My Good Fortune

I like words. They are intriguing combinations of letters that create expressions which give meaning to our thoughts. They allow us to communicate. Sometimes I stumble across a word that captures my attention. One of those is the word godsend.

Godsend is actually two words combined to form its meaning–God and send. So one would think it means something God sends. According to my online dictionary resource, godsend is something or someone sent unexpectedly that is either wanted or needed which brings good fortune. Something unexpected that brings good fortune. Wow! That is powerful!

Some might equate that simply with opportunities to make more money. After all that’s all it takes to have a good life, isn’t it? To experience good fortune? But that reduces the meaning of the word to nothing more than a stop-gap measure–something that plugs the hole or remedies a situation, temporarily. God does not deal in stop-gap measures; not with His children anyway.

History is replete with events, happenings, and people who unexpectedly brought good fortune, a godsend. Notice that while the result of the godsend is good fortune, nothing indicates that the event, happening, or person must be pleasant, good, gentle, kind, or even desired. But in the end, it was what was needed.

When Joseph was sold into Egyptian slavery by his brothers, that was not a very pleasant experience. But, later Joseph tells his brothers that what they meant for evil God used it for good–a godsend. Years later, after Joseph had died, Moses strode out of the desert with a commission from almighty God to free the Israelites from Egyptian slavery. With the Egyptian army fast approaching, the Israelites faced the Red Sea. Their salvation was just across that body of water, but how to get there. Moses struck the water with his rod, the waters parted, and several million people walked across on dry ground. A godsend.

Were the next 40+ years filled with great and glorious happenings? Not always, but there came a day when the children of those slaves stood on the brink of the Jordan, ready to follow Joshua across and possess the Promised Land. The river was at flood stage; there was no way across, or so they thought. How quickly they forgot! When the priests who bore the ark of the covenant stepped into the water, the waters of the Jordan River began to roll back and opened a path across to Canaan. A godsend.

The greatest godsend of them all is Jesus Christ, His death and resurrection. For you see, because of those happenings, we, all of mankind, can have eternal life. We can even go to live with Him in heaven when we die. There will be no more pain or suffering; no more sin, evil, or its ugly results. Those who accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior will enjoy life and peace in the presence of almighty God. A godsend? Oh, absolutely!

Sometimes in His goodness, God allows special people to come into your life. People who have the uncanny ability to know you almost without effort. That person can “read” you, totally. For some it’s a parent, but for most it’s your spouse. However, it simply may be someone God puts in your life, that crosses your path; a friend.

God has put different ones in my life that in hindsight were a godsend. God used them to point, direct, guide, even reprove. Today I told a friend she was a godsend, someone God sent along unexpectedly to bring me good fortune. Am I richer today because He did that? Not with money, but my life is richer, fuller, and more in tune with God and His plan for my life. Do I trust her? You better believe it. Does she speak the truth? Always. Does she do it in love? Yeah. Is it always something I want to hear? Not necessarily. But I listen to her because she always points me back to God, my good fortune.

Grams

Bound, Yet Free

One man ran from his master, and now was in prison. The other man followed his master and he, too, was in prison. Both men, from two different worlds (one a slave, the other from a respected Jewish family), seemed to suffer the same fate. But it was not fate that brought the two together. It was the Holy Spirit of God.

Onesimus was a slave who belonged to Philemon. Paul was a slave who belonged to the Lord Jesus Christ. But, Oesimus lived in bondage while Paul, though in prison, lived in freedom. Both answered to a master, yet one was bound and the other was free. How is that possible?

No dreams, aspirations, or choices filled Onesimus’ heart. He knew no hope beyond the daily tasks set out for him by his master.

When the apostle Paul became a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, he submitted every dream, aspiration, goal, and direction of his life totally to the control of Christ. Through complete submission of himself to the Lord, Paul became Christ’s bond-servant or slave. He no longer had any say as to what happened to him or how God would use him. Jesus became his master. Yet, in that relationship Paul experienced a freedom that elevated him above the physical. Spiritually Paul now lived in a different realm. The physical no longer mattered to him. He served the Holy One of God; the Creator and sustainer of life; the redeemer of all mankind. No physical bonds could diminish the freedom Paul had in his relationship with his Savior. Whatever Christ would have him do, wherever He would have him go, or whoever He would have him become, the apostle willingly obeyed his master. And in that obedience Paul found freedom.

