The Granola That Changed My Day

This adventure I'm sharing with Sam (my elderly neighbor) has been quite a change for both of us. 

If you've been reading the blog for a while, you know that Sam's wife of 60 years died back in October. Since then, I've been looking out for him, as I gave my word I'd do. That promise was given in 1989, when we were both much younger, but a promise is a promise, and I've tried to live by it. 

Sam always says, "You're only as good as your word." I intend for my word to be as good as I wish I were.

Because of that decades-old promise, I've helped manage his finances, pay his bills, and buy his groceries. When he stopped driving because of his poor vision, I became his driver. When cooking was too much of a challenge, I became his cook.

Lest you think I'm doing a noble deed, let me dispel that thought. Sam is probably the greatest man who's ever lived. The joy and the blessing are all mine. He's already given me far more than I'll ever give to him. After all these years, we're family and there's lots of love in our relationship.

Sam, at 86, likes to eat "country cooking". He wants sausage and eggs for breakfast. Preferably accompanied by homemade biscuits and gravy. I prefer homemade yogurt and granola with a little fruit. 

Sam likes well-cooked peas, turnip greens, and cornbread. I like my vegetables a little crunchy, and my bread gluten-free.

It's been quite a change for us both, even though Sam agreed to eat whatever I cooked without complaining. I've tried to cook his favorites, but they aren't my usual fare. He's stuck to his bargain, despite my struggles, and has learned to eat cottage cheese and tuna salad, among a variety of new foods.

Day before yesterday, I fretted about our menus all day long. I couldn't think of a single thing I wanted that would also be palatable to Sam. I prayed about it. I cried about it. I whined about it.

After dinner (which wasn't Sam's favorite, and which, after my modifications, wasn't my favorite either), I was downcast. Okay, pitiful might be closer to the truth. Sam had balked at spinach madeline (too spicy) and didn't much care for spaghetti, either. He ate it with a smile and a thank you, but admitted it wasn't his favorite.

I realize, in the big scheme of things, the menu is not important at all. I know that better than most, because I've spent hours this week reviewing all the terrorist attacks of 2016. I've been sick with grief. Maybe that's why I needed something to feel familiar.

I plopped down in my comfy chair and blinked back tears. "I don't know how to do it, Lord. This is hard." There wasn't any one thing that was hard. It was the accumulation of responsibility, and fear of the future that had me rattled. The new schedule. Cooking three meals a day. Continuing to write and do all the other things I do. Rhythm and balance had been hard to achieve.

"I don't know what to do. Just tell me something. Anything. I'll do it."

This sounds crazy as I write it, but the thing that came in my mind was a picture of my orange-pecan granola recipe. "Granola? What kind of answer is that, Lord?" 

I'm not sure that making granola was a word from God, but it definitely helped me. I laughed so hard that all my despair faded as I preheated the oven, gathered my ingredients, and went to work. In less than 30 minutes, the granola was cooling and the aroma of brown sugar, cinnamon, and freshly grated nutmeg filled the house. 

Yesterday, Sam heated the sausage and eggs I'd prepared for his breakfast and I had homemade yogurt, granola, and fruit. He ate at his house and I ate at mine. (He likes to eat breakfast about 8 am. I like to eat breakfast at 5:30) For just a few minutes, life felt normal again to both of us, and it was enough. 

I still find it hard to believe how much emotional strength I gained from that granola, but it was exactly as much as I needed. God knew what would make the biggest different, and that's what He gave. Admittedly, I had to cook it, but even that was therapeutic.

What's equally amazing is that Sam had a container of left over tuna salad and another of leftover creamed style corn. He combined the two and heated it up as a kind of tuna casserole. "It was delicious," he told me later. Sam prepared a meal for himself and it felt like normal to him, too.

We were both equipped to go a little further on this journey of life we're doing together.

It's easy to forget, but we serve an on-time God who loves us and provides everything we need, exactly when we need it. Whether it's finances, strength, or encouragement, our Lord is able to supply, and He does. Every single time.

Sam and I have seen that truth over and over again. This isn't how either of us expected life to be. Sometimes, it's just plain hard. The sweetness, though, outweighs all our struggles. There's not a day that I'm not grateful for Sam, nor him for me. No matter what we decide to eat. 

Just in case you thought Sam is missing out, today we're eating breakfast together. Eggs, sausage, biscuits, and gravy. All his favorites. 

"Consider it all joy, my brethren, who you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." 

