I warned you I’d make this challenge say “winter”!
This is one of my favorite winter shots. And I have lots of ’em.
It shows a depth that hints at obstacles between me and the horizon and beckons me to long for the other side.
Crossing that cold divide, though, would require waiting for summer and knowing how to swim. Or it would require accessing a boat. Or crossing barbed wire fences not visible.
This peaceful obstacle between me and the future makes me say, “Oh, how lovely, the present!”
People can be confused about life if they ignore the Owner’s manual. That’s okay as long as in our mistakes, we seek the Bible, where we find every necessary explanation.
Regarding joy, we find it is a gift from the Spirit of the Living God. (Galatians 5:22)
This gift, the angels tell us, seems to have come simultaneously with the birth of His Son. (Luke 2:10) Amazing, going far beyond the usual joy at a successful birth of a son, this joy seems to know no bounds, and is the soul’s antidote to the worst of evil. (Matthew 5:11-12)
Limitless, unrestrainable joy can be ours. Like a deep current under the surface waters of the streams of our lives, we can have this hidden, mysterious constant: joy.
But only if we have the Spirit that is Holy. Our having joy depends on nothing less.
For this reason, we find all sorts of encouragement to contentment in God’s Word.
Paul showed us that he had arrived at being able to possess himself with contentment, no matter what the circumstances. (Philippians 4:11-12) Lots of incredibly hard things happened to Paul, (2 Corinthians 4:8-9) so we should consider him a reliable instructor in contentment, and he encouraged us to be content, no matter what.
Contentment is a choice, and depends on our obedience, and nothing less.
Ah, but happiness—where does it fit? Jesus was not always happy, (Luke 13:34) and neither was Paul. (Acts 23:1-3) Happiness is a normal, natural response to our happenings. It is a feeling, an honest reaction, to life, and nothing more.
When we lose something, be it possessions, reputation, or loved ones, we are not happy. No.
We can draw, though, upon that miraculous joy, ever residing in the core of our beings (if we actually have it, have that gift of Jehovah God’s Spirit.) We can rise above happiness to contentment, on the strength of that joy.
Not all things bring happiness, but we can learn to walk in contentment, if only we receive the gift He stands ready to give us—true joy.
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Image by Fergal of Claddagh via Flickr
When men tell you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter, should not a people inquire of their God? Why consult the dead on behalf of the living?
To the law and to the testimony! If they do not speak according to this word, they have no light of dawn.
Distressed and hungry, they will roam through the land; when they are famished, they will become enraged and, looking upward, will curse their king and their God.
Then they will look toward the earth and see only distress and darkness and fearful gloom, and they will be thrust into utter darkness.
Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress. In the past he humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future, he will honor Galilee of the Gentiles, by the way of the sea, along the Jordan–
The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of the shadow of death
a light has dawned.
You have enlarged the nation
and increased their joy;
they rejoice before you
as people rejoice at the harvest,
as men rejoice
when dividing the plunder.
For as in the day of Midian’s defeat,
you have shattered
the yoke that burdens them,
the bar across their shoulders,
the rod of their oppressor.
Every warrior’s boot used in battle
and every garment rolled in blood
will be destined for burning,
will be fuel for the fire.
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the LORD Almighty
will accomplish this.
Isaiah 8:15 – 9:7
Did a bit of pioneering work today, and it was a fun challenge.
Basically, I had to haul water in a bucket to do laundry.
Oh, it’s not like it sounds. We have city water piped into our house and a faucet near the washing machine. But the hot water tank that feeds the washer goes out, now and then, and we find ourselves without hot water, back there, at inopportune times.
If we want to shower—our bath being connected to the laundry—we can use the guest bath, which has its own hot water. In fact, that bathroom is the only hot water source in the house during down times like this.
If I want to wash dishes, since the kitchen also is connected to the laundry, and I cannot use the dishwasher, I must haul hot water, from that other bathroom, to fill the sink and do dishes by hand. I was using a one-gallon pitcher. It takes about 2 ½ gallons to fill the sink nicely. It’s okay to rinse in cold.
However, I wanted to do laundry, so I found an old plastic scrub bucket that holds 2 gallons. That cut the trips in half. At first I thought of skipping laundry until tomorrow, but later, I asked myself, “How hard can it be? Millions of women have hauled water to do laundry, and that was uphill wearing long skirts.” I could do this.
