Remembering the Neighborhood

On my top ten list of items I will never own but can't help coveting, is the set of models Mr. Rogers would occasionally use to segue into a visit to The Neighborhood of Make-believe. I had a paper version briefly, but, it's a long story.

We are leaving Spring Lake and St. Mary's. In the eighth grade Mea had a to do a school project about the most beautiful place in Spring Lake. She chose St. Mary's, and I have to agree. One of the most impressive features is a copy of the Pieta made from molds taken from the original marble. It sits right outside of church, a beautiful gift to the entire community.

I had a gift certificate to spend and I carried it around for a month or two trying to decide what to with it. I'm ready for my life to be more visually Catholic. I was shopping for a good-sized crucifix when I saw the Pieta, model-sized. After that there could be no other purpose for the gift certificate, and I was so excited to receive the statuette. It is so good to have something to inspire good memories.

And Just Like That...

A Taste of Redwall is over. I still have notes to write, a summary to create, and ideas for the next time to capture, but this event is over. I learned so much.

1. Walk straight through your fears. I put this project off because I was afraid it would be rejected. Morning after morning, I woke up sure it was failing. Phone call after phone call, I had to remember a no added up to nothing, but a yes changes everything. There were moments all along the way where quitting was a reasonable option. I'm so glad I persisted. It was worth every negative feeling.

2. Actively listen to others. I've always appreciated input, but in the past I was so afraid of being run over that I could be very hard-nosed about my vision. This time I had the best supervisors in Ann English and Mary Casselman. Their ideas were always helpful, and they truly appreciated what I was doing. It was easy to share with them. Karen Morgan was also instrumental in ramping up the fun factor. She was patiently persistent about activities I was unfamiliar with. She taught me a lot of new tricks.

3. Keep everybody in the loop. Sometimes I got so busy with drama in one aspect that I forgot that leaders in the other aspects needed to know what was going on in order to feel useful and appreciated. I don't think I'll make that mistake again.

4. Have fun! I did not meet my goals. In the past this meant an emotional storm that overshadowed everything. This time I decided to roll with it. The desserts were delicious and we had a good time. 

5. Remember, it's not your party. This was the first time I could let go of my successes and recognize that they came from God. They were not mine so I had no reason to boast. It's a nice change for me.

Fat Tuesday

I'm thinking about giving up the Beatles for Lent. They were my first taste of cultural butter, and the purposes it serves. My life had been one recording of the Life Action Singers after another. Occasionally, Doug Oldham or someone like him would take some risks, but not very often. My sister, with her musical ear collected an impressive knowledge of popular music from elevators and grocery stores. I was more inclined to return home to the safety of the Gaithers. 

Susan came over and for the first time in my life I was left unsupervised in my own home. Susan's sanctity was never questioned, so I was surprised when she recommended we ransack the record collection for contraband. We found The Letterman and were quite pleased with them. They were nice, but musically little different from Life Action or the other groups. From then on, any chance to ransack the records was a naughty little pleasure. That probably would have been the end of things if we hadn't moved to a suburb of DC. 

The kids in my new world not only listened to current rock and roll, they had sex and experimented with drugs. I was so lost. I had my first diagnosis of depression, and Dad pulled out all the stops--he rented Help! Mother would have nothing to do with it. Her disapproval filled the house making it all the more exciting as Dad plugged it in. It was hilarious, and the music was so fresh to us. After that, whenever it was all too much we'd get Help!

I still love Help! I love the Beatles catalog. Giving them up for Lent might not seem like big deal to some, but maybe there's a circle coming my life. While I'm not interested in a return to Life Action, maybe it's time for dry toast because I can, because of Lent.

Dinner Reservations

Some ideas are stickier than others.  Sitting in church listening to the details of a new project to build a wall around St. Martin DePorres Orphanage got me thinking about Redwall Abbey and Martin the Warrior.  We could put on a Redwall Feast to raise funds.  The idea was so so obvious to me that I assumed it would put itself forward.  I waited for it to be announced so I could volunteer. 

