Eau de Parfum of Christ - Nesdoly

This Christmas my husband gave me a bottle of perfume—one of my favourite gifts. I loved the fragrance he picked and soon found myself online, finding out about my new scent and the world of perfume in general.

Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 2:14 that our lives are the perfume of God to the world: "Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place."

Some of the characteristics of perfume I discovered as I researched my new gift help us understand aspects of the fragrant life.

• Commercial perfumes come from a multitude of sources: barks, flowers and blossoms, fruits, roots, seeds, animal glands...

This speaks of how the scent of Christ wafts from many peoples and places.  Individuals of every tribe and nation and from all over the world will be in heaven (Revelation 7:9).

• A perfume unfolds in stages. Its first impression is called its top or head note. When that fades the middle or heart note becomes prominent. Finally its base note is established, becoming the scent that lingers the longest.

This brings to mind the fact that the perfume of Christ pervades all our interactions from casual to intimate. Its fragrance should be evident in first encounters with people behind us at Starbucks and those we do business with on the phone. It should blossom in our relationships with people who know us better like neighbours, and friends. In fact, it should be the very stamp of our character so that even those we live with—spouse and children—will know its lingering fragrance.

• The same perfume doesn't smell the same on every person. When perfume molecules come in contact with the unique chemical makeup of our skin, they react and unfold differently.

We can take this as a picture of how the perfume of Christ manifests uniquely through each person's blend of personality, talent and experience. It involves each of us growing the fruits of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22) and using our spiritual gifts (1 Corinthians 12:1-31). Instead of describing this perfume as floral, spicy, fresh or woodsy, we could name these perfume types merciful, generous, prophetic, wise, faith-filled, instructive.

• When putting on perfume, the advice is to apply it to pulse points. That's because perfume's fragrance strengthens as it's warmed. When our pulse increases due to exertion, excitement, or stress the scent spreads more efficiently.

Does that mean that life's stresses are good for spreading the perfume of Jesus? Probably. If we are full of Him, His scent (or lack of it) will spread more than ever when our lives heat up with trouble.

• Another tip for perfume application is to spray it into the room and enter its mist in order to be enshrouded by scent.

This reminds us of how important it is to spend time in the perfume—reading and studying God's word, praying, meditating, and spending time with other Christians.

• Finally, we all know that wearing perfume is forbidden in many places. That's because some people are allergic to perfume scents and actually experience physical dis-ease when in their presence.

2 Corinthians 2:16 reminds us that not everyone will appreciate or welcome the Christ fragrance that we carry. To those who have rejected Him, it is the fragrance of death. It should not surprise us that there are more and more places where sharing the good news about Jesus is forbidden. When we do it anyway, we'll probably get into trouble.

How are we doing as spreaders of the perfume of Jesus? Is this world a sweeter  place because of our presence?

(From the Archives of Other Food: daily devos)
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The Other Prodigal Son - Arends

My new Christianity Today column is about my empathy for the "older brother" ... and something he taught me only recently ... Here it is!

The Other Prodigal Son

The Prodigal's coming-home gala was for both sons.

 Growing up in Sunday school, I was very familiar with the Prodigal Son—at least as he was rendered in flannelgraph. I disapproved of his behavior with righteous indignation; as the first-born child of a Baptist household, I empathized with the older brother. How was it fair that the bad boy got a party and the good one didn't? It wasn't until I was much older that I realized the story was infinitely more about the father's love than the prodigal's misconduct.

Only recently, however, have I begun to discover that the older son in Jesus' story is every bit as lost as the younger one. In his book The Prodigal God, Timothy Keller points out that the two brothers represent the two basic ways people try to make life work. The younger son pursues "self-discovery"—he's on a quest to find and fulfill himself, even if a few people have to get hurt along the way. The older brother is committed to a more socially respectable way of being in the world—the way of "moral conformity." He's on a program of self-salvation, earning the approval of his community and the favor of his father; when he feels the terms of this deal are violated, his good attitude evaporates into resentment.

Kenneth Bailey is a theologian who spent 40 years living in the Middle East, striving to resituate Jesus' stories in their original Palestinian context. He points out that for Jesus' audience, respect for one's father is paramount; the younger son's request for his inheritance from a still-healthy patriarch constitutes an unthinkable offense. It amounts to saying, "I wish you were dead."

But the older son's conduct—refusing to join the party for his brother and arguing with his dad in front of the guests—is no less egregious. Hospitality was of supreme value in 1st-century Palestine. The entire village would likely have been invited to the party, and the oldest son would be expected to co-host the proceedings. His refusal is another round of humiliating rejection for the father. But the father actually goes out looking for this son, entreating him to come join the party, and Jesus leaves the story unfinished. Will the son abandon his own plan for making life work and accept the extravagant gift of his father's love and inclusion? Or will he stick to the terms of his deal and exclude himself from his place in the family?

I was discussing this story not long ago with a Bible study group made up mostly of "older brothers" and "older sisters." We'd played by the rules much of our lives, but we were beginning to see that our good behavior had been at least subconsciously a form of self-salvation—an attempt to earn God's approval and maybe even obligate him to do what we wanted. When we considered the fact that Jesus told this story to the Pharisees (older brothers if ever there were some!) in response to their outrage over his association with "sinners," we realized the parable is primarily about the father's relationship with the older son. "How did this story about two sons ever even get called 'The Prodigal Son'?" one of us asked. "An older brother must have named it!" was the answer.

