God's Fast...'nuf said

 ^1-3 “Shout! A full-throated shout!
    Hold nothing back—a trumpet-blast shout!
Tell my people what’s wrong with their lives,
    face my family Jacob with their sins!
They’re busy, busy, busy at worship,
    and love studying all about me.
To all appearances they’re a nation of right-living people—
    law-abiding, God-honoring.
They ask me, ‘What’s the right thing to do?’
    and love having me on their side.
But they also complain,
    ‘Why do we fast and you don’t look our way?
    Why do we humble ourselves and you don’t even notice?’

^3-5 “Well, here’s why:

“The bottom line on your ‘fast days’ is profit.
    You drive your employees much too hard.
You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight.
    You fast, but you swing a mean fist.
The kind of fasting you do
    won’t get your prayers off the ground.
Do you think this is the kind of fast day I’m after:
    a day to show off humility?
To put on a pious long face
    and parade around solemnly in black?
Do you call that fasting,
    a fast day that I, God, would like?

^6-9 “This is the kind of fast day I’m after:
    to break the chains of injustice,
    get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
    free the oppressed,
    cancel debts.
What I’m interested in seeing you do is:
    sharing your food with the hungry,
    inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
    putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
    being available to your own families.
Do this and the lights will turn on,
    and your lives will turn around at once.
Your righteousness will pave your way.
    The God of glory will secure your passage.
Then when you pray, God will answer.
    You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, ‘Here I am.’

~

^9-12 “If you get rid of unfair practices,
    quit blaming victims,
    quit gossiping about other people’s sins,
If you are generous with the hungry
    and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out,
Your lives will begin to glow in the darkness,
    your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight.
I will always show you where to go.
    I’ll give you a full life in the emptiest of places—
    firm muscles, strong bones.
You’ll be like a well-watered garden,
    a gurgling spring that never runs dry.
You’ll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew,
    rebuild the foundations from out of your past.
You’ll be known as those who can fix anything,
    restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate,
    make the community livable again.

^13-14 “If you watch your step on the Sabbath
    and don’t use my holy day for personal advantage,
If you treat the Sabbath as a day of joy,
    God’s holy day as a celebration,
If you honor it by refusing ‘business as usual,’
    making money, running here and there—
Then you’ll be free to enjoy God!
    Oh, I’ll make you ride high and soar above it all.
I’ll make you feast on the inheritance of your ancestor Jacob.”
    Yes! God says so!

 Isaiah 58

The Message (MSG)

 ^{A special thanks to BibleGateway.com}

 

The Frozen Frost-Free Frig

The frost-free refrigerator freezer had a ¼ inch layer of frost covering the back panel of the freezer section.  Water dropped from inside one corner of the open freezer door, splashing against my foot as it fell to the floor beneath it.  I stood dumbfounded, gazing into the open freezer where frozen foods were now beginning to thaw.  Feeling broadsided once again, I closed the freezer door.  Plopping down onto the kitchen stool I heard myself helplessly utter: “Do you think I could get a break?” 

~

It had been one situation after another since I had purchased this small home.  There was the evening that the water level timer on the washing machine malfunctioned, sending gallons of water throughout the home, and sending me racing about attempting to rescue damageable possessions.  And who could forget the broken water line and the miniscule hole in the ice maker tubing that unknowingly and subtly flooded the area beneath the kitchen sink.  As if that wasn’t enough, the ceiling was leaking from an old tree injury during a former hurricane, while the new central air cooling unit wires had shorted and burned out just in time to welcome a forecasted heat wave.  It had taken days to remove the old musty green vintage carpet that spilled over from my bedroom into the hallway.  It is the memory of the nasty, sticky and crumbling spongy carpet padding I had to scrape from the floor, inch by back aching inch, that remains embedded amongst my exhausted neurons. Sound like a page from the Ziggy comic strips?

And so, I made my way to the World Wide Web.  Surely someone in the world has experienced a frozen frost-free frig?  Typing into my search engine:
“Help, my frost-free refrigerator freezer is frozen”,
I was introduced to forum after forum of misfortunate "frugal frozen frig" (say that really fast three times) victims like myself, each sharing their momentous expertise.  I finally settled with a refrigerant expert’s advise to remove perishable items, cover the floor with towels, turn off and unplug the frig freezer, prop open the doors and let the refrigerator stand for 24-48 hours until completely thawed.  After thawing, I would plug it back in, turn it on and see what happens.  With a bit of luck (which I apparently lack) the problem would simply be the high humidity of these record breaking summer temperatures.  Otherwise, I would need to call in an expert (unless I wanted to experience a catastrophic injury or early death).  Sounded like good advice to me. 

