Grief comes upon me in unexpected moments, sobs as if from nowhere crumpling my countenance and filling my eyes with tears, triggered maybe by a song, a memory, or words that remind me of the recent loss of a loved one. Robin, the only son of my oldest brother, a dear nephew I hadn't seen in years, passed away unexpectedly this week after losing the battle with the illness that came upon him several months ago. It has hit our family hard, from the close circle of relatives living near him to those like me who are scattered and far away.
Time can't erase the bond of the early years when we siblings were having our families, our children cousins growing up as friends and pals. I remember my nephew as a baby, a toddler and a little boy, growing into adolescence, then suddenly grown, married with a family. and, now, hard to realize in the timelessness of absence, a grandfather. It is these early memories that flood my eyes, thinking of him in his wide-eyed discovery of the world, his cheerfulness and good nature.
Last night we saw for the second time the movie, Heaven is for Real. The reality of heaven dawns anew on me when I think of Robin being there. Sadness is tempered with joy, for this is the realization of the goal of a life well lived. After the movie, we watched a television interview of the family of the boy upon whose experience the book is based. Also interviewed was the man who wrote the script for the film, who confessed to being a skeptic when he first read the book. But after meeting and sensing the genuineness of the boy's father, plus having a life-threatening condition that made him examine and deepen his own faith, he decided to write the screen play.
The famous writer said he had wanted to be a minister, but he never felt the call. Once he discussed this with his pastor, saying, "I know that is the highest calling anyone can have," to which his pastor said, "No, the highest calling for anyone is what He has called you to do." He said he knew he was to be a writer, and now through this film he has reached millions for the Lord world wide.
A comment on Facebook from my younger brother in the expressions of sympathy from friends and family said, "Robin was the Music Man. And now, for me, the music has died." He was referring to our nephew's talent and passion for the guitar and love of music. Robin had formed a worship band and performed in different churches in recent years. I had to respond that the music still goes on in heaven. The little boy of Heaven is for Real described the beautiful music sung by angels in heaven. Music was Robin's calling. How can I be sad when he is no doubt doing what he loved and met by loved ones and the One he loved most of all?
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
This Little Pig Went to Market
Well, not soon enough to suit me! It all started the other day when our son Greg had his car detailed. Later that evening, he told his father, "Dad, the man I took the car to has some pigs for sale." Howard's ears perked up, for they had been tossing around the idea of raising some porkers. Greg has ample space on his farm and suitable pens for the porcine project.
"They are Chester Whites," Greg said enthusiastically, "a sow and her 3 little pigs." To his dad's eager expression, he went on, "The man said she had had a litter of 9, and he wanted to sell her and the remaining pigs." Howard listened attentively as he explained. "She was his pet he had had since she was a baby. 'So gentle I can put my hand in her mouth,' he said, and he did!"
Before I knew it, the pigs were installed in hastily readied quarters, and I was taken out to see them. They were not what I expected! This very tall sow with a pronounced turned-up snout was charging around the pen, followed by three very large piglets. The food they put in a huge trough was gobbled up with lightning speed, with the younger pigs climbing over the side and sliding around in it, to their disgruntled (pardon the pun) mother's squeals of disapproval.
I shivered at the thought of anyone's hand in the huge mouth, but reading about them later, I read that the stress gene is completely absent in that breed! (How did they do that?) My husband imparted a nugget of wisdom to me that "when their tails are curly, it means they're happy!" Apparently a lot of psychology or pig psychoanalysis has gone into raising pigs! And most of their tails were curly, despite their new surroundings.
By the next day my pig experts felt confident enough with the swine's good behavior to put Mama Pig out into a corral area to root and eat green stuff, since she was too big to get out through or under the fence. Her youngsters stayed securely inside their enclosure. The following day when I accompanied my husband to the farm to feed them, we found them all in the corral, the heavy-wire mesh barricade that confined the young pigs rooted and pushed open at one corner. When they saw Howard approaching with the feed bucket, they scooted under the fence and were out!
Howard surmised the sow, good mother that she is, had worked her rooter-snout into the slit of space between the gate and the gatepost, wedged it open, and freed her babies. When my harried husband tried to lure them back in with feed, the wily pigs ate the trail of food up to the opening, then shot away to freedom. Howard even tried grabbing them to deposit them over the fence, but it was like trying to catch a greased--well, pig!