As we pondered the implications, one of the women confessed, "Still, it doesn't seem fair that the father had never thrown a party for the older son." ?Several of us admitted that we, too, related to the son's complaint.

We moved on to another of Jesus' stories: the parable of the Great Banquet. I began to wonder if, from Jesus' perspective, having a feast thrown in one's honor is a blessing, but being invited to help the father host the banquet is a vastly greater gift. My husband and I love holding pool parties in our backyard. When things go well—when lots of people come and the food is tasty and there is laughter and music and good conversation—there is a particular satisfaction and intimacy we share as we debrief together over the cleanup.

Maybe the father in Jesus' story felt he could honor and bless his oldest boy more by inviting him into the deep relationship of mutual service than by merely giving him a party of his own. Maybe becoming a Christian is not only accepting Jesus into my life, but also accepting his incredible invitation to be a part of his life—to participate missionally in the triune God's cosmic plan of redemption.

As Jesus tells it, the Father is hosting a lavish banquet, and we're invited—not because of our own merit, but because he loves us. And there's more. He's invited us to help him throw the party—neither as servants nor as guests, but as family.

Copyright © 2012 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.
www.carolynarends.com

Deep Breathing - Derksen

Not too long ago, an older gentleman informed my husband about the healing properties of breathing deeply. He said that you don’t need to breathe like this all the time, but taking a few deep breaths periodically throughout the day helps you absorb more oxygen. More oxygen means your body can work better and you’ll feel better both mentally and physically.

The research shows that a steady practice of correct breathing is a good way to simply cope with everyday life: It will increase your energy levels after a tiring day at the office, help you be more alert even without a caffeine fix, and will help you focus better when everything seems to be happening at once. Deep breathing can improve blood circulation so that your bones and muscles get more nutrients, reduce your symptoms of stress, especially when you feel like your heart is racing a mile a minute, and it can relieve pain.

This is some good information, especially for those of us who have a computer at the end of our fingertips for most of the day. We sit crunched over the machine, taking shallow breaths with our diaphragms compacted and our shoulders slumped. But what about the other breathing that is so necessary to our vocation as Christian writers. The Apostle Paul in Galatians 5:25 (NLT) says, “Since we are living by the Spirit, let us follow the Spirit’s leading in every part of our lives.”

If we truly are living, working, and communing with the Holy Spirit of God every day, how do we access His power, His comfort, His direction? A few years back, I listened to a speaker talk about Holy Spirit Breathing. He spoke about the practice of breathing in as we ask the Holy Spirit to take over total control of our lives and then to breathe out all the other things that we’ve placed in that position.

For instances, who makes the decision when you get up in the morning about what you want to accomplish that day? Do you or do you ask the Spirit to direct you or, for those of us who are writers, to direct our words. I love to spend time with my morning devotions before I sit at the computer because I know that the words will flow better and the thought processes will have clarity if I’ve taken a Holy Breather. However, there are days…

I stumble out of bed, grab a quick cup of coffee, and settle in, even before I’ve gotten dressed. I get boggled down with social networks, bill paying, invoices, and snail mail. The phone rings or the doorbell chimes and I have to scramble to get some clothes on before they leave. That is not a day controlled by the Holy Spirit of God. There is no peace, and certainly no clarity of thought.

Holy Breathing is something we can do no matter where we are. It’s simply acknowledging that the Holy Spirit has the podium. He sits on the throne of your life…not on the footstool. Like breathing deeply, injecting our body with life-saving oxygen, breathing in the Holy Spirit daily…sometimes more than once…refreshes, relaxes, and gives us peace beyond our imagination. Let Him lead and the dance will be smother, more graceful, and your audience will be thrilled.

The Lion of Tekoa - Reynolds

Amos, the Man and his Message

 

I    Read:   Amos 7:10-17 

A voice speaking out of the distant past, yet speaking with a strange and startling relevance to our own time.  Words, unimaginable words, strong words, true words, frightening words.  This is not the past -- this is now!   For eighth century Israel and western society today are startlingly alike.

 A voice, not of an educated leader of the people, an aristocrat born to responsibility and respect, but of a simple shepherd who lived in the wild and lonely region south of Jerusalem called Tekoa.  But such a man! 

“I’m not one of your paid-prophets,” he roared at them, no member of the “Prophets Guild” whose members lived comfortably as any minister or pastor today, whose sons were trained in song and dance and politics in order that they too should be effective and pleasing “communicators” of the Word of God.

Rough-hewn and untrained he was, but not unintelligent nor lacking in insight.  Living in the stark-naked desert as he did, he saw things more clearly, in sharper relief.  And sitting down at night by the campfires of travelers and caravans who passed his way (for Tekoa was on the route of caravans which passed between Assyria and Egypt) he knew, perhaps better than King Jeroboam himself, what was happening in the world around him.  Certainly, in Amos, we are again reminded that intelligence is more important than education, and spiritual insight more important than professional training.

II   Read:   Amos 2:6-8, 14-15; 3:1-2

It was a good time to be alive – Israel, 800 years before the birth of Christ.  It was a time like our own, a time of relative peace and prosperity.  In the wars that she had to fight, Israel had been the victor.  The threat of distant Assyria was somewhat withdrawn as she had enough problems nearer home to keep her occupied.  Jeroboam II was a capable king, business was good, religion was flourishing – so what did this shaggy lion of the desert have to roar about?

