I Dance Alone wtih Empty Arms

    I haven't told Reed I do this until recently because it sounds so pathetic, but perhaps no more so than talking to Trace at his grave. Though I do not dance and could not waltz at gunpoint, it is my sad, rare and comforting ritual of the Christmas season. The song is one I posted last year, "Christmas Lullaby/

I Will Lead You Home" by Amy Grant--which I'm having trouble linking this year.    https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&opi=89978449&url=https://www.youtube.com/watch%3Fv%3DCAfDgntyWs8&ved=2ahUKEwikpYjJwI6RAxVJADQIHY-iOY4QtwJ6BAgqEAI&usg=AOvVaw26Q4L98s5RHzXo41EW_Cru

I Dance Alone with Empty Arms  

 

Sometimes, when in the house alone

with Christmas season coming on,

I play a certain song about 

a wanderer being led home.

 

The music is three quarter time,

a pulse that resonates with mine.

I raise my arms up and waltz on

as if I'm dancing with my son,

 

though in life, we neither did nor would.

I dance alone with empty arms

remember his hugs, his shoulders strong, 

a refuge to be counted on.

 

But then, perhaps I'll have a chance

for a mother and son wedding dance

at the marriage supper of the Lamb,

our union with the great I AM

 

and all the ones we love so much,

who wait in heaven, safe from harm.

With empty arms I dance alone

until the time he leads me home. 

 

11/24/25 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Parting of the Ways

    I knew it would take a lot to break Reed's grip on airplanes and the airport. Such concerns have been the subroutine playing in the back of his brain for nearly five decades. Yes, he had prostate cancer surgery and radiation, and that may have slowed him down, maybe loosened a couple fingers, but he would have gone back into airplane mode if it were not for another, more malignant factor--his coworker. Let's just call him "Cain." A couple years ago, Reed hired a mechanic he wanted to train to replace him so he could retire. Early on it became apparent they had different priorities. Cain was too busy setting up his own business in the owner's hangar to have time to learn about the jet he was getting paid to maintain. Reed gave up 3/4ths of his salary much earlier than the owner would have asked so Cain's family would have enough to live on to make this transition work. Meanwhile Cain rented one bay of hangar space and proceeded to take over three spaces and two offices. Not content with triple dipping, Cain also expected Reed and another contractor working at the airport to run their bills through his business so he could make more per hour from their time than they did. When neither of them saw the profit of paying for the privilege of working for Cain, he transformed faster than Dr. Jeykll on super serum. Not into a violent, self serving beast, but something worse--a teenager. 

    Most of the time he has worked at the hangar, Cain has behaved toward Reed like a petulant 15 year old with an unwelcome stepdad. Dismissing, arguing with, or doing the opposite of everything Reed told him. I thought the reason Cain greeted and launched all the flights himself was guilt for taking his employer's money to build his own business. That was foolishly optimistic. When a pilot asked Reed why he had not fixed a problem with the jet he had complained of weeks ago, realization dawned. Cain took those shifts to keep Reed from talking to the pilots or passengers. He wanted to control Reed's access to information. Since Cain either did not know enough or did not care enough to correct the problem with the jet, he left it undone. It was more important to him to hoard the information than to fix the jet. Evidently, Cain models his management style after communist dictators, cults, or abusive spouses--cut off communication with outsiders. Since he cannot, like the latter, confine Reed to some cabin in the canyon, his only recourse is to get vindictive. Violations of Cain's nondisclosure policy result in orders, supposedly from the owner, for Reed to get his stuff out of the hangar. So he did.

    Not in the sell me your tools cheap sense Cain hoped for, but since his tools were being used without asking and comsumable supplies were not replenished, he gradually rehomed tools and supplies to a giant container. Since losing access to the tools and parts Cain habitually used, actually punished him more than Reed, Cain decided Reed leaving plates, utensils, etc. in the kitchen was also an act of selfishness on Reed's part. Despite Cain's agreement with the owner that he would leave them alone or contact Reed before getting rid of them, Cain boxed up what he considered unnecessary to give to Salvation Army and didn't tell Reed until he asked about the boxes. When Mrs. Cain threatened to throw away everything else, Reed took the rest. It doesn't matter like it once did, only Cain's customers and few friends feel welcome in the hangar now. 