After much hassle, mother and babies were back inside, and Howard's repair work was holding securely when we checked on them today. They eat way more than the former owner said they eat (and being that the stress gene is not absent in humans), I think the hog farmers are beginning to second-guess their decision. At least I hope that's why my spouse is looking on craigslist today, listing them for sale instead of being tempted and ending up with a pig in a poke!
"They are Chester Whites," Greg said enthusiastically, "a sow and her 3 little pigs." To his dad's eager expression, he went on, "The man said she had had a litter of 9, and he wanted to sell her and the remaining pigs." Howard listened attentively as he explained. "She was his pet he had had since she was a baby. 'So gentle I can put my hand in her mouth,' he said, and he did!"
Before I knew it, the pigs were installed in hastily readied quarters, and I was taken out to see them. They were not what I expected! This very tall sow with a pronounced turned-up snout was charging around the pen, followed by three very large piglets. The food they put in a huge trough was gobbled up with lightning speed, with the younger pigs climbing over the side and sliding around in it, to their disgruntled (pardon the pun) mother's squeals of disapproval.
I shivered at the thought of anyone's hand in the huge mouth, but reading about them later, I read that the stress gene is completely absent in that breed! (How did they do that?) My husband imparted a nugget of wisdom to me that "when their tails are curly, it means they're happy!" Apparently a lot of psychology or pig psychoanalysis has gone into raising pigs! And most of their tails were curly, despite their new surroundings.
By the next day my pig experts felt confident enough with the swine's good behavior to put Mama Pig out into a corral area to root and eat green stuff, since she was too big to get out through or under the fence. Her youngsters stayed securely inside their enclosure. The following day when I accompanied my husband to the farm to feed them, we found them all in the corral, the heavy-wire mesh barricade that confined the young pigs rooted and pushed open at one corner. When they saw Howard approaching with the feed bucket, they scooted under the fence and were out!
Howard surmised the sow, good mother that she is, had worked her rooter-snout into the slit of space between the gate and the gatepost, wedged it open, and freed her babies. When my harried husband tried to lure them back in with feed, the wily pigs ate the trail of food up to the opening, then shot away to freedom. Howard even tried grabbing them to deposit them over the fence, but it was like trying to catch a greased--well, pig!
After much hassle, mother and babies were back inside, and Howard's repair work was holding securely when we checked on them today. They eat way more than the former owner said they eat (and being that the stress gene is not absent in humans), I think the hog farmers are beginning to second-guess their decision. At least I hope that's why my spouse is looking on craigslist today, listing them for sale instead of being tempted and ending up with a pig in a poke!
Monday, April 28, 2014
Biscuit Tidbits
Cutting out (semi)homemade biscuits this morning, I started to place them on the baking sheet, leaving spaces between. Then I remembered instructions I had read once for frozen biscuits: "Place with sides touching to rise higher." That struck a chord with me in regard to our everyday lives. We can rise to higher goals if we have the support and encouragement of others. Standing shoulder to shoulder, so to speak, like the biscuits.
Singing a hymn in church by oneself is not as inspirational as hearing the blended voices of the whole congregation raised in praise and worship. "But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel," Psalm 22:3. I believe it means the praises of the church, as well.
The Holy Spirit was given when Jesus' followers were in one accord. Acts 2:1 says, "And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place." This unity was the springboard of the church. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, they went on to do great things as recorded in the New Testament.
In Jesus' high priestly prayer for the disciples in John, verses 20-21 read, "Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word; (21) That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me and I in thee, that they may also be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me."
While my biscuits were not one, they were one unit: a pan of biscuits. They were not all alike. Some were bumpy on the surface, some were not perfectly round, especially the one I put together from the left-over scraps of dough. Some were even a little more brown, depending on where they were placed in the pan. But by leaning on each other, they all rose high in the oven.
All Christians are not alike. Some still have their rough edges, some are a hodge-podge mixture from different teachings they have received. Some are more mature than others according to their life experiences. But Jesus prayed for us to be one in Him, as a witness to the world.
In Galatians 6:10, Paul refers to us as "the household of faith," or those professing the same religion. A household is a family, and families that stick together in love and support, both natural and spiritual, are more apt to achieve the heights God has planned for them. And they are more appealing, too, like the biscuits!
Singing a hymn in church by oneself is not as inspirational as hearing the blended voices of the whole congregation raised in praise and worship. "But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel," Psalm 22:3. I believe it means the praises of the church, as well.
The Holy Spirit was given when Jesus' followers were in one accord. Acts 2:1 says, "And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place." This unity was the springboard of the church. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, they went on to do great things as recorded in the New Testament.
