I read a startling article the other day. Then saw the same info on TV, which makes me believe there may be some truth to it. Two sources are usually better than one. Not always . . .
It seems that over the years, scientists have changed the molecular structure of wheat in order to increase productivity. Unfortunately, the changes have made the wheat (literally) poison to some of us. The possible long term effects of eating today's wheat are: Crohn's disease, IBS, Diabetes, and even arthritis, to name a few.
How can it be that changes are made to our most basic needs without our permission or knowledge?
The TV anchor asked the doctor being interviewed if it was possible to go back to our "old" wheat, or if it had been lost in the process. The doctor stated that it would be possible, but unlikely, since any farmer going back to the old "stuff" would lose about one-third of his profits.
The doctor went on to say that elimination of all wheat products in their diet is ridding a lot of people of the above named diseases. But, for obvious reasons, this fact is not being made public.
Isn't that special? Farmers are producing wheat that is not good for our overall health. Possibly not even aware that they're doing so. Yet in spite of increased productivity, the price keeps going up. The medical profession is telling us it's an essential part of our nutrition, And a lot of people are getting sick because of it. But the trend cannot be reversed . . . because of greed.
Friends, we are in trouble.
There are a few whistle blowers our there who are willing to put their reputations on the line to make stories like this known. But the sad part is, of the few that listen, most don't believe - and the rest soon forget. I, for one, have cut most wheat from my diet. (I have a love affair with corn tortillas going on . . . until I find out corn, too is effected.) However, the doctor did say wheat was the only grain effected to date - to his knowledge.
I listened to the advice of another whistle-blower - a pharmacist - about six months ago whose advice went against all common knowledge in the field of gastrointestinal expertise. I figured I couldn't do any worse than I was doing under a doctor's care. Guess what! His advice was right on.
Scientific "discoveries" are taking place right under our noses, without our knowledge. I read a book some twenty years ago, written by a man who was at one time a high muckledy-muck with a major producer of breakfast cereals. It was his job to see if the minute changes in the manufacture of the cereal were noticable to the public. Each subtle change was not. But over a period of fifteen years or so, the product had been changed so much it couldn't be recognized as the same product by those in the know. And with the gradual elimination of nature's pure products, in favor of man-made money-saving products, the health benefits of the cereal were GONE.
Greed. One of Satan's finest inventions. And one of mankind's most easily acquired tastes.
What is the solution to the question of the mutated wheat? The doctor suggested avoiding wheat, and eating REAL foods. Avocado (no argument from me there.), eggs, chicken, lean beef, fruits, and lots of veggies. Substitute other grains (as I have corn), and enjoy wholesome dairy.
He even suggested "full-fat" cheese. In moderation, of course.
Moderation. Some of God's finest advice. And one of mankind's most most easily ignored suggestions.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
MPCs
Here I go, using a friend's material again. Same friend, too. Pastor Gary Lanier.
This blog is named after the title of one of his finest songs (he's a song-writer, among other really serious talents). Now I'm going to quote one of his favorite expressions:
MPCs - Minor personal convictions.
Definition: All those pesky little doctrinal beliefs that separate Christians, and divide God's church into Baptists, Lutherans, Methodists, Assembly of God, Pentecostals, etc., etc. When all that really matters is our personal relationship with Jesus Christ. If we've taken care of that, all the rest is just MPCs.
This blog is named after the title of one of his finest songs (he's a song-writer, among other really serious talents). Now I'm going to quote one of his favorite expressions:
MPCs - Minor personal convictions.
Definition: All those pesky little doctrinal beliefs that separate Christians, and divide God's church into Baptists, Lutherans, Methodists, Assembly of God, Pentecostals, etc., etc. When all that really matters is our personal relationship with Jesus Christ. If we've taken care of that, all the rest is just MPCs.
Friday, September 7, 2012
I Stand Corrected - A Bonus Post
It's not Sunday, yet, but this is important enough that I must insert a "Friday Post" this week.
In Wednesday's post I said, "Some Christians are pro-choice. DOES NOT COMPUTE."