    The business owner has never met Mr. Hyde and thinks he has two employees with good ideas and poor communication skills. But one of the problems with behaving like a rebellious teenager and being a habitual liar is that there are witnesses. You can't hide Mr. Hyde forever. Now that the sheets are split so to speak, and Reed's final finger is pried from the hangar door, it is time for a parting of the ways. I just pray that the haughty Mr. Hyde is not the one who will be fixing the jet.

     

 

The Maker of Both

     

    We have been on vacation in Oregon, visiting friends, museums and the coast. That gives a lot of inspiration for poetry but little time to write it so here, at last, is a souvenir poem from our trip. 

 

The Maker of Both 

 

Not to be outdone by lesser performances,

the ocean raises its volume at night.

The sound of a womb, no longer remembered,

but still somehow familiar, comforting.

We are being held safe, this time not by our mothers,

but by God, the maker of both the mighty oceans

and the insignificant, but infinitely loved--us. 

 

 

Truth Thrown Down

    This week's BSF lesson, Daniel chapters 7 and 8, was difficult. In Daniel chapter 2, the nations are symbolized in Nebuchadnezzar's dream of a statue as: head of gold (Babylon), chest and arms of silver (Medo-Persia), belly and thighs of bronze (Greece), legs of iron and feet of iron and clay (Rome). In chapter 7, Daniel's dream, the nations are symbolized by animals: winged lion (Babylon), bear (Medo-Persia), winged leopard (Greece), iron toothed beast (Rome). Then, in case we were not confused enough already, chapter 8, Daniel's vision, only has two beasts: ram (Medo-Persia) and he goat (Greece). I have heard of these empires, of course, but in my time they are ancient history. However, I found something very contemporary in chapter 8 verse 12, that is the subject of this poem. 

 

Truth Thrown Down

Babylon's throne is millennia gone

The Medes and Persian's reign is done.

The empires that were Greece and Rome

now a capital and one country's home.

Yet their legacy continues on

from Daniel's scripture handed down,

"truth is thrown down to the ground".

Truth is thrown down to the ground. 

Come to the Fete

    I have already written one Daniel poem this week. Haven't I suffered enough? But as I was doing my Bible study this evening, minding my own business, I was struck by the lunacy of a king compelling his subjects to worship him--or die. Was the word genuine ever on Nebuchadnezzar's vocabulary list? That explains the tone of this poem--more like a carnival barker than a royal invitation.

 

Come to the Fete

 

Come all to the fete on the Babylon plains!

Come to see, bend the knee, in our great sovereign's name!

 

See the statue he built at its majestic height.

Note how our kingdom's gold reflects glittering light.

 

Meet the high, mighty men from our whole empire 'round.

When the songs start to rise, they'll fall flat on the ground.

 

Come worship our king, with his impressive name.

He can't answer your prayers, but he sure can proclaim.

 

By the way, if you don't feel the need to bow low,

then down into the fiery furnace you'll go!

 

If you think that true reverence cannot be compelled, 

you do not know King Nebuchadnezzar too well. 

 

So go call one and all from vast Babylon's shores

to come to the King's fete, either his fate--or yours!

 

10/11/25 

 

 

  

  

 

 

The Odds on the Ox

    When we studied Nebuchadnezzar's dream of a great statue, I wondered why God wasted such an important message on an arrogant monarch who seemed to have stopped listening after Daniel said, You are the head of gold. He hardly needed reinforcement for his sense of self-importance. God's special revelation to him, although it would greatly benefit future Bible readers, seemed only to inspire Nebuchadnezzar to build a monument to himself. But after praying about it, I realized that the reason was not complicated. God gave Nebuchadnezzar incremental knowledge of Himself through many years so that one day, his heart would be ready to receive Him. It is the same thing God does for most of us. He certainly did that for me. 

