Homegoing

How can one go from the euphoria of a wedding one day to the trauma and grief of a loved one's death the next day?  We had headed home from the wedding in Mississippi of our 22-year-old grandson. First, though, we had stopped at the church we used to pastor in Gulfport, Mississippi.  Howard had been asked to preach there.  Another wonderful reunion with old friends!

After stopping for the night somewhere in Arkansas, we had resumed our journey and were about halfway home when my cell phone rang.  Our granddaughter in Tennessee was crying and hysterically asking us to pray urgently for her older brother.  Our 28-year-old grandson was found unresponsive and not breathing. Earnest, beseeching prayers went up in our car.  It wasn't long until another granddaughter called and gave us the bad news.  Joshua was gone!

It was so unbelievable!  After the initial shock subsided, my thoughts went back to this, our first grandchild, and his early years in Mississippi where we lived.  I remembered taking him into the yard one hot summer day and letting the baby play with the hose.  He was fascinated with the gurgling water coming out as he held it upright.  "Wa-wa," he chortled.  Then he found out he could aim the hose. He had power in his control!

As he grew older, Joshua developed a love for chickens.  His father often hatched some in the spring. Joshua called the soft, yellow balls of fluff "biddies." "Mimi," he would say, "Don't you want some chickens?"  When I declined, he would say, "Not even some biddies?"  He couldn't imagine someone not in love with them as he was.  All he wanted for Christmas one year was a Big Bird.  He loved the plush, long-legged Sesame Street character I bought him and dragged it everywhere.

Joshua was a special-needs child.  It soon became apparent he was autistic.  Many years of struggle ensued for his parents as they tried to help him achieve developmental goals.  He graduated from high school.  He learned the computer.  Really, he was brilliant.  He had a rapier-sharp wit, wisecracking and giving quick comebacks, then laughing when I didn't catch on immediately.

Joshua loved movies.  His goal was to become a screen writer. Since I dabble in writing, he quizzed me and questioned me for tips on publishing  and how to achieve his goal.

Living far away in Oklahoma, I lacked the opportunity to interact with Josh in recent years.  He lived at home with his parents who kept a small farming operation with a garden for Joshua's benefit.  Our grandson loved animals and dutifully cared for them. Filling out data for his funeral today, the director asked what he did.  "Shall we say he was a farmer?" our daughter asked her husband, to which he said, "No. He was a writer."

As a young boy Joshua used to come to our house where we had lived all his life, and ask, "Mimi, aren't you ever going to move?"  Actually, I did, after 20 years.  Now Joshua has moved, too. To a big house of his own, with all the animals he would ever want to love and tend, perfect and complete. When his parents found him, our daughter said he looked angelic.  The angels had been in the room to take him home.

Homesick

Seeing our old house was at the top of my to-do list on our visit to our former home town, the place where we had raised our family.  Countless times during lonely hours of sentimental reminiscing my thoughts were filled with memories of those days. How would I react if I got to walk through those dear, familiar rooms again?  I got teary just thinking about it.

I had been unable to contact the present owners with the possibility that we might drop by while we were in town for the wedding of our grandson.  After repeated attempts to reach them, my husband and I decided we would just drive by the place.  But he was pulling in the driveway!  He boldly got out, walked to the door and rang the bell.  This felt so intrusive!

In a moment Howard beckoned me to join him after chatting with the friendly man who answered the door.  I walked upon the porch, noticing they had painted the floor the same shade of gray porch paint we had used several times over our 20-year residence there. We were warmly welcomed and invited in.  My eyes hungrily took in the space.  The golden heart-of-pine floors that I had loved so much glowed beneath my feet as I stepped in.

I was taken aback at the beauty! Tasteful furnishings were placed in comfortable arrangements around "our" living room that opened onto a deck.  The one we had built so many years ago had been replaced  sometime back. The view that met my eyes was amazing!

