GOD KNOWS

God knows


I was young, nineteen, with two kids going to school full time, me, not them. My only income was from my dad's G.I bill (which allowed him to send two dependents to school, providing me with $211 a month), $100 child support check and whatever schools grant money I had left over after purchasing books and paying tuition.

With $311 monthly I paid rent, utilities included,(don't envision something fancy for $120 monthly, though the roaches I shared the accommodations with  thought they were in roach heaven), bought groceries, with the temporary help of food stamps,(they embarrassed me so I eventually weaned myself from them), gas for my $10 car,(bet you can't find one like that anymore, simply because that one caught on fire on my way to school one day.),nice fairly elaborate Christmas and birthday splashes for my kids, (guilt relief for them having to struggle through school with me), with enough left over for a small savings account. This was in the late '70's. I doubt this could be achieved today. Car insurance was not required back then so that was a tremendous savings. I also had wonderful parents who did free babysitting, picked my food up at the commissary on base for an added savings, and they threw in unsolicited butt kicking whenever I got discouraged and threatened to quit school.

You can see how every cent counted in my household. One afternoon a few days after I received my child support check I puttered out to the bank in my lovely car (sarcasm, did you catch it?), to discover I was check-less. I went back home and turned over ever leaf as I looked for that important piece of bank paper valued at a meager $100.00.

I opened every school book, emptied every dresser drawer, dumped the trash on the floor, (the roaches appreciated that, it was like take-out for them), scrounged through the toy chests, and then stuck my hand in every shirt, skirt and pants pocket that hung in my closet or was stuffed in my hamper. I was devastated. No check. I was on the verge of some heavy crying.

That night I went to bible study and asked for prayers. Suggestions galore rolled off every tongue, (but no love offerings in the way of hard cash). I got free advice and many suggestions on where to continue my search, none of which panned out when I got home. Finally the obvious reaction came from the group. "Don't worry, God knows where it is." Nice sentiment from people who didn't need $100 as badly as I did. God definitely didn't need it, so why wouldn't he share his knowledge with me!!! He owned the cattle on a thousand hills, at least give me something for my money: a brisket, roast, a hundred pounds of hamburger meat.

Weeks went by and I gave up the hunt. The check was hopelessly lost. I would make do, after all God had taught me he would meet my needs even if he did hide my money. I pillaged from my savings and continued living on a shoestring, which is pretty tasty with sufficient Italian sauces and spices. Good for roughage.

One sleepless night after studying for one of my finals I picked up some light reading and fluffed my pillows. I stretched, yawned, leaned back, and opened my book. Something fluttered to the bed covers. Thinking it was just scratch paper I crunched it up and tossed it into the wastebasket across the room....then on after thought I flew after it.  Guess what it was; yep, my check. All wrinkled but still cashable. The light reading? My bible. It had been a light for my path for many years and now it was still shining forth with help and wisdom and releasing its bounty. I'd been reading this book regularly over the past few weeks yet God choose his perfect time for the check to dislodge from whatever pages it was stuck between. I now remembered why I placed it there when I had received it, to keep it secure till I made it to the bank. My prayer group was correct. God did know where the errant check was.  He revealed it to me only after reminding me he was my sufficiency. I informed him I learned my lesson and he didn't need to repeat the question on the final exam.

what a manicure taught me

 

 

 

 

I got up one morning recently and did my nails. I chose a nice silver glitter color called “Bling Bling”. It’s not only rare that I use colors other than “natural” colors for my fingers it was the first time. In the past I’ve reserved silvers for my toes only, just to prove I, too, can be a rebel. I don’t know why, but reds and neutrals just seen more normal on the fingers.  Fingers aren’t supposed to be blue or black, as a nurse I always want to tell someone with those colors to take a deep breath in case they are de-oxygenating; I’m not sure that’s actually a word you’d find in Webster’s dictionary.  And when I see green nail polish I assume someone’s been gardening and forgot to wear gloves and then failed to wash their hands.

