Hamster Meets Mini-Houdini

By Connie Cavanaugh –

Our three-year-old granddaughter Madi’s middle name should be Houdini. The minute you turn your back on her, she floats away, opens a door more quietly than a safe cracker, slips out and flees! Several frantic searches over the last year have found her happily riding a tricycle down the middle of the street in winter wearing nothing but a diaper, exploring a neighbor’s backyard while frolicking with their dog, or nibbling a snack and playing the Wii in her auntie’s basement a few doors down from Grammy’s house.

That’s why I was a little nervous about leaving her with Papa for an hour while I went with my son and his dogs to the off-leash park. It was Mother’s Day and my daughter, Madi’s mother, needed some rest after a busy weekend of ministry with her youth group and worship team so I gladly volunteered to bring Madi home after church and keep her for the afternoon.

Before leaving for the dog park I made sure Papa understood he must not take his eyes off her for a minute. I locked the door leading outdoors from the family room. Off I went for a happy hour of watching two dogs run, roll, chase balls, splash in the river, shake water all over me, get covered with dirt which quickly became mud, and if dogs could grin, I would say they had grins a mile wide. What apartment dwelling dog doesn’t love an hour of unbridled freedom?

When I got home, windblown and chilly but heart-warmed and happy, the first thing I saw when I stepped inside the house was my wild-eyed husband charging up the stairs from the basement where I had left him and Madi sixty minutes earlier. He was carrying a shoebox.

“Where’s Madi?”

“I just dropped her off at Christine’s house,” he wheezed. The shoebox he clutched rose and fell on his heaving chest, Christine is our other daughter who lives nearby.

“What’s in the box?” I asked.

Wordlessly, he lifted the lid. I peeked inside.

“A hamster?”

“Is that what it is?” he asked. “I thought it was a mouse at first but it looked too well fed so my next guess was a gerbil.”

“Where did it come from?”

“According to Madi? Louisiana!” he replied, shaking his head.

The story unfolded. Papa decided to watch a movie with Madi while Grammy was out. A dangerous idea since television is like a narcotic for Pastor Papa, but on Sunday afternoon, TV works faster than Nembutal delivered intravenously. The movie had barely begun when the snoring started.

We have no idea how long Madi waited but she quickly sensed the wind was in her favor, tiptoed upstairs, and let herself out the unlocked front door. She made a beeline next-door where 10-year-old Hannah lives. Hannah often lets Madi play with her hamster.

Hannah’s family wasn’t home so Madi tried both doors; the back door was not locked. She found the hamster in its cage, liberated it, and was heading back to Grammy’s house for some fun when Papa woke up with a start, discovered she was gone and began dashing and calling. He found her outside our front door, clutching the little critter. Thinking she had a mouse in her pudgy fists, he almost threw it into an adjacent green space. But a second look made him think it was more domesticated – hence the “gerbil” classification.

“Madi! Where did you get this gerbil?”

“Louisiana,” she replied with a poker face worthy of Cool Hand Luke.

He asked a second time and got the same response. It was at that point he realized he was dealing with not only an experienced jail breaker but a seasoned perjurer since we live in Canada.

Disgruntled church members, power-hungry deacons, political positioning, tight budgets, needy parishioners – all this and more Pastor Papa handles with diplomacy and grace but a wise man knows his limits. He pried the hamster out of her sweaty grasp amid a flood of weeping, boxed the pet and marched Madi over to Auntie’s house. He knew he was in way over his head.

Salvation in a Running Shoe

By Carol Barnier –

Have you ever met folks who have only one message? They seem to have the same answer for every single problem that might come your way.

“My life was forever changed when I. . .{insert amazing trendy habit of choice, be it ionized toothbrushes, red pepper colonics, or—I kid you not, purposely induced malaria-therapy.}

No matter what you’ve got going on, this one thing, they are certain, could turn your life around.

I met a guy some time ago who apparently had found the single magic antidote for all life’s issues: running. No really. There was not a single conversation in which he didn’t bring up this miraculous panacea.

Got a drinking problem? You should take up running.

Struggling with focus? You know a good run will really help you zero in on focusing.

Robbed several convenience stores? I know a guy who ran a marathon, and never robbed anyone again.

Marital problems? Irritable bowel syndrome? Never won the lottery? Take up running. It’ll change your life. I took up running and in six weeks, my stock market portfolio tripled!

