tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26491103632343821972024-03-19T10:34:57.680-04:00Renate's ReflectionsRenatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-78541257610995107232024-03-19T10:33:00.000-04:002024-03-19T10:33:56.360-04:00Understanding Reality<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Someone close to my church family recently went through a very harrowing experience. As traumatic as it was for those of us praying constantly for him, it can't compare to what he actually faced. That valley is behind him now, but the memory won't fade any time soon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">One statement he made struck me right in the heart and took me back eight years to when Doug and I were awaiting the results of the first scan after the first rounds of chemotherapy. He said, <i>"When you sense that you are not in control, that's when you have an accurate understanding of reality. Thankfully, the gospel introduces us to a caring Father - our loving, benevolent Sovereign. In that, we can rest. God is good."</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I remember the feeling when I was faced with reality. It was something I had not expected and it shocked me. We were at the Cleveland Clinic cancer treatment center waiting for results of the CT scan. The doctor came flying around the corner, his lab coat fluttering behind him, into the room and stated, "Your cancer is getting worse." No preamble, no lead in, just those words. It was getting worse. The oncologist later clarified the previous treatments had not been totally ineffective. The tumor on Doug's pancreas had shrunk significantly, but the lesions on his liver had grown. There would be new course of treatment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">That was when I fully realized matters were completely out of my hands. I had no control over Doug's treatments. I had no control over his cancer. I had no control over anything. I thought Doug had been getting better so I walked into that appointment with the confidence we would receive a positive report. When we didn't my confidence was crushed and left scattered in tiny pieces on the floor. I walked out of the treatment room and left the pieces where they were. I had no use for them anymore.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Later that day I went for a long walk and, like Hannah, poured my anguished heart out to the Lord. I didn't hold back the pain, disappointment, or my shattered hope. And in the quiet of the breeze rustling through the green summer leaves, God reminded me, "I've got you. I've got this. Let me run the show." Reality set in making me aware of the fact that, whatever I thought was true before, was my imagination. God in His sovereignty rules what is real. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I gained a new, more grounded faith in the Lord which guided me through the next months until Doug went to the presence of the Lord. My faith had been tested and strengthened because of it. The quote in the second paragraph articulates what I realized and confirm today; eight years later. I rest in God's sovereignty and know that He is good because I accurately understand reality.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-8449464240341288862024-03-11T15:22:00.003-04:002024-03-11T15:22:56.199-04:00Ouro Preto — City of Gold and Charm<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> If it weren’t for the heat, humidity and the fact everyone speaks Portuguese, I might believe I’m in an old European town. The cobblestone streets are narrow and winding with little room to maneuver. As I punch a destination in Google Maps, I see our route will take us well around the city with several switchback turns. It’s not until I take the car out that I come to realize the incline on some streets is so steep the front wheel drive car I’ve rented can barely make it to the top. When it rains…forget about it. My rental and I become <u style="font-style: italic;">The Little Engine that Could</u>. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span> There is a rich history in Ouro Preto (Black Gold) in Minas Gerais. The city was settled in the late 17th century and has always been known for its gem stones. I drove over to the Tiradentes Plaza this morning to do a little souvenir shopping. What I found was an unusual assortment of soapstone items ranging in size from a small box to an entire coffee service. And there were so many jewelry stores.</span><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span> A man behind the counter asked us what we found interesting in the display case. There was an assortment of rings, necklaces, earrings all with gem stones of different sizes, shapes and colors. This man behind the counter explained how the darker stone with a richer color was more valuable than another, lighter one. He then took me to a display case with several examples of Imperial Topaz embedded in stone. I noticed a gold nugget and asked him if the precious metal is mined in the area. He informed me people find tiny nuggets of gold in the rivers, meaning the rocks break away in a cave somewhere and end up in the water.</span><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span><span> By this time the owner came behind the counter as the other “salesman” returned to his regular janitorial duties. The shop owner was a charming man who took an instant liking to my shopping buddy and me. He could also be Forrest Whitaker’s doppelgänger right down to the droopy eye. As we asked questions about different stones and decided on what we would buy, the owner answered our questions with patience. </span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span><span><span> My companion and I learned that just about any type of precious and semi-precious stone and metal can be found in the region with the exception of rubies and sapphires. The display cases boasted garnet, aquamarine, peridot, amethyst, a few diamonds and imperial topaz. We each purchased a couple of pieces of jewelry and carefully tucked them into the zippered pouch of our purses. </span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span><span><span> Ouro Preto is a city of ups and downs. Literally. It was once a thriving gold rush town that has become a favorite tourist destination. And there’s much more to see</span> than stores. A sculptor by the name of Aleijadinho inspired the baroque architecture of the many Catholic Churches gracing the city’s hilltops.</span><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span><span><span> The city is also known to be the hometown of one of Brazil’s most famous revolutionaries. Tiradentes (literally teeth puller) was the nickname of the man who argued against imperialism and protested for Brazil’s independence from the Portuguese Crown. Tiradentes, along with his fellow insurrectionists were arrested, but because Tiradentes didn’t have a rich family to bail him out, he was hanged for his crimes against the crown. This set off a revolt and a few years later Brazil became a republic.</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span><span><span><span> It seems odd a little town tucked away in the hills of Minas Gerais could hold so much history. But it does. Ouro Preto has kept its charm as well. Many of the buildings are original from the colonial era. The churches retain their architectural beauty, the cobble stone streets continue to be steep, narrow, treacherous. It’s unlike any other town I’ve seen in this country. I could visit again if someone else drove.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></p>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-10253637532670114492024-03-05T08:41:00.011-05:002024-03-05T08:51:20.008-05:00Scotty’s Adventure<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj769uXB90WCdnfvc_AmazzFi6LIxRH9rCPj_v63uVsFTmYEpDmpLzWA6UClH_myo_k1MJR-X36Lx4eybpR8CEM-GCnW9RqwxX8Bhkz6aK8zbQl_v6JJ3FVbMn5T6TR8v5BfNzc_xwyLWHVwU0RPKagwRoWE2MGdUgOZoLa015Pb79YMJLmD3Nc0O3mRSU/s3381/IMG_2399.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3381" data-original-width="3116" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj769uXB90WCdnfvc_AmazzFi6LIxRH9rCPj_v63uVsFTmYEpDmpLzWA6UClH_myo_k1MJR-X36Lx4eybpR8CEM-GCnW9RqwxX8Bhkz6aK8zbQl_v6JJ3FVbMn5T6TR8v5BfNzc_xwyLWHVwU0RPKagwRoWE2MGdUgOZoLa015Pb79YMJLmD3Nc0O3mRSU/w172-h187/IMG_2399.jpeg" width="172" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"> <span face="Aptos, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: justify;"> </span><span face="Aptos, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: justify;">The family I stayed with recently has a dog. He’s a poodle named Scotty and he is the happiest mutt I’ve ever seen. He looks like he has a perpetual smile which is hard to imagine because he’s a dog. But smile he does. Call his name and he’ll come running for a belly rub and a head pat. He’ll take whatever I have to give.</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Aptos, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Aptos, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify;"> I was scheduled to speak at a women’s conference last weekend and my host family was taking me to the church where it was held. We planned to go to the retreat center afterward to spend the night. It’s a nice relaxing place to spend a few days and not far from the church holding the conference. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Aptos, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify;"> There had been discussion for a few days as to whether Scotty should go or not. He often stays with my hostess’ mother and the plan was to drop him there on the way out. Several circumstances prevented that, so Scotty went with us. The following is an account of his weekend.