Anyway, I digress. After I applied my polish, which was in the form of nail strips versus liquid I preceded to my bible study. I read a few verses and came to my thumbs where they were holding my bible open. I stopped reading to admire the glitter and the perfect job I had done applying the strips.  The nail strips were a fantastic invention, no messy polish out of place, impeccable contours at the base of my nails and they were promised to last much longer than their fluid counterpart. Man, my nails looked fabulous. I had to hold my hands up in front of my face to admire them from all angles. I had done such a pretty job, it made me feel like somebody and I could do them at home by myself, no help from anyone. Regular nail polish I went to a manicurist for, because I’m a clumsy painter.

After a few minutes I resumed my bible study only to once again get distracted by my gorgeous fingers. Ultimately I abandoned my efforts at reading and worship; I just couldn’t concentrate because of the “Bling Bling.”

Some days later I was back with my bible, not for the first time but again, and my fingers diverted my attention one more time, only in this instance it was to notice the paint had chipped and the “Bling Bling” was cracking. I held my hands up again to scrutinize, this time unfavorably. My nails looked awful; it was time for a redo. I felt shabby, and not meticulous. To have nice manicured nails one must keep at it consistently and I didn’t have the patience for daily nail grooming.

Oh, oh. Something just struck me. Was it lightning? The words I was reading were the same words I’d read before years ago. Nothing had changed, not one tittle or jolt. God’s word was consistent. It still had the same “Bling Bling” from the day I started studying it, from the day I had come to God and Jesus; when I had come to him as a cracked and chipped individual in need of his presence and saving power. He had saved me then and made me somebody: his child, a saint and an heiress.  I couldn’t do that by myself, I had needed his help, his death, his blood, and it was permanent salvation. No need to redo it daily. But I realized this relationship we had had to be fed daily.  I had to meet with God routinely and I had to do it without the distractions that the world throws at us in the shape of manicures and impermanent glitter. I may just need to wear gloves from now on during bible study, either that or cut off my fingers.

 

Proverbs 3:13-20

Proverbs 16:16

Malachi 3:6

1 cor. 1:2

Gal 4:5

1 Peter 1:3-9

the american revolution

In a letter John Adams wrote to his wife, Abigail, on July 3^rd 1776:

“The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.

You will think me transported with enthusiasm, but I am not. I am well aware of the toil and blood and treasure that it will cost to maintain this Declaration and support and defend these States. Yet through all the gloom I can see the rays of ravishing light and glory. I can see that the end is worth more than all means: that posterity will triumph in that day's transaction, even though we {may regret} it, which I trust in God we shall not. ”

Let’s remember our independence came at a great cost and that we are free  to celebrate it enthusiastically and without guilt by permission and fore thought of the founding fathers, or  at least one, John Adams. Let’s remember while we’re celebrating with pomp and parade, to include solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. After all, God is, or was?, no, is the Father of humanity on both sides of the pond known as the Atlantic ocean and he lost, or received, children from England and the thirteen colonies and their Allies during the American Revolution. He is not a God that shows partiality. I wonder how he felt when both sides prayed for victory over the enemy as the enemy on both sides were His children. God puts a great price on human lives; in the Old Testament the law required a life for a life. Abel’s blood was the first to cry out to God from the grave. Those years of bloodshed, and all other years before and after, must be horrific to our Loving Father, as he watches sons and daughters die at each other’s hands, each trying to prove a point, to win an argument, to illicit his favor, praying for him to take sides, to back them up with victory.

Well we definitely follow John Adams’ wish to celebrate with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, but I’m sad to say I feel it’s questionable about the inclusion of solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. Let’s not forget the cemeteries, on both sides of the Atlantic, filled with the dead who didn’t get a chance to memorialize our freedom or their widows, orphans, and parents left childless.

It was too long ago for us to feel their grief, 237 years ago. None of us have the honor of reminiscing with survivors of that war, hearing about 13 year old boys running off with muskets, and never coming back , fathers of large households taken on to glory or left so maimed they were, at that time, considered useless, women sacrificing and dying beside their menfolk. The stories of individual everyday families were passed down to a few generations and then forgotten, after all they didn’t have Blogs or Facebook to record their agony, but, regrettably, we have had no shortage of wars to woefully arouse empathy with the long forgotten misery of the American Revolution survivors, so we can partially emphasize with the ordinary colonist’s pain, though in God’s perspective ordinary doesn’t exit, thank you God.