Then I was reminded via a FaceBook post by a dear friend in the ministry that once we have given our hearts to Jesus, short of turning our backs on Him and renouncing our faith, we are His.
We will reign forever with Him in glory. To paraphrase her statement, "There are consequences here on earth to the sins we commit after accepting Him as our Lord and Savior, but they do not prevent us from being in His presence for eternity."
I do stand in my belief that the Bible confirms abortion to be a sin.
However, we all commit sins on a daily basis. Some minute . . . some huge. God still loves us unconditionally. It breaks His heart when a Christian sins . . . but He does not disown us. Anymore than you would disown your child who is sinning. If a mortal parent's love is unconditional. Think how much more the Heavenly Father's love is unconditional.
Let me change my statement to say - I don't understand how a Christian could be pro-choice, given what God has to say about the unborn in the Bible. But some are . . . and it's our duty to pray their eyes will be opened to the truth.
Because we know who it is that wants to hide the truth from them, don't we?
In Wednesday's post I said, "Some Christians are pro-choice. DOES NOT COMPUTE."
Then I was reminded via a FaceBook post by a dear friend in the ministry that once we have given our hearts to Jesus, short of turning our backs on Him and renouncing our faith, we are His.
We will reign forever with Him in glory. To paraphrase her statement, "There are consequences here on earth to the sins we commit after accepting Him as our Lord and Savior, but they do not prevent us from being in His presence for eternity."
I do stand in my belief that the Bible confirms abortion to be a sin.
However, we all commit sins on a daily basis. Some minute . . . some huge. God still loves us unconditionally. It breaks His heart when a Christian sins . . . but He does not disown us. Anymore than you would disown your child who is sinning. If a mortal parent's love is unconditional. Think how much more the Heavenly Father's love is unconditional.
Let me change my statement to say - I don't understand how a Christian could be pro-choice, given what God has to say about the unborn in the Bible. But some are . . . and it's our duty to pray their eyes will be opened to the truth.
Because we know who it is that wants to hide the truth from them, don't we?
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Has Our Prophet Been Aborted?
Some Christians are pro-choice!
Let that sink in.
Now, all together, say it with me . . . DOES NOT COMPUTE!
I'm sure you've heard the pro-life mantra, "Abortion stops a beating heart." That knowledge in itself should be a deterent to taking an unborn baby's life. And I'm sure for some, it is. Praise God for those who realize in time.
But there is an even stronger saying I'd like to hear used: "Would you knowlingly thwart the plans of an Almighty God?"
Would you willingly kill the next Billy Graham? The next Abraham Lincoln? The next Mother Teresa?
Jeremiah 1:5 states: "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. And before you were born, I consecrated you. I have appointed you a prophet to the nations." (NAS)
God doesn't have a problem with the question of when life begins. He said before I formed you in the womb. Yet mankind wants to challenge His word and debate the true beginning of life. The true beginning of life is when you exist in the mind of God.
How many great men and women of God have been aborted? How many souls will perish for lack of someone to lead them to Christ, because that someone was aborted in the womb? And how do we know if the person God designated to lead our nation out of this mire is alive . . . or aborted?
John Hagee has called on Christians to pray for 40 days beginning September 28. That's the 40 days preceeding the election. Our way of life depends on defeating the pro-abortion, pro-homosexual, anti-Jewish party and taking our country back.
If God is so kind as to answer this prayer, then we must hit the ground running and abolish all laws that are displeasing to Him. It won't be easy. It won't be quick. But it must be our goal. We dare not fall back into complacency. Because if we do . . . He will eventually give us up to our wicked ways.
I got a FaceBook "feel good" today. A beautiful picture with the words, "He loves you, He forgives you." across it. I hate to burst anyone's bubble . . . but that's the trouble with our times. Everyone claims forgiveness . . . without having to ask.
Yes, He does love all of us. Every last, flithy, sinning one of us. And He does forgive us . . . when we repent. People can't go on living like heathens and assume they will be forgiven, just because He loves them. There are consequences for selfish, stubborn disobedience to His word.
President, Congressman, Doctor and Mother-to-be, before you make a decision for abortion, ask yourself, "Would you knowlingly thwart the plans of an Almighty God?"