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Aptos, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify;"> Scotty saw the suitcases and backpacks stacked by the front door and went to investigate. Then, seeing activity in the kitchen, he went to investigate there. His human mom was packing the cooler and boxes with food. Something was definitely up. Scotty knew it meant his family was leaving the house and going to that fun place with trees and lots of things to sniff. His excitement grew causing his tail to swing and his paws to slip and skitter as he attempted to keep up with the activity. Scotty didn’t want to be left behind, so he ran back and forth between the front door and the packed food. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Aptos, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify;"> Then Scotty saw something happening outside at the truck. His human dad was putting things in the back. Oh, they were definitely leaving. Now Scotty’s running track went from the truck to the packed food to the front door and back again. He could not be left behind! As soon as the passenger door opened, Scotty knew it was now or never. His little paws scraped and clicked as he ran toward that open door. When Scotty was at just the right distance, he launched himself in the air and landed squarely on the floor in front of the seat. Score!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Aptos, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify;"> Finally, Scotty’s family climbed into the truck. It wasn’t easy for his mom to get in because he was taking up the whole floor with no intention of moving. He would not be left behind! Scotty’s mom hoisted him onto her lap and the 15lb. fur-ball settled in for the ride. Scotty was on his way to fun! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Aptos, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify;"> After riding for a little time the truck slowed, made a turn and stopped in front of a big building with women all over the place. What was going on? The humans tumbled out of the truck, stretched and adjusted their clothes. The women went inside the building, the men stayed outside and talked. But what about Scotty? Ah, Scotty had the whole back seat to himself, so he settled in for a well-deserved nap. He had expended a lot of energy worrying about going.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Aptos, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify;"> Scotty’s family finally arrived at the retreat center later that night. It was time to find a bush to mark and drink some water. His humans were eating one of those round flat discs with yummy meaty discs. It was cut into <a name="_Int_MX7kwBp1">triangles</a> and it sure smelled good. Maybe whining would garner enough attention so his humans would see he was starving.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Aptos, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: justify;"> The next day brought the promise of hot sun and much exploration. There were so many bushes, rocks and leaves to smell, and sometimes eat. A strange creature came around. It looked a lot like Scotty with four paws and a tail, but it was not fluffy like him. Scotty’s human mom gave the other animal some food and water. The creature seemed to like it because it hung around the rest of the day.<o:p></o:p></p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span><span face="Aptos, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;">Later that day the family loaded up and headed home. It had been a weekend packed with many different odors, places to explore all while making sure Scotty’s family was close by. When they arrived home, Scotty jumped out of the truck, raced inside the house and drank his water bowl dry. Then, he found his favorite corner behind the plant under the stairs and fell asleep. Scotty was exhausted from his weekend adventure.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></span>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-21803518281845531632024-02-26T08:12:00.020-05:002024-02-26T08:23:44.300-05:00The Hooligans<p style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">Four little faces are plastered against the picture window as I drive up and park along the curb. The driveway is narrow and at such a slope it’s easier to park on the street and walk across the grass to the door. Of the four faces, three are human. The Hooligans, as I call them, have been impatiently waiting for me to arrive. I usually have something for us to do together, but I never tell them ahead of time. The suspense kills them. The fourth face belongs to Diggory, the family ShiTzu-Poodle mix who is just as happy to see me as the girls. Yes, the Hooligans are sisters; three girls under the age of ten who keep their parents on their toes. Each is mischievous in her own way.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span> </span><span> </span>The oldest, M., is the sweet, sensitive one who loves to copy her mom as she sings along during the song service at our church. Under all that sweetness is a little influencer who likes to spin a story to her advantage or who will “forget” instructions. When she was younger, she was notorious for sharing family secrets. As she matures she has learned to use discretion. One time, as she started to blab something to me about her parents, she stopped and said, “Maybe I shouldn’t say that.” Progress. M. is also the one who stood on a step stool at the sink in one of her father’s t-shirts and washed dishes. The shirt brushed the top of her feet and the sleeves dipped in the sudsy water every time she pulled a dish out of the sink to scrub with the sponge that was twice the size of her hand. It was a sweet little sight to see.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span> </span><span> </span>T. is the textbook middle child. She will demand the attention her sisters tend to steal from her. At times her frustration will get the better of her as she elbows her way through to stand equal with her siblings. Once, I was taking care of them while their mother rested in her bedroom as she recovered from recent surgery. I had taken a brownie mix to bake and ice cream for sundaes. The youngest had just turned three and there were cupcakes left over from her party which their mother said they could have after supper. But I was going to make brownies and thought that would trump left over cupcakes. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Miss T. was so focused on having cupcakes she couldn’t see the better opportunity for chocolate overload. We finally negotiated she could have half a cupcake and brownie sundae too.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span> </span><span> </span>Then there is Miss L. She shares my middle name which makes her special to me. L. is the typical baby of the family. She gets away with a lot by just flashing her coy little smile that lets you know she’s up to something, but it’s going to take a while to figure out what it is. When it gets too quiet in the house it usually means L. has gotten into something she shouldn’t. On the same day of the brownie crisis, I found L. opening band-aids one by one and sticking them to the counter. I put her on the floor and started to clean up the band-aids. The next time I turned around she had the roll of packing tape unrolled completely. It was stuck in her hair, on the counter, on the furniture, the dog . . . The picture is pretty clear. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">It’s all water under the bridge as I leave, though. Each one gives me a fierce hug before I head for home. Even Diggory. While I don’t come anywhere close to being as special as their Nana, I think Aunt Renate is a pretty decent second. They’re also a pretty close second after my own grandsons.</span></div></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></span>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-72673012750081566842024-02-19T10:04:00.000-05:002024-02-19T10:04:12.119-05:00Childcare and Zookeeping<p style="text-align: justify;"> <span> </span><span> </span>I didn't babysit much as a teenager. There weren't young children on our street so I had little exposure to them. I was also busy with other things. Why? I was a teenager. That should pretty much explain it. Teenagers haven't changed that much over the years.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As a grandmother, though, I do a lot of babysitting for church families. I appreciate the opportunities because I can invest in little lives. I call my favorite babysitees The Hooligans. They are three sisters with no end of energy and find mischief in every corner. I love each one of them. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Our church has many families with young children and for those who would like to fellowship and encourage each other outside of regular services, care groups are offered. There are several and they meet in homes of various church members at different times during the month. The leadership wanted to encourage families with children to participate by providing childcare during the Bible study/discussion time. The adults would be able to talk without constant interruption. The possibility of childcare had a positive effect because one care group has families with at least three children each.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Last week I was asked to watch the children of this group. I arrived about twenty minutes early so I could chat with parents and discover needs the kids might have. We lined the little wiggle worms up to count heads. There were eighteen, I think. Only four were girls, the rest were boys. Puppy dog tails came to mind as we marched to the basement. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Within minutes it was as if WrestleMania had hit that somewhat cramped underground area. Little boy bodies were flying, summersaulting and body slamming other little boy bodies while four sweet little girls danced and twirled in a corner completely oblivious to the madness on the sectional.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And the noise . . . there was growling, grunting and was that barking? Oh, it was the dog chasing a whiffle ball one of the girls had tossed into the melee. It was a good thing we didn't have music playing as well. I'm sure the neighbors would have come to investigate. