When All’s Said and Done

 October 30, 2020

I know how this will play out. I’ve prepared as best I know how, but tomorrow when it’s all over, I’ll think of something I wish I had said. There’s no way 98 years can be adequately honored in the space of an hour. But it will be better than many funerals I’ve done. I’ve buried children, suicides, accident victims, indigents, young and old. The saddest are when the funeral director calls, asking if I can do a service for someone I’ve never met. “They aren’t church people,” he would say. “But they need someone. Can you do it?” I always did if I could, but rarely did I feel good about it. When you don’t know someone, there are any number of minefields into which you can wander, and I always asked if there were areas better avoided. Grief has a way of bringing out the best...and the worst in people. So many of those funerals ended up being sadly generic, no matter how much I worked at ferreting out biographical information from the family. It was even worse when no one showed up.

People have often asked if it is harder officiating at the funeral of a family member or someone I know well, and I have to say, “It’s different, but not hard.” I suppose much of that stems from my unemotional personality. It will hit me, but perhaps not for days, weeks, or even months. In the meantime, there are so many stories, and I don’t have the corner on the market. The grandkids will share and I’ll proclaim the Gospel. We will celebrate with tears a life well lived, thank God together for this woman whose faith and love helped shape us into the image of Christ, and when it’s all said and done, there will be more, so much more that could have been said.

Mom’s Reflections

 October 29, 2020

“I wish mom had written down some of the stories of her life.” My mother listened to this lament from her cousin’s daughter, taking it to heart. The result sat in my lap this afternoon and evening, a scrapbook of memories from her earliest recollections to just a few years ago, stories I had heard before mingled with revelations heretofore unknown. On the floor at my feet was a bag of Bibles and devotionals, treasures from the years of mom’s faithfulness, all marked and noted in her tiny, exquisite script. I would not have been surprised to have found one Bible all marked up, but three... And there were other Bibles I hadn’t removed from her shelves.

The notations and underlinings revealed the secretary in her; no haphazard scrawls. Every passage underlined had been done with a ruler. The texts most often noted spoke of patience and endurance through difficult times, made more poignant when laid alongside her memoir. Children don’t always see the struggles of their parents, and the idyllic childhood I experienced came at a price she willingly paid. There were tears in those pages, but not even a hint of self-pity or resentment. The trials as well as the joys she saw as instruments in God’s hand, molding her for better things. Throughout were words of gratitude, concluding with her longing to see Jesus face to face.

Tonight that longing has been realized, and I will have the honor of officiating at her funeral Saturday. There will be tears, but also laughter and great joy, knowing that the deepest longing of her heart has been fulfilled, enabling me to give thanks for a life well lived because of the Savior she loved. 

The Veil

October 27, 2020

The veil between this life and the next is gossamer thin. As Linda and Judy were helping mom turn over this afternoon, mom went limp, and that was that. Her prayers were finally answered, and she is with Jesus. Life and death are strange things, and though the process be long, the transition from one to the other takes but the blink of an eye; one moment breath and blood mingle to give life, and the next, the body is still, the spirit having departed. It was a holy moment, bathed in prayer, surrounded with love.

I am not unfamiliar with death, but its mystery still whispers in the hidden places of my heart. This morning as I sat beside mom’s bed holding her hand, I read Scripture to her, prayed for her, and recited the Apostle’s Creed, which begins with a single word in the Latin: “Credo”—“I believe.” This ancient declaration of faith doesn’t begin with “I feel,” or “I know,” but “I believe.” There are some things more certain than feelings, deeper than mere knowledge, things that can be discovered only in the realm of faith. Though belief in the Trinity is logical, it cannot be proven by logic. Though faith has an emotional component, it is not verified by such means. Ultimately, in those times when feelings fail, when experience grinds us to the earth, when we get there, we bend the knee and declare, “I believe.” For that faith—faith in God the Father Almighty, in Jesus Christ, his only Son our Lord, and in the Holy Spirit, which faith assures me of the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting, I give thanks tonight.

 

Contrasts

 October 26, 2020

Life has always been full of contradictions. I’ve listened to Christians on both sides of the political aisle give all the reasons why they are voting for their candidate and why any good Christian couldn’t possibly vote for the other guy. We call ourselves the United States while we are more divided than any time in our history except perhaps for the dark years of 1861-1865. We have it better than most people in the world, but act as if this is the worst place in the world to live. Let’s get a little perspective.

The Biblical book of Joshua tells the story of great victories in the conquest of Canaan, with only a few hints as to the Hebrew’s inability to completely subdue or eliminate the original inhabitants. The book of Judges fills in the details of that failure; the lawlessness, the depravity, and the cultural, spiritual, and moral morass into which the Israelites had fallen. Its final chapters are graphic in their description of the depths of the spiritual and ethical collapse of those days. It was a dangerous time to be alive.

Then come these words: “Now it came to pass, in the days when the judges ruled...” So begins the book of Ruth, a tender, intimate story of love and loyalty, of people doing the right thing even in the midst of the cultural chaos of the period of the Judges. The final chapters of that book take place in and around Bethlehem, where the story of Ruth also unfolds. Same place, vastly different stories. The culture doesn’t have to determine the direction of our lives. Boaz chose to live honorably, Ruth likewise, and God used these two people to forge the future of the nation and the world.

When it seems that everything around us is falling apart, we can still be faithful. It may not seem like much, and we ourselves may not see the end result, but God is faithful and will, as he did with Boaz and Ruth, use our faithfulness to change the course of the world.

Giants

 October 25, 2020

Whenever I get to feeling a bit proud of my accomplishments, God has a way of bringing me back to earth. This morning at the close of worship, we toured our new Christian ed and family life center. It’s still under construction; completion isn’t expected till sometime in March, and I’m sure there will be much left to do tidying up loose ends, but standing on the concrete floor in what will be the gymnasium, I was taken back nineteen years to the morning we stood on the concrete in what is our present sanctuary, giving thanks for our new worship center that offered so many ministry possibilities that had been impossible in the old building. 

I talked with pastor Joe about it. This is a far bigger project, far more complex, and being undertaken in the midst of a pandemic that has taken its toll on attendance and giving. I applaud him, not just because it’s pastor appreciation month, but for the skill with which he has led us through these times. I took on a big project nineteen years ago, but it pales in comparison to what we are doing today.

