Popping, Snapping, Clicking, Whoosh!

By Liz Cowen Furman –

Our little motel near Yellowstone in Wyoming finally joined the 21st century. Armed with a grant to cover the cost, the telephone and power companies joined forces and installed new fiber optics and updated power cables.

When the men came to visit with me about their plan and how they would have to trash my big flower bed, they seemed so afraid to tell me. They were scared of my reaction. It was early August and my flower beds gush flowers during August.

What they didn’t know is that even though I was able to coax and cajole that particular flower bed to produce beautiful blooms, it had been quite difficult to do. Rocks, rocks and more rocks, an old tree stump and old water and power lines made it nearly impossible to turn over the dirt. When I heard they would be coming to dig it up I was so excited! Their shocked faces were priceless when I asked “How soon can you get here to begin?”

Finally, our day came. The men arrived early in the morning to warn me so I could transfer the perennials to holding crates until they were finished. I watched them as they began the process of gouging across the bed and through the drive.

Standing near the edge of the 5 foot-deep hole, I discovered that the old stump was actually an old telephone pole that had been sawed off. It was three feet long. No wonder I couldn’t dig it up.

The man running the back hoe was coaxing giant rocks out of the opening. Just as I was about to say how close he looked to the wires, we heard a popping-snapping-clicking sound, and then “WHOOSH”.

Black smoke and big flames sprang from the line as it snapped. The man standing in the hole with a shovel jumped out in one terrified leap.

We looked up just in time to see the same flames and black smoke enveloping the side of our motel. And then nothing. The power was out. Not just on our property but all over town.

I had guests arriving in a few hours and no electricity. Our motel is not posh, but we at least have electricity. We waited for the electricians to come check it out. It took several hours and what they discovered was that the old telephone box, the one that is no longer in use, took the hit for the entire motel. I couldn’t believe it. (Secretly, I had hoped for new wiring…ha ha).

The electricity was knocked out clear to the substation but in just a few hours they had us back online. Before the guests even arrived.

I couldn’t help but think how amazing it was that the box took the hit for the entire motel. It kind of reminded me of how Jesus took the hit for the entire human race. I am ever thankful for that fact, and ever amazed that he would die for my sins, before I ever committed them. He died for you, too.

Stepping on a Crunchy Leaf

By Kim Stokely –

There are two types of people in this world. Those who can simply walk down a sidewalk of fallen leaves, and those who must step on the crunchy ones.

I fall in the second category. I anticipate the opportunity each autumn brings to scuffle through the brightly colored foliage and listen to the rustle every step makes. Nothing makes me happier than spying a particularly puffy dried leaf and going out of my way to step on it. I love listening to its satisfying pop as I help it make its way back to the earth a little quicker. I refuse to be labeled a sadist, I am simply helping to complete the circle of life.

I know there are others like me. A friend of my daughter’s shared that her best and worst fall experience happened at the same time. Walking across the college campus on a particularly bright and brisk autumn day, she spied a huge pile of leaves. Overcome by their siren call, she raced toward the pile and jumped. Her happiness was quickly snuffed when she pulled herself out of the mass of foliage, only to spy a groundskeeper with a leaf blower, glowering down at her.

Alas, some people do not have a sense of humor.

Fall, more than any other season, brings out the kid in me. I long for hot apple cider and soft hooded sweatshirts. Pumpkin muffins and corn stalks. Warm blankets on chilly afternoons. I don’t know why this season, more than any other, speaks to my inner child, but it does. And for that I’m grateful.

Maybe it’s because the days are shorter that I seem to treasure them more. I pay attention to the color of the leaves and the sky, when at other times of the year, I am simply too wrapped up in my own thoughts to notice God’s creation.

Maybe it’s because I know I’ll soon be cocooned inside my house for the long winter, that I now find time to take an afternoon walk and thank Him for the gift of this world.

Perhaps it’s because, each autumn, I’m reminded of God’s unlimited grace. We live in a fallen world. One where our lives can often feel as bleak and gray as a rainy September day. But there is always the promise of the coming spring, just as there is always hope for our futures in God’s love.

