Pray for Me … Again

It’s time for more pulpit prayers. I’ll be leading worship Sunday. I ask the words of my heart and mouth reflect the truth of Scripture and the Gospel.

This week’s homily — based on the Scripture readings of Samuel 16:1-13, Ephesians 5:8-14 and John 9:1-41 — will be on “Blind Spots.” My prayer request is the same as the psalmist, May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in YOUR sight, LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer (Psalm 19:4).

The homily has been written, rehearsed and rewritten … and probably will be tweaked right up until service time. There’s a dose of personal testimony in there as well … pointing out my blind spots.

So the challenge is integrating the message into the readings. May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in YOUR sight, LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.

That’s why, my friends, I need your prayers. Pray that the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart are indeed pleasing in His sight.

If you happen to be in the Finger Lakes area of New York, I welcome you to join us at 9 a.m. at West Fayette Presbyterian Church, on Route 336 just east of Route 96A and a few miles south of Geneva and north of Sampson State Park. I invite you not to listen to the guy in the pulpit, but to enjoy the fellowship of the little church with the big heart.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Do not put off until tomorrow what can be enjoyed today.

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Five Minute Friday — Mighty

Here’s this week’s installment of Five Minute Friday. You might remember the task is to write for five minutes on a specific prompt word. The initiative was started by Lisa-Jo Baker (http://lisajobaker.com/) who thought about writing and how often our perfectionism gets in the way of our words. And she figured, why not take five minutes and see what comes out: not a perfect post, not a profound post, just five minutes of focused writing.

This week’s prompt is MIGHTY.

I started thinking about the wonders of a mighty God as I drove to New Jersey today. The day was dreary, matching the mood of the visit, my uncle’s memorial service Saturday.

But as I drove through the hills and valleys, through the tiny towns and spansive landscape, I was awed by the way it all developed.

I’ve probably driven the route a hundred times before over the past 20 years, in winter’s white, summer’s lush green and autumn’s glorious color palate. The landscape took on different hues each time, but its the mountains and streams caught my attention today as they began a metamorphosis from winter quiet to spring activity.

I know many of my non-believing friends will say it’s just nature. The mountains and streams developed over eons. And they’re right.

But somewhere, at some time, there was a beginning and that is why I can say with confidence my God is a mighty God! … STOP

Wow, that doesn’t happen often. The beeps started just as I hit the exclamation point.

Well, that’s what popped into this mind this week.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Everything will work out in the end. If it’s not working out, it’s not the end.

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Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Robin

I saw my first robin of spring yesterday. Of course I was 80 miles south in Towanda, PA, at the time, but, hey, it was my first robin. Since friends a little closer to home have claimed to have seen the elusive recluse already, I’ll take it.

late winter springTo be fair, rockin’ robin was jumping up and down on the frozen tundra of the Endless Mountains. I figured he/she must have been hopping around so its little footsies wouldn’t freeze to the turf. After all, it was sunny and 24 degrees … a fact I was reminded of just a few yards later when I saw an errant fall leaf skipping along a still frozen pond.

So, now that the robin is back, spring can officially begin. And I’m ready for it.

It’s not that I don’t like winter — or even this bitterly cold winter. I do. I would love to see the first snowfall in mid-November with daily doses of one to two inches through the end of February and a few real storms thrown in — especially around Christmas. THAT’s ideal winter weather!

But I also appreciate all four seasons, which includes spring, summer and fall. I love the newness of watching plants, grass and trees come alive {except for the allergies} in the spring. It brings new hopes, baseball and sun to the landscape. I enjoy summer breezes, long days, barbecues and increased activity in summer. I enjoy the color, crispness in the air and return of football during fall. And then we get back to winter with layered clothing, long stretches of whiteness and holidays.

It’s quite a cycle.

What I don’t like is overlapping seasons … you know when winter isn’t quite ready to leave {or spring is hesitant to arrive}, when summers resemble the up and down temperature fluctuations of spring and fall.