So let’s remember as we celebrate to solemnly include God in our thoughts, this July 4^th, and pray for the Lords return and the eternal peace that will bring to end all blood shed from one end of this global continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.

I wonder, when we do get to heaven will we have an annual day of remembrance, a day celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival? Naw, I suspect every day will be July 4^th!

Bring on the barbeque and fireworks, but first, second and last, let us pray.

 

 

the dragonflies

 

 

 

 

Right before my dad's funeral at the Dallas/Fort Worth National Cemetery a few years ago a friend of mine saw a dragon fly land on her windshield and stare her down. She excitedly told me it was a sign from dad as my dad liked dragonflies. I don’t always give credence to omens so I didn’t over think her observation. Well, over two years later, I was walking my dogs over a bridge at park near my house and saw a dragon fly skim over the water below. I thought about the phenomenon at the funeral and said, "Hmm." Then the dragon fly came back, and I said, "Thank you God for reminding me of my dad." Then I thought, it could have just been a coincidence so I prayed, feeling foolish to be testing God, "God, if that dragon fly was a message from my dad let me see it again."

 I waited and waited, (about two minutes, but they were long minutes!) No dragon fly. I was supremely disappointed since I had really expected to spot some more but I decided if I waited too long eventually a dragon fly would show up and that wouldn't prove anything except that I had tremendous perseverance, because of course if I waited 4 hours I probably would see another one. After about three exceptionally long and torturous minutes I gave up and turned around to finish my walk with my eager-to-be-on-their-way doggies who were earnestly straining on their leashes because there was more ground just waiting to be sniffed and so little time to do it .

 On the other side of the bridge two feisty low flying dragon flies immediately caught my eye, whizzed by, crisscrossed each other, did somersaults and vanished under the bridge. If I hadn’t resumed my stroll when I did I would have missed them entirely. Timing is everything after all.

I looked heaven ward and humbly exclaimed, “Dear God, one would have been enough.” Thinking now he was just showing off!

 The name of the park is VETERAN'S PARK. And of course you should know that today is Father's day.

I’m not suggesting it’s wise to test God, but he does like to answer prayers and requests, sometimes in a playful and unexpected manner. It certainly was awesome of him to let me experience his presence, quietly and gently, on a bridge early in the morning while I walked my dogs at a park built to honor Veterans on a day when most of the country was paying tribute to all their dad’s; those alive and those in the company of God, our supreme Father.

 

 

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traditions

Every year I look forward to April. Why? Not because the cool months are fading into history, not because I almost have Christmas paid off, not because it’s about time to get my pool ready, but because my birthday falls in April and I get presents. I only know it’s my birthday because my parents told me so, you see, I was too young when I was born to know anything about calendars. My parents are now gone and no longer here to remind me of my birthdate but I celebrated it for years so I have it chiseled in my memory, plus it’s recorded on my birth certificate.

Every February we celebrate President’s day, to honor the birth of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Were you there when they were born? I wasn’t.  I have to take the word of those that knew them or about them; I have to believe in recorded history, I have to take it by faith that the historians were accurate.

There are other days throughout the year that are celebrated individually and collectively by citizens worldwide, not because all were present at the opening event but because someone started a day of recognition for an occurrence that produced a significant impact on lives. 

In America we celebrate Columbus Day, how do we know he discovered America, (well technically that is up for debate now, since it was inhabited when he arrived.) We celebrate Thanksgiving yearly, were any of us present when Native Americans and Europeans sat down to feast? Did anyone have a Kodak moment that day? Were portraits painted?  Well?