The wall was finished and a new laundry was nearly complete, but the idea still had not been put forward.  In my mind the event was taking shape in ever greater detail.  It kept growing from "A Taste of Redwall" food-centered event to an immersive dinner theater experience.  I kept finding experts and scouting actors, all the while waiting for someone else to speak up for this idea.

Then I began to see that this is my baby, so I put it forward to the St. Martin's Kids committee at church.  They are a very practical group.  They loved the idea and had very helpful questions and 

suggestions.  We all decided to let going forward rest on getting the necessary permissions from the publishers of Redwall.  It was such an intimidating process, but in the end we were green-lighted by Jim Jacques, Brian's brother.   

Pregnant by the Holy Spirit, it's not just for Mary anymore.  

A Glorious Synthesis

God and art has long been one of my favorite intersections.  A few years ago I discovered Sister Wendy's videos and I am slowly becoming a Sister Wendy omnivore.  If you are a person of any kind of faith, you will find her uplifting. Her discussions of great art are very accessible which may be the best thing about her work.  Nowhere is this more obvious than in her book of prayers for children.  Each prayer grows out of a work of art.  The works chosen are the kind that reward prolonged study, and the prayers have the profundity of all things simple.  Get this book for the children you know.  It will be a blessing. 

A Father's Counsel

When I'm worried or upset about something important I try to do something useful about it.  When St. Lazare's Retreat House was closing just as I'd just discovered how wonderful retreats are, I determined to write people that could do something about it.  I felt much better after sticking on the stamps and mailing my missives.  Bishop Hurley wrote me a lovely letter, and I was pleased to trust God.  I also wrote Pope Francis, expecting maybe a form letter if that.  Just recently a letter with a little pouch containing a white rosary and a picture of Pope Francis arrived.  I was truly touched, especially as I realized more prayer was very wise counsel indeed.  

A Resting Place

1. My faith has found a resting place,
   Not in device or creed;
   I trust the ever-living One,
   His wounds for me shall plead.
   • Refrain:
     I need no other argument,
     I need no other plea,
     It is enough that Jesus died,
     And that He died for me.
2. Enough for me that Jesus saves,
   This ends my fear and doubt;
   A sinful soul I came to Him,
   He’ll never cast me out.
3. My heart is leaning on the Word,
   The living Word of God,
   Salvation by my Savior’s name,
   Salvation through His blood.
4. My great physician heals the sick,
   The lost He came to save;
   For me His precious blood He shed,
   For me His life He gave.
   
   

By Eliza E. Hewitt and Jan Van Eyck

Too Gorge

We started Sunday with mass at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.  The art is so beautiful and uplifting.

We went to the National Gallery of Art, and really enjoyed a tour.  I also said hello to most of my favorites.

Kurt and I wrapped up the day watching "Anything Goes" at the Kennedy Center.  I had forgotten how shocking that time period can be, but it was a great cast and they put their heart and souls into it.

Briar Patch

Retreat! The drooling starts with a picture of a bed and a desk in a room, for me to enjoy all by myself. Usually it takes a full nervous breakdown for me to have that kind of luxurious privacy. It continues with various reminders that this is a quiet experience. Have I mentioned my six kids? Then there is all the property to explore, and the places for contemplation. St. Lazare's is located on the outskirts of the village where I live. Our motto is "Where nature smiles for seven miles." I'm looking forward to some nature. Free time to read and pray and write alternates various opportunities for worship, and I need to worship, especially in my quiet, introverted way. There will even be confession which is a great tune up right before Easter.
Lots of Jesus, lots of time to get back in step, this is the way it should be, and I don't have to be Brer Rabbit to know it.

Until Epiphany

I hate hard deadlines.  I feel so flustered, and there is nothing in the year of family life with a harder deadline than Christmas.  You have to gather it all up, decorate it all up, and party it up before the 25 gets here.  When it's past midnight and I'm still wrapping, it feels as though only death has a firmer though unknown end point. I was chatting with a friend about Christmas work, when it occurred to me that I'm a Catholic now--a Catholic Christmas starts Christmas Eve and keeps right on going into early January.  My timeline suddenly felt generous.  I find that deadline extension comforting, even though I'll still need to get the presents wrapped and the fancy clothes organized by the day, I will have a luxurious amount of time to reflect on the meaning of the season and Christ's place in my life.
Sometimes preparing for death seems as crammed and crowded as Christmas.  We have so much to do, to be, to share, and things get behind.   My first priest said that Purgatory is an acknowledgement that we die with sin and that that must be cleaned away.  How comforting!  I'd hate to show up in the Lord's presence still dragging this crap along.  A chance to "shower and change into his righteousness" is just the thing.  Purgatory is a deadline extension. a chance to reflect on the meaning of life and Christ's place in it.