I know many of you have been whining about the frigid winter temperatures. I just want to be the first to remind you those 100 degree, 100% humidity days always seem to show up. Just saying.

So, welcome Mr. and Mrs. Robin, wherever you are. Here’s to spring … April showers … and May flowers.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Bitterness is a terrible bondage.

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A Good Book

Okay, here’s another excerpt from 50 Things that Really Matter that I don’t really have any expertise in … A Good Book. So, we’ll just chalk this one up as a reblog

To refresh your memory, the book was a gift from JoAnn. It celebrates 50 of the simple things that really do matter in life with first person stories to encourage you, enlighten you and enrich your soul.It was published by Rodale Press for Hallmark and was actually for both of us, but Karen was the reader in the family. She would have sunk her teeth into this chapter.

So, here goes.

We swim in words all day long — stock quotes, headlines that scream, to-do lists, insurance forms, the occasional fashion magazine or dome-store romance. Yet for all their power to occupy of distract us, these types of writing will never compare to a good book.

A really good book doesn’t just entertain; it leaves you fundamentally different. It’s both a mirror and a magnifying glass — a woven compilation of seemingly small details that has the power to show you your truest self. When you read a good book, you see that everyone’s problems are the same, but they are just a jumping-off point — that there are as many ways to live as there are grains of salt in the sea.

How do you know when you’ve found a good book? Time melts as you read it. Unsuspecting, you crack the spine and find yourself whisked to a place that sings to every cell in your body. Soon you’re befriending characters that become soul mates, following a story that seems truer than reality.

Indeed, in the middle of a good book, you become so wrapped up in the story that you forget about the language, the way an exquisite painting renders color transparent. No one word, or hue, stands out as the most beautiful — they are all elemental, irreplaceable, in one complete, perfectly balanced whole.

Then, as you near the end of the book, you start metering out the pages in small doses because you don’t want to leave the special world you’ve entered.

Most of all, a good book inspires you. As the words flow in and out of you, they change your attitude and open you up to new experiences. Read long enough, and a good book can make you want to be a better person, live a better life, talk to strangers, jet off to Paris, pick up a pen to write your own stories.

Next time a good book finds you, take a moment to give thanks for how one object, no bigger than the span of two palms, can contain so much of the world, teach you so much of what it means to be human, and make you feel so alive.
By Marissa VanAalst, 50 things that really matter, Rodale Press for Hallmark

I can’t relate to that exuberance, but I do know plenty of people who can. They can get lost in the pages of a good book for hours, completely oblivious to what is going around them. Karen was like that. It was her escape.

Me? I’d rather wait for the screenplay.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: When it is dark enough, you can see stars.

 

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Listen to the Beat

Remember that scene from 1980 film The Jazz Singer {one of my most favorite films}?

You know the scene, where Jess starts battling with the estrangement from his father while preparing for his big break on the Zany Gray TV show.  He and his backups, Bubba and the Four Brothers, are rehearsing the selection for Gray’s show, Jerusalem. The session goes from bad to worse. Jess is agitated and yells out to the band, “What’s happened to the groove?” When they try again, he screams, “”What’s going on! Hold it! Hold it! Hold it! What happened to the groove? What happened to the groove? What happened to the groove, guys?”

He then storms into the sound booth, has an argument with Molly, then heads out of the session without looking back … stiffing Gray … and driving off until his Mustang runs out of gas. He ultimately spends the next several months on the road.

But this isn’t about the movie. It’s about what Jess was hearing at that pivotal scene. You can see it in his eyes. You can feel it as he twirls his snapping fingers. His mind is listening to a different beat. It doesn’t have the drive or tempo and seems out of sync.

Well, for the past few years, that’s been me. I can relate to Jess.

