New Year's Resolutions

I don’t make them, because I don’t keep them. A resolution is a promise to yourself, and I hate disappointing anyone including myself. So the following list is NOT a list of resolutions, just some things I need to do:


1. Walk or swim everyday to prepare myself to be able to do all I want to do when Bruce and I go to Zambia in April. (My doctor says you can improve your fitness and energy level in eight weeks.)

2. Lose weight. (The doctor says up to 20 pounds. I’m aiming for at least 10.)

3. Finish my book by the end of March so I can spend April getting ready for the trip. (And I don’t want any of the several dozen--maybe 300 or so--people who read Non-Prophet Murders to die waiting to read Murder Intelligently Designed.)

4. I finally have a daily devotional book that I can get excited about. Each day has a quote from C.S. Lewis or one of the many writers from whom he drew inspiration. The page for each day includes space to add my own thoughts. I intend to find a scripture to go with each one and post the result on this blog.

Stop Waiting

In the late sixties, it became fashionable for young Christians, of which I was one, to “wait upon the Lord,” as per the Psalm. The popular interpretation was that one should ignore any personal desire and wait for direction from God, seemingly a “Thy will not mine” attitude but it in reality a bow to eastern religions that label all needs and desires evil.
Today people say “let go and let God,” an admirable sentiment if it means letting go of pain, worry, hatred, etc.,” but not so if “letting go” means abdicating.
One possible outcome of abdication is wasteful but harmless: The abdicator watches as life runs down hill like spilled water to the lowest possible level—no goals, no ambitions, no dreams—a simple, howbeit harmless existence. Like the servant who buried his talent, these abdicators lead fearful, unfruitful lives.
Another likely possibility: Someone attached to the abdicator by love or family or both is forced to make life decisions for that person. The resulting stress is harmful to both parties and to the relationship.
The most onerous consequence: An opportunistic or psychotic person makes decisions for the abdicator, convincing him or her that those decisions are the will of God and that his or her compliance is a mark of righteousness. The result is pure evil.
I have come to believe that “waiting on the Lord” does not mean standing still but “waiting” in the sense of “serving”—doing the works that God created us to do; allowing Him to steer a moving vehicle, not forcing Him to push a dead one.
Only when we know and voice our desires can we ask that God’s will be done and recognize and accept when He gives us something better.

A Living Sacrifice

I do not know what I would do,
if I were asked to die for you.
I pray that I would gladly die,
for the hope that lies ahead.

But sadly I confess it’s true,
it’s harder far to live for you,
and be a living sacrifice,
than to lie among the dead.

So Father, help me gladly stay
upon the straight and narrow way.
And change my heart that daily sighs,
“I’d rather die instead.”

Cat Scratch Fever

Yes, it is a real disease and I have it. Have I mentioned we are taking care of a cat, who came to us as a flea-bitten kitten just before Halloween? Well, we are. His name is Punkin' and he bites and scratches. I have the characteristic papule on my wrist and a very painful area in my arm pit that could be a swollen lymph node, and the pain is slowly moving down my arm. The internet says that cases usually resolve without treatment after a month or so, but this hurts! So I saw my doctor and am on an antibiotic.


So far, Punkin’ has broken a cheap candleholder, unplugged my printer twice, left scratches on my hands and thighs, climbed my kitchen door and forced me to cover the screen, drunk out of the toilet and trained me to keep the lid down, peed on my white bed spread and on my husband's fresh laundry and cost me nearly $100 for an office visit and antibiotic. But he also has stare-offs with squirrels outside our glass door. He, for reasons known only to cats, careens from room to room sliding crazily on our hardwood floors, fights his reflection, makes toys out of everything from ball points to lint and cuddles and purrs "like a kitten."

We will give him back to our daughter when she moves into her new apartment, and we will miss him, but gladly.

THe Schreiber Sisters

         My sisters and I began singing together in church and for family reunions when I was eleven and my youngest sister at the time was seven. The Lennons were singing back then, and I was younger than their youngest. When I was twelve, we joined the Jack Noel Happy Valley country show that traveled to county fairs all over Indiana, Illinois and Ohio. Eventually, we sang every week on WTTV, first when it was located in Bloomington, Indiana then, when it moved to Indianapolis in the sixties, we drove there every week. The station was owned by Sarkis Tarzian whose son now owns WRCB in Chattanooga. Our appearances continued until I left for college in nineteen-sixty-seven.

"My Grace is Sufficient"

Occasionally I write what is known as “inspirational” pieces. I don’t do it on purpose. I want what I write to be true and edifying, but I am hard pressed to give non-fiction a “happy” ending. The best I can hope for in most cases is to present a conundrum. To ask, “How, in the light of Christ, does this situation make sense?” “What can a Christian do; how does a Christian cope?” and to prayerfully say that only God has the answers, and I am not privy to most of them. Given this disclaimer, you are warned that the following story is true.