But!  Beneath the placid and prosperous surface of life there were all the marks of corruption and decay – and Amos saw these.  Wars had wrought changes in the social fabric.  Small landholders were being forced off the land by large concentrations of land-holding capital. The “family farm” we would say was being forced out of existence – just as in the days of the late Roman Empire.  (The Roman mob, you may remember, were in large part small landholders forced off their land, who then drifted to the city looking for employment.  Today we have a dozen “Romes” around the world, cities of 18 or 20 millions or more, people who have been forced off their ancestral lands by large land-holding corporations.)

The prosperity was not universal, of course.  There were those who lived in large stone houses, lolling on luxurious couches inlaid with ivory, drinking cocktails and smacking their lips over the latest delicacies.  In the same city also lived those “beneath the poverty-line,” sons of Joseph ruined by hopelessness and obstacles they could never overcome, trampled down by “the system,’ broken for lack of education and training, cheap victims of wine and other drugs, living on the streets or lying in the gutters.  

So often, prosperity and wealth do not breed sensitivity and generosity but callousness and indifference.  Overeating and over indulgence become the chief causes of death on this continent, while overseas millions starve, and pictures of starving children with distended bellies no longer move us to tears or action.

Perhaps that’s one of the most terrible things about our own condition – we become hardened and human life becomes cheap!  In Amos’ day, he says, some people’s lives were sold for the price of a pair of shoes, souls for soles!  (In Vancouver’s downtown eastside, shoes are valuable items, taken even from the feet of the dead who are lying in the gutters or the back lanes.)  In Rome, remember the horrible spectacle of a man’s life depending on the whim of the courtesans of the moment – thumbs up, or thumbs down. 

Of course, we aren’t that bad.   We don’t do the really bad stuff – murder and theft and rape.  That’s other people, not us.  We lock our doors and close our eyes, except to watch the news every evening on TV.  Oh, we know it’s there.  But maybe it will go away, or the government or someone else will look after it.  In any case, surely, it won’t bother us.  Will it? 

Hand in hand with moral callousness goes a soft conception of religion.  The people of 8^th century Israel were religious; they were very religious.  Shrines and sanctuaries such as Bethel and Gilgal were crowded at the set seasons of religious festivals.  Money poured into the coffers of the temples.  God had prospered them and they reciprocated with sacrifices and festivals that would have impressed Cecil B. DeMille.  God, they seemed to think, will pardon them: “that’s His business.”  In any case, they thought God was more interested in proper temple ritual than those wretched people who, if you gave them a coin, would spend it for liquor.  A bit of charity was all right, but religion didn’t have anything to do with the political system.

III   Read:   Amos 5:14-15, 21-24; 6:1, 4-7; 4:1-3

Against these conditions the lion of Tekoa roared.  God is more interested in righteousness and justice than religion, Amos claimed.  Don’t think you can “buy him off” with flatter and sacrifices, with praise and offerings.  He cried, The Lord says,

“I hate your religious festivals,

I despise these solemn assemblies. 

When you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings, I won’t accept them. 

I won’t look at the animals you have so carefully fattened. 

Stop your noisy songs!  I don’t want to listen to the melodies of your harps.  Instead, let justice roll down like a great river and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream!”  (Amos 5:21-24)

Don’t think, he told them, that God is concerned only with your relationship with him (“Jesus and me” religion!)  God is concerned about your relationship with each other as well.  He’s angered when he sees the poor deprived of justice, politicians who accept the influence of “gifts,” priests who are more interested in income for the church than help for the poor.

Woe to you who live at ease in Zion, to you who feel safe in Samaria,

leaders of the people, to whom the poor go for aid. 

You loll on couches inlaid with ivory, feasting on steak and lamb,

drinking wine by the bowlful and wearing the finest perfumes. 

But you are not grieved over Israel’s ruin. 

Therefore you will be the first to go into Exile

and your feasts and banquets will come to an end!

Listen to you, women of Samaria,

growing fat like the well-fed cows of Bashan. 

You demand that your husbands keep you well supplied with wine,

but you treat your servants miserably

and give no thought to their poverty-stricken children! 

The Lord God has sworn by His holiness that your time is coming. 

They shall thrust hooks into your bodies, every one of you like fish on a hook;

they will drag you to the nearest break in the wall and throw you out on the garbage.  (Amos 4:1-3)

IV Read:    Amos 3:3-8

But, the people said to Amos, we are God’s chosen people.  We are the church!  We are the saved!

All the more reason for God to punish you, came the reply.  “You alone have I chosen of all the nations of the world.  Therefore I must punish you, must discipline you.  If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t care.  But because you have known my grace and my love, because you have, so many times, sitting there confessing your sins, been assured of my forgiveness, therefore especially you fall under my judgement.  For it is written, “judgement shall begin at the house of God!”

And, said Amos, speaking for God, “my judgement is sure.”  It is certain, as certain, if you will, as the law of cause and effect. 

Do two people meet together unless they have made an appointment?

Does the lion roar in the forest unless it has killed its prey?

Does a bird get caught in a trap if the trap has not been baited?

Or does a trap spring unless something has set it off?

When the trumpet sounds the alarm, don’t the people take alarm?

