Too Late!

"I hear the trash trucks coming!" I warned my husband at the familiar sound of rumbling and whining that signaled they were in the neighborhood. Some bags of trash were waiting on the back porch to be taken to the alley, and I didn't want him to forget. Howard was taking his time, and I was urging him to hurry.

"They're getting closer, I can tell!" I announced as the noise became more pronounced. He was putting his shoes on, but I could hear them in the alley by that time. Finally my husband headed out the back door with the bags, but I could see the truck passing our house. He'd missed them! Oh well, they'd be back in a few days, so I didn't say anything. Later, though, I couldn't resist ribbing him. 

"So I see you missed the trash trucks!"

"No, I didn't! he responded.

"But I saw them go by before you got out there!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, they did! But they saw me coming and a guy reached out and took the trash from me!" he gloated.

Oh! Things are not always what they seem. Spiritually speaking, no doubt many of us have friends, acquaintances or loved ones who had been putting off making a decision to serve Christ. Some might even have become ill with a bad disease and still procrastinated, even though it appeared that their time might be short. Then suddenly, they were taken, and we grieved that they had not made Heaven. 

From our point of view, all was lost. But who knows what happened in their last moments of consciousness? If the person lived away, perhaps at the last minute circumstances intervened and he took Jesus into his heart.

We can hear the rumbling and whine of events that point to the soon coming of the Lord. It seems His coming is even at the door. So many hear what is happening, but turn a deaf ear. If anything does happen, they might think they'll have time to put on their shoes and catch up at the last minute. 

That didn't happen with the five foolish virgins who went to sleep and let their lamps run out of oil. Nor did it happen to Noah's generation who found the door of the Ark closed after they had refused God for the last time. No one reached out the door and pulled them in. Sometimes it really is too late.

What Smells so Good?

 What Smells so Good?

My husband had been chopping a cedar stump from our yard. A tree had been cut down years ago, and later sawed close to the ground, but it still interferes with lawn mowing. The tree had divided into three trunks, and I didn't even realize the dead, grey, wood jutting up was cedar until I saw the reddish color exposed by the axe and caught a whiff of its unmistakable fragrance.

"Cedar!" I exclaimed as I breathed deeply of the scented air. It was as if I opened the cedar chest we used to have that held our family's memory-laden garments.

The cedar tree figures prominently in the Bible, mentioned 75 times in scripture. It was considered very desirable for building, especially for the strong ceiling beams supporting structures meant to last for generations. Both Solomon's temple and the one that followed were built with cedars from Lebanon. Cedars were also valued for their aromatic fragrance.

II Corinthians 2:15 says, "For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing."

Paul admonishes us to "Walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us as an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling savor," Ephesians 5:2

One of the household tips I was reading in a magazine article was how to refresh a cedar chest that had lost its fragrance. The author suggested lightly sanding the surface of the inside of the chest to release the lovely smell.

Not bad advice for Christians who have lost some of their sweetness: we need to ask God to brush away some of our hardened exterior and draw us closely to Himself so that once again we will be "the fragrance of Christ."

How wonderful if a memory of us after we are gone evokes "a

sweet-smelling savor," like the aromatic old cedar!

 The Father-Daughter Dance

Daddy never took me to a Father-Daughter dance. He never took me in his arms and whirled me around the dance floor when I was little. I don't think daddies did that when I was small.

Although he was a fun-loving parent, he was more of the old school, when fathers made their living and let the kids make their own fun. (I remember reading in an Erma Bombeck book about when she played dolls, she never knew what to do with the Daddy doll, so she just stuck it under the bed.)

Neither did Daddy let me stand on his shoes while he shuffled me around to the music. But he did measure my foot with string, set off to town, and come home with a brown paper-wrapped parcel that I undid to find a shiny pair of little brown oxfords.

New shoes! That was during WWII when shoes were rationed for a time, and the ones we got wore out quickly, made of inferior stuff due to so many raw materials like rubber going to the war effort.

I loved those shoes. I put them on my night stand when I went to bed so I could wake up and see them in the moonlight. Only 4 or 5, I remember saying I was never going to let them get dirty. I polished them religiously, then one day I looked down from playing and saw how scuffed they were and wondered when I had quit polishing them.

One day about that time Daddy did spend a rare afternoon of leisure with us kids and took us fishing at the creek in the bottom lands below our house upon the mountain. Although we had fun, fishing was poor that day, and we started home with one fish.

Daddy decided to round up our two work horses and take them back up the hill to do some plowing. My older siblings were helping herd them, and I suppose I was too, I really don't remember. I do have an impression in my subconscious of a view, as if from above, of a small stick figure, arms outstretched in front of thundering hooves bearing down on me.

Daddy gathered my limp form and carried me, running and scrambling all the way up the side of that mountain, sending the older boys ahead for help to get me to the hospital. He never left my side during those three days, when, despite massive head injuries, I made a complete and miraculous recovery. Prayers had gone up and God answered. Daddy didn't take me dancing, but he did take me up in his arms and save my life that day.

