Redeeming the Day

    Today is Halloween. It is a holiday about which Christians disagree and, since it started with the Celts in the U.K. 2000-3000 years ago, there is no Biblical mention of it. That makes it one of those disputable matters like the example in Paul's day of buying meat sacrificed to idols. Our church tries to redeem the day by outreach. One of the church families has a home on the east side of town. The older homes there are expensive, yet close together, so it is prime pickings for trick or treating. Kids from all over town get dropped off by their parents on those busy avenues. Our church college and career group stands in front of that home handing out candy for the kids, hot cider for the adults, gospel tracts, and invitations to church. Our pastor's family also uses it for outreach. They live in a newer neighborhood full of young families. I cannot tell you how many of the families now in our church came because they were invited by the pastor's family. They are very intentional in reaching out to their neighbors, and Halloween is the one day a year hundreds of neighborhood kids will come to their door, so they are ready with treats and invitations to church. Since their boys are in sports, they also have opportunities for extended visits with parents while watching their kids play, which leads to other opportunities like inviting the staff at the urgent care, E.R., physical therapy, etc.

    We cannot use the day for outreach because no one comes to our house. We live in a cul-de-sac where the houses are far apart and our end of the road has no streetlights. I used to take my niece and nephew trick-or-treating here because, since they might be the only kids coming, the neighbors tended to dump the candy bowl into their bags. As an aunt, too much candy would not be a problem I had to deal with. But our quiet doorbell makes me a little sad because I have such happy memories of taking my younger brother and sister trick-or-treating, even in our sketchy neighborhood in Missoula, and of taking our young children in the sketchy Kalispell neighborhood we lived in at the time. Pumpkin carving day was celebrated with donuts and cider. The only gross thing about Halloween was the pumpkin guts--and watching our cat Cisco eat them. Back then both our church and Christian school held carnivals as alternative entertainment, and businesses at our, now nearly empty, mall handed our treats.

    I simply refuse to sacrifice those memories because of pagan practices centuries ago on another continent. If Halloween is an evil day, it is because, in this world, all of them are. The Christian's responsibility is "redeeming the time (making the most of every opportunity Eph. 5:16 NIV), because the days are evil." Wow, I managed to post four blogs this month after all.

A Passion Not for Christ

    We were at a church potluck recently when a man we have known for many years sat at our table. When he learned that the young woman next to me was a nurse, I knew we were in for a long monologue about the great passion of his life--nutrition. For many years he sent editorial letters to the local paper expounding on his theories. Thankfully, he now has an online forum where like-minded, food obsessed people can share ad nauseam. Not that there is anything wrong with nutrition, it is a harmless, potentially healthy, pursuit. The problem is that the thing for which he has endless enthusiasm and enough excitement to prompt him to share it with total strangers, is nutrition--not the Lord. From the editorial letters he used to send, and in-person conversations, though he is not saying anything inappropriate, you really cannot tell that he is a Christian.

    From knowing his wife, the patient way he deals with their adult special needs son, and his faithful attendance at church, I assume he is a believer, but that is not the passion of his life. When I die and at last see Jesus (not to underestimate His grace and compassion) I want to be welcomed with, "Thanks for loving me so much" not "Oh, the nutrition person." Healthy eating can help us feel better in this life, but Jesus made it plain that human effort does not change the expiration date He chose for us (Mt. 6:27). And when Jesus said "after such things the Gentiles seek," (Mt. 6:32), it was an observation, not a recommendation. His command, even to the poor of His time who did not know where their next meal was coming from, is not to worry about what we will eat, drink or wear. (Mt. 6:31). Focus on food has no eternal value because all the food in heaven will be good for us. 

    Fortunately for him and us, the nice nurse was willing to converse with him. It makes me wonder if the things I share about the most, reveal my love for the One who loved me with such compassion that He gave up everything to save me. Lord you have given me blessings too numerous to mention and time to pursue my hobbies and interests, like writing. But help me to make you the overflow of my mouth, my mind, my heart, for that passion should go only to you.

Can't Write, Gotta Write

     Most months I like to have at least four blog posts for the sake of my few followers and my own sanity, so I am watching with despair the dwindling October days. For good or bad, I am still having ideas for blogs, but I have not had time to write them because I am too busy writing. A friend from church, Beth, manages a ministry called Promise Clubs for special needs adults and children. There is a written curriculum for the meetings, but she asked me to write a devotional for the adults/caregivers using the same curriculum. (Ridiculously hard to spell, in future references, I am subbing the words materials or program.) There are 13 weeks of lessons with four devotional studies per week. This is actually a paid writing gig! Who knew? 

     So the reason I have had no time to write is that I have been too busy writing. I have never written devotionals, so I slavishly copied the format from the sample she gave me, which is only about 14 lines of text on a 5 x 7 page. Although I need to tie them to the Bible story in the materials, I can choose my own verse references and make my own aim and applications. Since I am a word miser, keeping it short is fine with me. When I sent Beth my devotions, she liked them but said it is okay to go deeper into the weariness, loneliness, and frustration of special needs homes. Since my Mom was mentally ill and my brother is mentally disabled, I did not need to imagine those feelings, I lived them. 

    I am enjoying this writing project, in many ways they are like condensed versions of my blog. And I have been surprised to find that my take away and applications from the familiar Bible stories are not at all what I expected I would. The Lord has been faithful to help me find the direction and the words to get started on each day's lesson. I really have nothing to write without His input, so I just have to wait for his timing. When my subject matter is the Bible, I need to be subject to the Master who wrote it.

 

Loopholes

    There has been a fad in recent years of churches changing their names. In Kalispell, what was the Christian Center is now called Canvas, the Alliance Church on the west side of town became Adventure, Evergreen Alliance allied with a different group entirely and is now Trailhead. A name that always amuses me as we pass through Polson, is a church called Movement. I can't help but think of the Red Green Show where the name of the Possom Lake newspaper was the Daily Movement. My church home, Central Bible Church, wants to keep the Bible in the center of our name just like it has always been in our theology.