Catching Up

My childhood was rather extraordinarily sheltered.  Adulthood opened a few doors, but mostly my life was all about following the pattern laid out from birth to death.  The only possible adventure would be the return of Christ, and while other people hailed it with joy, I figured they hadn't really thought through all that Tribulation stuff.
The voice of the Holy Spirit whispers gently to the root-bound, and I had numerous moments when I thought I heard something and found myself in trouble with the adults in my life.  They were sure they knew what the Holy Spirit might or might not say.  What I thought I'd heard wasn't likely or even possible.  So they said.
For me one of the global differences between Protestant as I experienced it and Catholic is that Catholics expect to be surprised.  They are open to Mary dropping off a message or some other improbable happening, and I love that.  While they have every confidence in the Word of God, they don't shrink God's work down to a contract.  Instead of closing their eyes and resting in God's peace they keep their eye's sharp looking for the work of God and for their place in it. 
Becoming a Catholic was for me, a Holy Spirit as Gandalf moment.  I was sitting there in my garden smoking a pipe, when he scratched a secret message on my heart, "Do or die time," so I did.  For me, becoming a Catholic was like Bilbo running straight out the green door.  I am having an adventure.

guidance unity discipline

One of the stray things I came across when I was thinking about converting was the eager testimonial that Catholics were always celebrating something, and they do celebrate quite a bit. There really is generally speaking, a party on the horizon most of the time. I like that. I don't participate as much as I should, but it's nice to know it's there. Catholics also celebrate some things that don't seem like holidays, at least not at first, but I'm discovering they grow on you.
My favorite example is Lent. As a Christian who studied her Bible I always knew that fasting was to be part of my spiritual practice, but guided practice was nearly non-existent. I worried that I might go too far or do it the wrong way, and the books I picked up worried about that with me. So fasting became an emergency procedure instead of being as reasonable and comfortable as devotional reading and prayer. Then I converted. Lent has clear guidelines, a clear time line and in general all the help you need to get the season right. It is also the kind of thing you grow into. My first year I gave up hot chocolate. This doesn't sound like much unless you know me. The next year I went overboard and gave up more than I was ready to. This year I think I've got it right.
As we all streamed out of church this morning with ashes on our foreheads, I got to thinking about the blessing of going through Lent together. The few fasts I did as a Protestant I did alone and in secret. If you're Catholic it's hard to disguise Lent. It's encouraging to hear other people's ideas for what to give up and to know that you are not alone in your struggles. There is the real beauty of knowing that all around the world today my fellow Catholics are accepting the ashes and watching their meals. Unity is one of the things Christ put prominently on the agenda for Christians. It is one of my favorite things about Catholic life.
This year was the first time I got into the spirit of Fat Tuesday. I'm beginning to see it as a way of celebrating the things that are good before we give them up for something better. Before I'd always thought of those goods as less-thans but there is good in chocolate. It's not as good as Jesus, but the world he created for us still retains some of its charms. I've been gaining weight for a lot of reasons, and I have been too tired to do anything other than note the new number on the scale. It had started to feel impossible until Lent came over the horizon. "Ah, my friend, here is help known and proved." Like a big brother Lent put its arm around me and offered to shoulder some of my burden. A Catholic life is a disciplined life that slowly weaves the strength of Jesus into and around us one small choice at a time.

