Interrupted Plans

June 7, 2016

Actually, I wasn't there for it. I wanted to be, but instead, I was at Annual Conference waiting to be ordained, stepping out of session to call home every hour on the hour. Earlier, I had conferred with Bishop Yeakel who assured me that there would be no deliveries that day. The following year I told him that it was a good thing he was a much better bishop than prophet.

Every time we talked, Linda kept assuring me she would be by my side for ordination until the last call which she made from the phone booth in the hospital hallway (this was MANY years before the advent of cell phones), when she finally said she didn't think she'd be able to come. A mere ten minutes later, Jessie was born.

For quite a few years I was the only person in the Conference who had two dates engraved on the Communion set every ordinand was given at his or her ordination. The only other person with that distinction came by hers by having a heart attack. I prefer our way: the birth of my daughter. She has been interrupting our plans ever since with unexpected blessings and joy deepened by mutual love. As I told her when she married, Todd would from then on be her best, but I would always be her first love. Happy birthday, Jessie! Your mother and I are so grateful God interrupted our expectations to bring you into our lives on this day so many years ago.

46 Years

June 6, 2016

On this day forty six years ago, Linda and I were married in a simple Christian ceremony in the Weidler Memorial Evangelical United Brethren church. Our reception was even simpler: homemade tea sandwiches, peanuts, mints, and punch. No band, no DJ, no dancing. We opened a few gifts then left for home, the Alma parsonage. It was an evening candlelight service, and we were home by 11:00.

Some years ago, I officiated at a wedding that almost outlasted the marriage. I had done all the counseling and never saw it coming. They honeymooned in Arizona, from whence she didn't come back until after the divorce. Made me lose faith in my premarital counseling ability.

Forty six years with me is proof positive that Linda is a patient and forgiving woman. She's stood by me through flood (literally) and drought (figuratively), through fire and storm. Love like that doesn't come along every day. We used to try to imagine what our lives would be like years in the future, an exercise in futility if there ever was one! It is different than what we imagined, and better than we had dreamed. I am a better man because of her, and very grateful tonight to have spent the past forty six years with her by my side.

A Sigh of Relief

June 5, 2016

Some thirty years ago I knew a man who aspired to be a preacher. For all the wrong reasons. His character and work ethic was sub-par, to say the least; what he saw in preaching was people listening in rapt attention to what he had to say. It was about respect and power, neither of which he had due to the choices he made in daily life. Although he actually had potential as a speaker, integrity, or rather, the lack of it, sealed his fate.

In our denomination, not just anyone can become a pastor. Our system is far from perfect; we've ordained people who never should occupy a pulpit, but there are some safeguards. Everyone feeling called to pastoral ministry has that call tested numerous times along the way, beginning with the local church. The people who best know the potential pastor must confirm his or her call. Without that confirmation, the calling is a non-event. In the case of this gentleman, the local church refused to confirm his calling, thus saving the church as a whole from a great deal of misery.

I thought about this today after preaching for pastor Joe this morning. It felt good to again present God's Word to his people, but it was still a terrifying experience. As any even halfway decent pastor can attest, handling the Word of life is not a lightweight responsibility. It's not an ego trip where people hang on every word; they just don't do that. I prepare as best as I can, reading, praying, writing and re-writing, then reading and praying some more. Anyone with a bit of chutzpah can get up in front of people with a pep talk, especially when the crowd is generally favorable, but we're in the serious business of presenting the Good News of what God has done for us in Jesus Christ. Even after it's all over, I review and rehearse, wondering to myself if I said all that needed to be said, if I was clear and compelling, and especially if I presented the Good News instead of mere good advice, but ultimately, I have to place it all in God's hands.

All that to say this: I am honored and grateful to have once more been given the opportunity to present the Scriptures to our Park church people, but I am equally glad it's over for now.

Waiting Patiently

June 4, 2016

The seeds are in the ground. Finally. Spring projects kept me from getting the garden ready as soon as I would have liked, but today was make or break. The rain is supposed to be here tonight and through the week. Digging into the soil the other day only turned up a powdery dust. We need the rain. We had just enough yesterday to moisten the soil to receive the seeds, and today I got them in. Now comes the waiting.

We Americans don't like to wait. Fast cars, fast food, fast profits, fast romances; if it's not microwaveable fast, we don't want it. But sometimes slow is better. Wine, cheese, wisdom, and love are best when aged. Try to speed it up and we lose the intricacies and nuances that give it worth. The sumac along the creek spring up and mature in just a few years, but its wood is soft and punky, hardly worth tossing even on a campfire. The oak that takes a generation to mature is beautiful when made into furniture, and heats the entire house when loaded into the stove on a cold winter's night.

"See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also, be patient." So counsels James (5:7-8). St. Paul reminds us that the fruit of the Spirit is...patience." Isaiah told us that those who wait on the Lord renew their strength (40:31), so I wait, but not lazily. We often think of waiting as the twiddling our thumbs kind of waiting in the doctor's office or impatiently waiting in line for a concert, but I think it's helpful to instead think of Patty, our cook and waitress at Lisciandro's where I have breakfast each Tuesday with my friend Willlie. Patty waits on us, but it is anything but laziness. She is constantly on the move, cooking breakfast, filling coffee cups, making sure the customers are satisfied. Waiting on the Lord is much like that; busily doing everything we can to make sure he is satisfied.

So I wait. I'll hoe and weed, thin the seedlings, pray for rain. And as I do, I'll wait patiently on the Lord, busy engaged in pleasing him in attitude, thought, word, and deed, thankful for lessons of the soil.