Big sigh. He has one message. Get fit. I don’t know if you’ll feel better, but I’ll feel better looking at ya.

I’ve seen this same mentality prescribed in spiritual circles as well. I saw one recently that I found just as frustrating.

Not feeling close to God? Feeling ineffective in your witness? Just not the Christian you need to be?

Eat raw foods.

The presenter of this piece of wisdom went on to say that God cannot use us if we don’t take care of ourselves.

Whaaaaa?

Don’t misunderstand me. I know that running is a great activity that will bring a boost of health to my plump and too-sedentary self. I also know there is great merit in eating well, including raw foods. I get that. But one of God’s amazing habits is to use people who aren’t in perfect shape, people easily dismissed by others. Moses. . .with a speech problem becomes the mouth-piece for the Hebrews. St. Augustine—a drunken womanizer becomes one of the most influential writers of Christian thought in history. Even in our own day, if the ability to run and maintain a rigorous fitness schedule makes one more God-usable, then Joni Eareckson Tada and Nick Vuyacic wouldn’t have had a chance to reach the tens of thousands of people that they have with their powerful ministries. Many people, their bodies wracked with cancer and disease, have been fully used of God in their final days to share something of eternal value with those they left behind.

Too often people seem to confuse the salvation of God’s amazing grace with pathetic human activities. Oh sure, we should strive to be healthy but only because we’ll enjoy life more and it shows a respect for the body God has given us. But some folks seem to imbue a sort of holiness into the self-improvement actions themselves, as though we could somehow render ourselves more worthy of God’s use.

Truth is, none of us is worthy of His use, whether bent and broken, or fit and strong. Frankly, it’s a wonder we gain His attention at all, let alone be chosen to do anything for His kingdom. So eat well, yes. Run, exercise, and work out, yes. But don’t be surprised if the donut eating, sedentary guy with bad fingernails is the one God chooses to change the world.

Make Way for (Elder) Ducklings!

By Karen O’Connor –

Parents of eight ducklings need a bit of help finding a safe place to raise their brood. During a rest stop in Boston’s Public Garden, Mr. and Mrs. Mallard agree they just might have found the ideal spot. But when Mrs. Mallard and her darlings are stuck on a busy street in downtown Boston, their policeman friend Michael rushes in, stops traffic, and makes a way for them. And so goes the story, Make Way For Ducklings, the children’s award-winning classic by Robert McCloskey, published by Viking Press in 1941.

Perhaps there have been times in your life when you needed someone like Policeman Michael to make a way for you. I have! Especially now that I’m older. Sometimes I feel as though I’m invisible. I want to throw up my hands and say, “Look at me. I’m a person too. An older person, I know, but still a person. Make room for me, please. Couldn’t you at least acknowledge me?”

Maybe that’s why I pump iron and jog and hike. If I stay “buff” I won’t be overlooked so easily. Maybe my age won’t matter.

Well the time came when that almost occurred. One summer morning I jogged along the beach near my home wearing a pair of old shorts, a ratty t-shirt, and a bill cap to keep my hair from flying in my face. There I was––with my naked, lined face––and the rest of my body tagging along too!

I finished my run, wiped my face on the tail of my shirt, and slowed to a walk. Just then a teenager on a bike sailed past me, then stopped, turned around, and jabbed the air with his right thumb. “Not bad for an old broad,” he shouted, and then pedaled out of sight.

What nerve! Who does he think I am? Then I broke out laughing. At least he looked. He was rude, but he had made a way for me that day—a way to feel good about myself just as I was.

A year later my husband Charles and I were on our way to one of my speaking engagements. One evening at dusk we ventured out of the hotel where we were staying and walked up to the corner of Highway 1 and a cross street that led to a restaurant on the other side.

We were about to make a run for it (no traffic in either direction that we could see) when suddenly a small truck appeared. We back-stepped in surprise as it squealed to a stop. The driver leaned out the window and motioned us to cross. “Go right ahead.”

Kind enough, I thought, since he was in the wrong. We stepped in front of the vehicle, waved a “thank you,” and then started across.

“No problem,” he called after us. “We have to take care of our older folks!”

Darn! Here I am, fit as a farmer, but to this younger generation I’m still an “older folk!”

