A Canaanite Mother

From MATTHEW 15:21-28

  

I am so tired. I don’t think I can last another day.  I want to just walk away from it all.  I want to leave my home, this house that I have come to love, the friends that I have made; and even my child.

My ONLY child.  My once-sweet daughter.  My beautiful child was such a joy to me from the moment she was born. But now, (sigh) now I cannot look at her without wanting to cry.

I don’t know why the life that I loved so very much was taken from me.  I was a good girl growing up. As a young girl, I did everything my nurse told me to do.  I was quiet and respectful and learned how to do everything the eldest daughter of my father’s household was expected to do.  I obeyed my father when he announced that he had promised me wed to my husband before I saw my fourteenth year.

 I was a good wife to my husband; who I grew to care for deeply. I learned to manage his household, eventually finding the courage to control the servants. Even the servants who had been with my husband’s family for years.  Some of them older than my own mother and father. My husband was good to me, though I never gave him the son he deserved.  He was not an easy man, but he was never cruel to me. Not like some of the other men who live nearby.  We would hear the cries of their wives and servants as they beat, or did even worse things to them late at night.  When I was young, he would tell me that the screams we heard were the wolves crying in the wilderness. Years later, when he knew that I understood what was happening, he would curl himself around me, holding me in his strong, safe arms and whisper, “Never in my house.” Over and over again into my tangled hair.  His breath warming the chill of shame that ran down my spine as I cried for those women whose lives were a nightmare compared to mine. I think he was declaring it for both of us.

And then suddenly, when our daughter was almost ten years old; all of the things that I worked so hard for were stripped away.  Leaving me with just the bare bones of the life I’d had.  My husband, taken by fever, leaving me with no male relatives to support and protect us.  Forcing me to learn how to do so many things that I never imagined had to be done. Some of our servants stayed, out of loyalty to my husband, who was the last male in his line. I spent many weeks in fear, thinking that one of the evil husbands from nearby would simply come and claim me and my daughter as possessions, owed to pay some imagined debt.  I prayed to all of gods I could think of.  I took offerings and made secret vows to the gods who are never spoken of out loud. 

We were left alone.  I thought we were safe, and then one night, after the watchman had passed by the gate leading to our courtyard, my daughter began to shriek and tear at her bedclothes.  Scratches covered her face and this horrid voice spewed venom from her.  She used words that I only heard the unwashed and unwanted speak from outside the city walls.  The wise men from the temple came to see what was wrong. They left right away, running out of my home, shouting that she had been cursed; she was overcome with evil.  It distorts her lovely features, hiding all signs of my much-loved daughter.  She spends hours sitting hunched in a corner, spitting and staring at me as if she no longer knows who I am. 

Her eyes were once so beautiful, just like her father’s.  Dark and deep and filled with laughter. They twinkled like jewels or stars at midnight.  I used to sit holding her for hours, drinking in her joy and innocence and sweetness.  Now her eyes are red-rimmed and runny with a sticky film that smells of death.   Their clarity lost, the whites now yellowed like an old rabid dog.  She grunts and pants as if she were one.

No one will help me anymore.  When I was first widowed, there were some good people from the temple who would bring us food and small gifts, offering comfort to us.  But gradually they all stopped coming; and began to avoid me in the marketplace; pulling further and further away from us as the sweetness that had been my girl’s true self was consumed by this vile and evil thing.

Our gardens were ruined, flowers uprooted, fruit trees ripped apart, fountains cracked and filled with filmy, putrid water.  So many lovely items that my husband purchased for our home were broken and turned into weapons to attack anyone who tried to help her. 

She shouts at me and sometimes hits me; but seems to know that I am the only one who will not really harm her.  I no longer know what day it is, or if I can continue to love any part of this creature that is controlling my life.

Oh, how I have cried and prayed and given nearly all I own as offerings to those who have promised to cure her. The ones who said they would break this curse that had befallen us.  All have failed.  There is nothing more to be done.  No one and nothing that I know of will help us now.

So last night, after my tortured girl was finally allowed to sleep the restless sleep that has become the only time she is not a danger to herself; I decided to seek the one the people talk about.  The Healer from Nazareth.  The Man who had drawn so many to Him.

There is nothing else to be done.  I know that she – and I cannot last another day like today.