I decided to speed the process and spare my already deteriorating kitchen floor of the excess water that was sure to spill out from the drip pan while I was not in attendance.  With instruction from my new expert web acquaintance, I degutted the interior of my freezer, including the ice maker, and began thawing the now exposed frozen elements with a hair dryer.  And of course, there was the continual sopping up of water from the drain pan to prevent spillover.  Within a few hours, the job was completed.  Freezer guts replaced and drip pan clean and dry, I plugged the refrigerator back in and set the temp to normal.  I had done my part; now it was up to the refrigerator. 

Three hours later, the freezer was cold and a few ice cubes had formed and dispensed into the ice cube pan.  
My friend had returned from her afternoon walk, dropping by with some words of encouragement.  
“I said a prayer for your refrigerator”.
  I thanked her for her support and shared the hopeful news.  The next morning a nice supply of ice cubes rested in the pan.  The freezer and refrigerator were at normal temperature and I could see no frost inside the freezer.  

~ 

Have you ever found yourself in a situation of extreme low body temperature?  In other words, do you know what it feels like to freeze?  I experienced near frostbite while on a contracted job assignment in the Wild West several years ago.  It was the worst winter for that area of the country in seven years.  After days of feeling captive to my tiny motel room, cabin fever finally set in.  The craving for fresh air and freedom hung over my countenance like the icicles hanging from the eaves of that small inn.  So, donning my warmest coat, cap and gloves, I headed out into the frigid temperatures.  After about 15 minutes into the less than thought out stroll, I wasn’t feeling all that cold anymore.  I passed a man shoveling snow in his drive.  On his front porch a black and white cat eagerly struggled to push open the door.  We waved to each other as I attempted to say:
 “Your cat sure wants in the house awfully bad”.  
However, what came out of my mouth sounded more like:
 “Yuh ca su aunts eh duh how awhly ad”.

 “Are you that lady from the South?  
You need to get inside before your brain freezes”.  
With a nod and half frozen smile, I hurriedly returned to my motel room.  Pushing open the door, a gush of warm air from inside the room hit my face and I immediately felt dizzy.  I sat down on the bed.  Looking up at the ceiling, the room appeared to be spinning and my nose felt as if it was growing away from my face; perhaps like Pinocchio might have felt during a moment of deceit.  OK, time to call ER.  I pulled the phone to my side and dialed.  The ER doctor was called to the phone.  After a series of questions, it was determined that I would survive my ordeal and that I was not to take any more strolls into the below 0 temps. 

~

Not so unlike that frozen freezer or freezing flesh, there are times in our lives when we might look or feel as if everything is fine from the outside; but deep within us the frigid temps of life are freezing us solid.  We might not even be aware of our state of being at the moment, due to our benumbed status.  Little by little we glaciate under the chill of the bitter cold.  But we don’t have to harden into an ice sculpture.  We don’t have to spend our precious days frozen and fearful.  There is a still, sometimes faint but steady voice that calls to us from the inside of our frozen soul.  It calls to all of us, amidst the noise and distractions.  It is no respecter of persons.  It calls us to open ourselves up,  to expose our frozen guts. It bids us purge ourselves of the rotting flesh of a watery grave.  Its radiance and warmth penetrates our core and melts our hardest of hearts.  And as we begin to diffuse into its compassionate glow, we become renewed in its life giving condensation. 

That voice is the Spirit of Truth.  If we listen and heed the Spirit’s call to “Come forth!” from our frozen death, we find our souls ablaze in the afterglow of His Light.

 We don’t have to run to the World Wide Web for our help and salvation.  We just need to turn to the Spirit of Truth.  He will neither deceive us nor bring us harm.  He will instruct us in the ways we are to journey.  And in His Light we will remain…frost FREE!

But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth.

 John 16:13 NIV

So if the Son sets you free, you will be absolutely free.

 John 8:36 God’s Word Translation

  

Ms. Mary..I See You

Most people become irritated at the animated gym clip that pops up when Microsoft Word is opened.  But I am not like most people.  I kinda like the little guy.  Those large animated eyes entertain me.  The ever-so-slight movements keep my mind actively searching for the following word or phrase just so that I can see what he is going to do next.  Right now, he sits on a document smiling directly at me, occasionally glancing towards my document while scratching the top of his little gym clip head.  A little weird?  I would agree.  But somehow just knowing the small animated paper clip is there makes me feel less alone at the moment. 

