Declaring My Dependence

By Kathi Macias –

June and July have always been my favorite months. I don’t know if it’s because they fall in the middle of the year or I just like the weather, but these two months tend to put a smile on my face.

June makes sense. After all, when you’re young, June means school is out and summer vacation begins, and it doesn’t get much better than that. But July kicks it up a notch for me, starting with all the celebrations associated with the Fourth.

Now I have to say that my husband grills the best steaks and tri-tips this side of anywhere, but my personal Fourth of July picnic-and-barbecue memories have made me a hamburger-and-hot-dog kind of girl. Even though we often went on Memorial Day outings at the end of May, the REAL summer activities didn’t seem to kick off until the Fourth. That’s when the company my dad worked for had these incredible picnics at the park that we kids looked forward to all year. There was dirt everywhere, so our mothers gave up yelling at us to stay out of it. Even better, there was a little stream that ran through the park—not deep enough that those same mothers forbade us to go near it, but just deep enough to be swarming with pollywogs. You wouldn’t believe how many of those disgusting little critters we’d scoop up into old canning jars filled with dirty water from the stream. Then we’d carry them home as trophies, swearing we’d take care of them and not let them die this year.

Another highlight of the annual outing was the food itself. All the moms brought their specialties, from potato salad to brownies to baked beans. Plus we all got to help make the ice cream, which was mouthwateringly good. But the meat was my favorite part. This is where I fell madly in love with barbecued hot dogs and hamburgers, because the only other alternative was venison steak. When I found out that venison was deer meat (which happened only weeks after my parents took us to the drive-in to see “Bambi”), I swore I’d never touch venison—ever! Thankfully the cooks offered the hot-dog-and-hamburger alternative, and those two items soon became my barbecue staples.

Of course, the best part of those Fourth of July celebrations came when the company picnic ended and the sun went down. That’s when we all piled into our cars and headed for a nearby spot where we could park in rows in the dirt, sit on the hoods of our vehicles or on blankets spread on the ground, and watch the FREE firework display. As we oohed and aahed that it was the best show ever, we were reminded—by many of the adults in attendance—that the glorious colors exploding in the sky were more than just spectacular entertainment. At least one parent always retold just enough of the story of America’s independence to keep the oohing and aahing in perspective.

“Freedom isn’t free,” someone would say. “Many paid a great price so you could sit here and enjoy all this. Some even gave their lives. You should always be thankful.”

I can’t help but wonder if that’s the reason I so love this time of year, and I’m sure it has a lot to do with it. But something else happened one July—the 5^th, as a matter of fact, clear back in 1974—that made this June/July season even more special for me.

It was the day I met Jesus, the day I declared not my independence, but my dependence, on the One who paid the greatest price imaginable so that I could be set free—not just here on earth, but forever with the Father.

And that puts it all in eternal perspective, doesn’t it?

It’ll Curl Your Hair

By Rhonda Rhea –

We’ve never been one of those families that sits around a campfire telling scary stories. Too creepy. Every once in a while, though, I have to admit I liked to frighten my teenage girls with one of the scariest stories I know. And it happened to me. It’s the story about when I was a little girl. And my mom….gave me (insert a maniacal “mwah-ah-ah” here)…a home perm. Cue scary dissonant organ chord.

I describe in gory detail how I had to spend several weeks looking like a dandelion, the other cruel children making wishes and blowing on my head. Frightening. Nothing can raise up a fresh batch of goose bumps like a story of evil Frankenstein-ish chemicals and a perm gone bad. What could be scarier than that first look in the mirror? You’re pretty sure you’re so frightened you’re hair is standing on end, but who could tell? And the smell? It would singe the hair right out of your nose. After hearing my dandelion story, I honestly think my girls would buy a home lobotomy kit before they would buy a home perm kit.

Didn’t I hear this comment about that bottle of perm solution?  “I’d rather have a frontal lobotomy than a bottle in front of me.” Yeah, that had to be perm related.

How many people do you know who seem to have found a lobotomy blue light special? So many seem to make every life decision pointedly and purposefully completely opposite what the Lord spells out for us to do in His Word. It’s like mocking His instruction! Now there’s a reason to fear. Proverbs 9:9-12 says, “Instruct a wise man and he will be wiser still; teach a righteous man and he will add to his learning. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding. For through me your days will be many, and years will be added to your life. If you are wise, your wisdom will reward you; if you are a mocker, you alone will suffer” (NIV).