   The first few chapters of this year's Bible study of Romans shows Gentiles looking away from God to sin for satisfaction, and the Jews looking to the Law for righteousness. Neither of those things work, but fellowship with our own kind makes us feel good about ourselves, so I have a suggestion for a name that might make a church incredibly popular-- The Loophole. We are born looking for loopholes. Adam found a loophole when he blamed Eve (and the Lord who gave her to him) for his disobedience. Eve looked for a loophole when she blamed her sin on the serpent. Even non-verbal toddlers confronted for committing a no-no like writing on a wall, book, or themselves, will point to a sibling, the dog, even mommy. Grown up Christians do the same thing every time we justify our sin. And worldly culture, though scoffing at the very idea of sin, automatically blame shifts when they get caught doing something even they realize they shouldn't. 

    Since it is in our nature to look for loopholes, and church names now make trendy, but vague, statements about ideology, The Loophole is certain to be seeker friendly. They could still use the Bible, but instead of expounding on its teachings, they could explain them away. However, I would not want to go to a church full of people who take no responsibility for their own bad decisions. Who wants to fellowship with felons, forecasters (weather/economic/pollsters) and politicians? I will stick with the saved sinners I spend time with now, and when the Bible bumps me in the behind, I may still blame shift, but I don't have enough faith to believe that God's holy Word leaves us loopholes.

What the Sign Reveals

 

    For months there has been a portable flashing speed sign similar to the one above, on one of my main routes into town. Supposedly, it is because of a work zone several blocks ahead, although the speed limit on that part of the road has been posted at 25 mph for decades, probably since automobiles replaced horses. But somehow, driving past a sign that displays 25 mph and has the audacity to flash if you are going even one mph over the limit has been a revelation to me, not about my speed, but about my stinkin' thinkin' towards authority. 

 

•   I have blown raspberries at it. 
•   Rolled my eyes.
•   Argued with it:  Gimme a break. I'm only 1 mile over!
•   Gloated: See, I'm going 25. Happy now? 
•   And I get really rude when I'm under the speed limit.

 

    The sign reminds me (but probably not normal people) of Simeon's prophecy to Mary in Luke 2:34-35 when Jesus was brought to the temple for circumcision. "This child is destined to cause the rising and falling of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed . . ." What the stupid flashing sign reveals to me is not the speed limit, I already know that. As I speak against it when I drive past, it reveals my unwillingness to be told what to do, even by an innocent, inanimate object. It flashes into my consciousness the thoughts of my heart. 

   Perhaps I should keep that visual in mind when I condescendingly condemn the hardness of the religious leaders of Jesus time when the truth was standing right in front of them. When He gave sign after sign that He was who He claimed to be. When he told them that breaking one commandment (even by just 1 mph) meant their righteousness was not enough. The sign is correct when it says "WORK ZONE", every time I  pass it, the Spirit goes to work on my heart.

 

 

Dancers at Rest

     Though it is usually my favorite season, I am starting to see autumn as the opposing team trying to run out the clock on the good weather we need to complete our home siding and painting project. I had also begun to believe I was no longer capable of writing poetry, but today I wrote this . . . I did not specify good poetry.

 

Dancers at Rest 

 

Almost as if they're taking turns,

the leaves blush red as autumn burns

its annual invitation on

the rings within the tree. 

 

Not all at once, but branch by branch,

their costumes change before the dance.

The leaves like lilting music sway

till, one by one, they're swept away.

 

I'm glad they have this final time

to dress their finest, soar sublime, 

uplifted by the cool, fall winds,

then float to earth to join their friends.

 

Through spring and summer we have made

a leafy refuge of their shade.

And I, with many seasons blessed, 

can understand their need for rest. 

 

9/18/26 

 

 

 

Et Tu, City Brew?

    That catchy title refers to Caesar's question to Brutus in the Shakespeare play "Julius Caesar." As Caesar is being betrayed and stabbed by Roman senators, he asks his friend Brutus if he is betraying him too. Et tu, Brute'?, meaning you too Brutus? The answer was, yes. I chose it as a title because: 1) Using Latin makes me sound smart 2) Brew sounds like Brute' 3) It is the second business to disappoint me in the last few days. In my last post I whined about being let down by Les Schwab, this one is about today's experience at City Brew. I have been a City Brew fan since the first one opened close to where I live. Sadly, that location closed, but another opened in Evergreen. Between being located in one of those black hole spots that kills every business that builds there, and chronic staffing problems, that one closed too. The only remaining City Brew is near the hospital and, after today, I'm not so sure about that one.

    My coffee place picks have a lot to do with perks, and I had received a $5 off a drink purchase that was only good for a few days. I had never seen the City Brew parking lot so empty at noon before, and at the tables where there are usually students and businessmen on computers, Bible study and knitting groups meeting, I was the only customer. Since I drank my emergency freezer frappe that helps with my migraines yesterday, I ordered a follow up frappe. I gave the girl my phone number (twice, slowly), showed her the offer on my phone, and ordered my drink (twice, slowly). She charged me full price. I explained it again. She and the other young woman conferred and said the discount only applied to hot drinks. I explained (twice, not so slowly) that it did not say that, and the offer has never worked that way before. Meanwhile I got on my City Brew app, started to order the same frappe and it applied the discount. Finally, an older woman came out of the back, easily found the coupon in my account and took my order. Then the girls made my drink (slowly). The only other customer who came in after me got tired of waiting, asked for her money back, and left (quickly).

    This does not bode well for the future of our lone City Brew. I definitely will not be requesting their gift card for my birthday. I understand what it is like to be new to a job, that excuses the slow and don't know part, but employees who make up explanations roast my beans. It is not like getting stabbed or anything, but lying to me in a business filled with the aroma of so many happy memories feels a little like betrayal. First Les, now--You too, City Brew?

 

Do Less with Les

    For many years I have both patronized and referred friends to, Les Schwab for tire issues. Frequently, they will repair a tire for free and just tell you to remember them the next time you buy tires. No charge. No pressure. But because of what happened to a friend of mine last week, I am planning to do less with Les. A longtime friend went to the Evergreen Les Schwab for a leaky tire. We have been providing vehicles, maintenance and tires for her for decades because, for many years Tracy found and fixed up inexpensive older cars for her, she worked hard but had low income, and because she has such a timid personality that she is often taken advantage of. Predatory salesmen can sense this like a shark smells blood in the water. The tire tech said her tire was unrepairable because she drove on it flat. (That may be true, this is the same friend who added antifreeze to the oil in her last vehicle--twice.) By the time she thought to call us, he had already sold her four 50k mile tires to replace the 50k mile tires we bought her two years ago, he recommended siping, and of course, they charged her a disposal fee for tires that only had 11,000 miles of use. Total $580. She finally texted when he also tried to sell her wheels, and she realized $900 might be close to what we paid for the car in the first place. Frankly, I expected more of Les.