Sunday, September 2, 2012
What a Difference Sixty Years Make
My husband was going through his book collection the other day and discovered an old Dallas High School study course, Circa 1952.
Sixty years ago. What a difference sixty years make. The study course? Old Testament!
Now our teachers aren't allowed to mention God or Christ in our public schools. I guess it wouldn't do for me to be a teacher, because I'd stay awake nights trying to figure out ways to sneak His Holy name into discussions. I'd probably spend more time in the principal's office than the meanest kid in class. (And be looking for a job at McDonald's by the second week.)
Though long since out of high school, I've been studying the book. Pretty interesting stuff. Maybe a little dry compared to what I experience every week in my church, because our pastor obviously spends a great deal of time in the word. As does my husband. (There's nothing that makes a man more manly, or more desirable as a mate, than spending time in the word.) If any of my readers are single ladies . . . I hope you'll take that advice to heart. As I recently read: "Single women should hold God so close to their hearts that a man has to go through Him to get to her."
But to get back to the study course, if I may qutoe: "The book of Job is generally considered one of the great literary masterpieces of the world. Tennyson pronounced it 'the greatest poem whether of ancient or modern time.' Carlyle said of it, 'There is nothing written in the Bible or out of it of equal literary merit.'"
I'd never looked at Job through such eyes. Perhaps it's time I go back to read the book again. Join me, and see if you agree with these literary greats. We'll talk about Job more later.
Until then, take this piece of advice from Brother Lee. Fall asleep at night with Jesus on your mind, and you'll wake up in the morning singing to Him. I can vouch for that!
Sixty years ago. What a difference sixty years make. The study course? Old Testament!
Now our teachers aren't allowed to mention God or Christ in our public schools. I guess it wouldn't do for me to be a teacher, because I'd stay awake nights trying to figure out ways to sneak His Holy name into discussions. I'd probably spend more time in the principal's office than the meanest kid in class. (And be looking for a job at McDonald's by the second week.)
Though long since out of high school, I've been studying the book. Pretty interesting stuff. Maybe a little dry compared to what I experience every week in my church, because our pastor obviously spends a great deal of time in the word. As does my husband. (There's nothing that makes a man more manly, or more desirable as a mate, than spending time in the word.) If any of my readers are single ladies . . . I hope you'll take that advice to heart. As I recently read: "Single women should hold God so close to their hearts that a man has to go through Him to get to her."
But to get back to the study course, if I may qutoe: "The book of Job is generally considered one of the great literary masterpieces of the world. Tennyson pronounced it 'the greatest poem whether of ancient or modern time.' Carlyle said of it, 'There is nothing written in the Bible or out of it of equal literary merit.'"
I'd never looked at Job through such eyes. Perhaps it's time I go back to read the book again. Join me, and see if you agree with these literary greats. We'll talk about Job more later.
Until then, take this piece of advice from Brother Lee. Fall asleep at night with Jesus on your mind, and you'll wake up in the morning singing to Him. I can vouch for that!
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Submit therefore to God.
"This time he had her, dead-to-rights. He bounded down the hallway, ready to drag the truth out of her. His fists were clenched. His stomach in knots.
Headlights flashed in the foyer mirror. Ron and Indi were here. And Edward was primed for battle.
"Where are you?" His anger undisguised. "They're here, woman."
He steeled himself against the sight of this wanton woman he'd married, as she hurried out of the kitchen. Of course she looked sweet and innocent. Didn't she always? One would never know, to look at her, what kind of a woman she really was.
Casey breezed into the foyer and glanced at her reflection.
Edward's heart was pounding. His face was flushed. The sight of Casey sickened him.
Why did I invite these people over? Tonight of all nights. I'll have to handle her later, when they're gone. She'll be so sorry when I get through with her.
He pasted on his best smile, smoothed his trousers, and cleared his throat. He looked terrific. His head was splitting."
Does this scene from Handful of Demons sound familiar? Has Satan ever played tricks with your imagination, filled your head with lies, primed you for battle, only to put you on hold? It's his way of chipping away at your peace. Your very sanity.