I MUST FIND HIM!  I MUST MAKE HIM HEAR ME!

I MUST DO EVERYTHING I CAN TO SAVE MY CHILD!

Written by

Lynda Kinnard

ONLY ONE THING.......December

12/1/13 

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, He came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, 

“Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me 

to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, 

“you are worried and upset about many things, 

but few things are needed—or indeed only one. 

Mary has chosen what is better, 

and it will not be taken away from her.” 

Luke 10:38-42

This might be a meaningful passage for us to keep in mind this holiday season. Like Martha, it is so easy to become stressed and upset in the midst of labor intensive Christmas preparations. We can become frustrated, short and angry with fellow drivers and shoppers, temporary inexperienced store clerks, and with our “reluctant to help” kids and husbands.

However, perhaps if we quiet ourselves and listen we just may hear the Master whisper, “few things are needed- or indeed only one.” 

Wouldn't our loved ones be blessed if we spent more time seeking the Lord for them rather than shopping excessively for them? Wouldn't our families and friends benefit if we exhibited the Fruit of the Spirit this season rather than frantically trying to provide a lavish banquet in a meticulously decorated home? Balance is always the key and the Holy Spirit can lead us in how to prepare the externals of the Christmas holiday intertwined with the spiritual blessings of God's Kingdom.....righteousness, peace, and joy. 

Jesus can give us creative ideas on how to present the gospel message at our holiday gatherings and activities. As we spend extra time at Jesus feet each morning and throughout the day we can be filled with the Spirit and be led to do the will of the Father as we journey towards the celebration of the birth of His son.

By Cathy Friberg

Mary Magdalene

Quiet.  It is so quiet.

There are crowds of people all around me.  I can see them, hear them, but their noise does not bother me now.  Their voices are no longer angry and scornful.  They are filled with awe and wonder.  The faces that looked at me in horror and disgust are curious now.

I lie on the ground, feeling at ease.  I am in the dirt, but feel as if all is well.  In the midst of the voices around me, I hear one, kinder and more alluring than the others.  It is calling my name with such love and tenderness; my eyes fill with tears as they search for the speaker.

“Mary…Mary Magdalene.”  I found the source of my stillness.  As my vision cleared when my tears flowed through the filth on my cheek, I found the face filled with the tenderness that had vanished from my life when my grandfather died.  He was the only one who ever tried to understand that the violent, hate-filled beings that had tormented me for so long were not really me.  The anger and vile things that I said and did had been triggered by the attack on our village, that awful night.  He protected me fiercely afterward, regretting that he had not been there to save me from the violence that destroyed the woman my family thought I would become.

My father could not stand to look at, or be around me.  I was damaged, tainted, no longer worthy of his name of protection.  Even though what happened was against all of our people, I had the audacity to not die.  If I had died, he could have mourned my loss with dignity.

This memory caused more tears to flow, running down my face, dripping from my chin onto my torn and dusty garments.

“Woman, why are you crying?  Who is it you are looking for?” (John 20:15a)    I wiped my face with a dusty hand, smearing my cheeks as I struggled to find words.  It had been so long since I had reason or the ability to speak as myself.  I closed my eyes, and whispered, “You.”  Not knowing why I had said this, I opened my eyes quickly, to see this man who was more than a man, smiling at me. 

He helped me to my feet, something that men did not do for a strange woman.  I was unsteady, so he stood quietly, waiting for my trembling to stop.  I was unsure of what to do, so I kept my head down, trying to see him through my veil of tangled hair.  He nodded to someone I could not see, and two women, who smelled of clean oil and spices, gathered me between them and led me through the crowd.

They led me into a courtyard near the edge of the city.  There was serenity about them, and a reverent peace came over me as soon as we entered.  One of them said, “This is where Rabboni is staying tonight.  We must hurry and get you bathed and dressed before He returns.” 

They helped me bathe in a small stream that ran through a small, enclosed area behind the house. Then they dressed me in clean, sweet-smelling garments.  The fabric was rougher than the rags that I had worn, but I was grateful to them just the same.  Then they fed me fruit and bread with honey, and left me to sleep on a mat in the corner of the main room. 