    Reed told her to ask for her/(our) tires back. They told her they would look for them, but of course, didn't actually look until Reed showed up the next morning. By that time, they said the unrepairable tire and one other had, by amazing coincidence, been put in the trailer that had already been taken away, so there was no way to check their actual condition. But two of the four tires were in a trailer that was still there, and they managed to locate them. The salesman assured Reed he had offered my friend alternatives, but the power of persuasion is usually more about the way than the words. 

    Since Reed and I, of necessity, drove for many years on used, mismatched tires, I asked Tracy how important it was that tires match. He said it's very important--for race cars--but for the way most people drive, mismatched tires won't harm the transmission. And since my friend's car was a 1999 Subaru with 196,000 miles on it, the transmission was probably about as broken/broken in as it could be. The odd thing about the siping they talked her into, at $18 per tire, is that one of the sources AI cited explaining why it is not always helpful and may actually shorten the lifespan of the tire, was the Les Schwab website. Reed's experience with siping, except on winter tires, which we already bought her, supports that conclusion.

     When Reed picked up the two remaining tires, he "suggested" they refund the disposal fee. The manager said they would also refund the siping charges. I tried to send a complaint email to Les Schwab but, oddly enough, when I clicked Submit, it said something went wrong and deleted all the information I had spent 20 minutes including. I know my friend would like to let it drop, she is embarrassed about the whole incident. And since the email address of Les Schwab Corporate is harder to find than an honest politician, I will have to be satisfied with poison pen posting here. But I hate to see anyone taken advantage of, the age and condition of her car were ample evidence of her limited income, and there are many more like her in that part of Kalispell. I hope the upseller got upbraided by the manager, and for future friends with tire troubles, I'll suggest they do less with Les. 

 

False Despair

     Christians should not give anyone false hope about salvation, the world does that already. Those who believe the Bible know all paths do not lead to God, hell is not just for murderers, and no one gets to heaven by their good deeds outweighing the bad. But sometimes I wonder if, through a misunderstanding of the nature of salvation, we give ourselves and each other false despair. Only God knows whether an individual's faith in Christ was genuine or contrived, if their response was heart felt or pretense. And producing spiritual fruit that displays our new life in Christ is not optional, anyone who claims to belong to Jesus yet is content living in habitual sin, invites God's judgment. From our human standpoint trusting Jesus is a decision that can be made or unmade, but from God's perspective salvation is not some transient religious experience. The reason God's gift of eternal life cannot be returned is that it does not depend on us, it rests on RIBS.

    We have been learning about the Holy Spirit in our Sunday morning services and I think knowing the Spirit's role in salvation could be a great comfort for those watching prodigals drift away, and especially for those whose prodigals have died. RIBS is an acronym for the Holy Spirit's work in our permanent, positional relationship with God. Our ability to live out the practical realities of these spiritual truths requires our cooperation with God's Spirit, but in the RIBS of the Spirit, we play a passive role. The only condition required is that we have put our faith in Jesus. "R" stands for regeneration. All of us are born spiritually dead, regeneration is the unchangeable act of God by which we are made spiritually alive. "I" is for indwelling. At salvation the Holy Spirit takes up residence within us, permanently. Our disobedience can make our life an unpleasant place for Him to dwell, but we cannot evict Him, even if we are foolish enough to want to. "B" is for baptism. This is not water baptism, but the one and done work in which the Spirit places us within the body of Christ. "S" stands for sealing, the Holy Spirit marks us as belonging to God and offers Himself as the down payment guaranteeing our complete redemption. RIBS--not just for dinner, for always.

     Now back to prodigals--if we are praying for a prodigal to repent, when what they really need is salvation, or vice versa, we can trust the Holy Spirit to sort that out. But what about the prodigal who dies, apparently unrepentant, and sometimes unreconciled with family? If the grieving family doesn't voluntarily share when their loved one came to know Christ, I will ask them about it. When they set their hope in their loved one's previous acceptance of Christ as Savior, despite the later years of doubt and wandering, it is not false hope. Although repentance is necessary in order to be saved, or we would not see our need for a Savior, the permanence of our salvation does not rest on our repentance, but on the reality of the Holy Spirit's work of regeneration, indwelling, baptism and sealing--RIBS. 

    Some Christians are so afraid of holding out false hope, they go to the opposite extreme. They tell me how their loved one came to know Jesus, but then dismiss it because their assurance of salvation is focused on the strength of their loved one's hold on the Lord, not the power of God's grasp on them. At a time when believers most need the Holy Spirit's peace, comfort, and the strength of the unseen reality of His RIBS, they may instead focus on false despair. I offer parents of prodigals the same verse God gave me when I needed assurance about my son, John 6:37 "All those the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away." That is our true hope.

      

The Actuality of Factuality

     Everything we read is written from a biased perspective, including this blog. The only way to write without bias is to leave your brain behind. Although that may explain my writing style, the perspective of the author cannot be completely eradicated, even when the information is gathered and composed by AI. But sometimes I long for a little honesty. All but the local articles in our newspaper are cut and pasted from the AP (Always Partisan) news service. I understand why this is necessary, small newspapers like ours cannot afford to send staff to cover national, much less international, events. Today I was trying to find out whether an earthquake, or an avalanche, caused the flash flood which has killed so many in Nepal. It was reported both ways. From what I can tell, the seismic activity recorded before the flood was caused by the massive chunk of glacier, mud, and rock that broke off high in the Himalayas. That would certainly ratchet up the Richter scale, even without an earthquake. As I told my husband, who leans toward the earthquake explanation, it doesn't require a tsunami to make waves when a fat person cannonballs into a swimming pool. 

