How God Does His Work

I may have shared this before, but it is one of my favorite writings from F. W. Boreham (1871-1959) and is included in the book Arthur Mee’s Book of One Thousand Beautiful Things.  Enjoy.

A century ago men were following with bated breath the march of Napoleon, and waiting with feverish impatience for news of the wars. And all the while, in their own homes, babies were being born.

But who could think about babies? Everybody was thinking about battles.

In one year, midway between Trafalgar and Waterloo, there stole into the world a host of heroes. Gladstone was born in Liverpool, Tennyson at the Somersby Rectory, and Oliver Wendell Holmes in Massachusetts; and the very same day of that same year Charles Darwin made his debut at Shrewsbury, and Abraham Lincoln drew his first breath in old Kentucky.  Music was enriched by the advent of Felix Mendelssohn at Hamburg.

But nobody thought about babies; everybody was thinking about battles. Yet which of the battles of 1809 mattered more than the babies of 1809? We fancy that God can only manage His world with big battalions, when all the while He is doing it by beautiful babies. When a group wants righting, or a truth wants preaching, or a continent wants opening, God sends a baby into the world to do it.                   

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.   Luke 2:11-12

One Thousand Beautiful Things, Arthur Mee, Hodder and Stoughton, London, England, 1934.

Just This Side of Yesterday

My husband’s side of the family celebrated Thanksgiving at our home this year. With a house full of people and more food than we could eat, it was a great day and we expressed our thanks in many tangible ways. Hugs were in abundance and love was shared at multiple tables. We gathered around the 92 year old matriarch, remembered it all started with two people who married some 70 years ago and chose to do family well, and we were thankful. We laughed at the youngest … at three years of age a bundle of energy who kept everyone on their toes, and we were thankful. We considered those who traveled many miles to be with us … Houston, Atlanta, Philadelphia, Owensboro … and we were thankful. We remembered those who no longer walk this earth, remembered their footprints, and we were thankful. For food, for family, for health, for enough for each day … we were thankful.

But now, just this side of yesterday, I am remembering even more I am thankful for. For the knowledge and skill of our vetenarian who successfully removed the needle from our cat’s stomach the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I am thankful. For neighbors who are not nearly as worried as we are about the HUGE tree in our back yard which (we noticed on Tuesday) is leaning ominously towards their house after the high winds and storm last week, I am thankful. For the neighbor who was ready to call 911 on his cell phone (just in case) as I climbed higher than advised to fix a gutter guard on Wednesday, I am thankful.  For Ed, the plumber, who came after regular hours on Wednesday night to fix a VERY clogged household pipe under the basement floor, I am thankful. And, for the delay (until our guests left) of the damp odor that is now wafting up from the basement (after the flood caused by the clogged pipe), I am thankful.

In and for all things great and small … and just this side of yesterday … I am truly thankful.

Some Days are Worth Remembering

Today as we remember September 11, 2001 …

There were some folks who witnessed a horrific sight a couple thousand years ago and never forgot what they saw either. It was a crime politically motivated, maniacally carried out, and it too caused the earth to tremble and the sky to darken.  It was not in a city, but on a hillside; not in a tower, but on a cross; not 3000, but one. It was a day that changed the world forever – the worst fear and despair ever known, followed by hope for all eternity. Those who were there that day faithfully told the story through the generations reliving each sight and sound and felling.  It was their own 9/11.

Some days are worth remembering.

Excerpt from an essay published in America: Voices Coming Together, A Nation StandsUnited (2005 Iliad Press) ©Cinda C. King 2002

College

After graduating from high school, I was at loose ends to say the least. My family had moved to a new state earlier in the year but I was allowed to live with my grandparents so I could graduate with my class. Immediately after the graduation ceremony, I joined my family and tried to settle in to my new home and community. The transition was tedious but new friends were made and the future slowly began to brighten.

            College had been on my mind while still in high school, but after my family’s move I was unsure what God had planned for me. So, I spent the next year in a state of flux without any real direction or ambition. Fortunately, God not only had a plan, God knew exactly the right person to get me to the right place and moving in the right direction again.

            Late in the summer I agreed to travel to Georgetown, Kentucky with a friend to help as her family put the finishing touches on a new business. On the second day of work, my friend’s mother asked me to go with her on an errand; but instead of an actual errand, she drove me to the administration building at Georgetown College and firmly told me to get out of the car and go inside.  She handed me a slip of paper with the name of the admissions officer and appointment time.  Before I even knew what had happened, I was enrolled in college! I had missed all the usual deadlines regarding housing, class schedules, and financial aid, so the next few days were a whirlwind of forms and interviews, yet in less than a week, countless decisions were made on my behalf and things fell into place. 

            Looking back, I can see the hand of God in each step and how God used my friend’s mother to bring it about. She said “go” and God reworked my future.

Sanctuary

“Then He said, “Do not draw near this place. Take your sandals off your feet, for the place where you stand is holy ground.” Exodus 3:5

There is a word I hold in high regard. Not a strong word but a word which brings me strength; not a soft word but a word which softens me; and not a visual word which gives itself away as any good onomatopoeia might, but a word which conjures vivid images in my mind. It is a word often heard but seldom considered.  The word is sanctuary.