This evening, I received sets of photos from two different ministries that Linda and I have supported for years. The first was from Tsoogi and Tsengel, keeping me updated on their evangelistic efforts in Mongolia. Tsoogi has logged some 12,000 kilometers traveling to different provinces, sharing the Gospel in remote places, meeting with families and with larger groups to tell them of the love of Christ. Over the last three years, over 10,000 people have heard the Gospel; this year alone, he has organized a team of 38 people who have visited 850 homes, shared the Gospel with 1784 people, with 290 receiving Christ as Savior and Lord. Unless you have been to Mongolia yourself, it would be hard to understand what a massive undertaking this is. When they travel cross-country, it is literally that—often with no roads, over steppes and through desert sandstorms to tell their countrymen about Jesus.

We had the privilege of working with Tsoogi and Tsengel in 2003 and 2004, and have supported their ministry in the years since. If ever I get to feeling a bit smug over my accomplishments, I remember Tsoogi. He has led more people to Christ in the past year than I have in the past forty.

The other set of photos was of my friend pastor Daniel Ibaceta in Cuba, baptizing three people who have come to Christ under his ministry. Our Cuban brothers and sisters labor in circumstances we are only beginning to understand. The shortages and empty shelves we experienced a couple months ago were everyday occurrences in Cuba even before the pandemic; since then, it’s gotten even worse. And yet, the Gospel is being preached, and people are coming to Christ. 

Whenever I have visited places like Cuba and Mongolia, I am humbled by their faith and faithfulness, often wondering what I could have to offer. They have expressed gratitude for the teaching I have brought, but they have it backwards: they should be teaching me. I am so grateful for my faithful brothers and sisters in Christ who labor largely unknown, in great difficulties, but also great joy. They are my heroes, as are my pastor here. I am surrounded by spiritual giants who call me to be better than I am, and I am thankful for them tonight.

A Quiet Day

 October 24, 2020

Before his scandal-based downfall, “It’s been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon” was the famous opening line of Garrison Keillor’s weekly monologue at the end of his wildly popular PBS show. I was saddened to hear of it’s cancellation; even more of the accusations that led to it. Keillor was creative and funny without being coarse or vulgar, and his “down home” show featured a style of music and performance that hasn’t been seen since. We knew when we heard those words, we were in for a treat. 

I think one of the reasons his show was so popular was in how it took us back to simpler and slower times. Even sophisticated urbanites enjoyed his wit as he poked kindly fun at Minnesotan Lutherans and the other solid citizens who populated his imaginary town. Whenever I have a day like today, those words pop into my mind with the comfort of a warm fire on a cold winter evening. There was nothing outstanding about it; being a Saturday morning without grandkids sacked out in every corner of the house, we arose leisurely, I served Linda her favorite breakfast—in bed! and began the day. 

I read my Bible before going outside to clean up the debris from the demolition of the old cellar entryway, and when Linda called, I bundled up for our grandson’s soccer game. Yesterday’s balmy 70 degrees had plummeted to the mid forties, but we showed up because we can. Our granddaughter Alex came by later for lunch in the garage. Her employer is quite worried over COVID, and as the tutor for his children, she is required to take special precautions, such as not going indoors when she comes to visit. Thankfully, a few years ago, Linda bought me a torpedo heater for Christmas, and even with the garage doors wide open, we were quite toasty. Alex actually said it’s the warmest her feet have been in quite awhile!

She left and I went back to work. Except for the cement blocks, it’s all cleaned up, ready for some real excavation and construction, which we hope will happen next month. 

See? It’s been a pretty sedate day. Like music, life is scored not only by the notes, but by the rests. Constant sound can become distracting, actually diminishing the effect of the composition. Music needs rests to keep in balance and build anticipation. Life is no different. We need the rests, the slower pace, to give balance and build anticipation for the next flurry of notes and change of tempo. While it lasts, the adagios prepare us for the allegros, allowing the mind and body to prepare for the next movement and the wave of the conductor’s baton. It’s coming, and days like today help me get ready as I keep my eyes glued to the Conductor. It’s been a quiet day in Sinclairville, but Sunday is coming, when the next movement begins.

Anna

 October 23, 2020

“If you are willing to dedicate themselves to full time service to the Lord, come forward.” I can’t be absolutely certain these were the exact words; after all, it was nearly sixty years ago. Our church held week long missionary conferences twice a year, and at this particular one, I felt an inner nudge from the Holy Spirit, and walked down the aisle to the front of the church, where Pastor Ellis and the missionary Ken Johnson were standing. Mr. Johnson had shown pictures of his work in Venezuela, but even more significantly, the week before he had handed me the controls of the little Cessna seaplane he used to ferry supplies to missionaries in remote jungle areas. For a fourteen year old boy, that was quite an adventure, and until I met Linda in college and we began talking of marriage, the foreign mission field was my goal.

Tonight I’m thinking about that phrase “full time service.” For forty years, I was in what people called full time service, as a pastor, and I’m not so sure it’s much different than any other kind of work. Sure, it’s religious, and involves different skills and tasks than say, an auto mechanic or a farmer, but “full time Christian work” often conjures up images of someone who never takes a day off and is at it twenty-four hours a day. And the “service” part—pastoral ministry can be sacrificial, or just as self-serving as any other sort of work.

This morning’s Scripture caught my attention. In the second chapter of Luke, we go from Jesus’ birth, the angels’ song, and the shepherds’ visit, to Jesus’ dedication at the temple after his circumcision and Mary’s ceremonial cleansing.As Mary and Joseph brought Jesus in, the aged Simeon happened to be in the temple and prophesied over him, followed by Anna, eighty-four years old. The Scripture says of her, she “did not depart from the temple, but served God with fastings and prayers night and day.” 

When I think of serving God, my mind naturally gravitates to mission work, preaching, feeding the hungry and clothing the needy...DOING something—anything. I suspect we miss the whole point of service when we think this way. As Christians, we are called not primarily to serve people, but to serve God. Often, we do so by serving people, but not always. Some are scholars who study so they can provide God’s people with tools for better understanding Scripture. Some are administrators, secretaries, janitors. Brother Andrew in Practicing the Presence of God wrote that he could be just as much in the presence of God washing pots and pans in the monastary scullery as when before the Host during the Mass. 