James 1:2-4 nasb

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In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: There's Still Good in the Midst of Evil
Here's a link to The Prayer List 
#persevere #SamWiley #disciple #loveoneanother

The Wheelchair Hike

Ryan was home for a visit recently. His 15-year-old dog is dying, his thirty-year-old horse is losing weight and slowing down, and Sam is increasingly frail. Ryan wanted to visit, but he also came to say some good-byes. Ole Lou will be gone before he returns, and Toby (his horse) may be, too.

More important, Sam's health is precarious. Ryan wanted some quality time while he could still have it. We packed an incredible array of activities with Sam into those few days. 

One of the activities we had planned was a trek on the Tanglefoot Trail. "We could take Sam if you want," I suggested.

"He'd like that, but how could he walk that far?"

"Take him in the wheelchair." 

Ryan didn't hesitate. "That's a great idea. I'll push him."

We walked a 5K route. Ryan pushed Sam in the wheelchair the entire way. They both loved it. Afterward, we were sweaty and tired, so we stopped for coffee before driving to the blueberry farm in Pontotoc. We picked three buckets of berries and laughed the entire time about Sam, his double vision, and how to decide which of the double-vision berries to pick. 

It was a wonderful day. We laughed, and reminisced, and enjoyed the time together. 

Later that evening, Sam called. "I sure had a good day today. Thank you for including me." 

"It wouldn't have been as much fun without you." I said it because I meant it. Sam rounded out the day's events in a way that made the entire experience richer and sweeter.

It was harder to do the trail pushing a wheelchair, but Ryan never complained. It was slower to pick the berries and watch out for Sam, but no one minded. He's family and greatly loved. 

"When I'm Sam's age and you're picking berries and hiking trails, I hope you put me in a wheelchair and drag me along, too," I told Ryan the next day.

He laughed and hugged me. "Don't worry. I will."

Time is short. We tried to make the most of the days we have left together. It's the way we're meant to live, regardless of how frail our bodies or how long our life expectancy.

Love while you can. Laugh while there's time. Hug and smile and enjoy each other, for life can end in an instant and regrets can last a long time.

"This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you."

John 15:12 esv

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In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: The Teacakes That Changed the World 
#loveoneanother #disciple #SamWiley #love

Jumping to Conclusions: The Terrorists That Were Not

You may not know this, but I paid my way through medical school working as a nurse. I took the long way around to a medical career, but economics demanded it.

It was 1977, my senior year in nursing school, and the last course of the final semester. We were taking turns presenting our end-of-the-year projects in class and listening for hours every day. 

I'm not sure why our instructors made the decision to let us do needlework during the presentations, but it made sense to us at the time. The project I did was a needlepoint sampler with a profound truth. 

"A smile is the same in every language." 

I had just returned from three months in Central America doing medical missions. Some days, a smile was all that got me through. The needlepoint piece still hangs on the wall in my home. It's a constant reminder of the days when I was a stranger in a foreign land with nothing but a smile for communication.

That philosophy came back to me recently when two young men sat behind me in church. My first impression was that they were likely Middle Eastern. 

I hate to admit it, but the thought crossed my mind that they might be trouble. I surveyed my options for self-defense. I made a tentative plan. 

It was completely ridiculous. 

LIFE LESSON: Get all the facts before you jump to conclusions.

Just as I was pondering my options for self-defense, those words from 1977 came to mind. 

"A smile is the same in every language." 

The next thing that came to mind was "By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." (John 13:35 nasb)

At that moment, I blushed with shame as I remembered the months I'd spent praying for terrorists by name and begging God for their salvation. (I've added the links to those blog posts below.)

Although I hate to admit it, my mind was racing in high gear. It sounds really silly now, I know, but, for a few minutes, I thought, "How very like God. After all those terrorist prayers, He has finally brought me some terrorists." If God had brought me some terrorists, I thought, He probably wanted me to try to introduce them to Jesus. 

I could possibly be a little over-zealous, but the Apostle Paul was, too.

As soon as the hand-shaking time started, I turned around, offered my biggest smile, and introduced myself. I shook hands and welcomed the two young men. After church, I talked to them again. 

I was determined to show the love of Christ to these young men, no matter who they were.

LIFE LESSON: Jesus loves everyone, and so should we, no matter who we "think" they are.

As it turned out, God had not brought me some terrorists at all. He had brought two young men who needed Jesus. Just like me. They weren't even from the Middle East.  