    The Pour Over, which I recommend as a Christian perspective news source, says the reason for the slide is unknown. The AP (Advocating Progressives) not only says it was caused by global warming, but human caused global warming. As if, under the tons of rock, mud, and debris, they found a note assigning blame. Inserting "human caused", which cannot possibly be proven, compromises the factuality of whatever truth may have unintentionally remained in the rest of the article. One would think even a semi-competent editor would have noticed one of his writer's pants were on fire. And it is not as if the AP (Actively Prejudiced) never admits causes are unknown. For instance, if a Muslim looking man, with a Muslim sounding name, whose internet accounts reveal interest in terrorist causes, suddenly decides to kill random strangers, the AP might report that the reason for the violence is unknown. Perhaps they believe that makes up for endorsing assumptions like the one in the article about the flood. 

   I am not a fan of right biased news either. In a spiritual context, seeking spokesmen to tell us what we want to hear is called having itching ears. It is the opposite of listening to sound doctrine. As the political persuasion most likely to believe in objective truth, the right goal of the Right should be to report it. Truth can speak for itself and even benevolent bias muffles it. In actuality, there is little factuality from either side of the political spectrum, and that is the honest truth.

 

     

 

      

 

Reading and Writing

    I believe it is possible to read but never write (creatively, or in my case, recreationally), but I don't believe it is possible to write but never read. In order for a brain to spit something out (which explains my writing) it is necessary to first put something in. That is why my recent writer's block did not concern me, that happens fairly often. But I was very concerned that I was not reading. I downloaded books on Kindle as usual, read a few pages, found they did not hold my interest, and stopped reading. It is not like me to not finish a book, even when it is a bargain price through Book Bub. Time is precious, reading is a luxury, and I simply did not want to waste it on books I don't enjoy. I also did not want to waste time looking for a better book online.

   Finally Book Bub offered a sequel to "Anguished English", a humorous compilation of misspelled, mis-spoken, and misused phrases. "Bride of Anguished English" got me reading again and made me laugh, but I wondered how I would do with a novel. In this week's Book Bub there was one of Kathy Reich's Bone sequels. She is a very engaging author and even though it was more than I usually pay for a download, $2.99, I bought it. Reichs uses a lot of cliff hanger chapter endings which cause some author endorsements to describe her books as "unputdownable." However, I feel a professional writer, should be "authory" enough to use a genuine word, if only to discourage us amateur hacks from using made up words like authory. 

    So I am reading again and have begun blogging again. There is a vast difference between what my brain is taking in and what it is spitting out, but reading and writing go, if not hand in hand, at least hand in head. Awkward, but still somehow, getting somewhere. I'll settle for that.

 

Double Blessing

   We always thank God for the food before we eat a meal, but sometimes the dessert makes you want to double down and thank Him all over again. Tonight's dessert was coconut cream pie. Since I was making crust for quiche last week, I also made a pie shell. Reed requested coconut cream as the filling. Coconut was one of the things we got to add back into the menu after coconut "intolerant" (by choice) Tracy left home. Reed and I happen to like it.

    I thought about making a dessert Britten's family would enjoy since I knew they would probably be with us for dinner that evening. They had kindly offered to help Reed with the windows and sheeting for the west side of our ongoing home siding project, but they're not really pie people, so I made coconut cream anyway. It's not as if I didn't have other desserts. To (mis)quote Marie Antoinette--Let them eat cookies.    

   Thankfully tonight was the third, and final, appearance of the pie. When the kids lived at home, I had to make a 10 inch pie if I wanted any to survive past dinner. Now, with just two of us, finishing off a 9 inch pie comes with a serving of relief, as if we finally finished some sort of food marathon. My next project is making something out of the leftover egg whites. That is one of the wonders of the way God made eggs, the yolks can thicken a filling, the whites fluff and lighten another dessert. Isn't that just like the Lord to make even something as simple as eggs a double blessing?

     

 

Right Place, Right Time

    There are times it is obvious that the Lord crafts circumstances to puts us in the right place at the right time. That happened to me last week at Smith's grocery store. I prefer to do my shopping mid morning when it is less crowded, but for one reason or another, wound up not arriving at Smith's until after 11. I had barely begun shopping when I noticed a friend who had attended our church for a time. She and her husband live 30 miles from Kalispell, but their local church was having problems at the time, so they drove in to attend Central Bible. Gloria broke her shoulder skiing and had several unsuccessful surgeries to repair it during the time they attended our church, and I heard after they left that she had also broken her back. But what I noticed at the store, one gimp to another, was her limp. 

    So that day I became one of those annoying people who stop for a long grocery-cart, heart-to-heart in an inconvenient corner of a busy store. Gloria had been in town for a second opinion on an upcoming surgery for her torn Achilles tendon. The doctor she consulted was actually the partner of the one who did my ankle surgery in May. Between our shoulders and our feet we had a lot to talk about, but the reason for which the Lord put us together was that she would need a knee scooter for 5 weeks following surgery. However, not having had my morning coffee before heading out, I was telling her where to get one instead of offering her the one sitting idle in our guest room until she flat out asked if she could borrow it. Of course she was welcome to it, and I felt ridiculous for not having offered it myself. She will pick it up when she comes for her pre-op appointments at the end of the month.

     I am thankful God was able to use clueless (caffeine-less) Connie once again. I have had a couple other times recently when I got to the grocery store later than I wanted, but just in time for a basket full of newly discounted items to be put out, and finding good bargains excites me even more than scoring one of those coveted little grocery carts to shop with. I am trying to remember that God has a plan even in the small details of life. And if I would bother to pray about such things, I could relax and trust His timing instead of stewing because my schedule is disrupted. As in Jesus' earthly ministry, sometimes the Lord leads us into a crowd for one person, someone we can help just by letting Him put us in the right place, at the right time. 

The Only One of Their Kind

    We recently lost a family at our church. Not misplaced lost, left loss. They came to us, along with some other families, after the small church they were attending disbanded. I knew from the beginning that they would not stay. Not that they were unfriendly, thought we were, or disagreed with our doctrine, their family was just the only one of their kind. It is one of those families where the mother is perpetually pregnant, the wife and daughters have long hair and always wear dresses, the husband and sons wear vests and/or ties to church. Their sons are named for Bible characters, their daughters for Bible virtues. The kids had to stay in the auditorium when the other kids were dismissed for junior church. I knew someday the older children would start questioning why they had to do things the other church kids do not. And those questions are still going to come up. I am familiar with the church they are now attending and they are probably the only one of their kind there too.

