"Where is my computer cord?" I asked in dismay when I picked up my lap-top. I always kept the cord plugged in at the same place, next to my favorite, overstuffed lounge chair. It wasn't there! I checked all the other possible places--dining table, desk, and den sofa. It was no where, and my computer needed to be charged!
Then a thought struck me. We'd had a cleaning lady that day! What with her pulling out and dusting under and behind furniture, she probably unplugged the cord and put it somewhere! Even though it was getting late, I decided to call her. She knew nothing about it! She did direct me to the only cord she had picked up and placed on the kitchen counter. My heart leaped as I headed for the kitchen. False alarm. Not the same one.
I went to bed disgruntled and dreading to pay for a new cord. Finally going to sleep, I didn't think of the computer cord until we were finishing Sunday lunch and I bemoaned the fact that it was gone.
"Well, I know you put your computer in that drawer," grandson Adam mused sympathetically, speaking of a little roll top desk where I stick things sometimes. What? A light came on! I jumped up from the table. In my muddled state of mind, I hadn't even thought of looking where I might have placed it while "cleaning up for the cleaning lady!" Yanking the drawer open, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the cord lying there! My power cord!
On reflection, I thought about how prayer and our relationship with God is our power cord! Our battery runs down when we have become disconnected for any length of time!
Luke 18:1 reads of Jesus, "And he spoke a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray, and not to faint." He stresses persistence in prayer, giving the illustration of the unjust judge who granted the need of a persistent widow.
Don't neglect your "power cord" to Heaven!
Monday, March 26, 2018
Friday, March 23, 2018
Thursday, March 22, 2018
Save the Date!
"Is this the day we have our Seniors' Breakfast?" I asked my husband when I woke up. It was Tuesday, and we couldn't remember if the breakfast was on the 3rd or 4th Tuesday. We were not at church Sunday to read the bulletin, since Howard was preaching at another church.
"I think it is," he replied. "Let's get up and get ready to go!" Today was the 3rd Tuesday. Even if it was the wrong day, we could still enjoy breakfast out, we decided.
"Look, that looks like one of our members," he said of an elderly, white-haired man entering the restaurant when we drove up.
"Yes, I see the group back there," Howard continued when we got inside. But upon further inspection, we found the man sitting in a booth with his wife, instead of at the long banqueting table, which was empty.
I did see an acquaintance settling his elderly father, who had been a member of our church, into a booth. "Is this the day of the Seniors' Breakfast?" I asked, to which he replied, "Yes, I think so. It's the third Tuesday, and I told Dad he would probably see some of the seniors here today."
When we sat down, I dialed the church office to check the date. The kind secretary said she would find out, only to tell me that the breakfast is indeed on the 4th Tuesday.
"Well, we can go again next week," I pronounced, and my agreeable spouse concurred.
There is a banquet someday in the future that I must not miss! No one knows the date, nor when it will be, but we know Jesus will be there at the great Marriage Supper of the Lamb! In Matthew 24:36, Jesus, speaking of the time of His coming, tells us, "But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels in heaven, but my Father only.
For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered into the ark, And knew not until the flood came, and took them all away: so shall also the coming of the Son of man be," Matthew 24:38-39.
We might not know the date, but that banqueting table will be filled with the young, and the old-made-young again that we knew and loved at our Seniors' breakfast!
"I think it is," he replied. "Let's get up and get ready to go!" Today was the 3rd Tuesday. Even if it was the wrong day, we could still enjoy breakfast out, we decided.
"Look, that looks like one of our members," he said of an elderly, white-haired man entering the restaurant when we drove up.
"Yes, I see the group back there," Howard continued when we got inside. But upon further inspection, we found the man sitting in a booth with his wife, instead of at the long banqueting table, which was empty.
I did see an acquaintance settling his elderly father, who had been a member of our church, into a booth. "Is this the day of the Seniors' Breakfast?" I asked, to which he replied, "Yes, I think so. It's the third Tuesday, and I told Dad he would probably see some of the seniors here today."
When we sat down, I dialed the church office to check the date. The kind secretary said she would find out, only to tell me that the breakfast is indeed on the 4th Tuesday.
"Well, we can go again next week," I pronounced, and my agreeable spouse concurred.
There is a banquet someday in the future that I must not miss! No one knows the date, nor when it will be, but we know Jesus will be there at the great Marriage Supper of the Lamb! In Matthew 24:36, Jesus, speaking of the time of His coming, tells us, "But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels in heaven, but my Father only.
For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered into the ark, And knew not until the flood came, and took them all away: so shall also the coming of the Son of man be," Matthew 24:38-39.
We might not know the date, but that banqueting table will be filled with the young, and the old-made-young again that we knew and loved at our Seniors' breakfast!
Friday, March 16, 2018
Heartthoughts: Pie in the Sky
I was feeling like the woman in the Bible who had only enough meal to make a little cake for herself and her son before they died of starvation (I Kings 17:12). We had bought a bag of peaches a couple of days before, and I wanted to make a pie before they disappeared. Gathering ingredients and supplies, I saw there was only a little flour in the bottom of the canister.