Serving God is not so much what we do, but who we are while we do it. God doesn’t need anything I have to offer; he graciously uses it, but he doesn’t need it. And if I offer super spiritual stuff from a cold heart, it hardly qualifies as service. I suspect some of God’s best servants labor away in dark corners and unseen hovels, fasting and praying though no one notices. Except God. He sees and nods in pleasure at what many would consider foolish and a waste of time. Anna “served God with fastings and prayers, night and day.” Had she not been doing so, she would have missed being one of the first to see and give thanks for the Savior of the world. I wonder how many times I have missed him by being too busy with “serving” to really serve, and I am thankful tonight for Anna who brings me up short and tells me to pay attention and follow her example.

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

 October 22, 2020

“There are many who say, “Who will show us any good?”

I will both lie down in peace, and sleep; For You alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety.”

—Psalm 4:6, 8 NKJV

It was my first day back at our Thursday morning men’s prayer group. I can’t say I was overjoyed when the alarm rang at 5:00 am; one of the pleasures of retirement is waking up with the sun instead of the alarm. I made the commitment, so I dragged myself out of bed. It’s amazing how often when we force ourselves to do something to which we’ve committed that it comes back as a blessing. We live in a society that eschews commitments; people “live together” instead of getting married, and too often when they do marry, it founders on the first rocky shore it encounters. When I was pastoring, couples would occasionally come for marriage counseling. Actually, they usually came for divorce counseling, having already made up their minds, and simply wanting the Church’s blessing on the decision. The couple would sit before me, and inevitably one or the other would say something like, “We’re just too incompatible,” at which point I had to exercise restraint to keep from laughing out loud.

“Incompatible, you say? Of COURSE you’re incompatible! One of you is male and the other is female! Add to that all the other differences in upraising, experiences, personality; incompatibility is the name of the game in marriage.” If incompatibility were the death-knell of marriage, Linda and I would have buried it decades ago. She is gregarious; I am introverted. She played basketball in college; I played the bassoon. If she can’t sleep at night, she wants the TV on; she says the sound lulls her to sleep, but it has to be conversation, not music. I want it dark and quiet at night. She hates to travel; I love seeing new places. You get the picture. In spite of our differences, we made a commitment over fifty years ago, and we are two people who refuse to go back on our word.

So I went to prayer meeting this morning and listened to the Psalm that launched our prayers. “Who will show us any good?” Lots of  people are asking that question these days. COVID, rioting in the cities, a rancorous election. People are afraid. It doesn’t matter which side of the political aisle you’re on; each side seems to believe If the other side wins, it’s all over. Where can good be found? It’s enough to keep one awake at night. Except...

“I will both lie down in peace, and sleep; For You alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety.” When we know the Lord and his care for us, we can lie down in peace and sleep contentedly. If my hopes were pinned to this world, it would be no wonder if I were a nervous wreck. This world is a mess! We were used to things being stable and secure, and suddenly, everything we counted on seems to have broken loose from their moorings. The only anchor that holds is Jesus Christ, even as Hebrews 6:19 says, “We have an anchor for the soul,” it’s Jesus, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” 

It was worth hearing the alarm at 5:00 am this morning. Because of it, I heard this encouraging word, and tonight will both lie down in peace, and sleep.

Dinner

 

October 21, 2020

We sat down to a dinner of leftover spaghetti, bread, and salad. Last night, it was stuffed peppers. Both times, we ate our fill and put the rest in the refrigerator for another day. I had to throw out a piece of barbecued chicken and a package of mushrooms that had stuff growing on it. And all the while, an envelope rested before us on the table; a plea from the Salvation Army to help hungry families at Thanksgiving.

We are not considered rich by this country’s standards, but in many places around the world, we would be wealthy beyond imagination. Kings and queens of old didn’t live in the luxury we take for granted. 

I love castles. I get regular photos of them on my Facebook newsfeed; beautiful edifices from all around the world—places I would love to visit, but probably never will. As amazing as these structures are, fortresses of stone in the most inaccessible of places, it doesn’t escape my notice that they were built in and for dangerous times. No one builds fortifications unless there is an expectation of conflict and attack. The United States is the only country in the world without a walled city. Even Canada has Montreal, but here, the most we have are concrete barriers and watchful eyes. In spite of the unrest and riots in many of our city streets, most of us live in relative peace and quiet...and prosperity. Even our poor are better off than the poor of anywhere else in the world.

And tonight we again had supper. So what about those who are hungry? We aren’t waiting for some government program to care for them. We share what we have; we contribute to the Salvation Army, to the Buffalo City Mission, to UCAN, and to various other missions that serve in spite of razor thin margins and innumerable mountains of administratively required red tape. I say this not to brag, but as a reminder of my blessings. Someone once said they gave when they were poor to obtain the blessing, and now they give because they have the blessing. We ate simply, but well, and give thanks to be on the giving side of things in this life. Too many don’t know what it’s like to experience Jesus’ words, “It is better to give than to receive.” We do, and are grateful.

Remodeling

 October 20, 2020

Sometimes it seems that progress is measured by how much you’re going backwards. This year’s home improvement project is an upstairs laundry room. The basement stairs are steep, and Linda has this thing about me wearing clean clothes. Since neither of us falls in the youthful, lithe, and sprightly category anymore, bringing things upstairs seems the prudent thing to do.

The only reasonable place to put a laundry room is out back off the small bedroom between the Millstone room and the kitchen. The entry to the basement is in the way and needed to be removed and replaced. Enter John Deere. I am so thankful for that little tractor! It has made possible all sorts of projects that simply wouldn’t have happened without it. This time, it became the demolition machine, ripping the roof loose and yanking it away from the house. These projects are never straightforward, and today’s work was no exception. As I pulled the roof away from the side of the house, the old siding under the vinyl was also exposed, revealing a significant amount of dry rot. Much of it will be cut away when the new room is added, but it makes me wonder what the rest of the house is like.

Right now, progress is measured by the pile of rubble where the old entry had been, and a gap in the siding where it was attached to the house. We still need to excavate for the footer before we can make what will actually look like progress.

Life is often like that. Before we can move forward, the rubble of the old life must be torn away and hauled off. As we work to do this, we often find spiritual or emotional dry rot that the previous owner had hidden beneath a surface repair that had merely covered over the problem. The work of the Cross is what tears away and exposes the decay that we hide beneath a veneer of good works and polite social interaction. In life, I was the former owner. Now I belong to Christ, who as St. Paul said, bought me with the price of his own blood. When we transfer ownership of ourselves to Jesus Christ, he starts tearing off the habits and practices we’ve used to cover over the inner rot of our souls. It can get pretty messy, but he then gives us the responsibility of hauling away the rubble so he can begin the rebuilding of a habitation first for him to dwell. 