I don’t mind being alone.  Sometimes I relish the opportunity.  Ms. Mary, a widow in a small town I lived in some years ago spent her days alone.  Following the death of her husband, Mary rarely left her home.  Mary visited the mailbox at the same time each evening.  3:15 pm would not pass without the small socked feet of the fair complected woman strolling slowly to and from her mailbox.  Her expression was always the same, emotionless.  I never saw visitors to her home.  On occasion, a local church group would make attempts to invite her to services.  She would accept their brochures with a nod of thanks before closing herself in - and the church group out. The grocery delivery boy would set bags of groceries on her porch swing, knock on the door and leave.  Mary would appear moments later to retrieve her goods.  Mary was totally alone.

I heard years later that Mary died on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, exactly 3:15 pm.  She had a massive coronary on her stroll to the mailbox.   The small community took up a collection for her burial.  Mary died alone.  She was 93 years old. 

I often wonder how the computer age would have affected Mary.  Would she have a Facebook profile?  Would she have tweeted her thoughts on Twitter or kept up with every tweet from her television idols?  Would Mary see social media as an opportunity to connect with those of her past; or would she view its exploitable disclosures as nonsense, thus continuing in seclusion?

What would Mary think of this presently slumbering gym clip?  Would its animated antics provoke a smile?  I like to think so.  I have often pondered Mary smiling or laughing during her moments alone.  I would visualize a warm smile as she remembered her wedding day or prenuptial courting rituals..followed by a sigh of contentment. Did Mary sing quietly to herself of love and life?  I hope so. 

Although a child at the time, I saw Mary.  So, I guess one might say that Mary was never truly alone.  Mary just did not know that I saw her.  I still see Mary in my mind and feel her in my soul.  Thus, Mary’s memory did not die with her.  We are never truly alone and forgotten as long as someone sees.  

 Someone, somewhere, sees each of us and knows we are here. 

Ms. Mary..I see you.

 ~

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! 
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands...

Isaiah 49:15-16

~

As I close this entry the little gym clip will morph into an animated motorcycle and drive off in search of another welcoming host, I suppose.
And with his “adieu”, I will smile.

The Lone Goose

September 2, 2012

A lone goose calls out from the foggy dawn of the small lake this morning.  There is a pale eeriness to its desperate plea for response.  With each pause, silence is returned.   A few feet away, Autumn Trail preens his iridescent and white feathers.  An unusually handsome Muscovy Duck, Autumn Trail has found company with the lone Canada Goose.

***

Canada Geese have been abundant this summer, and from these bounteous beings spring the cutest little tutu tailed goslings.  Week by week I watched as those tiny chirping chicks morphed quickly into beautifully cloaked adult geese.  Walkers, runners, strollers and sitters alike would pause by the bank of the lake for a quiescent peek into the less than private lives of these migrant visitors. 

On an early morning walk this summer I noticed something in the road ahead.  As I briskly approached the object my reluctant and dreaded suspicions were confirmed.  One of the geese lay motionless on the warming blacktop.  A dirty, soon to be scorching tarred pavement cradled the body of this stately creature I had so enjoyed observing.  I made a spontaneous decision. Confirming death, I gently lifted the goose and placed it in the water.  This life-giving water, the source of which in just a few short months had been a haven of liquid refreshment, refuge, food, courting ritual and community, would now embrace the small withering carcass making its way towards the center of the lake.  I would contemplate in silence as the waves gently rocked the flaccid form. Behind me, the familiar flock of geese (including the season’s goslings which by now have taken on the appearance of young adults) watched intently.  I had become the observed.  Looking into their piercing black eyes, I wondered what they were thinking, communicating, feeling, comprehending.  They had spent their entire summer together.  Were they aware of the dramatic scene being staged before them?  Someone was missing a parent, child, sibling, mate and companion.  And now, just beyond the bank of their summer home, feathers glistening beneath the morning sun, the flock watched with reverent caution.

 “Into paradise, may the angels lead you” 

I whispered.

Days after, a lone goose would be seen lagging behind while the rest of the flock flew in and out of the lake area.  The young were finally in the air and learning the ways of their ancestors.  But this companionless soul would remain, calling loudly as if in quest of someone,  eyes roaming to and fro, endlessly in search of that which was lost.  From a distance, I would see the same scene night after night, a tiny silhouette swimming alone, its sole companion, the Muscovy Duck who had preferred the odd alliance with the flock of geese over three inseparable Mallard Ducks who had made their home at the lake.