I do not know how much time passed while I slept. I had not slept so well in a long time.  When I woke up, sounds of laughter filled the air.  For a moment, I thought that I was a child again, waking to the sounds of my parents and their friends sharing a meal.  But these were men’s voices, teasing one another like brothers.  It had been a long time since I was in a room filled with love.  Tears came again, as I held myself still, afraid that once I was discovered to be awake, I would be sent back into the street.

So I cried silently, pouring out the years that had been lost to the voices that shouted inside me, making me do and say things that I frightened me with the depth of true evil and wickedness.  My body slowly felt as if the invisible chains that had kept me from trying to reach out for help were crumbling into dust; leaving an outline around the void that I was left with.

“Mary.”  The voice that soothed, called my name.  My eyes fluttered open, looking directly into His warm, loving face.  His eyes reached deep inside of me, as I slowly raised myself to a sitting position.  I felt myself filling up with so many wonderful things.  Like perfumed oil being poured into a precious alabaster vessel.  The void in me was dispersed as he continued to look deep inside my very being.

He held out his hand.  It was a strong hand, with old scars from work they no longer did.  But this hand helped me stand up easily.  It was warm and clean and comforting.

“Mary, we are about to share a meal. Won’t you join us? 

 ^“Follow God’s example, therefore, 

as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, 

just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us 

as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”   

Ephesians 5:1-2

Written by 

Lynda Kinnard

Personal Foundations of A Christian Life

The life of a Christian can be like an iceberg, the visible part receives the most attention and is often used to measure success or failure. Yet, its the par that is hidden from view that is of greatest concern to God. Oswald Chambers, who wrote My Utmost for His Highest, said My worth to God in public is what I am in private. The time that I invest in my private time with God has greatly affected my public life and leadership.

If we apply these six practices in our lives they will help to form the foundation of who we are. We need to have a good foundation (Matt. 7:24-27) whether we are alone or in front of a crowd, or these ideas are new or old, they are a worthy reminder to us who have the desire to walk worthy of the call or position God has for us.

Journaling 
Its hard to journal everyday, and don't feel guilty if you don't  I carry a small notebook in my purse at all times. The book is mainly for sermon notes from Sunday or other sessions/classes I am attending. But I use the back to write thoughts, quotes, or words that God places in my heart. It is a great help.

Time with God
We should try to follow the example of Jesus in Matt. 6:6 But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you.

Find a quiet, secluded place so you wont be distracted, and the focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his presence. He is then able to encourage, rebuke, admonish and speak words of wisdom into our lives. 

Monthly Assessment
Since the unexamined life is not worth living, we should try to ask ourselves these questions below at the end of each month. For each question rate your current condition. (1 = never, 3 = sometimes, 5 = always)

• Did I pursue regular spiritual disciplines?
• Did I listen to God throughout the day?
• Did I have consistent Bible study time?
• Did I rely more on resource material than on scripture?
• Did I spend quiet time, so I could hear God speaking to me?
• Did I spend time in prayer everyday?

Quarterly Review
I read through my journal (book) to remind me of thoughts or words that God has given me. Significant spiritual insights are often gained from this simple practice. It also reminds me of what God is going to do in my life, and how he wants to use me. It is a great encouragement to be reminded of Gods faithfulness to us.

Semi-Annual Fast
It is helpful to set aside regular time to fast. It may be for just a single meal or for several days to a month, depending on how God directs you. This practice develops focus and personal discipline, and much more.

Accountability
Find someone to be your spiritual mentor. Accountability that grows out of genuine relationship will strengthen you personally as a leader.

If we don't take time to slow down in order to be with God, then He usually catches our attention through a life event that brings us to a standstill. He often unfolds His plan over a space of time while we learn not to rush ahead of Him by applying foundational principals, like these, into our lives. God is more concerned with my relationship with Him than my ministry for Him.

A faulty Christian life, like icebergs, can cause shipwrecks that dishonor God and undermine leadership. Giving due diligence to the hidden parts of our lives will one day conclude with the words, Well done, thou good and faithful servant.

Written by 

Rhonda Ihrig

New Crutch Needed

PART 1

A woman crawls through the pressing crowd, clawing her way through the dirt and the shuffling feet to reach Jesus.

“If I can just get to Him, touch the bottom of His cloak,” she thinks. “I know I will be healed from this agony, these twelve years of pain and disease, of loneliness and being an outcast.”

