Wait Until Dark

By Karen O’Connor –

My four-year-old grandson, Miles, walked from one room to the next in our new house––located not far from his home. My husband and I had moved from Southern California to Central Coast California to be closer to Miles and his family. So he was intrigued by our new digs!

“I like coming to your house,” he said, as he continued to survey each detail. “You have a nice big television and a nice little television. You have a nice room for kids to sleep in and a nice kitchen. And you have nice snacks.”

It was clear we had scored. According to Miles, everything about our house was nice.

His mother and I agreed that Miles would spend every Wednesday at our house. He referred to it as a “play day with Grammy.” Granddad got in on the act too, building figures with blocks and creating designs with wooden tiles.

I took Miles and his friend to the park or out for ice cream or to the airport to see the planes take off and land. We had many good times over the months of our weekly get-togethers.

Generally I drove him home in mid-afternoon, after picking up his older sister from school. On a couple of occasions he asked if he could stay till it was dark. The setting of the sun seemed to indicate to Miles that he really did stay at Grammy’s for a whole day. So we gradually put that practice into place.

Then one day when his parents had a party to attend, I offered to keep Miles for an entire day and evening—until it was really dark! While we waited for his mom and dad to return, I suggested he stay overnight. He had an extra stash of clothes at our house and we always have a spare toothbrush for guests.

“Miles, what do you think of the idea? We’d love to have you spend the night. And I’ll make you a great breakfast in the morning and then take you home.”

He looked at me with worried eyes. “No, Grammy, I can’t stay overnight. I’m too little.”

“Really?” I asked. “But you stayed till it was dark and that seemed to be all right.”

He nodded his head and continued with confidence. “I’m big enough to stay till dark but not big enough to stay overnight.”

I accepted his response. “It’s okay. We’ll try again when you’re older, okay?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I can’t sleep unless my family is all around me.”

I’ve decided to put off my question till he’s in college!

Sneeze-quake

By Rhonda Rhea –

I was born in Texas. We’re mostly big sneezers there. It’s widely accepted that Texans do everything bigger. No wimpy little “achoo.” No, that’s simply not “Texas” enough. My sneeze, for instance, comes out in sort of a “Yah-hoo!” Heavy on the “yah” and extra, extra heavy on the “hoo.” It could hardly get more Texan than that—unless maybe I roped and branded something in the middle of the sneezing.

My Texas sneeze has a heaping helping of reverberation in it too. It can give ringing ears to everyone within an eighth of a mile radius for a good ten minutes. My husband says my sneeze registers 8.7 on the Richter scale. He’s exaggerating, of course. It’s probably barely a 4.

But to top it all off, my husband also tells me I always sneeze in nines. I think it’s interesting that he accounts for all of them. But then maybe it’s a little like counting down a missile launch. Except that it’s more like a missile launch…times nine. He’s asked that I start yelling “Incoming!” before the first sneeze launches. I hate to say it, but reverberation is not always a good thing.

It is a good thing, though, when we’re launching the grandest of all proclamations. Here’s hoping we can add even more decibels in proclaiming the message of Christ to a hopeless world. We have the message they need. That’s hope that’s worth yahooing about. Hope not just times nine. Hope times infinity.

Hold back my sneeze? I’m pretty sure I’d explode. We can’t hold back the message either. Peter and John got that. “For we are unable to stop speaking about what we have seen and heard,” (Acts 4:20, HCSB).

How can we not share it? Jesus Christ went to the cross and suffered that cruel, humiliating death on the cross to make it possible for us to have a right, tight relationship with our holy Heavenly Father. Astounding. The sinless Christ on a cross, hated and shamed, bearing our sin. All for our redemption.

God didn’t keep secret His plan for getting the word out about that redemption. He chose us for the job. First Peter 2:9 says, “You were chosen to tell about the wonderful acts of God, who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light,” (NCV). The Father could’ve blasted the Good News over the most reverberating heavenly tweeters and woofers. He could’ve put it on YouTube. He could’ve beamed it over every satellite—or written in the stars, for that matter. He could’ve had the rocks cry out or used some sort of earthquake-attention-grabber. And He does so often use innovative ways to get His word out to those who need it. But the bottom line in His plan is for us to tell. What an honor it is to be included in that plan! That’s nothing to sneeze at, for sure.

And speaking of sneezes, you’re going to think I’m making this part up, but I started sneezing while I was writing this. Totally true. Mid first paragraph even. I haven’t seen the cat for over an hour.

The Glory of God on a Bun

By Kim Stokely –

Have you ever wondered why God gave us taste buds? If we were to ingest food merely as a way to get nutrition, to fuel our bodies, couldn’t He have made a bush that grew all-purpose super berries? Something that contained every vitamin and mineral we needed to survive?

Instead, the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, gave us tiny nodules on our tongues that register all kinds of flavors—sweet, sour, bitter and salty. I’ve come to the conclusion that He gave us these little bundles of sensitivity so that we could truly experience, in an internal way, His great and awesome splendor.

Think about it. A beautiful mountain vista or colorful sunset inspires praise. Handel’s Messiah sung in perfect harmony or a simple, but heart-felt worship song, can make us weep. The aroma of incense was an ordained part of worship in the Tabernacle. But what about taste?
I recently had the joy of experiencing the glory of God on a bun.

