Fishing

The lake was gorgeous after the cool of the early spring morning. Norma Jean and I stirred up lemonade and fixed a large thermos of coffee while the men retrieved the fishing rods from under the deck. When we women walked down to the beach area, I could hear Wally and his father mumbling a foreign language of crappie plugs, long jig shanks and minnows. Norma Jean, Wally's mother, set the drinks on a tiny garden table in the sand and motioned for me to follow her up under the deck. We found four ratty lawn chairs and soon were lining them up parallel to the water's edge. She sat in the far left chair, right beside the drinks table, and as I sank down beside her, she handed me a glass of lemonade, my preferred poison when I was that age, one month past twenty-one.

I sipped absentmindedly on the tart treat while watching Wally with my full infatuation. He baited a hook with a minnow, something I thought extremely cruel and yukky in principle, but when done by him seemed almost heroic. Then he walked towards me with the fishing rod. "Stand up and I'll teach you to cast," he said.
"Cast?" I was new at this fishing thing and not at all sure I wanted to learn to cast. After all, baiting the hook had been pretty disgusting.
"Yeah, silly, cast. You don't have to look so petrified - it's easy."
So I stood up and walked nearer to the water. I wondered if he would do the stand behind my back and put his arms around me to teach me kind of thing. I almost swooned thinking about it and then remembered his parents and said loudly, "I'm not scared. Of course it's easy."
"Shhh," the men rebuked. "You'll scare the fish away."
"And that would be bad?" I grinned just a little, tilting my head to see if his mother would grin, too. She did.
"Joy." Wally wasn't grinning. "Do you want to learn to fish, or not?" Of course, I knew what he really meant was I want you to learn to fish because I like fishing and fishing is fun and later you women can clean this fish and cook it for us.
"Yes, yes, I do," I fibbed.
So began the lesson on casting, and after about fifteen tries, I finally cast far enough out to leave the line in. Then I sat down in my chair like Mr. Irwin had done long before, right after his first cast landed way out there. As soon as I was settled, Wally threw his minnow-weighted line way out there, too, and slowly sat. I handed him a glass of lemonade and asked, "What do we do now?"
"Wait."
"For what?"
"For a fish to bite."
"How long do we wait?"
"Well, as long as it takes."
"How long is that? What do we do while we wait?"
"What do you mean, 'do while we wait'?"
"Well, I don't know. You're the one who fishes, not me."
"We just wait, quietly."
"Oh."
At this, I turned to Norma Jean who was staring into her coffee as if there might be some message from God in the bottom of the cup. She wouldn't look me in the eye, so I knew she had known all along I was going to hate fishing. She just hadn't had the nerve or the heart to tell me.

Just about that time, I felt a gentle tug on my fishing pole. "I - I think I got a fish," I stammered.
"Really?" Wally was incredulous. "You?"
"Yeah, look, it's pulling on my line!" My voice was rising even as I was rising out of my chair.
Wally hopped up beside me, softly barking instructions. "Give the rod a sharp jerk, and then reel the baby in."
I jerked on the line a little less than sharply so as not to hurt the fish too much Then I deftly turned about face while placing the rod over my shoulder like an infantryman's rifle. I marched up the beach towards the house, keeping my eye over my shoulder so I could see when the fish cleared land. When I had him up even with the chairs, I dropped the rod and raced back towards the others, yelling, "I caught a fish, I caught a fish!"
Norma Jean just stared at me with mouth agape, but the guys whooped and guffawed, slapped their knees and shouted.
"Shhh," I warned, "you'll scare the other fish away." Then I leaned down to take a look at my first fish ever. It was covered in sand but beautiful all the same.

Jesus said, "Follow me and I will make you fishers of men." We don't have to know how to do everything just right in order to tell someone about Jesus. We just need to do it because every soul is beautiful to Christ, even the sand-covered ones.

Bedbugs

Have you listened to the news lately? One of the stories from a few days ago was about the plague of bedbugs in densely populated areas. The news item spoke specifically about New York City, and I began to painfully recall...