I knew I was working at a disadvantage, since much of my cooking equipment is in storage after our merging with our son's household recently. He travels for work, so I have complete domestic say-so, and my husband and resident grandson are easy to please.
My "Joy of Cooking" cookbook was not available, and even though I've fed my family for years, I still like to check out recipes in case I forget something. I pulled up Peach Pie on the internet, then promptly forgot most of the quantities advised by the time I got back in the kitchen, except for the requisite 2 cups of flour. I managed to shake that much out of the flour container, even having a dusting left over to roll out the crust.
Not having my measuring cups, I guessed at the shortening and estimated the water, finally getting a hopefully satisfactory mound of dough. Dividing it in half and placing it on floured wax paper, I realized I had no rolling pin! What would I use? A jar? Lord help me, I prayed. Just then I lifted my eyes to the paper towel rack. It held a roll of paper towels on a roller that was a decorative rolling pin! Though not quite as thick as a regular rolling pin, on top of wax paper, it worked perfectly for my purposes!
The peaches I had sliced earlier were a little firm, so I was hopeful the pie would be juicy enough. Then I realized I had no pie pan! Why did I even get into this! The only thing I could come up with was a glass cake pan with straight sides. It would have to do. My rolled-out crusts were skimpy and kept tearing, requiring considerable piecing and patching from not enough water!
I finally got the pie in the oven, and miracle of miracles, it was delicious: flaky crust, soft fruit, sweet and juicy. It even looked like the magazine pictures popular now of rustic, imperfect pies with rough edges, shouting "homemade!"
I knew I was working at a disadvantage, since much of my cooking equipment is in storage after our merging with our son's household recently. He travels for work, so I have complete domestic say-so, and my husband and resident grandson are easy to please.
My "Joy of Cooking" cookbook was not available, and even though I've fed my family for years, I still like to check out recipes in case I forget something. I pulled up Peach Pie on the internet, then promptly forgot most of the quantities advised by the time I got back in the kitchen, except for the requisite 2 cups of flour. I managed to shake that much out of the flour container, even having a dusting left over to roll out the crust.
Not having my measuring cups, I guessed at the shortening and estimated the water, finally getting a hopefully satisfactory mound of dough. Dividing it in half and placing it on floured wax paper, I realized I had no rolling pin! What would I use? A jar? Lord help me, I prayed. Just then I lifted my eyes to the paper towel rack. It held a roll of paper towels on a roller that was a decorative rolling pin! Though not quite as thick as a regular rolling pin, on top of wax paper, it worked perfectly for my purposes!
The peaches I had sliced earlier were a little firm, so I was hopeful the pie would be juicy enough. Then I realized I had no pie pan! Why did I even get into this! The only thing I could come up with was a glass cake pan with straight sides. It would have to do. My rolled-out crusts were skimpy and kept tearing, requiring considerable piecing and patching from not enough water!
I finally got the pie in the oven, and miracle of miracles, it was delicious: flaky crust, soft fruit, sweet and juicy. It even looked like the magazine pictures popular now of rustic, imperfect pies with rough edges, shouting "homemade!"
Thursday, March 15, 2018
To Whom Honor is Due...
After several years in ministry, our Youth Pastor son, Benjamin, has recently resigned his position to further his education. He already holds a Master's degree in Linguistics, where he studied Greek and Hebrew. It turns out that he will have to wait until next year for admission to the Doctorate program due to space limitations. He has a heart for youth and has continued to serve as Youth Pastor on a voluntary basis until a replacement is available. Now the change-over is imminent.
Jamie, as we call him, telephoned the other day saying he was surprised Sunday by a time of recognition and appreciation from the leadership and the congregation. His voice dropped when he said wonderingly, "Mom, they gave me a standing ovation!" A standing ovation! The congregation there is large, and sometimes numbers upward of 1,000!
My mind goes back several years to when our son first began attending the church. Ever straight forward, he went to the pastor and leaders and told them he wanted something to do in the church, to help and get involved. They were taken aback and told the newcomer he would have to prove himself before that could happen.
New to Houston, having found a job in a French company (French being his college major), he was gregarious, yet lonely. One day he approached a lovely young woman at church and abruptly asked, "How old are you?" I guess she gave the right answer, because they have just celebrated their 13th wedding anniversary.
As time passed, it seemed Jamie became invaluable to the church with his willingness and creativity. He wrote and directed many outstanding plays and productions. He was ordained as a minister in a moving ceremony with congregants being allowed to give instances of what he and his wife, Tammy, meant in their lives and Christian growth.
Until he starts back to school, Benjamin is employed in a French school, teaching English to French children and French to English kids, or a little of both to both. He is a great dad to his and Tammy's three wonderful kids!
From supervising the teens at Youth camps to taking them on trips abroad, Jamie guided and taught them the Word. He deserves a standing ovation!