I sat on an unassuming dock, overlooking the calm waters of Long Island Sound, and took a bite of a plain hot dog roll overflowing with chunks of red and white lobster meat. As my teeth sunk into the bread and tender seafood, my mouth exploded with flavor. First, a savory burst of butter (my arteries are hardening just from the thought of it), then the subtle sweetness of the lobster. Time slowed as my taste buds reveled in celebration. I think I may have wiped away a tear of sheer happiness. Just as the Mayans believe their gods instructed them how to make chocolate, I believe God must have sent a dream to some unknown man so he would see that ugly, bug-like lobster and think, I wonder what would happen if I boiled that thing and soaked it in butter?

Surely everyone has experienced something like this at one time or another. A perfectly grilled steak, a decadent cheesecake or perhaps, a morsel of chocolate so rich and sweet you thought you heard angels singing as it melted on your tongue? When our taste buds encounter such flavor, they send out signals to the rest of our body−we shiver with pleasure, our hearts beat faster and, for a moment, everything is right with the world.

Ezekiel ate a scroll containing God’s word and claimed it tasted as sweet as honey (Ezekiel 3:3.) God’s word should not only educate us, but give us the same pleasure we experience when we eat a scrumptious meal or delectable dessert. It is not meant to be perused casually, but savored slowly, so we can revel in all He has to say to us.

The Bible commands us to “Taste and see that the Lord is good,” (Psalm 34:8.) I hope to do that each day as I read His word and as I return to that unassuming dock on Long Island Sound.

It’s Celebration Time

By Judy Davis –

My husband and I love celebrating our anniversary and my birthday in the mountains. Both of these special occasions are in the fall. We are staying at the Dillard House Inn located in the lovely mountains in Georgia. The Dillard House offers a variety of spacious, modern rooms with excellent and hospitable service. They have beautiful views of the surrounding mountain landscape. This time of the year the trees are stunning with the bright colors of autumn.

All rooms are within walking distance to the restaurant, stables, swimming pool and tennis courts. We enjoy eating delicious meals at the Dillard House. They serve a breakfast loaded with eggs, pork chops, ham, bacon, two kinds of sausage, grits, potatoes, gravy, pan cakes, cinnamon rolls and fried apple pies. They also have a fruit bar with the largest blackberries I’ve ever seen.

On the first day of our trip, we drove up to Black Rock Mountain. My husband’s driving is fine, but going around those sharp curves around the mountain make me a bit nervous. He looked over at me and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Holding on to my seat, shaking, looking down into the deep ravine, I whispered, “I’m scared.” It’s always a relief to get back to lower ground. I give thanks to God for His travel mercies. “Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name” Psalm 100:4.

Last year we celebrated our 45th wedding anniversary in Tennessee. We arrived in Pigeon Forge and checked in to our motel, the Inn by the River. It’s a lovely place and our room was so nice and cozy. We ate a delicious dinner at the Partridge and Pear restaurant. The Christmas decorations in the restaurant were delightful. After finishing our dinner, we walked next door to the Incredible Christmas Place to shop.

The next morning we visited the Apple Barn. They have scrumptious Homemade Apple Butter, Apple Fritters and Apple Julep and serve them with every Applewood Farmhouse meal. The landscape is magnificent with the mountains gleaming with all the bright colors of the rainbow!

Our last day we went to a wonderful dinner show called the Dixie Jamboree. The next morning we headed home enjoying our trip through the mountains around the Cherokee Indian Reservation in North Carolina. This truly was an anniversary and birthday never to be forgotten.

More than a Mascot

By Dawn Wilson –

Years ago, when my younger son played baseball for the Phillies’ minor league Batavia Muckdogs, I laughed as the mascot dog—now named Homer—entertained fans at Dwyer Stadium. He was clumsy and hilarious. These days, my older son sometimes dresses up as a mascot, Odin, for the Valhalla High School football team. I get a kick out of seeing him on the field, joking around and cheering on the team.

Mascots are adopted by teams as a symbols of groups and teams; but there are some strange ones: the Banana Slug, Sebastian the Ibis, Zippy the Kangaroo, the Boll Weevil. Maybe the strangest one is Stanford University’s unofficial mascot, “The Tree.” To quote one observer, “It looks like it was made with Elmer’s glue and construction paper by a group of first graders.”

Mascots supposedly bring good luck. (To watch some of the blooper videos on YouTube, I think the mascots need some luck of their own! They trip, fall, and generally make fools of themselves. One mascot jumped on a trampoline into a basketball hoop, and lost his pants before exiting the net!) We all love those crazy mascots. They’re great to have around, if only for a good laugh.

But some time ago, I read a statement by David Bryant that made me think about this word “mascot” in a far more serious light. “We often find ourselves making Jesus our mascot,” Bryant said, “instead of our Monarch. He’s around, but not in charge.”

“I’ve never done that,” I thought. But then the Spirit of God showed me ways that I have sometimes treated Jesus like a “lucky rabbit’s foot” or a magic “Jeanie in a bottle”—a good luck charm to keep me safe.

We may laugh at a mascot, but we’d never bow before one. We’re told in scripture, “that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow … and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord” (Philippians 2:10-11).

Jesus is not my mascot. Jesus is not, as some people say, my “Homeboy.” No, Jesus is Lord. He is Master. And just saying those words is not enough. Jesus told people, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 7:21). We show the world that Jesus is our Lord when we obey Him, when He is the center of our existence and we manifest His love throughout the world.

Jesus is my Lord because He is my very life (Colossians 3:1-4)—a life I have because He died for me. I can’t think of a mascot anywhere who would love me enough to die for me.

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