Warm Underwear

Last night as we turned off the light and settled down under the covers, we were aware of the wind howling and roaring and rattling the windows.  It had begun to snow, and we remarked on how nice it was to feel secure in a safe home with sturdy walls and a protective roof, a reliable furnace, a comfortable bed and warm blankets.

I didn’t go to sleep immediately, and my mind took me back to childhood mornings when I awakened to howling wind and swirling snow outside.  Our house wasn’t always cozy warm, and I wanted to stay buried under the covers between the flannel sheets, which I called “softies.” 

On such mornings, my mother would come into my room, select a clean set of underwear for me, and hang it on the hot air vent in my room.  The furnace would be cranking out heat, and the blower would be sending it through the vent and into my underwear.  After a few minutes, my mother would hand the toasty warm underwear to me.  I would slide it under the covers, remove my pajamas and get into the warm underwear without leaving my bed.  Once enfolded in the warm fabric, I could force myself to fling back the covers and hastily put on my outer clothing.

Of course, no one had done this for my mother on those mornings.  She got up in the chilly house and put on chilly clothes.  She turned up the thermostat, so that the furnace would come on.  She fixed my Dad’s breakfast, packed his lunch, and off he went to work.  When it was time for me to get up for school, she did not come into my room, slobber me with kisses and say she loved me.  She handed me warm underwear.

It is easier to face the cold cruel world when you are wearing warm underwear.

It is easier to face the cold cruel world when your mother has shown her love, not just with words, but with sacrificial actions.

A Lesson in Giving

The sermon I heard this morning made me think of an experience I had when I was 18 or 19, that has influenced my attitude toward giving throughout my life.

I was really poor when I was in nursing school in the Chicago area.  I barely scraped by on the amount my parents sent me for spending money each month.  My Dad had told me that he would pay for nursing school, and I was on my own after that.  I knew if I wanted to go on to college, I had to earn some money, so when the opportunity came to work as a nursing technician after completing the first year of nursing school, I took it.  I could work on my days off and be paid and begin to save for college.

Obviously, nurses have to work on weekends, including Sundays, and there were many times I was required to work, but I pledged in my own mind and heart not to work on a Sunday if I could avoid it.  I had become active in a church in Oak Park.  I attended the services regularly, sang in the choir and participated in the college and career group.

As I was signing out, after working as a nursing technician one Saturday, the nursing supervisor asked me if I could please work again on Sunday.  She said they were terribly short-staffed and really needed me, if I was available and willing.  I hesitated, thinking of my commitment not to work on Sundays by choice.  But, I had the sense that the Lord was telling me to work and to give him the entire day’s pay.  I agreed to work and pledged within myself to contribute my earnings for that day.

At the time, the church I attended had a bus ministry.  I benefited from that ministry every time I went to church, as our nursing school dormitory was one of the pick-up points on the bus route. The bus needed to be replaced, and a well-to-do man in the church had promised to contribute half of the needed funds, if the other church members could come up with their half first.  I believed the Lord was leading me to contribute my paltry sum to this cause.

I worked that Sunday, and I kept my promise.  I handed the money to the pastor of the church and told him how the Lord had led me to give it.  A week or so later, the pastor contacted me, and said, “I thought you would like to know, that it was your contribution that put us over the half way point and triggered the donation of matching funds.”

That experience has influenced my attitude toward giving for over 50 years now.  If the Lord asks something of you, be quick to give whatever He asks.  You won’t regret it.  He will multiply your gift, and you will feel unbelievably blessed.

Tying the Perfect Bow

Yesterday after church, I ran into two ladies who were admiring the lovely and festive red and green dress a little girl was wearing.  One of them mentioned that when her daughters were little, it was my mother who had taught her how to tie the perfect bow at the back of a party dress.  I can believe this, but I also found it amusing, as I had not learned to tie the perfect bow from my own mother.