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I decided that, as long as nobody was bleeding or crying, they were fine. I was like a zookeeper and my sole job was to make sure the animals/kids didn't get loose. That endeavor was successful. It wasn't long before I heard adult voices coming to retrieve the children. The kids had worn themselves out and I imagine they didn't give their parents trouble going to bed that night. Mission accomplished.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After all the little ones had been handed over to their parents, I went home and ate the moose tracks ice cream straight out of the container. I also didn't give my parent trouble going to bed.</span></p>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-64939448958821364442024-02-12T11:18:00.000-05:002024-02-12T11:18:07.321-05:00A Walmart Experience<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: medium;"> It's a foregone conclusion that when we go to Walmart, we can expect to experience any number of things. From the woman wearing a bikini and high heels to the girl in pajamas and slippers, we are neither shocked nor surprised by such sightings anymore. My experience the other day was different, but certainly within the realm of possible Walmart encounters.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My mom and I went to pick up a few things. These excursions usually begin with me coasting up and down parking lot aisles becoming ever more frustrated as I look for a handicap spot. It can be almost impossible to find one simply because of the general clientele of the superstore chain with discount prices. It would behoove them to add more than the requisite number of parking spaces for those with mobility issues, but that's another subject for another day. </div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I finally found a non-handicap spot with enough room to squeeze a motorized cart to the passenger door for my mom. I went in through the market entrance and had to walk to the other end to find a charged cart. The relentless beeping of the carts throughout the store was to me like a playground bully who won't let me on the monkey bars. As I got to the second entrance there was one lone cart sitting close to the doors. I double-timed my steps to grab it before anyone else thought to jump on and take off at the breakneck speed of 1 mile per hour.</div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I hopped onto the seat, flipped the power switch, and looked to confirm it had a full charge. I puttered off out the door to the parking lot. Halfway across the driveway between the store and lot, the cart stopped. I pulled the lever, I pushed the lever, nothing happened. Fortunately, there were no cars waiting to go through, probably on their own quest for a handicap spot. I flipped the power switch off then on and we were back in business.</div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Finally in the store, we ambled up and down aisles to pick up what we needed. We headed to the self-checkout. One of the items I bought was a folding table to use for my sewing machine. When something like this is scanned it offers a protection plan. If you're not paying attention, like me, the scanner will flash red and make that low-pitched beep beep. It's scolding my audacity at trying to skip a step while I attempt to scan the next item in the basket. Moving forward is impossible until the protection plan for the table is either accepted or declined. It was at this point a Walmart checkout assistant approached and reminded me of this. It's also when things got really weird.</div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I happened to be wearing my Alabama (Bama) sweatshirt; one with Big Al, the elephant looking fierce. The checkout assistant saw my shirt and said, "Oh, that must be an Obama shirt." It took me a moment to realize she was talking about Barak Obama. Okaaay?</div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My confused expression led to her next statement, "But it has an elephant...isn't the elephant for the republican party?" </div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Uh, yes ma'am. But this shirt is for the University of Alabama," I replied, still a little confused. </div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Her next question was, "So, why the elephant?"</div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I'm not sure of the entire history, but the elephant, named Big Al, has been Alabama's mascot for many years now."</div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She then looked up at me and said, "You know elephants can swim, right?"</div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Me: . . .</div></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span> </span>It's one of the most bizarre encounters I've ever had. The fact it happened at Walmart shouldn't surprise me though. I wonder what she would have thought had I said, "ROLL TIDE!"</div></span></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><br /><p></p>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-80794847597052212112020-04-02T11:38:00.001-04:002020-04-02T11:42:20.217-04:00Becoming Huggy<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">I am not a huggy person. I never have been. And having lived in Brazil where people not only hug, but kiss on the cheek even when meeting for the first time, it was something I learned to tolerate. After 30 years it even became second nature and I don't think too much about it anymore. But, I'm still not a huggy person.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">With the COVID-19 crisis you would think that we non-huggers would be living the dream. And for a while it was even a welcome relief to practice social distancing, self-quarantine, sheltering in place...whatever you want to call it. A niece of mine even stated, "We introverts are doing just fine." Now, after three weeks of mandated stay at home orders, it's getting old even for those of us who actually prefer a little social distance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">I am certainly glad for all the online options of "church going." There are at least a dozen a day in my Facebook feed to choose from and all of them are sound and good. Sunday services are streaming live from many churches which gives us continuity because we are meeting at the same time we would on a regular Sunday morning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">But, it's not the same. At least not for me. I miss going to church and seeing people, talking with them and, yes, even hugging them. Fellowship is such a vital part of the nature of the church that the writer of Hebrews even mentioned it. "And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near." (Heb. 10:24-25, ESV) I am looking forward to being back at church and fellowshipping in person with the body of Christ.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">This has also reminded me of all the conversations I had with people who preferred to stay home and watch church on television. They always said it was the same as being at church. I will now be able to say to them with overwhelming confidence that it is not the same. Not even close. It's lonely. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">Obviously, there are times we should worship alone. There are times we need to pull away from society and just be with God. However, worshiping with the saints is a whole other matter and should not be neglected. We help each other grow, we encourage each other, and we even correct each other when necessary. The person who sits at home watching the television church is missing out on a lot. Those of us who are church goers need to tell them that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">But, for now, at least until the end of April and possibly beyond, I will be content to sit at home and worship during the online service. I will even record some video lessons for children and women like so many others. I will watch the videos that come up in my Facebook feed. But I will be so excited on the day I finally get to go back to church. I'll be able to worship with the group, talk to them and I will hug as many as I can because it will be so good to see them again.</span></div>
Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-80154831856503219482017-06-06T11:27:00.000-04:002017-06-06T11:27:18.168-04:00Skipping SundaySomeone recently asked me if I hate Tuesdays. I answered, “Yes.” Doug died on a Tuesday and they will be hard for me for the foreseeable future. As I thought more about that conversation I came to realize that Sundays are even harder. I would like to go to bed on Saturday and not wake up until Monday. I would like to skip Sunday.<br />
<br />
We were together on Sundays more often than any other day of the week and when we returned to the US it was difficult for me to go and sit in a church service and not participate in some way. However, my ministry role had transitioned from that of pastor’s wife to full-time caregiver and I could not slack. I had to be content with sitting in a service when I could and allow others to minister.<br />
<br />
Since Doug’s Home going, Sundays have become even more difficult. Songs of worship often bring on tears; especially the ones that address the resurrection. When someone prays, I find myself reaching for Doug’s hand. When the pastor makes an interesting point, I want to lean over and make a comment. I realize I’m sitting by myself and it’s not because my husband is preaching.<br />
<br />
I’ll be honest, there are many Sunday mornings I don’t want to get up for church. But, I do because I need to. I go to church because it’s the right thing to do. I should be with fellow believers in Christ. I should sing through the tears. I should open my heart to the preaching of the Word. I should be there because it’s a haven. So, I go. I drag myself out of bed, get myself ready and I go.<br />
<br />
