There Was No Angel Then

    After weeks of no time for writing, much less inspiration, I got three ideas on Sunday. Unfortunately, I was sitting in church at the time. But, in my defense, they were Christmasy, Christiany type thoughts, but not thoughts that are easy to express, if this poem is any measure. All I am trying to convey is that, though angels played a role in Jesus' birth and ministry, they did not take away the trials involved in the daily lives of Mary, Joseph or Jesus. Despite the special revelation given to them and angel encounters, they lived their lives one step of obedience at a time, just as we do.

There Was No Angel Then

 

An angel came to Mary to reveal God's plan

for her, for His Son, for the world.

And an angel came in Joseph's dream

to reveal God's path for Joseph, Mary and Jesus.

But for the labor and birth in a stable,

there was no angel then.

 

An angel warned dreaming Joseph to flee to Egypt

so the child would escape Herod's slaughter.

But for the lifetime of gossip

maligning Christ's conception

the family could not flee,

there was no angel then.

 

And angels came to Jesus

to minister to him

after his forty day trial in the wilderness.

But for the long and lonely days before

of hunger, thirst, deprivation and temptation,

there was no angel then.

 

Throngs of angels announced Jesus' birth to the shepherds.

But, as the Good Shepherd lived, loved, healed and taught

His indifferent, unbelieving, increasingly hostile people,

even His own earthly family, 

for more than three years of ministry,

there was no angel then.

 

An angel came to Jesus after He sweat blood

in the garden of Gethsemane, where He agonized in prayer

to submit his will to the gruesome ordeal to come.

But for the hours of humiliation, abuse and suffering

that came before His death,

there was no angel then.

An angel rolled the stone away

to display the empty tomb,

and two told the women the resurrection news.

But when Jesus rose again,

with power to raise Himself and men,

there was no need for angels then.

 

The path we follow to fulfill

the wondrous weaving of God's will

can be a toilsome task. 

Obedience is all that's asked

to bring about God's plan

as with angels, so with man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mask Maskier

    This stage of the pandemic is like a revolving door leading to the principal's office. Numbers are going up and, since wearing masks has been touted as the solution to the spread, the only conclusion our health officials can draw is that the sheep are no longer submitting, that is, people are not wearing masks. If that were true, there would be pockets of spunky spreaders here and there throughout the country, but the odds of people around the planet all deciding to unmask about the same time are as tiny as Covid germs. Nevertheless, we are being told through every possible means except Morse code, that the same guidelines that have led us to this spike will now lead us to safety. I have social distanced from the beginning, but I do not know how to mask maskier or wash washier.

     If instead of telling us to wear masks to corral Covid, they had said we should flap our arms to fly above the germs, at this point, instead of admitting their fix was faulty, they say we are simply not flapping hard enough or as fast as we flapped at the beginning. If this is not about health care, but an experiment in government control as the conspiracy crowd claims, then it has proved to be an epic fail. People are unwilling to continue capitulating even if their own, or their Grandma's, life depends on it. If health officials want to us flatten the curve, they need to muzzle the mask mantra. If we're already masking, they need to stop asking. And if we're through, what more can they do?

Running Over

    One afternoon last week, while we were staying at the Lakeside Lodge in Chelan, I felt myself being loved by God in an almost inexpressible way. I could not have verbally shared my feelings and gratitude if someone had been in the room with me, but the Lord encouraged me to write them down. Though I have no melody in mind, I consider this my first Psalm. A gift from me to the Lord.

                                                                      Running Over 

 

My words are too unskilled to tell

the feeling of contentment here

warm and snug in this hotel, while

outside, cold winds shake the trees

and stir up whitecaps on the lake.

I savor coffee’s scent and taste

and listen to Christmas carols play.

 

I feel known and loved and cared for

by my husband, by my Savior.

How can I not trust a God

who deigns to fill his daughter’s heart

with all the things that she loves best?

I'm peaceful as a child at rest

upon her loving Father’s chest. 

 

Is this what heaven will be like?

All my senses satisfied,

as if I were a child inside her mother,

whose hands embrace my dwelling place

to add a further tender trace

to one, whose every need’s been met,

of love that’s running over.

