The Voice That Came Out of Nowhere

Imagine with me, if you will--You’re a 13-, maybe 14-year-old boy, walking home after school with your buddy. You pass a bank of mailboxes and open up one of them. You take the mail, and then you close it. BUT! . . . As you turn to head homeward you hear, out of nowhere, “PUT THAT BACK!!” You stop dead in your tracks as the two of you try to figure out where the voice came from. Unable to determine its source, you begin walking on down the sidewalk, envelope in hand. “THAT DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU!! PUT IT BACK!!” Somehow, this time that sounds like a good idea, so you backtrack and return the mail to its rightful recipient, in the mailbox. The voice isn’t finished, though—"DON’T YOU HAVE ANY MANNNERS? DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!! EVER!!”

The timing can only be called “perfect, impeccable, precise,” or even “divine.” A ten-second window existed that allowed me to be privy to the incident. The middle school is a block away, and kids flood the sidewalk at the end of the day. Typically, I do not spend my days looking out the front window, but I filled my bird feeder earlier in the day and was watching the sweet little birds enjoying their feast. I had opened the windows in order to revel in the fresh, fall air. The two boys just happened to enter my line of vision. 

In truth, I was more than privy. My voice was the one that came out of nowhere. Its volume and the wide-open windows allowed it to be heard.

I initially reacted to my outlandish response by concluding that I am, perhaps, a crotchety old woman. The sobering possibility gave me pause.

The outdoors beckoned me. I put on my walking shoes. I needed to quietly reflect on what had taken place. An afternoon walk sounded perfect.

Thoughts and questions filled my mind as I walked. What lesson was God wanting this young man to learn? Did he tell anyone, including his parents, about “the voice that came out of nowhere?” Probably not. He would have to admit his theft. Did it affect him, did the experience scare him? I have no idea.

I must admit that the voice that came out of nowhere surprised me too. I had no idea that I could be so aggressive in taking a stand against a wrongful act. What did I need to see about myself?

The walk helped to sort things out. I am not a crotchety old woman, but I am an instrument, a voice for the Most High God. Nothing is happenstance. All things in life are coordinated by our Creator. I said a little prayer for the young man, asking God to use a mailbox and a voice that came out of nowhere in ways only He can. In the meantime, I can’t help but wonder if that poor kid is going to have nightmares, thinking a ghost is haunting him. :)

You just never know what your day is going to bring. I suspect the young man would agree.

On Just a Little More Time

             I awakened early this morning, though it wasn’t 0-dark-thirty—more like 6 a.m. I had been dreaming about my partner, who I endearingly called “Butthead.” He always responded with a smile and said, “Beavis.” He passed away a little over a year ago and, as I rose out of the fog of sleep, in my dream I had told my daughter, “I just wish I had a little more time with him.”

Eyes wide open, I gave the dream some thought and decided, No. That would not have been fair to him. He had suffered enough. And truth be known, had I been given more time, I would have wanted even more. We humans are like that.

From infancy on, we want to be given more time than allotted. Infants want more time to be held, to receive the full attention of Mom and Dad instead of going to sleep; toddlers ferociously fight nap time as they don’t want to concede their time of playing. “Just a minute,” is a familiar response from teens when their parents want them to stop their video game activities or time with friends.

We adults do not differ. We want “just a little more time” when our children need us as we socialize with friends. “Just one more drink” or “one more round” beckons while at the casino. It is hard to walk away when we are having a good time.

I maintain humankind does exactly the same thing when confronted with making a spiritual decision—Just give me a little more time, God, to think about you. I’ll get back to you later on these matters.

One basic problem exists, though. We have no control over the game clock in our lives. He does. When time runs out, it runs out. Extra seconds or minutes will not be added back on due to a mistake.

This takes me back to my dream. We always want “a little more time” with those who have passed. But that’s not how it works. There is “A time to be born, and a time to die.” [1]

And my final thought: “Seek the Lord while He may be found . . . “[2] We do not control the clock. Our Creator does. Do not be found wishing you had "just a little more time."

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[1] Ecclesiastes 3:2 NKJV

[2] Isaiah 55:6 NRSVUE

Cast My Bread Where??

I swear He snuck up on me before I was fully awake. My eyes weren’t even opened when I became aware of Him. My Heavenly Father often does that to me, giving me thoughts and ideas about the new day while I’m still half asleep. He knows I’m vulnerable, I don’t have my guard up, and I’m going to be more open to His whisperings.