I’m often surprised by the things I discover when through Scripture and prayer, through the wisdom of a friend, or the preaching of the Word, God starts ripping off all the stuff I thought looked pretty good, but which hid a deeper work that needed to be done. It’s never pleasant work, but the end result is worth it, and I’m thankful tonight the the New Owner of this residence isn’t content to leave it the way he found it.

Known

 October 19, 2020

During the past few months of governmental lockdown of our society, I’ve pondered the role that fear plays in bringing a population under subjection. COVID has certainly yanked that chain hard! Inwardly, I rebel against what often seem senseless and overreaching restrictions, but I find even myself at times looking askance at the occasional unmasked person in Walmart, or wondering if that cough is more than just a tickle in the throat. Such thoughts are fleeting, and have little bearing on how I choose to conduct my daily life. There is one fear however, that has nipped at my heels for years.

Toward the end of his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus speaks of those who hear, but don’t heed his words. Listen to what he says:

““Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven. Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?’ And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!’” —Matthew 7:21-23

Those words, “I never knew you,” haunt me. I’m not a touchy-feely person. Anyone who knows me even in passing can attest to that. I listen to people who testify of their relationship with Jesus—how real and invigorating it is—and I am envious. It often feels to me that my faith is more in the concept or theology of salvation rather than in the actual person of Christ. I believe that he died on the Cross, taking the burden of my sin upon him; that the just wrath of God against that sin was poured out on him in my stead. But I FEEL very little, and my daily prayers and devotional life are often internal battlegrounds of epic proportions. Occasionally, I feel lifted up, but only occasionally. And I wonder... I’ve never done much prophesying, casting out demons is certainly not my speciality, and as for doing wondrous things in Jesus’ name...well, let’s just say I’m an underachiever. So what if everything I’ve done adds up to a big fat zero? 

These are sobering words. It’s possible to do many wonderful things in Jesus’ name while failing to do the will of the Father. And there are these words: “Depart from me; I never knew you.” 

Christians often read the Old Testament with blinders on. “It’s all Law and Rules; Jesus has set us free from all that,” they say. But today, it was the Old Testament lesson that brought comfort to this oft-troubled soul. In the story of Moses’ second major encounter with the LORD on mount Sinai recorded in Exodus 33, twice we find these words on God’s own lips: “I have known you by name” (vv. 12 & 17). I deeply want to know God better, but it’s even more important that he knows me. Jesus raised the question, and surprisingly, Moses answered it. God knows me, promises to be with me, and that is enough.

Grace in God’s Sight

 October 18, 2020

This morning’s sermon was taken from Exodus 33:12-14.

“Then Moses said to the LORD, “See, You say to me, ‘Bring up this people.’ But You have not let me know whom You will send with me. Yet You have said, ‘I know you by name, and you have also found grace in My sight.’ Now therefore, I pray, if I have found grace in Your sight, show me now Your way, that I may know You and that I may find grace in Your sight. And consider that this nation is Your people.” 

And He said, “My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.””

Moses realized the enormity of the task he had been given; he knew he needed help, and wanted a partner to share the burden. Then he challenges the Almighty God: “You have said, ‘I know you by name, and you have also found grace in My sight,’ adding essentially, “If this is true, show me your way, that I may know you...and that I may find grace in your sight.” Here’s what’s happening: God had assured Moses that he looked on him with grace, and now Moses is asking for confirmation of that statement, i.e., “You said thus and so; give me some evidence that you’re telling me the truth,” even telling God what it is that he considers to be adequate proof. 

What he wants is pretty specific: “Show me your way...that I may know you.” The point is pretty clear: if we want to know God, we must know (and follow) his way. The knowledge of God is not abstract, academic, or theoretical. It is very pragmatic: we know God by knowing and following his ways. 

The conversation between Moses and God continues:

“Then he said to Him, “If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here. For how then will it be known that Your people and I have found grace in Your sight, except You go with us? So we shall be separate, Your people and I, from all the people who are upon the face of the earth.” So the LORD said to Moses, “I will also do this thing that you have spoken; for you have found grace in My sight, and I know you by name.” And he said, “Please, show me Your glory.”” —Exodus 33:15-18 NKJV

If you haven’t noticed yet, the phrase “found grace in [God’s] sight” occurs four times in these few verses. Grace is central not only to the task God gave to Moses, but also to be able to know God, experience his presence, see his glory, and receive the rest. There is nothing I can do to orchestrate God’s work in us. It is by grace alone; the only thing I can do is to walk in the way he has shown me. I may not feel his presence; I may not think I’ve experienced his glory; I may not even feel very rested, but if I follow his ways as given in Scripture, God’s Word is true: by grace, God is with me and I know him. For that, I give thanks tonight.

Feeling

 October 17, 2020

“How are you feeling?” I’ve been asked a variation of that question innumerable times as we’re in a holding pattern with my mother. We call my sister-in-law in the morning, and mom seems about to take her last breath. This evening, she’s sitting up and eating as she hasn’t eaten in weeks. It’s my brother and sister-in-law who bear the brunt of mom’s care and feel most acutely the sting of her decline.

Yet the question persists, and most of the time I don’t know the answer to it. Not being a touchy-feely kind of person, it’s hard for me to figure out my emotions, but I have felt somewhat subdued lately. The old cloud that hounded me for so many years threatens, but I know the signs, and am on to the Enemy’s ways. I keep busy. This morning, we served breakfast to the grandkids, one after another as they got up for the day. All the while, I worked on canning the grape juice, finally finishing just about the time the last one left for home. We went to Eliza’s soccer game, and when we got home, I began tearing apart the rear entry to the house in preparation for the laundry room which will replace it. 

As I was finishing up for the day, I looked around me at the beauty of this season in this little corner of the world, and St. Paul’s admonition came to mind: “In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). In spite of COVID, in spite of mom’s imminent (we think!) departure, in spite of the aching in my hands, there is so much for which to give thanks. It is a choice. Even a cursory glance through Facebook, the newspaper, or any other media reveals people who are angry and/or fearful. All they see are the things that displease them; they gripe and complain, accuse and blame, and are never any happier for it. Life in this world will never match our hopes and dreams. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have them, but that we shouldn’t pin our happiness upon them. 