Does disaster befall a city without a cause?

Does the Lord do anything without first revealing it to his servants, the prophets?

The lion has roared!  Who will not be afraid?

The Lord God has spoken.  Who can but prophecy? 

          (Amos 3:3-8)

Our world has grown smaller in the last one hundred years.  Improvements in transportation and communication have brought us into contact with many peoples and nations we knew before only remotely.  Most of us have been off this continent, some around the world.  The nations and peoples of the earth are being jostled together.  We have indeed become a “global village.”

In this world of ours today, do we not see that international justice is an immediate imperative?  How long do we think God will permit us to control 85% of the world’s wealth, we who are 15% of the world’s population?  How long do we think God will allow us to grow flabby with rich and soft living: red and beefy young men leaning on the marble tables of the beer parlour watching the immediate sports event on the colossal TV screen; women who spend more on their hair than they give to the poor; “suits” at expensive restaurants doing business over their two-hour martini lunches?

This, while children of Africa and Latin America and south Asia go hungry for want of food, blind for want of the simplest of medicines, crippled through life because of a landmine supplied by a foreign power, a mining company whose only interest in the country is the money it can make on the minerals in its mountains.  Not the people!  Not the people!  Will the Lord not use the lean anger of the deprived peoples of the world as a vehicle of His judgment?

If the “Lion of Tekoa” came out of the desert today, would he not look on the luxuries of our western world and say, “Does a nation grow rich without growing fat?”  And looking at the hunger of the rest of the world, would he not say, “Will a starving man not fight for food – for himself, for his family?”  -- Wouldn’t you?  Wouldn’t we?

V Read:    Amos 8:1-3

Several times during his lifetime, Amos had joined the crowds going up to Bethel or Gilgal for religious festivals.  He had, each time, come home angry and bitter – and afraid.  He was sure that God must move in judgment to destroy his beloved people.  Once, it seems to him, he saw God coming in judgment through a plague of locusts, again by drought and fire.  Each time he prayed, and believed that the Lord God relented and said, “This shall not happen!”  But Amos knew that the next time God would not relent.

And as he walked up to Bethel, the long trudge in the hot sun, just ahead of him he noticed a slave, sweating as he staggered under his burden – a great basket of ripe summer fruit for the offering of his rich master, a sacrifice for the temple.  As he watched the yellow fruit rolling on the back of the bearer, the Hebrew word for summer fruit rolled in his mind – qayits, qayits, qayits!  Then the awful truth impressed itself upon him, and qayits, “summer fruit,” became qets, destruction! (The two Hebrew words sound very much the same.)

I had another vision from the Lord.  In it I saw a basket of summer fruit (qayits). 

The Lord said to me, “Amos, what do you see?”  And I answered, “A basket of summer fruit.”

Then God said to me, Destruction (qets) has come upon my people.  I will not change my mind again about punishing them.  The songs in the temple will become cries of grief.  Dead bodies will be everywhere.  They will be thrown out with no one to protest or mourn.   (Amos 8:1-3)                       

Reinhold Niebuhr once wrote, “In every civilization its most impressive period seems to precede death by only a moment.  Like the woods in autumn, life defies death in a glorious pageantry of colour.  But the riot of this colour has been distilled by an alchemy in which life has already been touched by death.”

Will our civilization reach the height of its glory just before its impending doom begins to descend?  As the leaf reaches its peak of glory just before falling, as fruit becomes most tasty just before it starts to rot, will our civilization also at its highest point see the beginnings of its destruction?  Our comforts, luxuries, and much-prided culture, our chesterfields, Cadillacs and concerts – will they be swept away?  Is it necessary cause and effect – that human pride, arrogance, and love of comfort will destroy either us or the heritage we would leave to our children?

            Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,

            Where wealth accumulates, and men decay!

            (Goldsmith, “The Deserted Village”)

The Crossroads

What is it about human nature that draws us to great challenges in books, movies and sports, but has us crying "poor me," as soon as those challenges call us out of our comfort zone? Why are we so fascinated by the great paradoxes of the Bible, but so quick to think God has abandoned us when life doesn't go all our way? Why do we so eagerly embrace the words of Jesus, "I've come so you might have life, and have it to the full," but manage to push to the recesses of our minds, "You will be hated of all men because of me?"

My wife and I are coming to a crossroads of a sorts. We will be leaving the home we've lived in for 28+ years. I've been watching the Real Estate market closely for well over a year now. How is it that this place where we have raised our children and so often welcomed our grandchildren -- won't bring a bigger price on the market? Why, at our age and with our present home debt free, should we need a $30,000 mortgage to purchase anything comparable in space and comfort?

Add to that mix -- a book. It's a relatively small book, only 230 pages. A book with a distinctly American flavour. A book that praises small churches, but is written by a Pastor who openly struggles with the dilemma of following a leader who focused most of his energy on 12 men, while he leads a 4,000 member congregation. If I'd known how much David Platt was going to mess with our minds, I might not have brought the book home. I might have hidden it before my wife started to read it too.

You see, I'm quite content with what I would call a simple life. I don't need the latest car. I don't need a bigger house. I don't need to travel the world. I don't need a 60" flat-screen TV. I confess to two hungers I never fully satisfy. I always want more bookshelves (full ones) and I always want more and larger aquariums. But even in those areas I've learned to keep the brakes on, to limit myself, to spend cautiously and slowly.