The first trip across the house with a full bucket of hot water taught me balance. Heh heh.
When I dumped it into the washer, it all trickled to the space under the perforated drum that holds the clothing. What little bit that rose above that level quickly soaked into the clothes in the washer. It would take a lot more water.
I made about 8 trips with that bucket, across tiled and laminated floors. It was hard to feel patient and joyful, until I would remember those pioneer women and their long skirts, meandering trails, rocky paths strewn with slick leaves. Most of them were hauling cold water, too, that would need heating, next.
At least mine was already hot. At least mine was across a level surface. At least I did not have to wear all those billows of clothing.
After hauling the water I was in no hurry to drain it away. So I left the lid up and soaked that clothing for a while. I’m glad I did, for I got to thinking: That water was still hot and not dirty. If I could wring out the clothes in it, I could reuse it for the next load.
A familiar-looking basket of wrung-out clothing soon stood by my feet, and the next load was chugging along before I realized I was doing laundry the way my grandmother did before she got her wringer. I watched her when I was tiny, but I’d almost lost the memory.
Eventually I washed three small loads of clothing in one small load of hot water. What would have been sixty gallons of soapy water became only 20 or so.
I saw something, during this trial, namely, why my grandmother reused the water during laundry times. Even after all her laundry was done, there were still flower beds to water, and a porch to scrub.
She remembered hauling it up hill.
Read a great story that complements this idea, here.
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Image via wikipedia
Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it–he will be blessed in what he does. James 1:22-25
When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. 1 Corinthians 13:11-12
Fog Is a GiftBlocking all but me and mine,
Sighing canopy, dark lace,
Breathing to me.
Centering.
Baring soul in black trees,
Urging notice of the near-by,
Blurring impending day.
Arresting.
Stirring from the valley,
Muffling distant hammers,
Whispering damp over all,
Stopping the world.
Thanks.
We have not dwelt in this “neck of the woods” very long. However, when we first arrived, we learned of The Blue Mail Box.
The Blue Mail Box is an actual place, marked on some maps. People in many surrounding towns could drive you straight to it because they know exactly what you mean when you say, “The Blue Mail Box,” and they know exactly where it is.
Yes, The Blue Mail Box is an actual place you can drive to, but it is also a place in history, a place in the hearts of many local people. You see, it stands for so much more than mail, although it does include mail. It stands for trust, cooperation, and grit. It stands for love-thy-neighbor. It stands for “. . . the howdy and the handshake, the laughter and the tears, the dream that’s been . . . ”
Yes. The Blue Mail Box is a has-been. It still exists, but the lovely things it represents exist only in history, only in hearts, only in memories.
I am sure the first time The Blue Mail Box was vandalized, it brought shock or pain to its extended family of devotees.
Now days, it enjoys protection–it’s been vandalized that much–as a memento of an innocent age we wish we could resume.
But no mail.
Who would try, these days, what was common occurrence back then?
Who would allow all the mail from one community to be deposited in one box with no lock, to be sorted through by anyone who lived there? Who would trust a neighbor to bring him his mail, since he was going that way, anyway? Who would kindly take old Widow Smith her mail, then open and read it for her?
No one in his right mind, that’s who. Not now days. But The Blue Mail Box was all that and more, once upon a time. Friends who chanced to meet at The Blue Mail Box would linger and visit. Surely a few surreptitious meetings between lovers occurred there, too, under the guise of “collecting Mama’s mail”? Probably notes, without postage, sometimes waited inside The Blue Mail Box, for folks who did not have phones to communicate with their neighbors.
But those days are over.
Half of it is illegal, these days, anyway.
Now days, when someone hears of The Blue Mail Box for the first time, they greet it with laughter, as I did. But as we grow to know these people, we realize the love that stood behind all that trust with each other’s mail. Elderly ladies smile as they tell of hi-jinks from school days. They boast of good preachers from back then. They dream, starry-eyed, of past Christmas plays, spelling bees, weddings . . .
The Blue Mail Box is the stuff of real life, and we all should have something similar stuffed somewhere in the backs of our memories, for it once was the American way.
But we have allowed “them” to steal it from us and it is gone, isn’t it.
Except for the box.
We’ve thrown aside the gift and we’re playing with the box . . .
Home's Cool! 