She continues fighting against the crowd. She can see His feet and His tunic now and doubles her efforts. Rocks dig into her bloodied knees and unknowing feet step on her hands. A man trips over her, almost falling and, cursing her uncleaness, turns to kick her hard in the ribs.

In a desperate lunge, her fingertips brush the heavy fabric of His cloak and, in her healing, she knows the struggle has been worth it all.

Jesus, feeling His healing power flowing to the woman, asks “Who touched me?” When He hears her story, her efforts, He blesses her, saying “Go in peace and be healed.” 

There are many times in life when we need healing – from sickness and chronic disease of both the body and the soul. We know Jesus is the physician of our bodies and the healer of our hearts, so we head to Him. We crawl along with what strength we have, keeping his tunic in sight, drawing strength from the hope of reaching Him.

We grasp a few threads on His cloak and He turns to say “I don’t have to ask who touched me. I know you. You are my child and I will never turn you away.”

Jesus stops what He is doing when we touch His cloak. He turns to lift us up, to help us to our feet. He holds our face in His scarred hands and looks in our eyes. “I know you’ve gone through a lot to get here. It still may not be an easy road, but we will walk it together now.”

He puts our arm around His neck and His hand around our waist. “We will go in peace together,” Jesus says. “We will walk along toward healing, and when you are tired, we will rest. When your legs wear out, lean on me and I will help you take each step.”

He doesn't give us a crutch or a cane, He gives us Himself.

No Crutch Needed Part Two

The word was out. Everyone was talking about that woman, the unclean, diseased one who had the nerve to crawl up to Jesus and touch his tunic. Her family and friends were overjoyed with her healing. Some of the people in the crowd were wishing they thought of it first. The Pharisees wanted to punish the woman for exposing so many to her uncleanness. But for a large number of the people who heard of the healing, it was a call to action.  

They might only be common folk, uneducated and of no social status, but they were not stupid. They could certainly add one plus one and get two, and in this case, their math was very simple. One sick person plus one cloak worn by Jesus equaled hope.

And hope was something that had been in short supply for a very long time. Some of the sick languished for years in conditions that drained their family’s time, energy and hard earned money. Some suffered from a sudden illness and were now near death and unaware of their dire situation. Some were in heartbreaking states of mental illness and demon possession, living in restraints and being fed from a plate on the floor like an animal.

But now there was hope, sparkling in the distance like a far away star. If somehow, some way, these sick and inert, these comatose and demented, could get a touch of Jesus’ clothes, their ordeal would be over.

A fever of hope took hold of the families and their efforts became frantic.  Inquiries were made as to where Jesus would be next. Cots to carry and litters to drag were hastily constructed. Distant cousins and neighbors were pressed into service to help transport the sick. Mothers strapped deformed children to their backs, carrying blankets to place them on once at the marketplace. The mentally ill were bound hand and foot to stretchers and carried toward the center of town.

Jesus was coming.

The furor of preparations continued. As dawn broke, the marketplace was already half full of the ill and helpless. Laying side by side on the ground, every small patch of earth was claimed and covered with withered bodies and wretched, suffering souls. Soon the entire area would be cloaked with a patchwork of misery.

Family members stood or sat near their sick, attending their needs. Breaking off bits of bread and feeding them, dribbling water into their dry mouths, wiping faces and arms with damp cloths, the families brought what little aid and comfort they could.

The marketplace was full now. The merchants, initially angry at the crowd for blocking access to their booths, quickly learned they could charge five times the normal amount to the captive crowd and were now happily raking in their profits.

As the sun rose higher, the marketplace became stifling hot. The sick and diseased, enduring hour upon hour of waiting began soiling themselves. Some vomited and wounds bled and oozed though rag bandages. Unable to move without aid, and with their families unwilling to release this one last hope, they waited together in a living sea of suffering.

A young boy on a rooftop, pressed into service as a lookout with a bribe of fresh fruit and cheese, suddenly stood up and began shouting. “He’s coming! I can see Him.”

Those that could, jumped their feet. They grabbed their neighbors in excitement, encouraging each other, saying quick prayers. A confusion of voices all speaking at once echoed off the marketplace walls.

And then there He was. Jesus stood at the head of the small street leading to the marketplace. A blanket of silence unrolled over the crowd.

