Script for a Horror Movie

Amos, as inspired by God, wrote a horror movie script…who knew???  The scenario described reveals a man running away from a lion.  He is catching his breath feeling relieved that he has escaped the lion, when out pops a bear!  Running from the bear, he reaches his home and shuts the door supposing he is at last in a secure place.  He leans against the wall in exhaustion.  Uh-oh!  A snake swings down from the rafters and bites him!

The judgment of the Lord is certain.  It may not come on the time table we expect, but it will come.

Why?  The people described in Amos are religious without sincerity.  They make a show of their rituals, but have no genuine care for the poor and needy.  They may pretend to worship, but give no thought to what is right and just.  They are consumed by pride in themselves and complacency regarding anyone else.  They use every method available to advance their own cause, not caring who is harmed in the process.

Amos watched what went on around him with grief, as do many genuine believers today.  We look around and see many of the same characteristics in our society.   People in our culture seem focused on being entertained and having material possessions.   Except for an occasional spasm of conscience, so little thought is given to the poor and suffering in the world. 

Repentance would be preferable, but, I am afraid that the lion is coming, followed by the bear and the snake.

The Dollhouse

When I was just a little girl...about 65 years ago...my grandfather made me a dollhouse.  It wasn't just any dollhouse, because my grandfather wasn't just any grandfather.  He was an unusually creative man.  It was Grandpa, not Grandma, who decorated for holidays, hand-painted Easter eggs, and according to my mother, made Halloween costumes when she was a child.  How I wish that the Christmas village scene he created for the mantle had been preserved.  I remember standing on tiptoes as a child peering into the house where a tiny man sat reading a newspaper next to a decorated tree and into the church where the racks on the pews held tiny hymn books.  The mailman walked down the street carrying a sack of tiny envelopes.  I have no idea what became of that treasure which pre-dated by many years the commercial Christmas villages available in stores.

My dollhouse, on the other hand, languished in my parents' basement for years...I'm not sure I even knew it was there.  by the time it was moved to my basement, my daughters were pretty well grown, and I knew my son wasn't interested.  Many times, I said that someday I would refurbish the dollhouse.  I am a grandmother, and three granddaughters (ages 9, 8 and 6) will be at my home on Thanksgiving Day this year.  I decided it was now or never, so over the past couple of months, I have spent a huge amount of time renovating the dollhouse.

After the remodeling was complete, and the kit of furniture assembled, I was still searching for items to make it seem like a real home...tiny dishes, pots and pans.  My sister-in-law reminded me that her mother (my mother-in-law) had loved dollhouses and had quite a collection of such items.   She passed away 2 years ago and her stash of dollhouse goodies is still in "the nursery" of the home in which my 96 year old father-in-law now lives alone.  What a treasure trove!  I found a tiny china tea set, a frying pan, tea kettle, some dishes, candlesticks, and a couple pieces of furniture that were the right size.

Today it is completed and set up in my living room awaiting some creative play.  I doubt that it ever occurred to my grandfather that someday, I would restore the dollhouse.  I hope he would be proud of me and pleased that I have added my creativity to his.  I think he would be delighted that his great-great grandchildren will play with his handiwork.  


I adored my Grandfather and working on this project has been an act of love for him and for my grandchildren.

The Hand Unseen

The hand unseen weaves quietly,

The fabric of my life.

Each fiber hand-crafted,

Colored and formed by the Master.

The hand unseen soothes gently,

The turmoil that surrounds.

Touching my fevered brow,

With a cooling holy calm.

The hand unseen pushes firmly,

As I fearfully take a step,

On a path unknown to me,

But plotted out by Him.

The hand unseen works swiftly,

Laying out the next tile,

Of the winding pathway,

His omniscience, my faith combining.

The hand unseen covers securely,

When the winds of life howl,

When the piercing cold or heat,

Threatens my spirit’s survival.

In astonishment I stand before,

In gratitude I bow to,

In relief I lean against,

The loving unseen hand.

Getting By

Today in the grocery store, I felt a twinge of sadness as I passed an elderly couple.  A small stooped over woman pushed the cart.  She was clearly in charge of the shopping expedition.  A thin man with a dazed expression walked along behind her.  She had tied a rope onto the cart, and he was clinging to the rope.  I have often seen a group of preschool children out for a walk hanging on to a rope to keep them together.  I have never seen this used for an elderly person before.

I suspect that she is mentally alert, and he is not.  He probably wanders off, so having him hold the rope is her way of being able to concentrate on her purchases and not lose him.  On the one hand, you have to admire her resourcefulness and independence.  On the other, life must be a struggle for her.  Although frail herself, she is the care-giver.  He is oblivious to her needs and even to his own.

I found myself hoping that they have someone who pays attention to them…checks up on them…someone who would be aware if her physical frailty got to the point of making her unable to compensate for his mental frailty.

I had a great-aunt and uncle who found themselves in similar straits.  He was weak physically but mentally alert.  She was developing increasing dementia, but seemed physically stronger.  They had no children to watch out for them.  Each one confided in my mother that they were hanging on in order to take care of the other.  My mother did not live near them and worried about them.  They died within 24 hours of each other.

I came home and told my husband about the couple in the grocery store.  We laughed picturing ourselves in those roles.  We agreed that if he ran off, I would never be able to catch him, so a rope just might be necessary. 

Something to look forward to…..

