If Quite Convenient

Thou shalt have no other gods before me. -Exodus 20:3

 

It would be difficult, don't you agree, to look at the Ten Commandments  honestly and claim any degree of success in keeping them.

I mean that Sabbath one is pretty tough sometimes, right?

As for loving my neighbor as myself (Jesus called that the second one); I mean "come on!"

But how about the first one? Have you ever broken that commandment?

Wow. Hardly likely, you might say. God is God, after all, and the idea of there being some other god to put in front of Him seems ridiculous.

 But I have this tendency to be a lawbreaker, you see. So the question is: where have I failed? Honesty requires that I look into this question and, honestly, it has been a puzzler.

Then it occurred to me: I have been inconvenienced.

When was the last time you grumbled under your  breath? Or even cursed out loud? 

Was it when some foolish person pulled out in front of you? When you spilled grease on the stove? How about when a family member misplaced the TV remote?

Here is our new god, America: its name is Convenience.

It's not really some form of organized religion. We pretty much roll our own when it comes to how we worship it.

That's probably what makes it so hard to recognize. The serpent, you see, is more subtle than all the other beasts of the field so that it seems perfectly normal to feel put out and put-upon when we encounter the frustrations of this day-to-day life.

I don't need this kind of crap, do you?

 Hmm. 

You know, there appears to be a god behind this god, breathing life into it.

It is me. 

Have mercy, O Lord!

The Rat and Mr. Tolar's Teeth

 Warning: this is a rather involved story told from a hazy memory which will at last come to a point. I think.

So I have had dentures for almost as long as I had my real teeth. In fact, the only thing I remember about my real teeth is that I often had toothaches.

Early on, I was in the habit of never taking them out and finally got in the habit of just taking out the lower plate. 

Now you're thinking of asking me "why" aren't you? Well don't. Because I certainly don't know the reason for many of the things I do and this is one of those.

Anyways, we lived in this house in Newark, AR that had been seriously neglected by the previous tenants. There were issues that we had to address and one of the strange things was that there seemed to be shadowy movements, like out of the corner of your eye, but nothing definite.

At that time I would take out the lowers at bedtime and maybe place them on the nightstand. Who can  remember that far back?!?

So one night, we had been partying (you may interpret that in any way you wish), and I stumbled to bed, taking out the lowers and putting them in the pocket of the flannel shirt I was wearing, which I took off and dropped on the floor.

Now if you have "partied" much at all, you know that the events of the previous evening might not always be crystal clear in your memory.

So I was annoyed but not too surprised when, next morning, these teeth were not in my shirt pocket. Like maybe I just thought I put them there. But where I did put them exactly was a mystery so I had to soldier on without them. 

This was inconvenient but not life-shattering. People who "party" a lot tend to be more Zen in their attitude about such things.

To backtrack, we suspected a rodent problem. So we put out rat baits which consisted of these blue crystalline nuggets. Which were disappearing fairly rapidly so we kept putting them out, supposing I guess that there were lots of these rats who were conveniently going out side to die.

This is where it really gets hazy so bear with me. 

For some reason (and I can't even think of a reason) I was looking in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Situated right beside it was a non-functiong dishwasher. There was a hole in the side of this perhaps like an inspection plate and glancing there I caught a glimpse of blue. 

Looking closer I saw that the whole floor under the dishwasher was completely covered with the anti-rat nuggets. It appears the little devils had not been eating them at all, but carrying them off to make a (not) comfy bed out of them.

Perched on top of this pile of rat poison was the missing lower plate. I boiled it before I stuck it back in my mouth. 

You would think this would be the end of the story but the funniest part occurred years later when I related this incident to my little Yankee buddy, Dan Haw.

He laughed so hard and so long that I thought I had killed him from laughing.

When he finally settled down and wiped away his tears, he explained that the thing that had struck him most about this tale was the image of a huge rat wearing my teeth (uppers and lowers) and smiling and going "Hotchaa!".

We never did see any of those rats, by the way.

Whatever....

 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. -Philippians 4:4

Whatever. Is this the mantra of our age? Our go-to response at life's frustrations and aggravations, the overwhelmingness (not a word, I know, but whatever) of the whole thing? Another way of saying "I don't care" or "I quit"?

I was prompted by a friend's facebook post to re-read Philippians 4:8 and was struck by the context in which it is contained, beginning in v.4.

 

"Rejoice," Paul says, "be reasonable", "do not be anxious." 

Really, Paul? Apparently you don't know the stuff I face on a daily basis: problems of self-doubt, worry and general malaise (thanks, Jimmy Carter for that one). 

 

The general overall messiness of life itself.

 

Then "peace" is promised, and the old cynical me is tempted to respond with a weary "whatever."

 

But (writing under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit), Paul hands me back "whatever":

"...is true." It is true that I (and also you, I pray) have been saved by God's grace and given hope in the face of the world's invitation to despair.

"...is honorable." What could be more honorable than to show my gratitude for this great salvation by seeking to heed the instruction of this Word?

"...is just." It is a just and holy God who has promised these blessings. "Rejoice" indeed!

"...is pure." Again, the focus is re-directed to God who promises that we shall see his face who seek after him with purity of purpose (as given by the indwelling  Spirit).

"...is lovely." What could be more lovely than the One who died that I might live?

"...is commendable." How might I live, think and act so as to reflect glory upon my God? 

