Termite Ridden Heart

By Liz Cowen Furman –

My Mom lives in southern Colorado. She bought an old house that in the 1920s served as the corner grocery store. We were so happy for her. Her new home featured large front display windows with seats, an old fashioned cellar that once stored canned goods, lots of built in cabinets, and old seasoned hard wood floors throughout. However, in the first year after she purchased her home she realized it had been “flipped.”

A realtor purchased it in foreclosure, did a few cosmetic fix-ups and purposely hid some dire flaws. He then paid off the inspector and sold it to my Mom.

Half way through the winter, my husband had to re-plumb the entire house because the pipes froze. When we finally dug a way into the crawl space we discovered the realtor had boarded up and carpeted over the real basement entrance to hide that he had plumbed it with plastic irrigation pipes. He set a space heater near them turned on “high” to keep the pipes from freezing the first winter. We wondered why that first summer and fall was so hot in Mom’s living room. Once the space heater burned out and winter hit—frozen pipes. What was worse to discover in her crawl space than the frozen pipes, was the termite ridden foundation.

My sister, who lives near my Mom, tried to hire a local attorney. She discovered that the good ‘ol boy system was in full swing as no one would touch a case against this well-connected realtor.

So, we hired an attorney in Denver to write a threatening letter requesting he fix the problems. We promised to go public if they refused. Long story short, he fixed the foundation and other things. My Dave had already done the plumbing.

You can imagine the conversations in our home during that time. Many were in front of little ears we didn’t even realize were listening.

One afternoon, after his nap, our Matthew, then three years old, (now eighteen) came to me at the dining room table with his piggy bank in tow. He dumped the entire contents onto the table. There must have been twenty dollars in small change. He looked up at me with a big grin and said, “There, that sood fix Gama’s fandation”. He wasn’t old enough to say the words right, but he understood that “Gama BJ” was in trouble and thought he could fix it.

I can see why Jesus says for us to have the faith of a child. Children haven’t lived long enough to be poisoned by the world’s view. Matthew had money. “Gama BJ’s” foundation needed money to fix. Problem solved. He was willing to give all he had to help her.

We put his money in a box and sent it to her explaining that Matthew, all on his own, decided to send his piggy bank contents to fix her house. She cried.

But you know the amazing thing is that Matthew always has money. He often gives to help someone, yet he never seems to run out. I’m thinking God blesses a cheerful, helpful giver. In these tough times, when so many we know are struggling, I am often asking God to show me how to be more like His son. And, I am reminded of our son Matthew.

And, once in a while, I still pray for God to fix the termite ridden heart of a certain realtor in southern Colorado. Though I don’t know, maybe He already has.

A Cheerful Heart

By Judy Davis –

Laughter is good for the soul. Barbara Johnson author of “Mama, Get the Hammer! There’s a fly on Papa’s Head!” encourages the reader to look for laughter in the face of adversity.

It’s how you respond to the difficulties in life and Barbara Johnson has had her share. She lost two sons: one in Vietnam and the other in a car accident. Her third son vanished after informing her that he was a homosexual. Through the pain, she started a ministry of love to help other parents on the road to recovery.

She has staked her life and her ministry on the healing power of a positive outlook. She zeros directly in on the therapeutic benefit of a smile, a giggle, and a good old-fashioned belly laugh. She insists that laughing in the face of adversity is not a form of denial, but a proven tool for managing stress, coping with pain, and maintaining hope.

Barbara wrote, “Humor is to life what shock absorbers are to automobiles.” Enjoy the little things. One day you may look back and realize…they were the big things.

Karl Menninger, a well-known psychiatrist, was answering questions from the audience after giving a lecture, and one man asked, “What would you advise a person to do if he felt a nervous breakdown coming?” Most of those present expected Menninger to reply, “Consult a psychiatrist.” But to their astonishment he said, “Lock up your house and go across the railroad tracks to find someone in need. Then do something to help that person.”