2 dollar cheat sheet

I set aside my Christian Prayer because I became frustrated that I just don't understand its internal logic. Completely dependent on the St. Joseph's Guide, I enjoyed the experience much the way I suppose a first-time skydiver enjoys the ride with his mentor strapped to his back. I was there. I did it, but I didn't really do that much. There was also the sneaky suspicion that the Guide, thorough as it is, took for granted that I knew a lot more than I do. It didn't help that the book I bought to explain Christian Prayer added still other procedures I didn't know. All that frustration stopped me from remembering why I was praying like this in the first place.
I was praying the hours because I loved it. The prayers and scriptures weave themselves into my day and slowly into my life. My life felt rejuvenated and healed. I should have known all my mounting pride was the real problem with Christian Prayer/Liturgy of the Hours. It's hard for me to be the newby. As a Baptist I not only had the theology down, I knew people. I'm used to being the smarty-pants. Now I stumble over the alternative Easter and Advent and Lent stuff. I'm still learning when I add these items in and when I leave them out. In any case the trail had gone so cold that I was surprised when Father Dan said I should get back to work on Christian Prayer. He showed me an amazing app that would do all the work for me if I had an ipad or an iphone. Who knew liturgical prayer would stir up such covetousness? There is no room in the budget for that at the moment, so I humbled myself and sent off for my old instructor--St. Joseph's Guide. It's only 2 bucks and it's changing my life--one sort of successful attempt at a time.

Read at your own risk.

Making the journey from evangelical/fundamentalist to Catholic was an amazing and intrinsically unique experience. Mostly I sit in my pew and wonder that I made it here at all. I wonder how I lived before this. Occasionally, it's nice to listen to the journey of others. This book is one of those books. David Currie is the real deal with all the important bona fides, just to hit the highlights, both of his parents taught at Moody Bible Institute. His journey isn't my journey, but for those who can't imagine how a well-trained evangelical can be led to the Catholic church, this might be a good start to understanding. Be warned though this isn't like Catholic and Christian. This is an evangelical speaking evangelical it has the potential to shake your beliefs.

Thinking

My ideas about God are fairly simple. I believe He exists. I hope He is good. By definition He is incomprehensible. If He is good, then He cares about me. If there is a God, He is good and He cares about me, then things must be better than they seem, even if that is incomprehensible. You don't have to be a Christian to believe that. I choose to be a Christian because if I were a being like God I would make a gesture like Jesus. I would let you know that just like the suffering is killing you, it is killing me too, and just like it wasn't really killing me, it isn't really killing you either. If God is the kind of being I hope for, then He has demonstrated His compassion. He has shown us the truth. Things are better than they seem.

Waking up in the Grave

On Holy Saturday, I woke up in the grave. The night had been spent in one of those repeating nightmares, and we had cleaning the basement on the agenda. The basement is our classroom, and all those educational toys and manipulatives add up to way too many moving parts and a giant hassle. Easter errands needed running too, and I decided that cowardice was the better part of valor and ran off to do errands while Kurt and the kids got the basement started.
Ladies, you know how that goes. I did improve my mood significantly, which was good since not much had happened since I left. The floor was laid out in masking tape squares which were keyed into little prizes. It was kind of a random bingo game, but the kids were just not able to do the kind of work that needed done without help. Kurt and I got things going, and really, it was one of the best day's work we'd ever spent as a family in the basement. All prizes were earned, and we had done it without getting frustrated with each other.
We had just enough time left to eat dinner and get ready for the Easter Vigil, which was our first ever, and it was wonderful. The candles and the Scripture, I love reverence and the Easter Vigil was my kind of Easter service. I was quickly moving out of the grave and into the new life we were celebrating.
Easter Sunday, the youngest woke up under the weather, so Kurt took the girls to the Protestant service. There were a few hiccups in the day, but they opened opportunities for important dialogue with my children on a day when they felt absolutely loved. All things weighed I came through the Easter season awakened in a deeper way to the new freedoms and possibilities of my life. Much of the bitterness and fear from the past melted away like that old nightmare as I cleaned and celebrated and talked to my children. It wasn't the kind of Damascus road experience my old life was always hoping for, but it was the road to Emmaus. I did wake up to new faith.