Jews celebrate the Passover every year. That happened millennia ago, according to their history so no one from this century really knows if a group of slaves left Egypt, except of course for Charlton Hesston, Yule Bryner and a few measly thousand other character actors and extras, most of who have died by now. Yet somehow the Jewish people got the memo that something happened at a specific time that needed to be observed yearly. My guess, substantiated by the book of Exodus, is since the celebration had a beginning it was handed down from parent to child, from generation to generation ad infinitum.  Some one that had been present made sure it wasn’t forgotten. Those that honor that day honor it with a sincere heart.

Now there is a segment of society that celebrates Passover in a different light. Something happened on Passover two thousand years ago that changed the focus of things. A man who claimed to be God, or the son of God, or both, died during the Jewish feast of Passover. Twelve men that associated with him heard his contentions of being the Passover Lamb. These twelve were there when he was crucified and saw him die a ghastly death. Then they saw something else. They saw him after he had been buried for three days.  They saw him walk and talk and eat after he was buried. Then days later (fifty days to be exact) five hundred men and women claim they saw him disappear into the clouds. Five hundred men and women with families.

Those five hundred people transformed Passover to the Lord’s Supper modeled after a pattern set by twelve men (minus one) who were present at the original Lord’s Supper/Passover. Those five hundred passed the observance down to their children who passed it on to their children, ad infinitum. They no longer remembered being set free from bondage in Egypt as the primary focus of their joy. They now set the day as a day of rejoicing over the fact that their Passover lamb had risen from the dead and ascended to heaven freeing them from the bondage of sin.  They no longer ate bitter herbs and sacrificed lambs; they drank a cup of symbolic blood and ate bread symbolic of flesh.  They started a new tradition based on facts they had witnessed; a last supper, an arrest, a trial, a crucifixion, a burial, a resurrection, and finally the ascension; just as the Israelites had witnessed the unbelievable ten plaques and the parting of the red sea.  And this tradition has been observed yearly two thousand times in churches all over the world.

Imagine being a part of something that has been handed down by eyewitnesses for two thousand years.

one nation under god?

One Nation under God? One nation under God. Which god? The god of ambition, the Internet, porn, reality shows. Which god are we under. This nation was built on freedom to worship as we please. We have used that premise to our advantage. We live with wiccans, atheists, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, New Agers, various Indian ways, star gazers, crystal gazers, etc. etc.. etc. Thank God we can worship whatever we want. That leaves the privilege of worshiping Him open and accessible. We started this country with great ideals, that is nothing to be ashamed of. We started this country with religious freedom in mind,(for the puritans only, apparently) something to be proud of. We wanted the privilege of worshiping the true God. Fantastic. But we also made allowances (eventually) for any one with different few points to able to bow down towards Mecca, a crystal rock, a burning cauldron or a totem pole. Though in the beginning the colonists flogged those with different views, similar to the persecution they fled from. Quakers faced persecution when they migrated to America. The first Friends in the New World came in order to spread their beliefs. In 1656 Mary Fisher and Ann Austin did so, and were imprisoned and banished by the Puritans of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. The first Baptists in America were people fleeing religious persecution, seeking freedom of conscience and religious liberty for all persons. Most did not find it in colonial New England. How can we possible pledge allegiance to one nation under God when we have so many to choose from and can't even agree with each other? It's against our constitution to combine state and religion so we can't possibly define what is meant by "God". When the courts took prayer out of our schools, (we can still pray wherever we want, we just can't do it over the public speaker system) they had to take "God" out of the pledge of allegiance. If we were one nation under God school prayers wouldn't be a problem Even alcoholics anonymous, started by Christians, can't reach people with "God".. They refer to a higher power, what ever we choose to be our higher power. They can't consistently say "God". They just hope that God is understood. Coming to America we thought it our duty to wage a holy war with the Indians. The old testament had the Israelites destroying the pagans and overturning their temples. That was under the letter of the law, under the law of the spirit Jesus's last words to us were, Go into the world teaching them in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Where did it mention annihilating them? No wonder the Indians didn't see any difference in our religion compared to theirs. We are a melting pot of idols, melted down and poured into molds of our choosing. We are diverse in our believes and standards. We can't even agree on a president. And once one is voted in we can't back him. Even among Christians there is no agreement. Some believe in a trinity, some don't, some believe once saved always saved, some don't. Some believe in homosexuality, some don't. Some believe in sinless souls, sinful flesh, some don't. Some believe in war, some don't. If they're not against us they're for us, Jesus informed his disciples. It's not important to agree on all the issues. Just agree he's the way, the truth and the life. I'm proud of my country but one nation under God? It doesn't exit. What does exit? One planet under God. We may not all see eye to eye but that isn't necessary for the creator. We are all under his guidance. We are slowly slipping into the fulfillment of His plans. Plans designed centuries ago. They are unraveling like a carpet. No matter what part of the globe you're on. No matter that your country faces east, west, and south or north, you're under God. He's everywhere, he sees everything. He knows everything. Whether you believe he exists doesn't matter. He exists. You'll find out soon enough, not necessarily in time. One nation under God, wrong. One world under God, now that I’ll buy.

