In honor of the 400th anniversary of the translation of the Bible into English, commissioned by King James of England in 1611, and originally published by Robert Barker, printer to the King, I will use this version for the rest of this year in these posts. Editing sure has changed since then! Hope we can enjoy the quaint differences we find here and appreciate all that went into it.
Come now and let vs reason together, saith the Lord: though your sinnes be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimsin, they shall be as wooll.
If yee be willing and obedient, yee shall eate the good of the land.
But if yee refuse and rebell, yee shal be deuoured with the sword: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.
I am not forgiven. In the book of Matthew 6:14-15, as Jesus is teaching His followers how to pray, He adds the admonition that if we do not forgive others, then God does not forgive us. It almost sounds like the unforgivable sin!
I bind the sin to my children. In the book of Exodus 20:5-6, God tells us the consequences of unforgiven sin pass down to several generations. It makes sense. If I dwell on someone else’s sin for years, I start acting on this input. But there is more. If I am not forgiven, then instead of lining up with God, I line up with His enemy. How can that bring any good?
I do not loose the sinner. In Matthew 16:19 and 18:18-35, even Jesus’ own followers had questions about forgiveness. He then taught them: when we forgive something on earth, it is forgiven in Heaven. This very thing happened to Saul of Tarsus, who later changed his name to Paul. When Stephen was stoned to death (Acts 7:60,) his last words were of forgiveness for his killers, of whom Saul was one. What if Stephen had not forgiven him? Would we have the writings of Paul, today?
Here is what I used to teach my children when they were young and beginning to discover that friendship is not always all fun. Sometimes they would get into little tussles and strike back or hold anger against others. So I said:
“If someone does something bad to you, it hurts. I know.
“But if you just do something back to them, it does not help you. You still hurt, and now they hurt, too. What good does that do?
“If you stay angry and then someone innocent comes along and you strike out at that person, you STILL hurt, and that new person hurts, too.
“You are trying to get rid of your hurt by giving hurt to someone else. But when you give it to someone else, it does not mean they can take it AWAY from you. They may take it, but they cannot take it AWAY. You leave them hurting, too, and they may try to get rid of their hurt by giving hurt to someone else, who also cannot take it away.
“It’s a little like the flu. I can give it to you, but then we both will have it. It just spreads.
“Only One person can take hurt AWAY, and that is God. If you give all your hurt to Him, He can take it away from you and make you feel much better.”
Now, maybe that was too simple for an adult, but it is true. It’s what He died for. Why not try Him out?
In honor of the 400th anniversary of the translation of the Bible into English, commissioned by King James of England in 1611, and originally published by Robert Barker, printer to the King, I will use this version for the rest of this year in these posts. Hope we can enjoy the quaint differences we find here and appreciate all that went into it.
The lines are fallen vnto mee in pleasant places; yea, I haue a goodly heritage. –Psalms 16:6
The heauens declare the glory of God: and the firmament sheweth his handy works.
Day vnto day vterreth speach, and night vnto night sheweth knowledge.
There is no speach or language, where their voyce is not heard.
Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world: In them hath he set a tabernacle for the Sunne.
Which is as a bridegrome coming out of his chamber, and reioyceth as a strong man to runne a race.
His going forth is from the end of the heauen, and his circuite vnto the ends of it: and there is nothing hidde from the heat thereof. –Psalm 19:1-6
Whome shall he teach knowledge? and whom shall he make to vnderstand doctrine? them that are weaned from the milke, and drawen from the breasts.
For precept must be vpon precept, precept vpon precept, line vpon line, line vpon line, here a litle, and there a litle.
For with stammering lips and another tongue will he speake to this people.
To whom he said, This is the rest wherwith ye may cause the weary to rest, and this is the refreshing, yet they would not heare. –Isaiah 28:9-12
They hoped he wouldn’t love me, but he did. They predicted we wouldn’t last, but we did. Vietnam tried to separate us, but it didn’t. They said we’d never get anywhere, but we did.
And at least half of it was due to the only man who would give up his seat to me, forty-something years ago.