To be fair, learning to tie any bow was such trauma for me, that my mother was probably happy I could tie something functional and didn’t worry about appearance.  Learning to tie ones own shoes was a huge deal in my kindergarten class.  As soon as we could demonstrate our ability to tie our shoes, we were honored with a bow pinned to our blouse for the day to let everyone know of our achievement.  I was the youngest person in my class.  I actually was too young to start school, but I was such a pain at home, that my mother took me to school at the age of 4 years and 4 months and begged them to take me.  Although my brain was clearly ready to be occupied by something other than telling my mother how to run the household, my fine motor skills were more in line with my age and tying a bow was quite beyond me.  My mother later said that I spent most of my kindergarten year bemoaning my inability to tie a bow, and sometimes crying that I would never get to have a bow pinned to my blouse.  I was so ecstatic when I finally came home sporting that bow, that I’m sure my mother didn’t care whether my bows looked perfect.

Unfortunately, I didn’t learn the correct way to tie a bow until I was eighteen, and the person who taught me wasn’t very kind about it!  After high school, I went into a 3-year diploma nursing program.  That would be the old style of nursing education where one was a slave of the hospital.  As we rotated through various specialty areas, we spent time in the operating room.  One fateful day, I was the circulating nurse, and as such, it was my duty to tie the bows at the back neck and waist of the doctor’s surgical gown.  He entered the room with arms raised, having scrubbed, slipped into the gown and turned his back to me to have the bows tied.  I had no sooner tied the bow at his neckline than he began to berate me.

“What is the matter with you?  Have you no idea how to tie a bow?  Don’t you know the bow is supposed to end up cross-wise….not up and down?  Do you want it to tickle my neck all during the surgery?  Look at your own shoes!  You tie your own shoes the same stupid way!”

I looked down at my feet.  Sure enough, the loops on the bows ran parallel to the length of my feet, not from left to right.  I wondered how I could have gone all those years oblivious to this huge faux pas.  I obviously could not correct my shoes then, but I did correct the bow at the doctor’s neckline following his instructions.  When I got back to my dorm room, I experimented with tying my shoes, and discovered there really was a difference in the results depending on which end of the lace was used for the first loop and which was wrapped around.  Imagine that!!

Since I didn’t get married and have daughters until after nursing school and college, I had perfected my bow tying before I had to use it for special occasion dresses.  My daughters were saved the embarrassment of an inept mother.  Lucky for them, I ran into that cranky doctor.  Shoes often have Velcro now, but I’ve never seen it on a party dress.

Tide of Evil

The tide of evil rolls,

A dense black stream,

Tentacles spreading,

Toward my world.

Easy to ignore,

When it is other lives,

Other families engulfed,

Swallowed up.

Screams of grief

Muffled by distance

Barely heard

From my safe shelter.

But what if…

The shield cracks,

The toxic vapor

Diffuses here?

Will I cower,

Or be courageous?

Will I stand,

Or hide in terror?

Will I,

By the grace of God,

Be spared

Facing the evil?

Or

Will I,

By the grace of God,

Be emboldened

To walk through the fire?

God Isn’t Fixing This

The New York Daily News headline is absolutely right.  It’s not that God can’t fix the mess we are in, but we as a nation have not met the criteria for his involvement.  Television anchors murmur words about remembering the victims of the latest shooting in our prayers.  One wonders if they, or very many of those watching them, ever pray when there isn’t some tragedy about which we are all feeling horrible.

God, the Creator of the universe, who deserves our awe and reverence, cannot be prevailed upon to act on our latest wish or desperate plea.  He has spelled out very clearly what it takes for Him to intervene on our behalf.

If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.

                                     II Chronicles 7:14

Humble themselves

Pray

Seek His face

Turn from their wicked ways

We light candles and say prayers, but what about the rest of it?  Whoa….wait just a minute here!  You want me to humble myself?  To admit that I am a “sinner?”  Isn’t that bad for my self-esteem? To seek the face of a God I am not sure exists?  To put some limitations on my conduct?  Can’t I do whatever I please as long as it doesn’t hurt someone else?  What do you mean “wicked ways?”  I’m not as bad as many other folks.