A couple of years ago, I watched Hollie Cavanaugh perform Flashdance … What a Feeling on American Idol 11. I was a Hollie fan that year, but I remember thinking to myself the performance was just a little sedate from Irene Cara’s original sensual performance in the film {thanks to the dancing of Jennifer Beals, especially at the end of the movie}. I watched the movie again a few weeks ago. Lo and behold, the driving rhythm wasn’t as quick as my mind remembered.

Even now, as I listen to and sing along at least in my mind to the greatest hits of the ’50s and ’60s, I find myself a quarter or half step ahead of the beat … even that great, deep doo wop sound.

Oh well, my cardiologist says my heat beats to its own rhythm. So I guess it’s not a far stretch to think my ears and mind have their own beat as well.

THOUGH TO REMEMBER: Life is what happens when you are making other plans.

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Five Minute Friday — Joy

Well, it’s Friday and time to settle in my fellow bloggers at Lisa Jo’s place (http://lisajobaker.com/). You know, it’s where we go to ferret out our thoughts on a specific prompt word in just five minutes. It’s amazing what comes out … not always great but always honest.

This week, the word is JOY. You can really go in a lot of directions — and some of the hundreds who join me in this exercise have taken most of them — with the word. I chose to follow through on the first thing that crossed my pea brain.

So, here goes. The timer is set, GO

Weeping may last for the night, But a shout of joy comes in the morning. Psalm 30:5b

I would often say this to my wife and kids when they were stressing over something — finances, boyfriend/girlfriend problems, physical maladies, other issues. And they would look at me with a blank look and ask me how I could be so positive.

Positive? No. Realistic? Yes.

Life happens. It’s cyclical. There are good times and bad times. There are times when you want to stay huddled under the covers. But there is a time to shout with joy when morning light pierces that darkness.

I know where they’ve been. When Karen died, the nights seemed endless and the darkness was everywhere. But morning has come. There are shouts of joy in little things … in growing families … in being able to share my experiences … STOP

… with Karen and to honor her through the memories we’ve shared. We can wallow in the darkness … or we can shout with joy at the light!

Well, that’s what I came up with this week. But I was also reminded of a post I made back on Feb. 10, 2013 — Joy … Joy … Joy (https://wisdomfromafather.com/2013/02/10/joy-joy-joy/). That was actually a sermon I initially preached 15 years ago. Seems it may still be relevant to today’s prompt.

The pulpit story was built around Pollyanna of all things. Pollyanna looked for the bright clouds. As she told Rev. Ford in the movie, there are 800 happy texts in the Bible … texts of joy or gladness. “If God told us 800 times to be glad and rejoice,” she said, “He must have wanted us to do it.” Rev. Ford went to the pulpit the next day and corrected the young girl. There are 826 passages, he said, and he intending to dwell on one each week for the … well, it equates to the next 16 years or so.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Live and let live is fine, but live and help live is better.

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Sex in the ’60s

I heard a disturbing tale from my granddaughter the other day. It seems a group of 12 year olds — three boys and three girls — were caught at a “Ring Party.” That, of course, was a new term for me, so I pressed her.

It turns out the girls put on extra layers of different colored lipstick and kissed the boys. Whoever collects the most kissy rings wins. The rub, however, is the kisses are ranked by location on the boys’ bodies.

Whaaat??? Twelve year olds?

When I was 12, I was way more interested in football, basketball and baseball than those weird girls. And I don’t think any of my peers — boys or girls — would have ever even imagined such a game.

Now, I am far from being a prude. I mean I had a crush on a seventh grader when I was in the eighth grade and often went out of my way to pass her house on the off chance I would catch her away from school. I never did, but had I, I’m not sure what kind of conversation it would have been. After a couple of weeks, my football, basketball, baseball and other interests ended the quest.

I also went to an all boys high school, dripping with testosterone. I mean, we could talk up a storm about the opposite sex. We had so many euphemisms about human anatomy — both male and female — and functions it sometimes was hard to maintain a real conversation without our minds substituting words.