A couple of years ago, my oldest daughter Grace and her husband, residents of New York City, began to notice itchy places on her arms and upper back. After several weeks of Grace being awakened in the early morning hours by increasing numbers of itchy spots, she and Jonathan began to do some research on the internet and discovered they had bedbugs. They weren't sure where the bugs had come from, although they had some suspicions. At that point, however, the origin was not the issue. They had to find a way to get rid of them.

They tried smothering them by putting plastic sheets on the mattress and box springs. They tried all kinds of self-helps found on the internet and elsewhere. Finally, though, they acknowledged that their efforts weren't working and they were on the way to going crazy. So they called an exterminator. It was their last hope. Still, there were a number of things they had to do to get ready for the exterminator to come. They had to clean their apartment from top to bottom and get rid of anything that possibly contained the bugs. They ended up throwing out their whole bed, sofa, a chair and many other items. At last, the exterminator could come. They vacated their apartment for three days while the powerful chemicals supposedly did their job. See, that's the thing. There was no guarantee that the bedbugs would not reappear.

Well, they moved back in, got a new bed and a new sofa and waited. After awhile, when they began to see a bug here or there, they immediately killed it. It was a miserable existence, waiting for the proverbial "other shoe" to fall. They wondered what would be good enough to rid them of the bedbugs for good.

There's a spiritual lesson in this. We all have bedbugs (sin) in our lives, and just as bedbug infestation is part of living in densely populated areas, sin is part of living in this world. Sometimes we notice the consequences of sin, but we still don't want to admit that we have sin in our lives. We may say, "I'm a good person, not a 'dirty' person." Yet sin still lies beneath the surface, hidden in places most people don't see: selfish or impure thoughts, etc. When we finally admit we have sin, we want to cast blame. If we get past that point, and many do not, we often believe if we just work on ourselves and try harder, everything will be okay. We buy all kinds of self-help books, read all the internet has to say about our problems, watch talk shows in which self-appointed gurus give possibly well-meaning advice. We may even succeed in 'cleaning up' some aspects of our lives. But underneath, hidden in the deeper places, causing us issues in our work, in our relationships, in our health, sin still lurks. And because of that sin, we are on our way to hell.

We need a Savior. Not just any Savior. We need Jesus. The wonderful news is that Jesus' blood works better than any exterminator's chemicals ever could. His blood cancels sin. Period. If we acknowledge our sin and ask Him to come in, He lives in us and as sin reappears, He is there to remove it. Psalm 103:12 says, "He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west."
Grace and Jonathan were very happy that their bedbugs did not return in full force. But their happiness cannot compare to the glorious joy we can have in knowing our sins are forgiven - eradicated, exterminated - and we're on our way to heaven.

Jonah and ...

The story is called "Jonah and the Whale," but that's a misleading name. The whale has more of a supporting role, so a more apt name would be "Jonah in the Whale," except Jonah is only in the whale for a fourth of the story. Other possible names:
"Jonah and God's Will"
"Jonah and the Ninevites"
"Jonah and the Terrible, Horrible, No good, Very Bad Few Days"
"Jonah and Himself"

Perhaps I better stick with the name the Bible uses - "Jonah." Anyway, I was reading the story of Jonah this morning and noticing how it is different from the other books of the Bible called the Minor Prophets. Maybe it is so different because Jonah was so different. The other minor prophets listened to what God had to say and then shared it with the people God told them to. Jonah, on the other hand, heard what God had to say and then ran away. He didn't want to tell the Ninevites to repent and be saved. He was afraid they might do it and God would save them. I was reminded of the Game Show Network game called "1 vs 100." In this particular game, a contestant is pitted against 100 people. Everyone is asked the same question and given the choice of three answers. Each of the 100 vote secretly for what he or she believes is the correct answer. Then the contestant gives his answer out loud. If he is wrong, the 100 (the "mob") wins and he loses. If he is right, he wins and the "mob" loses.