If you want to resist these directives, fine, but if you do, don’t expect God to show up when you are frightened into praying!

It is, of course, ironic that liberals want to increase gun laws….that is, put a limit on the conduct of the populace.  They don’t want Christians to impose their standards regarding human behavior, but it is okay to impose the liberal agenda.  I do not own a gun and do not want to live with a gun in my home, but I do find that whole discussion a smoke screen for the real problems.  The problem isn’t guns.  It is the human heart and mind.

God has clearly spelled out the solution to our dilemma.  If we admit to our sins, pray for His forgiveness, seek His face for direction and stop doing those things contrary to His plan, He will show up. 

He does know how to fix this.

Marital Longevity

I woke up this morning thinking about all of the couples we know who have had marital longevity.  Specifically, I was listing off those we knew as young people prior to marriage, who have built enduring marriages that are obviously still characterized by commitment and genuine affection.

Some of this retrospect is probably related to having attended three fifty-year reunions during 2015.  At my fifty year nursing school reunion, I realized at one meal, that I had been the soloist at the wedding of everyone seated at our table.  Two couple were married 50 years ago, one 49 years ago, and Bill and I 47 years ago.  I can easily list off more than 10 couples of our acquaintance, whom we knew as singles, watched the courtship/dating years of some of them from close range, and were present at their weddings.  Decades have passed and these folks are still in love in spite of all that life has thrown at them.

The common factor in these relationships is that prior to marriage these people as individuals had a commitment to putting a relationship with God first in their lives.  They entered into relationships with their potential spouses prayerfully.  When they married, they did so truly believing that they could accomplish more for the Kingdom of God together than the sum of what they could do alone.

I understand that there are other approaches that result in marital longevity.  There are couples who come together selfishly and with no thought of God in their life, who manage to cling together without Him.  There are those who start out disastrously, who later find their unity within the context of a commitment to Christ.  But, this morning as I awakened, I thanked God specifically for those who by a miracle of His grace started out on the right path and have never swerved.  All have demonstrated a life of service.  Some are or have been missionaries or pastors.  Some have been life-long faithful church members.  Most have raised children with great love and care.  All are still looking for ways to serve the cause of Christ. 

All are still in love.  Something for which I am thankful.

Sonya or Johnnie....who cares?

Seriously, doesn’t the media have anything better to do than to worry about whether Ben Carson’s mother’s name is Sonya or Johnnie?  How ridiculous.

When I met a new family in our neighborhood years ago, I was amused to learn that only one person in the family of four went by his/her real name.  At some point, three of them decided they didn’t like their names and began going by something else.  The mother whose name was Sarah had gone through a hippie phase as a young woman and taken the name Heather.  I’m not sure of the reasons for the other three, but they all thought it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

In my own family, my father’s name was a great source of confusion.  He was told that his name was Charles Frederick and during his young life went by C. Frederick with the nickname of Fritz.  When he entered the Army during World War II, he was informed that he could not go by a first initial and middle name.  They changed his name to Charles F.  His friends then began to call him Charlie.  When he retired decades later, he was required to submit a copy of his birth certificate to obtain his pension.  He had never seen it.  He sent for a copy and was stunned to discover that his name was actually Frederick Charles.  He then began to use Frederick C. on documents.

After Dad died, when I tried to settle his affairs, I had to submit to the court a notarized affidavit describing why he had documents under the names Frederick C., Charles F. and C. Frederick.  Fortunately, no relevant documents used Fritz or Charlie.

Imagine my brother’s confusion, thinking he was Charles F. Jr. most of his life, and discovering there was actually no Charles F. Sr. 

No matter….he has gone his whole life by Bud.