He quietly suggested I write a statement and publish it publicly on social media. He supplied the opening words, which is always how I write—from His springboard. He also provided some “rules of engagement.”   

Father God didn’t demand or require I comply, as some might think. The suggestion wasn’t a “do or die” sort of thing. He simply presented it as a next step for me. I had the choice and the option to take it or leave it.

I crawled out of bed, all the while making sure I remembered the specific opening words and the instructions. God and I both knew that I would follow through on the directions of His Holy Spirit.

I have made a point of being reticent on social media regarding most things political and spiritual. I might hint at or insinuate my beliefs, but God forbid I should lay them all out for God and the world to see! After all, those of faith shouldn’t enter the political arena!

God asked me to make a personal statement regarding the one I am supporting in the 2024 Presidential Election for President of the United States. I was to cite five reasons why. The first two were set in place in my mind; the other three would follow. And so I sat down before my computer, still in my PJs, and laid out what I ended up calling my personal manifesto.

I wrote of my faith, of God, and of my country, listing the reasons why I supported one candidate over the other.

It wasn’t an easy task—not the writing of it, but the fact I knew I would be making a public stand and declaration. I don’t even speak of these things with my family, let alone others with whom I’ve fostered friendships over time, or strangers. I avoid confrontation like the plague and didn’t relish the potential controversy.

His specific instructions: “Do not defend yourself. Do not engage.” He pointed out I was to simply present a personal statement, not one to convince others or one subject to debate. Post it and walk away. Period.

I completed the project. The next step was to make it public, which I did—not only on FaceBook but on X, formerly known as Twitter, as well. That’s when hysteria took over my being. I’d kept my positions secret for a long, long time. The doubts and second-guessing flooded in.

I decided I needed to take a walk in the fresh air. Besides, I needed some milk from the store. As I walked, His reassurances calmed me down. He reminded me that I had done what He asked me to do. And I needed to stop wrestling with my imagination and leave it behind.

Then He spoke: “Cast your bread upon the water.” What??? Bread plus water quickly turns soggy before completely breaking down. I had a mental vision of a teeny, tiny raft with a loaf of bread on it to keep it from getting wet. 😊 Another version states, “Send out your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will get it back.” [1]

This was His idea, at His direction, and at His hand—not mine. I have cast my bread on the water. I still have no clue what He means, but perhaps in time I shall understand.

There is an advocacy amongst some believers that we should remain out of politics. Trust me, I’m not in favor of getting in the middle of everything that is knock-down, drag-out, but I’m often reminded of the promise of the coming Christ when “the government shall be upon his shoulders…”[2] It doesn’t get any more political than that.

In the meantime, I’m back to posting photos of flowers and family. At least until the next early morning surprise.

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] Ecclesiastes 11:1 NRSVUE

[2] Isaiah 9:6 KJV

Just Give Him Time

My impatience revealed itself when I spoke with God this morning. I didn’t 

actually demand, but the intent behind my request was that He would do 

something yesterday, if not sooner. Without words, He reminded me of the 

baking process—and it is a process. If I am creating an end product of food to 

be eaten, it takes time--the correct amount of time. When the directions on the 

recipe indicate I need to bake it for 40-60 minutes, those aren’t code words for 

30 minutes. Anything less than the allotted time ends up half-baked and 

inedible, needing to be tossed away. So, too, with us humans. He 

creates perfection. That takes time—His, not mine. It gives new meaning to

the phrase “He’s not finished with me yet.”

On Time and the Giving of It

time: n. The inevitable progression into the future with the passing of present events into the past.

 

Time: a universal commodity given to every man, woman, and child living on the face of this earth. The amount of time allotted to each of us adds up to twenty-four hours in a day. Sixty minutes in an hour. Sixty seconds in a minute. No more. No less. It can be called true equity.

Time takes on a different “feel” at various stages of life. For a child, time often moves at a snail’s pace as it seems they spend their life waiting—for a holiday or special event. Parents can’t find enough of it to get everything done while meeting the demands of a family’s rigorous schedule. Those of us living as senior citizens find ourselves dealing with the reality of time passing like a flash in the night. Many elderly folks live in a paradox. They have nothing but time on their hands as they live their days in solitude and loneliness. All the while, they have very little of it left.