~

It had been several days since I had seen the lone goose.  The flock spends less and less time here now.  Migration season is very near -] perhaps today.  I sense the lone traveler is making its last desperate attempts to call to itself the absent companion, the one whose spirit now hovers over the waters, keeping watch over its flock.  As I unhurriedly stroll home, the lonesome call of the solitary goose follows; its forlorn echo piercing the depths of my soul. 

~

We call into the darkness, the thin veil occluding our vision from all that is Light.  
We search, eyes wide open, for a miniscule glimpse of Hope. 
We listen intently for that inner voice to reaffirm and reassure us that we are not alone.  

 We tirelessly and desperately pursue that which our soul is familiar--Spirit.  

 We lag behind, separating ourselves from the conformity of routine and the habitual,
 in pursuit of--Purpose.  
We are on a wild goose chase, all the while its spirit hovers just over us--and within us. 

~

Bathed in a chasm of darkness, the spirit of God hovered over the waters. 

 “Let there be Light!”   

And it was as he had spoken.  Light entered the world and it was good.
 And that light was the Light of all life.  
And we no longer desperately call out into the darkness.

Run to the Rock

August 27, 2012 

There is a storm brewing in the Gulf today.  For the past few days home owners and businesses have been preparing for Isaac.  Storm surges, high tide and increasing waves precede his arrival like the herald trumpeting the arrival of the King.  But Isaac does not come adorned in fine array.  Unlike the King’s regalia, symbols of power and majesty, Isaac arrives bedecked in the scars of destruction, grief, pain and much sorrow. 

     And here I sit in my tiny home, momentarily safe, quiet and free of the burdensome tasks of batting down the hatches and storing up life essential commodities.  The only tremble of fear I feel comes from the small red dog curled up next to me.  Piper Grace senses what so many creatures of the non-human form sense.  She instinctively feels the storm deep within.  Her body responds in a sequence of quivers and the need to draw closer to that which appears secure.  Piper does not realize how unsteady her rock is.  She has no idea that her safe boulder teeters on the edge of demise.  If she knew this, would she continue to suffocate my lap with her writhing uncertainties? 

     Where is my rock?  Where is mysafe haven?  Who do I run to when the storms of life surge about me?  Into what lap can I leap to find warm comforting arms embracing me?  

The storm has arrived.  I am running to my rock.

From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. 

Psalm 61:2
New International Version (NIV)

    

     

Kitty Foibles and the Queen of Crap

     I have five rescue cats living with me in my tiny home.  Five!   Unless you have lived with a cat or two (or five) it will be difficult for you to comprehend the daily drama that plays out in front of you and behind the scenes when you are not present.
 "Oh, but cats aren’t any trouble.  All you have to do is feed them and clean out the litter pan.  They are a lot easier to deal with than dogs.  They just sleep all day, right?"  
 Wrong! 

     First of all, I love these little critters.  It is a privilege to serve them.  And if these four legged mischievous felines could speak, I am certain they would agree that it is their birthright to be served. So, just how much trouble could a cute little purring fur clad
“Kitty Kitty” be? 

     Kitties like to jump and run.  Kitties like to run and jump.  Kitties like to climb, the higher the better.  Kitties like to wrestle.  They like to wrestle anywhere.  Kitties like to wrestle in the floor, on the kitchen table and in the bathtub (unless the word “bath” is involved).  They like to wrestle on top of the refrigerator too.   They like to chase each other up the window screens.  They really like window screens and window blinds.  Window screens offer nice support for their sharp claws; window blinds have a fun pull cord with a plastic cone attached.  
“Clackety clackety clackety clack!”  
lThe rhythmic sounds of pull cord cones popping the window sills and walls break the silence of a hallowed morning. 

     Kitties can multi-task.  They can cling to the window screen and bat around window blind pull cords at the same time.  Kitties like to pull window blind slats apart with their cute little feet to peek at the squirrels running up and down the tree outside of the window.  Squirrels scampering up and down trees excite Kitties and send Kitties lunging towards the window blinds and screens on all fours.   Kitties can shimmy up a window screen after a squirrel faster than you can scream “Down!”.  Furthermore, Kitties like to play with all of the fun trinkets they knock off of the table, counter tops, walls, entertainment center, sewing machine and the top of the refrigerator. 