Did Jonah think he was on "1 vs 100"? He seemed to think that if he told the Ninevites to repent and they did, that they would be the winners and he would lose. But if he didn't tell them, then they were the losers and he would win. Silly Jonah!! Salvation is a win-win situation. When we share with others, we lose nothing. In fact, we gain the joy of seeing people come to Christ, plus we please our Father, who is not willing that any should perish. If Jonah had only understood this, we could call the story "Jonah and a Whale of a Happy Ending."

Shoe Shopping

My friend Karen and I went shoe shopping yesterday. We visited seven shoe vendors in two and a half hours. If we'd been making a reservation for the trip and they had asked, "Business or pleasure?", we would have answered, "Business." Our shoe shopping venture held not a trace of the frivolous. We were on a mission for a particular type of shoe - Zumba shoes. Zumba is a sort of Latin dancing aerobic exercise in which the participant does a lot of jumping, twisting, squatting, toe tapping, gyrating, twirling and pivoting. The shoes we already owned were fine for the jumping, squatting, toe tapping and gyrating, but the tread on the bottoms was making it hard to do the twisting, twirling and pivoting. We needed shoes with a smooth rubber sole and a circular slipperier rubber "pivot" point near the toe of the shoe.

Now, here's the thing. One of us wears a 6.5 shoe, and the other one wears an 11. One person's foot is like a ski, and the other's looks more like a piece of knobby pie (broad at the toe and narrow at the heel). Yet we were determined to find "the" shoe that would satisfy both our needs, both of our tastes, and our completely different feet.

First of all, I'd like to complain (can you imagine that?!). The Zumba teacher, who is 22 and built like Barbie, showed Karen her shoes, which she claimed to have bought at Academy Sports. Another woman in the class showed me her shoes (different from the teacher's) which she claimed to have bought at Rack Room Shoes. Well, Karen and I immediately headed for Academy, the teacher's choice. After all, our goal is to look like her when we've Zumba -ed for several months! Academy had a large array of dance/cheerleader/training shoes, none of which looked anything like our teacher's. Nevertheless, we tried on several pairs. I should say I tried on several pairs since evidently there are only two women in the world who wear an 11 so the shoe stores don't carry them. Academy had one pair in an 11. It was black with pink stitching. Karen tried it on and liked it okay. So I found it in my size and tried it on. For some reason (I know it couldn't possibly be my short, fat feet with appropriately fat ankles above them), the tongue of the shoe dug into the front of my ankle, making it quite uncomfortable. The tongue of Karen's shoe, on the other hand, was half way down the top of her foot!

Feeling betrayed in some way, we left there and headed straight for Rack Room Shoes. Rather than hunting on our own, I decided to ask someone where the Zumba shoes were located. I noticed a tall blond in tennis shoes talking to a customer about some shoes. I waited patiently, probably twenty seconds or so, until she seemed to finish the conversation. Then I walked up to her and boldly said, "We were told we could get shoes for Zumba here. Where would they be?" The woman proceeded to tell us that the store had a pitiable number of athletic shoes for women, and led us to a display that contained maybe four shoes. We dutifully looked at them. Then Karen said, " There are some women's athletic shoes over there" and she pointed back where we'd come from. The salesperson walked with us to that area and replied, "Well, yes, this row is women's, but then the next row starts the men's. They just don't have many for women." Did you notice the "they" in that sentence? She wasn't even a sales person - I had asked a fellow customer to help us! Actually, Rack Room ended up having quite a few women's athletic shoes, but not the ones we were looking for. By this time I was feeling very disappointed.

We hit five other stores and never found either of the shoes the women had recommended. So we ended up with no shoes (yet!). But, I got a spiritual lesson out of it.

Sometimes we share a spiritual lesson with people and expect them to get the same excitement or inspiration or conviction from it that we experienced. I'm very guilty of this. The truth is, though, that people have different spiritual sizes and shapes and needs. We all have to have the main things (like soles, shoelaces, "pivot" points) - that Jesus is God's Son; He came to earth to live the life of a human being and then to die on the cross for our sins; He arose from the grave; He's coming again some day. But some of the other things (like the tongue on the shoe or the width of the heel) have to take in consideration the person's individaul walk with God. He knows what we need just when we need it, and He is faithful to speak to me in my way and you in yours. He's got all the sizes. He's got all the shapes. He's got all the "shoes" we need for this twisting, twirling, pivoting, jumping, squatting, toe tapping, gyrating life.
Praise Him!