Whether consciously or unconsciously, we as humans categorize and prioritize our time. We schedule time for work, family, and leisure; we set aside time for events, activities, and vacation. And--God forbid if an interruption occurs—time for sleep. Most folk, however, never consider including another important category in their daily life. I call it “people” time.

When I give my time to another, I gift myself. I share “me.” No one else can do that but me. Gifts can be purchased and delivered, but the gift of time carries no price tag. While volunteer work has a time and place, I am speaking of something different here.

“I’m busy now. I don’t have time.” How often do those words so easily slip off the tongues of family members or perhaps one in a position of authority or a leadership role? Consider the message and the feeling it evokes: You have interrupted me and my life. You do not matter enough for me to stop what I’m doing. Go away.

We deliver that same message, though unspoken, as we plow through our daily lives, making certain we do not interact with people we aren’t acquainted with. After all, we have things to do, people to see, and places to go. We’ll never see these strangers again, so they don’t really matter. Or do they?

Recently, I took a trip to visit a friend. I’ve known her for decades, and we have been close friends for the past several years. Neither of us has a sister. The term sister/friend fits perfectly.

After she picked me up, we stopped by the grocery store to get a few things. While waiting in line to check out, she quietly commented, “Just a minute. This lady needs some help.” She saw what I hadn’t. An elderly lady, so tiny a slight breeze could blow her away, struggled bagging her groceries. She had an over-sized container of detergent, far too heavy and bulky for her to handle. My friend stepped in, placed the items in sacks, and told her she would help get the groceries into her car.

“This is the last time I’m going to do this,” the older woman commented. She shared she was in the process of moving into a facility where meals would be provided.

We finished checking out and headed to her car, loading the items in the back. The little lady chattered the whole time, talking about originally moving from Rhode Island and her current move. She was grateful and thrilled to be the recipient of the gift of time.

This action wasn’t unusual for my friend. She gives time where and when needed as she gives of herself. And she does it quietly, never seeking attention. It is just the kind of person she is--her second nature--without effort or pretense.

We spoke recently of being available when called upon. Her comment has stuck with me: “You just have to make time. Loving the broken is loving God.”

Though often unnoticed, therefore not acknowledged, the gift of time is a gift indeed. You’ll not hear a public service announcement with grand accolades. Bells and whistles won’t fill the air, nor will any balloons be released into the sky. The gift of time consists of the act of being present, lending an ear and providing companionship and help if needed--without fanfare.

Each of us is given a certain amount of time in life. Perhaps you have heard the charge to use your time wisely and make the most of it. The context of that admonition generally relates to an activity or a goal.

I give that same charge: Use your time wisely and make the most of it. I ask you, however, to consider the value and importance of giving time as a gift. Give and share yourself. The world would be a better place.

 

And the king will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to

one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me."

Matthew 25:40

On Being Homogenized

homogenous: adj. Of the same kind; alike, similar. Having the same composition throughout; of uniform make-up.

We, the citizens of the United States of America, are living out a paradox. My nation can no longer tout unity. Division reigns. Yet a push to eliminate voices that counter a prescribed and predetermined thought pattern has come to the forefront. (Isn’t that called censorship?) In other words, those in power want our nation’s citizens to become homogenized. One can earn the label of phobic, racist, terrorist, or the next popular catch phrase that will become a trend-setter by simply dissenting, disagreeing, or expressing an opinion contrary to the accepted narrative.

Conforming, becoming homogenous, contradicts the fact that God created us as individuals. He gave each of us the right to be our own person—which includes having personal thoughts, opinions, and perspectives. No one has the license to discount them because they either don’t like them or disagree. Neither does any other human have the authority to label, silence, or require I become part of the mix and become “homogenized.”

I am the daughter of a farmer who raised milk cows. I know that raw milk separates, and the cream rises to the top. Homogenized milk is milk that undergoes high pressure, dispersing the fat so no identifiable separation remains.

Those of us who refuse to conform are under an enormous amount of pressure. I say, “Leave that process for milk. I am my own person.”

Be true to yourself—before God—and watch the cream rise. That’s where the quality is, the high-dollar stuff. Ask any dairyman who gets paid by the amount of butterfat in the milk his cows produce.

Separation reveals the superior nature of not only milk but people as well. Homogenization obliterates it.

Step out from the world. You belong to God.

 

Come out from among them, and be separate, says the Lord.

…. . . I will be a Father to you, and you shall be my sons and daughters,

says the Lord Almighty.