    The Lord's motive in this was not complicated either, it was because He loved him. After many times reading this familiar story, I was shocked to realize that the reason God went to so much trouble for Nebuchadnezzar was because He loved him. God loved Nebuchadnezzar! The Bible is full of stories of people God loved enough to break their pride so He could heal their soul, but there was only one He loved enough to humble as an ox.

 

The Odds on the Ox   

 

If they were giving odds in Babylon

about proud King Nebuchadnezzar 

coming to faith in Daniel's God,

they would have been a million to one.

 

Even with the clear evidence-- 

Daniel's interpretation of his

God given dream--Nebuchadnezzar

recognized God's wisdom, but not His will.

 

And when Daniel's three friends

were supernaturally protected from

 the furious king's fiery furnace, 

he respected God's power, but not his place. 

 

The great tree dream was a warning--

the builder of Babylon's tall towers and walls

would bend down to eat grass from the ground.

He heard the message, but spurned its meaning. 

 

Heaven's Sovereign reached out four times,

but the earthly ruler refused to repent,

reigned instead like an unreasoning beast, 

and in God's judgment, became one. 

 

Until he who had looked down upon so many

 looked up to the King of kings.

 Against all odds, repentant, with mind restored,

 Daniel's God became a proud king's Lord.

 

10/8/2025

 

 

 

(I used to wonder how the people of Babylon could remain unaware of their potentate's mental state when he was out grazing in their fields, but now I only need to remember our last presidency.)

  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daniel

    I felt confident that I had escaped this week's Bible study of the very familiar first two chapters of Daniel without writing a poem, but then this happened. It is kind of like a Daniel sandwich, but that would be a worse title than just plain Daniel.

Daniel--

Raised among a people whose

faithlessness led to their fall.

 

Separated from all familiar

his home, family, even his name.

 

Destined for duty to the king

who conquered and killed his people.

 

Praised his seemingly defeated God

for revealing a despot's dream.

 

Served Babylon lifelong as Belteshazzar,

but served the Lord he loved as--

 

Daniel 

 

                    9/28/25 

 

One Last Look

    Sometimes I don't feel like I am writing a poem, it is more like I'm coming down with one, as if it was a cold. Like I'm starting to have symptoms and realize I am just going to have to let this thing run its course. Such was my last poem about the Valley of Dry Bones. I really had better things to do and the bare bones of it (pun disclaimer) came pretty easily, but then I wound up wasting hours reworking the words. This one, however, flowed out slowly, naturally, with little interference from the author.

 One Last Look 

I think I have figured out why

on what I have come to call

the sun sandwiches of autumn--

cool mornings and evenings

with a thick layer of sunshine in between--

the reason I sit stupefied, still

like a lizard in the sun.

It is because I am afraid

that any movement will disrupt

the perfection of the day.

  

There is little perfection in this world.

Days like this will soon give way 

to wind, rain, and later, snow.

But sometimes God entices us

at certain sunrises, sunsets, 

and sunny autumn afternoons,

with a postcard from Paradise past,

 a glimpse of Heaven to come. 

And only a fool would leave perfection

before taking one last look--at Home.

 

9/23/25 

The Valley of Dry Bones

     Last year's BSF study was on Revelation and I found myself writing poems to help me make sense of the symbols and prophecies I find hard to understand. The same thing seems to be happening in this year's study of People of the Promise: Exile and Return. Part of this week's lesson is on Ezekiel in the valley of dry bones and I am wrapping my thoughts in poetry once again. It is probably fitting because Old Testament prophecy is written in Hebrew poetry. I don't know how mine stacks up to theirs, but I think it rates higher than the "Dem Bones" song I remember hearing on the Lawrence Welk Show when I was a child.