Simply stated, our congregation is watching a young family lose their baby son to the same metabolic disease that took their only daughter a little over a year ago at the age of four. Both children were born with no apparent problems, but during the short time Danielita was on this earth, she lost the ability to hold up her head, the ability to eat solid food, her smile, her laugh, her life. Without a miracle, we will watch these young parents relive the most horrible experience I can imagine.

We prayed for Danielita for four years. We are praying for Daniel.

The Younger Generation

My daughter tells me she just “fools around with” her electronic gizmos until she figures out how to do whatever it is she is trying to do. My brain will not go there.

In fact, I would rather buy a used camera like two that I actually knew how to use than try to re-learn how to download pictures. (I want to post the one-of-a-kind wreaths I am making for a sale in November.) HP has stopped making that camera, probably because the battery compartment has a latch that gets broken easily. (I know this because both of my cameras bit the dust for that reason.) I ordered a third camera on eBay;  it arrived today. The latch is broken. I disputed the sale and was asked to send it back.

I don’t know why the seller wants it back unless he is determined to sell it again. (I was tempted to take an indelible marker and write DEFECTIVE on the body, but I didn’t. )

Without a camera, I am resorting to my new phone. I have the pictures taken, now I am looking for the manual to maybe figure out how to upload them via Facebook. See you in the loony bin.

The Battle for Education

A friend of my daughter is studying to be a secondary teacher and, as one of the requirements for her degree, spent Friday observing in a local high school. This particular school is one that has been praised in the media of late for its great improvement; no guns have been reported in over a year, and no students or teachers have been permanently injured.


She saw two fights break out in the hall, neither of which was reported. She heard students using fowl language on phones and other electronic communications during classes without consequence. She heard the same language directed at teachers, and she witnessed teachers trash talking students and the teaching profession.

God bless her; she still wants to teach, and she wants to teach in just such a school. She will be giving her talent, her youth, her enthusiasm and her potential earning power to a system and a student body that will show no appreciation and could potentially do her bodily harm. She and others like her are on the front lines of a war that needs to be waged by all of us.

And, praise God, the community surrounding that school has joined the battle. This month they raised over twenty thousand dollars to fund a “Bible in the Schools” teacher for the next three years. Whoever holds that position will be a seasoned professional and a practicing Christian whose faith and commitment will be tested daily. Please pray for God to bless all those who are willing to sacrifice so much to bring true peace and knowledge to our schools.

How Did We Get Here, Ladies?

One day last week I viewed a romantic comedy made in the late forties, starring June Allyson and Van Johnson. In the movie, a young couple dance around the usual plot of boy meets girl; boy looses girl (because of a misunderstanding that makes the young man look entirely unsuitable); the misunderstanding is cleared up, and boy gets girl again. At that point, boy proposes marriage; girl accepts, and all is right with the world. Granted this is not reality, but it illustrates the accepted mores’ of the time.
Later that day, I watched the contemporary reality show, “Clean House.” In that show, a young woman with a teenage daughter lives with a semi-starving artist and his three boys. The men refuse to help around the house, so the woman and her daughter are left to cook and clean. At one point in the episode, the artist presents the woman with an engagement ring. She reacts with elation and relief!

But what choice did she have? She is living in his home; she is sleeping with him daily; she has made him a father figure to her daughter; she has become a mother to his children—and she is probably ironing his shirts!

How did we get to this point? Women aren’t just settling for bad bargains but are overjoyed to do so.
Well, Duh.

It’s time to get back to reality and claim our God-given value. The Bible said it first, “We’re worth it.”

Bible in the Hamilton County Schools

Hamilton County has had Bible history classes in public schools since 1921—the oldest such in the U.S. Based on a supreme court ruling in the 1980’s, classes are privately funded, elective and for credit. No evangelizing goes on in the classroom, but the intent of nearly 1,000 Christians gathered this evening at Brainerd gym was unmistakable. Fifteen preachers from fifteen separate congregations and nearly as many denominations led us in prayers for every teacher, every administrator, every board member, every student or public official involved now, in the future or never. Those of that number in attendance, including school board members, city council members, Representative Fleishman and Mayor Littlefield, had hands laid on them in prayer. The prayers, unbridled and fervent, asked God to hold sway in our schools, our city and our country.  Praise God for Patsy Hazlewood who put the meeting together, and Amen!

Mr. Keillor Went a Courtin'

And he did ride, with Sara Watkins by his side.

Garrison Keillor’s Summer Love Tour reached erogenous zones all the way back to the balcony of the War Memorial Auditorium last Saturday night with an intoxicating and incongruous mixture of love songs, patriotism, poetry, slightly off-color humor and Christian hymns. First, an ad hoc rap set to music expressed interest in his intended lover, the entire city of Chattanooga. He followed that with foreplay--intimate duets and revealing fantasies designed to give us palpitations.  Like a practiced con artist, he took us for all we were worth and left carrying our hearts, a large chunk of our change and our blessings.

