"On Becoming as a Little Child"

He was exhausted, bone-weary, the clamor and crush of the crowds wearing. There was no question about His calling, His purpose, and yet there were times He longed for the solace and solitude of the shop, the place where chunks of wood were turned into creations of utility and beauty underneath His hands, before His eyes. That was where He had been taught, prepared for what was to come, where He visited with His Heavenly Father. It was a place of peace, of quiet. 

His physical body exuded strength, the muscles taut and sinewy, developed by wielding the primitive carpentry hand tools of His time. His spiritual body was fit as well, strong enough to face and withstand evil in its purest, rawest form.

The life of Jesus, the carpenter’s son, had changed dramatically, and He knew when it had happened: His baptism by John when the heavens opened, and the Spirit descended upon Him like a dove, followed by a voice declaring, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased"; the encounter with the enemy while in the desert for forty days; the first of many signs, when He went to a wedding with His mother and turned the water into wine.

Masses of people followed Him wherever He went, craving the teaching, bringing the sick to be healed, seeking deliverance from demons. While knowing He had been sent for mankind, the daily rigor and the relentless demands were tiring, the places of retreat minimal.

The children were a delight. They brought a smile to His face, made Him laugh, their purity and honesty evidenced. He loved watching them play, listening to their discussions and conversations. They weren’t there to test Him with religious or political questions; they didn’t ask Him to prove who He was or why He had come; they didn't bait Him with verbal traps. 

Parents began bringing their little ones to Him, asking that He bless them. The disciples who followed along beside Him expressed criticism, sending them away. He rebuked them saying, “Let the children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.”

Becoming as a child--Just exactly what does that mean? Children live in the moment. They know no political correctness, love openly, and gauge carefully and instinctively those they allow into their world. In succinct terms it means trusting with one's heart and not one's head. 

Consider the following perspective of a child--“I don’t understand why all people don’t just follow God. It’s just so easy." This is one who has taken to challenging others of the need to "just stay in your own box," her way of expressing that each of us should take care of our own lives and not be concerned about the lives of others, an admonition of great wisdom. At the ripe old age of 8, she is a living example of the very thing I am speaking of.  

While children have no comprehension or understanding of the meaning of the word trust, they are just that--trusting, their faith direct and simplistic. Although some may view this as naïve', lacking an intellectual approach, it is the ultimate representation of a child placing his/her trust in the care of a loving parent.  

The mind is the battlefield, where war is waged, and children are yet to be encumbered by the mental process of thought, doubt, contradiction. They simply believe. How difficult is that? Difficult for some, easy for others, but an important choice to be made with long-term ramifications. 

Consider the need to become as a child.

"...it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs." Matthew 19:14   

  

"Clella's Aunt Kay's Fruitcake"

This electronic age has brought about a plethora of reconnections in my life,  one of which has been with a high school friend, dating back over 50 years ago.  Clella and I took piano lessons from the same piano teacher; we shared many of our classes; the two of us were planning on being college roommates. 

As happens in life, we went our separate ways.  However, that senior year she shared an absolutely wonderful fruitcake recipe with me, one which I made for several years.  The fruitcake was replaced by decorated Christmas sugar cookies as children came into my household, but I have always remembered it.

"It's that time of year," the time when the holidays are approaching, and I thought about her recipe again the other day.  

Here's to good food, days gone by, and reconnections.  Enjoy! 

Clella's Aunt Kay's Fruitcake

3/4 lb. dates                                              1 c. chopped nuts
1 tsp. soda                                                1 jar fruit mix
1 c. boiling water                                       1/2 c. cherries
1/2 c. oil                                                     1 c. seedless raisins
1 c. sugar                                                   1/2 c. currants
1 egg                                                          1/4 c. white raisins
1 tsp. vanilla                                               1 1/2 c. flour                                   
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. lemon juice

1.  Grease and flour sides, line bottom of 10" tubed pan with waxed paper.
2.  Chop dates in coarse pieces.
3.  Add soda to boiling water, pour over dates, let stand until cool, not cold.
4.  Plump raisins and currants, drain well.
5.  Mix oil, sugar, egg, vanilla, lemon juice, salt; add date mixture (with liquid), drained fruit;
     add flour (1/3 at a time), stirring well.  Add nuts, fruit mix, cherries.
6.  Bake 1/2 hour at 350; reduce heat to 310, bake another 1 1/4-1 1/2 hours.  If cracks
     appear, reduce temperature, bake longer. 
7.  Cool 30 minutes in pan, turn out and cool.

"On Faith vs. Doubt"

Whereas faith is as a solid rock, a foundation upon which one can build, doubt is as quicksand.  It will suck you down into its depths and consume you.  

"On Eternity"

eternity:  n.  Existence without end, infinite time.