Pastor has been preaching through the book of Revelation recently and, even though it mostly addresses the end times, I find one recurring theme; the result of great tribulation is great worship. I’ve seen it over and over throughout the few chapters he’s preached so far. It was captivating to picture the tribulation saints that were under the altar in chapter 6 suffering great torment clothed in white robes and singing praises to God in chapter 7. And, there are other records. Noah built an altar to the Lord after the flood. Joshua built an altar of remembrance when the Israelites crossed the Jordan. Job fell on his face and worshipped when he lost everything.<br />
<br />
This constant reminder is bringing me around to where I should be. I lost my husband, but I can worship God. I’m not sure where the Lord is taking me in ministry, but I can worship God. Sundays will continue to be difficult, but I can worship God. So, more and more often I find myself doing just that. It helps me through the sadness, pain and uncertainty because I focus on Him and not myself. I think in time I may be ok with Sundays again and even look forward to them.Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-80293602411949557292017-05-22T10:38:00.002-04:002022-11-10T14:52:05.845-05:00Rip Current of Grief<div class="Body">
<div class="Body">
<span>When our nephew passed away
suddenly in 1999 I remember his mother describing how the grief would come in
waves. I grieved for James then and it did come in waves, sometimes when I
least expected it. But, losing my husband, my life partner, my counselor, the
man with whom I spent more than half my life, the man I loved more than any
other brings an emotion much more profound than grief. As I wander through my
days in a haze I am reminded of a time I was caught in a rip current while swimming
in Lake Erie as a teen. I wasn’t far from shore and I don’t remember all the
details, I just remember being pulled under every time I tried to surface. I
eventually did surface and swam to shore to my friends. No one knew what I’d been
through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span>Since that experience I’ve learned
that freeing oneself from a rip current requires a tremendous amount of energy
and strength. Poor swimmers are especially vulnerable to drowning in these
circumstances. Others say not all currents will come back around toward shore.
Whatever the situation, they’re all fighting for their lives. There are many
articles on how to survive a rip current, most of which give the same
instructions: stay calm and swim parallel to or diagonally toward shore. One
researcher suggested just allowing the current to take you because it would
eventually circle back around toward shore. While many disagree with his
suggestion, I’ve decided that it is the best approach to handling my grief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span>All researchers and rescuers agree
that one should stay calm. Panic and agitation will only make it more difficult
to break free. This past year has had so many ups and downs with emotions
ranging from complete despair to extreme hopefulness. Every time Doug had a
crisis with his health, anxiety assaulted me and pushed me into action on his
behalf. When Doug was feeling more normal and coasting along I could relax and
enjoy spending time with him. When his scans showed that he was improving in
January we were both so hopeful and resolved to continue the treatment course.
But that’s when things started to become difficult again. I look back on it now
as the start of his decline. However, I clung to the hopefulness gained from
those scans and invested every ounce of energy I had into his care. Still, he
had setback after setback and by the time he went back to the hospital only
four days after coming home from rehab I was utterly exhausted. When the doctor
told me on Monday there was nothing left to do but to make him comfortable I
accepted it without question. For the next 24 hours, surrounded by family and
friends, we waited for him to pass into the Lord’s presence. It was the
culmination of a year’s struggle pared down to a single moment in time. He was
here, then he was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span>During this past year, as I
grappled with my emotions, the Lord brought me to a passage in Isaiah several
times. I took that as a clear sign He wanted me to learn something from it.
Chapter 43: 1-3a states, “But now, thus says the Lord, who created you, O
Jacob, And He who formed you, O Israel: ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I
have called you by your name; You are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I
will be with you; And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you
walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, Nor shall the flame scorch you.
For I am the Lord your God, The Holy One of Israel, your Savior;’” For many
months I claimed the promise of these verses thinking Doug would survive his
cancer. Frankly, I had no reason to think otherwise. Since he entered the
Lord’s presence my perspective has changed…drastically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body"><br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span color="windowtext"><span>I realized I had been focusing on
“the waters shall not overflow you” part and believed Doug would be healed in
this life. After all, God parted the Red Sea for the Israelites to pass through
on dry ground. I felt He would do the same for Doug. What I neglected to notice
was the part about <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God being with me</i></b>. I mean, in my mind, I understood the
promise. I claimed it especially as it relates to my salvation, but I didn’t
fully understand it until I had to face the reality of life without Doug. So
here my grief assaults me, threatening to pull me under and carry me away as I
struggle to get out of bed in the morning and face the challenges of the day.
Who knew it could be so hard to wash and dry one load of clothes? But as I feel
it pulling me under, only now am I able to look toward God, accept the calming
assurance that He is with me in all things. The grief won’t carry me away to
oblivion if I cling to the promise that I am His and He is with me. Does it
make it any easier? Not really, but it does make it bearable. And it makes me
appreciate all the people who have walked the road and told me with confidence,
“It does get better.” I’m counting on it.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-61010881469414536262017-04-14T18:46:00.001-04:002017-04-14T18:46:45.096-04:00<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"> This week in Doug’s rehabilitation has shown steady improvement, but it has not been without discouragements and little setbacks. I’ve watched him struggle with his emotions as he desperately tries to recall a word that used to be on the tip of his tongue. I’ve watched him grunt as he uses every ounce of strength to lift is leg off the mat. I’ve watched him teeter as he reaches for an object on one side of the table and moves it to the other. And, I’ve watched him as he takes unsteady steps while supported by his therapist. He has managed to improve despite a blood transfusion, clots, fatigue, pain, anxiety, insomnia, lack of appetite and depression.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"> As I watched I struggled with my own emotions, fatigue and discouragement. My prayers have been desperate pleas for his recovery. I lie down at night wondering if he’ll get any sleep. I wake up in the morning knowing I’ll have to prod and coddle to get him ready for the day. By the end of the day we’re both exhausted and about to give up. </span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"> Tuesday, the 18th marks the one year anniversary of Doug’s cancer diagnosis. The weeks following were filled with activity, anxiety and a lot of disappointment. Then he started chemotherapy and things settled into somewhat of a routine. A look at the statistics for pancreatic cancer reveal that he has already lived far longer than he should have. We got encouraging news in January relating to his cancer, but since then he has had a number of other setbacks with infections and, most recently, his stroke. It’s been an incredibly difficult year and I don’t anticipate a reprieve any time soon.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"> I often wonder if God is telling me “His grace is sufficient for me” as I plead Doug’s cause before Him. However, I count on Him for daily strength because I’m just that exhausted. I count on Him for daily grace because I’m just that discouraged. I count on His promise to not abandon me because I very often feel alone. And I count on His Word because it gives me comfort. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"> My Bible reading today took me to Ephesians 3:20-21 - “Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.” These verses of encouragement have come up many times during this journey as have many others. I’ve claimed them and I cling to them. Along with that I pray that our lives will glorify the Lord even in the trials. I pray the Lord will have mercy on us and heal Doug. Mostly, I pray God will accomplish His purpose soon. I’m so weary.</span></span></div>
Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-83618746335532645892015-01-30T19:15:00.000-05:002015-01-31T15:48:54.268-05:00And Yet Another Blog on Marriage<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother forwards emails to me every so often. Some are
informational, but most are just entertaining…like the one I got last week. It
was a review of emails circulating during 2014 with all that information that
turned us into a paranoid mess and left us almost paralyzed. For example, I no
longer ask for lemon slices in my water at restaurants. I’m really afraid to put
most anything in my mouth because it’s probably on some “no eat” list
somewhere. I’m terrified to touch any public door and am seriously considering
buying a box of latex gloves to keep in my purse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, it’s not just the emails that are passed around.