Jesus looked tired. He was dusty from the miles already walked today and there was a slight slump to His shoulders. But His eyes were alert and alive. Surveying the crowd, His warmth showed through as a slight smile touching the corners of His face.

A big, burly man standing behind Jesus, looked over His shoulder, rolled his eyes and blew air out in a large, noisy sigh. Jesus reached back, scruffling the base of the man’s neck and giving it an encouraging, but playful, shake. Then, turning back to the crowd, Jesus started forward.

And everywhere Jesus went, to villages, towns, or farms, people would take their sick to the marketplaces and beg him to let the sick at least touch the edge of his cloak. And all who touched it were made well. Mark 6:56

There are times when those close to us are facing illness that seems incurable or situations that look hopeless and they don’t have the ability to get help on their own. They have neither the strength to move themselves to Jesus or the faith to believe things can change.

This is when we have an opportunity to follow the example of the townsfolk. We need to carry our families, our friends, our brothers and sisters, to the marketplace and lay them in the path of Jesus. This is a time to pray for them, asking the Lord to walk by and let His cloak brush them and heal them, revive them and restore hope.

We can have faith in the knowledge that Jesus is coming. He is coming to let His cloak sweep across the hurting and bring healing. The heart of Jesus is compassion, moved to action. And Jesus wants us to be the action that carries those in need to Him, that brings His compassion and hope to those we know and love.

Written by
Jody Ward

Plan Ahead

I dont know if you have noticed but out stores are filled with things to buy for the holiday. "What holiday/" You would not be amiss to ask this question.. Side by side are the goodies for three fall holidays. Halloween  paraphernalia is there and will be until next Thursday...that is unless it is sold after the fact in a 50% off sale.

Then there are Thanksgiving and harvest items to pick up to beautify your house. 

Last but not least...alas and alack...one aisle over from the turkeys and pilgrims you go to red, green, silver and gold land. Ah yes, now Christmas begins in late September these days.

In the light of keeping the Reason for the Season in place and not the hype I am posting a Christmas poem that tries to encourage a prospective of moderation and leaving yourself with some quiet time to appreciate the real meaning of Christmas and to enjoy its meaning. 

BEING ABLE TO DO THIS CAN BE THE RESULT WHEN YOU PLAN AHEAD

Facing Christmas

Facing Christmas

I shall attend to my little errands of love
      Early this  year
So that the brief days before Christmas may be
Unhampered and Clear
Of the fever of hurry. The breathless rushing,
      That I have known in the past.
Shall not possess me. I shall be calm in my soul
And ready at last.
For Christmas, “The Mass of the Christ.”

I shall kneel and call out His name;
I shall take time to watch the beautiful light
Of candle flame;
I shall have leisure – I shall go out alone
From my roof and my door
I shall not miss the silver silence of stars
As I have before;
And, oh, perhaps – If I stand there very still,
And very long -
I shall hear what the clamor of living has kept from me;
      The Angels’ song!

---Grace Noll Crawford, 1919

From The Radient Quest
        Harper and  Brothers Publishers, 1940

 shared by Connie Clark

THE POWER OF A GODLY MARRIAGE

I felt the Lord prompting me to write about marriage today. It seems that we take this sacrament so lightly. Yet it actually is a sacred vow and a pillar of society. The Bible describes unity as an incredibly powerful force. Psalm 133 reminds us that where there is unity the Lord commands the blessing. The Lord had to actually scatter and disperse the humanistic people at the Tower of Babel and to confuse their language. God saw that if this self aggrandizing community continued to work in unity, there is nothing they could not accomplish. Their efforts, unfortunately were leading them away from God.

A Christian couple who are operating in love and unity are a mighty weapon for the advancement of God's Kingdom. They will be able to raise Godly children who will also further God's righteous cause in the earth. It has been said, that the best thing a husband can do for his children is to love his wife. When Mother Teresa was asked “What can I do to promote world peace?” she replied, “Go home and love your family.”