 The Valley of Dry Bones

I saw the valley where he stood

Ezekiel, the man of God,

speaking with commanding tones

into the valley of dry bones--

dry and brittle, lifeless bones.

 

But then a rattling noise began,

bidden by the Son of man,

bone with bone together bound

then flesh and skin the bones surround--

whole, but lifeless, on the ground.

 

And then he spoke a new command,

breath filled them until they could stand.

An army, who'll possess the land

God gave their fathers long before--

Israel exists once more.

 

If ever I should doubt God can

keep His promises to man--

 the Jews now live in their homeland.

Israel has at last come home

out of the valley of dry bones.

 

9/21/25 

 

The Reason for the Hope

 

Thursday 9/11/25  Travel log (supplemental)  Ooh, I love the Trekkie sound of that. We are in Helena to give our scholarship posters and presentation to Tracy’s college. 

  (Charlie Kirk was assassinated yesterday. Although I did not follow him on social media, he was a believer and compelling apologist for conservatism. The savagery that has become part of our culture saddens me.)

Friday 9/12/25     

    Reed and I gave our presentation at Helena College today. There were 20 some students in attendance, two of which were women. They set up a podium and display table in the hangar. The only hitch was they had to shut the hangar door when a plane came nearby during Reed’s speech and drowned him out. Reed gave them good information for a career in aviation. I talked about Tracy. After I shared about his bonding the class with Hawaiian shirt Fridays, followed by fez Fridays, I found out the traditions had continued, but no one knew how they started. The machinist class wears Hawaiian shirts on Thursdays, because they don't meet on Friday. And I saw fezes in random places around the hangar and classrooms. I explained the reason why, of the ways we could have chosen to honor his memory, we set up a scholarship. Besides sharing about what God did for us on the road to Rimrock in my speech, I was also able to share about forgiving the dealer and several other things about the Lord before and after we spoke. My You Version verse for today is 1 Pet. 3:15 Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. I got to do that today.

  (Charlie Kirks’ killer was arrested today after being recognized by family and confessing to his father, a veteran law enforcement officer. Since his father held him securely, there was no danger to his son or law enforcement during the arrest. Some of the people celebrating Kirk's death on social media are surprised to discover they have lost their jobs. (When people don’t realize it is wrong to celebrate the murder of someone they disagree with, our country is a very frightening place to be.)

    But I have not lost hope-- My recent Facebook post:

It is pointless to say violence is not the answer while promoting fear and hatred of those who disagree with you is accepted speech in our culture. Murder is the fruit that grows from the seed of hate. 

Always. 

   I have found the assassination of Charlie Kirk to be especially discouraging because, by all appearances, evil has won. But then I remembered, there has never been a time when God was unable to use some evil act of man to work toward his own good purpose. 

Always. 

 

   I pray that those who listened to his words will turn to his Lord. 

Night Skies

     Our neighborhood grew greatly in the Covid migration. Houses were purchased sight unseen and every available lot was built on. Instead of twenty houses on our street, we now have fifty. Many of the buyers were Californians. But the ones I have met are the good kind, they wanted to escape the lunacy of Liberal Land. So when Covid forced many people to work from home, some of them like our neighbors, asked themselves, Why am I living in southern California, which I hate, when I can work from home and live wherever I want? They did not come to Montana to change our lifestyle. They came to embrace it.

    Unfortunately, one big city idea followed them here--leaving bright porch lights on day and night prevents crime. Maybe it does, but the house they bought sat empty for six years with only one dim light on near the front door, and it was never broken into or vandalized. Since our end of the cul-de-sac does not even have street lights, the new neighbors' nonstop night light nuisance, has dramatically changed our view of the night skies. This is my lament about that. 

Night Skies 

Our neighbors from across the street

are among the nicest you could meet.

The problem is, when they moved in

our star filled nights came to an end. 

 

Those from bigger cities might

think danger flees if porch is bright,

but safety pales when it denies

the gleam of stars in inky skies.