But -- The Book! It's titled "Radical -- Taking Back Your Faith From the American Dream" by David Platt, ISBN 978-1601422217, published in 2010 by Multnomah. It has my wife and I playing the "What if" game.

What if -- when we sell our home -- we don't just buy something else? What if we take a month, or three months, or a year -- for some type of mission? We're not wealthy by North American standards. But by world standards we're in the top 1%. Would it really be so 'radical' to give a month or more of our lives to work among people whose weekly income is less than we would spend stopping once at a donut shop? Would it be so 'radical' to help drill a well or construct a water filter in a village where half the children die before the age of five? We are grandparents. There is a grave with the body of a little one we never got to hold. The death that impacted us so deeply happened in spite of superb health care. Is it so 'radical' to wish to change the odds, where the flip of a coin tells the probability of any new infant surviving? We shed many tears when our grandson died. Do the tears of other parents and grandparents not matter? Does it not matter that they grieve without any sense of hope, that many of them have never heard the name of Jesus?

I've been consumed by a writing project for the last three months. Sometimes it seems like I've been buried by it. A couple interruptions have yanked me out of it momentarily, but somehow left the hole open for me to fall back into again. This book has come when I didn't want another interruption. It has come when just trying to find a home we can afford has felt like more than enough of a challenge. It has come when writing has started to have little glimmers of excitement again -- not just an addiction I can't break -- so even the Real Estate market feels like an interruption.

What if our bank accounts, our investments, even our lives -- were totally at God's disposal? What if we said, "Okay, God. It's all Yours." We give lip-service to it being all His anyway. What if we actually meant it?

Will I dare? Will my wife dare -- to fully trust this God we claim to trust? We've lived our lives in the church. We know all the right language. We give of our resources and of our time. But somehow still, it seems there is a cut-off. "You can take this much of our comfort, God. But don't ask for more than that." It's more than a bit frightening to actually articulate it -- to see those words on the computer screen in front of me.

Maybe I'll write to this author who is messing in our lives. Maybe I'll accuse him of having the audacity to actually believe the Bible. Maybe I'll label him an extremist for taking Jesus at His word -- for daring to believe His call includes us, in North America, where our "poverty line" is an income 30 times what many people in the world earn.

Or maybe -- at this crossroads in our lives -- we'll find the courage to become just a bit radical ourselves -- to fully believe the Bible for ourselves -- to accept that this call just might include us too.

The Race - Meyer

“However, I consider my life worth nothing to me; my only aim is to finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the good news of God’s grace.” Acts 20:24 NIV

“I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 3:14 NIV

I’m in a race, rushing towards…. deadlines for manuscripts, deadlines for cover art approval, deadlines for submission of course outlines, deadlines for marking student work, deadlines for a blog entry.

I feel as if I am running fast and can’t slow down for… a phone call to a friend, a walk with my husband, a chat with my granddaughter, house cleaning, sleep.

Breaking my arm a couple months ago is partly the reason I am behind on things and in such a rush now. But I fear the real cause is a lifestyle of trying to cram in as much as possible into each minute of every day. A chronic case of workaholic-ism.

Life is a race complete with a prize (see scripture quotes above) but I KNOW there is a balance here that I often lack. There are other Bible verses:

"He says, 'Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.'" Psalm 46:10 NIV

"This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says: 'In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength, but you would have none of it.'" Isaiah 30:15 NIV

And we have written down for us in the Gospel accounts the story of Mary and Martha. Martha was busy, busy, busy… But Mary chose the better way.

So, I will now (in deep authoritative voice)“step away from the computer” and make a phone call to a friend, chat with my granddaughter, visit with my husband, sleep.

But I think I’ll still skip the housecleaning for now.

I wish you all a relaxing, restful, and absolutely joy-filled weekend!

Dorene Meyer
http://www.dorenemeyer.com/
http://www.goldrockpress.com/
Author of Missy to be released March 26: http://www.mcnallyrobinson.com/event-11168/Northern-Writers----Launch-of-Five-New-Books

Funny Ha ha or Funny Queer? - Smith Meyer

In my youth I had a friend who would ask, when someone said “That’s
funny!”

“Do you mean funny ha ha or funny queer?”

Laughter is healthy and the ability to laugh at ourselves is vital to our well-being. It can say a lot about our sense of self-acceptance.

But humour can also be a risky thing. What one person finds funny, to another can be plain stupid—over-the-top—or to another even offensive.

A sentence or comment from one person can have us howling with laughter. The same sentence from another can feel like an insult or a put-down. From another, it may fall flat leaving listeners bored. The delivery and the attitude can make quite a difference. There is also a wide variety when it comes to sense of humour.

Several years ago a co-worker and I sometimes needed to choose a video for a group to watch. We soon learned we couldn’t agree on what was funny. What I chose bored her to tears. What she chose I thought was too stupid to be funny. The thing that was really comical is that when we took turns to choose, we found some of the group appreciated her humour and some appreciated mine.

The same happens in writing humour. Don Harron as Charlie Farquharson amused many people. My first husband really enjoyed listening to him. We went once to see Don and his wife Catherine. They were quite a team, each playing several parts. We thoroughly enjoyed them and
went home feeling light-hearted the way you do after a good laugh.