Making Peace

I'm beginning to realize that before I can move on with my life I need to make peace with my failures, lapses, gaps, and those of other people in my life. I don't have to wring contrition out of any of us, or, in most cases, get or make an official apology, but I do have to let it rest. I'm finding the biggest challenge may be the church as an institution. A friendly person once suggested that instead of seeking personal help I ought to "call the church." That's a reasonable suggestion if the church wasn't the very institution that had screwed me over. At that moment what I really needed was personal help from faithful people not institutional help.
I suppose that friendly voice meant that I could get the personal help I needed by working through the bureaucracy of church referrals, but I'd been through that system. Frankly, you always end up screwed. People check off check lists and "make connections" and then you sit in a room with someone you don't know who doesn't know you and you try to express the deepest intimacies of your life. It never works.
It's particularly difficult if you've grown up with the backstage view. You know that all these people are playing political games of one sort or another and with varying degrees of success. You've lost all innocence that someone actually cares. The only authority the church seems capable of generating at the moment is the authority of the abusive father. So I've gone off looking for something else.
I think I've found my personal something else, but I don't like how absurdly grumpy I am with the past. I don't like shuddering at every tiny misstep the church we are currently visiting makes. It's not like they are trying to be evil. They are trying to do something very good. They just don't seem to be succeeding, in my view. I'm not ready to give up on working out some kind of truce with them just yet, so I'll keep going and I'll probably keep shuddering. I wish there was a program I could call that would walk me through the steps so I could walk free.
I bet there is. I bet it doesn't work.

Larry Boy Says...

That I can't be the superhero God wants me to be if I'm thinking about chocolate all the time. Drat! I thought getting the mildew off my daughter's special frog doll qualified me for superhero status, but if a chocolate obsession gets in the way of that, well, let's hope he stays out of the bathtub next time.
I love Larry Boy and all his friends. We have the entire collection, and somehow the formula never grows old. But. I'm beginning to question the very low bar we set for "superhero" status in my little corner of the Christian world. A guy writes a short little book on an even shorter prayer, and he is suddenly a superhero because it sells well. I find it telling that when he actually tried to live his superhero life, he found it so hard he came home. Shouldn't superhero status have something to do with genuine sanctity, not salesmanship?
Maybe I'm asking too much of my fellow believers to expect them to want their heroes to be more than glorified salesman, and that their gurus be more than inspirational entertainers. After all, the real thing has never been exactly popular. Genuine saints have an alarming tendency to be martyred or at least seriously persecuted. I don't think evangelical Christianity is about that. Larry Boy may give up his chocolate, but I don't think he'll be moving out of the mansion or giving up his butler.
I'm probably never going to reach superhero status in my faith, but I don't think it will be because I couldn't give up chocolate. I think there are much more grievous sins that the average evangelical celebrates which will ensnare me.

A Famine of the Word

This proud momma couldn't wait for baby's hair to grow before giving you a peek. This story made for a nice break from the other work I've been doing.