Seeking Mr. Keillor

Garrison Keillor’s, “Summer of Love” tour was in Chattanooga last night, and I wanted to see the show. On-line tickets cost over $70, so I decided I would have to miss it, but I did go down to the auditorium to plug my book by sticking advertizing on cars and, if possible, get a copy to Mr. Keillor. (Of course he will love it if he only reads it.)
I know where performers’ buses usually park, so I drove down behind Soldiers and Sailors about two hours before the show and checked. Sure enough, two custom buses and a security car sat just across the street. I looked for signs of life, hoping no one mistook me for a crazed fan or a terrorist. Nothing moved.
I parked, grabbed the copy of my book that I had inscribed “to Garrison Keillor, Thank you for years of entertainment” and found a perch between the buses and the back door of the auditorium. Three or four persons came out for a smoke or a look around. I asked each if they could get my book to Mr. Keillor. Nope. One said, “Someone who can help you will be out shortly.”
Meanwhile, a very dark gentleman carrying a large valise and one of Garrison’s books walked up and asked in a Middle Eastern accent if I knew how he could get the book signed. He explained that he was an Ethiopian who wrote poetry and song lyrics in Amharic. He had driven all the way from Atlanta and said repeatedly, “Mr. Keillor is a genius.” I was incredulous and told him so. Who would think that the humor of “Lake Woebegone”, so couched in American culture and idiom, would resonate with a man from Ethiopia?
But there we stood, the Midwestern grandmother and the Ethiopian poet, waiting to connect with the man who, for that evening at least, united the two of us in a common goal.
We waited for another thirty minutes during which time a security guard and another man said it would be better to come back after the show. I decided to go swim and come back later to advertize, but I did not want to wait around outside until after eleven to see Mr. Keillor. I gave my new friend my book and told him to keep it if he did not get a chance to give it to Garrison.
I came back at seven carrying another copy of my book and several dozen business cards which I proceeded to distribute. Just before the show was to start, I went in and asked for a cheap ticket. They had several seats in the balcony for forty dollars, so I stayed. (A whole ‘nother blog and well worth the forty dollars.) Afterwards, I sat in my car in view of the buses and waited until the crowd cleared. Still, no one came out of the auditorium. Finally, I got up the courage to walk up to the first bus, praying all the way. The driver was sitting in the front seat and opened the door when I waved my book.

“Could you get this to Mr. Keillor?”

He said, “Yes,” and took it.

This is the fourth copy I have tried to deliver: one by mail, and three through people who told me they would “see what they could do.” So, maybe Mr. Keillor will get a copy; maybe he will read it; he will like it and ???

Abomination

      Someone posted a letter on my Facebook page supposedly written to Dr. Laura Schlesinger in response to her support of the Biblical statement that homosexuality is an “abomination.” After fact-checking, I found that the letter has been around since at least 2000 and has been attributed to any number of authors. Its intended recipient could be anyone from President Bush to at least one Catholic Bishop.
      The letter takes several Bible passages out of context and posits ten questions designed to prove that Bible teachings are essentially ludicrous.
      Frankly, it does a pretty good job, especially if the reader is ignorant of the teachings of Christ and the purpose of the Old Testament Law.
      The Bible, when viewed as a list of dos and don’ts, becomes an arbitrary obstacle course to a pie in the sky by and by. Why would God disallow a person with a birth defect from being a priest or declare women to be unclean once a month?
      Every Bible passage needs to be viewed in the light of Christ and his grace which replaces laws that could not save but did reveal the holiness of God and the nature of sin.
      So what does the Bible say about homosexuality? It says it is an abomination. I’m not sure I know what that means--not just the meaning of the word, but what I need to say to anyone who chooses to practice homosexual behavior. But I know I am to love them and treat them as I would be treated, and I know that Godliness is not a matter of law.

Harriet Beecher Stowe

I just retook an abbreviated version of the Myers-Briggs personality test. Yep, I’m still an INFP, meaning I’m likely to go off the deep end so far as following my heart is concerned, and I’ve done it more than once. Persons of my ilk tend to get buffeted, bruised and burned out. So I have gained a bit of caution in my old age—not so likely to tilt at windmills, but still passionate, i.e. still trying “write” the wrongs of the world.
I also just finished reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin and a biography of its author. What do these bits of achievement have in common? I have found a kindred spirit in Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Mrs. Stowe, as she was referred to in her time, felt injustice keenly, as I do. We both were reared in Christian homes in which religious and political debate was common. I and she are products of a religious doctrine that restricts women to certain roles and limits the use of our gifts. Both Harriet and I felt drab in comparison to our friends and sisters. We each had a father who wished we were boys. And we each have measured the world by a set of absolutes.

But the Puritan ethos of Harriet’s day was more optimistic than my own. In her time, a large portion of America believed that “thy kingdom come” would be fulfilled in an earthly utopia created by the heroic efforts of Christians. And many human ills were righted, at least temporarily, by people of that era; slavery being the most notable.

And yet, the twenty-first century has dawned with more humans in slavery and with as many, if not more, instances of mass inhumanity. Victorian optimism died with the Civil War and the last passenger pigeon. But we INFPs keep marching into battle with our hearts on our sleeves and in our throats—tempered by the knowledge that any good we achieve on this earth will be fleeting and inspired by faith that our reward will be eternal.

This link will take you to my radio interview.