 

11/13/20

Packing It In

     There are few things which point out the differences between my husband and myself more than the way we pack. Reed travels for work, sometimes a lot, and I tag along, probably too much, but it has given us enough travel opportunities to have packing down to a fine art. Unfortunately, we are not in the same Art class. Right from the outset we have different styles. I pack everything possible the day before and have the outfit I am going to wear for travel assembled down to the earrings. Whereas, unless we have an early morning flight to catch, Reed would rather pack about the time we are supposed to be leaving. In fact, he was doing that the first time I met him. It was annoying but, at the time, I had no idea how many years I would be experiencing it. Through the years we've reached a compromise where we each do our part, he brings up the suitcases, I wash all the clothes, I "remind" him to pack, he packs. Reed also prefers the morning of for checking the vehicle's tire pressure and fluids. The advantage of that method is that it might cause us to visit an auto parts store that we have never been to before. The drawback is that we will leave late and I will remind him why.

     Another difference is in the amount we pack. I pack only what I am sure I will need. Reed packs everything except what he is sure he won't need. This last trip he brought along a speaker we bought years ago to play audiobooks on my laptop before I could download them on my phone, but we discovered then that the tiny speaker was not any louder than the one in my laptop. This trip, the audiobook was on my phone, I could play it through Reed's truck stereo and, even if I couldn't, we would not have been able to hear on the tiny speaker, but he still brought it because "you never know". I pack like a minimalist. Reed is a maximalist.

    As to suitcases, I am all about compartments. Undies in one, socks and belts in another. Meds and toothbrush in the small outside pocket. Toiletries and hair brush in the big outside pocket. Clothes in the big empty space. Reed puts everything in the big empty space--clothes, books, shoes etc. The most recent suitcase I bought for him even has a waterproof compartment that would be ideal for wet swimsuits, shoes or liquid toiletries. Reed usually leaves it empty. I like everything in its place and a place for everything. Reed packs a suitcase like it's a cardboard box. 

    And his portable cardboard box is his car. I had three children just so the back seat would be full and he would stop flinging things into it. He drives a compact car--a trash compact--but my car is clean so I can live with that. On work trips Reed takes a lot of heavy tools. I have about convinced him how ironically sad it would be to survive the car accident only to be clubbed to death by the cargo, so there are not as many unguided missiles riding loose in the back of the car as in years past.

    But if my husband and I differ on when and how we pack suitcases and cars, we work in harmony unpacking at home and hotels. However, there is this little awkward gap in between about the size of the hotel luggage cart. Reed would rather make three trips up and down stairs carrying as many heavy, awkward items as possible than make one trip pushing the cart. He wants me to join him in this group activity/exercise. Reed is convinced that by the time I go get the cart and bring it back to the room, we could have carried the two suitcases, three briefcases, various bags of laundry, shoes, food, etc. ourselves. I use the luggage cart for the same reason I use a grocery cart--I never learned to juggle. But it is a good thing I got the cart the morning we left our last hotel--Reed was still packing.

     

Hearing Loss

     For weeks there has been poem inside me trying to get out. I have resisted exploring it because I had a feeling it was a sad poem. Even now I hesitate to post it because what I value most from my poetry is accuracy and I have not experienced a loss such as this. I have not lost a child or a spouse. I can only draw on what I have learned, my limited experience and my ability to empathize.

 

                     Hearing Loss

In the beginning, grief is a daily dirge.

You hear it echo in the empty rooms

in the unheard conversations you long to share

in the absent voice your heart still listens for.

It whispers from the vacant sleeping place beside you,

a sound as steady as the ticking of a clock.

 

Later, there comes a quietness,

a stillness that does not seem so empty.

Your voice no longer echoes in the room,

good memories have begun to fill it.

And you realize that you are still one flesh

in all the ways that matter. 

 

At last, you hear the hymns again

and praise with joy no longer feigned.

You realize your life is more full than empty.

And you long for heaven for its own sake,

not simply as an end to your sorrow,

because part of your heart already lives there.

 

Masking the Problem

    I don't want to get into a mask debate on Facebook because, for the sake of the nonbelievers who see my posts, it is more important to be light than be right. So I will post this here where there are only about three readers to be offended. Covid numbers are spiking in many places around the globe and laying all the blame on non-maskers is masking the real problem. Many people who have not worn masks from the beginning of Covid are only now becoming infected, as are many people who have worn masks from the beginning. Cases are spiking even in countries where wearing masks, staying home and quarantines have been enforced by martial law for months. I believe most of us are masking when and where required, yet the spike continues.

     I know health officials do not want to do anything to discourage mask wearing, but I wish some would have the courage to admit there is more to the spread than mass mask defection. Something about the virus has changed. There are no experts on Covid 19, not even epidemiologists, it is a new disease. But there is a lot of data being compiled and research going on, and those findings should not be suppressed if they do not fit the mainstream narrative. Even if the spikes are due to factors we cannot control, it is better to expose the problem than to mask it.

