Living Here

 September 22, 2020

Thirty eight years ago, I wasn’t impressed. This place wasn’t quaint like some New England villages; the poverty of the area was palpably visible. It hasn’t improved much since that first encounter. The hotel burned in the late eighties, the two village garages are gone, as is the Masonic lodge, the corner diner, the Agway and the Agway mill. But first impressions can be deceiving. 

Sinclairville is as idyllic a place to live and raise a family as can be found most anywhere. It’s not perfect, but the people we have come to know and grown to love here make this little village a place to envy. It is home to our children and their many friends, it’s where we worship, live, and (for the most part) love one another. Most of it still isn’t much to look at, but it is a great place to live in.

Today Linda and I finished splitting and stacking the firewood from the cherry tree we had cut down. We have so much wood, we don’t have space to stack it, so we decided to give some away. We took two pickup truck loads to a young couple whose own supply is depleted. Two more, and we are a little closer to getting the backyard ready for next year’s wedding reception. 

On the second trip to son Nathan with logs his wife Deb wants to use for the wedding, “adopted” daughter Nicole helped load the loveseat we had given them years ago into the truck. They needed the room, and we had a place for it, so back it came. I returned the splitter I borrowed from pastor Joe, and after dinner went to son Matt’s to see how the remodeling project is coming along. While I was there, son Nate stopped by to see if Matt could repair a warped part for his wood stove. He had already helped install a window in the room. Matt and I finished the window, and I went downstairs to find neighbor Bob who had come over to see the progress. Bob is doing major remodeling on his house, so we talked about it for awhile before I came home.

About fifteen minutes later, daughter Jessie stopped by for a visit. In the course of a single day, the intertwined network of family and friends repeatedly criss-crossed my field of vision, giving and receiving help and support. In these days of COVID when people are feeling isolated, living in this small village is a gift of the highest order for which I am thankful tonight.

Rest

 September 21, 2020

Three times in the Biblical book of Hebrews, Psalm 95:7-8 is quoted: “Today, if you will hear his voice, do not harden your heart” (Hebrews 3:7, 15, 4:7). Three times also, the 11th verse of this Psalm is quoted: “They shall never enter my rest” (Hebrews 3:11, 4:3, 5). Restlessness is thus thrice linked to a hard heart, an unsettling connection for me. I’ve found myself often unsettled and restless due to all the COVID restrictions being pressed upon us by our government. What was originally billed as “two weeks to flatten the curve” has morphed into six months of restrictions that seem to vary with circumstance. I chafe against these restrictions and against the insinuation by some that such chafing is an indication of a lack of compassion. But I must bow to the conviction of Scripture that when my heart is restless, it is because it is hardened against the voice of God.

I have to decide whether or not to believe in God’s sovereignty. Refusal is a sign of a hardness taking root within me. If God is in control, external circumstances are irrelevant. If I truly believe God is in control, those circumstances have no ability to shake or move me. My heart will rest unfailingly in his unfailing grace. 

Last night I listened to the lyrics of an old hymn, “Abide with me.” The second verse speaks to the changing nature of the world in which we find ourselves.

“Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day,

Earth’s joys grow dim, it’s glories pass away,

Change and decay in all around I see,

O Thou who changes not, abide with me.”

“Change and decay” pretty well describe what we are seeing all around us. If I am restless in the midst of it, it’s because I’ve pinned my hopes to those glories which are passing away. Rest is found only by abiding in the One who is above and over all we see here, and only a heart responsive to his tender mercies will find that rest. I am thankful tonight for the Holy Spirit who pursues my often wandering heart through the Scriptures, tenderizes it in the love of Christ, and grants it rest in the presence of the Father.

Hunger Pangs

 September 20, 2020

Ninety-eight years ago today, she made her entrance into this wonderfully amazing world. It was a world bright with promise—the Roaring Twenties. Hers was not the society of the Great Gadsby, but the Great War was over, her father was home from his time in the Navy, and life was good. Seven years later on October 28, it would all come crashing down. The Great Depression was underway, and this seven-year old was caught in its throes. By then, she had a younger sister, and her parents would often go to bed hungry so she and her sister could have something to eat. Finally, unable to feed them both, she was sent to her grandparents’ farm where at least there would be food.