The Holy Spirit brought Onesimus into contact with the aged apostle. As they shared the same prison cell, Paul introduced Onesimus to his master. And on that day, though bound, he was set free.

God does not always change the circumstances of our life when we decide to follow Him. Regardless of where you are socially, economically, or physically, the Lord Jesus Christ can change your life spiritually. Though bound, you too can be set free.

Grams

All Things to All People

She comes in all shapes and sizes, with differing personalities, gifts, and abilities. She may step to the forefront, driven by a desire to lead, or give place to those around her, content to remain in the background. Either action brings criticism. Bravely she looks to the future and accepts her role in God’s plan for her family.

What kind of woman willingly leaves behind everything familiar to serve a group of people who, for the first twelve months, watch every move she makes, deciding if she will fit? What kind of woman smiles, even when her heart breaks from lack of acceptance and friendship with the very people God has sent her to serve? What kind of woman hugs a child, all the time remembering she has been on the receiving end of the mother’s caustic tongue?

What kind of woman lies awake during long, sleepless nights praying with her husband for another’s wayward son or daughter, the hard times others may be experiencing or their lack of spiritual growth? Then, after friendships and relationships deepen and the Lord says it’s time to move to another place of service, what kind of woman can smile through the tears, release those she has come to care for so much and go somewhere else to start the process all over again?

What kind of woman? A very special woman uniquely gifted to continually put herself last so others may go first. She is a woman God calls and places alongside the under shepherd of His flock. She is the pastor’s wife.

A certain mystique surrounds her. While there are other women in the congregation, there is only one pastor’s wife. That alone makes her the most important among all ladies in the church. No one else holds her position. After all, she has the preacher’s heart. More important to some, she has his ear. Her influence with him is something to cultivate. Friendships become cloudy; what was thought to be heartfelt is nothing more than a ploy to gain an advantage. But, all is not lost. God is good and He sends someone along who is genuine–someone who is real. And a lasting bond develops; the wrenching of the heart is replaced with a reminder of God’s faithfulness. So, she continues on, opening her heart to those who will let her and loving even those who do not.

With her bright smile, her knowing glance and her reliance on the truth of God’s Word, she stands firmly and proudly beside her man, the preacher, the one God has placed at the helm. Together they steer a straight course, looking over their shoulders as if to say, “Come on, follow us as we follow the Lord.” What is the mystique that surrounds this gracious lady? It’s her ability to be all things to all people. (Together With God, [Grams])

Grams

Riding Saplings

Brian opened the back door, struggling not to drop Chris. He just kind of dumped Chris on the floor, who immediately let out a howl. I got him up and to the couch so I could check his wounds, plying Brian with questions only a mother could think of. What have you been doing? You know when Chris is with you there are certain things you cannot do. (Brian is six years older than Chris. They were 13 and 7 at this particular episode.) Brian began to make excuses. He was watching out for him; he didn’t know he was holding on to the sapling. After all the tears (Chris’), the questions (mine), and explanations (Brian’s), it seems the boys had been riding saplings.

I understand this is quite a ride and only boys would ever think of such a thing. You go out into the woods, search until you find just the right size of small tree (that’s what a sapling is); one you can bend down without breaking. The person who intends to ride the sapling gets a good grip close to the top of the tree. Then when you’re ready, the one holding the sapling down lets go and you go with the tree, riding it until it stops bending back and forth. When it stops you slide down and pull it to the ground for someone else to ride.

Brian and his friends had decided this particular tree was not quite what they wanted and let it go. However, they failed to tell Chris. So, as the sapling swung upright, so did Chris. But, he was not able to hang on and went sailing several feet through the air, landing about 30 feet away. Hence, the emergency trip to the house.

After Chris was assured he would live, he looked at me and said, “If I’m going to do that very often, I’m going to need to work on my landing.” To say the least!

Grams

Glitches

Ever noticed how some little glitch pokes its ugly head into an otherwise good day? That’s what happened to me today. Work was progressing rather well; the boss was in a very good mood and no major problems had surfaced. Then my cell phone rings. It’s my son who lives in South Carolina. They were supposed to come spend the next 3 or 4 days with me. I’d looked forward to spending time with his family, particularly Will and Neil. But I could tell from his voice that something was wrong. Sure enough, the trip had to be canceled.