The battle is so real, friends. It is not your imagination. It is not a coincidence.
So, what can you do when he attacks your most precious relationships, in your most vulnerable moments?
James 4:7 - Submit therefore to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you."
Headlights flashed in the foyer mirror. Ron and Indi were here. And Edward was primed for battle.
"Where are you?" His anger undisguised. "They're here, woman."
He steeled himself against the sight of this wanton woman he'd married, as she hurried out of the kitchen. Of course she looked sweet and innocent. Didn't she always? One would never know, to look at her, what kind of a woman she really was.
Casey breezed into the foyer and glanced at her reflection.
Edward's heart was pounding. His face was flushed. The sight of Casey sickened him.
Why did I invite these people over? Tonight of all nights. I'll have to handle her later, when they're gone. She'll be so sorry when I get through with her.
He pasted on his best smile, smoothed his trousers, and cleared his throat. He looked terrific. His head was splitting."
Does this scene from Handful of Demons sound familiar? Has Satan ever played tricks with your imagination, filled your head with lies, primed you for battle, only to put you on hold? It's his way of chipping away at your peace. Your very sanity.
The battle is so real, friends. It is not your imagination. It is not a coincidence.
So, what can you do when he attacks your most precious relationships, in your most vulnerable moments?
James 4:7 - Submit therefore to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you."
Monday, August 27, 2012
Global Warming
I'm not worried about global warming.
You see, I believe every word that comes out of the mouth of the Lord. And Genesis 8:22 tells me: "While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease."
It's the promise God made after the flood. Verse 21 says: " . . . I will never again curse the ground on account of man . . . "
To back up a little bit . . . I don't deny the reality of global warming, just as I 'm aware of global cooling. It's been going on since creation. First one and then the other. I don't pretend to know why. I only know it's a part of God's design for the earth. And that's good enough for me.
I also believe His word in Peter 5:8: "Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls about like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour."
But He doesn't leave us without hope. Check out Ephesians 6:10-12. "Finally, be strong in the Lord, and in the strength of His might. Put on the armor of God that you may be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces (italics mine) of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.
Two facts jump off this page. #1. God says to be on the alert. Well, first we have to be aware there really is an enemy out there seeking to devour us. Get our heads out of the sand. #2. Our struggle is not againt flesh and blood, but against spiritul forces of wickedness.
That's God telling us the Battle is real.
You see, I believe every word that comes out of the mouth of the Lord. And Genesis 8:22 tells me: "While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease."
It's the promise God made after the flood. Verse 21 says: " . . . I will never again curse the ground on account of man . . . "
To back up a little bit . . . I don't deny the reality of global warming, just as I 'm aware of global cooling. It's been going on since creation. First one and then the other. I don't pretend to know why. I only know it's a part of God's design for the earth. And that's good enough for me.
I also believe His word in Peter 5:8: "Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls about like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour."
But He doesn't leave us without hope. Check out Ephesians 6:10-12. "Finally, be strong in the Lord, and in the strength of His might. Put on the armor of God that you may be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces (italics mine) of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.
Two facts jump off this page. #1. God says to be on the alert. Well, first we have to be aware there really is an enemy out there seeking to devour us. Get our heads out of the sand. #2. Our struggle is not againt flesh and blood, but against spiritul forces of wickedness.
That's God telling us the Battle is real.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Roller Coaster Day
Here it is, Friday morning, and I just realized I didn't post on Wednesday evening. Wednesday was a roller coaster day for me, and by the time we got home from church at almost ten . . . the only thing on my mind was dropping into my wonderful pillow-top bed and covering my head.
Satan and his imps were on my case all day long. "Handful of Demons" is out in paperback form, but it seems that everything that can go wrong is going wrong in getting out the hardcover edition. I've promised copies to several people who were important in the production of "Demons." And I'm feeling so guilty that I have paperback copies to sell (and give away in some instances) but I have no hardcovers to offer. Also, I have some people who are waiting to buy hardcovers. I don't think Satan wants this book to get out.