We have been friends with Linda and Bill for over 40 years. Linda had a stroke several years ago and is on oxygen. She loves for me to come and sit with her. We go over and over the many memories of long ago. She can remember things that I can’t. She said, “You are like a ray of sunshine and minister to me in so many ways.” I try to make her laugh at some of the things we did in the past when we were much younger. But she is the one who makes me laugh most of the time.

Always remember: for everything that goes wrong, there are 50 to 100 blessings. Count them. One word or note brings more encouragement than a thousand thoughts never expressed. “God has not promised sun without rain, joy without sorrow, peace without pain.” (From the hymn What God Hath Not Promised, words by Annie J. Flint.)

If you need a good laugh, go to the book store and buy any of Barbara Johnson’s bestsellers.

Laughter is to life what salt is to an egg. Take time to laugh at your mistakes.

“A cheerful heart does good like medicine, but a broken spirit makes one sick” (Proverbs 17:22).

I Hab a Code

By Jodi Whisenhunt –

Achoo! Bless me. I mean, excuse me. I hab a code, er, I have a cold. It’s a good thing I don’t use voice recognition software right now, because I hardly have a voice, and what does squeak out is a bit jumbled. The computer would likely transcribe it in Jabberwocky. You know, “’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves / Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; / All mimsy were the borogoves, / And the mome raths outgrabe.”

When I was in high school, I wrote a research paper on Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland and its sequel, Through the Looking Glass, focusing on the books’ oddities and their real life parallels. Back in those days, word processors were brand new and very expensive. We lived on my mom’s single-parent income, so I had to rely on my trusty typewriter to prepare assignments.

As I typed my first draft, I chose not to hit “backspace.” I just kept on going even when I knew I’d made an error. That drove my internal editor crazy, but I persevered until I finished the task. Then, I sat back and read it aloud and laughed until I cried. The whole thing was Jabberwocky!

I considered turning the paper in as it was. I thought surely the teacher would appreciate my efforts to authenticate the theme by speaking Carroll’s own language, but in the end, I chickened out and handed in a clean, error-free version. I guess I made the right decision, because that one scored an A+.

I’m just so glad the Lord understands me no matter how I sound. I may hab a code, I may type without backspacing, I may mumble, stammer or “uh,” but my heavenly Father knows what I mean. “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will” (Romans 8:26-27 NIV). Look, “…the Spirit himself…groans,” and the Lord gets it.

Of the Jabberwocky poem, Alice replied, “Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas—only I don’t know exactly what they are!” But you know what? Whether I speak English, Spanish, French or Jabberwocky, I can rest in confidence my Lord knows exactly what I am saying and that my prayers are heard.

Tongue, Be Thou Loosed

By Carol Barnier –

Welcome, friends, to Church Speak Recovery Class. My name is Carol. [Hi, Carol.] And I’m a recovering addict of church speak. Yes, friends, for years I suffered from an acute addiction to the compelling lure of church language. Its grip on me and my tongue was so tenacious that it could emerge at any time.

“Why, Laura, come in and have a muffin. Would you like a proper exegesis with that?”

While trying to live for the Lord, my uncontrolled use of the best practiced and most historically accurate of church terminology often puzzled people, in some cases, moving them further from the very God I wished them to know. I often saw the confusion spreading across their faces as I shared my thoughts of grace, mercy and ecclesiastical catechesis — and, yet, I was clueless as to what I had done to produce the wrinkled brow and baffled expression that regularly met my eager gaze.

Luckily, a mentor emerged to show me the error of my ways. “Carol,” he kindly said, “You do understand that the person you were speaking to believes Total Depravity is a headbanger group from the 90s?”

It was then that I realized the need for change. Yes, friends, it took years to jettison my vocabulary of words unknown to many and, thus, basically worthless in attempts at actual communication. But, with Yahweh’s divine intervention, … I mean, with God’s help, I began.