So how am I doing? I’m doing fine, as long as I keep my focus where it belongs. I can, and do, give thanks, because it is God’s will in Jesus Christ. I fix my gaze upon him, find much for which to give thanks, and experience his peace in the process.

Real Fear

 October 16, 2020

People are living in fear these days. COVID has many in a panic, and government sure knows how to manipulate panic. As a prominent politician stated in the Obama years, “Never let a good crisis go to waste.” Whole segments of society have been forced to shutter, livelihoods have been destroyed, all due to fear.

The greatest fear seems to be death—no surprise there—when there is no hope of eternal life; when this life is all there is, people cling to it desperately.

In Luke 2:9, the shepherds were the unlikely recipients of a message of hope that strangely enough, terrified them. It wasn’t the message, but the messengers, who appeared in the midst of “the glory of the Lord” that shone around them like a nuclear glow. They were used to hardship; these men were rough and tumble, not easily cowed, yet they were afraid of this glory! What did they know that eludes us today? Perhaps we are afraid of the wrong things. 

In 1 Samuel 3:1, we are told that “the word of the Lord was rare in those days; there was no widespread revelation.” The context of that statement tells a sad story of societal disarray and general decline...much like today. The word, the revelation of God is rare these days, and his glory is hidden from our view. If that glory were revealed, we, like the shepherds, would be terrified. Even as Christians, we have but small understanding of the fear of God. We’ve bastardized the Incarnation to the point where God is to us more of a buddy—an equal—than the Almighty. We would do well to be afraid as were the shepherds., for without such fear, how can we receive with joy and relief the Good News of a Savior who has come to deliver us from all other fears?

There is much in this world that causes fear, but we are fearful of the wrong things, and cannot find deliverance form those fears until we fear that which we ought to fear. Only when we’ve been terrified by the glory of the Lord will we be able to hear the angelic command to “Fear Not!”

Calm

 October 15, 2020

The morning sunshine was glorious, setting the autumn leaves ablaze with color; by the time we were on our way home from grocery shopping, clouds were scudding across the sky, threatening the rain that began in a slow drizzle. Since my day’s work was mostly inside, it didn’t matter, and I’m thankful tonight to have finished installing the electric and drywall in our granddaughter’s room. Mudding comes next; the finish line is in sight! After supper, we attended a swim meet, watching two other granddaughters taking first places in their events. Now Linda lies beside me, slumbering while I try to think of something worthwhile to say. I’m drawing a blank there, so I’ll leave it at just being thankful that in these crazy times in which we live, we are blessed with good health, loving relationships, and a bright future with the God who holds that future in his hands. Storms may come, but Jesus calms storms by the words of his lips. If I listen, there is no storm he will not still.

A Good Time to Die

 October 14, 2020

“Autumn is a good time to die.” The thought came unbidden to my mind as we drove home from visiting my mother. No longer able to walk or even sit unassisted, she spends most of the day just lying in bed, sleeping. Even when awake, she lies there. She’s prayed for months for God to take her home, but so far...

Yesterday I was looking for a series of photos on my phone to show her. They were pictures taken last year, but I couldn’t remember exactly when, so I scrolled...and scrolled...until I was startled by one particular picture I wasn’t expecting to see. It was my friend Joel, who died last October after a six month battle with pancreatic cancer. He was such a good friend; scholarly, with a childlike enthusiasm for life and the Gospel that put me to shame. His ADD could be exasperating at times, but we had a mutual bond in our love for Cuba that gripped my heart. It was however, deeper than that. We were able to talk about matters I’ve shared with no one else except my wife. We understood each other, and suddenly, he was gone. His wife lives with that Joel-emptiness that only washes over me at times like this when I’m staring my mother’s mortality in the face, and see his photo. I pray for her, and for others living in that same person-hollow reality. Linda and Judy, my sister-in-law, were talking with mom as they cared for her yesterday, and mentioned that in the TV series “Touched By an Angel,” the Death Angel who escorted people to heaven was a handsome young man. Mom’s response? “I’d rather it be dad.” She said sometimes in the night, she can feel his back against hers in her sleep.

Emotions and I are not often on speaking terms, so the ennui I feel tonight is unsettling. One of my wife’s best friends is battling cancer, and another will soon be moving south to be nearer family. And mom... 

Those who imagine Christian life is an unbroken upward journey of joy and happiness have apparently never read the Psalms. They often wail with tears in the night, plea for deliverance from enemies, and long for a better life. Anguish and pain are not foreign to the writers. Even Jesus warned us that “in this life you shall have troubles,” but added, “Don’t be alarmed; I have overcome the world.” It is that promise which carries us through difficulties, of which mine are minuscule compared to most. Tonight, I am thankful for the grey skies. Without them, I would not appreciate the blue, and I know that autumn will turn to winter, which in turn gives birth to spring, and new life. It is indeed, a good time to die.

Amateur Nurse

 October 13, 2020

We’ve spent the day with mom. She’s gotten to the point where she is pretty much bedridden, unable to even sit up for more than a few minutes at a time. She sleeps most of the time, and needs help with basic care. Which is where my wife comes in. In the past, I’ve come to see mom by myself when Linda has had prior commitments, but now my wife insists on coming with me every time, setting aside her own plans to help my sister in law give care that would be inappropriate for sons to give. I’m upstairs right now, while Linda and Judy are with mom. I can hear laughter drifting up the stairs as these two amateur nurses do their best for her. Tonight I am so thankful for a wife who loves my mother enough to move out of her comfort zone to give mom the care she needs. Every man should be blessed with such a wife, every mother in law with such daughters in law!

Standard Bearer

 October 12, 2020

During our worship service yesterday, our worship leader spoke about the role of standard bearers in battle, before the advent of modern communications. Regiments would carry flags with their insignia on them so they could see where the rest of their army, and where the enemy was. This became increasingly important with the advent of black powder weapons in the late Middle Ages. In the American Civil War, battlefields would often be so blanketed by smoke that it was almost impossible to ascertain where one was; the regimental battle flag—the standard, or banner—was absolutely essential to the effective functioning of an army.

Being the standard bearer was perhaps the most dangerous assignment in battle. One couldn’t carry the flag and a weapon at the same time. And since the battle flag was so essential to the functioning of an army and its loss would sow confusion in the ranks, the standard bearer became a prime target of the enemy. Even so, it was considered a position of honor, and if the standard bearer was wounded or killed, a nearby soldier would unhesitatingly drop his weapon and grab the flag to make sure it didn’t fall to the ground. Having one’s battle flag captured by the enemy was among the worst dishonors to be endured.