    There is nothing wrong with the standards they hold to as a family, but there is nothing right about them either--biblically speaking. As a parent who has launched children into adulthood, I learned that everything families and churches add to the simple truth of the Bible is a liability. One preacher I heard called it inoculating our children against the gospel. Adding human requirements to biblical salvation by grace through faith diminishes both the authority of the Bible and the sufficiency of Christ's sacrifice. Asking questions is part of the process of young adults making their family's faith their own. If the answer to why we practice Christianity the way we do is not found in the Bible, parents are left with nothing to say. I have seen three basic responses from these kids when they leave home: Some of them (daughters probably) will practice their faith the way they were raised, others will reject the family standards but keep the Savior, and sadly, some will decide neither the family standards nor the Bible matter and reject all of it.  

    They are a nice family. I hope it goes well for them at the new church they are attending, but I do not expect them to stay there long. The problem with setting the behavior bar "higher" than the Lord does, is that it is lonely at the top. No matter how loving and accepting a church body may be, it is hard for such families to feel supported when they are the only one of their kind.

When My Turn Comes

    Our parents are facing the dreaded duty of downsizing from their homes of many years. It is a task we will also face someday and I am already not a fan. If it was only deciding what will be needed at the next place we live, that would be hard enough, even if we knew exactly where we were moving to. But when each of those belongings in question are linked to a lifetime of memories, it will be infinitely harder. I have learned that the first thing I will need to discard is the expectation that my children will want my stuff. I already know they do not. My daughter is a minimalist, getting rid of unneeded objects is a lifestyle for her. Good thing we don't live at her house. Tracy was my only sentimental child. He kept a box of favorite childhood toys that is still stored at our house, but I have not had the heart, or courage, to look through it.

   And it is okay that our kids do not want our stuff because the Lord helped me realize that He allows us the ability to collect and accumulate things that please us, for our lifetime. He gives our children, and will give their children, things that are meaningful to them. What people choose to collect or display in their home is a matter of preference, not heredity. There was no genetic reason for me to like retro tins (which I stopped collecting years ago, but well meaning friends keep giving me) and I have is no reason, or even desire, to expect my kids to carry on the tradition. So, if the collection of little girl figurines I bought for Britten's birthdays until her teens brought me pleasure, they have fulfilled the purpose God gave them for. I bought them in honor of my daughter, not for her. 

    When I collected Christmas ornaments for each of my children while they were growing up, I thought they would want to take them when they had homes of their own. I was wrong. Tracy might have wanted his, but could not take them to his home in heaven. Meanwhile, it brings me comfort to hang his ornaments on the little tree we dedicate to his memory at Christmas. Britten does not want her ornaments and, though I haven't thrown them away yet, I also do not put them on our tree. Will did not want his ornaments either, but his wife did, and I get to see them on their tree every Christmas. I now collect ornaments for my grandchildren knowing full well that they may not want them when they leave home. 

    We hope to enjoy our current home for years to come, if only to reap the benefits of recent remodeling projects, so we can kick the can on some of those what to keep/what to throw decisions for a while. But someday it will be our turn to open those boxes in the basement--vinyl music albums, no longer used dishes/bedding/clothing, our kids school work, and various things we kept, not because we needed them, but because we forgot about them. Hard as it will be to let those treasured time capsules go, downsizing is not just to make leaving our home less hassle for our grown children, it is part of our stewardship of the blessings God chose for us. The final part. Among the things I know about downsizing, is that I will not have it down pat, when my turn comes.

    The tangible things I want my children to have, and have already given them (like it or not), are my poetry books. Whether they choose to read them is up to them, but if they ever want to know what I felt, thought, laughed at, loved, those memories live in my books. The legacy I most want to leave to my children is intangible--my trust in Jesus, love for them, attempts to make some days special, and laughter. And I know by the way they serve God, raise their children, and live their lives, they already possess that.

Proverbs 31, My Best 3 out of 20

    I shared this devotional at a bridal shower this morning and, since I have not posted a blog for a month, I will recycle it here. The names are changed to keep me innocent of posting this without asking their permission.

                                        Proverbs 31 My Best 3 out of 20 

     Evelyn, I realize most of us at Central Bible don’t know you very well, but you are marrying an Oak-ling and that makes you part of the CBC family and, as family members, we may feel comfortable giving you unasked for advice about marriage. Today I’m going to share a little from the painfully familiar passage Proverbs 31:10-31. I’ve titled this message Proverbs 31, My Best 3 out of 20. I admit that I have a love/hate relationship with this passage about the virtuous woman. Most of its aspirations are beyond me. When it says: A wife of noble character who can find? I think maybe we should lower the bar or at least, dim the lights. There are a few of its 21 verses where I feel I might measure up, but most of them—not so much. For instance, I am so craft impaired they should give me a special license plate, so making things to sell, spinning wool, sewing clothes and making bed coverings like the wife in Proverbs is not going to happen. I also kill plants so there would be no point in me buying a vineyard. I count on the grocery stores to bring my food from afar, but I am willing to shop a little farther from home for a better sale price. I am not a sleepless wonder woman whose lamp doesn’t go out at night, but I will stay up late to have good food prepared for my family and others. And I would dearly love to have her female servants/maidens to assign tasks to, especially cleaning. I also have to admit that I sometimes eat the bread of idleness, although it is more likely to be a cookie. I’m sure you are more gifted in some of those areas than I am, Evelyn, almost anyone would be. But within those few verses I don’t feel as intimidated by, there are some good takeaways for a woman heading into the unknown territory of marriage. 

vs. 11 (Amp) The heart of her husband trusts in her confidently and relies on and believes in her securely, so that he has no lack of honest gain or need of dishonest spoil. I don’t know how you and James will set up your household, but in ours, I am the one who pays the bills. For 49 years Reed’s paycheck, and now Social Security, have gone into our checking account and he has never worried that our bills go will unpaid or that I am using the money selfishly or unwisely. His confidence in me makes me feel like I'm actually fulfilling this verse. In most couples one is the saver, one is the spender. This provides balance but also some ballistics. Reed entered our marriage with the attitude I’ll commit to buy something and figure out how to pay for it later. In my experience growing up, money did not appear just because you needed it. I was the frugality freak. However, I did not have to convert Reed to my point of view, I was putting him through school and our budget did that all by itself. In later years, when Reed served on boards, he was the member saying show me the money before they made a commitment. Confidence comes from knowing as a couple you are working together toward the same financial goals. The family you’re marrying into may be free spirits, but everything else requires money. 

vs. 12 (Amp) She comforts, encourages, and does him only good as long as there is life within her. I’m not sharing this verse because I aced this one, but because God used it to smack me in the head. I realized that part of what I was doing when I was listening to my husband talk, was looking for openings to slip in helpful suggestions for improving him. Not only was I not doing good to my husband, I had turned him into a remodeling project and myself into the Holy Spirit’s little helper. I am sure at this point, Evelyn, that you think James is perfect and wouldn’t change a thing. I’m just letting you know that a few years down the line, you may start thinking of ways to improve on perfection. So this is your distant early warning that if the Spirit of God needs your help or suggestions for changing your husband, He will let you know.