Why I Kinda Wanted Biden to Get Elected

    I would never vote for Joe Biden. I do not share his values, if he even remembers what they are. But I still kind of hoped he would win the election because I knew if Trump was reelected, the Democrats would continue the tantrums, demonstrations, and civil disobedience that happened in 2016. As if we don't have enough of that going on already. Conversely, I knew that if Biden got elected, as long as there was no verifiable election fraud, Trump supporters would quickly return to their normal lives and get back to work. Like grownups. I am thankful to President Trump for giving us back our America, if only for a time. But I also value a peaceful lifestyle, and the Never Trumpers would have spent the next four years making sure that did not happen. As if their hatred is superior to the hatred they ascribe to Trump.

     A lot is revealed by our expectations. For instance, the nations of the world expect Israel to behave in a civilized manner and their enemies to behave like savages. Likewise, many of us expect mature behavior from Republicans and childish behavior from Democrats. Even their own supporters are not really surprised or disappointed when the representatives they elected to office play hooky or walk off the job or tear up speeches. 

   I would have liked to see the good things President Trump started continue--defunding Planned Parenthood and nations who hate us, defending the rights of the unborn and of Christians to worship, freeing believers and servicemen falsely imprisoned overseas, supporting our ally Israel, standing up to our enemies--but I know God has a reason for the change of leadership. Maybe Trump's ego would have led him and us to disastrous mistakes in his second term. And if the Lord is sovereign over strong willed Donald Trump, He is certainly sovereign over swamp creature Joe Biden. I vote to trust God's purposes and timing.

    But trusting God's eternal purpose is less difficult than dealing with daily disturbing news. So even though it makes me feel like a wimpy parent who buys their child a toy at the grocery check stand just to make them stop screaming, I kinda wanted Biden to get elected. I am tired of the tantrums, that is why.

My Man in Chelan

     My impressions of Chelan, Washington would have been vastly different if I was still in the first motel reserved for us. My husband is here for six days of contract work on an airplane restoration project. The project manager booked us a room at the Riverwalk Inn. It was built in 1918 and what they described as a major remodel on the website mostly meant it has indoor plumbing and electricity. We were greeted by a musty smell and a front desk gal who gave us a key to our designated dingy room. Among the many amenities it did not have--space, view, first-hand furniture--was a microwave. So she sent us to a second floor room where there was a microwave--in the hallway. Early in our marriage, I might have been so desperate to travel that I would be willing to stay in a tiny, dumpy cell/room for a week. But the years and the Lord have been good to us and my standards for hotel stays have risen beyond the Riverwalk Inn. I was willing to walk out, into the river, if necessary.

    Chelan seems to think they are too classy for plebeian chain restaurants and hotels, but I had spotted a nice looking place on our way to the Frump Dump so we left to look for it. Fortunately, this is the off season in Chelan--way off, 5000 residents becomes 25000 in summer--so the room rate was not much more than at the RunAway Inn. I was willing to sell my fillings to pay the difference. Even the regular rooms at the Lakeside Lodge were triple the size of our suite at the Sleep Slum and had my favorite feature--a balcony. Reed, who has taken a shine to me over 43 years, even upgraded to a suite overlooking Lake Chelan. 

     And that's why, even though I have not seen much of the town, it snowed yesterday, and I have only eaten at one unremarkable cafe, I still have a good impression of Chelan--not to mention my man.

Trust the Timing

     We are studying Genesis again this year in BSF. It no longer surprises me that I find new gems every time through this very familiar book, and recent lesson on Noah's ark. This time I was struck by God's precise timing of the events of the flood. For instance, on the 17th day of the second month of Noah's 600th year, the floodgates of heaven opened and the 40 days and nights of rain began. (Gen. 7:11) On that very day . . (Gen 7:13) The waters flooded the earth for 150 days. (Gen.7:24) On the 17th day of the seventh month, the ark came to rest on Ararat. On the first day of the 10th month, the tops of the mountains became visible. (Gen 8:5) By the first day of the first month of Noah's 601st year, the waters were drying up. (Gen 8:13) By the 22nd day of the second month, the earth was completely dry. (Gen 8:14) God planned precisely when the flood would begin, when it would end, and when Noah could come out. If I had been on the ark, by the time the dove came back with the olive branch, I would have been crawling out the window.