In Jesus' high priestly prayer for the disciples in John, verses 20-21 read, "Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word; (21) That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me and I in thee, that they may also be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me."
While my biscuits were not one, they were one unit: a pan of biscuits. They were not all alike. Some were bumpy on the surface, some were not perfectly round, especially the one I put together from the left-over scraps of dough. Some were even a little more brown, depending on where they were placed in the pan. But by leaning on each other, they all rose high in the oven.
All Christians are not alike. Some still have their rough edges, some are a hodge-podge mixture from different teachings they have received. Some are more mature than others according to their life experiences. But Jesus prayed for us to be one in Him, as a witness to the world.
In Galatians 6:10, Paul refers to us as "the household of faith," or those professing the same religion. A household is a family, and families that stick together in love and support, both natural and spiritual, are more apt to achieve the heights God has planned for them. And they are more appealing, too, like the biscuits!
Friday, April 25, 2014
Blast from the Past
"Do you like Chinese, or do you want to go somewhere else?" our son Greg asked as we were trying to decide where to eat lunch. I said it didn't matter, so as we came upon a Chinese restaurant, he said, "Okay, let's eat here. I'm hungry!"
It was an unassuming little place, tucked in between two other businesses in a strip mall. But when we got inside, it was pure oriental! With the black, lacquered tables, authentic red Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and the blue-black hair of the courteous wait-staff, I could almost hear the tinkle of Chinese music and imagine I was in the Far East.
Not having an adventurous palate, I wasn't sure what to order, but orange chicken was good. "You've got to try the pot-stickers!" Greg insisted. "And you will love the egg-drop soup." Well, one must have to have an acquired taste for those items, but I was happy to see he enjoyed them.
The check came with traditional fortune cookies, and just for fun I opened them. Mine was rather meaningless, but when Howard asked me to read his, it caused me to exclaim knowingly, "Listen to this! It says, 'You are going to unexpectedly meet someone from the past in a few days,' and I think I know who it is!" I didn't know if he caught on, but it made me think of something that transpired in Sunday school last week.
The subject was answered prayer, and Howard told the story of what he called the most dramatic answer to prayer he'd ever seen. When we were teenagers, our church youth leader, a woman in her mid-thirties, had been married many years but had never had children. She went up for prayer one Sunday, saying she had recently been to the doctor who said she could never have a child.
The pastor and several of the church members gathered around her and prayed for her. Less than a month later, shedding joyful tears, our friend announced she was expecting! We remembered the cute little girl born to the couple, their only child. When we got married and moved away, the blonde toddler was two or three years old.
A couple of days after the Sunday school discussion, the phone rang. It was an old friend from our former home who had attended the church with us back then. She said she heard we were wondering about this lady and her little girl, whom I'll call Suzy. "Suzy owns the Dairy Queen!" she informed me. "She is there most of the time!" I was taken aback, for we had often stopped at the Dairy Queen in our old hometown, possibly being waited on by this now middle-aged woman, the "miracle baby" of the past!
We were told Suzy attended church there with her mother until her own marriage, and our youth leader of former days was a faithful member until her death several years ago. Our meeting should prove interesting, as we indeed encounter someone from the past who is living proof of answered prayer! Something no fortune cookie could have predicted!
It was an unassuming little place, tucked in between two other businesses in a strip mall. But when we got inside, it was pure oriental! With the black, lacquered tables, authentic red Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and the blue-black hair of the courteous wait-staff, I could almost hear the tinkle of Chinese music and imagine I was in the Far East.
Not having an adventurous palate, I wasn't sure what to order, but orange chicken was good. "You've got to try the pot-stickers!" Greg insisted. "And you will love the egg-drop soup." Well, one must have to have an acquired taste for those items, but I was happy to see he enjoyed them.
The check came with traditional fortune cookies, and just for fun I opened them. Mine was rather meaningless, but when Howard asked me to read his, it caused me to exclaim knowingly, "Listen to this! It says, 'You are going to unexpectedly meet someone from the past in a few days,' and I think I know who it is!" I didn't know if he caught on, but it made me think of something that transpired in Sunday school last week.
The subject was answered prayer, and Howard told the story of what he called the most dramatic answer to prayer he'd ever seen. When we were teenagers, our church youth leader, a woman in her mid-thirties, had been married many years but had never had children. She went up for prayer one Sunday, saying she had recently been to the doctor who said she could never have a child.