Of Nebuchadnezzar and Ozymandias

Every time I read the story of Nebuchadnezzar and his golden image in the book of Daniel, I think of the poem Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley. And, whenever I see the poem, I think of the story. I wonder if Shelley wrote the poem, because he was aware of the story.

Nebuchadnezzar thought himself to be the greatest king. He had some reason for this, because one of the dreams which Daniel had interpreted for him concerned a statue with a head of gold. Daniel had explained that Nebuchadnezzar’s kingdom was the head of gold and that the inferior materials in the rest of the statue represented inferior kingdoms. Of course, Daniel had also made it clear that his ability to interpret the dream was a gift from the one true God who was in control of human history. It was only this God who was (and is) worthy of worship.

Nevertheless, Nebuchadnezzar’s opinion of himself was so inflated that he had a ninety foot image of himself made and erected in an open plain. It was not just the head of this image that was gold, but the entire thing. Everyone was to bow down to the image on penalty of death in a furnace. Nebuchadnezzar thought himself to be a god worthy of such reverence.

Of course, neither Nebuchadnezzar nor his statue has endured. If his golden image still existed today, it would be a major tourist attraction and an artifact of incalculable value!

Consider Shelley’s poem:

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

The megalomaniacs of human history have come and gone. Each, in his time believing himself to be invincible, has succumbed to the same fate as every commoner. It will continue to be so. The names of today’s famous athletes, entertainers, government leaders, business titans and other news makers will someday be unknown.

But…one day every knee will bow and every tongue confess the one who genuinely is invincible and whose value is far above gold. (Philippians 2:10-11)

The Tale of a Tree

Over 25 years ago, my husband returned from running errands on a Saturday morning with a cup of coffee and a “tree” from McDonald’s.  McD’s was giving out the trees with each cup of coffee that day.  The tree was actually a little slip of evergreen about 7 to 8 inches long.  I asked my husband to plant it in view of our dining room window between our house and the neighbor’s house.

When our son was 4 years old, an ice storm weighed down branches and resulted in many broken limbs.  The swing set disappeared under the downed branches of a maple tree.  Our son sat looking out the dining room window at the evergreen which was by now about 4 feet tall.  Observing its heavy laden and drooping branches, he said, “I have to go outside and help that little tree.”  He bundled up and crunched through the snow.  I watched as he gently shook the ice from the branches of the tree, allowing them to spring back into a more normal position.

Seven years later, my mother had a massive stroke.  We cleaned out the dining room and put in a hospital bed.  She lived with us the last 5 months of her life, requiring round the clock care.    I put lights on the tree which was now a good size for a Christmas tree.  I had to use a ladder to put the lights near the top.  I was happy that the tree was there for her to see from her bed.  She died 2 days before Christmas.

In subsequent years, my father lived with us.  I plugged the lights in yearly as the tree grew taller and stretched the lights as far as they would go.  My father barely noticed.  He sat in the room that had once been our dining room with the drapes closed most of the time.  Eventually I had to remove the lights because the tree had grown too much for me to climb that high and the lights were also stretched too far.

The tree is now 30 feet tall, and we no longer live in that house, but when I pass by, I wonder how long it will be before someone with no sense of the tree’s history will decide to cut it down.  It would be no great loss to anyone else.  But, no one can take the memories from me.

Ride of Restoration

I wanted to get out of town today.  I felt burdened with the problems of others and unsure of my role in trying to help.  I would do the “right” thing, if I only knew what that was.  So, I got in the car and headed toward our cottage on Delta Lake.  My excuse was that two families have used the cottage since I was last there.  I wanted to be sure the pillows were stored in the plastic bins, the refrigerator door was left open, no garbage was in the cans for mice to find, and I wanted to leave some D-Con for the mice if they should come looking.

Today has been a beautiful autumn day…clear blue skies and temperature around 70.  My drive took me over the Tug Hill Plateau where a colorful display is beginning.  In some areas, trees are only starting to turn colors.  Most of the tree is still green, and only the edges seem to be “rusting.”  In other areas, there is a riot of color….bright reds, oranges, and yellows with dark evergreens pointing up through the palette.  The unharvested corn stands straight in the fields in hues ranging from green through yellow to brown.

I saw three horse-drawn Amish rigs.  I knew ahead of time that I was coming up on them, because I saw the horses’ calling cards along the road. Smoke from a wood fire curled from the chimney at the Amish schoolhouse.   I also saw a flock of wild turkey, and a skinny looking fox that caused me to brake when he ran across the road in front of me.  Some of the turbines in the wind farm were moving, others were still against the blue sky.  At times I could see the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains in the distance beyond the Black River Valley.

Apple and chestnut trees had dropped their fruits, which had rolled onto the shoulder of the road decorating it with red and green balls.  Next to the shoulder were wild flowers in yellows, purples and white.  Most of the yellow was allergy-inducing ragweed, which isn’t all that attractive close up, but from a distance the color is lovely in contrast to the purple.

I used to spend such travel time singing non-stop, but since I can now barely croak, I did some whisper-singing. 

I cast all my cares upon you.

I lay all of my burdens down at your feet.

And anytime I don’t know what to do.

I will cast all my cares upon you.

And I discussed my concerns with God.  I thanked him for the beauty of the world He created.  I asked Him how soon will He return and “make the crooked straight and the rough places plain.”  I wondered, “If I were to die today, what would happen to the people who think I should solve their problems?”  Then I thought that the corollary to that is “If I don’t die today, what am I to do?”

I am back home, and I don’t have any specific answers….just an assurance that God is in control, and He knows the next step on my path.