Jamie, as we call him, telephoned the other day saying he was surprised Sunday by a time of recognition and appreciation from the leadership and the congregation. His voice dropped when he said wonderingly, "Mom, they gave me a standing ovation!" A standing ovation! The congregation there is large, and sometimes numbers upward of 1,000!
My mind goes back several years to when our son first began attending the church. Ever straight forward, he went to the pastor and leaders and told them he wanted something to do in the church, to help and get involved. They were taken aback and told the newcomer he would have to prove himself before that could happen.
New to Houston, having found a job in a French company (French being his college major), he was gregarious, yet lonely. One day he approached a lovely young woman at church and abruptly asked, "How old are you?" I guess she gave the right answer, because they have just celebrated their 13th wedding anniversary.
As time passed, it seemed Jamie became invaluable to the church with his willingness and creativity. He wrote and directed many outstanding plays and productions. He was ordained as a minister in a moving ceremony with congregants being allowed to give instances of what he and his wife, Tammy, meant in their lives and Christian growth.
Until he starts back to school, Benjamin is employed in a French school, teaching English to French children and French to English kids, or a little of both to both. He is a great dad to his and Tammy's three wonderful kids!
From supervising the teens at Youth camps to taking them on trips abroad, Jamie guided and taught them the Word. He deserves a standing ovation!
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Heartthoughts: Hitting the Hay!
I was in the house at the computer when the phone rang. I saw it was Howard, obviously calling from the chicken house where he had gone. "Thelma, get down here right now! A chick got out and the dog is trying to get it!" He needed me to help him, so I dutifully, if unwillingly, hurried, even running, down there.
There was the baby chicken dodging the attempts of the family pet, Pebbles. I reached to grab it, but it darted the other direction. Then, scrambling to another corner, the chick was within my reach, but my reach wasn't good enough. My feet slid out from under me on the scattered hay, and to my terror I felt myself falling! Oh, no! All I needed was to break something on the concrete floor!
I felt a scrape on my back as a hit the floor! A jutting corner of a 2x4, I surmised. This was frightening, and I was bawling and scared. "Why did you make me come down here!" I yelled, to which my worried husband replied, "I told you to get Adam (our grandson) out here right now! I didn't ask you to come down."
Well, I had misunderstood, but that didn't help much. When I heard him telling our son Greg about it on the phone, I got the full story. "I was cleaning out the chick's cage, and I saw that the cardboard box they get into at night was very dirty, so I dumped it out and several chicks fell out, too. A little later," he went on, "I saw Pebbles eyeing that box on the floor."
"I shook the box and a little chicken ran out, and Pebbles was after her. I tried to catch it, but it got away, so I called Thelma to ask her to get Adam down here right now!"
Long story short: Adam saved the chick, and my only injuries were the scratch and to my dignity. The scrape was minor, duly tended by my spouse with ointment and band-aids.
"Why didn't you help me up?" I demanded of my husband later, still smoldering at the event and remembering my limping to the house in righteous indignation.
"I tried to, but you wouldn't let me!" he exclaimed. Well, I didn't remember that, but it was highly possible. In my haze of anger, fear, and confusion, I was probably lashing out at him and didn't want to be touched, so I got up by myself! I'm not convinced that hobby farming is for me. Maybe I'd rather just go to Hobby Lobby!
There was the baby chicken dodging the attempts of the family pet, Pebbles. I reached to grab it, but it darted the other direction. Then, scrambling to another corner, the chick was within my reach, but my reach wasn't good enough. My feet slid out from under me on the scattered hay, and to my terror I felt myself falling! Oh, no! All I needed was to break something on the concrete floor!
I felt a scrape on my back as a hit the floor! A jutting corner of a 2x4, I surmised. This was frightening, and I was bawling and scared. "Why did you make me come down here!" I yelled, to which my worried husband replied, "I told you to get Adam (our grandson) out here right now! I didn't ask you to come down."
Well, I had misunderstood, but that didn't help much. When I heard him telling our son Greg about it on the phone, I got the full story. "I was cleaning out the chick's cage, and I saw that the cardboard box they get into at night was very dirty, so I dumped it out and several chicks fell out, too. A little later," he went on, "I saw Pebbles eyeing that box on the floor."
"I shook the box and a little chicken ran out, and Pebbles was after her. I tried to catch it, but it got away, so I called Thelma to ask her to get Adam down here right now!"
Long story short: Adam saved the chick, and my only injuries were the scratch and to my dignity. The scrape was minor, duly tended by my spouse with ointment and band-aids.
"Why didn't you help me up?" I demanded of my husband later, still smoldering at the event and remembering my limping to the house in righteous indignation.
"I tried to, but you wouldn't let me!" he exclaimed. Well, I didn't remember that, but it was highly possible. In my haze of anger, fear, and confusion, I was probably lashing out at him and didn't want to be touched, so I got up by myself! I'm not convinced that hobby farming is for me. Maybe I'd rather just go to Hobby Lobby!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)