There’s something about that phrase that clangs in my ear. I’m not ready to listen to it. But maybe I should, since chronologically I am one. I surrendered, jumped off my high horse, and became willing to admit that people of any age can use a bit of support now and then. I decided to view the situation with new eyes.

That evening the young driver had been our “Policeman Michael,” making a way for two elder ducklings to cross the highway safely, so we could return home the following week and get back to the gym.

You Know It’s Too Hot When…

By Jodi Whisenhunt –

You know it’s too hot when…

1 ) You fry your morning eggs on the front walk.
2 ) Your neighbor brings over cookies she baked in her car.
3 ) Your swimming pool turns into a hot tub.
4 ) Your hot tub is bubbling and it’s not turned on.
5 ) Your aerosol sunscreen shoots flames.
6 ) Your dog sheds her coat bald when she steps outside.
7 ) You drop two pounds in perspiration just by walking out the door.
8 ) You get a second degree burn when you touch the handle of your car door.
9 ) The hummingbirds are fanning the squirrels.
10 ) The ice cream truck melts.

Temperatures have soared across the country this summer, breaking longstanding records in several states. I live in Texas, and you’d think I’d be used to the heat, but I am longing for the cooler days of fall. Until they arrive, however, I must keep in mind that the God of creation sets the earth’s thermostat.

Although I don’t recall Ecclesiastes mentioning a time for sweltering heat, the Lord reminds us in Job 38:22-35 just who does ordain the weather: “Have you entered the storehouses of snow or seen the storehouses of the hail…What is the way to the place where the lightning is dispersed, or the place where the east winds are scattered over the earth? Who cuts a channel for the torrents of rain, and a path for the thunderstorm…Do you send the lightning bolts on their way?” God basically slams Job with tell me, man, do you control all this? Job’s reply, of course, is, “Surely I spoke of things I did not understand” (Job 42:3). I’d be quaking in my boots too, Job!

God knows what He is doing, even with the heat, so I will be grateful that the seasons change, and I will thaw my chills in the summer sun. Before I know it, leaves will blaze with autumn color and snow will again fall. You know, it’s only four months till Christmas!

Looks are Deceiving

By Liz Cowen Furman –

The day before we were to leave for home from our little family business in Dubois, Wyoming I ventured down to the old garage that houses many of my father-in-law’s treasures, God rest his soul.

Remembering that the roof leaked last winter, I wanted to get a patch on it so more items wouldn’t be lost to the mold and mildew pit. I climbed up the ladder and peered over the ridge. It didn’t look too bad so I walked over to the spot I knew from the inside of the garage had the leak and started to sweep it off so I could roll the liquid patching material onto it. Soon I felt a squishy feeling under my tennis shoes.

A few sweeps later I stepped and crashed in up to my ankle. Slowly, carefully I pulled my foot out of the hole and crawled to the edge of the garage roof. I sat on the brick edge thinking that it didn’t look that bad from the outside. Still because of what just happened, I laid a board on the roof to walk out on then peeled back the shingles. Much to my chagrin, under the seemingly intact roofing, were water damaged rotten boards. Some places were rotted half way through the beams.

I had purchased $50 worth of patch material to hold the water back for the winter and was planning to take the morning to complete my patching job by noon. Two and a half days and $585 later we have a new roof on the old garage. We were late leaving for home, and spent more than quadruple our planned budget for the project. All that after our good friend donated the shingles so we didn’t have to purchase that part of the roofing. We have a standing joke at our old motel that whatever job you plan to do you should double the amount of time and triple the budget it will take to get it done. One thing about the motel, I have learned how to do so many repairs, plumbing, tiling, painting and now roofing, to name a few.

Sometimes I get the feeling our hearts are like that old hail damaged roof. From the outside, we look like we just need a few repairs. But lurking under our Sunday smiles lies a heart that is black and rotten and in serious need of an overhaul. Thank goodness our Savior is up to the task of heart overhauls.

He performed heart overhauls for the people of Israel and He will do it for us. Check out what God’s Word says in Ezekiel 11:18-20a: “I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh. Then they will follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws. They will be my people, and I will be their God.”

Just like the new roof will protect the treasures in the old garage until we can get in there and take care of them, so our hearts will serve us well after the Father goes in and does his magic of overhauling them. I can think of few things I want more for me and those I love than that… “They will be my people, and I will be their God.”

« Previous Page — Next Page »