I started small, and, by that, I mean Big. Big words were the easiest to locate and remove. Propitiation. Apostate. Dispensationalism. In fact, if the word ever appeared in any one of the Confessions, or was listed in a seminary dictionary, or possessed more syllables than the gears of my car, it was now set aside.

The harder task was to remove the little words, words that while easy and simple to utter, were still unknown in concept to many people.

For example, I might say something seemingly plain, such as …
“Sin entered world, which caused the fall of creation. So, God sent a sacrifice to take on our sin, and that’s the plan of salvation” (hear the lyric beauty of the rhyme).

Seemed clear to me. But what people actually heard was …

Glorp entered the world, which caused the floogery of nim-cloppidge. So, God sent a ramdoozle to take on our Glorp. And that’s the drission of interpillionism.”

Big sigh.

I’m reminded of a song of the Shakers — ‘Tis the gift to be Simple, ‘Tis the gift to be free. I couldn’t agree more. It would indeed be a gift if I were able to speak simply, clearly, with no loss of meaning. And it certainly would be freeing, most especially for anyone listening to me. C.S. Lewis felt the pull of this simplicity goal, as well. His BBC radio lectures (yes, the same BBC that eventually brought you Monty Python) on the basics of the Christian faith were an attempt at simple, clear understanding of some rather weighty concepts. So successful was his work that many came to faith as a result, and the subsequent book, Mere Christianity continues to be standard reading, even 50 years later. It is to such simplicity and clarity that I aspire…as well as to a best seller that sells well for half a century.

Of course, if you ever miss the good ole’ days when you could speak your mind without a single edit and produce that puzzled look on the face of your listener, you can always briefly drop back to your old ways. Start chatting up someone in the grocery line and tell ‘em it’s all under the blood, or don’t cast your pearls before swine, or that they should perhaps put out a fleece. Gets ‘em every time.

The Trouble With Words

By Kim Stokely –

Don’t get me wrong. I like words. All kinds of words. I like how they help me communicate with people, whether through writing or speaking. The best thing about words is the way they sound as they make their way past my lips. Some words are more fun to say than others. “Muffin,” for example, is an amusing word. What’s not to love about that “m” sound combined with those two “f”s? You know what’s even better? The word “waffle.” Say it a couple of times. Really play with “w” and “f” sounds, and I’ll bet you’ll be smiling.

The trouble with the word “waffle” is that can mean two different things. In one instance, it refers to a yummy breakfast treat smothered in either syrup or fruit and whipped cream. (This is, in fact, my favorite meaning of the word!) Sometimes it’s a verb meaning you are struggling between two choices. Very rarely will you confuse the two unless you happen to be at an IHop, waffling between ordering waffles or pancakes for breakfast.

Context becomes important when we use words that have double meanings. A friend of mine found that out recently after she was involved in an accident on the freeway one Sunday morning. When the car in front of her stopped suddenly, my friend braked in time to avoid the collision. The person behind her, however, did not. The police arrived, discerned no one was seriously injured, then began questioning those involved.

“Ma’am,” the policeman asked my friend. “Have you been drinking?”

“Yes,” She replied.

The cop gave her a strange look. “How many drinks have you had?”

She thought for a moment. “A glass of orange juice and tea with breakfast. At least two bottles of water and─” She caught the policeman’s bemused face. “Oh! I thought you were asking if I was hydrated today!”

For my friend, a bicycling enthusiast and a Christian, the idea of drinking alcohol on a Sunday morning was such a foreign concept that she naturally assumed the policeman was concerned about her being dehydrated. For the policeman, alcohol and accidents coincide so often that he had no trouble believing a person could be drunk so early in the day.

I try to remember this lesson in context when I speak to others about my faith. I have to be aware of what colors their perspective of God. Even a word like “sin” has different meanings to different people depending on their own past and present experiences. But “love” and “acceptance” are words that most people understand. If I start on common ground with our need as human beings to be loved and accepted for who we are, I find people to be much more receptive to the other words I speak about God.

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