In My Father's House

 For all of us, I imagine, even the very young, Thanksgiving and Christmas bring back a flood of memories. Mine are pleasant, as I pray yours are.

Family, for the most part. Staying up one rainy, cold Christmas Eve, in a leaky tractor shed, using the tools there to assemble a dinette set for my three girls. 

Side note: I understand that some assembly may be involved, but you would think that there would be pre-drilled holes in the table legs.

Traipsing across a snow-covered field with a .410 shotgun, hoping to kick up a rabbit.

My mom, sitting in front of the Christmas tree, passing out Christmas presents to her gathered grandchildren.

My dad, sitting to the side, soaking it all in, pocket knife at the ready, to assist in opening stubborn Christmas wrappings. These holiday gatherings were his great joy, his grown children and their spouses, their babies, his grandbabies, gathered in his home, our home, to celebrate family.

Like Tiny Tim, I think the strangest things when sitting alone, these memories triggered by a memory of John 14:2 (In my Father's house....), prompted by today's Tabletalk article on the joy and blessing of Christian family.

And the vagaries of the human mind (or mine at least) are shown forth in my recalling that the phrase, "many mansions (KJV;NKJV)" is rendered differently in the various Bible translations that we use.

Which prompts the question: Why the several interpretations of a four letter(so I found it to be) Greek word?

Well, come to find out, the word (MONE), used only twice in the NT, means "mansions" or "abode". Nothing at all about "rooms" or "dwelling places".

I get it. A house has rooms. Right?

Ah, but the "house" of Jesus' father, the Sovereign Ruler of the universe must in reality be a palace.

Never been in one of those. Maybe you have. Or like me seen them depicted in photos or in movies. 

Imagine, a vast edifice stretching out endlessly, and each room you enter a virtual mansion in itself, full of the richest decorations; gilded furniture, beautiful paintings, lavish floor coverings, and through the numerous windows, unimaginable vistas to delight the eye.

Mansions, it says.

This is the house wherein you and I will dwell forever, surrounded by our Father's goodness and mercy.

In my parent's house (a 3 bedroom, bath and a half ranch style home) there were none of these glorious appointments. 

Their home was instead a familiar place to us all, the beauty displayed there was seen in loving hearts and, especially during the holiday season, the joy of celebration of the gathered family.

A foretaste, then, of our eternal destiny in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Mansions indeed.

Blessed

... give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with the food that is needful for me,lest I be full and deny you and say, “Who is the LORD?” or lest I be poor and steal and profane the name of my God.- Proverbs 30:8b-9

Sitting here looking at a used lottery ticket. Not a winner, obviously, or you would have heard from me by now as to your share of the billion dollar prize.

This is not a thing I would spend my money on ordinarily. Gambling is not one of my many addictions. Those are more in the nature of a private matter, known only to myself and God.

It's just that I wanted to give God a chance to let me prove to him that such a windfall would not change me into a bigger a-hole than I already am.

But, as we see, he always knows what is best.

I am gazing on this useless piece of paper, not out of anger or regret, but am meditating on the six numbers printed there.

See, these are numbers of special significance to me: 12-15-48, and 10-3-60.  

Of course, if you know me well, you will recognize the first as my birth date. Did you ever ponder on what a thing it is to be born?

Job cursed the day he was born (Job 3:3); Likewise Jeremiah, in almost exactly the same words. 

Not me. Life, as Joe Walsh sang, has been good to me so far.

Regrets? I've had a few (Paul Anka by way of Frank Sinatra). 

But no, my life has been redeemed from the pit, I have seen steadfast love and mercy and been satisfied with good things. My afflictions have been light and momentary.

Perhaps you think I am gilding the lily just a little bit here, downplaying or ignoring the bad to dwell on the good.

But I am no Pollyanna, nor do I believe this is the "best of all possible worlds."

What I am doing is reflecting on the second number.

You may know that this is Ms. Joycie's birth date.

Now we understand that God orders and controls all things. How could we not? For none of this  would make any sense whatsoever if there were no purpose behind it.

So God, in his wise and all-knowing providence, ordained that this girl baby would be born, sixty some-odd years ago and then he set her in an inexorable path. To me.

Every twist, every turn, every random wandering road in each of our lives led us to Cromwell's Corner in West Helena, Arkansas on or about March 15, 1984. That's a bar, for those of you who never frequented such places.

Amazing really.

Unmistakable grace that would bring together two people whom you (nor certainly I) would ever think to put together, thinking, "Well this a great idea. These two were absolutely made for each other!"

Not even. Yet, in the midst of the fussing and fighting, extreme irritation and annoyance. but at the same time love and commitment to each other, we spent thirty years together.

Until the day the Lord called her home. And I continue  to dwell on the blessing of our lives and her going and my own passing, should the Lord tarry in his return. 

And so tomorrow, we celebrate, driving to Murray, Kentucky in the rain, to eat the best deep pan pizza south of Chicago.

For we celebrate and will continue to celebrate April 9, the day of Ms. Joycie's coming home. 

And I am blessed.

 

Winter Wonder(?)land

 Daughter Kim posted a piece on FB about winter in Arkansas which made me snort coffee thru my nose, but also brought back personal memories of wintertime in the Wonder State.

Like the time I crawled up under the Old House with an acetylene torch and tried to thaw the water pipes. It didn't work and by the grace of God it was so cold that even wood wouldn't burn and so I didn't set the house on fire. 

As to sledding, in Phillips Co. old truck hoods pulled behind a pickup were a favorite for all kinds of thrills and spills, which included barbed wire fences and dredge ditches, all at 30 m.p.h.