So today, I shall walk outside and step on a crunchy leaf. And when I do, I will rejoice that I serve a merciful, loving, and gracious God.

Eye of the Beholder

By Dawn Wilson –

A dear old saint was sleeping, coming out of anesthesia after some tests in the hospital. His sweet wife sat close by his bed.

Suddenly, his eyes opened and he spoke to her in slightly slurred speech, “Oh, you are so beautiful, so lovely.”

His wife smiled, deeply flattered, and stroked his hand with love as he drifted back to sleep. Sometime later, he woke up and turned to look at his doting wife.

“Hi Cutie,” he said.

“Cutie?” she said. “What happened to ‘beautiful’ and ‘lovely’?”

“I guess the drugs must be wearing off,” he said.

“Oh, you,” she said, slapping his hand, and turning away with a grin.

Ever heard the maxim: “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”?

In every culture, people tend to measure themselves against unfair standards of “perfection,” defining beauty in narrow terms. Our vision of ourselves is subjective and limited; and some people grow up never recognizing or appreciating their own God-given beauty.

Just as our experiences of God’s creations are varied—consider a fragrant rose vs. a perky daisy, or enjoying majestic mountains vs. a sunset at the beach—human beings are also varied and unique. To appreciate the way God created us is to appreciate the artistry and wisdom of the Creator Himself.

I once knew a woman who was partially blind and “ordinary-looking,” according to some, but I felt she glowed with an inner strength that I so desired as a young girl. I often sat next to her, trying to capture her winsomeness and joy or learn from her vast store of wisdom. I saw beauty in her that went far deeper than appearance.

Certainly, a person can be beautiful on the outside and not so beautiful inside. The TV character Fred G. Sanford once said, “Beauty is only skin deep but ugly is to the bone.” I think his words define the core ugliness that comes from sin—a heart that turns from God, marred character and immoral conduct.

Though we are all “wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14 NIV), no one is completely beautiful this side of heaven. We all sin and are slowly falling apart until we die. We are marred images until God transforms us into the image of Christ (2 Corinthians 3:18).

All true, lasting beauty comes from God. “Beauty is fleeting,” the Bible says, “but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised” (Proverbs 31:30 NIV). No one escapes the signs of sin and aging, but true inner beauty thrives, including character, gifts, purpose, faith and all of the spiritual graces.

When the Father sees the redeemed, He sees His Son (Colossians 3:3-4; Romans 8:1; 1 Peter 1:3; Ephesians 2:13). And make no mistake, Jesus is beautiful. God declares us chosen, special, loved, free and so many other lovely blessings of being rooted in Christ (1 Peter 2:9, 1 John 3:1; Ephesians 1:3; John 8:36).

The faithful Christian’s desire will be to reflect Christ now and throughout eternity. “Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2 ESV). Though declared righteous in Christ, someday we will be perfected in Him, just as our Creator intended.

Truly, “in the eye of the beholder”—as we gaze on Jesus—we will be changed.

Follow Instructions, Use as Directed

By Rhonda Rhea –

If we actually follow the “lather, rinse, repeat” instructions on the shampoo bottle, won’t we end up stuck in a shower-time-loop for the rest of our lives?

Then again, if we read the directions on a lot of these products, we might instead just end up confused for the rest of our lives. Like the can of spray paint labeled, “Do not spray in your face.” Wow. Barely dodged that bullet.

Then there’s the blow dryer with the directions “Do not use while sleeping.” Again, whew—close one. And since we all seem to have such a difficult time figuring out how to grasp the complexities of the blow dryer, everyone will be relieved to know that there’s a blowtorch out there that actually says right on the label, “Not used for drying hair.”

I’m not sure why we’re especially confusable when it comes to getting good hair, but there’s also hair dye on a store shelf that gives the caution, “Do not use as ice cream topping.” And I thought I was a bad cook. I guess I must be at least better in the kitchen than some people because, believe it or not, there was actually a toaster that had to be labeled, “Do not use underwater.” Man. There goes all my underwater toast-making fun.