     Far from being a fable, the flood account sounds like it was written by an accountant or a statistician. My take away from all this detail--trust God's timing. After many months of involuntary quarantine with all those animals and, even more challenging, his family, Noah waited on the ark until God called him to come out. He trusted God's timing. I shared this with our women's prayer group. Some of us have had outstanding answers to prayer--a daughter in her 40's finally sober, my own son's sobriety. Meanwhile the woman who started our prayer group for prodigals is still waiting for her daughter to spit out the kool-aid of our current culture. What's the holdup? God's timing. I think of the seeds of God Word that we plant in the hearts of our children as little time bombs. It is wiser to wait for God to set them off than to keep whacking them with a hammer to speed up the process. And wind up destroying the relationship instead of the sin. Our sober successes did not get that way overnight. God has appointed the time and the means, so we pray as her young daughter travels, mostly alone, to foreign countries that God will mine her path with believers she might listen to.

    I had an opportunity to share this with my son recently. After asking my advice about how to approach his manager about a raise, he was disappointed that the man left before he could talk to him. I told him, "Trust the timing". I did not say trust God's timing because he already knows that's what I meant (he's known me all his life), no need to use a hammer. The next day, when he did talk to the manager, he not only gave him a raise, but said he had already been thinking about it. Timing. It has been encouraging to see my son recognize for himself how God is working in his life. The spark is there. I can throw a log on it trying to speed things up (not recommended for starting a campfire), but only the Holy Spirit can fan that spiritual spark into flame. After decades of looking for ladders to climb out the window of the ark, I at last realize I should pursue the plan of the One who provided it. And trust the timing.

Where Have All the Brain Cells Gone?

    There was a folk song popular in the 60's called "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?" It makes for a great lullaby, even though it is about the sadness and futility of war. At least it is not as scary as the classic about a helpless baby plummeting to the ground from the treetop some irresponsible adult placed them in to go night, night--possibly forever. I like this song because it is easy to sing and because it has enough verses to lull a hyperactive squirrel to sleep. I will give the condensed version here:

     Where have all the flowers gone? Long time passing.

     Where have all the flowers gone? Long time ago.

     Where have all the flowers gone?

     Young girls picked them, every one.

     When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?

     Where have all the young girls gone . . .gone to their young men . . When .

        "          "     "   "       young men   "           gone to be soldiers             "       

        "          "     "   "       soldiers      "              gone to the graveyards      "       

        "          "     "   "       graveyards   "           gone to the flowers            "       

 

 At which point, if the baby is not yet comatose, you can start all over again.

     In honor of Montana legalizing recreational marijuana in yesterday's election, I propose this new version of the song:

 

     Where have all the brain cells gone? Long time passing.

     Where have all the brain cells gone? Long time ago.

     Where have all the brain cells gone? Cannabis took them, every one.

     When will they ever learn?  When will they ever learn?

     I figure the answer to that is about 20 years. When Montana eventually realizes that the problems other states with legalized marijuana are already experiencing--impaired driving, children's accidental overdose, unmotivated, depressed teens, illegal (aka tax free) marijuana sales, and other connected crimes--is costing our state more green than it is taking in, they will know recreational marijuana advocates were just blowing smoke.

     I have seen PET scans of the brains of long term marijuana users and the inactive areas are similar to those of Alzheimer's patients. Using cannabis for recreation is like taking up dementia as a hobby. Eventually states will not be able to afford the social and legal cost of all that great tax revenue, and make marijuana illegal again. But, sadly, 20 to 40 years later no one, especially the "recreators", will remember what the problem was and they will legalize it again. 

 

When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?

What They Are Not Saying

After being exposed to a Covid positive woman at Bible study, a county health representative told a class member if she was less than 6 feet away, regardless of mask wearing, to consider herself exposed. What they are not saying is--a mask is not enough protection.

When we are told wearing masks protects others from our germs, but not us from theirs, what they are not saying is--masks work when you exhale, but not when you inhale--because that doesn't make sense.

When we are told putting masks on healthy people will stop asymptomatic spread, what they are not saying is--there has never been a practical way of stopping asymptomatic spread or we would have used it for influenza, norovirus, and the common cold.

When we are told to stop the spread because Covid is far more serious than a cold, and then told to stay home if we have a cold because it might actually be Covid, what they are not saying is--for many people, Covid is no worse than a cold. 

When they blame Covid flare ups in the U.S. on social gatherings and not wearing masks, what they are not saying is--Covid is flaring around the world, even in countries that have been on strict lock down since the virus began, so there must be another explanation.