Then Don’s Charlie Farquharson’s Histry of Canada was published. It made a perfect gift for my husband. The first day he had it indicated what was to happen through the whole book. He sat in his chair reading and soon his shoulders began to shake, then he chuckled and chuckled some more. Eventually he laid the book on his knee and laughed until the tears streamed down his face.

When he was laughed out, he wiped his eyes, picked up the book and began to read. Soon his shoulders shook, he chuckled and chuckled some more until the book landed on his knee again while he laughed until he cried. You get the picture.

When I asked him to read the part that was so funny, he said, “It’s all funny, but it just builds up until you can’t contain the mirth.”

I couldn’t quite see how Charlie could be that much more funny in a book then on TV or at a show. So I read some. Then I saw for myself. The spelling Don used did add much to the
humour. I never listened to Charlie again without envisioning the spelling of the words he voiced.

We really enjoyed Charlie’s humour, but some of our friends couldn’t have cared less.


Erma Bombeck was another writer who cheered a lot of us. Her humour was actually a lot of truth stated in ways that made us smile. For instance, "House guests should be regarded as perishables: Leave them out too long and they go bad."

It makes us smile because we’ve been there. Her humour was quite universal, but I’m sure there were some who didn’t find her that funny.

We have great humourists in The Word Guild. I’d love to be one of them, but much as I like a good laugh, it doesn’t seem to be one of my gifts to write it.

People are delightfully different. Humour isn’t a one size fits all. But cultivate it. It’s healthy. They say that everyone should have a good belly laugh each day to keep mentally and physically healthy. So find your type of humour and enjoy!

An Inherited Case of the Giggles - Rose McCormick Brandon

Terrence, my five year-old grandson, came to spend the night. When it was time for bed, I read a story; that's our ritual. I usually read one of the Berenstain Bears books because that's what he's been liking lately. Instead, I reached for The Adventures of Bobby Coon by Thornton W Burgess. On the first page is an inscription: Jack Brandon, Christmas 1924. My father-in-law who passed away a few years before I married his son Douglas, received the book when he was about the age of our grandson.

Bobby Coon, nesting in a hollow tree for the winter, had a bad dream. The dream turned into a nightmare. A giant was beating Bobby's log with a stick. Bobby rubbed his sleepy eyes. The dreadful pounding continued. The half-awake coon didn't know if he was dreaming or awake. He decided to bite his tail. That would let him know if he was awake or asleep. At this point in the story Terrence began to giggle.

"So Bobby took the tip of his tail in his mouth and bit it gently. Then he
wondered if he really did feel it or just seemed to feel it. So he bit it again,
and this time he bit harder. 'Ouch!' cried Bobby."

Terrence lost control of his giggle. He rolled back and forth on the bed struggling for breath. At this exact moment I discovered an awful truth. Terrence has inherited my gift of visualizing a scene into absurdity. It's a helpful ability when used in writing but one that's also caused me embarrassment. Once when I was fifteen, sitting in a church pew at a youth meeting, the teenage zealous speaker, his face red from exertion, preached to us about our sinful tendency to criticize others.

He cited Jesus' story about the man who tried to remove a speck from another man's eye and couldn't do it because he had a massive beam stuck in his own eye. A vivid picture settled in my brain. A man strode through the small downtown section of our town, a plank protruding from his eye. I saw him linger at the Sears window. Shoppers gazed at him, horrified.

As this movie played out in my mind, I started to giggle. My face turned crimson. I clamped my hand over my mouth and lowered my head below the pew in front of me. Nothing worked. The movie continued. The man in my mind strolled through town oblivious to the two by four in his eye. I laughed through the entire sermon. And the sermon was no laughing matter. My cousin seated beside me giggled too, not because of her own vivid visions but because my giggle set her off.

Now my affliction has been visited upon my poor grandson. He is doomed to visualize scenes that will undo him at the most inappropriate moments - in the middle of a wedding speech, during a Christmas song warbled to a courteous audience by an untalented singer or perhaps at a PTA meeting when a worried parent over-dramatizes an altercation between children.

For now, Terrence and I share an out of control moment thanks to Bobby Coon. I wonder if the writer of these delicious stories possessed a motion picture mind too. I wouldn't be surprised if he did.

A Found Song - Eleanor Shepherd

It seems like a random series of events.  A Norwegian friend recounted a story to comfort me in Montreal in 2009.  She tells of an incident that happened at a camp in Newfoundland in 1983.  This eventually leads to provision of music to a tornado survivor in Alabama in 2011.  God sometimes seems to orchestrate dates and events in strange ways for His purposes.

In 1983, Brynhild Pelley attended a women’s camp in Newfoundland.  The speaker at the event, my mother, had just received the news that nothing could be done to reverse the deterioration in her vision and she would eventually lose her sight.  During the camp, in introducing a song, my mother affirmed the words, though many of the women did not know the challenge she was facing. They sang,

“Pilot of souls, I trust Thy guiding hand;

Take thou the helm, and at thy blest command,

I sail straight on until, the harbour won,

I reach the glory of they sweet well done.

O man of Galilee!”

After living with and seldom complaining about her blindness for thirty years my mother, Elizabeth Pitcher died in 2009. While I was preparing the tribute for her funeral, Brynhild told me the story of this event at the camp.  I included it in my tribute, as I talked of my mother’s deep love for God. 