2 Corinthians 6:17, 18 nkjv

 

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On the Heart and Salvation

salvation: n. The process of being saved, the state of having been saved (from hell). 

Do you know what a midden is? Do you understand and can you explain crop rotation or stock futures? How about symbiotic relationships or drying out? These terms may be unfamiliar, as they relate to specific lines of work, endeavors, or interests--each with its own unique, specific vocabulary. If you don’t know the meaning of the words, you might as well be listening to a foreign language.

Schooling encompasses teaching the language, its definitions and practical applications. This applies to any field of activity, whether physical in nature or intellectual. For example, an electrician will talk about circuits or amperes, insulators and hertz, whereas an archaeologist may speak of artifacts, grids, or a midden—an area used for trash disposal. Medical terminology is the jargon the medical world uses to describe the body, its functions, and the treatments they prescribe. In s[1] Sports, banking, and real estate industry, the world of politics, parenting, education—every aspect of life has its own definitive terminology.

Religion and all things spiritual are no exception. Salvation and the heart of man, eternal life, righteousness, fruits of the spirit—Wwhat do they all mean?

I was raised in a conservative home and an evangelical church. I have no memory of life before church. A basice foundational doctrine of my childhood religious education emphasized my need for salvation. In accordance with the teaching of the church, inviting Jesus “into my heart” fulfilled that necessity. As a youngster, I often reflected on how that could be. I mentally peered into my inner self, trying to locate my heart and ascertain—hHow could Jesus dwell there?

Much of religious life takes place in the head. Those in authority present doctrines as the gospel truth, with no room for questioning or challenges. Religious peers and superiors expect obedience as proof of being faithful. Often, Christianity is laid out in a few, easy steps, followed by an offering plate. The list of accepted and required behavior can be quite long, often with more “don’ts” than “do’s”.

Spiritual life and religious life are not one and the same. The one emanates from the heart, the other from the flesh.

Humans are a complex creation: Body. Soul. Heart. Mind. We share the commonality of these facets as each one coordinates with the others as we live life.

Our physical house contains our flesh-and-blood body. The soul--our personality and make-up--consists of unique, individual traits. It is the essence of who we are. My soul is me. Thought and reasoning take place in the mind. There we process ideas, make judgments and assessments, and come to conclusions. In our minds, we make decisions, in concert with our soul.

We have been created with both a physical and a spiritual heart. A muscular organ, the physical heart pumps lifeblood through the body, flowing sending it to the brain and other vital organs. Many tend it through exercise and health in an effort to extend physical life. A faulty heart can even be replaced with another by medical specialists—a heart transplant. When the heart stops beating, life as we know it comes to an end.

Where does one find the spiritual heart? And what, exactly, is it? The spiritual heart will never show up on an X-ray or MRI. No instrument can check its health, pressure, or rate of beating. And yet we all have one. The way we live our lives indicates whether it has been touched by God’s hand. Or not.

God created humankind with the knowledge of His existence. The spiritual heart harbors the seat of an awareness and consciousness of God, our Creator. “In reality, the truth of God is known instinctively, for God has embedded this knowledge inside every human heart.”^[1]

When Adam and Eve disobeyed God in the Garden of Eden and ate of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the heart was cursed, in need of redemption. “For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lewdness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within and defile a man.”^[2]

When we acknowledge God and the provisional sacrifice of His Son, a cleansing takes place in the heart, changing it from its state of depravation and making it new. Only He can do this work. If that does not take place, a condition of rot and decay remain. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.”^[3]

I have discovered the location of my heart . . .… my spiritual heart. It dwells in the very core of my being, and my physical stature does not limit its depth. You could never tell by looking, but my spiritual heart is deep within me. It cannot be touched, harmed, or damaged by any foe—human or spiritual.

The Spirit of God quickened my spiritual heart and made it His home. There He fills me with His presence and His knowledge; there He teaches me and gives understanding.

In the same way my physical heart pumps life-giving blood through my body, God’s spirit Spirit pumps life into and through my spiritual heart. A renewed spiritual heart is the ultimate heart transplant. It is eternal.

And that, my friend, is salvation—that simple, that complex, that true.

May each of you have the eternal, life-giving experience of a renewed heart.

 

For it is by believing in your heart that you are made right with God, and it is by openly declaring your faith that you are saved.

Romans 10:10 nlt

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^[1] Romans 1:19 The Passion Translationtpt

^[2] Mark 7:20-–23

^[3] Psalm 51:10 NRSVnrsv

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