The reason? Really didn’t matter; there was nothing he could do. We talked a while and decided to try to get together in a couple of months. What a let down!

Now what? Basically I had two choices–I could get upset and frustrated about the unavoidable or I could refuse to let that unavoidable ruin an otherwise good day. I chose the latter.

Do I still think about the good times we might have had? Absolutely. Do I wish things had been different? You better believe it. Do I miss being with them? Oh, yes; very much. But, I know there was nothing that could be done to make it possible for them to come. So, I move on, refusing to let disappointment ruin my good day.

Grams

Cotton Pickin’ Time

White cotton bolls looked up at the clouds, so white and fluffy they too needed picking. Summer was almost over and cotton pickin’ time loomed just over the horizon.

Cotton pickin’ time was a telling event in the life of a cotton farmer. All year long this occasion held forth its promise of better days to come. A good harvest meant bills were paid and seed for the next year’s crop and household supplies could be bought. Sometimes there might be a new toy or candy. A good crop was the difference between getting by and having enough money to pay the mortgage.

The closer the time came to go into the fields, daddy busied himself hiring the hands necessary to pick the cotton, weigh it up, and haul it to the gin. Everything had to be just right and ready to go when the big day arrived.

Across the back of our old farmhouse was an L-shaped porch. The corner of the L served as the cotton-weighing station. Here the pick sacks were weighed and emptied. The cotton piled higher and higher, waiting to be taken to the gin. Soon a large, white, fluffy mound filled the corner.

Two little girls watched as sack after sack of the white, fluffy stuff added to the height of the mound forming in the corner. Almost as if on cue, both girls took a running leap, landing in the middle of the soft, pillowy cotton. That was fun!. Let’s do it agian! And so the afternoon was spent running, jumping, and rolling around in the freshly picked cotton. That is until, almost like magic, daddy appeared from around the corner of the house. The delight of a summer’s afternoon fun quickly lost its appeal under the gaze of a tired, overworked cotton farmer.

There we stood, hot and sweating, with little puffs of cotton stuck in our hair and to our skin. Squirming on bare feet, there was just no place to hide–no place to go where the intent glare of daddy’s eyes did not penetrate. Amid the tears of sorrow and pleas for mercy, daddy explained that jumping on the cotton damaged its quality and lowered his price per pound. Gently he reached down, picked us up, kissed us, and sent us inside to get cleaned up. There might be other times when correction would be needed, but never again did we jump into the great mound of white cotton piled ever so high on the L-shaped porch.

The heavenly Father looks down from above those same white, puffy clouds into the very heart of man. God’s gaze penetrates the darkness of sin, separating motive, thought, word, and deed. Still, He is moved with compassion and forgiveness when man repents and asks for mercy. He, too, gently picks us up and lovingly cleans away the dirt and grim. Sometimes, the temptation to return to old ways is so compelling that Jesus once again must pull us out of the mire and muck of sin, fathfully wiping away the hurt and pain. He never grows weary of bending to the needs of His children, but, oh, how He must tire of rescuing the same children from the same quagmire.

The mound of cotton beckons from the corner of the porch. Just one more time; it won’t hurt anything. But, you remember the look in your dad’s eyes and the promise you made not to do that again. Will you honor your word? Will you seek to please him because he loved you enough to forgive your disobedience? Well, will you?

Grams

Get Connected

Today is the Saturday before Easter Sunday and in my town it was a day for Easter egg hunts. Even when I was a child I remember there were always Easter baskets, new clothes, and the traditional egg hunt.

While the excitement and thrill of the tradition still carries on, for some people the reason for the egg hunt has changed. I’m sure the egg hunt is still part of the Easter activities for many families, but it seems as if more communities are having community-wide egg hunts. And that’s a good thing. Even churches are participating.

Today my church held a community egg hunt. There were a lot of plastic eggs with individually wrapped candy inside; areas marked off by age-groups; and prizes for those who found prize eggs and for those who found the most eggs per age group. Parents helped the younger kids while the parents of older kids hung around and talked. New acquaintances were made and possibly new friendships established. It turned out to be a great way for the people in our church to introduce themselves to the community where we will be building a new church.