She gets up while it is still dark, she provides food for her family.
Willow groaned and hit the alarm. Bleary-eyed she stumbled toward the shower.
This is the day the Lord has made let us rejoice and be glad in it.
She dropped her clothes and stepped on the scale. Numbers don't lie. She was losing the war on fat.
Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.
Looking in the mirror though, she wasn't doing that badly. Ron still got a pretty worthy eyeful when he was looking.
Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities all is vanity.
The water was warm and comforting and the soap smelled of lavender.
Toweling off, she wrapped her hair in a turban and threw on her robe. What to wear?
Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes.
Denim it was, again.
She is clothed in fine linen and purple. Her husband is respected at the city gate.
Vanity of vanities. Endure hardship with us like a good soldier of Christ Jesus.
The shower had taken longer than usual.
Redeeming the time for the days are evil.
She put the kettle on even though she knew it meant an interupted devotional time.
His delight is in the law of the Lord and on his law he meditates day and night.
She read through the Old Testament passage quickly tring to ignore the impending whistle and its call to prepare breakfast. She was halfway through the New Testament portion when she raced over to turn it off.
I am the Lord your God who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. You shall have no other gods before me.
Finishing the New Testament, Psalm and Proverb she peeked at the clock. It was almost time to wake the family. Kneeling she laid out her prayer list.
"Lord, all these things I pray. Amen"
Let all things be done decently and in order.
There are too many things, way too many things.
You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better and it will not be taken away from her.
Willow returned to her knees. She wasn't there long before Ron put the kettle back on the burner. Stumping around, he started cofee, hacked up phlegm and poured cereal.
Be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another as God for Christ's sake has forgiven you.
She gave up trying to pray and took over making breakfast.
She gets up while it is still dark; she provides food for her family.
"Well, you got the getting up early part."
"Might have gotten the rest if there'd been servant girls to provide for.
"How profitable is your trading?"
"How respected are you in the city gates?"
Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt so that you may know how to answer everyone.
"Would you like eggs for breakfast?"
"I would if I had times which I don't."
A soft answer turns away wrath.
"Is there anything I can do to help you get ready?"
"You can travel back in time and get me up a half hour ago and you can slow my boss down so he'll be late. That's what you can do."
Answer not a fool according to his folly.
Anyone who says to his brother "Raca" is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, "You fool!" will be in danger of the fires of hell.
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.
She washed up the dishes and laid out breakfast for the kids.
"See you tonight if not earlier." he said and headed out to work.
Fifteen minutes remained. Prayer or breakfast?
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and petition with thanksgiving present your requests to God.
She got the kids fed and dressed and out the door. She closed up the house and drove them to school and then went to Maimee's for Bible study. The topic was submission and she'd managed to fill in the pink booklet completely this week.
Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.
Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.
Maimee had a lovely tray of mini-muffins perched invitingly on a tray next to a chilled pitcher of orange juice.
"Help yourself. I knew you'd be hungry." Maimee smiled and last week's confession about gluttony stung Willow's cheeks.
"I'll just have one, thanks."
Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.
It was delicious, enticing, perfect. The muffin rivalled chocolate.
Let your moderation be known to all men.
If there be any virtue if there be any praise think on these things.
"Maimee, these are so good, I think I'll have another."
The gleam in Maimee's eyes did not escape Willow, but neither did the muffins. They were so good.
For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation unto himself.
When you sit to dine with a ruler, note well what is before you, and put a knife to your throat if you are given to gluttony.
The plastic knife in the butter didn't look like very useful. Why hadn't Maimee used her stainless? Really, it was rather lazy of her to use plasticware.
Judge not, that ye be not judged.There are six things the Lord hates, seven that are detestable to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies and a man who stirs up dissension among brothers.
Maimee got everyone settled and the study started. Everyone took out their pink booklet determined to become women of submission, or at least to look like a woman of submission. The passage up for discussion was Ephesians 5:21, a general command to all believers to submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.
Maimee being the leader had first say.
"Submission is an issue for every believer, not just women. Paul commands everyone, men included to submit to each other. Now I'm curious what you think about that."
All the women had been cued what to think by the pink booklets, but Mercy was new to the group and still dared to wonder.
"How is it that this one sentence doesn't undermine all the rest of this study? If there's no male nor female, if we all have to submit to each other then why are we working so hard on becoming 'women' of submission? Why aren't we just working on being 'Christians' of submission?"
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.
Maimee was feeling restrained. "Well that's an interesting perspective, does anyone else have something to add to that?"
She looked directly at Willow.
"Well, this is a women's Bible study group."
Let your 'Yes' be yes and your 'No' be no or you will be condemned.
"Women have a role that is partly defined by submission so it is natural that we have a special interest, perhaps even an expertise in submitting." Mary was Willow's choice to lead the Bible study, but Mary didn't do mini-muffins.