Webster defines sanctuary as a “holy place, as a building set aside for worship; a place of refuge or protection; immunity from punishment”. Harper’s Bible Dictionary describes it as a “sacred place believed to offer personal security . . . set in places where some natural grandeur moves people to worship”. A familiar worship chorus  makes it a personal prayer: “Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true; with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living sanctuary for you”. Each definition, description, and image burns deeply within my soul and makes me want more of the gift of sanctuary.

Each Sunday, I sit in a hallowed space labeled as the sanctuary of my church campus, yet as a member of this congregation for over 25 years I admit I take for granted the amenities afforded there. As I consider anew the depth of sanctuary, I wonder if my approach to a space so richly dedicated is truly appropriate and worthy of the worship expected there. Do I symbolically take off my shoes as I step onto holy ground? Do I bow my head and cry holy? Do I respect and care for the accouterments of the space as I would a sacred altar? Do I model my understanding and appreciation for the sanctity of what is more than just a room?

I want to become more aware of what sanctuary is to me and how I can help others discover the blessings of sanctuary for themselves. Yes, it is simply a room fitted with pews and podium, musical instruments and sound enhancements; but it is also a space set aside for our very best and our sincere dedication to the awesome wonder of worship.

Santuary: a place to find strength and softness and wonder and refuge and protection and security and worship. 　

@Cinda C. King 2000

Some Thoughts from Other People

Today, as I was getting some thoughts and materials together for a writers’ conference I will be participating in this summer, I happened upon some quotes which I liked very much.  Let me know if any of these strike your fancy or inspire you as they did me.

Any man who keeps working is not a failure.  He may not be a great writer, but if he applies the old fashioned virtues of hard, constant labor, he’ll eventually make some kind of career for himself as a writer.  Ray Bradbury

There is special sadness in achievement, in the knowledge that a long-desired goal has been attained at last, and that life must now be shaped toward new ends.  Aurthur C. Clark

If you don’t allow yourself the possibility of writing something very, very bad, it would be hard to write something very good.  Steven Galloway

The act of writing is an act of optimism.  You would not take the trouble to do it if you felt it didn’t matter. Edward Albee

If you write one story, it may be bad; if you write a hundred, you have the odds in your favor.  Edgar Rice Burroughs

The reason 99% of all stories written are not bought by editors is very simple.  Editors never buy manuscripts that are left on the closet shelf at home.  John W. Campbell

No one is asking, let alone demanding, that you write.  The world is not waiting with bated breath for your article or book.  Whether or not you get a single word on paper, the sun will rise, the earth will spin, the universe will expand.  Writing is forever and always a choice – your choice.  Beth Mende Conny

It is better to write a bad first draft than to write no first draft at all.  Will Shetterly

The only way to learn to write is to write.  Peggy Teeters

And my favorite of the day:

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.  William Wordsworth

Stepping Out!

Those who know me well, know I like to stay safely within my comfort zone.  I am not very adventurous and I do not readily embrace change, but within the past two weeks, I have done a couple things out of character for me.  

First, I joined a book club comprised of people I have never met (other than the friend who invited me to join her).  That may not seem like a big deal to most, but as a dyed in the wool “non-joiner” it was a leap for me.  Our first meeting was great fun and I think it is going to be a blast.

The other big step I took yesterday was to sign up for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk for the Cure.  Although I enjoy a neighborhood walk from time to time and for many years maintained a regular yoga routine, words like cross-training, conditioning and muscular endurance have never been part of my vocabulary.  All that changed when I signed on to walk 60 miles in 3 days! And, believe it or not I am pretty excited about the whole experience … from the training and preparation to the actual event (even sleeping in a pink tent for two nights) and finally to the feeling of accomplishment after completing the trek – 60 miles and 3 days for such a worthy cause.

Of course, one big element of the 3-Day Walk is the potential to raise a heap of money for the fight against breast cancer. Each walker is asked to raise a minimum of $2,300.00.  If you would like to help, it is easy to do, just click on the following link: http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fsecure3.convio.net%2Fnpt%2Fsite%2FDonation2%3Fdf_id%3D3093%26PROXY_ID%3D5745531%26PROXY_TYPE%3D20%26FR_ID%3D1623%26s_subsrc%3Dbfgetwordout%26s_src%3Dboundlessfundraising%26ref%3Dnf&h=ae36f

As a final thought, last Sunday my pastor delivered a wonderful sermon entitled “Live Like You Were Dying” (http://www.smbclouisville.org/audio.php). I don’t have a list of things I want to do before a kick the bucket nor do I have a written list of life goals, but I do hope I try to make the most out of each day even when that means stepping out of my comfort zone and trying something new – especially when it might benefit someone I care about. And who knows it just might be me who one day hears the words “the test results are back and it doesn’t look good.”

Move That Bus!