Facebook is just as inundated with articles and blog posts warning us of this
or that. If I had small children I would be in such a quandary about
vaccinations. That pendulum seems to be swinging back, though, which gives me
no end of relief. My kids’ shot records are three 8 ½ x 11 pages full of stamps
and signatures. My goodness, what have I done to my children!?!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m also not sure how many on Facebook are my true friends
because I didn’t repost that status testing their loyalty to me. I may have no
real friends. Probably, I would rather not know. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And don’t even get me started
on the yoga pants articles circulating right now. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My biggest pet peeve, though, has to do with the myriad
articles on marriage. Is my husband my soul mate or not? I’m afraid to answer
that question because I’ve seen blog posts on both sides of that argument. Then
there are the 53 things I should be doing to make my marriage better, be a
better wife, make my husband happier, ensure that he’ll only have eyes for me, you
name it. Honestly, if I acted on some of those recommendations my husband would
think I’d become a total nut job. I’m convinced there’s a blog somewhere out
there on why we should share the responsibility of the garage door opener in
order to strengthen our communication.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So why do I subject myself to the constant barrage of
information? Well, as incredible as it may seem, I read these articles because
I know there’s always room for improvement. My husband and I have been at this
for 28+ years and we are not perfect. And as a teacher of women I’m always
looking for material and illustrations for lessons. Recently, I find myself
just plain frustrated because I feel I can never be the woman in the article. I
have never read through a list and been able to say to myself, “Whew! I must be doing everything right.” But, then I realized that, once again, I’m losing
perspective on what’s important in a marriage. I’ve allowed the voice of man to
obscure the voice of Scripture.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the years I’ve discovered that having a healthy
relationship with my husband is really quite simple and the principles are found
in Ephesians 5:22-28. 1) Wives submit to husbands. 2) Husbands love wives. It
sounds pretty cut and dried. Paul also gives us several reasons for this
divinely established standard, the most important being that it is a picture of
Christ’s relationship with His Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
basic and it’s foundational to a strong marriage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, is it easy for me to submit? Well, I’m a sinner and so
is he, so, no. We both make mistakes and sometimes there’s a power struggle.
However, it’s easier than it used to be because I’ve grown over the years.
Nevertheless, there are days when I’m submitting while clenching my teeth. I’m
doing things that I would rather not do, I’m saying things I really shouldn’t
say and I’m acting downright childish because I can’t get my way. But, I’m
learning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How about for him, does he love me? Well, yes, he does, but
it’s not always easy. I know because I know me, sometimes I’m not that lovable.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he’s also grown over the years. I
can tell you this, we communicate better now than when we were first married, we
understand each other better, we know each other’s likes and dislikes and we
tolerate each other’s idiosyncrasies more easily. It’s been a good 28 years—not
perfect, but good. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, is my husband my soul mate? Is he the love of my life? I
hate to reduce my relationship to a cliché. Let me answer it this way, I know
what he likes, I know how he thinks, I appreciate who he is and who he’s
become, I respect his leadership and we’re pretty much joined at the hip. I’d
rather be with him on any given day than with anyone else. I know that I would
die for him and he for me. I guess, yes, is the answer to both questions. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it’s all said and done, though, I’ll keep reading
articles and blogs on marriage, clichés and all. Most of the time I find
something I can apply to my life. I’m still growing. But, I will also remind
myself that the standard for a healthy marriage comes from Scripture. I will
persist if for no other reason than my love for Christ and a vow I made to my
husband all those years ago. Everything else is…well, it’s just food for
thought. I’ll look at it. I’ll probably sniff it. But I may not always bite. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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Oh, and I will definitely keep up on that yoga pants debate…<o:p></o:p></div>
Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-47403410779448887412011-12-10T15:13:00.001-05:002011-12-10T15:18:34.962-05:00Christmas Lights<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the things I enjoy about furlough is seeing the
Christmas lights and lighted decorations on lawns. People in Brazil may hang a
string of lights on their upstairs window, but nothing compares to what
Americans are able to do simply because they do not put a wall around their
houses. Shrubs are covered with the lights that seem to form a blanket over the
top. Windows and doors are bordered with multicolored lights that outline the
house. Some have the lighted reindeer and Santa lawn decorations. One house
down the street even covered a large anchor in the yard with white lights. It
seems there is no end to options if you want to put out some Christmas
decorations. And, I can best enjoy them while riding down the street at night.
They can make a trip to the local Walgreens a pleasure and I’ll miss them when
they’re gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It seems to me the lights take on a whole new measure of “prettiness”
when they are covered by a blanket of snow. Last night was our first
significant snowfall and I did not venture out, but I would like to this
evening just to ride around and look at the lights under the snow. They glow
differently and add an extra measure of beauty to the Christmas decorations. As
I was thinking about these lights I was reminded of the fact that our Savior
came to this world as a light. John 1:4-5 say, “In him was life,<sup value="[<a href="#fen-ESV-26038a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></sup>and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and
the darkness has not overcome it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I keep several flashlights handy. I even had one that had a
magnet stuck to my refrigerator. I keep them in the kitchen and on a large
dresser under the stairs. Anyone that borrows them has to return them to those
spots. Why? Because when the power goes out I want to be able to find them! You
can imagine how irritated I get when they’re not where they’re supposed to be
when I look for them. But, I digress… Anyway, I also use them when we are doing
small repairs because sometimes you just need a little extra light when trying
to put something back together. These flashlights are indispensable to me
because they guide me in the dark. When the power goes out it’s nice to be able
to see a few feet in front of me. I hate running into walls! I can save myself
a lot of time if I can see what I’m doing when I’m putting that appliance back
together. The light is a guide. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, this is not some great revelation on my part. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light
to my path<strong><span style="display: none; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hide: all;">Cross references:</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">.”