Making life choices contrary to the Father’s instruction brings suffering. But choosing to live a life of obedience results in wisdom, blessing and reward. That life of obedience starts with the good kind of fear. Not the hair-curling kind of fear, but a humble, awed reverence for the holy, holy, holy God.

Knowing, fearing and following Him might not guarantee every day is a good hair day, but wisdom really does lead to more wisdom. It’s blessing becoming more blessing. The blessings lead right into our ultimate blessing when we’ll see Jesus face to face. There will be no more evil, no more pain, and no more tears. It’s an eternal life full of love and laughter. And none of our heavenly laughter will be that maniacal kind.

That’s a thought that almost always leaves me goose-bumpy. The good kind of goose bumps. Not the chemically inspired kind.

©2011 Rhonda Rhea

June Gloom?

By Kathi Macias –

Okay, if you recognized the term “June gloom,” you must be from California, right? Seriously, June gloom is a major weather phenomenon here on the West Coast, and I for one love it! Why? Because I live in the desert, and June gloom is our last buffer against a summer hot enough to fry your brain five minutes after the sun comes up in the morning. To say it gets hot out here in the California desert is like saying it gets cold in the Antarctic—an understatement if ever there was one.

So what exactly is June gloom? It’s the glorious gray, damp, chilly fog that rolls in off the Pacific nearly every morning from Memorial Day until almost the Fourth of July, holding temperatures down until the sun burns through it and starts heating things up by noon or so. But at least that gives us the morning hours to get outside, take walks, prune the roses, etc. Once that desert sunshine makes its entrance, forget it! We desert rats lock ourselves inside, turn up the AC, and don’t come out again until dark.

It wasn’t always like that, though. There was a time, eons ago, when I despised June gloom, but that was because I lived right on the coast—not anywhere near the desert. June gloom there lasted nearly six months out of the year, and that frigid blanket of damp gray seldom burned off, instead leaving everything cold and miserable—including everyone who lived there.

But we were kids then. When school let out the middle of June, nothing was going to keep us from heading for the beach and catapulting our skinny bodies into the icy cold waters of the Pacific Ocean. I was nearly twenty years old before I found out that blue was not my natural skin color and teeth weren’t supposed to chatter.

Then I got old. Seriously! I refuse to tell you how many times I’ve passed another twenty years and how distant a memory those “skinny bodies” we once took for granted have now become. And somehow, some way, my husband (who grew up in the same gray beach town) and I ended up living in the desert. Now we celebrate June gloom and weep when it disappears because we know what’s coming—115-degree days for about four months or so.

And yet, when that broiling summer sun finally sets in the evening, we’ve discovered that there is nothing to compare to the beauty of desert nights. Along with our neighbors, we crawl out of the woodwork at sundown and revel in the clear night skies, the clean air, and the un-crowded streets and towns we now call home. We’ve learned that home really is “where the heart is,” June gloom notwithstanding, which makes it all the more important that our hearts are focused on God and eternity. For that’s where our Home really is, isn’t it? And what a magnificent Home it will be! No need for June gloom to hold down the temps there, for we will at last be in the ideal place we’ve been yearning for all along.

I’m going to hold that thought as I work my way through this year’s June gloom season—and on into the stifling hot months to follow. After all, in the words of the late Rev. E.V. Hill, “This ain’t it!” And aren’t we glad?

Slightly Irregular

By Darren Marlar –

Hey, congratulate me… I just turned forty! (Two years ago.)

They say life begins at forty. Turns out they lied. As soon as I turned forty I started losing my hair (finding it on my butt).

I’m near-sighted and far-sighted. I’ve got eyebrows that look like tree branches. I have psoriasis on my cheeks (both sets). I’ve got high blood pressure, high cholesterol, acid reflux, hemorrhoids, irritable bowel syndrome, a toenail that looks like a Frito…

And my friends wonder why I get cranky? Really? How can you not be in a bad mood with irritable bowel syndrome? It’s right there in the name!

“How are you feeling?”

“Irritable!”

I’m both near-sighted and far-sighted. That means I can’t see things far away and I can’t see things up close. Isn’t that just blind? If you want to have a face-to-face conversation with me you have to be exactly three paces away.

As for losing my hair, I don’t think they should call it hair loss. That kinda makes it sound like it’s your fault that it’s gone, doesn’t it? Like somehow you’ve misplaced it? “Honey – have you seen my hair?! Well, it was right here on the back of the toilet lid!”