The pastor and several of the church members gathered around her and prayed for her. Less than a month later, shedding joyful tears, our friend announced she was expecting! We remembered the cute little girl born to the couple, their only child. When we got married and moved away, the blonde toddler was two or three years old.
A couple of days after the Sunday school discussion, the phone rang. It was an old friend from our former home who had attended the church with us back then. She said she heard we were wondering about this lady and her little girl, whom I'll call Suzy. "Suzy owns the Dairy Queen!" she informed me. "She is there most of the time!" I was taken aback, for we had often stopped at the Dairy Queen in our old hometown, possibly being waited on by this now middle-aged woman, the "miracle baby" of the past!
We were told Suzy attended church there with her mother until her own marriage, and our youth leader of former days was a faithful member until her death several years ago. Our meeting should prove interesting, as we indeed encounter someone from the past who is living proof of answered prayer! Something no fortune cookie could have predicted!
Thursday, April 24, 2014
To God Be the Glory
"We just don't see the glory of God as much as we used to," Howard remarked at the breakfast table, mentioning great revivals such as the Brownsville revival and Azusa Street.
I knew what he meant, but I couldn't resist saying, "But didn't you see the glory of God on that little girl's face in Kids' Church last night?" She was a first time visitor of about 4 years old, actually too young for the group we teach on Wednesday night. The pastor's wife mentioned when she brought her upstairs that she might want to go back to her mother at some point.
Although seemingly a little shy, the child sat stoically, attentive of the proceedings. She watched with interest as the other youngsters jostled and teased their seat mates, but surprisingly, she joined willingly into the activities. They were to write a "newspaper headline" and a few sentences about the birth of Jesus, which we had been studying. I happened to glance at her paper and saw a line of very uniform characters, unrecognizable as letters, but she was writing her story.
A little later when the children read their stories aloud, some even presenting it as evening television news, she raised her hand and said she wanted to give her story. I was surprised at her imagination and enthusiasm! Her face lit up, as in her clear, piping voice she told a wandering tale of Jesus being born in a snow storm and how it rained and thundered, and other details I couldn't quite catch. A little inaccurate, maybe, but still, her innocence and earnestness were so sweet and appealing. No wonder Jesus loves the little children!
"And didn't you see the glory of God in the soloist's song Sunday?" I further commented to my husband. It was a glorious Easter song, sang with such power and intensity one couldn't help feeling the anointing of the Holy Spirit.
Maybe it's my age, but I am easily moved by the most ordinary of miracles: A new baby grandson with all his wonders and potential. A small, dry seed we have planted in the garden that could become a thriving plant bearing fruit for food and seeds to reproduce itself over and over.
"Look at that sunset!" I exclaimed as we drove out of the church parking lot after service. It was stupendous! The huge, red orb that was the sun hung just above the horizon, transforming the clouds into a surrealistic bright-orange skyscape, layer upon layer of billows, indescribable with words, heralding the heavy rains that would be forthcoming. I sat amazed at God's glory in his handiwork!
Yes, we want to see the manifestation of God's glory in a supernatural way upon God's people, but if we but open our eyes, we would see His glory all around us!
I knew what he meant, but I couldn't resist saying, "But didn't you see the glory of God on that little girl's face in Kids' Church last night?" She was a first time visitor of about 4 years old, actually too young for the group we teach on Wednesday night. The pastor's wife mentioned when she brought her upstairs that she might want to go back to her mother at some point.
Although seemingly a little shy, the child sat stoically, attentive of the proceedings. She watched with interest as the other youngsters jostled and teased their seat mates, but surprisingly, she joined willingly into the activities. They were to write a "newspaper headline" and a few sentences about the birth of Jesus, which we had been studying. I happened to glance at her paper and saw a line of very uniform characters, unrecognizable as letters, but she was writing her story.
A little later when the children read their stories aloud, some even presenting it as evening television news, she raised her hand and said she wanted to give her story. I was surprised at her imagination and enthusiasm! Her face lit up, as in her clear, piping voice she told a wandering tale of Jesus being born in a snow storm and how it rained and thundered, and other details I couldn't quite catch. A little inaccurate, maybe, but still, her innocence and earnestness were so sweet and appealing. No wonder Jesus loves the little children!
"And didn't you see the glory of God in the soloist's song Sunday?" I further commented to my husband. It was a glorious Easter song, sang with such power and intensity one couldn't help feeling the anointing of the Holy Spirit.
Maybe it's my age, but I am easily moved by the most ordinary of miracles: A new baby grandson with all his wonders and potential. A small, dry seed we have planted in the garden that could become a thriving plant bearing fruit for food and seeds to reproduce itself over and over.
