Sundays are busy busy days for me! Getting my family dressed, fed and out the door with any smidgen of civility AND getting to church early enough for me to be ready for the downbeat as I play in the orchedstra is nothing short of a miracle from God!
I was bogged down in my daily Bible reading. After I trudged through Exodus, past the victory of the plagues, the miracle of the manna and quail and the water from a rock, I sat mired in the details of the Tent of Meeting….the place where God planned to meet and fellowship with His people.
My grandson plays high school baseball. He can throw a wicked pitch called a curveball. It’s especially hard for batters to hit because it dives downward as it nears the plate.
Several years ago my cousin and his wife bought a fifty-year-old ranch style home. In spite of its dated interior, they loved the house and envisioned what it could become.
“Hang in there” is an expression of encouragement in today’s world. It’s a way to say, “Don’t give up.” Recently, I needed to apply the hang in there concept to my prayer life.
I sank into the rocker and massaged my throbbing forehead.
For the past few days I’d been obsessing over a difficult situation. Not only did I think about it all day long, I woke up during the night to think about it some more. I kept chewing on the situation like a dog gnawing on a bone.
When my grandchildren were little, we vacationed one summer at the beach. During that week I rediscovered the simple joy of building sandcastles.
The time has come for Paul to sign off on this his final letter. The race has been tough; but through it all he can humbly say, I have kept the faith. The finish line is in sight.
The rules, the rules? What is this ladies? We know an athlete must compete according to the rules or there would be unfair advantage, not to mention utter chaos. But the gospel is a gospel of grace and faith, not of rules. Why would Paul enter the athletic arena to illustrate his point? Apparently sporting events in that day were highly popular.
Passing the torch on is critical to truth. Remember the best teacher you ever had, or the coach who inspired you to perform herculean feats of endurance. The mark of a good mentor is to generate excitement in the subject matter in reliable pupils who will pass on their enthusiasm in like manner.
Have you ever ice-skated ladies? Could you now? I had a rude awakening a couple of years ago when my grandsons persuaded me to join the family free-skate time the winter they played hockey. Confident I could glide around the rink with grace, I laced up my boots and stepped onto the ice. After all, I was on skates at the age of three; but neither glide nor grace were to be. Luckily I did get around the rink, hugging the boards.
As I write, the 2018 winter Olympics are in progress and I am being drawn in—must be a little of the Canadian winter in me still. Besides, I may know the sports better than you southerners. For instance, have any of you ever “curled”? Do you know what “icing” is?
About a month ago my daughter cracked one of the bones in her foot while tumbling. Though it was painful physically, it was even more painful due to the timing. She had just made the volleyball team for her school. She was so excited to play, and her competitive nature made it hard for her to slow down.
A few months ago I came across a plant sale. Most of the plants on this rack looked a little pathetic. However, some rose trees in the back caught my eye. There were no roses, only some slightly yellowed leaves on a couple of tiny trees. Most people had passed on them because they were not very remarkable. I then remembered a friend’s rose tree.
The other day I was taking off my jewelry, and I must have pulled too hard on my ring. It flew off the end of my finger when I pulled it over my knuckle. I heard it hit the carpet. I immediately got on my hands and knees to look for my ring. I must have looked for 20 minutes before I decided to stop and try again later. After looking later, I still could not find my ring. I knew it was there, and I also knew that I would find it with continued searching.
Once my daughter and a friend of hers got into a little disagreement. As I asked the girls what the problem was, each girl began telling her side of the story . . . simultaneously. When they realized that neither was backing down, each girl spoke louder and louder. My son was standing right beside me, and his observation was, "That's too many words!" I laughed and had to agree.
I almost missed seeing it, but I glanced over to Lily, the teen foster girl seated at the kitchen table next to me. The current group at the emergency shelter was finishing eating their dessert—two scoops of ice cream. Lily grimaced as she took a bite of the chocolate ice cream. Her response was in sharp contrast to her delight over the vanilla scoop.
“I can do it, I can do it!”
Those were my exact words, directed to my dad as a child, while I stood clenching a fishing rod, on the bank of a lake in the Rocky Mountains. I’d watched my dad’s technique so many times I was sure I could cast into the lake and catch a big trout.
How easy is it to release a suitcase onto the conveyor belt at a busy airport check-in counter with the possibility of never seeing it again? Airport baggage handlers are trained and responsible to correctly tag luggage for airline flights, but there are no guarantees that suitcases will travel on the same flight and be available to reclaim on the other end.