I believe in eternity, a time without end which we enter into upon leaving this earth.  Not everyone does.  I was once shown a time-line.  Imagine, if you will, a line which goes as far as the eye can see, from East to West.  Imagine also, a sliver touching that line.  That is how much time life upon this planet we call Earth shares in the whole of time.  Minuscule, in comparison, is not an adequate description.

When I was a little girl I would strain my brain, as though it was a muscle I could flex, trying with all my might to envision eternity.  How can there be time without end?  It is beyond the comprehension of our finite minds, regardless of one’s chronological age.

As I grew older, I found myself questioning the why of things—pain, suffering, heartache, circumstances beyond anyone’s control which affect an individual or a family for a lifetime.  We all have our own listings, filled to capacity, with more questions than answers and zero understanding.

When questioning my Creator about one such incident, the words Eternity is a long, long time passed through my mind.  In that one comment I understood--to a very limited degree, but I did understand.

God is a God of love.  Contrary to the publicity waged against Him, He does not have a single mean, cruel bone in His being.  His one desire is to have a relationship with us, His children and creation.  When difficult situations occur in life, we make the choice of either turning to Him, on Him, or away from Him.  He doesn’t gain pleasure when our lives become difficult; He does want to be given the chance to be part of them.

We human beings are stubborn, self-sufficient, independent, hell-bent creatures.  When we continue on in our own, merry way, doing things on our own, ignoring Him, His choices become limited.  Often He is left with “If there was any other way….”  Due to the length of eternity, He will do His best to get the attention of His children as there are no second chances once we have passed over.

In reality, He is the innovator of “Tough Love.”  All that He does comes from that base of love.  He cares and never wants any of us having to deal with the reality of waiting until it is too late. 

While returning from work today I found myself thinking about “the writing”—that is what I call this.  So much of what I lay out has a spiritual emphasis, as that is where and how I live my life, and my life is what I share.  Contemplating the gravity of the subject matter, I wondered--Should I try to lighten up the content, make it more appealing?  Once again, that thought passed through my mind:  Eternity is a long, long time.  The focus of the writing won’t change; it can’t, because it is my life.

My challenge to you is the next time you are faced with a difficult situation in your life, one which brings on the onslaught of question marks and doubt, consider it in the light that “Eternity is a long, long time.”  Ask for truth, ask for understanding.  You may be surprised.  Are you going to have all the answers to everything?  A resounding “No!,” but you just might see things from a point of view, a perspective you’ve never had before.

If any one of you do this, then I have done my job, that of opening up a door, pointing the way to God.  How long is eternity?  Eternity is a long, long time.

“Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.”  Matthew 7:7

  ,

"On Forgiveness and Healing"

You took my broken heart and made it whole.
You took my shattered life, You healed my soul.

You gave me hope,
You gave me strength, so I could carry on.

I was so all alone, no place to call my own;
I had no home.

You filled a void in me, You gave me eyes to see.
You gave me peace within.

I placed my life into Your hands,
A childish trust, not one I'd planned.

You wrapped me up into Your arms.
You held me close, free from harm.

You whispered in my ear, so soft that I could barely hear,
"Forgive, my child, and be healed."

My heart sings out to You, for all eternity;
The wounds, the hurts are but a memory.

But this I know, I know forevermore: 
 "Forgive, my child, and be healed."

"On Being in a Superball State"

To say I have been in a zen-like place, calm, tranquil, and at peace with myself and my life recently would be an utter fallacy; in fact, it would be a bald-faced lie.  A better description is that of being in a “superball state.”  You know superballs--those small, bouncy balls.  They don’t just bounce, they ricochet each and every time they make contact with a surface until they are spent and come to a stand-still.  And no one can predict where they are going to end up. 

The blackberry vines on the bank had been waiting for me for several weeks.  The task of their removal had been postponed after encountering a wasps' nest in their midst.  Fear runs deep--even though my client had eradicated the nest.  However, decent weather is coming to an end, and I had run out of reasons, or rather, excuses.  It was time to tackle them.

 

There is no shortcut, no easy way.  It means plowing through the knee-deep ivy they are entangled in and cutting back the rampant, expansive vines at their base one at a time, dragging them down the hill to a location where they can then be hauled off.  The job was a perfect one for forcing me to stop and think, to question myself.

This is not the first time I’ve been in a “superball state.”  I have a history of spiritually packing up my bags and heading off on my own when I am confronted with a reality, a truth I don’t particularly want to face or agree with.  In years past this would last for several months before running out of steam and landing back on the very thing I had tried to avoid.

I have got better over time in dealing with issues head-on, yet here it was once again, that erratic state of mind.  One of the things I have learned is there are no skipped steps, no playing leap frog.  My life is set out in order, each step is crucial and important, and there is no moving forward until I deal with whatever it is I am trying to run from.

I recognized that state, the antithesis of peace, and so I began questioning what was going on, really taking place within.  As I cut back the vines, the mental garbage began to slough off, bit by bit, a housecleaning of sorts, and I ended up at the place where I had tried to bail, ground zero as it were. 