And frankly, if people are defying the protocols worldwide despite civil and military enforcement, when local authorities threaten, or attempt, to return to stricter measures, what they are not saying is--we have the power to leap tall buildings in a single bound, or better yet, to filter out tiny virus particles with a breathable chunk of paper/cloth. 

Although, it is sinful on my part, when I pray for these appointed authorities, what I am not saying is--I am praying they get Covid. (Not a bad case, just a little wake up call from reality.)

Meet Me at Covid Corner

      It is unfortunate pandemic came at a time when everything that happens in our country, including dandruff, is considered a crisis. I posted about this phenomena long before Corona morphed from a beer into a virus. The true crisis is that there is too much media. When I was a child there were three TV channels, the news came on three times a day, and TV programming took the night off. Now we have multiple news channels on 24/7 and frankly, there is only about 20 minutes worth of news to report per day. So to fill the rest of the time they must manufacture news. Big news! Even big weather! Last year's unseasonably early snowstorm was declared HISTORIC! A snow storm in Montana, who knew? A recent storm surge on the east coast hyped by the Weather Channel as UNSURVIVABLE, was disappointingly remiss in killing people.

     So dropping Covid 19 into the crisis cauldron continually cooking in our country, was like wearing a Trump mask to a BLM rally. Actually, you don't have to do anything to ignite a BLM get together, where BYOB means bring your own bricks. Covid 19 is not all bad news though, it gave the media outlets something to talk about besides Russia collusion. And the reporters took seriously their responsibility to calm the public, by talking about Corona virus non-stop round the clock. Even when predictions of infection rate and deaths were off by 90 percent, it did not diminish their enthusiasm for KEEPING US CALM! Instead, they segued to speculation about shortages, unemployment, the future financial fallout and that Trump, even if he was miraculously healing the sick, is handling it wrong.

      The corner of Crisis and Covid is a busy intersection with injuries and fatalities reported daily. Sad, but not surprising. What is surprising is that after months of announcing that the numbers would rise when businesses and schools reopened, these same reporters (not to mention our public health experts) continue to be shocked when it actually happens. And if they don't believe their own news reports, why should I?

 

 

 

 

Old Re-Lie-Ables

      By this point in the election cycle, most of us would rather have dental surgery sans anesthesia than watch another political commercial. I stopped believing campaign ads in my 30's when I realized no one's pants were catching on fire even though they were lying. In our house, the job of muting the political ads is practically a sacred trust, and the remote is the holy grail. It would be one thing if there were any originality in the ads, but only the faces change. Here are a few of the old re-lie-ables.

• Identify the candidate with a state they have been in (if only to use a rest stop) least like the state they are running in. In Montana, that is any state on the east coast.
• Center the opponent's face against the worst representations of their party, preferably looking insane, which is almost any picture of Nancy Pelosi.
• Remove one positive element from a bloated, impractical bill-- this year, the Affordable Care Act, and say the opponent wants to take it away, and possibly steal Grandma's walker.
• Guilt by association. Take the most radical agendas of the opposing party and claim the opponent supports them, regardless of their stand as an individual.
• Use the term millionaire as a slur even when the candidate became that way by building a successful business, assuming only unsuccessful businessmen are fit for politics.
  
• Endorsements from family members. No surprise there.
• Endorsement or un-dorsements from locals. This year, from towns even multi-generational Montana natives have never heard of. Surprise.
• For incumbents, recycle the lies told about them last election, even though they did not keep them from getting elected.
• For the presidential election, slap the same labels--hater, racist--they used last election and spend their campaign arguing against the labels. Since most voters did not fall for the "hate the label" tactic last time, I am fine with the Democrats trying it again. It helped get Trump elected.
  

          Even sadder than having to watch political ads is that, even when they are just photo shopping faces onto campaign ads from the Johnson vs. Goldwater election, someone is getting paid to produce them. They should pay us to watch them--no, not worth it.

No One in Modern America

     Even if I had just emerged from an underground bunker where I lost track of time, I could tell by the candy aisles and yard displays that Halloween is drawing near. It comes in second only to Christmas as the most decorated for American holiday. When my kids were small, we carved jack-o-lanterns (pumpkins are not evil), they dressed in costumes (not scary ones), we took them to church for carnival games and I took them trick-or-treating. Although Halloween has pagan origins, no one in modern America believes the kids wear costumes so the demons abroad in the streets won't recognize them. Nor do they think giving children treats is a bribe to get them to go to church and pray for them. Most of the churches I know hold some sort of carnival as a safe alternative for church kids and a witnessing tool for unchurched/pagan families.