A seven year old child cannot understand her parents’ anguished choice, necessitated by forces beyond their control, and though well fed, the hunger in her soul brought pangs that would never completely be satisfied. Years later, she tearfully recalled those years and the feelings of abandonment she felt. 

Life improved, she found love, married, raised a family, and has left a heritage of faith and faithfulness that continues to bless. Ninety-eight years is a lot of living; she has seen how prosperity and comfort can vanish almost overnight. Things taken for granted can be taken from us, but though as St. John said, “this world is fading away,” (1 John 2:17), we have an anchor for the soul in Jesus Christ, who is “the same, yesterday, today, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8). 

We are seeing the life we knew suddenly and violently taken from us. That which seemed so solid and secure is indeed, fading away. I for one, have too often clung to it with a loyalty it doesn’t deserve, and need to learn the lesson my mother had to learn as a little girl. This too, will pass, but the Word of the Lord is forever. Thank you, mom, for teaching me that, not only by your words, but by your very life.

Serendipity

 September 19, 2020

Our eldest granddaughter has a job requiring strict COVID protocol, which means the only way we can see her is outside, maintaining the required distances. She has today off, and decided to pay us a visit, which was wonderful for us; perhaps less so for her, as we put her right to work. About three or four cord of wood later, the job was done, with her help. She stacked, and even learned to drive the tractor. Again tonight, my arms are so sore and tired I can barely type, but my heart is full,ad I am thankful to have shared this time together. The ice cream reward was just because we could. 

Yesterday while I was visiting my mother, the grandsons popped in for a visit with Linda, followed by three of the granddaughters. They talked for awhile, then left, but these serendipitous visits are like springs in the desert for us. Living close by and having the grandkids want to visit is priceless!

Fixed

 September 18, 2020

When my day is pretty ordinary, I revert to the gratitude calendar I started out with seven years ago. Today’s suggestions are, something fixed, folded, and freckled. I’ll take them in reverse order.

Freckled is a bit difficult. I don’t know too many freckled people, so the only freckles I can come up with are the freckly spots on the bottoms of my beehives. They’re speckled with bits of wax, but so far, not with mites, for which I am grateful. Hive mites are one of the banes of apiarists; they attach both to adult bees and their larvae, causing deformity of the emerging bees, which weakens and can eventually kill the colony. So having a bottom board freckled with only wax is something for which I give thanks tonight.

As for folded, yesterday when I arrived at my mother’s, I relieved my sister who was caring for her the previous day. We got to talking about Options Care Center, the pro-life pregnancy center of which my daughter is the executive director. My 98 year old mother gives regularly to this ministry, and had already given for the Walk for Life. Her previous gift didn’t deter her one bit as she insisted I take another contribution. My sister also wrote a check, both of which I folded into my wallet to bring me that much closer to my goal of raising $500. I’m getting close!

So what is fixed? My thoughts went immediately to Hebrews 12:1-2. “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Usually, when I think of “fixed,” it refers to something broken that has been repaired, but here, it’s a steady focus on the Source and Foundation of our faith. You would think this would be easy, almost second nature, but I’ve found it’s more difficult than it seems. It’s much easier to get fixated on other things; on politics, sports, hobbies, a job, family, or the internet. I have to check myself regularly. What is my default mode? Do I reach for my phone every time I have a minute unoccupied by anything else? I find it’s easy to check the news before I read my Bible. When I do, I’m fixated on the wrong thing. It is a continual battle to fix my gaze upon Jesus Christ before anything else. He is the only reliable source of stability in life, so I keep working at it. I am thankful that he fixed his eyes on the cross for me. The least I can do is fix my eyes on him.

Depression

 September 17, 2020

A friend wrote to me today, confiding some of the struggles with depression he has been facing. His words took me back nearly eight years to the breakthrough God gave me over the same demons. In the intervening years, I haven’t gotten it perfect, but what I learned in that encounter literally changed my life. I’ve shared it before, but it bears repeating, as I see Christians struggling with depression and the feelings of defeat it brings. As I said, I haven’t done it perfectly, but I’ve worked hard to focus on that for which I am thankful, and it has made a world of difference. For those times I’ve relapsed, I beg forgiveness. I’m still a work in progress. Here’s what I wrote to my friend. Maybe it will encourage you, too.