</span></strong></i>(Psalm 119:105) <strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">God’s Word does the same thing and the Word was personified in the person
of Jesus Christ. His Word guides me. He guides me. He lights the way so I can
see where I’m going and keeps me from getting myself in trouble. I’m kept from
running into the walls of sin and guided to not waste my time on trying to
decide between right and wrong. What’s right is clearly illuminated.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When we are at camp the generator is turned off every night which plunges
the island into darkness that can be quite thick if the moon is not out. Before
the lights go out, though, I usually have to make a trip from the canteen to my
cabin or to the court. The path between these locations can be pretty dark and
I get a little nervous if I don’t have my flashlight. Did I mention there are
snakes at camp? So, I focus on the light at my destination. The court lights
shine brightly ahead of me and I keep my head up and look at them as I walk. I
take comfort in the fact that I will be there soon and I will be safe. I know
that the light is a refuge if for no other reason than I will be able to see
what’s in my surroundings.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“</span></strong><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I
fear?”<strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> (Psalm
27:1)</span></strong> Again, I am trumped by the Word. I take great comfort in
seeing the light at my destination or even the proverbial end of the tunnel.
Why is that? Because I know that my salvation is there. I won’t be in the
darkness anymore and the uncertainty of my surroundings. The light reveals all.
Jesus Christ has revealed all about how my life and practice should be. There’s
no mystery there. It’s all in plain black and white and I take great comfort in
knowing the certainty of the Truth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I think about these two great truths for my life I am
challenged to also be a light. Jesus told the multitude, “You are the light of
the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.” (Matthew 5:14) When we are
arriving in Petrolina at night at the end of a trip I can see the glow of the
lights from a long way off. As we get closer I begin to distinguish the dots of
lights. It can’t be hidden and it invades the darkness. When the Lord applied
the metaphor of Christians being the light of the world He meant for me to
stand out, to guide unbelievers, and to beckon them with the comfort salvation
brings. It’s both practical and profound and I have to ask myself if I am
shining my light with enough dedication that it can be seen even under a blanket
of the snow of this world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikR7NNwkduVvn5XdmtQCrbQy6FiDdQJ6IFqCh6Li8vwVuE3Ue1pHzHx1K-cGx0tzHBfzh1ttWgNPRrNu_0TScFhDhDHycGg-vCo4pu3v2_iCikk6dzYIkmqOaGOBEYac45e3gtUX7AyN0/s1600/329736428_8e91b57a88%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikR7NNwkduVvn5XdmtQCrbQy6FiDdQJ6IFqCh6Li8vwVuE3Ue1pHzHx1K-cGx0tzHBfzh1ttWgNPRrNu_0TScFhDhDHycGg-vCo4pu3v2_iCikk6dzYIkmqOaGOBEYac45e3gtUX7AyN0/s320/329736428_8e91b57a88%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-90329785091303232122011-04-23T10:16:00.000-04:002011-04-23T10:19:00.702-04:00Missions--Beyond Geography<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My father-in-law, a 60 year veteran of active missionary service, made an interesting comment in a recent conversation. He said, “In our day missions was about geography.” I’m inclined to agree with him. Fifty or sixty years ago missions was about geographical locations. Missionaries went from church to church and presented the need for the Gospel in Africa, South America and Asia. It was about geography. This got me to thinking about our role in missions today and made me wonder if we’ve lost sight of the true purpose of missions.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">So, I went back to the father of New Testament missions, the Apostle Paul. He made three missionary journeys recorded in the book of Acts. My Bible even has a map of the route he took on each journey. We read the accounts of what happened in many of the cities. And, we logically conclude that missions is geography. We go to a location, preach the Gospel, build a church and then move on to another location.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">But then I read the books of Romans and 1 and 2 Corinthians. Paul is writing to established churches just like he did to the Ephesians, Galatians and Philippians. And what about the Pastoral Epistles? 1 and 2 Timothy are a pastor’s instruction manual. Most of these letters were written after he completed his missionary journeys. This was missions beyond geography. So, why the change? I mean, besides the fact that he was in prison.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Here are my thoughts. In the early years of missions in Brazil the missionaries concentrated on geographical locations because they were reaching people who had not heard the Gospel message. It had never been presented. They were starting from square one. Naturally, they chose to reach cities that had been neglected by previous efforts. In other words, it was about geography.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The following generation comes along and sees that the need for establishing new churches in a particular area is being conducted by the previously established ones that have grown to maturity and autonomy. So, what’s a missionary to do? Go home? Are we finished here? I’d like to think not. I’d like to think there is still something that can be done in these places where the Gospel is firmly planted and growing.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">We’ve become creative now with our missionary efforts. We’re seeking new ways to further the Gospel efforts here in Brazil. One way is to mentor and facilitate the national missionary workers by raising funds for construction projects and encouraging them in their work. Another is by establishing a Bible institute for the men and women actively serving in our churches, but not called to full-time ministry. We serve our mission in administrative roles. We involve ourselves in camp ministry with our colleagues and area churches. We encourage and mentor the younger pastors. We partner with the churches in their efforts to reach new neighborhoods in the outlying community. We’ve gone way beyond geography.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I don’t think we’ve lost sight of the true purpose of missions, though. I believe we are where Paul was while he awaited execution in Rome. He was availing the time to encourage and exhort the churches he’d established during the geographical portion of his ministry. The advantage he had was he saw it all in his own lifetime. Many of our first missionaries have been called to Glory without seeing what their efforts have brought. It will be nice to meet up with them and tell them what we were able to do because of their desire to reach those unreached places.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">However, I have to say that we have not lost sight of the fact that missions is also still about geography. As I write, a missionary colleague is house hunting in a city that has been untouched by our mission agency. Missionaries in the south of the country are attempting to reach the ever-growing populations. And we are striving to bridge a gap between two valleys that have seen the Lord’s blessing in establishing strong Bible believing churches. The cities between the valleys were not targeted for the Gospel until recently. The difference is that now the national churches are picking up the map and they are perceptive of the need. They’re also making the plans and carrying them out. What do we do? We encourage, guide, raise funds and sometimes even chauffeur them. What can I say? It’s missions beyond geography.</div>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-20759469023401898812011-03-23T09:29:00.000-04:002011-03-23T09:29:44.503-04:00The Eternal Optimist<div style="text-align: left;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span> </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been working with a personal trainer for the last several months. He’d been working with my husband for several months already and it was making a definite difference for him, so I decided I would try it. My initial emotions swung on a pendulum. They started with, “Are you kidding me? I can hardly move.” to “OK, I guess this is not so bad.” One day as Marcos was putting the weights on the leg press I gave him a dubious look and said, “You, my friend, are an eternal optimist.” There were 50kg of weight on it that he expected me to lift. He laughed and said, “Sit down.” Turns out I was able to do it and he probably could have added another 10kg. I keep this in mind as he barks at me like a drill sergeant while I do ab crunches on the mat. