This world is not my home. I'm just passing through. THANK GOD.
Jesus is my Security, my Resting Place, my Peace, and my Hope. When the things of this earth get too weird and unsafe for my mind to fathom . . . and they are indeed weird and unsafe, not the same world I grew up in . . . I turn to Him and He reminds me that He has everything under control.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
The Good Potter
By guest author, Amber O'Fallon
Copyright 06/24/2013
With an almost reverent touch, the potter lifted the precious piece of clay and placed it firmly in the middle of the wheel. He'd waited a long time for this very special clay. It would be molded into something wonderful. The motor was purring as it waited, in neutral, for the master's touch that would set it in motion. There's something approaching spirituality in the molding of a lump of clay into something beautiful.
After patting it with a small bit of water to keep the clay pliable as it was worked, the potter reached down, flipped the switch, and the wheel began to turn.
The potter turned and left to get a cup of coffee, calling over his shoulder as he left the room. "Make wise decisions."
As the speed of the wheel increased, watery bits of clay began to fly in all directions. The precious lump, so carefully placed in the middle of the wheel began to spread from the centrifugal force. Soon the main body of the lump dislodged and began to shift toward the outer perimeters of the wheel.
Splat! The clay flew from the wheel, hit the workbench, and plopped into the trashcan.
Ruined!
The potter, enjoying his coffee, heard a noise and rushed back into his workroom. Wet clay residue was still flying from the speeding wheel. The room was a mess.
How had this happened? Hadn't he done everything right? He used the best and most modern equipment. Bought the very best raw clay. He had great love and expectations for that lump of clay. Yet, instead of molding itself into something beautiful, it had fallen into ruin!
Pretty ridiculous, right? No one is that dumb.
So why would anyone expect a tender, pliable child to be able to mold itself into something wonderful? The potter must be present, and hands on for the end result to be a thing of beauty. There's a current trend to allow children to make their own decisions at a very early age, so they'll be able to make wise decisions as they mature. But common sense tells us children don't make good decisions. It's a learned ability, like reading and writing. They have to have a pattern of wisdom to follow and lean on. If they're not carefully molded, they'll fly apart and fall into ruin . . . like that hapless lump of clay.
Children are facing bigger problems . . . fiercer enemies . . . than we did. More than ever, they need a potter.
A good potter. A present potter.
Copyright 06/24/2013
With an almost reverent touch, the potter lifted the precious piece of clay and placed it firmly in the middle of the wheel. He'd waited a long time for this very special clay. It would be molded into something wonderful. The motor was purring as it waited, in neutral, for the master's touch that would set it in motion. There's something approaching spirituality in the molding of a lump of clay into something beautiful.
After patting it with a small bit of water to keep the clay pliable as it was worked, the potter reached down, flipped the switch, and the wheel began to turn.
The potter turned and left to get a cup of coffee, calling over his shoulder as he left the room. "Make wise decisions."
As the speed of the wheel increased, watery bits of clay began to fly in all directions. The precious lump, so carefully placed in the middle of the wheel began to spread from the centrifugal force. Soon the main body of the lump dislodged and began to shift toward the outer perimeters of the wheel.
Splat! The clay flew from the wheel, hit the workbench, and plopped into the trashcan.
Ruined!
The potter, enjoying his coffee, heard a noise and rushed back into his workroom. Wet clay residue was still flying from the speeding wheel. The room was a mess.
How had this happened? Hadn't he done everything right? He used the best and most modern equipment. Bought the very best raw clay. He had great love and expectations for that lump of clay. Yet, instead of molding itself into something beautiful, it had fallen into ruin!
Pretty ridiculous, right? No one is that dumb.
So why would anyone expect a tender, pliable child to be able to mold itself into something wonderful? The potter must be present, and hands on for the end result to be a thing of beauty. There's a current trend to allow children to make their own decisions at a very early age, so they'll be able to make wise decisions as they mature. But common sense tells us children don't make good decisions. It's a learned ability, like reading and writing. They have to have a pattern of wisdom to follow and lean on. If they're not carefully molded, they'll fly apart and fall into ruin . . . like that hapless lump of clay.
Children are facing bigger problems . . . fiercer enemies . . . than we did. More than ever, they need a potter.
A good potter. A present potter.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Boston Ferns
Every spring I buy at least one Boston Fern. And every summer (early in the summer) I throw it away because it has been scorched and dried out by the sun. In spite of frequent watering. Yet if you hang them where there is no sun, they wither.
This year I found the perfect setting. A part of my front porch gets a minimal amount of sun, but a good deal of daylight. Wow. I'd finally found the secret to a happy, healthy Boston Fern. It was thriving, and I was proud.
Then one day, I reached the spout of my little green watering can in and out flew a bird. I pulled up a chair, stood on it, and peered in. Right where I was getting ready to douse the plant there was a hole dug in the dirt, and a deep bird nest with two tiny eggs in it. To water the plant would be to soak the eggs. Now, if I understand correctly, bird eggs are porous, and if they're submerged in water, the egg can't "breathe."
What is more important, a Boston Fern, or two potential baby birds? No contest. The plant is history!
We've been listening for a sign of life, and this morning, while having our coffee a mere three feet from the location of the nest, we saw the Mama drop into the plant with something in her mouth. Nano-seconds later, the sound of baby birds squealing for breakfast. I couldn't see them, but I knew their little beaks were wide open to receive!
The plant is looking awful. But there's always next year.
Somehow I think I'm supposed to fit in the theme of this blog, "The Battle is Real." Well, it is. And we must fight the good fight without ceasing. But along the way, don't forget to appreciate the creation God has blessed us with. Like the sound of newly-hatched baby birds, squealing for their breakfast.
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