You indeed are a dear friend, and I will certainly pray for you. We all feel weak at times, and in fact, we are weak in and of ourselves. If we were not weak, we wouldn’t need the strength of Christ. I have often felt that my weaknesses disqualified me from being a pastor, until I cast myself on the mercies of God, who helps the weak and heals the broken-hearted. Once, when I had stumbled over the same sin again, as I had done many times before, I said, “God, if I were you, I would be so done with me.” He answered that prayer immediately when he said, “Aren’t you glad I’m not you?”

For most of my life, even as a pastor, I fought mild depression. I called it melancholy because it wasn’t so bad I needed medication or hospitalization, but it felt like there was constantly a cloud over my head. It came to a head in December of 2012 during the presidential election here in the states. I got caught up with it, thinking about it all the time. On December 28, the Lord asked me, “Jim, where is your joy?” I had to admit, I didn’t know. That very day, he led me to a website where I found a calendar called “Joy Dare.” 

The woman who put this together had struggled with depression, and to combat it, developed this calendar. Each day there were three different things for which to give thanks. I began following the calendar and writing about those three things each day. That began the nightly musings I now post on Facebook. I had been posting political comments, but decided I would only post positive and uplifting things. It was a struggle. I was surprised to discover how hard it was to speak only words of kindness and gratitude. I had this misguided notion that if I didn’t comment on everything I thought was wrong, I was somehow neglecting my duty to correct the world. It took awhile to realize I wasn’t changing anyone’s mind, but by writing about the things for which I was thankful, I was actually helping people. It turns out, I was helping myself, too. About a year after I began this discipline of finding three things each day for which to give thanks, I woke up one morning and realized that cloud had disappeared! I no longer felt the weight I had carried for so long. I think it was because all those years I had unknowingly been disobedient to the Word of God which commanded me to “give thanks in everything.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). When I finally started obeying those simple words, everything changed.

So here is my prayer for you: “Father of all mercy and grace, who heals all our diseases and forgives all our sins, look with gentle kindness upon your servant. Turn his thoughts away from himself and how he feels, and turn them toward the Cross. Remind him that salvation is never found in our own righteousness, for we shall always fall short. Shower upon him grace and mercy, forgiveness and peace, through our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the power of the Holy Spirit. Cover him with your wings of love, in Jesus’ mighty Name. Amen.”

Work

 September 16, 2020

It’s been a busy day. Prayer with some pastors this morning followed by splitting wood for about four hours, dinner and a meeting at church. There is more wood to be done, remodeling our granddaughter’s bedroom, tearing off the cellar entry in preparation for some construction, a Saturday class on church security, and tending to my bees. Retirement isn’t all about sipping iced tea while rocking on the porch.

Tomorrow I’ll visit my mother. She’ll be 98 on Sunday. She’s tired, can’t see to read, has trouble hearing, and can barely get around. So most days she just sits, interspersed with taking naps. About four years ago her doctor told her she needed heart surgery to repair a leaky valve. “What if I don’t have it?” she asked. 

“You’ll probably not last the year,” was the good doctor’s response.

“And if I have the surgery?”

“I can pretty much assure you of five or six years.”

“I can’t see to read, can’t hear, can’t get around; why would I want five or six years of that?”

She didn’t get the surgery, but she did get the years. Unfortunately, she also got the slow decline of her mobility. So she sits. And sleeps. And prays. I prefer the busyness, and am grateful to not be at a point in my life where sitting is all that’s left to me. The genetics are not favorable in that regard. My dad lived to be 92, mom is 98, my dad’s mother lived to be 100. So I’ll take the activity while I am able, even when my hands and arms ache at the end of the day. At the very beginning, God placed Adam in a garden and gave him the job of taking care of it. Work is good, and I am grateful tonight to be able to do more than just sit. 

Pray for mom. She is ready to see Jesus face to face, and prays that her day will come soon. Us kids told her that her problem was that we were outnumbering her with our prayers to keep her around, but lately that’s changed. Jesus said, “If two of you agree on earth concerning anything they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven, for where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there in the midst of them.” (Matthew 18:19-20) We have begun agreeing with mom. It’s time for her to be able to walk and dance in the presence of her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. And when that time comes, we will continue to be thankful for her legacy, and that she will once more be able to be busy about the Lord’s work in heaven, as we are here on earth.