Quietly, I was reminded that a couple of weeks earlier I had been asked to “Just have patience” in dealing with a situation in my life.  I remembered my response to that had been, “Yeah, uh huh, sure.  Got it."  That was right before I took off.  And so I had ended up in this place of being scattered rather than grounded and focused, all because it wasn't what I wanted to hear.

I am fortunate to have One who doesn’t allow me my own way; who guides me with a certain, sure hand; who is adept at clearing clutter and junk out of the way; and One who cares enough He doesn’t let me end up in situations I would regret.

What a deal!  The blackberry vines were cleared off the bank, enabling me to cross a job off my "to-do" list.  I received priceless, personal counseling, and I am once again back on track, moving forward instead of bouncing all over like a superball.  Now I only need to remove all the stickers from my fingers. 



"I am leaving you with a gift--peace of mind and heart.  And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give.  So don't be troubled or afraid."

"For as the heavens are higher than the earth so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."

"On Love and Being Blessed"

The pressure washing job was what I call a hands-and-knees kind of job, not because I was on my hands and knees, but because it was mindless, one conducive for thought.  Standing, holding a spray gun for two hours while cleaning a driveway with a power washer falls in that category.  There is no place to go but to deal with the task at hand.  

Stating my mind can be empty and filled at the same time seems impossible, but that is how it was.  I wasn’t focused on a particular issue, yet the events of recent days floated through, and I mentally reached out to examine various aspects of them:  a “thumbs-up” from a 15-year-old grandgirl after reading my last post about her homecoming invitation; a priceless communication from one who is like a second son; lunch with several former high school classmates, some who I had not seen since graduation over 50 years ago, a mini-reunion of sorts; an invitation to visit sunny Southern California ­for a weekend this winter and escape the gray fog of the Willamette Valley; old friendships, standing the test of time--new ones forming, growing, and developing.­ 

The weather was wonderful, sunny and warm, an Indian Summer kind of day in early fall.  I had sealed the fitting in the spray gun with that stretchy tape plumbers use, so the spray was directed toward the cement instead of my legs.  I found myself feeling filled and fulfilled, deep within. The thoughts wandered, going back in time—a long ways back. 

Life in my 20’s was a difficult period of time, one I describe as “a withdrawal from society.”  Depression has that effect on a person.  The depression was in part due to a search for something more in life, a resultant malcontent.  While it sounds quite grandiose and even pompous, it wasn’t—I simply wanted to know the meaning of life, why I had been born, why I was created.  My thinking was if I was putting in the time,  I wanted to make it count, have value; I wanted to know that my being, my existence mattered.  Though that may seem egocentric, narcissistic, the quest was to find purpose, and I was driven in that quest.

A friendship developed with another young woman, a friendship that exists to this day, although we are no longer young.  As we talked, I shared with her the doubt that drove me, the knowledge that God did not love me.  She was not an atheist; an atheist does not believe in the existence of God.  She knew He did not exist.  She also knew if He did exist, He would be a God of love. I knew there was a God, but could not be persuaded of His love for me. We came from two completely different camps, and neither of us could be convinced otherwise.   

For those of you who parent you know how impossible it is to prove your love to a child who doubts it.  No matter what you say or do, the efforts are futile.  And that is how it was with me.  I kept demanding of God, requiring proof that I was loved. I never received the evidence to satisfy. 

The driveway was covered with a lot of moss needing to be cleaned off, so there was plenty of time to think.  Doubt has been replaced by the surety of His love for me.  When and how did that change take place within me?  I cannot tell you; I do not know.

Love IS.  The force of it, the power, the strength, and the life of it stands.  It is not a scientific problem, a hypothesis, needing a series of experiments or tests to verify its validity. God is love.  That I now know.

The thought came from deep within, settling in the substance of my mind.  It was not like a leaf in the wind which whips by, then disappears, but rather, a statement, a fact.  When I am helping the grandgirls with homework, preparing for a test or reviewing math facts, I often tell them, “Answer me with a period not a question mark.”  That is what this was—a period:  “I am blessed.”

blessed:  having divine aid or protection or other blessing
blessing:  some kind of divine or supernatural aid

I am one who is most reticent when it comes to applying that word or any others with a spiritual connotation to myself and my life.  I spent much of my life saying words, with no substance and nothing to back them up.  “Words are cheap,” and I was the poster child bearing that out. 

However, that description has planted itself deep within me, and I find myself viewing my life through that lens, that of being blessed.  I continue to process it, but you’ll not find me, as many in the public eye do, standing on a podium making that statement.  Instead, it is permeating my being, becoming a part of me. 

My life, my existence is rich, and it is full—of life, relationship with my Father, of family and friends. 

And yes, my friend and I are now on common ground.  We are in agreement that there is a God, and He does love.  I am blessed. 

"Seek and you shall find."