The Bible says the LORD is our Banner (Exodus 17:15). Isaiah 11:10 says, “The Root of Jesse will stand as a banner to the people, and the Gentiles shall seek him.” Jesus Christ stood high on the hill off Calvary, targeted by all the Enemy’s demonic armies, drawing the fire to himself. He didn’t allow his guiding and protecting banner of the Cross fall to the ground; it still stands tall for all to see, a guide for his followers, and a target of the enemy.

He calls us to hold that banner high, to not let it fall. There are those who if they are to successfully wage their war against evil must be able to see the banner we hold up. It means becoming a target, attracting the hostile arrows of the enemy and his forces. Holding this banner means we have dropped our weapons of both defense and offense (2 Corinthians 10 4-5), standing exposed, drawing fire to ourselves for the sake of others. Still, it is an honor to be a standard bearer for the Lord.

Touch!

 October 11, 2020

“Touch!” 

“MOM!” 

Linda and I endured this little exchange countless times when Matt and Jess were growing up. He would pester her when she wanted to be left alone, culminating in her saying, “Don’t touch me!” whereupon he would extend a single finger and gently touch her on the shoulder, top of the head, nose, etc. We would be off and running. If Matt is reading this, he would say, “She started it,” but in the world of children, who knows? What’s more, who cares? We sure didn’t!

These little incidents came flooding back today in a Sunday School discussion led by none other than Matt. We were considering Hebrews 6, where the author lists a series of doctrines he considers elementary—things we should be far beyond by now. One of these was “the laying on of hands.” The Bible is quite insistent about this matter. Jesus healed people by laying hands on them (Luke 4:40), Timothy is exhorted to exercise the gift he received in the laying on of hands (2 Tim. 1:6), and in Acts 8:9, Simon offered to pay to have the ability to heal by the laying on of hands. Jesus touched lepers who hadn’t experienced human touch in years, and in the OT, the sins of the people were transferred to the scapegoat by the laying on of hands (Leviticus 16:21). 

I was ordained by the laying on of hands. Bishop Yeakel didn’t pussy-foot around with this. As I knelt before him, he all but pushed me into the ground with the weight of his hands. He wanted me to KNOW I was ordained to the ministry of Word, Sacrament, and Order! I can’t say I felt particularly “gifted,” but there was no doubt about my ordination! 

When we pray for people, we often gather round them, laying hands on them for healing, for dedication, for special anointing, or at least, we used to. Government regulations have quashed this time-honored sacred tradition. It’s hard to lay hands on people while practicing social distancing. 

I feel for our elderly in nursing homes who haven’t been touched skin to skin in months. They’ve been starving for a simple hug. Last January, my mother suggested we place her in a nursing home so she wouldn’t be a bother to my brother and sister in law who were caring for her. My sister in law was scheduled for hip surgery and told mom that she couldn’t even think about it until after it was over. Then COVID hit, and we are so grateful for the timing of my sister in law’s surgery. It’s been tough for Judy, but we hug and kiss mom whenever we visit. 

Elementary teachers used to lay a gentle hand on their students. Linda would give hugs and pats to her special ed kids. Children need touch, but it’s verboten these days. I wonder how much emotional damage is being done in the name of keeping kids safe? I’m not a hugger by nature. I’m especially cautious about hugging women with whom I am not related. I was broken of my reticence years ago when I served on our Board of Ordained Ministry, by Mary Martin, a fiery, almost outlandishly gregarious pastor who wouldn’t let me wiggle out of her extravagant hugs. She knew, as I didn’t, how important touch is in Christian ministry.

So I long for the day when as Christians, we stand up and reclaim the ministry of touch—of the laying on of hands. I suspect when we do, there will be an outpouring of healing for which great praise and thanksgiving will ascend to the Father who refused to socially distance himself from sin-sick humans, sending his Son to touch us close up and personal with grace and mercy.

Unclaimed Gifts

 October 10, 2020

The Jewish story begins with God’s promise to Abraham to give him descendants like the stars in the sky, and a land in which they would dwell. That promise was reiterated to his progeny, ultimately making its way down to Moses and Joshua. “I will give you this land,” was the essence of the promise, but there was somewhat of a catch. He was giving it to them, but they had to fight in order to receive it. That land was already populated, and the inhabitants were not going to just hand it over without a fight. There is a lesson here for us.

Unclaimed gifts are not gifts at all. God’s promises can be hidden and held captive by the original inhabitants of our hearts—the sins, jealousies, pride, desires, selfishness, and orneriness that is part and parcel of our fallen condition. For us to take possession of God’s promises, these old inhabitants must be forcibly removed. Talents and skills formerly in service of sin and self must be claimed for Christ. Left under the control of the Old Self, they become snares to us (Joshua 16:10 & 17:12). The Old Self must be subdued and removed for us to be able to fully claim the Promise of God. All of which makes me wonder, For which of God’s gifts to me have I not fought? Have I lazily refused to watch in prayer? Have I expected God to just lay his gifts upon me, and thereby missed those which must be won by steadfast endurance? What gift lies unclaimed, unopened, and unused because I was not willing to fight for it?

Peace in the Storm

 October 9, 2020

“No news is good news.” Usually, we think of this adage when awaiting a doctor’s report, but this morning it came to mind as I was at my brother’s home to visit with my mother. The morning news was on; they were as usual, talking politics. Mom hadn’t gotten up yet, and in about five minutes, I had heard enough. I decided to go for a walk. 

My brother lives in an old fieldstone farmhouse, circa 1833, and the fields out back stretched to the woodland on the horizon. The sun against my skin warmed me seemingly from the inside out, even as the temperature in the shade only registered in the fifties. Above, blue sky flecked with the occasional puff of cloud stretched from horizon to horizon. In the middle of the field, a single crow perched high up on a lonely branch, surveying its surroundings. Not even a hint of breeze broke the stillness of the morning. Corn stood drying on the stalk beyond the fence. Here, politics doesn’t exist; that crow could care less who wins the election, and the corn cares not a whit about the polls. News is non-existent, and peace reigns, although the mouse snatched from its search for seeds by the redtail hawk might disagree. 