Shortly after my Mother’s funeral, my turn came do my Word Guild blog for that month, so I posted the tribute to my mother.  With the positive comments I received from that blog, when International Women’s Day came around in March 2010, I reposted the article on my personal blog.  I had no idea this blog would pop up on Google, a year later when Greg Ables in Alabama was looking for words of a song.

In April 2011, a series of tornadoes hit Alabama, causing horrendous destruction and loss of life.  The news even made headlines as far away as Montreal and Toronto, where Canadians prayed for those whose lives were literally torn apart by this disaster.  In Toronto, I was preparing to be interviewed about my book, on 100 Huntley Street on Friday, April 29. Before the show, as we prayed together we remembered those who were hit by these dreadful storms.  I had no idea I would be involved personally with some of them.

Saturday morning, we were back in Montreal and when I opened my computer, there was a note from an unfamiliar name, Greg Ables.  The headline was the title of my book, so I assumed that it was someone who wanted to comment about it. Instead, I discovered Greg lived in Alabama where he and his wife, Paige had been cleaning up after the tornadoes. 

As Greg surveyed the damage in his yard that morning, he came across a scrap of paper. He realized it had come from the home of someone who had not fared as well as he and his family.  On that paper were the words,

“Pilot of souls, I trust

Take thou the helm

command,

I sail straight on until

I reach the glory

done.

The words on this little fragment of paper spoke to Greg and he wanted to find out more about them.  He thought they might be a hymn but he could not find any reference to them in his hymnal.  Greg’s home was still without power, but as soon as electricity was restored, he booted up his computer and searched on the Internet for the words of this hymn.  One of the references that came up was my personal blog, where I had quoted the words in telling the story of my mother.

I still have no idea why the name of my book came up on the subject line.  He wanted to know if I had the music for these words.  He managed to find all the words of the song between my blog, and other places on the web.  I was able to provide not only the music, but also a little of the history of the writers of both the lyrics and the music for the hymn.   

            Robert Hoggard, (1861- 1935) a Salvation Army officer in Australia, wrote the words of the song.  Another Salvation Army officer from England, Edward Henry Joy (1871 – 1949) composed the tune.

My husband, Glen and I are Salvationists and had a copy of the music at home that I could scan and send to Greg.

Greg could not thank me enough for sending him this music.  He told me how much our prayers for the people of Alabama were appreciated.  His words were optimistic, in spite of the situation.  He said,  “There is so much devastation, but I do believe that this tragedy will wind up bringing Alabama together (and that is something that many here have prayed for)”.

I thought the Lord weaved a beautiful tapestry with these seemingly random events.

·      My mother’s sharing at that women’s camp

·      My hearing the story from Brynhild at the time of my mother’s passing,

·      My posting the words on my blog to celebrate International Women’s Day,

·      The scrap of paper from a Salvation Army songbook landing in Greg’s yard during the tornado,

·      The fragment of paper coming to his attention in all the debris,

·      The electricity coming on so he could search the Internet,

·      The search engine taking him to my blog

Here is the fragment.

·      My having the music available in my home when Greg asked for it,

In the Master Artisan’s hands the finished product brought hope and encouragement to our new friends in Alabama, Greg and Paige Ables.  They had been going through their own personal challenges before the tornadoes hit.  However, when they became aware of what others had suffered, their trials took on a new perspective. The fragment of song they learned to sing and teach others has given them new hope. 

In the e-mail he wrote to thank me for the music, Greg attached a scan of the partial hymn he found in the yard and thanked me for helping them make it whole.  Then he said, “Paige and I will do what He calls us to do - although that is still unclear at this point. But, for now, we will learn (and teach) a new song!”

            God showed His compassion once again in giving a song in the midst of disaster.  

Winner of 2011 Word Guild Award

 

 in 

Christian Leadership

Story Winner of 2009 Word Guil

d Award of Merit

Roses an’ Chocs, Leaky Faucets an’ Dirty Socks -- Black

Roses, chocolates, cupid cards and romantic candlelight dinners... Aahh, a woman’s dream; something every woman wants, right? No, not really.

Chocolates? If none come my wife’s way at Christmas, we’ll buy some in the post-season sales, and she’ll be happy for the bargain.

A nice, but not too fancy restaurant or expensive dinner? That’s OK too, but it doesn’t have to be on Valentine's Day.

Roses? Well, they wilt so quick that she’d rather I didn’t spend money on them. We usually shop together and pick up some annuals or perennials at the garden centre in the spring, for a fraction of the cost.

My Beloved—ever pragmatic—welcomes a little touch of romance, but slavish extravagance, she doesn't. I’m grateful for my “low-maintenance” girl! However, I don’t get off the hook, altogether; she does have expectations!

Have you ever heard or expressed something like the following (it reflects the sort of things that matter to my spouse)?:

"There's so much happening all at once ... I'm completely overloaded with so much to do that I hardly know where to begin!" The statement may be intoned with frustration or a sigh. (One learns to tell the difference.)

Shortly before my retirement, my wife, looking weary and sounding peeved, took a deep breath and said, "Look, we've only got a few weeks left before we move, and we've got so much to do between now and then. Peter, you just have to take the time to help me get it done!"