“Move that bus!” is one of the most well-known phrases on reality television. We watch in rapt attention as celebrities and crew members reveal the outcome after days of intense effort and labor. Old homes and structures, razed or completely remodeled, are beyond recognition and greatly improved. When the bus pulls away it is a highly emotional time as the recipients of the makeover see their new home for the first time.

My city has been the location for two makeover events (the most recent aired the “big reveal” just a couple nights ago); both for remarkable and deserving families. In addition to the presence of the television personalities, it is amazing to see the support offered by the community. Hundreds of volunteers (including my friends Kevin and Tom) turn out in all kinds of weather to hammer, paint, lift and tote. Businesses and merchants donate goods, craftsmen donate time and talent, even those who cannot physically participate offer prayers and good wishes.

The concept of neighbors helping neighbors is universal, spanning continents, state lines and backyard fences.  After the tsunami in Indonesia and the hurricane and terrible flood in New Orleans, the world watched as droves of volunteers, and tons of food, fresh water and medical supplies, poured into these ravaged areas. Relief organizations orchestrated the efforts and people of all walks of life gave generously.

Closer to home dire situations arise and although not on the evening news or part of reality television, friends and neighbors arrive with food baskets, gently used clothing and offers to baby-sit or run errands. Out of abundance much is shared.

Whether rebuilding a home, a church, or a life, the world can be a better place, and tomorrow a brighter day, when we remember we are all in this together.

 

Will Work for . . .

After a while I hardly noticed him. The same man stood on the same corner almost every day for months. His appearance was disheveled, his clothing dirty, and his eyes downcast. The sign he held said “will work for food” but my skeptical mind convinced me otherwise.  

Without knowing him or his circumstances I judged him and drove on without giving a second thought to his plight – until the day my eyes and heart were opened in a startling way. As I approached the intersection one particular morning something different caught my eye and even as the light changed from red to green, I paused to read the new sign he held, “You won’t give me money, offer me work, or give me food to eat, but will you please pray for me and my family?” The cars behind me began to honk as tears welled in my eyes and I proceeded on my way.

Throughout the day I was increasingly convicted by my own long- standing indifference to the man on the corner. I questioned how I had become so inured to the less fortunate; how was it possible, as a Christian, to allow another person to become invisible and inconsequential? Who was I to judge, to condemn, or withhold aid?

Although I did not have the personal resources to significantly change his circumstances, I could do what he asked. In my own unworthiness and with a humbled spirit, I committed to pray for this stranger and his family.

I do not know what became of the man on the corner; one day he simply was not there, but his impact on my life lingers. I do not pass through that intersection without thinking of his unusual sign and the reminder to pray for others regardless of appearance or circumstance.

 

Joy to the World

My maternal grandparents’ home was a haven of happy memories for me. Gammie’s Girls Week each summer, Granddad’s strawberry patch, adventures in the monkey tree (a big  apple tree with great limbs for climbing), and elaborate plays produced for my grandparents’ enjoyment/endurance all make the top ten; but number one on the list is definitely the Christmas days I spent in their home.

Most years it was wall-to-wall relatives: aunts and uncles, cousins (and eventually their spouses and kids), great-aunts and great-uncles, foster children, assorted friends, and of course, Gammie and Granddad.  Typical of most families, it was a colorful cast of characters. Uncle Bob blinded us with the lights from his home movie camera. Aunt Docia, plagued with hot flashes, performed a slow strip-tease during the course of the dinner preparations. Uncles David and Billy disappeared behind the garage and out of sight of little eyes for discrete smoke breaks. Aunt Doris cried when she laughed. Great-Uncle Clyde pulled pranks and Great-Aunt Flossie delighted with her quick wit and occasional off-color remark.

The men watched football and shared fishing tales (some truer than others) while the women cooked and caught up on the latest “need to know” information. Boredom was not on the agenda for the kids as the ping-pong tournament commenced, favorite toys were shared, and creativity was encouraged by the “dress-up” closet in the upstairs bedroom. Lively conversation and activity filled every corner.

The aroma greeting us as we arrived early in the day intensified as the morning and meal preparations progressed. Turkey, goose, baked ham, dressing, macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, mashed potatoes with giblet gravy, green beans, corn, buttered peas, parsnips (which you nobody under 40 liked), pickled beets, bread and butter pickles, cranberry sauce straight from the can, fried apples, yeast rolls, pies, cakes and cookies covered every surface in the kitchen. Great cooks abounded in the family, but my Gammie was the best and promised to provide each grandchild’s favorite food.

When the announcement finally was made that it was time to eat, the family tree morphed into a serpentine chain winding from room to room as we held hands for the blessing. Without need of accompaniment, Joy to the world, the Lord is come, in lovely four part harmony, filled the house before Granddad’s humble prayer of thanksgiving.

Years have passed since the last Christmas in my grandparents’ home – time rolls on, family dynamics change, and new traditions are necessarily established – yet I always will know in my heart the privilege of knowing and being with those folks for so many Christmas days was truly a gift and a  “wonder of God’s love”.