Constipation

My two-year-old grandson has trouble with constipation. It's a vicious thing. You see, when it's hard, it hurts to go, so he holds it in. Then it hurts more. Just the other night he was in so much pain that he ran around the sofa screaming for almost an hour. My daughter had tried everything (she thought) and nothing was working, so she sat on that same sofa and cried for him. I won't go into any more detail because the subject is gross enough, but Shawn, my daughter's husband, got home from work about that time and in his calm way took over the situation. After about thirty more minutes, my sweet little grandson finally let go and got relief. Less than five minutes later, he peacefully fell asleep in his daddy's arms.

There's a spiritual lesson in this. I know - go figure.

We all have trouble with sin. It's a vicious thing. When it's been there awhile, we don't want to let it go. We may even rationalize that it won't hurt us that much to hold onto it. But it is toxic and it grows and it gets harder and harder to let it go. The pain that sin will cause is excruciating. Not only to us but to those who love us.

Thanks be to God, our heavenly Father! He came and took over the situation. He sent relief through His Son, Jesus Christ. If we will let our sin go, He will clean us up. We will feel such peace. We will be able to rest in the arms of the Almighty. "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened [with sin], and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls" (Matthew 11:28-29).

Whunh?

This morning I was trying to write the word "wierd," and I wrote it that way and it looked strange so I asked a friend how to spell it. Then I changed it to "weird". That brought up a conversation with another friend about the rule "i before e except after c, or when sounding like ay as in neighbor and weigh." We agreed that it's weird that "weird" isn't spelled "wierd" because the rule says it should be. So I ask you, Is any other language in the world more inconsistent than English?

Like, I was wondering, why are people who blog called bloggers, people who jog called joggers, people who rob called robbers, people who mug called muggers, people who bat called batters and people who knit called knitters, YET
people who brag are called braggarts and people who nag are called nags?

Pronounce the following words out loud:
rough, tough, cough, though, bough
touch, ouch
cut, hut, shut, put
out, loud, soup, coup
knight, night, knee, nee
neigh, weigh, sleigh, neither
bare, care, pare, are
mere, sere, here, there, were
our, flour, sour, tour, your, pour
receive, believe, sieve
marine, saline, lupine, sanguine (you might have to look up the last two!)

Unfortunately, I could go on forever. Fortunately, I won't.

Sometimes I just have to look at our language and say, "Whunh?" Thankfully, our Savior is not like this. Hebrews 13:8 says, "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever."

Detour

I can't believe this is happening again. (Big sigh) Well, I'm not going to do what I did the last time, that's for sure.

The last time had been right after our honeymoon in 1977. We had just picked up our gifts from my parents' house and were set to drive to Beaufort, SC. Three circumstances spelled doom for that day, but little did we know. First, I had never driven from Richmond to Beaufort. I didn't know the way. Second, I was driving David's car and he was driving mine because my hatchback was filled to the top with gifts and I couldn't see over or around them to drive it. Thirdly, I had never heard of overdrive, which David's new Volvo had.

I was following David, but we weren't even out of Richmond when we got separated and I went the wrong way. I was driving over the overpass when I saw my little bright blue Ford (with David at the wheel) heading straight down 95. I super-panicked and stepped on the gas. My plan was to turn around as soon as I could and go so fast that either I would catch up to David or be stopped by the police and they could radio ahead and stop David, too. Though I drove over 80 miles an hour for an hour, neither happened. I finally stopped at a roadside store, went in, and called my mom. She had probably just sat down with a cup of coffee, dusted her hands off and thought, There! Last chick out of the nest for good. It's Independence Day!