     Kelty Kayak is a tortoise shell cat.  She was living under a galvanized street gutter just below a popular restaurant on a heavily traveled road.  Kelty was approximately twelve weeks old at the time I spotted her.  I coaxed her up with a can of tuna and a blade of wiggling grass.   Kelty has a major foible.  Kelty chews electrical cords.  It doesn’t matter whether the cord is plugged into the wall outlet or not.  She really enjoys (or despises) electrical cords and has made it her mission to annihilate every one in our home.  This infirmity has rendered me exhaustively taping, hiding, removing and covering any and all exposed electrical cords.  It has forced me to become very creative in the process as well.  Stuffing an electrical cord into a PVC pipe is not as easy as it might appear.  Why don’t I just put Kelty outside?  Power, phone and cable lines.

     By now you might be wondering why I put up with the eccentricities of my little nightingales.  If not why, then how?

     I will honestly admit that thoughts of a trip to the local animal shelter have entered my mind.  More than once I threatened the Kitty Orphanage to them.  But these little ones do not know what a kitty orphanage is.  They have not experienced an animal shelter.  I, on the other hand, am quite familiar with the animal shelter and the hundreds of unwanted, abused, neglected and orphaned creatures sentenced to death for the crime of inconvenience and just being alive.  The kitties in my care appear only to know of their present moment.  They know where the food, water and litter pan is. They know where their toy basket filled with kitty toys is. They also know how to crawl up into my lap and rub their heads against my face.  They look into my eyes, studying my momentary mood.  Each kitty brings with it a unique story, a beginning.   Do they remember that beginning?  I don’t know the answer to that; perhaps one day I will.  What I do know of these “special needs” kitties is:
(1) they are alive
 (2) they have individual needs that must be met, and
(3) they cannot meet these needs alone.

      As much as I cherish some of my special possessions, in reality these so called ‘riches’ are no more than wood, hay and stubble.  In the grand scheme of things, they are ultimately kindling for the fiery inferno of desolation. These possessions are a thorn in my side when I choose to value them over a living creature. 

     I have been given a great gift through these kitties.  I am brought daily to my soul’s knees as I consider the value of life over the “stuff” of earth.  I cannot sentence a living creature to death because that creature did not act, behave or live in a manor worthy of my expectations, no matter how frustrated I become with the situation.
z  Life is a gift.
  Life is not a choice.

 Foibles?  I am queen of them.  If my singular idiosyncrasy in life was but a mere fixation towards electrical cords, I would be most grateful.  But it is not so.  My greatest foible?  I do not love.  If I loved, it would never enter my mind to destroy life and accumulate or hoard “stuff”.  I would be more like these kitties.  At the first ‘butt’ swat, I would be back up in the lap of my swatter, lavishing my affections and attentions upon him or her.  I would forgive immediately.  I would hold no wrath in my heart.  No ill thought would leave my mouth through my seared tongue. 

      I might feel insanity creep upon me the next time I walk into a room filled with downed and broken “stuff”,  but I commit to Life and to the lessons that I have learned and will continue to learn from life.  I will pick up my shattered pride along with the fragments of scattered junk across the floor—and I will sever the cord of selfishness and hate, once and for all.  When I lay these wee lives to rest one day, I will rest in peace knowing that I persevered and finished my imperfect and often tiresome race.  I don’t want a trophy or a prize at the end of the race.   I just want the assurance of knowing that these little creatures knew they were loved in this life.  That is all I truly need.

“Don’t hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and corroded by rust or—worse!—stolen by burglars. Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it’s safe from moth and rust and burglars. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being.  
Matthew 6:19-20 The Message

You’ve all been to the stadium and seen the athletes race. Everyone runs; one wins. Run to win. All good athletes train hard. They do it for a gold medal that tarnishes and fades. You’re after one that’s gold eternally

1 Corinthians 9:24-25 The Message

UPDATE:
Following a brief illness, Little Kelty Kayak's soul bounded through the thin veil that separates this life from the next, to enter a place of unending peace and playfulness.
Three  months later, she was joined by Rastus Augustus (Gus). 

I believe that we will all meet again.
I put my full trust in it! 
And oh, what a great day that will be!!
I miss you my precious ones.
We finished the race together.
Until we meet again,
I love you
and
Thank you!

Please do not breed or buy while homeless die.  Rescue and adopt a pet from your local animal shelter.

 Be responsible. 

 Spay and neuter your pets.