We were hardly more than children, but love and stubbornness led the way. Milestone after milestone whizzed by until it seemed there was no stopping us.
Bumps in the road gave us strength, new direction, and adaptability, a great combination.
Now, six children homeschooled and raised up and out of the home, mostly it’s just us. And that was really all I needed in the first place—all the rest was frosting.
Buying and selling houses and cars, fixing broken things, building what we lacked, sweating at laboring, always taking the frugal route, he provided, always provided, so I would not have to leave our nest, was free to tend our babes in peace, not harried. I love the life I acquired with this man who spent himself so willingly for my freedom.
Then there is the wisdom. They say still waters run deep, and for him, it is true. When he spoke, the words were worth listening. When he spoke, other women feared.
And patience. Married to a woman who “needs a mute button”, he always listened, always listens. Always knows the answers to my confusions,
Let the world belittle marriage and commitment! Let them rant against fidelity and sanctity! Let them screw their brows into frowns and suspicions! Let them pretend they are happy without loyalty and truthfulness! Let them blow!
I cannot hear it.
I have spent my whole life with my best friend and would that I had another life to do it all again.
My grandpa used to gather us kids around to play a mouse game with us. He somehow folded his handkerchief into a cylinder shape with a tail and would hold it in his hand and stroke it like a pet mouse. Then he would talk us into petting it, too. Suddenly it would jump up his arm while he acted surprised and we nearly jumped out of our skins, although we knew what was coming, each time. It was the only kid entertainment at their stuffy parsonage, and we loved it, couldn’t wait to go there and beg to play the mouse game. Oh, the giggles!
Imagine my awe and shock when my mother revealed to me the truth: my grandpa never did like children much. Imagine!—Oh, just imagine!—What dedication to doing right prevailed in this man who did not like little children yet took them into his arms and blessed them with a silly game!
Outside of that game, our activities with him were on adult level. He lived in St. Louis, and took us often to Shaw’s Garden and the Climatron. Anyone who has ever been there knows a child can be totally impressed with such a ho-hum-sounding activity. I was. I loved it there; the waterfalls that ended in fish-filled pools with floating lava rock amazed me. That the birds could live there for our enjoyment, that we could climb stairs to be near the treetops, that the birds were used to us, was unbelievable. I grew up to be an amateur botanist and birder.
After retiring from parish life, he took a simpler job as proofreader at a large publishing company. Twice he took me there to see the processes, every step conducted in house, in the good ol’ days. I remember a long set of cover-less books aligned side-by-side with an enormous screw clamp, waiting for their corporate edges to be gilded. I grew up to be a writer.
Grandpa also had a pump organ and played very well. He would not let us play on it unless we could pump it ourselves and knew an actual song to play for him. My brother was better at that, but when Grandpa took us to the big, old church that had a real pipe organ, when the organist was practicing, it was sublime. I soaked in it and grew up to prefer richly chorded classical organ music.
One activity bonded me to my grandpa more than any other thing: milk toast.
Buttered or Not–Mmm!
For the uninitiated, that is a bowl of torn-up toast, doused in milk, to eat with a spoon like cereal. A-a-ah!
I liked milk toast and none others of Grandpa’s fourteen grandchildren did, that I know of. He liked to eat a bowl of it every night before bed and if we were there, he would make me one, too. We sat together at their antique oak dining table that was covered in hand-made lace, old man and little girl, happy as coons in corn, eating a meal he prepared just for me.
I cry aloud to the Lord; I lift up my voice to the Lord for mercy.
I pour out my complaint before him; before him I tell my trouble.
When my spirit grows faint within me, it is you who know my way. In the path where I walk men have hidden a snare for me.
Look to my right and see; no one is concerned for me. I have no refuge; no one cares for my life.
I cry to you, O Lord; I say, “You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living.”
Listen to my cry, for I am in desperate need; rescue me from those who pursue me, for they are too strong for me.
Set me free from my prison, that I may praise your name.
Then the righteous will gather about me because of your goodness to me.
Home's Cool! 