Yet, even there, I don’t remember this preoccupation with premarital sex. Sure, we were all AFTER it, but when push came to shove, our imaginations were more vivid than our actions. I don’t remember Monday mornings focused on weekend conquests — or at least not real conquests since we could all sift fact from fiction. No one in the lunchroom spent much time on what they did over the weekend and with whom, but rather how the New York Football Giants/New York Knicks/New York Yankees were doing.

While there was an occasional dance, “dating” was an upperclass privilege. I don’t remember anyone in my high school class seeing someone as a “steady” girlfriend. My first real “relationship” was well after graduation.

Back in the early to mid ’60s, boys were still the initiator in relationships {although the girls demurely decided who was going to be her suitor}. Sure we often reached first base {mouth-to-mouth kissing, especially French kissing} but more often were caught stealing as we headed for second base {touching or kissing the breasts or other erogenous zones; can be either clothed or not clothed; manual stimulation of the genitals}. And, for the most part, we knew No meant No.

That was my teenage experience. I’m sure others have different awakening experiences. But among my circle of friends and acquaintances, there were relatively few teenage pregnancies or STDs.

I’m not sure when the sexual threshold dropped into the early teens. I suspect it started in the mid ’60s when the threat of service in Vietnam made “men” out of boys. Flower child originated as a synonym for hippie, especially among the idealistic young people who gathered in San Francisco and environs during the Summer of Love in 1967. The genie came out of the bottle in 1969 when mainstream media coverage of Woodstock focused on the drugs, nakedness, sex and orgies of the festival rather than the music.

And so, today we’ve degenerated to kids being encouraged into “relationships” at an earlier age, media promoting first date sex, babies having babies,  … and 12 year olds experimenting with kissy games.

That’s my two cents. Any thoughts out there?

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Drive with care … Life has no spare.

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A Tale of Two Churches

Over a cup of coffee the last time I was in Ohio, I asked my daughter how things were going at her church. She said, “Okay. We’re still trying to get over that 800 active mark.”

Hmm, I thought. At my church, if we get 20 souls into the seats it’s an occasion for mention during joys and concerns … of which it is really both.

As I’ve been pondering the brief conversation, I thought I would offer a tale of two churches — not to say either is better or worse but to sort of make a generalized point.

First, her church. Mainstreet Church in Walbridge, OH.

Technically, it is part of the United Brethren denomination. It has seen tremendous growth from its humble beginnings as community worship gathering spot in 1893. And it has evolved into a contemporary community still grounded in Biblical truth, still dedicated to serving the community and stronger than ever in providing youth opportunities, according to its website. It has had just three senior pastors since 1960, with currently Pastor Marty Pennington. Although I’ve met him, I don’t know Pastor Marty. The church’s mission is to make God’s message as relative to daily life as possible through small groups, music, children’s programs, drama, special programs, video, weekly messages and more. It’s about meeting God’s love right where you are today.

And worship is certainly upbeat with lots and lots of smiles and lots and lots of handshakes for visitors. There are separate, age-appropriate rooms for children where they run around, play and get a primer in Christian values. This, of course, frees parents to attend any of the three worship services unencumbered. They can listen to and focus on the message without interruption, knowing their children are in good care.

A typical worship service includes a music ministry team, warming up the crowd with one, two or more uplifting contemporary Christian worship songs to set up the presiding pastor and his message. Typically, he sits while seated on stage, not standing behind a pulpit. And audio visual aids punctuate the points of his message, tied to Scripture but leaning on application in today’s world more than interpretation from 2,000 years ago. It’s not unusual to have a multi-week presentation on an event — during Lent, for example, the “theme” is EPIC, stories from the Bible. Leading up to the Resurrection story on Easter messages will look at some of the epic stories of the Bible that challenge and stretch our faith.  The point of the series is not to “prove” the validity of these stories, but rather to see what we can learn from them to bolster our faith in God.