2020 Current update:
BJ Whiskers crossed that thin veil a few years ago at age16. 
Canoe was rehomed.
Alli continues to thrive.  She is 17 now. 
Since that group of special needs kitties, others have come and gone through rehoming.
I continue to hear little cries in the middle of the night, and continue to do what I can to rescue those fearful souls
and find loving homes for each of them.
Today I share my home with 17 year old Alli and 2 year old Judah.  Both came to me as
4 to 5 week old kitten rescues.
And I continue to visit 13 year old Canoe.

Good Luck, Penny

I found a penny in the washing machine today. It was lying heads up. I don’t remember exactly what that means. I could ‘Google’ it, but I don’t really feel like it right now. I don’t believe in penny myth. I don’t believe in luck either. After churning and spinning for 20 minutes, the penny was clean, at least. The tarnished yet sterilized copper disc now rests in the coin section of my small purse awaiting its turn at transference to another set of hands during redemption. I sense that this small coin will find itself off on another adventure. Perhaps I will spot it again one day. My eyes will catch a glimpse of it lying motionless on the dirty blacktop parking lot of the local town square. I will stoop to pick it up, check its date and then quickly slide it into a pocket of my jeans. Unless I pocket the memory of its whereabouts, this penny will make its ultimate trip back to the washing machine. And the cycle continues.

 I have been lost before. I have been ‘heads down and tails up’ flat on my face. If I am totally honest, I feel lost right this second. Thrown into a churning bath of dirtied laundry and soiled rags, I spin out of control. Spent, down trodden and bashed about, my soul lies motionless upon the burning blacktop of life. I long for redemption. Like that penny, I yearn to be freed from the tangled mass of wet jeans and tee shirts. I dream of a better adventure. Who will redeem my soul? And will the cycle continue? 

 I sure hope not.

But me? God snatches me from the clutch of death; he reaches down and grabs me. 

Psalms 49:15 

The Message

 I don’t know who actually coined the rhyme “Find a penny and pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck. Find a penny and let it lie, you’ll want that penny before you die.” You can do your own internet search for the answer. To that I say, “Good luck”. 

His Name Is Yahoo!!!

Have you ever encountered a truly meek and innocent spirit in life?  I have.  Once you encounter one, you will be forever changed.  Now this particular spirit is not without her own personal foibles in life, however, she has learned and continues to learn how to move forward in the spirit of Truth, with Grace.  This particular spirit I refer to is my sister.

One warm summer afternoon, Deb and I were engaged in a deep and thought provoking cell phone dialogue concerning God and His many attributes.  During the conversation’s pivotal moment of “goose bump” spiritual inspiration (you know, the earth stopping moment that captivates and mesmerizes your mind, momentarily ceasing spontaneous respiratory action), Deb passionately squealed:

“Oh Dar, God has a name.  He has a name, Dar!   His name is Yahoo!  His name is Yahoo! Dar”!

In one brief moment the breathless, captivating and awestruck musings of a mysteriously majestic creator turned suddenly into transient silence. 

 “I think you mean ‘Yahweh’, Deb?”

I responded with as much tip-toed sensitivity as I could muster in this most hilarious juncture.   Recognizing her innocent and untainted error, Deb burst into howling laughter, freeing the giggling captive within me too.  We laughed until both of us were literally in tears. 

If you knew me, you would know that this archived moment did not cease after we said our good bye's.   The cranks and wheels began turning in my head as I continued to reflect on the name Yahweh and its very nature.  This led to a curiosity of the word "Yahoo" and so I grabbed the laptop and commenced an internet search.

The term Yahoo was used in Jonathan Swift’s novel Gulliver’s Travels to describe primitive creatures grossly absorbed with "pretty stones" they unearth by digging in mud.  Yahoo, from this perspective, seemingly represents the engrossed materialism and thoughtless elitism that Swift encountered in Britain. The term "yahoo" has been interpreted to mean "a crude, brutish or obscenely coarse person". 

By now, Deb is probably in a physical state of profuse diaphoresis (sweating bullets) as she is reading this--and I am smiling.  If I were to guess, I can only imagine Deb’s kind and innocent demeanor anxiously making apology to God for her unintended error in names.  However, I see an interesting analogy here. 

Yahweh has often been interpreted to mean

“Independent and self-existent God”. 