 

I miss the beauty of the night

before the glare of their porch light.

They won't be safer, should they soon 

have lighting that outshines the moon.

 

Our home was safe enough before

without a beacon at our door, 

so too was theirs before they came.

And night skies have not been the same. 

 

 

The Beauty of Blooming

    I have always been terrible with plants, in the plant kingdom I am known as Connie Kevorkian. This summer has been particularly bad, or good from the perspective of the plants. The hardy snake plant I bought to replace the ones I had already killed in the tool-themed memorial planter we received for Tracy's funeral, refused to either sink roots or die, so I replaced it with an artificial snake plant that is thriving at least as well as its predecessor. That leaves two planters in my house and only one live plant. 

    Even on the summers when I do not buy hanging baskets for the front deck, I usually get a good sized planter for the wishing well decoration in our yard. I don't want neighbors to refer to our house as the one with no flowers. But this summer, either through the well's wish or my own, I could not bring myself to buy a basket that I was unwilling to either water or sacrifice. I sometimes wonder what that reveals about my state of mind, but it does not matter because the wishing well now, and for summers to come, will contain artificial flowers.

    Recently I looked out my front window and noticed these little red flowers growing in last year's wishing well basket, all on their own despite, or because of, no intervention from me. I've got to admire the chutzpah of a plant that keeps on blooming, rain or shine, neglected and alone. It gives me hope on my dry days of sorrow, that I should keep blooming regardless of conditions. Because I am still alive. Because it is what God intends for us to do. The beauty of blooming is not that it can be cultivated, it is that it cannot be constrained.

 

A Mother Unmet

    My brother-in-law's mom died last night following a broken hip and a brief decline. I met Ruth and Harry at my sister's wedding and off an on through the years when they were still able to come to Kalispell. I wouldn't claim I knew Ruth well, but better than my own mother anyway.

  A Mother Unmet

Despite my mother's death 12 years ago,

I really have no idea 

what it feels like to lose a mom.

I was sad, but for all of us.

For what mental illness did

to her life, and to ours.

For the family we never got to be.

And, if she is not in heaven,

besides what that means for her sake,

I will never know her at all.

 

I feel both guilt and relief

that I no longer have to stop 

at her dementia facility

on my way out of Missoula.

Or struggle to say something

she might be able to relate to.

Or try to interpret her words,

slurred by tardive dyskenisia.

See her shaky hands or her spine growing 

more twisted, much like her mind. 

 

I send sympathy cards to the grieving.

With most of the losses

I can relate and understand--

except for those who lose a mom.

For that, I mostly think of

standing at a lonely graveside

with nothing to say,

not even goodbye.

Though I loved her as best I could,

we never really met.

 

9/2/25 

 

 

  

 

The Trans Tragedy

    This week there was another mass shooting, a literal mass shooting, Catholic school students at mass in Minneapolis. Fourteen people were injured, two children were killed, but the relatively low number was not due to lack of effort on the shooter's part. Although it is not mentioned in mainstream media, the shooter was transgender. One of seven trans mass shooters across the U.S. between January 2024 and now. In many ways all such tragedies could be considered by products of decades of our nation turning its back on God. If there is no God, or if we each get to create our own god, then there is no objective standard of right and wrong. Even though most Americans still think murder is wrong, if all truth is relative, murderers' viewpoints are as valid as anyone else's. So moral relativity is part of the problem, but what is triggering the transgenders?

    One of the prevailing lies perpetuated by the gender fluid crowd is that if you feel like you don't fit in, if you are uncomfortable in your own skin, the problem is that you are trapped in the wrong body. Even leaving God out of the equation, medically and scientifically, the same flood of hormones that creates the genitals hardwires the body and brain to that sex. As a Christian, the more significant implication of transgender is that, since there are hundreds of biological differences between males and females, not the half dozen that can be addressed medically, that would mean God made hundreds of mistakes on each individual who feels trapped in the wrong body. Why God has suddenly lost quality control in his people manufacturing process at this particular time is a mystery. Either our culture is mistaken, or God is.