"Look at that sunset!" I exclaimed as we drove out of the church parking lot after service. It was stupendous! The huge, red orb that was the sun hung just above the horizon, transforming the clouds into a surrealistic bright-orange skyscape, layer upon layer of billows, indescribable with words, heralding the heavy rains that would be forthcoming. I sat amazed at God's glory in his handiwork!
Yes, we want to see the manifestation of God's glory in a supernatural way upon God's people, but if we but open our eyes, we would see His glory all around us!
Monday, April 21, 2014
Ascension Day!
Looking back over the Easter week-end, I love seeing so many special Easter pictures online of family and friends. Just when I was wondering if there would be any of our youngest grandchildren, my heart was gladdened to see the baby looking adorable, the girls gorgeous, and the family shot of all of them so handsome!
We had a beautiful Easter service at church (which looked fresh and attractive due to the creative efforts of our pastor and pastor's wife). Chatting before service, Howard and I were remarking to the friend in the pew in front of us about her bright little six-year-old son. I was reminded of the movie we had seen on Saturday.
"We saw Heaven is for Real yesterday," I said to her. "The little boy in that was very smart." We talked about the story for awhile, then she whispered something to me. "What?" I asked.
"I had a little cousin who had a near-death experience once," she related. "He was injured in an accident, hitting his head, causing a bad concussion with unconsciousness."
I asked her more about it, and she said, "When he came to, he told his mother, 'I saw Jesus! There was a door that was open, but he told me I couldn't go through it. He said I had to go back home because it wasn't time for me yet.'" He was four years old!
"This was not a family that went to church, but after that, they all became church-goers, living for the Lord," she finished.
For the first time in years, I did not do any Easter decorating as pertains to the commercial aspect of the holiday. No dyed eggs, Easter baskets, jelly bird-eggs, or chocolate bunnies were in the house. I used to make Easter baskets for our children, even sending some to their college rooms. Now I leave those traditions to them, as parents.
My daughter, whose kids are getting older in teen years, mentioned to me over the phone that she gave them the choice of getting Easter baskets or new Easter outfits, with candy being put in a big bowl for the house. They chose the new clothes, and had a great time shopping and decking out for church.
"Then later," Amy said, "Corrin came to me and said, 'Next year, do you think we could get legit Easter baskets?'" I had to laugh, since she is almost a senior in high school, but it is hard to let go of childhood traditions.
One tradition I kept was making Easter dinner. When I found out our son's family would be out of town for Easter, I considered just going out to eat. Then it was decided that the older grandchildren (who don't live at home anymore) would not be going with their parents, so I invited them over to eat with us. It gave me a reason to make the dinner special with deviled eggs on a platter, ham and all the trimmings, and homemade strawberry short-cake for dessert. I even put some of our beautiful purple irses in vases for a seasonal touch.
Granddaughter brought her boyfriend, and I invited their other grandmother, too, so we had a festive holiday meal, good conversation and happy fellowship in commemoration of our Lord's beautiful Ressurection Day!
We had a beautiful Easter service at church (which looked fresh and attractive due to the creative efforts of our pastor and pastor's wife). Chatting before service, Howard and I were remarking to the friend in the pew in front of us about her bright little six-year-old son. I was reminded of the movie we had seen on Saturday.
"We saw Heaven is for Real yesterday," I said to her. "The little boy in that was very smart." We talked about the story for awhile, then she whispered something to me. "What?" I asked.
"I had a little cousin who had a near-death experience once," she related. "He was injured in an accident, hitting his head, causing a bad concussion with unconsciousness."
I asked her more about it, and she said, "When he came to, he told his mother, 'I saw Jesus! There was a door that was open, but he told me I couldn't go through it. He said I had to go back home because it wasn't time for me yet.'" He was four years old!
"This was not a family that went to church, but after that, they all became church-goers, living for the Lord," she finished.
For the first time in years, I did not do any Easter decorating as pertains to the commercial aspect of the holiday. No dyed eggs, Easter baskets, jelly bird-eggs, or chocolate bunnies were in the house. I used to make Easter baskets for our children, even sending some to their college rooms. Now I leave those traditions to them, as parents.
My daughter, whose kids are getting older in teen years, mentioned to me over the phone that she gave them the choice of getting Easter baskets or new Easter outfits, with candy being put in a big bowl for the house. They chose the new clothes, and had a great time shopping and decking out for church.