This was a magazine-worthy, cozy garden enclosed in rustic board fences and filled with thoughtful touches in every surprising nook.  An antique, porcelain sink stood in a far corner looking perfectly at home.  Opulent rows of lavishly drooping tomato plants had delivered over 600  ripe, luscious ruby-red gems to the home gardener, who had a pot of them on the stove sending their aromatic, steamy fragrance throughout the house.

There was even an outdoor working kitchen, complete with an evenly-laid wood floor and an adjoining bricked space. Gourmet chef cooking tools hung from a shelf lined with old soda bottles and bric-a-brac. Back inside, we were invited to peek in any and all rooms, company ready, as if they were expecting us!

Across a breezeway, which had always been my decorating nemesis, I noticed slight indentations on the facing of the door to the "man cave."  Though the door frame had been repainted, I knew the marks were from our then-teenage son who in a fit of energy? aggravation? whatever, had carved into it a list of chores he had done: 1. Swept breezeway. 2. Mowed grass.  3. Fed dog.  4.  Blew off driveway.  All followed by date of completion!

The rest of the house was filled with organized collections, book-filled shelves, and comfy furniture. There was even an antique juke-box filled with 45-vinyl discs!  The majestic, antique range we remembered presided over a second kitchen. More patios and gardens were glimpsed through the windows.

The house was everything I had ever wanted it to be, and more.  It reminded me of something I heard in a teaching by Beth Moore. She said that when the saints return with Jesus at the second coming, we will be everything we were meant to be.  No personality flaws, no age-lined faces, no broken-down bodies--just happy and complete.

The comparison somehow seems appropriate, for this house was born in a church, you might say.  It was built from cypress beams and lumber from the predecessor of the church next door to it.  And many of God's people were born-again in church. Hebrews 12:23 calls us "the church of the firstborn, which are written in heaven, ...the spirits of just men made perfect."   The house was not my home anymore, but I have a perfect home, my real home waiting in heaven!

Her Father's Eyes

The best Father's Day gift I can think of is one experienced by our son last Sunday.  Jamie got to baptize his eight-year-old daughter, Anne-Marie.  I knew she had been requesting it for some time, and the time allotted fell on Father's Day!  As one of the pastors of his church, it was his privilege to baptize this oldest child, the serious one.

When I was asking about the grandchildren the other day, Jamie told me, "Anne-Marie is such a thinker!"  He further explained that she told him she had had three dreams, and that she had the interpretation for all of them.  She also said she knew the name of the baby her mother had lost a few years ago in an early miscarriage, and it was "Luke Jake." (It was so early the gender was not determined.)

I told Jamie that her insistence on being baptized reminded me of my 8-or-9-year-old self when I wanted my own Bible in the  worst way.  I had been wheedling for my mother to buy me one, but times were hard and money was tight with her houseful of kids to raise. Then one Saturday evening we were in a Kress store, when I got a glimpse of my Sunday School teacher. She seemed to be shielding something from me, and the next morning in class she surprised me with a New Testament--my own Bible! My joy knew no bounds.

Anne-Marie's water baptism made me think of her father when he was eight.  Our pastor had announced that particular Sunday morning that there would be a baptismal service that afternoon at Little Black Creek, a well-known, popular fishing and swimming site.  On the way out of the church after the service, I glanced at the list on a foyer table of baptismal candidates. There in his childish penmanship I saw Jamie's name!  He had signed himself up to be baptized!

He was an original thinker, too, such as the time he decided at age 7 to brew his dad a cup of coffee so that the aroma would wake him from a nap.  Balancing the cup of hot coffee, Jamie splashed some on his hand, causing him to jerk and spill the coffee into his father's ear as he lay sleeping on the floor.  Or the time he took it upon himself to secretly take a hostess gift consisting of a bottle of booze to a home prayer meeting. (A misguided customer at the store had given it to Howard as a Christmas present and it stood unopened on a high shelf.)

I have read that an early interest in spiritual things is one sign of a gifted child.  I believe it, although they may not be so gifted in gift-giving!  Oh yes, after the baptismal, Anne-Marie was presented with her own Bible.