There was not really anything spectacular about what we did today as far as some people are concerned; just connecting with our soon-to-be neighbors; establishing contacts; making friends. But that in itself is spectacular because meeting neighbors, establishing community connections, and making friends in order to introduce people to Jesus Christ is living out the charge Jesus gave His followers before He ascended back to His Father after the resurrection. And isn’t that what Easter is supposed to commemorate, the resurrection of Jesus Christ?

Tomorrow is Easter and those of us who believe that Jesus is the eternal Son of God will go to church and celebrate His resurrection from the dead. Included in that celebration is realization that without the resurrection new life in Christ would not be a reality. But because of that one historically accurate fact, I have eternal life and the promise of life with Jesus in heaven when I die. Before Jesus left this world to take His rightful place at the throne of God, He directed His disciples to teach others what He had taught them. And so it has continued down through the centuries.

Today while we hosted a fun activity for our new community, we were faithful to the task Christ set for us as His disciples. In the process of having a great time at an Easter egg hunt, we introduced ourselves, opened our doors to the community we plan to be a part of, and connected. Will everyone who came to the egg hunt reciprocate? No they won’t. Some were there only for the fun time but there will be others who came to check us out in the process; to see if there was something worth connecting to.

After today’s activities I’m convinced Jesus meant for His followers simply to connect to those around them. In the process of connecting you may actually introduce someone to the love of Jesus. Then the same hope that fuels your life in Him will take up residence in that one’s heart. Definitely not in the words of Jesus, but in my own I tell you to simply get connected.

Grams

Middle Ground

Middle ground is nowhere. It is neither right nor left; it is between the two.

Middle ground is the same as straddling the fence; one foot on the left while the other is on the right. It must be a most uncomfortable place to be.

Middle ground smacks of compromise, indecisiveness, hesitancy, and powerlessness.

To some it is safer than the two extremes. It does not require that you make a statement for what you believe, desire, or expect. Others say those who sit in the middle have the opportunity to bring the two extremes together. And maybe that is the purpose for this oft-visited real estate.

Maybe there are those God has called to occupy the seat of the middle ground. Maybe some good will come from that much sought after position; I don’t know. But God has not led me in that direction.

People say I am opinionated, forceful, hard, unyielding, stubborn, strong willed, in charge, proud, arrogant, and probably other adjectives that are whispered. And maybe they are right. But, one thing people never say is that they don’t know where I stand.

I do not occupy the middle ground; that seat is for someone else. Regardless of the issue, I have an opinion, a stance, a guideline, a principle, a desire, or a position. And I tend to be vocal, especially when asked.

Unfortunately, this character trait spills over into everything I do and affects everyone in my life. My family is my family. The same is true where my friends are concerned. Once you become part of my life, there is never any going back. There is no middle ground.

Is it unrealistic to expect others to treat me the same way? Probably, but I still harbor that expectation. When you let me into your life, there is never any going back. There is no middle ground.

You may prefer the middle ground, the place of least commitment; the safest place to sit. And I suppose there is something to be said for playing it safe. However, I prefer the excitement of full commitment and wide-eyed expectations. Can you not sense the surge of excitement that builds as you throw your shoulders back and embrace a new vision, a new hope? That’s the thrill of refusing to sit down on middle ground.

Our Lord did not embrace the middle ground. He called for complete commitment; total lordship over our lives. Take a stand, form an opinion, or state a principle by which to live. Commit your energy to your Lord, your family, and your friends. Let them know you love them, unequivocally. Change your residence if you must, but refuse to occupy middle ground.

Grams

More Than a Broken Pair of Glasses

The street lights came on and still I sat there. The knot on my forehead had stopped aching but that did nothing for the dread I felt of going to the house. I sat on the curb, my glasses dangling from my hand. What would I do? I could see only a few feet without my glasses and now they were broken. Actually, they were more than broken; the lenses were shattered. The prospect of telling my dad I had broken my glasses road heavy on my shoulders.

I was the responsible one; I was the one he looked to to keep the others in line. And now I was costing him money he did not have. Even in the 50s, eye glasses were not cheap and that was way before vision coverage on your insurance. Well, that really didn’t matter ’cause we didn’t have medical insurance anyway.