    There are many ways you can comfort and encourage your husband, but I have found the thing a man most longs to hear is that you respect him. I wrote a poem for my father-in-law’s memorial called "Quiet Men" I won’t read it here today, but it is a tribute to him and the many men like him who quietly fulfill the responsibilities God has given them without recognition, simply because it is the right thing to do. After the service, an older gentleman came up to me with tears in his eyes, he said, “Thank you. I didn’t know if anyone saw.” Give James the gift of being seen “as long as there is life within you.” 

vs. 25 She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. I’m not sure how well I fit the strength and dignity clothes, but laughter is my heart language. And I could tell by the pictures James posted of the male members of the wedding party, that he is fluent in it also. Your wedding vows should be taken seriously, but your life together should be well lubricated with laughter—at yourself especially. I had a lot of mishaps when I was first learning to cook. My first attempt at bread dough over 50 years ago is probably still sitting in a landfill in Salem, OR, impenetrable as stone. Those early failures made me want to throw stones. Later, I decided there were no failures in the kitchen, only a lack of creative names. The dinner isn’t burned, it’s blackened. The pie that falls apart when you serve it, is now cobbler. And any cake can be upside down cake in the right circumstances. Don’t beat yourself up if you let your latte take a ride on top of your car, or look around for where you left your phone while it is still in your pocket. Laugh about it. And frankly, laughter is the only way to survive raising those adorable sinners we call children.

    There are many voices even in Christian media trying to convince us to fear the future. They would tell you that beginning a marriage in times like this, and someday bringing children into our sinful culture, is foolish. But actually, it is an act of faith. God is just as sovereign over the planet now as He ever was, and He has never rescinded his command to be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth, although that last mandate needs to be a group effort. Strength comes from fearlessly following God into the future. Dignity comes from being unashamed of trusting Him. Laughter comes from finding joy in the life God has given you . . . even when it takes courage to find it. And in the spirit of laughter, I will share one of my favorite poems.

 Partners 

 

I knew when I signed on with the Lamb outfit

that the fella I would be partnered with was only green broke,

but I took the job anyway.

I was sorta a hand between brands at the time

and didn’t cotton to the idea of riding alone.

Some can do it, but it’s wearisome

and even dangerous. 

 

It was hard work and the wages weren’t much,

but I was used to that. I’m a fair hand at fixing grub,

if I do say so myself, so we always ate good.

And, most of the time, we made ourselves

a snug place to sleep at night.

Although, some of the storms we got caught in

were real gully washers.

 

Outside of the occasional head butting

all partners do, we got along pretty well.

Still do actually. I settled in there at the

Double L and never got the itch to move on.

I may not have him all the way saddle broke,

but I’ll stay where I’m at,

a good partner can be hard to find. 

                          May God bless you and your partner-James-in the many years to come. 

 

 

The Law of Diminishing Returns

    Most of us have heard of the law of diminishing returns. I first learned about it in a lecture regarding physical intimacy. If the relationship moves from the holding hands stage to hugging, going back to just holding hands will not be satisfying enough. If it moves from hugging to kissing, hugging will not be enough. If it moves from kissing to you know what, kissing won't provide (as the song says) no satisfaction. You can guess why this particular precept might be shared with dating couples at a Bible college.            

    Addiction follows the same pattern. The amount of alcohol, drugs, sex, gambling, etc. that is required to be satisfying keeps increasing. But addictions are obviously harmful, what about other things with diminishing returns that I (for some reason) see ads for regularly--like beauty products for aging women. After a point, such efforts are all buck and no bang. The spokes-model looks like a geisha and the actual users look like slightly less wrinkled prunes. If the promised "measurable results" are only detectable with lab equipment, unless I plan to carry the findings with me, my beauty secret will remain a secret beauty.

    Safety requirements are also subject to the law of diminishing returns, especially in organizations with permanent safety officers. At first they offer sensible ideas about using and storing tools, equipment, chemicals etc. These are easy to obey because individuals with a detectable I.Q. are motivated toward their own well being anyway. However, when workers gather in groups, the I.Q. is divided into the lowest common denominator, men might decide to show off, women can become "unruly". Groups need safety rules. And, since every group has at least one score-keeping, rule-nazi, narc in it, it is easier to just follow them. The workplace has become safer, but the safety officer still has to justify their job by looking for remote remnants of risk.

     Now for the one most annoying to Reed--safety systems. Safety systems, the insurance approved ideal/idol of many aviation businesses, are even worse. Not only are they grasping as safety straws to find risk, nearly all of their edicts make the workplace less efficient. Since their entire business model is based on continually coming up with additional safety measures, eventually they are making mandates about not drying your hair in the microwave or how to operate a stapler, as if the employees do not have the sense God gave a mud puddle. And frankly, "puddle" people don't bother to read them. Someone else reads the regs to them while they wait for the EMT's to show up.  

    When Solomon wrote, "of the making of books there is no end," it was a complaint not a commendation. Making endless regulations ought to be against the law, actually it is--the law of diminishing returns. 

 

 

49 Years Ago Today

    We did not deliberately choose the 100th anniversary of the Custer Massacre to get engaged. For one thing Custer's Last Stand is not a big deal in Oregon, where we lived at the time. For another, both Reed's proposal and my acceptance were unrehearsed and spontaneous. Even Custer could have made a better plan. But perhaps that doomed engagement date explains the series of mishaps that occurred a year later on our wedding day. Thankfully, only vehicles were massacred. I know the big celebration, the Golden anniversary, is reserved for the 50th, and I think Reed and I will manage to make it one more year. But 49ers is more fun to say and filled with double meanings so that's what this poem is about.    