     I think of the pagan origins of Halloween the same way I do cremation. Cremation definitely has pagan roots, but no one in modern America thinks cremation frees the pure spirit from the sinful flesh or that flames are needed to carry the deceased's spirit to heaven. It is simply a less expensive and land consuming (although high emission) way to dispose of a love one's body. The pagan associations with cremation were left behind long ago.

   Also left behind, except by Muslims and a few Christian sects, is the belief that women who wear their hair short or uncovered are, at best, immodest, at worst, prostitutes. Short hair may have been a prostitutes' billboard in Bible times, but it is more a badge of the blue-haired in mine. In America, women tend to wear their hair short late in life, when their prospects as a prostitute would be pretty poor. 

     If we look back far enough, many common traditions and practices have pagan roots. I remember my amazement as a new Christian, to find out in Acts 12 that Easter existed in Herod's time when the church was still in its infancy. I have enough trouble rooting out my obvious, conscious sins without rooting around for pagan roots and subconscious sins. The Christian life is counter cultural in any nation and era without worrying about how we might look to pagans of past centuries. So on Halloween night I will give candy to the (possibly four) trick-or-treaters who come to our end of the cul-de-sac. And the next day I will stock up on discounted candy to snack on as I attempt to hide out in an underground bunker until after the election.

     

 

 

Dear Paul

Dear Paul,

     First, let me say I am a huge fan of your books. I have read all of them many times and find new inspiration with each reading, but I have a few suggested edits for the book of Romans, chapter 13. For instance, verse one tells everyone to be subject to the governing authorities. Americans are going to have a problem with that right off the bat. Our nation was founded on rebellion, and we like to keep that option on the table. I recommend using the qualifier "worthy" for the authorities. That would give us some wiggle room to resist authority we don't approve of, or feel God would not approve of. That sounds spiritual, right? We would still respect some authorities, but have a loophole that allows us to keep our beloved tradition of ridiculing and complaining about the rest. And instead of saying the authorities that exist are established by God, how about "permitted" by God. That lets God off the hook for bad leaders and bad laws.
    You would need to omit verse two, equating rebelling against authority to rebelling against God, entirely. Verse three could be salvaged by inserting the word "if" before rulers hold no terror for those who do right. In verse four, about authorities being God's servants for our good, you would only need to put parentheses like this around (God's) to make the idea more palatable. And verse five could be easily fixed by exchanging the word "necessary" for "recommended" to submit to authority. Our consciences will be just fine with a little rebellion. Most of us pay taxes, so you can leave verse six as it is.
    Actually, all the Bible verses about submission are hard for us, so leaving out political and civil leaders would be a big help. I know you were imprisoned, beaten and shipwrecked multiple times, not to mention stoned, but we are being told to wear masks, and those can be hot and stuffy. Frankly, I am shocked that you wrote what you did when Nero ruled Rome. Being subject to someone who burned Christians like torches shows a surprising lack of moral expectations for those you choose submit to. Perhaps you should forward this letter to Peter, who expressed this same misguided attitude toward submitting to human authorities in his book.
   In closing, let me reiterate that I am a committed fan and follower, and look forward to reading the revised version of Romans 13. I would like to show it to our pastor, who seems as mixed up as you and Peter about being subject to authority.

                                    Sincerely In Christ,


                                             Connie Lamb
  

Beside the River

    Reed often refers to me as a lady of leisure, and he is right. Not only did I retire early, but I live on Leisure Drive. (In Billings, we lived on Easy Street.) As if living on a road named Leisure was not enough, our house is just a bridge away from Leisure Island Park. When there were only twenty houses on Leisure Drive, it was practically my private paradise. But even now with the addition of two subdivisions in our area, once tourist season ends and school starts, the banks of the Stillwater River again become my private place to think and pray. And with what is going on in the world, plus the election in our own country, there is a great need for both.

Beside the River

This peaceful river does not know

as its placid waters flow,

of the turmoil in our land

coming from both God and man.

I can sit in stillness here

where mind and water both grow clear

one with nature and with God.

Here beside the river bank

with only God to hear, and thank,

I’m free from talk of us and them,

no virus, masks, riot mayhem

no campaign ads, no TV news

no trashing those with other views

only the water, land and sky.

The One who made the Earth and sky

is sovereign over you and I,

and all the things that shake us now

will bring about His will somehow.