Then, my granddaughter called me during church to tell me that someone had tagged me in a lewd photo on FaceBook. I gave her the necessary info to login and get it off for me, and to unfriend the brand-new "friend" who did it. (Of course, he may have been hacked, who knows?) But it threw me for quite a loop. Threw me into a depression, truth be known. The presence of evil does that to me. (Until I come to my senses and call on God.)
I'd planned to give a copy of "Demons" to my pastor that evening after church. He didn't even know I was an author. But last Sunday - not knowing how it would impact us - he spoke a word over Dee and me: " . . . The words you have to say will be heard by many . . . " That was exciting.
So, I decided Wednesday evening was a good time to let him know I'd been published, and his words over us were an encouragement and confirmation. But then Satan popped his ugly head into the picture with the FaceBook situation, and I was once again deflated. Decided to give the book to him another time, when I was feeling more chipper.
However, Brother Lee brought a message that sounded like perhaps he'd studied for it out of my book . . . fiction, though it is, it is chock-a-block full of Scriptural happenings. So, it was back on for giving him a copy. I didn't know how he'd receive it, since it's fiction, and he obviously spends a great deal of time in the Word. Some Christians don't "waste time" on fiction.
My, oh my. He was so excited. He held it up. Prayed for it. Called others over. Prayed for me and my book. Told me he wanted me to be on the church TV program. They had to pull me down from the cathedral ceiling to send me home.
I decided to get off FaceBook because it really causes me much consternation. So many things are posted that are not God honoring. I was spending hours a day sifting through it, gleaning out the good stuff. But invariably came away under a dark cloud.
Thursday morning I woke up with terrific back and shoulder pain, and Satan told me that I was too old and tired to be doing what I'm doing. Of course he did. He doesn't want me, or anyone else, exposing him for what he is. I did get off of FaceBook. Those hours will be better spent writing, or in the Word.
This morning the devil's still bouncing up and down on my shoulders. And he's telling me that getting off FaceBook was a terrible "career move". But you know, God didn't put these stories on my heart in order to put me in bondage to the world (via FaceBook). Most people on my friend list were trying to sell their own books. They were not potential readers. God is going to lead me to my readers.
I'm looking for the people whose hearts are open to what God wants them to hear through me . . . that Satan roams the earth, seeking whom he may devour.
A warning that the battle is real.
Satan and his imps were on my case all day long. "Handful of Demons" is out in paperback form, but it seems that everything that can go wrong is going wrong in getting out the hardcover edition. I've promised copies to several people who were important in the production of "Demons." And I'm feeling so guilty that I have paperback copies to sell (and give away in some instances) but I have no hardcovers to offer. Also, I have some people who are waiting to buy hardcovers. I don't think Satan wants this book to get out.
Then, my granddaughter called me during church to tell me that someone had tagged me in a lewd photo on FaceBook. I gave her the necessary info to login and get it off for me, and to unfriend the brand-new "friend" who did it. (Of course, he may have been hacked, who knows?) But it threw me for quite a loop. Threw me into a depression, truth be known. The presence of evil does that to me. (Until I come to my senses and call on God.)
I'd planned to give a copy of "Demons" to my pastor that evening after church. He didn't even know I was an author. But last Sunday - not knowing how it would impact us - he spoke a word over Dee and me: " . . . The words you have to say will be heard by many . . . " That was exciting.
So, I decided Wednesday evening was a good time to let him know I'd been published, and his words over us were an encouragement and confirmation. But then Satan popped his ugly head into the picture with the FaceBook situation, and I was once again deflated. Decided to give the book to him another time, when I was feeling more chipper.
However, Brother Lee brought a message that sounded like perhaps he'd studied for it out of my book . . . fiction, though it is, it is chock-a-block full of Scriptural happenings. So, it was back on for giving him a copy. I didn't know how he'd receive it, since it's fiction, and he obviously spends a great deal of time in the Word. Some Christians don't "waste time" on fiction.
My, oh my. He was so excited. He held it up. Prayed for it. Called others over. Prayed for me and my book. Told me he wanted me to be on the church TV program. They had to pull me down from the cathedral ceiling to send me home.