 

  49 Years Ago Today 

Today we are officially 49ers--

not the NFL kind, the padding

we have put on through the years

has nothing to do with football.

49 years ago today, Reed and I entered

the unexplored frontier of marriage.

We were looking for gold.

 

We had glimpsed gold dust before,

but the longer we sought for the source,

the deeper and richer the gold became. 

One promising vein played out

far sooner than expected, but we know

it is resting deeper in the Master's mine

and someday we will find it again. 

 

Other seams divided into veins

even more robust than the originals.

And the gold we have mined on earth 

will become unimaginable riches

once it is refined by the Master.

The Golden anniversary is the 50th, 

but we struck gold 49 years ago, today.

 

 6/25/26 

 

 

  

 

 

Using Things Up

      If our small group knew how much of the bountiful buffet we offer our guests was driven by what I need to use up in the fridge, they would be less impressed. My menu is often a combination of remnants in the refrigerator plus recipes. Since the internet offers an endless source of recipes, all I have to do is look up, for instance, appetizers using ham. The cookies I made this week, chocolate raspberry bars, are an example of both using up and substituting what I have on hand. My main goal was to use some of the huge tub of spreadable cream cheese my friend gave me to go with the croissants she brought over. It was a very kind gesture, I love croissants, but cream cheese has always grossed me out. I think of it as an ingredient, not a food. I cook with it, but I can barely look at it and hate to get it on my hands. The Costco tub she brought would be a lifetime supply for me. However, since I discovered spreadable cream cheese can sub for the regular bricks, I now plan slip it harmlessly into recipes that hide the taste and texture.

    Now back to the cookies, the middle layer of the bar cookies was cream cheese mixed with melted white chocolate chips. Perfect, I had some aging white chips I needed to use up, so this would be the culinary version of killing two birds with one stone. However, the recipe called for one cup and I only had one third. Then I remembered a trail mix I had on hand contained white yogurt chips. Close enough. So I nicked all the chips from the mix to use for the cookies. That still only made one half cup, but since the goal is just to sweeten the cream cheese layer, I figured that was close enough too.

    I did not have the seedless raspberry jelly the recipe called for, but I had been looking for a way to use the strawberry spread I bought mostly because it was on sale. Strawberry spread instead of raspberry jelly? Close enough. The other thing I needed to use up was half a can of chocolate fudge frosting. I don't usually buy canned frosting either, but it was on sale for a buck. You may notice a recurring theme here. The recipe called for melting chocolate chips to make a glaze, instead I zapped the chocolate frosting to make it softer. Close enough. 

    The chocolate raspberry bars turned out delicious despite the deviations. And as for my goal of using things up--this time I actually finished off three birds with one stone.

 

Being a Dad

     I make cards on a Hallmark computer program that enables me to customize. This year I decided the Father's Day card I made for Reed should include a poem. The poem is bittersweet, as all things have been since Trace died, but by God's grace, the sweet is gradually overtaking the bitter.

 

Being a Dad 

 

I wondered how you would take to it 

       . . . being a Dad.

You didn't have the advantage I did, 

of feeling your child inside you.

Our daughter was not as real to you

until she was born, 

and the nurses could barely

pry her out of your arms. 

 

Years later, on your arm,

walking her down the aisle 

I saw the look on your face--

you did not want to "give her away"

more like get her away 

from this barely grown groom

who dared to take her

from our home.

 

Will introduced me to the 

mysterious world of sons,

where you knew better than I

what to expect. Although Will

seldom behaved as expected.

And we realized Will should have been

his middle name, his first name

should have been Strong. 

 

Then came Tracy, who inherited

my compassion, your skills,

and from both sides of our family,

a predisposition to addiction. 

He shared so much with me, 

but in the hardest failures of his life

turned to you, and you were there

  . . . being a Dad. 

 

Father's Day 2026 

 

 

 

 

Father's Day Gifts

    I wrote this poem for my Dad's Father's Day card this year, but I won't publish it until he has received it in the mail. My Dad is very healthy for his age, but he will be 99 next month, and I realize that whatever I need to say to him, I should probably tell him now. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow. I did not specify in this that my Mom was mentally ill, but I wrote this for my Dad, who needs no explanation. And I hope that perhaps this may speak to people whose circumstances were different from ours, yet familiar.

Father's Day Gifts  

It is hard to buy Father's Day gifts 

for a man as satisfied with what

God has given him as you are,

so this year's gift is mostly my words.

 

For us four siblings, raised when

dads went to work to support their kids

and moms stayed home to nurture them,

Dad was the bond that held us together.

 

He showed us the value of 

honoring our future wedding vows

regardless of reciprocation,

appreciation, or mental condition. 

 

He showed us sacrificial love

by coming home to a family

who needed him, instead of

pursuing his own happiness. 

 

Dad is the reason we grew up

to be responsible, resilient people,

and to find the fulfilling relationships

that he chose to give up for our sake.

 

From Dad we learned that happiness 

comes from attitude, not circumstances,

that love is a commitment, not a feeling,

and to be content with what God gives us. 

 

Father's Day is a reminder, 

not about the gifts we give you,

but about the gift God gave us

by making you our Dad. 

 

Father's Day 2026 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Learning by the Seat of My Leg

    I am half way through six weeks of my right leg being non-weight bearing following ankle surgery. I thought I would be using crutches, having underestimated the changes between the 50 plus body I had for my knee replacements and the 70 minus body I have now. My shoulders, even the new one, are not up to crutch duty, my left leg can sock, but not hop, and I am a little off balance (no surprise there). These deficiencies must show, because my podiatrist strongly recommended I use a knee scooter. I always thought those were for the younger crowd. I have not ridden a scooter since  . . . I have never ridden a scooter. 