My favorite of these was the time when Doug Turner, Boone, Rodney and myself decided it would be fun to "ice ski" (in Arkansas what began as a snowstorm would turn into an ice storm as often as not).

We took the fins off a pair of water skis And headed for Ray Dawson's airstrip right down the road in Doug's Jeep. Another of God's mercies is that 20 was all the speed the Jeep could muster on the ice without starting to move sideways because ice hurts when you fall on it. Also the most insignificant tuft of grass becomes a hazard to navigation when when frozen.

We found out:

that water skis cannot be steered nearly so well on ice as on water,

that when you fall, tuck and roll is the best technique to avoid permanent injury,

that since brain damage was obviously required to engage in these activities, it would not be a factor should one land on one's head.

I also learned during these winters that a "spinout" on ice is a whole different thing than one on wet pavement and there is no such thing as "corrective steering.

As to the "second winter" around Easter, they have those here in Tennessee as well. In fact I recall one year during Antioch Church's Passion Play as the only time Jesus ever wore socks on the cross. 

Personally I find winter unpleasant wherever I find it and every year about this time, I begin to wonder if I will ever be warm again. I can only be thankful for these memories which warm my heart if not my fingers and toes. 

I'm holding out for March.

Uncle John and Aunt Ona's House. Or: One Thing Leads to Another

  I think it all started when I broke my leg. I  had not played guitar, having gotten discouraged (or something like that), in quite a while. The Silvertone electric my mom had gotten me for Christmas when I was a teenager was sitting in a closet, strings quietly rusting.  

We were living in the Old House where I sat feeling sorry for myself when my friend John rolls up and sez, "Come with me" and I sez, "Where?" and he sez, "Your uncle's house."

So it turns out that they (my Aunt Ona and Uncle John and some of their friends) were playing music there.

There is nothing in the world like listening to live music, even if it is just in somebody's walled-in front porch which has been converted in to a music room.

And I fell in love. All over again. 

And it was suggested that I sing at one of the Country shows that they were doing. Then it was suggested that my sister Deb (who had been tagging along) and my cousin Mike and I should have a spot on one of these shows to make music for the "young folks." Eventually Deb dropped out and Mike moved on and in the process, I picked up on playing the bass guitar and that led to me playing in a honkytonk band. 

Next thing you know I'm wandering into a nightclub one evening and meet up with the love of my life, which story is related here:  

 

https://troalbridge.blogspot.com/2015/04/the-night-we-met.html

 

 

 So a shout-out and a big thank-you to Uncle John and Aunt Ona, who reminded me of my love for music and set me on a collision course with my future bride. I love you guys and never mind that you're no longer here to hear me say it; I'll say it again when I see you.

Beds of Ivory

 ...these men have set up their idols in their heart...-Ezekiel 14:3

The human heart is a perpetual idol factory.-John Calvin

What's your idol? 

What is it that you love (even if only sometimes) more than God? That becomes (even if only sometimes), in effect, your god?

 

I could spot your idols (that speck of dust in your eye) from across the room. 

 

Strange, though, I cannot see the log in my own eye though I have a mirror (James 1:23) right in front of me. 

 

So easy to overlook our own failings, is it not?

 

But if I gaze intently into that mirror, I begin to see it. An idol.

I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours.

Ease. Comfort. Like those Israelites in Amos 6:4, I lie as it were on my bed of ivory and it requires much more effort than I would care to admit to desire to get up and be about those things that are required of me. 

This time of my own that I have desired since forever has become a snare, my idol. 

Pray for me as I seek to tear down the idol that my heart has made.

What is your idol?

 

 

Despite

Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. -Luke 6:28

 

Archaic meaning of "despite": outrage, injury, contempt, disdain.

"Blessed are you when men persecute you," Jesus said.  Well, this verse and others like it have given me trouble. See, we are promised persecution as Christ's disciples. But honestly, I have been very blessed in the other direction.

I have enjoyed cordial relations with nearly everyone I have met. Minor disagreements aside, I cannot recall a time when anyone has intentionally treated me badly or spoken to me in what I would consider a hateful, hurtful manner.

 

And there's the problem. If I am a faithful follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, shouldn't someone have taken exception to me and spoken or behaved in an untoward manner?

 

I tell ya, I'm feeling convicted that maybe I haven't been as faithful in living the Gospel (or sharing it) as I should be. 

But God, being faithful, has provided. Over the past several months I have been dealing with an individual who seems to have gone out of their way to speak disrespectfully, behave arrogantly, and just generally make themselves as obnoxious as possible.

Now those of you who know me understand the ingrained genetic desire to have the last word and give as good (or better) as I get. In other words, to win!

 

"Happy shall be he, that taketh and dashest thy little ones against the stones. (Psalm 137:9)" is one of the most frightening and sobering verses in all Scripture, showing the depths to which our anger and bitterness at being wronged can take us. 

But you know and I know this is not allowed us who have been forgiven so greatly. Forgiveness and prayer for God's mercy toward the offender are commanded. 

And praise be to God the Holy Spirit, I have been able (perhaps reluctantly?) to return good for evil and ask God's mercy in granting this person a heart of repentance.

Now, let me say that this ain't me! You know my inclinations, partly (forgive me if I misspeak) because they may be your own!

But God provides and my prayer now must be that I not be filled with pride (a very real danger) at my gentle, forbearing nature.

As the man said, "I'm a forgive and forget Christian."  

And the  emphasis needs to be on "Christ"ian

 

 

Remember

                                 

Remember me when I am gone away,

         Gone far away into the silent land;

         When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

         You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

         Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

         And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

         For if the darkness and corruption leave

         A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile 

Than that you should remember and be sad. -Christina Rossetti