I decided to get off FaceBook because it really causes me much consternation. So many things are posted that are not God honoring. I was spending hours a day sifting through it, gleaning out the good stuff. But invariably came away under a dark cloud.
Thursday morning I woke up with terrific back and shoulder pain, and Satan told me that I was too old and tired to be doing what I'm doing. Of course he did. He doesn't want me, or anyone else, exposing him for what he is. I did get off of FaceBook. Those hours will be better spent writing, or in the Word.
This morning the devil's still bouncing up and down on my shoulders. And he's telling me that getting off FaceBook was a terrible "career move". But you know, God didn't put these stories on my heart in order to put me in bondage to the world (via FaceBook). Most people on my friend list were trying to sell their own books. They were not potential readers. God is going to lead me to my readers.
I'm looking for the people whose hearts are open to what God wants them to hear through me . . . that Satan roams the earth, seeking whom he may devour.
A warning that the battle is real.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
My Personal Miracle, Part 2
If you've not read My Personal Miracle, Part 1, then Part 2 isn't going to make a lot of sense. I'll give you a very quick synopsis, but I really wish you'd go to the last posted entry and read it first.
~My first husband vehemently hated creamed corn. (I'll not go into how one manages to hate an innocent can of vegetables.) My six-year-old son loved it. To keep the peace, I didn't buy it. My mother was incensed that my son had to do without. She sneaked it into my shopping cart and fed it to him when she baby-sat.~
One Saturday my mother's doctor called me and after establishing he had the right person on the phone, he said "I'm sorry to tell you this, but your mother's dead." Ten words, blurted out with all the compassion of an answering machine.
Had the doctor been a little kinder, I'm not sure it would have helped in the long run. Mother and I were close, and I never felt like I'd done enough for her. She was young . . . 69 . . . and I always thought I'd have time to do some great things for her.
It never happened.
She was the first loved one I'd ever lost. And I didn't handle it well. I was a new Christian, and I'd tried to witness to her in a very clumsy manner. I didn't handle that well either.
About two weeks after her death I was shopping at eleven p.m. at an all-night grocery store in what was not the most savory section of Houston. It was dim and dingy in the store. The shelves were sagging and the floor boards were buckled. Running the cart over them was like navigating a wash board.
I was, and had been for two weeks, a guilt-ridden, bawling, unkempt mess. I should have been there with her. It wouldn't have happened.
I struggled with the shopping cart, tears flowing down my cheeks, taking my mascara with it. And I prayed. I begged Jesus to "give me a sign." I didn't know enough about the Word to know I wasn't supposed to ask for a sign. "Please let me know she's with You." I cried under my breath, over and over. "Please let me know she's with You."
I don't think I really expected Him to give me an answer. Frankly, I don't know what I expected of Him. But what He gave me was beyond anything I could have hoped for in my wildest dreams. New ignorant Christian or seasoned Bible scholar, Jesus meets us where we are.
A couple of customers came and went while I stumbled up and down the aisles. I think I was wishing someone would ask me what was wrong and hug me until my tears subsided. But no one did. The cashier eyed me suspiciously.
Finally, the only customer left in the store, I approached the check out counter. The cashier greeted me in broken english and began ringing up my purchases. Two full large paper sacks later I paid him, pocketed my change, lifted one heavy bag in each arm, and headed for the door.
"Wait."
I swung around. The cashier was motioning for me to come back.
Apprehension gripped me. It was late. There was no one else in the store. "What do you want?"
"I forget something."
Thinking he'd given me the wrong change, I walked back to the register. He reached under the counter and pulled something out, which he immediately dropped into the top of one of the bags I was carrying.
"What is this?" I couldn't see in the bag, and both my arms were full. "I didn't pay for it."
"Just go!" He motioned me out of the store, hurriedly.
A little worried about leaving the store with something I hadn't paid for, I left at his urgent request.
It wasn't until I'd struggled to get the groceries in the back of my station wagon that I was able to examine what he had put in the top of my bag.
A can of creamed corn.