    One of the other lies doctors and counselors promote to coerce parents into allowing what is called gender affirming (actually altering) care on their minor children, is that they will commit suicide otherwise. However, studies in England have shown that not only are gender dysphoric teens not likely to kill themselves, they are more likely to commit suicide after transitioning. If left alone, they usually return to their birth gender by age 19. When those who believe the lie and transition realize they are just as miserable, and even more uncomfortable in their own skin, it leads to suicidal despair. When a suicidal person does not fear God or believe they will face judgment for their sins, that the worst thing that can happen to them is death, and they are willing to die, then why not take a few people with you? The trans tragedy traps far more than those who choose to believe it. And like all Satan's lies, it is a death trap. 

The Words that Fill the Gap

     A Facebook friend who lost her three year old son to cancer not long after we lost our son, recently posted a song that helped her. I shared that on the days when the gap between what my mind and spirit know about God and what my heart feels is bigger, I use words to fill the gap. This poem came from that thought.

 

The Words that Fill the Gap 

 

There are days when the gap

between what my mind knows

and what my heart feels

is bigger than others. 

Some pour tears into the gap,

some art or music. I pour poems.

I swaddle my sorrow with words. 

God calls parents--  

To teach our children wisely.

To mentor them spiritually. 

To care for them wholly. 

To protect them fiercely.

To love them unconditionally, 

but to hold them loosely.

 

Because our children

belong to another Father.

He alone plans the time 

to call them home to heaven.

And we are called to fill the gap 

between trusting minds and troubled hearts

with whatever grace God pours in. 

 

8/27/25 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Courage In, Courage Out

    The diarrhea of the brain that I contracted on our trip to Wichita must be ongoing because pastor's sermon Sunday actually inspired two blogs. The first one was about prepping, this one is about Barnabas. I was pondering how brave it was for Barnabas to seek out Saul when so many believers suspected his "conversion" was a trick to infiltrate and persecute the church. But not Barnabas, son of encouragement. Of course he was brave, the core of the word encouragement is courage. It took great courage to trust Saul, whose persecution roadshow had caused so much suffering to the early church. But it also takes courage to give encouragement when circumstances seem bleak. It takes courage to believe God has really changed a heart. It takes courage to see the spiritual potential in struggling saints, and to help them see it. We cannot give out encouragement if the courage it comes from is not inside us.

    If Barnabas was wrong about some of the people he believed in, the Bible does not see fit to record it, and that in itself is significant. But it does record that he was right about Paul, and he was right about John Mark, even when Paul was not. It also takes courage to be willing to be wrong about believing in someone. Courage can be given out, but there is no guarantee it will be taken in. Still, I would rather give encouragement to a Christian whose faith falters than to withhold it until I am sure they will succeed. The Bible contains, among other things, biographies of flawed individuals appointed by the Lord to play a part in His infallible plans. At least our failures will not show up in the pages of the Bible. And that should be an encouragement for all of us.

 

 

Not a Prepper

   I am not a prepper, but I love the sound of the word. Mostly because of the 1970's Dr. Pepper commercials--I'm a pepper, he's a pepper, she's a pepper, we're a pepper. Wouldn't you like to be a pepper too? Catchy commercial, I remember it after 50 years even though I do not like the taste of Dr. Pepper. I might be considered a prepper in the sense that I like to plan things in advance--I buy steak for future special occasion dinners whenever it goes on sale, we have had retirement investments and life insurance since our 30's, we both have wills, my burial wishes are on file in our pastor's office. So yes, I like to be prepared, but I am not a prepper in the way in which it is used now:  someone who expects

 a future catastrophic disaster and prepares for it by stockpiling food, ammunition, and other supplies.

 Ironically, preppers have even revealed their secret stashes on TV reality shows. Let's hope  desperate food seekers do not remember where they live when the apocalypse arrives.