They didn't speak much English, so my smile, once again, was my language.

I prayed for those two men all week. Just in case.

Yesterday, during the singing, they walked in, accompanied by an older couple. One of the men had brought his Mama and Daddy. I was so glad to see them that I started to cry. Happy tears streamed down my face. 

LIFE LESSON: That's what praying for someone all week will do for you. 

I was out of my seat like a shot after the service ended. The taller of the men saw me heading his way, threw up a hand in greeting, and smiled. I greeted them all. When I reached my new friend, I told him, "I've been praying for you all week. I'm so glad you're here today." I meant it, and he knew it. He put his hand on his heart and grinned. 

All we could do was smile, but, as it turns out, a smile really is the same in every language, and we communicated just fine.

The next time I see someone who looks a little different, I hope I skip the conclusion jumping and go straight to showing the love of Jesus. 

After all, that's what we're supposed to do. Every single time.

Praying for Terrorists Links: 
The Terrorist Prayer List 
Praying for Terrorists: Nasir al Wuhayshi
Radical Obedience: Ibrahim al Asiri
Radical Obedience: Abubakar Shekau
Radical Obedience: Hamas and Khaled Meshaal
Radical Obedience: Abu Bakr al-Baghadadi
Praying for Nineveh
Remembering 9/11: How to Prevent A Terrorist Attack
Persevering for Paris
Resisting Evil 
Nigerian Nightmare

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 #terrorists #smile #JesusChrist #disciple #loveoneanother #jumpingtoconclusions

Maggie the Wonder Dog: Sister Love and the Body of Christ

Maggie the Wonder Dog has had a hard week. In case you've missed the other stories in this series (all of which are true), Maggie is my 6-year old Shih Tzu. She sustained a severe corneal abrasion a few days ago and has had a hard time of it. Severe photophobia has kept her in the darkest spot in my house. Eye pain has prevented her from running and playing as much as usual. Lest you think she's languished all week, she's played some every day, but it's been clear that she hasn't felt good.

The veterinarian and I assumed her injury was from our ramble in the woods last week, but yesterday I saw something that caused me to reconsider. Mamie the Apprentice Wonder Puppy, Maggie's adopted sister, was trying to get Maggie to play. As she often does, she patted Maggie in the face trying to get her attention. 

This time, however, it wasn't a gentle pat. It was a whack. Actually, Mamie scraped down Maggie's face with her paw, beginning just above her eye. When I saw it, the size and shape of Maggie's wound replayed in my mind and I thought, "That was no blackberry thorn." I'm not accusing Mamie, but the whack and scrape from yesterday could easily explain the wound.

When I saw her trying to get Maggie to play, a thought flashed into my mind. 

The army of God is the only army that routinely shoots its wounded.

It's a shocking thought, isn't it? If our nation's soldiers shot their comrades when they were injured, there would be court martials and 24-hour CNN coverage of Congressional hearings. It would be a scandal. We'd be horrified.

When one of our comrades in the faith, one of our brothers and sisters, is wounded because of sin (their own or someone else's), it is, sadly, not uncommon for the rest of us to make their situation a matter of "prayer request distribution" (AKA gossip). When the body of Christ fuels the fires of negative public opinion, we can and do cause greater harm to our family members, the body of Christ. We, in effect, shoot our wounded. 

When we criticize and point our fingers at those whose behavior offends us, we can (and do) drive them away from the body of Christ intended to uphold them and help them grow as disciples. 

(There is a process for helping one who is weak, but it does not involve a critical and judgmental spirit.)

We cannot teach and condemn at the same time. We cannot love and slash with our words simultaneously.

I write those words and realize that I am not completely innocent, either, and it grieves me. 

Why do we wound each other? Because we do not love as we ought.

Even worse than injuring our fellow believers, our failure to love grieves our Lord, who taught us how to love by His example at the cross.

"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." John 13:34-35 nasb

Commandment. 

This love for one another in the body of Christ is not optional. 

Love is not a choice. It's a requirement.

 Let us, then, love one another as Christ loved us. Unconditional, unbounded, unending love.

In so doing, we will show the world the inescapable, most desirable love of God and, just maybe, draw the lonely, love-starved world in which we live to the One who is Love.

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In case you missed any of the past week's posts, here are the links:  Becoming a Writer: Cover Reveal, I Shook His Hand Once, Knowing the Goal, Remembering My Way, and Maggie The Wonder Dog and the Hurt Eye, and Maggie: Avoiding the Light.