Mom woke, we talked and prayed, she lay down again, and we left for home. My bees were buzzing as I checked the hives. Storms are brewing, but storms are dangerous only when they get inside the boat. As long as I don’t let the news get inside me, this boat will ride out the political storm just fine.

Serenity

 October 8, 2020

It’s been a pretty quiet day here in the country. I woke up around 3:00 am, and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up, read my Bible, deleted old emails, and finally dozed off on the couch for a couple hours. It’s funny how different Linda and I are; when I was actively pastoring, occasionally couples would come in for marital counseling. I frequently had to stifle laughter when they inevitably told me how incompatible they were, after all, one was male and the other female; you can’t get much more incompatible than that! For Linda and myself, incompatibility is our middle name. She likes baking in the sun; I’m a shade guy. She hates to travel; for me, there are so many places yet to see. She lives by her emotions; I usually don’t even know what mine are. And if she wakes up at night, her thoughts are racing so fast she has to turn the tv on to shut her mind off. I can’t sleep with its sound or light in the room. And when I wake up, I can’t think enough even to pray. I just lie there. But I digress.

Once the day got underway, it was pretty serene. I worked some more on the remodeling project, we had dinner, and went to our granddaughters’ swim meet. I have more projects waiting in the wings than I have time to do them, and we’re keeping options open, not knowing what the future holds for my mother. 

All of which leads me to my observation for today: life is always personal. Big issues are swirling all around us like a wildfire, and people are getting caught up in the updrafts, swept off their feet, and allowing current events to consume them. I have to admit, I constantly have to fight the temptation to get sucked in, and don’t always win. But while my life is affected by what happens in Albany and Washington, and in all the places where unrest and rioting are occurring, my life is not defined by any of these places or people. Spending time with family, going out of my way to be kind and helpful to others, or just sitting and watching my mother sleep—these are the people and circumstances that form the frame for my life. I’m quite content with it. I had my day in the sun, leading a congregation. I’m sure I could have done better; I know I could have done worse. But that chapter of my life is over, and though life is quite busy, it’s not rushed, and I’m not stressed. The good, bad, and the ugly are all in God’s hands, and he knows how to sort it out. Fortunately for me, he does so with grace and mercy.

Hope

 October 7, 2020

“Vindicate me, O God, And plead my cause against an ungodly nation; 

Oh, deliver me from the deceitful and unjust man! 

For You are the God of my strength; 

Why do You cast me off? 

Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy? 

Oh, send out Your light and Your truth! Let them lead me; 

Let them bring me to Your holy hill And to Your tabernacle. 

Then I will go to the altar of God, To God my exceeding joy; 

And on the harp I will praise You, O God, my God. 

Why are you cast down, O my soul? 

And why are you disquieted within me? 

Hope in God; For I shall yet praise Him, The help of my countenance and my God.”

Psalm 43:1-5 

This psalm was our springboard for prayer with my pastor friends this morning, and apropos it is! The writer looks around him and seeing ungodliness, deceit, injustice, and oppression, it sends him into an emotional and spiritual tailspin. His strength was gone; it felt like God had abandoned him, and he was depressed—in mourning. I can’t think of a more accurate depiction of what is happening in our country today. Looking around us, things seem pretty bleak. 

It’s that look around us that is at the heart of the matter. Hope is in short supply these days; the shelves of optimism are nearly bare, and unless we ask the same question this psalmist asked, we’ll not find our way out of despondency. The question is simple: “Why do we let the oppression of the enemy drag us down?” The Enemy of our souls is an oppressor; he came to “rob, kill, and destroy,” according to Jesus. Incessant looking around at the state of the world will rob us of our joy, kill our contentment, and destroy our hope. 

The writer doesn’t leave us in despair, however. Instead, he prays, “Send out your light and your truth. Let them lead me...” Instead of looking within, instead of dwelling on past sins and failures, instead of looking around at the state of the world, he looks up; he goes to God, his exceeding joy, and praises him in song. Joy cannot be found in the things of this world; it is found in God alone. Interestingly, he notes that Truth always leads to the worship of God. Our world is dying for the Truth it refuses to acknowledge, Truth that offers hope because it leads us into the presence of the Living God.

Boomerang Blessings

October 6, 2020

She waved me over with a smile. I put down the package I was holding and walked around the back of the car to where she was standing, towering over Linda. “I want to pray for you,” she said quietly, and as we bowed our heads and hugged, she began, asking God  on our behalf for comfort and wisdom in days ahead. 

We had been visiting my mother, who by all appearances, will not be with us much longer. Our granddaughter drove over to spend a few precious minutes with us before having to leave for an birthday appointment with her roommate. Countless are the times we prayed over our grandchildren on Friday nights when they would spend the night with us, and now the blessing we have given is returning. From what I can see, it is a rare gift to have grandchildren praying over their grandparents, but we’ve experienced it before, a fulfillment of Jesus’ promise that if we cast our bread upon the waters, it will return, “pressed down, shaken together, and running over.”

Tonight, our blessing basket is all of that, and we stand amazed at the goodness of our God to allow us to experience this gift today.

 

Baptists and Methodists

 October 5, 2020

The bees I removed from a barn cupola this morning needed to be transferred from the cooler in which I had captured them to a regular beehive, and since the rest of the day was taken up with hanging drywall, I sandwiched the move in between worship team rehearsal at 6:00 and the Ready, Set, Dream class at 7:00. I knew I was playing it close, and I was late for the class, arriving just as Thomas was telling a story. Most of what happens in these groups stays there, but Thomas’ story is revealing.

While talking with a pastor in Dunkirk, Thomas had asked if him if his church had shut down during the pandemic. When the pastor said they had not, Thomas’ response was as classic as it was without guile: “Well, you must be Baptist!” 

Our entire group convulsed with laughter at this. Thomas had struck a nerve.

We are Methodists, and yes, we closed down in response to directives from higher up. There is an important lesson here: one’s own tribe doesn’t have a corner on the market of Truth. I was raised Baptist, and not just any old Baptist; we were fundamentalists, but not separatists. Baptist tradition, unlike Methodism, is independent and Calvinist; staunch rebels against religious and secular authority. Methodism began as a renewal movement within the Anglican Church, but was forced out, becoming its own denomination shortly after the death of its founder, John Wesley. In the fledgling United States, it grew with the frontier, scattering churches all across the country. It has been said that there isn’t a single county in the country that doesn’t have a Methodist church of one sort or another. 