Oh, but I did get my Father-Daughter dance in church some 50 years later. The Lord moved mightily and steered me in a joyous dance of praise and worship. Back and forth, in and out among the other worshipers in an exquisite blending of submission and control. He led, I followed, as it seemed Jesus waltzed me across God's dance floor. I haven't missed a thing!

My Husband's Shoes

 My Husband's Shoes--Isaiah 52:7

We had shopped for Howard a pair of shoes that he liked, ending up having them sent to us, and he wore them to church last night.

Howard gave a moving sermon, "God is the God of More," based on the account of Amaziah in II Chronicles 25:9 about paying the fighters in an important battle. Reluctant to do so, God told him, "The Lord is able to give you much more than this," and they were successful in battle.

My preacher husband gave several illustrations driving home his effective message.

Once, though, in a moment of self-revelation, my husband recounted a personal experience he'd had during a devotional time. He liked to rise pre-dawn and enjoy a quiet time alone with God, sometimes having a little pre-breakfast snack to sustain him.

I usually look on this indulgently, when I see he has left a nice table setting for me in my place with plate, napkin, knife and fork neatly arranged with a water glass beside it. "How sweet," I think of my now sleeping husband, as I fix myself something to eat and don't have to set the table.

Imagine my chagrin when my husband told the congregation that he sets a place for the Lord to sup with him! I know what it means to feel an inch high! He'd never said a word, just kind of looked at me fondly in an amused way when he'd see me using the plate a few times. I'm not worthy to untie the shoelaces of those new shoes of his!

Mama's Bible

 Mama's Bible

"T & P," my niece wrote as a comment when I had referred to a scripture in a previous Facebook post. Her next line revealed what she meant. "That means "Tested and Proven," she explained.

"T & P." That's what Grandma always wrote in her Bible about certain verses," she said.

That brought back memories of Mama's Bible, so marked up by different colored pens that glancing through it on occasion, I could hardly read it. But Mama wasn't being disrespectful to the Word of God, she was only notating key scriptures that had special meaning for her. Even writing things like, "Preached by Brother So-and-So," on some long ago date, or "God did this for me," etc.

Mama's Bible was like a journal of her life. When her things were dispersed after her death, I received one of her Bibles, but it was a newer one she hadn't had very long, it's pages relatively unmarred--no, unfavored, by her comments. There is one special thing about it, though, on the leaflet in "Family Record."

Over the heading, "Births," she had written in her graceful, distinctive hand, "All My Children," (not the name of the soap opera, though I'm sure her large brood seemed like it sometimes).

All eleven of our births had been duly recorded, and sadly, one death--my brother, Roy, who had died as a child. Two more siblings have gone on since then, which means she wasn't saddened those times, but only happy to greet them.

I was reminded of the internet exchange when in church last night singing the old hymn, "Standing on the Promises." I hadn't sung it in years, the style of songs sung in churches today having changed in favor of contemporary worship choruses.

But this was Wednesday night, which tended to be a bit more traditional. I remembered it from the services at the little white frame church we attended when I was growing up, with my mother sitting beside me, jotting notes and underlining passages in her Bible, and I suppose, marking them with "T & P".

Running the Race

 When our granddaughter, Rachel, was in high school, she loved to run. She came in one day to tell her mother that she was the only one who had improved on their personal record!

She was more thrilled about beating her previous best by several minutes (or seconds, maybe) than anything else "And the track coach asked me to run track!" she announced proudly.

Psalm 119:32 says, "I will run the course of Your commandments, For you shall enlarge my heart."

I think of my husband, Howard, who left us, unbelievably, six months ago! As it says in 2 Timothy 4:7, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

Finally there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge will give to me on that Day, and not to me only, but also to all who have loved His appearing."

Amen.

In His Service

 Our pastor had been teaching on the gifts of the Spirit. He had already taught on the gifts of Word of Wisdom and Word of Knowledge, and today he was teaching on the gift of Faith, distinguishing it from saving faith or a measure of faith, but calling it "great faith."

He began describing some of the characteristics of a person with this gift, being usually visionaries, positive thinkers, fervent and confident in their prayers, expectant, missionary minded and several other qualities. "You can hear it in the way they talk, the way they think, and the way they pray," he continued.

Every time he mentioned a criterion, I thought, "Howard." They really did fit him, although he would never say that about himself. Later, my granddaughter said she thought, "Grandpa" to everything the pastor said.

As the pastor concluded his sermon to the attentive and interested audience, he made a surprising statement. "I'm just going to say it. There are two people in our church that I believe have the gift of faith. They are my wife and Pastor Howard."

That was confirmation! Then he called for Howard to come and stand in front and invited people who wanted prayer for any reason to be prayed for by himself and Pastor Howard. (His wife was home with sick children.)

Probably a dozen people went forward. First the pastor prayed for them, then Howard prayed for them in turn. It was very moving to see them weep and rejoice as they felt the touch of the Spirit.

Howard went on to serve in several other churches, now making his home in Heaven, as I remember and cherish this remarkable man and servant of God, my husband.