     Prepping came to mind because of our pastor's message on Sunday from the last verses of Acts 11. Agabus, a prophet in the Antioch church, predicted a severe famine for the entire Roman world. The church members there responded by taking an offering for the Jerusalem church and, since Western Union was unreliable at that time, they sent the money with Saul and Barnabas. That is what they did. Here is what they did not do: hoard their money since food would be expensive during the famine, stock up on Patriot emergency food kits, or buy weapons to protect their food kits. They would suffer in the famine too, but they knew Jerusalem Christians, who had lost jobs and family support because of their faith, would suffer worse. 

    Christians are called to give generously to those in need--brothers in Christ, strangers, even enemies. The point of turning the other cheek is not so you can draw your gun. There is nothing wrong with preparing ahead of time for disasters like earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, fires and floods. We have had a lot of those lately. However, the house the supplies are stored in might not be there for the disaster after party, and 100 pounds of rice does not keep well in a flood. The Tribulation will have not only natural disasters, but supernatural disasters, demonic attacks and world war, yet there are no verses in the Bible about prepping for it. Mid-tribbers might give that some thought. The disaster Jesus spent a lot of the book of Matthew warning about was the coming siege of Jerusalem and his main message was not buy gold or extra provisions, it was do not take anything with you, run! 

    Like most things, whether prepping is good or bad is revealed by the Why. Do I think God cannot take care of me unless I handle it myself? Am I unwilling to suffer want like so much of the world does on a daily basis? Am I willing to kill people to keep provisions? And what would the Antioch Christians think of American Christians, most of whom would be ultra rich by their standards, living in fear of the future? As for me, I guess I do not like the taste of Dr. Prepper either.

     

Nothing on Earth

      Before the leisure time in Wichita that gave me so many opportunities to write ended, I wrote one more poem. I decided not to put Tracy's name in it because it would fit many losses.

Nothing on Earth

There are some days when,

 despite the comfort and blessings

 the Lord has given me,

 I feel like nothing on earth

 will make up for losing you.

  

But then I remember,

 nothing on earth has to.

 That particular blessing

 is not found on earth.

 That is what heaven is for. 

8/9/25

 

 

The Things I Bring

    Reed and I have been traveling together for a long time, mostly on work related trips where the hotel stays tend to be longer--one, two, even three weeks, like this one. Thankfully, though I told Reed if I could travel with him, he did not need to worry about feeding me, most of the hotels we stay in offer a free breakfast. Sometimes I contemplate how things have changed over the years through the lens of what I bring with me when I head to the breakfast room.

In my 40's--room key, pen to do crossword puzzles in the free lobby                          newspapers

          50's--room key, reading glasses, cellphone, pen for crosswords

          60's--room key, bifocals, smartphone, no pen  Newspapers are no longer offered, assuming everyone gets their news online. (Crossword puzzles on a cell phone?)

 

    Of course, Covid changed hotel stays far more than my age, vision, or smart phone. Breakfast rooms sat empty except for a pile of paper bags with granola bars, yogurt, etc. in them. Fortunately, hotel breakfasts are back to many options, which somehow still seem boring after the first week. Housekeeping at many hotels went from daily to do-it-yourself. That has since been upgraded to sporadic. The computers I used until I had my own laptop were removed from hotel business centers because of Covid. Some of them must have died of it because they never found their way back. Overzealous hotels even removed hairdryers temporarily, though everything but the air coming out of them could easily be wiped down with sanitizer. Covid gave service industries a great incentive not to serve and the down the line, downgrade diagnosis is long Covid. And though employees are no longer getting paid to stay home, the idea that filling your shift is optional was too popular a benefit for the lazy to let go of. 

    On this particular trip, a new essential for going to the lobby is my high top tennies, known as kicks to the younger crowd (who aren't wearing them for ankle support, like I am). Sporting kicks does not make me feel younger, more like the Beach Boys "Little Old Lady from Pasadena," Go granny, go granny, go granny, go! On a positive note, kicks are less cumbersome than the cane I used to need for travel after my knee replacements.