 This independent and self-existing God has busied himself in his passion with His creatures, the Yahoo’s.  The Bible records for us the beginnings of humankind.  In its description we read that when fashioned from the mud of the earth, God uncovered the jewels of his finest creation, MAN.  From the man, God brought forth woman.  All was perfect.  And then, the Great Deception.  Ever since that dark moment of deceit we Yahoo’s have preoccupied ourselves in the Land of Mud and Dust.  On an endless journey in pursuit of “More”,  we have dug ourselves into a pit of despair.  Never completely satisfied, we gorge our broken creature on the sugary fats of the earth.   Bloating and gloating, we have morphed into toxic whoremongers, stuffing our insatiable appetites with the deceiver’s buffet of deception and lies. Taking rather than giving has become our mantra.   We delight in the greedy prosperity of the proud.  We scorn the humble.

We think that God has hidden his face from us and no longer looks upon us.  But we cannot be further from the truth, for you see, Yahweh has another name.  His name is “El Roi”, meaning, “The God who Sees”.   He sees our self-inflicted despair.  He sees our self-righteous attempts at self-restoration.  He sees and He loves us just as we are.  Our feeble attempts to attain grace inevitably fail, while Yahweh’s’ Grace inevitably prevails.   When we finally realize that we cannot work hard enough or long enough to earn His Grace, we crumble onto our knees,  exhausted, trembling and fragile.  It is then that His Grace is poured freely upon us, for you see, Yahweh loves His Yahoo’s.  Yahweh loves His Yahoo’s with an everlasting love that we cannot and most likely will never be able to fathom.

Deb and I still laugh as we occasionally recall those priceless seconds that have turned into a lifetime of jovial memories.  And that brief excitable mishap has reminded me, each time I turn on the computer to check my e-mail, that God indeed has a name.  

His name is Yahweh!

Yahweh sees and loves His Yahoo’s!

Yahoo!!!!!

(sorry, Google)

A special thanks to Wikipedia for the insight on the term "Yahoo" and its use in Jonathan Swift's novel.

King Solomon and Me

A European fable tells the story of a spider who descended on a single thread from the lofty rafters of a barn and alighted near the corner of a window, where it built its web. The corner of the barn was busy, and soon the spider waxed fat and prosperous. One day the spider was looking at his web and noticed the strand that reached up and above. Forgetting its significance and thinking it was a stray thread, he snapped it—and his whole world fell apart. 

      Dr. David Jeremiah of Turning Point ministry used this fable in a message I heard this morning from his web site, to reiterate someone else’s description of King Solomon. As I listened to Dr. Jeremiah tell this fable, for a brief few moments my world seemed to stop and tears began to fall. In those fleeting moments I was not envisioning King Solomon; I was seeing my own life unfold before me.

~ 

 There was a time in my youth when I clung to that single strand of Faith, strong and steady. Fearlessly, without intimidation or inhibition, I would share God’s Word with my family and peers, joyfully led by a sense of urgency. Little by little my young mind would become filled with the voices of those whose framed portrait and portion of God no longer fit the God I was coming to know. Forced to declutter from so many of the questionable and confusing facts I had heard concerning God and His plan for my life, I sought to discover and understand, once and for all, the one Truth. And so, descending from the safety of the lofty places, I set out in search of that Truth. Thus began the construction of my own web of destruction. Unbeknownst to my searching heart, I, much like King Solomon, would find the journey to be ultimately empty—void.

     I began constructing my elaborate web around the events that unfolded before me. It was those events that promised to make me into a better Christian and keep me on the Pilgrim’s Progress towards heaven. But as the years progressed I found myself caught up in those events, those works that came with more stress and confusion than peace. I delved even deeper into the depths of my soul, looking for God. Somewhere, I thought, amongst this web of my own making, God was still there. He had to be. I had read that God is no respecter of persons. God called me up from the abyss and put his ring on my hand and his robe on my back and prepared a feast for me. Why would He just drop out of the picture and leave me to wallow in this self righteous cesspool of muck and mire?

     As the web weaver would have it, I soon found a different path along the journey. In my disillusioned attempts to gain God’s favor and love, I headed out on my own. But this journey took me into the valley of the shadow of death, down long hollows and empty caverns and corridors of self-made love, tainted relationships and deceptive kinship. There I found myself surrounded by other sojourners of "good intent" directing me to the place where their God lived. Now my search for Truth became more intense than ever.

“You can find him in the Light, Darlene. Look for him in the Light”.

 “He is in the meditation, my friend. Meditate and you will find God”. 

“He is in the moment. Enjoy the moment and you will have experienced God”. 