As women, one of the simplest yet most effective ways to contribute to and build our marriages is to pray for our husbands. As we commit daily to pray for our spouses, we will see positive changes and growth. Bible promise books and books with specific prayers for husbands and fathers are plentiful now. We can pray scriptures over our mates and be amazed at how God works. Once we start praying for someone, it seems to nuture our love for them. God begins to show us their needs and vulnerabilities. We see them through the eyes of the Divine and begin to appreciate their admirable qualities. The Lord shows us how to better relate to them and miracles really do transpire. Transforming a marriage relationship from shakiness to stability or from goodness to greatness begins on our knees. It is a small sacrifice which yields tremendous rewards.

“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more 

than all we ask or imagine, according to his power 

that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church 

and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, 

for ever and eve! Amen.” 

Ephesians 3:20-21

By Cathy Friberg

Hoarding or Sharing

9/23/13

Which Side of the Revolution are You On?

The series that our pastor is doing this month is calling for a revolution.  It has made me squirm at time, as it seems to be pointing directly at me.  Those really are the best sermons; as they spark my desire to grow in Christ and find my true purpose in this life.  I know in my head that we are meant to draw others to The Lord; but have been conditioned to believe that the actual work is meant for those who serve in vocational ministry; not for us “regular folk”.  We may tell ourselves that we just need to learn how to become better versions of who we are today. 

But Jesus called each one of us to follow Him.  He drew thousands to Himself; accepting the betrayal that would change the world though His suffering and miraculous resurrection.  Knowing this, I should be able to lead at least one or two people to salvation, shouldn’t I?

I can be a good person, attend church regularly, physically serve in ministry, do all of the work in the latest Bible study, and still be lacking.  We can be full of faith-trivia, but still unable to grow, because we are afraid to, “pour out” what we know; in case we are left with nothing for ourselves.  But if we do not share with those around us, the work that others have done to pour into us will become stagnant and useless.  We need to keep the flow of the Holy Spirit running through us, fulfilling Jesus’ call for us to go out into the world with His Good News.

Holding your knowledge of the Lord inside of your own head and heart is the worst kind of hoarding.  It is no different from the people who become prisoners of the stuff that fills up their homes; making it impossible for them to receive what they really need to live as they should.

Not sharing our faith is the opposite of finding our purpose.  It’s as if you found your dream job, with a salary that was beyond your greatest expectations.  Payday comes and you receive a check with more zeros than you can count.  You hurry home and sit at the table, looking at this wonderful piece of paper.  It is so wonderful; you cannot imagine taking it to the bank to deposit.  You just want to look at this check, daydreaming about all of the things you can do with the money.  Fabulous trips to exotic places, where you can meet people from other cultures; a bigger home, where you can have lavish parties, entertaining your friends; and giving your family their hearts desire.

But you cannot bring yourself to cash or deposit the check, so you cannot spend your earnings.  Eventually, you can only read the numbers on the paper in your hand during the day, because your electricity is cut off.  You cannot eat, because you will not buy food.   Eventually, you starve because you held on to the one thing that could have enriched you and so many others.

How much richer is the one who uses their earnings to make deposits; spends when required and gives freely when asked?  What may seem like a sacrifice today, can become the one thing that causes blessings to abound in your own life.   The sacrifices made but not acknowledged or seen by the people around us will surely increase our joy in heaven.

Father God, Thank You for filling me to overflowing and pressing Your words through me, so they flow from my lips in spite my immature thoughts. Please continue to use me when and where and how you choose.  I am not always comfortable with the way You challenge me, but I love You for wanting me to become the woman who You will call home one day. I praise and thank You, in Jesus’ Name. Amen

“But even if I am being poured out like a drink offering 

on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith, 

I am glad and rejoice with all of you. 

So you too should be glad and rejoice with me.”  

Philippians 2 17-18

Written by
Lynda Kinnard

Winnowing

9/11/13

When I read the assignment for my writing class to write about sentimental value, I heard the words, “Oh No!” leapfrog out of my mouth. I don’t want to write about something I have been experiencing for over a year now. 

During the last sixteen months I have attempted to build up the courage to spend time each week going through my husband’s study making  decisions about  what to do with his belongings.

A room filled with drawers and drawers of:  papers, notes, programs, articles, maps, receipts, ticket stubs, and a hundred other different types of paper he chose to save,  to keep. The walls of his study are covered with memorabilia and several bookshelves are laden with  printed words manifesting Ed’s interests, philosophies, and his love of travel.