Maimee pursed her lips. "Exactly, Mary. I couldn't have said it better myself."
Willow covered her mouth and tried to smother a sneeze.
A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.
Hatred stirs up dissension, but love covers over all wrongs.
Mercy stirred. "I don't accept the idea of fixed roles for women."
"Then you might as well turn in your book and go home." Maimee returned.
Mercy did as she was told.
Finally, all of you, live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult.
"I hear her marriage is really struggling." Martha offered.
"Ron says Jed's a real flirt." Willow contributed this even though Ron hadn't really been that specific.
Who speaks the truth from his heart and has no slander on his tongue who does his neighbor no wrong and casts no slur on his fellowman.
"I heard Jed is abusive." Millie chimed in.
Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself or you also may be tempted.
"Ladies, we did not gather to gossip." Maimee asserted. "Mary, I think you should call Mercy and see if she needs any advice. You are the group expert."
Willow shriveled. She just wanted to get out of that double-wide and back to her little house.
Let us not become weary in doing good for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.
The rest of the Bible study stuck to the pink booklet. Maimee collected requests and led them in a prayer that included a petition on Willow's behalf for help with her "continuing struggle with gluttony."
Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life in him.
Willow wished Maimee a good day, and headed out to the truck.
"I wish you led the group" she whispered to Mary.
Mary smiled. "I don't do mini-muffins."
"I know" Willow said.
Don't have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they produce quarrels. And the Lord's servant must not quarrel; instead he must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful.
The truck glided along, but Willow's thoughts did not.
If we confess our sins he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
The grocery store was nearly empty. Not many did their shopping on Wednesday afternoon which suited Willow just fine.
She headed straight for the back aisles and cruised through paper goods and cleaning supplies. Next came canned goods and dried pasta. The kids loved homemade pizza so she picked up a couple of kits. The next aisle was baked goods and she spotted a new spice cake mix. Cream cheese icing is a must with spice cake. There were new peanut butter and butterscotch chips that would make luscious oatmeal cookies.
Then she remembered Maimee's prayer.
No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted he will also provide a way out so you can stand up under it.
She remembered Maimee's wicked gleam and put it all back. No desserts this week. The she remembered Tommy's recital. He'd be expecting a sweet reward.
Do not withold good from those who deserve it when it is in your power to act.
She picked up a rainbow sprinkles cake with rainbow sprinkles icing. No self-respecting adult would touch such a cake.
The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?
The tears began as she turned down the cereal aisle. Product 19 beckoned as did Special K and Total. The kids were gonna love Maimee--no Cookie Crisp, no Froot Loops, no Apple Jacks. Down frozen foods she flew blindly grabbing vegetables and ice cream, fish filets and cool whip.
No good thing does he withold from those whose walk is blameless.
The produce aisle was a chaos of recommended regimens.
Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.
Carrot cake was a healthy alternative especially if she used applesauce as a sweetner. She reached for the carrots.
And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away.
Just milk and cheese and she could go home. The cashier looked at the cart skeptically. Willow did a hasty calculation. She could afford it all.
In everything give thanks for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
Counting up the cost of her weekly groceries galled Willow. Her personal definition of rich was throwing everything she needed into a cart and never thinking twice about how much it cost. It was such a small amount, why couldn't she have just that level of security?
I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation whether well-fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.
"Paper or plastic?"
"Plastic" Willow specified planning to line the trash cans. Her thriftiness pleased her.
Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgement in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you.
The doors opened like St. Peter's cell door and she was back out in the heat. The bags were overfilled and she was trying to fit it all in the front seat of the truck to save room for the kids. Thinking of the kids she checked the clock.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your requests to God.
"Please help me get this done quickly."
A bag containing eggs, carrots and five pounds of sugar started to fall and in order to stop it she threw three bags after it.
"SHIT!"
Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouth.
Tears and epithets began tumbling over each other.
"Goddamn, that is a lovely mess" a grizzled gentleman began to pick things up. "These plastic bags aren't worth a crap. I always bring along cardboard boxes to cart this stuff in. I think I've got an extra."
"Thanks." Willow was full out boo-hooing, no use trying to appear independent.
Carefully the gentleman salvaged what could be salvaged and packed it into a banana box.
"Sometimes it just feels like the whole world's gone to hell, but it hasn't, it hasn't. You only lost three eggs. That's a miracle right there. Can't do much about your milk though. Say are you dehydrated? You look dehydrated, what with the crying and all. My Mrs. talks my ears off about dehydration. I've got some fancy ass water she gave me stock-piled in the Chevy. Hang on."
Willow found a crumpled, pre-owned tissue in the side-pocket of the door and mopped up. It wasn't her first day like this one.
Hank came back with the water.
"Drink up! You'll feel a hell of a lot better. My Mrs. is pain in the ass, but that's generally because she's right. Take care of yourself and God bless."
Willow waved goodbye and got in the truck. She unscrewed the cap and threw back her head to guzzle. She was dehydrated.
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