When life feels beyond God’s control,

I come to Him and rest my soul

where love flows like a river.

The Keeper

It was a perfect early September day.
Between the summit of summer heat
before the leaves fulfill their obligation to fall.
Between the newly cool mornings and the warmth of late afternoon.
We were the only ones in the large, landscaped courtyard
surrounding the fish pond, which my granddaughter
is campaigning to visit as a weekly tradition.
This time, the water was clean and cool.

Gabrielle threw food pellets to the trout in the pond,
the often massive culls from a local hatchery.
Sitting at the shady end of a bench,
I watched my favorite three year old,
listened to her excited commentary
on their frenzied, splashing rush to their meal.
The relaxing sound of the pond's large waterfall
was offset by the screeching of ospreys in their nest nearby.

There are moments when you realize you are experiencing perfection.
Though I can now record those events with my phone camera,
I also lock them in my mind's memory function,
so the sights, the sounds, and feel of those moments
are available whenever I choose to open them.
It is just one of many happy memories
of times spent with my granddaughter,
but this one, like her, is a keeper.

There Once Was a Limerick Quite Dreadful

    I have no great love for limericks. A lot of them are smutty. I have not heard any memorable enough to want to memorize, including these. And this from someone who has memorized, whether I meant to or not, the "Purple Cow" poem. However, limericks seemed like a harmless way to condense my thoughts about the current chaos in our country.

There once was a year, 2020,

that brought with it problems aplenty.

From Corona virus

to cities gone riotous

this year has become unlike any.

                                                            The claim cop abuse is systemic

                                                            gave excuse to anarchist polemic--

                                                            that they’ll earn more respect

                                                            through the lives that they've wrecked,

                                                            makes their call for justice, academic.

If the year 2020’s a test

of the principles I deem the best,

my response to what’s asked,

when my heart is unmasked,

reveal mine is as dark as the rest.

                                                Some proclaim wearing masks a life saver,

                                                others find it a sheepish behavior.

                                                But, if Christ's sheep pick fights

                                                standing up for our rights,

                                                how well will we stand for our Savior?

If He Was a Good Man

This was written to amplify a previous post about God using ungodly rulers like Pharaoh:

If the Pharaoh of the Exodus had been a man of good character--

He would have released the Jews from slavery without Moses' intervention,
 so the Israelites would not have been willing to leave with Moses, and
 fallen into all the idolatry of Egypt, thus
 not become God's distinct people,
 voiding the prophecies of scripture,
 and never reach the promised land.
 
Moses would have been herding sheep instead of
 forming a wayward, grumbling multitude
 into God's chosen, covenant nation
 being an example of humble leadership, and
 writing the first five books of the Bible.

If Pharaoh had let God's people go without the plagues, the
 surrounding nations would have wiped out the Jews
 as soon as they left Egypt,
 nullifying the prophecies of God
 regarding His people and their land
 and their future Messiah.

I'm so thankful Pharaoh was not a good man.
 

Things We Control

Things we think we control:                             By:

our health, lifespan                                            exercise, diet, supplements
appearance                                                          above + beauty treatments
our planet                                                            regulating CO2, recycling
racism                                                                  activism, advertising
gender                                                                  medical intervention, activism accidents                                                             regulations, law suits
Covid 19                                                              masks, social distance, sanitizing
truth                                                                     denying it


Things we actually control:                             By:

our actions                                                         self control
our attitude                                                        eternal perspective

Things God controls:                                          By:

everything                                                          sovereignty

Things I conclude:                                              By:

Fearful, fretful living comes                              trying to control things we can't
                                                                           refusing to control things we can
                                                                           forgetful faith

God's One, Two Punch

     My son-in-law recently posted on Facebook that he would not vote for Donald Trump in the 2020 election regardless of his policies (which I consider blessings to our country), because of his poor moral character. I am not going to try change his mind; he is as hard headed as I am. I will leave that to God. But his post drove me to the Bible (always a good thing) to begin a study of leaders God chose in the past. Specifically, powerful, ungodly rulers combined with a man, or woman, of God. What I call God's One, Two Punch.

Pharaoh & Abraham (Gen. 13:16)  God used a lusty Pharaoh and the cowardly, lying, father of our faith, Abraham, to make Abe wealthy.

Abimelech & Abraham (Gen 20)  Same scenario, same liar, same outcome, different ruler.