"Whatever", in this sense, is the positive opposite to the negativity with which the world inundates us and invites us to partake.

 

So whatever you do:

Rejoice!

 

 

Though He Slay Me...

I will hope in him. -Job13:15a

 

We speak of our lives being held in God's hands. Yet death, when it comes, seems so unreal, so hard to process. 

It is hard to understand how God could possibly be glorified in anyone's death, much less the death of one of his saints.  

But my mind keeps turning back to Psalm 116:15 "Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints." 

I first heard it at my mom's funeral and I thought at the time, "How completely fitting!" How precious indeed is the triumphant procession of the saint homeward at last from the battle. 

And how is not our king magnified and glorified in this victorious return? 

His victory.

And what a thing to be allowed to share in it and to stand before him and hear: "Well done!"

One other thing. This world is not our home. So we cling loosely and long for a better country. 

And one other verse comes to mind; this one by Robert Louis Stevenson.

"Here he lies, where he longed to be. Home is the sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill."

 

 

 

 

Reunion

 We are headed (Lord willing) to a reunion of sorts next weekend.

Actually, a reunion of several sorts, celebrating relationships of family, long-standing friendships, and all bound together by music.

It is always a joy to re-connect, as it were, with my daughters and their extended families, as well as my sister. The separation of time and space are forgotten in the hugs, kisses, smiles and laughter that we share. Anticipation, as the song goes.

Ah, but there's the band reunion(s) as well.

Back in the when, Deb and I had our first band when we joined with our cousin Mike on bass and our longtime friend Carroll Casey on drums. We had no official name ( how 'bout Troubled Waters, Lil Sis?) but rocked the house at shows all around the area.

Our second band came together even more informally when Deb married Paul, who turned out to be a great singer and fine musician. With our lifelong friend, Danny Wayne Patton (Boone), we spent many an evening serenading friends family and neighbors as we gathered in Deb and Paul's living room.

So we look forward to a renewal of the music, as Boone and Carroll join with the rest of our family to celebrate our love for one another.

How I look forward to the soaring harmonies and the fellowship that comes not only from blood relationship but from the kinship of long-standing association as well. 

It seems to me (if I might wax philosophic as well as theologic) that such joy is a glimmer of what we will taste at that great reunion in the sky!

Think of it. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, husbands and wives, all the bonds of kinship and friendship will be renewed at the foot of the throne of our God and Savior. 

And we will sing.

Soli Deo Gloria.

If You Should Go Skating...

 ...on the thin ice of modern life....-Pink Floyd

 

So I fully realize the perilous nature of ice and snow and the hazard they pose for elderly folk venturing haplessly onto such surfaces.

 

Indeed, I know of a man who broke the largest bone in the human body while fooling about in icy conditions (here's to ya Ken, heal quickly, my friend).

 

I also realize that, in addition to bodily harm, there is also the embarrassment and inconvenience of lying prone on the frozen tundra until someone comes along to help you up.

 

Having realized all that, I decided to wait until the snow and ice cleared up before taking any such tumble myself.

 

Which I did, about an hour ago while clearing away the remains of the aforementioned (and by now, extremely tiresome) ice and snow.

No worries, mates. No severe injuries except a minor scrape on the heel of my hand. Peroxide, Unguentine and a bandaid and I'm good to go.

No wounds to the pride since there were no witnesses and I sprang quickly up. That last part is a lie, by the way. 

I must admit that my conscience is very much wounded as Bro. Billy's sermon yesterday touched upon our need (much of the time?) to repent of our repentance, as feeble as it is. While I was not "dragging behind me the silent reproach of a million tear-stained eyes," I am endeavoring to be heartily sorry for the words that left my lips as my body hit the ground.

 

Pray for me.

 

 

 

Of Dogs in Heaven and Other Such Things

Wolfie has gone on to be with the LORD. That's what I think anyway: that as surely as Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes, so Wolfgang rests in the arms of Jesus. 

 

Oh sure. I can hear some of you saying, "But dogs don't have souls." Well neither do angels. 

 

And as God cares for the least of his creatures, not allowing a little sparrow to fall to the ground without his knowledge  and consent, so it is (I believe) that the new heaven and new earth will be filled with all those things of his making (dinosaurs too, maybe though they will all be herbivorous).

 

Wolfie was a fine pup, rarely ever barking but singing in the tradition of his ancestors, a mellifluous howl (if indeed you would call it howling).

He was a friend to all who made his acquaintance, barring the occasional squirrel or cat who strayed onto his territory. 

He was a handsome dog, his blue eyes putting those of Sinatra or Newman to shame. He had a fine fur coat which only gave trouble in the summer when he would molt (or whatever it is that huskies do). And even in that, the  copious quantities of white fur scattered across the back yard brought back fond memories of Arkansas' cotton fields in autumn, after the pickers had gone through.

He was a fine friend and wonderful companion and I will miss him.

 

So now, our Heavenly Father has gathered to the himself the best (by popular acclaim) biscuit maker ever, and yesterday the best (in my opinion) doggie a boy could have.

 

Paul writes that "to live is Christ and to die is gain." 

 

That leaves me to wonder what heaven might gain by my entrance there. Perhaps a nutty companion. But scripture seems to be full of that sort of guy (I'm looking at you, Jonah!). 

 

We will see. I only know I'm bound there, as I hope and pray you all are,