiful!" I said to Howard at the awesome beauty of the trees outlined with snow. We had just driven to the country to take care of our chickens at our son's farm. We'd had less snow in town on this New Year's day or else it just was more noticeable out here. My dull mood brightened immediately at the postcard-worthy scene. We had been at loose ends on a gray, uneventful day, my husband taking a long nap and my not settling on anything I wanted to do after last night's festive mood of New Year's Eve..
But this was breathtaking! Every stark branch and trunk on dozens of bare, wintery trees was etched in black and white, turned into a work of art by God's design. "I wish I had a camera!" I said wistfully, to which Howard reminded me, "You do! On your phone!" Oh, yes, but I'd only tried it a couple of times. I got some shots, but I wasn't sure if anyone received them. Soon our son drove up, saying he would get some pictures.
One tree, especially, took my eye. It was bent almost horizontally to the ground, its huge, curved trunk providing an easy climb for our grandkids on ordinary days, especially with the short ladder leaning against it. Now it took on the contours of a daring playground slide. A little more snow, and the children could have made use of the big, sturdy sled their father had hammered together for them from scrap lumber on the property.
With no special plans, we impulsively stopped at a country cafe where several hunters in camouflage met us as they trooped out the door. We had a satisfying bowl of thick-brothed ham and beans with cornbread, fried potatoes and an obligatory side of black-eyed peas--comfort food on this bleak, early-winter day. (We'd had the same thing at our son's house last night when he had made a delicious meal. And to think I had declined the offer to take some home with me!)
Looking at Facebook later, I saw the news that a young friend's grandfather had passed away. Sending my condolences to her, I was shocked when she replied that it was her dad's father, someone we had been good friends with years ago in Mississippi,and about our age! He and his wife had been our older teens' youth leaders in a church they, another family, and we had started back then, which is strong even today. So many memories! Although we hadn't seen him in many years, it was inconceivable that he was gone, the second friend passing in as many days!
The trees, stripped of all appearance of life and mere silhouettes of their former lushness in the green days of summer, are not really dead, they are resting, to come alive in Spring with newness and fresh beauty. The same with our friends. Their lives are mere shadows of the glory of their eternal Spring in heaven. I quote again the Bible verse my husband came upon at the news of the other friend's passing the other day: "For I reckon that the suffering of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." Romans 8:13.
But this was breathtaking! Every stark branch and trunk on dozens of bare, wintery trees was etched in black and white, turned into a work of art by God's design. "I wish I had a camera!" I said wistfully, to which Howard reminded me, "You do! On your phone!" Oh, yes, but I'd only tried it a couple of times. I got some shots, but I wasn't sure if anyone received them. Soon our son drove up, saying he would get some pictures.
One tree, especially, took my eye. It was bent almost horizontally to the ground, its huge, curved trunk providing an easy climb for our grandkids on ordinary days, especially with the short ladder leaning against it. Now it took on the contours of a daring playground slide. A little more snow, and the children could have made use of the big, sturdy sled their father had hammered together for them from scrap lumber on the property.
With no special plans, we impulsively stopped at a country cafe where several hunters in camouflage met us as they trooped out the door. We had a satisfying bowl of thick-brothed ham and beans with cornbread, fried potatoes and an obligatory side of black-eyed peas--comfort food on this bleak, early-winter day. (We'd had the same thing at our son's house last night when he had made a delicious meal. And to think I had declined the offer to take some home with me!)
Looking at Facebook later, I saw the news that a young friend's grandfather had passed away. Sending my condolences to her, I was shocked when she replied that it was her dad's father, someone we had been good friends with years ago in Mississippi,and about our age! He and his wife had been our older teens' youth leaders in a church they, another family, and we had started back then, which is strong even today. So many memories! Although we hadn't seen him in many years, it was inconceivable that he was gone, the second friend passing in as many days!
The trees, stripped of all appearance of life and mere silhouettes of their former lushness in the green days of summer, are not really dead, they are resting, to come alive in Spring with newness and fresh beauty. The same with our friends. Their lives are mere shadows of the glory of their eternal Spring in heaven. I quote again the Bible verse my husband came upon at the news of the other friend's passing the other day: "For I reckon that the suffering of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." Romans 8:13.
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