But this history of growing with the frontier means Methodism often identified with the growth of the country itself, becoming in some ways, the religious soul of the nation, reflecting instead of challenging the national ethos. We are seeing this more and more, as the Mainline church echoes the cultural values of the progressive Left. Baptists are not immune to this, but the independent spirit inherent in Baptist theology doesn’t often make good bedfellows with the wider culture. Though a Methodist, I am grateful for my Baptist roots, and for my Baptist friends who stubbornly resist the steady encroachment of our decaying culture upon the Church. Yes, they were Baptist, and they stayed open.

Seasons

 October 4, 2020

“While the earth remains, 

Seedtime and harvest, 

Cold and heat, 

Winter and summer, 

And day and night 

Shall not cease.” —Genesis 8:22 

One of the oldest promises in the Bible, this assurance of the continuity of the seasons is the foundation for life on earth. There are certainly times of drought, of blizzard and flood, time when planting and reaping hang by a thread, but without the assurance of this regularity, there would be no sense in sowing, no hope of harvest, and only the spectre of death and destruction. 

In 1972, spring was cold and rainy. Linda and I planted our garden in May only to have it wash away in an unusually heavy rain. We planted again the beginning of June, just before the remnants of hurricane Agnes brought flooding to the Southern Tier of New York. Our garden ended up somewhere down the Ohio River. Elsewhere however, the cycle of the seasons produced crops that continued to feed us. 

We are fortunate to live in a part of the country where we can enjoy the changing of the seasons. I love visiting Cuba in February, but if I lived there permanently, I would miss the beauty of our white winters. The endless hues of springtime green reflected in the grass, the willows, maples, locust, and ash are a delight to the eye, while the hazy mirages of summer’s heat dance on the pavement as we drive. Crispy snow crunching beneath our feet as we fill the bird feeders for Linda’s cardinals, finches, and chickadees fill the ears while the sparkle of the snow delights the eye and the aroma of the fire burning in the stove fills the nostrils. 

Almost overnight, the trees have donned garments of red, orange, and yellow against the dark green of the firs and spruces, and the leaves have covered the lawn’s green with a brown carpet. The fragrance of the honey emanating from my beehives combines with the apples in the garden shed, telling the same story of an abundance many never see. Hopefully, this week I’ll be able to begin processing the grapes ripening on the vines and ready for harvest, and next week, we’ll begin pressing cider. The butternut and Hubbard squash are laid up, the wood is split and stacked. We are ready for winter.

This afternoon I saw another sign of the season as son Nathan and neighbor Bob helped lift 14 sheets of drywall up on the roof and through the window to son Matthew’s house before installing a new window in Madeline’s bedroom. The finish line is still a ways off, but I can see it; she will soon be sleeping in a remodeled bedroom thanks to young men working together once more. Time and time again, they’ve come to the aid of each other, living out the promise of Christian fellowship and service. Like the promise of the seasons, they can depend on one another, and this often chaotic and uncertain life is given a bit more order and certainty.

Capturing Ruminations

 October 3, 2020

“Poor soul; his mind never ceases from political ruminations. Eventually, he snapped.” William Wilberforce spent nearly his entire political career fighting against the British slave trade. He was a devout Christian, and uttered the above words in reference to a colleague who never took time away from his work. Wilberforce knew as many do not, how important a day of rest is to the human soul. “Everything eventually turns political,” was a comment made in a conversation today in reference to certain individuals who cannot seem to step even for a moment away from all the turmoil in our nation. 

It’s not a malady reserved for professional politicians. I’ve noticed how even preachers will post and comment about political matters more than matters of faith. It is a trap into which I myself have fallen more times than I care to recount. On the way home from caring for my mother today, I had nearly two hours to pray, and to be honest, didn’t get much actual praying done. I was constantly fighting the battle of my mind wandering onto the political minefield, coming up with responses to imaginary conversations with people whose persuasions are different than mine. No sooner would I drag my thoughts back to Scripture than I found another one wandering off like a heifer bolting for the open pasture after being rounded up into the corral. 

2 Corinthians 10:5 tells us to “bring every thought captive to Christ.” It can be hard work. Our thoughts don’t like to be captured, and will run all over the back 40 to avoid the Gospel lariat. I suppose there is a sort of victory in repeatedly chasing them down, but I do wish I had been able to actually pray for those hours. I know this much: I don’t need to attend every argument to which I’ve been invited, and I dare not abandon the fight to bring my thoughts captive to Christ. Continual rumination on those matters that irritate or agitate us is a sure path to spiritual and emotional unrest, and even unraveling. So tonight, I will engage that spiritual battle of my spirit taking control of my soul, for the sake of my soul, and in obedience to Christ.  

She Sleeps

 October 2, 2020

Just four weeks ago, she did laps around the room to raise money for the Options Care Center, carefully measuring each step as she shuffled behind her walker. She was just shy of her 98th birthday, which has since come and gone. Tonight, she sleeps...as she has for most of the day. She’s worn out; her breathing is labored, punctuated by coughing spells brought on by her congestive heart failure. 

We talked for a few minutes as I helped adjust the blankets around her feet. When I looked up, she was weeping. “I can’t do anything,” she sobbed. 

“That’s why our salvation is by grace,” I responded. “It’s hard to simply receive and not have anything we can do.” While true, my words sounded hollow to me. I like to be active; I have more projects going on than I have time for, but wouldn’t have it any other way. God gave us one day out of seven to rest, because he knows our penchant for ceaseless work; we can’t imagine how life will get along if we aren’t pushing. Our workaholism is evidence of our unwillingness to trust God. 

On the other hand, God gave us six days in which to work, and when we are unable or unwilling to do so, we refuse the purpose and plan God himself gave us to care for this world and all within it. Life is a balance between work and rest; we easily veer to one side or the other. But there are those for whom the choice has been denied—the infirm, the very young, the aged. And for those used to a life of labor, the inactivity can be devastating. As mom and I were discussing computers yesterday, we recalled her secretarial days, hammering away at a manual typewriter. As we talked, she closed her eyes as her fingers traced the alphabet on an imaginary keyboard. For a moment, the years melted away, but they returned with a vengeance today, tethering her to her bed and her dreams. 

So most of the day has been quiet as I’ve sat and watched her sleep. Some might think I’ve wasted the day, but I don’t see it that way. I’m investing in whatever small way I can in this woman who invested so much of herself in me so many years ago. It’s payback time, and I do it gladly tonight.