Prior to and after worship is plenty of fellowship time in the great entrance area enveloping the auditorium, full of people greeting each other, sharing the week’s trials and triumphs, swapping kid stories and making plans for get togethers, all with free flowing coffee, tea and juice.

It’s informal worship with a purpose.

Now, my church. West Fayette Presbyterian Church in Fayette, NY.

West Fayette Presbyterian also has a long, proud tradition of service in the community. It has been around since 1825. It has a part time pastor, Steven Beals, who goes above and beyond the call of duty. We like to say we are the small church with the big heart. We are a community of seekers. We don’t pretend to have all the answers, but we do feel God is an important factor in our lives – there for us in our joys and in our sorrows.

Where worship changes, however, is style. Instead of contemporary Christian, our hymns come from the traditional hymnal with many of the melodies and lyrics dating back centuries. There’s an order to service, steeped in the Presbyterian tradition. While we are constantly doing small outreaches — to people in immediate need — our major community outreaches are barbecues and dinners, strawberry festivals and bazaars. We like to eat and we’re good at it, generally bringing in folks from the community for good food and good fellowship. Although we have a children’s sermon listed in the bulletin, the reality is we haven’t had any in recent memory. If, occasionally, a child comes to our service, we’ll excuse them with an elder for children education. During the winter months we meet in our Fellowship Hall rather than trying to heat the sanctuary.

Our typical worship is scripted and includes music from a digital hymnal with some guitar accompaniment by the pastor. Homilies are generally geared to the Scripture readers found in the Presbyterian lectionary. Pastor Steven also tries to show relevance of Scripture to every day contemporary Christian life.

Of course, having such a small congregation, everyone knows everyone and everyone is involved in church life. Prior to and following service — and during sharing the “peace of Christ” — our congregation catches up, plans and enjoys fellowship. It’s just not a throng of people. There are lots of churches that are bigger than ours, but we don’t think there are any more friendly and more spirit-filled churches around.

It’s formal worship with a purpose.

The point was not to say one style is better than the other, but rather we worship differently. I, personally, am distracted by the orchestration at large evangelical churches. When I go to a worship service, I want meat and potatoes, not a concert. That’s not to say I don’t prefer uplifting contemporary music to obscure hymns from not only generations but centuries back. While I applaud series, I feel they tend to be more bible studies than homilies.

Of course, worship isn’t brick and mortar, nor is it the pastor. It’s our relationship to God through His Son and the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, worship is more meaningful on a beach or at a campsite in the mountains.

Relationship. That’s the key … be it alone, in a small congregation or in a large setting.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Life is like an onion. You peel it off layer by layer, and sometimes you weep.

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Five Minute Friday — Crowd

Well, it’s Friday. Time to join the hundreds over at Lisa Jo’s place for a Friday free for all writing frenzy.

You remember, each Friday we congregate at Lisa Jo’s place (http://lisajobaker.com/) to throw in our two cents worth on a specific prompt word for the day. The only rule — keep it to five minutes (or so) and write because we love words and the relief it is to just write them without worrying if they’re just right or not … for joy in the process … no matter how messy the result.

This week’s word du jour is CROWD. The timer is set and off we go…

I was an only child. Some would say I was spoiled, others thought I was privileged. I didn’t see it, but the fact was I was alone.

I saw her in a crowd of one. Nothing set her apart. In fact, had she not been facing my oncoming car I probably would have run her down. She was a string bean. I said to my buddy, “Do you believe that? There’s one for you.”

“You’re right,” he says. “That’s my girl, Karen.”

Hmm, I thought, SHE was the reason I was driving down a side street in Paterson on a Saturday night.

Well, as things turned out, that string bean and I became a crowd of two after his breakup with her. We were almost always together. Where she was, I was. Where I was, she was… STOP

… We weren’t joined at the hip, just enjoyed each other’s company, After a few years we got married and over the next few years saw our crowd of two expand to three … then four … then five … then six … then seven. Each of them had their own personality and created intense joy and frustration as they matured.