Her frustration over my slowness to reduce the size of my library and an abundance of tools before our move into a downsized home, showed. But even her frustration was overridden by a momentary sense of helplessness—a sinking feeling of being overwhelmed and falling behind, expressed in a sigh. Ah yes, a woman’s voice, along with her actions, can tell us men so much about what matters to her.

Wise are the husbands and fathers who learn to hear and heed the voices of the womenfolk in their lives. The female voice can convey more than words alone; its intonation can reveal the feelings of the heart.

I still have to work at honouring my Beloved through applying thoughtful sensitivity; that means much more to her than sentimentality. After 45 years of marriage, I’m still not there. My capacity for active listening has improved in some respects, but is developing way too slow!

Truth is, my brain-box behaves like a bird hopping around on a hot tin roof, these days, and I have to try harder than ever to focus on what my Beloved (or anyone) is telling me. I really do need to pick up on the voiced request or mild sigh—long before the emotional dynamic leads to extreme frustration.

My wife doesn’t ask for much, but she does want me to listen attentively—to hear her heart and be aware of how she feels about what she says and requests, and to act accordingly. This is expected of men who follow Christ (1 Peter 3:7 abbrev.): "Husbands ... be considerate as you live with your wives, and treat them with respect ... so that nothing will hinder your prayers."

Fellas, just think: Some of our significant other’s requests may seem ever so insignificant to a man, but may mean a great deal to her. What do expensive dark chocolates, crimson roses, cards and candlelight dinners mean to the woman whose guy won’t pick up his dirty socks, or fix the leaky faucet (or sort out those boxes of books and tools!), eh?

~~+~~


This piece is an adaptation and expansion of my guest post to the blog, “A Woman’s Voice,” under a series “A Man’s Voice,” June 20, 2010.

Peter A. Black writes a weekly inspirational column for the Southwestern Ontario newspaper, The Watford Guide-Advocate, and is the author of "Parables from the Pond" (a Word Alive Press finalist, 2007)-- a book finding a readership from school children to senior citizens.

Fruit of the Spirit: Kindness - Lawrence

The fruit of the Spirit as named by St. Paul in his letter to the Galatians are: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. I have been looking at each one in turn and, this month, I will meditate on the spiritual fruit of kindness.

…be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you. Ephesians 4:32

What is kindness? I think of kindness as a leap of the heart towards another person. Kindness can be manifested in a pleasant word or action; perhaps a gesture of love, like a smile or a small offering to another person.

Kindness is something that lifts the heart of the one who receives it by its thoughtfulness. It is, indeed, tender-hearted on the part of the giver of the kindness and causes the one who receives it a feeling of tender-heartedness also.

Kindnesses are usually small but are remembered for many years by the recipient. Gestures of kindness may be so minute that the one who performs them may not have any recollection of them.

The spiritual fruit of kindness is small but beautiful. It is like the non-cultivated variety of nature’s fruit—the wild strawberry, raspberry, blackberry and blueberry—growing quietly under the plant’s leaves, small in size and sweet to the taste.

Kindness does not overwhelm the recipient; kindness is unassuming; kindness is simple in its manifestation and expects no thanks. Kindness is like a ray of sunshine that pierces the clouds on an overcast day, giving light and warmth to all who see it.

© Judith Lawrence

This meditation was first published in June 2008 on the meditation page of my website: www.judithlawrence.ca/monthly.php

Highway of Holiness: Soul Journey

Highway of Holiness: Soul Journey may be purchased at my website: www.judithlawrence.ca

The Work of Christmas has Begun/MANN

It’s the end of January. I took my Christmas tree down yesterday and put away all the visible evidence that Christmas even happened at our house. However, in Jim Strathdee’s song, “I am the Light of the World”, he claims:

“When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone, when the kings and the shepherds have found their way home, the work of Christmas is begun."

How then do I work, or facilitate someone else, to carry out the work of Christmas?

Looking at my list of errands on Monday morning, I realize that opportunity is within reach. Over Christmas, our church had collected homemade mittens, scarves and socks for kids who have to leave in the night, and head for a shelter with their mother. Every time I ring the bell on these doors, I think of these words:

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me" (Matthew 25:34).

Also on my list is a visit to our local school to take two bags of healthy snacks—gifts from our church’s outreach. A child, perhaps not hungry in the early hours of the morning, will enjoy a snack later in the day.

As a recipient of someone giving me information about a person with whom I’d lost contact, I’m able to visit an 85 year-old-woman in a local extended-care facility to renew a friendship. And later in the week, I’m given the free time to take an old friend a scarf I’d knit.

I’m aware that not all situations are geographically close enough to personally continue the work of Christmas: a woman from a nearby community is being held by Mexican officials; a family grieves the eminent death of a daughter, mother and sister; a grandchild is lost on city streets. The list is endless, and for some I can only pray.

The cruise ship tragedy is a story that I’ve been following. When I read the words, ‘As shaken survivors speak of a “mad rush” to evacuate the ship, and criticize the crew’s preparedness and slapdash emergency procedures . . . (Internet news account), I am left trying to imagine the feeling of overwhelming panic and crushing fear that must have consumed the passengers: children, women and men alike. Perhaps my only way of continuing the work of Christmas here is to shy from judgement, wait for justice and pray.

In all of the situations mentioned above, perhaps our greatest challenge is remembering Jesus’ words of relationship in appreciating women who learn to be strong in their personal situation, men who work to fulfill their individual responsibility and children who grow up watching them both.