I was the number one draft choice of the 45th Street ball team. I could hit, catch, and pitch. One thing I was not good at and that was running, but when you could do all the other that didn’t matter quite as much.

Our ball field was the street. Ever played street ball? It was the only place city kids in some neighborhoods back then had to play. Cars lined the streets; houses sat 20 feet from the curb; small kids played in the yards. Yet, I don’t remember ever breaking a window or hitting a little kid. The only glass that was broken were my eye glasses.

Of course none of us had ball gloves. When you played street ball in a poor neighborhood, you were lucky to come up with a ball and a bat. So, whatever ball was hit, either short or long, had to be caught with your bare hands. Now, that can sting, especially if it comes off the swing of a teenage boy. The ball was coming straight at me. If I did not catch this fly, he’d score (the bases were relatively close together; there was only so much you could do in the street), and that could not happen. So, I backed up, put my hands up, and waited for the ball. Now, there’s a trick to catching a fly ball with your bare hands. When the ball hits your hands, you have to let your arms recoil from the impact. That keeps the ball from bouncing out of your hands and also keeps your hands from absorbing all of the impact.

I had the ball, but only for a couple of seconds. I had no time to recoil; the ball had been hit so hard it sliced right through my hands, hitting me squarely between the eyes. The lenses shattered and the glasses fell from my face, landing in two pieces at my feet. The game was over. The boy who hit the ball scored and I was left to face my dad.

About then my sister came to the door and called me in to supper. OK, it was time. Our house sat on top of the hill so I had a long walk up the steep driveway. I went straight to the bath room, washed my face and hands, then I slowly sat down at the table. Dad raised his head after praying the blessing and saw I did not have my glasses on. Next came the inevitable question. Where are your glasses? I broke them playing ball. Let me see them. Can they be fixed? Dad looked at them; no, they could not be fixed. I began to apologize, trying to ward off the sermon I knew was coming. It must have worked ’cause none came.

Dad laid what was left of my glasses aside and told me to eat my supper. He’d figure something out. I never knew where he got the money or if the optometrist let him make payments. All I know is that the next day I had new glasses.

So many times I’ve sat down in the presence of the Lord Jesus and handed Him more than a broken pair of glasses. With my head hanging low, tears running down my face, I look at Him and ask: Can it be fixed? He gently takes a look, nods His head, smiles that knowing smile, and gives me what I need. Never a scold; never a moment of rejection. He simply takes my needs and makes them His own.

Grams

When the Goat Balked

Mother had finished with me; she had two more to go. I was told to sit in the rocker on the front porch and not get dirty. This was the usual routine when getting ready to go anywhere, especially to church. Sometimes I was told to sit in the living room on the couch or a chair, but seldom was I allowed to go outside while mother bathed and dressed my sisters. For some reason she thought she could trust me to do what she told me to do. And for the most part I did. But this time it was different.

This was not our porch; this was not even our house. Back in the 50s whenever a preacher “ran” a revival the entire family went along. There were few hotels, at least where we were, so we always stayed with a family in the church where the revival was being held. This particular family eventually became lifelong friends of our family, which made it really neat to stay there. You didn’t have to always be on your very best behavior, and that made it especially nice for me.

So there I sat, starched dress and slip, hair fixed just so-so, and those dreaded patent leather shoes. Johnny (not his real name) came around the corner of the house. I asked him what he’d been doing? (He was about me age.) He told me he’d been riding a billy goat. He cocked his head to the side and said, “I bet you can’t ride him.” Well, that did it. Of course I could ride a billy goat. If he could, I could and I told him so.

We went around to the barn and the goat was penned up in the barn lot with other animals. Actually, they were pigs. Anyway, Johnny caught the goat and held him while I got on. I grabbed hold of the horns, Johnny let go of the goat, and he took about three steps and balked. I didn’t know that’s what you called it but I learned quickly what it felt like. Over the goat’s head I sailed, right into a hog wallow. Know what that is? It’s a muddy hole a hog has wallowed out and it stinks worse than anything you can imagine.

When I hit the ground I remembered the starched dress and the patent leather shoes, and mother. Too late! I had to face her. That most definitely qualified as doomsday. Needless to say, mother was none too happy. Neither was I when she finished with me, again.

Grams