Pharaoh & Moses (Ex. ch. 6-11)  God used a hostile Pharaoh and hesitant Moses to prove the power of Jehovah to Israel and to Egypt. And He did it so memorably, surrounding nations were afraid to attack the Jews on their 40 year camp out, and even after.

Nebuchadnezzar & Daniel (Dan. ch 4:34-35)  After proud Nebuchadnezzar spends seven years as a free range bovine, he officially acknowledges Daniel's God as supreme.

Darius & Daniel (Dan 6:25-27) After being tricked into throwing Daniel into the lions' den, not only did Darius decree that his subjects fear Daniel's God, but also turned Daniel's enemies into the lions' dinner.

Cyrus/Darius/Artaxerxes & Ezra (2 Chron. 36, Ezra ch. 1 & 6) God used these men to let Jewish captives, along with confiscated temple treasures, return to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple.

Artaxerxes & Nehemiah (Neh. 2)  God used Artaxerxes' authority and nervous Nehemiah to rebuild Jerusalem's walls.

Ahasuerus & Esther (Esther ch. 8-9)  God used arrogant, licensed-to-kill, Ahasuerus and fearful, faithful Esther not only to save the Jews from destruction, but to turn the tables on their tormentors.

    This is not an exhaustive list and I made it with my good Bible tied behind my back, so to speak. My travel Bible has a tiny concordance and no helps. The rulers listed above were not elected, and had the power to kill political rivals, but that was because crucifying opponents through news media was not yet available. There were several good men who ran for President in 2016, but God chose Donald Trump. And Trump has, inexplicably (apart from the sovereignty of God) chosen to surround himself with men of faith as running mate and advisors. Looking back, I realize the men I wanted to vote for could not have withstood the fire hose (aka shit storm) of opposition Trump has. For that, God needed an egomaniac. But because of that One, Two Punch, policies have been enacted that the moral, Christian presidents of my lifetime never had the chutzpah to try:

•    Defunding Planned Parenthood
•    Appointing pro life judges to the Supreme Court
•    Stop bankrolling nations who hate us and our ally, Israel
•    Recognizing Jerusalem, God's holy city, as Israel's capitol
•    Upholding freedom of worship in America
•    Working for release of Christians unjustly imprisoned in other countries

    I may have held my nose to vote for Donald Trump in 2016, but I will gladly vote for him in 2020, because I can see God working through him and I want to be a part of that. I appreciate my son-in-law's walk with God and leadership of his family, but I do not believe standing for our principles is God's highest plan for us. That can easily become entangled with self righteousness. I believe our highest purpose and privilege is to participate in doing God's will on Earth as it is in heaven. God has never limited Himself to men of good morals as the authorities He sets in place to fulfill His purposes, and I probably should not set my standard higher than His. ONE What He does require is for a believer close to that person to speak up for what is right. TWO  The question is not whether I would choose Donald Trump as President, but whether God has. PUNCH

Why Do Guys Spit?

     Sometimes I push myself to tackle one of the major existential issues of life, in this case, why do guys spit? Of all the differences between the sexes, outside of the ability to bear children, this is the one for which I am most thankful. Women seldom spit. At least, not in public. You will not find a group of women standing around visiting and see one of them suddenly hawk a loogie. So why do guys do it?
    In years past, a lot of men chewed tobacco. It was, and is, a disgusting habit, but at least it justified the need to spit. Who would want to swallow something that nasty? Some people still chew tobacco, but the lack of spittoons indicates that tobacco chewers are a dying breed, in more ways than one.
   According to my exhaustive three minute google search on websites that ranged from big word medical studies to bad word ladies magazines, men produce more saliva than women simply because their salivary glands are bigger. But since their bodies are also bigger they ought to be able to handle the additional swallowing. The raunchy ladies magazines suggest it is just a disgusting habit which, despite their feminist perspective, they do not recommend women emulate. 
    Fortunately, the men in my life seldom spit, at least around me, which is good because it makes me start to puke. As a nurse aide I regarded urine, stool and emesis AKA pee, poop and vomit, as well as the drainage from various tubes, merely as substances to be measured, recorded and discarded. But mucus was another story--at least to my gag reflex. So glad I did not have to measure that. Although I once had to deliver a cup of sputum to an R.N., I did not have to look at it.  When guys snort and spit I know exactly why they are doing it, but knowing that just makes me gag more.
    The medical studies I skimmed always end with a conclusion, so here is mine. Guys spit because they are guys. It is the same reason they admire the quality and volume of each other's burps and farts. At least men don't sniff what dogs do--around me anyway.