A Day to Remember

Howard had a momentous birthday, for more reasons than one.  A little great-grandson was  born on his birthday!  (Two years ago, his parents got married on my husband's birthday!) We had been anxiously awaiting news of the baby's safe arrival, since he was two months early.  Due to complications, he was delivered prematurely by C-section.

My cell phone rang just as we were leaving for our Monday night Bible study. I saw it was our daughter, who told me the happy news: 2 lbs, 4 oz. and doing well!  Howard was buckling his seat belt (he always does it halfway down the driveway) and listening intently to my conversation about the baby.  Just then we heard a scrape, crunch and shattering of glass!  He had distractedly backed into a car in the street!

Thankfully, the mishap was nothing serious, just a scraped driver's-side door of the other car, and a broken tail-light for us.  Insurance info was shared, the police came and took notes, and shortly we were on our way.  I had called to tell the host we would be late.  They were near the end of a time of praise and worship when we walked in, and at the conclusion, burst into a rousing round of  "Happy Birthday to you!" to Howard's surprise.

As we prepared to leave after the Bible study, everyone gathered around to pray over and bless the birthday boy.  Words were spoken to the effect that God would bless him with a new beginning and new opportunities in the Lord's service. Later I quipped that getting a new great-grand-baby for your birthday was a quite a new beginning!

Today after his getting a birthday card from a friend in Kansas, our ten-year-old granddaughter (adopted into the family three years ago) asked, "How did you know her?" to which I replied "Pa-Pa has preached in their church."

"What? He's a preacher?" she exclaimed.  It's been a few years since Howard was a pastor, but he still preaches occasionally.  Kids forget, so I filled our granddaughter in on our pastoring a church in Mississippi and other fields of service.  He may be retired now, but once a preacher, always a preacher, and my spouse keeps busy studying the Bible, sharing scripture cards with people daily, teaching Sunday school or just thanking God that all our large family serves the Lord.  Now that's a momentous birthday!

The Notebook

"Have you seen my little booklet where I write down things I want to remember?" my husband asked first thing this morning.  "See, it looks like one of these," he said, showing me tiny books he had bought at the stationery store with names like Penny for your Thoughts, Bright Ideas, and Stuff to Do.  

I told him I hadn't seen it, and he said he had looked for it yesterday to use in the lesson he was teaching in Sunday School.  He gave up resignedly and in a few minutes came in wearing his denim farm shirt.  "It was in this pocket," he said, "I prayed I would find it, and there it was!" The title was Stuff I'm Likely to Forget.

My spouse has a memory like an elephant, and he doesn't forget much, especially about things that happened a long time ago. He had called me to come and look at a calf that was lying in the grass just outside the corral on our son's farm yesterday.  "I think it's a newborn," Howard said.  Pretty soon, though, it got up and ambled to another spot and lay down in the tall grass.  I could see it wasn't a newborn.

Howard called the owner of the cows that pasture on the property and asked him about it. "Did it have a tag in its ear?" the man asked.  It didn't, then he said, "That calf has a very mean mother.  She wouldn't even let us get near it to tag it.  She is very good at hiding out her calf."  It's a good thing my wanna-be farmer didn't try to "rescue" it, as he had thought about.

My husband was telling this story to our son-in-law on the phone, when I heard him say about a mutual friend of theirs from the past, "I remember when Buck Martin told me a cow knocked him down, then pinned him to the grass.  He looked up to see her standing over him with those long horns and called out to God that she wouldn't hurt him.  Just then she moved away!"

I must admit I  was a little relieved Howard hadn't found the booklet, for it contained reminders of stories he liked to tell. (He related enough of them in class yesterday.) Today is his birthday, and he's had an overwhelming number of Happy Birthday wishes on Facebook, as well as a text message, a voice-mail, and a telephone call.  Everybody loves him, and he's worth it, stories and all! Something I'm not likely to forget!

Chopped!