A Valentine for Hellraisers Baptist Church

I grew up in a church founded by new converts, most of whom were still members. When I say I grew up in the church, I mean physically. I spent more of my waking hours in the church than I did in my home. No, it wasn't a commune, anything with associated with "commune" was suspect in a church full of God-fearing Americans at that time. The church had a school and my parents were both teachers. My mother had grown up in the church and my grandparents had "come to Christ" through the efforts of the founding members and their first pastor. My great uncle was one of the original hellraisers whose life was turned upside down at a Methodist revival along with a handful of his friends. He evangelized our entire family and a nice-sized percentage of the town.

The people in that little church were very ordinary factory workers and such, but the authenticity of their faith and the obvious difference it had made in their lives was powerful. The pastors who preached there when I was growing up were dull and so lacking in originality that one of them preached the same series of sermons every three years in an ever more bland cycle. The people who formed my faith were the people in the pews. On Sundays, I showed up having been decked out head to toe. The clothes were from my grandmother and the hair (and occasionally makeup) were from my mother. I tripped down the corridors to my Sunday School class where a woman who was usually just somebody's mother became my teacher. Those women were painstaking and creative in their presentations. No one read from the book. The handouts were always prepped. Some of them even set aside the purchased materials in order to present something they'd developed themselves that they felt was more relevant. I was taken to McDonalds as a reward for memorized Psalm 23. Picnics, sleepovers, trips to nearby parks and museums, all of it was given to me by people on ordinary salaries who probably had other things they could have done with the money.

The older folks in that church impressed me. Mrs. Rhineheart, whose heart was larger than the rest of her, tackled the kid's Christmas pageant every year. Her intensity was enough to keep something like 60-100 kids from SS organized and relatively quiet. We were going to produce something to glorify God and that meant we had to do our absolute best. Then there was Mr. Armstrong who carried a toolbox as long as he was tall. He'd come any day at any time to repair the water fountain at school and anything else that got broken. When you're a thirsty third grader such instant service is deeply appreciated. Mr. Summerfield kept patiently ministering to my grandfather until he came to Christ four years before I was born. Mrs. Walters let me help prepare Communion. Mrs. O'Wade not only put the bandaids on extra tight so it wouldn't hurt so much, she redecorated the church and designed a restaurant style kitchen in which she prepared delicious food worthy of the restaurant she had started after putting bandaids on had gotten a little old. Mrs. Hare and Mrs. Wilson put up with all my endless shennanigans trying to get out of schoolwork and Mrs. Rizer took pity on me and taught me how to properly form a q and a g in cursive so that I could finally pass handwriting. All of it was done out of genuine love for Christ and for me.

These were people who were "formerly known as" people. Unlike Prince they didn't go from weird to worse, they went from notorious to notable. They were transformed. We has no idea when we were children, but as we grew older and various and sundry started taking the wrong path a former Dirty Harry or Harriet who'd already been down the road would take the wanderer aside for a chat. We'd all be shocked to discover that Mr. X had done Y, and Mrs. B had done C. These were people deeply grateful for a new life and they lived that gratitude everyday. I used to stop singing in church in order to listen to their off-key joy. We only ever sang old hymns. The unspoken motto was no music from after 1960 and no books from before. Special music was more flexible, especially when Young Mr. Abe came to sing, but congregational singing stuck to the red hymnals. I don't think anything could beat the sound of all those grateful hearts pouring their praise at Christ's feet. If dancing hadn't been the vertical expression of a horizontal desire I'd have been dancing every Sunday.

They weren't perfect. They were passionate and whatever you are passionate about you argue about. They argued vigorously that we kids should be sheltered in the church school and the other half argued that we should be out in the public school evangelizing. They argued about policies. They argued about hiring and firing staff. They argued about whether or not the teen evangelists could go to the prom. Sometimes I just sat back amazed at the minutia that could swallow them up, but I could tell that they really cared about getting it right. They wanted to be sure that they were being obedient. They were passionate people, and I'm a better person because of it.