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span> </span>The fact is that these few months with the trainer have made a difference in several areas. First, I’m losing inches fast. He targets the areas that need the most work and combines the right amount of weight with the ideal number of repetitions. Second, my posture has improved and pain is limited to the ache of just having not used a particular muscle for a long time. Third, he pushes me to do more than I would if I were doing it by myself. I would probably quit after one rep.<span> </span>And fourth, it relieves stress which has been the most beneficial effect of all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span> </span>My life is stressful. I know there are others who deal with stress and still others who deal with issues that are even more stressful than mine. Stress is part of life and it will always be there. But, let me give you a peek at my life for this week. My husband’s away taking care of business for a couple of days. I’m here taking care of my mother in-law who has some serious health issues. She fell trying to get to the bathroom the other night. There is a young people’s purity seminar this Saturday and we will be housing the guest speaker and his wife. I’m also cooking the meals on Saturday with another local pastor’s wife. My children are both in the States working and going to school and regularly have issues that need our attention. My in-laws and parents are both making some major decisions that may not directly affect me, but are on my mind. And so it goes…</span></div><h6 style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;">A facebook friend posted the following quote by an unknown author, "Those who bless God in their trials will be blessed by God through their trials." I immediately thought of Job. He had some serious stress in his life compounded by grief. Job was a good example of righteous suffering. However, he was not without his low points. A Bible college professor once commented, “It did take him 42 chapters to get through it.” I sometimes feel a little like Job, but I also try to remind myself that many times I’m just feeling sorry for myself.</span></h6><h6 style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;"><span> </span>So, I think back to the personal trainer and the benefits of working with him. Is there any correlation? Is there any way to handle stress in a manner that is pleasing to God? Well, I’m losing interest in the enticements of the world and a carefree life. He never said life would be easy. <span> </span>My posture and dependence on God are improving and becoming stronger. It’s only by His grace I’m not in the psych ward of the hospital. God is pushing me past the limits I had perceived for myself. It’s at those times I am reminded that I’m not alone. And, when I give the burdens and stress to Him there is a peace that comes that I cannot explain. </span></h6><h6 style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;"><span> </span>Last night I thought I was at the end of my rope. I really thought that the Lord had handed me more than I could bear. I spent a lot of time in prayer and it would be nice to say I slept like a baby. I didn’t, but I can make it through today. I did ask Him to please bring verses to mind that would help me get through this crisis. This morning I remembered this.<span> </span>“My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.” (James 1:2-3, NKJV) OK. I’ll do it, but as I face the leg press of life I can’t help but send a dubious look toward Heaven and say, “You, Lord, are an Eternal Optimist.” I picture Him smiling and saying, “Sit down.”</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;"></span></h6></div>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-20742855868069047622011-01-29T08:37:00.000-05:002011-01-29T09:15:31.801-05:00Chasing the Peace and Quiet<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I live in a noisy country. There is no snow and all the buildings are made of concrete so sound bounces all over the place. And while I don’t necessarily miss the cold and snowy winters of Michigan and New York, I do miss the silence a good snowfall brings. It’s always been one of the things I noticed first thing in the morning after a snowstorm; the silence. It just makes everything seem so peaceful and it gives me pause to reflect on what the Lord has done in my life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Silence and Solitude is another spiritual discipline I have recently worked to develop in my life. The concept was new to me in the sense that I did not realize it could be developed for the purpose of spiritual growth. Then, of course, I had that moment when the palm hits the forehead and I said, “Well, duh! It’s all right there in the Bible.” </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Psalm 46:10 says, </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” (NKJV). The psalmist understood that knowing God better and exalting Him in one’s life is best achieved through silence and solitude. Elijah learned the value of silence when he listened for God’s still, small voice in 1 Kings 19:12-14. However, the example of Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane is probably the most profound. Matthew 26:36 states, “Then Jesus came with them to a place called Gethsemane, and said to the disciples, ‘Sit here while I go and pray over there.’” (NKJV). The Lord Jesus knew His hour of suffering was at hand and felt the need to be alone with His Father in a place apart from the others. The incident served to give Him the strength He needed to endure the terrible ordeal that was to come. It’s also what I need to do to face whatever the Lord may have for me. Facebook is enjoyable but it is not where I should run first when looking for strength and courage to press on in life. Comments from my friends about my status are fun and often uplifting, but it is the still small voice in my garden of Gethsemane that will give me the strength I need for the day.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let me define the words before I go any further. According to Whitney, “silence is the voluntary and temporary abstention from speaking so that certain spiritual goals might be sought” (p. 184). I can see my mother choking on her coffee on this one. I was not known for holding my tongue when I was younger and I still have a hard time keeping quiet. A few pages later Whitney makes a statement that brought me up short. He says, “…the one who doesn’t know how or when to be silent doesn’t know how or when to speak” (p. 193). I think he just said a mouthful.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Solitude is the Spiritual Discipline of voluntarily and temporarily withdrawing to privacy for spiritual purposes” (p. 184). This was illustrated in the example of Elijah and Jesus above. They felt the need to get away from everyone and spend some time alone with God. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, in my defense, I was making an attempt to practice these disciplines in my life. I’m usually the first one up in the morning and try to make the most of that time. The outside noise is still at a minimum, the inside noise is manageable with the gurgling of the coffee maker, the dogs crunching on their food and the refrigerator humming. It’s the time I use to read my Bible—I’m working through the book of Isaiah a few verses at a time—I spend time in prayer and just mentally prepare myself for the day. And I don’t say much other than, “Knock it off,” to the dogs. Oh, and I am always sipping a cup of coffee from the heart shaped mug my mother gave me. This quiet time has made a difference in my perspective on life and been like that deep breath we take before we forge ahead with the day’s demands. It’s been good.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I’ve found that even with all the noise with which life in this country bombards me, I can find peace and quiet. It’s in practicing the disciplines of silence and solitude and it makes life seem a little more like that snowy morning in New York. It’s just quiet…</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Source:</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;">Whitney, D. S. (1991). <i>Spiritual Disciplines for the Christian Life.</i> Colorado Springs: NavPress.