~My first husband vehemently hated creamed corn. (I'll not go into how one manages to hate an innocent can of vegetables.) My six-year-old son loved it. To keep the peace, I didn't buy it. My mother was incensed that my son had to do without. She sneaked it into my shopping cart and fed it to him when she baby-sat.~
One Saturday my mother's doctor called me and after establishing he had the right person on the phone, he said "I'm sorry to tell you this, but your mother's dead." Ten words, blurted out with all the compassion of an answering machine.
Had the doctor been a little kinder, I'm not sure it would have helped in the long run. Mother and I were close, and I never felt like I'd done enough for her. She was young . . . 69 . . . and I always thought I'd have time to do some great things for her.
It never happened.
She was the first loved one I'd ever lost. And I didn't handle it well. I was a new Christian, and I'd tried to witness to her in a very clumsy manner. I didn't handle that well either.
About two weeks after her death I was shopping at eleven p.m. at an all-night grocery store in what was not the most savory section of Houston. It was dim and dingy in the store. The shelves were sagging and the floor boards were buckled. Running the cart over them was like navigating a wash board.
I was, and had been for two weeks, a guilt-ridden, bawling, unkempt mess. I should have been there with her. It wouldn't have happened.
I struggled with the shopping cart, tears flowing down my cheeks, taking my mascara with it. And I prayed. I begged Jesus to "give me a sign." I didn't know enough about the Word to know I wasn't supposed to ask for a sign. "Please let me know she's with You." I cried under my breath, over and over. "Please let me know she's with You."
I don't think I really expected Him to give me an answer. Frankly, I don't know what I expected of Him. But what He gave me was beyond anything I could have hoped for in my wildest dreams. New ignorant Christian or seasoned Bible scholar, Jesus meets us where we are.
A couple of customers came and went while I stumbled up and down the aisles. I think I was wishing someone would ask me what was wrong and hug me until my tears subsided. But no one did. The cashier eyed me suspiciously.
Finally, the only customer left in the store, I approached the check out counter. The cashier greeted me in broken english and began ringing up my purchases. Two full large paper sacks later I paid him, pocketed my change, lifted one heavy bag in each arm, and headed for the door.
"Wait."
I swung around. The cashier was motioning for me to come back.
Apprehension gripped me. It was late. There was no one else in the store. "What do you want?"
"I forget something."
Thinking he'd given me the wrong change, I walked back to the register. He reached under the counter and pulled something out, which he immediately dropped into the top of one of the bags I was carrying.
"What is this?" I couldn't see in the bag, and both my arms were full. "I didn't pay for it."
"Just go!" He motioned me out of the store, hurriedly.
A little worried about leaving the store with something I hadn't paid for, I left at his urgent request.
It wasn't until I'd struggled to get the groceries in the back of my station wagon that I was able to examine what he had put in the top of my bag.
A can of creamed corn.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
My Personal Miracle, Part 1
It's Wednesday evening, August 15 . . . my husband's birthday. My pastor husband of almost 33 years.
I haven't always been the wife of a pastor. Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, I lived another life. Sometimes it's hard to fathom, and painful to remember, but there was a time when I lived a life that didn't include the Lord.
It was shortly after making a committment to Him that I received a spectacular miracle. There are those who say miracles aren't for today. And they reason away all miracles as coincidences. Well, my personal miracle can't be reasoned away. It can't be explained away. And no amount of manipulating can morph it into a coincidence.
It was a full-fledged Jesus-Is-In-The-House miracle.
I've only shared this story with the public one time, in a small church Dee and I attended a few years ago. And I've been saving it for a bigger blog audience. I only have eleven followers (whom I prefer to call friends.) But my "page view totals" indicate I'm getting quite a few other readers. And from the urging I'm getting to share my story again . . . this must be the right time.
* * *
My six-year-old son loved creamed corn. My first husband hated it. So much, in fact, he vehemently forbid me to serve it at a meal. Avoiding putting creamed corn on the dinner table seemed like a small enough thing to do to preserve the peace, so I never bought it. Of course that wasn't sufficient to keep the peace, but one must learn to "pick one's battles" and creamed corn didn't seem worthy to fight over. However, my mother - not knowing the gravity of the situation - was quite unhappy that her precious grandson was being denied one of his favorite foods.