The most read post of the past week: Remembering My Way.

Here's the link to The Clay Papers, available as an e-book for personal use or to send as a gift for only 99 cents. 

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#loveoneanother #disciple #JesusChrist #bodyofChrist

A Vist at Martha's House, part 21: Defending Piety and Zeal

But the Lord answered and said to her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her." (Luke 10:41-42 NASB)

Once again, I fully expected to move to Luke 11 today, but another point caught my attention, and I am compelled to stop here once more. As I read through Luke 10 today, I wondered if Matthew Henry (my favorite theologian) had found a treasure in this passage that I had missed. It turned out that he had. Read his words:

"However we may be censured and condemned by men for our piety and zeal, our Lord Jesus will take our part: But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Let us not then condemn the pious zeal of any, lest we set Christ against us; and let us never be discouraged if we be censured for our pious zeal, for we have Christ for us." (Matthew Henry)

I attended the community-wide Lenten Luncheon hosted at my church earlier this week and, as I glanced around the room I noticed people from a variety of faith traditions. There were Methodists, Baptists, Episcopalians, and Presbyterians seated together around the tables. I'm sure other groups were represented, too (at least I hope so). As I surveyed the room, I thought the gathering was the most representative of heaven of any church gathering I'd attended recently. We put aside our own traditions to celebrate the Savior who died for us all. For one hour on Thursday, we were the body of Christ, and it was beautiful. I hope Jesus was pleased.

Since then, I've been thinking about this business of denominations and traditions, the controversy about hymns versus praise songs, raising hands in prayer or not raising hands in worship, speaking in tongues or not speaking in tongues, prayers for healing, liturgy, and this general grumbling that goes on about the worship style of others. If the truth be told, we don't just grumble about worship styles, we sometimes judge others, as well as condemn them when their worship is a little different from our own. In fact, what is even worse, we don't limit our bad attitudes to those outside our own faith group. There is a tendency to disdain for anyone who worships in a way different from our own, and recently, I've been wondering how Jesus feels about it. One of the last things he prayed for us was that we would be one, even as God the Father, the Son, and the Spirit are one. He wanted unity for us, not division. I'm afraid our disharmony appalls Him.

The problem, as we can see, is not new. King David's wife condemned him for his public display of worship, and it cost her the love of her husband. Martha condemned Mary for her choice to worship rather than "make preparations" and it cost her a rebuke from Jesus. I wonder what our own snipping about worship styles costs us. If Jesus defended the one who was at His feet worshipping, and rebuked the one who condemned her, you can be sure that we do not go unnoticed when we do the same to those worshipping around us. 

Because I attend a church that is somewhat "stiff" during worship, I once asked a friend what prompted the different worship styles and what they meant. She explained this business of raising hands in worship in a way that made perfect sense to me. When a little child is sleepy and wants to snuggle, is hurt and needs consolation, or is tired and can't walk another step, what do they do? They reach up their arms to their parents and say, "Hold me, Mommy. Pick me up, Daddy!" In that same way, we raise our arms to our Heavenly Father asking Him to draw us near to Him, comfort us, carry us through a hard time. Holding our hands out, palms up, she said, is often done to symbolize that we come to Him with nothing of our own, willing to receive anything He sends our way. It is a symbol of humility and submission. 

Once I saw this business of uplifted arms and open hands in this way, I began to wonder, why don't we all raise our hands with desperation to draw closer to our Lord? Why don't we all hold out our empty hands before our God? I fear our lack of demonstrative action may be due to a lack of accompanying humility. (pride) After all, who wants to be the one raising hands in a room full of people who don't? We must ask, if we hold back in worship because of those around us, who then are we worshipping? 

How foolish we are to argue about worship! Why not get up in arms about sin, instead? Matthew Henry was absolutely right. Let us be sure that we do not condemn others for their piety and zeal "lest we set Christ against us". Our Lord wept and prayed for our unity as He was facing the cross. It was His heart's cry, and it should be our own. This weekend, as we prepare to attend worship services, join with me and try something radically new. Instead of condemning the worship style of others, let's give it a try. Embrace a fresh style of worship, whether it be raising hands in worship or kneeling in adoration. 

What matters, dear ones, is not the position of our body nor the location of our hands. What matters is the humility, ardor, and love in our hearts. What pleases Christ is unity among those who love Him. Let us love one another, let us welcome our differences, and let the worship begin!