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cmnrH0ae5wZJ0p81sSl662KvlY_ulHWBcqpuErL3MW4Tx3C6-jXmumrHO2kiBZaLtDtsxX6rP-jSYJP4cgMyeReEaghiLD3mzIv-OU4QdyyKeR8yNzg7CzKFh9ecqGXh8zl5ooHWnQY/s1600/book_r197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cmnrH0ae5wZJ0p81sSl662KvlY_ulHWBcqpuErL3MW4Tx3C6-jXmumrHO2kiBZaLtDtsxX6rP-jSYJP4cgMyeReEaghiLD3mzIv-OU4QdyyKeR8yNzg7CzKFh9ecqGXh8zl5ooHWnQY/s320/book_r197.jpg" width="190" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;">Para os meus amigos Brasileiros:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO2Pb1s0Z-EVsqtLdDU4GYq-TbSbUBifONRVqkXQuWNoGUqzhOi-UmfrywqnBnmEvaRizmV9F8KAZ9BtWiVGo9pLINdC9FKX-EyD89g8KEXIeowN0F_okWJmTlpy-aUui9M3zQFcpfWwM/s1600/prod_560_GD_200951512261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO2Pb1s0Z-EVsqtLdDU4GYq-TbSbUBifONRVqkXQuWNoGUqzhOi-UmfrywqnBnmEvaRizmV9F8KAZ9BtWiVGo9pLINdC9FKX-EyD89g8KEXIeowN0F_okWJmTlpy-aUui9M3zQFcpfWwM/s1600/prod_560_GD_200951512261.jpg" /></a></div>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-9064280407548372702011-01-05T15:31:00.000-05:002011-01-05T15:31:30.078-05:00Changing it Up<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pursuing a master’s degree in education is a dream that is becoming reality. I’m about 2/3 of the way through the program and it’s been challenging, often frustrating, but in all, an extremely rewarding learning experience. My most recent class was a side step from all the education courses. It concerned the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dynamics of Spiritual Growth</i> and reading Donald Whitney’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spiritual Disciplines for the Christian Life</i> was one of the textbooks. Over the next few blogs I would like to highlight some of the disciplines I found most meaningful.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not surprisingly, Bible intake was the first discipline treated in Whitney’s book and took up two chapters. Whitney says, “No Spiritual discipline is more important than the intake of God’s Word” (p. 28). What had not occurred to me before reading the book were the many ways in which I could “take in” Scripture and it wasn’t that the concepts were new or even radical. I just hadn’t stretched my thinking beyond reading and studying. So, I was encouraged to think outside the parameters I had created and develop the discipline of Bible intake further. Now, I am paying better attention to the messages in church, I’m seeking to do some memorizing, and I’ve recently changed my daily Bible reading format.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been reading through the Bible every year for the past five years. I started this practice because I really needed something that would get me into the Word every day. Before that I was not disciplined enough to find time every day to read. Reading through the Bible following a year plan really helped. However, the last couple of months I found my mind wandered to things I needed to do while I was trying to read. As a result I was getting nothing from it. It was time for a change. This year I’m starting with the book of Isaiah and a commentary as a companion. I’m reading fewer verses, but getting much more from them. This has increased meditation on the Word and prompted prayers in the middle of reading. The most significant change, though, is there is no set time frame to finish. This will be the real test of my resolve.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is one habit as it relates to this discipline that has not changed. Reading my Bible is not the very first thing I do in the morning. It’s the third or fourth. The reason? I would not be able to concentrate otherwise. When I get up in the morning the dogs need to be let out and fed. There are usually a few dishes in the sink that I want to wash up. I also look at e-mails and a few other things on the computer. And I cannot function without a cup of coffee. When all that is done I’m ready to sit, read, meditate and pray without interruption. It’s what works.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Actively pursuing the spiritual disciplines has been an interesting process. I’m required to think about what I am doing and why I am doing it. Rethinking Bible intake in order to make it more profitable forced me to set aside the status quo I had established. I was determined to continue with diligence in daily Bible intake without the benefit of the clearly spelled out plan. It’s only January 5<sup>th</sup>, but I have seen the benefits already. I look forward to what God’s Word has to teach me this year, not to increase my knowledge only, but “for the purpose of godliness” (1 Tim. 4:7).</span></div><div class="MsoBibliography" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Source:</span></div><div class="MsoBibliography" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Whitney, D. S. (1991). <i>Spiritual Disciplines for the Christian Life.</i> Colorado Springs: NavPress.</span></span></div>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649110363234382197.post-49844986458749307342010-12-16T18:14:00.000-05:002010-12-16T18:14:10.389-05:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are no presents under the Christmas tree this year. We’re doing things a little differently. Because the kids will not be here with us, we’re making up packages for the pastors and their families. There are six in all. So, there are no presents under the tree which is fine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been claimed that commercialism has taken over the Christmas season and taken all the meaning out of it. I’m not so sure about that. Recently the idea of gift giving has gotten a bad rap. Our Christmas giving list gets longer, the children’s list gets more expensive and the lines at the mall become unbearable as shoppers literally fight for<span style="color: red;"> </span>their places. Then, there’s the inevitable “must have” item that was launched just in time for the Christmas season. Some families resort to drawing names or giving to charity instead because there’s just too much stress involved in the holiday shopping experience. I know, I’ve experienced it too.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I decided to read through the account of the wise men who presented<span style="color: red;"> </span>their gifts to Jesus in Matthew chapter two. According to O. Henry who wrote the short story, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Gift of the Magi</i>, this is where the tradition of gift giving got its start. I’m inclined to agree which got me to thinking about this whole idea of gift giving at Christmas time. Does it really have to be so stressful? Where is the joy in giving anymore? I resolved to follow the example of the wise men.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first thing I noticed in verse 10 was the joy the wise men felt when they finally reached the end of their long journey. They stood in front of the house where Joseph, Mary and Jesus lived and “rejoiced with exceedingly great joy.” They were ecstatic! They knew the One for whom they had brought gifts was in that little abode and could not wait to get in there and meet Him. This ecstatic joy was invariably on my daughter’s face every Christmas morning when she proudly delivered her gifts to each one of her family members. As a matter of fact, she pulled all the presents she bought out first for us to open. Hers could wait. I’ll miss that this year, but I’m willing to let my parents enjoy it for a change.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Verse 11 explains that their gift giving was an act of worship to the Lord. When they saw little Jesus sitting on his mother’s lap they sank to their knees. They knew this young boy was someone of great significance and was worthy of the gifts they had brought. My daughter’s excitement at our opening the gifts she so carefully picked out and paid for demonstrated to us how much she loves us. She considered us to be worthy of her gifts.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And then, there were the gifts themselves; very valuable and noteworthy gifts. These wise men put a lot of thought into these gifts and each one was worthy of the recipient. In other words, they were not cheap. The gold signified Christ’s deity, the frankincense His purity, and myrrh was foretelling of His death on the cross. These wise men in choosing their gifts well in advance of their journey from the east did so with care. It seems they knew they would find someone who was to be a significant political leader. Taking my daughter Christmas shopping was also a momentous event. She usually had her list all made out and put quite a bit of thought into what she wanted to get for each person. She is an observant child, always taking in the details of a person’s life and paying attention to their likes and dislikes. She never misses with her presents for this very reason.</span></div><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So, even though Doug and I have chosen not to exchange gifts to each other this year, we’ve decided to put some thought into what the pastors and their families would like—something worthy of who they are; faithful servants of the Lord. The men will receive a devotional book, the women some nice smelling soaps. The children will get clothes and a little something to play with. The tradition of giving gifts will go on in this family. And we’ll do it with joy.</span></span>Renatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06405406846009521548noreply@blogger.com0