After 10 days of neglect while we were away, our plants are finally reclaiming some of their former glory. Thankfully, copious watering and nurturing with plant food has revived the flowers for the most part.  Instead of the former beautiful blooms, I found the petunias covered with dried, crisp, dead flowers when we got home.  They have required a lot of deadheading, which seems to have helped!

Deadheading just means removing the dried flowers to stimulate new growth.  If the dried blossoms are left on, the energy of the plant goes to producing seed where the blooms once were.  They can come back stronger and more beautiful than ever after deadheading.  If the process is put off too long, the plant will stop producing flowers at all.

Isn't that a lot like our Christian lives?  If we are deprived of the water of the Word and neglect our souls, our testimony can shrivel and dry up.  We can go to seed, so to speak. I guess deadheading is a little like pruning.  Getting rid of the unnecessary to allow growth and beauty to show forth.

Jesus talks about pruning in the Bible. "I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman. Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit," John 15:1-2.

Occasionally in deadheading, it's best to take away the whole stem, so the rest of the plant will grow stronger.  According to experts, it is better to begin deadheading plants early for more beauty and color later in the season. By the same token, when we realize an activity or involvement in our life is going nowhere, is not productive or beneficial, especially to our spiritual life, the earlier we cut it off, the better.

Frivolous entertainment, excessive use of social media, the wrong friends and relationships, or any number of distractions can sap our time and energy so that we have no time to nourish our spirits. We need to deadhead some of these things!  Prune off some unnecessary branches!

Kind of like going on a diet!  Leave out the rich temptations and empty calories in favor of good, healthy fare!  Soon you will notice a difference in outward appearance, glowing with health and lighter in spirit. The spiritually nutritious meat of the word is the food we need to grow in God. Solomon's words in Proverbs concerning words of wisdom say, "For they are life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh," Proverbs 4:22.

Deadheading or pruning may seem extreme or hurtful, but when it comes to gardening it is really a kindness, and that goes for the gardening of our hearts as well!

Voices

I saw a funny video someone posted on Facebook about goats having human-like voices.  It's true!  We got some baby goats yesterday, and today were attempting to lead them into a grassy area to graze.  You would have thought someone was being murdered!  They shrieked and screeched exactly like a woman screaming!  Of course they stopped immediately as soon as they saw the green grass and began nibbling contentedly.

My husband and I sat and watched them for a long time, fascinated by the way they determinedly pulled tufts of grass and amused by their comical look when long strands of tall grass hung from their mouths.   After awhile, the new wore off, and although we were relishing the fresh air, fluffy clouds and quiet setting, I said, "This is like watching  grass grow!"  Howard wasn't bored, though, so we stayed awhile longer.

I thought about David, the shepherd boy, who herded sheep and tended them in long stretches of solitude and silence, the monotony only broken sometimes by threatening predators, a wayward sheep to rescue, or other dangers.  I  could identify, since we had marauders destroy a flock of chickens a couple of years ago, and had goats disappear.

It was in these lonely settings that David learned to communicate with God.  Perhaps these were the times when he composed the lovely psalms to his Creator.  The Bible says that when Samuel anointed him king at Bethlehem while he was still a youth, "...the spirit of the Lord came upon David from that day forward,"I Samuel 16:13. David continued to tend sheep until and after he was called into Saul's service.

One can imagine David passing the time by honing and perfecting his skills with the slingshot, aiming at rocky hillside targets, tree branches, snakes or even the bear and lion he killed.  He had no idea this skill would make him immortal in the annals of history.  

Howard has been studying the Sunday School lesson he is to teach tomorrow, and he asked me to find a scripture assuring us that God hears us.  I Googled it, and found 27 scriptures listed confirming that God hears and answers prayer!  One of my favorites is Psalm 34:17, "The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, And delivereth them out of all their troubles."

It is amusing to notice the resemblance of goats' cries to the human voice.  But God's people are called sheep, not goats, in scripture.  Jesus, the Good Shepherd, tell us, "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me," John 10:27. There is no mistaking that Voice!