    At first it was awkward, like a junior high dance. Where am I supposed to hold you? When is it okay to let go? How fast are we supposed to move? The latter was written right on the handlebars:  Recommended speed: Normal walking 3.6 km/h (2.24 mph). I can actually reach that on the straightaways, even inside my house. It is the first time I have been able to go normal walking speed in years. Imagine how fast I could go if we didn't have carpet. Now I love my knee scooter. The brand is called BlessReach, so I call my scooter Blessie Blue. Here are some of the things I have learned:

 

1. I know the best way to transfer to/from the bed, toilet, shower, car, and most of the furniture. Still working on refining transfers to motorized carts at stores.
2. I am learning to organize tasks by line of reach, especially in the bathroom. I brush my teeth, wash my face and put on face cream on the way to the toilet. I put on my nightgown, grab meds, and drop my dirty clothes in the hamper on the way to bed. Scooters do not turn on a dime, more like a manhole cover, so I try to anticipate everything I might need from any area of the house before I leave it. Up until now, forgetfulness was the best exercise I got.
3. I can pull the cords on the ceiling light and fan with my reacher, which I have named Jack.
4. Even giving him a list that includes brand, size, price, aisle, and sometimes pictures, grocery stores are mostly unexplored territory for Reed. Unless I go with him, I need to lower my expectations that he will recognize good produce or bring home the sale items.
5. Reed has been hiding his talents from me. Although church friends have brought in several dinners for us, Reed has fixed bacon and eggs, even French toast (his idea!) for breakfast. He also knows how to do laundry (with some coaching on sorting and cycles). And, like those men I see in commercials, he knows how to clean a house.
6. That leads me to the most important thing I have learned while semi-recumbent--I DO NOT GET TO HAVE MY HOUSE MY WAY! 

    Reed does not think like me, load the dishwasher like me, clean like me, fold clothes even to my extremely low standards, etc. But he does help me shower, finds and fetches dozens of things I need, is my chauffeur, built a scooter ramp on our front steps, and has a great cup of coffee waiting for me at breakfast. The price of having things my way is doing them myself and, although I am getting my energy back, and Blessie and I are discovering how to do more things together, I have also learned that when you don't have a leg to stand on, you need to sit some things out. 

 

On This and Every Other Day

 

On This and Every Other Day 

 

We cannot tell the ones who've gone

how much their memory lives on

in flags that fly upon their graves,

in speeches given, veterans praised,

but most of all through families

who gather because they are free, 

on this and every other day

through the life you gave--

Memorial Day.

 

5/25/26 

A Leg Up

    To get things off on the right foot, I must explain about my right foot. My right foot went wrong a year ago when occasional soreness turned into rolling, popping and pain. Despite an unhelpful orthopedic visit, physical therapy and laser treatments, my ankle's stability was on its last legs. I had to wear high top winter boots to walk outside. Year round! As happens in later years, I wound up taking a break from one malfunction to treat another, so tolerated my tottering ankle until I could have my stiff, painful left shoulder replaced. Since that surgery and recovery went really well, and I was unwilling to suffer through another summer in winter boots, I scheduled an appointment about my ankle, this time with a podiatrist. Though I was not expecting another miraculous recovery, I had decided if surgery was needed, I was willing to break a leg. 

    The operation was six days ago. As with my shoulder, after the nerve block wore off, the pain was not as severe as expected. That is the upside. The downside is that my right leg cannot bear weight for six weeks. I had planned to use crutches after surgery as I did after my knee replacements, though that would have been hard on my shoulders, however in the dozen years between those operations and now, my sense of balance is on the skids and my body's ability to hop up and down steps has legged it out of my here. So my happy homecoming after surgery involved butt scooting my way into the house. There was a time when Reed could have just carried me across the threshold, but back then I could just have hopped to it. 

    Now I have traded my right leg for a knee scooter. Adjusting to getting around this way has looked like an awkward mating dance, but I have found the secret of not accidentally putting weight on my off duty leg is to put my leg up on the scooter before I grab the handles. Actually, God gave me a leg up on this un-bear-able time through last year's bathroom remodel that turned it into a walk-in shower with a built-in bench, without which I would be both unclean and unhappy. And in more recent sovereign circumstances, before my shoulder replacement, it would have been too painful to pull myself up by the scooter handles. Unsurprisingly, God sovereignly sutured these separate circumstances together so I could have the best possible outcome. But now it is time to shake a leg and finish this blog. Maybe my experience will help someone else without a leg to stand on, get a heads up on getting a leg up on knee scooters. 

 (If you noticed an excessive amount of idioms in this blog, it's because I just couldn't help pulling your leg.)

 

    

     

 

Second Chances

    The rich young ruler, whose encounter with Jesus is recorded in the three synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke) has become some pastors' poster child for blowing one's opportunity to be saved. But why assume he had no second chance? Mark 10:21 begins, "Jesus looked at him and loved him . . ."  Does the love of Jesus displayed and described in so many places in the New Testament fit with the one chance wonder sermons often preached about this man? In researching/googling this, I learned that church tradition identifies the rich young ruler as John Mark, the author of the gospel of Mark. But since we don't know that for sure, and we do know how awkward it is to keep repeating rich young ruler, let's just call him Rich Young and assume he did not walk away from Christ sad forever. That fits better with  other parts of the Bible in which the Lord offers many, often unused and always undeserved, opportunities for repentance.     The Lord gave:

 

• The people of Noah's time 120 years to believe and be saved, despite knowing none of them would. 
• Numerous prophets preaching repentance to the Israelites before, after and during captivity.  
• Even horrid Herod Antipas 1- 2 years to repent by listening to John the Baptist.  
• Saul the dying testimonies of every Christian he had martyred, beginning with the angelic face of Stephen, as an opportunity to repent. And when none of those experiences got through to him, Saul got a smack down from his Savior and an offer he could not refuse.
• Fickle Felix a two year opportunity to trust Jesus through Paul's teaching. 
• Ditto for Festus. 
• The Roman guards chained to Paul, literally his captive audience, one-on-one invitations to believe in Christ, and many did.
• Me, who fought the Holy Spirit's conviction for an entire year, hundreds of chances, until at last I gave up my struggle, gave in to Jesus, and gained everything in return.  

    God gave Gentiles like the Roman rulers and ordinary people like me, multiple invitations to believe in Jesus. Though "Rich Young" may have missed his opportunity to be listed among Jesus' disciples the day he walked away, I am confident He gave Rich a second chance at salvation. Even Pontius Pilate who squandered his chance to do the right thing concerning Christ's crucifixion, was given a few years after that in which, though it seems unlikely, he could have repented. So if we must have a poster boy for walking away sad irrevocably, eternally, it is Judas.