     The voices all but suffocated the cry of my heart. In my confusion I made my own will into what I believed was God’s will. I spun a strong and beautiful web of spiritual lies and self-absorption. On the outside I appeared strong and in control, but on the inside I was broken and dying. I had fallen into a black hole, tumbling and plummeting out of control with no end in site. In my calamities, some self made and  others forced upon me as a child, I had forgotten the God of my youth. As a result, I severed the cord that connected me to the Truth. Soon after,  my world crashed and I crashed with it. Flailing helplessly in the dark void I called out to God. “God, help me!!!”

~ 

      Thankfully and gratefully the story did not end there. For as a devoted loving Father always does, Truth picked my broken and disfigured soul up, dusted me off and spoke His Word in Love once again to my soul’s heart. His love surpassed all I could have ever imagined, all I had ever hoped for and longed for. This was real love ablaze with the scars of a life well served on our small planet. A perfect life whose ultimate destiny was to deny Himself and take up His cross for me. This love, the love of Truth itself now embraces me. I no longer choose to feel alone or desperate for the love and acceptance of another. I no longer am subject to the tainted affections and misguided seductions of a fragmented and dying world. And I no longer trek a broken and endless trail of lies and deception, like a wandering hound in pursuit of a crafty fox. The hound of heaven has sought me and found me.

 In the last chapter of Ecclesiastes, King Solomon writes: 

Remember your Creator in the days of your youth…

 Remember Him—before the silver cord is severed… 

 Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. 

~

 From the NIV translation of the Bible 

~

When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said

 "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." 
~

He is not just in the light - He is the Light!

Pride and the Mary Jane's

     I have always relished the scent of new shoes.   As a matter of fact, my earliest memory of new shoes was around the age of four. 

Buster Brown black patent leather Mary Jane’s!

Talk about shine!  I could see my reflection in those shoes.  I was so proud of my new “buckle shoes”.   Yep, I had a heapin’ helpin’ of pride for those shoes.  So much so, that I dared one scuff to scar the black lacquered finish. The only thing that kept them from being permanently tethered to my feet was the photo of Buster Brown and his dog Tige tucked secretly away on the inside sole of each shoe.  I had a crush on Tige, and an unwavering imagination.  There was no convincing me that Tige did not live in my shoes.  

He was my dog from that moment on. 

     Proverbs 16:18 of the Bible instructs us concerning pride.  At four years of age, I was, as most four year old's, unaware of this instruction.  I probably had never heard the word pride.  If I had, I am quite certain I would have given the neighbor’s cat a new name. All I was aware of at the time was my new pair of Buster Brown buckle shoes.  So, eyes fixed and focused on my newly shod and gleaming feet, daydreaming about all the fun that Tige and I was certain to have, I headed down the sidewalk and across the street. Totally oblivious to my surroundings, I was quickly brought to an abrupt, quite painfully humiliating - STOP!  

!!PING!!  

The sound of forehead and metal pole engaging rang loudly in my ears! Head flailing backwards and feet flying out from under me, down I crashed onto the cemented pavement.  Startled and shaken, I soon felt gentle arms reach for me.  Unbeknownst to this tearful tot, Mamma had seen my deliriously daydreaming peril during a brief glance from the kitchen window--and Mamma was hot on my heels. Picking me up from the bloodied and tear stained cement, I gazed down towards my feet.  The sight of scathed and bleeding knees, torn leotards and scuffed up Mary Jane’s filled my eyes with a waterfall of liquid affliction.  In one crash my pride was broken and my self-centered world came crashing down around me. 

     Hand in hand with Mamma, suffering her blistering scolds of “wandering off into the street” and “you could have been hit by a car” admonitions, I stared down at my feet as if I had committed the ultimate sin.  Through my irresponsible actions, I had brought injury to my new shoes, Tige, Mamma and me. 

     I would like to say that I learned my lesson that day.  I didn’t.  Throughout this journey I have continued to head bang poles.  I have bolted, jolted, crumpled and regained my composure time and time again.  And with each thundering, grievous “ping” I encounter in life, I am learning more and more about the person of “me” and my purpose for being.   And although the gentle loving arms of Mamma are no longer available to reach down and pick me up from each debilitating plummet, I am learning to reach in and reach up for the stronger arms of the great I AM.  Not because I am pridefully deserving--but simply because I am His.

First pride, then the crash—the bigger the ego, the harder the fall.   

Proverbs 16:18 of  The Message