     I have savored every work trip, especially those we have taken as Reed nears retirement, knowing each could be our last. Although I have heard that retired people actually have more time to travel, Reed has not adjusted to the concept of paying all expenses ourselves. But the best trip of our lives is still ahead of us, it will be our last, is all expense paid, and I don't need to bring a thing.

      

 

 

 

Mirror, Mirror

     When Reed started traveling for work and I was able to go with him, I knew the Lord had fulfilled my, almost forgotten, childhood dream of travel. With upgrades, of course, he has always given me so much more than I wanted for myself. Growing up, staying at a hotel was based on Dad being too tired to drive any further on our trips to Missouri to see relatives. Always for one night. I hoped someday to stay in a hotel long enough to unpack into the dresser. Considering the low budget hotels we stayed in back then, that probably would not have been a good idea. In hygienic terms, the dresser might have had cooties. I am currently on a three week stay in the Wichita Springhill Suites. Not the fanciest hotel we have stayed in, but still well above my Super 8 expectations. 

    My main problem with hotel rooms is that they have too many mirrors, and they are positioned to show more of our aging bodies than we usually have to look at. I would pay extra for a one mirror room. This morning as I faced my futile habit of fixing my hair and putting on makeup, the Lord helped me realize he finds this stage of our aging bodies beautiful too. He is not bothered by the bags, sags, spots, and wrinkles. Our bodies are the wrapping paper that loosens as we enjoy God's gift of old age and tears away completely when we open his gift of heaven. 

    God does not see our bodies the way we do. They are merely the seeds of our resurrected ones. That is why it is only fitting that we plant them in the dirt. What God finds beautiful is faith, acceptance of all that he brings into our lives, and growing in grace to others. If we are walking in the Spirit, those are the things that mature as the wrinkles and age spots multiply. And the only mirror that matters is the one that reveals spiritual beauty--the Word of God. 

 

The Practical Atheist

     I was caught by an expression in an article I read by Paul David Tripp. He called that condition where our theology is dead on, but we live as if God does not exist, being a "practical atheist." It refers to that disconnect between our beliefs and our behavior. Ideally, the knowledge that God's word says to prefer others over ourselves should translate into our attitude in the store check out line or when we drive in traffic, but often it does not. In more familiar words, we do not practice what we preach.

    We have faith that God is in sovereign control of the world, then doomscroll political posts and worry as if he has no idea what is going on, much less has control. We can believe he appointed the length of our lives before we were born and yet get blown about by every wind of health doctrine trying to postpone our appointment. And when people ask us about the reason for our good health, finances and/or abilities, and we credit those gifts to our own efforts, we are being practical atheists. Besides that, we have traded an opportunity to give glory to God and turned it toward ourselves, carbs, kale and cardio.

    I recently finished a short study on Solomon, the wisest human who ever lived. He knew his gifts of wisdom, wealth, and long life came directly from God because God told him so, yet Solomon ignored God's commands about intermarriage with unbelievers hundreds of times. I know many of his marriages were to secure political alliances, and obviously marriage was not as serious a commitment as in our one-spouse-at-a-time culture. But he had 700 wives and 300 concubines, that adds up to 1000 missed opportunities to ask the Lord for pre-marital counseling.

    Here are a couple bits of wisdom I got out of the study:

True wisdom is displayed, not in those desperate circumstances when big decisions are needed, but in the daily, seemingly insignificant, choices we make when we think discernment is unnecessary. 

We seldom sin for lack of knowing better, we choose to sin because we think we know better than the Lord about how we should live. 

    It is impractical to be an atheist in Montana, where the Creator's fingerprint is everywhere. But God did not reveal himself to us so our theology would be sound, he did it so, through us, his reflection would be seen. And that takes lot of practice.