Staying Up

June 3, 2016

Sixty-six years can take its toll on a body. Mine is no longer rippling with the masculine muscularity and animal agility it once knew. Who am I kidding? I was the 97 lb. weakling who got the sand kicked in his face. My point still remains. It is harder for me to keep up the workout I've been doing for fifteen years, it takes more time to get up off the floor, and at least a couple dozen steps when I get up in the morning before my feet don't hurt. My left thumb throbs continually-a big concern for someone who just purchased an upright bass, eager to improve enough to perform in public. My ears have been ringing since I was a child, and last week when we were shooting at Gunday Sunday, I couldn't see with the spotting scope things that others could see with their naked eyes. No wonder my marksmanship is so bad! At least I have a good excuse.

That being said, I refuse to complain. I was talking today with a young man who faces daily much more significant physical challenges than I've ever had. "When I get up in the morning, it's a good day if I can walk," he told me. Yet with all that, he is cheerful and positive, more ready to give than to receive, grateful for what he is able to do instead of grumbling over what he cannot do. Our visit was a reminder to me that what goes on around us is much less significant than what goes on within us. I see people all the time who focus on their problems, all the reasons they can't do this or that, complaining about their lot in life, which is usually far better than my friend's. I think it was Henry Ford who said, "If you think you can't, you're right. If you think you can, you're right again."

Everyone has issues, facts of life that pray as we will, don't change. Learning the difference between a problem to be solved and a fact of life to be gracefully endured is one sign of maturity. Many of us never get there because we see every problem as an obstacle for God to overcome instead of an opportunity for the grace of God to work. St. Paul said it best when he told of asking God three times to take his "thorn in the flesh" from him, only to have God tell him to suck it up because his grace was sufficient. I am thankful tonight for my friend, for the conversation we had, and for the example of faithful living I saw in him.

Wait Patiently

June 2, 2016

The night of June 21, 1972 was rainy and cold, but otherwise ordinary, but when before daylight the next morning I heard the sound of running water, I knew something was amiss. My brother and sister in law were visiting with their year old baby, Linda was nine months pregnant, and when I stepped out the front door to the porch, I could see the water lapping at the boards. We needed to get out! The creek beside our driveway was normally about eight feet down, but that night it was swollen to knee deep in our front yard.

We quickly gathered clothes together to evacuate, but there was one problem. In our driveway behind our car, blocking the way, was a brown Rambler that wasn't there the night before when we went to bed. I sloshed my way to the car and looked in the window to see a young man asleep, sprawled across the back seat. It was Dennis, sleeping off the effects of whatever he had ingested the night before. A bit of frantic hammering on the window finally woke him up, and he groggily backed his car out of our driveway so we could get to the hospital where later that day, Nathan was born in the midst of the Southern Tier flooding from hurricane Agnes.

Dennis had been in our youth group, even singing in a youth choir with his friend Charlie (if you could consider a low droning growl from the back row singing), but after graduation had entered the Navy where he began to make some bad choices, a pattern that continued for about fifteen years. We never stopped praying for him.

Dennis visited us today. We see him every couple years when he and his wife come up north from their home in North Carolina to see family and old friends. He came back to Christ about twenty years ago, and has since been faithfully serving Christ. He would be the first to tell you how far he has yet to go, but I will be among the first to tell you how far he has come. He even leads the singing for the small church he attends. Tell me God doesn't have a sense of humor! And I have a deeper appreciation for yesterday's Scripture reading that reminded me that the fruit of the Spirit is...patience. It went on to say, "In due season we will reap, if we do not give up. Be patient therefore, until the  coming of The Lord." (Galatians 6:9, James 5:7). I am grateful that God doesn't give up, and that if we are patient, we will see the harvest, just as I have seen with Dennis.

A Quiet Evening

June 1, 2016

Following a full day rototilling the garden in what to me is blazing heat (I'm more of a shade dweller), with Linda trim mowing and working her garden, my suggestion that we go to the Liberty Grill for dinner was received with enthusiasm. Not having to cook on a warm evening after working all day apparently is attractive even to a heat lover like Linda. Our appetizer for the evening was deep fried pickles. Alex, our eldest granddaughter is a pickle and elephant freak. Since elephant wasn't on the menu, deep fried or otherwise, I suggested that we save one of the pickles for her. Linda, apparently not having learned as a little girl how to share, would have none of that, so we ordered another whole serving to bring home to her.

When we called, she affirmed she was home and would be happy to stop by our house in about half an hour, which she did...accompanied by Abi and Izzi. Jo arrived later, having been swimming at the Pascoes when we called. It so happened that their parents had gone out to dinner, leaving the girls home alone. Unfed. Linda got out the sloppy joe that she had  planned to serve to company that would be coming tomorrow, added some peas, cottage cheese, and the remainder of the fruit slush she has been fixing for the library tea on Saturday. So much for not cooking!

They hung around, exuding teenage craziness for awhile, and just before they left, I got a call from Jessie. It seems Gemma hadn't had her Meema and trampoline fix for the day and wanted to come over "for just a few minutes." The Bailey girls went home except for Izzi who wanted to do her "I Ready" school work. Jess and her three pulled in, and in short order, all the kids were jumping on the trampoline before heading to the creek. "A few minutes" equals at least an hour around here. Must be something goofy about our clocks.

Pretty typical of a quiet evening at our house. Almost anything can happen, most of it unplanned much of it unexpected, all of it pure joy.