I have had a year of opening drawers, files, boxes, envelopes, which all shout out, “Ed is gone so  YOU are the one to make the hundreds of decisions about what to keep, what to give away, and what to just toss.” As I sort through the hundreds of small treasures he  kept,  a full orchestra of emotions begins playing inside my head and heart challenging me to keep to the necessary task of decision-making.

I am reminded to put the brass bra on, as they say, and call upon my pragmatic side appearing on stage  with the job of encouraging me to stay the course. I think of the word, “winnow” – the delicate art of removing the wheat from the chaff – to scatter or to sift out.    

I am always thinking to myself, will I make the right decisions about all of this sifting?  Will I discard something I will later regret?

The horrific job of going through a loved one’s things after they die is like scraping open a  wound  over and over again,  reminding  you that the healing process isn’t over and you still have pain. Oh yes, I have received  many well meant sympathy cards telling me  that  to remember  is to have loved – to be thankful for good memories, but all the well-worn rhetoric doesn’t quell the loss or loneliness I feel each day and night.

But, back to the assignment of what I treasure and what someone else will probably just toss after I die. The handwritten notes on bits of paper, and the cards I received from Eddie over the thirty-two years we were married are sentimental to me, and I will keep forever because I treasure them.

They are mine.

They are love.

They are mine.

His winnowing fork is in his hand, 

and he will thoroughly cleanse his threshing floor. 

He will gather his wheat into the barn,

 but the chaff he will burn up with unquenchable fire." 

Matthew 3:12 

Written by

Connie Clark

"DEVOTION IS MORE THAN A PRAYER"

9/3.13                                      

Today I'd like to share a story from a delightful book which my son gave to me called "What My cat taught me About Life (Meditations for Cat Lovers)" by Niki Anderson. I hope you enjoy it.

  

                                                            THOMAS

Thomas was surnamed "the church cat." He lived with the Williams family, next door to a small community church. The Williams worshipped at the family church across town, but Thomas chose the congregation within walking distance. He Kept no calendar, yet never failed to be present and on time for both Sunday School and church services every Sabbath.

Thomas wanted to serve, but he didn't know where he fit. The Williams had never dubbed him a talker, so he concluded he would not be the best volunteer for teaching Sunday School. Since he was not gainfully employed, he was not able to contribute to the collection. Thomas could have offered his pest control services but he declined, choosing to honor the church mice who enjoyed their sanctuary in the church crawl space.

The ministry Thomas decided upon came quite naturally. He noticed that each parishioner appreciated his greetings along the walkway leading to the stained glass doors. Their smiles, strokes, and responses of "Good morning, Kitty" assured Thomas he had found a place to serve. Hospitality was a skill he had learned already. At home he greeted all callers with a welcome rub and a high tailed escort to his front door. Greeting was something he did well, so he offered it to God.