Even though I may never get to sit and enjoy my underwater toast, I’m okay with sticking to my convictions to remain a conscientious follower of directions. Lathering and re-lathering, it’s probably just a safer way to live. But so much more than any earthly directions, I want to do everything I can to ever-stick to my convictions to remain a conscientious follower of Christ.

In Matthew 4 we read about Jesus calling the first disciples to follow Him. “While walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. And going on from there he saw two other brothers, James the son of Zebedee and John his brother, in the boat with Zebedee their father, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him” (Matthew 4:18-22 ESV).

Simple directions? Not really. To follow these instructions they had to first let go of what they held on to for security. They had to let go of most everything they knew. Even people they loved. Yet each of the four “immediately” left nets, boat, father—way of life—and followed.

It’s still His instruction to us today. Leave the things that used to bring you security. Leave the shiny distractions that once completely held your fancy. Leave the people you used to devote your time and energy and heart to. And follow.

Following Jesus in the complete abandon He calls us to is to enter into a surrender-loop for the rest of our lives. Love, follow, repeat.

Following Him. Lather or no lather, there’s no safer way to live. Really live. Even if you never obey the other labels. Though I have to tell you, I hate to imagine anybody failing to follow the directions on the mattress that read: “Do not attempt to swallow.”

A New Red Light District?

By Liz Cowen Furman –

Brick Red. How hard can it be? Much to my chagrin, I discovered that when one goes to a hardware store to choose and purchase paint it is wise to look at the color before leaving the store.

We were in the middle of the rebuild of our little family motel near Yellowstone in Dubois, Wyoming and had at last come to the painting of the garage. I posted a before picture to our Black Bear Inn Facebook page. We tore out the dilapidated old dog fence left by the previous managers, sent piles of detritus to the dumpsters, scraped, washed and vacuumed the building in preparation. I even found several perfect planters at a garage sale to put around outside and filled them to brimming with petunias that would make the place look inviting to our guests as they ate the s’mores we serve by the river campfire nightly.

After much deliberation, it was decided that we should paint the old cinder blocks brick color with white trim. You know that dark burgundy-ish old brick color.

My nephew, Jake, and I went to the closest lumberyard-only seventy-four miles away!- that carried five gallon jugs of paint, picked out the beautiful sample and commissioned a nice gentleman with the task of turning our world red.

When picking up the finished product I noticed that the sample he put on the color swatch wasn’t quite the color we had ordered but I assumed it must still be wet.
When we commenced painting, the color was very orange. Almost glowing orange. I so wish we could post pictures with these articles as that would be the laugh of the day. We kept saying, “It will dry darker.” But it did not.

The next Saturday, when I went to pick up my Bountiful Basket my dear neighbor asked if we were opening a new “red light district” over at the motel. It practically glowed orange. Ugh.

Since the garage needed two coats of paint I decided to give the guys at the lumberyard another chance. I went in and showed them a picture of my swarthy garage on the iPad. The man who waited on me was mortified; he assured me the next 5 gallons would be the correct shade.

When I picked up the finished jug this time I inspected the color closely. PINK. I couldn’t believe it. The woman at the desk said it is “the best they could do.” I politely explained that we could not have an orange OR a pink garage. So I left empty handed.

A few days later on a trip to Casper a nice man at Home Depot mixed the perfect color for me. It was the exact right color, that is until I painted it over the orange, at which point it turned an interesting shade of brown. I’m thinking the pink might have been better.

Now we have a rather different colored garage. I am amazed, but the new shade is growing on me.

The motel teaches me lots of lessons. This week’s was to go with the flow. I am learning to not sweat the small stuff, and with the exception of a very few things it is all small stuff. I love a saying my Dad would use when we were growing up and things would go wrong: “If this is the worst thing that happens to us today we are set.” He was right.

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