Memories

 I put a pen on the shelf by my bed and saw the brush. It was the kind you used shampooing your hair to massage your scalp. It was also the only brush I could use on her. If I came at her with any other brush she'd run, or worse yet if I actually caught her she'd bite me. But with this magical brush she would extend her neck and stick her tongue out as I applied pressure with it to her back. You could almost hear her purr but she wasn't a cat. (At least not in this life, and no, I don’t believe in reincarnation.)

 I cut the treats into thirds. Then I remembered there were only two four legged recipients left. The trio was broken. They had been a trio for thirteen years. The two remaining sets of eyes looked up at me. Why did I pause. "Hurry up and feed us." Their tails wagged fast and furious, they had forgotten her already, or they were stoically bearing their pain.

 I bent over to pick up the towel I dropped and I looked up to her bed. It was empty, except for her blanket. I had expected to see her in it, watching me, waiting for me to open the refrigerator, or reach for a nearby banana. She knew where they were kept, the minute my hand drifted in the direction of food she was off the bed and on her haunches, front paws in the begging position. No one could beg better than her. She did it automatically, I never taught her to beg. I was more than eager to please her, it was fair payment for the pleasure she gave me. She could hear me peel a banana three rooms away and be present in nano seconds.

 I rolled over in bed and reached for her. She wasn't there. I felt around for her, I patted two furry objects, neither one was her, then I remembered. She was sleeping outside, under three feet of dirt, wrapped in two of her blankets. She hated the backyard. We couldn't bury her in the front yard; grave digging at night would arouse suspicions. It's illegal to bury animals on your property. The vet never asked questions when we picked her up at his office the day she fell asleep. He knew our unspoken plans.

 My husband headed for the front door with the two male dogs for the morning walk and asked where She was. It was a habit to make sure she hadn't slipped out the door. (We didn't want her to get lost or hit by a car). A habit built over thirteen years. One we had to stop because we didn't want to remember where she was. (Now she was outside and would never come back in, but she was safe from cars)

She wouldn't go for walks, she'd plant her haunches on the ground and we couldn't pull her twelve pounds of blubber for anything. She did enjoy being carried though; we had a baby papoose we carried her with. What should I do with it now? I don't want to get rid of it. I need it to remind me to cry when I see it. She deserves to have tears shed over her.

 I reach in the cabinet to get my pills and I see her's. There are lots of meds for her. She had allergies, infections, low thyroid, and vitamin deficiencies. She's been cured of them. I no longer spend 5 minutes in the morning doling out her drugs in bananas or other camouflages. I get to work five minutes earlier. I wish I had those five minutes back in the morning; I'd rather be late for work.

 I never want to lose these memories. It's the only way to keep her alive. I plan on filling the hole she left with another puppy. I will love it as much as I loved her, she taught me to love. I don't want the lessons she taught me to be forgotten. I don't want another dog to be abused by falling into the wrong hands, after all, I'm the only person on earth that can pamper a pet just right. I will love again. I'm clinging to her husband and son. They will be following her too soon, but now they are still full of spunk. I try not to picture them lying next to her in the back yard. With life there is hope and i hope they live forever.