"One thing I know: the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve."

~~~~ Albert Schweitzer

Shared by Cathy Friberg

Thomas was a great example of faithfulness and of being Spirit Led. We may feel that our talents and contributions are small, however, only God knows the impact our service will have on the lives of others.

St. Therese, a Carmelite nun in France in the 1800's embraced a philosophy called "The Little Way." She encouraged people to manifest their love for God by committing fervently to simple every day tasks and by humbly serving those we meet in our everyday lives. What a refreshing and inspiring concept amidst our complex,indulgent, and self seeking modern day secular society.

By Cathy Friberg

Seven Wonders of the World

A group of Geography students studied the Seven Wonders of the World.

At the end of that section, the students were asked to list what they considered to be the Seven Wonders of the World. Though there was some disagreement, the following got the most votes: 

1. Egypt's Great Pyramids,
2. Taj Mahal,
3. Grand Canyon,
4. Panama Canal,
5. Empire State Building,
6. St. Peter's Basilica,
7. China's Great Wall. 

While gathering the votes, the teacher noted that one student, a quiet girl, hadn't turned in her paper yet. So she asked the girl if she was having trouble with her list. The quiet girl replied, "Yes, a little. I couldn't quite make up my mind because there were so many." 
The teacher said, "Well, tell us what you have, and maybe we can help." 

       The girl hesitated, then read, "I think          the Seven Wonders of the World are: 

1. to touch

2. to taste
3. to see
4. to hear 

       She hesitated a little, and then,

5. to run
6. to laugh
7. and to love. 

It is far too easy for us to look at the exploits of man and refer to them as "wonders" while we overlook all that God has done, regarding them as merely "ordinary." 

May you be reminded today of those things which are truly wondrous.

Shared by 

Corinne Mustafa

A Gift from God

“A Gift From God”

I have to wait just a few minutes for it to be light enough for ma e to put my boat into the water. I stand on the small dock all ready to begin my early morning row. As I look out across the lake, I feel  like a young child all set for an exciting adventure.  I find myself taking in a deep breath trying to  capture as much of the delicious quiet and beauty as I can. 

The water is so smooth, so still that when a fish jumps out and does a quick exquisite ballet, the water ripples, and I can hear the small splash.  I put both oars in my left hand, gently step into my boat, sit down, and then slip my feet under the Velcro straps.  I lean over just a little to push away from the dock, and then dip my oars in and begin to (skull) row.  I know that my first few strokes will be a bit uneven, but within a few minutes the rhythm and touch returns, and my long oars are making full efficient strokes enabling me to glide over the water and watch the dock disappear.

I named my boat, a 23 foot Shell, “Olivette.”   I have her name in large, bright red letters on the bow . Olivette was a woman I met through my church and our Prayer Shawl Ministry. Some of you may know of this wonderful ministry, but if you don’t, I invite you to check out a web site, www.shawlministry.com.  We knit or crochet prayer shawls that are given not only to people who are going through some type of loss, illness, transition, but also at times of celebration.  We usually have around ten to fifteen women who meet each month at our church, and there are several other women who may not attend our meetings, but contribute handmade shawls for this valuable ministry.

At the monthly gatherings, we have the opportunity to learn from each other as we share patterns, yarn, stories, and of course laughter and even tears.  We begin our meetings with the lighting of a small candle and a prayer.  Later during our meeting we drape the completed shawls we each have brought in, and often some unfinished shawls, over a stand.  We gather around the shawls with each of us placing one hand on a shawl, and our other hand on someone’s shoulder, as we say a prayer together.  Before a shawl is given to someone, we include a prayer tucked inside.

One prayer, I especially like is:

May God’s grace be upon this shawl…warming, comforting, enfolding and embracing.

May this mantle be a safe haven...
a sacred place of security and well-being,     
sustaining and embracing in good times as well
as difficult ones.

May the one who receives this shawl be cradled in hope, kept in joy, graced with peace, and wrapped in love.     

                              Blessed be!                                      

                                                                    Author:  Janet Bristow             
                                                                                    2008 All rights reserved.

I so value this display of faith and friendship. I believe that it is a visible sign of what God’s love and caring is all about.  To me, it is an example of “Faith in Action.”  While I work on a prayer shawl, even though I am not a master knitter, I feel good, content, and centered as I knit and pray.  I feel fortunate to be a small part of a group that is serving and sharing. 

My friend, Olivette, crocheted, and we teased her that she was the most prolific of our group as she would bring in at least five shawls she had made during the month.  She would reply in her zesty voice telling us that, being in her 90s, she had more time to sit and crochet than most of us.  I had the privilege of interviewing Olivette about her life.  Our group wanted to have her story be part of the contents we were planning for our women’s time capsule at the church.  I didn’t know Olivette very well before the several weeks I spent with her obtaining information about her life history.  After we had completed her story, I continued my visits with her.  She allowed me to bring her new yarn, and I marveled at the beautiful shawls she made.  Olivette was a kind and attentive listener.   I always felt she took in every word I said, and that she cared. 

She was an unexpected gift to me for the few years I knew her before she died.  A surprise gift from God, Olivette was an outstanding woman who had a wonderful sense of humor, a deep value of  learning,  and  continued giving to others until the day she died at 93 years of age.

I was given one of Olivette’s shawls, and it is one of my favorite possessions.  One day when I was talking with Olivette, I brought up the subject of my wanting to get my own boat, but thought I might be a bit too old to move forward with this wish.  She looked at me, paused, and then said, “Connie, get your boat.”

As I row my boat I find myself always saying out loud, “Good morning, Olivette, let’s go have some fun.”

Yes, friendships and being out in God’s beautiful world is like being cradled in hope, kept in joy, graced with peace and wrapped in love.

Blessings,
Connie I. Clark