I see TV commercials promising a full head of hair – but then I see the side effects. Bad breath, body odor, tongue fungus. I saw this TV commercial that said, “Is Benephyne right for you? Ask your doctor.” But they didn’t say what Benephyne was for. It MIGHT be for hair loss, but it might be for excessive belly-button lint or elephantitis of the arm pits.

So I was at the doctor’s office and I asked, “Is Benaphyne right for me?”

“Well, Darren,” he said, “that’d be a question for your gynecologist.” So I have an appointment next Tuesday.

My mom says I’m “slightly irregular.” What she means is I’m not perfect. I wish she’d just say “not perfect,” because “slightly irregular” makes it sound like you’ve got a colon problem. Slightly irregular sounds like you’re seventy-percent off on the clearance rack.

But we’re all slightly irregular… and still, God has a plan for you anyway. We tend to think of ourselves as puzzle pieces: irregularly shaped with odd markings. Some of us, such as myself, are morbidly obese puzzle pieces. Painted pale. (If I was any whiter I’d be clear.) Puzzle pieces with no perceivable talents other than making people laugh and patronizing restaurants with all-you-can-eat buffets.

Others are smaller pieces, with different attributes, skills, and talents. But we are all equally important to completing the puzzle. No matter what the picture on the puzzle, the entire thing is worthless if even a single piece is missing, right?

God takes us, in the exact form we are, places us into the puzzle, and it turns out we aren’t slightly irregular. We’re perfectly irregular! We fit exactly into the hole God placed us in. We were perfectly shaped after all!

In fact, no other person who ever lived before you or who will ever live after you can fill that hole in the universe as perfectly as YOU can. That’s why God created YOU. He loves YOU that much. YOU are that important to HIS ultimate plan.

Jeremiah 1:5 says, “I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb… Before you were born I set you apart.” Do you know what that means? Even before you were conceived, God knew one day you’d be slightly irregular! He knew you would eventually become torn, ripped, ruffled and stained. But His stains cover yours, making you brand NEW.

And that’s something to remember the next time you feel out of place or useless. Or the next time you’re doing a puzzle. Or the next time your mother calls you names.

Mysterious Maladies

By Emily Parke Chase –

My toddler woke up with small red blotches covering his chest. Measles? An allergic reaction to a food? Poison ivy? What caused this mysterious rash? I wasn’t sure but my son was scratching vigorously.

We headed to the doctor’s office in search of answers. Entering the room, wearing his white lab coat, the doctor exuded an air of authority. He scrutinized each spot and asked a few questions. Then he pronounced his solemn diagnosis: “erythemia punctalis.”

My knowledge of Latin is limited but it was sufficient to translate this brilliant piece of medical insight. My son had “red itchy spots.” For this wisdom I could now proceed to the check-out desk and render up a co-pay. The spots disappeared on their own several days later.

Fast forward through twenty-three years of scientific research and medical advances.

One day earlier this winter, my son discovered that his torso was again covered with red itchy spots. He observed them over several days. They did not spread. But they did not go away. They itched and distracted my son whenever he wore a shirt.

Once again my son headed to the doctor’s examination room. Once again, an all-wise physician entered, exuding confidence.

My son removed his shirt to reveal the full extent of the rash. The doctor hemmed and hawed. He peered at the back and walked around to the front. With a sagacious nod of his head, he helpfully announced, “It’s pityriasis rosea.”

That is Latin for “inflammatory skin rash.”

“And what caused the rash?” my son asked.

“We don’t know what causes it.”

“How did I get it?”

“We don’t know. It is not contagious.”

“So it’s a mystery?”

“Oh, no. It is not a mystery. It’s pityriasis rosea.”

“But no one knows how I got it.”

“Right. It just happens to some people when they become young adults.”

“So it is a mystery.”

“No, no. I tell you it is pityriasis rosea.”

“How long will I have it?”

“No one can say. It might go away in a few days. It might last six weeks. It might come back again. No one knows.”

“So it really is a mystery, right?”

The doctor shook his head vigorously. “No, no! I told you it was pityriasis rosea.”

The wise physician removed his latex gloves, jotted a note on my son’s chart and walked out of the room.

And my son? He put on his shirt, picked up his paperwork and headed to the check-out desk to pay his bill. His rash cleared up after a few more weeks of therapeutic scratching.

Medicine with or without Latin — it’s a mystery.

“Laughter is good medicine for the soul” (Proverbs 17:22, paraphrased).

(The only thing contagious about this author is her sense of humor. Visit her at emilychase.com to learn about her books, such as Help! My Family’s Messed Up!)

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