Eventually, the crowd of seven expanded with weddings and live-ins, burgeoning to add 19 — and soon to be 20 — grandchildren to the crowd. And, while, we lost the matriarch a few years back, the grandchildren and their significant others are adding to the crowd … two thus far.

It’s a crowd that started with one plus one. But I call it something else. I call it a family.

Wow, that five minutes went fast!

That’s what popped into this pea brain this week. Pop over to Lisa Jo’s place to see what the others came up with.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Life is a mirror and will reflect back to the thinker what one thinks into it.

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10 and 2

I came to a jarring conclusion the other day. If I had to take my road test for my driver’s license today I would probably fail. I can’t seem to get this 10 and 2 thing down.

It’s been a long time since I squirmed behind the wheel in my dad’s 1962 Chevy Impala on the closed course the inspection station in Wayne, NJ. In fact it’s been almost 50 years and about a million miles ago. But I can still sense the uneasy feeling I had that summer day as the testing agent climbed aboard. I mean, this was it. This was what  “growing up” was all about. This was a day of freedom … or utter failure.

Back then, we didn’t have to worry about pesky things like seat belts and there were only two mirrors to worry about. Since it was a closed course, I didn’t have to worry about traffic. I don’t recall the 10 and 2 hand position being a requirement, but I’m pretty sure my hands were nowhere near those prescribed locations on the steering wheel. I headed out to the course and easily maneuvered all the tests, including parallel parking and three-point turns, with nary a mishap. Pass. Freedom!

Of course, I owe it all to my dad. He entrusted his 3,500 pound boat to his son … with proper training, of course. After getting my permit, he generally allowed me to get behind the wheel as he took over shotgun. Along with the usual admonitions — “You’re going too fast” “What if that car in front of you stops suddenly?” “Use your turn signals, that’s what you have them for” — he shared other driving nuggets that have stuck with me all these years. “If you’re turning right, turn your wheel to the right. If you’re turning left, turn your wheel to the left.” “Never stop on a railroad track.” “You have to learn how to drive a standard shift.” “Watch the traffic two or three cars in front of you.” “Stop playing with the high beams.” “As you pass a car, watch his front wheels.” “Drive defensively.” “When you’re behind the wheel, you have a lot of responsibility.” “Leave the damn radio alone! You’re driving, not being entertained.” Okay, I didn’t learn everything, but I remembered.

And he taught me well. Over these many years, I have a relatively spotless driving record, mostly a few dings and dents and only one serious accident. Even my brushes with the law have been minimal and generally after getting caught in a speed trap. I never complained when snared because I probably, might of, almost certainly, in all likeliness pushed the vehicular law envelope a time or two … or three .. or …

Still to this day, I check my mirrors often, drive defensively, look two or three cars ahead of me. I don’t stop on railroad tracks, although I don’t really know why except for it being a throwback to my “old” days when cars would stall on tracks as drivers tried to shift. I prefer a standard transmission to automatic. I feel like I’m more in control, even the cars have slimmed down from the ’50s and ’60s.

But I can’t get this 10 and 2 thing to work. It all came about when I was listening to some radio banter {I know, I was supposed to be driving, not being entertained} about the “proper” way to place your hands on the steering wheel.

I intentionally tried to improve, but just couldn’t get comfortable. I felt my upper body tense at 10 and 2. I felt constrained while turning. I was so conscious of my hand position I became unconscious to my surroundings and missed my exit.

So, I’ll hang my left arm out the window with a finger touch around 8 or nine. I’ll drive one-handed, alternating between the right and left hand.  I’ll keep my “home” position at 6 and wherever.

And I’ll thank the Lord for allowing me to take my driver’s road test many, many years ago rather than today.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: No one is a failure who is enjoying life.

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