"Then later," Amy said, "Corrin came to me and said, 'Next year, do you think we could get legit Easter baskets?'" I had to laugh, since she is almost a senior in high school, but it is hard to let go of childhood traditions.
One tradition I kept was making Easter dinner. When I found out our son's family would be out of town for Easter, I considered just going out to eat. Then it was decided that the older grandchildren (who don't live at home anymore) would not be going with their parents, so I invited them over to eat with us. It gave me a reason to make the dinner special with deviled eggs on a platter, ham and all the trimmings, and homemade strawberry short-cake for dessert. I even put some of our beautiful purple irses in vases for a seasonal touch.
Granddaughter brought her boyfriend, and I invited their other grandmother, too, so we had a festive holiday meal, good conversation and happy fellowship in commemoration of our Lord's beautiful Ressurection Day!
Friday, April 18, 2014
A Sweet-smelling Savor
Lilacs! I hadn't noticed these for years, having lived for half a lifetime in the south where they are not common. But lately I have seen several bushes of the fragrant, lavender clusters. I did have a friend in Mississippi who had a bush that she called lilacs (she pronounced them "lilocks"). Perhaps she had transplanted it from her native Kansas, or maybe it was the drooping, purple clusters of wisteria, a vine which we had in our yard, as well.
I read that lilacs are members of the olive family. We had a couple of sweet olive shrubs growing beside our house when we lived in Mississippi. I remember sitting in the yard one day when we first moved there and catching a hint of an undefinable fragrance wafted on the breeze. It was indescribably sweet and pleasant, but I could not detect its source. After a few seasons, I identified the heavenly perfume as coming from some tiny white flowers on a gangly, woody bush growing among the azaleas. I learned it was sweet olive. If the scent of the lilacs I see around town is as intoxicating, they must be related!
Today as I waited in the car while my husband bought gasoline for our lawn mower, I noticed a couple crossing the street from the neighborhood grocery to the service station. I thought they seemed animated in their conversation, but as they got closer and their hand gestures were more pronounced and frequent, I realized they were deaf and using sign language! They seemed pleasant and in a good mood, obviously enjoying one another's company.
I was reminded of that a little later when I turned on the computer and saw a Facebook post of a friend who had attended a talent competition for the handicapped. It was called "The Unstoppables," an organization designed to inspire confidence in and help young women achieve their dreams and use their talents despite their physical limitations. One could see in the countenance of the contest winner, a soloist, the shy pride she felt in her new-found self-esteem.
Whether this is a Christian organization or not, I don't know, but I think the principles found in the Bible apply. II Corinthians 2: 14 says, "Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every place. (15) For we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish."
We are to be winners in Christ, and to give off the sweet-smelling savour of Him! What better way than to help the disadvantaged realize their own sweet-smelling savour! Even as the unlikely-looking olive shrub was the source of the heady fragrance in my yard, we never know what is in people that is just waiting to be discovered!
I read that lilacs are members of the olive family. We had a couple of sweet olive shrubs growing beside our house when we lived in Mississippi. I remember sitting in the yard one day when we first moved there and catching a hint of an undefinable fragrance wafted on the breeze. It was indescribably sweet and pleasant, but I could not detect its source. After a few seasons, I identified the heavenly perfume as coming from some tiny white flowers on a gangly, woody bush growing among the azaleas. I learned it was sweet olive. If the scent of the lilacs I see around town is as intoxicating, they must be related!
Today as I waited in the car while my husband bought gasoline for our lawn mower, I noticed a couple crossing the street from the neighborhood grocery to the service station. I thought they seemed animated in their conversation, but as they got closer and their hand gestures were more pronounced and frequent, I realized they were deaf and using sign language! They seemed pleasant and in a good mood, obviously enjoying one another's company.
I was reminded of that a little later when I turned on the computer and saw a Facebook post of a friend who had attended a talent competition for the handicapped. It was called "The Unstoppables," an organization designed to inspire confidence in and help young women achieve their dreams and use their talents despite their physical limitations. One could see in the countenance of the contest winner, a soloist, the shy pride she felt in her new-found self-esteem.
Whether this is a Christian organization or not, I don't know, but I think the principles found in the Bible apply. II Corinthians 2: 14 says, "Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every place. (15) For we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish."
We are to be winners in Christ, and to give off the sweet-smelling savour of Him! What better way than to help the disadvantaged realize their own sweet-smelling savour! Even as the unlikely-looking olive shrub was the source of the heady fragrance in my yard, we never know what is in people that is just waiting to be discovered!
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