Mother went grocery shopping with me every opportunity she got. Probably a couple times a month. We had a terrific relationship. Laughing, joking, singing. She was a joy to be around. And she was, unknowingly, my anchor on earth when times were rough. I say unknowingly because I never told her how rough times were.
One day as I was checking out I was suprised to see the cashier ringing up a can of creamed corn. "Where did that come from?"
My oh-so-innocent mother began whistling a little tune and looking anywhere but in my eyes. "Mother, did you put that in the basket?"
This cute, little, curly-headed person I called "Mother" looked up at me and blinked her big blue eyes, and I began laughing. Nothing further was said. I paid for the corn, took it home, and hid it in the pantry.
The next time she baby-sat for us I checked the pantry when I got home. The can was gone. It was in the trash, empty. Billy had eaten creamed corn for supper.
This became a regular routine that went on for a couple of years - until Mother's death. Sometime during every shopping trip, while I wasn't looking, Mother would sneak a can of creamed corn into the shopping cart. I'd pay for it without saying a word. And each time when I got home, I'd hide it in the pantry. But not so well she'd have trouble finding it.
We never discussed it, not even with each other. It was our little secret tradition.
* * *
Be sure to visit again on Monday, after I've written Sunday evening's blog. You don't want to miss the second half of this story. It's so awesome that if it hadn't happened to me . . . I'm not sure I'd believe it myself.
I haven't always been the wife of a pastor. Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, I lived another life. Sometimes it's hard to fathom, and painful to remember, but there was a time when I lived a life that didn't include the Lord.
It was shortly after making a committment to Him that I received a spectacular miracle. There are those who say miracles aren't for today. And they reason away all miracles as coincidences. Well, my personal miracle can't be reasoned away. It can't be explained away. And no amount of manipulating can morph it into a coincidence.
It was a full-fledged Jesus-Is-In-The-House miracle.
I've only shared this story with the public one time, in a small church Dee and I attended a few years ago. And I've been saving it for a bigger blog audience. I only have eleven followers (whom I prefer to call friends.) But my "page view totals" indicate I'm getting quite a few other readers. And from the urging I'm getting to share my story again . . . this must be the right time.
* * *
My six-year-old son loved creamed corn. My first husband hated it. So much, in fact, he vehemently forbid me to serve it at a meal. Avoiding putting creamed corn on the dinner table seemed like a small enough thing to do to preserve the peace, so I never bought it. Of course that wasn't sufficient to keep the peace, but one must learn to "pick one's battles" and creamed corn didn't seem worthy to fight over. However, my mother - not knowing the gravity of the situation - was quite unhappy that her precious grandson was being denied one of his favorite foods.
Mother went grocery shopping with me every opportunity she got. Probably a couple times a month. We had a terrific relationship. Laughing, joking, singing. She was a joy to be around. And she was, unknowingly, my anchor on earth when times were rough. I say unknowingly because I never told her how rough times were.
One day as I was checking out I was suprised to see the cashier ringing up a can of creamed corn. "Where did that come from?"
My oh-so-innocent mother began whistling a little tune and looking anywhere but in my eyes. "Mother, did you put that in the basket?"
This cute, little, curly-headed person I called "Mother" looked up at me and blinked her big blue eyes, and I began laughing. Nothing further was said. I paid for the corn, took it home, and hid it in the pantry.
The next time she baby-sat for us I checked the pantry when I got home. The can was gone. It was in the trash, empty. Billy had eaten creamed corn for supper.
This became a regular routine that went on for a couple of years - until Mother's death. Sometime during every shopping trip, while I wasn't looking, Mother would sneak a can of creamed corn into the shopping cart. I'd pay for it without saying a word. And each time when I got home, I'd hide it in the pantry. But not so well she'd have trouble finding it.
We never discussed it, not even with each other. It was our little secret tradition.
* * *
Be sure to visit again on Monday, after I've written Sunday evening's blog. You don't want to miss the second half of this story. It's so awesome that if it hadn't happened to me . . . I'm not sure I'd believe it myself.
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