Unmotherly-like, she said, "I really don't know what you should do, Joy," and I was feeling ever so poorly when David suddenly walked in. I rushed into his arms, only to find that he was sort of standoffish. "It's a wonder I saw my car parked out there, Joy - you parked behind a van! Why were you driving so fast? I've been trying to catch up with you for almost an hour!" He bombarded me with harsher words than I had ever heard from his kind mouth, and I wondered if the man I was married to was the man I thought I had married. But my cries and explanations calmed him down, and we got back on the road.

I wish I could tell you everything went fine after that, but remember the overdrive thing? I had not put the car in overdrive while driving over 80, and long before we reached Beaufort, the Volvo's engine started smoking. We finally made it to Beaufort, but that car was never the same again.

Now back to June 20th of this year. My husband David and I were delivering furniture from my recently deceased dad's apartment to two of our children's homes. We had dropped off some things at Shelley's the night before, and the plan was simple: We would drive from her house in Apex, NC, to Pelham, AL, Heather's home. I would drive my car, leading the way for David, who would drive the U-Haul truck. I had made this journey by car many times, so I confidently started down the road, keeping a close watch in my rearview mirror.

About thirty minutes into our trip, my cellphone rang. It was Shelley with the bad news that David had left his suitcase at her house. So I pulled over to the side of the road and broke the baspel to David (gospel means "good news", so shouldn't baspel be an apt synonym for "bad news"?). We discussed whether he should go with me, burning up unnecessary amounts of fuel, wait there for me, in the middle of nowhere, either scorching or running the air conditioner (burning up unnecessary fuel) or just go on and I might eventually catch up with him. We chose plan C even though David does not own a cellphone (yes, it's true).

I called Shelley quickly and asked her about the number of the road where we were supposed to turn. I wanted to be sure we had it right. So, with my explanation that he would come to a turnoff for Highway 421 and that he should go either west or south on it, whichever the choice was, we parted.

I made the trip back to Shelley's in record time, picked up the wayward suitcase, and just as quickly got back to where I had left David. I drove on, feeling very happy because I wouldn't have to drive as slowly as I had to with the weighed-down U-Haul following me. When I came to the turnoff for 421, I obeyed myself and went south. After about thirty minutes, I began to feel that maybe I was on the wrong road. Though I was in the middle of nowhere and surrounded only by trees, grass and rolling hills, nothing seemed familiar. These particular tree/grass/hill scenes somehow looked strange. That's just silly, I told myself, and kept driving. Any minute now you'll come to the interstate. Well, any minute came and went and still no interstate, but I stubbornly refused to think that if a person is going from NC to AL he would take a 421N.

Thank goodness Hillary (another daughter) called. I asked her to look on the internet and find out where I was. Her husband did so while she tried to reassure me. You see, by that time, I was really worried that I had sent David the wrong way and he would never know. There's a long ending to this story, but I'm going to tell you the short one. We were supposed to go north on 421. It hit interstate 85 pretty soon. Yikes!

David, with his inborn sense of direction and common sense, thank the Lord, had figured out quite early on that he was headed due south and that interstate 85 moves southwest, so he turned around and went the right way. I had a GPS in my car and finally decided to use it to get back where I was supposed to be (there could be a spiritual lesson in that, but that's not the one for today!). David and I never crossed paths again. In fact, I skipped going to Pelham and came straight home to Opelika.

There's a spiritual lesson in this. God and I need to be in the same vehicle. That vehicle is his Word. Listen to some of the promises from Psalm 19 (NLT):
The instructions of the Lord are perfect,
reviving the soul.
The decrees of the Lord are trustworthy,
making wise the simple.
The commandments of the Lord are right,
bringing joy to the heart.
The commands of the Lord are clear,
giving insight for living.
The laws of the Lord are true;
each one is fair.
How can I know all the sins lurking in my heart?
Cleanse me from these hidden faults.
Keep your servant from deliberate sins!
Don't let them control me.
Then I will be free of guilt
And innocent of great sin.

When I try to follow God without being in his vehicle (his Word), I so often go the wrong way. Lord, I pray that I will not go so far on the wrong path that I never catch up with You again.