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.